Surviving the (shudder) Nullarbor!

We take a final hike up the tallest rock we can find at the edge of Albany, a huge block of granite overlooking the bay and town. It’s a glorious day, we’re sorry to leave the area, but that demon wanderlust drags us forward to parts unknown.


We head inland for a change. On our way to the Gold Rush city of Kalgoorlie, which is still actively blasting gold out of the earth in the colossal Super Pit, we stop outside Hyden so that Art can hang ten on the Wave. Don’t worry, no sharks here. Heading into the hinterlands on unsealed roads to visit more gigantic granite, one rough stretch of two-track takes us 175 kms through dense bush without meeting a single other vehicle.

Kalgoorlie is a big city, so right away after stocking up on groceries, etc. we say to each other, “Let’s get out of here.” On our way out we visit the Super Pit where a modern-day mining conglomerate has bought all the individual mines and dynamited them all into one huge hole in the ground. Enormous trucks and cranes and whatnot hum noisily around down inside, appearing as small and busy as ants. Our next stop is tiny Norseman, named for a horse who pawed up a chunk of gold with his hoof, setting off another gold frenzy in the late 1800s. In those days hardy afgan camels hauled gold and supplies. Here is a captivating sculpture in corrugated metal commemorating their heydey.


And outside Norseman another adulterated Aussie sign. This one’s for Aaron, who would have laughed. (Click on the photo for an enlarged view.)



And then it’s time to cross the … gulp … 1200 kms of the Nullarbor! Legends of the vast Nullarbor Plain (nullus arbor = no trees) hint at people and probably even entire vehicles drying swiftly to dust and blowing over the towering limestone cliffs, of nothing but scrubby plants surviving the harshness, of a road so straight and tedious that the inevitable hypnosis spells doom. Indeed there is a stretch of 145 kms without the least bend. Someone asks us if it’s true about the zigzag: that the road engineers grew so fed up with construction without deviation that they introduced a frivolous wiggle in the bitumen.

Gosh!


And wildlife. Here’s an alert for three feral animals. Furthermore, behold, we can now assure you that wombats are in fact not mere mythical creatures. Still, Barry and Jeanette, this does not let you off the hook for Live Wombat Patrol when we reach Nowra. This poor, road-killed fellow has been propped by the side of the road with a beer bottle… evidently dead drunk.





The Nullarbor does seem to be an appropriate final resting place for Art’s pants. Alas, duct tape patches only work for so long. When he can’t move without another spot disintegrating, we know it’s time to say farewell. (But Barb, I did save a couple of zippers!)





The base of the Nullarbor is in fact a ridiculously mammoth single limestone rock, formed more than a few years ago when the area used to be a seabed.

Since limestone is soft, water has carved countless caverns and tunnels. Blowholes such as this one breathe and sigh. Closer to the ocean there are blowholes that respond to big waves with terrifying, Jurassic-like ROARING along with expelling air and/or water.




All along the water’s edge, for hundreds of kms, are thrilling 300-foot limestone cliffs.


With wind and the thundering sea below, there can be significant eroding and undercutting of the edges. Periodically chunks crack off. You want to stay a respectful distance inland.





But that’s so hard to do when Southern Right whales pass below, frolicking with their calves.




Amazingly enough we survive our passage along the edge of the Southern Ocean and down the wild west coast of the Eyre Peninsula.

If you look at the handy map of Oz in the upper right corner of this blog, you’ll see us waving from just above the “ai” of “Adelaide.” It is on the bottom point, along the beach, that Mr. Limpet-eyes and I discover this piece of whalebone jaw standing at attention. What the camera doesn’t capture is what happens a few seconds later when a sneaker wave reminds me that you should never turn your back on the ocean (yeah, yeah, I can hear you, Adele and Mitcho).




If we have held your attention this long, you are rewarded with a glimpse of Kym, a Legend in His Own Bathtub and a Hero in Our Hearts. If ever ANYTHING electrical goes wrong with your vehicle, from wherever you are in the world, we suggest you go straight to Lincoln Auto Electrics in Port Lincoln. Not only does he know more than the average koala, he’s very funny, and if you’re really lucky he’ll give you some whiting fillets (caught from his boat “Poacher”).