The past few weeks on the farm and the trip through the Simpson Desert

Part 2 Boulia

The dryness on the farm increased, as did the temperatures. Although we enjoyed the occasional evening campfire, since we had been in the national park, it was more for relaxation than for warmth. On the weekend after our big trip, we visited Tilly, a German who had come to Australia for the first time with a Working Holiday Visa 7 years ago, where she met Phillip and has been going to Australia regularly for 5 years, so far with a travel permit. Phillip's family lived on Blair Athol, a farm about 1 hour drive away from Stockport. We drove out on Saturday and had a barbecue with the family and their horse trainer from the neighboring farm. We felt very comfortable in the group and laughed heartily at some of the wild stories that Bill and Kalinda, Phillip's parents, told about the staff at Stockport, apparently not much had changed there in the last 50 years. I got along splendidly with Tilly, it was a shame that they were only in the area for another 4 days, as they had to go back to Townsville, where they were studying and working. Everything was the same at Stockport, except that Mrs. Beauchamp wasn't there, she was still in the hospital in Brisbane for various checks. Instead, Joanne was there, Sam's older sister and our first contact person for our application. One of her daughters came to visit for a few days with her 2-year-old son and the babysitter from the Northern Territory, it was unusual and a welcome change to talk to other people. Sam was much more relaxed now that nobody asked him where he was every 20 minutes. I can't say that I missed their shrill calls. We missed Jen and Jeff even more, with whom we stayed in contact by phone. 4 days after we returned, I finally finished scraping the paint off Kevin's house and could start painting. Meanwhile, I drove the forklift much more confidently and no longer needed help even for more complicated maneuvers. That was a good thing, because Matze and the men were out on the property most of the day. The visitors and Joanne had left, so my cooking and meal preparation tasks became more flexible again and I could focus more on the house. My birthday was a weekday and therefore a workday like any other, only Mrs. Beauchamp was back from Brisbane. Margaux had stopped by briefly and then moved on to her property in Winton, where she was building a house. After a small inspection of the cattle, the partly marked and dehorned calves and their mothers had to be returned to one of the paddocks. Since the distance was far, I was supposed to drive one of the cars. There was a cage on the loading area in which we could load some of the calves in case of emergency. The situation arose after a few minutes, a calf that had been born last night in the yard stood confused and exhausted. Kevin lifted it gently and pushed it into the cage, we drove for almost 3 hours at an average speed of 4-6 km/h, trying to bring the group directly to the destination as possible and without splitting up. Although some of the calves seemed very exhausted, especially in the last 2 km, they held on. My little passenger was quite calm and slept most of the time. When we arrived at the destination, I drove to the water source in front of Matze and Kevin and placed the calf in the shade of a tree. I had to pull it to the opening of the cage because it didn't make any attempt to move by itself. It looked at me somewhat uncertainly with its milky blue eyes before allowing me to lift it up and lay it down without trampling. The look had touched me, unsettled me. In the following days, I thought a lot, read, watched videos. I knew what I wanted, or rather, I knew what I no longer wanted: I didn't want to cause any more suffering, I didn't want fresh and innocent life like that of the calf to be extinguished just to provide me with milk as cheaply and efficiently as possible. I was fed up with hearing people talk about how much they loved their dogs and how terrible they thought what was happening to dogs in China, while they didn't give a thought to the treatment of farm animals in their own country. I was realistic enough to initially live vegetarian on the farm, there were no nutrient-rich alternative products like tofu, plant-based spreads, or nuts, not to mention plant milk. The weekends were now quite calm, apart from a visit to the pub, we enjoyed our free time and cooled off in a section of the riverbed where there was still water. 1 week after my birthday, there was another muster, but I was working on the house. Suddenly I saw Kevin with his motorbike and a black bundle in his arms. My first thought was that he was bringing a puppy as a companion for Charlie, but he came from the bush. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was a black piglet. It sniffled and seemed somewhat apathetic. Kevin had found it not far from the house in the bush, alone and disoriented. He first locked it on his veranda and went back to work. At lunchtime, I went in to check on the piglet, Matze made a pig teat out of a rubber glove finger and a cola bottle and we tried our luck with mango juice. Cow's milk is not so suitable, but a few extra calories probably wouldn't hurt, the little one was quite thin. It eagerly sucked and also ate mashed potatoes and mushy oatmeal from day 2. I was smitten with her, she was wild and sometimes tried to bite, but she seemed to realize that I wanted to help her and relaxed after a short time. I was worried about her stuffy nose, I was unsure whether it was really a cold or if something was stuck in her nose. I tried to let her inhale eucalyptus oil under a towel (it works so well with humans) and made her a health drink with honey and onions. She was particularly fond of honey, the little sweet tooth. In addition to the final painting work on the house, I now also had a baby to take care of, whom I had named Rosie after a few discussions. I fed her 3 times a day, she started drinking water from a bowl very early. Sam and Mrs. Beauchamp were not particularly interested in Rosie, Kevin was glad that I had taken the initiative and had no problem with us constantly coming to his veranda. Matze had built a cave out of a cardboard box and straw, which she accepted immediately. After about 4 days, I had the idea to bathe her, her eyes were quite crusty from tears, her face full of food leftovers. Rosie didn't really like the idea, she squealed in protest and tried to jump out of the plastic tub. Eventually, I put her out and poured out the water, the resulting muddy landscape clearly caused enthusiasm. But then she started exploring her surroundings, became faster, and suddenly galloped in piggy gallop towards the Beauchamphaus. I followed, worried that Bruce might smell her and his hunting instincts would take over. However, Rosie stormed past the house, under several fences, and at an impressive speed. Matze came to help, she had stopped at a depression with dense grass and sniffed around. I hadn't seen any tracks, droppings, or other signs of wild boar along the entire route. But Rosie seemed to have deliberately targeted this point, but now she seemed confused. Finally, she ran towards Matze and he lifted her up. We brought her back, she snuggled up on my lap, and I felt very sorry for her. Her chances of surviving alone in the bush, especially with the current drought and the poison baits against 'pests' like wild dogs and pigs, were close to zero. But I didn't want to lock her up next to Charlie in the dog crate for the rest of her life and occasionally put her alone in the sheep paddock, that wasn't an option for me either. I researched and finally came across a farm east of Mount Isa that had many happy farm animals and also 2 rescued pigs. Mrs. Beauchamp wasn't really thrilled that our days at Stockport were numbered, she would have liked to keep us there longer. But the decision stood - to be honest, I had had enough of cooking and cleaning according to her every whim... In the evening before our departure to Mount Isa - we wanted to stock up on vegan or animal-friendly provisions there - it finally rained, in the form of a rather heavy thunderstorm. It was still raining the next morning when we packed most of our things into boxes and got Rosie ready for the journey. Charlie and Buddy, a very cute and lively puppy that Kevin's girlfriend Trina had picked up a few days ago, were jumping around us. Rosie was now a bit more curious, we had let her walk around on the evening after the rain with a self-made harness. Of course, she managed to get tangled in the long leash in a wooden pallet and wriggle out of the harness, but she let herself be caught again. Margaux, who had returned from her farm in Winton in the evening, could also warm to our Rosie and wanted to give us the cat carrier that must still be somewhere in one of the sheds. She also had to go to Boulia again, she had borrowed a car because hers had broken down on the way. Matze would go with her, unfortunately, it would cost us almost 1 hour, but Margaux relied on us. I had actually found the transport box, after Margaux had checked several places unsuccessfully. I saw her coming towards me, told her joyfully about my find, and didn't realize what she said in response: 'The pup is dead.' Even though I knew that pup was an abbreviation for puppy, my brain refused to process it. 'What?' I stammered helplessly, hoping I had misheard. I looked around for help, Charlie and Bruce jumped around me, no Buddy. It was like a nightmare. Margaux hadn't seen him when she drove her car to the gas station, he must have been right under the tire. I felt sick, I started shaking, suddenly wanted to go home, to my bed, to forget what I had just heard. A wave of guilt spread over me, I hadn't seen him for a few minutes, I had forgotten him because of the packing. Margaux saw me struggling and said urgently that it was her fault alone. It didn't sink in, while Matze and she went to Boulia with 2 cars, I couldn't think of anything else, felt dead, cried. When he came back, I pulled myself together, we packed Rosie and started. Attracted by the puddles, a lot of kangaroos were on the road, my heart skipped a beat every time they seemed to run into the car. I couldn't bear any more deaths. Rosie held up well and was quite calm, even though she vomited her breakfast again. In Mount Isa, we rushed through the supermarket, outside there was a sultry, oppressive heat. After about 3.5 more hours of driving, we arrived at Corella Creek Farmstay. It was already dark and the owners Georgi and Erik hadn't expected us anymore. Nevertheless, there was room for us and after we had placed Rosie in a dark and quiet spot with her box, I sat down with Erik and the animals by the campfire (the cow was practically in the fire). Petting the goats was very calming and from time to time I saw a kangaroo hopping in the firelight. The next morning I was woken up long before dawn by insistent crowing, but it didn't bother me too much. I had already grown to love the farm and all its inhabitants. When I got up, Erik was just on his way to the morning feeding round. There was a lot of noise, the many chickens, geese, and ducks ran around wildly, as did the dog, who liked to chase the fluttering animals a bit, but didn't harm a hair on their heads. When the sun came up, I put Rosie's box outside so that the dog and the goats could see and smell her through the bars. Rosie seemed a bit unsure, but not at all panicked. Together with a few other guests, we were allowed to bottle-feed kangaroo babies, all of them whose mothers were roadkill and had no chance on their own. For those who are interested, here is a link to a shortYoutube video

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HdeQrux8PQo

Rosie was initially accommodated in a dog kennel to prevent the spread of infection to other animals. She accepted the grains offered and settled in a corner where there was some mud. Saying goodbye to her was incredibly difficult, even though I knew I had done everything to ensure her future well-being. We drove to Cloncurry and set up camp at the caravan park, where we enjoyed the cold pool. It was still extremely humid and falling asleep was difficult, but not just because of the temperatures. The next day brought no relief, luckily there was the Corella Dam on the way, where we cooled off and had a picnic. In Mount Isa, we still had to get some things, the weather was changeable, but I actually liked that. Melancholy and rain go well together. We arrived in Stockport with mixed feelings, especially the thought of seeing Kevin and Trina again made me dread. It was totally understandable if they were angry with us for not paying better attention and I was also afraid of their sadness, my own wasn't fully digested yet. However, Kevin was as calm as ever, said that Trina would get a new dog, there were more looking for a good home. Country life really toughens you up in a different way than city life... The packing the next morning took longer than I would have liked, but everything had to be packed securely, as we were facing a very adventurous route through the desert. We drove to a free campsite at a peaceful waterhole, got along very well with the only 2 other campers, and slept a bit better than the previous 2 nights.

Simpson Desert Crossing

In the morning, we drove to Birdsville, looked around the town, filled up with everything, and got our Desert Park pass, the permit for entry and camping in the Simpson Desert. The Simpson is the third-largest desert in Australia and has the world's longest parallel sand dunes. About 1200 of them and we had to cross all of them. The track is closed annually between December 1st and March 15th due to high temperatures and associated dangers and is considered one of the toughest off-road tracks in Australia. Scary but also exciting. We had breakfast on the outskirts of town, filled up our water, and set off. The start was very relaxed, the road was good, a police patrol watched over all incoming cars, and our beautiful sand flag swayed in the wind. After about half an hour, we arrived at Big Red. This 30-40 m high sand dune is the beginning of the desert and at the same time its highest point. We let out a lot of air from our tires to increase the contact area and thus get more traction, briefly chatted with a few other people, and then started. Slowly and relaxed, not full power like in Fraser, the sand was much harder than there. Our car had no problems, steadily and calmly made its way up to a beautiful first view of the desert beyond. The descent was funny. About 50°, maybe even more, incline. Clara just shouted NO, NO, NO. But that was the way we had to take. And it's a really cool feeling to drive down a sand dune like that, more like sliding than driving. We drove another 30 km that day and set up our first camp just before the border of the Munga-Thirri National Park. We were completely alone, and the night was bitterly cold. One expects cold nights in the desert, but the approximately 5 degrees were still surprising. In the morning, we had a delicious coffee and continued the wild ride. Average speed: 20 km/h. Going faster isn't really possible because the track is very rough in places and has deep holes, especially on the west side of the dunes (where we came down). The plains between the dunes consist mainly of clay and sand, and puddles hold water for a long time, which must be avoided if you don't want to get stuck. We made good progress and covered 130 km that day, which brought us to Poeppel Corner. There were also some other people on the way, using Poeppel Corner as their destination or coming from other directions. Poeppel Corner is the border point of the 3 states Queensland, South Australia, and the Northern Territory. And the official end of the QAA Line (the "road" from Birdsville) and the beginning of the French Line, an old, straight access road for an oil company that was looking for oil here at some point in the 1950s. The French Line greeted us with softer sand, more holes, and above all salt lakes. Salt lakes are dangerous because they may appear dry and hard at first glance but can still be very damp and soft. We heard that the day before us a group had been stuck there for a full 6 hours before someone came to pull them out. After we had set up our camp, we walked a bit on the salt lake near Poeppel Corner and looked at the situation more closely. The edges were dry and hard, but it got softer towards the middle. Then a huge puddle came, in which we could see that some people had gotten stuck. We decided to take a different route further south, which was more heavily frequented. After another freezing night and a delicious coffee, we set off to conquer the salt lake. Clara was at the wheel, I had my window open and looked at the surroundings. Into the salt lake we went. Most important rule: Stay in the already driven track! Looks worst, is best! The beginning was good, nicely packed, then a bit softer towards the middle, and then a big puddle. Darn! It was too late to stop, and there was only one way, so through it. Our old lady had a bit of a struggle, swerved pretty well and sat a bit in the middle in between, but she wasn't deterred. Clara bravely kept her foot on the gas. Whoever brakes loses, whoever stops gets stuck! Mud squirted around my ears since I had the window open. At the other shore, we took a deep breath. That was scary, but in the end easier than we thought. Good to know, as we still had 6 more lakes ahead of us. Fortunately, these were dry to our luck and drove like a highway. The only problem now was that suddenly the engine warning light came on and the automatic transmission light was flashing. So, turn off the car, look for the fault. Everything was full of mud, in front, on top, on the side, and especially underneath. I assumed it was just an electrical contact that didn't like the dirt. As soon as we gave it gas, both lights went out immediately and once the car was warmed up, they stayed off. Oh well, old car, let's see how far we can get. As we continued along the French Line, the travel speed gradually decreased to 12-15 km/h. Soft sand and rough tracks no longer allowed for faster driving. We only covered about 100 km that way and set up our camp in a depression between two dunes. The sunset was stunning, we strolled around a bit and wrapped ourselves in thick blankets because as soon as the sun was gone, it was bitterly cold. It should be our (pre-)last night in the desert, as the goal of the next day was Purni Bore, a water bore of the oil company from which water still flows and has formed a small lake. 100 km away, a good 7 hours drive. We took our time the next morning. We walked around the springs a bit, had coffee, and then set off around half past ten for Dalhousie Springs, just 75 km away. Our warning lights - off again! The first stop was Mount Dare Hotel, Australia's most remote pub, in the middle of nowhere, the start or end of the journey for crazy Simpson tourists, and the first gas station for over 500 km. We had a beer first. It was only 1 o'clock and hardly anyone was there except us, but the beer is part of the Simpson, like the dunes, that's something all who have been there agree on. After a short conversation with the owners of the hotel, we were asked if we had some time to spare to stay. - Actually not, but on this evening, the owners were invited to a party at their neighbor's and they just needed someone to help out for the evening. We received 100 dollars, free camping, and food, and even a beer, so we agreed. There wasn't much going on, we had some nice conversations with other people who came by, people who would accompany us a little longer, heard interesting stories, had a delicious dinner, and were done with work at 8 o'clock. A perfect day, even though it was so different from what we had planned. In the morning, we said goodbye with a heavy heart to everyone, despite the short time, we had already grown so fond of the pub and the people. 10 km and a lot of bouncing later, we finally reached the border to the Northern Territory. Planned months ago, only possible now. But probably the 'richest' months in Australia so far.