⛵ VOYAGE #03 — The Simpson Desert

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⛵ VOYAGE #03 — by Nick Jaffe — October, 16, 2020


V O Y A G E
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The Simpson Desert #03

        Welcome to edition #03 of VOYAGE: it's been raining a lot in Tasmania. There is a seasonal rivulet near my house which has been thundering with water over the last week, creating a beautiful stereo effect with the ocean as I walk out my back door.

I don't want to give away the title of my next book (the book which was (is?) to be the subject of my overland mission from Tasmania to Norway)... However, the title alludes to the problematic reality that you can really only drive to places where roads already exist. This means that the chances of going to truly remote places is pretty slim — it's simply not possible to drive off-piste to the extent you can in a small ocean-going vessel. Sailing has spoiled me.

Australia has a strong 4x4 culture, and on my lap around the country last year, I spent a lot of time looking at maps, trying to work out if it was actually possible to just drive off into the desert, led only by dust storms, whims and songlines. As it turns out, many deserts are impassable, sacred or protected. During my drive north along the east coast, my imagination was fueled by tales of the Leyland Brothers and their West to East crossing of Australia. I lay in the back of my Land Rover reading about Land Rovers breaking down in the desert. What a dream! Meanwhile, I was parked down some suburban cul-de-sac outside in Noosa, reading by head lamp and thinking to myself how miserable "van life" was: I should be stuck in the desert! Of course, then I thought about actually being stuck in the desert and went back to my book.

While sailing my Aries 32 named Harmony across the South Pacific, I also looked endlessly at charts in search of unusual places to explore. The story of Kontiki has always been a memorable adventure tale, particularly the bit where the expedition crashed into the reef at Raroia in the Tuamotus. If you didn't know of Raroia, it is right next to Takume, near Taenga and not far from Nihiru. They are all of course within spitting distance of Raraka, Makemo and Marutea Nord and within close proximity of Mururoa Atoll — the official home of French nuclear testing. So, I really wanted to visit Raroia en route to Suwarrow... We adjusted the self-steering and trimmed the sails.

On a completely tangental note (I can't help myself), when my first vessel Constellation was towed in from Bass Strait (the new owner abandoned her at sea, a story for another time), I drove down to witness the happenings. After initial negotiations with the fishermen who salvaged her failed, I walked the docks at Port Albert and spotted a special looking boat — certain boats have an aura about them: no, not a purple aura, but an aura nonetheless. You can tell they are special by their lines and hints of gear (windvanes, re-enforcements and their general heavy stature). Some weeks later, I learned the boat was indeed special: she was one of the first Greenpeace vessels, spending her time in the South Pacific harassing the French and their objets de fission.

Due to weather, we never did make it to Raroia, ending up at Suwarrow some five days later, for the sole reason of seeing where the hermit Tom Neale once lived.

The Simpson Desert is the world's largest sand dune desert and also one of the few deserts you're permitted to traverse. Please do not forget, your experience of nature and the world is carefully curated by the State, and this desert is no exception. I picked my brother Ryan up in Bundaberg with extremely vague plans to drive to Hinchinbrook Island — an island I "discovered" while perusing Google maps. Topographic maps are like porn for the geographically curious: the amount of time I've spent on wild goose missions while following paths on satellite photos, is incalculable.

Me: "Ryan, we should turn left and go to Alice Springs via the Simpson Desert instead. I think it will be really wild and remote out there."

Ryan: "Ok."

I like my brother.

Mind you, Bundaberg to Alice springs is 2,300km. You can double the number of miles traveled when driving Penny, because the experience is so extremely visceral. I liken driving Penny to driving a canvas A-Frame tent with a helicopter engine attached to it. Actually, visceral doesn't even give the experience justice. I think hell on wheels is more apt. But I love it. I'd make a wonderful Catholic, I enjoy self-punishment greatly.

I was nervous about taking Penny across the Simpson Desert. See, adventure is not actually about the wild taking of risks: I've mentioned in the past that it's more about project management — it's about preservation — it's about actually making it.

The cost for salvaging Penny from the Simpson Desert should something go wrong, was about $10,000. This was my entire shipping + fuel budget for Africa. Out the back in Birdsville — sorry, I mean, bumfuck nowhere — (some more French, let's call this the European Edition), my brother and I ate fish and chips at the pub and set off — I'm certain the carbon footprint on our battered flathead was more than the 100 litres of diesel Penny spewed into the desert skies over the following week... There is literally nothing which grows out there, except for dust and beer... It's hard to be a locovore.

We met a fellow Land Rover masochist at the fuel bowser who had just completed their desert crossing in the reverse direction. How did it go, I asked? Everything went fine, he said, except for having to replace the head gasket half way across. I asked my brother if we had a spare head gasket. We did not.

The desert salvage truck was owned by the petrol station and it sat menacingly in the corner looking right at us. It was a big German looking ex-military flatbed 6x6 truck — you know how trucks seem to have faces? Fritz was staring at us.

We headed out of town all geared up, the Engel fridge full of frozen steaks and pre-frozen lettuce. The dune Big Red approached — our crossing would start with the biggest dune of the entire trip. What a test! As part of the rules to cross, vehicles must carry flag poles: the reason for this is so you can see vehicles coming in the opposite direction, as you crest the dunes. There are hundreds of them to traverse. Naturally, we did not have one of these special flag poles — my brother tied a piece of red plastic rubbish to my fishing pole, zip-tied it to the roof rack and we were ready.

In front of us was a $100,000 Land Cruiser setup with all the trappings: you know the type — the setup only a baby boomer with four investment properties or a West Australian mining worker can afford. I was proud of Penny — she was always the most beat-up, oldest and of course interesting vehicle at every campsite. People would always come to talk to me about her. Underneath it all though, Penny is well thought out, mechanically sound and extremely capable.

The Land Cruiser tried three times to tackle Big Red. We aired down the tires, and my brother nervously looked up at the dune. I knew what Penny was capable of. I'd skull-dragged an exploded Prado 4km down a soft beach before. We were going to be fine. Her Japanese Isuzu roared in low-range and we soon found ourselves at the top of Big Red without a hitch.

Everything was going to be fine. And it was.

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