Boulia, what a delightful bushtown.
We spent a fun morning touring the sights.
On the wide, deserted main street stands the red stump which is for the Simpson Desert the equivalent of beyond the black stump in NSW.
On the edge of town, quadbikes were mustering mares and foals in feisty, fine fettle with manes and tails flying through the dust.
We dutifully waited when the local policewoman in her police car and a van decided to have a conversation while parked on either side of the roundabout in the middle of the road.
The Min Min Lights Encounter is a riot with scary sets and quirky props in near darkness as you progress from one scene to another: blokes yarning in a pub, a station owner's wife recounting tall tales with nice dog barking effects and the sudden appearance of a skeleton in the dunny, a truck driver braking hard to miss a pedestrian scared witless by Min Min lights, a bushcamp with drovers by the campfire telling stories accompanied by horse munching and bridle jingling, then a simulated bus ride at night with all manner of ghostly hankypanky.
The Heritage Centre displays the town's history and The Stonehouse with its charcoal meat safe. A tin container at the top was filled with charcoal and then water which would drip down the tin to provide instant refrigeration when the wind blew. The safe was usually kept on a veranda within reach of the wind. The safe stood in pots filled with water to repel the ants.
The Aboriginal room has fascinating stories of traditional pituri or 'local tobacco' mixed with grevillea ash, then chewed as a quid.
Lined up outdoors are displays of trusty, rusty graders and a portable steam engine.
On the edge of town is the cemetery with old graves.
The road continued South with a stop to spot an interesting sticker behind the Tropic of Capricorn marker.
Bedourie is the local administration centre with one claim to fame being its place as the origin of the tin, Bedourie camp oven. A tinsmith heard that the local cameleers and drovers found the rough travel broke their cast iron camp ovens, so he came up with a lighter, more durable model made from tin.
Other points of interest include its historic Mud House and the inevitable Royal Hotel.
The local roadhouse had burnt down a couple of weeks earlier leaving the town without fuel. Word from the Min Min Encounter lady in Boulia, tipped us off that the roadhouse had opened a temporary shop and we got escorted by the owner to his fuel stash outside town to refill our tank and replenish his coffers.
Kings Creek was our overnight stop on the edge of town, so peaceful at night by the light of a near full moon. We were treated to a pair of bee-eaters' courtship display, complete with the preliminary of food offering.
We couldn't resist a bushcamp at Carcoory Bore where 85°C water flowed in a steady stream before eddying into cooler ponds where finches drank and bathed. Magic spot.
Sadly, our bus started misfiring all the way to Birdsville where the local roadhouse mechanic diagnosed fuel in oil and injector problems. So, 711kms from help, we Skyped our breakdown service who organised a tilt tray tow for next morning which Gen sniffed was a sad way to spend her birthday. She wanted to be dancing on top of the Big Red sand dune instead.
Birdsville sported the famous pub, the ruins of the Royal Hotel and more we missed because of the breakdown. Not to mention the Big Red sand dune, only 35kms away.
George, the tow truck driver, drove down all night from Mt Isa, then took us back up again in 8 hours. He was a short, stocky, feisty character with an opinion for everything: how to run a transport company, people watching, women, dingos, eagles, cattle, FIFO working and its effect on the community, and big, female barra no longer eating baby crocs in Kakadu hence croc boom he wanted to cull.
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Birdsville, Boulia, Bedourie,
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