Places We Like to Nomad: Strzelecki Track to Innamincka

A long stretch of sealed road leads into long stretches of medium corrugations across arid plains. Intermittent patches along dry floodways keep us on our toes with gotcha bulldust holes and washouts. One or two road trains barrel by, for the rest of the trip we had the road to ourselves at a steady 60-80 kph, aired down to smooth the corrugations.

Later, the dunes in the landscape perked interest, so we stopped at those of Montecollina Bore, however it no longer attracts wildlife because the bore has been capped years ago.

Onwards to Strzelecki Creek crossing and campsite which was dry, wielding fierce 43° temps, friendly flies, and wind like a blow dryer, but what a magnificent sunset, harbinger of next day's storms. Before dawn we started to hightail 3 hours to Innamincka before forecast heavy rains mid morning could turn track into bog.

A few sights await the visitor along the way. travellers have collected an assortment of detritus to construct a shrine of RUOK exhibits, just to confirm you are still in one or more pieces.

A long, sealed stretch gave way at the space age looking, industrial FIFO hub of Moomba to dirt, dust, mild corrugations, and handful of mining traffic for the hundreds of derricks.

All sealed for last stretch. That was it. All over.

The Strzelecki Track, pioneered as an amazing feat in the mid 1800s by cattle duffer Robert Readford, is not spicked with arduous gems to savour nowadays, but the contrast between dirt track and velvet bitumen is surreal. It is also part of the Outback Loop, a whole series of desert outback adventures, some of which we've done, others await.

We rolled into Innamincka as the inky storm clouds gathered. Loved the Cooper Creek crossing, and popped into The Town Common camping area beside the creek.

An 8km detour to visit Burke's Gravesite was quite moving. A short walk through the red gums and coolibahs along the Cooper, leads in the oppressive heat and flies, to the tree where he finished. He clearly was after fame and glory, not interested in the locals who would have saved him, flawed as we all are in some form, but what a sad way to go.

Tonight we are set up on high ground, conveniently close to the pub for a bottle of wine to savour the storm.

Innamincka bids us welcome with a smashing storm. After checking and rechecking weather forecasts, we felt the first drops of rain and swirling winds descending from the massed dark clouds towards the end of the sticky afternoon.

Then the rain thundered down relentlessly, hour by hour, accompanied by howling winds clawing their way into the bus through a window jammed slightly open, waking us again and again through the night.

Through our bleary eyes, first light revealed swirling puddles all around us, the Cooper Creek running a banker, up 6 metres.

On and on it went, drumming rain and howling wind.

Then around 11am, the attack ceased, the inky clouds retreated to new regions in Queensland and New South Wales. A sliver of weak sun appeared.

A local helicopter pilot looped above us, a parks ranger surveyed the damage and set up the roads closed sign, trucks and truckies huddled on the hard standing.

Wishing to celebrate the occasion, we slogged across mud to the pub. A sign on the door said: "We are closed due to flood. Opening in 2 days."

As Slim Dusty wailed, so did we, 'nothing so drear as a pub with no beer'!

Next day, we trek through the mud to visit Innamincka's sights: the cemetery and the pile of old bottles behind the pub.

Bottles of principally rum, whisky, wine and beer were transported overland by Afghan cameleers. 200m in length and over 2 metres high, the bottle pile of empties was heritage listed in the 1920s, and later its glinting in the sun provided a landing beacon for the mail plane. A stupendous flood in 1956 carried most of the pile away towards Lake Eyre!