We left Timber Creek with a return visit firmly on our 'to do' list. Katherine was in our sights.
A moderate trip of just over 250 kms north-west along the Victoria Highway with a fuel stop at Victoria River Roadhouse was on today's travelling agenda.
We were not long back onto highway when we came across termite mounds, the like of which we had never seen before. This needle like spire was so delicate compared to the
massive mounds and lumps which are built by many of the different species of these clever little architects.
We never cease to wonder at the variety of construction techniques used, all with the same outcome.....to keep their soft and vulnerable little bodies safe and cool. I'm not sure I'd be waxing quite so lyrical if they were acquiring their building material from my house!
This sector of our journey to the Victoria River Roadhouse traversed countryside with which we were now quite familiar....scrubby grazing plains and distant ranges.
And then we gained our fist glimpse of the river itself.
From what we had learnt at Timber Creek, the size of this waterway did not surprise us. It was good to finally see it at first hand. Rising in the Gregory National Park, the Victoria flows for 560 kms to empty into the Timor Sea. As I noted in may last, it is renowned for its large barramundi.....next time!
As we neared the Victoria River Roadhouse,
we were treated to the sight of some of the magnificent escarpments for which the nearby Gregory National Park is famous.
This park, which covers a staggering 13,000 square kilometres, is home to many such natural wonders, and is firmly in our sights for a more detailed visit when we next make the trek across to this part of the country. For now we had to be content with what we could see from the road....and I'm sure you will agree, it's pretty damn good.
As we pulled into the vast red dirt apron of the roadhouse another surprise greeted us.....bales of hay of all things, and, for me an added bonus. (Liz barely stifled a yawn!) A Robinson R22 had just landed. How outback is this, I ask?
In a later conversation with the pilot's wife, who pulled up in a tray top at the same time, I learnt that they were cattle station folk. Dad had treated their son to the short trip to the roadhouse before he continued on to Katherine.
And this wasn't the only chopper in the area. Local tourist flights operate out of the roadhouse in a more substantial R44.
The Victoria River Roadhouse is quite a complex. In addition to the expected refuelling and refreshment facilities,
here one can relax in a motel unit
(providing all the paper work has been done!!)
or take up one of the sites on offer in the nearby caravan park.
Oddly enough, for a place like this, there was only one diesel pump, and we were not alone in our quest for fuel,
so we sat tight for a while until the rush was over.
On the road again, and no more than a hop step and jump from the roadhouse, we crossed the Victoria River and could see for ourselves that this is no mere creek (bearing in mind that this was the height of the dry).
Less than 200 kms to go...this is always a good sight.
I'm sure the driver of this huge fuel tanker was thinking the same. His only problem, however, was getting there. As we made our way further along the Victoria Highway, we struck one of the annoying problems which, fortunately, we've only encountered infrequently.
There is nothing which gives us 'knights of the road' a bad name like the plonkers who insist on towing at sub 80 kph on the open highway, travel in company leaving insufficient room between them, whilst studiously ignoring all behind them. Here we had a classic case. Despite coming across several spots where these inconsiderate idiots could have easily let the tanker through, we all crawled along for a considerable distance before this was achieved.
Then it was our turn. And the final straw....no indication on the rear of the vans that the drivers had CB radios installed, so I had no way of even contacting them to organise a safe passage past. UUURRRGH!
After many minutes of increasing frustration, we were finally clear of these two numskulls and making our way past the first of a series of roadside burn-offs.
By now the landscape was beginning to flatten
although the occasional mountain range still reared above the horizon ahead of us.
Again and again we were reminded that this was still cattle country as we passed numerous stock yards where the mustered bulky grey Brahmans patiently awaited transport to the place of their eventual doom.
By now long relatively open straight stretches of highway were becoming more common,
as was the frequency of the roadside burning. Fortunately the wind direction was in our favour
but we did have to keep a very close watch on the circling kites which were gathered in large numbers to swoop on the many small ground dwelling rodents as they broke cover to escape the flames. Kites are usually very evasive, but on these occasions the feeding frenzy can be an impediment to good judgement.
But we safely negotiated both fire and fowl and had reached our destination unscathed by either. Here, on the outskirts of the town, we were greeted by an official sign of welcome
which carried an interesting rider, one about which we were to learn a deal more in the days to come.
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