Following a quick shower and a free breakfast we were on the road by 10:30 heading north to Wilpena Pound. Our journey took us 120 kilometres through barren, red dusted land, past many historical sites which were little more than ruins.
At Wilpena Pound information, in the middle of Flinders Ranges National Park, we took advantage of our flight vouchers and booked ourselves onto a 15 minute flight above Wilpena Pound and the surrounding region.
10 minutes later we had greeted Phil, our pilot, who was younger than our American 1977 aeroplane. He looked the part in his pilots shirt with his stripes on his sleeve. Once we had boarded the four seater aircraft, having capacity only for the pilot and co-pilot and two passengers, Phil gave us a briefing of our flight plan then we buckled up and taxied to the end of the runway. In no time at all we had rumbled down the runway and taken off, soaring into the sky at an altitude of 4,000 feet above sea level and a cruising speed of 230 km/h. It was so smooth and surprisingly quick. We had each been supplied with decent headphones so we could communicate with each other during the flight. We couldn't hear much of the ambient noise. We had to equalise several times on our ascent. The flight took us over Wilpena Pound and the surrounding ranges and was accompanied by an informative commentary from our pilot throughout. Unfortunately the sky was rather hazy so we couldn't see much of the rich colours that we believed would normally be viewed from above and the photographs won't capture them either. There were plenty of thermals in the area too which made for a bit of a bumpy ride. We dipped down fairly low to take a glance at a range peak and then Phil turned to ask me if I would be okay with him banking the plane to the right. I immediately thought of my cousin who has been weary of commercial flying ever since she experienced a 'bank right' a couple of years ago and thought yeah, why not, maybe I'll never get to experience it again or even come close to the opportunity to do so. Pleased, Phil proceeded with his manoeuvre and very quickly we were experiencing perhaps two and a half Gs as the plane was pulled back level, heading back to the airstrip. At this point I asked Phil if he could stop the aircraft while I changed my camera film which had run out at the most inconvenient point. He said he would if he could but it would be messy. I thoroughly enjoyed the 'bank right' and was grinning to the end. It felt like the sharp ascent that you feel when you emerge from the tunnel on Oblivion at Alton Towers. The landing was equally smooth and quick, which I understand would have been quite tricky given that there was no wind.
Expressing our gratitude and appreciation we bade farewell to Phil, hoping that he would get another chance to fly again today.
On our return journey to Quorn to pick up the road to Broken Hill we stopped by a floodway so I could take a photograph. As I walked across the road I must have startled a kangaroo as he appeared out of nowhere and hid behind a bush, which startled me!
We reached Peterborough and I wolfed down a giant cheeseburger loaded with 'the lot' which means lettuce, tomato, bacon, beetroot, cheese, barbecue sauce, onion and egg which was followed by an ice-cream. At this point a small but fierce rainstorm passed over the town and a couple of loud thunderclaps were heard from above. In the space of 5 minutes, for it lasted little longer than that, the gutters had filled with water and it didn't look like they were draining away. To Ian's disappointment this would now mean that he wouldn't be able to see any more dust devils by the sides of the road. Only a few kilometres out of town we found ourselves back on the open, dry road with nothing but red dirt and gum trees either side of the road, for as long as the eye could see. We had the road to ourselves again. The outback, on the road to Broken Hill.
The road was pretty long and pretty straight and many ill kangaroos were by the sides of the road, many were dead. We arrived in Broken Hill by 19:00 and Ian and I took the opportunity to dip into the pool at the YHA for a moment of refreshing bliss from the heat. Our hostess had said on our arrival that today had been 44 degrees but tomorrow we were due a change which was good news. A high of 37 degrees... As you walk from room to room the heat hits you like you experience when you land at an airport at a holiday destination and step off the plane onto the runway. There is no escaping it. The barometers read 37 degrees at 20:30.
We had an adequate dinner and beer and then spent a few more hours in the pub across the road from the YHA. The publican was a good fella and told us about the drought Broken Hill has been experiencing now for two years. They have received half the rainfall they would normally receive in a year, just 4 inches. And that was why the kangaroos were ill and dying. We learned from him that the temperature in the Adelaide oval reached 46 degrees yesterday.
Broken Hill isn't the one road town we expected to find and it is worthy of at least two nights stay. Unfortunately we have arranged our accommodation for the next three nights so we have to adhere to our arrangements. But I would like to stay another day.
We travelled 667 kilometres from Quorn to Broken Hill.
Copyright 2003 Helen Fuller. All rights reserved.
