Surviving Wolf Creek, Part II

You already know we got to Wolfe Creek - firstly, I told you yesterday that I survived; and secondly, if we hadn't I wouldn't be writing this post, would I? Chuh. Logical thinking, really.

But the devil is in the detail, as they always say! So picture the scene, as it unfolds:

It's 530am, and I wake to a cacophony of snoring and the sound of rain pounding on the roof. It's not clear which is noisier.

I'm eminently pleased that no snake has crawled into my sleeping bag and snuggled up next to my warm body during the night, which was my primary fear; but I'm apprehensive about the rain. More rain is not good.

Out of bed and rolling up my swag, I feel my shoulders sag with disappointment. I love the Wolfe Creek crater, I've come all this way from over the other side of the country, I'm lucky enough to be working nearby which means I can do a weekend trip, I've got fantastic company on the journey with me, we've driven much further than we actually needed to in reality, and despite it all, I've got a sinking feeling that the roads are going to be rubbish and we won't get through to the crater.

It's a mere 22 kilometres away, but right at this moment it might as well be the moon.

The lead naturalist, Eddie, gives us the Weather Forecast Of Doom, which is that another 25-50mm of rain is expected today. He happily informs us that this will definitely mean the road to the crater can't be driven, certainly not, can't even be attempted; and that we might even be cut off from getting back to civilisation  -well, to Halls Creek at least- that day. Yes, a very high chance of being stranded for another night at least. The road might be closed! The creeks might flood!

(Silently, I wonder if I murder him with my Swiss army knife, could I defend myself in a court of law by arguing that he deserved it due to an overwhelming superiority and a perverse display of schadenfreude at our predicament?)

The thought of being stuck for a full day and another night with these naturalist folk (and ye gods, probably  being made to sing again - heaven help us) well, let's just say it galvanises us into action. We breakfast on scrambled eggs prepared by Snatch, ditch the washing up in favour of getting started on the trip, and pack up the cars poste-haste.

Turning down the road that leads to the crater, we're all a bit quiet in the cars. Dave and I agonise over how terrible it would be if we were to stumble at this last hurdle, when the scent of the crater is practically in our nostrils.

Neither of us can really explain the drawcard of the crater itself, though I try to describe how the thought of something that powerful and random makes me more fully aware of my insignificance in the universe, and how it's all completely by chance that we are here on this planet, living our little lives, going about our business, when it all could have been quite different. It makes me alive to the reality of how infinitessimally small our world is, and makes me profoundly grateful for simply just being here, as well as far more aware of the futility of it all. Does that make sense?

Anyway, as our philosophical discussion progresses and I grapple with trying to describe the enormity of it all, it suddenly becomes clear to us that the road we are driving on is not impassable. That it's actually quite good. Very good, in fact, when compared to the Tanami Goat Track we just got off. Much better, in fact! Drier! Considerably less muddy! All of a sudden, we feel a surge of hope that we might get there after all.

22 kilometres, some old tin sheds, an animated Dutch couple and several gates later, we're there. We're there at last! Here is a picture of some lunatic - hang on, that's Dave! What on earth is he holding in his hand??

The Aboriginals of the area tell a Dreaming story about two snakes that came out of the ground at Wolfe Creek. They say one of the snakes came from the sea, and that is why the interior circle of the crater is so salty. I knew I had good reason to worry about snakes in my sleeping bag.

Now, to bust some myths from the movie. It is NOT a three-hour walk to get into the crater. It's 400metres and about 10 minutes. And thank goodness for that, just quietly. I did not fancy a three-hour walk in the rain.

As we come up to the lip of the crater, struggling against the icy wind and the water running down the inside of our collars - the landscape falls away beneath our eyes.

Magnificent. Awe-inspiring. Astounding. We all let out coos and gasps of admiration. Snatch may even have whistled in appreciation.

Here is the Mother Hen on the very edge of it, looking down - she was the only one of us clever enough to bring some wet weather protection. (Because when does it rain at Wolfe Creek? Never! Oh, except for this weekend - of course.)

The Mother Hen wisely stays on the top of the crater, but the other three of us make our way down the rocky slopes into the great bowl of the impact site inside. It's 20 metres down to the base of the crater, but originally, the crater was six times as deep, 120 metres down.

You can clearly see how the impact pushed up the surrounding rock, and the enormous crater looks like a gigantic drop of water splashing up from the ground, frozen in time. Three hundred thousand years ago, a meteorite weighing 50,000 tonnes slammed into the ground here, and its impact literally sent ripples through the earth.

The echo inside is at least a second long.

I felt tiny inside it. Tiny, and wet.

That was the apex of the trip for me. That was my goal, my dream, my quest. Achieved now, it sits safely inside my chest and from time to time I will gently stroke it in satisfaction.

I survived Wolf Creek!

Ladies and gentlemen, I survived Wolf Creek!! (But cheekily, I left it an extra day before telling you, just to see if you'd worry. Did you?)

In actual fact, there was plenty to worry about, too. I mean, not scary serial killers from the outback - though we did end up having to camp with 15-odd "naturalists" from Perth, which was certainly scary enough, especially when they made us join in with their sing-a-long - but there was plenty else.

For starters, it rained. Not sprinkled, as you might get the occasional bit of rain during the dry season. No, it poured. For 48 hours straight.

This is unusual. Apparently they've only had rain like that in May twice during the last 20 years (so said the local expert at the service station.). And of course it had to be the weekend I finally managed to get to Wolf Creek Crater, which I have wanted to see for years, and of course it had to be the weekend we planned to camp there, OUTSIDE, and of course it had to be the weekend we wanted to project the movie onto a big screen under the stars and scare ourselves silly. Of course!

So that put a ... dampener (ha ha, oh my aching sides) on the plans, you could say. And in the Wolf Creek movie, it is raining unexpectedly too, all the characters comment on how strange that is ... and how menacing .... Coincidence? I think not.

It started on Saturday, when the four of us piled into two four wheel drives in Halls Creek - Snatch and the Mother Hen in one vehicle, Dave and I in the other. The woman at the motel desk warned us the roads would be impassable, that the police would close them down, that we wouldn't be able to drive them.

Did we listen? NO! We were going to see the crater, dammit, and this was our only opportunity!

So we headed off down the Tanami Track, which is technically called a "road" but in practical terms is more of a "disaster". I don't know if you've ever driven the roads in the top end, but generally they aren't sealed, and they're heavily corrugated, so driving over them is a bit like being jounced up and down on an incredibly uncomfortable, bumpy bit of concrete scattered with fist-sized rocks and brick-deep troughs. Go too fast and you'll burst a tyre. Go too slow and you'll judder yourself to death. Fun!

We got to the Wolf Creek crater turnoff after about an hour and a half of fun, and it started raining harder.

On investigating the large, tin abandoned station at Carranya, we discovered 15 naturalists from Perth who were also taking cover from the rain (and were much excited by a flock of woodswallows flying in).

They assured us we couldn't get to the crater in this weather, so after much consultation we decided to go on to Billiluna, the Mindibungu community about 40km south, to get a weather report about the condition of the creeks and roads, as there are a few water crossings to contend with, and in wet weather they can get pretty nasty pretty quickly, especially when novice drivers are concerned.

The Tanami had turned into foot-deep mud by this time, which meant our cars were sliding all over the road, and it would be fair to say that my knuckles turned white on occasion. Conversation kept flowing however, and Dave and I enjoyed poking a bit of light-hearted fun at the Gen-Ys in the car ahead (we are both Gen-X, you see) and the determination to stick to plan.

Down at Billiluna the town seemed deserted. Only 220 people live in it, and most of them were occupied that day with sorry business, due to recent deaths in Mulan down the road. After a brief stop (where I confess I locked all the doors in the car, just to be safe, because it seemed freakishly quiet) we continued on down the Canning Stock Route to Lake Stretch.

Slidey goat track adventure! We're having an adventure, we're having an adventure - that was the mantra for Dave and I as we mushed about through the water and foot-deep mud. Worried? Not us, no.

We headed back to the abandoned station after a quick bite to eat at Lake Stretch (where we saw a spoonbill, which was pretty cool) and it took us over an hour to drive the 40 kilometres as we slid left, right and centre over the mud swamp formerly known as the Tanami. Now I understand why some communities get totally cut off during the wet season.

Here is a picture from inside the vehicle as we plowed through the rain and mud. That's the windscreen wiper trying to clear it off.

Back at the station we wedged ourselves in beside the naturalists and enjoyed a quick, hot dinner. Yum!

It was freezing though, and I one point I had on every single piece of clothing I had with me - which included my harem pants underneath my shorts, for extra warmth. I thought longingly of the khakis and snuggly jacket hanging securely in my cupboard in Kununurra, which of course I didn't pack, because of course I wouldn't need them in Wolf Creek, where it never rains and is rarely cold. Sigh.

Then Wolf Creek on dvd in the car - not as much fun or as scary as the big screen, but then, wet and cold beggars can't be choosers - and then it was time for bed in the swag. Wearing all my clothes, including a pair of Dave's socks, because I hadn't brought any with me, because of course it doesn't rain at Wolf Creek and is rarely cold .... etc ....

It was a pretty thunderous night - between the apocalyptic snoring of the senior naturalists, and the rain drumming heavily on the metal roof, I managed to snatch only a few hours of sleep.

And before we knew it, it was morning. The rain eased off a bit. Would this be our opportunity to see the crater after all?

(to be continued ....)