Day 478 | 70 km north of Birdsville: still out nowhere

98 km | zzOz total: 15,179 km

Back in the dirt, only 600 km or so to go now to the South Australian asphalt, although at this point the surface is so terrific, fine crushed rock over a limestone base, no corrugations, it scarcely slows travel down.

The landscape has changed from zooming through the massive sand dunes, apparently stabilised for the last 10,000 years to a more post-apocalyptic scene of vast not muchness, grey and sparse grass, trees non-existent, the start of a preponderance of Gibber stone plains to come in Sturt’s Stony Desert.

The major scale Georgina River I camped at back in the first week in May has mysteriously been renamed Eyre Creek, how many massive rivers officially become creeks, but it’s basically turned into a series of interspaced permanent waterholes, prolific birdlife and finally some botanical specimens one could in fact safely describe as a tree without fear of contradiction.

A water tank driver stops to offer water, we both see this as a big joke, and he tells me of a major bore by the side of the road just ahead. I discover, plenty of informative signs out here, it was drilled in 1954 to a depth of 800 m, ie, a long way down, the water pours up under pressure but it’s 85ÂșC with a healthy whiff of sulphur, not so accessible, the 3 or 4 litres I grab will nevertheless be useful.

Out in the middle of the nothingness there’s an abandoned 4 room homestead, Cacoory, built optimistically in 1877 and housing people for almost 30 years until they realised their futility, the limestone walls standing and looking substantial enough to last another 135 years, but the roof is long gone, names carved into the crumbling render: Chips Smith, 1979; Ken Omara and 3 others from Blackall, 1963; W. N. Whey on 10 12 1952; M Rollo, 1948.

All a reminder how transient human experience is, long gone people irrelevant to our current hectic, perhaps pointless, existence.