Day 390 | Pascoe River crossing: now that's a crossing
46 km | zzOz total: 11,178 km
Gloomy.
Drizzle, most of the night.
Gerry, who was older, wiser, reckoned the weather would improve back over the Gap and although I wrapped up a sopping tent, as he predicted, that was the last of the precipitation for the day.
I loved that road through the rainforest early on, just dripping, the road a red gash against the green of the jungle. One sight as I stopped, a troupe of wild black pigs, 4 adults and about 10 piglets grunted then marched in close formation across the road. I spotted one of the endemic carnivorous plants, kind of like a green test tube with a closeable lid.
But the highlight of the day was staring on Frenchmans Track, going back to what travel must have been like in olden times, ie, more than 25 years ago, the area only having been opened up to tourist flows in very recent years. This was Rough Stuff 101, sand, but often rideable, rocky, sometimes not, even some decent double trail.
The most exciting part was the drop into the Pascoe River and the crossing.
Three 4WDs were having some fun after negotiating the river doing the climb out: moral of that story, it takes a lot longer if you are towing a camping trailer and it had better be robust.
I ended up having to cross the waist deep supposedly croc infested river 9 times on my lonesome, taking various components of my caravan each trip: panniers x 2; big red trailer bag; yellow trailer bag; trailer; and ultimately the bike. I was relatively calm until the last crossing when I finally, unexpectedly, lost the relaxed approach and broke into a cold sweat.
it looks exactly like what a river containing large crocodiles would look like.
Yeah, I’m wandering waist deep across a big river known to contain large crocodiles at times. What am I doing?
Just over the other side I then got to see how those monstrous machines tackle a boulder infested river, the water up the doors, exhaust pipe gurgling away, etc, the 4WDs fully engaged with the 4 spare crew standing waist deep in the river, which has a fair flow, human markers of the worst of the obstacles. Much shouting, swearing and carrying on by the fully testosterone charged blokes.
It was major entertainment. Safety in numbers, though.