Murchison

The distances in this part of the world continue to catch us out. We are now on night five of what was meant to be a two night tour through Kennedy and Mt Augustus. We find ourselves in Murchison, famous for being the shire without a town. Apparently the shire is 26 properties and 180 people covering 50000 square kilometres. Which makes it all the more surprising that we are in a caravan park all by ourselves, in the middle of three polo fields. That perhaps isn’t so surprising as we only passed three cars all day in over 400km. What is surprising is the level of the facilities. There is a brand new roadhouse with restaurant (opened 4 weeks ago), shower block, camp kitchen actually with a sink with hot water, new paving, grass and quite nice landscaping. Curious really since we have only seen 4 other people since we have been here and we are the only paying guests.

I said we find ourselves here as it wasn’t really a destination, and is a little off the route. At the turnoff a poll of the back seat said that a visit to the centre of the shire was a worthwhile 20km diversion. When nearly there there was a further 20km diversion to a jumpup with views over the plains. As it was late we satisfied ourselves with the view from the base, and a quick tour of the nearby homestead outstation. However, while there I noted one of the tyres was a little down. On reinflating, the tell-tale hiss pointed to a puncture. Being not far from a campground, we decided to make our way there as the leak was slow. So Murchison became our destination for the night.

The puncture turned out to be a simple one, courtesy of a screw in the tread. Hopefully my repair will hold with no further ill-effect, as I found it before the tyre pressure had fallen too low. However, while checking the other tyre pressures since I had the compressor out, I noted something concerning on the other side of the rear. It seems I may have found out why we get so much dust in the back. A welded seam above the right rear tyre seems to have separated, probably as a consequence of the failed shockie and bump stop. Yet something else to get sorted in Perth.

The day’s travel was through very isolated country. Not surprising really since the country looked entirely unsuited to any pastoral pursuit. Rock farms were the order of the day. Even the wet roads petered out. Murchison has apparently had only 30mm all year, and no meaningful rain in three years. The bores are keeping the grass here green. In 1992, 60mm hailstones covered the ground 150mm deep stripping and killing vast stands of wattle which have not been able to recover on the rain since. The head photo of this entry is a relic from this time, too dry to rot. The historic interest for the day centred around a flying fox over a river to keep a mail run going when the rains came, and a story about a truck driver so incensed by the indignity of having to open and close 100 gates that he used to just barge through them in his truck, until the landowners fought back with radiator-piercing armour on the gates. He then employed an aboriginal boy that was expected to jump out of the moving truck, open the gate, close it again, then run to catch up as the truck would not stop. The tough country sure made for tough characters. The female occupant of the outstation near here, plucked from a comfortable town life to a bush marriage, was told she “would need a good hat”. What they didn’t tell her was that she would go 12 months without female European company. (1920’s)

This country was opened up on the promise of good grazing. Indeed, some seasons were good, with over 150000 head of stock moved on the routes in some years. This required a network of bores and wells  which were sunk in the 1890s. They remained in use until motorised transport took over in the 1950s and 1960s. There was still water in this well, covered as it was by a heavy lid. The site was restored by 4wd clubs for its historic interest.