“I love my boots. I love my boots. I love my boots.” The mantra reiterates in my brain as I gingerly search for footholds amongst boulders and rubble. No track, but a creek bed.


In a few months this’ll all be under water aaaand because we could!

It began with this intersection on an unknown red-dirt track, and in true random-road-tripper’s tradition, we proceeded with fate’s-flip of the coin. Heads we go left. Tails we go right.

Heads it was. Onwards, the trusty 4wd Ute carried us as far as she’d go and ended up here.

Where’s here?

No idea. Except it’s just a line on my frayed-edged map, an intersecting border for surrounding cattle stations. So, where ever here is – we’re here!

Next challenge, the dodgy-rock sidestep. There’s the RSI-risking anti-pesky-fly hand swat. The impromptu mobile pedicure from river sanded socks. Add the adrenalin fuelled wake-up-call from a couple of sun worshipping snakes. All to the tuneful screeching echo from dozens of drunken parakeets gorging on trees full of nectar-dripping sunburst-orange bottle-brushes. They sounded like the pub entertaining a CWA (Country Women’s Association) long-liquid-lunch-meeting.

But I think we found another part of paradise. Again. And not a Crocodile in sight – but a penguin.