Western Explorer or Bust ~ AUS Post #14

December 27

Intersection at the start of the Western Explorer

Today was the day we would reach the Western Explorer, dubbed the “Road to Nowhere” when it was completed in the 1990s. Where else would one go after standing at the “Edge of the World” anyway?

After following the 4WD track back to the next fish shack community, we were on bitumen until we reached the Western Explorer and then it would be gravel all the way to Corinna. The vast rolling bush land we had gazed upon from atop Milkshake Hills would engulf us and hopefully not spit us out.

As we approached the intersection with the main road we stopped to take a break at the last Tarkine sign board. As 4WD trucks, Utes and Caravans whizzed past us heading to the coast, we noticed a man contemplatively walking alongside the road. As odd as it seemed to be taking a walk on any of these roads, he casually headed across the street to inquire about our bikes and our travels. A long-time resident of the fish shack community we had passed that morning, he was out for his daily meditation walk. Before we parted ways, he warned us of the March biting flies that will be hatching along the coast in 2-3 weeks - best to stay inland was his advice. Interesting, with our change in plans, that was exactly where we were headed.

Campsite scouting - before reaching the Western Explorer. Bare spots are hard to find!

What Beneath the Water Lurks (Part 2)

After weeks of anticipating unrideable grades around every curve in the road, we finally caught a break and were able to enjoy riding through grasslands, into the forest and then back into open grasslands. A few kilometers before reaching the Western Explorer intersection we crossed Nelson Bay River again and decided to top-off our water. The rangers had assured us there were three rivers on the Western Explorer but we wouldn’t reach the first one until the following day.

This far inland the river was a slow-moving creek so we decided to cross under the bridge to see if there was a better spot where the water was visibly flowing. As I crossed under the bridge on the rocks piled up against the concrete wall ahead of Nivaun, he called out “there’s a snake!” I of course had been looking at my feet the whole time, stepping cautiously, so assumed it was somewhere else other than where we were.

But no - apparently it appeared just after I crossed the rocks, and before Nivaun had moved forward. Spooked - it slipped into the water to hide. So - one more species to add to our growing list of Tasmanian wildlife. After studying the photos, the conclusion was - a young “Lowland Copperhead”.

It’s always good to have an affirmation that the universe still wants you to live another day.

A Western Explorer Welcome

Turning onto the Western Explorer we stood in disbelief looking at the travel times. We had planned at least 3-4 days to get to Corinna at a minimum, and 3 more to get to Zeehan - motorized it would take not even an afternoon. On average our daily mileage after Arthur River was to be about 12 miles/20 km a day. However, based on the places we wanted to stop thus far, we had been doing about 7-8 kms. Realizing we were close to 20km for the first time and it was still mid-afternoon, we began to scan the roadsides more intently for a bare spot. Everything thus far had been densely covered in low-lying scrub.

After riding for a few more kilometers and still not seeing anything, Nivaun decided to walk into an area that gradually sloped away from the road and might be somewhat hidden, or at least far enough away that we wouldn’t get dusted by every passing vehicle. He returned with a meager report of possible sites and asked me to go take a look. Stepping off the dirt and into the scrub felt like walking on granola and ten times as loud. It was evident at some point a fire had swept through the area - even though the ground cover was green and dotted with a few flowers, the markings of the fire were evident. All that remained of one kind of plant was a twiggy blackened stick still standing erect about knee-high every few inches.

I casually wove my way across to inspect the potential campsite. Standing there it looked flat enough and a reasonable distance, so I returned to confirm it should work okay - no reason to be picky, when we don’t know if there is anything better further along anyway. Then I looked down at my khaki-colored shorts in dismay - it looked like I had been jousting with about a thousand charred matchsticks. Oh well, not much to do about it, we were going back in again, so what did it matter.

Needless to say, after pushing our bikes across the burnt and rutty slope, attempting to pinch and bend every pokey bit covering the ground, so we could pitch the tent. Then pitching the tent, only to realize that the bent pokey bits were still pokey. We realized it wasn’t worth ruining our tent and retreated back to the road to find anything better than that.

Of course, just a few more kilometers up the hill there was a turnoff to the airstrip that had an amazing pull-off next to a little pond with a view looking out over the entire valley. It was rocky but it was perfect - and more importantly provided me with a water source to wash my ridiculous-looking shorts. Even after our failed campsite drama, we enjoyed pizzas on the grill, saw a Wallaby on the hillside, watched the sunset and fell asleep under a star-filled sky, serenaded by the local pond frogs.

The Simple Life is SO Good…