5000 km, 2700 nm.

The View from Mt. Hopeless - 1998

“ Cheerless and hopeless was the prospect before us….," is what the explorer John Eyre wrote in 1840 after he climbed this little pimple of a hill (413 ft) to have a look at the view. And then he named it Mt. Hopeless…..

Mt. Hopeless. What a name! When I spot an intriguing feature like that on a map, I just have to have a look for myself! But that's not so easy for this one; it's between the Flinders ranges and Lake Blanche, in that remote northern part of South Australia. This is a perfect job for my Beaver ultralight.

Once again I was flying outback in my little ultralight - a 14 year old single-seat Spectrum Beaver , with 1300 hours on the clock. It's been much modified for this sort of travel, and has already taken me on some great adventures inland. It's well-equipped for remote area flying, with the VHF and UHF radio, ELT, GPS, some lightweight camping gear, a bit of tucker, and a waterbag slung underneath.

It’s fully enclosed and is very comfortable for long hours in the air, with places to keep maps, notebooks, camera, ‘comfort bottle’, water bottle, and meusli bars. Range is about 250 miles at 50 kts, or 300 nm at 42 kts. With the takeoff and landing of only about 50m, it's almost as good as a helicopter for such exploring.

Even with such a short landing roll, the prospects aren’t looking to good as I approached Mt Hopeless - it was rough gibber (stoney) country down there, too rough for even this heavy-duty landing gear. But, darned if I didn't luck out again – there’s a dozer track running right across the flank of the mountain (probably an old shot line for seismic oil exploration); but it sure looks narrow from up here. Skimming along the track, it is pretty narrow, only about 2 m wide, with mounds of loose rock on either side, some washouts and a strong crosswind. I'm going to have to do this just right or it will be mess!

Go round and set up again, skimming just above the surface, holding it off with power, getting the feel of the crosswind, aileron into wind to keep the track, opposite rudder to keep lined up, one wing way down, watching the track ahead for a smooth stretch. There it is, chop the power, up-wind main wheel touches down right on the line, when the other main comes down the wind takes over, veering towards the rock wall now, poke that nosewheel down to get control. On with the brakes and skid to a stop. Whew, we made it. Take a deep breath, and then that adrenaline rush of relief hits!

Narrow and very rough edges....

That's the little pimple named Mt Hopeless.

Scramble up the mountain before sunset to have a look at this historic view. The salt pans of Lake Blanche and Lake Callabonna are just visible in the far distance - it was this site that looked hopeless to John Eyre, because it looked to him like they joined up and blocked his exploration to the north.  But when I was there, recent rain had put a blush of green on the land, and wet clouds in the sky promised to do it again tonight, so the view was looking distinctly ‘hopeful’ when I saw it.

Thunder and showers in the night and a very red ‘sailors warning’ in the morning. No time for a coffee; a really dark rainstorm is headed straight this way. Blast off down the dozer track, then go way south around the storm.  Can’t get across to the StrzeleckiTrack like I had planned - sure glad I topped up with fuel late yesterday at Moolawatana Station. Lots of fuel is always a good safety factor, so now I can go away off my planned route and still make it to the next fuel at Marree.

Marree was the end of the railway line that carried cattle to southern markets.

The cattle were driven along the Birdsville Track to get on the railhead here.

This is the turn-around and the old cattle yards.

Now the cattle go by truck directly from the properties to market.

Then flew north along the historic Birdsville Track where all those cattle used to walk, 

now a fine highway.

Tied up to the hitching rail at Mungeranie Pub

Excellent burgers here.

Another of those spots on the map that's been intriguing me for a long time is Lake Eyre - 15 m below sea level. So here I am, skimming along about a foot above the lake, the altimeter needle showing below zero! (I normally avoid the temptation of low-flying, but this is just had to be an exception - at least there won't be any power lines out here!)

But no time to watch the altimeter; must concentrate on not touching the surface. It looks hard right here, but often that skin is only as thick as a skin on a custard, and underneath the mud is the same consistency as custard. Several aircraft have come to grief on the salt lakes in the past. One guidebook says, "…The passengers got out all right, but the aircraft is now a small salt encrusted island….). Wouldn't want my precious little ultralight ending up like that, so with this image in mind, I'm being extra careful.

But of course I really wanted to land on that surface.  That salt has been thick enough to support race cars, so if I could determine how firm it is now it might be feasible to land. So I landed on the shoreline, and that was soft enough to be alarming, but managed it.

Then I set up camp and walked out on the lake under a brilliant full moon, carrying my sleeping bag and some food, intending to spend the night way out near the middle so that I could wake up next morning with no sight of solid land.  Had to back-track and detour many times to get past soft muddy portions, but finally found an area of really solid salt four hours out in the middle. I had carried my GPS and marked that spot on it. I wish I'd brought a mattress, since the surface is sharp and pebbled and very uncomfortable..... In the morning I could just see some hilltops in the distance, then walked 4 hrs back to the aircraft.

Long shadow walking back at sunrise.
Note the texture of the salt.

Then took off and flew out to the GPS mark and landed on the salt. Very smooth and solid, and exhilarating!  What a buzz!

On the salt.

Took off and headed south toward the Oodnadatta track. Then, right in front of me are a group of really distinctive tabletop mountains. I always wanted to land on such a mountain, and these look just right!

I picked one with a likely looking landing site and checked it out - level, no obstructions, looks firm and fairly smooth, no wind, no thermals and it's long enough. So I needed to touch down near the edge to get the smoothest part - so here goes. If this goes wrong and I damage the aircraft it would be a difficult recovery. No vehicle tracks anywhere near, and no way to get a vehicle up on this mesa. Would need a lot of dozer work, and no helicopter anywhere near..... Gotta get this right.....

The approach to a landing on an elevated site like this is a bit unnerving. Because the terrain under the final approach is a couple hundred feet below the touchdown point, the usual sense of a ‘point of expansion’ is missing. We normally don't realize how much we subconsciously use that point of expansion, and the changing angles around it, to govern our landing approach. In this case it's sort of like aiming for a point in space - one instant 200 feet above the terrain with the cliff face coming toward you, the next instant the ground rushing by and feeling for the touchdown.

I haven't found anyone with real experience in such situations to advise the best method. I tried a long flat powered approach, but an up-draft up the cliff face boosted me just enough that I couldn't make the touchdown point. A downdraft instead (very possible in a mountain terrain like that) would have been frightening indeed! It seems to me that the best approach is a steep, slipping, 180° turn from downwind, with a very short final - always focused on the touchdown point.

This has several advantages over a straight in approach: - avoids having to approach the cliff head on: - gives a much better sense of height perception above the landing area directly below, able to adjust the slip rate rather than power to control glide path; - not dependent on power to make the strip; - if need to abort the approach, just straighten out the turn and the aircraft is headed out over the valley, rather than having to turn away from steeply rising ground.

This approach worked really well with lots of control, so I touched down right on the spot. W-a-a-a-hoo! Nearly sundown, so quickly tied down and gather some firewood, then explore my little elevated kingdom. Definitely no 4WD or motorbike has ever been up those crumbling cliffs - not even any sign of cattle having been up here; they probably couldn’t climb up here. Only some empty rabbit burrows and an abandoned eagle's nest right on the edge. It's quite possible that no other white man has ever been up here – no reason to make the effort…..

I then mixed up a damper and sat by the fire to savour such possibilities while a highflying jet, still lit by the sun, left a glowing trail across the darkening sky - spectacular! Australia sure is a great place to go adventuring.

While the damper bakes.

Main course and billy of tea.

Then flew south to have a look at the Olympic Dam uranium mine site.

Those colours in the waste pits look pretty but very toxic....

Then on to Woomera. Woomera is/was a weapons test range shared with the British and Americans for rocket testing. In the 1950s and 1960s it was the second most active rocket range after Cape Canaveral. Now it's pretty much inactive. I had met a Drifter flyer at Birdsville who told me that he flew his aircraft out of there these days, so I assumed it would be allowed for me to land there. I called on the correct radio frequency and got no answer so continued in to land. The airfield guidebook stated, "Immediately on landing taxi to the control tower...", which I did. But the tower looked all decrepit, with broken wall paneling, etc. It was blowing a gale so I taxied over to the lee of an enormous hangar. It also looked decrepit, with drifted sand blocking the doors. It was starting to feel like a sci-fi movie, when two utes with flashing lights came roaring up. The security guards wanted to know what I thought I was doing on this military base without permission. Turns out I hadn't taken notice of the statement in the airfield guide that stated, "Prior Permission Required!" When I told them about the Drifter flyer they said they knew him, and stopped barking like guard dogs, and before long offered to let me stay. But who knows if some higher authority might want to report my error, so I headed away again.....

It was too late in the day to get to another airfield so I found a back road and landed and tie-down out of the wind behind some bushes. Then set up my little camp and felt much safer there.

The next night after flying into Quorn, South Australia, was quite a contrast!! After three weeks of sleeping on the hard ground with minimum camping gear, I'm now in a deep soft bed with crisp clean sheets and warm cozy quilt, with a good hot dinner and a couple of rums in the belly, and the sound of a cold rain on a tin roof - Bliss!! I made it here just ahead of the dark, threatening weather front that had been chasing me all the way from Woomera.

It's the Queens Birthday long weekend and I came here to join in a gyrocopter fly-in that I'd heard about. There are a lot of gyros around Broken Hill and these parts of South Australia, so I thought it was a good chance to have another look at them.

Next day out at the strip it was blowing a full 20 knots, mostly crosswind. But at least the strip was on top of a hill, with no trees around, so it so it was a good clean crosswind. Gyros love flying in the wind, because it helps to spin up their rotors for takeoff, and of course we all know that gyros fliers other love is rubbishing ultralights, claiming that we can't fly in the wind at all (they must think we're still flying the basic Scouts). They did their usual gyro routines of hovering above the airfield and setting down with no landing role at all, even able to land backwards in this wind.

Well now, I couldn't just sit there and watch them showing off and having all the fun. So I unloaded that long-range fuel, spare oil, camping gear, water, survival gear, etc., and went out to match them on equal terms. Takeoff was about 20 m and climb out was spectacular against the cold wind. At 500 feet the wind was even stronger, so when I headed straight into it and set up in a power on stall, just hanging on the prop, I could hover just about as well as they could.

I did a crosswind touch-and-go on one wheel with one wing way down and good control, then came around and set up to land directly into wind, across the strip. Got it just right - the aircraft was right at the stall, wanting to set down on the rocks about a meter short of the strip, but dragged it on with a bit of power and sat down right at the edge. Then hard on the brakes and skidded to a stop with still enough strip width left to turn and taxi back - landing role about 10 m. That'll show them what ultralights can really do!  Now I’d better quit while I'm still ahead, before I get too cheeky and screw up in front of this critical audience.

Sure, the gyros can set down almost no roll (and I envy them for that), but even in this wind they still had to roar down the runway for a l-o-n-g way to get off the ground. And I'm told that if the strip is too rough it can start the rotor flapping to destruction. If I'd been flying a gyro for these past three weeks, there's no way I could've enjoyed all those out landings at exotic spots like the dozer track at Mt. Hopeless, the little tabletop mountain, numerous little claypans between the sand dunes, and all those rough and rocky gibber flats.

When the gyros can take off from a rough strip in 100 m, no wind, carrying fuel for at least 250 nm, plus camping gear, water, etc., then I'll be interested. Till then I'll stay with my fixed wing ultralight. Of course, the really handy part at about a gyro is that it packs easily into a small trailer, so to travel you can drive long distances and then fly locally.

Of course you can then carry lots of other stuff along, like more tools, a proper swag, a beer fridge, the kitchen sink, etc., etc. (but I'm not sure that's an advantage - I like to travel light.) I guess it's ‘horses for courses’.

And next day the wind was straight from the south, and really cold, so it's time to head back north to the tropical paradise of Queensland. Up past Wilpena Pound and along the west side of the Flinders Ranges. I hadn't realized just how spectacular these mountains are - towering a wild and rugged 3000 feet above the flat plain just a couple miles away! Vivid examples of all sorts of geological formations - synclines and anticlines, straight out of the geology textbooks.

But with this tailwind they’re soon all behind and once again I'm out over that totally flat plain that seems to go on for ever, headed up the Strzelecki Track.

Outback Australia is not nearly as empty and uninhabited as is usually portrayed in the city. There are cattle or sheep grazing over most of it and that means water points aren’t too far apart - dams, bores, etc.  I like to follow main roads wherever possible - it just makes such good sense to have a continuous runway down there, with passing traffic that can lend assistance if necessary. But if I do go cross country, I take special note of the water points as I pass them and the tracks that connect them to the homesteads.

Sometimes I mark them on the map, but mostly just keep the last one in mind and watch for the next one, just as you do for likely outlanding sites on any flight. Driving through the outback you don't see many water points, but flying it 2000ft there’s nearly always at least one water point visible, when you know what to look for.

But not here; this is the most desolate country I've seen yet.  It’s that salt lake country around Lake Blanche.  Not a cattle track to be seen anywhere; every waterhole has a salt rhyme around; the whole countryside has the salty look about it. Station homesteads are marked on the WAC charts and those near here tell the history – Montecollina (ruins) and Carraweena (ruins). Seeing the country as it looks now, it's hard to imagine how someone could ever have had the optimism, or desperation, to have even tried to make a go of it down there.

 I had hoped to get across to Cameron’s Corner and into tropical Queensland tonight, but the wind is now around the southeast, so I'd be pushing a headwind and pushing last light, with little fuel and water to spare. Better rethink those plans….. Wanting to get to a chosen destination and trying to stick rigidly to a plan can often be really dangerous in cross-country flying - you must always reassess those plans as conditions change.

It's only about 55 nm across to the Corner, but half of that is no track with only very rough landing sites, and no water points at all. If everything goes alright it'd be easy, but if any one factor goes wrong it could be desperate - not worth the risk. So I land near Strzelecki Creek Crossing and find a cozy campsite for the night.

Next morning I walk by the creek for a few miles, checking waterholes, but they're all too salty to drink from. I fly over and land beside the main road to wait for a vehicle with some water to spare. I had enough left for the day, but to go across that waterless section I wanted to have a full load.

The first vehicle was on his way south from the gas fields farther north, but only had a litre bottle half-full of water and a couple of warm beers; he'd better keep those for himself. A couple of hours later a city tourist is heading north, in the classic outback tourist rig - new four-wheel drive, big tires, special off-road trailer loaded with jerry cans of fuel and water and spares for every emergency.

He was really disappointed with his adventure so far, because the so-called Strzelecki track is really a fine highway, carrying big trucks at speed between Adelaide and the Moomba gas field. The so-called Birdsville track is a similar highway, with big road trains hurrying cattle to market. On both of them you’re more likely to be run over by a truck or a tourist than die of thirst! Anyhow I made his day, because he can now tell them back home how he rescued a stranded ultralight flyer in the Strzelecki Desert and gave him some water…..

It was still bitterly cold, just like everyone told me South Australia would be at this time of year (actually I'd been really perfect right up until these last few days) so I was really eager to get back into Queensland.

We've all seen those tourist ads on TV so we know that Queensland is a balmy tropical paradise, right? So it was a bit disappointing to arrive at Cameron's Corner, where the borders of Queensland, South Australia and New South Wales all intersect) and find no bananas and palm trees!  Just barren desert country, with a long straight fence going east to the horizon, and another going north-south, marking the state boundaries.  The cold wind blew right through them into Queensland.  Such is life……..

Looking from the South Australian side of the north-south border,

with the border between Queensland and NSW disappearing to the east.

Got fuel from the Corner Store then on to Milparinka Pub. A steak and a couple of beers and a $10 room, very welcome.

Parked at Milparinka Pub.

Then on and on and on, riding this tailwind headed for home.
Camped in a paddock near Bourke, then an 8 hr day to get home right at sundown.

Back home in the hangar.

Didn't have my car at the airfield so walked 5 km into town for a lamb roast at the pub. Then walking back cross-country in the dark, found some drunken shooters spot-lighting rabbits on the airfield. Spotlights sweeping around and rifles firing all directions, so I had to hunker down in a gully and keep my head down until they went away. Now I know how a fox feels sometimes......