Canning Stock Route - Catching up with the old crew, the haunted well & the high country

Sunday the 14thJune, 2009
Copse of Acacia on the track east of well 36 - CSR

An interesting day. The morning bought a biting wind out of the east so I opted for a Dingos brekky (a pee, a scratch and a look around) to get on the track early hoping to head south and make Kurnawarritji tomorrow. I was packed and away by 06.45 and plunged back into the overgrown crap, to complete the 17 odd kilometres back to the Canning. On reaching the intersection, I crawled under the car and did a spinifex check before heading south again into a beautiful morning. I decided to go looking for the faintly signposted Gunowarba Native Well but the track petered out after a kilometre or so. I peformed a circular search pattern in an effort to locate the track but it was gone. Defeated I returned to the Canning to continue south again.


At Well 40, Waddawalla, I joined Mr Tobin on the hill above, visiting his lonely grave and later the well and attached salt lake. What a difference a few short years make. In 2006, on my first visit to the well, the entire area was a sea of water. The water was 45 centimentres deep across the salt lake was licking the edges of the surrounding dunes. Now the lake surface sported a dry crust of salt that was solid enough to walk across. The only water that remained was the muddy remnants at the bottom of a camel scoured furrows. A well worn path left by countless dingo paws easily defining their daily route to water from the nearby dunes.





On the road south again and I was soon on the shores of Lake Tobin where the vast flat expanse provided excellent radio reception. I heard a couple of vehicles transmitting that they were heading north and surprisingly, a familiar accent of the Captain also. I caught the trailer-less GQ with The Captain driving and George in the Passengers seat. George explained that they were having a lay day in the desert oak camp area on the lakes southern edge. As I drew closer I heard the familiar voice over the UHF of Suzette. It appeared that she and John were heading south as well. Somewhat confused I called into the camp site to find Maureen & Michael. It was great to see my old my old travelling companions. It seemed that the inevitable had happened and Mr Magic had decided to head out due to his time constraints. They had had all sorts of difficulties getting one of the vehicles and its heavily laden trailer over the numerous dunes. It had had to be snatched several times and it appeared that the MRF tyres on the vehicle had been run at extremely low pressures allowing sand to get past the beads into the tyre, soon destroying the tubes. I bade my farewells to a tense camp and headed south chasing the desert dinghy. Over the dunes and swales I ploughed finally catching the crew at Well 38. It was great to see them and I think they were very relieved to be away. We had a look round 38 and the rock holes and carvings before heading on as a convoy of two.


We headed south to Well 37 “libral” or the Haunted Well as it is often referred to. Near Well 37 are the graves of Thomson, Shoesmith, Chinaman and McLernon. This collection of grave sites led it to become known as the Haunted Well, although there is no record of any ghost sightings at this remote location. In 1911 there was a droving party driving one of the few mobs of cattle to ever actually use the stock route from Halls Creek to Wiluna. A tribe of local Aborigines attacked the drovers killing Christopher Shoesmith, James Thompson and an Aboriginal stockman known as Chinaman. The Aboriginals took exception to the cattle drinking from their native wells and destroying their good sources of water. The fourth grave is that of John McLernon. McLernon was a member of an oil prospecting company who lost his life on the track about 50km to the south of Well 37 in 1922. It is a sad reminder of just how harsh and dangerous the deserts could be to the unsuspecting.


In the confusion of tracks around Well 36 we ended up on the eastern most, and least used section of the Canning. This took us out of the sand dune country and onto the higher gibber plains and their thick scrub. It was very windswept, the breezes of the desert seeming to pick up speed as they swept upwards across the rocky rises. A decent campsite was becoming hard to locate. We finally pulled off into the shelter offered by a copse of spindly acacia and had a fire and dinner. Over a refreshing beverage or three around the fire, I caught up on all the gossip and the dramas of the few days. Plenty of drinks round the fire with Mrs Incredible dosing off in the chair at one point. It is a cold night with the wind adding a chill factor as well. I’ll be climbing into the Gumby suit (Selkbag) for sure tonight.

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