It’s interesting to note that this article on the
Gunbarrel Highway mentions that it starts (heading East to West) at Giles. We did the trip way on back in 1992, and at that time the only access to the Gunbarrel was via
Warburton. We were told that the section from Giles through to where we then joined the GB Highway via
Warburton was strictly closed to tourist traffic. We were also told that the Giles/
junction section of road had not been graded since 1965 due to some aboriginal land rights deal. I gather that that situation has changed now?
In ’92, the ‘rules’ were that you rang the
police station in
Laverton to signal your intent of crossing the Gunbarrel, then rang them again from
Carnegie Station to let them know you had arrived safely. If the
Laverton Police did not hear from you within 48 hours or your ETA, rescue operations were launched.
On our trip,
Warburton was the first place in Australia that I had ever seen petrol bowsers locked up within mini cyclone-fencing. The owners of the store seemed friendly enough – the locals did not. We spent overnight in the
Warburton camp-ground. After a refreshing sleep, we attempted our trek to joining the Gunbarrel. I’m guessing here that
the junction would have been ‘
Jackie Junction’ (??). Looking at the map on this site, I get the feeling we traveled a fair way south-west of Warbuton, then North West, which would put our
intersection point to the Gunbarrel closer to
Camp Beadell. Instructions back then were rather feeble, and needless to say, we promptly got lost. We ended up in some kind of settlement; occupation 1 (we’ll, I’m assuming 1-3, as the curtains seemed to move in only place that looked like it was inhabited). The rest of the ‘town’ was numerous open ended shed-like structures that I assume were modern ‘humpies’ for whatever the town was constructed for. It looked for all intents and purposes like a ‘rodeo’ town – or perhaps the place existed for some kind of annual ‘shindig’ ?
Anyway, we managed to find a phone-box up near what looked like a rather substantial aircraft runway – the kind you could land a Herc on (or bigger). We got through to
Laverton, and they kindly helped us to back-track and get on the correct ‘track’ that finally led us to the Gunbarrel. The trip across the Gunbarrel-proper was interesting to say the least. We over-nighted at some kind of T-
intersection. Life-count so far: 5
Brumbies, 3 Camels, and 1 car. Cyclone Olivia was
well and truly forming by that stage, and one could feel that storm so far away sucking the air out of
the desert. I recall getting up in the middle of the night for a pee. I got out of the tent with my torch (a must-have when venturing out in
the desert after dark) and I was stunned by the amount of scorpions and other nocturnal creatures that were very active at that time of night. The ‘desert’ really does come to life after the stone-bleaching heat of the sun has dissipated.
After a few hours driving into the new morning, we encountered what in desert-terms would be classed as a mountain ‘range’. From the hundred or so feet above the prevailing surrounds, one could see forever in any direction. A short time later, we negotiated a T-
intersection:
Darwin thousands of km’s to the north,
Perth (via the coast) thousands of km’s to the west, and where we had come from thousands of km’s behind us. I can still remember that feeling of total isolation at the point. Like a pin-prick in a very large sheet of white paper. One really has to admire the courage of the pioneers such as Len Beadell. And or course our Indigenous people. Just to be there was a very humbling experience. The sheer vastness of the central western desert is truly awe-inspiring.
When we finally exited the Gunbarrel, it was stinking hot, so we refueled at
Carnegie Station, and decided to press on towards
Gascoyne Junction. That’s when I finally decided to use the fuel in the 6 jerry-cans I had kept up on the roof-racks as insurance. And we finally had a good wash from the 40lt of fresh
drinking water we had been advised to take as backup. What an
oasis Gascoyne turned out to be. Some green grass, a ‘
camp ground’ at the rear of the pub, and plenty of cold beer. The local ‘copper’ doubled as a bar-keep, and it was great to be back in ‘civilization’ once again. I think I almost drowned in the shower. Officially, the trek across the famous ‘
Gunbarrel Highway’ was complete.
My (then new) ’92 Landcruiser handled the trip most admirably. The unique thing about the Gunbarrel was that I could not find a speed that the car would travel comfortably at. From 2 kmh to 120, I couldn’t find that ‘sweet spot’ where the car would just shimmy over the ruts. The poor old girl just shook and rattled her way across one of the most desolate yet beautiful sections of road in this vast land called Australia. Oh, and special thanks to the people at Giles and
Warburton, who kindly pointed out that if you anything, and I mean * anything * on the road in front of you, slow down. There was an old tyre carcass with a branch chokked-up vertically like a tent pole – signaling the single deepest and widest road wash-out I have ever seen. It would have gobbled-up my 4WD like an oyster. Then there was a car-battery that alerted me to another deadly chicane. A big thankyou to those that had trekked-on before me and left subtle hints of potentially harmful road conditions.