The fourth of July was a special day for many reasons.  Yes, it is significant for Kathy, John and all the half Aussie/half Americans in the group.  But it was also our sixth day since we left the relative comfort of Oodnadatta – which seemed like a year ago – and the day we  finish our trip across the Simpson Desert.  Tonight we will end up in the iconic Queensland town of Birdsville.  But it also means that today we were going to cross the largest sand dune of the desert – Big Red.

The sand dunes in this far eastern section of the desert were tightly packed and quite large.  The sand was starting to dry out as the days go by without rain and the tops of them were softer so there was always a risk of bogging before the crest.  And everywhere we looked there were beautiful flowers, mainly yellow and white, oceans of them.  Dune after dune we crested, great views from the top of each one, vast expansions of flowers in all directions.  We stopped for many photos along the way and there was almost a sense of trying to prolong this experience as we all knew we were reaching the end of this great adventure.

But it wasn’t just flowers.  Many times we would crest yet another sand dune (who’s counting these things?) and there would be another wide dry salt bed looming across our path.  Usually they were quite harmless and fun to drive across.  Here’s a short video from my dash-mounted Go Pro of us crossing some of these dry salt lake beds.

After enjoying the desert in its fully glory all morning we came to Eyre Creek,  a wide large creek with many streams that can spread out over 20 kms in the wet season, the track dipping down and across the dry muddy beds lined with the first gums we had seen in a week.  We stopped next to one of these dry watercourses for an enjoyable lunch and then pushed on towards Big Red.

In the lead vehicle Julie and I crested one of the largest dunes of the day and from the top had a panoramic view of a boggy wet salt bed below us and beyond it, sprawled out across the horizon like a monstrous snake, was Big Red.  Rising 40 metres from its base, it towered above any sand dune we had seen all week and had much less vegetation on it than we had seen before.  Running up its side were numerous tracks where vehicles had tried to cross its forbidding walls.  And even from a distance we could see dozens of vehicles massing at its base, waiting their turn while drivers attacked the steep long dune slope.  It was a desert spectacle to behold.

We carefully crossed the boggy salt flats, no good to get stuck in front of dozens of fellow travellers, then parked at the base of this majestic monster, literally the last dune crossing the desert, and watched in awe as vehicle after vehicle chose their path and gunned it for the top.  In most cases the truck would fail to make it, grinding to a stop in the deep soft sand, sheepishly having to back down the slope.  On occasion a truck would claw its way over the last edge and pop out on top, to be met by a mighty cheer from the crowd at the base and those lining the top lip.  Only the best could pass this ultimate desert test.

Birdsville was on the other side of Big Red so one way or another every vehicle had to get over the top.  Luckily there were easier tracks off to the right of us but the challenge – and fun – was to aim your rig at one of the longer and steeper tracks, gear down and have a go. After studying the situation a bit there appeared to be one of the steeper tracks that was slightly more ‘doable’ than the others.

As the first truck I let my tyres down a bit more, dropped the mighty Cruiser into its lowest gear, drew a deep breath and hit the peddle.   The V8 Turbo Diesel raced up the lower slopes and made good progress in the middle section but as we neared the final pitch the slope became very steep, the sand very soft and the ruts from previous vehicles very deep.  The spare tyre under the Cruiser proved its value as a plow once again and our faithful warrior grinded its way to an agonising stop.  I backed down the dune but a second try had the same result and I returned to flatter ground, beaten.

Zach was in the next truck, the same 70 Series that was used to pull out the bogged truck in the lake the previous day, and he geared down and floored it up the slope.  This truck had a huge heart to go with its massive engine and with Zach’s perfect handling it grinded and spun its way up the slope and popped out on top – a mighty conqueror of Big Red.

Well done to Zach as there were cheers all around, the crowd appreciating the accomplishment.  And try as we might with all our other vehicles, one after another, no one else could make it to the top, all rejected at various stages of the climb.  But at least we had one truck and driver in the Cool Convoy who slayed the beast.

 

We eventually all got to the top of Big Red via the easier track, still a long difficult technical climb and probably the toughest dune of the trip, posed for photos and took in this amazing view with its party atmosphere.  We had crossed the Simpson Desert and we were standing triumphantly on top of Big Red.  That moment was the overall highlight of the entire trip for me.

 

For another view of Big Red check out this great video Will did from his drone.

Back down the other side, we pulled out the compressors to re-inflate our tyres which had been running on low air for a week, then drove into historic Birdsville.  Birdsville usually has about 120 residents and it passes away most days in a quiet desert sleepy sort of way.  But twice a year it comes alive, bursting at the seams with people and activity, transforming itself from minnow to monster.  One of those times is for the famous Birdsville Races and the other time is for a huge music festival called the Big Red Bash.  And we had landed in Birdsville on day one of this frenetic event.

Our first stop was to pick up fuel, our spare fuel containers empty and our tanks running low after six days of crossing sand dunes, then we pushed our way through town and out into the paddock to set up camp with the other 7,000 (no exaggeration) people who were in town.  This was like a huge refugee camp, people sprawled out everywhere, all sorts of different vehicles and camping gear, quite a shock to the system after almost a week of solitude and wide open spaces in the desert.

As the sun went down we drove into town and walked into the Birdsville Hotel, famous in song and legend as a place full of character and charm for those who have travelled a long way in search of a cold beer.  We had a beer or two amongst the large crowd, taking in the atmosphere and savouring this special moment, then enjoyed a top feed from the outdoor bistro.  It was a great evening, the atmosphere of this crowded hotel, the buzz amongst us for completing our primary objective, knowing it was a job well done.  We had a lot of adventures still ahead of us but we had conquered the Simpson Desert.