Bramwell

After leaving the home that had become Chilli Beach, we again headed inland onto the Penisular Development Road, a dusty, potholed track that passes for the main highway in these parts. At first drivein on the Cape is quite terrifying, especially the complete blindness that ensues after you passes another vehicle in the billfish, but it a amazing how one acclimatises to the prevailing conditions one is faced with. We used handheld radios to alert the other two vehicles following as to any hazards and managed to climb up to around 100kms and hour for most of the journey. It's a good thing, too, as most distances between stops are extensive. This was just a short drive of around 210km. We arrived at the wonderful Bramwell Station around 1.30 and the boys settled themselves in to and afternoon of drinking, charging batteries, washing and relaxing. John, never one to sit still for long, decided he'd prefer not to waste the day, and so set off to bag himself a big Barra! One of the locals gave him a tip for a good fishing spot, a mere 32 km of diabolical track away, and off he set. At around sunset, I was beginning to wonder whether a search and rescue party should be organized, when I heard the familiar growl of the little Pathy on it's way back to camp. John had triumphed! He bagged himself a good sized barramundi, and was really happy. He'd had a proper adventure, and it was a well deserved drink for JC that night.

Other highlights of BRamwell were the hospitality of Kalina and Dick, the horseshoe game, cold beers, camp showers with cane toads, washing machines, termite mounds, Birdy the brolga and donga accommodation. SJC