By : Dave Simpson

Have a great time' said our non flying friends. 'Good luck' said the ones who flew. There is a telling difference between the two valedictions.

Richard Hollamby, a Fleaplanes Balerit owner (G-MYXL), Flea fanatic and Sussex hop farmer, had the whacky idea of shipping out a pair of Fleas to Australia, flying them coast to coast from Perth to Brisbane, then shipping them back again. Mervin Whapham, another Sussex farmer and Balerit owner, was to fly with him, while I was to share the flying with Phillip Baker in his Balerit, (G-MZPB); Phillip is yet another Sussex farmer.

Several weeks of clever jiggery pokery from Richard saw the Fleas, with their front wings swung round through 900 , carefully stowed in a 12m container on 11 August, eclipse day. They arrived in Perth four weeks later, Richard, his wife Dorothy and Mervin flew out in the last week of September to supervise customs clearance and other nugatory bureaucratic work, as well as organising transport and unloading at Bunbury. (They were not helped by the shipping company and the Australian transport company falling out with each other).

Bob Silver is an Australian microlight instructor who lives in Noosa, north of Brisbane, and who had wanted to fly his Airborne Edge trike on this route for several years; his wife Joan and friend Alan drove Bob's Winnebago for our ground support. Part of our plan was to raise money for the Macmillan Nurse Appeal and Lowrance, the GPS people, gave us a second Airmap 300, complete with Australian ground maps, to complement my own. The XL crew swore blind that all they needed was a compass and map and that these new-fangled GPS things were just too complicated and shouldn't be trusted.

Early Departure

At Bunbury, our start point, XL Chief navigator Mervin is, very grudgingly, forced by me to use the Airmap after we see there are just no landmarks by which to navigate (and the XL's compass doesn't work). The only buttons Mervin has ever touched are the ones on his shirt so there's some way to go to shoehorn him into this technology.

We set off from Bunbury early on Monday 4 October with four local pilots to see us off. With brilliant visibility, a couple of stops at Boyup Brook (where even one of the locals got lost) and Frankland, and a 10kt tailwind at 4000 ft, we completed the 154nm run to Albany on the coast. Flying microlights in Australia in October is best done very early in the morning before the thermals get cross. We would (eventually) be rising at 5 am to be in the air by 6 and aiming to land for breakfast by 9 am. (Australian breakfasts are major events in which we liked to participate in a wholehearted way).

Five hours flying the following day, 5 October, saw us in Esperance on the coast, via Jerramungup and Ravensbrook, a total of 245nm. The stop at Jerramungup was interesting; the chart showed the strip clearly at a point southwest of the town and we overflew the areas several times looking for it.

Australian bush strips are all dirt but mostly they're recognisable unless there's also dirt surrounding them - then it gets tricky. Some have markings and some even have windsocks, always weatherbeaten. At Jerramungup Boy landed on (and we followed) what I considered to be a partially cleared, bush strewn track, claiming with certainty that this was the strip. An hour later a friendly Oz in a truck stopped off to talk to the only people he'd seen in the last year and told us that we'd landed on the old strip, abandoned years ago and replaced by a smart new job on the other side of town. We scuttled off there.

On 5 October each year, Ravensbrook hosts the Annual Australian Bush Fly Convention when all the flies in Australia, and I'm convinced many millions from other continents, gather together to exchange gossip, enter races, and fly into the eyes, noses, ears (and any other available orifice) of human beings. There are seminars on dung quality, rapid swat escape techniques and nuisance enhancement. We departed as soon as we could to leave them to it, taking off into a howling and hot westerly which gave us a 20mph tailwind. When we arrived at Esperance it was clear, pretty and able to provide us with accommodation, beer and a Chinese dinner.

Due to dip angle changes and mass compensation, a northern hemisphere compass does not work properly in the southern hemisphere. We hadn't considered this when we packed our Silvas and Richard's compass card tilted so much that it was unusable; we fortunately found a replacement, the last one, in a chandlers in Esperance. After a photo shoot round the harbour, and a couple of hours to let the turbulence subside, we headed off to our next stop, Norseman, 102nm away and on the edge of the Nullarbor Desert.

Going north from the coast began an eerie landscape of part-dried salt lakes, multicoloured patches in yellow, pink, blue, green, black and white. Salt resistant algae are responsible for this but the effect is like flying over a different planet. For the northernmost 60 miles we overflew very inhospitable terrain; huge areas of bush as far as the eye could see and much discussion about outlandings: 'We could just about reach that salt lake - I wonder how deep the crust is'.

Lake Dundas is over 20 miles long and looking at XL from 4000ft against a backdrop of such features, makes us both feel very insignificant.

At Norseman I arrived first and, noticing a large cross on 21, the into wind runway, switched to the other one and called Richard, who was lining up on 21 after a long and stressful flight.

'Twenty-one is not in use' I said.

'It is now' he replied.

Mervin, showing reluctant interest in the Airmap 300 GPS, grudgingly admits 'It can be quite useful'.

Of Horse, Norse and Gold

Norseman is an old goldmining town. It owes its name to a horse called Hardy Norseman which, in the 1890s, while tethered to a tree overnight, unearthed with its foot one of the richest gold seams in Western Australia. Over 5M ounces of gold have been taken from the mine. It's a goldmining town and little else; the earth has been ripped open in the frantic search for the stuff.

There is a choice of two styles of postcard in Norseman - one is a 100ft derrick, the other a very large hole in the ground. The strip is set on a dry salt flat adjacent to the town : it marks the edge of the Nullarbor. That night we stared at the stars and marvelled at the clarity of the Milky Way and a completely different night sky from the one we're used to.

On 7 October my notes say 'Took off at 7 am from Norseman salt flat, with blue skies and a 20mph tailwind en route to Balladonia Hotel. Bush all the way and nowhere to land but the road. At 3,500ft it's smooth and easy at first, but becoming turbulent later as the sun gets up.

We landed at 9 am and hit the breakfast to sit out the blustery winds, and later, in the afternoon, the edge of an ominous storm with 30kt gusts. It raged all night, becoming stronger and ripping out trees and flooding roads. This sort of weather is rare in the Nullarbor desert, which only receives an average 20cm of rain all year (and last winter only 5). Max, a fellow microlight pilot at Balladonia, was kind enough to lend us his hangar for shelter.

Mervin now becoming interested in entering his own waypoints into the Airmap.

The leg the following day was one of the most testing of the trip. We set out from Balladonia Hotel at 6:30 am into a turbulent 15kt northwesterly. A climb to 4,500ft gave us a groundspeed of 118mph at times. This should have been a warning of landing conditions to come.

As we approached Caiguna, a road house dirt strip in the desert, the wind increased and veered. By the time we arrived it was viciously turbulent low level and right across the strip at 35kt. Our landing, almost directly across the strip, was uneventful if a little scary. Bob ran into the edge but sustained no damage. Richard in XL came in too high, overran the strip and landed in a clearish patch of green in the bush. Clearish that is except for a rabbit hole into which his front wheel dropped, bending the front forks and splitting the swivel mount tube.

We pushed her a mile to the roadhouse where Car lent us his workshop to straighten the forks and reinforce the fuselage's swivel mount. However there was worse to come - the roadhouse at Caiguna does not sell beer.

We sat out the ever-increasing wind until late afternoon, when a Cessna Dromidaire crop duster turned overhead with the engine missing (well, you know, it had an engine but it wasn't working properly). It promptly crashed into the bush 200m away from us. No one hurt, which is a minor miracle considering the trees he demolished and the fact that he had an illegal passenger wedged in behind the seat.

More Storms

 

I called the weatherman who told me that another storm was due that night with no sign of the 35kt wind abating. Not good news, since the accommodation was a beaten-up caravan which hadn't seen a duster since 1974 and whose door could only be opened from the inside.

So the bad weather continued throughout the following day, my birthday, much of it spent rummaging through the Caiguna rubbish tip seeking material for XL's fork reinforcement and getting soaked in the process.

The next day gave us low cloud and rain showers but we took off from the road at 7:45 (the strip was washed out) for the leg to Eucla via Madura, again with a 15kt tailwind.

A long escarpment, actually the cliffs of a long retreated sea, starts at Madura and runs for 100 miles roughly along our track east of Eucla. Eucla is an old town, founded in the 1920s when it was an important telegraph station, lying on the border between Western Australia and South Australia. The old town, now abandoned, lies near the beach and we walk the three miles across the dunes in the scorching afternoon sun to take a look.

The beach itself is white sand as far as the eye can see in both directions. The sand dunes, constantly moving, rise to 2000ft and in today's wind, and have drifts blowing across their tops rather like a hot version of the Eiger. The remains of Eucla's old jetty runs 200m out to sea and is used now only as a meeting place for cormorants where they watch the weather and discuss the day's fishing prospects. On the way back from the beach, we gathered wood for the camp fire planned that night.

On our return I tried to fly to Eucla, on top of the escarpment, to buy some beer. The only place to land was the road and I chickened out of the approach when we hit some turbulence from the escarpment. Landing back at the camp, I was told by Carl, the local policeman, that road landings were frowned upon except in an emergency (I was about to claim mine was, but thought better of it). He drove us into Eucla to buy the beer and would take nothing in return.

Out of the Great Bugger All…

A bright and windy morning saw us out of Eucla with a tailwind at 5000ft; after quick refuelling stops at Nullarbour Motel and Penong, we were at last out of the Great Bugger All and into very welcome green country at Ceduna. This was the day of our record distance of 259nm - great progress, but largely cancelled by a day's weather hold up in Ceduna.

Wednesday 13 October: a clear window in the cloud and weather permitted flying, but it's windy again. Away to the northwest are ominous and pregnant black thunderclouds; to the southeast is a bank of slightly less ominous cumulus. Tailwinds of 20mph waft us to Streaky Bay with ground speeds up to 75mph until we catch up with the cloud bank and meet a 15mph headwind; Streaky Bay seems like a good place to land and the local press turns out to interview us.

The pilot of a passing 16 seater commuter plane reported a 320 drift coming out of Adelaide earlier in the morning. This, and a look at the sky, decided us on a change of route to take advantage of the wind and to avoid the low cloud and thunderstorms brewing - and the chosen route to Wudinna is glorious.

Sunshine, a 20kt tailwind and million mile vis. An hour after taking off, and navigating by consensus, we pass abeam something resembling mountains which is a really welcome sight after so much flat land. This is Carappee Hill and Caralue Bluff, a mere 1600ft.

The strip at Kimba had a hefty crosswind but all landings were without incident (and one was even on the strip). The wind was worryingly strong so we elected (OK, they elected), to camp to stay with the planes.

The passenger facilities at Kimba consist of a hut with a telephone and a classic Oz dunnie.

Careful inspection revealed many, many cobwebs under the seat. However the thoughtful Aussie builder had placed the door facing open country so the user could do his business with it open. There is only one thing more scary than sharing a dunnie with a red back spider - that's sharing it with him in the dark. At least with the door open, you can leg it when he bites your arse.

…And then the Weather Broke

We've had howling gales, unbelievable temperatures, torrential rain, gut-wrenching thermals, cold, and drizzle but we'd forgotten fog. I crawled out of the tent at 5am to see dense fog and everything soaking wet. Later a northerly wind blew it away and I took a short check flight to examine the headwind. Since it was only 12kt we set off for Port Augusta, via iron Knob, a vast and ugly iron ore mine.

The northerly wind steadily increased until to the west of Port Augusta, approaching Corroberra Hill and View Point, flying became very uncomfortable at 1500ft with too much headwind at 3,000 - the usual dilemma. We opted for low, fast and rough and landed into a 20kt blast furnace. Fortunately we found a Flying Doctor hangar for the night for the price of a carton of beer.

Port Augusta lies at the northern tip of Spencer Gulf, so named by (a seemingly modest) Matthew Flinder in 1802 when he explored the area. Its main growth was from wool trading and, in 1871, from the Australian Overland Telegraph Line. Camels were introduced into Australia from here in 1866 following a three-year drought which had paralysed inland transport; they remain in use today.

Later in the century wheat farming and the railways brought greater prosperity and continued to support Port Augusta through the depression of the '30s. It's a clean and lively place now, and the first large town we'd seen since leaving Brisbane.

Cultural Break

The high wind and turbulence at mid-morning was putting us off flying for the rest of the day and was responsible for quite pathetic daily averages - 126nm. This made us determined to change our flying pattern and from here we rose before dawn and flew for two or three hours before the thermals got busy. Then we ate breakfast, checked the planes, took a look around, and dozed till 4pm when the thermals had eased off; then we flew again for a couple of hours. This doubled the daily average - though still pathetic by Milton/Meredith-Hardy/Bodill standards.

Our next stop, Strathalbyn, took in an instructor's rating renewal for Bob, then on to Tintindra for the night. The crop dusting boys we met there had clearly graduated in alcohol immunity before taking their pilot's licences; Phil and I eventually stumbled to the restaurant in town to put away seafood salad, rump steak and bottles of Chardonnay and Shiraz - Australian wines whose body and quality makes the French rubbish they get rid of in the UK taste like dilute Ribena. And the amazing thing is, the Oz wines don't give you a hangover.

I notice that Mervin is now running flight plans on the Airmap.

Although we planned to push on to at least Charlton, 170nm away, the following day, an approaching front stopped us at Nhill after only 85nm. Up to that time, the air was unbelievably smooth; so much so that we flew for 45min without touching the controls and making course corrections only by leaning - weight-shift rules OK.

Charlton we reached the following morning, Monday 18th, after a 2h flight in another tailwind at 2,500ft. Rod Baker is a local Pegasus trike pilot living 1 km up the approach and he arrived 5 min after we landed. The Winnie hadn't arrived so he took me into town for a box of bacon rolls, meat pies and coffee. Rod has to fly 100 km if he wants microlight flying company.

Of the Wild West & Paddle Steamers

Echuca was the next stop and we planned to spend the day looking round this picturesque town on the Murray River; we arrived just before lunch. Echuca means 'water meeting place' in aboriginal language and it lies on the border between New South Wales and Victoria. It is a large but pretty town, heavily into flowers but with many districts carrying the atmosphere of the wild west.

There are paddle steamers on the river and one of these, built in 1866, is the second oldest steam paddle boat still working. It's a floating church and missionary boat called Etona; it walks on water and it's in pristine condition. After our compulsory ride on a steamer we took in the craft shops, tea rooms, wine tasting and hardware store in ascending order of excitement (does anyone else do hardware stores ?).

The lady proprietor of the store, carried away by our infectious enthusiasm for Australian shackles and toasters, kindly stayed open for the extra $ 10 of business. Dinner in town was kangaroo stew; and a very fine tasting stew it was too (bound to be).

In the air the following morning by 6:30am with a following strong southerly, we flew to Tocumwal, a very large and curiously prosperous gliding club full of friendly Germans. The huge ex WWII hangars accommodate about 50 high performance gliders and light aircraft and there is a repair shop, restaurant, bar, swimming pool and chalets.

It was bumpy; Bob reported leaving his seat on finals. Shortly after landing the wind increased and the thermals got excited. One glider pilot tried an aerotow a little later and came down complaining of being thrown up into the glider canopy in the turbulence. Tocumwal's another Wild West lookalike, but a pleasant town with an enchanting model train shop run by the Rotary Club - we played trains for while.

Mervin is beginning to decline help with the Airmap; I hear a mumbled '…well bugger me' from time to time so assume that he's discovering new and wonderful things with it. I smile to myself.

Up at 4:45 and off by 5:55 am for the flight to Narromine, 260nm away, via West Wyalong and Forbes, with another 15kt tailwind at height. We stopped at Forbes where, like many flying clubs in the east, you help yourself to breakfast in the club house and use the honesty box. We sat out the thermals there till 4 pm then took the last leg, in thinning cumulus, to Narromine, mostly flying at 6,000ft. Oddly, up to this point on the trip, it had been hard to spot the Winnebago from the air, but this time we drifted back to the road and there she was. An ideal opportunity for Phillip to take some video footage for his blockbuster and an excuse for me to try kangaroo spotting from head height.

Narromine has a huge airfield with accommodation on site. Philip and I walked to the Services Club in town, some 2 miles away, and I put away possibly the best fillet mignon I'd come across in my life, together with a bottle of Shiraz. After such a major event, the walk back was less than inviting but the taxis stop running at 9:30 in Narromine (after all who could possibly want to be out after 9:30 ?). A fellow drinker at the bar ran us back for the price of a beer - they're like that. It was a fine way to end our record day : 260nm.

Electrical Problems

We assumed it was something in the water, but these delays meant we did not take off from Gilgandra until 10:20, by which time the thermals were pumping hard. To mitigate the discomfort, we cruised at 6,000ft but the cold, combined with my heavy breathing, put moisture or ice on my boom microphone and stopped it working. Fortunately Phillip doesn't breathe when it's my turn to fly, so his worked OK; 10 min on the ground dried out the mic and cured the problem.

In common with many other legs on this trip, the one to Narrabri gave us the choice of 20 miles of unlandable bush or an extended leg to the north with the risk of fuel shortage. Bob and Richard were out of sight 10 miles ahead and 3,000ft higher, in a stronger tailwind than we had, and I have to admit to some nervousness, alone and looking at the endless bush.

So our track was a compromise, where we drifted towards areas we convinced ourselves were landable (but probably weren't) without increasing the distance too much. When we landed uneventfully at Narrabri, we found we had underestimated the tailwind and had plenty of fuel in reserve. Another 50nm took us into Moree.

Moree was a place we had been looking forward to visiting since Bob had told of the hot springs on the camp site. A hole has been bored 2,400ft down and hot spring water fills a large pool. It looks like a swimming pool except it's too hot to permit engaging in any exercise. On Friday and Saturday, 22-23 October, strong northerlies, low cloud and thunder showers filled the skies ad prevented us from flying, (though it didn't stop us rising at 5am to look).

One the second morning, we discovered that an intruder had entered the Winnebago and stolen Alan's jeans; he'd also entered other tents on the site. At the airport, the cloud was low, wind high and it was raining. A local weather expert, of which there appears to be an abundant supply in Australia, insisted that it would clear within the hour, then legged it before he could be proven wrong. Four hours later, the base lifted a little and we gave it a try to Goondiwindi, a must to visit, just for its name.

The leg to Goondiwindi took us at last into Victoria. On the way we spotted, 3 miles away, what appeared to be two fighter aircraft, but they were white. A short time later, we decided they were model aircraft, (though unlikely at 2,500ft) then discovered with glee that we were looking at two cormorants flying in formation and soaring downwind with barely a wing beat to keep going. They passed not more than 100ft above us.

Bob has a satellite microlight school at Goondiwindi and a flying club member opened the bar for us. The departure lounge was just large enough for the Pom contingency to spend the night in, though it was a bit giggly at first. A 6 am start the following morning gave us another smooth 20kt tailwind en route to Warwick just 90nm away.

Mervin's now stoping anyone who's willing to listen (and some who aren't), to demonstrate the Airmap.

Of Tractors and Lawnmowers…

Richard had visited this area on previous holiday and made friends with Mervyn (not to be confused with Mervin), proprietor of the Commercial Hotel in Allora, 10km away. After a look round Warwick, and a raid on the local fruit shop, we were picked up and taken to Mervyn's home town. Mervyn collects old tractors and has 13 of them dating back to 1926. These, and a collection of 80 lawnmowers, are scattered around various locations, are scattered around various locations in Allora and he took some justifiable pride in showing them to us.

His hotel was something else. Built of timber in the 1940s, it is that curious and charming mix of clean, honest and ramshackle. We took three rooms on the first floor, then went down for beer, Steak diane dinner, a bash on the piano, and (I forget how many) bottles of excellent Shiraz. We finally stumbled upstairs to the balcony, excellent for another after-dinner bottle and gaze at the stars. Two cars passed down the mainstreet during the evening, making it a busy night for Allora.

Dinner and accommodation cost us $ A20 each (about £ 8) - I could afford to live here. If tomorrow goes to plan and we make Noosa, this will be our last night en route. Off the ground at 5:50 am heading for Watts Bridge, we found ourselves in silky air and a 3kt crosswind. The scenery is glorious in this part of Australia, with many lakes and rivers and the Glass Mountains skirting the northwest side of Brisbane. After a short stop at Watts Bridge to convince ourselves that we didn't need fuel, we pushed on for the final destination, Noosa.

The Final Leg

It's odd that for some days now, we've been keyed up for this final leg, crossing the mountains. Thoughts of the extreme thermal activity at Caiguna in the flats of the Nullarbor, combined with mountains here in Queensland, have led us to expect the worst. So what a delight that this final leg turned out to be the easiest and most interesting of all!

Stunning scenery of lakes, rivers, and mountains with a backdrop of the Pacific Ocean. Bob's home strip at Noosa is surrounded on three sides by water and the approach is over a large lake; he had warned us of sink on the approach at 50ft but our landings were uneventful. We had finally arrived after 3,000 miles and three weeks and a day en route. The Balerits and their engines had behaved impeccably and the Airmaps had never missed a beat - satellite coverage over Australia was excellent.

After some press and TV interviews, we kicked back and relaxed for a few days in Noosa which is a delightful place. What did we do ? - well we went flying of course - along the 40 mile beach, skimming the wave tops watching the rays and turtles.

This is a stunning and very practical way to see Australia. Having a back-up vehicle facilitates at little tourism (this was my first trip to the Antipodes), and the chance to meet a few folk. While flying over the desert went on a bit, other parts of the trip, particularly in the east, more then made up for it. Welcomes we received from all Australians were courteous; they were genuinely interested in our little adventure and keen to help. The nation is quite air-minded (I suppose you have to be when often our nearest neighbour is 100 miles away); landing fees are trivial or non existent; fuel, food and accommodation are good and cheap and there are dirt strips everywhere.

And I can't get the Airmap back from Mervin.