Chapter 16: Ten things to know about crossing the Nullarbor
When I used to make the trans-Australia crossing with my parents in the 1980s, I remember it being very hot and very dry, much drier than it looks now. Of course, I didn’t know anything about weather patterns, El Nino/La Nina and the effects of climate change. An Australian Summer in the 1980s was always blue, hot and dry.
This time, it’s heavily overcast with a breeze that could almost be described as chilly. That it’s coming into late December and you need to wear a jacket on the Nullarbor is one of the eye-opening ways the Australian climate has changed since then.
On the long drive along the Eyre Highway from Ceduna out onto the Nullarbor Plain to Norseman, here is what I also learned.
1) There’s not a lot of trees but there’s lots of vegetation
The name “Nullarbor” — Latin for ‘no trees’ — is a misnomer. There is a lot more biological diversity along the long road through the Nullarbor than the name suggests. There are even trees. I spotted at least seven.
Out of Ceduna, it is mostly low-lying coastal scrub growing from pale yellow dirt. As you move through it the landscape suddenly opens up as far as you can see but the plants have lost any enthusiasm for growing. Short grey scrub bushes are punctuated by slightly larger brownish scrubby bushes. Every so often, there is a greenish bush and sometimes, in the distance, a short tree.
On the WA side, it doesn’t change immediately but the dirt gets redder. Out of Eucla is a mountain range bordering the road that makes for an interesting diversion. You also get to go on the longest stretch of straight road in Australia. This is about as exciting as it sounds. By the time you get closer to Norseman and out of the Nullarbor, the trees are back.
2) There’s plenty of fuel
Fuel and its supply are always a concern for the long haul traveller. But it’s a total myth there’s limited fuel out there. Out on the Nullarbor, there is fuel every 150–200 km or so.
3) Roadhouses are like time capsules
The service stations — “roadhouses” as they are known — run a brisk business. They have lots of novelty statues and “artworks” to induce you to stop, take a photograph, use the facilities, and buy overpriced fuel and food.
Some of them haven’t changed since I made the crossing 35 years ago. They are like little time capsules of the 1970s. I’m pretty sure I played on this play equipment the last time I came through here.
4) It’s true it’s not cheap
It’s not cheap: Fuel is $2.80 per litre compared to $1.89 in Ceduna. People complain about the prices so much that on the back of the toilet doors is a notice “explaining” why the prices out on the Nullarbor are so much higher than everywhere else. Here it is:
I get the distances involved make running a service station out there expensive but I also wonder why some well-placed solar panels can’t help offset some of the operational costs, at least in the daytime.
Turns out the same family has run all the Nullarbor roadhouses since 1984. I guess when you have the monopoly you can do and charge whatever you want!
5) There is an art to the Wave
As I’m driving with G in the front seat, he notices the different ways people coming in the other direction acknowledge you, or not. We surmise very quickly that truckdrivers have no interest whatsoever in acknowledging yet another campervan coming towards them.
This does not phase G. He begins a process of enthusiastically waving at every truck, car or caravan or campervan like they are old friends. I explain that it’s a very subtle art to get someone to wave back. You need to do what I have dubbed the Cricket Wave.
With your hand at the top of the steering wheel, you raise one finger of acknowledgement, like when the umpire signals a wicket in cricket. You can’t do more than that or it freaks people out.
About 50 per cent of other drivers will get in first. From my observations, these are the people who reciprocate when you initiate an acknowledgement:
1. Other campervans similar to yours (90%; 100% if also driven by a woman, it’s like we’re in some kind of exclusive undefinable club)
2. Caravan drivers (70–80%)
3. Toyota Landcruiser drivers (65%)
4. Road workers or people who are on official-looking business (50%)
5. Regular car drivers (45%)
6. The vehicle at the head of a bunch of others (30%)
7. All the other vehicles behind that one (0%)
8. Truckdrivers (0%)
G begins a campaign to try to get people to do a peace sign instead of the Cricket Wave. He finally succeeds with an accommodating Prado driver but when another campervan driver does a full-on salute we agree he’s obviously some kind of freak.
6) There’s no mobile phone coverage
After Ceduna there is nothing until Norseman, over 1,000 km away. At least not on our phones, it’s possible if you have a different provider (not Telstra — the national network). If you’re relying on Google Maps to direct you and haven’t downloaded the maps, don’t worry there’s only one road so just stay on that one until you get a signal again.
7) The Great Australian Bight is right there
One of my strongest memories of crossing the Nullarbor in my youth — aside from the boredom and the petty bickering with my sister — is that you never got to see the Great Australian Bight. It was always just “over there” but it was never easily accessible from the Highway. Then one time, my mother insisted that we turn off the Highway down a bumpy dirt track to go and see the “Bight”. This was a 100 km round trip. Dad hated Mum being angry with him more than he did her driving the car, so he begrudgingly turned on a bumpy dirt track heading south. I remember getting to the end of the track and it just… ending. In my memory, it was a clear blue sky day and a 30–40 m cliff drop stretching off into the distance either side of us. Down below was a turquoise ocean stretching as far as the eye could see.
We stood there looking at it for around five minutes. Then we got back in the Corolla and drove all the way back to the Eyre Highway; my father in sullen silence and my mother triumphant.
Sometime between now and then, the SA Government redirected the Eyre Highway 50 km closer to the cliffs. Now you can camp on the very precipice of the cliffs.
And that’s what we did. It was a grey day but still quite spectacular. The wind buffeted us all night and I refused to let the kids out of the campervan without one of us in case they were blown off it and smashed into the rocks below.
I know it’s a “bight” and not a “bite” but it really does look like a giant creature took a massive chomp out of the rock.
8) At the WA border, they check your car for contraband
During Covid-19, Western Australia locked itself down so tightly that barely anyone could get into it for two years. I couldn’t go to my grandma’s funeral or my sister’s 50th birthday party because of it. If you somehow managed to get in, you had to quarantine for 14 days. Those restrictions are gone now but at the SA and WA border, they liked them so much they still have the sign up advising you’ll need to quarantine.
I’ve written before about how seriously West Australians take any foreigners (being anyone who is from the “eastern states” i.e. not West Australian) bringing any raw fruit, vegetable, seed, animal or flower into the state without their express permission. They have an ancient-looking quarantine building you have to pass through armed with a very hapless person who does not earn enough for this gig in the middle of nowhere. This person asks you if you’re carrying anything contraband and then comes into the vehicle and inspects your food supply and fridge.
We managed to consume the last of our honey that morning and pass our inspection with flying colours.
9) People drive electric cars across
The Nullarbor in WA looks pretty similar to SA but the dirt is a redder colour. On our second day, the wind dropped but there’s still a lot of grey cloud around. It’s still not that warm. We stop for lunch at Caiguna where I notice a Tesla hooked up at a charging station.
When I go over to investigate, I discover the charger is powered by cooking oil supplied by the roadhouse. People eat their bodyweight in fried food at these places every day. This is a fantastic idea. The car driver let me take this photograph.
He tells me he and his partner, who is quite possibly the most glamorous looking woman I’ve ever seen at a roadhouse, are driving to Melbourne. All the chargers along the way are like this although this one is taking a bit longer (“about an hour”) perhaps because it’s morning and patrons haven’t ordered enough chips yet.
They are also sleeping in the back of the car and, she tells me proudly, the car provides a temperature control for the whole night. I am seriously impressed by this whole setup. I almost ask her how she manages to look so amazing while sleeping in the back of a car while I look like something the cat dragged in but I restrain myself.
10) Time has no meaning
The Nullarbor is like the land that time forgot. It’s either day or night, there is no time.
We know the time zone has changed forward but we don’t know where this happened or when. Without internet, our phones don’t update automatically. Then we pass a sign that says “turn your clocks back 45 minutes” but that doesn’t make the slightest sense to us because we thought it was a 1 ½ hour difference between WA and SA. Was there some kind of intermission time of 45 minutes we didn’t know about between Ceduna and the sign?
We could have been kidnapped by aliens for all we know.
Since time has no meaning but we know we have more of it than we did yesterday, we decide we will push on to Norseman. The idea is to camp outside of town on the way to Esperance so we can be there by lunchtime and do some desperately needed washing, showering and shopping.
But first, we need to get to Norseman before the bakery closes. It is my birthday. Although this birthday is very reminiscent/triggering of the birthdays of my youth spent driving long distances to be somewhere in time for Christmas; this time, I’m in charge.
And I want a cake for my birthday.
