We recently had the extraordinary opportunity to traverse Munga-Thirri, the Simpson Desert, located in Wangkangurru Yarluyandi territory.

This trip marked our first remote outback adventure in years, and for me, the first since I relocated to Australia nearly two decades ago. After years of planning with our friends Anne and David, who are seasoned 4x4 enthusiasts, we purchased a two-year-old Prado seven months prior to our departure. Preparing both the vehicle and ourselves became an all-consuming journey in the lead-up to the trip.

Munga-Thirri spans an impressive 180,000 square kilometers in central Australia, showcasing the longest parallel sand dunes in the world, some stretching over 150 kilometers. While the dunes range in height from three to thirty meters, the iconic Big Red reaches a towering forty meters, with more than a thousand dunes scattered across the desert.

However, the Simpson is not solely about its sand dunes. The valleys, or swales, between these dunes vary significantly in width, ranging from mere meters to 1.5 kilometers. These swales can be sandy, claypans, floodplains, or salt lakes—often dry.

The sands of the Simpson Desert exhibit a spectrum of colors, predominantly featuring the iconic reds and oranges.

Unlike a barren Sahara, the Simpson's undulating red dunes are interspersed with patches of low vegetation, mainly grasses like spinifex, shrubs, and occasional trees. This flora thrives and recedes in cycles dictated by variable rainfall, drought, and sporadic flooding.

We visited in early winter, following a substantial wet season (the desert is off-limits during summer). The vegetation appeared lush, displaying a captivating array of greens, although we missed out on the vibrant wildflowers that Karl had hoped to see.

A few sandy trails weave through this landscape, providing alternative routes across the desert. Our journey took us from west to east along the French, WAA, and QAA Lines, from the Mt Dare Hotel to Birdsville. Mt Dare serves as a remote roadhouse at the intersection of several outback routes (actually part of an operational cattle station, although the station itself is not visible). It is the western hub for information and recoveries pertaining to that side of Munga-Thirri and the final stop for fuel.

Birdsville, with a population of 110, is located just east of the Simpson, where desert meets channel country. The hotel here also offers flatbed vehicle recovery services from Munga-Thirri.

The trails we navigated featured both twists and straight stretches, with corrugations and dips causing the vehicle to tilt sideways at times due to uneven wheel ruts. The sand varied from firm to soft, and the depth of wheel ruts fluctuated based on recent weather and traffic.

In a country known for its vast rural and remote locations, the Simpson Desert stands out as one of the most isolated. It contains several national parks, which function primarily as nature reserves with regular ranger visits and limited facilities only at the desert's edges. Beyond the Purni Bore campground, where we spent our first night, the only infrastructure consisted of the tracks, intersection signs, and a few numbered posts.

There are no fuel stations, water sources, shelters, or mobile coverage. Medical evacuations can only occur from airstrips at the periphery, days away from the center. Vehicle recoveries may take weeks and can be quite costly. Throughout our journey, we encountered only a handful of other travelers.

This remoteness and striking beauty make the Simpson Desert a cherished destination for outback adventurers, with around 10,000 visitors annually, most of whom are in self-sufficient 4x4 vehicles.

For me, the allure lay in its magic—a rare chance to explore an exquisite, isolated landscape. It is both fragile and resilient, stark yet vibrant; a challenge well worth the effort.

Being in this country felt remarkably special, despite only glimpsing a small portion as we traveled through. The scale alone amazed me; I cherished the feeling of being a tiny figure against the vast landscape. I was also captivated by the ecosystem's resilience and the profound knowledge of First Nations Australians who have thrived in harmony with this environment.

Karl and I are both enthusiastic drivers, and once we gained confidence in the Prado's capabilities—along with the revival of old driving instincts—navigating the sandy tracks became an exhilarating experience. Our shared enjoyment kept us from competing for the driver's seat, as we delighted in witnessing each other fully engaged in the adventure.

Many memorable highlights accompanied our journey: shared experiences with friends, the enchanting sounds of howling dingoes at night, positive encounters with fellow travelers, the satisfaction of overcoming challenges, and most importantly, never getting stuck!

Initially, we planned to sleep under the stars in swags—Anne had conducted extensive research to ensure we chose dates around the new moon for optimal stargazing. However, at Purni Bore, we opted for tents when two dingoes, evidently accustomed to humans, approached too closely. That night, Karl found my shoes just three meters from where I had left them outside the tent; perhaps he interrupted a dingoes' attempt to steal them, as in the morning Anne and David discovered their shoes scattered about with gnaw marks and chewed laces.

Regrettably, the most prevalent wildlife we encountered were bush flies—swarming hordes that made it uncomfortable to be outside the vehicle during the day, necessitating head nets. Enjoying a book or a drink while watching the sunset was hardly feasible. Fortunately, they vanished at night. The presence of flies can vary, and we were particularly unlucky.

Rain is another unpredictable factor; while the Simpson usually experiences summer rainfall, we did not anticipate significant rain in winter. We were mistaken.

Our second campsite was located in a clay-soil swale, which felt almost solid underfoot—quite different from sinking into granular sand. After dinner, we enjoyed the starry night sky, but shortly after securing our tents, rain began and persisted into the following day. In the morning, we emerged into a quagmire, the mud clinging to our hiking shoes. It was a stark reminder of how swiftly conditions can change!

(Later, we learned that a nearby camper had recorded 20 mm of rain overnight, which is significant.)

Our greater concern was how the rain would impact the tracks. When wet, claypans can become extremely boggy or completely impassable, depending on the mud's depth. I began to regret not upgrading the Prado's factory ‘light all-terrain’ tires.

Water and mud in the shorter swales weren't problematic, but we faced challenges with three of the wider claypans. Karl and I worried about becoming stuck in the middle, fearing our recovery gear and assistance from Anne and David's Landcruiser wouldn't be adequate. News stories of travelers stranded for days in claypan mud haunted my thoughts.

Karl took the lead on the first crossing—masterfully navigating what felt like a terrifying kilometer-long skid!

The next morning, I tackled another crossing, which was shorter but resulted in a spectacular mud bath for the Prado.

The following morning, we found ourselves queued at the third muddy claypan, roughly 600 meters wide and appearing treacherous. Our friends Bec and Carl from Perth, whom we had met at Mt Dare, camped nearby hoping for some drying. My heart sank as two other vehicles took on the challenge; the second one sank almost to the running boards and struggled to escape, spinning its tires and fishtailing wildly.

Anne and David searched for an alternative route but found none. Carl and I examined a different line among the many existing tracks, discovering firm ground beneath mud that reached no deeper than my calves. (One rule is to stick to established paths, as they typically have compacted soil underneath the mud.) We let more air out of our tires and made our way across with our three vehicles churning and slipping.

Fortunately, well-established diversion routes around the remaining wet claypans and salt lakes existed. We did, however, come across a bogged vehicle that had attempted to cross one of them. It belonged to a large group, and we conversed with some of the convoy members who were preparing for a recovery with multiple snatch straps linked together. Later, we heard on the radio that they had succeeded.

Thank goodness there were hundreds of kilometers of easily navigable, enjoyable, and stunning sand dunes before, after, and between the muddy claypans!

David, our trip planner, originally scheduled four nights and five days for the crossing, but the wet conditions slowed our progress. On the morning of day five, Anne and David’s Landcruiser suddenly stopped in the middle of the track. Although knowledgeable about vehicle mechanics, David couldn't get it running. They were on the satellite phone seeking assistance when a convoy from Deniliquin arrived, and out stepped a diesel mechanic! He generously offered to investigate, confirming that the alternator was likely the issue, and suggested we could enable the vehicle to continue by periodically swapping starter batteries between it and the Prado.

That’s precisely what we did over the next two days, and it proved effective. When the Landcruiser’s battery drained, we swapped it with the Prado's well-charged one, jump-started the Prado, and kept moving. The functioning alternator in the Prado would charge the Landcruiser’s former battery, ready for the next swap.

While this situation created uncertainty (and expense) for our friends, it was also empowering. The creative problem-solving brought genuine joy, thanks to the mechanic from Deniliquin. And the story concludes on a positive note: the Birdsville Roadhouse was able to replace the Landcruiser’s alternator the day after we arrived.

Near the eastern edge of the Simpson, we encountered Eyre Creek. Being an intermittent waterway, it is typically dry during many winters. This year, however, it was a raging torrent. We had to detour about 30 kilometers north to an established bypass crossing, where water levels were fluctuating. We anticipated it could be tire-deep. We were wrong; it was up to the bonnet, making our first-ever water crossing unforgettable.

Earlier in our journey, we had another stroke of luck when the Prado suffered a flat tire on a gibber plain just twenty minutes after departing Mt Dare. As Karl and I began to change it, a spirited park ranger stopped and insisted on assisting us. We returned to Mt Dare, and our good fortune continued as they had a used tire in the correct size, allowing us to set off again with two spare tires.

Coincidentally, the mechanic who mounted our new spare was a friend of Anne and David’s, temporarily working at Mt Dare. Observing the 'light all-terrain' tires on our Prado, he mentioned that he used mud tires on his vehicle. If this were a story, it would serve as foreshadowing for our upcoming challenges! In reality, I have come to appreciate the valuable local knowledge he shared in his understated Aussie manner. I had thought that those encountering significant mud were merely traveling at the 'wrong' time. Now, I understand that the intricate ecosystem in this part of Australia can present variable conditions throughout the year.

Although it may seem like a dream, Karl and I aspire to return to Munga-Thirri one day (especially if we could avoid flies and rain). We wish to drive the sand dunes again, perhaps taking a different route, but more importantly, we long to spend more time in this magnificent region, gaining a deeper understanding of its flora, fauna, and history.

Kaz Hauser, May 2024