More tales from Beyond the Tropic of Caprocorn- Memories of Broome

More tales from Beyond the Tropic of Caprocorn

Memories of Broome

My family and I spent several months in the wilds of Karumba and left shortly before the next monsoonal season… how different the road looked in the ‘dry’… the vegetation was grubby and seemed brittle… the road thick with choking dust….

We traveled across the top of the northern region of Australia… through the Northern Territory where the vegetation was thicker and more lush and onto the border of Western Australia. We detoured a little to visit the Ord River Damn… the Ord River itself was and still is a 320-kilometer-long river in the Kimberley region of Western Australia… at the time of our visit a dam was being built there which ended up being Lake Argyle, which is Australia's largest dam, covering an area of 741 km. The river itself was not dammed, the dam was built from scratch in an area prone to flooding. Some years later we revisited the dam when it had just been finished and the sheer size of it is mind-boggling.

For some reason that, as a child I was not privy too, we were heading to a town on the coast of Western Australia called Broome.

Broome is situated in the far west… in the most northern region of Western Australia.  Western Australia is  the largest and least populated state and has a land area of almost one third of Australia. Australia itself is 2,969,907 sq miles of border-less landmass completely surrounded by ocean. The nearest neighboring country to Australia is Papua New Guinea, which is 150 km across the body of ocean known as The Torres Strait. There was something really exciting about Broome in the early 70s when only the intrepid ventured to travel such vast distances to little known places.

The highways in the North and West are long and for the most part deserted of both towns & travelers. But this did not trouble me… once again I could gaze out the window as the old truck ate up the miles, catching glimpses of camels, emus &wallaby’s. The scenery changed the closer we got to the West Australian coast and it was along this north-western route that I first saw Boab Trees. The road took us through open savanna & scattered woodland dominated by bloodwood and boab …and the red sandy soil of the Dampier Peninsula in the south, which is known for its characteristic pindan wooded grassland.

But Broome proved to be something else altogether for it is has the Indian Ocean on its west, the Timor Sea on its north, the Great Sandy Desert on its south and the Tanami Dessert on its east. Pearling, oyster farming & once diamond mines were its mainstays. But for me Broome was an endless beach and days of sunshine.

I was 11 at the time and Cable Beach, a 22 kilometer stretch of pristine sand and warm turquoise ocean, had been my playground and the multicolored shells and amazing sea creatures that lived in rock pools were my ‘toys’. Mother Nature was my friend and the changing seasons my teacher. Roebuck Bay had been the backdrop of many nature walks and fishing trips. The quaint buildings and multicultural lifestyle had fascinated me, while the picturesque appeal of the pearling boats inspired the imagination on journeys of adventure. The ocean pulsated with life and color, the beaches were untarnished canvases free from litter … the bush was alive and vibrant.

Life had been uncomplicated and easy going, although there had been a few tough times and hairy situations. One week in summer we had to vacate our mobile home and stay with friends as a savage cyclone battered the coast with destructive winds and another time we had a raging bushfire breathing down our necks until a serendipitous wind blew the fire in another direction. All these things gave me a greater appreciation for the elements and helped to fan my growing passion for Australia and my deep respect for nature, the weather and the seasons. I saw how the bush recovered from its’ fiery razing with new shoots, green and resilient boldly taking hold of the burnt remnants of the parent plant and how the creatures of the sea soon found new nooks and crannies to live in after the cyclone remodeled the old.

I loved to traverse the length of the Broome jetty, a giddy one km jutting out into the sea; the barnacle-encrusted pylons seemed incredibly long and strong and yet I fancied I could feel the jetty move against the oceans surging rhythm. Fish swam in the clear warm waters with the occasional shark putting in a predatory appearance, to the fascination of locals and tourists alike. Sea birds hovered with streamlined grace around the fishing boats, ready to swoop for left over bait and fish guts.

I had loved the pristine beaches most of all, which were often completely devoid of any sign that a human world existed; it was easy to imagine one was on a Swiss Family Robinson adventure and far removed from the world of people, cars and modern day dilemmas. My imagination had enjoyed an unbridled freedom and ran rampant with unrestrained possibilities. I was an island princess, a pirate, a pearl diver, I was lost on a tropical island, a lone survivor of a mighty storm…I was a marine biologist, had discovered a new species, an adventurer who trekked where no man or woman dared, I was a salvage operator and had found sunken treasure. Always I was brave and daring, triumphant and true.

 I loved to sit on the warm burnished sand and gaze out across the endless ocean, imagining I would one day go on epic adventures and write awe-inspiring tales like that of the Kon Tikki, but although I loved the water I was not what you’d call a first-rate sailor and new in my heart of hearts that my adventures were limited to good old terra firma. But that didn’t deter my imagination, I knew how big Australia was and that gave me endless scope for daydreams and childhood fantasy.

There really was something exciting about Broome in the early 70s before progress and tourism repossessed my beach and redesigned my playground. In a way I’m glad I left when I did, with my memories of empty beaches and wild adventures untainted in my mind.

My parents decided to leave Broome after about 6-8 months, much to my dismay; but work had dried up and my father had heard of a new hospital being built in Alice Springs in the Northern Territory, so we were going there. Once again we hit the road, this time back-tracking the way we had come earlier. At least that was the plan. But we had barely travelled 30 miles from Broome when disaster befell us.

We were cruising down the empty highway when I happened to glance out the rear vision mirror on the passenger’s side and to my horror & confusion noticed that the whole far rear end of the truck was in flames. I screamed out fire in a panicked voice and when my father saw the flames he slammed on the breaks. This sudden stop shot the flames half way along the truck, engulfing the mobile home in seconds. But my father really didn’t have a  choice… he knew we had to bail in a hurry… the truck was equipped with 2 gas bottles for fridge & stove as well as two long range fuel tanks and a number of jerry cans also full of fuel.

We scrambled out as fast as we could…. standing some distance away and watched with mounting fear and despair as our home exploded 7 times, billowing black smoke into the hot summer sky. The fire was so intense that  the tar road started to melt and run in streams along the dirt edges of the road. The smell was horrific and I was told that the fire did not go out completely for a very long time. We were rescued by travelers who eventually drove along and were taken back Broome. The next day my father returned to the site, and from memory  all that was left were the two badly scarred and partly melted axle’s and the chassis.   

It took us many months to recover from this incident, though the mental scars are still a very real part of me. We spent a few more months in Broome, eventually buying a station wagon and a caravan so small that my brother and I slept in the back of the wagon. Losing the truck had a big impact on me… but it did not stop our journey, which continued on for some years to come.

Sharonlee Goodhand©
All photography by Sharonlee Goodhand