Chapter 4: Cameron Corner to Epsilon Station

I topped off my diesel before leaving the hotel. I didn’t want to be stranded short of Cameron Corner. [Before I go further, I ought to remark that there are five places where there are surveyed right-angle state border intersections. Cameron Corner, surveyed by John Cameron (NSW) and George Watson (Queensland) in 1879, where the east-west border hits South Australia; Haddon Corner, where South Australia ends in the Channel Country; Poeppel Corner, where South Australia, Queensland and the Northern Territory meet, surveyed (like Haddon Corner) by Augustus Poeppel and his assistants; MacCabe Corner, where SA, NSW, and Victoria meet, west of Wentworth on a bend in the Murray; and the Surveyor Generals Corner, where SA, WA and the Northern Territory meet. Haddon Corner has no facilities, having been part of a pastoral lease and the Surveyor Generals is inaccessible, as it is on Irrunytju territory, and requires special permission.]

Tibooburra to Cameron Corner is about 140 kilometres. If you’re lucky, you can average 25/hour. It took me just over six hours and I only stopped once for a bite and a bottle of water. The first 60 or so kilometres, there were tracks to tanks to the north and south of the road, but I wasn’t going to explore them. After a while, I could see a line of shrubs and brush north of the road, which my map marked as Frome Creek. It didn’t appear to contain much water, but Sturt had noted the variation at the very beginning of his Narrative.

The Australian continent is not distinguished, as are many other continents of equal and even of less extent, by any prominent geographical feature. Its mountains seldom exceed four thousand feet in elevation, nor do any of its rivers, whether falling internally or externally, not even the Murray, bear any proportion to the size of the continent itself. There is no reason, however, why rivers of greater magnitude, than any which have hitherto been discovered in it, should not emanate from mountains of such limited altitude, as the known mountains of that immense and sea-girt territory. But, it appears to me, it is not in the height and character of its hilly regions, that we are to look for the causes why so few living streams issue from them. The true cause, I apprehend, lies in its climate, in its seldom experiencing other than partial rains, and in its being subject to severe and long continued droughts. Its streams descend rapidly into a country of uniform equality of surface, and into a region of intense heat, and are subject, even at a great distance from their sources, to sudden and terrific floods, which subside, as the cause which gave rise to them ceases to operate; the consequence is, that their springs become gradually weaker and weaker, all back impulse is lost, and whilst the rivers still continue to support a feeble current in the hills, they cease to flow in their lower branches, assume the character of a chain of ponds, in a few short weeks their deepest pools are exhausted by the joint effects of evaporation and absorption, and the traveller may run down their beds for miles, without finding a drop of water with which to slake his thirst. [Sturt, Chapter 1]

The road then trended north and I could see Fort Grey Basin / Lake Pinaroo, an ephemeral lake which appeared to be nearly dry. (Fort Grey was a provisions stockade built by Charles Sturt to support his inland expeditions.) The road veered left, Cameron Corner Road becoming the Dunes Scenic Drive, as I entered Sturt National Park.

The scenery was stunning. First a gigantic clay pan, then large red sand dunes that sat four metres high, and more expansive clay pans and small rocky gorges lay to both north and south. I was glad that I’d phoned the Corner Store for a room, as there were several 4x4s parked when I got there a bit after 15:00. But I was welcomed by Cheryl and Fenn Miller, who run the Store. After I was installed in my room, I sat in the bar with a cold beer.

Fenn was curious about my plans, and I said I was intending to head towards Merty Merty and then Murnpeowle.

“Why there?” he asked.

“I thought it’d be interesting. I’m just motoring about aimlessly. And I thought I’d hit some of Sturt’s explorations.”

“If’n you want to do that, you oughta head north, to Innamincka. That’s both Sturt country and where Burke and Wills perished.”

“True.”

“Then you c’n head for Coongle Lake, that’s a beautiful spot, and down the tracks to Marree, south of Lake Eyre. Most of the way to Innamincka’s in Queensland.”

“I was born in Mitchell, they’d probably let me back in.”

Fenn laughed. “They’ve really built up the Innamincka Hotel, it’s about an hour this side of the town.”

“Interesting. I’ll have to look at my maps – and at Sturt. But I’d wanted to see some of the lakes in the Strzelecki bird area.”

“Waal. It’s sort of in the middle right now. Most of the water in the ephemeral lakes is gone.”

“But the shrimp and frogs will still be there, so some of the birds’ll be there too.”

“Guess so. Gotta go back to work, else Cheryl’ll be after me.”

I got several maps and the Narrative from the car and settled down to read.

Why was I chasing around? I wasn’t on a schedule. I didn’t even need to be back in Sydney for over six months. I looked at the area to the north. I could get to Epsilon Station in a day. I recall them starting out – a 100% organic cattle working station. Just under halfway to Innamincka. Then I could go through a bit of the Strzelecki Desert, into the Channel Country, and north to the Diamantina Park. It hadn’t even been a national park when Patrick was born. And Sturt had been through there, too.