Air Mail

  Broome, Western Australia, Australia
Friday, October 17, 2008

the mail plane

mail sack on runway

The mail run for the West Kimberley, east of Derby, consists of just nine homesteads.  Not a big deal for the postman then, one might think... but the land route covers over 1000 km, along that corrugated Gibb River Road and off on several sidetracks to some isolated stations.  Even on a weekly basis that's one hell of a journey!  But the postie saves himself the bother and every Thursday the bags of mail are loaded onto a small plane for Alasdair the pilot to deliver.  And yesterday we went along with him for the ride.
 

tree effect on mudflats, from plane

Having travelled the Gibb by car, it was a fantastic opportunity to see this stunning region from a different perspective, emphasising the vastness of the land and remoteness of the stations and homesteads.  Taking flight from the airport at Derby, we followed the coast for a while, a huge expanse of tidal mudflats with rivulets etching the surface in the shape of trees and roots.  The scene gradually changed to a dusty, bleached landscape of lumpy contours and the meandering courses of dry river beds,  dotted with trees whose dull shades intensified into strips of brighter greens now and then, indicating a still-running creek.  We  approached a distant airstrip, circling lower and landing bumpily, to be met by a sombre toddler named Eric, waiting with his mum to do his important weekly job of collecting the mail bag and reluctant to relinquish his hold on it when she tried to carry it.  
 

Gorge from plane

The further east we flew, the redder the sand and soil grew, and the trees thickened  as we entered gorge territory, seeing these great cracks curving through the earth, the tall, rough rockfaces exposed and the flowing water glinting in the bright sunlight.  The Gibb River Road was clearly visible below us, and as we approached Mount Barnett Roadhouse we looked out past the whirring propellers and spotted Manning Gorge, the site of our early morning swim  a  couple of weeks ago, and a near-deserted campsite - the station owners we spoke with as they drove in to collect their post all told us the season is over and the visitors gone, with the stifling heat and the rumour of rain in the air.  
 

Refuelling the plane

Mount Elizabeth station was the refuelling stop and I watched, fascinated as the station owner rolled a barrel of fuel over to the plane, unscrewed it and dipped in one end of a hose with attached wind-up handle, while the pilot climbed up on to the wing, unscrewing another cap through which to poke the other end of the hose... and the handle was wound and the  fuel thus pumped into the plane's tank, under the blazing sun on a dirt runway.
 

Fires down below

The land beneath us flattened out as we continued and the scene became hazy with the clouds of black smoke drifting above the vicious orange lines of fire from the burning below, with blackened, charred, stubbly remains evident on the surrounding plain.  Then, clear of the fires, rocky eruptions began to appear, gradually becoming bigger until we were flying alongside slopes sweeping up to flat table-land plateaus, showing bands of red and black rock.
 

Tabel-land

On the hour-long return to Derby, as the seats lurched through turbulence and the overwhelming engine noise rattled in my ears and around my head, I marveled at the space: The Kimberley is roughly the same area as Ireland, and most of it is what we had witnessed today: a varied landscape, changing in appearance as one travels over it, but it's defining visual characteristic is its emptiness, inhabited by a mere handful of people in distantly scattered homes.  It is exactly this wild, desolate, human-free, wilderness aspect that holds such appeal for me and stirs me so deeply.
 
The flight provided a novel day out, with fabulous aerial views of the Kimberley but also a fascinating insight into real life in this part of the country.  And, as John noted, it's a damn good service for the cost of a 50 cent stamp!