Day 22 – Beetaloo Camp to Crystal Brook – 31.85km

Total Distance – 409km

A Heysen Trail story

If you’d told me 22 days ago that I could walk the 32km into Crystal Brook and be there by 2pm I would have just about fallen over laughing. But, as it turns out, it appears that now I can. The reason for my haste was three-fold.

1. Town. Self explanatory.

2. Weather. It was a wild and wooly night last night. Wind howling through the trees keeping me awake. I feared not only for my tent, which remains structurally compromised in two locations, but for myself! The campsite is set under a stand of big, old eucalypts, many of which are sprouting numerous dead limbs.

These magnificent trees are able to “drop” their dead limbs in an effort to better direct resources to the healthy parts of the tree. Wind is known to excacerbate this limb felling. And so eucalypts, as beautiful and shady as they are, represent a danger to campers on a windy night. The trees loudly creaked and groaned all night. But no fallen limbs. Luckily.

This morning the sky was a gun metal grey and the fizzle of impending rain hung in the air. The wind still whooshed through the paddocks. All of this prompted me to declare that I was putting my headphones on and “going for it”.

And so I did. And I loved it! The rain started immediately upon setting off casting a dark pall over the almost unnaturally green fields. The wind sucked up, seemingly delighting in pushing me along at maximum speed and tossing me around like a fluttering lolly wrapper on the city street. But how much fun it was! I realised I was laughing out loud at the joy of it. The feeling that Nature itself was trying to help me along on my quest. I snapped a picture hoping to capture that utterly carefree moment forever.

3. Terrain. It was all down, down, down. Either that or flat. The first half of the day was through the green pastures mentioned above. Rippling like a shimmering skin in the gusty wind. The second section, after reaching the highway, wasn’t as great. This included a 4km road detour, taking in the dilapidated looking Bowmans Hut, and navigating through the golf course and caravan park into town. On the plus side, it all went very quickly.

And so I arrived at the Crystal Brook Hotel eager to check in to my little piece of luxury for a couple of days. I spoke with the bar staff and joked “a single room….it doesn’t mean it has a single bed does it?” A stony look. “A single room means a single bed”. I wanted luxury! “Oh, in that case is there any chance of upgrading to a room with a bigger bed. I’m happy to pay”. A stony look. “I’ll have to check the bookings”.

I could see the open bookings diary sitting right in front of me. I could see the name “Mel” clearly written there as the only name in the book. I waited. After consulting the book I was told a room was available. “And it’s just up there”, the staff member told me, pointing up. “Sounds great!” I smiled.

The business concluded I was given an outline of how to get to my room. I happily trudged up the stairs, dreaming of my shower. I went past door after door of open, empty rooms. A single here. A twin. A queen and a single. Another single. Finally I get to my room and fall inside. Hang on!! What!! No bathroom! I retrace my steps and realise that the women’s bathroom is as far as humanly possible from my room. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked for a bigger bed.

I got on with things. Had a shower in the single women’s shower, caught up with the head of my support crew, and had a yummy dinner in the pub. A good night had, I drifted off to sleep around 8pm.

To be suddenly jolted awake by the dulcet tones of “Hotel California” blasting up the fire escape stairway right next to my room. I looked at the clock. 10pm. When did this pub close? 11pm? 12? 1? 3? Groan. Pretty Woman, I Was Made for Loving You (cut short, not popular), Old Time Rock n’ Roll, Brown Eyed Girl. Pub music at it’s finest. I was just desperate not to hear it.

I also realised that I was terribly hot. Burning up in the bed. Was I getting sick? I put my expedition clothes on and trekked to the toilet. Down the long corridor. Turn. Down the little corridor. Turn. Down the little corridor. Turn. Down the longest corridor. Right to the end.

Upon re-entering my room I spied a glowing beacon on the bed. What the!? An electric blanket. Turned up to around 100 degrees. I turn it off. In this day with the world as it is, electric blankets should be banned. Not necessary and a waste of precious resources. Mel’s opinion.

I jumped back into the bed of fire. And thought to myself “I should have stayed at the caravan park…” But then, the music abruptly stopped at 10.30pm. The bed cooled. And I eventually went back to sleep, feeling a little less perturbed. And living on a prayer that Saturday night is not a huge night at the pub….