Camping life on my outback trip

I loved camping on this trip. It brought me closer to the land and made staying in these beautiful places part of the experience. It was also incredibly affordable—only $6 a night in some places—and the only way to stay in remote spots like Mutawintji.

My relatively new tent was wonderful, with so much more room than my previous one. Along the way, I discovered a clever feature in its design that created even more usable space. ChatGPT had recommended the tent—yet another way my virtual travel companion came through for me on this trip.

Camping in Mutawintji

Camping at Menindee Lake

A flat mattress and a lucky replacement

My blow-up mattress was comfortable, but I discovered how easily these things can get punctured. I learnt to check the ground meticulously and remove every stone and twig, however small, before setting up. After a puncture at Kinchega, I was thankfully able to buy a $25 replacement in Broken Hill and carry on camping. My much more expensive original mattress is repairable, so that’s a job for now that I’m back in Sydney! 

Simple pleasures from the camp kitchen

My staple camping meal was tuna and beans mixed into soup—easy to make, filling and surprisingly delicious. It kept things simple after a day of exploring. I was surprised by how quickly I went through my cooking gas, especially once I started making coffee as well, but thankfully I was able to replenish my supply at a camping store in Broken Hill.

A sieve, a brainwave and proper coffee

Here is my improvised coffee-making apparatus. I hadn’t brought a coffee plunger, worried it might break in my packed bag, but then I had a brainwave: a simple sieve! Cheap and surprisingly effective at straining out the grounds, it meant I could enjoy proper coffee at camp. I’d really missed it, and once I started making it at Kinchega, it added greatly to the pleasure of the trip—and helped power my early morning bird photography outings.

Keeping the cameras rolling

The most challenging part of camping in the remote outback was keeping my camera and phone charged, especially as I use my phone for photos too. I brought plenty of power banks, but keeping everything topped up took some planning. Whenever I stayed overnight in a town, I chose a powered campsite and charged as much as I could before heading back into the more remote places. My greatest nightmare is finding myself in a stunning location without a working camera! With so much beauty around me, I was determined to avoid that.

Hooked up to the power box!

Powerbanks: The best invention ever!

Camping with the boys

It's always so wonderful to spend time with these legends.
 

Memorable moments: The Bainskloof break-in

Russell, Roger, and I were heading to Bainskloof for a camping weekend in the mountains. The journey was already a triumph; we were in such high spirits that when "What the World Needs Now Is Love" came on the radio, we blasted the volume, pulled over to the side of the road, and performed a full-throttle celebratory dance in the dust.

After a glorious, lingering swim in the river, we finally reached the campsite entrance. It was well after 8:00 PM—the strict cutoff time when the wilderness gates are closed and locked for the night.

We stood before the towering fence, miles from any other civilization, and faced a grim reality: we were stranded. Refusing to let the night end in the car, we resolved to "infiltrate" our own campsite. What followed was a precarious, sweating, multi-stage operation. We hoisted heavy coolers, tangled tents, and sleeping bags over the high wire, clambering up and over like a very poorly coordinated SWAT team.

It took a considerable amount of time and effort to get the gear and the first two of us over. Finally, it was Roger’s turn. He made the climb, navigated the drop, and landed heavily on the "inner" side of the fence. As he stumbled back to regain his footing, his shoulder thudded against the massive gate.

With a slow, effortless creak, the gate swung wide open.

It hadn't been locked. It was just... closed. We had spent forty-five minutes risking our necks and our gear to scale a mountain fortress that was, in reality, welcoming us in with an unlocked door. I suppose the world does need love, but that night, what we really needed was to just try the handle.

The Palmiet shadow puppet show

Early in our relationship, Ally and I went camping at Palmiet. We were young, smitten, and—after a few days in the fresh air—feeling particularly adventurous. Late one night, while the rest of the campsite was still gathered around the dying embers of the communal fire, we retreated to our tent for some "private" time.

We were being incredibly careful. We spoke in hushed whispers, moved with what we thought was ninja-like stealth, and made sure our "naughty action" didn't make a sound that would alert the neighbors.

The next morning, my best friend Ivor greeted me with a look of suppressed, agonizing amusement.

"What is it?" I asked, sensing I was the butt of a joke I hadn't heard yet.

"Oh, no," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I can’t say. It’s far too embarrassing."

"Oh, come on," I pressed. "No secrets between friends. Out with it."

He leaned in, his eyes dancing. "Alright, let me give you a little tip for the future, Graeme. If you and Ally are planning to get 'jiggy' in a tent, for the love of God, switch the internal lights off first."

My heart sank as the basic laws of physics—specifically backlighting—hit me.

"Otherwise," he grinned, "you’re not just having a private moment; you’re broadcasting a highly detailed shadow-puppet show to everyone at the campfire. It was a five-star performance, Graeme, but I think the audience is expecting an encore."

I went into that tent a master of discretion; I emerged the accidental star, director, and lead cinematographer of the Palmiet Adult Film Festival.

Memorable moments: The Uilenkraal miracle

When I was a kid, my father took me on my very first fishing trip during one of our camping holidays at Uilenkraal. My dad was a man of precision and patience, and he treated the art of angling with a kind of sacred reverence.

I, however, was a disaster. I did everything technically "wrong." I chose the wrong sinker, my hook-setting technique was non-existent, and my casting was so weak the bait practically landed on my own toes. To make matters worse, I couldn't stop talking—shattering the quiet, meditative atmosphere my father lived for.

I was a walking encyclopedia of how not to fish.

But the universe has a wicked sense of humor. Within five minutes of my pathetic, short-range cast, my rod doubled over. After a chaotic struggle, I hauled in a massive, beautiful Steenbras.

My father stared at the silver prize flapping on the sand, then looked at his own perfectly rigged, expertly cast, and profoundly empty lines. He didn't catch a single thing for the rest of the day.

My dad spent the drive home explaining the "physics of the current," but I knew the truth: that Steenbras just wanted me to shut up as much as he did.

Memorable moments: The great Kosciuszko meltdown

I am, by nearly all accounts, a mild-mannered person. I don’t raise my voice much and I certainly don't have a reputation for foul language. But that was before I took a camping trip to Mount Kosciuszko.

Lesson number one: never pitch your tent in a hollow in an area renowned for torrential downpours. By midnight, it felt less like a campsite and more like I was sleeping on a waterbed that was rapidly losing its structural integrity. Water was cascading through the entrance, and the world was pitch black.

Then, a cold spike of adrenaline hit me. I remembered my most precious possession—my non-waterproof iPhone—was somewhere on the floor of this newly formed indoor swimming pool.

I fumbled for my torch. Nothing. I fumbled for the phone, my hands splashing through the rising tide. As the panic set in, a side of me I didn't know existed suddenly took the stage. I began swearing with a ferocity, rhythm, and linguistic variety that would have stunned a dockworker.

The next morning, as we wrung out our sleeping bags, my friend Gavin was still in awe.

"My God, Graeme," he laughed. "I wish I’d recorded that. We could have published a definitive dictionary of the world's most creative swear words based solely on your performance last night."

I went into that tent a calm, spiritual seeker; I emerged the only man in New South Wales to have officially cursed a thunderstorm into submission.

Camping at Bents Basis

A wonderful camping weekend with the boys. Bents Basin has the biggest water hole in NSW so the swimming was glorious. It rained hard during the night but I was all cosy in my spacious new tent.