Anthony took on some fuel at $3 a litre to improve his margins and we fired up our engines creating 3 little devils in the Innamincka dust. It was a long taxi over the stony ground back down the hill for runway 28 but it was really something taking off up that incline with the gravel flying everywhere. I saw the others' props spinning little vortices on the ground and waiting to backtrack as we pulled up wheels and flap and soared past and out over the desert.
We took up our heading across the Strezlecki desert steering 270 and climbing through the building thermals to 6500 ft. The desert spread itself before us a vast yellowy tan punctuated with the white salt pans, some of them huge and all formed in eccentric fractal patterns -- particularly to the south. We could hear Andrew behind us making sure that Anthony got off OK. The two of them would be constant companions in the air because of their comparable speeds but we would always find ourselves either outback and on the catch up or up front and on point. Our plan was to pick up the Cooper spreading its increasingly frazzled hair in a vast sweeping curve from the north east and flowing across our track to the south west to a series of pretty lakes - all translucent blue in their tan desert settings. Picking it up after 20 minutes or so we turned to follow down to one in particular: Lake Yandiya, where the river meets the Birdsville track. The track was cut there and the barge was in operation. There were also rumors of a desert sailing competition that runs when the flood waters swell the lake enough for clear keels. It was spectacular following the river which now braided its rivulets into a single chord and swung eccentrically from lake to lake: the Strezlecki to our left extending to the horizon, the bottom of the Sturt Stony desert initially to the right but soon giving way to the captivating Tirari. Reaching the lake we swung into a large orbit to get a better view and allow ISB and RCN to close the distance between us.
The lake had cut the track in a number of places and the barge and a few 4WDs were there but nothing was moving. There was n'er a sailing boat to be seen. Anthony announced his arrival on the radio and with our circuit completed we turned due west to trace the Cooper beyond the far horizon to the big blue of Lake Eyre. The Tirari is a beautiful desert subtly changing its tones through a predominately light brown spectrum and punctuated at intervals with the now familiar salt pans. But it is desolate and Dustin and I rehearsed our forced landing options: Plan A) land on a road - what road?; Plan B) wheels up on the salt pans. He had been here in a 4WD tour at the same time last year and though the salt pans looked a perfect strip from the air they concealed a fragile crust that would collapse under our wheels and flip us if we dared to test them. The sight of the river to our south was probably false comfort but we appreciated it nonetheless.
The other two aircraft had tracked more direct south of our path and we followed their happy chatter on the talk frequency 123.45 and contributed our position at regular intervals . The lake slowly loomed into view and we could see that our dear friend the Cooper no longer quite made it, crawling to a series of disconnected stretches just a few thousand meters from the shore.
No such trouble for us though as we descended into the smooth Lake Eyre (note to self: avoid bad puns) and tracked for Brooks Island. The others were heading for the same point but we were a few miles in front. We came down to 1500 then 1000 and crossed to Hambidge Point and turned south to run a low coastal circuit in Jackboot Bay. We could hear the others approaching the point and as we reached the bottom of the bay we dropped to 500 and hooked a sweeping right hand turn 180 degrees to run the western shore. About half way along we spotted two black dots line astern going in the other direction and powered up to climb to their height and hook around to catch them. They both looked splendid in the bright light over the tans and blues that met but did not mix along the shore lines.
We slipped past ISB and followed RCN in the sweeping turn at the bottom of the bay then formed up into an echelon right formation off his ring wing. The three aircraft shone in the clear sky and brilliant light over that great expanse of blue. It was all for one and one for all and we were in a pretty happy place. The experience was stunning. At the point we turned for William Creek, broke formation and powered up to climb to 2500 ft, the preferred approach height. From shore to strip was a barren stretch and there was a bit of a x-wind on runway 11 but we all got down nicely for some gas, a toilet stop and a quick peek at the remains of Woomera's rockets and the William Creek Hotel.
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