There's something about the moment you leave sealed road behind and point the bonnet down a red dirt track that gets the blood pumping.
We'd fuelled up at Kumarina Roadhouse, that lonely outpost where the bitumen meets the endless west, and made our final checks before swapping the black stuff for gravel and dust. Steve T led the way in his Prado, and I followed behind, watching that telltale plume of red dust billow up behind his vehicle like a marker flag in the outback air.
This access road into the Carnarvon Ranges is the real deal – arrow-straight in places, corrugated in others, and every bit as remote as you'd imagine. The red earth stretched out endlessly on both sides, dotted with hardy eucalypts and native scrub that somehow thrives out here where most things wouldn't last a week. The sky was that brilliant, endless blue you only get in the outback, so vast it makes you feel both insignificant and alive at the same time.
From the driver's seat, the track seemed to go on forever, disappearing into the shimmering heat haze on the horizon. There's a particular satisfaction in this kind of driving – reading the surface, feeling the vehicle respond, keeping your mate's dust cloud in sight without getting too close. Two blokes, two 4WDs, and the Australian outback spread out before us like an invitation.
This is just the start of the adventure, really. The Carnarvon Ranges have been on my bucket list for years, and finally making the push off the highway feels like we're properly committed now. No turning back, not that we'd want to. The dust, the corrugations, the remoteness – this is exactly what we came for.
Lisa's holding down the fort back at camp, probably enjoying the peace and quiet without me rattling on about track conditions and fuel consumption. But she knows this is what I love – getting out here with a good mate, testing the vehicle, and seeing what's around the next bend in country that most people will never experience.
