Having just completed his 10th season at Road Trains of Australia, Paul O’Callaghan takes us on a drive from Kimberley, WA, to Katherine, NT.

The sun has not yet risen over the Kimberley landscape, and already hooves are clip-clopping along the metal floor of the Byrnes crates. Unlike some of their wilder brethren from the region, these well-bred beasts have a calm demeanour and do things at their own pace, pausing for a moment to survey the incline, then slowly, obediently, ascending the ramp and making their way slowly along the trailers, over the run-throughs from the lead to the second and then into the third trailer.

Trucks queued up behind the one being loaded have already set up their run-throughs, allowing them to pull forward and commence loading straight away, thus saving time. Once all five road trains are loaded, it’s “steady, steady” across the black soil, slowly passing the homestead before crawling down the bank of the Fitzroy River. In previous years, it was possible to drive through the river bed and climb the opposing bank unaided. However, after a record wet season, conditions have changed and it’s no longer possible to build up enough momentum to make the steep ascent, safely at least. A stalled roadtrain on a steep incline with cattle on board is not ideal – for the animals or the prospect of regaining momentum.

Instead, a CAT 950F loader tows each train via a stiff bar. Engaging crawler gear, I wait for the thumbs-up from the driver, release the clutch and feather the throttle as Cummins and CAT power work in unstressed harmony to drag the 120 tonnes up the steep, dirt incline. Once disconnected, it’s a 30km run along a corrugated road until we reach the bitumen. With the hard work done, it’s time to check the cattle and dust our rims before settling in for a long, fulfilling day of driving.

e’s time.

Travelling east from Fitzroy Crossing, a good road surface and open countryside with rocky, ice-age escarpments make this an enjoyable drive. Things get even better as the convoy approaches the imposing red Ngumban Cliffs, as cogs are swapped and fuel consumption goes stratospheric. At the summit, by the entrance to the tourist lookout, an electric vehicle charger has recently been established, powered by solar and a diesel generator. Your hocus pocus “climate change scam” has no place out here, I think.

The road to Halls Creek is marked with views of open plains and distant ranges, instead of just featureless scrubland. It’s inspiring and is a suitable appetiser for what’s to come further north. Halls Creek itself is a sleepy Aboriginal town. Blink and you’ll miss it. Slowing to a crawl on approach to allow for the gradual descent into the main street, locals while the day away under shady trees as a mangy dog scarpers across the road and barefoot kids high on the excesses of sugary drinks eke out a carefree existence.

With another cattle check after the town, it’s time to knuckle down to some challenging driving. One particular exaggerated dip in the road is like a roller coaster ride as the trailers ebb and flow through the creek. Tourists in four-wheel-drive tour buses remind me of prisoners being transferred, except here they are going to witness the spectacular Bungle Bungles. Past the turn-offs for Alice Downs and Lissadell Station, the road begins to narrow. So narrow is the bitumen in places that it’s best to hold the centre of the road where possible. When meeting oncoming roadtrains, it’s a tense experience and a battle of nerves to hold one’s position for fear of rolling a trailer, while also not running ’ol mate off the road.

Full concentration is demanded all the way to Turkey Creek because of the sub-standard road surface and the single-lane bridges, some with blind approaches. Roadworks to address both issues have been ongoing for the past few years and not before time either.

Brumby horses graze on the outer limits of Warmun before we pull up at Mistake Creek for another cattle check and a nose bag for the driver. After the Ord River, the worst of the bad road will be left behind, and it will be time to relax again.

Side lights are stepped up to dipped beam status as the sun drops low in the sky, and the multitude of gauges littering the wooden dash of the Kenworth cast a yellowy glow, which I add to by switching on a red light above my head – the ambience needs to be just right to savour these occasions. Music of varying genres fills the cab as a fiery red glow above the Earth’s surface blends into a dark shade of blue above, the sun disappearing.

The Cummins X-15 digs deep as we pass Doon Doon Roadhouse, and before I know it, we’re approaching the Wyndham T-junction, turning right and slowly regaining momentum for the run into Kununurra. Over the narrow diversion dam, I lower the windows and absorb the fresh smell of water gushing below at immense force through the massive concrete structure.

Forty kilometres east of the town, the lights of the quarantine checkpoint at the Western Australian/Northern Territory border come into view. Coming to a halt, we check in with the quarantine staff; stock trucks are permitted to spend 72 hours in the territory, after which washing out your trailer before re-entering Western Australia is mandatory. Although it doesn’t appear to make huge sense, biosecurity is of high importance in Western Australia. If you are a regular, your name and trailer regos are on a whiteboard, which is marked with your date of entry.

Entering the Northern Territory never fails to excite, no matter how many times I do it. There’s just something fascinating about the place – from the name to the landscape to the general laid-back attitude. The roads are rough, however, and wet-season damage repair is a slow process. The roughest are bridges around the West Baines River, where road signs advise a 60km/h limit. Another check ensues at Timber Creek, a town that was totally cut off by flooding last wet season. A drunken “gin” (Aboriginal female) looking for a lift (to wherever we are going) is fobbed onto me by my colleague, who thinks it’s hilarious.

Approaching the glorious and, aptly, regally named Victoria River Downs country, I slow down on approach to the bendy trajectory along the Victoria River when, suddenly, cattle spring from the side of the road. Bracing myself for the impact, I grip tightly to the steering wheel as a sickening thud ensues, and questions flood into my mind: What damage has been done? Is the truck steering differently? Is the beast lying on the road?

A few kilometres further along, I find somewhere to stop and inspect the damage. Aside from a bent hubcap and missing nut covers, and excrement on the wing and air cleaner housing, no other visible damage is evident, thanks to the hefty bull bar.

The following morning, the town of Katherine is coming to life. Water sprinklers irrigate the green areas, while early-rising residents walk with intent if they are from Asia or aimlessly if they have strong connections to the area. Now on the Stuart Highway, southbound freight roadtrains wave as we pass over the Katherine Bridge before turning left onto Zimmin Road to reach the unloading yards. Here, the cattle will be dipped and rested before embarking on the next leg to Alice Springs, a job taken on by other trucks. We’re just too busy in the west to continue any further.

Back at the RTA Katherine depot, the ageing Chamberlain tractor is a nod to the company’s old green and white days, as are a recently repainted set of Hallmarks donning the old livery.

An old two-wheel-drive Hilux with a blown exhaust transports us drivers “down the street” for a much-needed cooked breakfast at the Coffee Club, where a window seat is perfect to spectate the big gear rolling through the main street. Like a child amazed at big shiny things with wheels, I hope I never tire of observing triple roadtrains moving through the main street of a town – it’s just so damn cool!

Back at the yard, headphones are donned as I tackle washing out the crates. Although I’ll make it back over the border before the curfew, the trailers still need to be washed out and where better to do it than the purpose-built wash here? Seven hours later, shattered and spattered in cow shit, I drove off the wash pad for a well-earned beer and much-needed shower.

Sleep comes easy after a busy couple of days as the buzzing of the bunk fan assists my journey into dreamland. Tomorrow, we’ll head back west into a different time zone and load up again to repeat the process. Well, I hope so. Or else it will be rattling around some godforsaken bush tracks for paddock karting. Or perhaps a handy load back to Broome…

Generally, we don’t find out until a day or two beforehand, which is perfect, really, as I love the variety of the job, which is either at the mercy of the market or Mother Nature.

It’s a nice way to live your life – chaotic yet exciting. Events occur, and you react, as opposed to living in a routine cycle of the mundane. It’s not for everyone, perhaps, but I can’t think of a better way to spend on