Outposts along Australia's treeless plain

The Indian Pacific at Cook on the Nullabor Plain. Photo / Jill Worrall

"Three days on a train looking at sand . . . no thank you," someone less than enthused about the thought of taking the Indian Pacific train said to me before I left.

I am looking forward to getting home to enlighten them that the desert that stretches from the Great Australian Bight the breadth of the country to the Timor Sea is a place of endless variety.

When I wind up the blinds of our two-berth cabin on our third morning on the train, we are travelling parallel to a sinuous ridge of ochre sands studded with mallee trees with their deep red smooth bark, and at their feet silvery spiky spinifex.

By the time I've emerged from our bathroom (which manages to fit a hand basin, loo and shower in a space less than a metre square) the landscape has transformed again.

The ridge has vanished - now the view stretches unbroken to the horizon. Somewhere out there the Southern Ocean sea meets Australia along a coastline of high cliffs.

The trees have disappeared too - the word Nullarbor, although it sounds as if it should have Aboriginal origins, is derived from the Latin and means "no trees".

There are the occasional posts however - put in to provide roosting spots for the wedge-tailed eagle. We see one eventually - surveying the desert for its next meal.

There is a herd of camels too - descendants of the camels which were vital to the building of the railway that linked the mining town of Kalgoorlie in Western Australia with Port Augusta in South Australia.

Everything for its construction in 1917 had to be brought in by camel - from sleepers to water. I spot a dingo nosing among the saltbushes further down the line.

The train stops at Cook - we are 1100km from Adelaide, 1500 kilometres from Perth.

During the early days of the railway and before its privatisation Cook was a thriving town - it had a school, a hospital and of course a pub.

Today 25 per cent of the population is serving in the small shop beside the line.

Jan tells us it takes her and her husband 12 hours (with an overnight break) to drive to the shops at Port Augusta.

She sells hand-painted doorstops and other knick-knacks to train passengers and gives the proceeds to the Royal Flying Doctor Service.

Outside the shop is a water tank on the side of which is painted "Our hospital needs your help. Get sick".

There is only a plaque and a sculpture fashioned possibly from an old hospital basin to mark the site of the hospital now.

The facility once had two wards, an operating theatre, even dental facilities and the Flying Doctor service could taxi right up to the front door.

We walk to the Cook Country Club (est. 2006) - a converted railway carriage and tennis courts, behind which is a nine-hole golf course - there's not a blade of grass to be seen.

The school, and pub sit companionably side by side - the pub wall adorned with a faded mural of bounding kangaroos.

Beyond the tiny settlement the Nullarbor fades into shimmering infinity.

Back on the train we pass Forrest where trans-continental flights once landed to refuel.

Two people still man the airfield here in case of emergencies and also to refuel light planes. Banks of rain-heavy clouds are rolling in. Pools of water shimmer beside the track.

The rain has stopped as we pull into Kalgoorlie after 10pm. However the promise of more rain has meant the world's largest single open cut mine - the Superpit - has had to be closed for safety reasons.

Kalgoorlie and its sister town of Boulder are the largest producers of gold in Australia. It was discovered here in 1893 by Paddy Hannan and some mates. They'd camped in a dry riverbed which had flooded overnight.

Next day as they searched for their gear, which had washed away, they stumbled upon dozens of gold nuggets simply lying on the surface.

Being a week night the main drag, Hannan Street, was relatively quiet, although wailing sounds were emanating from the veranda Exchange Hotel. It turned out to be a karaoke patron mangling Hotel California.

As with Broken Hill, Kalgoorlie's city fathers had had money to spare for grand public buildings. Several featured Islamic arches, and stylised minarets - a tribute to the role of the Afghan camel men. I thought of the Tampa refugees as we passed by - there seemed to have been somewhat of a reversal in regard for Afghans in Australia.

Night time might not have been ideal for admiring architecture but it was the time of day to drive down Hay Street - Kalgoorlie's compact red-light district.

The Red House and the Pink House, like the pubs, didn't seem to be doing a roaring trade.

One of the madams was leaning against her front door, drawing on a cigarette and watching the bus load of train passengers pass by with complete equanimity.

We could have checked out the Skimpy Bars where the publicans never have to shell out for clothing for their female bar staff, but we had a train to catch.

- Jill Worrall

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Pictured above: The Indian Pacific at Cook on the Nullabor Plain. Photo / Jill Worrall