Handbrakes: Uses and Abuses
By Vicki Godwin
I am what some 4WD journalists refer to as a handbrake.
Three of we handbrakes accompanied our 4WD action men on a trip to Cape York in July.
We left our campertrailer at Lakeland, south west of Cooktown, packed our tents and camping equipment, and headed off for a month to and from ‘the tip’. All good up until then.
Day 3 out of Lakeland and we cross the Wenlock and Pascoe Rivers to Chili Beach, where we camp for three days in strong wind and driving rain. Not always pleasant, but still good. We have lunch at Out of the Blue café on the coast at historic Portland Roads. Really really good - thanks action men. We invest a few dollars in art at the Lockhart River Aboriginal Arts and Cultural Centre. Again, thanks action men, shopping is very effective maintenance for handbrakes.
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We return to the Pascoe River swollen after three days of heavy rain. Not good!! We look at the river and it’s about 70 metres wide and one metre deep - our action men can read the depth indicator. Much mumbling and grumbling amongst the action men as they reluctantly decide to turn back, but we three passengers loosen our handbrake grips and breath a collective sigh of relief in the still falling rain. But then we grip again. More action men have arrived.
Locals, with a pressing need to get to Bamaga. Two weary, rusty, vehicles - one without snorkel or conning tower. One local, twice the size of Mal Meninga, wades into the river for about five metres, looks apprehensively back at the crocodile warning sign on the river bank, comes out and hitches a chain from his diesel vehicle to the petrol vehicle, and then supported by much laughter and bravado from his passengers, enters the river and forges across without incident. Our handbrake grips instinctively tighten and we try to apply pressure. No good.
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