How a breakdown in the search for a boat named Margaret led to adventure on the Birdsville Track

Lured by a boat named Margaret we set out towards the deserts of Central Australia.

A 4WD laden with cameras and sound equipment, water and supplies, we were three colleagues out to tell a story.

An almost $30 million barge had been installed in the middle of the driest inhabited continent and, just like the biblical ark, carrying livestock was a priority.

Sure, it's a bit quirky and it promised the colour and character of the outback, but this would also be a report about problem-solving, people from across Australia working together to re-connect isolated communities in a region renowned for an unforgiving climate, building the foundations of something that would serve generations to come.

At least, that's how we'd pitched it to the boss.

There was Carl, a camera operator whose career began filming television dramas in the lush green Yorkshire Dales, and sound recordist Victor, who remains the first and only person I've known to take his beer with ice.

I was the reporter from ABC's Parliament House bureau in Canberra, grateful to be out of the capital.

We were headed for the Birdsville Track.

It is a 520 kilometre stretch from Marree in South Australia's north, through three deserts — the Tirari, Strzelecki and Sturt Stony — to Birdsville in western Queensland.

It's the official address for less than a dozen pastoral stations and one pub, the Mungerannie.

Not many people live here but plenty of cattle do, especially this year.

That's because the Channel Country is running.

Rain that fell during mega storms in Queensland earlier this year is draining its way into Kati Thanda-Lake Eyre via the Diamantina River and Cooper Creek.

Some Australians will know that the flood waters slowly arrive from hundreds, maybe more than 1,000 kilometres away to create an inland sea, drawing wildlife, birds, fish and grey nomads to the outback.

For those living by the channels and creeks, the water is like a wildfire in reverse, spreading precious green feed for tens of thousands of cattle.

This year, according to the South Australian government, the floodwaters cover 32,000 square kilometres or an area equivalent to half the size of Tasmania.

In April, the Diamantina cut the Birdsville Track at the north.

And then, by June, the Cooper Creek had cut the Birdsville Track at the southern end.

For more than a few weeks , an inland island had been created, leaving some of the most isolated people in the country, even more isolated.

Good country for cattle

Pastoralists here spend almost as much time in drought, as not.

So, with water running and cattle fattening, it was somewhat cruel that the same waters, teasing more prosperous times, had prevented them from accessing a booming cattle market.

There was no way to get the cattle to market.

And with the exception of small aircraft or a tinnie, there was no way to get supplies in.

That was until Margaret arrived.

Nobody knows why the barge was called Margaret, but there's a theory that changing a boat's name is bad luck.

Nobody here needed any bad luck, they needed to be able to truck their cattle to the meatworks further south.

With red meat in demand around the globe cattle prices have been high and the abattoirs have been chomping at the bit to access the cattle.

With funding  committed from both state and federal governments a plan was hatched to bring a former jack-up barge from Karratha in Western Australia's Pilbara to the Cooper Creek.

Like a magnet, the project drew marine construction crew from the salt waters of coastal Australia to the country's centre.

A deep, short section of the creek would be the most appropriate place for a barge, but it would require a slight detour off the flooded track.

More than 45 kilometres of road would need to be upgraded to support the incoming construction equipment — there were at least two cranes — and the onslaught of 100-tonne cattle trucks expected to follow.

There were doubters and naysayers and missed deadlines.

With temperatures hitting the mid-40s before the 2025 Melbourne Cup had even been run, the pressure was on.

Could it be done?

Outbound on the Birdsville Track

We were about to find out when 30 kilometres south of the barge site, our noses pointed to the north, the aforementioned 4WD stopped … in the middle of the Birdsville Track.

We'd been going slow, maybe 30km/h, a truck ahead and a road grader behind when the clunk came!

It was the sound of rock hitting the undercarriage, you've probably heard something similar a thousand times. And it was followed by nothing.

Our engine was running but we were standing still.

It was mid-morning and the horizon was split in two — equal parts a reddish/brown below and a bright blue above.

Victor dropped the f-bomb first.

We pushed the vehicle to the side of the track, leaving behind a puddle of transmission fluid that marked where our journey had drawn to a halt.

Unmarked, but equally dashed, were our hopes of meeting Margaret.

We had air-con, water and food, each other and a satellite phone, order not indicative of helpfulness.

For almost two hours via the sat phone we attempted to explain to numerous, well-intended, people at the other end that we were almost 800km north of Adelaide; no that is not a suburb; and we were actually nowhere near (or more politely, 500km east of) Coober Pedy.

This was Etadunna, South Australia.

We didn't want to make a claim; and sure, we could give you an email address but there was no way we'd be receiving any correspondence out here on the Birdsville Track.

What we needed was a tow truck.

Carl had the coordinates.

And then, best of all, we had Matt.

Not all heroes wear capes, some wear high-vis.

Matt had been working on the road not far from where we were stopped and came to our aid with kindness, practical advice and a HiLux big enough to take us back to Marree.

Once we knew the tow truck had been dispatched from Copley, we were safe and headed away from Marge the Barge.

Salvation in Marree

In 2021, the census recorded a population of 65 people in Marree.

What it didn't show was that generosity and a can-do attitude are in abundance here.

Within moments of walking through the doors to the refuge of the Marree Pub we were swamped by a willingness to help.

Before the breakdown we'd planned to travel to Clifton Hills Station, now a five-and-a-half-hour drive to the north, where a muster had been underway.

At almost 17,000 square kilometres or 4.5 million acres it runs up to 21,500 cattle and is one of the biggest cattle stations in the world.

Imagine the cattle and cowboys, trucks and wide-open spaces. It might have been the perfect way to start Margaret's story.

We'd also planned a stopover at Mungeranie — the pub and roadhouse where tourists could fuel up or rest their heads.

We would test the case for the barge with those taking in a cool drink while hearing from the caretakers about the long, lonely winter when nobody came to stay.

That part of the story would have to wait.

Back at the Marree Hotel, miners and road workers filtered into the pub, a few tourists were about but the season was wrapping.

Outside, people had gathered at tables under the partially-restored verandah.

Inside, walls were covered in black and white images of the outback legend Tom Kruse who'd worked the Birdsville Track mail run in a Leyland Badger during the 1930s, 40s and 50s.

Another set of framed photos showed jockey Pat Gleeson riding to victory in the twin Marree and Melbourne Cups of 1950.

One Marree resident, with a patch on his hat, told us how he'd written a book about his time as a cameleer.

It had a twist. The story would be told from a camel's perspective. It'll be published soon.

Former local, Helen, had made the trip from Adelaide with her Canadian daughter-in-law. They'd heard the Cooper was running and were determined to see it.

'Just take it'

We'd been within spitting distance of the barge when the car croaked.

The locals insisted we couldn't come all this way and get so close only to turn back now.

It could be almost a day's drive to collect a hire car and return from Port Augusta, maybe a half day if we could find one at Roxby Downs.

A flight to the station might have worked, but the ABC's risk assessment would take time we didn't have.

Already our colleague — Trent — had been dispatched from Adelaide on a retrieval mission to collect us.

He'd be here by nightfall.

The car he was driving was not suitable for the Birdsville Track.

In the end, it didn't matter.

When Ellen, a pastoralist, and Simon, the publican, heard of our plight, neither hesitated.

Both — independently of each other — offered the loan of a 4WD for the day.

"Just take it," they'd each said. They were serious.

How many people do you know, that would lend you a 4WD in the outback for the day? 

Carl, Victor, and I are lucky enough to say definitively, at least two.

After a hot minute, we finally had a nod from the boss and we were back on track, this time with the welcome addition of Trent.

We wouldn't make it to Clifton Hills or Mungeranie … but we'd found another story on the Birdsville Track — one of extraordinary hospitality and a willingness to find a way.

Thanks to Matt, Simon, Ellen and the generosity of all those we met in that second week in November, we also, finally, met Margaret.

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