The Old Telegraph Track

Photography by Dan Grec and Katie Harris

While technically in the driver’s seat, what I’m doing can’t reasonably be called sitting. With the Jeep nearly vertical, the steering wheel is directly below me, and I’m pushing back hard to keep my body off the dashboard and my back against the seat. I can barely see the tip of the hood, beyond which walls of dirt and mud fill my vision. With only an inch or two on each side, my mirrors are folded in, and all my concentration is focused ahead on Josh, his spotting being the only thing keeping me centred between vertical walls of mud. I’m holding my winch controller in my right hand, hoping desperately to avoid the worst-case scenario of getting stuck vertically at the bottom of the mud trench.

While hanging helplessly on the edge, I can’t help thinking this is a really bad idea, but with no alternative, I ease off the brakes, inching the Jeep over what is, for all intents and purposes, a cliff. At the point of no return, gravity takes over. Kristy lets out a scream, and Josh jumps backwards to avoid the wave of mud. After days of intense four-wheel driving in remote Cape York, I’ve dropped into Gunshot, Australia’s most infamous 4WD track.

Cape York is in the far north-east, a wild and remote corner of what is generally considered an extremely wild and remote continent. During early settlement, the extreme remoteness made outside communication all but impossible, so in the usual way of European colonizers, an ambitious plan to build a telegraph line the length of Cape York was put into action in 1883. The thick, jungle-like rainforest and scrubland did not give in easily, with the initial survey taking two years and construction requiring a further two of hard manual labor. The track was cut roughly two chains wide (40 yards), and teams of men were assigned for upkeep and maintenance, a herculean task after the monsoonal rains each season during the annual “Wet”.

The telegraph track remained the only way to access the far northern tip of Cape York for more than a hundred years until the Peninsula Development Road (PDR) was completed in 1986. At that time, the original telegraph line was replaced by microwave transmission, and now, it’s fibre optic. The Old Tele is now abandoned and hasn’t seen any maintenance or trail repairs since ’86. The severely rutted and muddy track now stands as the mecca of remote technical four-wheel driving, and these days, it’s busier than ever. Tens of thousands of eager challengers descend each year during the dry season to put their vehicles to the test.

With countless deep-river crossings, stunning waterfalls, tree roots, rock shelves, soft sand, and plenty of mud holes, the multi-day track has something for everyone. Although the Tele is only 110 miles long (tiny by Australian standards), it packs a punch, requiring most miles to be driven in low range. Simply getting to the end in one piece is an achievement to be proud of—bonus points for doing so without drowning your vehicle.

Aussie Culture at Its Best

Isolated by a gruelling 15-hour flight, Australians have evolved into a special breed, something I know all too well thanks to growing up in rural Victoria. A bogans is a certain type of native found throughout farming towns. The term could loosely be translated to redneck, though I fear that doesn’t quite capture how jovial, positive, and downright crazy they are. If you’ve ever seen an Aussie wearing a blue singlet, shorts, Blundstone boots, and a big hat while holding a beer and telling a cracking yarn in an accent so thick you’re not sure they’re speaking English, you’ve found yourself an honest-to-goodness bogan. You don’t have to look too far, and any decent pub will be bursting at the seams with them, even at midday on a Monday.

It’s no secret bogans love four-wheel driving, and the Old Tele is akin to Graceland for them. The vehicle of choice is a heavily loaded small pickup, often a Hilux, Ranger, or Isuzu D-Max. Known locally as ‘utes’ (short for utility vehicle), these small pickups are almost exclusively turbo-diesels and are outfitted with enormous roo bars, multiple CB radio antennas big enough to contact the space station, and, of course, assorted fridges stocked with more beer than drinking water. From sunrise to sunset, I never see a single bogan without a cold one in hand, and the rate of consumption is truly staggering. Somehow, I’m actually surprised when almost everyone stays on their feet.

One of the bogans’ redeeming qualities is that they’re always the first to jump in and offer help whenever the need arises, which it often does in these parts. A highlight of the Old Tele is spectating as other vehicles move through each obstacle, and like any good sporting venue, the characters in the crowd are as entertaining as the main event.

The Team Forms

We have been exploring the remote tracks of Far North Queensland with an eclectic crew of people and vehicles from around the country, who have affectionately dubbed us the Americans, in part because we’re driving a Jeep and also because of Katie’s accent, that stands out like a sore thumb. For the record, Katie is Canadian, but the Aussies around here don’t know that.

Josh and Georgie drive a heavily loaded VDJ78 Land Cruiser with a tuned 4.5l V8 turbo-diesel, while Brad and Kristy pilot a heavily modified Nissan Patrol. Josh has nerves of steel and is not afraid of monster wheel lifts and deep mud holes, while Brad and Kristy have an extensive background in winch recoveries. I bring the least to the table in terms of highly technical four-wheel driving, and I’m grateful to have all their expertise on the team.

After a few minutes on the track, we arrive at the first major obstacle, Palm Creek. With a near-vertical drop-in and exit, Palm Creek is so intimidating that many would-be adventurers turn around before they’ve even begun. As Josh and I scout and spot each other down into the creek, we meet India and Luke, a young couple driving a well-worn 1995 HZJ75 Land Cruiser. Happy for the company, they jump aboard to round out our ragtag team of adventurers.

Early Lessons

It quickly becomes clear the severity of any obstacle can be judged by the number of vehicle bumpers, mufflers, license plates, and pieces of plastic trim hanging from surrounding trees. It is a right of passage to leave anything that breaks off in a nearby tree, and on the most rutted climbs, the trees have twice as many plastic pieces as leaves.

Only an hour into the track, Josh drops into a dark, murky mud hole so severely off-camber the big Cruiser almost flops over. Not trusting our luck, the rest of our team skirts the hole on the narrowest of sneak routes, happy to be through unscathed. While the heavy Land Cruiser is prone to wheel lifts, it becomes clear the longer wheelbase and drastically less weight on the roof work to my advantage. The Gladiator is much more planted, easily articulating through the complex terrain.

Different Vehicles, Different Styles

All the vehicles in our convoy are set up differently, and each driver has their own style. Watching and learning from each vehicle helps improve my skills, sometimes showing what to do and sometimes what not. While the dramatic vertical entrances of many rivers and obstacles like Gunshot make for great photos, they don’t require any real ability to drive. With a good spotter, it’s a matter of slow and steady, and almost any vehicle is capable of crashing to the bottom in a spray of mud. Getting up and out the other side, however, is a different story.

All the major river crossings have steep and rutted exits made wet and slick by the convoy of vehicles before us. Lumps and holes in the deep tire ruts test a vehicle’s flex, and any vehicle lacking diff locks quickly becomes stuck with a wheel on each axle hopelessly spinning in the air.

Brad in the GU Patrol is happiest using a healthy dose of right foot, resulting in a lot of wheel spin and action. This makes for great spectating, and we all stand well back, never sure what will happen, at the ready with shrieks and cheers, whatever the outcome.

Luke in the old Cruiser is always keen for one more attempt, though his leaf hangers and open diffs let him down on numerous occasions. The Cruiser only ever requires the smallest of winch pulls to get moving again, and we’re all impressed time and again with how well it keeps up with our newer and vastly more expensive vehicles.

Josh in the huge Cruiser is a master at staying cool, and I’m continuously amazed to see him crawl through a huge wheel lift without a care in the world. He knows his vehicle and its limits and is not afraid to walk the line between success and flop. On a few occasions, we dash over to jump on the front bumper or side rails to make absolutely certain it won’t go over, and luckily, it never does.

For my part, I’m repeatedly encouraged by how the big Gladiator performs in the technical climbs. With the Jeep in low-range first and both diff locks engaged, it walks to the top of the biggest obstacles on the Old Tele without lifting a wheel or even a tire slipping. It does this on so many occasions with an effortless grace that Brad can’t help but nickname it ‘Gracie’.

Unexpected Beauty

While four-wheel-drive adventure is the primary draw of the Old Tele, the natural wonders on and around the track are nothing short of breathtaking. The rivers flow crystal clear, and with the sticky heat and humidity, we jump in at any opportunity.

We’re deep in the northern tropics of Australia, and swimming in any body of water is strictly off-limits due to the huge population of saltwater crocodiles, affectionately called ‘salties’. These ancient reptiles are not protected and often grow in excess of 20 feet long. The rivers on the Old Tele are a bit of an oddity in that, for whatever reason, no large crocs have been spotted for years. Nobody else appears to be having problems, so we take that as good enough for us.

Compared to the dusty scrubland around the track, Fruit Bat Falls is paradise on Earth. Eliot Creek cascades over a large rock shelf to form a stunningly translucent swimming pool at the ideal temperature for a dip. Exploring high and low around the falls, I’m excited to discover a carnivorous pitcher plant. The sandy soil here is poor in minerals, so these plants have adapted a cunning method to get what they need elsewhere by eating flies and other insects. Similar to a Venus flytrap, insects are lured into the pitcher with sweet nectar and can’t escape the slippery pit before being digested by the enzymes within. While this isn’t the greatest outcome for the bugs, the number of plants scattered around the area shows it works well for the plants.

Another 20 minutes north, we spend hours swimming at the equally stunning Eliot and Twin Falls. Scattered over a few hundred yards, we find various swimming holes, waterfalls, canyons, and rock features. There is enough current to be swept down through the features, and rocks provide great entertainment in the form of cliff jumping. After a couple of days on the track, I’m confident sitting under a waterfall counts as a shower.

In places, the dense jungle gives way to dry and dusty scrubland, and as we move farther north, we encounter enormous termite mounds. These towering dirt columns are often taller than me and are built by billions of termites to survive the seasonal monsoon rains when more than 100 inches of rain will fall in just a few months. The architecture of these mounds has been studied for decades, and they’re built perfectly oriented to the points of the compass to maximize cooling in the breeze while also minimizing heat from the sun. Across northern Australia, termites build these nests in a variety of designs, each perfectly suited to the particular environment they are found in. Each mound is intricate and distinguished, with the interior looking something like a honeycomb lattice to provide a multi-level home for the ingenious termites.

4WD For Days

The Old Tele contains infamous 4WD obstacles with catchy names like Mistake Creek and Cockatoo Creek. With different elements of problem-solving involved, I get an instant shot of adrenaline as I park the Jeep and jump out to scout the situation with our crew. Each year, the track is slightly different thanks to the massive water surge during the Wet, so you never quite know what you’re going to get.

The Sydney Harbour Bridge is undoubtedly the continent’s most famous, although the abomination at Cypress Creek is likely photographed just as often. The haphazard log bridge has to be seen to be believed, and even walking over it seems like a bad idea. It is rebuilt each year from whatever logs and ratchet straps can be found lying around, and Josh is quick to point out that none of the logs are long enough to span the entire gap—an unnerving thought. The Gladiator is more than 2,500 pounds lighter than Josh’s Cruiser, so I’m more than happy to let him go first.

We fall into a steady routine as we scout each obstacle and work as a team to get through. To celebrate, we jump in for a swim and watch the next group, hoping for excitement. Each track is different, and I find myself exhausted at the end of each day from concentrating on all the rock ledges, holes, and off-camber sections. With such a well-equipped team, we encounter no major problems, only rarely using MaxTrax or winch line to prevent panel damage to the towering mud walls.

Our sense of achievement after successfully completing each feat is real, and we let off steam in the evenings by playing on rope swings and reliving the day around the campfire. It is easy to see why people come back year after year, stretching the track from four days into two weeks of spectating, swimming, and lapping the bigger obstacles.

Carnage at Nolan’s

The final river crossing on the Tele is probably responsible for more drowned vehicles than any other river in Australia. Deceptively, neither the entry nor the exit of Nolan’s Creek looks particularly steep or difficult, and thankfully, we are warned that the sandy bottom catches people out. Even a well-equipped 4WD will see water lapping over the hood, which is plenty deep enough to induce panic. With exhaustion sinking in from days on the trail and the end literally in sight, extra throttle seems like a guaranteed safe crossing. Unfortunately for the uninitiated, the sandy bottom combined with the flowing water behaves like quicksand, and a mere hint of wheelspin will quickly sink a heavy 4WD. Even experienced drivers are inclined to add power suddenly, and the perfect feedback loop ensures a lengthy stay in the deep water.

Arriving at Nolan’s right at sunset, we think it wise to make camp for the night, and in the morning, we’ve barely put coffee on the boil before the viewing gallery begins to form on the far bank.

Being virtually guaranteed to provide carnage and drowned vehicles, locals and visitors drive into the crossing at Nolan’s and set up deck chairs and coolers of beer to watch the fun. On a busy day, upwards of 50 vehicles will cross while dozens of people in the peanut gallery cheer and offer suggestions. By the time we’re ready to cross, the pressure is palpable.

The old Cruiser is the lowest and least capable vehicle in our convoy, and it needs a little TLC. After adding silicon to the broken snorkel, we also throw a tarp over the front of the hood—extra insurance to ensure river water stays outside the engine. With thoughts of quicksand in mind, I lead our team across, concentrating on driving smoothly while maintaining momentum. With the Jeep set up as a quick recovery vehicle, I keep a close eye as each vehicle in our convoy fords the flowing river without incident.

I park high on the bank and walk back to join the throng, hoping to witness some carnage. With such a big crowd, the temptation to put on a show is too much, and within 15 minutes, I watch three separate vehicles become helplessly stuck in the deep water. As predicted, any amount of throttle only makes the problem worse. Without a vehicle ready to provide a quick pull, one Land Cruiser sits with water lapping at the hood for a solid four minutes while the owner waves frantically. When finally sitting on dry land, a cascade of water pours from each door, although the engine continues to idle, highlighting the value of a quality snorkel.

A Track to Remember

I’ve spent years overlanding around the world with the unspoken goal to get as far from people as possible. Seeing myself as some kind of lone wolf Indiana Jones, I set out solo on the Pan-American Highway and later to circumnavigate Africa. It was a one-man expedition with no support vehicle, border helpers, or friends, relying solely on my wits and skill to tackle each new challenge, and I thoroughly enjoyed the intense feeling of self-reliance. Solo adventures are often serious affairs; looking back, there was almost never any laughing.

Never before have I driven a track as social as the Old Tele, and it was a riot of a good time. Even when the going got tough or stressful, we worked together to think it through, plan, and continue forward, preventing any vehicle damage or terrifying moments. Of course, there were plenty of pranks pulled, and having someone yell Stop as you drive over a sketchy log bridge is a surefire adrenaline spike. Circling the wagons around the communal campfire at night was the perfect way to relive the adventures, laugh, and celebrate our triumph. These memories are so strong that I can’t imagine what the Tele would be like solo.

There was a constant stream of vehicles and people all around us, and seeing familiar faces at each obstacle became reassuring and entertaining. Each group had different levels of sunburn and alcohol consumption, and while I wouldn’t want to join all of them, everyone finished the track, grinning like mad at our shared sense of achievement.

Waiting for the ferry to cross the mighty Jardine River later that afternoon, there was one common conversation among all the various groups: we cannot wait to come back.

Editor’s Note: This article was originally published in Overland Journal’s Winter 2024 Issue.