Trucking Through the Last Frontier in a Kenworth T950 Road Train.

By Howard Shanks – First published in Truckin’ Life, Volume 19, No. 10, July 1996 with the title Peninsular Purrer!

It’s been nearly three decades since this unforgettable yarn first rolled off the pages of Truckin’ Life magazine and into the hearts of readers across Australia and beyond. Truckin’ Through the Last Frontier, penned by renowned transport journalist and photographer Howard Shanks—known affectionately in trucking circles as “Shanksie”—originally appeared in the July 1996 issue (Vol. 19, No. 10), back when road trains ruled the bush and tales from the Top End were the stuff of legend.

Since then, the story has taken on a life of its own, reprinted numerous times in publications around the world, resonating with readers who appreciate the grit, adventure, and sheer determination required to haul freight through some of the harshest, most remote country on earth.

It was only recently that the story was unearthed again, thanks to a phone call from Andrew Hickey—the very same truckie whose brand-new Kenworth T950 was the hero of the story all those years ago. “Shanksie,” Andrew asked, “do you remember writing that article about my T950? That was thirty years ago now.” As it turns out, Shanksie remembered it well—especially the part where he lost a good pair of thongs (or flip-flops, for our international readers) while perched on the banks of the Normanton River, trying to get the perfect shot of the T950 parked on the bridge. That photographic mission was cut short when a rather curious crocodile decided the visiting photojournalist might make a tasty evening snack.

Never one to shy away from adventure—or a good story—Shanksie went back into his archives, dug out the old slides, dusted off the scanner, and breathed new life into this classic piece of Australian trucking history. And just as he finished resurrecting the article, Andrew had another proposition: “You might want to charge up those cameras, mate. I think I’ve got another story worth telling.”

But for now, sit back, fire up the kettle (or the Jake brake), and enjoy this legendary tale of trucking through Australia’s last true frontier—raw, remote, and unforgettable…

Peninsular Purrer

Mid-May in the top of Australia’s remote Gulf country, and the wet season should have finished a month or so ago. The rains were more than generous this year, feed is abundant, and the normally dry brown countryside is now covered with rich green vegetation.

The Gulf Country, a vast expanse that spans from the western edge of the Great Dividing Range in far North Queensland across endless plains, spectacular river systems, and vast saltpans into the Northern Territory, is one of Australia’s last frontiers. This remote region, where the outback meets the sea at the southern end of the Arafura Sea around the Gulf of Carpentaria, presents a unique set of challenges and opportunities for those who inhabit it.

Here in the Gulf, the land, sea, and climate form a relentless challenge, a taskmaster never completely conquered by either man or machine. Yet, the people who inhabit the Gulf are a testament to human resilience, carving out a precariously balanced relationship with a landscape that still fosters the legendary pioneer spirit of the true Aussie battler.

Trucking through this last frontier, a term that harks back to the pioneering days of Australian outback endeavours, where the unexplored and untamed regions were referred to as frontiers, is a journey that still holds true today.

End of the Wet

For livestock carriers like Andrew Hickey of Hickey’s Livestock Transport, based in Georgetown, roughly seven hours north-west of Townsville, the end of the Wet signals the start of their busiest season.

Travelling at this time of year provides additional hazards; the bitumen is often only ten feet wide, and the shoulders are very soft after the long wet spell. Long stretches of dirt become slushy mud with deep wheel ruts, and the creeks and rivers, dry for most of the year, can suddenly rise metres without warning.

There are no strict ten-minute interval time slots up here; loading times are simply referred to as daylight, smoko, lunch, and the like. Another oddity of the area is that everyone is known as ‘Old Joe’. It’s necessary to know this before engaging in conversation, or you’ll be overcome by confusion. Before long, you’ll want nothing more than to meet this ‘Old Joe’ character who not only drives every piece of machinery in town but also bakes the bread and butchers the cows.

“You remembered how to get here then,” Andrew Hickey grinned and extended his hand. Andrew’s T950 was in the service bay of the local Kenworth Dealer, Brown and Hurley’s Townsville branch, who, incidentally, are celebrating their 25th anniversary this year.

 “The service is nearly finished, so we should be gone by five,” Andrew explained. “The trailers are at the assembly compound on the way out of town. That’ll put us at Bluewater Springs roadhouse by around 8:30 for tea.”

Fifteen minutes later, Andrew hit the T950’s starter and the big Cat purred into life. Andrew’s two trailers were already hooked together at the road train assembly area on the western outskirts of town; Andrew backed up to the lead trailer but stopped just short of it so that he could generously smear the turntable with grease before completing the hook-up procedure.

The big Cat purred effortlessly under the hood along the Flinders Highway heading towards Charters Towers with the two empty trailers behind. At the outskirts of Charters Towers, Andrew flicked the right-hand indicator and poked the T950’s nose north up the Gregory Development road. Not far past the town’s city limits, the dual lanes give way to a narrow strip of bitumen roughly ten feet wide with a narrow dirt shoulder.

Hickey’s Livestock Transport has grown from a single Road train operation to five Road trains after it acquired the neighbouring McIvor group’s operation.

Remote Queensland

In remote Queensland, livestock carriers are extended several concessions not enjoyed by general freight carriers due to the nature of their businesses. One of these concessions is allowable driving hours. Under the fatigue management programs, driving time is extended to 16 hours for a loaded truck. This ensures that cattle can be transported from their place of origin to either holding pens or their final destination without being left standing in the crates while a driver takes their required rest period. In most cases, cattle must be unloaded and spelled in holding pens after a maximum of eleven hours spent in the crates.

The second concession pertains to weight. Cattle carriers work on a volume loading system as opposed to the gross weight restrictions enforced on general carriers. Again, this system is in place for the well-being of the cattle rather than any economic advantages it may afford livestock carriers. Six decks of cattle (triple road train) would typically have a gross weight of around 140 tonnes when fully loaded with big steers.

Bright headlights in the distance signalled an oncoming vehicle. Andrew released the throttle,  dropped a couple of gears and brought the road train to a crawl as the lights drew nearer.

“At night you can’t see,” Andrew pointed out. “You can only see the lights coming. You won’t know what sort of truck it is or how many trailers it has until it’s reasonably close.” Andrew pointed out. “You’ll know if it’s a double-decker by the top lights, but you can’t always tell whether it has two or three trailers.”

 “When you have a triple coming down here at night, you’ve got to be able to get off the road and get back on. During daylight, I drop a couple of gears and just slow down. When it’s dark and I’m loaded, however, I almost come to a complete stop for my own safety. That’s what happened just now with that Hawkin’s fella. I didn’t know how many trailers he had on until his third one went past. You couldn’t see for the dust. If you don’t know, you’re better off being stopped on the side of the road.”

After Midnight

Off in the distance, a faint glow indicated that the roadhouse wasn’t far away; it was time for a feed and a coffee. After enjoying a hearty meal, we wandered back towards the truck. “We’ll get to Georgetown just after midnight,” Andrew said as he turned the key and the big yellow CAT engine fired back into life.

A few hours later, the T950’s lights peered into a black emptiness broken intermittently by bolts of lightning glowing on the horizon. Indicating that the storms were close to home, Andrew commented that it wouldn’t take much rain, and tomorrow’s job would be cancelled. Occasionally, a few drops slithered their way down the windscreen as Andrew engaged in explaining the finer points of cattle cartage in the Gulf.

“You must look after the animals; what you’re carting in the back is your future. If you don’t take care of them, you won’t survive in this industry. If you arrive at the meat works and find the cattle down or bruised, and bruising is a significant issue, the meat works will inform the grazier if the cattle haven’t been cared for correctly. Delivering a grazier’s cattle half dead, bruised or bashed around destroys his livelihood, and he won’t get you to cart for him again.

“Care must be taken to stop regularly to check the cattle. I pull up every two hours to check them and ensure that none of them are down.”

Loading the crate is a knack in itself. “You don’t want them too tight or too loose. They stand crossways in the crate,” Andrew continued. “If they’re too loose, especially in the case of weaners, they’ll pile up in the corner and suffocate themselves.”

Weaners are about nine to fifteen months old, they haven’t learned much and tend to bolt easily. They can only get as far away as the end of the crate, however, where they then stack up on top of one another more often than not. But to sort out the problem, you have to get into the crate with them and pull them apart.

“The cattle just stand there at 90 kph (55 mph). That’s the main reason for having the Cat engine; I needed to go up hills (jump-ups) at 90 kph (55mph) to maintain the same pace. Maintaining that consistency reduces trip times considerably.”

The condition of the cattle deteriorates if they are left on the truck for more than ten or eleven hours. Many of the places Andrew carts to require an overnight stop to spell the cattle. They are fed, watered and reloaded at daylight the following morning.

Georgetown

The lights of Georgetown came into view, and the engine revs dropped. The T950 quietly idled through the sleeping streets to the depot where Andrew parked it over the pit in the shed. “I grease it every time that I come here,” Andrew shrugged. “The way I look at it, grease is free. If you need to replace something on the side of the road out here, just because it wasn’t greased, that’s what’s expensive!”

Georgetown was just as I remembered – quiet. The only sign of life was a mangy old cattle dog that paused momentarily to glance at the newcomer in town before bowing its head and continuing on its way. By mid-morning, Andrew had finished pumping grease through the truck. He’d discovered a loose wheel bearing on the dolly during the check-up, and within minutes, the wheel was in the air and the adjusting nut was nipped up. After a quick cuppa, the gear was packed away again before heading to the station to load.

 “You do know that you have to open the gates when you sit in that seat,” Andrew laughed as he stopped in front of an old gate at the entrance to the station. A chap can get pretty fit opening and shutting gates for a Road train; walking back to the cab after closing the gates is a journey in itself.

The ringers had the cattle penned in the yards, so Andrew wheeled the T950 around and pulled the lead trailer alongside the ramp. The front half of the top floor of the lead trailer acts as a ramp to load the top deck. At the rear, a series of doors open and fold to form ramps, one for each deck, for the cattle to walk through to get into the following trailer. The principle is the same when the third trailer is connected.

A Gentle Poke

A ringer opened the cattle yard’s gate, and the cattle ran up the ramp. A few needed a gentle poke with an electric wand before they would head towards the back of the second trailer. The cattle ran on steadily, and before long, the top deck had filled. Roughly half an hour later, the ringers mounted their horses and waved as Andrew pulled away from the yards.

These particular cattle were bound for the export ship at Karumba, roughly 400 kilometres to the west. The narrow bitumen turns to dirt 120 kilometres out of Georgetown, and Andrew backed the T950 down a cog when the bitumen ended. The dirt section finishes just short of Croydon.

Some of the stations are now fencing paddocks that run along the road after incurring mounting stock losses due to increased traffic. However, fencing material is expensive; steel droppers cost $2.50 each so that it won’t happen overnight.

“Most of the cattle around here have road sense and won’t cause you any trouble,” Andrew commented. “But you’ll always get the odd wild one that wanders out of the scrub and thinks, ‘I’ll just join this family of cows’. These cattle are not used to traffic, and they’ll always run in front of you. When there’s no way out of it, I hit them with the corner of the bulbar so that they are shunted out of the way. If you hit them in the middle of the bullbar, they will go under the truck, tearing off fuel, air and oil lines. You can certainly demobilise yourself if you’re not careful.

“With a road train, you can’t afford to be wandering all over the road. Running into a beast is nothing, you may have a bit of fibreglass damage or need to replace a headlight, but that’s better than tipping a loaded road train over trying to miss them.”

Overhead lights lit the yards at Karumba wharf. Andrew pulled in alongside the ramp as stock agents, ship hands and graziers wandered in and out of the tiny weigh bridge office. Andrew signalled the bridge operator to turn the lights off because cattle won’t walk off a truck into bright light. With the lights off, the cattle ran into the holding pens where they are weighed before being placed in a large yard for the rest of the night. They’ll get loaded onto ships at daylight.

Daybreak

Daybreak found the ground soaked from overnight rain. There were dark clouds on the horizon, and a few spots of rain still hit the windscreen as Andrew headed for home. He’d be connecting a third trailer; the next load required six decks for Charters Towers.

“Looks like the Wet wants to stay about for a bit longer. We’d better hurry home or we could get stuck here indefinitely!”

Greatly improved roads and regular air services have tamed the age-old tyranny of distance in the Gulf country to some extent. In early pioneering days, it took nine months for supplies of flour and other provisions to reach Karumba and neighbouring Burketown from the southern east coast capital cities. Likewise, moving cattle once took a heavy toll on both cattle and drovers because of the time required to move them over even the shortest distances. The infamous drover “Captain Starlight”, who did a dash with 1000 duffed cattle down the Strezlecki track, took many months in 1870 for a journey now covered in mere days. In this remote frontier, inhabitants rely on operators like Andrew Hickey and the durability and reliability of Australian-built Kenworth trucks – built tough enough to endure the harshness of untamed Australia.