Nobody heads into the Simpson Desert thinking, “Right. Let’s turn this into a spreadsheet.” But, we were out there testing the Ranger Super Duty and, once we rolled in and did a few runs up and down Big Red, the largest and most famous sand dune at the ‘start point’ of Australia's Simpson Desert, something in me clicked.

We turned into the desert proper with all the camping gear and everything else you carry when you’re not just passing through. Water, fuel, tools, spare parts, the lot. Properly loaded, because that’s the point.

A few dunes in, I thought, “Why have I never counted these?”

You hear this idea that there are roughly 1,100 parallel dunes in the Simpson, and if you’re going from Birdsville to Mount Dare, you pretty much cross them all. I’d done the trip before and never once tried to put a number on it.

This time, I decided to make it someone else’s problem.

Counting dunes sounds easy. It isn’t.

So, we gave one passenger in one car a job. Count the dunes and mark them off. We picked a specific vehicle for the task because it made sense at the time. It wasn’t being used for ‘testing’ as such, and if it ended up looking a little “used” by the end of the trip, well, it wasn’t the end of the world. The important part was that we had a navigator with a pen, and somewhere to record the tally.

And that’s when the Simpson started laughing at us.

It’s not as simple as, “Drive up a V-shaped dune, drop down the other side, tick it off.” Half the time you climb onto what you think is the crest and discover it’s not a clean crest at all. It’s extra humps and bumps, like the dune forgot where it was going and changed its mind mid-sentence.

If you counted every bump, you’d end up with millions. So we had to interpret it. Look left and right and decide whether you’re crossing a defined ridge that continues along. If it felt like a proper ridge, you counted it as a new one.

The ceiling method

Even with a system, it’s easy to miss a few. You’re crossing so many that the numbers start slipping around in your head. Because we rotated through the cars so everyone got time in every seat, the counting job moved around too.

When it was my turn, I developed my own method.

I’d count five on my hand, then mark it on the ceiling.

Five. Mark.
Five. Mark.

It sounds clean until you remember we were bouncing around constantly. Any time you put a pen near the ceiling, there’s a real chance you’ll “mark” more than you meant to. Sometimes we had to stop, not because the driving demanded it, but because it was so rough the person counting physically couldn’t write.

797, give or take

By the end of that route, we landed on something like 797 defined dunes. And I say “defined” because dunes don’t sit still for a headcount. Some peter out and re-form. Some tracks probably have more, some less. And the further west you get, the dunes are smaller but more frequent, so the counting becomes more intense. Less “big moments” and more constant rhythm.

There was another twist. We did the route in a direction we hadn’t done on development trips before. Normally we’d go west to east, which is different because of the prevailing winds. Dunes are basically triangular in section, and the leeward side is steeper with softer sand. Going east to west is harder, and that’s exactly why we chose it. We already knew the crossing could be done. This way, we gave ourselves an extra challenge.

The direct route is around 590 km, give or take. Just under 600 if there are no diversions. But we weren’t doing a clean run. We did multiple passes on Big Red with each car and did a few other dune runs. So no, it wasn’t an economy exercise, but we made it across with fuel to spare on a single tank.

We were properly loaded too. Two people per car, plus all the water and fuel, tools and spares, and all the camping gear. We even carried extra water and fuel we probably didn’t need, partly because we wanted ballast.

Four nights of camping (and one food detour)

And then there’s the part people don’t always picture. Four nights of camping and cooking. We split into cooking teams, and the system is simple. Prepare meals beforehand, freeze them into blocks that fit your fridge, then out in the desert you just thaw and heat. Add rice, pasta or potatoes and you’re eating well, miles from anywhere.

Of course, there was one moment that nearly torched the whole plan. One of our engineers (who shall remain nameless), who’d cooked a heap of chilli and bolognese before we left, was about 10 minutes into the convoy when he said, “I left all the food at my place.” So, we detoured. Because you can handle a lot in the Simpson Desert, but a hungry crew isn’t one of them.

What the Simpson leaves you with

What I remember most isn’t the almost-forgotten food, the kilometres or the tally.

It’s the way the desert turns a ridiculous idea, counting dunes, into a serious job. A pen and a ceiling become a scoreboard. And the Simpson, quietly, gives you 797 reasons to prove you were there.

Tim Postgate is a Ranger Super Duty vehicle integration engineer with product development.