Travelling solo with a dog: the free camp habits that keep both of you safe

Charlie's spent more nights on a swag mat under a swag than most people's dogs spend in a backyard. He's a nine-year-old kelpie cross who's done three Kimberley wet-season lead-ins and more corrugated tracks than I can count, and the two of us have worked out a system that has almost nothing to do with what the pet stores try to sell you. Travelling solo with a dog is a different equation to travelling solo without one, and it's a different equation again to travelling as a couple with a dog. Nobody else is watching him while you back the Troopy up to a boat ramp. Nobody else is home if he gets bitten by something and you're four hours from the nearest vet with mobile reception at zero bars.

None of this is complicated once you've thought it through properly. Most of it just needs deciding before you're standing in a dry creek bed at 5pm wondering if it's a good site.

Choosing a free camp changes when there's a dog in the mix

I've written before about how I choose a free camp when I'm travelling solo, and most of that logic still applies: exit routes, ground firmness, who else is there. But a dog adds a second layer of questions. Is there shade that'll still be shade at 2pm, not just at 5pm when you rock up? Is the ground snake country, and if so, is it thick spinifex where you can't see three metres, or open red dirt where you'll spot movement? Is there water nearby that looks like croc water (a lot of the Kimberley and top-end billabongs are, whether or not there's a sign)? I don't camp within throwing distance of a boat ramp or a known crossing anymore. Charlie went in for a swim at a spot near the Fitzroy River years ago before I'd worked that rule out, and it was the last time I let him near moving water I hadn't properly assessed first.

Livestock is another one. Cattle country on stock routes and pastoral leases means loose cattle and sometimes working dogs on neighbouring stations that won't take kindly to a strange dog wandering the boundary. I ask at the homestead if I'm on a station stay, every time, no exceptions. Bullara Station Stay in WA is a good example of a place where the owners will tell you straight where the dog can and can't go, and it's worth listening rather than assuming your dog's better behaved than the last one that got into strife.

Heat management is the single biggest risk, and it's not close

More dogs die on the road from heat than from snakes, dingoes or anything dramatic. That's not a guess, it's just what you notice after enough seasons up here. A dog that's fine at 28 degrees in the shade with a breeze is in genuine trouble at 38 degrees in a stationary vehicle, even with windows cracked. I don't leave Charlie in the Troopy in the middle of the day, full stop, not even for a quick servo stop, not even for twenty minutes. If I need to go into a shop I either leave the aircon running off the auxiliary battery for a short stretch or I don't go. The other side of it is exertion. A dog that's used to shade and air conditioning at home and then gets dragged on a midday walk in the Pilbara in October is a heatstroke case waiting to happen. Charlie does his walking at dawn and dusk from about September through to April. Full stop, no exceptions, no matter how good the track looks at lunchtime.

Water for the dog is a separate calculation to water for me. I carry an extra 10 litres specifically for Charlie on top of my own consumption numbers, because a dehydrated dog in 40-degree country with the nearest town three days out is not a situation you improvise your way through.

What actually goes in the vet kit (not what the checklist says)

Every generic "camping with dogs" list tells you to carry a first-aid kit. Fine, but the specifics matter more than the concept. Mine has a decent supply of saline for flushing eyes and wounds, a tick remover (paralysis ticks are a real risk down the east coast and in parts of the Kimberley too), a muzzle even though Charlie's never needed one because an injured dog in pain will bite anyone including you, and a printed list of vet clinics along my planned route with phone numbers written down, not just saved on a phone that might be flat or out of range. I also carry activated charcoal, on the advice of a vet in Katherine years back, for suspected poisoning, cane toad contact being the obvious top-end risk. If Charlie mouths a cane toad I've got maybe a couple of minutes to flush his mouth out with a hose before it becomes a genuine emergency, and I've had to do this exactly once, at a free camp south of Kununurra, at 9pm, by torchlight.

Sat comms aren't optional when it's just you and the dog

If something happens to me out bush, Charlie's stuck too. If something happens to Charlie, snake bite, heatstroke, a bad cut, I need a way to call for help that doesn't depend on a phone tower. I carry a satellite messenger with an SOS function, and honestly I'd have it even without the dog, but having him along sharpens the stakes. A solo traveller with a health issue can sometimes wait it out or self-manage. A dog in trouble usually can't wait, and you can't explain the problem to a vet over a text message with three words of signal. I'd argue most solo dog owners underinvest here because the risk feels abstract until the one time it isn't. It's a genuine gap in a lot of touring setups I've seen at camps over the years.

Parks, stations and the etiquette nobody tells you

Not every caravan park is dog friendly, and the ones that are usually have rules about off-lead areas, barking, and whether the dog can come to the camp kitchen. I ring ahead now rather than assume. Discovery Parks Alice Springs has a dedicated dog area which makes life easy; plenty of the smaller outback pubs-with-camping are more relaxed but still expect the dog on a lead near the bar. Free camps are a different social contract again. This connects to a rule I stick to everywhere, which is the same 24-hour etiquette rule that applies to noise and generator use: a barking dog at 6am is the fastest way to make yourself unwelcome at a free camp, and it's entirely on you to manage it, not the dog. I keep Charlie tied close to the van overnight, not roaming, both for his safety and everyone else's peace.

The parts that are just good sense, dog or no dog

A lot of what makes solo travel with a dog work is the same discipline that makes solo travel work at all: knowing your exit route before dark, telling someone your rough plan even if it's just a text to family with expected check-in dates, and not pushing into country you're not equipped for. If you're heading somewhere genuinely remote, the same logic in the pre-Kimberley service checklist applies to your rig whether or not there's a dog on the back seat, because a breakdown in the middle of nowhere is a dog problem too, not just a you problem. Charlie's been to more of this country than most people manage in a lifetime, and slower is better for him as much as it is for me. Nine years in, I still reckon the biggest single change I made was accepting that his limits, on heat and on distance, set the pace of the trip, not the other way round.

— Bec Harmon, Free Camping & Remote Travel