Working remotely on the road: what actually works out bush

I filed a client report from a table at the Broome Public Library last dry season because the free camp I'd picked twenty minutes out of town had zero bars and my Starlink dish was still packed in a tub under the bed. Lesson learned the hard way, again. Working remotely while free camping sounds simple until you're the one staring at a spinning upload bar with forty per cent battery left and no idea when the next decent signal is.

I've been doing this full-time for a few years now, mostly solo, mostly in the Troopy with the camper on the back, and mostly in places where "remote work" and "remote" mean the same thing. The gear side is solvable. The bit people underestimate is the planning, because working remotely on the road isn't really about the technology at all. It's about choosing camps and routes that don't fight you.

The signal reality nobody tells you

Telstra's coverage maps are the best public reference we've got, and even they're generous in the way all coverage maps are generous — they show where a signal is engineered to reach, not where it actually lands once you're behind a range or down in a gorge. I treat the map as a rough guide and nothing more. Real bars on the ground can be a full category worse than what the map promises, especially anywhere with escarpment country or thick scrub between you and the tower.

Optus and Vodafone have decent tallies of towers now too, but out past the Kimberley's bitumen, Telstra is still the only network with meaningful reach. If you're planning to work while travelling the Gibb River Road corridor or anywhere off the Kimberley's back roads, assume nothing until you've tested it with a phone in your hand at the actual camp, not the highway turn-off.

Starlink changed the maths, but it's not magic

I resisted for a long time because of the cost and the extra thing to pack. I was wrong to hold out as long as I did. A Starlink roam plan has meant I can genuinely commit to work while parked at camps that would've been unthinkable three years ago — dry riverbeds, station stays, the odd bush camp with nothing but red dirt and quiet.

It's not perfect. You need a reasonably clear view of the northern sky, obstructions cost you dropouts, and it draws real power — figure 40 to 75 watts continuously depending on conditions, which adds up over an eight-hour work day. It also doesn't like being set up under thick canopy, which rules out plenty of the shadiest and nicest free camps. There's a genuine trade-off between camping in the good shade and camping where the dish actually works, and I don't think enough people admit that out loud.

Mobile boosters: the bit that's actually regulated

A cheap booster off a marketplace listing might get you an extra bar in marginal country, and plenty do work. What people don't check is whether the unit is legal to use here at all. The Australian Communications and Media Authority sets out what's permitted under its cellular repeater class licence, and unapproved units can interfere with the same towers you're trying to use, which is exactly the kind of thing that gets gear confiscated at a roadside check. If you're buying a booster, buy one that's specifically listed as compliant for the Australian market — it's a five-minute check on the ACMA website before you hand over money.

Power budgets for a working day, not a holiday

Camping power calculations are usually built around fridge, lights and maybe charging a phone. Working remotely adds a laptop running most of the day, a phone on a hotspot, sometimes a second screen, and a Starlink dish if you're carrying one. My honest daily draw on a work day, dish included, sits somewhere around 250 to 350 watt-hours more than my non-work camping days. That's not trivial when you're already juggling fridge and lighting loads off a modest battery bank.

If you're setting a rig up specifically to support working from the road, size the system for your worst case — overcast days, short winter daylight, three days without moving — not the sunny afternoon you tested it on. We've got a full breakdown of the maths in how to size a caravan solar and battery system that actually works, and I'd genuinely start there before you buy a single panel.

Choosing camps that support work, not just scenery

The best free camp for a weekend away is rarely the best free camp for a Tuesday when you've got a 2pm call. I've started scouting camps in two tiers: the ones I want to be at, and the ones I can actually work from. When those overlap, brilliant. When they don't, I've learned to compromise on the view for the sake of getting the invoice out on time.

Station stays and caravan parks with a bit of infrastructure are worth having in the rotation even if you're mostly a free camper by instinct. A night or two at somewhere like Bullara Station Stay or a Kimberley base like RAC Cable Beach Holiday Park gives you reliable power and usually better connectivity than a riverbed forty kilometres out, which matters more than pride when a deadline's real. Our notes on choosing a free camp when you're travelling solo cover the safety side of site selection, and the same logic applies doubly when you need to actually be reachable during the day.

Check the legal side too. Some free camps have stay limits that assume you're passing through, not setting up an office for a week, and a few local government areas have started tightening rules around extended stays. Our state-by-state rundown in free camping in Australia: the rules, state by state is worth a re-read if you're planning to park up somewhere for longer than the usual 48 hours.

A realistic weekly rhythm

I reckon the biggest mistake remote workers make on the road is trying to move and work on the same day. It doesn't work well for me and I've never met anyone it works well for. My rhythm now is roughly three work days stationary, then a travel day, then find the next base. It's slower than the itinerary I'd have run five years ago, and it's the only way I've found to actually get decent hours in without the work suffering or the trip feeling like a chore.

That slower cadence lines up with almost everything else we write about touring properly rather than racing it — the same logic that applies to a lap generally applies double when you've got deadlines. If you haven't already, it's worth reading why rushing the Big Lap is the biggest mistake you can make, because the argument holds even harder once work is part of your day.

Apps and offline backups worth having

I keep a stack of offline maps downloaded before I lose signal, plus an offline copy of anything I might need to reference for a client without internet. A coverage-checking app on the phone saves a lot of guessing before you commit to a camp, and we've rounded up the ones actually worth the storage space in the caravanning and camping apps actually worth having.

I also carry a satellite messenger separate from Starlink, registered the same way I'd register a PLB, because a data connection for work is not the same thing as a safety plan. If you're travelling remote enough that Starlink is your only lifeline, it's worth checking the Australian Maritime Safety Authority's guidance on distress beacon registration — a laptop with good bandwidth doesn't call in a search and rescue if something actually goes wrong.

What I'd tell someone starting out

Don't buy gear before you've done a fortnight of test runs somewhere with patchy but not impossible signal — the Kimberley's back roads or anywhere along the Savannah Way corridor is honest training ground, because you'll get enough bars to be tempted and enough dropouts to find your real limits. Budget for more power than you think you need, expect Starlink to be brilliant nine days out of ten and frustrating on the tenth, and build a work rhythm around staying still rather than constant movement.

The honest answer is that working remotely from free camps is entirely doable now in a way it wasn't a few years back, but it rewards planning over optimism every single time.