In short:
The Big Red Bash is a challenging event for organisers due to its remote location and rising costs.
Attendees spend thousands of dollars getting to the event, making the trip part of an extended holiday.
What's next?
Planning for next year's event is already well under way.
For most months of the year, Adria Downs, a cattle station in far west Queensland, lays dormant.
There are no toilets, no electricity, no running water and, certainly, no stage or rock stars.
But when the Big Red Bash comes to town, Birdsville comes to life.
The population swells from just over 100 people to thousands.
"I think it would have to be one of, if not the most, challenging festivals in the country," the festival's founder, Greg Donovan, said.
About 180 crew members and contractors from around Australia, along with 500 volunteers, are employed to ensure the Big Red Bash runs smoothly.
The main stage is driven into the festival in three semi-trailers before it is put together.
"The cost of mounting this sort of event in Birdsville, compared to an area that already has facilities, is about a million dollars more," event promoter Mark Christowski said.
Mr Christowski's company, Empire Touring, which produces the entertainment for the Big Red Bash and Mundi Mundi festivals, has decades of experience bringing some of the world's biggest musical artists to Australia.
He said the cost of running festivals was increasing across the board, with events paying up to four times more just for insurance in recent years.
"We can't really increase our ticket prices … it would just make it unattainable for people," Mr Christowski said.
Festivals across the country have been shutting up shop or taking a break over the last year, but despite the challenges, Mr Christowski insists remote events are worth holding.
"There's nowhere else in the world that you can actually get the same experience," he said.
"There's Burning Man … but even that is pretty close to a bigger town."
Big Red Bash operations manager Steve Donovan said the planning for next year's event began months before this year's event even took place.
"It's a year-round thing, and we're planning it from 15 months out," he said.
The crew setting up the event grounds starts arriving a month in advance. A group of outdoor enthusiasts spend that entire time camping in tents.
"We have some very keen people coming out who want to be in a remote area and see the desert," Mr Donovan said.
Attendees weigh up costs
Festivalgoers spend the equivalent of an overseas holiday just to get to the annual event on the edge of the Munga-Thirri Simpson Desert.
"We have probably spent close to $6,000 in total," Sarah-Jane Alley said.
Ms Alley rented a four-wheel-drive vehicle to make the 5,000-kilometre round trip from the Sunshine Coast to party at the Big Red Bash.
"The experience we get to have with the artists that come out here, and all of the different things that organisers put on for us just makes it so worth it," she said.
The increasing cost of travel, fuel, and food meant Ms Alley was saving hard to attend the event, and the extended trip became a major holiday.
Organisers said about 7,500 people attended the festival, as cost-of-living pressures forced some to reassess the family budget.
While numbers were down compared to previous years, those at the event said the cost was worth it for the experience.
Emilia Barrow wasn't even able to figure out how much she'd spent on the trip.
"I think it's best not to think about it," she said.
Ms Barrow travelled from Albury-Wodonga with a group drawn to the festival's remoteness.
She said diesel prices climbed higher than $3 per litre along the way.
"This is the big holiday; there's nothing else," she said.
Getting dirty for a more affordable festival
For those looking to save on the $700 ticket price — a fundraiser for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation — becoming one of the 500 volunteers may be an option.
Nicole Osborne from Gippsland in Victoria has volunteered at the festival multiple times.
Wearing a halo and wings, she is one of the guardian angels for thousands of festivalgoers hoping to find a comfortable throne.
Her job is to help look after the hundreds of compostable toilets scattered across the event grounds.
"I work in health, so a toilet doesn't scare me," Ms Osborne said.
She said it was an easy decision to become a volunteer because she was coming to the festival anyway.
The crew she works with has come to be known as the "dunny angels". Some are paid staff, and others are volunteers.
"It's been a little bit harder with all the rain and mud, but it's been a really good way to meet people."
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