Tramping tales for September 2010

The first official day of Spring Down-Under and, although there is very little to suggest so in the Top End of Australia as everything looks as much like it did throughout winter we decided to have a day out in the bush to celebrate! During our years, living in Darwin we’d regularly spent a Saturday night in our favourite camping spot on Leeders Creek, some 75kms NE of the city. In those working days, school preparation for the coming week absorbed a lot of time that it was a pleasure to down tools and set off for our secluded bush camp in time to catch a setting sun. The different phases of the moon furthered the lighting to our simple bush setting. We even took Justy and our grandson Otto there when he was eight months old, so it was a place that held warm memories of ‘getting away from it all’ and relaxing in the little creek pool set within the roots of a couple of trees. The last bit of bush track to our camp took a lot of swerving to avoid trees. It was out of the question for a caravan. Oasis Caravan Park only 50 km away; Lea reluctant to give up air-conditioning for a night in Skiv; thus a revisit of a few hours, it was! It turned out to be a sweltering day with mosquitoes out in force. The creek running very sluggishly that our narrow pool was covered in a thick layer of floating leaves was far from inviting to Lea – but bush man George took respite there twice. We happily spent a few hours in an old haunt even though it must be said the hours of darkness are far preferable to midday heat’s discomfort!

The bright green displays of cycads were an additional pleasure to our Leeders Creek bush camp visit, for old time’s sake.

We have continued to stay on in Oasis Caravan Park outside Palmerston as the owners are happy to look after Getaway for the six weeks we are away in Perth and South Africa. We had a couple of jobs that required doing in the city which gave Lea an ideal opportunity to drop in on her old school, Nakara. Seven years later- no trace of any of her pupils – they have all moved up Primary and gone to High School. Staff, too have moved on and Lea was delighted to find a mere handful of old colleagues to greet and touch base with. Most important job of the day was the need to check whether Skiv would manage to fit into The Sentinel underground parking as well as squeeze into our friend Jo’s spare parking place, beside her Troopie. We didn’t want two bulky Toyotas to be problematic for her. By a hair’s breadth we managed, solving the question of transport to and from the airport for us. Jo will be out teaching in a remote school for the next two weeks and her close proximity to Darwin CBD allows for door to door collection by the Airport shuttle bus. Whew! Thanks Jo.

Days began counting down fast to our flight out of Darwin across to Perth on the 11 September. We tidied up around Skiv and Getaway and kept an ear on the ghastly state of politics with 17 days passing before we had a resolution to our General Election. Which minority government was to rule our Federal Parliament? Each Party literally neck and neck that eventually both were held delightfully to ransom, by three Independents! Underlying all the divergent views and sniping going on we soon realized a POSITIVE CHANGE was in reach should a new mechanism of consensus be accomplished. Neither Party had proved suitable yet six men could make far reaching contributions to change. A mere glimmer of hope flickered within the ‘wicked’ stalemate! We felt Julie Gillard at least acknowledged our Nation was ‘FED-UP’ with party-politics while Tony Abbott seemed far too intent on being Prime Minister as he reined in the wild men of his Coalition. By ‘declaration day’ Lea was feeling decidedly melancholy. Two out of the three, chose for Labor and Julia Gillard – we felt a stunned relief developing, especially hearing the shock, horror, aggressive words that flowed afterwards from Abbott and his bully boys. HELLO! They need to look beyond their old ways and see our country wants a co-operative NEW WAY, something different for the 21st Century. It is a tough call but hopefully each Member of Parliament will play a far more unique part in the wellbeing of Australia.

A Nakara staff member had told Lea that Judy Lennie was back from China. Keen to make contact Lea tried an old e-mail address and struck lucky. Deputy Head with the Early Childhood Unit under her protection, Judy had been a particularly supportive mentor to Lea during her Nakara years that a natural friendship continued after leaving the school. In 2004 Judy took a leap out of her comfort zone taking a University English Post in China, we were impressed. It truly became a Red Letter Day for us receiving news of her life in Xian. Any NEWS out of China grabbed our attention too.

Highlight of the week was lunch with Judy as we talked over her four years in China and caught up on her family news. A train ride across China and Russia is on our ‘bucket’ list.

9/11 had us winging our way over to Perth to Saxon, Paul and our grand-daughters. The very next day, Saxon and Paul half heartedly set off to look at a house that had just come on the market, while we looked after the girls. They returned enthused and within 24 hours despite competition, their offer was accepted. One year later and on their fourth offer their house-hunting finally over. We met up with Paul’s parents to see over ‘Sunset Ridge’ set on a beautiful two acre block of land in ‘The Hills’ as the Darling Mountain Range is affectionately known as. Although the house is smaller there is plenty of room to extend and more importantly Skiv and Getaway will be able to park very comfortably there!

A view of ‘Sunset Ridge’.

Settlement date has been set for late October and as we fly back to Perth on the 19th October it was deemed ideal that we stay on and help with Talia and Erin during the house move. In fact, we happily ‘turned turtle’ in more ways than one... Rather than return to Queensland on our return to Darwin, we will continue into Western Australia and make our way down to Perth in good time to celebrate Christmas with the Gee’s in their new abode.

Di Godson hosted an Arundel School gathering at her home for Lea with interloper Di Ryan joining as an ex Rhodie! L to R sitting: Meg Godwin, Jean Rogers, Lea, Ros Davies. Standing: Di Godson & Di Ryan.

Our long flight out of Perth via Kuala Lumpur to Cape Town ran smoothly. Holly collected us at the airport and ran us through to Keith and Colleen’s flat and it was then the wheels fell off! We were all thrown into a quandary as there was no key and no one in the block expecting us. We all returned to Somerset West and took up residence in Werner Reutler’s townhouse in Erindale with its magnificent views of the mountains on either side. It was only when our son called Saxon in Perth and then Holly, concerned about our whereabouts, that we became aware that bush mail had let us all down. Keith and Colleen had actually booked us into a ‘Bed & Breakfast’ for a week.

Hottentots Holland Range - It was glorious to be back in the surrounds of our significantly familiar mountains...

Making the most of an unexpected two days in Somerset West we’d made arrangements to see George’s niece Jessie and our dearest Italian friends Pauline and Guiseppie Chisin – frail they may be but their spirits are remarkable and the large glass of grappa was rapidly decanted back into the bottle as we were driving!

That evening Holly drove us back to Cape Town and we booked into Brooklands House two days late! An elegant guest house a stone’s throw from Keith and Col’s tiny home. The next 24 hours crawled as we awaited the arrival of our family from the bush. Thereafter, time was to fly as we carefully renewed a friendship with Ella & Finn in the remaining two days prior to their parent’s departure for America. Three year old Ella took the parting in her stride but 18 month old Finn’s first time away from his Mum & Dad overwhelmed him with bouts of grief- that first night in particular. Fortunately, being school holidays Holly was able to join us after the first bad night and between three of us, life for Ella and Finn soon settled into a delightful routine.

Naturally there was a list of household jobs requiring George’s attention and certainly, ‘Bumpa’ was worth watching when it came to all the noisy activity of shelf construction.

As September ended we were still very aware of the decided nip in the Cape air and the three of us readily fell into bed each night almost immediately after the children. These bush babies are used to sleeping in close proximity to their parents for safety reasons - as a result Finn sleeps wedged between us and Holly more often than not, shares a good part of the night with Ella in her bunk bed! We must add that we still consider this a privilege despite the initial shock to our systems.

Tramping tales for August 2010

During that first week spent at Tumbling Waters quietly becoming used to our own company and space again- we took to our computers - transcribing Lea’s Dad’s diaries, editing or piecing together his life story, working on Family Histories and writing up the blog.

When heat peaked we’d head off for a refreshing dip in Berry Springs.

We loved to wallow in ‘middle pool’ watching bee-eaters hawking iridescent blue dragonflies hovering above the water or drongos and flycatchers flitting between the trees. These, simply enhanced our whole experience. The cascade itself was a mighty lure to Lea. She delightedly spent long periods of time having gluteus maximus massage, quite sure the vibration to arms, legs, hips and two “maxi-mates” would provide good health outcomes! George booked Skiv in for service. A day in Darwin set when the visit took on greater significance with an invitation to lunch with Jo Vandermark in ‘The Sentinel’. The years peeled back easily as we retraced our road to its entrance – never mind that we required the fourth floor rather than the fifth. It is always a pleasurable occasion to be with Jo and this time round was no less, her watercress soup ever so tasty.

We were drawn to revisiting Dundee Beach – 70 kilometres further down from where we were on Cox Peninsula road. Despite the detours due to culverts washed away during this last WET, the road was a mixture of bitumen and newly graded gravel which made for a pleasant journey down to Dundee Beach. We certainly didn’t recognise the place we’d stayed in previously and later learnt it was due to a cyclone taking out many trees along with the site being cleared for a development that halted midstream. We chose to move further along to Fog Bay and found ourselves a lone clearing suitable for our rig overlooking the bay. In the face of cool sea breezes we enjoyed a marvellous twenty four hours.

Memory is a painter and we painted this day with 0ur outlook from Getaway on the edge of the seacliff ...

Saturday dawned and in came fishermen and crab-collectors that we found intrusive enough to back track to Dundee Downs. At the boat ramp George met friendly Queenslanders Trevor and Rhonda, who directed us to Dundee Downs Bush Camp. This was perfect and Bob, the owner a congenial fellow quick to make us feel at home as he set us up in a beautifully secluded clearing. An evening walk along fire breaks had Lea feeling uneasy over the prominent number of signs saying ‘KEEP OUT’, ‘PRIVATE PROPERTY’, and ‘TRESSPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED’. All seemed so unnecessary and vicious - way out in such peaceful surrounds where ‘baddies’ were less likely to abound! Later Bob clarified that most of the properties were empty for a good deal of the time and owners simply covered their legal rights with the signs. Back at camp we found happy hour underway in the central camping area. Trevor and Rhonda’s mob gaily inviting us to join them. Four caravans on holiday, fishing and exploring the Territory together. As Trevor had made an over-supply of stew the previous evening, we were invited to partake of stew filled jaffles. Our meal awaiting us and the mosquitoes chewing us to bits reluctantly had us decline the offer.

Encircled in tall stringy-bark trees, purple turkey bush and noisy kookaburras we had no reason to leave in a hurry.

Talk of all the estuarine crocs in the Mackenzie River along with a photo Trevor had taken of a large, brazen ‘saltie’ from their boat close to the ramp, led us to paying visits to the boat ramp to croc-watch ourselves. Nothing... even a night trip failed to produce any ‘eyes’.

Mackenzie Boat Ramp at low tide – fear becomes palpable near the water’s edge.

We find it frustrating that others have such close sightings and yet salties prove so elusive to us. Four days later we returned to “Tumbling Waters” and the delights of Berry Springs for another week. Requirement to submit our vote in readiness for the General Elections on the 21st August had us drive into Darwin again and since it coincided closely to our wedding anniversary we hoped a decent film would be showing. There was! “Mother and Child” and an Italian film “I am love” caught our eyes and we promptly saw both, one in the morning, the other in the afternoon with voting in between, fulfilling our cinematic psyches.

One morning, Lea overheard George having a quiet snigger outside. Eventually, unable to contain himself he burst inside quite convulsed, to brokenly try and tell her that some poor blighter was undergoing extreme difficulties trying to fold up his privy-tent. We too, underwent this ghastly process many times in the beginning, only to fail every time to the detriment of our privy-tent. Sure enough, this fellow gave up after an enormous struggle. Days later, during a discussion on roadside camps, a neighbouring traveller happened to mention privy–tents, reckoning “It’s a knack that has to be regularly practised”. He offered to show George how.

NEARLY, but not enough as our tent shredded all the more at the seams and proved face savingly impossible! Comparisons with our neighbour’s privy-tent proved pliability of material to be of vital importance.

With another week in Tumbling Waters drawing to a close, itchy feet had us decide to visit another section of the Daly catchment to find “Mt Nancar Hideaway”. George had read about in a magazine. Water supplies in Tumbling Waters had abruptly become turbid and we were reluctant to fill our tanks with this muddy looking water. Thus we stopped en route, for a night in the middle reaches of the Adelaide River in a beautifully shady caravan park with thick green grass underfoot, enabling us to refill our water tanks easily. Once it was cool enough to walk we revisited the War Cemetery and the spots along the river banks that had once given rest and recreation to members of the armed forces.

The Darwin area with its naval base and surrounding group of airfields, was the largest Allied operational base in the south west Pacific. During the years 1942 and 43 it suffered numerous air raids. It is interesting to realise that a week after the bombing of Pearl Harbour, Japanese aircraft from this same attack group struck Darwin - The first against Darwin itself and the naval base on the 19th February 1942 was the most damaging, killing 240 people including many civilians. We found a memorial to the Darwin Post Office staff, all killed in this bombing raid in the cemetery. For many people the war history of Darwin only became a meaningful factor in their lives on seeing the film ‘AUSTRALIA’ with Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman.

The War Cemetery at Adelaide River was created for the burial of those servicemen who died in the Darwin area and other military installations in the Northern Territory. The unsettled lowing of Brahmin close by disrupted the peaceful atmosphere.

Everyone is talking about the unseasonably hot weather being experienced in the Top End of the Territory. By the time we arrived at the Daly River crossing to Port Keats and began looking for Mt Nancar – the mere sight of the Daly River Inn and caravan Park dust bowl, with caravans huddled around the few big shady trees had Lea feeling twitchy. With police help we were pointed in the right direction. As the road rapidly deteriorated, George decided the safest option was to unhitch and check out the lie of the land. Just as well, as many washaways and a locked gate was all he found. By the time we ascertained what other camping areas were in the vicinity of the Daly River crossing – we were bathed in perspiration and wondering what to expect from any place around here. Mango Farm and Perrys on the Daly were on the other side of the river and we decided to take the dirt road out that way and give each place a go, spending our first night at the furthest place, Perry’s.

Leaving the gravel Port Keats road we soon found ourselves on a circuitous road system that rapidly became a narrow farm track, nothing as bumpy as the one we’d taken to Lorella Springs though. The closer we came to our destination the more positive we became and the sign ‘Give Way to Wallabies’ served to boost that. We soon had more than an inkling we had reached a good place with the unexpected sight of a rustic ‘golf course’ adjoining the palm lined avenue leading to a homestead concealed within a mass of palms and mango trees, under which scores of wallabies stared with interest from their shady repose. The owners were away and Fred, a Melbourne man who spends six months of his year here, showed us the camp sites.

Location, location, location! It’s these unexpected positions that make our nomadic lifestyle beyond compare.

The Daly River is the Territory’s largest and the precipitous banks are testimony to the height of its peak flows. A very popular river to fish and ‘Perry’s – catch the experience’ logo – re-ignited an interest in George. Despite giving his wife a fishing rod saying we’d catch dinner together when we began this way of life- we soon gave up in disgust. Without a boat we did nothing more than lose expensive tackle on snags and feed fish! George eagerly unpacked his father-in-law’s historic split cane fishing rod – custom made in 1936. Heath Robinson style he attached a reel and prepared the rod with a nut to serve as a sinker. After carefully taking apart his only hook – a speciality triple at that, he required bait! Small, left-over stir-fry chicken & beef strips had to do. Taking 2 beef 1 chicken; his nervous wife’s words “she’d pay heavily for his carelessness in a spot like this” ringing in his ears; George set off for the ramp Fred had mentioned being a fine spot for fishing. It had been Fred’s warnings to stay well away from the water as three estuarine crocodiles were resident in this stretch of river that had given Lea the creeps!
Lea read her book under a fan, with frequent checks on George through binoculars while he sweated it out fishing – He lost two bits of bait and returned empty handed, very hot and bothered. After swilling down glasses of cold water this ‘fisherman’ decided to cast his remaining steak bait into the river far below, tuck the rod safely into his chair and commence reading in the comfort of home. Time passed – all of a sudden Lea heard the chair crash without warning, peeped out the door to find George on the edge of the bank with rod in hand, frantically reeling in. He tells her he heard the ratchet go off and thinks he has something on his line. Sure enough she spots a fish in the middle of the river being hauled in. Such excitement – but how in the world to land a fish from that height with an ancient rod threatening to break with the strain! George threw the rod into Lea’s safekeeping and dashed around trying to find a way down towards the water, yelling “Is it still there”. Without distance glasses he wasn’t at all sure what was happening. The baked hard clay terracing to some parts of the bank looked accessible only to prove very slippery that the horror of an unstoppable slide into the river loomed large. George finally managed to climb down a gully and make his way to the 2 metre sheer drop, closer to the water where he continued reeling in a sooty grunter. Lea meanwhile, running up and down the high bank in order to keep a line of sight on the fish and ‘catch the experience’ on camera!

Wild exhilaration and carryings on as a 30cm bream was safely landed without mishap, under trying circumstances.

A whistling kite arrived in the tree above us hoping for a snack, it’s piercing shrilled call so heart grippingly evocative of the Territory as an African fish eagle is to Africa, added occasion!

Unfortunately this was the kiss of death not freedom!
A photo insisted upon for his grandchildren.

Despite using a tasty strip of bream fillet to bait his line, reinforcing his rod with duck tape- in the hope of a record breaking barramundi next – THAT WAS IT! No further interest was shown that George fried up the fillets for dinner some days later.

Bird life brought us much pleasure particularly as the soft evening light fell upon the river to the calls of coucals in the riverine thickets. A large freshwater crocodile regularly took to sunning on a small, narrow sandbank opposite which was also well used by a large flock of mudlarks. Although we kept eyes peeled for the tell-tale wake of ‘salties’ cruising the river, only George was to see one from the ramp, heading upstream. This place was virtually our kingdom until the weekend when the Daly River played host to a few tinnies with fisher-folk out and about their fishing activities – giving us a wave as they passed by. Within Perry’s, we were barely aware of new inmates.

By four o’clock a daily dip in the surprisingly chilly swimming pool became essential. On the Saturday, we got talking to two sisters and their husbands from Ballarat, Victoria. Both couples had bought Supreme ‘Territory’ caravans for holidays and were fed up with the problems they had encountered particularly with failed battery chargers despite their care. The men were keen to inspect our Supreme ‘Getaway’ and see the type of battery charger fitted to ours – after no problems in 5 years of use. It proved to be the same brand. It was pleasing to see how impressed they were with the sturdiness of our sub-frame; the life we’d received from the first set of tyres; and where our travels had taken us. We gained from their perusal...as their eyes alighted on the angle of our caravan due to the low elevation of our hitch and promptly suggested a simple method of altering the height. They willing helped George achieve this, there and then. Three special nights were all we could fit in at Perry’s as some weeks back we had taken the first available booking for a caravan park closer to Darwin and we didn’t dare lose that. Reluctantly leaving this bush haven, ‘our’ whistling kite, blue winged kookaburra and the pair of Jabiru storks that had given us so much joy gave us a farewell fly over as we departed down the main track.

The irritation of a noisy car and its hoon driver on the road alongside our new site contrasted badly with Perry’s but we learned to limit all noise with the air-conditioner and to keep thermostat disturbance to a minimum we only had to leave the security screen door in place. Following the Federal elections we felt a surprising inner anxiety as we listened to incoming results... We almost regret retaliating for the ousting of a Prime Minister elected by the people, by going Green thinking we’d be taking advantage of a two party preferred between Labour and Greens. The Australian voting system is very tricky to understand! A hung parliament awaiting the final count to the very wire – added to our discomfort especially as ‘success’ could fall either way in an electorate that is obviously very disgruntled. The fact that one seat can swing Tony Abbot into power appals us – anyone that was one of John Howard’s henchmen in a Government that had us become totally discontented by its supercilious in-humanity, scares us. As time passed, the ‘intrigue of strategies’ and opinion led us to believe most hopefully, that a CHANGE for the BETTER could be a major winner through a handful of Independents and the Greens. Que Sera-sera!

By chance our eyes happened on a discarded Darwin Festival program 12- 29 August and as we idly paged through, discovered David Helfgott was playing a one off concert, in the Darwin Entertainment Centre within a couple of hours. Not only had we both read a wonderful book on his life, David was the inspiration behind the Academy Award winning film “Shine”. The chance to experience this living legend in concert became too much for us. We gobbled our dinner as we dug under the bed for something suitable to wear to The Playhouse and tore off into the city some 25 kilometres away hoping against hope that we’d manage a seat. With twenty minutes to spare we had two tickets (the last seats together, at that) within the dizzy heights of the upper circle. We were thrilled to bits.... and the magic began as soon as this enthusiastic man ran onto the stage, bobbing and jumping around excitedly, giving the thumbs up signs, to all applause – What a charismatic performance. His underlying, almost mindless humming and tiny vocal noises interspersed with little head and body shakes becoming more apparent as the evening wore on. In the interval, George mentioned the high notes on the grand piano being flat – Lea barely able to warrant George’s ears picking that up let alone a grand piano having no pre-concert check? When, on to the stage walked the piano tuner with his tools of trade. That made a difference and he retired to a gentle applause from the few stayers... From our position in the auditorium we couldn’t see David’s hands expressively twinkle across the keys bringing Chopin, Liszt and Rachmaninov to life but we had a good view of this endearing, gnome-like man’s face and, along with his interpretation of the music, was more than enough.

ABC’s Stateline had previewed a retrospective showing of Therese Ritchie and Chips Mackinolty works at the Charles Darwin University Art Gallery entitled “Not Dead Yet” which we had found intriguing enough to wish to see on reaching Darwin. We arranged to meet Jo Vandermark at the venue and concerned about finding the place, we arrived early. Lost our bearings and came across “Northern Editions” a printmaking studio and gallery where, with time on our hands, a delightful young woman enlightened us on the background history to the works on show before pointing us in the right direction to meet Jo.

NOT DEAD YET –as the title suggests, provided a most thought provoking array of mixed medium put together with a variety of techniques to create powerful images produced by two collaborative artists, rapidly absorbed the three of us. Within the hour, and quite separately, we found ourselves overhearing snippets of a lecture being given to students that simply drew us like a magnet towards the lecturer, with her insider’s knowledge and irreverent comments. We brazenly joined the group...

Then it dawned - we had hit JACKPOT... THIS was Therese Ritchie herself. She most obligingly allowed us to take a photo.

A scintillating speaker whose tales of how she and Chips had developed a time consuming craft, they had been reluctant to give up when a digital world came about to eventually surrendering to the technology. Photographic documentation had created connections with people and changed her forever; traced lives, landscapes and political or cultural events provided confronting images as did the chasms that exist or arise from cultural differences. All brought forth stories from the impact of one or another whether emotive, good or bad. Added inspiration gathered from historic accounts, haunting images within old books all readily grasped and transformed into a graphic form of commentating that captured an eccentric sense of humour that ranged from tickling ones fancy, cleverly giving food for thought and perhaps causing minor uproars with fine perception. Resounding particularly loudly, in view of Tony’s party seeming ever more likely to govern was Therese Ritchie’s poignantly simple ‘Children Overboard’ scripted with:

“Jesus, Mary & Joseph (the patron saints of Refugees)
Wish every Australian a safe and joyous Christmas”.

Our stimulating couple of hours left us weak at the knees. The three of us grabbed a bite to eat in the Uni canteen and delighted at the good fortune that had befallen us.

Have we been suffering the “build up” instead of pleasant winter Dry? Heavy rain fell leaving us feeling pretty bemused that the Wet had left late and now it appeared to be returning early. The following day the NT News headlined with BYE-BYE DRY................. (Forgotten the rest!) Folk up here, feel hard done by! Perhaps those migratory Imperial Pigeons, from Papua New Guinea and Indonesia, we spotted at Perry’s instinctively knew the WET was on the way?
With the Darwin Festival booklet having fallen into our hands late, we found ourselves keen to take advantage of events in the closing days. “Shrine” a photographic installation within the Supreme Court Building interested us and we decided to combine a visit to that with a walking tour of the new waterfront development, open day at Government House ending at Festival Park to watch a free show ‘dancing in the sand’ before attending a folk singer show at a new venue there - The Lighthouse. Parking outside the new Conference Centre we walked along to a skywalk that joins the whaahoo waterfront development with the city.

It was from the top of the skywalk that we took our first full view over Darwin’s new waterfront. A REMARKABLE transformation! We found ourselves recalling the many fish and chip meals bought from an old railway carriage while slapping away sandflies on the very site the Conference Centre now sits...

This waterfront footbridge links the CBD to the Wharf beautifully – defeating the oft debilitating humid heat and overcoming the difference in elevation. We made good use of it throughout our visit.
Although we had visited Government House, official residence of the Administrator of the Northern Territory back in 2002 with our elderly parents Roger and Stella, we couldn’t resist another whip through this most elegant house perched on a promontory overlooking the harbour. With this magnificent position comes its history of being in the forefront of cyclones (1897, 1937 and 1974) and of course, it sustained a direct hit during the Bombing of Darwin when all but one piece of furniture within the house disappeared. Built to maximise life in the tropics and superb views are the verandahs and The Terrace – we hoped to gain a ‘shot’ of the new waterfront from this unusual vantage point only to find the gardens maintained the privacy of The House.

Supreme Court across the road was a first visit for George and given his ‘true crime’ books he was quickly occupied by thoughts of walking in footsteps of the Falconio case, never-the-less we had come to see Shrine. Not certain what was involved in this display other than a photo-journalist had “encapsulated the memories of lives lost, families torn apart and communities left to mourn”. We were soon engaged... Living on the road – as it were, we are very familiar with the crosses and memorials that bare silent testimony to lives lost through vehicle accidents. We first saw the simple poignant white crosses in America in 1988. This Christian symbol appears to have spread the world over with a wider meaning denoting a loss of life on the road. A controversy arose in Australia, a few years back, over the number and variety of roadside memorials proving a distraction to road safety. Emotional pleas heeded, a respectful cognizance seems to have fallen into place. More relevantly, ‘Time heals’ these initial outpourings of pain and most memorials gently fade away under natural weathering processes.
Strolling on to Festival Park we awaited ‘dancing in the sand’ – advertised to be a public dance phenomenon on a dance floor of sand that allowed those with two left feet to do no harm! A team of redshirted seniors and a young, black MC half their size but fortunately dressed all in white, sounding like a kinsman from Zimbabwe, led the proceedings. His enthusiasm, their ability along with good music and crowd participation was infectious. We admit to a good giggle at the beginning as it so reminded us of a stop-over, we took at the Lebish home, to find Roger leading the Beit Bridge ladies Keep-fit session.

Many children found it difficult to believe their sandpit was supposed to be a dance floor!

As for the iconic Lighthouse, it came into being last year and actually has nothing to do with lighthouses per se, simply a place designed for dry season entertainment, using recycled corrugated iron to enclose a public space. It’s the upward rows of coloured lights that give rise to its name The Lighthouse or tagged just as appropriately as a ‘virtual top-tent’. Performing was Jess Ribeiro - backed by a multi instrumentalist Rob Law, singing her ballad compositions based on her upbringing in a NSW truck yard. We found the hour very reminiscent of a sixties folk session within a most fitting Darwin venue. Surrounding food stalls didn’t appeal and we returned to Stokes Wharf to enjoy barra & chips white we overlooked frenzied batfish polishing off the scraps being thrown down into the water below. The waterfront development behind the wharf lives up to its whaahoo! Water fun without fear of sharks, box jelly fish, stingers and crocs has changed the face of Darwin – we’d love to give the Wave pool a go next time we’re in town. All in all, a wonderful, all encompassing addition to Darwin!

Next day we spent a pleasant afternoon session in the Palmerston Library watching “Talking Memories”. The personal accounts and the background history along with archival photos, provided us with a remarkable insight into the life of children, belonging to the ‘Stolen Generation’ looked after by the State around Bagot Road in those years between 1910 and 1980. Particularly, their evacuation from Darwin, scattering them all over the country, in the lead up to the 500 kilometre stretch of Stuart Highway (from Darwin to Mataranka) becoming an actual military zone in 1940. We had to be pushed out when the doors closed and we continued on to Mindil Beach’s Sunday Market, where we retired to the shade to ‘people watch’ until the Darwin Festival’s Closing Event - An Aboriginal dance work entitled Wanga Mirak: Bodymarks –Took place on the beach in the light of the setting sun to add that extra ambiance.

We enjoyed the song and dance story of connections and relationships across five generations of the Dhalinybuy clan.

We certainly have felt pretty light headed and youthful with all this unexpected gadding thanks to the Festival!

Roaming with the Ryans 20-30th July 2010

Everything slick as can be in readiness for the arrival of Peter & Di Ryan, we slept on the floor of Getaway in order to jump into Skiv next morning to meet The Ghan.

Di’s long friendship with George’s parents grew from her ability to speak Italian while working in the Marandellas B.S.A.Police Station (Rhodesia) during the late 1960’s. Come August 1974, while in the country for her sister’s wedding, Lea visited her in-laws with Keith & Justine in tow and duly met Di with her similarly aged little boys over afternoon tea. Not only was an instant connection made, Di’s parents lived a few houses away from our Muizenberg home. When our families met up again in South Africa, the husbands recognised each other from Peterhouse. A chance gathering in Perth brought us back together in 1999.

No airport in Katherine! Peter & Di flew into Uluru and caught The Ghan from Alice Springs to meet up with us in Katherine.

To avoid falling into the trail of tourist buses collecting folk from The Ghan to visit Katherine Gorge in Nitmiluk National Park we popped back to Red Gum Park to deposit their luggage before heading off to the Gorge. First time campers, Ryan’s were keen to see where they were to live and sleep in Getaway!

What a treat! A lunch cruise up the Katherine River to explore the first two Gorges was a most stylish way to begin roaming with the Ryan’s.

We were all feeling so ‘hot’ by the time we returned to camp that a proposed walk to Katherine Springs was met with some apprehension. However, an added attraction en route was a pair of Great bowerbirds we’d spotted the previous evening. Close by, concealed under shrubs was the male’s beautiful avenue type bower decorated with predominantly white stones, green glass and a couple of blue bits.

Katherine Springs proved to be a refreshingly relaxed way to chat and mingle with locals and travellers alike.

Mindful of time constraints, we’d decided that travelling a 100km south to Mataranka would not be feasible. On breaking the disappointing news to Di & Peter we discovered they not only had friends working at The Homestead, Velda taught art there. That changed George’s thinking! On arrival at this caravan park along side Mataranka Springs we found the black eyed, bruised face of Velda in the Park Office. She had taken a bad fall two days previously and resulting range of aches and after-shock had her cancelling art lesson for the day. We set up on the site opposite theirs and promptly felt a common bond to Peter & Velda Herring.

The mid-day heat easily lured us down for a soak in the palm-shaded Mataranka thermal spring, so close by you’d be forgiven for thinking it was part of the resort when in actual fact it falls into Elsey National Park. Due to the numbers of visitors that flock in here the spring has been more formalised with cemented stone walls and steps.

For the first time we found NO BATS hanging in the swamp trees. Years of battle waged on these red flying foxes traditional site looked a thing of the past. Even signage had a more positive tone – we were most surprised.

Since Bitter Springs was nearby we had to take the Ryan’s to experience its natural surrounds. These aquatic paradises were rapidly shaping up to be the prime target of each day.

We combined with the Herring’s for a wonderful ‘braai’ on their camp site. Unexpected highlights included Velda’s white linen-like paper tablecloths, kangaroo steaks and fruit jelly while Lea produced a soya chocolate mousse! There was so much in common that the night sped by fast.

After swopping contact numbers and reluctantly saying good-bye to Peter & Velda, we made our way to Edith Falls, anxious to arrive early enough to gain a site in the National Park. Edith Falls is just within the Nitmiluk National Park north of Katherine. Nitmiluk (meaning frilled lizard) or Edith Falls drop into a large forest encircled pool against a backdrop of sandstone escarpment. Taking a 2.5km Leliyn Loop Walk up the escarpment reveals further pools with cascading water and viewpoints across the panoramic landscape.

For three of us, all with gammy knees the rocky ups and downs of the loop track with sun beating down made it quite hard going. Di & Peter eagerly cooled off in the upper plunge pools of the Edith River. Lea refrained due to the chill factor!

Bemang Lookout before we headed on the downward homestretch. So many hidden gems caused us to linger that time began to rush us. The Ranger was giving a slide show on the Park’s management and ecology at 7.30 pm.

‘Will we- won’t we’ had become a burning question! We had just learnt that Kakadu had reinstated a hefty entrance fee and with Peter & Di’s time limitations along with a late Wet season we decided Litchfield National Park and the Douglas Daly region the better route to take.
As we particularly wanted the Ryan’s to experience noodling through The Arches and the natural spa of the Douglas River we took a caravan site in the Douglas Daly Tourist Park as a shady option to Tjuwaliyn Nature Park. Once we’d made ourselves at home we hurried off to spend the rest of the day in the river only to be thwarted. The river flow was too powerful for the Spa and The Arches, normally a very popular spot, was ominously empty.

An atypical WET had estuarine crocodiles hanging about high level rivers in places usually regarded as safe swimming areas. This croc cage was enough to keep us well away from the water.

Lea was given a night off from catering and we descended on the Park Restaurant for a beautifully cooked local barra meal. The almost full moon rose steadily as did Di’s inner anxiety on swimming in the moonlit Hot Springs later. Her nerves made worse by the new Park owner’s horror that we were headed to Tjuwaliyn at night. A 3,5m croc had only recently been capture there. Accordingly, Rangers were still warning everyone to take great care by day. In our minds, winter nights under a full moon make the perfect combination to wallow in the shallow sandy floored waters. We assured Di we’d take no risks. On arrival George checked out the different channels and our favourite spots returning to say “no hot water”! We were stunned – how could that be? We’d always had to be most careful to test the temperature of the water before entering – Sure enough, it wasn’t even tepid which created much musing. Luckily as we moved up the river we found some young fellows and before the Begg’s could be called liars – the HOT hit us...

Too hot to lie in the Douglas River, we delighted in this remarkable sauna surrounded by moonlit trees and a myriad of bright stars above. It was an exquisite night.

Moving on up the Stuart Highway we found the Litchfield Tourist Park suited us so well we stayed two nights. That first afternoon we shot into Litchfield National Park to visit Florence Falls – a good walk down many steps had Lea preferring to read in the car as she knew she wouldn’t touch that cold water!

We moved on to our firm favourite Buley Rock Holes and happily loitered in the water. The beer bottles piled up between and on rocks upset us there. The Northern Territory is trying to remedy its reputation for being the biggest alcoholic consumers in the country and yet glass bottles were littered around a major tourist venue. No duty of care – Where were the Rangers?

In the top end of Australia there are a vast number of Termitaria tenants. In the Northern Territory alone there are about 170 different species and as they are predominantly grass feeders – storing large amounts of food during the Dry Season this could be why so many abound in Australia instead of grass eating mammals! Peter and Di were enthralled by the numbers of red conical mounds around Bitter Springs that we couldn’t wait to show them the varieties around Litchfield. Huge gothic-like cathedrals; Magnetic mounds that orientate north/south to gain maximum sun exposure on their flanks to the arboreal species that adhere to trees.

Two old reprobates checking out Magnetic Mounds!

Enjoying a walk through the strange sandstone formations of the “Lost City”

Di and Peter frolicking in Wangi waterfalls! How could we have ended up with only a distant photo of Di in her professional racing gear? How we loved her ludicrous royal blue bathing cap and goggles.

Speaking of Di’s cap and goggles reminds us of her ability to lose herself in all the camp grounds. Not having camped before her poor sense of orientation continually caused amusement. How often we’d walk down to the loo and find her wandering aimlessly in the wrong direction seeking the familiar, so much so she’d almost bypass our faces! We soon learnt a leash would have been the safest detection device!
Another two nights were spent at Tumbling Waters Caravan Park as the marvellous Berry Springs Nature Park, 10 kms up the road, was a perfect place for coping with the heat.

This was not only the best massage parlour in the world, it was priceless!

The Territory Wildlife Park showcasing the flora and fauna of the Top End was also just along the road and we felt it was an ideal place for Peter & Di to spend a wonderful day while we sorted out the “chaos” left by an early morning departure! In true Cinderella style we saw to the laundry and prepared a final celebration dinner picnic to take on to Berry Springs. We were headed to Darwin for the Ryan’s last two nights.

The butterfly roast lamb smelt so good that every fly in the kingdom arrived. Peter was hard pressed to keep them off the Chef’s carving board. Peace reigned when they were given their own piece while we dined at another table. Velda Herring having set the bar- forced us to have a table cloth too!

All along the road travellers warned us that unless you booked well in advance – sites in Darwin were impossible to find, not to mention how prices had soared beyond reason. We very reluctantly began phoning for a booking and ended up some 15kms out of town before finding a site.

Before Darwin, we felt Peter & Di had to see the jumping crocs on the Adelaide River. Pete captured this fine action shot!

We set up at Free Spirit Resort – Given the top dollar price the smell of sewerage was far from acceptable. The Manager went out of his way to explain his ongoing predicament and with no other choices - the longer we were off seeing the sights the better! We shot off to the city as soon as possible taking the Tiger Brennan route through to the Esplanade – our old tramping grounds. We were struck by the many changes to the city skyline - we hardly recognised the place - The Sentinel no longer a lone high rise on the front.

Ending up at Cullen Bay to climb aboard The Spirit of Darwin to thoroughly enjoy a sunset cruise around Darwin Harbour, the biggest natural harbour in the country and five times bigger than Sydney Harbour!

We finished the night off down at Stokes Wharf, where fish & chips is a Darwinian institution. Unfortunately no dolphins or predatory fish darted into the light reflected water to grab easy dinner, instead an orange moon rising created an equally memorable spectacle.
Ryan’s penultimate day with us was spent on a round trip through the suburbs of Darwin and its coastline to wander in the Darwin city mall. So many places exist no more. When the heat became too much we retired to the Museum and Art Gallery. In the late afternoon we set up our chairs in the shade of Mindil Beach in readiness for the vibrant atmosphere of Thursday’s Mindil Sunset Markets that open with a wide variety of stalls offering a fine array of international cuisine, arts and crafts along with lively buskers to add to the atmosphere of sights, sounds and smells. Suddenly all comes together as a whole when a steady stream of people head down onto the beach.

It never fails to amaze us how ritualistically everyone sits or stands - watching expectantly out to sea for the tropical sun to sink below the horizon

A phone call came in from Cousin Alison advising their holiday with us next week would understandably be put on ice as their dearly loved Husky Cinnamon was very poorly. Next day while Getaway’s air conditioning was fixed we took to Casuarina Shopping Centre for tea and CAKE in celebration of Peter’s birthday. Somewhere on a flight between England and Tenerife it was also Roo’s birthday- 7 years old.

The Ryan’s roaming with Skiv & Getaway had come to an end. Both seemed big and lonely, as we returned to Tumbling Waters Holiday Park outside Berry Springs while Pete & Di winged their way home to chilly Perth.

BYE-BYE Gin & Tonic, lemon slices – Lea’s evenings will never be the same!

Townsville to Katherine via Savannah Way, 4-18 July 2010

The route taken

We were bound for the Gulf of Carpentaria and its Plains of Promise. Almost four years ago, October 2006 we had travelled the Savannah Way from West to East. This time we could loiter longer and fill in bits we’d missed as we retraced from the East, as far as Katherine. Back in 1841, a young lieutenant aboard Beagle had absurdly raised expectations of this area by writing: ‘a vast boundless plain lay before us, here and there dotted with woodland isles’ naming them the ‘Plains of Promise’. When explorers Burke and Wills came in 1861 to check out the vitality of these plains they learnt, to the cost of their lives and others in their party, that this inhospitable land was dominated by impenetrable swamps, vast salt pans and mangrove forests all throwing up barriers. Our memory of The Gulf appeared as a neglected and forgotten backwoods of Australia when we first traversed it – mostly dirt road with the odd stretch of narrow tar strip that frightening 54 metre long road trains hurtled along, giving rise to billowing clouds of either red or grey dust, which disguised any on-coming vehicle, pot hole or unstable road edge as we rapidly took evasive action onto necessarily wide, sloping roadside margins – white knuckle moments we recalled well! Thus, as we pulled out onto the Harvey Range road leaving Townsville, we felt a rush of nervous anticipation.

A very good road led us up and over the Harvey Range, past an extensive military training area, which probably accounted for the fine road as far as its junction with Gregory developmental road – we had no sooner turned onto the narrow strip than we faced our first dose of adrenalin with a couple of road trains, thereafter the road surprisingly improved and took us to Greenvale, where we hoped to spend the night. The caravan park’s informality was right up our street and after settling in we stretched our legs to discover a delightful little oasis and the beginning of episodes of boom and bust; flood and drought; isolation and improvisation that bedevil all the communities along the route. Greenvale’s story enlivened our stay... aptly named for its lush foliage it was built as a Nickel mining town in 1972 where it thrived for 19 years until the resource dried up and residents moved on. A passing business man, fortuitously a Melbourne millionaire, offered to buy the town from the Mining Company in 1994 and saved it from potential demolition. Greenvale, with a range of facilities for its size (Olympic pool, golf course) had a monument outside the pretty Three Rivers Hotel which enlightened us to an Australian country music legend we hadn’t heard of - Stan Costa, whose famous song entitled ‘Three Rivers Hotel’ records his time working on the Greenvale rail line. Portraits of Sam Costa and another muso legend we did know, Slim Dusty, were etched onto the glass door of the hotel. Slim won many accolades on the strength of songs written by Costa.

The Greenvale sausage tree! We contest the claim of only four ‘sausage trees’ in Australia. We have seen them in Maryborough and Einasleigh as well!

We were bemused by traffic lights materializing out of the middle of nowhere on the next leg- wondered if they even worked and we were sitting for no reason. They were! Intermittent signs of SLOW or STOP held up by weather-beaten road-workers indicated work actually in progress, all made for slow passage to The Lynd Junction. Here we made enquires about the condition of a gravel shortcut to the Savannah Way via Forsayth. Aside from potholes within creek dips we couldn’t complain and were most surprised to particularly enjoy a very good tarred road that twisted and turned through the rugged Newcastle Range and made a welcome change to the scenery and vegetation cover. Our thoughts were to spend the night in Forsayth and go through to see Cobbold Gorge, an hour southwest. However, on arrival we didn’t like the tight confines of the van park nor the clarification that we could only see the Gorge on a booked, guided tour- we’d missed the afternoon tour already. So bang went Forsayth – despite having decided not to judge settlements along the way by their odd covers rather discover their stories... We moved on to Georgetown, an old gold mining town where plenty of fossicking still takes place. It was peak season on this section of Savannah Way, with plenty of sealed sections and bridges over the rivers thus no powered sites available in the caravan park. Park owner very obligingly gave us a sunny spot away from everyone, although Lea was feeling the heat and refused to go walking until the cool of evening. Sandy Creek and the Etheridge River created town boundaries with a self-guided River walk thoughtfully provided. We got caught up in the cemetery as light began fading – the only headstone of note, was the loss of two young brothers, three days apart to polio in 1931.

Fuel prices were rising fast and we decided to keep topping our tank in each town. $1.36 per L in Georgetown turned out to be a bit of a ‘bonsella’. We were averaging between 150-200kms a day giving us around 3 hours of bump, rattle and shake that we found spending the rest of a day familiarising ourselves with an area most pleasant. Next stop, Croydon, another town- life after gold! Only this one in its hey-day was the third largest town in Queensland with 36 hotels to serve its population of 10,000. Gold found by two brothers supposedly digging a fence hole led to a goldfield being declared by 1896. The location of the caravan park was on the original Reward Claim, later its name changed to Lady Mary, which ceased operation in 1913. Croydon has also gone to a lot of trouble to provide the traveller with an outstanding True Blue Visitor Information and Heritage Centre.

The two of us spent long hours within the theatrette, displays and wandering in the landscaped garden with unique seating and sculptures and replica buildings from the past.

Breaker Morant’s name jumped at us from a display board! Literally a day or two before on television, a garrulous Aussie on a soap box in Hyde Park made a case for Breaker’s pardon from the British Government. Was he serious? Never mind that it’s over a hundred years since the British court marshalled and executed Breaker before a firing squad for his role in the Boer War. Here in Croydon, Breaker’s claim to fame came as an outstanding horseman- hence his name. Employed as a drover and breaking in horses on a local cattle station; a buckjumping show arrived in town featuring an unrideable horse named Dayan Grey – Breaker is said to have ridden him to a standstill.

Later we walked to the station. Two unconnected railways still operate in the Gulf region as tourist attractions. The Savannahlander runs between Cairns and Forsayth, which we didn’t get to see as it only leaves Cairns on a Wednesday morning. While the Gulflander RM93 also known as Tin Hare, runs once a week between Croydon and Normanton on original and unique termite resistant, Heritage-listed steel rails and sleepers over four hours. We had seen it pass by, on our previous journey but this time, it was in the Croydon Station for the night. Neither uses steam engines any longer, which may disappoint Pieter Smith, our ‘train’ friend.

The Savannah Way has an east–west orientation. When the sun is low in the sky, vision becomes impossible and one is advised to avoid driving before 7a.m. and between 4-5pm. Fortunately those hours don’t affect us one bit as we never like being on the road for dawn or dusk as the death toll for our indigenous creatures are a steady reminder that this is ‘their time’. In high country snow markers indicate the position of the road when it is under snow. Out here - the flat straight road has flood indicators marking the way. Don’t come in the WET!

Add that this is cattle country and the road is highly speckled with cowpats!

Stock on the road is all part of the outback experience.

We had spent time in Normanton on the previous occasion and we looked forward to returning to soak in the artesian spa come evening time. Despite arriving in time for morning tea a queue of ‘vans outside had us gulp! Lea dashed in to check whether the Park was only taking bookings... Packed cheek by jowl we were in two minds whether to stay. Fortunately we were given a fine spot and once we had settled in we were disappointed to find that the artesian spa was not in use, only the swimming pool. We walked down the main street to Burns Philp Store, a worthy survivor of former glory days this huge old timber shell covering almost an acre is now partly used as the Library and Information Centre. We were keen to find out about the floods and happy to spend a couple of hours reading within. When the world focused on the shocking fires of Black Saturday, in the State of Victoria, folk in the northern end of Queensland were experiencing dramatic flooding with towns such as Normanton isolated for weeks and cattle drowning. Rain started falling on the 1st January 2009 followed by thunder storms causing very high flooding of the surrounding areas. The Norman River peaked at 6.7metres on the 4th February cutting off the township. This was the second largest flooding recorded for the Normanton district, the largest being in 1974. Late afternoon we walked down to the River. Fishing for barramundi here brightens the town’s tourist prospects and the old bridge has been turned into a pleasurable fishers’ venue. The tide was high so we were unable to see historic remnants of corduroy crossing (a fanciful name for tree trunks lying side by side to cross over - our Begg family in Mozambique use ‘corduroy crossings’ frequently). A local warned of three large crocs residing close to it.

Kris the Savannah King hailed from the Norman River – shot by a woman. The sheer size and girth makes for nightmares.

9 July – a special anniversary day for friends and rellies including Dad Roger - we fittingly awoke to a birdie of a day! Starting with four bower birds outside Getaway (nothing blue, white or shiny to collect from us!); A willy-wagtail chased a butterfly that slammed into the caravan giving Willy easy meat – only to have it snatched away by a bower bird; en route to Burketown a bustard royally ambled across our red soiled road, beak aloofly raised; pratincoles diced with death as they swooped and twisted in the air. No sooner did they settle on the road, Skiv was almost upon them. They’d use a speedy gait very like sandpipers, trying to outrun Skiv and only taking to the air at the last- this occurred for kilometre after kilometre for our entertainment. A wedge tail eagle, crows and kites busy on a carcass; a small flock of sulphur crested cockatoos flew across our easy vision - their shimmering whiteness against the blue a perfect sight.

En route for Burketown, 230km west across the grasslands George says were responsible for the wonderful bird life – nothing to do with Dad’s day! Can you spot two pratincoles – don’t confuse with cattle dung!

Our first stop that morning, a couple of kilometres away from road, was Camp 119 – where Wills, Burke & King wrote: “It would be well to say that we had reached the sea but we could not obtain a view of the open ocean although we made every endeavour to do so”, (A true statement- we never even caught a glimpse of the Gulf sea throughout our passage). Plaques marked many places, which in most cases were simply the stump relics of historic tree blazes left by the men marking their passage here. A surprisingly chilly breeze swiftly sent us on our way. Many rivers and creeks intercept our travel and we were thrilled to spot four black pigs rooting around on the road side before scrambling away up a dry creek bed. We planned to lunch at Leichhardt Falls even though a guide book indicated it was ‘pocket-sized in an arid area’.

Approaching the Leichhardt River we were taken aback to wind through large sand deposits built like dunes, before dropping into a wide, flat river bed with little water in evidence until we had followed the narrow concrete causeway that wound across an extensive sheet of pockmarked rock to this point.

Close by the flowing water, a caravan had set itself up with washing strung out on a cattle fence well within the river bed. We promptly pulled off the causeway and stared around, wondering where on earth a waterfall would be amongst all this flatness and little water. A couple of 4x4’s coming from the opposite direction, stopped alongside us and the owners took off in a purposeful stride down the rocky bed- we followed behind. A large remnant of concrete slab, washed away from the causeway in times past, created a suitable crossing spot as rock began to create bigger gullies and shortly after, cascading water could be heard. We followed the sound.

Three hundred metres downstream, it seemed as if rock had suddenly been gouged away in the shape of a horseshoe. In one section the river simply plunged down 10 metres or so. We were reminded of a mini Niagara Falls!

In full spate these falls are probably imperceptible, simply a turbulence over-riding a massive depression. We were sufficiently impressed by the whole sense of place that we decided to stay a night. We accessed the West bank downstream to enjoy a panoramic view of both directions of the river within sight and sound of the falls. An afternoon walk clambering along the cliffs and down the steep sandy flood plains brought forth more birds, most upset at our invasion - channel-billed cuckoos with their raucous shouting; a great egret took flight with a frog-like croak of fright; a rainbow bee-eater displayed his marvellous colours as he hawked insects close to us; and as we walked the flat sands a good dozen whistling kites circled just above us – making us believe we appeared feak, weeble and dying! Sitting for a while we observed agile wallabies with distinctive stripes across their hips arriving in slow rocking horse motion, from all directions to take a drink.

We returned to Getaway to find other campers had arrived for the night- it was impossible to feel fazed. A rare sight, was seeing many toddlers ‘out bush’ enjoying natural sandpits and rock holes. Made us wish our little folk were with us too. As the sun set, road trains rumbled across the long causeway with red powder puffs rising around the wheels. We had seen surprisingly few of these monsters over the days in comparison to the numbers that had intimidated us that first trip. Perhaps they avoid this time of year with the posses of 4x4 that tear along the route mixed with caravan gangs seeking safe adventure together. As is the Australian way, fires flickered away; although we rarely make a fire, George very contentedly laid one and cooked our sausages. The milky-way was almost touchable, the falling water sounded like vuvuzelas through Lea’s pillow as a magical day ended in sleep.

Moving on, we came across well over a hundred brolga cranes, their silvery grey plumage, some with darker shades, impressively stood out against the golden monsoonal plains. We had only seventy kilometres to do that day until we reached Burketown - famous for the Morning Glory, sausage shaped clouds that roll out across the Gulf on a calm spring day. Creating strange wind turbulences beneath that many gliders, hang-gliders and sand yachts gather each spring to await their formations and take on the largest dynamic wave in the world. It’s possible for morning glories to arrive earlier or later in their season - we could only hope to experience the phenomenon! Instead, we ran into two ‘hail storms’ of deafening proportions on two sections of approximately five kilometres of newly laid bitumen. The loose gravel, thickly laid, sprang out in every direction, jumping jack shrapnel slamming against the caravan until one, under cover of all the noise, ricocheted back into Skiv’s back window and the entire glass quietly spider-webbed. We tried different speeds, in an attempt to cope with these flying missiles and dreaded the prospect of meeting other vehicles. Fortunately none materialised. It was a daunting experience with the full impact only realised, once we settled in our Burketown site. Layers of gravel caught on every flat surface; embedded in nooks and crannies; a water container shattered and partially filled with stones; aluminium protection and plastic handles all pitted. A little shell shocked we cleared up the mess. George reinforced the window with duck tape hoping it would survive the rest of the journey. By morning, he was scavenging the bins for cardboard as a back-up emergency shield! On the site alongside us a dear old couple from Orange, NSW have been coming to Burketown, the ‘Barra’ Capital of Australia to fish since 1972. In the early days they’d spend six weeks, now they spend four months escaping NSW winter. In his eighties, he brought the loose wire under the caravan, to our attention. “Shrapnel’ had dislodged the power to the electric brakes! George checked how they connected on the other side and was fortunately able to fix the problem. That night we indulged in ‘fresh barramundi’ take-away from the Park’s kiosk.

Between Burketown, Queensland’s last frontier and Borroloola in the Northern Territory lay a 500km. wild and lonely stretch passing through prescribed Aboriginal areas for this section of the Savannah Way. Immediately on departing Burketown, far from necessary adverts for VB, Mid-strength and XXXX Gold in the form of cans and cartons haphazardly strewn alongside the road grew until it was pretty obvious “Caring for Country” should still be considered a tarnished ethos. Alcohol management plans are in place in remote Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities for good reason to improve the health of residents, reduce domestic violence and give children a safe childhood and the best chance for a good education. The extraordinarily heavy penalties demonstrate the seriousness of the problem. However the route to Doomadgee flaunts this.

By time we reached the unrestricted southern boundary of the Nicholson River; the outskirts of the Doomadgee Community, the bush pubs beneath trees were vivid displays of piled and scattered green, yellow and red aluminium by the score.

Not a soul or animal did we see, although brumby middens became evident as we continued on our way through the boundless landscape, transiting through different eco-tones - paper bark woodlands; eucalypt communities; mixed assemblages of distinctive green and gold wattles, lilac turkey bushes and predominantly marmalade coloured grevilleas. Eco-system responses to the changing soil types and landscapes make our journey all the more interesting. The sighting of a sandstone outlier announced we had arrived at Hells Gate Roadhouse – a green lawn and shady clumps out front, provided an inviting picnic stop. Here, fuel cost $1.99 per litre and we were relieved not to be buying. Over a sandwich George commented that in converting the price of diesel into Stirling – it was ludicrous to think the cost of fuel was more expensive in England than in this remote corner of Australia. With that, our conscience pricked - we couldn’t go past without helping the owner make a living and bought a costly ice cold coke to wash down dry throats. It obviously affected us as afterwards we preferred to stay put, spend the night in their camping ground. We had the place to ourselves until nightfall when four other vehicles arrived to sleep in tents or swags under the stars. George had set up a Prime Suspect DVD for us to watch that night – the harrowing sound effects had Lea wonder if the couple of fishermen sleeping close by, would erroneously break in to rescue her!

We never did learn whether Hells Gates name arose from the sandstone outcrops and ridges, the first broken country since coming through Harvey Range, the gently rolling Dividing Range and Newcastle Range during the first two days of our Townsville to Katherine journey. As a result the road slowed us and hours passed as we wound our way along the rough road across the border into the Northern Territory. From memory and road chatter Territory roads are well maintained but other than one portion of bitumen to get us over a steep gradient there were plenty of washaways and very rough patches to contend with. Over four hours later we came to the steep decline into the Calvert River and there we paused to take a photo of our campsite perched equally high on the other side.

After hours of noisy rattling and bumping around with constant vibration, we were within sight of a familiar road side camp we liked – Wow! We craved STILLNESS

Having crossed a big river and many creeks that day, we didn’t feel any qualms about this one, until we were IN – not only could we feel the press of the running water, we could hear it high up the door. Pulling through the river was made all the harder and slower by large boulders to bump over and get between that for the first time adrenalin shot through our systems. Whew! We were safely across to grind our way steadily up to the top of the bank and round into a concealed track to our old camp site. Lea, glad to stretch legs strode across to survey this familiar territory, staring down upon the river that had just given her some heart stopping moments, when above the gurgling noises of a nearby creek , she heard George shout “water’s pouring out of the caravan”. Not too fussed, having just come out of a deep river, Lea was stunned to see through the open doorway a multitude of things floating around the floor of Getaway. The height of the river water along with the strength of current on the door-side had easily penetrated the door vent rapidly filling up our doorstep to flow across the floor. Climbing the steep incline, water gushed down to the bed end soaking our mats and infiltrating beneath cupboard doors. A cupboard latch hadn’t held, spewing out tins and a bottle of sauce which miraculously didn’t break as they rolled amongst other debris - bits of cupboard framework, framed photos and fridge magnets and door mat all swilling around. A compulsory spring-clean and mopping up operation took place over the next two hours. Fortunately the heat dried the wet items fairly speedily. Liquid nails assisted George mend the cupboard.

The days to follow we’d feel a dart of agitation crossing the waterways but the TOP End adage- whatever you put in the water, be prepared to lose it prevented Lea from doing a walking check! Fortunately other big rivers only wet the inner step nothing more. Bridge building was in progress over the McArthur River as we closed in on Borroloola – a sure sign we were close to refinement! Drawing up at the fuel station the first thing we heard was a chimed tune of Greensleeves wafting on the breeze. An ice-cream van trundled into town! How daft that seemed. Opening Getaway’s door after each encounter with the road has become something of a lucky packet! What will we find! This time the same cupboard door had come adrift on its opposite side. While George mended, I dashed off to the laundry to sort out our pile of red encrusted clothes, before seeking the pleasure of a deep cleansing shower. That night we relaxed to the sound of a piano-accordion playing a few sites away and learnt that Spain had won the World Cup although 15 yellow cards had been handed out during the game!

Back in Georgetown, we had chanced to read that many employers regularly look for workers along Savannah Way advertising job vacancies on Australia’s leading jobs website for travellers www.workaboutaustralia.com.au. With internet now at our fingertips, George checked out the site and spotted Lorella Springs Station was ‘looking for people, all types of background, travelling around who wished to drop in for a day, a month, even a season to help out, even if just a couple of hours in the day’ We were hooked, and looked up the whereabouts of the Station. Lea has always been keen to experience life on a remote station after reading Sara Henderson’s books. Fate was on our side and we were heading right past. Soon after Borroloola we turned off the tar onto the Nathan River Road – a sign saying the road was only suitable for 4x4 was a little confronting after what we had been on. Very late rains for the Territory “Wet” season was responsible for general road maintenance being behind and we soon came across road-trains bringing in soil to this first section. As we trundled along the road became almost like a track reminding Lea of old farm roads to concession in the 50’s and further on George remarked we could even be back in Niassa. The countryside was looking very green and most creeks still had water across the road. By the time we turned off to Lorella Spring Station, we were on a rougher track that the many signs urging us on gave us a smile...1,000,000,000 more bumps to go; relax in the hot springs; not long to go; survivors will be prosecuted being some that we remember!

This was a welcoming sight. Opening the gate reminded Lea of Africa & that oft heard cry SWWWEEETS....

Lorella Springs turned out to be more of a Wilderness Park set within one million acres of untouched and remote coastal outback wilderness than the working outback station we had looked forward to finding. We didn’t see any cattle although it is supposed to be a huge cattle station. It is certainly a unique getaway offering 4WDriving tracks, bird watching, fishing camps along the Rosie River leading to the Gulf. The camping area is set on the banks of a natural thermal spring with another hot health spring a couple of kilometres further away – this surrounded by a Nudist/Naturalist camping area.

We didn’t check out the Nudie springs as we found the Homestead spring a perfect temperature within metres of our site - so ideal for us. Lea would disrupt the peaceful surrounds with the odd squawk when fish nibbled her toes though.

The owners were away in Darwin and although this was a very attractive situation we weren’t prepared to hang around another day if we couldn’t be involved, so we bumped slowly, all the way back again to the Savannah track and continued through the Limmen National Park. Three water-buffalo gazed at us from their feeding grounds on the plain as we passed by.

On the causeway crossing to the Limmen River George exclaimed – “You won’t believe me, there’s a croc RIGHT HERE!” A ‘freshie’ of course, ‘salties’ are far too wily. This one was lying in ambush awaiting fish swimming upstream.

New campsites have arisen since this relatively new National Park has been declared. We checked out the Limmen Campground only to decide it was too early to stay and pushed on to Towns River rest area by our book. No longer in being! Instead, a most appealing camping ground had been established on the south side. Well wooded, we took a safe site with a view of the river- an amazingly large expanse of water that seemed broad and deep enough for big boats to move up and down from the Gulf, about 40km away as the crow flies! Crossing the river - a short way upstream next day, you’d never have credited the same body of water.
From the top of the bridge over the Hodgson River we saw another freshwater croc sunning on a bank. They are relatively harmless to humans having weak, narrow jaws. It’s rare that we see crocodile, never-the-less we pay close attention to all the warning signs as it is the saltwater crocodile that’s deeply feared! We were in two minds whether to stay in Roper Bar and continued on... A bad mistake as we landed up being on the road for six exhausting hours! Following the Roper River we were to be astonished by the number of caravans and camper trailers, bush camping alongside it. Another spot – “Tomato Island” somewhat of a misnomer, looked a shocker of a camping township! Either a fishing competition was to take place over the weekend or this popular spot was in the throes of being formalized. Certainly we passed a good many boats being towed south with the weekend coming up. Road kill was back in evidence and we often came across a wedge tailed eagle in attendance with a retinue of kites.

Suddenly dirt turned to a narrow strip of tar with road trains plying their trade overtaking us until we finally reached the Stuart Highway before turning into ElseyNational Park where we set up for the night in 12 Mile Yards Campground. Now that dirt roads were behind us for a while George couldn’t wait to wash away the thick coating of dust on Skiv & Getaway- slowly fetching water, bucket by bucket from the Park ablution block some distance away, he gave our rig a preliminary cleanse much to the awe of neighbouring campers!

Next day we moved on a mere 20kms to a Camping Park we enjoy very close to Bitter Springs. While Lea worked on the blog, George was able to climb onto the roof of Getaway with a hosepipe to completely wash down the van, spraying into all the nooks and crannies. He was staggered to find layers of “shrapnel gravel” still collected under the solar panels, behind the skylight vents and air conditioner. Some held in place with bitumen adhesive!
Despite rubber matting to prevent movement in drawers and shelves – the constant vibration undergone over twelve days reminds Lea of those square games with a blank space whereby moving tiles slowly within, a picture or number order is formed. It is incredible how such massive disorder happens within all our cupboards and drawers. All have to be scrubbed of blackened rub marks before being rearranged. Tinned foods have lost or worn labels.
After doing as much as we could to regain some order we retired to Bitter Springs or Korran (Black Cockatoo Dreaming), as the Aboriginals call this spring, a short walk down to the upper reaches of the Roper River. Bitter Springs lies on a fracture on the edge of a very porous limestone aquifer and swampy area. The Wet Season adds to the flow of this recharged aquifer and the Roper each year and the temperature is typical of groundwater in this part of Australia – about 33’C so it is not truly thermal as it isn’t heated, but deliciously right for both of us.

Noodles are ideal although the flow is strong enough to make it hard work to swim back.

Lurking along the edge of the swamp are thick mats of thriving algae driving a cycle of growth and decomposition which looks pretty gross. That typical ‘rotten egg’ smell arises should you move into the muddy ground and taints the water hence the name “Bitter”. The clarity of the water down the centre with rocks, logs and white sands enclosed within a swamp forest of pandanus and cabbage palms makes for a sublime scene. Oxygen levels are too low for fish but George itched to shout “crocodile’ to remove the many weekend visitors!

We left the busy park early next morning on our last leg of Savannah Way adventure – we were leaving it in Katherine. For a Sunday morning the Stuart Highway was teeming with caravans – creating a worry of overcrowding within us. Entering the town we discovered not only was it the Katherine Show weekend there was a massive Rodeo taking place. Every Park and Campground was humming as were the extra venues laid on to cope with the influx of visitors. Coming in to town early saved the day for us - we managed to get the last site available at Red Gum Caravan Park. We continued with our ‘clean-up’. On unhitching the caravan for the first time since Townsville, George found the legs had jammed up tightly with stones and mud that he battled to get them down. We discovered two caravan windows have popped their seals and a shelf on the fridge door had broken away. Tomorrow we will look into window repairs, replenish with fresh food and make beds in readiness for our Perth guests Di and Peter Ryan, arriving by train early Tuesday.

No way does the ‘beating’ taken on our rig detract from the pleasure of the two week off-road and Out Back journey we have taken. It simply adds a rich patina to the experience and makes us a little more skilful and self reliant.