Tramping tales for April 2008

April fool’s Day brought our 11th anniversary since immigrating to Australia and stormy weather with hurricane strength winds arrived to send us on our way across the Bass Strait back to the mainland. Sad though we were to leave Tasmania the anticipation of a new journey into unknown territory lay before us. Happily we caught up with ex Perth friends Jane and Rob in our overnight caravan park on the Mornington Peninsula outside Melbourne. Conversations flowed in every direction as Lea had worked with Jane on many occasions during her St Hilda days.

Next morning George was not very appreciative to be awoken with croaky humming before a rendition of “will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine WHEN I’m 64”… reminded him he’d reached the age of The Beatles evergreen song that seemed ever so far off all those years ago in the 1960’s. His birthday required a suitable venue for celebration and we were up early and off down the Gippsland Highway to Wilson’s Promontory. The Prom as it is affectionately known is at the southern most tip of the Australian mainland and we were pressed to put 230 km behind us and still have time to relax and enjoy his day in this truly spectacular National Park. We scarcely encountered anyone on the access road in - that we were taken aback to find the one and only campground (480 sites) at Tidal River bustling with people. Fortunately we found a suitable clearing amongst the dune thickets alongside the main beach and were quick off the hitch to go exploring! Our hopes to obtain an overview of this area from the summit of Mt Oberon were dashed when we discovered the overflow from the car-park was halfway down the mountain. Aware that we didn’t have time to loiter as we were obliged to reach Albury, well inland on the New South Wales border by the 9th April we moved on to Squeaky beach and walked the coastal track to Picnic Bay soaking up the views of sheltered turquoise bays, off shore islands, white sandy beaches and windswept vegetation covering the mountain sides that, put together, characterise The Prom.
A perfect place for a birthday and we could easily have spent more time given half a chance. The evening was topped with a birthday song from the grandchildren over the mobile phone.

Celebrating 64, Squeaky Beach, Wilsons Prom.

Moving slowly down a tunnel of trees with our eyes anxiously watching the clearance above us, a strange sound and the gaping expression of campers alerted us to TROUBLE. In our trail lay two solar panels ripped from the roof by the bulge of a tree trunk at the critical height of the solar panels, wrenching them out in quick succession. In stunned silence we packed them carefully into Skiv and made our way out … At a public car park we stopped to fully assess the damage and with black clouds looming decided it was safer to attempt immediate repairs. Off came the ladder, out came the tool box and the Liquid Nails (one of son-in-law Paul’s favourites) and a nearby picnic table was turned into a makeshift workbench. With sheered screws, bent and buckled brackets, and wires ripped from their connections a lot of banging and re-drilling was required, and most surprisingly NO swearing! However, it didn’t help to have opportunistic seagulls trying to grab any bits of old sealant being scraped away. Two hours later the job was done and our solar power controller inside the caravan told us all was working as it should be. TV’s McGuiver couldn’t have done a better job!

A night spent at Log Crossing picnic grounds in Colquoun State Forest put us in close proximity to Metung within the Gippsland Lakes Coastal Park. This popular Park encompasses the largest inland water system in Australia with three interconnecting lakes separated by a barrier dune system that forms a 90 mile long beach. We’d been told not to miss out Metung and arrived early in the morning following the Tambo River with its many fishing spots all the way down to Lake King. Metung is a boating paradise set on a crescent shaped peninsula reaching into Lake King with boats tied up in marinas and a yacht club overlooking wide expanses of shallow water with a wonderful waterside boardwalk the length of the holiday town that we virtually had to ourselves at that hour. We found it somewhat reminiscent of America’s Florida.

In 1988 Lea’s father, about to visit Australia had written up some guide note based on New Zealander John Howman’s tremendous account of Howmans Down Under, in the hopes he’d be able to visit the area. Although it didn’t happen, he realised that his notes might appeal to his own family in Australia if they visited the places where those first Howmans settled, or met persons of the same name and gave his daughters each a copy. During Leecy’s visit to us in Tasmania, we’d expressed our desire to follow the trail of the Australian Howmans and she had been most enthusiastic about joining us. A date was set to accommodate her school holidays and we arranged to meet her at the Albury airport. That day was nigh and we turned inland on The Great Alpine Road. We had some doubts about the term “alpine” as we couldn’t imagine mountains in Australia resembling the Alpine regions of Europe and as we climbed steadily upwards twisting and turning through the heavily dissected landscape we felt that the more usual term High Country was far more apt. We reached Omeo by midday and decided we’d push on after a picnic lunch by the roadside. In the midst of eating our sandwich we were amused by a jersey cow dashing around its paddock … We decided it was in a state of distress at being separated which proved true enough when it jumped the fence in cow jumped over the moon style and promptly calmed down in the company of a couple of sheep. Not wishing to pre-empt the “Howman Trail” we turned off the Great Alpine Highway taking the less travelled Omeo Highway, a seasonal gravel road closed in winter that winds its way through the rugged catchment of the Mitta Mitta River. Wonderful scenes so typical of Australian High Country photos seen in books that we found ourselves expectantly awaiting the appearance of the performers - drovers mustering cattle on horseback with the help of their blue heelers …. But it wasn’t to be.

Many campsites were too small for our rig until we wearily pulled into a campground beside Snowy Creek characterised by huge walnut and chestnut trees sending three calves skittishly off in all directions while the main herd continued to keep the grass well groomed for us. A picture perfect setting, so quiet and French that we could well have been back in the valley of the Viaur in southern France.

Walnut campground

We could easily have stayed there a long while and most reluctantly pulled out next day promising to return if time permitted with Leecy! This rough road with its dust and loose gravel often covered in forest litter implied it wasn’t well used therefore it was all the more surprising to meet a sporty convertible and a fancy saloon along it! Eskdale rang a bell and in checking Dad’s notes found it was from there a Howman pioneered the seasonal cattle run up to Mt Bogong - the highest of Victoria’s mountains. Inadvertently we were in their stamping ground initiating some excitement for us! As a distraction we decided to branch off to Beechworth, where we’d heard the legendary Ned Kelly and his gang hung out. Beechworth not only echoed with cultural history, its precinct was full of nationally significant buildings beautifully preserved and the town hummed with day trippers. We popped into the museum to see the rather disappointing Ned Kelly collection only to be caught up in the tale Explorer Burke (of Burke & Wills fame) as he had been stationed in Beechworth as Superintendent of Police from 1854 to 1858 and following his death at Cooper Creek in 1861, this museum – Robert O’Hara Burke Memorial Museum was established. Lots of mining history in this town too that George asked to do a search on their computer for anything related to Peter “Nugget” Howman and was given a number of books. It was in one that we found a story of scandal involving his brother Robert. Before we knew, the afternoon had passed and we needed a place for the night and ended up in a lovely spot beside Leahy Bridge on the bank of the Murray River bar the noise of trucks speeding across the bridge during the night. Later that evening, cheery voices arrived to inform us of a Government proposal to protect the Red Gums alongside the Murray by turning a good proportion of the floodplain into a National Park thereby affecting people, like us, who enjoy camping on its banks. Given pre-prepared letters to sign, stamped envelopes included, we saw merit in joining this PROTEST by adding our names.

Well on schedule we arrived in Albury to check out the airport and check in at nearby Lake Hume caravan park to do all our ‘housekeeping’ in readiness for Leecy’s arrival the next day. Looking out across the dam, once one of the largest in the world, we felt as if we were at Lake Kariba! Now down to 7% of its capacity and steadily dropping Lake Hume is said to be one of the hardest worked impoundments in Australia supplying as it does water for power generation, masses of downstream irrigators and towns as far a-field as Port Augusta and Woomera in South Australia. When demands of this magnitude in a drought stricken catchment exceed supply the crisis that presently faces users of the river and its ecology isn’t going to be solved by the Government simply throwing more money at it? Or so says Prophet George!

Lake Hume in desperate straits

A mobile text sent to Roger & Judy inviting them to dine with us in Porepunkah revealed they hadn’t received any of our e-mails advising them of our approach. Despite Roger’s grumbling over the past month and vows to write off the Beggs for their tardiness, his immediate response was to insist we come to Bright FIRST!
Qantas arrived on time bringing Leecy and a happy trio set off for Bright stopping in Yackandandah for the compulsory coffee break. The wonderfully unusual names throughout this area struggled on our tongues yet by the end of the week we could say them with aplomb! Roger and Judy met us in the main street of Bright leading us to their home in Wandiligong of all places! Wandiligong being associated with William Howman is in the very midst of the Howmans past sphere of activity. It augured well.

Once we had managed to slither Getaway backwards onto the tiny bit of flat ground alongside Roger & Judy’s home we were there for keeps! We certainly couldn’t have asked for a more appealing caravan site, perched on the mountainside with LONG views in both directions along the valley of Morses Creek splashed with autumn colours. Leecy was given her own suite inside the house and we couldn’t have felt more welcomed and at home. The following morning we disappeared for the day in Skiv, driving up the Buckland Valley in search of Howman Flat and the remnants of Robert Howman’s mining operations. Found them and spent a delightful morning scrabbling around. The afternoon had us climbing over the Tawonga Gap to Mount Beauty nestled in the Kiewa Valley at the foot of Mt Bogong. En route for Falls Creek we naturally stopped at Howmans Gap, the entrance to the Alpine National Park and ski resort in peak season. The story goes that Fred, son of Robert Howman, was thrown from his horse while helping to muster cattle and in making his own way down the mountain found “The Gap” putting his name into history.

Off to find the gold diggings at Howman Flat

Happy Howman sisters on Bogong High Plains

Mindful of time, we had just enough to get up onto the Bogong High Plains where Peter Howman leased ground for the summer grazing of his cattle in the 1880’s. The Howman Hut and Falls were both inaccessible other than by foot and required overnight expeditions. We were content to soak in our surrounds and picture these hardy cattlemen and distant relatives of ours, up on these plains before happily turning back for Wandiligong.

Leecy had been offered the use of a chalet at Dinner Plain. Not knowing any better, we thought it wasn’t near our area of interest. However, while discussing a visit to Harrietville, Roger suggested we go on up to Mt Hotham and Dinner Plain. Leecy immediately mentioned the use of a home there… Eyes popping implied it was worth doing! Leecy finalised arrangements for a weekend in Dinner Plain and by Saturday we had Roger and Judy joining us. A leisurely drive up to Harrietville in a season offering brilliant colours and crisp mountain air with walnuts, chestnuts and apples for sale by the roadside made a sublime start to our adventure. For Leecy’s mandatory coffee break Roger stopped outside Morries Ice-creamery. It became all the more heartwarming when he told us this was a new venture for Peter and Emma – fellow Zimbabweans who had been kicked off their farm. In we went to sit beside a special timber beam supporting the roof. A special momento from their Bindura farm rescued from the war-vets. We had the best hot chocolates and cappuccinos you could wish for with an interchange of conversation with the busy yet ever charming host and hostess.

Ever upwards we went through towering forests of Mountain Ash until we found ourselves enveloped in ever thickening swirls of mist. Nothing to see, Leecy went to sleep. On approaching the second highest resort village in Australia known for its spectacular views, Hotham Heights was bathed in such deep mist that our eyes searched desperately for each and every road marker that loomed out of the frightening gloom. With no warning, our guiding yellow centre line disappeared under newly laid tar and George unwittingly ran across the mid-line on a sharp corner leaving the red marker poles behind us. So disorientated, he began driving up the wrong side of the road that Lea fell apart with nervous giggles that had her quite limp with an aching belly from the nightmare of it all! What a relief to reach Dinner Plain not too many minutes after. The rather strange name given this resort village made sense when we read that cattlemen stopped here for their dinner and so too, the coaches, once a road was in. Through the soft rolling mist on this side of the mountain we could see houses of timber, stone and corrugated iron inspired by old mountain huts built by the cattlemen of yesteryear, rising up amongst the tight confines of twisted and gnarled snow gums somewhat like the Munster home of the 60’s TV series. The multitude of obtuse and sharp angles and whimsical features all in regulated earthy colours of the snow gums made us intuitively realise we were incredibly lucky to experience life on the top from the warmth and comfort of “Brumby’s” thanks to Leecy’s art pupil Penny and husband Rick.

Exploring Dinner Plain

Brumby's

All rugged up, we explored the learners ski slope and the layout of Dinner Plain as the chilly fingers of mist and drizzle kept us briskly on the move. Even when the rain came down there wasn’t a peep from George who has a horror of walking in such weather! Hot toddies were eagerly sought in the hotel to miss the worse of this down pour and beside a roaring log in true alpine style we also indulged in a bowl of hot wedgies with sour cream. Next day we all felt no guilt as Roger, renamed “the mad hatter”, took off at the unearthly hour of 5.30 on this cold and dark morning for his daily run. All in good time the rest of us arose to join him for a late breakfast before venturing out for a walk to Carmichael Falls. Lea happened to exclaim that she thought she had stepped over wombat pooh as the distinctive cubic shape had been blurred by rain. Roger leading the team commented that “if it’s on a rock its wombat”! The trio were immediately sceptical …. However the further we went the more we encountered scats perched on rocks. We had to bow to Roger’s natural history observations and when we finally departed Wandiligong we presented Roger and Judy with one of George’s carved wombats mounted on a rock with suitable droppings behind it! At midday Roger and Judy had to return home and they suggested we follow them to Hotham Heights and see some of the views. Just ten minutes away, yet there again we found ourselves back in a thick blanket of cloud and an approaching storm brought driving sleet and a grey within greyness giving rise to another bout of nervous disorder that Roger had to brave the elements to help us turn safely on the road, before they went one way on the long road home and we the other, back to the safe harbour of “Brumby’s”. For the rest of the afternoon Leecy gave us a lesson in the art of water colours. We see so many landscapes on our travels that lend themselves to this medium, we are keen to try. Before we knew dusk was settling in and Leecy “shouted” us a bar supper at the hotel after we’d gone on a street hunt and found “Howman’s” a chalet up for sale. By Monday our brief interlude was over and as we made our way down Mt Hotham we glimpsed our first yet very brief views out towards Mt. Feathertop.

View from Mt Hotham, Victoria

Of course we stopped at Morries and being a Monday morning we were able to enjoy more of Peter and Emma’s time. We raised our cups to our Bush Baby grand-daughter Ella, celebrating her first birthday over in Central Park, New York of al places!

Our intentions to pull out of Wandiligong next day for Tallangatta and the graves of Peter and Jessie Howman were put aside when Roger and Judy persuaded us to all visit their favourite Mt Buffalo. Thank goodness we did or we’d have missed out on the most perfect day to be in rugged mountain scenery with imposing granite tors and sheer cliffs that reminded us of Zimbabwe especially the old hotel- Mt Buffalo Chalet, a large, elegant building with an air of gentility about it so like Rhodes Inyanga down to its tennis courts, crochet lawn and terraced gardens. All closed up due to the sheer cost of upkeep and modern day safety issues.
We climbed The Horn (1723m) that rose from the high plains and gazed out on a stupendous 360’ vision of endless ranges stretching out into the distant hazy blue. On a small ledge we had our picnic lunch and by-passers enviously wished to join us on our eagle’s eyrie.

Picnic on The Horn, Mt Buffalo

Good times with good friends always come to an end, so too Leecy’s week was drawing to a close. We slowed up in Beechworth to show her the historic buildings and shop fronts that could so easily have been those of our childhood Salisbury. All too beguiling to pass by that we stopped at The Pottery. There, we gazed upon tantalizing teapots, extraordinary ladles and other wonderful art forms before succumbing to the aroma of an old fashioned bakery to take coffee from its first floor balcony overlooking the street. We returned to the Murray River camp close to Howlong for Leecy’s last night as we now knew the route to the airport. Another farewell and we continued on to Lake Hume and had a couple of static days catching up on computer and used their e-mails and laundry facilities. Six weeks later we realise our settings may have fallen out which means we can receive messages not send. We used the Net for laborious sending. Taking the Upper Murray Valley Highway we followed the dried remnants of Lake Hume to Tallangatta, a town that had to be moved in the 1950’s to escape inundation from the second phase of Lake Hume’s construction. Looking across the dried floor of the dam we could see the relics of old Tallangatta. Fortunately the cemetery was well away on high ground and we were able to round off our Down Under Howman tour by paying our respects at the gravesides of Peter, the first Howman pioneer to Australia and his wife Jessie.

We were drawn to spend a night in Colac Colac – simply because it is pronounced “Clack Clack” which tickled us! This turned out to be a stunning caravan park setting in its autumn hues as well as a winner of many awards for its holiday appeal. Another grave was visited! This time it was Jack Riley’s as we passed through Corryong. He was the tough old hermit/bushman who inspired Banjo Paterson, Australian Poet of note, to write the immortalizing poem “The Man from Snowy River”.

Pure aesthetics of the Murray River bush camp outside Tuwong had us stay two nights… In all directions mountains rise around us with the western edge of the Snowy Mountains looming ahead. Brilliant blue skies warmed us by day and had temperatures plummet at night. Huge poplar and plane trees shedding leaves, the sight and rowdy sound of white cockatoos floating from tree to tree and our favourite kookaburras heralding both day and night with their laughter as the Murray flows swiftly by was good reason, made even better when a neighbouring Scotsman wandered over towards evening and immediately recognised George’s accent as Rhodesian! He was yet another George who had spent many years building dams and bridges in Rhodesia, even at Kariba. Met and married his wife Audrey, in Salisbury before migrating to Australia in 1961. They returned in the 70’s for a few more years and proudly showed us their old 1973 Mercedes bought from a Mangula farmer all those years ago, now with half a million kilometres under its belt and still towing their caravan around Australia. This fortuitous meeting of ex-Rhodesians called for a celebration and a wee dram. As on the last occasion a Scotsman offered us a whisky we blanched! George made a dash for our bottle of Port and we all kept yarning until the chill got the better of us.

Continuing up the Snowy Valley Way through Tumbarumba to Tamut, the northern gateway to Kosciuszko National Park we followed the Snowy Mountains Highway as far as Blowerings Reservoir. One of the many reservoirs involved in the Snowy Mountains Hydro Electric Scheme, named as one of the civil engineering wonders of the modern world, it is a complex integrated infrastructure made up of seven power stations and sixteen major dams. Our campsite, at the old Yachting Point, was meant to lie just above the high water mark of the Bowering Reservoir. However, like many other impoundments we’ve seen in the region the water level was so low, the shoreline lay at least a kilometre away. The pitiful sight of these near empty dams, as well as the news that the viability of the Snowy Hydro Scheme itself is now in jeopardy, makes one realise just how crippling the effects of the present drought in Australia has been.

More evidence of drought - Bowering reservoir

While George took a walk down to the water’s edge a sudden movement in the camp caught Lea’s eye. Roos! Then a hoarse noise drew her out of Getaway to see. She was intrigued to see a good few kangaroos jumping round and round a tree in the fashion of the tigers who turned into ghee in the tale of little Black Sambo. Three males finally broke away and the chase was on, all through the grounds one behind another in hot pursuit of the smallest in front. Was the young one being dismissed from the mob? Bounding away down the valley was the last Lea saw of the three and the rest settled in the shade until commencing their evening graze around us.

We had a surprisingly warm night and as a result were up earlier than normal for the steep haul up the Cumberland Range to Yarrangobilly. There, the terrain opened up into an undulating grassy plain. Just below historic 1898 Cotterill’s Cottage, and beside a small clear creek we unhitched to ensure we had a place for the night before continuing to Yarangobilly Caves a little further along the road. Whoops! Just as well we left Getaway as the gravel road dropped away steeply from the main road, winding us down into a deep valley. Three caves are open and we chose the self guided South Glory Cave. The track, a wonderful construction by early cave guides, projects from the edge of the lime bluffs suspended above Rules Creek before coming to the massive Glory Hole opening into the mountainside.

Entrance to Glory Caves, Yarrangobilly.

First explored in 1834, in years to come Prison Services were used in constructing safe passage through the vast rock piles with decked platforms to enjoy the tubes, chambers and different types of speleothems. How’s that for a technical term that includes stalactites and stalagmites! With none of the people pressure of guided tours we were free to move at our own speed. Sensor lights turned on as we moved through and finally at the end of the line instead of backtracking, a steel staircase wound us upwards directly back to the car park. Amazing to come out of the mountain through a concealed exit rather like the Pied Piper’s… Thoughts of the hot springs at Tshipese encouraged us to take a dip in the Thermal Pool down near the creek bed, a steep 700m walking descent. Reputedly always being a warm 27’C George wasn’t in long and Lea only managed to get knee deep in the kiddie pool. A sign told us the presence of frogs indicates the healthy state of the water and Banjo frogs breed there. We looked for Pobble-Bonks and couldn’t find any! Rarely encountering snakes on our travels we were interested to see a metre long copperhead with a broken back on the road close to our camp. Had it come out to seek the warmth of the road? We think so! That night temperatures plummeted and we suffered. Lea said it was her worst sleep ever, as the chill clawed at her marrow throughout the night. By morning, George couldn’t wait to get the kettle boiled for a cuppa only our water was frozen. Creek water would do the trick only the grass was frozen too. Sandals wouldn’t do even for the short distance involved and boots were dug out from the back of the cupboard. We should have known better than to camp on these treeless plains at high altitude even in autumn!

We were on the roof of Australia yet as we motored across the plains we couldn’t see any particular mountain top standing out as Mt Kosciuszko and definitely nothing resembling a peak. By the time we arrived in Jindabyne we found it hard to believe Australia’s highest mountain still couldn’t be seen. That afternoon we drove up to Thredbo, a ski village set on one side of a steep narrow valley facing its ski runs on the other side. It was here on the 30 July 1997 a ski lodge was undermined by water and slipped downslope collapsing. Australians held their breath as rescuers raced against time and the weather to search amongst the rubble for survivors. As new immigrants we had no idea where Thredbo was, let alone how such a thing could happen. Eighteen people died in this disaster. Miraculously Stuart Diver was pulled out alive after 65 hours. His story of survival captured the world as he told of the tragic night and his wife drowning beside him, both trapped beneath concrete. Being in Thredbo gave us a better understanding of the magnitude of this dreadful accident. We still couldn’t see Mt Kosciuszko either. As our Park permit was valid for 24 hours we were up early next day and on the road to Perisher and Charlotte Pass in order to set eyes on this illusive mountain. Table Mountain in South Africa, Mt Wellington in New Zealand, Mt Kilimanjaro in Kenya are just some examples of a country’s mountain landmark. How strange it was to gaze out upon Mt Kosciuszko from the lookout above Charlotte Pass and see a rather nondescript profile, nothing to really distinguish it from other worn down tops! With not enough hours to walk the 18km return trip to the summit we made do with enjoying the serenity and vistas of this place. In a valley just below where we stood lay the source of the revered Snowy River. George walked down to it, Lea turning back halfway preferring to wander along the less strenuous old road to the summit looking at the odd shapes and colours of beautiful old snow gums that lined the route.

Mt Kosciuszko (at left) and Snowy river

With snow forecast we pulled out of Jindabyne and headed down south, back briefly into the State of Victoria to see something of its Wilderness Coast as we moved on up the coastline into New South Wales, a far more populated region. As a result bush camps are few and far between. Caravan parks are pricey and National Parks as expensive. We moved from one rest area to another along the Princes Highway and soon learnt if we didn’t get in by mid-day and choose our site we would have to squeeze in amongst other travellers. Irritatingly, campervans come in late, park alongside and disturb us with their slamming and sliding doors! We undertook short hops along the Sapphire Coast enabling us to enjoy walks along beaches and forest tracks before holing up for the last three days of April at Yellow Pinch Dam a busy night stop for nomadic folk. 3000kms plus travelled this month so we were glad to stay put. Text messages have kept us in touch with our newly found friends of the road we even hoped to intercept Scotsman George and Rhodesian Audrey, missing them by little more than an hour at Eden.

A poem in an Australian RV Club magazine The Wanderer aptly captured the essence of this month for us.

The road is a journey of people and places
It calls to the traveller in welcoming tones
It speaks of adventure and has many faces
With a great many places to rest weary bones

The road can be winding and troubled and narrow
Or wide and expansive across easy ground
There are places so cold that you’ll chill to the marrow
And places so quiet you can’t hear a sound.

There are friends who are waiting if you should go looking
There are wild rugged hills to climb and to cross
When wind brings the smell of the campfire and cooking
Then time is no longer a worrying boss.

The road is a journey of life and of laughter
Of places to go and people to see
And once the road has you, you’re hers ever after
There’s nothing and nowhere that you’d rather be.

By Marc and Belle Glasby,
The Wanderer, January 2008, Vol. 23 (1)