A last minute delay in departure occurred over a bent bolt on our tow hitch. This had happened on our ferry trip over to Fraser Island a good while back and only brought to Gary’s attention because George had been unable to attach his vice thereafter. Efforts to locate a new coupling failed and by mid-day we joyously pulled out onto the open road...
Rubber Tramps ready for the road in a semi rebuilt “Getaway”, even down to a new sign!
We were stunned that the estimated insurance repair costs to the new roof was in the order of A$12,000
Setting off for a firm favourite, a discovery of our own (not listed in our well used Camps 3 Australia Wide) the Kenilworth Showgrounds, a mere hour north and inland. The world’s best yogurt in our opinion comes from the Kenilworth Cheese & Yogurt factory on the opposite side of the road and we were there with alacrity to buy a 1.8kg bucket. It was as good if not better than our memory recorded and we were to sup on a little each night with utmost pleasure. Boy! Was it cold that night and Lea made much mileage of her misery in recompense for George’s fussing in England! Fortunately weather improved slightly to encourage us to stay another night as we certainly weren’t prepared to chance not having an SBS channel signal or power to watch the Opening Ceremony of the FIFA World Cup in South Africa! We also had lots of dirty washing needing the village Laundromat before we landed up in bush camps for a while. Time zones necessitated Lea waking George for the Opening Ceremony in the middle of the night as we excitedly watched the colourful and rhythmic displays – the dung beetle being the highlight! Halfway through the opening game we faded unable to keep eyes open and checked in for the result as soon as we awoke! No lying in as we had NO bread! We, fussy folk, can no longer tolerate the packaged bread generally found in the local stores en route and having discovered we were in for a long weekend, our only chance of locating a Woolworths, for quite the best daily bread made - “Four Seed” in their on-site bakeries, was in Gympie. We pulled out of Kenilworth in haste hoping to reach Gympie earlier enough that Saturday to find some loaves. Certainly not an RV friendly shopping centre and we battled to get parking some distance off for Lea to rush in and grab our manna from heaven!
Heading North West on the Burnett Highway we made for Fat Hen Creek Rest Area in time for lunch. The uneven lie of the land had us decide not to loll around there after all especially when we knew another favourite Rest Area of ours, was within easy distance. We had travelled this section of the road before and yet had no recall of Gayndah – We had even wondered where it was on hearing that the young soldier killed in Afghanistan so recently, had come from there. Now the name jumped out at us and we were all too aware that this little country town was preparing a massive funeral for its young Digger. We discovered Gayndah is the oldest town in Queensland with the oldest jockey-club too, the first settlers arriving in 1848, to establish their town a year later. Apparently it was considered for the Capital but lost to Brisbane. It is also the largest citrus growing area and we stopped at a roadside wagon and bought small sacks of oranges, naartjies (mandarins to the uninitiated!) and lemons. Think Gayndah is now indelibly etched!
We pulled our way up the Binjour Range to the Rest Area perched back off the main road and found it was still beautifully maintained considering the many people who stop en route for the toilet and picnic facilities. We were one of five travel units that stayed a night or two - everyone keeping much to themselves on the periphery. High up, we fortunately had decent TV reception and awoke at 4a.m to watch Germany run rings around our Socceroos. The constant sound of bees in the form of ‘vuvuzellas’ has fast become the signature trade mark of the World Cup; How such a steady ‘hum” is constantly maintained with little variation beats us. Not enough spectator interaction was shown that we turned to sleep!
Mundubberra claims to wear the citrus crown but we didn’t see much evidence as we passed through to spend the next night on its northern outskirt, in the Ceratodus Rest Area, beside the Burnett River. The Mundubbera Rail Station, originally called “132Miles 22 Chains” until October 4, 1923 when it was renamed Ceratodus after a species of lung fish found living in the river; was restored and moved from its first location to this site, provides an interesting display of historic photographs along with a beautifully made wooden gazebo and BBQ - “as a safe haven for the travelling public during their journey.” A photograph of George Spencer’s cow, washed downstream 15 miles in the 1942 floods and found hoisted like a flag, five metres up a tree, impacted on the two of us.
Mt Scoria Conservation Park attracted us for our next stop as we’d enjoyed a lunch stop there previously. Mt Scoria, a little ‘blip’ on flat plains after the Binjour Range is actually the remains of a volcano, the slopes of which are made up of fragments of lava called scoria that shattered while the volcano was active. The Aboriginals call it the “talking mountain” and hold ‘corroborees’ and initiation ceremonies making it a sacred place. Our book said we could camp there but a sign with a crossed out tent indicated otherwise; we pushed the boundaries for a night as we were not in a tent! A quietly pretty spot with a beautiful sunset, never-the-less, Lea was twitchy enough to arise early and be gone.
The next ‘author recommended site’ in our book was Dululu Rest Area. A tiny settlement at the Burnett and Leichardt intersection have turned this Rest Area into a popular camping spot providing power and hot showers for $5 apiece per vehicle, should you so wish. Hirsute locals maintain the area adjacent to tennis courts much to the annoyance of a cantankerous neighbouring resident. We were advised to avoid the newly cordoned off area as part of an effort to give the “neighbour” more privacy. Apparently he is wont to rush out of his house in the nude and pee over his boundary just to create nervous tension! Nothing dramatic as this occurred for us. However, shortly after engrossing ourselves in computer work we became aware of a scratching noise and fine dust floating in our doorway. The culprit was a scrawny little man, shovelling up ashes from a well used campfire site. He studiously avoided acknowledging our close proximity as he filled his bucket. We soon realised this was the ‘dreaded naked character’ intent only on collecting up ash for his garden while indirectly serving a useful function within camp!
Being 70 km south west of Rockhampton we decided to make an early start for the home of Ross and Jackie Lebish where we had pre-arranged an overnight stop with them. Knowing they would only be home from hospital work in the late afternoon, we decided to free ourselves of the encumbrance of ‘Getaway’ in their garden to go in search of the tow hitch part requiring replacement; restock provisions and refuel. No-one had our brand of hitch in stock which necessitated a series of e-mails flying back and forth from South Australia over the next few days as we organised for the part to be posted to Townsville. A family evening with Ross, Jackie and daughters went down a treat.
Ross, Lea’s cheeky pupil of 1968 maintains he has made nothing of his life as a result of his kindergarten grounding! From jackaroo to rodeo clowning; to working in meat-works to hospital driver he fails to consider his many life skills gained nor his artistic talent in making superb rustic furniture with basic tools. Even their home is an evolving work of creative improvements.
Embarking on the final leg of a full circumnavigation of Australia with Skiv & Getaway - apart from Cape York which requires too many complicating factors to consider at this stage; we headed ever northwards making for St Lawrence Recreational Reserve. We couldn’t help recalling this same journey made in January 1995 with Justine and Daniel in a ‘banger’ they had hired which shouldn’t have left Sydney! The main highway had much improved since “Gotushere” took us to Townsville yet its inland alignment, while environmentally optimal comes at a cost to us travellers. The deviation to the coast and returning the same way tends to be off-putting, not only adding unnecessary mileage but breaking the rhythm of the journey.
We turned off the main road and on approaching the little town of St Lawrence, set back from the margins of the Broad Sound, looking for the Camping Reserve on the West side, we were horrified to see a barren expanse heavily dotted with recreational vehicles of every description interspersed with cattle stockades and pens... our hearts dropped. George was all for turning round and heading back but Lea pleaded to check out the available places and when we managed to find a spot up against a fence with a view towards a small forest of Melaleucas- we stayed.
Travellers pour in as fast as they pour out of this well kept free Camping Reservation.
There was more than met the eye! We were actually camping on the St Lawrence Racecourse although nothing indicated that to Lea. A cattle sales yard seemed more like it. The club house provided a well kept ablution block (showers for a gold coin). All overlooked one of the most significant wetlands on the Queensland coast, developed in such a way to make access with a viewing platform, a most pleasant experience.
A deliciously warm sun had us discard winter garb for shorts and sleeveless shirts and in the late afternoon we set off to explore the feast of opportunities for bird watching – following wetland pathways we could hear 60’s music drifting out – a raised eyebrow at the audacity was quickly smothered by the fact it was our kind of music! As we crossed in front of the club house we found a huge crowd of nomads thoroughly enjoying four o’clock happy hour as a grey haired minstrel entertained them – how great was that!
Despite overcast skies moving in next day we stayed another night. We took a two hour walk round the outskirts of this small settlement town dating back to the 1870’s when it operated as a large Meat Works - now defunct. Basic facilities have remained for whatever reason – even a bigger school rebuilt after being wiped out by a cyclone some years ago. Makes one curious! Noticing the sign to the cemetery – we diverted for a while to wander within, reading the headstone histories. Lea’s paused at this particular inscription...
Say a little prayer for me as you pass by
For as you are now, so once was I
As I am now, you’re sure to be
So say a little prayer for me.
A little jolt to the system, as this lady ‘passed on’ at the same age as Lea is now.
We moved on to Carmila beach, a sandy bush camp that implied it wasn’t suitable for big rigs. George walked through the multitude of campsites concealed within the dense coastal bush – there were enough caravans to suggest access and he found a risk free route to the closest clearing, mindful of Al Cushan’s recent mobile call to check we were staying clear of trees! We ended up in a lovely sunny spot although a couple of VW campers churned up the sand and dust alongside us when they got stuck- fortunately all hands turned out to push and free them up. We were back in the tropics –signs, ACHTUNG were evident once again as we walked the long, wild beach and eyed the deeply gouged out and winding estuary mouth for a “saltie”. Intentions to stay another night ended when we realised it was Monday- our favourite night of television with the ABC channel and signal was awful. (Yes! Yes! We hear Daniel and Justine’s voices ringing in our ears about being a “Stella”!) So we upped sticks and made for Mackay, unwittingly setting in motion ‘A Bad Day’. We got lost in the city; battled with the GPS giving us contradictory instructions; expensive caravan site with no power or water (Parks fully booked out for the Mackay Show); AND finally when our TV was up – BLANK! We questioned whether the TV was the problem after long storage, age etc. George promptly took it to an electronics man and we anxiously awaited a verdict. Resulting in a missed Monday of TV, after all that!
“Nothing found wrong with the TV” - George collected it before we pulled out of the caravan park, next day. As we moved on north, with minds on auto- electrics, we ended up passing ‘The Leap’ fifteen minutes outside Mackay that Lea had been keen to stop and see – a statue, in memory of an Aboriginal woman who threw herself and baby over the cliff, rather than hand her baby over to authorities. So too, we missed the turn west for 30 kms to see Dame Nellie Melba’s house and memorabilia. Even the turning to St Helens Camping Reserve slipped us as we came into Calen. This time, we were able to turn round. We regained our equilibrium in peacefully, pretty St Helens with its lawned area set within attractively tall paper bark trees giving open views of the bay with its large sand flats - a stop-over on the flyway for migratory birds. TV problem solved by replacing a blown fuse – happily, that’s all it cost.
Checking out a funky shoe tree on the shoreline of St Helens Beach.
Although a 3.5 metre tide is characteristic of the area we were still startled by the unexpected sound of waves slapping close by the next night. In the moonlight we surveyed the massive expanse of sand we’d had by day, now completely inundated and revelled in having a site that gave us the P Package – peaceful, private and picturesque! Returning to ‘Getaway’ soaked in contentment it was very disconcerting to find breaking news, the first political rumblings of a Prime Minister upheaval in Canberra. Lea was thunderstruck by this turn of events and sat waiting the outcome of a late night meeting. Nine o’clock next morning was set for a number crunch and Lea went to sleep hoping that Rudd’s Deputy would remain loyal despite pressure from Unions.
We departed St Helens for Airlie Beach with a deep sense of foreboding. Even the weather turned and we drove into Airlie beach in drizzle and thick cloud. Only when we were all set up in a caravan park did we turn on the TV and hear political commentators discussing the downfall of Prime Minister Rudd, as every channel awaited his final address. Lea wept for him, what an indictment against the Party that a mere three months of poor popularity polling had swiftly knocked a Prime Minister out of his position simply to ensure re-election at the upcoming elections. This was a man who had our vote for his compassionate and humanitarian resolve. We felt stunned. Our intention to look into a possible sailing excursion around the Whitsundays became a welcome distraction.
The Whitsundays consists of 74 islands located in the middle of The Great Barrier Reef. The choices were mind boggling that we needed to retire to our ‘van to weigh up the pros, cons and costs. Eventually settling on Hammer, to suit better weather forecasts for a two day, one night cruise. This 22.5 metre yacht is an ex Australian yachting legend best known for five consecutive placings in the Sydney to Hobart Race and at the end of her career she was refurbished with a comfortable saloon area and open plan accommodation. Therein lay the rub; the thought of 22 unknown folk on board plus the crew of three was a daunting prospect. However, when we walked the length of Airlie, to make our payment with Southern Cross Sailing Adventures we were advised that unless numbers increased prior to sailing – this scheduling would be cancelled. We were the only booking! We waited out the next 24 hours with bated breath as grey skies and squally rains kept coming but no phone call...
Relieved to wake to clear skies, we walked down to Abel Point Marina with our bag, water and ginger beer shandies, keen to see numbers... FOURTEEN – more relief! However, we were the oldest amongst young men and a couple, all well under half our age. Manifesto checked against our tickets, stinger suits handed out with warning “no suit- no swim” and aboard we went. On sighting the sleek narrow racing boat, Lea experienced further palpitations as there seemed no visible comforts; but HEY! We wanted a good taste of the Whitsundays and an overnight sailing was part of the experience. On booking, we had balked at paying the extra $50 per person for the only private cabin on board. Thank goodness we hadn’t as we were given it anyway. And, it certainly would have hurt paying an extra $100 for the dubious pleasure of a double bed that had no privacy what so ever! As we motored out of the harbour introductions and orientation took place. What a cosmopolitan bunch we were – four Americans, two Israeli, two Swiss, one South Korean, one German, the French couple from Normandy’s beautiful town of Le Havre and us - the mixed bred Aussies.
The crew, with help from our testosterone loaded numbers swiftly set sail and we were off, all perched precariously down the high side, making good time towards the biggest of the island masses- Whitsunday, passing the odd turtle raising a stretched neck to see,' who goes there'.
Lunch was served up unbelievably early so that on arrival at Tongue Bay no time would be wasted as the tender ferried us onto Whitsunday Island. Think we had been spoilt by the spectacular islands off Phuket, Thailand - as throughout the sail we didn’t see anything, particularly remarkable and on being told we were going to walk up to a “Look Out” – the third most photographed in Australia, we couldn’t help a silent ‘Yeah! Yeah! Not only was it good to stretch legs after hours of sitting so uncomfortably on deck, it proved an attractive walk upwards and across the ridge through the natural undergrowth although barely a glimpse of surrounding sea.
THUS nothing prepared us for the impact of Whitehaven beach with its silicon sands.
What a vision! Such incredible colours and designs of nature.
Unfortunately this photo hardly does justice.
Our Skipper timed our arrival beautifully with most of the madding crowd having been and gone thus we had much of Whitehaven beach to ourselves. Too cold for us to contemplate the water but the young bloods enjoyed that. The tide was going out fast and by the time we returned to Hammer – the tender battled to get us back that the second group had to retrace their steps to Whitehaven beach on the other side of the neck. Our delayed departure put us in late to the night stop slowed further by the drop in wind. No one complained with a vista of the sun going down just off the prow and a full moon rising over the stern and, closer to Hook Island we watched ‘whale spray’! How we longed for the whale to turn seawards, closer to us - it was not to be. From July the sailing boats guarantee good sightings of whales.
Tucked behind Hook Island for the night, a second moon rising was waited with many camera’s at the ready as the light heralded its coming over the neck. A chill set in and we all donned warmer gear and once the warming, tasty chicken casserole had been consumed everyone settled convivially around the deck well. We were particularly taken by the two Israeli guys- friendly towards us from the start but it has to be said that all those blokes were polite and decent ambassadors, doing their countries proud. Conversations ranged covering many of the headlines of past weeks – the shocking BP oil spillage, Israel’s sanction busting raid of Gaza ships to the ousting of a Prime Minister amidst lots of laughter as these travellers either were in the know or well and truly in the dark. Interesting was the discussions of mandatory military call-ups in the different countries. Finally, the moon took on a strange edge that steadily materialised into a bad moon rising or partial lunar eclipse that surprised us all.
A far from comfortable and most odd shaped sheet with pillow sewn within was our bedding. Fortunately George, being first to go to bed gathered up two little fleece throws, found stacked in the saloon/ galley, that helped keep us warm. Blurb said ‘overnight anchorage in smooth water would be pleasant for sleeping’ but the NOISE of the yacht was unbelievable – so much clanking and banging going on all around us especially from late night showering and the use of the two toilets, not to mention floor boards and close proximity of narrow bunk beds. Lea’s ‘blackies’ (eye shields) rescued a little of the night from lights, open hatches and general comings and goings as gentle rocking had people miss-step as they brushed past our heads to access the toilet a mere foot away from us. MERCY - we were grateful it was only ONE night we had to get through.
No eating or brushing of hair allowed for anyone below deck for fear of clogging the bilge pump! Life was lived on deck finding the sunniest spot.
Our overnight Bay was the first venue for snorkelling next day enabling breakfast to be a relaxed help-yourself, when you were ready affair. Entering the water in winter would not be on the agenda for Lea. As for George, somewhat perturbed about photographic evidence should he wear the lycra stinger-suit was put out of his quandary when Crewman Tom, inadvertently made the decision for George while issuing all the duty of care instructions and jokingly referred to necessary hand signals should someone have a retarded swimming style! With only one good arm, George not only had a queer style he’d find it impossible to signal back in the required manner. He took to the shore to explore while Lea moved up and down the coral enclave in the tender with Tom, feeding an array of fish rising to the surface with good sightings of Elvis, the resident large Blue Wrasse.
Daniel knows why George refused to wear a stinger-suit! These two most likeable Israelis happily modelled them before hitting the water. All the hunks found the water conditions freezing and were reluctant to snorkel at the second venue, until the male jeering began.
By day’s end we were happy to return to Airlie Beach and the most comfortable confines EVER, of Getaway! For George and particularly Lea, sitting on that hard deck and clambering around like rock spiders had taken its toll on our rear ends and spines. We were glad ‘we did it’ but in fairness that adventure is probably geared especially for the huge overseas backpacker market – it just happened to suit our pocket best. So too, it satisfied our curiosity.
Checking out places to ‘roost up’ failed to please or, as in the case of the Homehill comfort stop- there wasn’t a spare inch for us and we ended up in Townsville ahead of schedule. Same site fees but so contrasting ... the lovely setting yet totally rundown facilities in Airlie Beach (they are in the throes of closing down the Park and redeveloping as a Resort); to a Townsville Caravan Park that is beautifully maintained and well located for all our needs BUT over the fence from us the traffic hurtles along Harvey Range road creating horrific noises that sometimes we can’t hear ourselves speak. We’d paid for a week. Poste Restante had our new tow hitch part awaiting collection. George sorted the job out easily with a hacksaw. The microwave was taken in for a service check as when we do use it - ‘ERROR’ pops up on the dial, scary too was it unexpectedly starting up, of its own accord. We discovered it was cheaper and quicker to invest in a new brand. However finding one to fit the aperture proved well-nie impossible other than the Samsung brand we’d originally been fitted with. Fortunately, before we paid our money we spotted the manual of the new one read ‘not suitable for RV vehicles’ which shocked us and proved the tight space in Getaway does not have enough air circulating. Probably the very reason we grew concerned over the years! The laundry was done including winter sheets we no longer require- YAY!
Having been to Townsville twice before, we weren’t interested in coping with the beach scene during school holidays. The Museum of Tropical Queensland caught our eye, as one of its exhibits seemed to be a drawcard – the wreck of HMS Pandora. Free entertainment! We were wrong, it was bruising - even with our concession cards it cost more than a cinema ticket! Add that rampaging children seemed everywhere. Fortunately we didn’t suffer long as we were rapidly caught up in the annals of maritime history – money well spent for a most worthwhile four hours despite the busy place. Flickering recall of Captain William Bligh and Mutiny of the Bounty began to take a realistic shape out of memory and mythology of childhood books and film. HMS Pandora extended our knowledge, as this was the sailing ship sent from England to capture the infamous Bounty mutineers and search for Bounty. Timing, place and history all fell into rightful position as Pandora with 14 mutineers chained within a “box” on board, ran aground the Great Barrier Reef and sank 29 August 1791. Extracts of history engrossed us both. Lea’s thoughts, having been drawn to the surname Bryant (a cousin married a Bryant) was interrupted by a voice asking “Are you aware of Mary Bryant’s story?” This most interesting MTQ official or custodian, Mike began telling ‘Mary’s story’ when George joined us – Mike continued to open up a remarkable overview with unexpected snippets of information and history on the artefacts and reconstruction during the excavating of the wreck site which began in 1983. This was an added ‘bonus‘ to our day at the Museum.
Having grabbed a last opportunity of a 10c discount per litre off with a supermarket fuel coupon before we take the hinterland crossing into the woop-woop, we make final preparations for departure from Townsville on the 5 July! We will be travelling the less used route below the Gulf of Carpentaria as we make our way across to the Northern Territory.
