Tramping tales for May 2011

We were out of Port Augusta immediately after a surfeit of wonderful pomp and circumstance surrounding the Royal Wedding. The cart-wheeling verger in the abbey will no doubt be the unexpected iconic touch to the happiness of the day! We followed the rail-line to Quorn and, despite having travelled this route before, we missed the turning to Warren Gorge where we had planned to spend the day resting with the yellow footed rock-wallabies. Instead we found ourselves well ahead at Leigh Creek for the night which naturally brought us into Marree early next day. We took four nights in Oasis Caravan Park, in the centre of the little hub town for Lake Eyre. That afternoon we strolled through the outback town discovering some of its history and gaining a sense of the outback spirit as ignited in Neville Shute’s book ‘A Town like Alice’ back in our youth, long before we ever dreamt we’d live Down Under. By nightfall the caravan park was jam-packed. We had two men sleeping in their swags right up against our caravan, cursing away as they erected a temporary tarp to protect themselves from bad weather looming. Fortunately they departed for the Hotel Pub once their most basic camp was arranged with the brightest fluorescent left on to ensure their way to bed. Patchy rain throughout the night kept up into day throwing uncertainty at us... The overcast skies seemed well set in yet we did not want to waste the day sitting around hoping it would all blow over. Leaving Getaway, we took the Oodnadatta Track as far as Coward Springs, with intermittent drizzle just keeping the dust down. Incredible ever changing cloud formations proved a wonderful back drop to the vast and timeless landscape that spread every which way around us.

It was fun to be out on this historic track – gravel road it may be but in very good shape with things to see and amuse us. We have always found South Australian vegetation sparse and over-grazed – the ugly sister amidst other States and Territory. Thanks to wonderfully saturating rains over two seasons we were seeing an incredibly invigorated countryside- a pointillism of green, grey-green, ochre and golden yellow spreading to the horizon in every direction. Close to the road ran the old Afghan Railway line. Originally called the Great Northern Railway as it began opening up Australia’s remote interior to provide isolated residents a link to civilization, it began in Port Augusta in 1878 reaching Alice Springs by 1929 – we found ourselves following the remnants of pioneering transport history all the way from Port Augusta to Coward Springs. This original Ghan line had war time traffic soar from 3 to an unbelievable 56 trains a week. All came to a standstill sending outback dreams crashing as a result of terrific sand drifts, rail buckling heat, devastating floods and even soil chemicals corroding the rails and fishplates- giving the line a shorter life span than was ever expected. The new Ghan line is further west.

A mechanic/artist had cleverly turned Alberrie Creek’s Railway water tank into an imposing dog that stood out against the skyline. Two kestrels occupied a nest within the car. Spot the one on the dog’s rear end?

Approaching ‘the dog’ not long after crossing the Dog Fence we were amazed to have a dingo come flying out the bush and seemingly to give chase – we slowed down in disbelief, only to see the dingo change to a brisk trot until it reached our vehicle, gave it a good sniff, lifted a leg on a tyre and continued on across the road and away... We were most curious, which side of the fence keeps dingoes OUT? Had this dingo been semi-domesticated and mistaken our vehicle for another? As for the roadside warnings of ‘DIP’- many had been altered by some wit with time on his hands, using a black permanent marker pen – skinny dip, slippery dip, where’s Pip, get a GRIP- just some we can recall. Our minds stretched thinking of other possibilities. Lake Eyre South suddenly appeared on our right and from the Look-out we stared across the grey-green, greasy waters with its silvery tones, we had heard so much about. The information board full of interesting facts but at that time of the morning the chilly winds blowing soon had us back in Skiv to continue on and visit the Mound Springs.

Australia’s Great Artesian Basin is the largest and deepest underground reservoir in the world holding water some 2 million years old and encompassing an area that stretches across parts of Northern Territory, South Australia, New South Wales and predominantly, inland Queensland. Sink a bore into this basin and it runs like a tap, without need for pumping! This basin provides many towns with their water supply. George had heard of Mound Springs during his work in Australia and was keen to see some. Interestingly, these springs form mainly along the edges of the Great Artesian Basin where water finds its way to the surface through weaknesses in the underlying structures of the basin. Over years minerals and sand are deposited often building up a mound. Concentrations of Mound Springs are found between Marree and Oodnadatta, and those in Wabma Kadarbu Conservation Park are well worth a visit. Conical mounds rise out of a flat landscape and only on close examination, did we uncover a pool of water on the summit that either trickled or cascaded down an outflow channel lined with sedges. Lea thought of them as aquatic volcanoes, very gentle in their discharge and taking 3-4 million years to form.

 
The Bubbler – we were utterly fascinated! George investigates the fauna while Lea watched the sands steadily displace with each bubbled upwelling.


Standing on top, the photo loses sense of the shape and size of the mound. Blanche Cup’s mound was beautifully fringed by mineralisation.

We continued along the ‘Track’ as far as Coward Springs, a 200 hectares seasonally flooded area set aside for conservation in the terms of a heritage agreement with the owner/ managers – a couple who have gone to great lengths to make it an interesting place to visit with a token $1 entry fee or $10 per vehicle to camp overnight. By restoring the Station Master’s house (we think the owners live there) and the Engine Driver’s cabin which has been turned into a quaint little museum, they keep Coward Spring’s cultural heritage alive. This was a time when life revolved around the pub and the spring due to the Ghan railway drawing in the Afghan cameleers, pastoralists, stockmen and Outback travellers not to mention the railway workers themselves. The spring more like an outdoor spa and nothing like the Mounds we had just seen. We enjoyed our lunch under the Tamarisks/Athol pines painstakingly planted way back when and hand watered bucket by bucket to help them survive the harshness. With no other trees around therefore NO firewood, you are warned to collect a sleeper or two along the old railway line! Returning to Marree we stopped again at Lake Eyre South as shafts of light emanating behind clouds had brightened up the afternoon. George walked down to the water’s edge, or as close as he could get as the shoreline was very muddy. This was the first indication, judging from the high water mark, the Lake was no-where near full or there is high evaporation.

Our neighbours with their Ute named ‘Bush Pig’ returned late that night to find their swags occupied by mice! This, together with the vast number of birds of prey we have seen suggests the mice have undergone a population explosion thanks to good rains. The same can probably be said of rabbits as they have been the dominant form of road kill, we’ve not seen in the past. Next day we eagerly set off for Lake Eyre- our day had finally come! Taking the Muloorina Station road, we followed a good track past the homestead- this cattle station was originally established as a camel farm and closed in 1929 when camel transportation diminished.

 
We drew to a sudden halt just south of the Dog Fence on noticing this grisly sight- two dingoes hanging on a fence in “sheep” country with a wedge-tailed eagle in attendance and three wagtails feasting on the maggots!

Anticipation rose as we began cresting a series of linear dunes followed by glimpses of Lake Eyre South as the sandy road drew us ever closer to its top end where we were able to look across a large expanse of water before the road followed the Goyder Channel leading us through to Level Post Bay. Abruptly, the road came to an end in what was a car park – little to show where to go, other than a gap in the surrounding barrier with a barely perceptible path leading uphill. Close to the top a small information board stood and from there we looked out across the northern reaches of Lake Eyre.

WHERE’S the water?


Bringing closure to the Donald Campbell story was a barely readable plaque we’d have so easily passed without a second glance, marking the speed king’s feat at breaking the land speed record on the salt lake bed about 20km north of this point, July 17, 1964.



Confronted by vast emptiness on the floor of Lake Eyre!

Expectations built on words and pictures, even a very recent TV programme – Paul Lockyer’s “Deluge – Return to Lake Eyre” proved disconcerting in the face of what lay before us. No huge inland sea but a salt crusted expanse of stiff clay, still slippery in places, we strode out in the direction of water- only to prove a mirage, time and again. Not another person anywhere around. Just marks on the lake bed to indicate folk had been- marks that could well last decades! Bird movement drew us even further out in the hopes seeing pelicans. It turned out to be a wedge tailed eagle. As we drew closer the eagle flew off and two crows promptly took its place... the attraction nothing more than a dead rat. We were left to ponder why the eagle hadn’t taken it away! The tiny information board on the top of the dune our only landmark out of this oblivion and in the silence, came the crunching of our feet. For a bit of driving practise, Lea drove back to Marree and found the words of Edward John Eyre, 1840 rang with a pang of understanding within her- “With bitter feelings of disappointment I turned from the dreary and cheerless scene around me”.

For the last day in Marree we took the Birdsville Track, a legendary stock route from Marree to Birdsville up in Queensland. It was a blue dome day with the sun in our eyes at that time of the morning, yet we were quick to spot a fox shoot across the road with an amazing brush streaming behind him. We were making for Coopers Creek- about 135kms away. Diamantina, Cooper and Eyre Creeks dominate the “Channel Country” to the north of Lake Eyre and they are the major yet intermittent inflows to the Lake. Their floodplains are interlaced with dune fields, swamps, lakes and waterholes hence the further south they flow, the less frequently water reaches Lake Eyre. Passing a full Lake Harry we were surprised to see black swans drifting offshore. These are Western Australia’s emblem bird! Just before dropping down onto the five kilometre wide floodplain of Coopers Creek our eye was caught by a steel trough off the road – we reversed back and discovered it was actually the State of South Australia’s most northerly ‘shipwreck’!

The unsinkable Tom Brennan, a 12 ft. steel barge used to ferry mail, Station supplies and passengers across the flooded Coopers Creek from 1949 – 1960

The tale of this barge is worth telling as it looked so hefty and useless sitting out in the middle of nowhere. Sent by train to Marree, it was collected by the celebrated Outback Carrier or Postie, Tom Kruse, who launched it with a mighty push off the back of his truck in mid 1949. The Tom Brennan earned its keep almost immediately when Coopers Creek was impassable for the next six months followed amazingly, by another flood year in 1950. It did sink on a number of occasions, as it was easily swamped when overloaded but due to its ballast, soon refloated once some of its load was lifted off! Once again, words play games with minds! Passing Cooper Creek campground, with no water anywhere around, it looked pretty dreary. The track changed to a pebbly one before we saw water – and thought it was creek overflow! The scene before our eyes reminding us of Lake Kariba during early filling days – turned out to be Lake Killamperpunna with lots of black swans bugling and crooning as they sailed around waterlogged trees. On we went to find Coopers Creek with growing confusion as we found ourselves pulling out of the flood plain into dune fields – we didn’t want to go further so swung onto a road with a sign to MV Cooper Discoverer boat tour- 1km, feeling sure this would be Coopers Creek. Winding through a road cut into the dunes we certainly drove far more than a kilometre – 14km all up when we arrived at this sometimes inappropriately named “creek”!

This was Cooper’s significantly wide expanse of water where the ferry crosses. The ferry only comes into operation once the flood plain road we had used is well underwater!

While standing on the river, sorry - creek edge watching two pelicans fly overhead, a man made his way to us from his lone caravan parked beneath one of the few trees around. Way out here – where we have seen no other human being - this tenacious man provides daily Cooper Creek cruises. Bookings are required as minimum numbers apply. With such limited prospects we found it soul destroying on his behalf! He was happy to yarn with us and explained the reason Lake Eyre wasn’t full was that the cyclone derived rains have yet to arrive there. An amazingly slow process due to the delay caused through infiltration and saturation of the multitude of creeks, wetlands and flood plains upstream. We returned home the way we came with a better understanding of the geography of Coopers Creek. Glad we had seen this unusual backwoods before the charge to upgrade the Coopers Creek Crossing with the building of a bridge or appropriate box culverts as well as sealing the ‘Track’ from Birdsville to Lyndhurst, comes into being. Passing Etadunna Station we recognised the Flood Bypass road to the Ferry Crossing – all falls into place when you understand! On Clayton Station, one of only four designated bush camping areas on the Birdsville Track we stopped for our picnic lunch. Next to the toilet was an outdoor plastic lined spa, slowly filling with water in readiness for tired travellers at nightfall! We watched and wondered at the numbers of kites riding the thermals above the station homestead – we had noticed this happening at each homestead along the route. We pulled up alongside some ruined buildings at Lake Harry and discovered that at the turn of the twentieth century this was a very different place - amidst the camels and the cameleers, colonists had planted an oasis of date palms, 2622 palms grown from seedlings easily irrigated from the abundant waters of Harry. This optimism and economic enterprise was unable to stand the test of time. With no native bees, the dates had to be hand pollinated. Storms destroyed trees and ripening fruit, birds and goats further damaged crops and after all that, transportation to the coast wasn’t good for dates. We were seeing this arid centre at its very best and understood how hope may have shone through in 1897.

For all the advertising of flights over Lake Eyre bombarding the public over the last year, we heard and saw very little air movement during our four days. Aside from the expense, minimum numbers were required and we decided not to appreciate the vastness of Lake Eyre from the skies and retraced the road south. Coming, we’d stopped in on the left. Returning, we investigated our left... First stop was Lyndhurst for discounted fuel – fortunately noticed as we’d driven through the first time as Marree had been prohibitive! On the Strzelecki Track leading east lived Talc Alf, a local character we had read about in one of the library magazines back in Perth. George had jotted down notes to look out for this Bush Philosopher sculptor so we turned left and found his gallery.

Talc Alf called a ramshackle conglomeration of buildings home!

Disappointingly, he wasn’t in residence to help us understand his personal statements about politics and religion let alone his theories on the evolution of language. Not only scrawled on walls, beams and banners but some carved into cast-off slabs of talc! Other carvings were similar to the green soapstone work seen in Africa. Poetic ramblings photocopied and sold for a dollar. Generally all quite bizarre, that we regretted missing Cornelius alias Talc Alf.

Next left took us in to the Leigh Creek coal fields where we overlooked the open cut workings, supplying 40% of South Australia’s electricity from the power stations in Port Augusta, specifically modified to burn this brown coal.

We drew into Copley at lunch hour and found a mass of caravans congregating in the tiny centre, drawn by the renowned baking of the Quandong Cafe. As soon as we had taken up a site in the caravan park we took a break from four seed bread in favour of freshly baked pies and wandered up to the Bush Cafe. We also bought their signature quandong pie, made from wild quandongs (a sharp tasting wild peach) collected locally, for dessert that evening, which went down a treat. Easy to blink and miss Copley but you certainly don’t miss the longest coal train passing through with all 161 trucks in tow either carting the brown coal to Port Augusta or returning empty.

The different shades of green across the landscape and changing light upon the Flinders Range made the 225 km leg to Carrieton a pleasure. We found ourselves flinching and ducking instinctively as locusts slammed into the windscreen at different intervals leaving soupy entrails staining the glass. We hesitated at the gates of Horseshoe View Caravan Park as it looked closed and forsaken. Thank goodness we didn’t move on to Orroroo as this turned out to be a most peaceful and delightful spot – The care given to the ablution block really appreciated as the weather turned bitterly cold by late afternoon and the non-slip mat in the shower and a first... a pretty bathroom mat to keep feet dry , provided luxurious comfort.

Peterborough in England is our regular coach stop that we liked the idea of stopping in South Australia’s Peterborough. Scale model steam trains found at each entrance to the town ignited immediate interest. Even the caravan park had train signals and a smaller engine at its entrance. We took a site in the well run and spacious park with herb garden for campers culinary enjoyment (another first!) before heading down to the main street and doing a heritage walk of wonderful old building, quickly learning Peterborough had played a pivotal role in the railway history of South Australia. The Information Centre beautifully housed in an old railway carriage with a restored “Y” Class Locomotive (operated from 1888 to 1960) further down the main street alongside a Memorial to railway employees who died at work and a bricked floor engraved with the names of men and women who’d worked for the railways with their position and years of employment.

Bob, with a tiara on his head and white shirt draped over his back to incongruously mark the occasion of Will and Kate’s wedding captured our notice! Canine stories are always great... Bob the Railway dog’s story began in 1883 when he was rounded up with other stray dogs to be sent north to deal with the rabbit plague. William Ferry, a guard on the train took a fancy to Bob and on arrival in Carrieton offered to buy Bob from the Rabbiter, receiving this consignment of dogs. The offer refused although rabbit man was prepared to do a swop – one dog being as good as another. So William returned with a stray dog he picked up in Port Augusta and made the swap. A few months later William Ferry was transferred to Peterborough as Porter/Guard and over the years his dog Bob made a place for himself in history. Travelling the line with his owner, Bob soon became very adept. He took to hopping on and off trains independently as the mood took him, whether it was inter-state or suburban. Bob was such a charming dog that he found a place in most hearts of adults and children alike all along the line as far afield as Melbourne, Sydney and Brisbane, even overseas. An Englishman wrote to his local paper- The Spectator in 1895 mentioning the fame of the Australian railway dog “who passes his whole existence riding trains with his favourite seat on top of the coal box”. Bob was a special dog by all accounts with his thick scruffy, curly fur, friendly grin and bright beady eyes and high pitched yap. After being stolen by a sheep farmer – the whistle of a train soon had Bob running. The crew recognised him and the farmer roundly told off for taking SAR property. A commercial traveller had a special collar made for his friend “stop me not but let me jog for I am Bob the Drivers’ dog”. When Bob died his body was stuffed and displayed in various railway stations for many years until going astray. We arrived in Peterborough on the day of his “book launch” – the author is now trying to track down Bob’s body!

We need heating to combat the chill of nights and early mornings, especially when it comes to dressing as temperatures have dropped between 5-8 ⁰C. We are always more slothful on Sundays that by the time we arose- the thought of rushing to be out by 10 put us off and we stayed another night. This enabled us to walk to the west end of town and see what Steamtown was all about. Set in the old locomotive workshops of a once booming centre this is one of only two places in the southern hemisphere where you can see three railway gauges (Broad, Standard and Narrow). From the moment we stepped through the entrance, we entered a nostalgic journey into the past. A dedicated guide showed us through a great collection of locomotives, steam engines, passenger carriages and service vehicles dating back to 1881. A setting that hummed with authentic detail jogged our memories and proudly took us back to being passengers in the Railway Era, albeit it in Southern African – the leathery smell of compartments and the porter’s luggage trolley particularly.

The Barrier Highway to Broken Hill followed the railway line that had once been the busiest Narrow Gauge line in the world and the many water tank sidings along the way indicated this. Remnant settlements of this era, Oodla Wirra, Yunta and Cockburn the border town, all flicked passed amidst massive expanses of treeless plains with rising hills on the far off horizons until we approached Broken Hill, the beginnings of accessible New South Wales Outback according to the billboard! The birth place of BHP mining silver, lead and zinc, the richest concentration ever found- we had arrived in an old mining town with a mountain of waste rock overlooking the town. As soon as we were settled in Broken Hill Caravan Park George shot off to a find a replacement battery for our break-safe system on the caravan and to check why our fridge has taken to a high pitched whine after travelling on bumpy sealed roads – lower the thermostat dial and it stops! Both will be looked at in three days time. Fortunately there was plenty to keep us entertained around town. Each evening, a sizeable cloud of noisy corellas circled overhead uttering high pitched screeches before roosting in the trees on our periphery, making us feel truly at home in the ‘outback’.

An unexpected blue sky directed us outdoors while luck was on our side and we made for Mundi Mundi Lookout to check the curvature of the earth before our very eyes. Australia does these vistas of infinity best– wide open space with red earth contrasting vividly against blue sky. For a change there was the addition of plenty of green covering. From this view, dramatic swirling dust storms can be watched- no chance of that today! We returned 5kms and stopped to visit Silverton, an ex silver mining town dating to the 1880s and now a quaint historic place, well used as a film set for its dry red dust and classic ‘outback’ environment. ‘A Town like Alice’ apparently filmed here! Along with Mad Max 2 and 3, Razorback and Pricilla, Queen of the Desert. Although our walk around charming Silverton was spoilt by a nasty chill wind we found much to enjoy in the architecture, especially two little churches, two donkeys and a camel with her twins adding their respective touches and most intriguing of all, the Coin Carvery – its name suggested to George a ‘road kill eatery’ of all things. That, it was not! Andy Jenkins turned out to be a coin carver – his speciality carving the backgrounds out of Australian pennies to produce stunning coin jewellery and despite slow, time consuming fretwork he was a most amiable fellow, happy to share stories with all and sundry entering his tin shed. We moved on to see the Living Desert Reserve. Too darned chilly to walk, we drove up Sundown Hill through the diverse and robust plant life of this living desert to see the sculptures in the sky! Twelve international artists invited here in 1993 to carve their interpretations out of sandstone boulders.

They form an impressive gallery perched on top of the hill that gives amazing views in every direction close to town.

That afternoon we drove up to the top of the Mine Dump to take in the view, look over the beautifully positioned Broken Earth Cafe/Restaurant giving a bird eye view of Broken Hill from the top of the now dormant Line of Lode ore body that runs through the town. Semi attached is the Miners Memorial with its equally dramatic setting.

To the memory of those who died in Mines in and around Broken Hill – giving name, date and cause of death. Very confronting reading- how easily lives were snuffed out.

Better attired for the frosty bite in the air, we spent the next day visiting Galleries. While mining activity has declined in recent years Broken Hill has grown as a significant art centre. We began with Pro Hart 1928-2006 as he spent his whole life around Broken Hill. Essentially a narrative artist, he explored a wide variety of differing mediums and canvases (including his 1971 Rolls Royce) in the hours between his shifts down the mine. His studio gallery with collection of Rolls Royce parked outside gave us a wonderful insight into this man, his work and his passions. Jack Absalom has also lived in Broken Hill for over 56 years promising “to build a nice gallery to showcase my artwork when I could afford to”. In 1997 he fulfilled his promise with a beautifully spacious gallery housing his Australia wide outback landscapes. He captures places and moods perfectly and we recognised and appreciated many from those places we have visited. Not only an artist he has authored many books and made a series of documentaries on Australia for ABC Television. Jack Absalom is also one of the five “Brushmen of the Bush” raising thousands of dollars for charities, through his brushes.

The right tool easily replaced the awkward positioning of the battery for our breaksafe system; the fridge had to wait another time to solve its odd noise as the repair man only works on run of the mill ‘three way’ caravan fridges! Thus, we were soon on the road to Menindee, a heritage town nestled between the Menindee Lakes and Darling River. We turned into Menindee Lakes Caravan Park outside town and landed with a fine site giving us wide views over the Lake with its highly turbid grey waters. Only when the wind blows or the sun pops out from behind the clouds, do we see the glint and shine of water or rippling waves confirming its presence. The rest of the time we could be forgiven for thinking we are staring out upon a mud pan of considerable size and judging from the bushes under water, the Lake is fuller than usual. Friday 13th- unlucky for some and since George was a victim of the day back in 1966 he preferred to stay put. We popped in to look around Menindee and found roads closed due to the Darling River’s high water mark. Kinchega National Park, once part of a pastoral lease until it was dedicated as a national park in 1967, had two of its three self-guided tours closed to the public due to flood damage and high water. We were able to do part of The Homestead Loop and took a walk around the ruins of the original Kinchega homestead and cemetery. An elevated and expensive board walk seemed a little daft for what remained. As for the old boiler (of Paddle Steamer Providence who once plied her trade along the Darling until she exploded and sank in 1872 killing all its crew) we were unable to visit that, as that bit of road was cut off by water. For the first time we are beginning to feel the aftermath of the floods. We moved on towards Emu Lake, an intermittent system that was also well under water, to see the historic Woolshed and Shearers Quarters. A beautiful atmosphere although we would probably have thought otherwise under a searing sun in normally harsh conditions!

 
Woolshed (1875) 72,800 sheep to be shorn, illustrates the huge size of pastoral holdings in arid regions. The elevated sweating pens were a distinctive feature of Kinchega allowing sheep 2 hours to cool down!

As a matter of interest William Wright the station manager, joined the expedition of Burkes and Wills in 1860 when they arrived at Kinchega. Strange the hand of fate, as he was the man almost entirely blamed for their deaths when he failed to meet the party at Coopers Creek, near Innamincka.

We had to wait for this Friday 13 snake to sluggishly cross the road. The next day we had a larger one whip back from whence it came as our rig approached. Unidentifiable, but two in two days was unusual!

Bush Poets are an integral part of Australian culture and yet we’ve never come across one until Menindee. Long John Best was in our park and giving a recital and we eagerly popped along. We certainly weren’t disappointed spending a glorious hour listening to his metered rhyming tales full of thought, humour or pathos. Most his own work with some belonging to others.

We were cut off from visiting Mungo National Park even the Darling Run had a number of its sections closed. Menindee to Wilcannia west side of the river was open provided one drove with caution - we decided on that. As we hitched up, our neighbours asked where we were headed and on hearing Wilcannia they mentioned safety issues in Wilcannia which took us aback. Lea explained we came from Africa where safety had a different connotation; what did they mean? “Be careful in the town” made it no clearer, as we set off. We saw nothing of the Darling River and the landscape was much like we’d been through. We didn’t find the road bad although our new rock tamer lost a couple of shackles and the plastic hose connection on the caravan shattered- nothing serious. From the 1860’s onwards Wilcannia was a thriving inland port until the decline of river transportation and the collapse of the sheep industry throughout the west due to droughts, rabbit plagues, dust storms and overstocking. We drove into a town devoid of people just buildings that architecturally spelt out another era – no signs of a caravan park and the thought of pushing on to Cobar another 260kms further off putting. After circling town we decided not to waste further time and push on. Soon after crossing the bridge over the deeply carved Darling we spotted a turn-off to Discovery Caravan Park. Relieved, we turned in. At the entrance we hesitated long and hard – the place looked desolate. At the caretakers gate a polite Aborigine explained his sister was out but take a site and she would bring us an ablution block key on her return. All sites for the taking we could barely make up our mind, later we learnt it had only just been reopened and we were glad we stayed - clean, quiet and alongside the Darling with plenty of birdlife down on the weir.

According to pamphlets the Darling is the largest river system in the continent and the backbone of New South Wales – recent flood indicators showed the river had easily risen 12 metres or more.

Closed Roads prevented us following the Darling River to Burke, which disappointingly put our visit to Louth out of the question. We were looking forward to sending a text to Daniel and Justine saying we’d meet them in Louth... They live close to Louth in NE Lincolnshire! Instead we had to follow the highway - surprising was the high incidence of road-kill on the road to Cobar. Quite the goriest we’ve seen in a long while – fresh kangaroo in the majority, their mortality being an indirect indication of their abundance. Golden grasslands with plenty of trees reminded us of Rhodesian scenes. We were not to catch sight of any roos, plenty of goats though. While visiting the Cobar Heritage Centre we learnt that feral goats had once been called the ‘street cleaners’ of Cobar! Suspect the ones we saw are farmed. Cobar caught us by surprise. The caravan park appeared to be in a town with not much going on so we took a night. Moving on next day we spotted the Heritage Centre and went in- this imposing house was originally the Administration offices for the Great Cobar Copper Mine and overlooked the Open Cut. The story goes that around 1876 three youngsters stopped at a water hole and picked up a stone that looked different. Further down the track they chanced to meet a couple and in showing them the stone, the woman, luckily from Cornwall instantly recognised its copper properties and a partnership began work with pick and shovel, horse and dray. This town was built on rich mining traditions and we found so much of interest that we very nearly returned to the caravan park for another night. At Steamtown in Peterborough we had seen a mobile baby health clinic carriage for the first time. This was a fantastic idea, travelling the line into the outback, to help remote mothers and children. Coming across another in Cobar, we discovered the local Methodist minister Rev. Stanley Drummond had been the founder of the very successful Royal Far West Children’s Health scheme after a young mother had died of a broken heart after losing her infant. Stories read about Australia, while growing up, were vividly brought to life for the first time, as we moved across the western area of New South Wales. The rough, tough outback life of those long ago days and how it impacted on women and children in particular.

Cobar is situated on the crossroads of the Barrier Highway we’d joined at Peterborough, and The Kidman Way, named for the legendary cattle baron owning great swathes of land from South Australia to the Gulf. We’ve travelled the northern section from Karumba to Cloncurry and now we were to do another small portion, 160km from Cobar to Bourke. Continuing through most attractive wooded, undulating countryside, under sunny skies, we were very tempted to sleep on the road but a forecast of 2⁰C for the night put us off. We reached the back of Bourke, deeply steeped in Australian folklore and language. The heart of inspiration for many celebrated Bush Poets of Australia. The very roots of the country seem to begin right here, perhaps in part due to Henry Lawson enduring words in 1892 “If you know Bourke, you know Australia”. The town, laid out beside the Darling River, is surrounded by levees for protection and as we crossed the bridge to ‘Northy’ (the affectionate name for north Bourke and the caravan park, Kidman’s Camp) we looked down upon impressive Polygonum Swamp and a billabong teeming with birds. We found ourselves a pretty site away from the mobs and strolled down to the Darling as the paddleboat PV Jandra, docked from its afternoon jaunt down river. A pretty, pretty river with plenty of birdlife and reflections to enjoy! All the more remarkable, with the river having receded, were the flood levels and debris in odd places, we traced with our eyes. Will Ogilvie must have witnessed the Darling in flood to write “...That’s where the wildest floods have birth out of the nakedest ends of the earth....” Stirring to be standing there thinking about it!

Cemetery was our first port of call next day. Ambling around graves gleaning snippets of history – Francis Brown, a western poet had us convert our thinking as ‘western’ referred to this area of NSW not WA. We paused in thought at the graves of Bye Khan- Afghan Cameleer and many children who died in infancy or drowned in the river until we reached our destination – Eye Doctor, Fred Hollow’s grave. His family buried him where his famous eye-work began, bringing sight to Aborigines before spreading to Asia. He trained many doctors to perform cataract operations, too. A fund in his name was set up and his eye-work continues today, with a son following in his footsteps. Returning to town we walked down to the Wharf checking out colonial buildings dating back a good century to a time when Bourke was the largest wool railhead in the world. Its history all fell neatly into place when we reached the Back O’ Bourke Exhibition Centre. Names we were acquainted with rose up and added another component to our general knowledge... C.E.W. Bean, the war historian we became familiar with in Gallipoli and Canberra; Breaker Morant from the film of the same name, executed in South Africa by firing squad came to life here as stockman, renowned for his skills with horses as well as being a poet. Embedded even more deeply throughout these western parts is Aboriginal culture – the tapestry of Bourke is richly woven and walking through history left us quite weak with so much to take in- much slips our minds already. Kidman’s Camp was having a BBQ with a Bush Poet, as midweek entertainment. Much as we liked the idea, our budget had been pushed enough plus we decided it was just too soon after Long John Best and we didn’t want to take the chance of tainting a good memory!

We hit the road for Brewarrina, with cotton balls scattered along the roadside, like snow, all the way. On entering the town we crossed the Barwon River which caused confusion – what had happened to the Darling? It changes its name mid-stream! Before finding the caravan park we spotted a pretty view of the Barwon and realised it was the very place we wanted to see. We walked down to the Aboriginal fish traps, said to be 40, 000 years old that lay below the Brewarrina weir and, given the magnitude of the recent floods not to mention similarly erosive events over the centuries of time involved, were surprised to find they were still in place. The traps take the form of low stone walls designed to concentrate fish moving upstream and guide them unwittingly towards purpose made gaps in the walls where the unsuspecting fish could then be speared or removed by some other means.

Just as impressive were the large number of herons and egrets, at least 100 in our field of view perched amid-stream on the traps like sentinels, using the rocks as vantage points from which to fish.

The caravan park was closed giving us no option other than continue to Walgett (meeting of two waters) located on the junction of the Barwon and Namoi rivers. Again, no caravan park and we pulled into the town’s rest area to have a late lunch and tossed up whether to stay or go. Subsidence and patchy repair work on the road bouncing us around made driving tiring. Low night temperatures without power, pushed on to Lightning Ridge and with over 300 kms under our belt for the day, we took three nights in newly opened Opal Caravan Park. Lightning Ridge was black opal country. Opals! Initial impressions showed little evidence of mining in contrast to the moonscape mounds surrounding Cooper Pedy and Andamooka for miles around back in South Australia. To crown our long day we were blown away by a dramatic sunset – the crimson glow steadily deepening into night as a full moon rose in the east, more surprisingly a comfortable nippiness surrounded us. G-O-N-E was the nasty wintery cold. Equally mild next morning, we arose easily, dressed lightly and set off to do the Car Door Tours.

A quirky clever idea using recycled car doors led visitors on four self guided tours following car doors!

Taking the closest ‘Red door’ route, we immediately found ourselves in a giant unkempt scrap yard, Sim’s Hill Opal field where the first opal rush boomed back in 1905. With regular reference to a direction sheet that kept us informed on landmarks, red car doors orientated us along rough and dusty tracks amongst mounds of mullock heaps, dilapidated shacks or old caravans surrounded with rusty digging paraphernalia. We had entered mole-world with warnings of deep shafts, mad dogs and no specking, fossicking or noodling everywhere! We slowed to peer at Amigo’s Castle, a large private home single-handedly built of ironstone begun in 1981 and still under construction as far as we could make out. The owner inspired by Roman ruins near his birthplace in northern Italy. Not much further on, another oddity – the Astronomers’ Monument. Towers formed using concrete filled drums and decorated with hieroglyphics to create a temple in memory of famous astronomers. Fields upon fields of diggings with the strangest contraptions littered around the bush yet little movement or activity going on. We liked this method of sticky-beaking and moved on to ‘Yellow door’. We didn’t bother with any of the ‘tourist mines’ and made our way up to Lunatic Hill. From the Lookout we stared down into enormous open-cut where so much hope had been invested and the opal, Halley’s Comet, valued at $2.5 million had come to light in 1986. On the opposite side of this massive open-cut we came across old-timer Brian beside his Fun Bus and diggings. Sharing his life story- he told of life in the Fun Bus with his dearly loved wife until a lightning strike narrowly missed her whereupon she insisted on living in town. Born in Johannesburg, she died of cancer two years ago. This dear man nursed her to the end. He added many anecdotes on local characters, shaft collapses and opal divining, to keep us engrossed. Brian became the ‘cherry’ to our day. Late afternoon, we set off west of Lightning Ridge to follow the ‘Green door’ up Pig Hill, an ironstone ridge attracting lightening that is quite shocking during thunderstorms - strongly suggesting the origin behind the town’s name. Finally reaching Nettleton’s First Shaft Lookout, the best position for sunsets, with wide views across the western plains towards Coocoran Opal Fields, a major multi-billion dollar opal field from 1988-1996. While we waited for the setting sun we watched the antics of magpies and our favourite apostle birds or lousy jacks as they are known here. Sadly the dipping sun was not up to much and we returned to savour a Bore Bath opposite our caravan park. Open 24/7 and free, with ancient water supplied from the Great Artesian Basin that underlies 22% of Australia, 1,024 metres below the surface of the earth and supposedly rich in potassium salts to benefit rheumatism and arthritis we gingerly stepped into water said to maintain a temperature of 41.5⁰C. It was delicious, obviously losing temperature in the pool to be easily bearable for short periods of time, our skins felt silky to the touch as a result of the minerals and we returned home feeling very relaxed.

Following a morning of housekeeping we set off for the Blue door route through to Bevan’s Black Opal and Cactus Nursery.

Elizabeth Bevan’s love of cacti was very evident as were the myriad of signs to keep out of the gardens- understandable when George promptly put his foot into a bed to take a close-up photo, and got short shift!

Probably a good fifty years of loving attention paid to developing a cacti garden in a country where no cacti occur, by a couple- one of which has a memorial garden to his name. His poems and species information added to the signage – busily reading one, Lea’s eye was drawn to movement - a little brown snake slithering between the bordering rocks towards her. She froze, yet it only sensed her proximity and raised its head when her voice warned George! This was an intriguing place, well worth a visit with an equally memorable owner, Elizabeth. George asked whether she had a black opal to show us. “Oh, bucket loads” was the response. She showed us ‘potch’ – a bucket full of boring looking black and grey stuff like concrete. This was a form of non precious opal that doesn’t contain gem colour. Our ignorance was obvious, as Elizabeth invited us to take a seat in her home where she gave an enlightening explanation on opals. Black opals are the most rare and valuable type of opal. What we did not understand, was that ‘black’ did not refer to the face colour BUT the dark underlying body colour giving greater intensity to the gem colour. In Lightening Ridge there is no need to use boiling sugar water to artificially darken the matrix/ conglomerate to illuminate the gem colour, as we had seen in South Australia. We live and learn.

Sundowner time in the Bore Bath! Murmuring chatter of local Serbians (we think!) socialising here, reminded us of Roman Baths!

Hot water out in the ‘wild’ – we could easily stop here, over the winter! The bore supplying the Bath was capped many years ago so that the water flow could be reduced to 9 litres per second saving 11 litres per second! The used water is piped to nearby opal fields so that ‘puddling’ Miners will use this water, instead of clean water to separate opal from waste rock. The Bath water is changed each Monday, Wednesday and Friday (closing the pool for 2 hours mid-morning). The bore also supplies Lightning Ridge with all its water and some residents turn off their hot water service in summer to keep a supply of cold water within! Our last night was whiled away in the Bath as Lea got chatting to a New Zealander, who comes to Lightning Ridge each winter as her husband grew up amongst the opal fields; then she began a conversation with a young hunk, who turned out to be a Shearer come to soak weary muscles. George soon stopped ‘eaves dropping’ from afar when he heard the bloke was from St George and joined them, as we were headed that way in the morning.

Reluctant to backtrack to Moree, we’d decided to take a round trip through Queensland. No sooner had we crossed the border than flood damage to the road became very evident. Large patches of new, recently compacted gravel showed road work was being undertaken. Low lying areas were sodden with water and cotton balls decorated the verges. The shearer had told us that despite some flood damage cotton farmers had reaped a fine season necessitating the re-opening of ginneries, closed for years. It was just too early to stop in Hebel, home to a great pub and the famous Beercan Regatta – a painted emu peered out of a pub window, as we crept past. Stopping instead, in Dirranbandi’s caravan park where we found a mobile ice-cream van from Goondiwindi surrounded by an eager crowd virtually blocking the entrance. Ice-cream is a rarity and chocolate dips looked so good we promptly joined the queue. While out exploring around Dirranbandi (land of croaking frogs) a young lad, somewhere between 10 and 12 years old, greeted us and asked if we were tourists. We chatted as we walked along the pavement. He came here 18 months ago with his single parent father who makes ends meet working part-time at Food-Works, the hospital and doing odd jobs. The point of mentioning this young chap arises because he doesn’t attend the local school, he is home schooled on a computer. We first met home schooled children taking art classes with sister, Leecy. The more we meet these home schooled children the more impressed we become- they have all had a poise and maturity rarely seen within the classroom.

We chose St George Caravan Park, despite having had another recommended, purely because this one was within good sight of the Balonne River and the road bridge/weir. We were glad we did as it was a perfect location to stride out along the river walk, well laid out by low risk prisoners giving wonderful views of this fine river. In 2010, Balonne River peaked in the town at 13,39m recording the highest flood since 1890 while during the more recent 2011 floods it peaked here at 13,2m isolating Dirranbandi for over a month. During the night rain began falling – aside from the relief of no leaks presenting themselves we decided rather than risk driving in rain we would nip a little further north, some 9 kms out of St George and try out Kapunda Fishing Park boasting of a natural bush setting, native fauna and flora. Outside the office a truck stood with two pairs of legs rising above the cab. The bodies of two large bush pigs hung head downwards. Certainly not a sight for the squeamish! No answer at the door even after a long wait and George back at our rig before a sleepy young fellow popped his head out. Night hunting for pig earns him 80c a kilo at the abattoir. He looked a mere scrap of a youngster to take on this dangerous sport. He didn’t mind being woken as he needed to get his pig-dog to the vet and take his ‘kill’ to the abattoir. His parents in town, he sorted the paperwork and we took up a site up close to the Balonne, beneath red river gums with a stretch of golden grasses, within which the heads of curious roos regularly pop up to see what is going on elsewhere. Perfect!

We moved onto to Nindigully to camp alongside the Moonie River and a rambling historical pub that had changed little since being built in 1864 as part of the change over station for Cobb & Co. Caravans and motor-homes abounded in the muddy campground yet we managed to find a recently vacated spot next to the river and settled down for a warming cuppa. By midday the chill in the air along with mud had us decide to leave and we continued on our way reaching Goondiwindi, childhood stamping ground of brother-in-law Keith Bell. His brother and sister still live there. Our caravan park turned out to be 1km away from his sister - Plants Plus Nursery. Next day we called in and introduced ourselves, as ‘having a relative in common’ to Jan and Leon Billing and son Greg. Leon turned out to be the perfect man to unravel the “mystery” behind the ever-changing name of the Darling River! Normally a major river retains its name from source to sea (I guess by now we should have learnt to expect the unexpected in Australia!) Although the Darling is the longest continuous river system in Australia, 3 370 km in length, the mainstream changes its name three times – prior to joining the Murray. The lower reaches are known as the Darling, the middle reaches as the Barwon and upper reaches as the Macintyre! Regardless of the confusion created in the interim we’ve still had the greatest of fun intercepting the river system at different points along its length. The Billing’s warmness and our shared interests made it hard to tear ourselves away and leave them to their work. We found Keith’s family home before following the 4km river walk along the Macintyre which forms the border between Queensland and New South Wales. Stopping at two red river gums, the first an amazingly large and beautifully gnarled one, the other nicked named ‘Tree of knowledge’ as it was under this tree, over all the years, folk gathered to watch, discuss and compare flood levels. Close by we found a statue to Gunsynd, a race horse and local icon for winning at every track along the eastern seaboard. Making our way back to SKV though town we were stopped short at the Art Deco cinema as Water for Elephants was showing in half an hour. Well worthwhile seeing, particularly as it recalled the exciting sights, smells and sounds so atmospheric of the Big Top as we knew it in our childhood – with plenty of animals doing tricks! Which in today’s world is rightly, considered totally unacceptable.

We crossed the border back into New South Wales to continue adventuring new places. Our intention is to zig-zag our way south through the central heartlands of the State. Taking the busy and in places well worn road to Moree we found a site in the Mehi River Van Park. Pleasant enough to stay four nights as not only were we ahead of schedule, it was time for non-driving days after covering 3500 kms this month. An easy walk through Jellicoe Park, along the river into a most attractive town that straddles the Mehi, was to keep us happily occupied. Lovely wide, really wide and tiled pavements edged with double rows of white columned sections grandly holding up vines in a range of autumn colours, were a sight to behold. All showcased the main street’s shop frontage of Art Deco architecture. The street corners each had varied levels of carefully manicured hedge to capture your eye and lead them away down tree-lined side streets. There certainly had been a time when wheat brought plenty of wealth to Moree. Now it seemed to be in decline with lock down and sale notices across aged heritage hotels, homes and buildings. Most striking too, were the many barricades and signs warning of theft especially around our caravan park. We were vigilant but saw nothing untoward to warrant the need. Close by, the Hot Artesian Pool Complex supposedly making Moree the Artesian Spa Capital of Australia. It sounded too high-falutin’ for us after the deep satisfaction gained at Lightning Ridge that we made do with the small and quiet artesian spa within our park until curiosity got the better of us! We found the Complex in the midst of what resembled a massive upgrade. The sixth modification in its history! The 3d.entrance fee introduced in 1898 has risen to a discounted pool fee of $3.50 at present! This 50% discount due to a decommissioned spa on the eastern side, the inconvenience construction may cause and slightly reduced operating hours. Spa 1, is usually a wellness centre surrounded on three sides by change-cubicles and open to the sky. Chairs lined the pool edge, all taken up on the sunny side with chattering bodies, reminiscent of Muizenberg ‘snake-pit’ in the 60’s. We observed a very European flavour amongst the patrons ‘taking the waters’ as we slipped into the pool for five minute periods before the need to cool off overwhelmed us. We discovered the ‘smooth, slippery feeling’ to our skins, we have been so aware of, was all due to our natural body oils being converted to soap by the sodium bi-carbonate rich waters. Another interesting piece of information occurring here in 1965 was the visit made by Charlie Perkins and his bus of freedom riders after hearing Aboriginal people were not allowed into the baths. A tense confrontation with jostling and rotten fruit being thrown, led to the baths being closed until a council motion was passed rescinding the colour ban.

Rain was forecast and on cue the clouds moved in on us for our last night. We decided to ‘stay-put’ for another day. Not a drop fell and all the thick, grey clouds were gone by mid-day! We weren’t fussed as always have plenty to do on computers and loaded the new blog!