Tramping tales for February 2012

A calm crossing, followed by a magnificent dawn over Melbourne city with hot air balloons wafting above made us regretful not to have a camera on hand to capture the soft pink and orange glows but we needed our wits about us to safely get out of the city and onto the Calder Highway heading north to Macedon. We didn’t think an early arrival for a Sunday morning would go down well so we actually continued a little further to Woodend to pick up some fresh fruit and vegetables. Fortunately a market was setting up and we were able to wander through and kill a bit of time before returning to Macedon Caravan Park in readiness for the usual 10 a.m. departure hour and hopefully a good choice in sites.

 Jane Hennessey and Ian Dorman arrived late afternoon to spend the night alongside us in their tent. It is always good to catch up with Jane, Lea’s assistant during St Hilda school days in Perth.

Early risers Jane and Ian had us up much earlier than is our wont and NO, we didn’t return to bed as soon as they hit the road for Hanging Rock! We decided we rather liked this time of the morning and made a pact to get out of our wintering ways and travel in the cool of morning. We rapidly stowed away our goods and rolled on down the Calder Highway towards Mildura.

After bypassing Bendigo we noticed a strange pink hue across the horizon.

Within no time missiles of flying bark, leaves and branches shot in all directions and grass heads like tumble weeds in miniature rolled furiously back and forth across our path according to the whims of the wind. Passing through Inglewood a sign to a Eucy Museum had us wonder what that could possibly be all about. On the other side of town we passed a peculiar contraption consisting of an old truck, pipes and a chimney emblazoned with Eucy. That piqued our curiosity and we turned back for a closer inspection.

Unfortunately the newly constructed museum providing a unique history of eucalyptus distilling was closed. All we could do was draw our own conclusion walking around the weird and wonderful relic.


Further along the highway we ran into a dust storm that enveloped us in clouds of fine red dust over the next three hours.

Swinging off on a minor road to Quambatook in what was once the heart of mallee country, we probably escaped the worst. Not much left of the mallee instead wheat fields stretched in all directions, almost certainly accounting for the amount of dust in the atmosphere. Quambatook may be recognised as the tractor pulling capital of the nation however, we gave importance and a visit to the little town because two very well known Australian music identities - Country singer John Williamson was born and brought up here and pop guru Ian “Molly” Meldrum, who recently suffered amazingly serious injuries after a fall while putting up his Christmas decorations, also grew up here. George was particularly keen to see places within the town, John had incorporated in some of his songs – like the wheat silos he’d climbed as a boy and from the top of which, spat on his brother. Done! Following the words of another song ‘took a walk down Salisbury Street’ – George delightedly did so. Lea was not prepared to venture out in the skirmishing winds that continued to plague us. There sure wasn’t much nor a soul to be seen in this once thriving town even the caravan park was empty bar a little group on a cabin porch. Nothing more to keep us there, we ate lunch alongside the Avoca River watching dust constantly rising and spiralling away before continuing on our way to Swan Hill. We’d returned to the course of the Murray River and were keen to be within sight of the water. Pental Island Holiday Farm, a 160 hectare property with 3kms of Murray River frontage lined with Red Gums fitted the bill.


This immaculately maintained caravan park carpeted in thick green grass was empty. It dawned on us that unlike Tasmania, the usual high summer temperatures keep folk well away in turn we were grateful winds were relieving the 34C dry temperature.

On the news we learnt gale force winds were sweeping across Victoria and on its northern border we continued to feel their affects all night. George had to tie a branch back to stop its continual scratching and brushing against Getaway. By morning, the winds had calmed and become a bit chilly which augured well for our journey into the far southwest outback of New South Wales. In keeping with our efforts to rise early, we completed a laundry wash over breakfast before taking a brisk walk down river to enjoy the Red Gums and look over a small, historic shearing shed surrounded by log yards. How easily we’d picked up, almost where we left off, on our Two Rivers expedition in September albeit 120kms further along, as the crow flies. Crossing over the Murray River at Swan Hill into New South Wales, we set off to do a 300 km. loop to world heritage listed Willandra Lakes and Mungo National Park via Balranald on the lower Murrumbidgee River. We don’t have time to loiter with a ‘grandchildren round’ scheduled for the year so we didn’t want to stop and see the crossings places of Captain Charles Sturt (1830) Major Thomas Mitchell (1836) and explorers Burke and Wills (1860) in Balranald. However, we caught sight of a few of the ever increasing Balranald Frog sculptures that promote public awareness of the Southern Bell Frog also known as the Barking Frog because of the sound of its call. Once abundantly widespread, this highly endangered frog (closely related to the green and gold Bell Frog that famously halted work on the Homebush Olympic Village, outside Sydney) is now restricted to the flood plains around Balranald and a few areas along the Murrumbidgee River.

Encountering the treeless salt bush country, Lea fell asleep and awoke with a jolt once George turned onto 58 kms of rough stony road to ‘Turlee Station Stay’- a working sheep, cattle and wheat station of 145,000 acres in size, situated within the ancient Willandra Lakes World Heritage Area. Checking-in over a UHF hand set we didn’t catch why their bush camps were out of action, we were just told to make ourselves at home anywhere around the amenities area. Again, we were the only guests and we hadn’t seen any vehicles on the road in. Lea prepared a quick bite to eat while George unhitched for Mungo National Park.

We’d originally primed ourselves to visit this park from the northern end when we were at Lake Menindee, only to find the 2010/11 floods had badly damaged road infrastructure and entry was closed. Hence, we’d made the decision to squeeze in a visit from the more accessible south, after our Tasmania visit and before returning to Perth via Renmark. Mungo woman and Mungo man had drawn us in this direction. In 1969 a young geomorphologist studying the effects of climate change in Mungo, stumbled upon the remains of a cremated skeleton that became known as Mungo woman. She is now considered the oldest known human to be ritually cremated and buried. Six years later, this same man, Jim Bowler, again chanced on a skull sticking out of the eroded sands. This was Mungo man buried in a pit on his back with hands interlocked and covered in ochre. These ‘finds’ along with stone artefacts and shell middens resulted in Mungo becoming a renowned site of international research significance. History had to be rewritten with profound implications over claims about the origins of modern man. ‘Modern’ does seem an odd term to use for a people extending back an estimated 50,000 years or more! Here we were, about to discover more about an area, hitherto unknown to us.

Mungo is part of the Willandra chain of dried out lakes that were once strung out between Willandra Creek and the main channel of the Lachlan River we’d cross on many occasions during our zig-zag exploration of New South Wales last year. Some 40,000 years ago the Willandra Lakes area was a lush paradise teeming with wildlife!


This copy of a satellite photo of Lake Mungo provided a good insight into what we were about to see on the ground.


A panned shot from Lake Mungo Look-Out on the western rim provides small indication of the full extent of this dry lake. In the distance, the Walls of China appear as a white line.

The well laid out facilities and Park Visitor Centre were devoid of people as we paid our $7 Park fee into an honesty box and began learning more about the area. The owners of Mungo Station sold in 1978 and the land declared a National Park the following year with its world heritage status registered in 1981. In front of the building, replicas of the world’s largest collection of ice-age footprints of a people criss-crossing Mungo’s muddy clay pan some 20,000 years ago were found under all the sand in 2003. Having just picked up route notes for a self-guided drive tour entitled Driving the Mungo Story we knew we were in for a most interesting adventure as we drove 70 kms around a part of the country that has nourished human life for at least 40,000 years. Keen to be on our way we ignored the Mungo woolshed constructed of the termite resistant timber, Cypress Pine. We even took no notice of rabbit proof fence remnants because ahead, we were more drawn to seeing the first close views of “Walls of China”. We walked out to the boardwalks and viewing platform to take a closer look at the lunette – the long white crescent shaped dune marking Lake Mungo eastern rim, named so for its similarity to the first quarter of a moon outline.

Without a guide that was as close as we could get to this section of the distinctive crescent shaped barrier made up of overlapping and different coloured bands of clay and sands. Somewhere within the lunette had been the burial sites of Mungo woman and Mungo man. The prevailing westerly winds, water and grazing pressures induced by sheep and rabbits from the past all account for its eroded condition. Returning to the Mungo drive we reached Red Top Tank, one of many ground tanks built during Mungo’s pastoral history providing a water source for animals.

This beautiful spot on the crest of the lunette became our favourite. Over time, the white sand has been blown away and rain etches and erodes gullies into the hard smooth crust formed from a mixture of clay and fine sand.

Following the one way track behind the Walls of China we moved through a variety of plant communities and in contrast to the lunette we passed red dune country until we reached a depression where early settlers established a tank. This gives rise to the rabbit invasion of Australia story beginning in 1859 – when rue the day, Tom Austin released 13 rabbits down in Geelong for traditional hunting. These rabbits spread in their millions and with teeth apparently more effective at eating out plants than sheep or kangaroos rapidly became a curse. Twenty years later rabbits appeared in Mungo and this spot, Allen’s Plain Tank with its rich lime sediments containing huge warrens that may well have belonged to locally extinct Bettongs and Bilbies became over-run with rabbits. Even the Allen’s Plain Hut was undermined by rabbits. This 1880 invasion of rabbits not only accelerated the erosion of the Walls of China, it so severely depleted grazing resources and led to the 1889 necessity for Rabbit Proof Fencing, Government Rabbit Destruction Subsidies and conducted poisoning campaigns using phosphorous laced bait.

Crossing yet another dune covered in a variety of mallee species and clumps of aptly named Porcupine Grass we came upon Round Tank which gave rise to another interesting feral problem...

Water is used as the bait in the Round Tank goat trap! Feral goats leap into the enclosure from which they are unable to escape. Later, they are trucked away in humane manner!

We stopped in at Vigars Well, once a watering hole for coaches and drays to see the beautiful dunes which have formed over the period since the lake finally dried up some 15,000 years ago. We had spied their white crests from afar at the first Lunette lookout. The soft sand was too hard going for Lea’s knee so George climbed the tall dunes for fantastic views while she enjoyed watching a couple of pink cockatoos or Major Mitchell’s as they known in between reading the third book in the Millennium Trilogy.

A deposition zone for wind borne sediments - these mobile sand dunes are moving east up to 3 metres per year.

Following the inter-lake ridge that divides Lake Mungo from Lake Leaghur, an area rich in archaeological artefacts from the people that existed as long ago as 60,000 years we soon crossed over the Mungo lunette back onto the lake floor covered in Blue Bush. It was these saltbush shrub lands that had attracted farmers, as it proved to be the favourite fodder for sheep and apparently it gave a quality flavour loaded with vitamin E to its lean meat – sounds like good sales pitch! As our track traversed an ancient sand spit, which had almost divided the lake, we found ourselves on an old pastoral station – the Zanci Homestead. Its owners actually built a dugout within, to avoid the searing heat of summer. How lucky we were to enjoy a visit without the usual sweltering temperatures for this time of year. The historical display inside the Zanci Woolshed was remarkable and we spent a long time reading up on the inter-relationships that developed among families making life a little easier in this remote land with its raw beauty. We obviously didn’t stay long enough as the sun was still a long way off sunset despite the clock putting time at 6.30 p.m.

We arrived back where we started and, as we were keen to witness the giant crescent shaped dune’s change in colours supposedly producing stunning yellows, oranges and deep reds during sunset - we retraced the road as far as the lookout on the crest of The Walls of China with its close up view of the crinkled, fluted outcrops and settled in to wait, with glass in hand for our parched throats as we chewed biltong – George thought was a forgotten Christmas present. Days later we discovered the A’s had hidden it in the ‘van for our pleasure- they succeeded! By eight, the light had barely changed and we drove back down to The Wall viewing platform. En route, two very sturdy feral billy goats hastened across the road in front of us and we saw many large family groups of emu out on the lake flats. No colours to be seen only long shadows beginning to fall that we decided to return to the first lookout close to the National Park entrance as at least we’d be closer to ‘home’.

We deeply regretted leaving our caravan at Turlee Station just to cut out the extra 32kms of dirt as National Parks HQ would have suited us perfectly. Mungo Lake Look-out gave us some contrasting photographs but no colours across the lunette.

An iconic Cypress Pine stands alone as testimony to the impact of a much desired termite resistant timber used in buildings and yards over past centuries. Adding to the occasion, we witnessed the moon rising in the east as steadily as the sun was setting in the west.

Deeply contented with our Mungo experience we drove home in the twilight to find that rabbits and even more rabbits, a few foxes and small flocks of sheep congregated on or along the edges of the road. Some diced with death as they unexpectedly darted in front of SKV while others scampered for safety in the salt bush. We are convinced the widespread rains have contributed to a distinct resurgence in rabbit populations and their predators, fox and wedge tail eagles in rural South Australia, New South Wales and Victoria over the past year. Never in our travels have we seen as many sightings or more feral road-kill. Some days later we read the news line – Rural Victoria was experiencing pre calci-virus numbers in rabbits!

Completing the gravel loop road of varied conditions back to Mildura with thankfully no mishaps, we began a series of State hopping from NSW into Victoria and back again to NSW and onto South Australia in our desire to follow the Murray River and see the Darling River join the Murray at its confluence in Wentworth. All within fruit and vegetable quarantine demarcations and fruit fly exclusion zones due to the massive agricultural activity that takes place in the Murray region. It was particularly hard to bypass the many roadside stalls selling incredibly cheap produce between Mildura and Wentworth but borders are borders and we take no risk of a fine.

A Tasmanian hitchhiker first made itself known as we filled up with fuel in Devonport. Security men weren’t concerned we had an uninvited eight legged hairy member located somewhere, as we boarded the Spirit of Tasmania Ferry. Certainly we didn’t see any sign of the huntsman, the size of a fist while camped at Macedon Caravan Park. We did hope it stayed aboard the ferry. Never the less we didn’t risk opening windows for fear of creating an accident. Later, we were convinced it couldn’t have survived the dust storms and swirling winds and we began opening our car windows. In Swan Hill the blighter appeared at George’s window – fortunately only cracked open at the time and he swiftly closed up. Surely after such a rough ride to Mungo National Park it chose a station stay at Turlee? Unfortunately not! In the midst of Mildura traffic, George spotted our self appointed car guard clinging to SKV’s snorkel before agilely returning to the safety of the roof rack. George promised to hunt it down while a local map was sought in the Information Centre. Like Macavity the Mystery Cat – it was nowhere to be seen. On two occasions – severe disruption and consternation arose within the cab when a fly unexpectedly crawled along Lea’s arm and the mp3 connection touched her leg.

We saw no swirling waters as the Darling flowed into the Murray from the top of Wentworth’s Junction Park observation tower. The only thing apparent was the differing colours of the two water bodies. “Hello Darling” received a startled expression from George until enough time passed for it to occur to him, Lea was speaking to the river...

Rather than back track to the Sturt Highway in Victoria we decided the back road to Renmark would be quiet and far more interesting. Wentworth’s natural wonder, an ice-age formation of drifting red sands, used in the Second World War as an RAAF practice range was in that direction as was Lake Victoria.

Clambering up on all fours Lea was keen to traipse over the Perry Sand Hills. Discarded estate agent signs and cardboard boxes obviously provide endless fun for sand boarders’ here- we recalled “Geronimo” being our old battle cry prior to skidding down dunes but didn’t give it a go!

Suitably situated on the Murray for our overnight stop was Fort Courage Angling and Caravan Park. Strange name but a particularly nice spot with lawns down to the river edge, this caravan park is another rarity. Excellent positioning, excellent value for money and the ablution block provide that rare nicety – bath mats!

We couldn’t help gaze at this Murray/Darling River, with its tempestuous nature and wonder why it hadn’t washed away a large recreational centre full of character, built amazingly close to harm’s way.

The old gravel road to Renmark caught us by surprise as the State Border came far sooner than expected and we drew to a quick halt to dispose of the avocado and mushrooms we hadn’t eaten the night before. Unknown to Lea, George dashed up to position himself for a photograph of her reluctantly throwing away her fruit and fungi in the disposal bin! Remnants of Scottish blood got the better of her and she cooked the mushrooms and began eating the avo while awaiting his return. From the caravan window she saw a works-ute with two young blokes grind to a sudden halt and nervously look around for occupants- their relief when she appeared to reassure all was well was apparent! It was the only vehicle to appear throughout the stretch of road.

On arrival in Renmark, we tossed between staying at Plush’s Bend on the Murray where we’d camped in September 2007 in horrifically hot weather OR follow a recommendation George recalled from a Caravan & Motorhome magazine article picturing a caravan perched on the brink of Murray River cliffs. It had been about taking the Riverland route to lesser known places along the river to Morgan. We chose the latter, stopping for lunch in ticked site Ramco Point on the southern side of the river then caught the Cadell ferry over the Murray (No! Not named after 2011 Tour De France winner, Australian Cadell Evans but Francis Cadell, the first person to successfully navigate the Darling River and attributed to opening up river trade along the Murray. New South Wales held commercial river advantages at Burke on the Darling while Echuca on the Murray served Victoria. South Australia secured their commercial links on the Murray/Darling with Adelaide’s port creating a major hub during the boom years in Morgan. Worthy of note because it is at Morgan the Murray River takes a sharp turn from its south-westerly meandering course to head south towards Lake Alexandrina and the Southern Ocean. Turned out the vision of a cliff edge camp wasn’t at Morgan after all, it was further south at Blanchetown so with a small measure of disappointment we hit the road to Burra, a little place that to us, had a strong rural French architectural influence about it. We spent a good night in the Burra showgrounds.

Moving swiftly on in pleasant travelling weather we certainly hadn’t expected to encounter at this time of year, we passed behind the Southern Flinders Range along familiar roads into Port Augusta by early afternoon and decided to push on for a third stay in Giles Conservation Park – a rest area close to the main road with some well concealed bush sites, east of Kimba. The following day, there seemed no better opportunity in such cool conditions to visit the Gawler Ranges National Park. Fortunately we stopped in Wudinna to pick up a map only to be told the Park was temporarily closed for a feral animal cull. Instead, we continued to Minnipa and took the 16km dirt road north to see Pildappa Rock, as again we’d heard and seen photos but always felt it was too hot to consider.

Pildappa is one of many outcrops of Granite rising out of the flat countryside.

It provided a lovely spot for lunch and we enjoyed strolling across its dome, pitted with well worn gullies and amazing large potholes worthy of being turned into spa-baths. The nearby farmer (probably his forebears) cleverly traps the rain run-off and uses it to his benefit. Ceduna is generally our eastern gateway stopover before crossing the Bight. For a change, we cut down to the coast at Poochera and spent the night on the Streaky Bay Foreshore, a pretty coastal caravan park that proved far too popular for our liking due to coinciding with a weekend, never the less it suited our purpose.

A quick fuel stop in Ceduna and we were on our way to another Camps Australia ticked site -author recommendation we don’t always pay heed to. This time, Point Sinclair was well matched for a 200 km mark night stop. Although 21 kms off the main road, it seemed worthy of a check, Lea held her tongue for the first stretch of horrid ‘rattle and bump’ and just as she thought to say enough of this, the road broke onto the smooth clay floor of surrounding salt marshes while in the distance, towering mobile dunes beckoned.

Our first indication of being in a special place - reflections of clouds and dunes in mirror calm water contrasted against a gleaming white salt covered shoreline. Pink Lake – which assumes a distinctly pink colour due to high salinity. Algae and bacteria responsible for the carotenoid pigments!

Even closer, the surrounding dunes put us in mind of massive baked Alaskans- carefully toasted – which we later learned store enough water to supply the camp site via Blue Lake! Excitement built amidst this eye catching scenery. A bit more shake, rattle and roll as we pulled up the coastal road and along to Point Sinclair Campground otherwise known as Cactus Beach, lying in a scrubby dune depression dotted with tents and caravan. We took the first site from the gate, concerned about manipulating a caravan further in before deciding to stay right there as it had immediate constructed access to the beach.

We’d stumbled across an unheard of gem!

Point Sinclair is a privately owned and operated property of 550 hectares. Pioneering SA surfer Wayne Dale brought the original owner, a film maker here in 1969 when Cactus Beach was known only to a few surfers and there were no facilities. Living conditions steadily became ‘feral’ and the fragile landscape abused until in 1976 another surfer with the Land Department office began drawing up plans on which the current camp is based. Veteran surfer, Ron Gates arrived here in the 70’s, fell in love with the area and a girl, married out there and lived in Poochera until he was able to buy the property in 1986. His love of the place is obvious and he maintains a high standard under the South Australian Government Heritage agreement as a Coastal Protection Reserve. Each cluster of campsites has a sheltered BBQ area with wood provided; a neatly constructed and very clean toilet of unbelievable luxury – they flush! In the most central position a shelter provides sinks for campers and a shower. Ron epitomises an old surfer with his long flaxen hair gone white, singlehandedly he runs a tight operation but, much like our son-in-law Daniel, work waits when the surfs up.

 

The more we looked, the more we liked and the variety of shore environments all within accessible walking distance on our very door-step was extraordinary.

One direction, a magnificent stretch of beach


In the opposite direction, striking limestone cliffs and rocky platforms indented the coast to terminate in a most intriguing granite headland.

We were so enamoured by this place we had to stay another day. We also knew full well that without any shade this campground could easily be hell hence it was best to ‘make hay’ while temperatures were pleasantly tolerable. After a ‘short’ Sunday lie-in we walked along the road to see the jetty marked on a campground mud map, as Port Le Hunte fishing jetty and swimming enclosure.

Another stunning find with historical and local significance  - yet Port Le Hunt did not appear on road signs or our South Australian maps!

In 1909, forty tons of timber for the original construction of a 972 foot long jetty was brought into Port Le Hunte and on completion in 1911 served the pioneering farmers by resupplying their needs and carting away grain, gypsum and salt. The local farmers cut the road down to the jetty by hand using pick, shovel and gunpowder. Over time, the port surrounds were used for recreational and social functions. Swimming lessons for children took place here too. In 1975, eleven year old Wade Shipard swam out to an incoming crayfish trawler and before the fishermen’s very eyes the young lad was attacked and killed by a white pointer shark, deeply shocking the close knit community. In Wade’s memory, safety nets were put up to create a swimming enclosure. On the decline leading down to the harbour we encountered a train of newly squashed caterpillars across the dusty road. We hadn’t been able to identify strange tracks criss-crossing sandy patches during our walks the previous day until George came across another long train of caterpillars on the march. They provided the answer to the mystery tracks- hairy procession caterpillars. When Ron called by for the second night’s fee we asked him many questions... learning more about this particularly special place. No advertising for this secret – it is purely word of mouth for discerning folks.

From there we drove across the Nullarbor with the intention of reaching one of the Bight lookouts shortly before the WA State border. We should have taken warning from the large buzzing flies that speedily took refuge inside the caravan during our mid morning break but we’d become too used to relatively cool temperatures. Over lunch, the heat certainly made us feel decidedly uncomfortable that we couldn’t wait to get back in the car with windows down. Glancing up at our temperature gauge we were shocked to see 48’C and decided it couldn’t be right. BUT heat stress soon set in as open windows gave no respite in the face of intense hot winds and although the sun beat down from well above the windscreen it was like an oven inside. We couldn’t wait to reach the first available parking bay overlooking the Bight - frustratingly we passed many closed for safety reasons. 25k Peg couldn’t have come sooner as by then Lea felt so nauseous and quite the worse for wear with our gauge now reading 43.9. This was rightly confirmed by a Motorhome owner with a chilled beer in hand. The excessive heat was a shocking jolt to our systems.

The following day was totally thrown out of synch when Lea insisted on rising before dawn to avoid travelling after mid-day. On arrival at the WA Quarantine Inspection Bay we discovered it wasn’t 8 o’clock any longer but just after 6 a.m. and we’d shortly lose another 45 minutes throwing our body clocks totally out of kilter, thanks to the change in time zone. This resulted in us driving more than double our normal distance despite many stops to stretch and check fuel prices plus George had a good snooze after lunch. Not only exhausted and hot we were very relieved to arrive at destination - our favoured Fraser Range Rest Area overlooking the dry ‘red lake’ in our usual site and have a well deserved icy ginger beer shandy.

Arriving in Norseman we refuelled and filled our water tanks before taking The Granite and Woodlands Discovery Trail, the most direct route to Perth from the Eastern States - a 300 km dirt road from Norseman to Hyden. We had discovered this wonderful trail through remarkable landscape in April 2011 and we looked forward to returning the same way.

George’s startled mutters as he drew to a sudden halt had Lea’s heart skip a beat. Beats me how he spotted this beautiful Thorny Devil, normally a desert dweller, crossing the road! George hot footed it back closely followed by Lea, to ensure his eyes hadn’t played tricks and took a photo before carrying it to the safety of the bush. Good Omen for this leg!

When dust swirled we could be sure road trains and mining vehicles were approaching – fortunately it wasn’t too often as closing windows stifled us and made visibility difficult for those few minutes. Along the route are 16 designated stopping places with interpretive boards focussed on particular aspects of natural or cultural history. We had stopped at a few crossing to the east and we were keen to stop at the others, particularly two sites with walking trails. We’d become interested in granite outcrops of late so we were keen to do the walk at Disappointment Rock (as curious as we were about its name we could find no reason). ‘Disappointment’ is considered a Yilgarn bornhardt! Yilgam refers to the granite formation underlying most of SW Australia while bornhardt means a hemispherical or dome shaped outcrop large in radius and low in relation to its diameter. In comparison to Pildappa Rock in South Australia, the information that abounded upon Disappointment Rock was so informative and well presented that it made for a far better experience. The science of geology mixed with imagination in particular- such as the following photograph of the Goblins Garden!

‘Opportunism is a compliment in the natural world – a gap in the rock, a little trapped soil, perhaps a thin stream of water trickling down is enough for life to take hold, enough to hang on through the years. Life hasn’t been easy - shape and half dead branches will testify to that. What survivors”

Who’d have thought two granite outcrops, technically the same would have such differing features - No huge spa baths and deep gullies, instead Disappointment had narrow ‘water eyes’ tucked away in fault lines preserving the water longer in this harsh hot environment; Six metre long A-frame slabs pushed upwards by compression; wind scoured hollows called ‘Tafone’. Who’d have thought we’d somehow get off track and bumble around in midday temperatures of 39’C- not that it bothered George BUT irritating flies and orb spider webs draped across Lea’s face only added further to her discomposure as her body core temperature unable to cool normally, rose feverishly for the second time in as many days, under that merciless sun. Once she’d recovered sufficiently we moved on to the next rock. Naturally, when it came to doing the McDermid Rock trail Lea wisely chose to stay and read Di Ryan’s book “the Help’ by Kathryn Stockett. George reckoned it was a similar granite rock with old and lovely woodlands around its base and, at the top views of the many salt pans that make up Lake Johnston, which we had stopped at on the way.

We relentlessly pushed on to The Breakaways, as this had been our previous overnight stop that we’d been much enamoured by. As we’d filled up with water earlier in the day AND this was our last night in the wilderness we each indulged in refreshing showers without being mindful of water in readiness for another hot, still night.

Dragon lizards had sped across the granite outcrops like miniature dinosaurs – too fast for cameras, so George was delighted to befriend this one at the Breakaways.

Sunrise comes early in the west but it was the sudden sounds of thunder overhead that had us out of bed at 6 a.m. dressing and stowing away as quickly as we could as we did not want to get caught in a summer storm on a dusty road that would easily turn to red mud. The strange dark cloud formation hovered above us as we made for Hyden and we escaped any wet – the showers fell elsewhere in the wide vista of wheat fields that became all the more evident the closer we got to Hyden. Having seen Hyden’s Wave Rock on a previous visit back in the late 1990 we decided to skip another visit and rather reach the local council run Kondinin Caravan Park as soon as was possible for a massive ablution of SKV, Getaway inside and out and a laundry wash second to none before reaching Perth for the start of our ‘grandchildren round’ beginning with our Gee girls.

Big changes have taken place within the property of Sunset Ridge making a big difference. Not only do these changes lower garden maintenance but they have increased entertainment and interest value which certainly proved itself at Talia’s 5th Birthday party.

First up the WA Long Dogs club walk with a record 90 sausage dogs attending. Lea enjoyed walking around the attractive Tomato Lake with Harley dog (President) while Saxon oversaw proceedings...

Recalling the seasonal gully winds that hurtle through Maida Vale Lea preferred to choose a new site rather than park under the paddock gumtrees. A section of the old driveway alongside the top gate was deemed suitable and protected. Whew! Barely a night later we awoke to a loud gunshot reverberating around the caravan quickly followed by a whoosh and thump which was promptly recognised as a falling limb! It wasn’t on us but certainly very close and George was out like a whip to check where it had fallen. The ‘widow maker’ had crashed to the ground like a dart, branches downwards and balanced onto the picket fence. The old tree out on the verge had shed one of its largest boughs but fortunately all was well and under council responsibility although Paul and George safely removed it from its precarious position to prevent any bad damage to the fence.

A right royal Garden Party for Talia took place. In the banquet hall our two princesses, Talia and Erin awaited the arrival of their noble guests.

Thus February spun out with gardening, cleaning and birthday parties while on the side we sorted out annual medical checks and tried to finalise our travel arrangements for three weeks into March.