Tramping tales for July 2013

We may not have had any communications at MT Carbine but the bird life more than made up for that.

We found it hard to pull out of this delightful little place run with so much heart and soul by owners Robert and Jennifer Waterhouse. It is a rare park where the welfare and happiness of their patrons is paramount. They are not young people with bags of energy they are seniors with the energy to never let up maintaining a high stand and always ready with information or a helping hand. Robert even gave the ablution blocks a quick once over, last thing at night to ensure folk awoke to a clean place.  Oh, we learnt there was no mountain Carbine. MT stands for Mining Town Carbine and the same for MT Malloy and MT Surprise. Interesting because some map makers write Mount – that’s WRONG! 

We didn’t travel far, as we’d noticed Bustard Downs and decided to pull in there for a night.  We stayed three as they had a special running and it wasn’t at all busy. This was a station-run camping area with very quiet Brahman cattle watching us from the paddock.

We enjoyed walking the Downs, watching clouds spilling across the Great Dividing Range. We saw no bustards

A wonderful week spent at Wonga Beach with Cecelia! We were last here in 2006 and looked forward to revisiting. A council park on the beach where Cecelia has been caretaker for years. She had warned us months ago the park was likely to be in new hands probably changing hands. Thankfully, we arrived on the day she began ‘work’ after the shortest retirement – less than 12 hours? Council had seen the light and realised Cecelia IS Wonga!    Another gem of a park with its own specialness, a canvas covered area with long tables, is the ‘Happy Shack’. Everybody gathers for happy hour – even us! Cecelia seated on her throne at the head of the table and the vibe is always wonderful. Folk return annually for the winter thanks to Cecelia’s personal touch and interest.  George noticed a fundraising table for Cerebral Palsy and donated a tiny framed watercolour he’d done. The grandparents were delighted and told George they would rather keep it for the auction coming up. Tropical Friday was tremendously good fun. Freshly caught fish and chips at $5 a head kept coming out of the frypans to refill plates, an accordion player added to festive atmosphere  and as a surprise rum banana was served up – the raffle took place. This is interesting as you get many tickets for your dollar. Should your ticket number come up you choose from the array of prizes on a table.  Two of Lea’s tickets were pulled out.  As for the auction, George was thrilled to bits to see his painting sold for $100.00

NO! Not even the necessity to protect vehicles from large pit marks thanks to ‘wonga’ nuts falling from the beach calophyllum is a deterrent to this piece of beach paradise.

Weather changed the morning of our departure, with a strong wind blowing in and by the time we pulled out, rain was falling hard. However, as soon as we rose over the Great Divide we were back in sunny climes. We spent two nights in Mareeba to enable Lea to follow up on her last cholesterol reading and visit a chiropractor before moving 12km out of Mareeba to Granite Gorge Nature Park, for a night.  We took an unpowered site well away from the madding crowd on power and relished time amongst the awesome granite boulders tumbling every which way down the river bed. Looking down upon Granite Gorge for the first time Lea almost believed she could see dassies sunning themselves (oops! In the wrong country).

They were unusually small rock wallaby! We loved being able to get up close to these creatures.  And, the glinting on the rocks wasn’t mica or lichen but spider nests!  

Curiously enough a bit later George mentioned the smell and sight of the wallabies scurrying within the rocks, reminded him of dassies. In 1992, the DNA of these Mareeba Rock Wallabies demonstrated they were a distinct species found only in this area. While we were enjoying their antics, we overheard a man talking knowledgably within a group of four. Not realising this was a professionally guided tour, Lea asked him about their tails... He turned out to be Alan Gillanders of Alan’s Wildlife Tours. Even more amazingly he mentioned “Faces in the Mob’ (our favourite film giving us our very first insight into kangaroo ecology back in 1994) followed by a story revolving round Peter Jarman. Could this be the Peter Jarman and his wife Margaret Brock we had come to know in Tasmania.  It was. Small world indeed!   

Rock-hopping was of necessity a good test of our agility, balance and nerve on the gorge walk.

Eventually, after all the scrambling and stretching required to get over or down rocks and along ledges into places where sand grains particularly made feet feel insecure, Lea’s nerve gave in and she chose to go no further. Onwards went her mountain goat husband, while she looked for pythons and enjoyed views as she slowly back tracked keeping to the ‘paint spots’. From a high point she was most surprised to catch glimpses of George returning in what seemed great haste.  By the time he arrived he was quite breathless that she felt sure he must have rushed back wanting her to come and see something... NO! His relief at seeing her calmly waiting in the shade of the Turks Head was enormous.  Either his old ears had played tricks on him or a bird had sounded like a cry for help and he, quite certain his wife was in trouble, had almost broken his neck in his haste to get back to rescue her!  George is a strong believer of ‘every man for himself’ and so to see this unexpectedly real anxiety written across his face and not laugh while he related risking life and limb, thanks to an imagination conjuring up the worst, was very touching.   

Mareeba and surrounds had steadily backed up with people arriving for the annual Mareeba Rodeo. We have attended these in the Territory and Western Australia so we chose to slip away taking ‘Wheelbarrow Way’ out past the rodeo grounds making us all the more thankfully to escape the event just seeing the sheer size of caravan cities stretching away from the arena. We had come to this part of the ‘tablelands’ expecting plenty of fresh fruit  especially ‘Mareeba Gold’ pineapples  and had been somewhat surprised to see rather dry countryside despite the close proximity of the Baron River on the east side and the vast  floodplains of the Mitchell River across the north. We’d seen a few mango plantations but generally it was dry eucalypt woodlands. The quaintly named Wheelbarrow Way dates back to the mining pioneers trudging out west with wheelbarrows loaded with their worldly possessions.  To commemorate this piece of history an annual foot race pushing wheelbarrows takes place from Mareeba, along the historic 140 km route to Chillagoe. We soon came across the fields of agriculture we’d been missing – sugar cane, coffee, mangoes and lychee plantations stretched out from either side of the road all the way to Dimbulah where we planned to spend a night. We didn’t as not only was it too early in the day we couldn’t see much to keep us there so we continued on, into slow undulating countryside with broken granite kopjies reminding us of Zimbabwe in particular. We didn’t see any sign of Rooky’s Retreat campground in Petford, just a well loved rose garden near the rail crossing and road junction to Herberton.

Almaden was the strangest little place covered in cow pats as if cattle regularly run riot around town. Too late, we noticed an awkward turn off to Tamarind Caravan Park – unlisted and thought to try it on our return from Chillagoe. If only to find out why so much dung sullied the place!    As we grinded our way up the steep Bismarck Range to Lappa such was our speed we were able to pick out the BYO ‘Pub in the Bush’ - actually the remains of a famed stopover and drinking hole for the miners. Thereafter, we dropped away into the Chillagoe region and passed spectacular, brittle looking limestone bluffs and outcrops; and saw huge blocks of marble bordering marble quarries. We sensed this was an interesting area and the drive out to ‘nowhere’ was to be worthwhile.  We stayed at Chillagoe Tourist Village, under huge shady mango trees in a well provided campground with the informality we enjoy - (a far cry from the commercial ‘village’ connotation).

Chillagoe is renowned for its limestone caves and having seen a good many across Australia and other parts of the world we wondered about the costs involved in the three guided tours of The Donna, Trezkinn and Royal Arch Caves. George finds it particularly hard trailing along in a tour, battling to hear what is being said.  The Hub is the accredited information and interpretive centre for Chillagoe and George popped in to see prices and availability. Concession price of $18.50 for each cave per person seemed steep and the Officer behind the desk gave George other options to look at since we had missed the three tours for the day.  

“Take an ancient seabed, mix in some volcanic action and finish off with lots of weathering”

George bemoaned he’d never taken geology as we took in the features of this amazing landscape that had once been an ancient coral reef, under the sea.  Today these coral reefs have been transformed into limestone bluffs within which, are over 560 known caves. In the surrounds of these bluffs rich mineral and marble deposits were found.

On arrival at The Ramparts we found a tent set up in the turning circle. Even more out of the ordinary, after climbing up to the ‘Ramparts’ we found more evidence of habitation in the protection of the overhangs. Coconuts piled up with one cracked open and drying out in the sun. Large pots and clothes stored on a rocky shelf. Mats and blankets seemed to form beds. An egg box and a mug of forgotten coffee perched on another rock. We felt like intruders in this public space that had become a private abode. We felt distinctly uncomfortable trying to take in the view and when George voiced a feeling of being watched by the unseen – Lea wanted to be out of there!  Next on the agenda was the Balancing Rock – a lovely walk through the vine thickets and soaring crags of limestone. The striking Kurrajong tree is always of interest to us because of its sturdy, bottle shaped trunk. Here, we were seeing the more rare Hill species that likes growing in the shallow soils of a rocky hillside. It has a most attractive seed pod that bursts open into a five sectioned star shape. 
    

The remains of the Chillagoe Smelters symbolise the historical importance brought about by volcanic activity mineralising limestone into ores which led to Chillagoe’s Mining Industry. 1.25 million tons of ore containing copper, lead, silver and gold were treated here between 1901 and 1943.

We returned to The Hub’s interpretive centre to learn more. And more we did learn of the geology and history of Chillagoe. Yet another boom and bust town saved from decline by the caves and cattle industry. The names - Theodore and McCormack jumped to our attention too. Two former State Premiers whose political careers came to an end as a result of corruption rumours. TWO seemed pretty idiotic and greedy!  That night we decided we couldn’t just depart in the morning as this was such a picturesque area. As the Park owners were not fussed about a time of departure, immediately after breakfast we drove 16kms out on the Developmental Road towards the Gulf to see The Archways.

We thoroughly enjoyed following a rock strewn path through deciduous vine thicket and passed under archways of limestone through a series of semi-open caves sometimes requiring our torches.

Close by, was the Mungana art site set within a delightful cove of rocks. It was interesting to note at the Wullumba art site we’d seen the previous day, a short walk away from the Balancing Rock, the information board indicated it wasn’t ‘rock art’ but more of a community notice board which certainly made better sense. Such was our enthusiasm for The Archways we decided to see more caves. Pompeii and Bauhinia Caves were in the same vicinity as the top three and we headed in their direction.  Pompeii was a cave set into the cleft of a rock with lots of slippery boulders to climb over or under. Bauhinia on the other hand required sliding ever downwards over slippery rocks through a steep narrow crevice, in the dark. Two men ahead of us weren’t prepared to tackle it and that was enough for Lea. George made an attempt freeing his hands by holding his torch in his mouth. He soon realized getting back up would require a strenuous scramble and with one arm too much to contemplate so he returned pretty smartly.

The volcanic activity heated and recrystallised the limestone into marble

Following an early lunch we hit the road back to the Petford junction. At ‘Cowpat’ – sorry Almaden, we called by Tamarind Caravan Park. It was up ‘For Sale’ and ‘gates closed to keep cattle out’, another sign said. This time round, we spotted cattle resting up and chewing the cud just off the main street. We also noticed a garden scattered with empty beer cans, randomly tossed from the verandah. MESS obviously doesn’t bother Almaden residents!  While at The Hub in Chillagoe, George had enquired about the gravel road up the mountain to Herberton and received a good report. At Petford we turned in the direction of Herberton hoping to find Rooky’s Retreat for the night. Nothing! Instead, our hearts did a flip seeing a sign read Road not suitable for Caravans. Difficult to turn around, we decided to disregard the sign having received a favourable report and recalled the same sign in the Grampians proving fine.  This was an old Cobb and Co route through an abandoned mining town at Emuford and the historic mining town of Irvinebank. Slow, but we didn’t mind that, as it was scenically interesting and for much of the way followed the valley of the Gibb Creek- given its broad sandy channels, it was far more than a creek!  Eventually, we had to engage 4WD to climb up steep inclines hoping we wouldn’t meet an oncoming vehicle on such narrow sections. The higher we climbed the mistier it became and we decided wet roads were not worth risking and we’d stay in Irvinebank especially as Camps Australia listed a free 24hrs at the Tavern. Even better, the camp grounds were out on the Bill Newburn Park with a row of mango trees bordering the roadside. On the opposite side ran a creek down to the town dam on the north side – Loudoun Dam. A footbridge over the creek led to  the Australian Heritage registered School of Arts Hall where toilets and hot showers were available. How fine was that!

Irvinebank’s many heritage listed buildings in very close proximity to the park, motivated us sufficiently to brave the drizzle. Outside the School of Arts (opened in 1900) was a stone memorial to John Moffat.  Lea recalled the name of this mining entrepreneur from MT Surprise. Moffat seemed to be a man worthy of mention as not only was this a monument to his honesty; the children of Irvinebank were taught by their parents to end their nightly prayers with “God Bless John Moffat”.  Irvinebank, named by John Moffat, was his tin mining headquarters and principal reduction works. On the top of the hill, overlooking it all was his family home ‘Loudoun House – the oldest highset timber and corrugated iron house in North Queensland, housing a collection that tells the story of this legendary Scotsman. We made our way up the hill to the Museum passing the old Queensland National Bank, also built by John Moffat in 1905. He was an amazing man with a generous heart and we enjoyed learning much about him and his empire that spanned Queensland and beyond with mining enterprises and controlled around 25% of Australia’s base metal exports in his day. Again the names Ted Theodore and Bill McCormack jumped out at us and we discovered that far from being politicians with a nose in the proverbial trough- there was more to their story. ‘Red Ted’ Theodore arrived to work on the Vulcan Mine as a young man in 1907. In cooperation with idealistic Bill McCormack, they began organising a workers union. Labour relations had been excellent in Irvinebank with Moffat admired and respected by all, until Theodore arrived. Stranger than fiction - this unlikely little place, Irvinebank, was the birthplace of the Amalgamated Workers Association.

‘Red Ted’ had worked for a “poddy dodger of great note” - Sir Sydney Kidman. We were amazed to read such comment about another of Australia’s legendary men (suddenly we see clay feet on the likes of Frank Jardine and Sir Kidman).  Red Ted reckoned Kidman had his soul scoured by the tough, harsh, hot country. In contrast to Moffat, Kidman had no sympathy for the common man. It would appear Kidman adversely affected Theodore enough to stimulate him; with the help of his work colleague McCormack, to improve conditions for the working man by organising the AWA which later became Australian Workers Union. They succeeded very successfully. Gleaned from the archives, we cannot resist mentioning this lovely bit of history. When Theodore approached his boss about his union activities- John Moffat told the future Queensland Premier as well as a Federal Treasurer and Deputy Prime Minister “to go away and be a sensible fellow”.  We noted Theodore and McCormack were cleared of any fraud and corruption charges regarding Chillagoe - where their names first came to our notice. The old adage “never talk about religion or politics” holds true only because it tends to become very divisive but mores the pity. So much misconception abounds as a result of loud voices, constant repetition, slogans and headlines – it’s most sickening. A new election date ‘hangs’ while our Government reorganises. We wait with bated breath for better results; rather than the foregone conclusion that was expected up until now. Dare we even wish another hung parliament!          

We left Irvinebank, nestled in the valleys of the Great Dividing Range and continued up to the Tablelands on the dirt road, spotted at times with the first flush of ‘marmalade’ grenvilla blooms beginning to give colour to the bushland that steadily covers the scars of a past mining industry.  Heavy cloud, misty rain and a chilly wind met us as we drew into Herberton, the oldest town on the Tablelands, and it didn’t let up for three days and nights. Winter had suddenly reached us – doona/duvet went on the bed and we rugged up and stayed cabin bound as the lousy weather swirled around us in Wild Rivers Caravan Park, Herberton. The self guided heritage walk through town went on hold ad infinitum... Computers came out and we caught up on blog, memoirs and family history... 

George even put together the following:-

The Tale of the Trickling Treacle 

Living in a caravan for the past seven years has meant that we’ve had to contend with all sorts of unexpected problems from ant invasions to faulty electrics and leaks of various types, to name just a few ... but for the past few months, none has proved stranger, or more difficult to resolve, than the “trickle of treacle” that has regularly appeared from the corner cupboard above Lea’s seat. 

It all goes back to the bottle of treacle Lea bought in Perth which, like many other things, succumbed during the course of the shake-up we had on the Great Central Road. After springing a leak, and saturating the bottom of the cupboard in molasses, the resulting mess was cleaned up and forgotten about until...

Seated in her habitual place, engrossed in her writing, a mysterious black exudation would suddenly descend from above and land on her neck! If not her neck, then her shoulder, or land in her hair or, in her absence, land on the cushion below!

Out everything would come from the corner cupboard (once again); the mat would be washed (once again); George would be called in to search the cupboard (once again) from top to bottom for any lingering traces of treacle, even torches employed ... Nothing to be found (once again), the cupboard would be carefully repacked.  And, no sooner would the door have been closed, than another black blob appear and fall!

There is still treacle dripping from the cupboard as we write and goodness knows how long it will continue!  Are there any suggestions out there other than the obvious? Don’t carry treacle in caravans. 

By the fourth day, lying in bed listening to the rain tapping on the roof was enough! We needed to get out... Bread was reason enough – in particular we felt desperate for Woolworth’s four seed and we shot through to Atherton. While we waited for our favourite bread to come out of the oven we ended up doing a ‘big shop’. By the time we exited, a slight break in the weather allowed us to consider a loop through to Yungaburra and Malanda and back to Herberton via Bromfield and Hasties Swamps. We had covered all the attractions that appealed to us in these towns back in 2006 – this time, we’d been keen to  find an elusive tree kangaroo and visit the brand new Afghanistan Avenue of Honour, officially opened on 22 June 1913. Probably the last official event attended by Julia Gillard as our Prime Minister.

In time, 59 native Flame trees will displays their red blossoms around November’s Remembrance Day and represent the ‘circle of life’ as they border a walkway leading to a place of solace and meditation, overlooking Lake Tinaroo.

No sooner had the visit been completed than the drizzle began again. It wasn’t worth a muddy trek along Peterson Creek to see if the tree kangaroo, sighted the previous day, was still in the vicinity and we moved on to Malanda.  George had read a most interesting article in Australia Geographic while on the cargo boat MV Trinity Bay and had noted the name of Dr Karen Coombes, a world expert on the Lumholtz tree kangaroo. She has spent the last 14 years researching, rescuing and rehabilitating this tree hugging creature and, with her husband, established a Tree Roo Rescue and Conservation Centre in the Malanda area. We made for the Visitors Centre in town to ascertain the Rescue Centre’s whereabouts.  Amazingly the officer hadn’t heard about it nor was it on the books! But true to the spirit of these enthusiastic volunteers, the officer began phoning around  as by sheer chance the weekly Tablelander had come out that very day and the front page featured  Margit Ciabelli (the other name George had jotted down) – a Tablelands Wildlife Rescue Carer. He soon had a number for Coombes with an answering machine. George left a message saying he’d hang around the visitors centre. In the adjoining cafe we warmed up with a soup lunch and killed time. Just as we were giving up, the info officer sadly came to tell us Dr Coombes was not open to the public. From the newspaper we learned she had 8 tree huggers – two hand reared, five hit by cars and one attacked by a dog, all in her care.

We drove home in the rain, taking short cuts past Bromfield Swamp. This lovely wetland appeared to be contained within the floor of a crater as we gazed from the road. By the time we took the road past Hasties Swamp (which we had visited previously) we’d decided to get back to Getaway and off load our shopping and spend what was left of the afternoon at Herberton’s Mining Museum, where, unfortunately closing time came before we’d had enough ... A time line and progressive coverage of mapping Australia was particularly interesting. And our eyes were opened to the amazing parts both Aborigines and Chinese had played in those early mining years. So much there we’d easily have doubled our time.

AND the rain kept falling! We decided to leave and find sun. All the way down the misty, drizzly mountains to Forty Mile Scrub National Park before we were teased by little bits of sun popping out of the cloud well ahead of us until we reached The Lynd (crossroads of Kennedy and Gregory Developmental roads) We booked into the Oasis Roadhouse and found no signal and had a quiet fit to be missing State of Origin Finals on TV, that night. Neighbours recognised our rig from Herberton and asked if we were following them... Rowley and Evelyn advised there was a TV in the roadhouse so the GAME was on. From being new immigrants to Australia, we have been caught up in the passion of Maroons (QLD) against the Blues (NSW) in a battle of three matches for the State of Origin. We joined the gathering before a small old fashioned TV set on the Roadhouse verandah. It obviously hadn’t worked in a while and by the grace of a young man and some borrowed connections – he got it going before the opening ceremony. A chilly wind blew around us. Local yokels in their akubra hats and tees seemed unaffected while the grey nomads tried to hunker down in an assortment of warm clothing. They required more resources and a hot drink before half time! The running commentary and comment gushing forth from the Qld chaps around us was an absolute hoot. By the skin of their teeth ‘Maroans’ (as it is pronounced) kept victory for a Straight Eight with bragging rights for another year!

A superior blue domed day dawned and we were up and away early for the gravel road ahead to Porcupine Gorge National Park.  We’d no sooner pulled up at the entrance to the camping ground than Rowley and Evelyn turned up. They had no knowledge of Queensland’s new Park regulations and despite us having up to date literature saying camping sites could either be pre-booked online or self registration was available on site. There wasn’t. We drove through the campsite and saw the two most suitable sites were taken. We stopped for lunch in the day area and walked to the Pyramid Lookout. A better view would be gained from the walk down into the riverbed. Rowley decided they’d drive until they found signal and book a site in the park as they had planned on two nights here. We shook our heads and wished them luck and stayed to do the walking track!

Walking track took us step by step down to the base of the gorge with the striking Pyramid formation, the prominent feature.

The steep return with sun beating down and heart beating furiously left Lea overheated and she couldn’t wait to be back in the car with windows down and air blowing cool on her. We moved on to Porcupine Gorge Lookout another ten kms south. As we travelled we found it hard to believe that somewhere amidst this flat, scrubby woodland with the odd ironbark standing out with a black trunk in woven or plaited patterns; we’d come to Australia’s Little Grand Canyon!

The western view of a gorge carved over time immemorial to reveal its geological history with imposing cliffs towering above the Porcupine Creek bed.

With no National Park site for the night, Hughenden more than an hour away as evening approached we decided to look out for a bush camp by the road side. The first good one we saw was taken up with a couple of nomads sitting in the shade of their large bus.  We left them to it. Not much further on, a road construction track on a rise suited perfectly with our own extensive rockery, devoid of vegetation, directly outside our door. This was cattle country and the droppings indicated a preference for our short track rather than the arid, stony countryside they free range across. We have noticed very distinctive cattle pathways resembling game trails located on the road servitudes.

The Tableland bovines we’d seen contentedly chewing their cud amidst lush green pastures contrasted sharply with these cattle, seemingly exhausted after searching for a blade of grass to eat.

Cattle out here are not comfortable with human presence or vehicles. A small herd scattered in fright when George went to check the exit route back onto the Kennedy Development Road.  We moved on to Hughenden hoping for an early start in a caravan park laundry. Only one and it was packed. We were told we couldn’t be admitted until after 10.30 when departures had been cleared.  We waited the hour and a half outside to ensure a site and encountered Rowley and Evelyn coming out. They hadn’t found mobile signal, not even in Hughenden and had no alternative than to squeeze into Terry Allen Caravan Park.  While we waited we tossed up alternatives and decided laundry was too big a priority and stayed for two nights. By day it was fine by night it was a veritable rabbit warren and one literally had to weave and pick a way through to the ablution block.

Not only is Hughenden settled on the banks of the longest river in Queensland – the more often dry Flinders River upon which, fortunately, water supplies are not depended upon since underground bores were installed into the Great Artesian Basin. This town is also situated on the edge of the prehistoric inland Eromanga Sea. The first fossil ever found was just west of the town in 1865. Since then many terrestrial and marine fossils have come to light across a large region known as ‘Dinosaur Country’.  We met Hughenden’s Mutt on the street and Hughie (both life size replicas of Muttaburrasaurus) at the Flinders Discovery Centre and saw the many other prehistoric sculptures decorating the town last time we were here.  We are taking Australia’s Dinosaur Trail through to Winton, the Dinosaur Capital and new countryside for us.

Oh my goodness the Eromanga Sea had left behind an amazingly bleak landscape locally as the Mitchell Grass Downs. Devoid of trees and a scarcity of bushes, grey grasslands swept on forever and we were never too certain a cultivator hadn’t been through the patchy short grass with khaki coloured soils. Despite the bleakness we saw many emus and a surprising amount of road kill which included two wedge tailed eagles. On reaching the stand alone pub in Corfield with a free campground where we had intended spending a night, even two. We decided the tiny contained ground was not for us and we continued to Winton. This puts us well ahead of schedule. Our friend, Paula Baxter from Southport on the Gold Coast is catching a bus out to Winton to do a loop of the Outback with us from the 23 July.