Tramping tales for November

Having visited The Dish outside Parkes we couldn’t resist a visit to CSIRO’s Australia Telescope Compact Array at Culgoora as we made our way to Narrabri a little further east. Although a bewildering science at the best of times we do find we learn a little more from each of these visits, even if very simplified!  

 

 

The Array means The Dish times six!

We were able to see five of these 22m diameter parabolic dishes set along a 3km rail track as the sixth works from a fixed base some 5km away. All work together as one telescope and can be pointed with an accuracy of better than two arcseconds which didn’t mean too much until explained as the width of two pinheads or a finger seen one kilometre away, to pick up faint radio signals over a wider range of wavelengths. Thus astronomers are able to observe very fine detail.    

We based up in Narrabri for a couple of nights to enable a visit out to Mt Kaputar National Park. This park incorporates over 50 000ha of the Nandewar Range, itself the result of volcanic activity that occurred about 20 million years ago. The 20km road winds its way up to the summit through ironbark and cypress pine forests (an elevation of about 300m above sea level) at a steady climb. On reaching the height of 1510m above sea level we encountered tall stands of sub-alpine snow gums together with some truly spectacular views of the surrounding countryside. It was freezing cold at the first lookout and we looked at each other wondering how we were going to cope even higher up the mountain in light summer gear. We should have been more sensible.  A play on words caught our attention   ‘Window to the Sky’ - the lookout is named after Douglas Hasting Sky (1899-1966); a civil engineer who supervised a major milestone, in constructing the road from Coryah Gap up to Kaputan Summit. Prior to that, an Alpine Club had, from the late 1880’s, taken hikes up to Coryah Gap. They even held annual New Year excursions up to the gap regularly calling for the protection of the Nandewar Range.

 

Thankfully it wasn’t as cold up at the summit – as the icy plains wind had dropped. Must say we were very impressed by the NP cabins and camping ground available at Dawson Spring. En route down the mountain we stopped at Governor’s Lookout and as it had warmed up we decided to scramble to the top of the large volcanic plug known as the “Governor” before returning to Getaway for lunch. The northern portion of the Park required a different access road on the other side of Narrabri. That afternoon we took the trip to see Sawn Rocks – a very impressive geological exposure or cliff face covered in what is known as “organ-piping” – a massive series of tall, 40m high, polygonal columns of molten rock that had apparently cooled so slowly the individual crystals within the rocks had been able to align perfectly with one another. Fortunately, being west facing the cliff was perfectly illuminated by the time we got there around 3.00 pm, so we were able to get some decent photos. Lying below the cliff were large pieces of the organ pipes that had fallen – their distinctive form reminding us of the shattered columns of the ancient ruins we’d seen lying on the ground in Greece. 

Our route from Narrabri took us through Gunnedah. Although we had enjoyed this little town with all its wild koalas in the past we were more interested in new places and the road to Quirindi fitted the bill. However, the strong gusty winds across the flat Liverpool Plains made travel unpleasant and we pulled into a roadside rest area for a lunch break. Despite the road trains and weekend traffic whistling past it turned out to be attractive enough to stay overnight.

A bonus! The setting sun cast beautiful light across the rich agricultural plains and visits from galahs to the muddy pond we’d parked beside...

Travelling on to Quirindi next day traffic was much quieter. On approaching town we spotted the curiously named Who’d a Thought It Lookout which had been mentioned in a brochure as the “perfect place to embrace the full beauty of the area”. SKV slowly pulled her burden up to the 360 degree panoramic view only to find the sun made photos east impossible and the western views were very hazy. We took up a site in Quirindi Caravan Park- a small, open park set beside wide green sportsgrounds. In peak time it would probably be most off-putting to us. Now, it was virtually empty so we were happy to stay. Glad we did as laundry was $2 (half the price of most everywhere), the shower cubicles were beautifully spacious with the added touch of shampoo and conditioner in large bottles and a well looked after camp kitchen provided comfy outdoor chairs, all for a very fair price. We enjoyed a pleasant walk up into the picturesque town but didn’t go and visit its Rural Heritage Village.  From the plains to the foothills of the Great Dividing Range came a change in night time temperatures and we were scrabbling for rugs during the night.

We moved on to Wallabadah next day and stopped at the Nation’s only garden memorial to the First and Second Fleet. The Gardens were alongside a rest area and the Quirindi Creek (a ticked site in Camps 6). Although it was early in the day we decided to stay overnight as we could see power and water provided by the Memorial Garden for a $10 donation in the Honesty Box.  After aligning ourselves to a power box to ensure we had an attractive view – we discovered no power and all the showers had been locked. So that was that and we moved on after enjoying all the history.

 

A section of the Garden Memorial to the First and Second Fleet  

This memorial for descendants of those who sailed on the First Fleet was instigated by Ray Collins, himself a descendant.  It provides the names of convicts sent to NSW on the First Fleet, 6 January 1787; date and where convicted; sentences given (predominantly 7 years); names of the ships they sailed on and some descriptions of treatment received.  From school history we recall these ‘poor’ folk were sentenced for very petty crimes and sent to Australia in an effort to relieve English prison numbers. IT is only when you count the months do you realise these poor sods, chained in pairs, didn’t arrive in Botany Bay until over a year later! The First Fleet were eventually all anchored in Botany Bay by the 26 January 1788 and henceforth became known as ‘AUSTRALIA DAY’. As for the Second Fleet, their treatment was far harsher as these convicts were sent over “at least expense to the public” and no incentive given to captains to keep prisoners alive. These ancestors were once considered ‘skeletons’ to be kept locked away in cupboards...These days they are a badge of pride.  George searched for the name Begg as he has been unable to trace six of his Grandfather’s brothers so hoped one, at the very least had been a convict. Nothing! We did see a Bell and a Baxter though...  

The hills of the Great Dividing Range make a beautiful landscape to travel through- although cleared for  cattle and sheep – it has an amazingly park-like quality with large trees and short grassy coverings  rolling up, on and over in different directions. It adds to the picturesque scene when we come across cattle or sheep grazing or at rest. Even better when have to slow for stock being moved along the road. Calves, lambs and foals aplenty to croon about!  On arrival in the village of Nundle, set in the Peel River Valley we took up a caravan site overlooking the Peel River and nestled in the heart of the village. Nundle is an historic mining town dating back to 1851 and it is estimated that over those first five years alluvial gold to the value of $1,670,000 was removed. During the afternoon we walked through the incredibly quiet town and found almost everything closed- it was only later that we realised this was the day a horse race stops the Nation! The townspeople were all out to lunch somewhere in their best bibs and hats for Melbourne Cup Day. Although the Nundle Wool Mill was open, the historic wool processing machinery was not running and the lady in attendance kindly suggested we tag onto a tour group next day. Our interest was naturally tweaked a large photo of a 1956 plywood caravan wearing a jumper!  Information told us the ‘caravan jumper’ had been a Sydney Royal Show entry. Nine ladies used 55 kg of 48 ply Nundle yarn and took 5 weeks to knit the jumper and on hearing our lady had been involved in knitting part of the roof, we included her in our pickie.

 

Next morning we returned to the late 2000 purpose built Woollen Mill and enjoyed learning how this delightful little Mill keeps an industry alive. As many as 60 Woollen Mills in Australia have steadily been forced to close unable to compete with overseas processing and poor demand for pure wool products. During 1999 a Nundle couple decided to purchase the Victorian wool processing machinery of J.L McGregor Pty Ltd to create, sustain and hopefully increase job’s within Nundle’s tiny population. In turn, they hoped it would increase tourism and had an elevated area overlooking their historic machinery (carefully restored to preserve Australia’s wool textile history) incorporated within their building. It also provides a wonderful educational resource while showcasing their ‘world famous’ national fibre, range of fashion dyed yarns and hand knitted garments.  They also promote and preserve the skill of knitting and crocheting as they suggest you gather friends and enjoy two days of ‘Knitting in Nundle’; providing expert tuition, factory floor tour, gourmet food and guest house accommodation in town as a package - worth knowing! We were led through a most informative talk from the sheep’s backs to the final products. We were introduced to most beautiful men’s shirts and lady’s blouses looking nothing like wool and yet far superior to pure cotton - or was that sales talk! Worth going on line and buying direct from www.nundle.com

A fossicker on the Peel River

We were intrigued by the fossicking that goes on along the length of the Peel River.  It is obviously a popular activity as we noticed roads signs relating to Fossicker’s Way.  We saw quite a few folk heading down to the river in wellies and carrying sieves.  For a long while George watched a bloke digging around and panning for gold. Eventually they got talking and he showed George his container of gold flakes he’d extracted that day – and reckoned it was all good therapy- like fishing!

Our next stop was further north along the Peel River Valley at Chaffey Dam. A delightful place spread around a well indented shoreline.  A choice of camping within a small protected stock free area or taking your chances out in the more spacious environs. We chose the later as we enjoyed cattle roaming around and spent two nights with different viewpoints for the time spent there and enjoyed both. Tiny grasshoppers appeared to smother the grass lands and leapt away at each footfall. Around our gauze windows, hovered many lake midges and trident tailed mayflies. The odd mayfly settled inside the caravan and we found them shedding their exoskeletons. Once the heat of the sun began to let up it was good to stretch legs around our section of the dam for a good hour of walking. Cattle either ignored us as they grazed or curiously watched our every move.

 

Our first site...
 

 

with  its view.

Chaffey Dam is run by The Bowling Alley Point Recreation Reserve Trust – a non-profit trust run by volunteers for the benefit of the community. The five dollar a day payments provided better amenities than some caravan parks. Although we’d happily have lingered longer, curiosity gets the better of us and not much further along the road another ticked site of approval beckoned at the Woolomin Reserve - a free camping area beside the Peel River. We liked this too. Shortly before our usual evening walk we heard the rumbling of thunder and decided to go earlier rather than risk losing out. Out of luck- we’d had barely covered a hundred metres than the first big drops fell, warning us more was on its way. Flashes of lightening and claps of thunder scurried us back to Getaway before the skies opened...

 

Once the downpour was over we ventured out and enjoyed a good walk as black clouds swirled across the mountains while the sun reappeared and gave wondrous lighting to the green and pleasant valley.

It was a gently winding route through the fertile Peel Valley, much enjoyed from the beginning to the point at which we left it to rejoin the New England Highway to Kootingal. We settled in Kootingal Kourt Caravan Park, north of Tamworth with wonderful views of the Moonbi Range.  We thought we had avoided the steep Moonbi climb out of Tamworth but it lay just ahead... Next day we unhitched and drove back to Tamworth hoping to find Woolworth’s four seed bread in particular as well as restock with fresh fruit and veg. All went well and we found ourselves dashing home in an effort to beat the gathering storm clouds before they dropped their loads. Much needed rain fell all afternoon and evening before clearing up. The very next morning leaden clouds ominously hung over the Moonbi Range. We hummed and hawed about driving up the range in misty conditions let alone a downpour. Decision was made for us when we became engulfed in thick cloud and the rain came down in buckets confining us to our ‘cabin’ for the rest of the day.

Perfect blue skies had us rise early next day and make our way to Walcha before any more forecast rain arrived. Moonbi Range although steep, loomed larger in our memories and was accomplished slowly and steadily with little stress. At Bendemeer we turned east and followed the Oxley Highway through equally attractive countryside dotted with granite outcrops to Walcha – the first area on the NSW Tablelands to be discovered by British explorers and used by stockmen for driving sheep north. Forestry also played a vital role in its early history.  Today this district is a great primary producing area and one of the largest stock carrying areas of NSW. We booked into Walcha Caravan Park to await the arrival of Lea’s maternal rellie - Tessa and Geoff Hodson. At first sight, one could be forgiven for thinking this small park didn’t deserve the rave reviews we’d been given. Again, fully occupied it would not appeal to us but it wasn’t too busy for our stay and we soon realised it was a gem, not only well situated in the delightful country town of Walcha –  “full of civic pride” as Tessa was to so aptly comment; our caravan park had fantastic ablution, laundry and camp kitchen facilities with a number of cabins on the edge in well cared for and pretty surrounds. We spent the rest of the day preparing for our visitors arriving the next day.  Come evening we took our evening exercise along the Apsley River walkway.  We were most impressed at how the local council had topped the levee with a cement walkway inlaid in places with a wide spectrum of creatures with indigenous plants used for landscaping on either side and interesting sculptures here and there, enhanced by the light of a setting sun.

Walcha proved a perfect place to meet up with Tessa and Geoff. We last saw them in Canberra and they have since, retired to Port Macquarie, down on the coast immediately east of Walcha. They drove up the Great Divide the following day in time for lunch and that afternoon we set off to explore town together and found even more artworks. All with little explanation that we were delighted to find a brochure on Walcha’s Open Air Gallery of sculptures and artworks with map at the VIC. The lady on duty explained how a local farmer and sculptor (Stephen King) had approached the town council in 1996, keen to collaborate with them and produce a fountain sculpture for the McHatton Park in the centre of town. They accepted and this first art installation was accomplished; in turn it led to the formation of a Walcha Arts Council and by 2001 the Walcha Council and other funding bodies boasted a unique facility giving their country town a new vitality with over 41 pieces of work by local, national and international artists. This included the school children throughout the area being involved. Each made a ceramic which was embedded in a mosaic depicting an eclectic ‘stream of life’ and set into the top of a little wall protecting pedestrians as they crossed Middle Street Bridge over the Apsley River.  

 

 

That evening we shivered over dinner and couldn’t wait to get inside Getaway despite owner Neil Smith (a good host who moves around his park checking security and the well being of his guests) suggesting we move into the camp kitchen and light the pot belly fire. George had, however set up a ‘show’ so we hopped inside the caravan where we were harassed by the DVD equipment playing up. Just as well the Hodson’s preferred the comfort of a cabin in this cold mountain air and after lots of talking we all retired to warm beds.

Lying in the high country (at over 1000m asl) Walcha is not far from the Oxley Wild Rivers NP. We packed a picnic and spent a day, travelling in the Hodson’s car, visiting the area’s two famous waterfalls - the Apsley and the Tia Falls – each at the head of dramatic gorges with walking tracks to various lookouts and viewing platforms. Although the Apsley Falls had no water coming over, the gorge (a deep chasm) below made for a very impressive sight. The Tia Falls on the other hand, receives water from a catchment that contains large tracts of rain forest, and there was a lot of water coming over it. The Tia River has only once been known to stop flowing (32 days in 1942). Acting like shepherds we found a number of farmers watching their cattle grazing in the road reserve, a zone known as the “long paddock” which they use when the grass available on their farms declines.

 

We pay tribute to the Walcha Lions Club for their determined effort and expense in replacing the original wooden staircase with a fine steel walkway in 1961 to enhance the viewing area of Apsley Falls..  

Sensibly, George lit the pot belly fire in the camp kitchen and the four of us happily settled in  for sundowners and dinner enjoying the warmth and comfort of a beaut wooden house very well equipped- even ‘washing up’ was a pleasure with a tap that lit up in colours according to the temperature of the water!  The table proved perfect for playing ‘Banana’ and we may well have kept playing but for a sign warning lights automatically switch off at 9.30 pm! It was almost full moon with a relatively clear sky despite a forecast of heavy rain in the area for the weekend. Well out east, we had seen towering cumulus billowing upwards along the coast.

We awoke to overcast skies and after breakfast – farewells. Our rig pulled out of Walcha hot on the Hodson’s heels. They went east and we travelled south across the crest of the Great Dividing Range on what is known as Thunderbolt’s Way, a road with many badly weathered patches. In the sky above a blue sky began to look promising... We were making our way to Barrington Tops National Park, part of the Gondwana Rainforests of Australia World Heritage Area. All these Great Dividing Range National Parks have been collectively grouped under this WHA title. Further south, gloomy looking clouds began closing in and the many hills, not to mention patches of mist, slowed us down even more. We were taken aback at a particularly long, steep drop taken in low gear over the edge of the divide Great Dividing Range into the valley of the Manning River. In one section of the descent, leaves heavily carpeted the edge of the road after recently being stripped off the trees by hail. Patches of ice still lay beside the road and we breathed an enormous sigh of relief for our timing! Consequently, on spying the rather crowded Bretti Reserve, a free camp down on the floodplain of the Manning River, we felt a measure of relief to pull off into the campground in time for lunch. The weekend caravan and camping fraternity had taken up the best sites along the river thus we settled further back amongst a veritable sea of cow pats, courtesy of all the cattle feeding there!  A cold wet afternoon followed and at teatime George noticed the tell-tale signs of a leak. A pond of water below one of the solar panels led George to applying a coat of hydro-seal the next day. We thoroughly enjoyed two nights at Bretti despite inclement weather and had it not been for a lack of communications (radio, TV or mobile) we would have stayed longer.  

 

Bretti Reserve

As we neared the village of Barrington it began raining again so, drawn by the prospect of a hot shower, some contact with the outside world and a need for information on the condition of the Scone Road via Barrington Tops, we took refuge in Gloucester Holiday Park.  At the visitor’s information centre we learnt the Scone Road had recently been covered in ice as a result of a hailstorm that had swept through and that the steep and winding nature of the gravel road was regarded as unsuitable for caravans. The only real answer, once weather permitted, was simply to see for ourselves. The weather report on TV gave us a small window of opportunity to hopefully see something up in the high country before rain was scheduled to reappear. We left the next morning and headed towards Barrington Tops (altitude 1577m asl) in overcast, but reasonable good weather. We made poor old Skiv slowly haul our heavy home over Copeland Tops, crawl down the opposite side and take us to “Camp Cobark” – a campground alongside the Cobark River on a cattle farm / horse ranch in the foothills of the “Tops” region.

 As soon as we’d unhitched and packed a picnic lunch we set off to explore the mountain and simultaneously make an assessment of the condition of the 100 km spine road that leads over the top to Scone. It didn’t take us long to decide it wasn’t so much the grade of the road that was off-putting, but it’s rough, rocky, pot-holed, poorly maintained surface. Once on top of the plateau we stopped to undertake a number of the points of interest marked on the crude “mud map” we’d been given at the visitor’s centre. These either led to lookouts over mist shrouded valleys or through dripping forests covered in tree ferns and huge moss covered Antarctic beech trees. On a clear day we should have seen the sea from the top of the range! Although we regretted having a misty day, it did not prevent us from gaining a good idea of the area, lyrebirds included! We saw three of these long tailed birds fleeing across the road and they reminded us of the “road-runners” we’d seen around Albuquerque. So too, we enjoyed overlooking the sphagnum (peat) swamp at Polblue where we stopped for lunch. As soon as we’d settled at the picnic table the rain came and we had to scoot back to SKV and view the snow gums, tufted and fine leaved snow grass from there. ‘The Firs’ completely caught us by surprise and we were staggered at the size and density of the beautifully straight Douglas Firs (Oregon pines), planted in this small area on the mountain in 1966. We went as far as the Dingo Gate before turning around. We decided to turn east following the Tubrabucca road into the valley of the Manning River and do a loop back rather than repeat the ‘Tops’ road.  Apart from a large number of red legged pademelons leaping from the side of the road “like fleas from a dog’s spine” in one particular section of habitat, the road turned out to be a long, rough, rather unrewarding circuit through stands of tall stringy barks and mountain gums. And, when we got back to Camp Cobark we were shocked to find the tranquil campground we’d left earlier now resembled a “tent city”. It was over-run by rowdy youngsters swimming in the river and playing ball games in all directions. In all fairness, once we recovered from the shock of change – we found they behaved very well! It placed extreme pressure on the one shower and two toilets provided for each sex though.

Next day the hundred odd high school children were split into groups for horse-riding, cycling, kayaking or floating down the Barrington River rapids on inflatable mattresses (lilo!) We went to explore the Gloucester Tops region and followed the Rawdonvale road through picture perfect grasslands dotted with rotund, contented looking cattle, rolling hills and attractive farmsteads. We crossed the Barrington River just as excited students were being given activity- instruction) and they all waved in recognition of our truck. The gravel track wound us over the Kerripit River until we reached the valley of the Gloucester River. Here, the road up to the National Park was to cross the Gloucester River half a dozen times over low-level causeways, each overtopped by crystal clear water. The 18km drive to the top of the plateau took us through tall eucalypt forests and patches of temperate rainforest  enlivened by distant views of flame trees in flower, the regular sighting of blue and red eastern rosellas flittering between trees, the distinctive staccato ‘tink’ of bell birds and, yet another lyrebird to  dash across the track.  Once at the top, among the trilling of a multitude of cicadas, we walked all the trails available – another stand of Antarctic beech forest; a cicada orchestral walk amongst snow gums along a marshy tributary of the Gloucester River, and another to the Gloucester Falls. The cicadas provided great interest. They were the most beautiful orange colour, had brilliant red eyes and allowed us to take close up photos of them whilst chirping away on the stems of the snow gums, the bark of which had been etched by the scribble-bark insects that we have yet to learn the identity of. These creatures, as well as water dragons at each river crossing, kept us well entertained!

At the same time, for a park that achieved world heritage recognition in 1986, we were disappointed by the air of neglect apparent around every corner - poorly maintained roads and walking trails, sub-standard picnic sites and camping grounds; road signs that were barely legible; information boards - badly weathered or covered in grime they were unreadable; cheaply made warning signs (stapled onto cardboard of all things) lying on the ground advising visitors about track closure; no suggestion of properly constructed boardwalks over sensitive wetland areas; evidence of eroding paths and unkempt toilets. No sign of a ranger or a ranger station. The NSW Parks and Wildlife Service are a bit of a mystery to us especially after coming away from a place like Mt Kaputar which filled us with admiration for what the organisation had achieved there. What is it, other than the obvious lack of money and staff that accounts for the neglect that is apparent in a place like Barrington Tops? The PWS have had 25 years to turn Barrington Tops, a wilderness area justifiably worthy of World Heritage status, into something to be proud of - yet this is certainly not the case. Many of Australia’s Ramsar sites, once registered, suffer from the same problem.

   

Departing Cobark Station, we took the Rawdonvale farm road in preference to the steep climb back over Copeland Tops. It was a magnificent day – no sign of any rain returning. George had to endure renditions from Oklahoma’s ‘Oh what a beautiful morning’ and ‘the hills are alive with the addition of “by the sight of grazers” from The Sound of Music as Lea, brought up in the era of ‘Musicals’ is a real tragic and scenes easily trigger songs from the period. It was all very uplifting as we travelled as far as the turn off to Gloucester Tops and onwards in rolling greenness.

 

Just as we’d seen the previous day – young heifers and steers camped on the same corner. Further on cattle still stood in dam water too.

 We made our way to Dungog (the name had appeal!) and stayed in the showgrounds. The only folk, we had the company of hundreds of corellas squawking or moaning especially when the wind and rain disturbed us all during the night. We had expected a mountain village serving as the southern gateway to Barrington Tops. Instead, the main streetscape reminded us of Rhodesia’s Manica Road, Salisbury in the 50’s. We were intrigued by a 1930’s Spanish styled James Theatre – although its origins date further back to 1913/4. It housed the cinema. Dungog boasts it to be the oldest, still operating purpose built cinema in Australia – not sure on what grounds they could win that argument! Sadly the next film showing came up on the 30 Nov. Obviously not enough custom!

Dungog’s VIC told us about a caravan park at Lostock dam, 20km north of Gresford. That proved a dead loss – and it was as well the dairy farming area set amongst winding roads and steep hillsides gave us pleasure as we traipsed there and back. We ended up doing a ‘long trek’ in the upper reaches of the Hunter Valley  as nothing appealed in Singleton and the New England Road west was a nightmare of traffic particularly after ‘owning the road’ for so long. Coal fields and power stations marred the landscape and we sympathised with landowners on seeing many signs attached to property fences - Locked Gates to Mining; Save Our Rivers; Enough Mines Save Farms. It was a relief to see the turnoff to Lake Liddell and get off the highway – as in front lay a dark and foreboding sky. The sight of a large power station belching steam from a prominent position on edge of the lake was off-putting however the Recreation Campground proved perfect. We placed ourselves in the opposite direction to the power station overlooking a small inlet, edged with sedges and alive with pelicans, geese, swamp hens and black swans. Hills rolled peacefully into the east – all was well until a strange angry bee like humming alerted us to the l-o-n-g train of coal wagons being hauled through the hills by diesel engines. They regularly trundled back and forth emitting a high pitched whine, noisily stopping on the campground boundary if another lengthy train was coming from the opposite direction – day and night. We decided this was small price to pay for a very reasonable campground, in pleasant setting, giving good TV coverage over a weekend heralding stormy weather. And from the west we could see black storm clouds with menacing tinges of green bearing down on us and we waited their onslaught – relieved when we simply caught the edges of storms as they continued through in waves. Thunder and lightning all around us as damaging storms hammered the east coast.

A break in the weather enabled us to take a brisk walk around the campground next morning and we were able to get the generator out and recharge everything before the next onslaught caught us midday.

 

Eerily the light changed our turn had come...

Hail pounded Getaway and we anxiously hoped the dice sized stones wouldn’t cause damage as  thunder and lightning flashed and reverberated through the hillsides. Ponds of water surrounded us and during a brief pause we decided to pull away from the fast becoming swampy lake edge to higher ground, a few metres back. The rain kept coming and the light kept changing; most importantly - we were dry inside our caravan. By Sunday blue skies smeared with thin cloud were back and George went to pay for another two days. He learnt a house had lost its roof further NE and rivers in the locality which hadn’t flowed in years were doing so. So much rain, the New England freeway apparently hadn’t coped well with water pouring down its length!  We were safer where we were. Trainspotter! Lea pondered the railway traffic and monitored the passing trains heading east and west during a twelve hour period. Thirty one trains predominantly comprised of two diesel engines pulling plus /minus a hundred carts of coal; a swift passenger train of two carriages and twice we observed twin engines beetling up the track without anything to drag.

We had observed workers living in tents or camping trailers during our morning/evening exercise around the campground. Judging by the amount of ‘stuff’ around each rough encampment these folk had been there quite a while taking advantage of the very low rates. Aware that we were not far out from Muswellbrook our ill conceived assessment took on a life of its own as we reading a crime book on a most gruesome murder that took place in Muswellbrook, February 2000. How easily a crime like this can taint one’s opinion or expectations of a place. The ‘Speckled Hen’ worked in an abattoir at Muswellbrook as did her family and she became a dab hand with her skinning knives. Her tools of trade led her to become the first Australian woman to be sentenced to life imprisonment without parole. Now that we were heading in the direction of Muswellbrook, Aberdeen and Scone - all places that had played a significant part in her life – we felt a macabre curiosity towards the area. How stunned we were to find a large bustling town with no overt signs of deprivation amidst the surrounding green and rolling hills dotted with dairy cattle all the way through to nearby Aberdeen. The peaceful normality thankfully brushed away the infamy Australia's Hanna Lecteress had unwittingly wrought upon a community. Aberdeen- Speckled Hen’s birthplace maintained a pretty Scottish air about it despite being nowhere near the size of its namesake. We swung off the New England Highway here for Lake Glenbawn State Recreation Park. Strangely the caravan park was well away and out of sight of the water but there was a large campground without power on the eastern shore. Difficult finding level ground for the caravan  and we eventually found a private spot in a boat ramp cul-de-sac and spent the next three days overlooking the water.(cheaper week days than weekends)

Our Glenbawn site at sunset.

We enjoyed walking in the lake vicinity – plenty of bird life. Heard Choughs making a variety of chirruping whistles as they socialised together which were new to our ears. A pelican, crested grebes, Fairy wrens and hundreds of moorhens inspired George to take out his water colours. We also spotted an echidna hoovering up ants along one of the many ant trails to be found here.

 

Wish we could identify ants! These gravelly mounds are very common in NSW.  Bull ants or Meat ants? Their trails are very obvious and yet they don’t travel the big distances or in the same manner as those sabotaging night ants of Niassa!

 The width of the trail seems to depend on the size of the nest and George noticed they’d often lead to a tree. The attraction seemed to be aphids, as he found ants milking aphids in a tree. Temperatures soared on our last day and trying to sleep that night was most unpleasant- summer lurks!

In the early hours we awoke to noisy wind and then rain arrived. We pulled out early and made for Scone in a gentle drizzle. Caravan parks at either end of Scone had no appeal whatsoever. Weather put any thought of laundry out of the equation. Our best bet was Burning Mountain Nature Park. First, we needed to resupply and since we’d struck lucky with a Woolies and Coles in Scone; both giving 20c discounts on fuel we decided to double the advantage before leaving. By the time we’d finished in Woolies (no seed bread!) the rain was bucketing down. Swift, metre wide ‘rivers’ swept down the road spreading even wider at storm water drains. Keen to get the ice-cream into the freezer at the first sign of easing, Lea hot footed through the wet. It was a battle to unlock Getaway – as the fast flowing water built up around the caravan.  With umbrella in hand she returned for George and the trolley. A short break in the weather allowed us to nip into Coles and successfully complete the required expeditions. Back on the busy New England Freeway heading north towards Tamworth in drizzle with worse weather ahead; over-size loads and road trains keen to pass the crawling Rubber Tramps left us feeling fraught! North of Wingen (‘win-jen’) we were relieved to see the Burning Mountain NP turn-off and were somewhat dismayed to almost immediately pull into a rest area. No level ground and traffic flying past down the hill side. All very off-putting... We decided to weigh up our options over a cup of soup.

There were no alternatives... A night here would have to be bearable. The intended two nights to bring us to the start of December, was out of the question. Tomorrow we will return to Scone and head south to Merriwa. A lull in the wet weather had us scuttle out to do the 2 hour walk to the Burning Mountain (hoping a man who offered to escort George didn’t see us disappear as he quietly imbibed from a carton of wine in the picnic shelter).

In 1828, a farmer came across the Burning Mountain and thought it was a volcano. Over the years it was found to be the result of a natural underground coal seam fire that has been burning for around 6000 years. It is burning southwards at the rate of one metre per year. It is the only known example in Australia and one of three to be found in the world. A good walking track began at the rest area boundary with a style. The first section was steep. Many steps led us into the surrounding hills giving attractive views despite grey skies. Cattle and calves eyed us as we strode briskly along hoping to beat the next downpour. At the current vent area with its vaguely sulphurous smell, an Eastern Grey kangaroo attracted by the warmth at the surface was warming itself. Wispy plumes rose out of small rocky vents, just visible to the eye from the boardwalk safe-viewing of the burning head. After seeing the kangaroo and obvious signs that cattle roam over the ‘head’ we couldn’t resist a closer inspection.  Here, we could feel the warmth although hardly the reported “toasting of 350⁰C”. And, we could see ‘ash’ around the vents which we subsequently learnt was sinter, a product of emerging hot gasses on cooling. There were also colourful patches of crumbled red oxides and yellow sulphur stones baked by the underground heat. It was all a most interesting vista. It had definitely been a worthwhile trip to come out here after all. Returning to the rumbles of thunder we had a clear view of the Wingin Maid.  This is the ancestral figure of a woman who sat waiting for her husband to return from battle at the tip of a sandstone cliff. Distraught, when he didn’t return she begged Biami (God) to take her life. As he turned her into stone her tears rolled down into the valley and ignited the Burning Mountain – hence the Maid holds mythological importance to Aboriginal people.

The Hunter Valley is known for wine. In 2011 we’d travelled down the valley to attend Leecy’s 60^th and we had noticed magnificent horse properties more so than vineyards! Never-the-less, we were surprised to find the Aberdeen/ Scone region abounded with picturesque post and railed properties containing many beautiful thoroughbred racehorses grazing peacefully. Judging by fancy signs, this was not merely horse territory it was an Equine Paradise. Returning through Scone (without shopping or rain on our minds) we were able to enjoy the many horse silhouettes dotted around and in particular, a touching statue.

 The Mare and Foal in Elizabeth Park, Scone.

We came to realise this statue is a historic icon to Scone’s reputation as Horse Capital of Australia. Newmarket in England, Kentucky in America and Scone in the Upper Hunter Valley form the world’s most dominant thoroughbred operations – There! We have learnt a thing or two... The calibre of breeding stock around here is not to be sniffed at.

We continued on south to the mostly agricultural community of Merriwa. We remembered dashing through Merriwa on the Golden Highway en route to Leecy (2011) and unexpectedly stopped to photograph a corrugated iron artwork that caught our eyes. The caravan park beside the Merriwa River was a stone’s throw from ‘The Hut’ and the wall covered with  corrugated iron cut-outs of sheep commemorating Merriwa’s early history of sheep grazing/ wool industry. In June Merriwa holds a Festival of the Fleeces with its signature event of a flock of sheep running down the main street wearing red socks!  We enjoyed wandering around Merriwa to end of last day of November.   

  

     

 

          

           

Tramping tales for October

With SKV sporting a new windscreen free of stars and a running crack. Getaway all sorted for the next 60,000 kms on her new tyres plus all the little maintenance jobs that awaited  ‘dock time’ – like replacing the cracked window frame enabling us to open the window again on hot days, we were A for away. We just needed to find open spaces! School holidays and an upcoming long weekend pulled us up short time and again along Queensland’s coastline. Never mind that we were trying NOT to be in the thick of it on the expensive and well packed beach fronts where, as we know too well,  Queensland’s fine weather lures those from South Australian, Victoria and New South Wales at this time of year.

Last month, Cousin Alison left a detailed map of the Great Sandy National Park in our possession after her visit to Rainbow Beach. It was an area we were keen to see and turned our nose north in that direction. A quick phone call to Pomona Showgrounds ascertained they had plenty of space and we were delighted to draw in there at last light to hear kookaburras chortling in welcome.  Picturesque, spacious grounds kept us there two nights and again, on our return south.

 

 
Overlooking the Pamona show ring and another volcanic plug rising up in the background- lovely!

World Heritage listed Fraser Island forms the greater part of Great Sandy National Park and we had crossed at Hervey Bay to visit this huge sand island five years ago. It was time to explore the mainland component at the southern end of the Great Sandy National Park. We followed quieter roads that wound through lush green hills to Lake Cootharaba. We found Boreen Point chock-a-block with campers and wondered whether to risk a look at Elanda Point up the north side of the lake. Thankfully we did, as this was a well run, huge and spacious campground in the National Park run privately by Elanda Point Canoe and Motor Boat Company. They conduct 9 canoe, kayak, motor boat or hiking adventures within the Cooloola section of the Great Sandy National Park and readily assist DIY adventurers as well.  A large open corner overlooking coastal woodland, well away from the madding crowd, provided us with a perfect site for the night and we revelled in the largest tract of natural land on Queensland’s southern coast.  Just north of Noosa, 56000 hectares of forest, plains, sand hills, huge lakes and secluded waterways make up the Cooloola Coast. The Aboriginal name ‘Cooloola’ very suitably means the soft sounds of breeze whispering in the dune cypress trees. We were always aware of the whispering trees as we trudged to Mill Point and the elusive Kin Kin Creek.

Mill Point overlooking Lake Cootharaba.

 

Paper bark forest lined our hiking trail and we spotted a massive wasp nest – fortunately old, the inmates had flown...

A bit later, Lea brushed past a bush and thought green ants were simultaneously stinging her on lip, cheek and arm. She yelped for George to come to her aid. The little blighters turned out to be tiny wasps!  We’d like to have stayed out at Elanda longer but were mindful we had folk waiting to hear of our arrival up the coast. We pushed on along the lesser used roads which took us up steep and sharply curved inclines and across some gravel.

 Outside Goomboorian we found Standown Caravan Park. As perhaps the name implies, “Standown” caters for Veterans and over 50’s and we found it a most pleasant spot with plenty of bird life. Mag- wheels were attracting noisy miners who fought their reflective opponents in the glossy chrome and we enjoyed their antics. Soon after settling we took off for the coast.  Tin Can Bay, 24kms on, had three caravan parks with no appeal to us in peak time. The little town overlooks a large, shallow inlet with mangrove fringed sand flats and is obviously a perfect location for boating and fishing as these waters are renowned for seafood catches and sea creature activity.  Rare Indo- Pacific Humpback Dolphins come into Tin Can Bay to be hand-fed and interact with the public standing in the water between 7 and 10.30 each morning.  Much as we’d liked to have experienced this close proximity – it wasn’t to be this time. We decided on a brief look-see at Rainbow Beach before returning to Standown Park. The road in and out was incredibly busy and, it was slow going on the steep crested hills without a caravan in tow! Rainbow Beach had one beautifully situated caravan park with rigs packed in like sardines. Taking the route to the Fraser Island Barge out on Inskip Point, we discovered a shattering number of tents and caravans tucked into the coastal bush. Permit controlled by QNP it looked worse than it probably was and we were amazed at how caravans had managed to get into some positions. Definitely not for us, particularly over a long weekend!  Carlo Point had another camping possibility. There, we found an outwardly pleasant looking caravan park fully booked for the next fortnight. Alison’s friends Bruce and Tammy Newham lived inland from Carlo Point and we called by on the off chance. They were there, sitting on their door step overlooking the road and we made our acquaintance. Bruce is one of the barge drivers plying the short crossing to Fraser Island every ten minutes throughout the day. His detail of 700 vehicles per day, presently coming and going between the island impacted on us and much as we’d like to spend time here, even Tammy and Bruce’s kind offer to park our rig on their lawn failed to induce us.  The massive Carlo Sand blow and the 72 different sand hues to be found along Rainbow Beach would have to wait more favourable timing. 

We pondered long and hard whether to stay or go from Standown Park on the morrow as we made the 45 km return journey back to Getaway. No television reception decided us and we took Maryborough’s back road next day. We passed a couple of caravan signs some ten to twelve kms towards the coast before deciding to at least try the third one at Maaroom. It  was only 4kms off the road.  Another stroke of luck – we found a peaceful caravan park at the entrance to Maaroom, a rare, good old fashioned and very well kept hamlet of privately owned holiday homes, mostly locked up. The caravan park had a row of ‘permanents’ along the back of the property with five  caravan sites in the front to cater for touring caravans overlooking a bit of parkland suitable for tents.  ALL were empty and we took up two nights!  By evening, we had a wretched zip-bang kombi camper beside us (fortunately came late and left early next day). A small tent city developed further away with boats parked down the road side.  Four hundred metre down the road , the only other sign of life were a few parked vehicles with empty boat-trailers around the central piece de resistance - the boat ramp and public park. Other than the odd rogue sand fly able to inflict a trail of itch silently and speedily, it was a great spot for us.  

Across Sandy Strait was Fraser Island. Holiday life obviously revolves around a boat to fish and crab.  

We were through to Childers sooner than expected and as we hadn’t had an e-mail response from Woodgate Beach Caravan Park we pulled into Childers Caravan Park conveniently situated on a spacious sounding 67 acres out on the Woodgate Beach Road. As so often happens – after many quiet weeks a diary goes manic and this was occurring for Jim and Jilly Greenwood. We decided to rush down to Woodgate the next day and squeeze in a quick visit with them. Jim was at home recovering from serious spinal operations while Jilly was involved in a market stall.  We’d camped at the Woodgate Caravan Park with Saxon, Paul and 14mth old Talia in October 2008 and our voices had carried into the caravan alongside us. The Greenwoods recognised the accents and came out and introduced themselves as fellow African immigrants! Arrangements were made to meet up again in Somerset West early 2009 – unfortunately on arrival in the Strand, Jim suffered an almost fatal infection of Golden Staphylococcus aureus. By the time we arrived on our grandchildren round in the March – Jim had been evacuated back to Australia. He was incredibly lucky and yet it has been an ongoing uphill struggle to regain his health. They sold their home on the Gold Coast and built a charming new place at Woodgate.

Lea poses with Jim in the Greenwood’s home and George with Jilly at the Woodgate markets!  At least we saw them and had talking time...

Being in two minds whether to go inland from Childers or visit Burrum Heads – Jim was quick to recommend the Heads  and in particular Flame Lily Adventure Park on the Burrum River and promptly called up Kathy Swan and introduced George over the phone. As the name of the park implied – these were ex Zimbabweans. The road between Childers and Howard didn’t take us long and Flame Lily Adventures was another 10kms out on the Burrum Heads road. Knowing the Swan’s had just completed a busy holiday season with a day’s grace before the new term of children’s adventure camps began we felt it was too early to pull in there and continued out to the Heads.

What a gorgeous spot out at the Burrum estuary mouth especially for fisher-folk. We thoroughly enjoyed taking the river walk and seeing the impact of the mini tornado (ex Cyclone Oswald) that unexpectedly ripped through the Burrum River valley in January 2013.  

 

 Too much talking to get a photo of the owners of Flame Lily Adventures but we managed to capture shots of other things...

Jimmy and Kathy Swan have an interesting home set high with rolling lawns down to the Burrum River. On their property behind the house they have set up an African themed Park centred around a man-made 11 acre stretch of water with three land linked islands – one of which has 3 cabins with more to come in time, on the other islands. A small caravan and camping area serves as another form of accommodation purely for outdoor enthusiasts interested in spending a few days taking part in the many activities on offer. Another major part of the infrastructure established by Jimmy is an Assault Course with a 10 metre Tower for Para and abseiling descents, skydiving, rock climbing plus a ‘Flying Fox’ or pho-phi slide as we called it as kids! There is also a 5km running or cycling track with mountain bikes to hire if required. A military styled camp overlooks the Commando Course to which mainly school groups come and stay for an adventure packed, team building experience. A white sandy ‘beach in the bush’ has been set up on the edge of the recreational lake where folk can cool down with a swim or kayak. Between the house and the adventure park a farm animal enclosure. We met a few of the inmates in there – no photo of the poor hobbling Turkey-Tom who’d almost been taken out by a fox though! Nor did we take a pic of Kathy introducing us to the equipment used for Laser Skirmish - a very popular sport for all ages and occasions! Combatants may wear army or terrorist camouflage gear... Well suited as an Instructor, Jimmy draws upon his extensive experience in the Rhodesian Light Infantry and the commercial security operations he conducted in Malawi, to run a well oiled professional enterprise.

 At day’s end, we strolled past the lakeside heading for ‘sundowners’ with Kathy and Jimmy and his mother Colleen, visiting from Zimbabwe.  Lea became aware of a very plaintive cry. No birds to be seen she eventually made George stop and listen as the distressed shrieks seemed even louder.  Again and again we scanned the tree tops and surrounds – nothing. On reaching the road to the homestead a fluttering in the long grass caught George’s eye. A juvenile black shouldered kite in a stressed state, flapped in an uncoordinated manner. George crept up closer, took a photo. He could see no injury. No nest or anxious parents in the vicinity we could only think it had taken flight prematurely.  We decided to report the matter to the Swan’s. Half an hour later, it was still there with parents circling up high. Kathy and Jimmy settled the youngster on a branch but lopsided movement had it back on the ground. Easy picking for a fox, they brought the very agitated young bird back to their verandah hospital for safekeeping overnight. These two are well seasoned to rescuing animals and they suspected damage from the power line. This very section of power line resulted in a Gympie pilot losing his life in December 2012. His aircraft clipped the power line as he prepared to land in a nearby field. He was to assist a sky diving company holding a children’s Christmas celebration at Flame Lily Adventure Park.  Jimmy had been standing with a mob of children below the power line, expectantly waiting for a sky diving Santa when the dreadful accident occurred. So much talking and making connections over a wonderful  snacks laid on by Colleen that hunger pangs didn’t alert us to the very late hour before we took our leave.

Colleen lent Lea her copy of Dare to Live - Trust Yourself written by Diane Carter overnight. Once she began reading she was unable to close the book until she reached the end well into the night. Di had been at Teacher’s College with Lea and at our wedding. We’d kept in touch for many years until contact was lost as a result of one too many moves during the Kwa Zulu Natal years. After a life time fear of ‘vulnerability’ when it came to sleeping in the open or walking the wild places of Africa with her family; listening to their jesting accusations of being a useless grand-daughter of a pioneer and girl guide; Lea’s friend Di became the personification of her ‘bush nightmare’. Camping in the Mana region of Zimbabwe with her daughters and their families, a hyena pulled a sleeping Diane off a stretcher by her head. Crunching bones and a dreadful odour awoke Diane to a shocking reality. Her screams and struggles caused the hyena to release her, leaving a family to deal with a traumatic episode, hours from help.  Di was lucky to escape with her life, thanks to a hand over her eyes protecting her brain. She suffered the loss of an eye with damaged hand and ear. ADVERSITY - physically, mentally and emotionally (all should be in capital letters) were  thrown full force in her direction over ensuing years, yet Diane overcame each and every one with her mind-blowing and overwhelming positivity. In Zimbabwe last year we’d learnt of Di’s immigration to Queensland and her book reminded us. We immediately sent off an e-mail.  

From the Burrum River back to Pamona and Pine Rivers Showgrounds in turn, we were on the final leg of our 5 and a half month Queensland sojourn. 

We remembered the camera at the end of the night after Liz Vickery hosted Saturday dinner for her friends (we had been joined by Judy and Ted Voster too)

Stroke of luck, Di and her new husband Tony had literally just returned from a trip to Africa and they lived off the M1 Gateway route we were taking south out of Brisbane. We were assured our rig wouldn’t be hemmed in within their retirement village and we stopped by for lunch. The intervening years fell away and the clock, ever relentless, reminded us to hit the road if we were to have a new roost before nightfall.    

‘Hyena Lady’ as Di has come to be known, is actively engaged as a motivational speaker in her retirement. Like a cork she has bobbed up through many personal ordeals to find happiness with Tony.

Leaving Gateway and the coast, we turned inland on the Lindesay Highway into the fittingly named Scenic Rim region. A mountainous rim across the horizon gently rolling downwards towards us increased our interest in the Border Ranges that we somehow missed Amberley. Further on, we found ourselves a pleasant site in Beau Desert showgrounds. We’d no sooner left Beau Desert next morning when we were shaken to have a Ute pull up beside George’s window and hear shouts of “pull over “ and more adamantly “Pull over’”!  Fortunately, it was convenient to do so immediately. The Ute dropped back off the wrong side of the road and a line of heavy traffic swished passed us before a man with a heavy limp approached, apologising for frightening us. He had given chase after spotting our caravan door swinging open - not knowing how far we’d travelled without anyone bringing it to our attention! Wearing a tee-shirt emblazoned with Cape York Peninsula map of the Telegraph Track, we discovered Richard had accomplished that in June. The same time we’d been visiting. And his limp was the result of badly torn leg muscles on the last day of completing the equally notorious Creb Track. Despite being a very windy day nothing was too disturbed within the caravan. A moment’s aberration had led to George failing to lock the door!  Boonah showgrounds looked bleak in the hot windy conditions and we decided to seek out a better place at Lake Moogerah.  That entailed some to and fro-ing much to the bemusement of a road working team before we were directed to a campground. There, we found we had no water in our tanks but fortunately our jerry-can saved the day. We assumed we’d used all the water without a refill over the past two weeks.

 We parked out of the wind on the edge of Lake Moogerah where pelicans, moorhens, cormorants, black swans and stilts added to the scene particularly when the fish eating species put on a spectacular display of collective fishing.
 

On joining the Cunningham Highway a steep climb took us over the Great Dividing Range through Cunningham Gap, part of Main Range National Park where the staccato sounds of a surprising number of Bellbirds rang out from the rainforest, intermingled with the occasional distinctive call of a whipbird. The Scarp face of this range provided us with fine views.  Soon after the New England/Cunningham junction George pulled into a large Service Station to find water. In refilling tanks and cans George noticed water spreading out from under the ‘van. A fractured pipe required ‘MacGyver’s’ immediate attention. George repaired the pipe and replenished water before we made for Lake Leslie and the Washpool Camping Reserve, west of Warwick.

 

Lake Leslie set amongst granite covered hills struck a Zimbabwean chord for us. The resident Pelicans were always on the lookout for a successful fisherman filleting!   

Towards evening Lea was amused when a kangaroo loped narrowly passed a bloke deeply engrossed in a book. Even before he had time to register what had flashed past a back up of roos bounded across his space startling him even more. Nothing like being unexpectedly caught in a Kangaroo stampede while peacefully reading outside a caravan!

Instead of continuing along the Cunningham Highway to Goondiwindi we backtracked to Warwick and returned to the highlands or Granite Belt region (the chilly part of Queensland and we certainly became aware of colder climes at evening time) as arrangements have been made to meet Richard and Karin Bennett on the Mole River. They were given our blog address by mutual friends Andy and Loraine Tribe from Kwa Zulu Natal. Soon after our trip to the Outback, Richard made contact and offered us a parking spot on their property outside Lismore. Casino was amazingly close last month, only they were away on a Canadian/Alaska trip. Recently returned, Richard again made contact and with a bit of tweaking he has managed to tie in with our meanderings. We will be camping together over the weekend. With days to spare, we returned to Glen Aplin’s Country Style Accommodation Park for a couple of nights with the intention of visiting Girraween National Park. Paula Baxter had recommended an outing to Bald Rock and Castle Rock; not too far off from Glen Aplin.

Arriving in Girraween National Park we had a brief view of the granite dome rising out of the dry forest. On arrival we found it was The Pyramid. We’d been misled by Bald Rock Creek Camping ground. Not quite where we expected to be but since we were there we decided to explore and thoroughly enjoyed a walk across the granite based Bald Rock Creek to wind our way along paths through blackbutt and stringybark forest that soared upwards amidst granite boulders giving rise to an inner nostalgia for a birth land and life as a youth climbing granite kopjies. Not to mention a father who loved the shadows of trees on rocks.

The Granite Arch  - “The finest workers in stone are not copper or steel tools, but the gentle touches of air and water working at their leisure with a liberal allowance of time”- David Henry Thoreau

With instructions on how to find the Bald Rock National Park over the border in New South Wales we continued to Tenterfield and made a quick stop at the VIC. We wanted to know why Tenterfield was the ‘Birthplace of our Nation’. The good lady there supplied us with plenty of information and we headed on out to the group of National Parks that back onto Queensland’s Girraween. Not sure of timing we skipped Basket Swamp NP and went to the next along the road, Boonoo Boonoo NP in order to see the Boonoo Boonoo Falls.  A point of interest to us was the historical property Boonoo Boonoo at the turn off to the NP. It once belonged to Major J F Thomas until he died there 11 November 1942. However, this man is better known for coming to the defence of Breaker Morant during the South African War in 1902. And, as a lover of flora and fauna it is believed he brought the first Gerbera flower (what we called Barberton Daisies) into Australia from South Africa. As we twisted up the gravel road to the falls we glimpsed the river snaking its way across the New England Tableland before it was to fall 210m into the gorge below. The series of cascades made it difficult to capture its full extent on camera.

 

Boonoo Boonoo Falls. We stopped for our picnic in the shade of a tree and spotted claws – a large goanna trying to be inconspicuous!

 

 

Finding Bald Rock

 We could barely wait for our first view of Bald Rock as we’d read “Distracted by the beauty of Uluru, many Australians are unaware of its equally impressive cousin, Bald Rock, the largest granite rock in the country”. Coming from Africa we have an intense affinity to huge granite domes. Consequently when we read a claim in the NP visitor guide “It is the largest exposed granite rock in the Southern Hemisphere” we considered that misleading... We sort of expected Bald Rock to loom out of the landscape, it didn’t. And, taking the more gentle 3 km climb on the southern slopes towards the summit we found ourselves tracking through tall eucalypt forest, granite archways and large boulders with rock lilies growing on top. This made it very difficult to equate ‘apples with apples’ when it came to discerning exposed size in comparison to other inselbergs we know in Southern Africa. It was only when we broke out of the forest onto the northern face that the full extent and appreciation of Bald Rock begin to evolve.         

 

An example – Part of the Mariri Inselberg in its distant glory, is to be found in the Niassa Reserve of northern Mozambique.

We returned from a wonderful day out in National Parks of Queensland and New South Wales to be met with the news of over 90 horrifying fires sweeping across the Great Dividing Range in the Sydney vicinity, all closely associated with the intensely hot, windy conditions being experienced. The imagery on TV easily translated itself to the dry habitat we’d enjoyed that day and brought home the ease in which so much devastation occurs. The weather forecast thunder storms for our area. We thought they had that wrong as we’d seen nothing but blue skies with mere remnants of candy floss cloud all day. An hour later drops of rain began pitter-patting on our roof and a steady soft rain kept up all night. A most welcome and perfect rainfall for a dehydrated earth!

Good bye Queensland! We crossed the state border for the second time in as many days and settled in the Tenterfield Showgrounds; a block from the main street and overlooking a pretty creek. Grey clouds filled the sky and we decided to explore town sooner rather than later.  We walked the length of town with ease and learned much about this historic town where an eloquent Sir Henry Parkes delivered an impassioned plea for a strong and united Australia in October 1889 calling for a union of the five colonies of Australia. Thus Tenterfield claims itself as the “Birthplace of our Nation” and bows before this early politician with a disreputable reputation. However he sullied his name he still managed to serve as the NSW State Premier five times and play a strong role in politics so the old rogue had been an  interesting character.

Of greater interest was “The Boy from Oz”. We have oft heard this musical and the name Peter Allen bandied about and enjoyed the music knowing nothing more, until Tenterfield enlightened us! Peter Woolnough - The Boy from Oz was born in Tenterfield in 1944 and from a very young age became a popular entertainer around his hometown. Down the years he formed a duo with another artiste, Chris Bell. They called themselves “The Allen Brothers” and began to travel outside Australia. Their success was noticed by Judy Garland. The Allen Brothers were hailed as “Stars of Tomorrow” and by 1967 they were on the Johnny Carson Tonight Show.  Peter was married for a short time to Judy’s daughter Lisa Minnelli and is best remembered for his popular brash, camp music shows on the Cabaret circuit. However his lasting legacy must be his many award winning songs – We mention just a few like the emotionally moving I still call Australia Home not to mention I Honestly love You performed by Olivia Newton-John and his rollicking happy song I Go To Rio. Yet, we learned that Tenterfield Saddler – a tribute song he wrote about his much loved grandfather, George Woolnough took Tenterfield to the international stage and made it a Mecca for Peter’s fans. Offhand we don’t think we know it and at first opportunity will listen intently to the words that accurately record his grandfather George’s “fifty-two years he sat on his verandah making saddles” along with other milestones in Peter’s life. During the time we were engrossed in history and looking around a ‘Christmas Shop’ – it began to rain and we had to make a dash for the showgrounds in wet and chilly weather. By nightfall, the temperature had dropped considerably and we nervously contemplated a weekend sitting out in the cold and wet!  

Fear not! On awaking next morning we discovered we were an hour late! We’d forgotten that clocks go forward in NSW. Most importantly the sun was out. Richard had emailed through precise directions and we found Mole Station’s beautiful private camp-site overlooking the Mole River with ease. Karen Bennet and Gay Johnson came out to greet and introduce themselves. Their husbands were out fishing in their kayaks. Mole River Camp was a most picturesque spot made all the better by its privacy.  Station owners David and Sarah allow a group at a time. The Bennett’s and Johnson’s thoroughly enjoy time out here fishing from their kayaks. Turned out we had met Richard and Karin long ago at the Tribe’s home, back in South Africa. Their memory had placed them one jump ahead thanks to George having made roasted snacks out of the numerous flying ants that particular evening! Mark and Karin work together in the Regional National Park offices and the two couples travel Australia together. In next to no time we felt at home with all of them, enjoying conversation and the environs of Mole River Station.

 

Sarah popped over from the homestead further down river and invited us over for Sunday morning ‘smoko’. Aside from cattle and sheep, the Caldwell’s have developed a wonderful Native Plant Nursery. Four Botanists from Armadale had arrived for the weekend (staying in a guest cottage) to collect a big order of plants. Richard and Mark went fishing and the rest of us went off for tea and delicious scones straight out of the oven in the homestead garden with hills rolling in from every direction. George helped the botanists pack and load all the plants – well over 400. Delightful folk the Caldwell’s and we were reluctant to leave their lovely station as was Richard. The three of us requested another night. Mark left his canoe for George to use and the ‘taxpaying workers’ left on their three hour plus journey home, after an early lunch. George enjoyed the pleasures of kayaking the river while fishing for yellow belly with Richard - no bites mind you. Lea relaxed in camp reading her book and observing nature especially the white winged choughs bathing. Their noises mingled with a ‘warning’ call from Sarah (in case I was naked!) She was out on her evening constitutional walk. We both lost sense of time chatting away until Richard and George rolled in. Daylight saving keeps the sun up until well after 7 p.m.

Plenty Platypus live in the river and although we hadn’t seen them – we were determined to do so before we departed. Richard was away fishing at an unearthly dawn hour for us and as soon as George was awake he was off to seek out a platypus.  He spotted two and rushed back to alert a sleepy head. Dawn and dusk are the best time to see these nocturnal and unique creatures with their bizarre bodies ideally suited to their semi- aquatic lifestyles. Mark and Richard had seen them frolicking curiously around their kayaks. The two we were to observe from a high cliff edge were far too busy foraging. The rising sun blinded our vision and interfered with sightings in between the bushes. In frustration, Lea went further upstream and returned along a well concealed bank edge and there had close underwater views of duck-like bills or broad, paddle-like tails acting as a rudder as they dived deeper amongst the rocks and logs sending out fine plumes of silt. She was rarely to see the ghostly outline of a platypus as it rummaged along the river edge. Nothing good enough for a photo!

It would have been a very steep climb out of Mole River Station. However, as we were heading west Richard suggested we follow the Mole River through the valley and come out further down the Bruxner Highway – we did and thoroughly enjoyed a lovely drive through different Stations and rural scenery. We made for Lake Glenlyon. We thought we’d said goodbye to Queensland but our travels that day had us back and forth over the border between NSW and QLD a couple of times. The lake was in Queensland and, we’d been spoilt! The sight of all the caravans tightly clustered together, well back from the water was not for us. We continued across the dam wall into the surrounding hills along the steep, less travelled and lonely dirt road back into NSW to find the Bonshaw Weir. This small bush camp had two sets of caravans parked in optimal positions with little room for us other than against the back fence line. We decided to move on to Texas – just because the name appealed! Back across the border into QLD, it proved to be a quaint town with wide open free-camping available along the banks of the Dumaresq River. Plenty of room for key word ‘self-contained units’ which we had read up to mean separate tanks that caught grey and black water to ensure no contamination of the environment. Many free camps are steadily going that way. We grudgingly departed to see the caravan park. Again, many caravan parks are predominantly given over to ‘permanents’ and the left-over sites are small and unattractive. We’d loved to have wandered around this western cowboy looking town with its Historical Rabbit Processing Works (this is the State that will fine you $30,000 for possessing a bunny!) and a Heritage Centre that traced the establishment and demise of the Texan tobacco era.  Both were closed and we returned to the Bruxner Highway and continued westwards. The very rough edges of these inland roads are still as ghastly as we remember as we bounced along the uneven tarmac.

Well past lunch hour we pulled up at Yetman and liked what we saw. A delightful and tiny council caravan park tucked in behind the tennis court and green sportsground overlooking a back channel of the Macintyre River. This is part of the mighty river, brother-in-law Keith Bell grew up beside, further along at Goondiwindi. It is also the river that confused us no end as it changes names three times - Macintyre becomes the Barwon and then the Darling before joining the Murray. One caravan had been there two weeks the other was just setting up when George enquired about payment. We were startled to learn the council charged $10 per night per site with power, a smart ablution block with free use of washing machine. Heaven for folk on the road! By mid-afternoon temperatures had soared to 37’C and air-conditioning brought relief.  The Riverine forest was full of birds, particularly Channel-billed  Cuckoos and Koels with such strident calls that it became quite disturbing at times.  Especially as Lea could hear reverberating miaows intermingled with crazed bird sounds rising out of the river bed, even over the sound of the aircon. George was oblivious! Infuriatingly, the cat sound stopped whenever he went outside for a better listen! He insisted it was not a cat-bird area and nor would cats terrorise breeding  Channel Bill’s or Koel’s  as these migrant birds parasitize the nests of numerous Australian birds.  Agitated Channel- billed cuckoos and cat mewing were to awaken Lea on a few occasions during the night too.

All was cleared up next day by Iris the cleaner! A caravan cat went missing and despite searching for a week with no sign, the sad owners departed. Eventually, the cat reappeared and the caretaker leaves a bit of food on his property boundary for the nervy feline. Trap-shy feral cats live in the reed choked river bed and the caravan cat had been seen with young kittens. Yesterday, our neighbours saw the last kitten taken by a raptor hence the distressed mother roamed back and forth amongst the thickets ‘wailing’. The next oil and filter change for SKV was due. George was unable to get a service done by the local mechanic – he phoned Goondiwindi. Our thinking had been to remain in Yetman with its fine facilities until the appointment came round but it only gave us another night. – A much quieter one at that as normality was restored amongst the river gums.

Almost seventy kms down the road in Goondiwindi, we took up a site in River Gums Caravan Park perfectly centralised for all our requirements. Booked for blood pathology tests early next morning before SKV’s service and attempted to satisfy our yearnings for a good movie! The most accommodating was ‘Gravity’. Although it gave us relief from the day’s high temperature we found it very disappointing. Just too dramatic and noisy!  Sirens in the afternoon caused some consternation until we learnt it was the fire brigade and fortunately the close to 40’C heat was followed by a bit of speckled rain and cloudy skies that night with a far cooler day to follow.

Harking back to the Diamantina River outside Birdsville where we met the two men “doing the corners” and Charleville where we gained an new interest in “Corners” – we were setting out West to accomplish our first corner – The Gregory/ Greaves one!  Leaving Goondiwindi we headed further westwards into the cotton / wheat growing areas of northern NSW (flat expanses of empty cotton fields on the low lying black soil country and yellow expanses of wheat stubble on the red soils in higher lying areas) hoping to find Boomi (which came with Grey Nomad recommendations and a brochure with an artesian spa the prime attraction) would appeal and keep us for a few days. Despite a concerted effort made by the community to attract visitors our lasting impression was half-dead, flat and very desiccated! A scruffy looking assemblage of derelict buildings; aggressively barking pig dogs confined to cages in a back yard; a sign saying the town water was undrinkable; the remains of old trucks rusting away in the outback – We found all this at the end of a nasty 80 km sealed road (respite came towards the middle, where long overdue road works were underway). Residents appear to actively follow mud racing as we saw many dirty saloon cars with chains, thick with mud, on back tyres and a competitor number prominent on the roof tops. Many were clustered outside the house where the dogs were. Speed limit and very poor road conditions in the main street had numerous road trains rumbling noisily past our small patch of bare earth which constituted the caravan park. It was so ludicrous we were actually forced to laugh (mouths closed in case bush flies shot in!). Luckily it wasn’t nearly as hot as it could have been and we were able to enjoy an hour of relaxation in the artesian pool – not another soul around other than the lady superintendent. Aside from the Artesian pools and their surrounds of green artificial grass there were two other pockets of normality: the well kept and watered little State school with chook pen and veggie gardens and a Heritage Park attached to an old community hall providing a colourful playground amidst dryness.  Interesting was the Wagon and Steam Engine Tribute to the Past furnishing the names of surrounding Stations, their identifying brand and a history of ownership.

 

Many road trains were traversed the dirt road to Mungindi. We decided to head back into QLD and take another route to Mungindi hopefully via a lesser known road.  We were amazed to find a good tarred road (obviously upgraded since our map was printed) and we arrived in Mungindi in good time. And why were we so determined to come this way – it was to reach the Greaves/Gregory Corner, better known as the One Ton Post on the Queensland / New South Wales border!  The town of Mungindi on the Barwon River (which up until now had formed the boundary between the two States) was fresh looking with homes looking loved - just as they did in Talwood.  George popped into the Roadhouse to ask for a mud map to One Ton Post. She had no idea.... Had never heard of it... which flabbergasted George! A Truckie, just pulled in, was able to direct George to a sign he’d seen near the Two Mile Hotel! A six km trip from Mungindi, very well signposted all the way had us reach The Corner on 25^th October. Having imagined it to be one of those “impossible to get to” spots  we entered a pretty bush picnic spot at the end of the dirt track to have our eyes fall on an Old Fencer’s Hut, his dunny to the left and to the right, the famous “post” beneath a little shelter with its history. Despite their vulnerable positions on the banks of the Barwon River, they have withstood the test of time. An atmosphere of tranquilly translated into us staying for lunch, then supper and overnight.  Large sheds, on the boundary indicated a farming workshop of sorts. Any sounds emanating from there had halted by late afternoon.

One Ton Post makes an interesting story and relates to plotting the 29^th parallel of latitude as the Inter Colonial Boundary between Queensland and New South Wales. Up to this point the Macintyre/Barwon River had provided the border line. In 1865, two appointed surveyors by the name of Gregory (surveyor general from Qld) and Greaves (his counterpart from NSW) met at Mungindi and “fixed the position” of the corner by  placing steel pins within a triangle of three trees (marked A, B & C). It wasn’t until 1879 that plotting of the 29^th parallel was continued by surveyors George Watson (from Qld) and John Cameron (from NSW). These men met at Barringun and began plotting the position of the border westwards in conditions of flood and drought until some disagreement caused Watson to withdraw. Cameron, the younger of the two, continued and reached the South Australia border some 12 months later. He returned to Barringun and began marking the eastwards section until he reached the Barwon River 3 miles west of Mungindi, in October 1881. He celebrated the event by placing a one ton post on the bank of the river.

The one ton post is believed to be the largest wooden survey peg in Australia and stands testament to Cameron’s achievement at Gregory / Greave Corner. Cameron has another corner named in his honour!  

One of the original steel pegs set by Gregory was discovered in 1983 as well as the “B tree”. The tree had fallen down and, for a while housed in the Surveyor General’s museum in Brisbane. It was later returned to Mungindi and placed on display, together with “Gregory’s pin” on site inside another small corrugated hut. At evening time we walked up to the shelter that contained the remnants of the ‘B tree’ and the steel peg before taking a track out to the last mile peg Cameron had set before reaching “the corner”. And, following in his footsteps, followed the 29^th parallel back to camp wondering how he had felt at this point 132 years ago! Are we hooked on Corners? Yes! We are determined to see another Corner when we can.

Download from Google of the area surrounding One Ton Post.

This whole NW region is characterised by massive expanses of wheat and cotton fields all levelled mechanically; interrupted by low embankments of dried mud edging canals or ditches that dissect the land. We also noticed raised earthen banks with eroded gullies (very like the dykes of the Netherlands) which we thought were the result of the land being laser levelled. We soon discovered these were huge impoundments or dams. Far larger than the Turkey Nest dams we’d seen on the Darling and Southern Downs of Queensland. The regular occurrence of dams, irrigation canals and siphons brought the realisation of just how much water is being extracted from the region’s rivers.  A significant amount wasted through evaporation and infiltration in this dry heat with winds blowing across vast expanses kicking up dust. The heat haze shimmering across the horizon contrasts with the scattered snow like cotton debris aligning the road. The pity of this is man’s litter made obvious in a landscape of scrubby dry grass between the road and cultivated land. We never see the culprits yet it ‘grows’ out there - wretched plastic bottles and cans.  A good gravel road took us through to Collarenebri where its Primitive Campground proved to be a formalised dusty patch, devoid of trees next to the football grounds. The Barwon River wasn’t far off but no camping in its immediate vicinity so we left for Burren Junction on a sealed road that again had our rig lurching over patched and uneven surfaces – the dominant condition of NSW country roads.

Three kms east of the scrappy little town we stopped at the large open, free camp Burren Junction Baths Reserve. Thanks to the Labor Government Nation Building Stimulus Fund the artesian bore had been turned into an attractive amenity with toilet block, safety fence, wind protection and picnic tables. Spring has proved hotter than usual. Travellers have scarpered to cooler climes so these rather bleak treeless areas out west with artesian bores are no longer a big drawcard for grey nomads. We happily spent two nights parked in the furthest corner overlooking ditches that appeared to receive overflow. Egrets and a spoonbill waded in these shallow waters rather than the lakes on either side of the campground. Trees had been planted along the camp boundaries with a few smaller ones in our particular corner. A sign on a tap requested water for the little trees and we happily obliged. Television reception provided the ultimate comfort of a good free-camp.

Hot days, hot water and incessant wind didn’t encourage swimming yet we couldn’t leave without a dip.  

Travelling new roads wherever we can, decisions are more often made by our attraction to town names...In 2011 we missed out on Wee Waa as we zig-zagged NSW. This time as we zagged back east we were on track and spent a couple of nights in Wee Waa Showgrounds. Many, many buses and motorhomes drove into the grounds shortly after us and we learned that over a thousand of them had just completed an RV Rally in Narrabri, so in comparison not so many! Grey nomads moving around in gigantic buses with trailers attached are a different breed!  Wee Waa (the oldest town on the Namoi River) began as a centre of justice and regional supplies for early settlers. During the 1960’s two experienced American cotton farmers brought their knowledge and techniques to the area and cotton grew into a major industry turning Wee Waa into Australia’s Cotton capital and transformed the environment. We decided to see out October in the Wee Waa vicinity – two nights in the showgrounds and two nights at Yarrie Lake. We were confined to our ‘cabin’ most of the next day as strong gusty winds blew grey storm clouds from west to east across the big sky. Fortunately took their damage and hail further east and on the coast. In a region so flat with the River Namoi running through, the showground has flood protection levees running its length along the river. We even noticed the Wee Waa cemetery was encircled in flood berms as we made our way to Yarrie Lake. After the noisy bluster of winds morning, noon and night yesterday it was good to have calm and quiet isolation alongside the water. This 3km saucer shaped lake is thought to have been formed by a falling meteorite thousands of years ago. Its surrounds provides a delightful flora and fauna Reserve for recreation. That evening we walked the perimeter of the shallow lake, mostly a strange beige colour as a result of suspended silt. Having almost completed the loop we unexpectedly came upon the outlet – as wide as a river. Earlier in the day George had told Lea that the fringing beach sands rapidly changed into thick muddy conditions as the water grew deeper and she baulked at the thought of having to cross here. She’d learned a valuable lesson at the Gascoyne River asking George to give her a piggy-back over a very shallow stream to avoid getting her shoes wet; anyway he certainly wasn’t waiting for any requests!   Over he charged, unbalanced only a couple of times and merely wet the ends of his long shorts! With shoes and socks left on she began to wade gingerly across – peering anxiously through murky water she veered off track and found herself in deeper water with her heavy feet slithering in the squishy mud. The chilled water level crept up her legs and as she reached the deepest section the unexpected depressions had her lurching around precariously – no walking stick to steady her.  

 “Stop taking bloody photos and come and HELP me”!

Thankfully he did, as the water rose to her middle and her water logged shorts threatened to fall off as she ‘squealed’ all the way home. 
  

 

Lea’s view of the opalescent Yarrie Lake.  We are charmed by this type of camp setting.