Tramping tales for March 2019

First day of autumn. Another heat wave developed on the mainland and Hobart soared to a record breaking temperature.  Tassie being Tassie - like England in certain ways, was to record snow on the mountains a week later.

Temperature of 38⁰C – had ‘our’ native hens panting outside the caravan door.

Lea accompanied Ali into Hobart to choose new reading glasses with a little gadding around town. George was persuaded to come into the city and see the scrimshaw exhibition at Maritime Museum. On display, was a private collection of scrimshaw work done by whalers on whalebone and whale teeth. Seamen worked on these pieces during the long periods of inactivity - no wind or no whales. Using the basic tools of knives and needles, they coloured their engravings / artwork by rubbing soot, lamp black or even tobacco juice into the scratches made. 

George was fascinated by black and white footage of the early whalers rowing after the whales they were pursuing; harpooning them by hand once they got close enough; being towed around by the whale until such time several more harpoons could be driven home; then slowly rowing back to the mother ship with the dead whale in tow; cutting it up beside the boat and boiling the pieces of blubber on board in large vats to render down the oil. A far more physically demanding, dangerous task compared to more modern day whaling operations he’d grown accustomed to seeing.  Just as interesting, were accounts of, and photos of, the numerous ship wrecks around the coast of Tasmania which numbered over 1 000; not to mention a display on the art of knots tying and all the tantalizing books in the shop, Mawson’s adventures included.

Our last Sunday with the A’s had arrived. We took them to Willie Smith’s Apple Shed for lunch and an afternoon of blue grass music with ‘Barefoot Nellie’. 

We returned several hours later feeling as full as freshly gorged pythons and promptly went to sleep!  

A count-down to departure began with a minor spectacle in the kitchen! Lea baked a batch of crunchies for the road. Carefully lifting some out of a baking tin, balanced on baking paper, her knee unexpectedly conked in and sent crunchies flying in all directions as she crashed to the floor.  Unable to get up, amidst a mess of crumbs and crunchies; she thumped a Morse code on the wooden floor through to George below in the workshop.  It failed to alert him of her distress above… Eventually, she managed to haul herself up. Had she undone all the good work Robert English the chiropractor had worked on over the past months?  Luckily her last appointment with him was the very next day.   To complicate matters a tad more, as she struggled to get out of the truck on the steep hill outside his consulting room, a large huntsman spider chose that moment to make its presence known within the vehicle!

George and Alison came across an unusual looking scat on the property – different to the many droppings produced by pademelon, native hens and potoroo. They scooped it up and promptly set about photographing and dissecting; as is a scientist’s way. Aside from hair; claw tips and skin with reptilian form were the only clues.  Much thought and discussion followed for days between these two.  George finally came to the decision the strange bits could only be that of an echidna.  An email was prepared and sent to  Peter Jarman and confirmation arrived  back … For the past two years, camera traps had revealed the presence of Tasmanian Devils in the Peter Murrell Conservation Area, onto which the property backs. The scat, George and Alison found was certainly that of a devil – all that remained was to positively identify the remains of its prey. 

Six days later, a cool change materialised overnight. Rain set in and temperatures plummeted to 10⁰C. Snow expected! That afternoon George stopped by John and Jan Wallace to say good-bye before heading out to the airport to collect our friend, Paula Baxter only to be confronted by shocking traffic in both directions.  Paula had come over 3 nights early for time with us - before her Queensland hiking group of eight arrived on the Saturday to enjoy a taste of Tasmanian Walking Trails. What a shock to her system to arrive from high humid weather to these freezing Tasmanian conditions.

A lazy Thursday followed chatting nineteen to the dozen with Paula. A walk through Peter Murrell Conservation Area followed by a game of Scrabble after dinner. Just before falling asleep a message came in from Hilary Middleton saying she has managed to obtain a cancellation booking for Mana Pools in May prior to our Kariba trip with her.  Unbelievable excitement! Friday took Alison up to the central plateau and her work related meetings leaving us to enjoy a last day with Paula. We topped up with fuel for the road ahead and a few fresh provisions in Kingston, followed by takeaway pizzas that night – thanks to Paula. Our final day – Paula departed and Ali returned from her trip up country.  Drizzle added to our sombre moods - it cleared by the afternoon and we took a good walk through the Peter Murrell Conservation Area followed by a barbeque and finished the night off with a game of scrabble with the A’s.

We had forgotten to take photos while Paula was with us. However, we cannot resist taking our hats off to her with this …

Our inspiring octogenarian Paula, on route to Cape Hauy and successfully completed, the day after she left us.  

It is always said – don’t overstay your welcome! One hundred Days later...
We enjoyed our last and most favourite breakfast of egg and bacon a la Ali - perfectly executed, ready and waiting on the deck.  Alison’s delaying tactic! She’d discovered a Begg weakness for crispy bacon and absolutely nothing beats Bok’s Bacon – Tasmanian’s best!

Right on time, we pulled out of our most delightful private campground leaving dearly loved family and creatures to head up the centre of Tasmania on the Brooker Highway. We stopped at Lake Dulverton (Oatlands) for a coffee break.  The lake, heavily overgrown by aquatic plants and virtually devoid of any open water was well on its way to becoming  a swamp, compared to our visit in 2012.

               

            Lake Dulverton - 16.01.2012                      

                

        Lake Dulverton  - 10.03.2019

Upon reaching Campbell Town we selected a site for ourselves at the far end of Blackburn Park, a rest area reserved for self-contained RVs on the floodplain of the Elizabeth River. The weather overcast and windy. As it turned out we could not have stopped in a more interesting place where wonderful stories unfolded during the course of the afternoon.  Both the town and the river were named after Elizabeth Campbell, the wife of Governor Lachlan Macquarie; the campground was named after James Blackburn, a civil engineer and architect found guilty of forgery and sentenced to 10 years imprisonment at the age of 36 and transported to Van Diemen’s Land in 1833. For the exceptional work he did around Campbell Town, designing many of the State’s best known buildings - a water wheel powered flour mill and the “Red Bridge” led to Blackburn being fully pardoned.  We overlooked the large home he’d built himself – rather derelict with an unkempt garden sadly. By 1850, James Blackburn found himself in Melbourne as the city’s surveyor and founder of the town’s water supply.

The story of the convict built ‘Red Bridge’ was just as fascinating. Built in 1838,  it is the oldest bridge in Australia still in use on a major highway. It was built (in 15 months) on dry land from 1 250 000 bricks and only when complete, was the river diverted beneath its arches.

On our evening walk along the river and up into the town we discovered the Red Brick Road dedicated to the some 200 000 convicts transported to Australia from England beginning in 1780 and continuing for almost 100 years. Over 70 000 prisoners were sent to Tasmania. It is hardly surprising that four out of every five Tasmanian's (80%) are said to have convict blood in their veins!

 

Embedded in a line down the pavement of the main street of Campbell Town  were hundreds of red bricks bearing the names, ages and sentences of the convicts, some as young as nine, banished to Australia for crimes as petty as stealing a handkerchief or a loaf of bread. The harshness of sentences given to all; women and children included, were wildly inconsistent and ludicrous by today’s standards. 

Ever the researcher, George drew up the following table to illustrate the point:

.Convict’s name	Age	Crime	Sentence (in years)	Ship & arrival date
Charles Trinder	19	Stole 2 pet rabbits	7	Manlius 1828
Maria Allen	23	Stole a blanket	14	Providence 1826
Sarah Webb	28	Housebreaking	Life	Morley 1820
James Cook	20	Stole bacon	7	England 1826
Isaac Dowse	34	Horse theft	Life	Glatton 1803
Eliza Well	26	Stole butter	14	America 1831
Edward MacDonald	22	Uttering unlawful oaths	7	Bencoolen 1819
William Harrison	16	Stole handkerchief	7	Moffat 1835
Thomas Armstrong	9	Cow theft	10	East London 1843
Amos Eastwood	26	Striking superior officer	Life	Royal Saxon 1851
Timothy Herline	33	Throwing sulphuric acid	Life	Naverino 1843
Thomas Tarratt	12	Stole two pistols	7	Calcutta 1803
Thomas Saving	23	Buggery	Life	Magnasha 1843
James Harvey	15	Stole bread	10	Emma Eugenia 1844
Samuel Knowles	19	Stole lamb	Life	Moffat 1838

  

After a very peaceful night and a leisurely start to the day, we continued towards Devonport on the highway - stopping only to lower the TV aerial!  By midday, we were back where we had started our Tasmanian Summer - old favourite - Narawntapu National Park. Our old camp-spot in the Koybaa campground was too close to another camper to consider and we struggled to get into another – as these sites are used by the tenting fraternity. No sign of any thistles after our clearance over three months ago!  Later, in a stiff westerly wind blowing sand and dust into our faces, we took a brisk walk to Bakers Beach and back again. 

A possum danced heavily on the caravan roof a few times during the course of the night. We also awoke to the patter of raindrops early morning, and fully expected to put up with a cold, wet day.  Instead, the clouds cleared by breakfast and we enjoyed a walk to Bakers campground beside the Rubicon Estuary. Later in the day, just for the fun of it, George spent a few hours sitting in the sun painting rocks with a measly number of acrylics colours. Allowing the patterns that came to mind, to evolve at random.  

During our afternoon walk we encountered a cyclist who asked if we had a spanner to fix a pedal that had come off his wife’s bike. George gamely returned to the caravan to collect his spanner while Lea walked on with Ross. On asking Lea about her accent, the following story unfolded... Holidaying in Indonesia -his wife Annie had thrown a bottle with a message within, into the sea. Around two years later It was picked up on the Mozambique coast by a South African couple (Drakensberg, Natal) who made contact.  Ross and Annie subsequently went out to South Africa – spent a couple of weeks in Zimbabwe before meeting the South Africans who took them to the beach in Mozambique  where the bottle had been found. It took a while for George to arrive with the spanner! However, he was quick to fix the pedal and send the Sydney couple on their way. 

  

Not only did we have two possums rampaging around on the caravan roof at 3.30 a.m. the temperature dropped to 6⁰C giving us a bad night! Word came  from our Travel Agent that  all was sorted for our trip to Africa  with payment required within 24 hrs  – No easy matter out in the bush with battery on computer needing to be recharged, connections made on internet, PDFs converted to Word … and money transferred using B-Pay. George managed. We departed Narawntapu and by late afternoon we’d lined up for a 2 hour wait to board our ferry to the mainland. Starving by the time we boarded we had something to eat, followed by a most welcome shower and a cat nap! We’d bravely bought seats for the 10.00 pm  cinema showing of The Favourite – a period drama with atmospheric music, portraying the behaviours of the era in the Court of Anne, Queen of England over the period 1702 – 1707 with her 17 rabbits hopping about her boudoir kept us well awake to midnight.  Once in bed though, sleep escaped us as our minds churned over the film! 

 

The announcement we’d reached Melbourne, rudely awoke us at 5.45a.m. and it was to be a little nerve wracking driving off the ferry into the dark of morning,  searching for the Princes Highway and M1 to Geelong. Even at that hour, we had to contend with streams of traffic with headlights on, pouring in and out of the city. By sunrise we were far enough out of the city (Little River) to pull off the highway, catch our breath over breakfast and fill up with diesel. 

Ahead lay the Great Ocean Road which we had not travelled since 2006 when we were novices towing our brand new caravan and, we’d been pressed for time to reach Adelaide and meet Joe and Mona Skehel arriving from New Zealand. The traffic had been painful and it was drizzly.

For us, on this occasion, the weather was absolutely perfect with surprisingly little traffic on the road. We were able to bumble along in our normal manner and enjoy what can only be described as a truly remarkable bit of civil engineering, stopping as often as we liked at the lookouts provided, taking photos.

 Even brewed tea overlooking the sheer cliffs that drop into the ocean below Cape Patton.

At several places we’d have to stop for road works – the installation of rock fencing on some of the cuttings.  With nowhere in particular planned for an overnight stop we travelled far further than we had intended. 260 km with enough  climbing, twisting and turning along the road; regular  ducking into ‘slow vehicle turn-outs’ through the thickly forested Otway National Park that we were only too glad to drop anchor in Princetown Recreation Reserve. This was an informal spacious campground beside the Gellibrand River.

 

We could hear the sea thundering away not far off and towards evening took a walk in that direction and discovered part of The Great Ocean Walk on our very doorstep. We followed it for 3 km, during which time George tripped over a stick concealed in the sand and much to Lea’s consternation thumped flat out on the ground. No broken skin or bones – a leg ache would come a bit later but nothing serious. A good walk in beautiful evening light. 

In complete contrast to yesterday we awoke to a misty, grey day and, as we pulled out of our site the rain came. We did not fancy driving in the rain nor did we wish to see the sights ahead of us in dull wet weather. In keeping with our nomadic tradition, we simply changed our minds and stayed where we were for another day.  Lea caught up on the blog and George took the opportunity to walk back to the beach and photograph the rather impressive cliffs that occur at the mouth of the Gellibrand lagoon.

 Gellibrand lagoon cliffs

While he was at the river mouth the weather began clearing and immediately after lunch, blue skies had returned. Whereupon, we quickly stowed things away and set off to begin exploring the iconic Port Campbell National Park, 5 km on.  The first ominous sign came with transportable metal barriers alongside the road to prevent parking. Nearing the Twelve Apostles, the large car-park of buses, caravans and cars raised the hair on our necks! Overhead, helicopters buzzed around busily. The pathways and visitor centre seethed with tourists; George wanted to leave… Lea was insistent we stay and see everything!       Joining the throng was an entertainment in itself. We were soon enveloped in the midst of incredible clothing styles – many belonged on a fashion runway; from the top of heads with dainty parasols and flamboyant hats – down to an array of most beautiful shoes; Outfits often so stunningly out of place we almost laughed!  Down at the viewing platforms we could scarcely move as our ‘models’  posed and pouted and arranged themselves in styles so reminiscent of the golden era of  film-stars for a photo or selfie against nature’s spectacular backdrop. Mass tourism we seldom experience in Australia. 

  The Twelve Apostles.... and some of the admirers. 

  

It was more of the same at Loch Ard Gorge where views of the Razorback  and Island Archway are major draw-cards.

The Razorback - Port Campbell National Park

After bouts of dodging tourists we’d soon had enough and headed for the delightful looking Port Campbell holiday village and set ourselves up for the night in an informally laid out Recreational Reserve on a hill top.

Footnote: We learn that our old friend Dale Birkenmeyer (from our Kariba days) died over in the USA on 13^th March.  And, a terrorist - a  homegrown  Australian white supremacist gunned down 50 Muslims and wounded 39 others at prayer in two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand sending shock waves around the world.

Next day, we returned to walk around the Port Campbell village with its little beach tucked at the back of an inlet.

Ahead lay more sights within the Port Campbell NP – 

London Bridge – Victoria:   

London Bridge – England: 

London Bridge – Western Australia

The Grotto

Bay of Islands 

We thoroughly enjoyed these splendid natural features without crowds at this early hour of the day.  In Warrnambool, we stopped at a shopping centre to buy fresh fruit and vegetables for the road before pushing on to the Killarney Beach Camping Reserve near Port Fairy. Our hearts dropped as it seemed packed. George walked in and discovered a cricket match had just come to a close. A quick site inspection met with his satisfaction. An unpowered site gave us a setting overlooking a marsh with a field beyond, filled with grazing Friesland cattle. Magpies carolled in the trees above us; melodic sounds of frog from the swamp; a large flock of sparrows foraged about us and, across the large sports field behind us, we could hear surf pounding. Late afternoon we walked along the kelp strewn Killarney beach looking for any signs of the endangered Hooded Plover chicks protected by a multitude of signs and roped off areas along the high water mark. Outcrops of black basalt rocks in the nearshore area showed the environment was quite different to the dramatic limestone cliffs we had passed through until now.

Footnote: In Swaziland, together with 370 other students hoping to get one of the 75 positions available at Waterford College next year, Ella wrote an entrance exam. Cyclone Idai swept across Mozambique, Malawi and Zimbabwe, creating havoc as it displaced and killed thousands of people.

Visiting new places don’t always turn out to be the best idea! Today proved to be one of those. We purposely drove to Cape Bridgewater, west of Portland and landed up in the midst of a community cyclist event. Missed the poorly marked campground and it took a while before we could turn around… Worse, without having a look see (normally a rule of ours) we pulled into a narrow campground full of tents, cars and caravans. No room to go forward, back out or even turn around! We had to wait an hour before any chance of moving as the large community group were having lunch in a hall before they departed. Eventually, a large Bush tracker caravan pulled out of his site, enabling us to manage a tight turn and high-tail it out of there. 

Plan B was formulated – namely, head back to Portland and on towards Mount Gambier along the Princes Highway and find Fort O’Hare campground in Dartmoor (43 km east of the border). Once again, we travelled further than intended (184km in all). It was worth it.  A ‘ticked site’, this campground alongside the middle reaches of the Glenelg river proved to be perfect - spacious, quiet, and set among beautiful trees. 

 

A fine display of tree carvings lined the main street of the quaint little village of Dartmoor. A delightful place to wander through on our evening constitutional. Some of the Atlantic cedars planted as an Avenue of Honour after the Great War had been deemed unsafe  during the 1990’s  and  an idea initiated in 1998, to commission chain saw sculptor Kevin Gilders and turn the ailing trees into  significant carvings of WW1 servicemen and nurses from the Dartmoor district.

  Australian animals also lined the park playground.

Having driven straight through the little coastal town of Nelson, in April 2006 we decided we’d like to see more of it since  it overlooked the wide mouth of the Glenelg River. Consequently, from Dartmoor we drove down to Discovery Bay on the coast and booked into the River Vu Caravan Park – small, with only a limited number of sites available, all pretty difficult to get into. Never-the-less we took a site, helped into it by the owner with a toddler on her hip. Thankfully no one else arrived in our small section that day and we were able to leave without any problems next day! Keen to do our laundry load before all else, we were dismayed to find the only machine out of order. Again, the owner kindly came to our aid and put it in her washing machine. George unhitched for the first time in a week and without the van trailing behind us, we set off to do a bit of local sight-seeing.

Piccaninnie Ponds Conservation Area lay 9kms away, across the Victoria / South Australia border. This was Australia’s 65^th registered Ramsar site. A‘karst rising spring’ (very similar to the “Blow-wells” in Tetney, UK).

The ponds contained exceptionally clear water which had slowly filtered through limestone giving a visibility exceeding 40m.

Essentially a shallow body of water, strict permits allow snorkelling and scuba diving as depths of 110m have been recorded in some places. With such good light penetration the ponds were full of submerged aquatic vegetation and among the species of fish listed, the presence of pouched lampreys were of particular interest, as they attach themselves to fish and rasp the flesh off them – gruesome!

A lovely walk to the outlet where ponds meets the sea.

Upstream of the outlet we found sluices, used to regulate the outflow, and hence the water level of the system. 

Following the lower reaches of Glenelg River we drove through the settlement of Donovans (SA) with a good few houseboats appearing to be permanently moored on the river edge; and made our way to the Princess Margaret Rose Cave, in the Lower Glenelg NP, back in the Victorian State. We’d missed the last Cave tour – not that we were fussed as we’d chiefly come to see the campgrounds. Pricey - we wouldn’t return there.  Lower Glenelg River National Park makes special provision for canoeist – a very popular sport for families along this water way. We returned to our caravan park for a shower and the need to cook up all our fresh vegetables and cut up all the fruit.  The border into South Australia was not a soft border allowing fruit and vegetables in as we had presumed. We had seen the Quarantine Bin with sign prohibiting fruit and vegetables plus grapevines!

From Nelson, with low clouds overhead it was only a “hop and a skip” across the border to Mt Gambier where with the aid of a map from the Lady Nelson visitors centre it did not take us long to locate the Showgrounds and put down roots for the night. We’d by-passed Mt Gambier  when we first came this way. This time we were keen to visit the town’s major attraction, the Blue Lake.  Remarkably good water quality it serves as the town’s water supply.  BLUE – a vibrant blue it was, reminding Lea of childhood when a blue block was sloshed around in the laundry water to whiten the sheets, tablecloths and serviettes!

The 70m deep lake is a crater lake (or maar) formed by past volcanic eruptions and water flowing into the crater from the surrounding limestone aquifer. The rim of the lake consisting of the ejected material (basalt and ash) from the volcano. Depending on the amount of absorption of the blue wave lengths of light the colour of the lake changes seasonally from grey (in winter) to brilliant blue (in summer) and one can walk and / or drive around the rim of the Blue Lake to different vantage points. What is more, very close by are other crater lakes, Valley and Mutton leg – greeny brown in comparison to Blue Lake. Together, they all serve as a large, vitally important open space / recreation ground on the edge of the city. 

 

Back on the road as far as Millicent, 45k west of Mt Gambier, we swung off towards the coast onto the lightly trafficked Southern Ports highway. At picturesque Beachport we stopped to have a tea break in the first beach side car park and discovered the “WW2 explosion memorial”.

It marked the spot two seamen from the naval demolition squad lost their lives trying to defuse a German Navy laid mine that had washed up onto the shore. Apparently a train came past and cut their wires at a critical moment forcing the sailors to re-lay the demolition wires. In so doing, a wave rolled the mine onto a detonation horn causing an explosion and the first casualties of enemy action on Australian soil, July 1941.

After passing Robe we began searching for a camp spot – tried Wrights Beach and Pink Beach, finding neither of them to our liking, and eventually landed up in the very popular Kingston SE RV Park. Although busy with other nomads in their variously sized rigs it could not be faulted. Right on the beach, serviced by immaculate facilities, all for the cost of $10 for 48 hours paid into a Parking- meter – that’s a new method to us!   Close by, a small fish and chip shop, provided us with dinner. One serving, more than enough for both of us. The crumbed fillet - ‘orange grouchy’ - an unheard of deep sea species, Lea considered a bit under-cooked.   

Were it not for the Coorong, along the length of which the highway runs, the drive from Kingston to Meningie is fairly unremarkable. Regular views of the grey coloured, shallow waters of the Coorong, the huge expanses of yellowy-brown silt along its shoreline and its adjoining salt marshes. The dunes, Lea associates with “Storm Boy” are on the ocean side of the Coorong.  Nevertheless, pelicans are the main drawcard! Rather than camp in the Coorong NP as we have done in the past we made a beeline for our familiar, well liked camp at Narrung.

 A large flock of pelicans resting on the edge of Lake Albert halted us briefly, outside Meningie.

Well before lunch we pulled into the small Narrung jetty campground on the edge of Lake Alexandrina, pleased to find it almost empty. An unshaven man and his dog were preparing to depart.  Only a family were left and they were quick to tell George that we had just missed all the duck hunters. Duck hunting season had a big group spend the last two days camped there with gun-shot constantly disrupting the peace. Our complaint, apart from the corpse of a duck lying close by; were the number of flies which kept our swatter, in overdrive! Our hearts sank towards nightfall when a 4x4 pulled up immediately behind us and 4 young people noisily pitched their large tent.  With their chatter as loud as if they were inside our caravan Lea popped her head out the door and found part of the tent in front of our window. Respect for personal space certainly not considered. George went out to see – they claimed to be wanting shade and sensing his disapproval agreed to move to the other side of their vehicle.  Which was fractionally better as we still heard their car doors and voices well into the night.

Leaving Narrung on the 24hr ferry crossings with a guard of honour comprising cormorants and pelicans.

By the time we reached another of our South Australia favourite camps - Frank Potts Reserve at Langhorne Creek, we’d had two ferry crossings to enjoy. A sigh of happiness at seeing our site waiting - quickly turned to uncertainty, on seeing site numbers… Changes have taken place since we were last here in 2014. An orderliness has taken place with only one entrance. No more can a hoon dash in banging the side of his car door in time to Cher’s song ‘Bang, Bang, I shot you down’ blasting out …    A $5.00 a night envelope requests site number with rego be put in an honestly box - Fair enough. 

  

We moved on to Mount Barker’s caravan park, well situated and well liked by us even though we had to take a very narrow site right up against the ablution block. The only site left due to clashing with the Agricultural Show. We survived the night well and took the freeway through Adelaide next day- counting on a quieter city trip, being a Sunday.  Thirteen years since we’d taken this route West. Although it still proved to be a dreary and bleak ride we were amazed at the sheer magnitude of tunnel farming taking place. We had no recall of tunnels! We had planned to rest up for the night on a beach at Parham only to find it was full. We were forced to push on to Snow Town and it’s little caravan park beside the busy railway line. A warning hoot as a road crossing approached  had us both rise from our seats in fright, as it blasted unexpectedly through the van.  By evening, we’d had enough and moved to the opposite side of the grounds.

Port Augusta arrived in time for lunch and we quickly settled in.  Wotif recently crunched data declaring Port Augusta as third on the list of top Towns across Australia.  A gateway to the Flinders Range, Port Augusta is located on the waterways of Spencer Gulf.

Our view across to the Flinders and the upper reaches of Spencer Gulf from our drive-through in the Shorelines Caravan Park. A park we always use as it has lovely walks and views to enjoy.

Our intention had been to go inland, beyond Woomera from Port Augusta. There we’d take the Trans Access track alongside the Trans Australian railway line as far as Cook. By the time we reached Port Augusta a number of complications had arisen and we had to reconfigure our journey. We decided to retrace our 2006 trip down the Eyre Peninsula.  That proved a good move as we left the bouncy, uneven Princes Highway with road trains constantly passing us and found a peaceful road in far better condition- Lincoln Highway.  George had earmarked a few ticked sites on the Eyre Peninsula and we stopped at the first in Port Gibson.  Some confusion over Port Gibson Foreshore Camp and The Knob Beach Park Area arose. Eventually we paid for a $5 permit and found ourselves a lone site alongside a fine stretch of beach literally within metres of the high tide – never to know quite where we were!

Delighted with such proximity to heaven until the flies brought us down to earth.

We slept deeply to the rhythmic sound of the surf outside our door and awoke to a visual rendition of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Oh what a Beautiful Morning – Oh what a beautiful day.  No beach to walk last night, we eagerly hopped one step down, onto the beach after breakfast and strode along this lovely space at low tide for an hour and back again, before hitting the road.

A very effective ‘picture frame’ alongside the road with the words ‘picture perfect’  gave a fleeting view of Port  Neill in the distance  and the clever  idea was enough to induce us to visit …  Here, the foreshore was a delight. A brigade of grey nomads in caravans simultaneously arrived and we took a quick walk out onto the jetty,  before they too, descended  to enjoy  the pretty and  shallow  bay lined by  simple beach cottages – no ostentatious beach homes. The cooing of Pigeons from the support piles of the jetty and a pelican cruised below, all created a worthy scene for painting!

We enjoyed ‘elevenses’ back in Getaway before continuing to Lipson Cove for our final stop of the day.

 A view overlooking ‘ticked’ site - Lipson Cove.

It turned out to be a fairly small campground with most of the sites available, taken. However, having paid our $10 fee into the honesty box at the entrance, we had little alternative other than make the best of what remained. We settled in the spacious entrance-way on the most level of spots with an unobstructed view of the beach and the rocky island that lay just offshore. Between us and the beach lay two unusual backwaters  –  small lagoons, intercepted by a sandy dune causeway were obviously filled at high tide, by over-topping.

At high tide a large flock of Crested Terns congregated on the beach and on the island just offshore an even larger number of Pied Cormorants gathered – with a noticeable smell of guano blowing in. 

By mid-morning we were in Port Lincoln. We must have skirted this large town in 2006 as we had no memory of this attractive place as we parked along the foreshore to find the Visitors Information Centre. First we had to stretch our legs in such pleasant surrounds and walked out onto the jetty. A sea pool  attached to the side, impressed us further. With our ties to Lincolnshire we were quick to pick up on names – Matthew Flinders, English navigator and cartographer haled from Donington, Lincolnshire. He was the first person to circumnavigate Australia and was to name places after his homeland.

Against all odds, his remains were recently found (January 2019)d during an archaeological dig in the Euston Train Station construction site..

Port Lincoln sea pool beside the jetty.

The Visitors Centre was easy to find with a delightful lady to explain everything and book us a site in the Lincoln National Park before we did a fresh grocery shop.   Lincoln National Park occupies a large T shaped peninsula directly east of the city. Fisherman’s Point within, was a ‘ticked’ site we thought worth visiting having not been into this NP before. The campsite, 20 km NE of the park entrance on the Donington Road, lay at the end of a rough, corrugated road, with a limited number of sites tucked away among mallee trees and thick scrub. It was not all that easy to get into with low branches overhead being the principle hazard. Better suited to camper trailers than big rigs. Nonetheless, a nice quiet spot and with a long beach below us.

  

 

Judging from tracks - wallabies came down to the edge of the sea and we wondered why they did so. To cool down or do they find the seagrass being washed up palatable?  

Woke to find the weather had turned – low clouds and a violent wind blowing suggested we may be in for a bad day? Back in Port Lincoln - we filled up with water at a dump point near the racecourse before George unhitched the van beside the road and left Lea aboard, while he set off to refill the truck with diesel at a better price at an outlet unsuitable for caravans.

Thereafter, travelling on the Flinders Highway, we continued westwards from Port Lincoln, driving headlong into the teeth of a gale that soon turned to rain. Approaching Wangary, we quickly shot down the gravel road that said it led to Farm Beach. We were not expecting it until after Wangary.  Noticing a campground at Mount Dutton Bay we called in there to have a look around.  The woolshed formed of stone caught our eye. We were used to low wooden structures and here was a heritage listed woolshed dating back to 1870 with an old jetty directly opposite where the export of wool bales took place in a most picturesque Dutton Bay. However, the barren campsite with no protection from the wind and not a soul there had us decide to move on a few kilometres and check out Farm Beach. There, a larger and obviously more popular campground was available at a cheaper price with trees to protect us from the wind as periodic squalls blew through.  We “holed up” up there – literally!

When we eventually braved the weather we discovered so much more on the doorstep. First, was a tractor cemetery. A vast variety of shapes, sizes and states of  decay were contained  within an enclosure… no gate ; no signs forbidding entry  and we happily wandered among these rusting bodies and wondered at their stories..

All lined up in rows - obviously loved by someone! 

Not much further on, our attention was caught by a track leading off the Farm Beach parking area …

We paused; further up the hill a new looking sandstone memorial drew us upwards..

The Wall of Remembrance - “100 years of Anzac” was to our understanding commemorated over four years 25 April 2015 -2018  in four story pods  related to four of the many conflicts the ANZAC’S were involved in.

Gallipoli-1915: The Somme- 1916: Bathsheba-1917: Villers-Brettoneux- 1918.  

We were intrigued - How did this come to be here, with little to no fanfare?  Reading the plaques we discovered that a small group of local enthusiasts grew out of a Federal Government appeal in 2013 to become involved in a Centennial commemoration of ANZAC.  Four years was devoted to developing their idea with the location an easy choice - 4km away from here, Peter Weir’s film “Gallipoli” had been made in 1981.  We began walking to Gallipoli Beach until the severity of the wind proved too much and we turned back. 

 Next morning, the wind had dropped and the lure of Gallipoli Beach was such that we unhitched the van and SKV slowly and steadily bumped us up and down the hilly track through very stony rough ground to a point that we could only look down upon and draw our own conclusions as whether the scene depicted below;  was more or less what we recalled of Anzac Cove in Turkey.  Sadly, no signs to confirm the location. 

  

       Anzac cove (in Turkey)                                     

 Gallipoli Beach (Eyre Peninsula, SA)     

         

Our curiosity satisfied, we moved on to Elliston, 125 km away. A lack of traffic suited us well as remarkable features of the landscape, caught our notice. First, were the lovely salmon coloured eucalypt trunks dabbed with grey markings aligning the road. Later, the undulating countryside through which the highway passed became very stony farmland. Hardly any soil to speak of; hardly any tree cover; just bleak expanses resembling moorlands. Where depressions occurred there were huge shallow salt pans. Dry stone walls had been attempted – some stretches successfully built. Whether the landscape was natural or had been cleared was difficult to determine - it was quite extraordinary.

We were desperate for a shower. We decided a caravan park in Elliston was necessary.  Waterloo Bay Caravan Park gave us some anxiety with all sorts of obstructions from wooden fences, ablution block, other people’s cars and a large tree as we struggled to back into the allocated site.  Grrrr! we don’t enjoy cheek by jowl line ups…

Lunch followed by showers and the laundry sorted we were free to go exploring. The Great Ocean Drive  was recommended and with map in hand we set off round Waterloo Bay with its historic Elliston jetty taking a loop road across the cliff tops  west of Waterloo Bay to Anxious Bay. Circling us, distant rain showers created anxiety for our laundry out on the line. However, the dramatic scenery of thundering surf smashing against the steep cliff sides, sculptures appearing at wonderful vantage points and distant islands caught between sunlight and black storm clouds kept us engrossed. Just splendid! 

   

Last day of the month had us go into Venus Bay for our morning tea, Streaky Bay for lunch and Smoky Bay for the night - bringing to an end our 2019 Eyre Peninsula expedition.