Townsville to Katherine via Savannah Way, 4-18 July 2010

The route taken

We were bound for the Gulf of Carpentaria and its Plains of Promise. Almost four years ago, October 2006 we had travelled the Savannah Way from West to East. This time we could loiter longer and fill in bits we’d missed as we retraced from the East, as far as Katherine. Back in 1841, a young lieutenant aboard Beagle had absurdly raised expectations of this area by writing: ‘a vast boundless plain lay before us, here and there dotted with woodland isles’ naming them the ‘Plains of Promise’. When explorers Burke and Wills came in 1861 to check out the vitality of these plains they learnt, to the cost of their lives and others in their party, that this inhospitable land was dominated by impenetrable swamps, vast salt pans and mangrove forests all throwing up barriers. Our memory of The Gulf appeared as a neglected and forgotten backwoods of Australia when we first traversed it – mostly dirt road with the odd stretch of narrow tar strip that frightening 54 metre long road trains hurtled along, giving rise to billowing clouds of either red or grey dust, which disguised any on-coming vehicle, pot hole or unstable road edge as we rapidly took evasive action onto necessarily wide, sloping roadside margins – white knuckle moments we recalled well! Thus, as we pulled out onto the Harvey Range road leaving Townsville, we felt a rush of nervous anticipation.

A very good road led us up and over the Harvey Range, past an extensive military training area, which probably accounted for the fine road as far as its junction with Gregory developmental road – we had no sooner turned onto the narrow strip than we faced our first dose of adrenalin with a couple of road trains, thereafter the road surprisingly improved and took us to Greenvale, where we hoped to spend the night. The caravan park’s informality was right up our street and after settling in we stretched our legs to discover a delightful little oasis and the beginning of episodes of boom and bust; flood and drought; isolation and improvisation that bedevil all the communities along the route. Greenvale’s story enlivened our stay... aptly named for its lush foliage it was built as a Nickel mining town in 1972 where it thrived for 19 years until the resource dried up and residents moved on. A passing business man, fortuitously a Melbourne millionaire, offered to buy the town from the Mining Company in 1994 and saved it from potential demolition. Greenvale, with a range of facilities for its size (Olympic pool, golf course) had a monument outside the pretty Three Rivers Hotel which enlightened us to an Australian country music legend we hadn’t heard of - Stan Costa, whose famous song entitled ‘Three Rivers Hotel’ records his time working on the Greenvale rail line. Portraits of Sam Costa and another muso legend we did know, Slim Dusty, were etched onto the glass door of the hotel. Slim won many accolades on the strength of songs written by Costa.

The Greenvale sausage tree! We contest the claim of only four ‘sausage trees’ in Australia. We have seen them in Maryborough and Einasleigh as well!

We were bemused by traffic lights materializing out of the middle of nowhere on the next leg- wondered if they even worked and we were sitting for no reason. They were! Intermittent signs of SLOW or STOP held up by weather-beaten road-workers indicated work actually in progress, all made for slow passage to The Lynd Junction. Here we made enquires about the condition of a gravel shortcut to the Savannah Way via Forsayth. Aside from potholes within creek dips we couldn’t complain and were most surprised to particularly enjoy a very good tarred road that twisted and turned through the rugged Newcastle Range and made a welcome change to the scenery and vegetation cover. Our thoughts were to spend the night in Forsayth and go through to see Cobbold Gorge, an hour southwest. However, on arrival we didn’t like the tight confines of the van park nor the clarification that we could only see the Gorge on a booked, guided tour- we’d missed the afternoon tour already. So bang went Forsayth – despite having decided not to judge settlements along the way by their odd covers rather discover their stories... We moved on to Georgetown, an old gold mining town where plenty of fossicking still takes place. It was peak season on this section of Savannah Way, with plenty of sealed sections and bridges over the rivers thus no powered sites available in the caravan park. Park owner very obligingly gave us a sunny spot away from everyone, although Lea was feeling the heat and refused to go walking until the cool of evening. Sandy Creek and the Etheridge River created town boundaries with a self-guided River walk thoughtfully provided. We got caught up in the cemetery as light began fading – the only headstone of note, was the loss of two young brothers, three days apart to polio in 1931.

Fuel prices were rising fast and we decided to keep topping our tank in each town. $1.36 per L in Georgetown turned out to be a bit of a ‘bonsella’. We were averaging between 150-200kms a day giving us around 3 hours of bump, rattle and shake that we found spending the rest of a day familiarising ourselves with an area most pleasant. Next stop, Croydon, another town- life after gold! Only this one in its hey-day was the third largest town in Queensland with 36 hotels to serve its population of 10,000. Gold found by two brothers supposedly digging a fence hole led to a goldfield being declared by 1896. The location of the caravan park was on the original Reward Claim, later its name changed to Lady Mary, which ceased operation in 1913. Croydon has also gone to a lot of trouble to provide the traveller with an outstanding True Blue Visitor Information and Heritage Centre.

The two of us spent long hours within the theatrette, displays and wandering in the landscaped garden with unique seating and sculptures and replica buildings from the past.

Breaker Morant’s name jumped at us from a display board! Literally a day or two before on television, a garrulous Aussie on a soap box in Hyde Park made a case for Breaker’s pardon from the British Government. Was he serious? Never mind that it’s over a hundred years since the British court marshalled and executed Breaker before a firing squad for his role in the Boer War. Here in Croydon, Breaker’s claim to fame came as an outstanding horseman- hence his name. Employed as a drover and breaking in horses on a local cattle station; a buckjumping show arrived in town featuring an unrideable horse named Dayan Grey – Breaker is said to have ridden him to a standstill.

Later we walked to the station. Two unconnected railways still operate in the Gulf region as tourist attractions. The Savannahlander runs between Cairns and Forsayth, which we didn’t get to see as it only leaves Cairns on a Wednesday morning. While the Gulflander RM93 also known as Tin Hare, runs once a week between Croydon and Normanton on original and unique termite resistant, Heritage-listed steel rails and sleepers over four hours. We had seen it pass by, on our previous journey but this time, it was in the Croydon Station for the night. Neither uses steam engines any longer, which may disappoint Pieter Smith, our ‘train’ friend.

The Savannah Way has an east–west orientation. When the sun is low in the sky, vision becomes impossible and one is advised to avoid driving before 7a.m. and between 4-5pm. Fortunately those hours don’t affect us one bit as we never like being on the road for dawn or dusk as the death toll for our indigenous creatures are a steady reminder that this is ‘their time’. In high country snow markers indicate the position of the road when it is under snow. Out here - the flat straight road has flood indicators marking the way. Don’t come in the WET!

Add that this is cattle country and the road is highly speckled with cowpats!

Stock on the road is all part of the outback experience.

We had spent time in Normanton on the previous occasion and we looked forward to returning to soak in the artesian spa come evening time. Despite arriving in time for morning tea a queue of ‘vans outside had us gulp! Lea dashed in to check whether the Park was only taking bookings... Packed cheek by jowl we were in two minds whether to stay. Fortunately we were given a fine spot and once we had settled in we were disappointed to find that the artesian spa was not in use, only the swimming pool. We walked down the main street to Burns Philp Store, a worthy survivor of former glory days this huge old timber shell covering almost an acre is now partly used as the Library and Information Centre. We were keen to find out about the floods and happy to spend a couple of hours reading within. When the world focused on the shocking fires of Black Saturday, in the State of Victoria, folk in the northern end of Queensland were experiencing dramatic flooding with towns such as Normanton isolated for weeks and cattle drowning. Rain started falling on the 1st January 2009 followed by thunder storms causing very high flooding of the surrounding areas. The Norman River peaked at 6.7metres on the 4th February cutting off the township. This was the second largest flooding recorded for the Normanton district, the largest being in 1974. Late afternoon we walked down to the River. Fishing for barramundi here brightens the town’s tourist prospects and the old bridge has been turned into a pleasurable fishers’ venue. The tide was high so we were unable to see historic remnants of corduroy crossing (a fanciful name for tree trunks lying side by side to cross over - our Begg family in Mozambique use ‘corduroy crossings’ frequently). A local warned of three large crocs residing close to it.

Kris the Savannah King hailed from the Norman River – shot by a woman. The sheer size and girth makes for nightmares.

9 July – a special anniversary day for friends and rellies including Dad Roger - we fittingly awoke to a birdie of a day! Starting with four bower birds outside Getaway (nothing blue, white or shiny to collect from us!); A willy-wagtail chased a butterfly that slammed into the caravan giving Willy easy meat – only to have it snatched away by a bower bird; en route to Burketown a bustard royally ambled across our red soiled road, beak aloofly raised; pratincoles diced with death as they swooped and twisted in the air. No sooner did they settle on the road, Skiv was almost upon them. They’d use a speedy gait very like sandpipers, trying to outrun Skiv and only taking to the air at the last- this occurred for kilometre after kilometre for our entertainment. A wedge tail eagle, crows and kites busy on a carcass; a small flock of sulphur crested cockatoos flew across our easy vision - their shimmering whiteness against the blue a perfect sight.

En route for Burketown, 230km west across the grasslands George says were responsible for the wonderful bird life – nothing to do with Dad’s day! Can you spot two pratincoles – don’t confuse with cattle dung!

Our first stop that morning, a couple of kilometres away from road, was Camp 119 – where Wills, Burke & King wrote: “It would be well to say that we had reached the sea but we could not obtain a view of the open ocean although we made every endeavour to do so”, (A true statement- we never even caught a glimpse of the Gulf sea throughout our passage). Plaques marked many places, which in most cases were simply the stump relics of historic tree blazes left by the men marking their passage here. A surprisingly chilly breeze swiftly sent us on our way. Many rivers and creeks intercept our travel and we were thrilled to spot four black pigs rooting around on the road side before scrambling away up a dry creek bed. We planned to lunch at Leichhardt Falls even though a guide book indicated it was ‘pocket-sized in an arid area’.

Approaching the Leichhardt River we were taken aback to wind through large sand deposits built like dunes, before dropping into a wide, flat river bed with little water in evidence until we had followed the narrow concrete causeway that wound across an extensive sheet of pockmarked rock to this point.

Close by the flowing water, a caravan had set itself up with washing strung out on a cattle fence well within the river bed. We promptly pulled off the causeway and stared around, wondering where on earth a waterfall would be amongst all this flatness and little water. A couple of 4x4’s coming from the opposite direction, stopped alongside us and the owners took off in a purposeful stride down the rocky bed- we followed behind. A large remnant of concrete slab, washed away from the causeway in times past, created a suitable crossing spot as rock began to create bigger gullies and shortly after, cascading water could be heard. We followed the sound.

Three hundred metres downstream, it seemed as if rock had suddenly been gouged away in the shape of a horseshoe. In one section the river simply plunged down 10 metres or so. We were reminded of a mini Niagara Falls!

In full spate these falls are probably imperceptible, simply a turbulence over-riding a massive depression. We were sufficiently impressed by the whole sense of place that we decided to stay a night. We accessed the West bank downstream to enjoy a panoramic view of both directions of the river within sight and sound of the falls. An afternoon walk clambering along the cliffs and down the steep sandy flood plains brought forth more birds, most upset at our invasion - channel-billed cuckoos with their raucous shouting; a great egret took flight with a frog-like croak of fright; a rainbow bee-eater displayed his marvellous colours as he hawked insects close to us; and as we walked the flat sands a good dozen whistling kites circled just above us – making us believe we appeared feak, weeble and dying! Sitting for a while we observed agile wallabies with distinctive stripes across their hips arriving in slow rocking horse motion, from all directions to take a drink.

We returned to Getaway to find other campers had arrived for the night- it was impossible to feel fazed. A rare sight, was seeing many toddlers ‘out bush’ enjoying natural sandpits and rock holes. Made us wish our little folk were with us too. As the sun set, road trains rumbled across the long causeway with red powder puffs rising around the wheels. We had seen surprisingly few of these monsters over the days in comparison to the numbers that had intimidated us that first trip. Perhaps they avoid this time of year with the posses of 4x4 that tear along the route mixed with caravan gangs seeking safe adventure together. As is the Australian way, fires flickered away; although we rarely make a fire, George very contentedly laid one and cooked our sausages. The milky-way was almost touchable, the falling water sounded like vuvuzelas through Lea’s pillow as a magical day ended in sleep.

Moving on, we came across well over a hundred brolga cranes, their silvery grey plumage, some with darker shades, impressively stood out against the golden monsoonal plains. We had only seventy kilometres to do that day until we reached Burketown - famous for the Morning Glory, sausage shaped clouds that roll out across the Gulf on a calm spring day. Creating strange wind turbulences beneath that many gliders, hang-gliders and sand yachts gather each spring to await their formations and take on the largest dynamic wave in the world. It’s possible for morning glories to arrive earlier or later in their season - we could only hope to experience the phenomenon! Instead, we ran into two ‘hail storms’ of deafening proportions on two sections of approximately five kilometres of newly laid bitumen. The loose gravel, thickly laid, sprang out in every direction, jumping jack shrapnel slamming against the caravan until one, under cover of all the noise, ricocheted back into Skiv’s back window and the entire glass quietly spider-webbed. We tried different speeds, in an attempt to cope with these flying missiles and dreaded the prospect of meeting other vehicles. Fortunately none materialised. It was a daunting experience with the full impact only realised, once we settled in our Burketown site. Layers of gravel caught on every flat surface; embedded in nooks and crannies; a water container shattered and partially filled with stones; aluminium protection and plastic handles all pitted. A little shell shocked we cleared up the mess. George reinforced the window with duck tape hoping it would survive the rest of the journey. By morning, he was scavenging the bins for cardboard as a back-up emergency shield! On the site alongside us a dear old couple from Orange, NSW have been coming to Burketown, the ‘Barra’ Capital of Australia to fish since 1972. In the early days they’d spend six weeks, now they spend four months escaping NSW winter. In his eighties, he brought the loose wire under the caravan, to our attention. “Shrapnel’ had dislodged the power to the electric brakes! George checked how they connected on the other side and was fortunately able to fix the problem. That night we indulged in ‘fresh barramundi’ take-away from the Park’s kiosk.

Between Burketown, Queensland’s last frontier and Borroloola in the Northern Territory lay a 500km. wild and lonely stretch passing through prescribed Aboriginal areas for this section of the Savannah Way. Immediately on departing Burketown, far from necessary adverts for VB, Mid-strength and XXXX Gold in the form of cans and cartons haphazardly strewn alongside the road grew until it was pretty obvious “Caring for Country” should still be considered a tarnished ethos. Alcohol management plans are in place in remote Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities for good reason to improve the health of residents, reduce domestic violence and give children a safe childhood and the best chance for a good education. The extraordinarily heavy penalties demonstrate the seriousness of the problem. However the route to Doomadgee flaunts this.

By time we reached the unrestricted southern boundary of the Nicholson River; the outskirts of the Doomadgee Community, the bush pubs beneath trees were vivid displays of piled and scattered green, yellow and red aluminium by the score.

Not a soul or animal did we see, although brumby middens became evident as we continued on our way through the boundless landscape, transiting through different eco-tones - paper bark woodlands; eucalypt communities; mixed assemblages of distinctive green and gold wattles, lilac turkey bushes and predominantly marmalade coloured grevilleas. Eco-system responses to the changing soil types and landscapes make our journey all the more interesting. The sighting of a sandstone outlier announced we had arrived at Hells Gate Roadhouse – a green lawn and shady clumps out front, provided an inviting picnic stop. Here, fuel cost $1.99 per litre and we were relieved not to be buying. Over a sandwich George commented that in converting the price of diesel into Stirling – it was ludicrous to think the cost of fuel was more expensive in England than in this remote corner of Australia. With that, our conscience pricked - we couldn’t go past without helping the owner make a living and bought a costly ice cold coke to wash down dry throats. It obviously affected us as afterwards we preferred to stay put, spend the night in their camping ground. We had the place to ourselves until nightfall when four other vehicles arrived to sleep in tents or swags under the stars. George had set up a Prime Suspect DVD for us to watch that night – the harrowing sound effects had Lea wonder if the couple of fishermen sleeping close by, would erroneously break in to rescue her!

We never did learn whether Hells Gates name arose from the sandstone outcrops and ridges, the first broken country since coming through Harvey Range, the gently rolling Dividing Range and Newcastle Range during the first two days of our Townsville to Katherine journey. As a result the road slowed us and hours passed as we wound our way along the rough road across the border into the Northern Territory. From memory and road chatter Territory roads are well maintained but other than one portion of bitumen to get us over a steep gradient there were plenty of washaways and very rough patches to contend with. Over four hours later we came to the steep decline into the Calvert River and there we paused to take a photo of our campsite perched equally high on the other side.

After hours of noisy rattling and bumping around with constant vibration, we were within sight of a familiar road side camp we liked – Wow! We craved STILLNESS

Having crossed a big river and many creeks that day, we didn’t feel any qualms about this one, until we were IN – not only could we feel the press of the running water, we could hear it high up the door. Pulling through the river was made all the harder and slower by large boulders to bump over and get between that for the first time adrenalin shot through our systems. Whew! We were safely across to grind our way steadily up to the top of the bank and round into a concealed track to our old camp site. Lea, glad to stretch legs strode across to survey this familiar territory, staring down upon the river that had just given her some heart stopping moments, when above the gurgling noises of a nearby creek , she heard George shout “water’s pouring out of the caravan”. Not too fussed, having just come out of a deep river, Lea was stunned to see through the open doorway a multitude of things floating around the floor of Getaway. The height of the river water along with the strength of current on the door-side had easily penetrated the door vent rapidly filling up our doorstep to flow across the floor. Climbing the steep incline, water gushed down to the bed end soaking our mats and infiltrating beneath cupboard doors. A cupboard latch hadn’t held, spewing out tins and a bottle of sauce which miraculously didn’t break as they rolled amongst other debris - bits of cupboard framework, framed photos and fridge magnets and door mat all swilling around. A compulsory spring-clean and mopping up operation took place over the next two hours. Fortunately the heat dried the wet items fairly speedily. Liquid nails assisted George mend the cupboard.

The days to follow we’d feel a dart of agitation crossing the waterways but the TOP End adage- whatever you put in the water, be prepared to lose it prevented Lea from doing a walking check! Fortunately other big rivers only wet the inner step nothing more. Bridge building was in progress over the McArthur River as we closed in on Borroloola – a sure sign we were close to refinement! Drawing up at the fuel station the first thing we heard was a chimed tune of Greensleeves wafting on the breeze. An ice-cream van trundled into town! How daft that seemed. Opening Getaway’s door after each encounter with the road has become something of a lucky packet! What will we find! This time the same cupboard door had come adrift on its opposite side. While George mended, I dashed off to the laundry to sort out our pile of red encrusted clothes, before seeking the pleasure of a deep cleansing shower. That night we relaxed to the sound of a piano-accordion playing a few sites away and learnt that Spain had won the World Cup although 15 yellow cards had been handed out during the game!

Back in Georgetown, we had chanced to read that many employers regularly look for workers along Savannah Way advertising job vacancies on Australia’s leading jobs website for travellers www.workaboutaustralia.com.au. With internet now at our fingertips, George checked out the site and spotted Lorella Springs Station was ‘looking for people, all types of background, travelling around who wished to drop in for a day, a month, even a season to help out, even if just a couple of hours in the day’ We were hooked, and looked up the whereabouts of the Station. Lea has always been keen to experience life on a remote station after reading Sara Henderson’s books. Fate was on our side and we were heading right past. Soon after Borroloola we turned off the tar onto the Nathan River Road – a sign saying the road was only suitable for 4x4 was a little confronting after what we had been on. Very late rains for the Territory “Wet” season was responsible for general road maintenance being behind and we soon came across road-trains bringing in soil to this first section. As we trundled along the road became almost like a track reminding Lea of old farm roads to concession in the 50’s and further on George remarked we could even be back in Niassa. The countryside was looking very green and most creeks still had water across the road. By the time we turned off to Lorella Spring Station, we were on a rougher track that the many signs urging us on gave us a smile...1,000,000,000 more bumps to go; relax in the hot springs; not long to go; survivors will be prosecuted being some that we remember!

This was a welcoming sight. Opening the gate reminded Lea of Africa & that oft heard cry SWWWEEETS....

Lorella Springs turned out to be more of a Wilderness Park set within one million acres of untouched and remote coastal outback wilderness than the working outback station we had looked forward to finding. We didn’t see any cattle although it is supposed to be a huge cattle station. It is certainly a unique getaway offering 4WDriving tracks, bird watching, fishing camps along the Rosie River leading to the Gulf. The camping area is set on the banks of a natural thermal spring with another hot health spring a couple of kilometres further away – this surrounded by a Nudist/Naturalist camping area.

We didn’t check out the Nudie springs as we found the Homestead spring a perfect temperature within metres of our site - so ideal for us. Lea would disrupt the peaceful surrounds with the odd squawk when fish nibbled her toes though.

The owners were away in Darwin and although this was a very attractive situation we weren’t prepared to hang around another day if we couldn’t be involved, so we bumped slowly, all the way back again to the Savannah track and continued through the Limmen National Park. Three water-buffalo gazed at us from their feeding grounds on the plain as we passed by.

On the causeway crossing to the Limmen River George exclaimed – “You won’t believe me, there’s a croc RIGHT HERE!” A ‘freshie’ of course, ‘salties’ are far too wily. This one was lying in ambush awaiting fish swimming upstream.

New campsites have arisen since this relatively new National Park has been declared. We checked out the Limmen Campground only to decide it was too early to stay and pushed on to Towns River rest area by our book. No longer in being! Instead, a most appealing camping ground had been established on the south side. Well wooded, we took a safe site with a view of the river- an amazingly large expanse of water that seemed broad and deep enough for big boats to move up and down from the Gulf, about 40km away as the crow flies! Crossing the river - a short way upstream next day, you’d never have credited the same body of water.
From the top of the bridge over the Hodgson River we saw another freshwater croc sunning on a bank. They are relatively harmless to humans having weak, narrow jaws. It’s rare that we see crocodile, never-the-less we pay close attention to all the warning signs as it is the saltwater crocodile that’s deeply feared! We were in two minds whether to stay in Roper Bar and continued on... A bad mistake as we landed up being on the road for six exhausting hours! Following the Roper River we were to be astonished by the number of caravans and camper trailers, bush camping alongside it. Another spot – “Tomato Island” somewhat of a misnomer, looked a shocker of a camping township! Either a fishing competition was to take place over the weekend or this popular spot was in the throes of being formalized. Certainly we passed a good many boats being towed south with the weekend coming up. Road kill was back in evidence and we often came across a wedge tailed eagle in attendance with a retinue of kites.

Suddenly dirt turned to a narrow strip of tar with road trains plying their trade overtaking us until we finally reached the Stuart Highway before turning into ElseyNational Park where we set up for the night in 12 Mile Yards Campground. Now that dirt roads were behind us for a while George couldn’t wait to wash away the thick coating of dust on Skiv & Getaway- slowly fetching water, bucket by bucket from the Park ablution block some distance away, he gave our rig a preliminary cleanse much to the awe of neighbouring campers!

Next day we moved on a mere 20kms to a Camping Park we enjoy very close to Bitter Springs. While Lea worked on the blog, George was able to climb onto the roof of Getaway with a hosepipe to completely wash down the van, spraying into all the nooks and crannies. He was staggered to find layers of “shrapnel gravel” still collected under the solar panels, behind the skylight vents and air conditioner. Some held in place with bitumen adhesive!
Despite rubber matting to prevent movement in drawers and shelves – the constant vibration undergone over twelve days reminds Lea of those square games with a blank space whereby moving tiles slowly within, a picture or number order is formed. It is incredible how such massive disorder happens within all our cupboards and drawers. All have to be scrubbed of blackened rub marks before being rearranged. Tinned foods have lost or worn labels.
After doing as much as we could to regain some order we retired to Bitter Springs or Korran (Black Cockatoo Dreaming), as the Aboriginals call this spring, a short walk down to the upper reaches of the Roper River. Bitter Springs lies on a fracture on the edge of a very porous limestone aquifer and swampy area. The Wet Season adds to the flow of this recharged aquifer and the Roper each year and the temperature is typical of groundwater in this part of Australia – about 33’C so it is not truly thermal as it isn’t heated, but deliciously right for both of us.

Noodles are ideal although the flow is strong enough to make it hard work to swim back.

Lurking along the edge of the swamp are thick mats of thriving algae driving a cycle of growth and decomposition which looks pretty gross. That typical ‘rotten egg’ smell arises should you move into the muddy ground and taints the water hence the name “Bitter”. The clarity of the water down the centre with rocks, logs and white sands enclosed within a swamp forest of pandanus and cabbage palms makes for a sublime scene. Oxygen levels are too low for fish but George itched to shout “crocodile’ to remove the many weekend visitors!

We left the busy park early next morning on our last leg of Savannah Way adventure – we were leaving it in Katherine. For a Sunday morning the Stuart Highway was teeming with caravans – creating a worry of overcrowding within us. Entering the town we discovered not only was it the Katherine Show weekend there was a massive Rodeo taking place. Every Park and Campground was humming as were the extra venues laid on to cope with the influx of visitors. Coming in to town early saved the day for us - we managed to get the last site available at Red Gum Caravan Park. We continued with our ‘clean-up’. On unhitching the caravan for the first time since Townsville, George found the legs had jammed up tightly with stones and mud that he battled to get them down. We discovered two caravan windows have popped their seals and a shelf on the fridge door had broken away. Tomorrow we will look into window repairs, replenish with fresh food and make beds in readiness for our Perth guests Di and Peter Ryan, arriving by train early Tuesday.

No way does the ‘beating’ taken on our rig detract from the pleasure of the two week off-road and Out Back journey we have taken. It simply adds a rich patina to the experience and makes us a little more skilful and self reliant.

Tramping tales for June 2010

A last minute delay in departure occurred over a bent bolt on our tow hitch. This had happened on our ferry trip over to Fraser Island a good while back and only brought to Gary’s attention because George had been unable to attach his vice thereafter. Efforts to locate a new coupling failed and by mid-day we joyously pulled out onto the open road...

Rubber Tramps ready for the road in a semi rebuilt “Getaway”, even down to a new sign!
We were stunned that the estimated insurance repair costs to the new roof was in the order of A$12,000

Setting off for a firm favourite, a discovery of our own (not listed in our well used Camps 3 Australia Wide) the Kenilworth Showgrounds, a mere hour north and inland. The world’s best yogurt in our opinion comes from the Kenilworth Cheese & Yogurt factory on the opposite side of the road and we were there with alacrity to buy a 1.8kg bucket. It was as good if not better than our memory recorded and we were to sup on a little each night with utmost pleasure. Boy! Was it cold that night and Lea made much mileage of her misery in recompense for George’s fussing in England! Fortunately weather improved slightly to encourage us to stay another night as we certainly weren’t prepared to chance not having an SBS channel signal or power to watch the Opening Ceremony of the FIFA World Cup in South Africa! We also had lots of dirty washing needing the village Laundromat before we landed up in bush camps for a while. Time zones necessitated Lea waking George for the Opening Ceremony in the middle of the night as we excitedly watched the colourful and rhythmic displays – the dung beetle being the highlight! Halfway through the opening game we faded unable to keep eyes open and checked in for the result as soon as we awoke! No lying in as we had NO bread! We, fussy folk, can no longer tolerate the packaged bread generally found in the local stores en route and having discovered we were in for a long weekend, our only chance of locating a Woolworths, for quite the best daily bread made - “Four Seed” in their on-site bakeries, was in Gympie. We pulled out of Kenilworth in haste hoping to reach Gympie earlier enough that Saturday to find some loaves. Certainly not an RV friendly shopping centre and we battled to get parking some distance off for Lea to rush in and grab our manna from heaven!

Heading North West on the Burnett Highway we made for Fat Hen Creek Rest Area in time for lunch. The uneven lie of the land had us decide not to loll around there after all especially when we knew another favourite Rest Area of ours, was within easy distance. We had travelled this section of the road before and yet had no recall of Gayndah – We had even wondered where it was on hearing that the young soldier killed in Afghanistan so recently, had come from there. Now the name jumped out at us and we were all too aware that this little country town was preparing a massive funeral for its young Digger. We discovered Gayndah is the oldest town in Queensland with the oldest jockey-club too, the first settlers arriving in 1848, to establish their town a year later. Apparently it was considered for the Capital but lost to Brisbane. It is also the largest citrus growing area and we stopped at a roadside wagon and bought small sacks of oranges, naartjies (mandarins to the uninitiated!) and lemons. Think Gayndah is now indelibly etched!

We pulled our way up the Binjour Range to the Rest Area perched back off the main road and found it was still beautifully maintained considering the many people who stop en route for the toilet and picnic facilities. We were one of five travel units that stayed a night or two - everyone keeping much to themselves on the periphery. High up, we fortunately had decent TV reception and awoke at 4a.m to watch Germany run rings around our Socceroos. The constant sound of bees in the form of ‘vuvuzellas’ has fast become the signature trade mark of the World Cup; How such a steady ‘hum” is constantly maintained with little variation beats us. Not enough spectator interaction was shown that we turned to sleep!

Mundubberra claims to wear the citrus crown but we didn’t see much evidence as we passed through to spend the next night on its northern outskirt, in the Ceratodus Rest Area, beside the Burnett River. The Mundubbera Rail Station, originally called “132Miles 22 Chains” until October 4, 1923 when it was renamed Ceratodus after a species of lung fish found living in the river; was restored and moved from its first location to this site, provides an interesting display of historic photographs along with a beautifully made wooden gazebo and BBQ - “as a safe haven for the travelling public during their journey.” A photograph of George Spencer’s cow, washed downstream 15 miles in the 1942 floods and found hoisted like a flag, five metres up a tree, impacted on the two of us.

Mt Scoria Conservation Park attracted us for our next stop as we’d enjoyed a lunch stop there previously. Mt Scoria, a little ‘blip’ on flat plains after the Binjour Range is actually the remains of a volcano, the slopes of which are made up of fragments of lava called scoria that shattered while the volcano was active. The Aboriginals call it the “talking mountain” and hold ‘corroborees’ and initiation ceremonies making it a sacred place. Our book said we could camp there but a sign with a crossed out tent indicated otherwise; we pushed the boundaries for a night as we were not in a tent! A quietly pretty spot with a beautiful sunset, never-the-less, Lea was twitchy enough to arise early and be gone.

The next ‘author recommended site’ in our book was Dululu Rest Area. A tiny settlement at the Burnett and Leichardt intersection have turned this Rest Area into a popular camping spot providing power and hot showers for $5 apiece per vehicle, should you so wish. Hirsute locals maintain the area adjacent to tennis courts much to the annoyance of a cantankerous neighbouring resident. We were advised to avoid the newly cordoned off area as part of an effort to give the “neighbour” more privacy. Apparently he is wont to rush out of his house in the nude and pee over his boundary just to create nervous tension! Nothing dramatic as this occurred for us. However, shortly after engrossing ourselves in computer work we became aware of a scratching noise and fine dust floating in our doorway. The culprit was a scrawny little man, shovelling up ashes from a well used campfire site. He studiously avoided acknowledging our close proximity as he filled his bucket. We soon realised this was the ‘dreaded naked character’ intent only on collecting up ash for his garden while indirectly serving a useful function within camp!

Being 70 km south west of Rockhampton we decided to make an early start for the home of Ross and Jackie Lebish where we had pre-arranged an overnight stop with them. Knowing they would only be home from hospital work in the late afternoon, we decided to free ourselves of the encumbrance of ‘Getaway’ in their garden to go in search of the tow hitch part requiring replacement; restock provisions and refuel. No-one had our brand of hitch in stock which necessitated a series of e-mails flying back and forth from South Australia over the next few days as we organised for the part to be posted to Townsville. A family evening with Ross, Jackie and daughters went down a treat.

Ross, Lea’s cheeky pupil of 1968 maintains he has made nothing of his life as a result of his kindergarten grounding! From jackaroo to rodeo clowning; to working in meat-works to hospital driver he fails to consider his many life skills gained nor his artistic talent in making superb rustic furniture with basic tools. Even their home is an evolving work of creative improvements.

Embarking on the final leg of a full circumnavigation of Australia with Skiv & Getaway - apart from Cape York which requires too many complicating factors to consider at this stage; we headed ever northwards making for St Lawrence Recreational Reserve. We couldn’t help recalling this same journey made in January 1995 with Justine and Daniel in a ‘banger’ they had hired which shouldn’t have left Sydney! The main highway had much improved since “Gotushere” took us to Townsville yet its inland alignment, while environmentally optimal comes at a cost to us travellers. The deviation to the coast and returning the same way tends to be off-putting, not only adding unnecessary mileage but breaking the rhythm of the journey.
We turned off the main road and on approaching the little town of St Lawrence, set back from the margins of the Broad Sound, looking for the Camping Reserve on the West side, we were horrified to see a barren expanse heavily dotted with recreational vehicles of every description interspersed with cattle stockades and pens... our hearts dropped. George was all for turning round and heading back but Lea pleaded to check out the available places and when we managed to find a spot up against a fence with a view towards a small forest of Melaleucas- we stayed.

Travellers pour in as fast as they pour out of this well kept free Camping Reservation.

There was more than met the eye! We were actually camping on the St Lawrence Racecourse although nothing indicated that to Lea. A cattle sales yard seemed more like it. The club house provided a well kept ablution block (showers for a gold coin). All overlooked one of the most significant wetlands on the Queensland coast, developed in such a way to make access with a viewing platform, a most pleasant experience.
A deliciously warm sun had us discard winter garb for shorts and sleeveless shirts and in the late afternoon we set off to explore the feast of opportunities for bird watching – following wetland pathways we could hear 60’s music drifting out – a raised eyebrow at the audacity was quickly smothered by the fact it was our kind of music! As we crossed in front of the club house we found a huge crowd of nomads thoroughly enjoying four o’clock happy hour as a grey haired minstrel entertained them – how great was that!

Despite overcast skies moving in next day we stayed another night. We took a two hour walk round the outskirts of this small settlement town dating back to the 1870’s when it operated as a large Meat Works - now defunct. Basic facilities have remained for whatever reason – even a bigger school rebuilt after being wiped out by a cyclone some years ago. Makes one curious! Noticing the sign to the cemetery – we diverted for a while to wander within, reading the headstone histories. Lea’s paused at this particular inscription...

Say a little prayer for me as you pass by
For as you are now, so once was I
As I am now, you’re sure to be
So say a little prayer for me.

A little jolt to the system, as this lady ‘passed on’ at the same age as Lea is now.

We moved on to Carmila beach, a sandy bush camp that implied it wasn’t suitable for big rigs. George walked through the multitude of campsites concealed within the dense coastal bush – there were enough caravans to suggest access and he found a risk free route to the closest clearing, mindful of Al Cushan’s recent mobile call to check we were staying clear of trees! We ended up in a lovely sunny spot although a couple of VW campers churned up the sand and dust alongside us when they got stuck- fortunately all hands turned out to push and free them up. We were back in the tropics –signs, ACHTUNG were evident once again as we walked the long, wild beach and eyed the deeply gouged out and winding estuary mouth for a “saltie”. Intentions to stay another night ended when we realised it was Monday- our favourite night of television with the ABC channel and signal was awful. (Yes! Yes! We hear Daniel and Justine’s voices ringing in our ears about being a “Stella”!) So we upped sticks and made for Mackay, unwittingly setting in motion ‘A Bad Day’. We got lost in the city; battled with the GPS giving us contradictory instructions; expensive caravan site with no power or water (Parks fully booked out for the Mackay Show); AND finally when our TV was up – BLANK! We questioned whether the TV was the problem after long storage, age etc. George promptly took it to an electronics man and we anxiously awaited a verdict. Resulting in a missed Monday of TV, after all that!

“Nothing found wrong with the TV” - George collected it before we pulled out of the caravan park, next day. As we moved on north, with minds on auto- electrics, we ended up passing ‘The Leap’ fifteen minutes outside Mackay that Lea had been keen to stop and see – a statue, in memory of an Aboriginal woman who threw herself and baby over the cliff, rather than hand her baby over to authorities. So too, we missed the turn west for 30 kms to see Dame Nellie Melba’s house and memorabilia. Even the turning to St Helens Camping Reserve slipped us as we came into Calen. This time, we were able to turn round. We regained our equilibrium in peacefully, pretty St Helens with its lawned area set within attractively tall paper bark trees giving open views of the bay with its large sand flats - a stop-over on the flyway for migratory birds. TV problem solved by replacing a blown fuse – happily, that’s all it cost.

Checking out a funky shoe tree on the shoreline of St Helens Beach.

Although a 3.5 metre tide is characteristic of the area we were still startled by the unexpected sound of waves slapping close by the next night. In the moonlight we surveyed the massive expanse of sand we’d had by day, now completely inundated and revelled in having a site that gave us the P Package – peaceful, private and picturesque! Returning to ‘Getaway’ soaked in contentment it was very disconcerting to find breaking news, the first political rumblings of a Prime Minister upheaval in Canberra. Lea was thunderstruck by this turn of events and sat waiting the outcome of a late night meeting. Nine o’clock next morning was set for a number crunch and Lea went to sleep hoping that Rudd’s Deputy would remain loyal despite pressure from Unions.

We departed St Helens for Airlie Beach with a deep sense of foreboding. Even the weather turned and we drove into Airlie beach in drizzle and thick cloud. Only when we were all set up in a caravan park did we turn on the TV and hear political commentators discussing the downfall of Prime Minister Rudd, as every channel awaited his final address. Lea wept for him, what an indictment against the Party that a mere three months of poor popularity polling had swiftly knocked a Prime Minister out of his position simply to ensure re-election at the upcoming elections. This was a man who had our vote for his compassionate and humanitarian resolve. We felt stunned. Our intention to look into a possible sailing excursion around the Whitsundays became a welcome distraction.

The Whitsundays consists of 74 islands located in the middle of The Great Barrier Reef. The choices were mind boggling that we needed to retire to our ‘van to weigh up the pros, cons and costs. Eventually settling on Hammer, to suit better weather forecasts for a two day, one night cruise. This 22.5 metre yacht is an ex Australian yachting legend best known for five consecutive placings in the Sydney to Hobart Race and at the end of her career she was refurbished with a comfortable saloon area and open plan accommodation. Therein lay the rub; the thought of 22 unknown folk on board plus the crew of three was a daunting prospect. However, when we walked the length of Airlie, to make our payment with Southern Cross Sailing Adventures we were advised that unless numbers increased prior to sailing – this scheduling would be cancelled. We were the only booking! We waited out the next 24 hours with bated breath as grey skies and squally rains kept coming but no phone call...

Relieved to wake to clear skies, we walked down to Abel Point Marina with our bag, water and ginger beer shandies, keen to see numbers... FOURTEEN – more relief! However, we were the oldest amongst young men and a couple, all well under half our age. Manifesto checked against our tickets, stinger suits handed out with warning “no suit- no swim” and aboard we went. On sighting the sleek narrow racing boat, Lea experienced further palpitations as there seemed no visible comforts; but HEY! We wanted a good taste of the Whitsundays and an overnight sailing was part of the experience. On booking, we had balked at paying the extra $50 per person for the only private cabin on board. Thank goodness we hadn’t as we were given it anyway. And, it certainly would have hurt paying an extra $100 for the dubious pleasure of a double bed that had no privacy what so ever! As we motored out of the harbour introductions and orientation took place. What a cosmopolitan bunch we were – four Americans, two Israeli, two Swiss, one South Korean, one German, the French couple from Normandy’s beautiful town of Le Havre and us - the mixed bred Aussies.

The crew, with help from our testosterone loaded numbers swiftly set sail and we were off, all perched precariously down the high side, making good time towards the biggest of the island masses- Whitsunday, passing the odd turtle raising a stretched neck to see,' who goes there'.

Lunch was served up unbelievably early so that on arrival at Tongue Bay no time would be wasted as the tender ferried us onto Whitsunday Island. Think we had been spoilt by the spectacular islands off Phuket, Thailand - as throughout the sail we didn’t see anything, particularly remarkable and on being told we were going to walk up to a “Look Out” – the third most photographed in Australia, we couldn’t help a silent ‘Yeah! Yeah! Not only was it good to stretch legs after hours of sitting so uncomfortably on deck, it proved an attractive walk upwards and across the ridge through the natural undergrowth although barely a glimpse of surrounding sea.

THUS nothing prepared us for the impact of Whitehaven beach with its silicon sands.
What a vision! Such incredible colours and designs of nature.
Unfortunately this photo hardly does justice.

Our Skipper timed our arrival beautifully with most of the madding crowd having been and gone thus we had much of Whitehaven beach to ourselves. Too cold for us to contemplate the water but the young bloods enjoyed that. The tide was going out fast and by the time we returned to Hammer – the tender battled to get us back that the second group had to retrace their steps to Whitehaven beach on the other side of the neck. Our delayed departure put us in late to the night stop slowed further by the drop in wind. No one complained with a vista of the sun going down just off the prow and a full moon rising over the stern and, closer to Hook Island we watched ‘whale spray’! How we longed for the whale to turn seawards, closer to us - it was not to be. From July the sailing boats guarantee good sightings of whales.

Tucked behind Hook Island for the night, a second moon rising was waited with many camera’s at the ready as the light heralded its coming over the neck. A chill set in and we all donned warmer gear and once the warming, tasty chicken casserole had been consumed everyone settled convivially around the deck well. We were particularly taken by the two Israeli guys- friendly towards us from the start but it has to be said that all those blokes were polite and decent ambassadors, doing their countries proud. Conversations ranged covering many of the headlines of past weeks – the shocking BP oil spillage, Israel’s sanction busting raid of Gaza ships to the ousting of a Prime Minister amidst lots of laughter as these travellers either were in the know or well and truly in the dark. Interesting was the discussions of mandatory military call-ups in the different countries. Finally, the moon took on a strange edge that steadily materialised into a bad moon rising or partial lunar eclipse that surprised us all.

A far from comfortable and most odd shaped sheet with pillow sewn within was our bedding. Fortunately George, being first to go to bed gathered up two little fleece throws, found stacked in the saloon/ galley, that helped keep us warm. Blurb said ‘overnight anchorage in smooth water would be pleasant for sleeping’ but the NOISE of the yacht was unbelievable – so much clanking and banging going on all around us especially from late night showering and the use of the two toilets, not to mention floor boards and close proximity of narrow bunk beds. Lea’s ‘blackies’ (eye shields) rescued a little of the night from lights, open hatches and general comings and goings as gentle rocking had people miss-step as they brushed past our heads to access the toilet a mere foot away from us. MERCY - we were grateful it was only ONE night we had to get through.

No eating or brushing of hair allowed for anyone below deck for fear of clogging the bilge pump! Life was lived on deck finding the sunniest spot.

Our overnight Bay was the first venue for snorkelling next day enabling breakfast to be a relaxed help-yourself, when you were ready affair. Entering the water in winter would not be on the agenda for Lea. As for George, somewhat perturbed about photographic evidence should he wear the lycra stinger-suit was put out of his quandary when Crewman Tom, inadvertently made the decision for George while issuing all the duty of care instructions and jokingly referred to necessary hand signals should someone have a retarded swimming style! With only one good arm, George not only had a queer style he’d find it impossible to signal back in the required manner. He took to the shore to explore while Lea moved up and down the coral enclave in the tender with Tom, feeding an array of fish rising to the surface with good sightings of Elvis, the resident large Blue Wrasse.

Daniel knows why George refused to wear a stinger-suit! These two most likeable Israelis happily modelled them before hitting the water. All the hunks found the water conditions freezing and were reluctant to snorkel at the second venue, until the male jeering began.

By day’s end we were happy to return to Airlie Beach and the most comfortable confines EVER, of Getaway! For George and particularly Lea, sitting on that hard deck and clambering around like rock spiders had taken its toll on our rear ends and spines. We were glad ‘we did it’ but in fairness that adventure is probably geared especially for the huge overseas backpacker market – it just happened to suit our pocket best. So too, it satisfied our curiosity.

Checking out places to ‘roost up’ failed to please or, as in the case of the Homehill comfort stop- there wasn’t a spare inch for us and we ended up in Townsville ahead of schedule. Same site fees but so contrasting ... the lovely setting yet totally rundown facilities in Airlie Beach (they are in the throes of closing down the Park and redeveloping as a Resort); to a Townsville Caravan Park that is beautifully maintained and well located for all our needs BUT over the fence from us the traffic hurtles along Harvey Range road creating horrific noises that sometimes we can’t hear ourselves speak. We’d paid for a week. Poste Restante had our new tow hitch part awaiting collection. George sorted the job out easily with a hacksaw. The microwave was taken in for a service check as when we do use it - ‘ERROR’ pops up on the dial, scary too was it unexpectedly starting up, of its own accord. We discovered it was cheaper and quicker to invest in a new brand. However finding one to fit the aperture proved well-nie impossible other than the Samsung brand we’d originally been fitted with. Fortunately, before we paid our money we spotted the manual of the new one read ‘not suitable for RV vehicles’ which shocked us and proved the tight space in Getaway does not have enough air circulating. Probably the very reason we grew concerned over the years! The laundry was done including winter sheets we no longer require- YAY!

Having been to Townsville twice before, we weren’t interested in coping with the beach scene during school holidays. The Museum of Tropical Queensland caught our eye, as one of its exhibits seemed to be a drawcard – the wreck of HMS Pandora. Free entertainment! We were wrong, it was bruising - even with our concession cards it cost more than a cinema ticket! Add that rampaging children seemed everywhere. Fortunately we didn’t suffer long as we were rapidly caught up in the annals of maritime history – money well spent for a most worthwhile four hours despite the busy place. Flickering recall of Captain William Bligh and Mutiny of the Bounty began to take a realistic shape out of memory and mythology of childhood books and film. HMS Pandora extended our knowledge, as this was the sailing ship sent from England to capture the infamous Bounty mutineers and search for Bounty. Timing, place and history all fell into rightful position as Pandora with 14 mutineers chained within a “box” on board, ran aground the Great Barrier Reef and sank 29 August 1791. Extracts of history engrossed us both. Lea’s thoughts, having been drawn to the surname Bryant (a cousin married a Bryant) was interrupted by a voice asking “Are you aware of Mary Bryant’s story?” This most interesting MTQ official or custodian, Mike began telling ‘Mary’s story’ when George joined us – Mike continued to open up a remarkable overview with unexpected snippets of information and history on the artefacts and reconstruction during the excavating of the wreck site which began in 1983. This was an added ‘bonus‘ to our day at the Museum.

Having grabbed a last opportunity of a 10c discount per litre off with a supermarket fuel coupon before we take the hinterland crossing into the woop-woop, we make final preparations for departure from Townsville on the 5 July! We will be travelling the less used route below the Gulf of Carpentaria as we make our way across to the Northern Territory.

Tramping tales for 17 April to 9 June 2010

Good fortune shone on our Family Reunion. The Red Shirt showdown with the Thai Government headlines raised alarm for our welfare amongst family and friends back home. Other than keeping a wary ear out for political information, we were untouched by the many skirmishes unravelling in Bangkok. As for the Icelandic ash clouds that led to Europe’s biggest shut-down of aviation since the Second World War, only Justine, Daniel and their trio were affected. They were grounded in Bangkok for a week, before Daniel was able to wangle a way to jump the queue home. Never easy saying good-bye, wondering when next we’d meet it certainly helped that we’d be joined in Perth by Saxon’s family following us a day later. A strong possibility of us caring for Ella and Finn in their Cape home, come September also existed.

Di and Peter Ryan collected us from Perth airport. We probably proved a distraction during their last twenty four hour state of uncertainty in flying to Europe, as they too, became victims of Eyjafjallajokul’s rolling clouds of debris engulfing Europe.

Des & Liz Lord made up for Di and Peter’s disappointment with a lovely evening aboard Figaro down at Fremantle, instead of Paris.

There was plenty to do as we hung about Perth awaiting the earliest date possible for George’s eye check with the specialist despite the booking being made in January. George’s list of “to do’s” all escalated into time consuming obstacles that gave George no end of grief, prompting him to question “WHY he was so prone to having to “suck the hind tit”! This caused great hilarity within the Gee household. Sure enough, his simple list all required major input before they were crossed off that it was as well we ended up being in Perth three weeks! Lea missed a photo opportunity when she held a ladies morning in the home of Eggy Boggs. Being house bound after knee surgery, Eggy was happy to enable Lea to catch up with friends in one place. Liz Lord, Ady Emmerson, Ros Richards and Jean Rogers all added to a pleasurable morning.

Lea’s penchant for breaking a tooth in the eleventh hour prior to travelling once again came to the fore. Fortunately Saxon’s dentist was able to fix it promptly and there was a sigh of relief all round.

Time is fleeting when we are caught up in the daily joys of Talia, Erin and Harley dog!

Our luggage was horrifically overweight for the flight to Brisbane that it was a relief to be met by Liz Vickery, taken to her home for the night before she settled us at a north bound train station. In an overladen state, our choice of a direct line fell apart on arrival. Swings and roundabouts... being a Sunday the rail was undergoing maintenance and we found ourselves being bussed part of the way; In Nambour a maxi-taxi fortuitously fronted the taxi rank and quickly whisked us to Woombye. Whew! We were ‘home’ safe and sound – or so we thought!

Woombye Caravan Park was in the midst of major reconstruction. We almost didn’t recognise the place. It had been closed to the public for months and heavy rains had magnified their problems. We had four hours of daylight to put our rig together and find a new campsite. First glance at Getaway took in the heavily perished, torn protective cover. Inside, the smell of mould with its coat of grey dust covered everything. High humidity mixed with Queensland’s heat and rain seemed to have taken more than the toll we’d expected. As George worked to get everything up and running – battling in vain to jump start Skiv let alone reset the three heavy deep cycle batteries back into Getaway, Lea was wiping down the mould with a packet of wet-ones only to discover a section of the ceiling with peeled fingers hanging like stalactites and large ants nesting amongst clothes in George’s cupboard. Our hearts dropped further as we fought a losing battle to get anything working. Finally recognising that we could go nowhere, even with the help of management, we settled for a very early night due to lack of electricity and slept anxiously with a dank smell pervading everything.

Vehicle batteries hadn’t charged overnight and a decision to replace with new was considered the better bet. Once they were in place Skiv, rearing to go enabled us to drag Getaway up the steep hill along to Prestige Caravan & RV Works. Under a team of willing workers, the day passed as a wide variety of problems, all based on different degrees of corrosion, came to light and were sorted. The panic we had felt over the ceiling was promptly alleviated on being told “surely our insurance would sort that out”. Why? Oh why, hadn’t we thought of that and saved ourselves a night of stress! With ‘Getaway’ back in working order we set off for Maroochydore feeling worn out. We settled in Cotton Tree Caravan Park, belonging to the council and therefore right next to the beach and the mouth of the river. A stone throw from all the shops too. As per usual, George connected up to power and water.... WATER! Lea’s yell to switch off the tap dumbfounded him momentarily and in that reaction time – a flood of rushing water made itself known as it poured from cupboards either side of the sink. A missing water purifying canister to blame! Recipe books and electrical items soaked... Once the mess had been cleared up we were too tired to care about dinner and shared the previous night’s remaining piece of chook! A good night’s sleep sorted us out. At first opportunity we were driven to check our computer worked...
Big Pond broadband Modem has been our most rewarding acquisition. Switching on our computer in ‘Getaway’ to send and receive e-mails, find information on the internet AND skype has given us no end of thrills. It has been a long time coming considering that before we even began our nomadic lifestyle we realized a basic level of communication in the form of internet and telephone access was an essential to our psychological well being. After three years on the road in ‘Getaway’ it has been achieved... NO more wasted time and energy searching for Internet Cafes. We revel in attaining this independence.

When the e-mail came in from Niassa, our problems paled into insignificance compared to Keith and Colleen’s -

“No real problems, just Niassa ones, giving a long slow start to our season... On arrival in the reserve we found termites had built a huge home in our storage house, we couldn’t even get through the door. On our first day driving in from Lichinga I ended up "bouncing" a buffalo off the road... fortunately no serious damage other than to the bull bar. Next, on my way to pick up Jomba & Pedro in Mecula a cow ran into the headlights. Then I found our wires were crossed with no-one waiting in Mecula! On our second day we left the camera vehicle behind (rear diff problem) and broke a rear axle stabilizer bar which led to me shearing the prop shaft in half about 1km from camp. We managed to walk the kids and some basic gear to camp, which was completely overgrown. Having been under water only our main roof was still standing. Had to carry all our fridges and first load of gear to camp the 3rd day and I then walked back to the village to find a lift back to Mbatamila. With no power to the rear diff (on my camera vehicle) it took us 12 hours instead of the usual 4 to get back down to the river. We've finally welded up the broken prop shaft as a temporary measure and replaced half shaft on my vehicle. Have spent the past ten days opening roads and rebuilding camp and soon head across to Pemba as Coll needs to fly up to Dar es Salaam for the Man-eating conference. All phone networks have been down in N-Moz too.”

Between the Insurance Assessor and the date for the work on Getaway’s roof to be carried out, the month of May passed. Living life within the arched Cotton trees (hibiscus) and paper barks was most pleasant with the shrill sounds of parakeets by day and bats by night. The many Ibis and bush turkeys that strutted around the park kept us entertained too. We were charmed by the hollow hoot of a bush turkey - Somewhat like a tug boat warning, that we found ourselves waiting expectantly for mahoota to signal the start of each day. George wasn’t at all certain about this ‘natural’ sound and in true form tracked it to the Paul’s milk van doing its park round!

Our roosting place over three weeks in Cotton Tree Caravan Park - we avoided the periphery and the madding crowds.

‘Waiting’ gave us the opportunity to accomplish jobs impossible to attend to while on the move. The caravan repair man put us on to Sonya-Marie Designs for roman blinds. Sonya came through, measured and made up two block-out roman blinds for our bedroom windows in record time, matching the seats beautifully, on memory alone. No more towels or tablecloths pegged to block out flashing lights or the moon through venetian blinds! After a trek around the many places selling roller blinds - none of which came close to our measurements and those boasting custom made service showed little or no interest that we were that close to giving up on replacing the broken venetian blind above the sink when Toni of Homemakers lifestyle came up trumps with a perfect Holland blind. All have given the inside of Getaway a face lift to suit milady.
Liz Vickery caught the train north to spend our first weekend with us. The habit of having a camera in hand seems to have fallen by the wayside. Drat! Again, a photo wasn’t recorded for posterity but we certainly enjoyed all her homemade biscuits in the weeks that followed. Solar panels gave rise to a conversation which in turn created a new friendship with Alson and Kerry Cushan. Having five sons scattered around Australia cut them free to become grey-nomads. We were sorry to see them move off to Bribie Island, but they popped into see us whenever they were in our area.

The long sweep of beach between Maroochy and Mooloolaba Rivers kept us well exercised and we particularly liked stopping at the Australian War Dogs Memorial in honour of the dogs that went on explosive detection duties in Vietnam, Solomon Islands and Papua New Guinea to name a few.

A co-incidental occurrence, given our interest in the War Dogs Memorial, was discovering by chance, a film on TV about a War Dog in Viet Nam - 4,500 dogs went and only 1 in ten returned! Strange how often something newly learnt leaps out with such frequency thereafter! After watching the film we felt a need to return to the Memorial, re-read the information and copy the poem -

Down jungle tracks through shot and shell
Ears pricked high, keen sense of smell
Our tracker dogs with care and poise
Alert to ambush, foreign noise
Never whimper, whine nor bark
Their service honoured with this plaque
No medals pinned to hairy chest
They stayed behind, they were the best.

No wonder all the other plaques commemorating War Dog duties in other countries emphasised “These dogs were not left behind”. Next time we pass this way a new plaque will be in place as the day we came to post our blog, over the Australian news came the sad announcement of two Brisbane soldiers and War dog Herbie - killed on their first tour of duty in Afghanistan by a remote controlled bomb.

We had anticipated a heavy financial month putting Skiv and Getaway back on the road after a long stand with servicing, new tyres and replacing blinds and totally restocking of groceries. The compounding effect of myriad unexpected expenses ending with Lea’s newly repaired tooth cracking... A crown was considered the better route to take. Looking on the brighter side she was fortunate to be squeezed in immediately and the work involved thoughtfully tied in with our remaining days. Not to mention the close proximity of the Dental Practice to the caravan park.

Australia’s biggest tea party took place on Thursday 27 May at 10a.m all round the country in aid of cancer. We joined the throng at Cotton Tree. In no hurry to join the teapot queue thus missing out on cream scones and cakes it was all the more maddening for Lea to put her back out, simply rising from her chair. This knocked her flat and made life difficult for over a week.

31st May we returned Getaway into the very busy yet ready and waiting hands of Prestige Caravan & RV Works in Forest Glen. Impressive how Gary and his men helpfully fit around passing trade and yet manage to complete appointed work. We met Leo & Barbara with a motor home loo problem that no one on the Gold Coast or Brisbane area would even “look-at”. Yet Gary sorted them out quickly and easily. We booked into Buderim Motor Inn for the week. The only place we found to fit under the Insurance accommodation budget (since Getaway is our home). Breakfast of tea, toast & juice was included in the price thus we were able to order a simple plate dinner each night and still come out on insurance, which helped us. As it turned out “Getaway’ wasn’t to be ready in a working week and we had to spend another six nights in the motel, by then supermarket frozen meals were preferable and less than half the price!

“Getaway” undergoing major surgery to her roof! We had no idea it would be so extensive

6 June was not only our Kiki’s fifth birthday it was Queensland Day and the State celebrated by welcoming one of their own, the amazingly plucky Jessica Watson truly “home”. She sailed The Pink Lady into home town Mooloolaba, along a coast crowded with folk wearing pink and masses of pink balloons and banners after her record breaking ‘youngest to sail around the world’ (aged sixteen) journey. We had every intention of joining the throng until we heard of road closures and decided it was easier to watch it all on TV.

Whenever we get to thinking that rolling stones don’t gather moss we find a gem! We met up for an ‘au revoir’ coffee with Kerry & Al Cushan and their friends Jo & Graham from Gunnedah, NSW, in Nambour. Jo took the photo of the four of us in haste to avoid the shoppers so a bit blurred.

We post this blog on the eve of our ‘last sleep’ in the motel and look forward to heading North in the morning...

Tramping tales for April 2010

A Pictorial Review of the Begg Family Reunion:

6 -16 April

Colleen first muted the idea of a family reunion to bring together our far flung families which was followed by three years of planning orchestrated by Saxon to bring it to reality. She finally managed to whittle down a venue to Bangtao Beach Resort, Phuket Island, Thailand. Such high hopes and expectations for the gathering of our clan of 15 evoked all kinds of agitations about the two matching up happily but no matter what, it would unfold...

Here, follows pictorial evidence of a sublime time

BEGG-INGS ... Together for the first time in over 14 years...

Prospective ‘artistes’ within our family made themselves known as they took to the stage on the first night.

Celebrating the First Birthday of Erin Ashley, our youngest grandchild.
Her Mum, Saxon, provided a sea themed party in her inimitable style that went down well with all the Begg cousins.

Steamy conditions prevailed and natural gatherings took place within the many pools of the resort.



Long-tail boats tied up in the bay captured the men’s attention... Cutting a “deal” for an early morning snorkelling trip to test out George’s underwater camera just added to their fun. Otto was delighted to be included in men’s business!

Wild Kids – naturally many moments of joie de vivre arose...
This one was captured on camera!

Out running on the beach, Dan came across a baby elephant.
Talia was the only little one brave enough to ride Nina.

Roo thoroughly enjoyed Nina’s friendly throttle while Otto keenly checked out the inside of an elephant’s mouth!

Keith struck a ‘family deal’ for a day out to James Bond Island, the location where ‘The man with the Golden Gun’ was filmed. From the moment we arrived at Ao Por Pier our every need was attended to by Ali Baba and his small crew aboard the large speed boat that was to whisk us round Phang Nga Bay with its extraordinary limestone stacked islands.

This boarding party had no idea what a perfectly wonderful day Medsye travel and tours would give them within magnificent Phang Nga Bay.

Exploring islands with wonderful caves formations and scenic lookouts; drifting alongside rocky cliffs with our skilled pilot gently nosing our speedboat through a perilously narrow opening, massive outboard motors revving furiously, to enter hidden sink holes surrounded by lofty limestone walls. Later, a very slick and professional company of canoeists at Talu Island gave us a close up and personal view of limestone overhangs that required us lying flat to squeeze beneath only to find ourselves within an enormous hollow amidst a mangrove forest as the tide was waning, enabling us to observe the mud skippers that abounded. An adventure enjoyed by all.

Intrepid little explorers with their grandparents!

A team photo as we awaited our speedboat to reverse in and collect us.

The excellent lunch served up to us in fine surrounds at the floating village of Pan Yee, inhabited by a Muslim community was an eye opener as they efficiently provided meals for hundreds of people simultaneously in the segmented eating houses. Keith began feeling guilty for driving such a hard bargain over this first class day that involved so many people!
The heat of the day was searing and we certainly appreciated being given the afternoon to relax on the beach of Lawa Island where we wallowed around in the sea before it was time to head back to Por Pier while feasting on freshly cut fruits.

Breakfasts and early dinners were the best social times with our age ranged grandchildren... The Thai people were very hospitable and thoughtful no matter where our big mob went. We never had a bad meal either.

Eight miles of beach stretched round Bangtoa Bay with eating places dotted along. We found these informal sandy dining spots perfect for the children rather than our hotel dining room. Sea Sea Restaurant became a favourite!

New dresses to see in Songkran!
Grace and Lily had joined our merry throng. Their parents, Melbourneans Adam and Laura and little baby Mia congregated around the paddling pool with us each day. Adam, a pilot for Air Emirates always had an amusing phrase amidst his chatter.

Songkran or Thai New Year is spread over the 12-14 April. Being an especially hot month with high temperatures and humidity is most appropriately celebrated with WATER. Our hotel set the scene with a drum parade through the grounds and gorgeous Thai girls flicking water blessing and daubing faces with talc powder paste which ended in a free for all in the swimming pools. Water guns added to the delight of the adults and children alike. Out on the streets we immediately found ourselves swept up in an exuberant afternoon of water throwing. Passing motor bikes and cars fair game – certainly a fun filled way to keep cool and enjoy the festivities and yet underlying it all was a modicum of respect for everyone. A boisterous New Year’s Eve nothing like our Western equivalent booze fuelled celebrations. Otto and Roo particularly enjoyed the Highway Holdup outside Nok & Joe, a delightful fusion of Thai and Canadian cultures that we used beautifully crafted driftwood chairs as a safety fence from the road and its ensuing high jinks to protect our small folk and stayed for dinner.
The previous evening, grandparents had kept guard over sleeping kid-lets in the hotel while their parents set off for a late night dinner in Patong and the keen to find the famous markets. Disappointingly the markets had closed while they were dining but they’d arrived home pretty damp from early “blessings”! Dan, Paul and Keith bubbling about “being prepared next time”...

Late New Years Eve, Dan drove the trio plus Gran and Grandad into Patong. Only in Thailand, thank goodness, is it possible for such hilarity to arise from the drive by shooting of unsuspecting passengers in vehicles, buses, motorbikes and pedestrians with bursts of icy-water! Candid camera would hardly match the giggles that filled our car after each surprised shriek of shock. The crowded Bangla Road, in Patong, was awash with good humour and water that we happily walked its length many times while Dan and Paul thrilled to the chase with their brightly coloured plastic machine guns. This was adult kid’s stuff at its best!

“Whoever wants to make merry, does so; whoever wants to laugh, does so”
Our men on a mission down Bangla Road!

Ella’s Third Birthday was delightfully celebrated with a morning out at “Siam Safari”. Thanks to Adam warning us not to take the half day safari Keith negotiated a personalised trip to watch the young elephant and monkey training shows with a ride in a buffalo cart only. This worked PERFECTLY!
That afternoon the party continued with icy fruit shakes and a ‘Noddy’ birthday cake.

Volley ball matches took a natural split of the Poms against the Afs!

Words cannot do justice to moments like this. Our last night- the sunset was mesmerising when unexpectedly, a large elephant materialised through the gloaming. Keith shot out of his chair to bring Ella’s wish to fruition- a ride on an elephant!

Our sky lantern being prepared with all our wishes aboard to repeat this gathering somewhere in the world to equal this...
Plus an extra measure of love added for the ancestors watching from above.

“Our best seeds and our dearest fields – Those are our children”