Tramping tales for May 2014

Rain played havoc with our plans... or did the bread begin about the change in plans?   Augusta Woolies had run out of our bread flour and we decided to spend the weekend down the eastern side of the Eyre Peninsula. This was further justified when SKV’s service required a part unavailable in the workshop. If the order was received by Monday the service provider was able to squeeze us in otherwise no appointments were available until well after mid May. A horrifying thought and basically impossible for us! We didn’t mind small delays in our departure for the north as heavy rainfalls over the last couple of weeks have closed roads we planned to take. Small date deferrals gave us hope the sun would dry them during the days ahead. Weighing up costs we decided to stay put in Port Augusta. Extra time at the crossroads of Australia gave us the incentive to walk the perimeter of this pretty town set at the head of the Spencer Gulf. From the bridge crossing the upper reaches of the gulf we have always admired the picturesque wooden wharf dating back to the 1800’s, edging a town that once was a thriving port and centre for pastoral industries. It reminds us of the wooden wharf in Jacksonville, Florida. Shoreline Caravan Park where we always like to stay gives pleasant walks along the tidal inlet that stretches on beyond the town. It appears like a river mouth yet that, it is not. Aside from the heavy vehicle traffic en route through Port Augusta there is also a busy railhead. The Indo Pacific and Ghan railway lines meet here on their east/west or north/south journeys.  Trains carrying coal from Leigh Creek to the important South Australia Power station on the east side of Port Augusta, add regular shunting movements on the opposite bank from the caravan park in a surprisingly quiet manner. Our week in Port Augusta, the last major commerce centre in the region,  showed us a different face to the usual one seen by travelling public stopping overnight in readiness for the long road west or north.

When sun broke briefly through the rain clouds we broke free of Getaway’s confined space. Most worthy of mention was our visit to the Australian Arid Lands Botanic Garden – a 250 ha tract of scrubland beside the  upper reaches of the Spencer Gulf which, since 1993, has been devoted to the conservation and promotion of Australia’s arid zone flora. Commanding superb views of the Flinders Ranges and containing an extensive network of meandering walking trails filled with the most extraordinary array of native plants, we thoroughly enjoyed what was a very informative experience.  From the Matthew Flinders Lookout above distinctive Red Banks similar to those along the Murray River, we looked down the gulf towards our caravan park and Port Augusta.

We bought a 12L Multi–function Convection Oven from Cheap as Chips all thanks to two different young butchers in two different vicinities raving about the oven in the “master’s ear”!  Never mind, sister Shell, Amanda, Di Ryan et al had all talked up this versatile and small oven over past years. In all conscience, Lea has to add that until she personally evaluates the worthiness of a product – she is very rarely prepared to buy on hearsay. However, when a catchy shop name stays in George’s brain and the hardware shop he requires to fix a broken drawer - comes to be across the road from Cheap as Chips – fate takes a firm hand!  There is definitely truth to the aphorism: the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach... talk of crispy roast chicken and pork roasts was just too much for George and out we walked with a box!  A quick stop at the supermarket for a fresh chicken for testing purposes that very night passed with flying colours as did the pork shank (it started the whole thing rolling!) the following night. Orange poppy seed muffins further increased the value of the oven.  Microwave having broken the rails of the drawer with its weight was relegated to a spot under the bed and ‘oven’ given pride of place in the safety of the newly repaired drawer.

Thankfully SKV was sorted on the Monday afternoon and we were A for Away northwards the very next day.  We stopped at Monalena Lagoon Rest Area 102km along the Stuart Highway for our first night. This was a lovely spot full of Myall trees which have certainly taken our fancy since our visit to Port Augusta’s Botanical gardens, where this Western Myall was chosen as it’s symbolic emblem.  It is a long lived and distinctive tree found in arid salt bush and bluebush country and we had enjoyed looking out at the strange and shattered forms of the Western Myall as we travelled this very same terrain. It is a tree that relies totally on seed reproduction which may occur only four to five times during a century depending on prevailing weather cycles. Its longevity and survival was never at risk until European settlement came along with its land clearance and concentrated grazing by rabbits, sheep and kangaroo which further suppressed its very limited seed growth. George recalled his friend Ken Tinley having to conduct a field assessment 3 years ago and identifying many areas of Myall dying from soil drought. The topsoils had been stripped off by sheet erosion in heavily grazed areas. This had rendered the stressed trees prone to infestation of white fly and in cases where the main lateral roots had become exposed, to crown die back. The trees we saw however were completely dead so something else must account for it. 

 

Monalena Rest Area: Interesting is the tendency of the multi stemmed form of mature aged Myall trees to collapse outwards with the sheer weight of its limbs and die.  

Heading into the interior we had expected big sky country to be all blue above with red and grey flattening out below. Instead, thick grey clouds scudded across the skies. Early and unusually high rainfalls have totally transformed the landscape into a carpet of green in every direction over the past many weeks and travelling up the normally arid Stuart Highway was no different; the soft greens transfused the red or stony gibber plains and our journeying became a more pleasurable view-shed. The ghastly Woomera as a Detention Centre had besmirched our first visit in 2006. This time round, it took on a far kindlier face and we pulled into the town to enjoy a more preferable facet of its history. Back in 1947, Len Beadell and his small team of men and a dog was given the responsibility of preparing a Top Secret site with a network of roads within a demarcated range in readiness for a new, Top Secret Military ‘No – Go’ town relating to a joint British/Australian project to develop and test experimental armaments. It was aptly given the name Woomera after the Aboriginal throwing stick used for propelling a dart or spear. Coming across the Great Central Road last year we’d intersected a couple of Len Beadell’s famous inland tracks, stopped at some of his historical plaques and visited the Giles Weather Station where his trusty bulldozer has been   safely archived after creating 6,500 kms track through the most formidable terrain. In following up on his story we had to revisit Woomera. 

 

An extensive showground was given over to the experimental rockets, weapons, missiles and jets as well as rocket debris recovered from the deserts in honour of Woomera’s National Heritage.

Aside from the learning about the town, its extensive rocket tracking routes and discovering that it was from here Australia launched its own satellite; the 4^th country in the world to do so- we met up with a couple of members of the Ulysses Club and discovered why the Stuart Highway was buzzing with motor bikes.  They were all on their way to Alice Springs to attend the Ulysses AGM from the 12-18^th May. Over 4,000 members from all over the country were estimated to attend. Mostly grey-headed and bearded their motto is “growing old disgracefully’ which rather intimates bad behaviour and they are far from that – better would be growing old adventurously! Throughout our days on the Stuart Highway we’d have small groups whizzing past us with a friendly wave. They brought good business to roadhouses and towns all along the way. Awaiting the ferry crossing from Tasmania in 2012, a beautifully made trailer being towed behind a motorbike drew huge attention. Self made the owner was happy to show it off - two years down the line trailers have become commonplace and opened up a huge market within the biking fraternity, giving them more comfort than a pup-tent or swag on the ground.

The nifty trailers that opened into tented beds for Ulysses travellers. Some stayed in the same bush camps as us, others in the same caravan parks.

Leaving Woomera, it seemed appropriate to spend the night at Lake Hart. More normally it is a dry expansive salt lake, used in bygone days as the Woomera launching pad for some of the large rockets. We took up a pleasing spot overlooking the lake with its sheet of shallow salty water.  On our evening walk along the lake edge we came across a large mound of salt that appeared to have been harvested and then abandoned to solidify into a hard rock-like form.

 

We spent the next night in the Ingomar Rest Area – it was the last one before Coober Pedy and it was to be the most unattractive area throughout our trip up the Stuart Highway. As is our habit, we travel in easy stages stopping before lunch to take advantage of the best sites available and position ourselves comfortably. Over the lunch hour the passing traffic stopped by but didn’t stay – put off no doubt by the noisy removal of concrete litter bins by Transport SA who have gone to a lot of trouble to construct six major and 18 minor rest areas to provide the travelling public with convenience and service in the form of picnic shelters, rainwater tanks and interpretive displays and the concrete bins! Unfortunately human nature being what it is there are always the few unthinking travellers who find a bin full and discard their bags beside it. Birds soon rip them open and rubbish blows in the next breeze to entangle itself along the boundary fences.  A real eyesore!  Ingomar Rest Area was a perfect example of this and Transport SA arrived soon after us, to try a new remedy. They loaded all the litter bins onto their truck with a fork lift and replaced them with a large skip.  All the noise and movement taking place around us pushed travellers on and we found ourselves the only inmates for the night. Ingomar still fell within the Woomera Prohibited Area and with all the fencing there was nowhere to walk and by evening a drizzle had set in.

Throughout the night rain was to fall and it seemed set to stay that it chased us into Coober Pedy Caravan Park. The town roads were awash with red mud and water as we rolled in and the last downpour of the day moved on east.  Once we’d set up in our caravan site and dressed warmly we set off to walk town. On our first visit to the Opal capital of the world it had been so hot and dry that we’d happily sought brief refuge in the underground Radeka Downunder Motel connecting to internet for mail before visiting St Peter and Paul’s Catholic church underground and getting out of town swiftly.  What a difference the rain made! While we were in Burra, a month ago Coober Pedy had received its annual rainfall in one single event, flooding out all the mining pits in the area. Although we stepped warily along newly muddied paths the town we recalled with its thick coating of red dust, grime and scruffiness befitting a remote laid back community appeared to have undergone a ‘facelift’. It had a   clean look about it and the few trees, so carefully hand reared added their fresh, green welcome touch. We certainly didn’t remember the Desert Cave Hotel elevating itself above the other buildings to provide a modern architecture and change in status to Coober Pedy. Josephine’s Gallery caught our attention with a sign giving feeding times for orphan kangaroos. We were just in time for the midday feed and we scuttled in fast. Too wet and muddy to go into the orphanage however, Terry (Josephine’s husband) is responsible for the day shift feeding schedule and he brought out the only baby in the nursery at present. ‘Brook’ was brought in on Good Friday after her mother slammed into the tow bar of a truck travelling a dirt road and killed herself. Lea can never get enough of these ‘rescue units’ observing the dedicated service given the Joey’s and hearing there are folk who check dead roo’s for young. Her concern, heaven forbid we should hit a kangaroo let alone come across an injured one, is WHAT TO DO? Terry produced their pamphlet “How to Rescue a Joey Kangaroo”. This proved to be a real eye opener and has been safely kept in the caravan for any eventuality.

Before checking roadkill there are 3 things to remember SAFETY, SAFETY, SAFETY!   

Now     

• ·        Pull the dead animal away from the road
• ·        Check whether it is male or female
• ·        A joey in the pouch is usually visible unless it is very small. Place your hand over any lump you may see within the pouch and gently feel.
• ·        When removing the joey from the pouch remember it may have sustained injuries unseen so be very careful as kangaroos rarely show pain.
• ·        If the joey is still suckling on the teat- Do not pull it off. If it is a furred joey, gently ease it off the teat
• ·        If it is a pinky – furless joey: cut the pouch open down the side from inside very carefully so as not to cut the joey. Cut the teat off at the base with scissors and tie off that end with string, shoelace or even a safety pin to pin it to whatever you are going to wrap the joey in. Do not pull the teat out of the joey’s mouth.
• ·        Gently wrap the joey in something soft (tea towel, t-shirt or pillow case) It is important to keep the joey warm but not overheated.
• ·        COLD is the biggest killer at this stage so the best place could be down your shirt or jumper.
• ·        Make sure radio is turned off and keep the joey in a quiet, dark and warm environment.
• ·        Do not try to feed the joey as it is very easy to drown them if you force feed.
• ·        If you are concerned the joey is dehydrated because mother has been dead for some time – Wet your finger with a little water or any sports drink (Powerade, Gatorade etc) and dribble over their lips every 20 -30 minutes.
• ·        Stop at the next town, roadhouse or Police Station and ask for the local wildlife carer. 

Coober Pedy surrounded for in all directions by thousands of mullock heaps thanks to the human termites that spend their lives burrowing into the earth seeking the illusive wealth of ‘painted ladies’ and black, reds and harlequins while making a living out of ‘potch’.  Australia supplies 95% of the world’s commercial opal and the largest percentage comes from the fields around Coober Pedy. A mining operation set in motion after a 14 year old boy found pieces of surface opal while his father’s syndicate were searching for gold. William, if we recall correctly was never to realise how significant his ‘find’ was as he drowned a few years later. We happened to stop at a grave during our peregrinations with Paula last year while seeking Kidman’s Tree in outback QLD and discovered the grave belonged to this same young William Hutchinson who’d taken a swim in the river while droving cattle and inexplicably drowned. Coober Pedy is a harsh environment and water was always a big problem. Today water is piped in from a distance of 24kms. Pumped from underground, its source being the Great Artesian Basin, it is then filtered by reverse osmosis. We had no access to piped water in the caravan park. Showers were metered with 20c pieces and to refill our caravan tanks we pulled in at a 24 hour Filling Station rather like fuel service – the water pumps worked on a 15minute cycle and you paid 20c for thirty litres. We were lucky the caravan before us deposited a $2 coin and as no change was given, we were able to fill our tanks at his expense and still leave ‘free water’ for the next in line. We thought this was a very good and reasonable system, fully justified. Pity, we don’t have more of these conveniences elsewhere, instead we have to cope with highly mineralised bore water or the sediment laden waters of the Murray. Our water tanks require a good flushing as we suspect movement resuspends traces of silt dating back to a caravan park along the Murray when we unwittingly refilled there. 

      

Blue skies, we continued north through the green surrounds of the Mullock fields to Matheson’s Bore – a good rest area on the same side as the railway line and we enjoyed a good walk down the line noticing a number of borrow-pits where fill had been taken to raise the rail line above ground level. Plenty of animal tracks in the red sands but the only sign of life was a little inchworm. During the night we heard dingo’s yelping though. Another blue sky day had us up and away early next morning for Cadney Roadhouse where George enquired about the road to the Painted Desert and on through to Oodnadatta. Open to 4WD but far too sticky for caravans; we signed into the caravan park, unhitched and away we went east on our little adventure. The deep muddy ruts we’d been warned about were beginning to dry out well and the landscape around us had George stopping often for photos as we followed the red gash taking us through remote stations, gibber plains and across attractive stony creek beds to the Arckaringa Hills and the Painted Desert. In the midst of admiring the views and keeping a watchful eye on the road conditions we were somewhat thrown to hear a jingle of music. No mobile network service or radio stations for days on end we were somewhat bemused to receive an alert from Telstra - a Mother’s Day reminder! At least we realised it was a Sunday way out here...  Eighty kms down the track we approached the Arckaringa Hills and pulled to the side to allow a large party of ‘Tagalongs” depart the parking area freeing it up for us.  It had been well worthwhile trip to reach this multi-coloured and eroded moonscape of unusually shaped hills with panoramic views across the desert- The flush of green vegetation had brought out locusts and as we wandered through the hills that reminded us of Cappadocia, Turkey we spied kestrels riding the updrafts and swooping down to feed on these locusts we presumed, by their aerobatics. 

  

We loved our slow wander up the Stuart Highway and although we were disappointed not to take the Oodnadatta loop we hope there will be a next time. Our last night in South Australia was spent on Agnes Creek and we left with a new respect and liking for this State where we have spent almost five months. After the pay-back problems that arose from our trek across the Great Central Road in April 2013, we’d been forced to postpone a visit to the Geographical Centre of Australia, also known as Lambert’s Centre, until we returned to this region of central Australia a year later. Part of a bicentennial project, undertaken by the Royal Geographical Society of Queensland in 1988, the idea of locating the Geographical Centre of Australia was accomplished with the aid of a computer calculating where the centre point lay from 24,417 points, each about 800m apart around the coastline of the continent. The “magic spot” was found to lie at latitude 25 deg 36 min 36.4 sec South; longitude 134 deg 21min 17.3 sec East. In 1994, a 5m high replica of the flagpole on the National Parliament Building in Canberra was installed to mark the centre and named after Dr Bruce Lambert, who had been a prominent figure in surveying and mapping Australia. A year had turned over and hopefully we’d reach our two specific destinations - 13^th May 2014. On reaching the South Australia/Northern Territory State border we immediately kept eyes peeled for any sign to The Johnston Geodetic Centre shown to lie not far from the border and just off the Stuart Highway on our map. It was the ‘unknown’ of the two ‘Centres’ we were determined to visit and learn more about. No signs indicating its whereabouts materialised as we crept along the road and we were soon in Kulgera. We called in at the Police station to enquire about it only to encounter a newly posted policeman who knew nothing about either of the Centres or the state of roads! He suggested we ‘Google’ not realising that we’d had no communications whatsoever since Coober Pedy! Kulgera Caravan Park was under new management and he knew ‘nothing’ either!  We unhitched and headed into the “woop- woop” following the old Goyder stock route (now a dusty gravel road) towards Finke, a remote Aboriginal settlement on the periphery of the Simpson Desert, 335km east of Uluru. Some 123km from Kulgera we came across the turn-off to the Centre. It lay at the end of thickly sanded, badly corrugated and rutted tracks that rather confusedly looped back and forth between the red residual dunes of the Simpson Desert. 

A ‘selfie’ under the flagpole exactly as described in books except a torn, tattered and weather beaten   Australian flag hung forlornly from its post.

In the middle of nowhere having not seen a single soul coming or going and feeling a bit like a mad twitcher – ticking off an item on a list; we were glad to find this spot recorded as the Geographical Centre of Australia because one source of reference we’d read beforehand led us to believe the object of the exercise had been to locate the Centre of Gravity! We could not imagine anyone, let alone the Royal Geographical Society of Queensland, setting out on such a pointless exercise knowing full well that the thickness of the crust, the distribution of weight, the distortions of gravity and the continent’s surface were all unknowns. In any event who on earth would want to know where, if suspended, the continent of Australia would be in perfect equilibrium? Overlooking this centre of attention we ate lunch inside SKV unwilling to share it with the flies before returning to Kulgera – mission 1 accomplished!  Regarding The Johnston Geodetic Centre – that too will have to wait another day...

A night was spent in the very popular Desert Oaks Rest Area – probably because of its good location to the road out to Kings Canyon and Uluru. Fortunately, as is our habit, we arrived early in the day to choose a site amongst the rolling red dunes and another very attractive tree related to casuarinas – the Desert Oak with its ‘weeping’ foliage. At evening time we walked out into the dunes and discovered a myriad of tiny blue butterflies. George had pointed out the tiny insect in the Arid Botanic Gardens, difficult to notice with its wings closed on host plants. Once conscious of their presence we saw them everywhere...

Of course we had to spend a night overlooking the oldest river in the world! Not sure how Scientists establish that; although an important factor seems to be that the Finke River has followed its present course for fifteen to twenty million years and the same general path for a hundred million years.

Finke River rises in the far West MacDonnell Range and disappears into the Simpson Desert.

Our next stop was Stuart’s Well Roadhouse and we were relieved to find a washing machine and get the laundry out of the way before making another red gash dash on the east side of Stuart Highway along brain shaking, ear bashing corrugations to visit Rainbow Valley Conservation Park. Contrasting the red, dusty track splitting the countryside was the fine green carpet below mulga trees and shrubbery, giving an unexpected park-like appearance.

Rainbow Valley gave us free standing scenic sandstone bluffs and cliffs that form part of the James Range. Sunrise and sunset highlights the rainbow-like rock bands hence its name.

A pretty hot afternoon, nevertheless we took the two walking tracks in this carefully protected Conservation Reserve. First one took us along the perimeter of the clay pan that extends below the cliffs and we were delighted to find a shallow sheet of water at the far end with a heron and some little waders high stepping around while on land an explosion of wild flowers and insect life also captured our attention. The tiny ‘Blue’ butterflies were out in force again as were creamy moths with speckled wings. The other track took us through the valley to Mushroom Rock. The weathering and erosion responsible for the valley shape had also sculptured wonderful Wurre formations, rock faces and squared towers for us to marvel at from the honeycombed plastic walkway through the dunes.  Back at Stuarts Well the inside door handle broke in George’s hands leaving him imprisoned until his wife returned from her shower.  Just as well it had not occurred with both of us inside, in a lonely location!  After many efforts to repair the handle George had to resort to using a pair of pliers for the next two weeks until Getaway received a scheduled service.

It was well overdue to replenish fresh foods and we decided to try out a caravan park close to Heavitree Gap in the Eastern MacDonnell Range not only because it was well situated to the Ross Highway that would take us east of Alice Springs; it was in the vicinity of the Transport Hall of Fame we were most keen to visit and it was an easy trip into Alice for fuel and fresh supplies. Lea was beginning to suffer severe withdrawal symptoms due to lack of emails, TV and radio news after two weeks without signal. Despite being very busy for an unexpectedly early start to the winter season the reception we received at G’Day Mate Caravan Park on the southern outskirts of Alice Springs was welcoming and hands on by Alan. Close to the famous Todd River with its dry bed and gums giving shade to the clusters of Aboriginals that gather there – we were able to enjoy evening walks along this stretch.

The Transport Hall of Fame outside Alice had been earmarked in red on our calendar ever since our stay at MT Carbine after reading the book “Toots” Woman in a Man’s World prior to our Cape York adventure last year. Toots was the remarkable lady truckie who had serviced the peninsula through thick and thin; 50 trips a year over twenty five years until she was accidentally killed in Weipa. The last chapter in the book of her life had indicated that her aging 25.280 M.A.N. diesel truck had been restored and relocated to Alice’s Hall of Fame and we had been keen to pay our respects when we next came Alice way. 

We searched high and low within the massive  grounds of the Transport Hall of Fame; asked all the volunteers but sadly, no one knew the whereabouts of Old Girl

Although we failed in locating Old Girl, the M.A.N truck our visit was certainly not wasted. We found a photo of ‘Toots’ Holtzhiemer hanging on the Wall of Fame and learned about many more wonderful characters in the trucking industry and walked ourselves to a standstill amongst the first 1934 AEC Government Road Train; the famous Bertha a 1942 Diamond T 980 and another whole showroom museum dedicated to Kenworth Mack Trucks right up to a brand spanking new 2013 Kenworth. These wonderful mean machines plying the road scare the hell out of us just with their colossal ‘horse’ bearing down on us, let alone the trailer lengths. Inside the cab it was state of the art for the driver of these monsters. We also delighted in coming across three vintage motor bikes on display one of which was an old Indian. Paul, our son-in-law had bought George the book not only because we’d raved about a film in which a New Zealander participated in speed racing an Indian over in the USA but because it was written by a Queenslander named George Begg! Most of the visitors to the Transport Museum that day were Ulysses Club members and we found a group amongst the ancient iron steeds having the workings of an acetylene powered headlight, explained to them by an old fella member. He was happy to describe it all over again for us.

A glorious sunset had us stay yet another day at G’day Mate enabling Lea to watch her favourite Monday night TV!

Winter has been left behind along the road somewhere and having caught up on the world outside us; we departed east along the Ross Highway to explore an area that had caught George’s fancy through an article in Caravan World entitled East of Alice; described as an overlooked region as most visitors focus on Ayers Rock and the West MacDonnell Ranges when visiting the Red Centre.  Our tarred road took us out alongside the most scenically and geologically attractive East MacDonnell Range past Emily Gap and we stopped for a walk through the pretty creek and gorge that makes up Jessie Gap within the Emily and Jessie Conservation Park. Another stop took place at Corroboree Rock further along our route and we had just as much pleasure walking the surrounds of this significant cultural rock formation for the Arrernte Aboriginal people.  What appeared to be a round prominent outcrop actually turned out to be a deceivingly narrow, hand shaped feature. Arriving at our destination – Trephina Gorge and the campsite we knew immediately we’d reached a special place surrounded as we were, by enormous rugged cliffs glowing red in the sunlight. We immediately signed in for two nights- Honesty Box system. Wonderful walks were available although we were only to do two – the rim track twice (not because of Lea’s Leap) rather, it commanded such wonderful vistas. To explain Lea’s Leap; the first day we did this walk the sun was absolutely blinding, even with dark glasses, cupped hand over eyes  as we walked up the steep platform of rock to the gorge rim. With George stopping for photos Lea led the way with head well down watching her footfall. On noticing the next tuft of grass was well below the inclined rock face – she was horrified to look up and see a treacherous drop- who would believe death by misadventure but it was unnervingly close!  Inspired by an artist we spotted parked along the road painting with acrylics; George took out his watercolours and went up to the Trephina Gorge rim the following afternoon to paint.

The next morning we set off to explore the N’Dhala Gorge Nature Park as it was a deemed 4WD high clearance track only. 8kms beyond the Ross River Station Resort it made for a most interesting drive with four or five crossings of the Ross River. At the first, we came across a fairly shallow pond of water that we could virtually skirt around.  Expecting much the same at the next crossing gave rise to a change in Lea’s heart beat when the waves of water built up in front of SKV bonnet and washed scarily outwards reminding her of an incident in Botswana when our Land-rover stalled in deep water. All was well, George drove SKV across with no problem yet Lea’s nerves still built up for the return and of course it was needless. The rest were dry sandy beds of no concern to SKV, and we were able to peer along the avenues of red river gum that lined the banks. Weaving through the red quartzitic sandstone mountains and cliffs with folded rock strata added different aspects of interest. As for lovely, lovely N’Dhala Gorge with unusual rock formations; plenty of Aboriginal petroglyphs engraved into huge slabs of rock; a pocket of rare Undoolya wattle (only found in a few spots in the East MacDonnell Range) sadly, this pocket looked dead after being ravaged by fire. And, as we walked the very rocky creek bed, tiny frogs approximately the size of a thumbnail, leapt into or out of hiding like a miniature biblical plague of frogs! Hmm- interesting: the health of a river system can be judged by its frogs.

On our return to Trephina Gorge campsite we took another 4WD high clearance track to John Hayes Waterhole.

Mama Mia! Mercy me... now this was a track and a half – fortunately only 4kms in distance and that was enough. Probably spectacular in the Wet; the waterhole had shrunk to a size enabling any creature out there a sip of life.

We met the plucky artist we’d seen along the main road about to head into John Hayes Waterhole and we warned her that the track followed a rocky creek bed for a good part of the way and it wasn’t worth hurting her Subaru.  A final stop before reaching our campground took us to see a State registered Ghost Gum of significance.  Over three hundred years old and thirty metres high we had to admire this beauty with its silvery white tree trunk in stark contrast to the deep blue sky and red bluff behind it.

Days like this make life incredibly worthwhile and we count ourselves lucky to enjoy the serenity and grandeur of Nature. Having spoken to the artist George was inspired to return to the rim of Trephina Gorge to paint.  Lea joined him at evening time and watched the odd large black cloud drift overhead and alter the lighting thrown across the extensive broken landscape before us. That night George remarked on the clarity of the night sky thus when raindrops suddenly drummed on our rooftop we were amazed.  No need- they didn’t last long. However, we were awoken to thunder claps just before dawn followed by a good downpour before drizzle set in. Do we - don’t we move on?  Thick cloud engulfed the mountain tops surrounding us and appeared to be well set in.  We decided it was best to get moving in case rising creeks locked us in and we returned to the tarred road in 4WD with no bother. We were soon at the north-east intersection that would take us through to Arltunga and we stared down the narrow gravel track ahead. It was a recognised tourist route looping around Alice Springs which indicated it should be in good repair but the red mud and drizzle didn’t appeal to Lea... We decided to leave that road for a day and continued to the Ross River Station Resort we’d bypassed the previous day. We’d read that the first tourist enterprise began here in 1959 and ‘Resort’ had us think expensive thus we hadn’t planned to stay there. We had, however been interested in taking a peek as we headed for N’Dhala Gorge. How times have changed aesthetically and environmentally – we were not impressed by the old fashioned cabins and set up at all. And, in passing the campground we’d been more interested in the twisting Ross River crossings to pay much attention to that. We collected thick wads of mud on SKV and Getaway using the road between the main resort and the campground – enough to be glad we hadn’t taken the Arltunga road. Keen to clear it off before it stuck hard – George was dismayed to find no water in any taps. Turned out there was a problem with the bore and although it was fixed by the afternoon the problem returned had returned the following day as Lea discovered no water for her morning shower. A most attractive campground set within an open circle of mountains. Lots of tree planting taking place; mostly palm trees for some reason and we enjoyed our time there catching up on our computers until the rain moved off and blue sky returned in the late afternoon, making the campground all the more attractive as the sun caught the mountain tops.

Next day we took the Arltunga Tourist Drive (part of the Binns Track – one of Australia’s epic 4WD journeys named after a Northern Territory man Bill Binns, who blazed the track during his 32 years with N.T. Parks. It is well used by 4WD Adventurers) Also an early pastoral track we found odd sticky patches (especially on corners), plenty of corrugations and rough spots as we slowly travelled up and down, in and out the broken country we found so appealing. Our minds changed tack as we headed in the direction of early mining enterprises. The gold diggers pushed wheelbarrows loaded with all their worldly possessions on board through this ruggedly harsh region from Oodnadatta (600kms as the crow flies) to Arltunga, one of Australia’s most remote goldfields was soon to become Central Australia’s first town, born out of the gold rush of 1887. Predates Alice Springs! Our article had mentioned the Arltunga Bush Hotel had been closed and up for sale at the time of writing. We hadn’t seen anything to indicate a change in that situation until we approached and saw many hand-made signs saying “Open for camping ... $5 per person per night”. We fancied that; stopped and looked around the empty place with not a soul in sight. Furniture on the hotel verandah indicated someone must be living there and we decided at that early hour of the day – the campground hadn’t expected anyone.  Interested to see the Arltunga Historical Reserve we moved on a short way and found the entrance and made our way to a well presented Visitors Centre – all run by the Parks and Wildlife Commission although again, no one around. After reading and learning more about this historic mining area we unhitched the van and left it in the visitor parking lot and spent the rest of the day driving around the reserve visiting what remained of the old buildings (ruins), stamp mills (the Arltunga Battery closed in 1913), mine shafts, declines (adits) and cemeteries, as well as going on a number of the self-guided walks available.

HOPE is an incredible driving force and as we explored in the heat, dust and remoteness of this place. We couldn’t help but think of the miner’s pushing themselves to the limits of their endurance in their drive to find gold.  As a youngster, George recalled following his eldest brother, a geologist, prospecting for minerals including gold. He regularly puzzled over what signs or indicators John was searching for as they wandered somewhat haphazardly over all sorts of terrains for miles on end; John tapping at rocks here and there. We gained a good insight into pioneer life and the measure of HOPE required on a remote turn-of-the-century goldfield. George was also interested to compare the productivity of these mines, yielding 1oz of gold per ton of ore (if they were lucky); with Rhodesian mines of that era where a recovery rate of this nature was not unusual. Some mines for example were known to yield 20ozs of gold per ton. Lea was blown away by the cost of living way out there- $6.50 for an oz of gold yet a tin of sardines was 20c. She recalled a story of a tin of sardines costing sixpence in Troutbeck (Rhodesia) and a furore occurring when a man wanted half a tin as he only had a tickey!    

After all the ground we’d covered on foot during the heat of the day we decided to return to the old Arltunga Hotel and hopefully have a night in the campground. All went well as we were immediately welcomed by a scrawny bearded man of indeterminate age. Peter, preferably ‘Fairbanks’ his chosen name in recognition of his origins (born Fairbanks, Alaska); presently a part-time educator teaching science in an Aboriginal School on the outskirts of Alice Springs. In four weeks time (as we write) he packs away chalk for good. He bought Arltunga Hotel and Campground as his retirement project. The hotel may be hired for any and every self-catering function which includes the bush pub (a pub with no beer for sure). Ample informal space for camping; a family cottage and Dongas (shared accommodation) was to be found in this lovely remote setting.  In spite of showers that dribbled out sulphurous smelling water, not to mention the prospect of dingoes eating our shoes if they were left outside, we enjoyed chatting to Peter about his experiences and an author of a book The Old Man in the Mountain & other stories. On hearing Lea had been an early childhood teacher with a year in Jabiru (Kakadu N.T.) Fairbanks promptly loaned her a copy keen that she read a particular story about an early childhood teacher. The earlier part of the short tale with a twist, certainly resonated – it could have been her story! While the old hotel stood empty for a good few years, Fairy Martins saw an opportunity to nest in the eaves of the hotel verandah. We counted 28 tubular shaped mud nests which tallied with a flock of around 50, Fairbanks has observed. Fortunately he enjoys birds so these migrants from Papua New Guinea are welcomed.

We moved on another 22kms to the Old Ambalindum Homestead although it took us some time to reach this other historic homestead along the rough and ready road. We found a Western Australian couple, Maggie and Keith and their pug from Albany managing the station-stay and campground. Keith was playing hide and seek with a young brumby Banjo – rescued after it had been found all alone out in the bush and hand reared.  Listening to Banjo gallop through the homestead grounds generated a thrill of excitement. Old Ambalindum Homestead dates back to the mining saga as the Assayer in Arltunga obviously saw a lucrative niche and bought this property in the early 1900’s; settled his wife and children and began farming sheep and growing vegetables on the rich alluvial soils around the Hale River to supply the surrounding mining fields. Today, the station covering 3,000 sq kms runs beef cattle. At evening time we walked down to the dry Hale River with its deeply incised channels and a wide spread of young River Red Gums amongst which, we could hear cattle bellowing. As we approached the homestead’s crossing these wild black creatures scattered fearfully in all directions. Only a bull stood his ground which made Lea twitchy. Turned out he was just curious.

For a third night in a row we struck ‘water problems’. We easily forgave Fairbanks as his bush-camp fee excuses him but the two historic Station homesteads both charged $30 a night which we felt steep under normal circumstances. However, when the vibrating growl of a generator sprang into action during the afternoon we were glad to have some computer time and Lea cooked the last of the two extra cheap pork hocks bought back in Augusta and we enjoyed another excellent roast from the ‘oven.

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The oven has been relegated to outside cooking... It  does not heat up the caravan; it’s the blinding light constantly switching on and off that is so violating to eyes within a small space even George objects.

Although the landscape began flattening out as we passed through different cattle stations giving Lea exercise opening and shutting gates along the way; we still had to wind our way over rocky hills, dipping into dry creek beds as we passed alongside different ranges until we reached the Plenty Highway with its narrow strip of bitumen. One handsome dingo on this stretch was the only mammalian wildlife we were to encounter on the entire eastern loop. We pulled into Gemtree Caravan Park – what a gem of a place! They say “We are there to ensure that your Red Centre adventure is the very best it can be” and they truly mean it. This fifth generation Plenty Highway family go out of their way to make their Caravan/ camping property special. Informal, spacious bush camps available for those, like us who wish to have peaceful sites encouraged us to spend two nights. As their name implies- they are into gem fossicking. Tagalong tours are undertaken out to Garnet or Zircon fields. You make room in your vehicle to take the fossicking equipment (sieves, pick, shovel, wash bowl and a 20 litre container of water) provided by your guide who prepares you for a day out giving you a few bumps and some corrugations before allowing you to get down and dirty to find gems. Upon your return, the guide evaluates your stones. There is even a gem room where tumbling, polishing and cutting takes place. All ages are catered for and birthday parties are laid on for children. Although we didn’t partake we were most impressed. Instead we did the 1 hour Nature Walk using a well illustrated and informative guide book specially made by the Granny.  We enjoyed it so much we did it twice in a day, although George began testing Lea to see how much knowledge she’d acquired that morning.  The Mulga ant nests were easy as we have seen many different constructions depending on material available during our loop adventure. Dead Finish – is the acacia we first came across in Meekeethara WA named so because it is so hardy. The old timers reckoned – when this one is dead it’s the finish of everything!

Kate provides Camp-oven dinners every night down by the pretty little billabong in peak season – presently only weekends. However site delivered meals are available if an order is in by 4p.m. Devonshire teas are also served on the garden verandah outside Reception every day. Lea’s frozen cheese scones and muffins made while staying in G’Day Mate served us very well otherwise her husband may easily have been enticed. George discovered Russell the campground handyman and a Gem Guide was available after-hours to repack wheel bearing at a third of the price normally charged by Caravan Workshops in towns.  We jumped at the opportunity to have Getaway’s 4 wheels done by him despite having booked a 28 May service with Joe in Alice Springs- (We have many other jobs for him to attend to).  Russell has lived on the road for the past two years in a large bus he did up for his wife and young son. She home schools their 6 year old and is available for hairdressing and facials. We met her in reception doing an office stint – a delightful couple.

Completing our week long Loop east of Alice Springs we were once more back on the Stuart Highway- north of Alice Springs.  We arrived at the Tropic of Capricorn in time for lunch and were quite staggered and mystified to see the ground literally heaving with lycaenids- that tiny Blue butterfly! They certainly didn’t hover or rest in shrubs as we have seen all the other times. They fluttered en mass just above the surface of the ground without rest and never let up the entire day.  We decided to spend the night in this 24 hour limit Rest Area beside the Stuart Highway, 30kms north of Alice Springs and made an early start into the city in readiness for Getaway’s 8.30 a.m. appointment in Joe’s workshop. He was a ready helper after our Central Desert crossing last year so this was return business, booked six weeks ago in preparation for our Tanami Desert adventure. Joe thought George’s list of things to do included repacking the wheel bearings not realising they had just been done! Worse still, he decided to replace the bearings altogether. Consequently, poor communications led to a costly and unnecessary outcome which left us shattered at the end of a long day hanging about. Back at G’Day Mate Caravan Park we spent the final days of May. Checked food stocks, prepared cooked meals as no fresh fruit or vegetables can travel across the Western Australian border; refuelled SKV’s tanks and both jerry cans and sought advice on the nature and security of the Tanami Track. 

It’s on, come Sunday 1 June.    

        

Tramping tales for April 2014

 ‘Ferry cross the Murray’ were all patronised by very quaint Welcome Swallows...

An unexpected set of BLASTS in the still of early morning quite bewildered George in the midst of his serious breakfast making... Unholy expletives followed as he began to mop up spilt milk until his wife’s chuckles followed up with ‘It’s the Murray Princess warning the Lock Operator” – with that, he was off like a long dog to find the best view point for a photo. We were camped on the river at Lock One; on the opposite bank to Blanchetown. We’d endured a particularly hot night after a series of days of ever rising temperatures. The fridge laboured and our batteries struggled especially as we’d been parked in shade for the past three days which cut solar power. Another shortage was water. We had refilled our tanks in Mt Barker and for the past ten days had been using our precious town water sparingly, reluctant to use any river water in our tanks. All places, particularly caravan parks along the Murray River tend to use water straight from the river. Signs warn ‘to boil before drinking’ yet we’d relied on our filter. It became so choked with sediment, the tap actually groaned with difficulty and we ordered a replacement while parked at Mt Barker. We certainly didn’t want to choke the new one. The Riverland Fruit Fly zone severely limited us when it came to fresh fruit and vegetables. With the added discomfort of heat; Lea decided ‘enough was enough’ we had to leave the river and go west sooner into a more civilised area like Eden Valley for replenishment. Waking to droplets of rain at dawn with overcast sky and the merriment derived from the Murray Princess horn altered her frame of mind. We reconsidered a departure from the river we have come to adopt as our own!

Murray Princess and pelicans have become personally symbolic of the Murray River.  And, dates back to the first night we ever camped beside the river, April 2006.  

 

We decided to ‘stay on plan’ following the Murray to its ‘North West Bend end’ or the ‘Great Elbow’ at Morgan, taking advantage of grey clouds to travel more swiftly and hopefully find power and water and a good shower at Mt. Mary’s Hotel before the day was done. Having failed to find anyone knowledgeable about the existence of a cave system let alone the ‘Tartangan Man’ we now set our sights on finding the faunal emblem of South Australia,  the  southern hairy-nosed wombat, said to be found in the Murray-lands. We took the less travelled gravel road on the west bank to Morgan in hope.  We popped down to Pelican Point. “Checking” said George! He had been inclined to use this rough river side camp with honour box on a citrus farm as the next stopping point. No matter, Lea’s heel had dug in!  We found Morgan as we remembered it and before taking the busy ferry crossing into the Morgan Conservation Park we noticed the Morgan Museum was opened; in we went.  More often than not, museums open on a specific day or two during a week and we lose out on a good font of local knowledge. We struck lucky here as the two men and the museum were full of interest although they didn’t know anything of a cave system between Swan Reach and Overland Corner! Not that we held that against them. More interesting was NO southern hairy-nose wombat to be found east of the river so we wouldn’t find any in the Conservation Park at Morgan. They couldn’t believe we’d seen nothing along the gravel road as regular sightings occur there. Not as many as there once were as recent high water events had drowned many in their burrows. In fact, even more recently, would be rescuers had gone and dug the wombats out of low lying land when the river threatened to inundate. The Museum men suggested Brookfield Conservation Park would be a good bet as a breeding programme is underway there. Another interesting piece of information gleaned in the museum referred to Weeping Willows. These exotics often take a bad rap. Planted by immigrants keen to replicate their homeland; they are generally considered pests for dominating riverine vegetation and over-consuming Australia’s precious water. Here, in Morgan we discovered apart from river charts, other useful aids to river navigation on the Murray were the weeping willows ... Many of which were planted by river men to mark the normal river course. This may seem strange but in times of flood, following the channel was difficult; many paddle steamers deviated only to become stranded when flood waters receded.  By using the tightly knit, stabilising willows as navigating markers, skippers kept in the main channel.  Before we departed, George enquired about the availability of treated water. The museum allowed us to refill our tanks and Gerry cans.

After crossing the river by our favourite method – the ferry, we found ourselves in not only a free but most perfect P site (peaceful, pretty, private) in the Morgan Conservation Park for our last night overlooking the mighty Murray. Why move on to an inland hotel campground when we had water and could easily use our generator. A hue and cry of screeching resounded as we prepared to stay. Thinking it was a noisy cockatoo we looked up into the nearby gum tree only to be somewhat nonplussed to see a magpie literally ‘squawking’ at us.  It settled once we soothingly asked what its problem was? We soon became best of friends with “Cleft” so named for the missing chunk from its upper bill. Regardless of its handicap, Cleft easily caught food in the air and was seemingly habituated to human presence. George had picked up old copies of Australian Geographic and in the one, was an interesting article on Gymnorhina tibicen, the Australian magpie. Well suited to its many common names of flute bird, organ bird, piper or singing crow it really does have a remarkably melodious range of vocalisations. Whether it’s a solo, duet or carolling as a group, we love listening to them but this was the first time we came across one mimicking a cockatoo.

             

Lovely walks in the sandy flood plains of this small conservation park in the apex of the ‘elbow’. Further upstream, on the opposite bank sitting atop the limestone cliffs we came across a large yet very quiet Pump Station. It carries out a most important life sustaining task for the inland arid areas of South Australia.  Morgan proved to be an ideal location for pumping water to the mid areas of the State and as far north as Woomera. In the coming weeks we were to see some of the pipe-work as we traversed the State westwards and upwards in the direction of Woomera.  Another cloudy yet very pleasant day followed; it was just too hard to uproot and leave the Murray River and we stayed on a second night.

We’d reassessed our travel route as Lea didn’t fancy another week without a shower and nor did she appreciate the empty fridge. With little need for haste - Eden Valley – Garden of gums and vines attracted us back, for a third visit this year. On departing the Murray River we promised to be back sooner rather than never; took the road out of Morgan as far as Mt Mary (glad we didn’t stay there the previous night) before taking a back road south with a small detour towards Blanchetown, hoping for a night in Brookfield Conservation Park. The Chicago Zoological Society bought this 5534 hectare property and gifted it to South Australia for the conservation of the southern hairy-nosed wombat with a large breeding population. Two thirds of the park is closed to the public as long and short term research takes place there.  We were disappointed to find ‘no camping’ as that heavily cut our chances of seeing a wombat at dusk or dawn. Nevertheless, in we went to enjoy the Bluebush and Mallee drive; the one hour looped Three Habitat Walk and another hour spent on the Charcoal Pit Walk. Not one pit but fifteen, concealed within salt bush! The remnants of the Charcoal burner’s dirt floored hut of flattened kerosene tins, nearby. What a job in such dry and fiercely hot conditions; seeking a Mallee tree to cut out the main stem of these multi-stemmed trees before getting his haul back to the pits. The 2m deep bottom of each  3m x 4m pit would be have a piece of galvanised iron in its base before being filled with dry wood and the freshly cut mallee placed on top. Once the wood was ignited another layer of galvanised iron placed on top to maintain heat and the lot covered in soil.  What a labour intensive job by usually only a husband and wife team. Out in the arid areas, beyond the Goyder Line wood and charcoal were in such short supply it became a commodity for bartering. Further south, the chilly temperatures produced another needy market for charcoal

Brookfield is on the southern fringe of South Australia’s arid zone (North of the Goyder line!) and we enjoyed walking amongst the Bluebush, the Mallee woodlands and arid shrub land of sugar-wood trees. We came across many wombat warrens - dug beneath sheets of limestone rock with wombats distinctive rectangular droppings deposited around the periphery. None on rocks!  Their ‘parcels’ were much smaller than Tassie or Victorian wombats. Clouds had bunched up in the sky and we hoped a wombat would seek warmth   out in a bit of sunlight – nothing. While creeping around listening for any wombat sounds, one of the burrow entrances collapsed under George’s weight. No alarm came from within but the incident raised a giggle from the only onlooker. We stayed for a picnic lunch before departing. The rattle of our rig down the rough tracks frightened a good few western grey kangaroos from well concealed resting spots. We always enjoy watching them bounding across the landscape.

The historic town of Sedan, settled in the 1850’s by Lutherans and once a busy railway town  considered to be the ‘Plains’ capital; drew us in its direction. Particularly as it had a chequered history for flooding being situated in a depression and on cross-roads. We found an old steam flour mill and other many 19^th century buildings in well cared for condition but no provision for campers. We looked for the dry stone walls built by the early settler’s supposedly surrounding town. Decided there wasn’t much in that regard and we left on the final leg to Eden Valley with the Mount Lofty Ranges to get over. Approaching the range we were taken aback to see a sign warning of roadside fire damage for the next 8km. Sure enough, out in the vast paddocks once dotted with shady trees standing testament to time; we were crushed to see the fallen scorched remains of colossal trees. Their blackened trunks providing a complete contrast to the rock strewn grasslands that, since the fire, are e flushed by hues of green and well on their way to recovery. That a fire ripped through grazing lands with a heat devastating enough to wipe-out trees of that magnitude was difficult to get a head around..   

Confusion! Where are we? Looks like the Lake District of England!

Unexpectedly, we came across the wonderfully extensive dry stone walls stretching away in different directions into the distance and beyond, as we ascended the Mt Lofty Range ... Well worth seeing and we were so glad we’d happened upon this very scenic drive.

We pulled into our familiar Eden Valley and the small caravan park on the edge of the local sportsground on the eve of a very auspicious birthday for George.  Boy! Did we delight in our first hot shower in a week of ‘bird bathing’ using a meagre amount of water.  Back in highlands, we also needed hot showers to warm us up as it was cold!   

Daughter Saxon spotlights her father, George on becoming a septuagenarian.

A milestone birthday doesn’t usually pass in the way this did – no food in the fridge and barely enough milk to make the celebrator a cup of morning tea!  First up, they charged off to find a supermarket in the closest town, Nuriootpa. Fortunately there was a cafe opposite the entrance to Foodland and we stopped for a toasted egg and bacon sandwich birthday treat. Shopping completed, it was back to the mundane – laundry and cleaning of rig as we quietly waited out the day.  Time zones mixed with diffident signal strengths as we travel the roads always have to be considered in a life ‘Down Under’ especially when it comes to special occasions. Lea had come up with plenty of excuses to ensure a suitable area for Face-time or phone calls for this day. That night, while George spoke with family, his wife prepared his preferred dinner of cottage pie – definitely not celebratory food by her book!  Fortunately, the last quarter of this year has shaped up to be a ‘cherry’ for George to look forward to in celebration of three score years and ten. He will be crossing off the top two places on his bucket list and he will meet up with long standing friends.

Not far up the drag from Eden Valley was the National Heritage homestead of ‘Collingrove’. Three times we have failed to gain access to the property for a visit. With everything sorted we decided to enjoy spending Sunday’s opening hours of 12 noon – 4 p.m. seeing inside the house and enjoying the gardens as it had turned into a beautiful warm afternoon. This time no sign hung across the gateway ‘closed for wedding’ just a small chalk board with Felix’s 5^th Birthday stood to the side. Yay! We had struck lucky and drove in.  In the midst of orientating ourselves another car arrived and the man explained ‘Collingrove’ was closed for a birthday.  Not suspecting this was the owner we told him a party was on in the grounds but it wasn’t closed! Thwarted once again! However, when he heard we were from interstate and had already tried to visit 3 times – he allowed us to walk through the gardens and from there we enjoyed different aspects of the old homestead.  On our early return to the caravan park we decided to play tennis! Having observed two old rackets and a couple of coloured balls in the laundry; a  half size court with net in place close to our caravan; the game was on. Embarrassed shrieks and hopeless giggling vent the air as we regularly swiped at fresh air and spent more time walking to pick up a nasty red and yellow ball; the revolving colours of which played havoc on our eyesight and worse the ball didn’t bounce properly. The other worn and  faded green and yellow ball appeared to have been a dog’s plaything and landed heavily – with no hope of lifting it after the second bounce. The Park Caretaker, drawn by somewhat manic sounds emanating from the court, warned we’d have difficulties leaving next day due to over exertion! It was hard to believe tennis had once played a big part in our lives back in Africa as it was such a struggle to keep a ball in motion. We persevered for a good half hour and, unfortunately, it was the ‘youngster’, who suffered with aches in shoulders, back, knee and neck over coming days...

We returned to the route, George had plotted out from Morgan – re joining the Sturt Highway at Truro. (One shocking section of gravel to reach Truro had us laughing at the signs some local had gone to the trouble of erecting: 4WD a necessity for next 7 km; Keep well left if you dare over oncoming rise; No grader ahead; Shake, Rattle and Roll).  Not long on the Sturt Highway and we turned onto World’s End Highway and began encountering the invisible ‘Goyder line’ (a boundary delineating arable from non-arable land).  Drawing into Eudunda the welcoming sign  informed we’d reached the “Birthplace of famous author and educator Colin Thiele AC”. A penny dropped and we were thrilled to realise we’d accidently come across “Storm Boy’s” author. We drove slowly through town looking for anything to do with one of Australia’s best loved storyteller’s with over 100 books to his name. We only knew ‘Storm Boy’ with a passion!  A tourist sign had us pull into a small car park for the  strikingly unusual Eudunda Gardens. While George checked the insides of Getaway for anything untoward; a lady came out of the public toilets and greeted Lea and of course, a conversation ensued. Once again the hand of fate was felt- she produced a Eudunda Pack out of her car boot. “Timing” really does play a huge part in life as this Eudunda Garden volunteer had nipped into the toilet before heading home after checking the watering system. Aside from all the booklets and history of Eudunda contained in the pack she was able to direct us to Colin Thiele’s old family home and suggested we didn’t miss the  Kid’s Scrub!

First a visit to Colin Thiele’s statue with best loved Mr Percival the Pelican (20/11/1920 – 4/9/2006) and interpretive boards. Soon time was flittering contentedly past as we enjoyed all, this beautifully kept park, had to offer. There was such attention to detail with a strong sense of pride in place obvious throughout. Eudunda evolved  from a watering stop for stock being brought overland from Queensland and New South Wales during the  1840’s. The drovers attracted by the Aborigines fresh water spring - Eudunndacowi (meaning- water from the ground).  Once again early settlers were mainly Lutheran German’s escaping religious persecution in their homeland or the severe droughts gripping Europe in the late 1840’s. In celebration of 125 years of white settlement in 1995, much of the area’s history and their inhabitants were put together in the form of personalised handwriting and art work inscribed upon tiles. Some related to personal family stories from the past, which were utterly delightful. As for the Kid’s Scrub – how easily we could have dismissed what was a  superb   corner ...  Tables with games and information on the flora and fauna abounded – produced by different schools with hands on involvement by their pupils. We followed stepping stone footpaths through the well tended   scrub; each slab individually marked with the child’s footprint and their name. Little ant plaques or bird and animal tracks joined the throng and gave direction to the gazebos in the shape of bird cages adorned with bird shapes cut-out of metal.. We have never seen Creeping Salt bush used so effectively- this added a wonderful dimension of undulation to the gardens and could rave on and on. The following photos hardly do justice – peer closely!

 “Colin’s life was a deep well from which one could draw refreshment and encouragement.  He walked down the road of recollection among the people and the land he loved and portrayed so well” – 

Part of the eulogy given by Max Fatchen.

The metal silhouette of Gustav and his dog, the Town’s logo and brand, is found at road entrances and on historical buildings. It is taken from a fictional character out of one of Colin Thiele’s book because it represents the relaxed country lifestyle here and acknowledges the partnership and cooperation between a Farmer and his working dog. When we’d had a surfeit of Eudunda Gardens we returned to the road taking us to Burra Creek Gorge with a brief stop to see Thiele’s family home. 

Burra Creek Gorge

The name of the campground gave rise to something special and the walk we took up into what was rather erroneously the gorge, turned out to be disappointing. More disconcerting were the signs close by saying Keep Out – Private Property. Far better just to call it the Burra Creek Conservation Park as the expansive and most attractive campground followed the creek line and we were happy to spend a few days in this well cared for area. Soaking rains began falling during the night and didn’t let up all the next day or the next.  We sat it out thinking it couldn’t possibly last too long... Much as rain is desperately needed especially along the arid divide – With no signal or power, sitting in the caravan was no fun. We played three games of scrabble one night and two the next. We even took a long walk down stream in the rain and were blown away by the gnarled bases of old gum trees in the weirdest shapes with the wet weather making trunk colours really stand out. Inspiring for artists - George went mad snapping pics. A steady rain on the rooftop creates a white noise but when you are parked under large trees, different rhythms develop and amplify becoming a form of ‘water torture’.  Worse at night, when the discordant sounds hammer incessantly into your head! By the third day we’d had enough, not only the rain drove us out we feared the sticky road would become impassable.  We had to forego a stay in the Red Bank Conservation Park for the same reason - rain churning dirt roads into mud and pushed on to Burra.  Our favourite spot in the showground was a mire of mud. It took us time to seek out a level spot – slithering and sliding or beginning to dig into the damp ground was far from fun and we eventually resorted to using our wooden chocks to level Getaway more evenly. The rain kept up but we had power – lamb shanks slow cooking away, computers to work on and television – life was good again.   

The rain kept tumbling down... however, our interest was piqued by huge moths sitting immobile on the toilet block wall.  Another caravanner confidently ascertained they were Bogong moths – George thought otherwise; luckily he had an Australia Geographic article on the Bogong moth to prove it!  Confined to ‘cabin’ George used the internet and with the help of CSIRO’s image library and Wikipedia tentatively identified it. There were four large moths on the wall. Had we come across a ‘lek’? That is to say an aggregation of males gathered together before or during the breeding season. Endemic to Australia, the larvae of the Pindi moth are considered a pest in some areas, particularly temperate rainforest where eucalypti are prevalent as these larvae live for over eighteen months underground chewing the tap and lateral roots of eucalypt trees. In their feeding they may create deformities in the root system even ring-bark or girdle the roots causing the tree to die. And, we were intrigued to note that adult moths survive for approximately one week, as they have no mouthparts with which to feed. Another fact of interest; the females lay eggs during flight in a scattering fashion. Each day we checked to see whether the Pindi moths were still there and accounted for as they are preyed upon by bats and owls. On the third day all had gone... the noisy wind that arose in the night to blame? Lea picked up two wet corpses inside the open door to the Ladies toilet. The entomologist measured up a 15cm wing span.

Brown in colour overall, Pindi moths (also known as swift or ghost moths) are characterised by silver bars on the male's wings.

With clouds billowing heavily around us and a downpour over, we grabbed the small window of opportunity to get out and stretch our legs. We left the puddles and mud of the showgrounds and headed through North Burra (the Monster Mine region) to join the Heysen Trail, alongside the Burra Creek (the same creek we camped beside in the Conservation Park 25kms to the south east.) that took us through the rural outskirts to Burra itself. We stopped at the VIC for information on Red Banks Conservation Park and were promptly warned away from it as roads would be sticky and impassable.  Pity as Red Banks is recognised as one of the richest mega-fauna sites in Australia. The 1-2 tonne extinct Diprotodon, likened to a giant wombat was found here and we’d looked forward to a night in the campground to hopefully capture a Southern Hairy- nosed wombat on the camera-trap. George spotted a second hand book shop and we popped in to check the Australiana books – the smell of freshly baking cheese and herb scones and coffee promptly entrapped our senses in Gaslight Collectibles and we yielded!   A lady sitting at the next table recognised us as the walkers she seen at the cross road and began chatting - a long and convivial conversation followed which didn’t enable George to quietly relish the delicious scones; he wanted to return next day! We paid in kind for this delightful interlude as stopping caused us to return to Getaway drenched to the bone and have to put up with wet clothing draped around us.

South Australia’s Heysen Trail is approximately 1200km long and we have walked many small sections of it over the past three months.

On our last night we felt the caravan being jolted as noisy winds howled around us. When we viewed the day the windy conditions and thick cloud gave little prospect of solar for the campground ahead and we stayed another night in Burra. However, the following day conditions looked no better and George felt it was time to move on. We took the road through Mt Bryan. This triggered the odd bit of information we’d come across in the Morgan Museum. How the name arose (showing what sticks in our brain!). Captain James Sturt, under instructions from Governor Gawler, put together an 1839 exploration party which included their wives and daughters (Gawler received strong criticism from the press of the day for including women) in order to demonstrate to new immigrants that travel and settlement within the colony was safe.  Amongst Sturt’s party was Henry Bryan. The brief: explore the land overland from Morgan’s Murray River Elbow. Along the way Governor Gawler’s horse developed a problem and young Bryan swapped horses and supposedly limped the horse back.  Only he was never to be seen again. A message was found below his saddle out in the middle of nowhere – he was never declared missing presumed dead nor was a death certificate ever issued.  Captain Sturt named the peak amongst the many hills ‘Mt Bryan’ in his memory.  In Burra the surrounding hillsides are supposedly devoid of trees as a result of keeping the copper smelter going. However, there must be a limit to the impact dating that far back as the entire trip we undertook as far as Laura were treeless rolling hills, a condition that could be attributed to wheat farming. Perhaps a natural condition too as Marino sheep grazed out in vast grasslands and as we rumbled along the gravel road they turned tail in fright. In lousy weather conditions these sheep have no protection. Across the tops of hills many tall wind turbines are scattered across the landscape.

We overnighted in Terowie, ‘Break-of-Gauge’ pioneer railway town. Once, all freight and passengers had to change trains here due to the change in rail gauge size. In its hey-day the rail industry was the main employer in Terowie, requiring manpower for ‘transhipping’ freight and livestock from one train to another. Today, a population of 150, battles to keep the town on the map, which is a great pity.

The delightful streetscape put us in mind of a cowboy town film set.

The Terowie Citizens Association obviously worked with a will to have their town declared a ‘historic town’ in 1985, renovating and providing amenities to induce tourists to come their way and enjoy the history – they seem to have run out of ‘puff’ or perhaps funding.  We saw summons posted on properties that haven’t paid their rates in over three years. Residents do exist – yet nothing happens in town to lure even a dollar from tourists. Caravan and Motorhomes were welcome to overnight in the Railway Yard for free. Terowie was awarded Community Event of the Year 2003 for its Days of Rail and Screen commemorating famous sons of the town. The bright paintwork reflected in odd little corners indicated that all was not dead especially Bob the Railway Dog’s Interpretative Walking Track through the old station and the yard down to the cemetery. We became aware of ‘Bob’ in Peterborough a few years ago and we reacquainted ourselves with this character from the past as Terowie was another of Bob the Railway dog’s ‘padding grounds’. Oh! A rock marks the exact spot where US General Douglas MacArthur stepped onto the platform in Terowie declaring his famous words “I came out of Bataan and I shall return” after the General escaped from the Philippines with his wife and young son.  As for the ‘Screen’; an early Hollywood actor-director, John Patterson McGowan was born in Terowie and many of his movies had trains in them as his father had been a railway man. So much going for this pioneering town that it was really sad to see nothing was open, let alone appeared to be in working order – just going slowly to seed. Yet again, we muse over the ‘imprisonment’ of refugees at great expense off the Australian coast when places like this could be invigorated.  

Taking another back road through to Jamestown we happily spent two nights beside the Belalie Creek in an empty caravan park well situated to a town with obvious civic pride. We enjoyed many walks through and around the main street admiring heritage buildings, wall murals and, at the top of town, found purpose built shelters housing the annual Jamestown Mural Festival entries for 2014.

We’d planned to spend most of April down on the Eyre Peninsula prior to heading up the middle of Australia, in May. The calendar reminded us of Easter! Not wishing to get caught by ‘Easter’ traders or holiday-makers we began to look for places off the beaten track.  Our friends Di and Peter Ryan, returning home to Perth from the East, had similar thoughts. In checking each other’s whereabouts we found we could meet-up for Easter. Peter booked us into a ‘quiet’ caravan park in Orroroo, which is not far off.

We dawdled our way to Laura for another two nights. Earlier this year Laura was in the news as a fire had been burning out of control for a good month across the Flinders Range. Alex, the Park Manager surprised us by saying the CFS had declared that very day - the fire teams had been disbanded as the fire was finally out and no longer a threat. 75ml of rain had knocked it on the head allowing the Fire-fighters to return to their units after three months or more in the area battling to put the fires out.

Pan shot across the pastures and wheat fields in the direction of burnt out Southern Flinders Range.

Since departing the Murray we have travelled through a vista of never ending rolling hills. Usually a parched and dry landscape, recent good rains have turned them into green hills resulting in an appropriate ‘ear worm’ from childhood taking hold of Lea - “There is a green hill far away, without a city wall’ rounding off the lines from the hymn - “Where our dear Lord was crucified, he died to save us all” –Just as she thinks her brain is done with it; back it comes as we move on through more ‘green hills’... Oddly significant with Easter approaching!

  

Copper sculpture of C.J. Dennis, the Australian balladeer who spent part of his childhood in Laura and commemorated it in his poem ‘Laura Days’

Our hearts dropped on arrival at the Orroroo Caravan Park boundary, and dropped even further as we surveyed bleak, noisy gravel, no shade trees and close proximity to the main road. The very reason we never book ahead looked us starkly in the face. Despite the pleasure of an Easter weekend with friends Di and Peter Ryan it was hard to think positively on a looming four days here. Heather, the delightful owner unwittingly eased the situation as she directed George to the end of the small park advising he could set up anyway that suited him as the large area had been set aside for the Begg/Ryan caravans. Once the Ryan’s rolled in after morning tea we were never to be bothered by negativity again, despite particular trucks rattling by in the nights ahead. On the opposite side, Orroroo Caravan Park had a wonderful outlook across a golf course, the very scenic Pekina Creek, Tank Hill lookout, with a reservoir nestled further up the valley and rolling hills to provide a fine backdrop to the setting sun. Twice we undertook the walking trail though the valley and we ‘sang a different tune’ by the time we came to depart! This was a park with a big reputation thanks to its owners. The first afternoon was spent orientating ourselves around the sleepy hamlet - bigger than expected. Just out of town, beyond the corrugated iron sculptures of kangaroo at the entrance to Orroroo, we walked to Pekina Creek to see the Giant River Red Gum holding pride of place on the list of things to see in Orroroo. With an unusually solid girth of 10.4 metres and at least 6 metres in height before the trunk forked; this is the oldest living tree in the locality and estimated to be over five hundred years in age. It has aged incredibly well for all that nature throws at it. In the main street, we were lucky enough to come upon the work horse sculptures nodding realistically away, thanks to the good breeze blowing or we’d have missed the otherwise undetectable motion.

   

Shots of Orroroo - Although out of place is Bob the Railway Dog from Peterborough. George likes that dog and slipped it in as a good fit there!

While in Laura our eyes had caught sight of a small poster advertising a Working Dog Demonstration at 1p.m each day for the next two weeks. Always intrigued by this type of show we failed to get through to Bookings for further information. We mentioned the show to the Ryan’s and our intention to hopefully get a place after the Easter rush when we arrived in Wilmington. Their ears pricked up with great interest and a decision made to pack a picnic lunch and time a round trip through Melrose and Wilmington intercepting the Working Dog Centre early enough to see what the story was there. Lyn Page assured us of seats when she opened the gates an hour later.

Time enough to introduce Di and Peter to our one of our most favourite haunts - Hancock’s Lookout on top of the Southern Flinders, overlooking the Spencer Gulf. A perfect spot for a picnic!

We arrived back at Ben and Lyn Page’s Working Dog Centre to find two cars ahead of us waiting admittance. Expecting an hour or so of entertainment watching trained Australian Kelpies and Border Collies work sheep we soon found ourselves caught up in a full afternoon learning how this husband and wife team pursue a passion for breeding and training top quality puppies from birth to become working dogs. Ben is S.A. Dog Whisperer and he gave us a wonderful insight into how they train their dogs and teach people the art of stockmanship. 

  Working Dogs

Lea chatted to Lyn on the walk up to the Page’s verandah for tea, when Lyn noticed the youngest pup from the ‘show’ had inextricably entangled her very short chain with another dog. It took Lea and Lyn some panicky moments battling to sort out the problem without the pup strangulating itself until Pete’s strength was called upon to unhitch the taut chains. Lea delighted in walking the working dog back to its kennel remembering to use the right words ‘Here” and in praise...“That’ll do”! When Lyn and Ben have free time from the forty dogs they presently work with  – Lyn works in her small shed making training collars and leads for sale or scrap-booking. Ben has a huge shed to house his other passion - vintage Jeeps.  After tea he happily took us into the workshop and gave us the background history to his acquisition of his rare and sought after vehicles. We certainly experienced a most worthwhile and thoroughly enjoyable visit.

We specifically shot back to Peterborough on Easter Saturday for the “Festival Market” only to find the dozen (if that) tables were a disappointment. The seemingly wasted visit was saved when we all focused in on a local artist at work painting typical South Australian scenes in oils on wooden plaques; then we paid our respects to Bob the dog’s statue further along the main street of town. We took a loop route back to Orroroo via Magnetic Hill. This well known tourist attraction reminded us of Ghost Hill in Somerset West.  The phenomenon of both these places is their uncanny ability to make vehicles appear to roll uphill, which gave us a bit of a giggle!  On approaching Orroroo, Pete swung up to Tank Hill Lookout. He was determined to have that visit taken care of by car in order to avoid another evening bout trying to persuade him to take a stroll up Tank Hill Lookout! Up on top, we took in the view over the artesian basin in the valley of the Walloway Plain and the township.  In the heat of day with flies out in force Pete swung the car back onto the main road and we all felt the distinctive bumping of a puncture. Payback! This turned out to be Pete’s first puncture... The entire boot had to be emptied of all the “we may need this” items to reach the tools in the well basement; the wheel-nuts impossibly tight to undo; the hydraulic jack unable to rise for lack of oil. Fortunately the Ryan’s had taken out Roadside Assist for their Round Australia 2012 only it had expired last year. Their RAC membership was good and after clearance Peter was advised the RAC Officer was on his way. Leaving the men to wait with the flies, Di and Lea walked back to camp.  A canine-shaped stone proved to have been Pete’s undoing!

That evening we strolled down to the golf course and another section of Pekina Creek to see two Rock Poems.  Our search took us through infestations of meat-ants and prickly paths that rose and fell alongside the creek; well beyond Tank Hill Lookout! How or even why the author D. McDonald came to carve his poems into the slate face of a secluded gully beats us. All we are told is he engraved the poems as an expression of farewell prior to his departure for America in 1901 where he hoped to exploit his invention of a crank driven pushbike. By the time we reached home we richly deserved our sundowners; a long chilled G & T.

We’d read there was a walk around town to ‘Find the Magpie’ and discover the history of Orroroo buildings. We found the first of only two when we arrived at the Anglican Church for the Easter Service. George had volunteered to guard camp and peel the vegetables in readiness for a Sunday Roast while the trio walked down a block to make up 50% of the congregation (that included the visiting priest from Jamestown). With so few people it was quite a strain to sing above the computer recorded organ music. Roast lamb and winter vegetables followed by ‘egg in a nest’ dessert finished off a relaxed Easter celebration with the Ryan’s. George and Lea worked off the late lunch with a speedy stride up Tank Hill Lookout while Pete waited in vain, for the return of his punctured tyre.

Spare tyre all sorted – we parted company after a delightfully social long weekend. Ryan’s heading for the Central Flinders Range while we travelled 40 kms across the Walloway Plains to Carrieton for a night, or so we thought.  We ended up staying four thanks to the ‘pay two get two free’ offer. We’d spent a night in Horseshoe View Caravan Park after our trip to Lake Eyre in 2011 and liked the pretty shady park in the old school yard. Amazingly the price hadn’t risen and, we were given a discount so four nights with spotless amenities panned out at $9 – unbelievable! Grey Nomads Bill and his wife Mary are ‘Park-sitting’ for the Carrieton Council over the coming few months. They also do farm-sits and were quick to tell us about good drives in the area. We thought the park looked out onto the Horseshoe Range hence its name, but those were the Oladdie Hills, the Horseshoe Range behind us. Next day, we hit the back roads to discover the secret pleasures of the ‘shoe. The 4WD route into Horseshoe Pound (a mini Wilpena Pound of Central Flinders fame) with a pretty strenuous climb to the top of Moockra Tower, was well worth it for the views...

Note the macabre scene of a sheep skeleton that died after trapping its back legs in the fence. George incorporated into the photo approaching the rock formation known as Moockra Tower.

The following day we set off into the Oladdie Hills giving us scenic views of gum creeks, slate outcrops, ruins and old buildings in the ‘deserted’ town of Johnburgh. With so much green surrounding us at present we could understand the agricultural ‘promise’ this lovely looking land presented. Yet, the many homesteads lying in ruins are testament to the 1870’s fever for wheat country and land hungry immigrants expectations for rich farming returns. Instead, there lies heartbreak and the validity of Goyder’s Line. A line that George Woodruffe Goyder was instructed to “lay down on a map, as nearly as practicable, the line of demarcation between that portion of country where the rainfall has extended, and that where drought prevails” in 1865. As we popped over the Oladdie Hills the Oladdie Plain expanded across the width of the horizon.  In the supposedly ‘deserted‘ town of Johnburgh we found signs of life in a couple of old houses – the Australian flag even flapped from a pole nevertheless, the hotel built with grand expectations was a sad ruin. Often these old hotels manage to stay the distance as somewhat bleak ‘watering holes’ but this one failed as many locals joined prohibition and abstained from alcohol in the 20^th century! The corrugated iron building once the Johnburgh Hall stood a lonely reminder of much happiness and social activity. Built with borrowed money it had quickly repaid its debt with table tennis challenges musical and dance evenings; the dance floor recognised as the best amongst all the districts. Decay was still an overriding factor... We decided not to continue north but return through the picturesque Oladdie Hills and the beautifully twisting creek demarcated with the wonderful shapes of River Red Gums. As we turned on the gravel road George’s hawk eyes noticed a short train of processionary caterpillars. We leapt from the truck for closer observation. Alerted to their presence we were to recognise another set further along the road following their leader.

Picking roads to mark new travels we discovered Stony Creek Bush Camp Caravan Park, outside of Wilmington. We liked the look of it, despite the owners warning of 60 plus Harley Davidson descending for the ANZAC long weekend and we stayed two nights.

The roar of these iron-horses excited us throughout the weekend with their comings and goings. 

Back to Hancock’s Lookout for a customary night in this beaut spot until the wind came up during the night and noisily knocked the rig about.

 We escaped the windy conditions by heading for Quorn and Warren Gorge. We had enjoyed a stay in the Gorge in 2007 and looked forward to a return with more time to enjoy the yellow footed rock wallaby.

Quite the prettiest little wallaby and we were able to observe them for a good while.

If it was the wind that chased us off the top of the Southern Flinders, it was the rain that chased us out of Warren Gorge through to Port Augusta two days earlier than planned. SKV has a long planned appointment with the 4WD Service Centre here for the start of May and Getaway has one scheduled for the end of May in Alice Springs. Shortly, our noses will all be pointing northwards.