Tramping tales for January 2008

“The Dog Fence” wasn’t working safely enough in Olearia Drive for the likes of escapologist Keanu. Plus she had hog-tied herself within her harness and chain while we out. Separately, we all came to the conclusion that a dog cage was the only way to bring about peace of mind. Paul, George and Alison worked like Trojans constructing an escape proof cage in the remaining time before Alison’s flight out to South Africa. Leading to her packing on the run with a missing camera and passport adding to the calmest frenzy! Meanwhile, the Puzzle Challenge took up many man hours and in spite of much sorting and shuffling we were a long way off completion by the time Saxon, Paul and Talia departed that we could only shelve it for a new team to continue…

Jigsaw puzzlers

We took Leecy up to Mt Field National Park following the Derwent River out of Hobart where we had to introduce her to The Possum Shed, a quaint spot on a gurgling tributary containing elusive platypus. This is another firm favourite from our first trip to Tassie. Naturally, a Devonshire tea was ordered and the huge and light-as-a-feather scones threw our meal time out yet gave us the energy to do the beautiful walk to Russell Falls with the sunlight filtering through the tall rain forest and tree ferns presenting wonderful shapes and lighting that captured the imagination of our artist Leecy. Back in Skiv we took an unsealed road that wound steeply up to Lake Dobson to do the Pandani Grove Nature walk through magnificent tree heaths that grow to 12m in height. Before we knew, the day was gone and leaving the pleasant coolness of the mountains to return to Hobart we soon became aware of a sweltering heat that we didn’t expect of Tasmania. Hunger and thirst drove us into the historic Salmon Ponds and in another attractive setting we enjoyed a delicious meal.

Sunday 6 January had us pulling out of Howden leaving the huskies and Amanda after a two week stable lifestyle within a home and garden to return to Seven Mile Beach Caravan Park, out at the airport, in readiness to collect Leta flying in that night.
Leta and Lea trained as teachers together while years later Leecy and Leta met while teaching in Harare. As a result there was much in common to catch up, chew over and clarify… Especially Leta and John’s romantic love story that began with the daily delivery of a single red rose to Teachers College and continued after their marriage, just after graduation, for seven years and then changed to pot plants! Adding further interest they shared an amazing life together, travelling widely, rearing two sons - Tudor and Saxon along with orphaned animals of all descriptions in Africa before migrating to Australia where they lived in many different parts before, distressingly at an early age, John died in Brisbane.

Our group of four set off to see the best of the East Coast with further explorations and many pit stops that had no considerations for waistlines… The first being Kate’s Berry Farm – her deep voice and friendly manner easily talking us into having her delish homemade ice cream and many other delights that all began in a tiny rustic pole and dagga hut that steadily extended into a most pleasurable eating stop on the Tasman Highway. Not far, was Friendlies Beach, where we spent the first night tucked in behind the sand dunes with far from friendly march flies and a host of friendly pademelons that appeared out of the surrounding undergrowth to feed. Coming across wallabies just out of the reach of waves, on our evening beach walk pleased us no end. A magnificent day dawned and with camping in the Freycinet National Park normally at a premium at this time of year we were keen to secure a camp site as early as possible. We found just what we were looking for at the Rivers and Rocks campground where we left Getaway and Leta’s tent set up to stake out our bush site. With a picnic lunch packed into a rucksack we set off for The Hazards, a series of prominent granite peaks that rise at the neck of Freycinet Peninsula concealing the spectacular white sands and blue waters of Wine Glass Bay. An hours walk up and over the saddle seems far longer due in part to the slow pace created by the queues of people making the climb. Fortunately most only go as far as the look out.

Wine glass bay, Freycinet NP

We continued down into the bay for our lunch and took refuge in the shade of scraggly she-oaks edging the beach and happily watched an experienced wallaby scavenging amongst picnickers. By the time we’d climbed back out we were very ready to indulge ourselves on the magnificent decking of Freycinet Lodge overlooking Coles Bay, the whole atmosphere reminding us of Lake Malawi in parts as well as life in Kariba. That night the Butler was put through his paces preparing hot bucket baths for the bevy of perspiring ladies. He is excellent! With all the L names he thought he aught to be renamed Leonard but Leo was a better bet to match his pride of Lea, Leecy, Leta! We liked our spot so much we stayed another day to enjoy shell collecting on Coles Beach and a return bout of imbibing at the Lodge. Much as we liked our lazy, lounging around there was plenty to see up the coast. Further up we popped in at the Douglas Apsley National Park where we found a waterhole that quickly had Leta taking the plunge. Her persuasive powers soon had George and Leecy in too. Leecy had been feeling very poorly all morning until the cold water revived her. Chain of Lagoons gave us another bush camp for a night and once we’d crossed between lagoons, a long expanse of beach to walk and enjoy Tasmania’s fresh clean air. The area’s landmark Elephant Pass Pancake Barn easily tempted us to forgo our regular cereal breakfast and head up the winding pass behind our campsite to sample their wares. Well worth the drive up considering the view, the witty signage and the tasty pancakes although we never got to find out how the Pass got its name! Eureka Berry Farm came up far sooner than expected and with our vivid memory of a “Berry Spectacular” that we’d consumed years ago we could not zoom past without allowing Leecy and Leta to experience this heaven. It wasn’t to be… Eureka Farm had almost been reduced to ashes in a dreadful bush fire that swept through the region barely a year before. The owners were bravely picking up the pieces of their prize winning berry farm and we were glad to support them but as you can imagine the ambiance we recalled was just not there.

On reaching St Helens we booked into a caravan park to sort out laundry, wash hair sticky from the waterhole, replenish our water supply and make use of a good sized supermarket. Leecy also spotted a repair man to hopefully remove the South Africa shaped CD stuck in our CD player that prevented us watching our Roo Gully DVD series at night. Yay! That was sorted and we happily moved on to Cosy Corner (North) one of many bush camps alongside the intoxicating Bay of Fires. There cannot be many places in the world where wilderness scenery such as this is available for free and semi deserted. The silky white sand squeaks underfoot as you walk towards outcrops of orange lichen covered granite boulders that line the many coves within the Bay.

Sundowners on beach at Cosy Corner

In the rays of the setting sun or early morning light the rocks assume a molten glow but it wasn’t this that gave the Bay of Fires its name. Early explorers were inspired by the many campfires belonging to Aborigines seen along this coast.

The artist eyes of both Leecy & Leta were enraptured by the beauty of this place and cameras worked over time even though passing clouds dulled the evening light our first day and smoke loomed large across the Bay the second afternoon. The threat of fire out here was enough to ready ourselves for a rapid evacuation if required. Fortunately the wind direction changed and the fire swept inland. We passed through remnants of the blaze the following day on our way to St Columba Falls. On leaving the forested surrounds of the Tasman Highway our minor road led us into a gently rolling valley of greenness filled with dairy cows where we rapidly drew to a halt outside Holy Cow Café. Attached to the café the making of traditional Pyengana cloth-bound cheddar cheese still takes place by members of a family dating back to 1895. We were able to watch the curd being stirred and “hand-torn” in grandfather’s original cheese vat and, inside the café, invited to a cheese tasting session that illustrated how the ageing process altered the flavours. Outside in the sun, revelling in the strong smell of cattle wafting up from the pastures below, we enjoyed a coffee break while Lea tried out a dollop of hand-made wattle-seed ice cream.

Now for the highest Falls in Tasmania… As we arrived at the turning circle we found cars parked in a line making it a tight squeeze for Skiv & Getaway to manoeuvre around. Seconds later a car shot ahead of us turned tightly into the remaining space and parked making it impossible for us to turn - Never mind the NO PARKING signs! This forced us to stay put and in turn changed the whole parking format! We hoped that on completing the walk to St Columba Falls all the cars would have moved on. Down the steep sides of the mountain we walked through rain forest with myrtle beech, celery top pine and woolly tea tree to a bridge over the Ringarooma River before reaching the picturesque outlook at the base of the Falls with mosses and epiphytic ferns adding an enchanted appearance to the scene. Back at the top the cars had all moved on except the critical one. We waited and after a while Leecy thought she recognised a person from the car – Yes! Murphy’s Law though, it turned out they had gone swimming in the river and lost their car keys. Who can quarrel with that! We eventually managed to ease past and be on our way.

Leta was given a reprieve from her lilo bed and the dust of tent life for a night with her ex Zimbabwe friend Paddy, now living in the historic township of Derby, running a delightful Gallery & café “The Painted Door”. We made camp a couple of hundred metres down the mountain, beside tennis courts and the Ringarooma river very happily. That evening we walked along the river back to the bridge into Derby to catch “Fish Rock” on camera. We’d caught sight of it as we’d entered this old tin mining centre from the 1870’s. Afterward we stopped for a pint at the East end of town before making our way along the length of Main street having a ‘sticky-beak’ until we arrived back at our rig.
Next day cappuccino and the tastiest, home made macaroons with Paddy set us on our way, covering more ground than usual, knowing we needed to reach Hobart in good time to tie in with Leta’s flight home. As things turned out the Heritage Highway or main Midland trunk road between Launceston and Hobart was a fast moving road and rather boring. Even the camp sites we’d planned to stay in proved so hot and dreary that we pushed on. We finally ended up in a caravan park in the historic village of Ross, beside the uniquely ornamental stone bridge built by two stonemason convicts, who were granted a pardon as a result of their fine work. We happily meandered along the leafy, heritage streetscape of Ross containing galleries, boutiques and coffee shops to the ruins of the female convict factory and up the hill to the bleak, wind swept cemetery before heading back through the churchyard to camp. Ross stole our hearts.

Now we were ahead of schedule and the decision was made to head for New Norfolk caravan park and enjoy the upper reaches of the Derwent River with our extra day. Which we did, thoroughly enjoying afternoon tea in Hamilton at the Garden Tearoom of historic Glen Clyde House with its Art and Craft Gallery featuring some fine sassafras wood work. Leta’s last night and after fighting a losing battle for dinner out, she ended up cooking us a wonderful meal of Tasmanian salmon.

As we couldn’t let Leta leave without a sighting of Hobart we packed up early with two loads of newly washed, wet laundry aboard, and made for Alison and Amanda’s home where we dropped off Getaway and hung out the washing. Ominously, husky Keanu was tethered within her cage! Lunch in the delightful Bloomfield Vineyard and a couple of hours on the Hobart Waterfront ended the closing hours of Leta’s holiday with us.

We returned to Oleria Drive and learnt of “Houndini’s” two escapes by squeezing through the sheep wire and the electrified boundary fence. Knowing we were dog-sitting for the weekend made us a tad twitchy. However, Keanu and Cinnamon behaved beautifully and George reinforced the entire cage with chicken mesh. Now we hold thumbs! Leecy’s holiday with us came to an end with a flight out early Sunday morning and we were left feeling bereft of good company, consoled by the huskies.

A new week and back to two, we set off South of Hobart down the Channel Highway which surprised us with marvellous views of the many bays and inlets of the D’Entrecasteaux Channel – “a great ocean road” hugging the shoreline in many places and almost free of traffic. Spent a night on the Foreshore Reserve at Gordon with a Western Australia Joondalup dog regularly checking on us and making gentle conversation! Continuing into the far South next day, we made camp in a small open glade within tall, dense forest at Gilham’s Beach overlooking one of the many coves of Recherche Bay. “So far from any where, time can lose its grip, if you let it.” And we did… lolling in the sun, reading and writing while soaking in the beauty that surrounds us. George even set up a workshop and did some wood carving.

Seven kms. further south is Cockle Creek (population 3) lying at the end of the most southerly road in Australia. We drove there before the week was out and walked to Fisher’s Point steeped in the history of whaling, coal mining and timber in this lonely harbour at the end of the world until the source base was depleted. The area since incorporated into the South West National Park- of World Heritage status.

Fisher's Point, Tasmania

In our coffee table “Round Australia” book it says this region is “For those intrepid souls who want to go to the southern most point possible in Australia, an unsealed (and usually corrugated) road leads south from the township of Hastings to Cockle Creek” Obviously the authors didn’t venture here – perhaps the sign warning of a narrow winding road was yet another inhibitor…. Come, Australia Day long weekend, you’d have been forgiven for thinking the “drive-in” cinema had just ended, as a line of variously aged caravans, campers, utes loaded with firewood and boats rattled past us. Our glade gathered in occupants and more kept coming that George’s eyebrows leapt up and down in growing consternation. When the last squeezed in with an inch to spare from our van he was ready to have an apoplectic fit.

Gilham's beach, Recherche Bay

Australia Day week-end invasion

On the positive side we could only be glad we’d arrived first and placed Getaway at an angle facing the sea and our door opening onto the forest. This mob seemed to know each other and their chatter went on long into the night. In the early morning, boats were eased out round the different camps and relative peace returned. With the likelihood we’d struggle to find a place elsewhere, we accepted the conditions. That night we walked along to a community centre to experience an Australia Day Tassie celebration. Two old bath tubs, fitted with long legs, were the centre pieces of blazing warmth and light. A well spoken, young bloke greeted us and made us feel welcome. Cooking snags and burgers served with fried onion on a slice of white bread typical Aussie fare and a one-man-band Trev Weaver, the entertainer for the night. No one clapped – not because he wasn’t good- just seemed to be customary in these parts! The inevitable firework display took us by surprise and added its touch authenticity to the celebrations. We sat on our own, eyeing all that went on around and as the night progressed, Mark approached us and nattered. He went off, only to return again and invite us to join his group. We must have passed muster! Turned out he recognised us from “their” camp site. Oops! They have all have been coming to our very spot for close on 25 years. Such friendly characters, particularly “Sniff” who dashed around finding out about work prospects for us and Ron who offered a spot in his large yard in Dover, as a base to search for farm or factory work. Next day, after a wild goose chase of well over 60km to find a mobile phone signal (in vain) we stumbled upon a call box and phoned Saxon for her birthday. Disappointment – we could only leave a message and returned to camp where another group gave us a big fillet of “snotty” (trevally) which we fried up for a most delicious fish dinner that night. Our eyes were as big as saucers watching them remove 14 fine sized crays from a cooking pot set upon a 44 gallon drum- Yes! We counted them 2 by 2, as they kept coming out from our seats in the furthest section of the camp site. How we could have celebrated Lea’s birthday with one of those instead of poached eggs! We hadn’t come prepared for an extended period of time and had to eek out our provisions. The longest time we have spent in any one place, speaks for itself! How large the glade seemed after the Tasmanians left. We stayed on in our place of tranquillity until the month ended and we ran out of water…

Tramping tales for December 2007

Reluctantly we left our new found friends in Mt Clay State Forest pulling our rig away from the coast in land to Cobden through magnificent dairy country with dry stone walls made of basalt stretching in different direction. Many times a likeness to Wales flashed through our minds. Although there are water restrictions in the urban areas the land looked so good.

Tired of scenery, Lea was keen to look around Geelong and perhaps find a Sunday Market. With heavy traffic on the outskirts we pulled off to Barwon Heads for our lunch, enjoying wide views of the coast from the Bluff. Sheltered estuary waters and long beaches all busy on this hot day. Plus the flies were out in force! On our way to Point Lonsdale we passed a very quiet caravan park in a lovely setting. We weren’t planning on staying out on this beautiful Bellarine Peninsula but the temptation was too great after looking out on the Port Phillip Bay where the sheltered waters of this huge bay meet the surging swells of Bass Strait with its infamous rip. The Royal Caravan Park turned out to be Shire run and only opened for the season the day before. Jan & Bluey were the warmest and friendliest caretakers we have ever come cross. In the off seasons they take to the roads less travelled around Australia.
That night, we walked the promenade along the foreshore thinking the flies had retired. No such thing, they rode shotgun on our backs and rose in swarms around our faces if we disturbed them. Walking back, our eyes were drawn to the sight of our first Christmas tree for this festive season – a massive Norfolk pine glowing colourfully midway down the sweep of Phillips Bay that we had to walk the opposite direction too, for a closer look. We could easily have lingered longer in this Park but we needed to get closer to Melbourne in readiness for our planned day ferry crossing on the Tuesday. We had a most enjoyable loiter around Geelong’s waterfront awaiting Saxon’s call with our booking. By mid afternoon we realised we’d been caught out by the time differences and we decided to check out our night stop in Little River. A roadside reserve we’d been recommended to stay in as it made for a stress free entry early next morning to the Ferry Terminal.

Finding a ‘no camping’ sign at the entrance to the reserve had us wondering where to next… when Saxon phoned with the news that there was no room on the ferry for a 14m long rig (like ours) for the next 5 days! The soonest crossing was 8th December and even then, we’d have to go overnight instead of by day! John Lennon said “life is what happens when you are busy making other plans” – during our ponderings and feeling a little thrown, we were “rescued” by a most amiable, cherubic-like little Italian man who suddenly appeared at Lea’s window to ask if we were OK and whether we’d like some water since he lived just across the road! “Stay! Stay, it’s alright”. We did!

Looking at options we decided to reduce fuel costs by moving to Bacchus Marsh and base up in a little caravan park and catch up on our Christmas mail.
That afternoon we popped into the town hoping to find an internet café and discovered “The Avenue of Honour” a superb example of overarching elm trees. Market gardens backed onto the avenue and tucked into spots along the way were produce stalls. Seventh heaven for Lea, as we picked our own golf-ball sized strawberries and bought, bought, bought the cheap produce! That evening as we read our ferry booking confirmation, our hearts sank at the information regarding NO fruit or vegetables. Strawberry jam, homemade lemonade, potato salad, tomato puree and stewed apples became the cooking schedule…. How could we have forgotten a State border crossing in our delight to have FRESH?

During our days in The Grampians, Lea had been disappointed not to exit on the East side as she’d been keen to visit Ballarat, simply for the reason that when we’d lived in Perth, our Napier Street Party ‘rotating dinner’ had led us to a house with three little girls. During the meal, the story was told of the youngest, ‘Bella, when sitting quietly as her father spoke about his trip to Ballarat, suddenly chirped up most indignantly “Bella not a rat! During our recent bout of socialising at “koala camp” a discussion on The Labour Party win arose which led to “True Blue – Terry” telling us about the Eureka Flag and the Rebellion that had taken place in Ballarat. Strange how the unexpected can come to pass! While highlighting our route map, George realised that Ballarat was just up the freeway from Bacchus Marsh. We skid-daddled up to Ballarat for the day, keen to follow the history of the Eureka Stockade and the origins of the blue and white Flag of the Southern Cross. A cause won, for the battle lost by gold miners taking exception to the Government’s insistence to impose unfair mining licences in 1854. Giving rise to the Spirit of Australia - namely “a fair go for all”!
Stirring stuff… from the tale of a Pikeman’s dog howling in grief at his dead master’s side to acknowledging the unalienable right of every citizen to have a voice in making the laws he is called on to obey.
Our picnic lunch in the Botanical Gardens led us to the Australian ex Prisoners of War Memorial. Black Granite etched with the names of 35,000 people incarcerated over the years beginning with the Boer War… To George’s delight he spotted 4 people with the name Begg and yet another buried in the Old Cemetery.

With everything up to date we caught the train into Melbourne on our penultimate day in Bacchus Marsh. A stress free way to do this big city with its tolls, trams and left hooks! Victoria Market, Federation Square and the Yarra may have been on Lea’s mind BUT George wanted to be sure to find a cinema showing “Into the Wild”… Federation Square helped in that respect so it was ticked off and, we got in some window shopping as we walked the blocks to the cinema. We missed the most suitable time by 20 minutes and with disappointment written across George’s face we bought tickets to the next viewing… marking time with a bite to eat and browsing books! Fortunately “Into the Wild” was more than worth it. It was Jon Krakauer’s story of Chris McCandless alias Alexander Supertramp that inspired us to take our leap of faith and become “rubber tramps”. A book that marked us deeply followed by a film that didn’t let us down had us hopping on trams back to the station happily!

We were allowed to sit out our ferry day in the caravan park beyond the set departure time. Well before the hour to leave approached, nervous restlessness set in and off we went encountering an easy trip to the terminal, thanks to all the instructions we’d been given because there certainly aren’t many ferry signs. Hey! Hey! Sax had booked us Ocean View recliners - looking out the back of the boat on three sides. Very similar to being on an aeroplane, yet infinitely better! Personal electronic key cards to the lounge with toilets; friendly folk surrounding us; a smooth crossing with a little churning as we crossed the Rip; we even pointed out our Pt Lonsdale Christmas tree to everyone. Lea has always hankered for a recliner, particularly in Getaway. Not any more! The angle of the leg rest affected her circulation and with cold feet and constant leg cramps she felt the worse for wear by morning! The Early hour of a Sunday morning had us rolling out the bowels of the ferry, through Devonport to Naranwtapu National Park in record time and champing for our breakfast. Downed in double quick time Lea fell into bed and slept deeply. George followed later for a power nap before we could face the day. We took a 3 hour walk through thickly wooded dunes brisling with wildlife. The distinctive warning thump of wallabies and scuttling pademelons on hearing our footfalls, so close to where they were resting in the undergrowth, made us feel as if we were walking a hairline on a dog’s back with fleas jumping in all directions… an unusual occurrence for us, capped - as we climbed up to Archer’s Knob, by the discovery of a large echidna, semi-concealed beneath a dry tuft of grass, busy scratching away.

The first of many Tasmanian echidnas we were to find

From the top we looked out onto a magnificent view of the coastline and the plains at Springlawn where wombats are reputed to abound. We’ve never seen a wombat in the wild despite every effort. In leaving Tasmania in January 2003 George spotted a book “The secret life of wombats” and promptly bought it for Colleen because of the similarities of the underground lifestyles of wombats and honey badgers. The author James Woodford had raved about the number of wombats to be found in Naranwtapu so here we were…

A downpour followed our walk and we felt dismay as chilly drizzle set in upsetting our plans to look for wombats come evening time. Later, George braved the weather to check for any signs of their presence and came running back with a beam from ear to ear to say there were “walking black mounds” all over the place. Out we dashed and sure enough across the plains, bathed in soft evening light as the sun re-emerged were WOMBATS.

Female wombat and youngster grazing

We followed a track for closer scrutiny. Watching all the wombat activity through binoculars until a mother and her youngster came waddling ever closer to us as they busily cropped away at the fine turf. Unaware of us until they got downwind and moved off. George cut across in the direction they were headed and soon was lying on his stomach capturing close ups on camera. What a fulfilling day of wildlife encounters. Next day we wombled the beaches! Remember the TV kids series “The Wombles of Wimbledon Downs”? Well, when we womble we collect litter!

On leaving the National Park we kept East taking a short cut via a dirt road that wound its way through steep forest country to Yorktown and then along the ridge of the Tamar Valley to Beaconsfield. The world beamed its light on this little mining town in 2006 when a rock fall occurred underground taking the life of Larry Knight and two other blokes - Todd Russell and Brant Webb were entombed for two weeks before being miraculously rescued. We spent a pleasurable couple of hours in the Grubb Shaft Museum overlooking the ‘famous’ headgear and shaft where Russell and Webb surfaced after their ordeal. Dipping down to the Tamar River for our lunch alongside the Batman Bridge we found quite a few tents and caravans set up and happily set ourselves up there for the night too. A conflict has been raging over the potential impact of a proposed pulp mill in this beautiful Tamar Valley and as we travelled upriver to Launceston the next day we spotted many anti pulp mills signs daubed across various structures.

Knowing we’d be in Launceston again in weeks to come we simply passed through and ran parallel to the Great Western Tiers making for Lake Parangana. We just had to stop en route at the Honey Factory in Chudleigh to sample their wonderful and varied selection of honeys. We finally agreed on raspberry flavoured honey for our ice cream and chilli honey for baked camembert. The drive through fertile farmlands was very reminiscent of the Natal Midlands and as we neared Lake Parangana set within a steep-sided valley we marvelled at the sight of all the tree ferns in the understorey of the forested slopes. A peaceful night followed beside this loch like man made dam on the Mersey, before we retraced our road back to Deloraine stopping for a walk to the Alum Cliffs to survey a wondrous view over the Mersey River canyons.
Deloraine had a pretty municipal caravan park beside a river ideally situated close to shops and internet enabling us to see to all our needs while the laundry dried. That night a mighty rumble had George rising from our bed in consternation at this strange noise! Late that night a very l-o-n-g log train rumbled past within a couple of metres of our heads - An extra loud clash on the rails almost had George fall out of bed in fright and “blue air” followed…. Fortunately this was the only one to head down the line.

It was a slow climb up through the Western Tiers Mountain Range onto the Central Plateau with its Great Lakes, bleak moor lands and smatterings of snow gums.
We’d arranged to meet up at the Pumphouse Bay campground on the edge of Arthur’s Lake in Central Tasmania with Lea’s cousin Alison Howman who would travel up from Hobart for the weekend. Alison works for Hydro Tasmania and she is responsible for overseeing the environmental management of these lakes. All of which were at an exceptionally low level due to at least 5 years of subnormal rainfall. A stimulating weekend of “taking shop” followed for George as she took us to see one of her problem lakes, “The Lagoon of Islands”. It had been so grossly interfered with in the past that its waters were on the verge of turning toxic.

Alison beside Lagoon of Islands

Did fiddling with the water affect them both? That evening after Alison had returned home George took to his bed feeling dreadful. No better by morning, Lea insisted he rest up dreading sickness over Christmas and we stayed put. Unknown to us Alison had also suffered and required a visit to the doctor! The following day - Tuesday we wended our way southwards towards Hobart’s airport and found the nearest caravan park, close to Seven Mile Beach, to await the arrival of Lea’s sister Alice (Leecy) from Kilcare in New South Wales, early the next day. We last saw Leecy at Saxon and Paul’s wedding thus the TALK flowed incessantly on meeting that we decided to negotiate another day in the caravan park and keep talking...

The three of us set off for the Tasman Peninsula with a walk down to show Leecy the naturally formed Tessellated Pavement on the coastline and stopping at the Dog Line. A statue of a vicious looking hound straining at his chain marks the line of 18 ferocious dogs that once extended across the narrow isthmus at Eaglehawk Neck to prevent convicts escaping from the Peninsula. We stood awhile here, aghast as we reflected on plaque before us “These out of the way pretenders to dogship were actually rationed and borne in the governments books rejoiced in such soubriquets as Caesar, Pompey, Ajax, Achilles, Ugly Mug, Jowler, Tear’um and Muzzle’um… There were the black, the white, the brindle, the grey and the grisly, the rough and the smooth, the crop-eared and lop-eared, the guant and the grim. Every four-footed black fanged individual among them would have taken first prize in his own class for ugliness and ferocity at any show!”
Arriving in Lime Bay for the night you can imagine our consternation when a neighbouring camper came over to warn us about the deadly Tiger snake that had taken up residence at the toilet block! Leecy and I often spotted it basking between the two ramps up to the toilets on our nervous visits. Continuing our loop of the Peninsula next day we briefly stopped at Port Arthur but as George and I had previously visited this beautiful historic place (in spite of the shocking massacre a lone gunman went on a good decade ago that most people immediately think of now!) it was decided that Leecy should visit it with Saxon & Paul when they arrived after Christmas. We moved on to the Tasman National Park at Fortesque Bay for the afternoon, plunging down steep gradients on a gravel road which gave rise to concerns on the condition of Skiv’s brakes after all the ups and downs of Tasmania’s terrain. Nothing alerted us to the fact that this Park wasn’t suitable for caravans and we battled to find a turning circle. Late that evening we made our way to Alison and Amanda’s home, south of Hobart. Their 3.5 acre property on the Tinderbox Peninsula adjoins the Peter Murrill Nature Reserve. Their house looks out onto native bush lands on one side and the distant Snug Tiers on the other with close proximity to the sea. For two weeks we had a prime view from Getaway and we could observe the resident paddymelons and potaroos foraging. To be confronted by a high Johannesburg style security fence and find it electrified may have seemed daunting! This dog line supposedly protects the wild life from the two huskies Keanu and Cinnamon. Never mind that diagnosed cancer patient Keanu very recently accomplished two Houdini escapes in which she molested a goat and slaughtered four chickens. On both occasions this put her on death row at the Dog Pound!

Family togetherness over the Festive Season made for a special end to the year especially with the arrival of Saxon, Paul and our highly mobile grand-daughter Talia on Boxing Day. As a gang, we enjoyed many of the tourist spots of Hobart from the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race; renowned Salamanca Market; ascending Mt Wellington for 360’ spectacular views and spending time at The TASTE - a week long showcase of the best of Tasmanian food and wine.

Recovering after The Taste (from left - Leecy, Talia, Paul, Alison, Saxon, Lea)

Alison had a list of outstanding chores, as long as her arm to see to before she departed on her holiday to South Africa. Delightedly, George leapt to the fore between them, all were accomplished and more, even a jig-saw board was made and Alison threw down the challenge for all to complete a complicated 1500 piece puzzle! Songwriter Neil Murray was a highlight of a musical evening at a local winery for some. We all took a ferry to Bruny Island to revisit “The Hothouse” a wonderfully eclectic tomato tunnel turned into a restaurant with superb views out over the narrow neck between North and South Bruny. Although it has since changed hands and lost its somewhat arty ambiance it is still a very special place and we had a blissful day in the sunshine with copious amounts of wine and good food. A nature walk and a visit to a rookery shared by Little penguins and mutton birds (short tailed sheerwaters) – all out at sea at the time, added to the pleasure of our day. And, while seeing in the New Year around our BBQ fire Keanu, the escape artist, curtailed our celebrations at 2.30 a.m. when we discovered her absence! A frenzied search ensued until a muddy grey shape guiltily slunk in the open gate trying to avoid detection… So ended 2007!

Route maps

Western Australia
South Australia
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Tramping tales for November 2007

Have camera will travel! To give George time to accustom himself to the functioning of his new ‘partner’ we stayed in Albany. Just as well as the first day it malfunctioned due to a faulty memory card! The next day just to be certain the camera was a good one we decided to visit Whale World to make up for the lack of whales we’d planned to follow across the southern end of Australia.

Whale World turned out to be Albany’s historic Whaling Station which promptly brought to mind our visit to the ruins of Durban’s whaling station with our three young children which was abruptly curtailed when Keith, all of seven years, was inexplicably arrested by a guard! This was a very different experience altogether with the added richness of tying in the history we’d gathered during our Christmas stay at Cheyne Beach. Given the worldwide demand for and uses of whale oil at the time, the significance of the whaling industry to Albany not to mention the short sightedness of the whalers themselves during these years becomes perfectly understandable. Equally impressive was the absence of any wastage. We found ourselves totally caught up as this history was brought to life in its beautiful setting in Frenchman’s Bay along with excellent displays and the whale chaser Cheynes IV- all making it well worth the visit.

Kalgan River had been mentioned to us by fellow travellers as a special atmosphere caravan park and we were happy to tie up there for a night amongst the ‘roos and birds. Down at the laundry we found a narcissistic galah at the window that made no effort to fly away as we approached. We had a little natter with this ‘foolish’ bird only for it to respond in English as we moved on. This was our introduction to “Member”, a real charmer!

Next day Lea went off to shower before we hit the road. The place to herself, she began washing her hair and abluting, with a steadily growing sense of apprehension of a presence. How imagination pays tricks and no matter how you try not to keep checking… You do and there is no one! In the silence of towelling off with eyes still continuing to flit around uneasily, almost simultaneously the ablution block door opened as a voice above Lea said “Hello there”! The momentary heart palpitation gave way to an effusive gasp at seeing wretched “Member” peering down between two slats of an air vent in the ceiling. A common occurrence obviously, as the lady who’d come in laughingly asked if ‘The Peeping Tom’ was up to no good again.

Have you been up to no good Member

With big mileages to cover we decided to aid our budget with plenty of bush camping beginning with a favourite spot at Cape Riche. We called in at Bremer Bay before bravely deciding we’d take the dirt road through the Fitzgerald River National Park only to find that we’d have to spend a night at Quaalup Homestead as there was no through road for caravans. It didn’t prove to be a wasted journey as alongside the road we spotted wonderful displays of most unusual plants with glowing orangey yellow crowns that had us wondering it was with its cabbage stick like form. It was later identified as Royal Hakea, endemic to the area. Since the gravel roads seemed to be in remarkably good condition we decided to brave another down to Starvation Harbour- Lea recalling this lovely place from a mere lunch stop ten years earlier. Surprisingly George felt we had never been there but as the scene unfolded just as she’d described he had to accept an abnormal slip in memory!

Rock sculpture

With severe weather warnings being put out over the radio we didn’t stop in Esperance pushing inland for the start of the Nullarbor crossing. Holed up for the night at Bromus Dam outside Norseman as the sky ominously darkened with a purple hue and Lea eyed the gum trees nervously as the wind threatened to dislodge branches. Laugh he may! We must have been off centre to this storm as the night passed relatively peacefully and from then on we knew we’d reached Australian summer weather.

With a familiar feel we crossed the Nullarbor in three days. Approaching the Western Australian State border George began puzzling over the appearance of rampart like white structures to the tail end of the Mildura Range ahead of us. Was the mirage playing tricks with our eyes? They turned out to be sand dunes that we’d never noticed travelling from the East. We had little idea of the week day on arrival in Ceduna and finding it was a Saturday evening only allowed for the bliss of Shelley beach’s lovely ablution facility as our usual internet café had closed for the weekend. We pushed onwards next morning reaching Port Augusta on the Monday to find that despite being a bigger town we were given the run-around when it came to internet! Public access is one thing, laptop connection quite another! After days without fresh fruit and vegetables due to quarantine restrictions crossing the State line we were glad to restock before setting off.

New turf to tramp! Excitement was heady as we moved north into the South Australian Outback to explore the Flinders Ranges. Hardly out of Port Augusta, we travelled through the type of landscapes that artists enjoy capturing on canvas - bulky river gums giving sculptured effects alongside dry creeks as we wound our way through gently undulating hills. Stopping for lunch in the Pichi Richi Pass – named after the historic railway that runs between Port Augusta and Quorn. North of Quorn we took a scenic loop road and found ourselves in Warren Gorge with its rugged red and ochre coloured outcrops, pine trees covering the foot slopes and an extensive campground with a wide selection of sites all going begging. Spotted the first of many signs “warning of falling limbs” even though pines dominate here!
We promptly made ourselves at home amongst chortling kookaburras and inquisitive western grey kangaroos resting in the shade of nearby pine clumps. Heavenly!

Early next morning as we prepared to make tracks, we spotted our first yellow footed rock wallabies – rare and beautifully marked creatures with banded tails and yellow legs. Continuing on the loop road we passed through Simmonston, a town that never was due to misplaced optimism in the 1870’s when it was considered “a splendidly situated town, the healthiest in the colony”. The ruins of a partially built hotel stands monument to this inhospitable and drought affected land, a land that does not readily lend itself to any form of human intervention. We could see a strong resemblance to the Karroo. An emu took fright and ran a good distance alongside a fence parallel to us, puffs of dust spurting up from its feet in a rhythmic stride of 30 km per hour that fascinated us. Just as we began to wonder why it didn’t peel off, it shot straight through the barbed wire fence unscathed and without missing a beat leaving us quite dumbstruck.

We stopped in Hawker to find out about road conditions and obtain a better map of the Flinders and in we went to the central ranges. After registering at Wilpena Pound we decided we’d prefer a bush camp away from this main touristy area and left for Bunyeroo Gorge. Bravely, we pulled off the main corrugated dirt road in the direction of Bunyeroo Valley with its warning of a narrow winding road ahead. We crept along at snail’s pace without meeting a soul until we reached the Look Out Point! There, we became aware of just how steep some of the descents ahead were. Had we been coming from the opposite direction we could have had a problem. We spent the night in the floor of the Gorge – our joint Christmas present to each other, an oscillating fan, finally being used and proving a valued item under these close conditions. Leaving the gorge at an hour far earlier than we are accustomed to in an effort to see more before the heat of the day got to us we were staggered to see a dozen or so goats come rushing towards the only remnants of water we’d seen in the gorge. Fat, healthy looking ferals so intent on water, they hadn’t notice us. As George moved forward to catch them on camera – they fled the way they’d come and simply disappeared, like a figment of our imagination. This became a day filled with wild life – emu families and kangaroos around every corner and rabbits galore. John Williamson’s song about “dodging rabbits and roos” was apt but what about all the road slugs? Right across our South West journey, we have wasted adrenalin dodging all these very slow moving Bobtails or Shingle-backs, possibly the most abundant lizard to be seen sluggishly crossing roads.
We left “Getaway” at a central campsite so that we could explore with ease. In the course of the morning we had covered the length and breadth of central Flinders, a Park that lends itself more to hiking than driving through. Other than the “pug and pine” ( pole & dagga / wattle& daub) hut used as a base by the renowned Australian artist Sir Hans Heysen in a very attractive valley along with its history of the first sheep farmer who lived in a stone house on the ridge, Lea wasn’t that taken by the area . Concerned that we’d see more of the same in the North Flinders some 230km away, primarily on dirt and, as the much spoken about, dramatic Siller’s Look Out could only be accessed as part of a guided tour we decided to return to Getaway and enjoy the surrounds of Brachina East campgrounds which we had to ourselves.

The following day we headed out of the Park back to the Southern Flinders following the Brachina Gorge. Talk about leaving the best until last, not to mention raising the stakes of Central Flinders enormously! Yellow footed rock wallabies and a billy, nanny & kid goat gave us wonderful demonstrations of how they nimbly move up the sheer rock faces. The morning light emphasising the rich colours of saw-toothed ridges and jagged cliff faces captured George’s eye while Lea was struck by the first rays of sunlight enhancing the beauty of nature’s landscaping with the double rows of ancient river gums down either sides of the dry and rocky river bed, some barely clinging to the banks. While young sapling took a chance at life scattered down the centre as Skiv and Getaway criss-crossed their way down the floor of the river bed. Coming out of this lovely place into the harsh dry plains stretching for ever, with only dry creek dips to alter the straight flat run of the road until we reached Hawker had its impact. We took the RM Williams Way down to Orroroo through overgrazed and degraded land. This bushman’s name led to a labelled brand of leather ware and clothing worn everywhere especially by cowboys at rodeos! How we curse that we didn’t buy his book when we spotted it in a second-hand bookshop window in Norseman! Books on Australiana come into their own when we travel these byways. No place to bush camp by the very nature of the land use. Thus, it was all the more poignant to come to a roadside memorial to an early Australian Surveyor – Goyder, marking the point where he had drawn the line demarcating the northern limit of sustainable agriculture in South Australia. Mores the pity greater notice wasn’t given to this! Climbing up to Hancocks Look Out in the South Finders Range the newly graded track took us through a well managed and scenically attractive farm to burst out on top of the world! We were glad to be back here for the second time. This must rank as one of the best roadside stops in South Australia.

At the end of a hot day a bush refresher is something we both look forward to. Driver George now turns butler. With a brief mutter over the need for a “privacy tent” that snaps open with the greatest of ease. He sets out bath mat, towel, soap, body oil, even slip-slops to await milady, followed by a bucket of solar heated water. Then butler completes his ablutions.

Packing up this particular evening, the sounds of the butler cursing prompted Lea to take a look outside. There she found George sprawled on the ground like a Japanese Sumo wrestler, grunting with exertion and unbridled ferocity, trying to recoil the semi folded privacy tent into a shape suitable for putting back into its bag. Coming to his assistance, the rubber tramps began time and again, and again, to twist the tent frame into shape but, it eventually became clear that the cursed thing had no intention of conforming. The only alternative was to stow the uncooperative tent (in its flat state) under the mattress in Skiv to maintain our sanity! Mere fluke he’d managed before?

Radio forecasted 37°C for the next day and we were up with the birds to catch the coolest part of the day to explore Alligator Gorge in Mt. Remarkable National Park.
From our previous attempt travelling on the coastal side of South Flinders we knew it was ‘unsuitable for towing vehicles’ we’d now planned to leave Getaway in a Wilmington caravan park. So much for planning! Booking in, George explained our intentions to immediately head off into Mt. Remarkable only to be told it was closed during week days due to road work. We decided to wait out Friday in their park do the Gorge next day. So glad we did, as that night in the light of an incoming car, we spotted a possum. We shot out of Getaway to get a closer look and the friendly creature approached us as if it expected food. Lea dashed to cut up an apple and on returning found it up a tree. Tsk…Tsk-ing - brought it down and we were able to hand feed this one and others that arrived a bit later. What a pleasure!

Feeding the possums

Plans fell into place next day with a worthwhile walking trail into Alligator Gorge before we took to the long winding road through nothing but wheat fields and sheep grazing on the stubble. Historic community settlements broke the monotony and Stone Hut Bakery lured us in for a ‘sticky beak’! Usually able to resist all temptations we waked out with “feral food”…George had a delicious kangaroo pie. Lea flatly refuses to eat “skippy” and chose a quandong pie - an indigenous bush fruit, wild peach yet its tangy taste colour and texture seemed more similar to plum and rhubarb. But be warned it’s a costly fruit as apparently it is more pip that flesh!
Night stop prospects were very thin and eventually we detoured into the Clare Valley vineyards bringing a welcome change of land use, greenery and trees and stayed at Auburn’s Recreation Grounds for the next two days. Cricket and bowls being played in the heat and we took shelter under a pretty row of trees with the birds.

Besides the next border crossing ahead of us we also had a Fruit Fly Exclusion Zone to contend with! No fruit and vegetables allowed… Lea’s McKenzie blood, prompted her to cook up all the potatoes for a salad and our apples were gobbled up speedily en route for the line! The name Stockport had jumped out at us as we pored over our route to the border of Victoria. Knowing Glen lived there we decided to pop in for a quick yarn and give him the last of our onions! In Darwin last year we were returning to our caravan site at the usual low speed requested by Parks. As we passed a man walking Lea was horrified to see him take a tumble. Thinking he had miss-stepped the road edge, she told George to stop and leapt out to help. Poor chap was scrabbling to get up and fast apologising “I’m not drunk – I suffer from multiple sclerosis”. This is how we met brave ‘Falling down Glen’ & Kathleen from South Australia, who turned out to be in a caravan opposite us. It was good to find that despite ongoing falls, Glen continues to keep well, leading a very active life. Disappointingly, Kath was off nursing her old Mum.

Approaching the border to Victoria, temperatures were touching the 40’s and the monotony of drought-stricken lands were getting to us that we couldn’t wait to take refuge beside the mighty Murray River at Renmark – a wonderful grey, green waterway. Hot winds hurtled amongst the River Gums and much as we needed respite from the searing heat fear of ‘falling limbs’ had us park out of harms reach. Weather forecast even higher temperatures next day and we laid low in our bush retreat quietly sweltering and listening to the local radio voicing the peoples concerns over the desiccated state of the citrus industry. Everyone wants more water from the already over burdened Murray! In the midst of election fervour, some farmers brought their plight to the attention of Federal Government by dumping dead orange trees on the steps of Parliament House! Unable to face more of this desperate land we decided not to cross into Victoria at this point preferring to turn coast-wards following the South Australian State line. That night a storm broke resulting in a dramatic drop in temperature and enough rain to require 4 wheel drive to slither our way out.

We ‘d never realised just how much wheat is grown in Australia until we made this journey across three States nor did we appreciate the stark contrast in agricultural productivity. South-West Victoria seemed a Garden of Eden. From the sweeping farmlands into the rugged splendour of The Grampians – we spent three days happily exploring from end to end. The highlight was our climb up Mt. Stapylton with its long rocky inclines reminiscent of Domboshawa. The very striking Taipan Wall face catching the sunlight, bird rock and the scramble up to the top with a heart fit to burst from the effort, making it all the more memorable. We’d never heard of the rare gang-gang birds we’d picked up on in a brochure but one morning just as we were leaving a campsite we heard a new sound – like a cork being twisted out of a bottle… Up in the gums were a flock of grey parrots with red heads and this was our introduction to the gang-gang cockatoo.

An embarassed George rides the Bird!

Considering we were travelling on a sealed road we could hardly credit the unexpected appearance of a sign “Unsuitable for caravans”. We turned back to seek an explanation from a caravan park and learnt it could safely be ignored. We have encountered far worse situations in our travels and felt irritated enough to contemplate writing the Horsham Shire about removing the sign! Fire had ravaged 60% of this National Park in January 2006 and it was interesting to see the regeneration 18 months later. As we descended the Wonderland Range the screeching of the cicadas was so deafening that Lea was convinced the sound had upset her sense of balance. At the Park HQ in Halls Gap she found herself tottering unsteadily round the cultural centre and couldn’t wait to find a camp and sit still.

At Wannon Falls we stopped for lunch and found such a pleasant camping ground, we stayed for the night. Never mind the big red gum which hadn’t just shed a limb, it had totally collapsed demolishing a picnic table very recently. We shared afternoon tea with a Danish lady who rolled up in her yellow V-dub. She appeared relieved to hear we were staying the night - being a woman on her own she relies heavily on her instincts in these lonely places! It was wonderful to chat away for a good couple of hours. Doesn’t happen too often!

INTERNET has a different meaning in this neck of Victoria and George spent fruitless hours on many a wild goose chase. Laptop access proved non existent. Eventually a village Post Mistress allowed George to connect up to the Post Office land-line and was stunned to find him successfully conducting his business lying on the floor under the office table! Pulled into a forest for our fifth night of bush camping – each brings a touch of ownership and pleasure in different ways but next day, needing to replenish our water supply and give Skiv an oil change we headed into Portland, on a beautiful bit of coastline. Came time to pay and to our dismay found George had lost his credit card somewhere in the Grampians – an awful inconvenience when you live on the road.

We have covered 4,700km this month, at times it has felt like “a white line fever of flight”! Our expectations of a lower fuel price on this side of the continent fell by the wayside. Instead, prices have gone through the roof. Despite that, we have managed to stay on budget. With two days left to month end we pulled out of Portland and soon after, popped into Mt. Clay State Forest wondering whether it would be a suitable spot to prepare our next blog. Just as we contemplated moving on because of the misty conditions – movement at the base of a tree alongside caught Lea’s eye. Ohmagod! A koala… Engine turned off, we stayed right there as it climbed up another tree just outside Getaway’s door. After the excitement of a wild koala in our midst had simmered down we spotted a familiar yellow V-Dub off in a clearing (Danish Lena was away on her bike!). A converted truck was also quietly parked off in another clearing. In between keeping an eye on our koala, we settled to our computer for the rest of the day. That evening we caught up with Lena and later, Terry came over and introduced himself and over a late night cuppa we leant much from this nomadic pensioner. All this socialising went to our heads that we stayed another day with our like minded grey nomads…

Within the next few days, come December, Melbourne and the ferry to Tasmania awaits us.

Tramping tales for October 2007

Over the past few months we have spent much time debating how we were going to continue with our blog – the previous one having placed far too much time and stress on ourselves. Not only meeting the weekly deadline but also our relationship, especially with regard to our different styles of writing and naturally our differing perspectives.

Our final decision is to write a less detailed monthly blog, containing anecdotal tales from our meanders around Australia. This second phase has us retracing our steps, in some places, for the third time. Hopefully, it allows a new form of blog to evolve - possibly each of us writing up a particular account. Apart from the excitement of exploring new places, there is still much to be said for returning to the places we have particularly enjoyed, re-experiencing them in a different season.

October route map

We began our journey with a relaxed 4 days spent just outside Dunsborough with Sax, Paul, Talia and Harley-dog. Sax and Paul took the whale watch boat out to sea and caught wonderful visuals of whales on the Saturday and our little charges were perfect.

Believe it or not we discovered a bad leak on the water pump when Lea found the floor of a cupboard sodden. Another wretched plastic fitting to blame! George tried mending it with two different types of adhesive sealants over the weekend, but neither worked. Fortunately a plumber in the caravan park told us where to find a brass replacement. Done with ease, and hopefully sorted once and for all.

It’s sometimes tough growing old – the confusions that arise, crop up all too easily!
Back on the road after eight months away demonstrates this point quite clearly….
After our meal of spatch-cocks on the BBQ – Lea noticed George had moved the BBQ close to where Talia was asleep. He duly moved it to the opposite end of our campsite to cool down.
Next morning as Lea approached the bins to dispose of “doggy do” she was taken aback to find coals lying on top of the lid and scattered around the base… Thoughts of “our coals” immediately jumped to mind BUT an environmentally conscious old fellow wouldn’t DO THAT would he? For peace of mind, best check.
“Yes, I tipped them into the skip” and the righteous mere male came to see what the fuss was about, and then blustered “It was dark and it looked like a skip from this angle”…

Naturally, the evidence was swept up in the time it took for Saxon to fetch her camera.

Plans to go to different places over the weekend were so often thwarted by Dogs Prohibited signs! Hence we didn't get out to Cape Naturaliste to look for whales until the Gees left after an early lunch on the Monday. Driving out to the Cape proved a measure of distraction to the farewells. There we spent a good two hours scanning the ocean from the whale watching platforms and only near the end of our time did we suddenly see some distant spouting and then some breaching - which gave us a thrill. We’d much preferred to have been without binoculars though!

We returned to the super bush camp at Conto's Field in the Leeuwin-Naturaliste National Park that we'd discovered earlier in the year and spent two nights there. Again, we walked that superbly elevated section of the Cape to Cape hiking trail looking for whales in vain! However, the wonderful variety of wildflowers in bloom more than made up for the missing whales. We have never seen the bush around here looking quite so magnificent.
A cold front moved in on our second day confining us to Getaway as rain and wind battered us despite being in a relatively protected hollow amongst the peppermint trees, even they added to the chill with their tiny white blossoms making them look as if they had been caught in a snow flurry.

Shire run caravan parks invariably have the best location and the one in Augusta right on edge of Flinders Bay was no exception. An entrancing, brilliant blue fairy wren and his dowdy little wife flitting around outside our door was an added attraction for the two days we were there. Our next couple of days took us to Molloy at the top of the Hardy Inlet which is fed by the biggest river in the South West, the Blackwood. Our stay in this lovely environment where wild kangaroos and parrots visit unfortunately coincided with another cold front bringing gusty winds up the inlet and intermittent rain. By evening we were shivering and mighty grateful for the electric kettle and toaster that we’d looked at askance when Sax and Paul had initially given them to us. The excitement of the World Cup rugby final generated many email photos of green and gold supporters (dogs and children included) and did not lead to ethnic problems within the family. Sadly we missed any coverage being out of TV reception range.

During a work orientated visit to Perup Ecology Centre in the late 90’s George returned full of enthusiasm after his many encounters with woylies. Since the eradication of foxes, researchers were using this 100ha study area, buffered by a 50 000ha nature reserve to monitor the recovery of the State’s rarest mammals including the numbat, tammar wallaby and chuditch.
Earlier this year we attempted to get permission to visit the woylies from the Dept. of Conservation and Environment only to hear it was closed. Back to try again, we struck lucky. Access is by arrangement only. This beautiful facility constructed of rammed earth and renamed The Perup – Nature’s Guest House offers “an environmental and ecologically sustainable nature based experience for the community” and as word spreads – tourism in general. Although not set up for caravans, Glen Batty the caretaker, was a most considerate host inviting us to join his talk to a group of 70+ Senior Citizens out for the day, supplying us with a strong torch for our night spotlighting walks and ensured we were comfortable in our little spot. We had a wonderful time with good sightings of tammar wallabies yet nothing of woylies. It seems the earlier successes with woylies are unravelling for reasons unknown.

Woylie Walk, one of four trails, wound us round the reed swamp and led us away into the woodlands when a strange sound caught Lea’s ears. On alerting George well ahead of her, he seemed to think it was an alarm call from a parrot. Somehow the sound seemed more of distress or upset and reminded Lea of the tree frog we’d heard in Kakadu last year – in the time it took for Lea to catch up with George the sound was ongoing… Together, we continued up the path straining to ascertain where the sound was coming from and moments later realised we were standing close to the tree but could see nothing as we scanned the boughs – almost simultaneously our eyes caught the gleam of a snake’s tail high-lighted by the sun at a broken off rotten fork near the base of tree. Binoculars were hurriedly raised to check whether we could believe our eyes. In the heat of excitement George passed over the binoculars saying “tiger snake”. That immediately sent a ripple of fear as Lea peered down the lenses to see the now magnified snake reverse slightly from the obvious hollow. It appeared so big that the gasp and leap backwards Lea made didn’t stem the drama that was being played out in front. “Get a photo” and to her consternation, instead of George doing just that he began sneaking up to the tree, moving to the left. This further agitated Lea as that seemed far too close to the head of a venomous snake and she swiftly moved up the path to see what view was to be had from that angle. Nothing! Dying was taking oh so long a time, but the final death rattle seemed to be in progress. Hoarsely Lea told George to move - he took steps to the right and began his time honoured procedure of composing the picture. Lea watched in dread, with adrenalin racing in case the disturbance should have the snake tumble out at George’s feet – the distress sounds resumed. A flash went off and then, in an effort to see more clearly, the mad man began using his watch face to create light within the hollow. He beckoned Lea over but nothing would induce her to venture closer. Eventually he returned to the path and related that the snake had disappeared from view by the time he had stepped right. No snake but he could see two possums towards the entrance of the big cavity that spread downwards into the trunk of the tree. Thinking about it later, we realised a tiger snake wouldn’t be searching for a meal in this habitat it was probably a carpet python. That evening we returned to the scene of crime and peered down to see a sleeping possum – only one!

Can you spot the possum?

The flash photo revealed a snarling possum, but no snake. So where did it go? Did it slip past the parents and in doing so create all that shamozzle, or was it squeezing one of the youngsters for breakfast?

Out of interest we are giving George’s written perspective –

Examining the tail through binoculars suggested its owner could be a tiger snake. If so, then the noise coming from within what we assumed was a hollow in the fork of the tree, must be its prey, now taking its last gasp? Instead of taking a photo there and then, George could not resist trying to get closer – and with that, the snake’s tail disappeared into the hole. Convinced that he was about to be bitten by an angry snake Lea kept her distance – quietly having kittens. Peering into the hollow George could see the face of a brush tailed possum staring back at him, but the hole was too deep to see whether the snake was in there as well. His first idea was to see whether by taking a flash photo – the flash may illuminate what lay within. This didn’t work too well so his next trick was to remove his watch and using it like a mirror, shine a ray of light into the hollow, thereby obtaining a clear view of two possums within but still no sign of the snake. His invitation to Lea for her to come and see them was refused.

The mystery of the missing snake remains unexplained. Assuming that the sound we’d heard had been the possums volubly objecting to the snake’s presence, why hadn’t they come shooting out of the hole as soon as the unwelcome intruder slithered into their den? If the snake hadn’t represented a threat, what species would it have been? Would possums be prepared share their den with a snake?

Remember how we fell for Boyup Brook? WELL, discovering that Harvey Dickson was hosting the WA State Rodeo Final - weekend 27th October had us mulling over the idea of attending for a good couple of weeks. Permission for Perup made it possible and back to Boyup Brook we went to await it. We grimly sat out the rain and wind all Friday hoping it would be over and done by Saturday – not so! George felt sure it was rained out. Easily forgetting that like England, weather doesn’t always dictate at long awaited events. Watching competitors, camped along the river with their ponies, at the Old Flax Mill Caravan Park, prepare to leave for Harvey’s rodeo grounds– we wondered what we were expected to endure and rugged up warmly. Saxon had bequeathed her old police boots to Lea and for the first time they came into their own.

To come over the rise and look across the Dickson land dotted with campers, caravans and tents regardless of the weather was an amazing sight and somehow we just knew we were in for something good! This place we’d loved in its emptiness had rightly come alive. Seeing this essential Australian scene of folk, kitted out in akubras and drizabones looking the picture of wet weather elegance captured our imagination and will forever epitomise these iconic garments. Adding to the occasion was the country music with its inclusion of riffs that were popped in at appropriate moments of introduction or drama during the bull riding, calf roping, steer wrestling and bucking broncos.

Harvey Dickson's Rodeo

All kept us entertained throughout the day as wave after wave of low grey cloud driven in by a bitter wind had us huddled under our rubberised picnic blanket in a desperate effort to remain dry and warm during these onslaughts. Just when we thought we could not tolerate another moment the sun would appear with empty promises and our attention would be diverted by humorous incidents. On a couple of occasions, an enraged bull held the arena to ransom, turning it into a mini bull-fight by refusing to leave the ring. Butting and chasing the horses, charging the clowns, scattering cowboys up and over barricades within an inch of their lives, pawing the ground and casting an evil eye on the spectators’ just beyond. Twice during the day we returned briefly to Getaway at the Flax Mill to add warmer layers and double up on warmer socks - even digging out our hidden long-johns and George’s beanie.

The final time was necessitated when George, shaking with cold and involuntarily and noisily hissing through his teeth, quite sure he was suffering hypothermia. Yet, determined to attend the after show party, we returned home to change his wet socks and have his feet bound in clingwrap to ward off the damp chill of his one and only pair of vellies. Gulped down hot soup as we watched the news and weather and learnt that not far off on the Stirling Range it was snowing. Then eagerly returned to Harvey’s Country Music Party moved from the rodeo grounds into his famous music shed to escape the inclement weather. We love The Shed with its history hanging from the rafters - a wonderfully eclectic collection and it made our day to end up witnessing a country music concert in here - packed! Three bands taking turns over the night we squeezed onto the dance floor amongst all the young folk, as it was the best place to warm up and immerse ourselves in the music and atmosphere. The spontaneous reaction of a young woman catching our eye, approached us quite overwhelmed and said “this is my first visit and it is unbelievably special” matched our feelings entirely.

With no let up in the weather we returned to the coast and found a perfect camp site at Cosy Corner. A free bush camp tucked away under peppi’ trees with the waves pounding close by.
Weather was the chief conversation amongst fellow campers here, as the gales and hail had upset the salmon fishing and the vineyards. Christmas 1998 was spent two beaches East and we walked there before breakfast on our second day scrambling over the rocks and reflecting upon the memories of that camping Christmas, joined unexpectedly by Jamie & Emma and wondering how fate finds us here almost at the 6th anniversary of his death.
When George came to get an updated photo of the beach – calamity struck! The power button had jammed and that was the end of camera number 2! No Paula with back up… As Albany is our last big town for a good month or more we decided to leave our “cosy corner” to do camera shopping. A camera is like George’s right hand he cannot exist without one!