Tramping tales for February 2008

Dover Caravan Park met our household needs and George set off job hunting amongst the fish & fruit farming community within the radius of Dover. Our timing was out as cherry season was about to end and apple pickers would only be required in another month or more. No casual work going on the fish farms. Two days later we moved on to Port Huon in case there was work in the fish factory and to follow up on an advert for a wood-turner. We set up camp at Shipwrights Point, a ‘permit’ bush camp! Volunteers collect a small fee - with a limited 4 night special price (NOT adhered to!) on behalf of the yacht club just below us. They certainly weren’t consistent and most overnighters moved on before payment. We were told about a power point. Connection made no difference to the “permit fee” and as there was a space by the electricity pole we took advantage of this unexpected perk. The Local Council kept the toilets and picnic area well maintained and we developed friendships. Added together made for a very worthwhile stay of 11 days. Rolling stones gather no moss… Hand waves, greetings and perhaps the odd chat is the general way of things when you are always on the roll. “The Pole” was a uniting force… the owners of the four caravans around it would assemble of an evening and exchange stories, experiences and advice creating that special camaraderie. This unexpected meeting of like-minded folk is a wonderful addition to life on the road. How sad to all go our separate ways. However, we exchanged contacts and hopefully we will meet up again as we all circumnavigate Australia.

A bird's eye view of Shipwright's Point campground - Port Huon

Scanning newspapers and notice boards in our job search and submitting an expression of interest as assistants in a caravan park had us seriously considering spending at least another year on this small but very appealing island State. Nothing came our way throughout February. We refuse to be downhearted and as our daughter Justy reminded us “if a river gets blocked it finds a new path…”
The wide Huon River we looked out upon from our site at Shipwrights Point dominates the valley. Sadly, the ancient Huon pines that were synonymous with this mighty river are long gone and in the heydays of the 60’s the valley became an international apple growing centre. Now it has diversified into fruit growing and salmon farming, wine and growing tourism. We were told of one little farm and popped in there for the best apples, peaches and nectarines we have tasted in a long time – literally just picked!
One afternoon we drove up into the Hartz Mountains with the intention of strolling through the forests in the vicinity of the rather expensive “Tahune Airwalk”. Our plans changed when we picked up a heavily laden hitch-hiker – a Defence man from Canberra about to undertake one of the State’s most hazardous hiking trails up to Federation Peak in the heart of the South West National Park. Arrangements to do this trip had steadily fallen apart as his team mates dropped out and the promise of transport failed. So here he was, all on his own, determined to accomplish this long held goal when we elected to take him to the start of the trail, saving him at least 5 hours of walking. Wow! This was some journey winding our way along rough forestry tracks down into the Picton River valley, wondering at times whether we’d ever find our way back again. Not a soul did we meet in the dense forests, and in odd places where the track opened up we found lots of bee hives. All this tended to accentuate the impact made by the two areas where logging activities were evident.
How timber is cut and extracted from such phenomenally steep terrain, defied all our imaginations. The resilience of the forest in its ability to recover from such complete devastation was equally remarkable. A week later cousin Alison arranged with a work colleague pilot to fly Amanda, George and Lea over the South West National Park as far as Port Davey. What an advantage it was to see the self same area we’d been exploring on the ground, from the air. Apart from being able to recognise our camp sites we were spell bound to look down on this vast World Heritage wilderness such a mountainous terrain - Federation Peak very distinctive! Wonderful rugged coastline and on the button grass plains a surprisingly well defined hiking trail. The true extent of the logging operations became far more apparent from up here, as did the widely voiced concern regarding the sustainability of the industry.

We made many a wasted trip into Huonville, the biggest town along here to avail ourselves of an internet cafe with broadband, only to find an exasperated technician and a wi-fi system that remained defunct. Saving grace, however, was to come across “The siege of Ladysmith”. Coming from Africa it seemed an odd spot to find a memorial but we forget that many soldiers of the Australian Colonies fought as part of the British Imperial Forces. We discovered that back in 1902, the Short Family planted a row of trees along the Huon River to commemorate the local men who volunteered for service in the Boer War and the lifting of the siege of Ladysmith. One hundred years later, at the end of the “safe life” of these trees (a novel concept to us, I may add) figures were sculptured from the stumps of the trees to maintain this historic link.

Commemorating the siege of Ladysmith, Huonville

A night in Gordon had an overcast sky close in on us followed by wind and rain lashing the ‘van all night. Such a chill in the air by morning that we stayed in bed and watched a fuzzy TV screen listening to our new Prime Minister in a defining moment of Australia history say “Sorry” to the Aboriginal people. Reality isn’t cured by this often difficult to say little word but it goes a long way towards easing the pain of this Nation. We set off to spend a few days in Howden, looking forward to catching up on family news now that Alison was back from South Africa. En route we had to smile at the sight of a sewage truck emblazoned “Yesterdays Meal on Wheels”! The wet weather never reached Howden and we were able to turn our rig and set up home in the very dry garden without a problem. As for Keanu! She hadn’t been contained… A new and heavier gauged mesh was evident around the boundary and the cage. We learnt later that Keanu had eaten a hole through the chicken wire George had reinforced her cage with.

Cinnamon, Alison and Keanu - don't fence me in!

We have certainly thrived on quality time with family in Tasmania. Leaving this family base for the last time was offset by the knowledge we were going to meet up with another cousin in Lime Bay. Tim & Les Howman from Queensland, holidaying their way around Tasmania were persuaded to give up a couple of nights in a B&B to “rough it” with us in a bush camp. Fortunately the tiger snake we’d encountered at the toilet block, on our last visit with Leecy appeared to have moved on… We arrived a day early to prepare for them and were taken aback to find most of the sites taken. We squeezed our way to a front corner, right up against a rock boundary protecting a small promontory jutting out into the bay – utterly perfect! Next day, with beds all made up we eagerly sat back to await their arrival. Only George was asleep in Skiv and Lea’s nose was buried in the computer when they turned up! Time passed all too fast that first day that we leapt up to prepare for bed far later than usual. Tim shot out to the car for their luggage only to be surprised by a “creature” which turned out to be one of the many pademelons that appear as dark falls. Unexpected squealing alerted us to a veritable posse of possums scrounging around inside two elevated 44 gallon drum waste bins close by. We haven’t seen that before and it was an amusing note to end the night on!
Morning broke heralding a magnificent day and an obviously hot one! Before breakfast we had a visit from a Ranger warning of a total fire ban. Bang went our proposed barbeque that evening! Sea breezes kept us relatively cool throughout the day as we exchanged family recollections and walked the beaches. That night with wild life abounding on our doorstep it was only when the call for bed was made, that the balmy night with an almost full moon, enticed us to stroll the beach instead. Heavenly to say the least…

Howman conflab on the beach at Lime Bay

Time is always fleeting when you enjoy yourselves and our time with Tim and Les was up. They were going to spend the day at Port Arthur before moving through to Howden for their last two nights with Alison. We set off for two nights in New Norfolk to enable us to get all the laundry done, despite drizzly weather. Our last morning we returned to Hobart just to see the film “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly”- a true and very moving story making for an extra-ordinary film that we would hate to have missed. Back home in time for lunch we were able to ensure everything was ship shape in readiness for our trip west through the World Heritage Wilderness area. We stopped for lunch at Brady’s Lake up in the central highlands and were concerned to find our Battery charge control in the red and blinking! We’d never been that low before and at first we thought we must have a fault. However, over lunch we realised we’d been reliant upon solar power for over a week and with the fridge working over time our batteries were in need of a boost. Five hours of generator time sorted that out and we stayed put on the edge of the lake shore as the afternoon grew progressively colder and we slept to the sound of gentle rain.

Long stays in places have enabled George to set up a mini workshop on Skiv’s tow-hitch and begin carving Australian animals out of local timbers with his Dremel. Curious campers come across to see what George is up to and mention the wood carver at Derwent Bridge. With whistling winds and heavy grey skies we made our way to Derwent Bridge lying just outside the Lake St Clair National Park.
Wall in the Wilderness housed in a large, striking, corrugated iron building and set within tall eucalypt woodland showcased the incredible artistry of Greg Duncan, a self taught woodcarver who is busy creating a record of the region’s history on massive panels of huon pine. Entering this starkly beautiful place with its wooden floors and cathedral like high ceilings, a massive log fire blazing away and reception desk constructed out of the original wooden pipeline used on the first hydro power station immediately indicated we were in for a remarkable experience. The WALL is a privately owned and funded work in progress, estimated to take 5-7 years to complete the 100 metre length by 3 metre high panels - portraying 10 different subjects of history. Greg has completed approximately 38 panels since he opened in March 2003. Besides this magnificent Wall – no doubt his magnum opus, there are quite the most magnificent three dimensional sculptures on view. What we found so inspirational about Greg’s work is his attention to detail and ability to soften the appearance of wood. Whether it was a garment or a thylacine foetus the reality was unbelievable.

A copy of the wood carver at his Wall in the Wilderness

The weather was closing in rapidly and by the time we reached the Visitors Centre on the edge of Lake St Clair we knew we could not face walking any trails thanks to the intermittent sleet like rain. Our fears grew at reading their weather forecast for snow. Accommodation is always at a premium here and we were forced to move on through the grandeur of the Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park. A marvellous drive taken very slowly as we pulled up and dropped down the steep winding road, which gave us odd glimpses of deep valleys and mountain tops obscured by mist and rain. Eventually we stopped on the shores of Lake Burberry and took cover behind some trees for protection from the wind driven rain. Never the less it beat down on the caravan so remorselessly that we could scarcely hear the DVD we’d put on to distract ourselves from the plummeting temperatures. During the second story of “Lucky to be Alive” involving chaps trapped in avalanches the advent of hail and winds sufficient to violently shake the caravan did little to improve our frozen state of mind.
Out came the long johns and themals for more of the same next day, as we chased down a powered site from Queenstown through to Warratah. We just wanted warmth! Rounding a corner we caught a view of snow topping Mt. Murchison near Roseberry. We stopped to capture this mid summer madness on camera only for stratocumulous to conceal it again – if George is right with his “Cloudspotter’s Guide”!

All three Queenstowns we know are encircled by mountains. From the one in South Africa where church bells resounded in the valley as they rang out Christmas carols and Lea’s Great-Great grandparents lived (1820 settlers), to New Zealand’s Adventure Capital with its adrenalin rush of activities, to this Tasmanian one that has you coming through heavenly mountains into a hellish moonscape. Mountain slopes stripped bare of vegetation leaving multi-coloured scree slopes of mining waste. Even stream signs warn of contaminated water. All this thanks to a heritage of copper mining dating back to the 1920’s. Apparently locals resist any thoughts of rehabilitation on the grounds that it is what makes Queenstown different. We’d like to have lingered longer here only the caravan park was a tight squeeze and had no powered sites available. We ended up in Waratah, required four wheel drive just to get over the wet grass to our powered site and thankfully turned on the heat to warm up Getaway. No wonder it is important to record where you have been… We had puzzled long and hard over the route we’d taken around this area back in January 2003. As soon as George had warmed up, he switched into his Computer Diary to check. We had absolutely no recall of Waratah and yet we had stopped here to see the Mt Bishof mine, once the world’s richest tin mine found by Philospher Smith.
A reconstruction of the prospector’s hut, the original stamp mill and a museum are beautifully cared for beside our attractive Council campground despite it being very open to the biting winds that blow. More ignominiously though, the last two verifiably breathing Tasmanian tigers were trapped in Waratah and shipped off to die in a zoo in 1936.

Reluctantly we left power behind and moved on in quite the most roundabout way ending up negotiating the devilish of inclines to get back onto to the correct road for Hellyer Gorge. All that we can say is we saw more, rather than less, of the surrounding countryside. The steep climb down into the gorge had to be backtracked when we discovered the little place at the base was really only suitable as a day picnic spot. We could easily have done without it! In hopes the coast would bring better weather we continued to Wynyard where George was forced to use a memory stick to laboriously transfer our e-mails through an Internet Access Centre if we were ever to send off our backlog. Disappointingly, he was unable to collect incoming mail. Through bouts of sun and rain we continued along the coast through volcanic landscape passing many dairy farms at milking time which added to the vista, towards the Northwest point of Tasmania. Wearily, we stopped for the night on the calm edge of a beach at Marrawah. As the bush camp was full we pulled into the beach car park giving ourselves a wonderful outlook of the rocky outcrops and waves breaking on the sand below us. With the sun beginning to wane we dressed warmly and took a stroll along Green Point beach thinking of the 38 sperm whales that stranded themselves and died here this very month, ten years ago.

Moving on to Arthur River Parks and Wildlife’s Mannuka Campground, we spent the last days of February there. A male pademelon adopted us within hours of our arrival, curiously checking on all we did throughout our days then disappearing at dusk. We had intended to do “the road to nowhere” as conservationist called it in their unsuccessful fight to prevent a road (only dirt) being built down the eastern border of the Tarkine Wilderness to come here. However, we discovered the ferry in Corrina would only take rigs no more that 9 metres in length, knocking us out. We weren’t disappointed as we did it in 2003 and the little exploring we did from this end satisfied us.

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
Victoria

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.