Tramping tales for July 2008

Skittle- scat! Our ancient charge.

This has been a month revolving around the care of a dear and very frail aged cat – Skittle and the time required to delve into archival work. We pored over old Howman albums and loose photographs spread between four sisters and steadily gathered them altogether in chronological order to form an illustrated record of the lives of Lea’s parents. Thanks to technology all the information we have managed to glean has been collated with the aid of Leecy’s scanner, and stored on computer preparatory to wider distribution. Bringing clarity to events that are so easily confused with the passing of time has taken the best part of a month.

Our first Sunday we were back up the Central Coast to attend Leecy’s birthday. A few friends congregating at Bell’s for lunch due to a husband of one, a musician, playing there. Perfect winter weather in the lovely setting of an old homestead with an understated nautical décor opened out onto an enormous verandah overlooking rolling lawns on which the Jazz Trio played, should have made for a blissful occasion had it not been for up-market meals that not only left hunger in its wake but hurt the pocket!
Leecy, proud of her newly organised home invited everyone back to party on…
We nervously dashed back first thing the next day to check the welfare of our geriatric Skittle

For light relief, our senior citizen excursion tickets for $2.50 each have taken us far and wide using bus, train and ferry services, each of these giving us the opportunity to enjoy some of the pleasures that Sydney has to offer. Leecy had suggested we take in the 16th Biennale of Sydney which meant little to us plebs until we learnt that it is one of the world’s oldest, most celebrated and respected festivals of contemporary art.
Revolutions – Forms That Turn was the theme presenting works by more than 180 artists from all over the world in assorted venues that certainly challenged our preconceived notions about art today and all for FREE – even charter ferries laid on to take folk across to Cockatoo Island, one of the art venues in the middle of Sydney Harbour.

Seriously weird stuff – methinks!

This proved to be an amazing adventure aside from the art as we ambled on the Lower Island amongst disused naval and ship building yards with their rusting machinery. A doglegged tunnel built to get men and equipment from one side of the island to the other more easily fascinated us as during World War 11, it doubled as a bomb shelter. To add authenticity, as we walked the tunnel, we became aware of an atmospheric soundscape recording of the Japanese submarine attack on Sydney Harbour in 1942. Trudging up Burma Road linking the bottom of Cockatoo Island with the top known as The Plateau which housed convicts from 1839 we became enamoured not only in the superb outlooks surrounding us but the history steeped in this place. The prisoners themselves built their dingy barracks using quarried stone from the island before their labours were turned to building Fitzroy Dock and manning workshops to service the Royal Navy. By 1869 this Penitentiary was closed due to its appalling conditions, yet – unbelievably, this same place immediately gave rise to an Industrial School for orphaned and neglected girls along with a Reformatory for young women convicted of crimes. What kind of life could that have been! Just off shore a training ship load of neglected boys were kept under strict authority learning skills and according to history there were unseemly and unscheduled meetings between the girls and boys that before long (thankfully for the young girls we are sure) the girls’ institution was moved to Parramatta. In general, it was hard to believe Australian preoccupation with duty of care allowed for the public to wander through the maze of antiquated buildings which were an art form in themselves.

On every city trip we have rested our weary legs by taking in a movie at the conveniently located cinema in the heart of Circular Quay a few steps away from the express ferry that per chance, always awaits us for the river trip home. Dendy Cinema is our kind of movie house providing us with the lesser known and unusual art films that we hanker for, so often.

World Youth Day celebrations dominated more than a week and we liked nothing better than watching some of the half million pilgrims roaming around – whether it be Circular Quay, Parramatta or Kings School with their national flags, singing and dancing. In contrast to the normal drug and alcohol crazed lifestyle that dominates the media the refreshingly wholesome attitude displayed by the pilgrims was heart warming. By the time Papa Benedict was making his public appearances in Sydney we were content to watch events unfold on TV and recall our excitement of sighting the Pope in his pope mobile in St Peter’s Square itself, in 2006.

At times, we have popped into Getaway safely stored beside Forrest House and it has been like stepping into a fridge making us all the more grateful to have the comfort of a heated home. On one occasion, after a blast of cold Antarctic air swept in from down south, “soft hail” (resembling snow) began to fall bringing with it temperatures close to zero. And with climate change and reduction of carbon emissions being the hot topic these days (that is apart from all the gold medals the Aussies are going to win at the Olympics!) it has been interesting to listen to the widely differing perspectives being debated in Parliament and elsewhere.

One of George’s great joys over the past month has been feeding the birds that arrive at different times of the day for a snack, the flock of noisy sulphur-crested cockatoos being his favourite. He has yet to be able to give them a tickle behind the head without being bitten, but claims certain of them will soon learn to drop their defences! Kookaburras, butcher birds, currawongs and magpies arrive at the kitchen window wait for Lea to give them bits of meat, making the backyard look like an aviary at times. These birds were Lea’s Dad’s daily pleasure during his life here, although he sat with a pile of sticks to throw at the greedy, argumentative ones – generally the multicoloured lorikeets!

The joy of feathered friends…

A pupil from Lea’s Kariba School days had us round to a delightful Sunday evening with her family. Catching up on the Gregory family left in South Africa and introducing George to Louise’s husband Graeme and his amazing mother Joan (in her 90’s and yet she barely looks 70) and their two super daughters. Louise made contact with her kindy teacher eight years ago when she was down visiting her parents from Darwin. The Royden’s had recently immigrated and Louise was pregnant with her youngest at the time. These make for joyous occasions with past and present to catch up on. We have also enjoyed quality time with nephew Sheldon popping in for meals after work and George was able to help him tow his “pride and joy” from Killcare to Parramatta so he can work on it, of an evening. This freed up valuable space in his mother’s garage which delighted Leecy.

In closing, it has been a quietly busy month - lacking in some respects from the stimulation we normally derive from being on the move, while at the same time an opportunity to put our feet up, in a warm house and enjoy television each night. Having an oven to bake scones, biscuits and try out cake recipes not to mention roast dinners and home-made pies has also made Lea very popular.

Tramping tales for June 2008

Our brief encounter with Scottish George and Rhodesian Audrey and their yellow Mangula Mercedes on the edge of the Murray River in April developed into a special friendship when we met up with them again in their home town of Berry.

Scottish George and Rhodie Audrey

Scottish George very adeptly manoeuvred our rig into their tight driveway and professionally levelled it out on blocks. Such effort could hardly be rewarded with an overnight stay and on the eve of winter, an onslaught of cold and wet weather arrived. The warm welcome of our host and hostess put us right and we thoroughly enjoyed a good few days of non stop chatter – not only of a past history we all had in common but of our families. Their stories engrossed us and by the light of a warm fire Scottish George took up his accordion and entertained us one evening. This touched a childhood chord for Lea as she recalled her aunt Moira doing the same way back at Cecil Rhodes Drive. Another night we watched treasured old cine film clattering away in that inimitable way, of George supervising bridge construction on the lower Mazoe and Sabi Rivers while Audrey and their three children lived in their caravan home on the river banks - wonderful archival stuff. No wonder we found it difficult to tear ourselves away from these kindred spirits and the magnitude of their hospitality. We left with a bag of freshly picked home grown vegetables. With each bite we savoured the memories of our stay.

Weather wasn’t at all conducive to exploring this coast line even though there were places we would have liked to stop and see. Busy freeways in wet misty conditions certainly not our favourite. We pulled into a municipal caravan park in Windang on the mouth of Lake Illawarra. That afternoon, wrapped up warmly, we walked along the lake’s edge to pay a courtesy call and check on an old relative belonging to our Cleethorpe friend Rob.

Days of tossing thoughts through our minds ……over fuel prices finally came to a rest when we made the decision to base up over winter with Lea’s sisters. Sherry had extended an invitation to use their home while they were in England for three weeks over July – before her husband Keith was diagnosed with Guillain-Barre syndrome, an autoimmune condition in which a person’s nerves are attacked by the body’s own immune defence system causing a spreading paralysis last month. Never did we dream of hearing of this potentially life threatening and frightening illness for a second time. The first was shocking enough with our young friend Mark in Zululand. Fortunately Keith’s Doctor recognised the symptoms early and promptly handed him over to specialists who admitted him into Intensive Care with treatment administered speedily. Rehabilitation was started and this ex Wallaby player’s discipline came to the fore as he worked at regaining power in his hands and feet in between numerous bouts of sleep. Anxious to see him for ourselves we headed for their home in Kings School, Parramatta. Drove down the side road of Forest House before realising there was no turning place! Over a cuppa George’s brain churned over this predicament. However, he successfully ended up turning Getaway on “a sixpence” bit by bit using Skiv’s winch. Once safely tucked into the forest, George swore Getaway wouldn’t be moved until we left New South Wales!!!! Although this mighty brother-in-law of ours had lost weight and strength, his determination to overcome his disabilities were most apparent. The goal of a 60th Birthday to attend in Norfolk proved a big draw! Not wishing to add to Sherry, the Carer’s burden, we spent a happy night catching up with them before moving up to Leecy at Killcare, on the Central Coast. The rest of the month passed swiftly in a buzz of strenuous activity… George spent weekends working alongside brother-in-law John and nephew Sheldon on John’s building site and week days building shelves galore throughout Leecy’s house along with plenty of neglected household tasks and renovations. While Lea saw to the everyday cooking and baking in between doing a massive and long overdue DECLUTTER. Between us all, this three level house took on a ship-shape and organised look giving plenty of exercise with the many stairs. Leecy delightedly worked within this new ordered home whether it was on her commissions in her personal art studio or the many art classes that take place daily in her dining room.
Tuesday students take turns, to complete their lesson with a soup lunch. Leecy challenged her sister to make the weekly soup and earn from the $5 a head! Thus, we all kept busy. But it wasn’t all hard work we had plenty of play…

We nipped back to Parramatta, using the train service through picturesque waterways and bush land, for an auspicious occasion – a pleasantly small dinner party celebrating Keith’s 60th birthday. A week later it was our nephew Sheldon’s 28th Birthday.

Keith and Shell

Celebration for Sheldon

Cultural and social occasions allowed us to meet Leecy’s friends as we took in good films, an art gallery or simply walking the old dog Dup down at Hardy Bay or Putty Beach – often in the gloaming! Winter darkness comes all too fast when you are caught up in renovations. Only Dup, getting underfoot with a reproachful look that drags us out in the cold. Talking of dogs puts us in mind of Keanu Sands Foxfire Icecapade Miami alias “Houndini” who succumbed to her cancer earlier this month leaving us with the memories of her many Tasmanian escapades.

We had scheduled ourselves to be back in Parramatta in time for the last weekend of June to learn the ropes of Forest House and take over the care of Skittle – Shell’s beloved geriatric 22 year old cat before their departure for the UK. However, we delayed until the Saturday evening as fittingly on the anniversary of Lea’s father’s death we couldn’t resist a luncheon date in the magnificent water front home of Michael and Jennifer, an art student of Leecy’s who arranged a special meeting with their friends… Australian Howmans! How Dad would have enjoyed this meeting. Peter drove up from Canberra with his wife Corinne, daughter Jacqueline and her friend Ron for the occasion. There was an instant rapport and much hilarity ensued with the surname pronunciation… Peter was immediately taken by Leecy’s close resemblance to a cousin of his. While George spotted strong genetic similarities within the Howmans descended from common Norfolk roots dating back to circa 1270. With his family scattered widely we look forward to meeting them all in time especially his parents up in Queensland.

Meeting our Australian Howman

The clock ticked on relentlessly to end our happy afternoon and we took leave of our new relatives to be back in Parramatta before nightfall.

Keith had been passed to travel to the UK on condition he took every precaution not exhaust himself. Sunday passed all too fast as Keith and Shell took us on an orientation tour of our immediate neighbourhood and that evening they had invited our distant cousin Adam and his family over for sundowners. We hadn’t seen Adam since he was a toddler and here he was living a short distance away from Kings School with his wife Debbie and their almost teenage children plus his mother-in law- Alison. By quirk of fate, Alison’s father had been a close friend of Lea’s Dad in their youth and both men had produced four daughters with interwoven lives over the years so there was much to catch up.

June ends with us settling into Forest House – on the enormous and thickly wooded estate that is Kings School, the oldest private school in Australia devoid of school boys being holidays.

Tramping tales for May 2008

The Rubber Tramps trundled their way inland north to Bega, a cheese town of repute with plenty of surrounding dairy land hoping to find an internet for our blog. Unsuccessful! We promptly returned to the coast and Gillards Beach in Mimosa Rocks National Park, almost missing the turn with its awkward and inconspicuous entrance and nervously travelled down the narrow winding road heavily timbered on both sides. Lea noticed Spotted Gums to match three different camouflage fabrics and easily matched up the colours with the grandchildren’s camo- pants!
A virtually empty camping ground in comparison to the busy road-stops which doesn’t surprise us considering the camping fee is virtually on a par with caravan parks. More, if this Park had included an entrance fee which many do. The only perk in this case a carefully protected bush environment – plenty of fencing.
We were just preparing to take a walk along the yellowy beach between two heads when George was hailed by a passing couple. As soon as they heard his accent they came over for a chat (Her sister was married to a Rhodesian) and invited us round for coffee that afternoon. Although they live locally (Merimbula) they were out for a couple of nights testing their off-road camper trailer in readiness for a winter trip to the Kimberey and Top End. We enjoyed a good natter well into evening with Bob and Loraine despite the odd drizzle of rain. Lots of dark wallabies and eastern grey kangaroos abound here, curiously watching your every move. Arriving back at Getaway we found lots of little “balls” dashing around. Hard to identify in the darkness and they all disappeared as soon as George was able to get to his torch. He thought they were bandicoots by their movement.

Curious bystanders in Mimosa National Park

We ended up spending two nights in Bermagui. Used the Zane Grey Caravan Park – Apparently the cowboy author frequented this area as he was a keen game fisherman and Bermagui a well known fishing paradise. We couldn’t believe how many blokes took up the row of cabins behind us along with their motor boats in readiness for a weekend of fishing. We expected a Le Mans departure at first light and surprisingly didn’t hear them, only a steady drone of engines heading out to sea. We bought fish for our supper the first night only to be given six fish next morning by a fisherman leaving. This caused some consternation but Beggars can’t be choosy and George ended up walking down to the boat ramp to fillet them while Lea made space in the deepfreeze. Not only did we have a wonderful view from our site at the top of a head overlooking horseshoe bay with a harbour at the back we also had wi-fi IF George sat at a camp kitchen for the strongest signal.

Another two nights were spent at Mystery Bay, so called as 5 men disappeared in 1880 from the beach just below us. Primitive Camp run by the council actually provided better facilities in well kept bush at a quarter of the price of Mimosa Rock. A very fragmented Eurobodalla National Park is scattered along the length of this coast and we were able to walk many miles of beach after beach interspersed with interesting volcanic rocky formations in either direction of our camp, guarded by a forest of military minded spotted gums.

View over Mystery Bay from our campsite.

The council provided another primitive camp further north at Moruya Heads and we happily moved there next continuing our pattern of two nights! This campground was set at the mouth of an estuary in training… Due to the massive amount of sand movement in the vicinity of the mouth boating access in and out of the estuary is impaired. Therefore to enable man’s usage of this waterway, the position is fixed with breakwaters to scour the mouth and thereby “train” the ingress and egress of the tides. The stacked stone walls gave us an interesting view over the waterway but behind, we backed onto Moruya’s airport which at times deafened us with the tremendous engine roar of the daily scheduled flights arriving and departing. We partly solved that problem by unhitching and doing a round trip exploring the coastline as far as Batemans Bay and back down Princes Highway. We had to stop in Mogo as its historic ‘gold rush’ village appeal caught our eye just as it was captured by Tilba , a delightful National Trust classified village we stopped at for a walk about, on route to Mystery Bay. We have experienced wonderful blue days with cotton-wool clouds drifting across the skyline to contribute to dramatically coloured sunsets yet underlining these days is the crisp chill of winter especially in the shade. Therefore the prospect of returning inland and up the Great Dividing Range filled us with a degree of trepidation. Our plans to follow a gavel road through the Araluen Valley hesitated when we were confronted by the sign saying the road wasn’t suitable for caravans. Somewhat sceptical of these signs we asked a local whether we’d get through OK. He explained that apart from its narrowness and the risk of meeting oncoming traffic we should get through without difficulty. We decided to take the risk and sailed on down a well maintained surface with easy grades and only a couple of stretches were that narrow, that we held our breath and hoped we wouldn’t meet an oncoming car. Not a soul, we owned the road! Rounding another corner we saw reason for the perfect surface as we came up on the massive girth of a road-roller and had to crawl behind him until a place enabled us to pull past. A little further on, we came to the road-grader, only this time the driver leapt out and came to see if we were lost! On being told we were going to Araluen, his concern was obvious as he warned of tight bends with perilous drops and vertical cliffs that we’d find difficult to negotiate with the caravan. Scare tactics? Who knows, he certainly was the most knowledgeable of the road conditions. George decided to turn back. That took some doing and required moving the grader, further complicated by a sudden spurt of traffic at a critical time. Backtracking then double the journey before we would reach Araluen, we stopped in Nelligen, a sleepy little hamlet with green lawns alongside the Clyde River for our lunch entertained by sightseers as their cruise boat docked at what once was a major port from which gold and wool were shipped to the world. A painfully slow climb took us up Australia’s Great Dividing Range that straddles the entire length of the eastern side of this continent, using every turn-out provided to allow the next queue of upheld traffic to pass. On reaching the bleak high plains surrounding Braidwood we found ourselves dropping back down a treacherously steep descent leading to Araluen. The weight of Getaway pushing at Skiv gave rise to a strong smell of overstrained brakes that as we pulled into the overgrown and somewhat derelict campsite we looked at each other and wondered WHY we had gone to such length to reach such a place – all on the basis of an author’s tick of approval in our camp bible “Camps Australia 3”. Further to our dismay, the brake pedal no longer offered any resistance when pushed to the floor board and we assumed the worst in this remote place. Thankfully, once the engine and brake drums had cooled down hours later, all seemed back to normal which allowed us to sleep easy.

Returning up the mountain, this time in four wheel drive we moved across the high plains to Warri Reserve alongside the bridge across the Shoalhaven River. Promptly hunted out the best patch of sun furthest away from traffic sound of Kings Highway and settled in for the weekend. Two nights had plenty for us to observe as people came and went but the third night we had to ourselves. George explored a good length of the river on both sides and once the sun had burned through the early morning mists he’d take Lea to see the most scenic parts. We followed obvious wombat highways thanks to the pattern of a scat on stone habit and saw lots of burrows but no sightings. Hidden under the bridge a one armed hermit and his dog lived. We don’t know how he stood the noise of the steady traffic flow between the coast and Canberra unless he was deaf. We became quite attached to the place with its stringy bark gums and magpies strutting around. All kept George busy with his sketch book and water colours.

George’s water colour of Warri Bridge over the Shoalhaven River

Another short hop took us to Bungendore Showground. Very pleasant with its wide open spaces and carpets of yellowed leaves rustling underfoot. As we were half an hour from Canberra we decided to leave Getaway at the showground while we found our bearings in the city. As Scott & Sue were in the throes of selling their home and moving to another we thought we’d stay at the EPIC show grounds as it was central to the city and we stopped to check it was open to caravans. We shouldn’t have bothered as Scott, a 1967 pupil of Lea’s from Kariba days insisted we stay with them. There was no suitable flat ground for Getaway over at the new house, just a block away that we ended up parked on the tiny front lawn squeezed in beside the For Sale notice. In order not to lower the tone, we’d move off each Saturday for the duration of “open day”. These comings and goings gave rise to perplexed neighbours at both houses!

Lea had visited Canberra in 1998 with St Hilda’s school girls and she was keen to see whether this perfectly planned capital city would impress George, as much as it had her. The “House on the Hill” beckoned us first… we didn’t mean to go in as we knew it would be abuzz with all the pollies congregating in the palace to hear the new Government’s first budget George was easily lured in by this majestic beacon. A good many hours were spent in Parliament House taking a tour, watching a massive media throng being “locked down” to peruse the budget report for the next five hours and generally absorbing the process of Australian democracy in action. We couldn’t help but feel enthralled by everything. From Capital Hill we walked down Federation Mall amongst sulphur crested cockatoos fossicking in fallen leaves and renting the air with their squawks. Adding to the cityscape was Lake Burley Griffin with Captain Cook’s Memorial Water Jet shooting water high into the air. We found Canberra captivating and happily spent our two weeks exploring the National Archives, Art Gallery and Museum, The Sound and Film Archives and the interactive science and technology centre for children - Questacon, proved just as intriguing for us oldies. A visit to the Deep Space Communications Centre at Tidbinbilla provided us with a fascinating insight into the advances made in the exploration of Mars and Saturn since 2004 with NASA. An experience made all the more relevant, given the recent landing of the space probe Phoenix on Mar’s north pole, when NASA began looking for signs of life in the ice sheets that lie underground.

As for The Australian War Memorial, it was outstanding and we found ourselves totally immersed in the military history of all the different conflicts Australian troops have been involved in, over the past hundred years. We benefited initially from a tour with a volunteer historian, as his knowledge and guidance helped orientate us within this vast complex. How apt the words “Here is their spirit, in the heart of the land they loved; and here we guard the record which they themselves made” as we pored over the tales of heroism in the Hall of Valour and moved through the galleries ending with the overwhelming reality of sound and light shows simulating attacks from a Lancaster bomber night raid over Berlin during WW11 to a helicopter assault in the recently opened Vietnam gallery which brought home something of the awful sensations of combat. A special exhibit on Lawrence of Arabia mentioned his interaction with Australia’s Light Horse which added a whole new dimension to that legendary story. Etched in our memories are the Ypres buglers sounding The Last Post at Menin Gate. To this, we have added the closing ceremony of The Australian War Memorial with young soldiers who stood to attention along the corridors containing the Rolls of Honour as The Last Post resounded outside the Hall of Memory with its tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

Boy soldiers? Or are we becoming ancient.

White cockatoos rose to the occasion, flapping ever upwards, seemingly in slow motion to land on the Dome added a particularly Australian touch. We returned at a later date to do the walk up Anzac Parade stopping at each Memorial to different Services and Campaigns set amidst gum trees. We finished at Gallipoli with Attaturk’s memorial garden. This respect to Attaturk, along with the Anzac Spirit inspires us to go to Turkey.

Spaciously laid out, elegant Canberra with its suburbs lying concealed from one another by rolling hills and open bush land is distantly encircled by a succession of mountain ranges, the Brindabellas being the most conspicuous. Throughout our two week stay we were treated to perfect blue skies and crisp days followed by cold nights that had us thankful to be indoors with Scott and Sue, have access to power for our caravan heater at bedtime and the lifesaving addition of Sue’s feather doona on our bed! Sharing household and kitchen duties with the family especially young chefs Nick and Bec generated the family spirit we so often miss. As working parents Scott and Sue are kept on their toes with their children’s sporting activities dominating weekends and evenings that their home and dog Gus became ours. George persuaded Lea to take advantage of an oven and bake biscuits for everyone. On arrival in Canberra we found all the folk we were keen to catch up with otherwise occupied that we closed our visit in a spurt of socialising. Justine and Daniel wanted us to meet the Conway family they had befriended while all travelling in Western Australia during 1999. Over afternoon tea we met the delightful family. And, the three small boys Justine had wanted carbon copied, are all teenage musicians and avid surfers now. Another afternoon we met up with Fred and Sanae and their two children in the Botanic Gardens where we barely had time to appreciate our surrounds for all the talking followed by more over dinner at their home. Their son Koh had been in Lea’s Preschool class at Jabiru and little Erica had toddled her way around on many occasions while Sanae showed the class how to make sushi and count in Japanese. Koh sports a black belt in martial arts.

Scott, Sue, Nick & Bec ; Gus the dog who joined us for breakfast every morning! ; The Conway Family ; Lea, Tessa & Geoff ; Fred, Sanae, Koh & Erica.

The march of years around forty by our reckoning, were the most significant when we caught up with Lea’s cousin Tessa and introduced to her husband, Geoff. In ceaseless conversation we swapped accounts of the intervening years, filled in family details from the past and the present and laughed over many recollections. After lunch we took a walk into the adjacent Nature Reserve where for a token payment, horses may be kept and kangaroos roam. Standing on the crest of the drought affected grasslands rising and falling around us, we were taken aback to learn this similar looking situation set one scene of the devastating Canberra Fires in January 2003. Such was the extreme intensity of heat, wind and smoke generated in this outwardly innocuous setting had Tessa scrambling for safety with their car containing photographs and documents while Geoff fought to protect their home. Many houses on either side of Tessa & Geoff’s property were inexplicably and randomly reduced to ashes. Climbing up the mountain we were able follow the passage of the fires by the coppicing of affected eucalypts and remnants of Mountain Ash and at the top, we were given a visual of Canberra surrounds and pick out the distinctive silver tripod-like flagpole of Parliament House. Our time with Tessa and Geoff was all too short that we dragged ourselves away.

The escalating price in crude oil causing havoc worldwide has naturally had an effect on our nomadic ways. We left Perth in October 2007 paying 148c per litre and rising… By Tasmania, diesel ranged between 170 and 172c. We left Canberra having paid 185c per litre and realised we needed to get our head round new ways to reduce our fuel costs and keep within our budget. Simply having static days are no longer enough. A delay in departure occurred when George noticed water running out the front corner of Getaway while refilling the water tank. On entering the ’van he found the floor awash and pulled up the seats thinking it was the water pump - all was well. Very confused he went to check the water inlets. Lea arrived to find him peering down the inlet with a torch and muttering… With concern building he didn’t explain too clearly either! Saying he could see “coals” was all the more nonsensical. It turned out to be a Cole’s supermarket label which led Lea inside to the pantry cupboard. A burst water pipe had flooded out the cupboard, poured down to the corner of the caravan and across the floor. The plastic joint and glue hadn’t coped well with freezing. Fortunately George was able to solve the problem with clamps which required both of us lying squeezed up together on the floor with heads and arms stuck awkwardly in the cupboard. Just as well the express post we were awaiting didn’t come at that moment in time!

We made our way slowly back to the SE coast of New South Wales through fog bound high plains each morning. On leaving the Federal Highway for Moss Vale we noticed a marked vigour in the vegetation and began to see buildings and landscapes reminiscent of England. Dropping downwards through The Dividing Range and the Morton National Park we could sense the scenic splendour of the Shoalhaven Valley before it even began to unfold. We crept down the windy, windy, windeee road trying to enjoy the stringy bark forests and ferny glades right up alongside us. Gaps provided us with long visas of fertile valleys and sandstone escarpments. After a bit George anxiously pulled over at a farmer’s cattle crossing spot to feel how hot the brakes were. Hot enough to take early lunch right there, while they cooled. The end to this steep descent came sooner than expected as a couple of kilometres on reached our destination, Bendeela Picnic Area. This was a large verdant green clearing on the edge of the Bendeela pondage with forest rising up the hillsides around us alive with the song of birds. Kookaburras, magpies, currawongs and a butcher bird came to observe us at close quarters as we lolled in the warm sun – this was heavenly. All the more so that evening! Busy at the computer we were startled by a loud grating sound and the caravan wobbling. WOMBAT! Taking a scratch, inspecting our chairs before passing our doorway for another scratch under Skiv, we couldn’t have been happier. Soon there were half a dozen grazing around us as mists emerged from the low lying grasslands. Throughout the night itchy wombats enjoyed using the axles beneath us and the loud rasping noise reverberated within. We didn’t mind the disturbance one bit and stayed another night for more encounters.

Evening at Bendeela

Close to forty years of marriage to a Naturalist makes life quite fascinating! With torch in hand this fellow dropped down onto his belly to observe the goings on under Getaway. On returning, said naturalist, reported momentarily seeing a long, thick greenish snake… until he realised it was actually the excrement of a well fed wombat.

Next morning, just as breakfast is about to be served my now coprologist recalls the night’s evacuation and feels the immediate urge to photograph and measure it. A spade is carefully used to extract this atypical deposit from its awkward resting place, closely examined and documented for posterity!

Long suffering wife is excitedly called to view the faeces, never mind that she has observed all the “song and dance” that goes on in the pursuit of science. And really, IS the mighty coil cut by a wombat… breakfast conversation? But that’s not all! She must admire ALL the turds left by wombats during the night’s visitation to the scratching post - “as an indication of its popularity”!?!?

35 centimetres whopper

Our last evening in wombat heaven was spoilt. George was patiently perched in the doorstep awaiting the eminent arrival of a large wombat steadily grazing a path in his direction, hoping to capture his best pic ever… Lea notices a school bus has drawn up on the road near us and the master is out looking for a suitable tent site. Being a Friday evening this large site has gathered a few more campers in widespread directions - there is no shortage of space. Moments later a group of girls pile out the bus and gyrate with pent up exuberance when one appears to see the wombat close to our caravan and promptly holds out her arm to take a “photo” with a small black and red camera. Promptly the other girls follow suit all running towards “our” wombat with sharp bangs and sparks being emitted. Tiny cap guns! Lea virtually falls over George on the doorstep in her haste to get to these thoughtless teenage girls. With the wombat hell bent for home burrow, the girls turn back to engage in a battle with the boys – tussles, shrieks, crackle- bang-pops ensued. Further salt added to our wounds… they set up their tents in such close proximity to us we were forced to move.

We escaped the high country completing the last steep descent down the Cambewarra mountain on the last day of autumn and made for Berry to find Rhodie Audrey and Scottish George we’d befriended beside the Murray River close to the Snowy Mountains.

Tramping tales for April 2008

April fool’s Day brought our 11th anniversary since immigrating to Australia and stormy weather with hurricane strength winds arrived to send us on our way across the Bass Strait back to the mainland. Sad though we were to leave Tasmania the anticipation of a new journey into unknown territory lay before us. Happily we caught up with ex Perth friends Jane and Rob in our overnight caravan park on the Mornington Peninsula outside Melbourne. Conversations flowed in every direction as Lea had worked with Jane on many occasions during her St Hilda days.

Next morning George was not very appreciative to be awoken with croaky humming before a rendition of “will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine WHEN I’m 64”… reminded him he’d reached the age of The Beatles evergreen song that seemed ever so far off all those years ago in the 1960’s. His birthday required a suitable venue for celebration and we were up early and off down the Gippsland Highway to Wilson’s Promontory. The Prom as it is affectionately known is at the southern most tip of the Australian mainland and we were pressed to put 230 km behind us and still have time to relax and enjoy his day in this truly spectacular National Park. We scarcely encountered anyone on the access road in - that we were taken aback to find the one and only campground (480 sites) at Tidal River bustling with people. Fortunately we found a suitable clearing amongst the dune thickets alongside the main beach and were quick off the hitch to go exploring! Our hopes to obtain an overview of this area from the summit of Mt Oberon were dashed when we discovered the overflow from the car-park was halfway down the mountain. Aware that we didn’t have time to loiter as we were obliged to reach Albury, well inland on the New South Wales border by the 9th April we moved on to Squeaky beach and walked the coastal track to Picnic Bay soaking up the views of sheltered turquoise bays, off shore islands, white sandy beaches and windswept vegetation covering the mountain sides that, put together, characterise The Prom.
A perfect place for a birthday and we could easily have spent more time given half a chance. The evening was topped with a birthday song from the grandchildren over the mobile phone.

Celebrating 64, Squeaky Beach, Wilsons Prom.

Moving slowly down a tunnel of trees with our eyes anxiously watching the clearance above us, a strange sound and the gaping expression of campers alerted us to TROUBLE. In our trail lay two solar panels ripped from the roof by the bulge of a tree trunk at the critical height of the solar panels, wrenching them out in quick succession. In stunned silence we packed them carefully into Skiv and made our way out … At a public car park we stopped to fully assess the damage and with black clouds looming decided it was safer to attempt immediate repairs. Off came the ladder, out came the tool box and the Liquid Nails (one of son-in-law Paul’s favourites) and a nearby picnic table was turned into a makeshift workbench. With sheered screws, bent and buckled brackets, and wires ripped from their connections a lot of banging and re-drilling was required, and most surprisingly NO swearing! However, it didn’t help to have opportunistic seagulls trying to grab any bits of old sealant being scraped away. Two hours later the job was done and our solar power controller inside the caravan told us all was working as it should be. TV’s McGuiver couldn’t have done a better job!

A night spent at Log Crossing picnic grounds in Colquoun State Forest put us in close proximity to Metung within the Gippsland Lakes Coastal Park. This popular Park encompasses the largest inland water system in Australia with three interconnecting lakes separated by a barrier dune system that forms a 90 mile long beach. We’d been told not to miss out Metung and arrived early in the morning following the Tambo River with its many fishing spots all the way down to Lake King. Metung is a boating paradise set on a crescent shaped peninsula reaching into Lake King with boats tied up in marinas and a yacht club overlooking wide expanses of shallow water with a wonderful waterside boardwalk the length of the holiday town that we virtually had to ourselves at that hour. We found it somewhat reminiscent of America’s Florida.

In 1988 Lea’s father, about to visit Australia had written up some guide note based on New Zealander John Howman’s tremendous account of Howmans Down Under, in the hopes he’d be able to visit the area. Although it didn’t happen, he realised that his notes might appeal to his own family in Australia if they visited the places where those first Howmans settled, or met persons of the same name and gave his daughters each a copy. During Leecy’s visit to us in Tasmania, we’d expressed our desire to follow the trail of the Australian Howmans and she had been most enthusiastic about joining us. A date was set to accommodate her school holidays and we arranged to meet her at the Albury airport. That day was nigh and we turned inland on The Great Alpine Road. We had some doubts about the term “alpine” as we couldn’t imagine mountains in Australia resembling the Alpine regions of Europe and as we climbed steadily upwards twisting and turning through the heavily dissected landscape we felt that the more usual term High Country was far more apt. We reached Omeo by midday and decided we’d push on after a picnic lunch by the roadside. In the midst of eating our sandwich we were amused by a jersey cow dashing around its paddock … We decided it was in a state of distress at being separated which proved true enough when it jumped the fence in cow jumped over the moon style and promptly calmed down in the company of a couple of sheep. Not wishing to pre-empt the “Howman Trail” we turned off the Great Alpine Highway taking the less travelled Omeo Highway, a seasonal gravel road closed in winter that winds its way through the rugged catchment of the Mitta Mitta River. Wonderful scenes so typical of Australian High Country photos seen in books that we found ourselves expectantly awaiting the appearance of the performers - drovers mustering cattle on horseback with the help of their blue heelers …. But it wasn’t to be.

Many campsites were too small for our rig until we wearily pulled into a campground beside Snowy Creek characterised by huge walnut and chestnut trees sending three calves skittishly off in all directions while the main herd continued to keep the grass well groomed for us. A picture perfect setting, so quiet and French that we could well have been back in the valley of the Viaur in southern France.

Walnut campground

We could easily have stayed there a long while and most reluctantly pulled out next day promising to return if time permitted with Leecy! This rough road with its dust and loose gravel often covered in forest litter implied it wasn’t well used therefore it was all the more surprising to meet a sporty convertible and a fancy saloon along it! Eskdale rang a bell and in checking Dad’s notes found it was from there a Howman pioneered the seasonal cattle run up to Mt Bogong - the highest of Victoria’s mountains. Inadvertently we were in their stamping ground initiating some excitement for us! As a distraction we decided to branch off to Beechworth, where we’d heard the legendary Ned Kelly and his gang hung out. Beechworth not only echoed with cultural history, its precinct was full of nationally significant buildings beautifully preserved and the town hummed with day trippers. We popped into the museum to see the rather disappointing Ned Kelly collection only to be caught up in the tale Explorer Burke (of Burke & Wills fame) as he had been stationed in Beechworth as Superintendent of Police from 1854 to 1858 and following his death at Cooper Creek in 1861, this museum – Robert O’Hara Burke Memorial Museum was established. Lots of mining history in this town too that George asked to do a search on their computer for anything related to Peter “Nugget” Howman and was given a number of books. It was in one that we found a story of scandal involving his brother Robert. Before we knew, the afternoon had passed and we needed a place for the night and ended up in a lovely spot beside Leahy Bridge on the bank of the Murray River bar the noise of trucks speeding across the bridge during the night. Later that evening, cheery voices arrived to inform us of a Government proposal to protect the Red Gums alongside the Murray by turning a good proportion of the floodplain into a National Park thereby affecting people, like us, who enjoy camping on its banks. Given pre-prepared letters to sign, stamped envelopes included, we saw merit in joining this PROTEST by adding our names.

Well on schedule we arrived in Albury to check out the airport and check in at nearby Lake Hume caravan park to do all our ‘housekeeping’ in readiness for Leecy’s arrival the next day. Looking out across the dam, once one of the largest in the world, we felt as if we were at Lake Kariba! Now down to 7% of its capacity and steadily dropping Lake Hume is said to be one of the hardest worked impoundments in Australia supplying as it does water for power generation, masses of downstream irrigators and towns as far a-field as Port Augusta and Woomera in South Australia. When demands of this magnitude in a drought stricken catchment exceed supply the crisis that presently faces users of the river and its ecology isn’t going to be solved by the Government simply throwing more money at it? Or so says Prophet George!

Lake Hume in desperate straits

A mobile text sent to Roger & Judy inviting them to dine with us in Porepunkah revealed they hadn’t received any of our e-mails advising them of our approach. Despite Roger’s grumbling over the past month and vows to write off the Beggs for their tardiness, his immediate response was to insist we come to Bright FIRST!
Qantas arrived on time bringing Leecy and a happy trio set off for Bright stopping in Yackandandah for the compulsory coffee break. The wonderfully unusual names throughout this area struggled on our tongues yet by the end of the week we could say them with aplomb! Roger and Judy met us in the main street of Bright leading us to their home in Wandiligong of all places! Wandiligong being associated with William Howman is in the very midst of the Howmans past sphere of activity. It augured well.

Once we had managed to slither Getaway backwards onto the tiny bit of flat ground alongside Roger & Judy’s home we were there for keeps! We certainly couldn’t have asked for a more appealing caravan site, perched on the mountainside with LONG views in both directions along the valley of Morses Creek splashed with autumn colours. Leecy was given her own suite inside the house and we couldn’t have felt more welcomed and at home. The following morning we disappeared for the day in Skiv, driving up the Buckland Valley in search of Howman Flat and the remnants of Robert Howman’s mining operations. Found them and spent a delightful morning scrabbling around. The afternoon had us climbing over the Tawonga Gap to Mount Beauty nestled in the Kiewa Valley at the foot of Mt Bogong. En route for Falls Creek we naturally stopped at Howmans Gap, the entrance to the Alpine National Park and ski resort in peak season. The story goes that Fred, son of Robert Howman, was thrown from his horse while helping to muster cattle and in making his own way down the mountain found “The Gap” putting his name into history.

Off to find the gold diggings at Howman Flat

Happy Howman sisters on Bogong High Plains

Mindful of time, we had just enough to get up onto the Bogong High Plains where Peter Howman leased ground for the summer grazing of his cattle in the 1880’s. The Howman Hut and Falls were both inaccessible other than by foot and required overnight expeditions. We were content to soak in our surrounds and picture these hardy cattlemen and distant relatives of ours, up on these plains before happily turning back for Wandiligong.

Leecy had been offered the use of a chalet at Dinner Plain. Not knowing any better, we thought it wasn’t near our area of interest. However, while discussing a visit to Harrietville, Roger suggested we go on up to Mt Hotham and Dinner Plain. Leecy immediately mentioned the use of a home there… Eyes popping implied it was worth doing! Leecy finalised arrangements for a weekend in Dinner Plain and by Saturday we had Roger and Judy joining us. A leisurely drive up to Harrietville in a season offering brilliant colours and crisp mountain air with walnuts, chestnuts and apples for sale by the roadside made a sublime start to our adventure. For Leecy’s mandatory coffee break Roger stopped outside Morries Ice-creamery. It became all the more heartwarming when he told us this was a new venture for Peter and Emma – fellow Zimbabweans who had been kicked off their farm. In we went to sit beside a special timber beam supporting the roof. A special momento from their Bindura farm rescued from the war-vets. We had the best hot chocolates and cappuccinos you could wish for with an interchange of conversation with the busy yet ever charming host and hostess.

Ever upwards we went through towering forests of Mountain Ash until we found ourselves enveloped in ever thickening swirls of mist. Nothing to see, Leecy went to sleep. On approaching the second highest resort village in Australia known for its spectacular views, Hotham Heights was bathed in such deep mist that our eyes searched desperately for each and every road marker that loomed out of the frightening gloom. With no warning, our guiding yellow centre line disappeared under newly laid tar and George unwittingly ran across the mid-line on a sharp corner leaving the red marker poles behind us. So disorientated, he began driving up the wrong side of the road that Lea fell apart with nervous giggles that had her quite limp with an aching belly from the nightmare of it all! What a relief to reach Dinner Plain not too many minutes after. The rather strange name given this resort village made sense when we read that cattlemen stopped here for their dinner and so too, the coaches, once a road was in. Through the soft rolling mist on this side of the mountain we could see houses of timber, stone and corrugated iron inspired by old mountain huts built by the cattlemen of yesteryear, rising up amongst the tight confines of twisted and gnarled snow gums somewhat like the Munster home of the 60’s TV series. The multitude of obtuse and sharp angles and whimsical features all in regulated earthy colours of the snow gums made us intuitively realise we were incredibly lucky to experience life on the top from the warmth and comfort of “Brumby’s” thanks to Leecy’s art pupil Penny and husband Rick.

Exploring Dinner Plain

Brumby's

All rugged up, we explored the learners ski slope and the layout of Dinner Plain as the chilly fingers of mist and drizzle kept us briskly on the move. Even when the rain came down there wasn’t a peep from George who has a horror of walking in such weather! Hot toddies were eagerly sought in the hotel to miss the worse of this down pour and beside a roaring log in true alpine style we also indulged in a bowl of hot wedgies with sour cream. Next day we all felt no guilt as Roger, renamed “the mad hatter”, took off at the unearthly hour of 5.30 on this cold and dark morning for his daily run. All in good time the rest of us arose to join him for a late breakfast before venturing out for a walk to Carmichael Falls. Lea happened to exclaim that she thought she had stepped over wombat pooh as the distinctive cubic shape had been blurred by rain. Roger leading the team commented that “if it’s on a rock its wombat”! The trio were immediately sceptical …. However the further we went the more we encountered scats perched on rocks. We had to bow to Roger’s natural history observations and when we finally departed Wandiligong we presented Roger and Judy with one of George’s carved wombats mounted on a rock with suitable droppings behind it! At midday Roger and Judy had to return home and they suggested we follow them to Hotham Heights and see some of the views. Just ten minutes away, yet there again we found ourselves back in a thick blanket of cloud and an approaching storm brought driving sleet and a grey within greyness giving rise to another bout of nervous disorder that Roger had to brave the elements to help us turn safely on the road, before they went one way on the long road home and we the other, back to the safe harbour of “Brumby’s”. For the rest of the afternoon Leecy gave us a lesson in the art of water colours. We see so many landscapes on our travels that lend themselves to this medium, we are keen to try. Before we knew dusk was settling in and Leecy “shouted” us a bar supper at the hotel after we’d gone on a street hunt and found “Howman’s” a chalet up for sale. By Monday our brief interlude was over and as we made our way down Mt Hotham we glimpsed our first yet very brief views out towards Mt. Feathertop.

View from Mt Hotham, Victoria

Of course we stopped at Morries and being a Monday morning we were able to enjoy more of Peter and Emma’s time. We raised our cups to our Bush Baby grand-daughter Ella, celebrating her first birthday over in Central Park, New York of al places!

Our intentions to pull out of Wandiligong next day for Tallangatta and the graves of Peter and Jessie Howman were put aside when Roger and Judy persuaded us to all visit their favourite Mt Buffalo. Thank goodness we did or we’d have missed out on the most perfect day to be in rugged mountain scenery with imposing granite tors and sheer cliffs that reminded us of Zimbabwe especially the old hotel- Mt Buffalo Chalet, a large, elegant building with an air of gentility about it so like Rhodes Inyanga down to its tennis courts, crochet lawn and terraced gardens. All closed up due to the sheer cost of upkeep and modern day safety issues.
We climbed The Horn (1723m) that rose from the high plains and gazed out on a stupendous 360’ vision of endless ranges stretching out into the distant hazy blue. On a small ledge we had our picnic lunch and by-passers enviously wished to join us on our eagle’s eyrie.

Picnic on The Horn, Mt Buffalo

Good times with good friends always come to an end, so too Leecy’s week was drawing to a close. We slowed up in Beechworth to show her the historic buildings and shop fronts that could so easily have been those of our childhood Salisbury. All too beguiling to pass by that we stopped at The Pottery. There, we gazed upon tantalizing teapots, extraordinary ladles and other wonderful art forms before succumbing to the aroma of an old fashioned bakery to take coffee from its first floor balcony overlooking the street. We returned to the Murray River camp close to Howlong for Leecy’s last night as we now knew the route to the airport. Another farewell and we continued on to Lake Hume and had a couple of static days catching up on computer and used their e-mails and laundry facilities. Six weeks later we realise our settings may have fallen out which means we can receive messages not send. We used the Net for laborious sending. Taking the Upper Murray Valley Highway we followed the dried remnants of Lake Hume to Tallangatta, a town that had to be moved in the 1950’s to escape inundation from the second phase of Lake Hume’s construction. Looking across the dried floor of the dam we could see the relics of old Tallangatta. Fortunately the cemetery was well away on high ground and we were able to round off our Down Under Howman tour by paying our respects at the gravesides of Peter, the first Howman pioneer to Australia and his wife Jessie.

We were drawn to spend a night in Colac Colac – simply because it is pronounced “Clack Clack” which tickled us! This turned out to be a stunning caravan park setting in its autumn hues as well as a winner of many awards for its holiday appeal. Another grave was visited! This time it was Jack Riley’s as we passed through Corryong. He was the tough old hermit/bushman who inspired Banjo Paterson, Australian Poet of note, to write the immortalizing poem “The Man from Snowy River”.

Pure aesthetics of the Murray River bush camp outside Tuwong had us stay two nights… In all directions mountains rise around us with the western edge of the Snowy Mountains looming ahead. Brilliant blue skies warmed us by day and had temperatures plummet at night. Huge poplar and plane trees shedding leaves, the sight and rowdy sound of white cockatoos floating from tree to tree and our favourite kookaburras heralding both day and night with their laughter as the Murray flows swiftly by was good reason, made even better when a neighbouring Scotsman wandered over towards evening and immediately recognised George’s accent as Rhodesian! He was yet another George who had spent many years building dams and bridges in Rhodesia, even at Kariba. Met and married his wife Audrey, in Salisbury before migrating to Australia in 1961. They returned in the 70’s for a few more years and proudly showed us their old 1973 Mercedes bought from a Mangula farmer all those years ago, now with half a million kilometres under its belt and still towing their caravan around Australia. This fortuitous meeting of ex-Rhodesians called for a celebration and a wee dram. As on the last occasion a Scotsman offered us a whisky we blanched! George made a dash for our bottle of Port and we all kept yarning until the chill got the better of us.

Continuing up the Snowy Valley Way through Tumbarumba to Tamut, the northern gateway to Kosciuszko National Park we followed the Snowy Mountains Highway as far as Blowerings Reservoir. One of the many reservoirs involved in the Snowy Mountains Hydro Electric Scheme, named as one of the civil engineering wonders of the modern world, it is a complex integrated infrastructure made up of seven power stations and sixteen major dams. Our campsite, at the old Yachting Point, was meant to lie just above the high water mark of the Bowering Reservoir. However, like many other impoundments we’ve seen in the region the water level was so low, the shoreline lay at least a kilometre away. The pitiful sight of these near empty dams, as well as the news that the viability of the Snowy Hydro Scheme itself is now in jeopardy, makes one realise just how crippling the effects of the present drought in Australia has been.

More evidence of drought - Bowering reservoir

While George took a walk down to the water’s edge a sudden movement in the camp caught Lea’s eye. Roos! Then a hoarse noise drew her out of Getaway to see. She was intrigued to see a good few kangaroos jumping round and round a tree in the fashion of the tigers who turned into ghee in the tale of little Black Sambo. Three males finally broke away and the chase was on, all through the grounds one behind another in hot pursuit of the smallest in front. Was the young one being dismissed from the mob? Bounding away down the valley was the last Lea saw of the three and the rest settled in the shade until commencing their evening graze around us.

We had a surprisingly warm night and as a result were up earlier than normal for the steep haul up the Cumberland Range to Yarrangobilly. There, the terrain opened up into an undulating grassy plain. Just below historic 1898 Cotterill’s Cottage, and beside a small clear creek we unhitched to ensure we had a place for the night before continuing to Yarangobilly Caves a little further along the road. Whoops! Just as well we left Getaway as the gravel road dropped away steeply from the main road, winding us down into a deep valley. Three caves are open and we chose the self guided South Glory Cave. The track, a wonderful construction by early cave guides, projects from the edge of the lime bluffs suspended above Rules Creek before coming to the massive Glory Hole opening into the mountainside.

Entrance to Glory Caves, Yarrangobilly.

First explored in 1834, in years to come Prison Services were used in constructing safe passage through the vast rock piles with decked platforms to enjoy the tubes, chambers and different types of speleothems. How’s that for a technical term that includes stalactites and stalagmites! With none of the people pressure of guided tours we were free to move at our own speed. Sensor lights turned on as we moved through and finally at the end of the line instead of backtracking, a steel staircase wound us upwards directly back to the car park. Amazing to come out of the mountain through a concealed exit rather like the Pied Piper’s… Thoughts of the hot springs at Tshipese encouraged us to take a dip in the Thermal Pool down near the creek bed, a steep 700m walking descent. Reputedly always being a warm 27’C George wasn’t in long and Lea only managed to get knee deep in the kiddie pool. A sign told us the presence of frogs indicates the healthy state of the water and Banjo frogs breed there. We looked for Pobble-Bonks and couldn’t find any! Rarely encountering snakes on our travels we were interested to see a metre long copperhead with a broken back on the road close to our camp. Had it come out to seek the warmth of the road? We think so! That night temperatures plummeted and we suffered. Lea said it was her worst sleep ever, as the chill clawed at her marrow throughout the night. By morning, George couldn’t wait to get the kettle boiled for a cuppa only our water was frozen. Creek water would do the trick only the grass was frozen too. Sandals wouldn’t do even for the short distance involved and boots were dug out from the back of the cupboard. We should have known better than to camp on these treeless plains at high altitude even in autumn!

We were on the roof of Australia yet as we motored across the plains we couldn’t see any particular mountain top standing out as Mt Kosciuszko and definitely nothing resembling a peak. By the time we arrived in Jindabyne we found it hard to believe Australia’s highest mountain still couldn’t be seen. That afternoon we drove up to Thredbo, a ski village set on one side of a steep narrow valley facing its ski runs on the other side. It was here on the 30 July 1997 a ski lodge was undermined by water and slipped downslope collapsing. Australians held their breath as rescuers raced against time and the weather to search amongst the rubble for survivors. As new immigrants we had no idea where Thredbo was, let alone how such a thing could happen. Eighteen people died in this disaster. Miraculously Stuart Diver was pulled out alive after 65 hours. His story of survival captured the world as he told of the tragic night and his wife drowning beside him, both trapped beneath concrete. Being in Thredbo gave us a better understanding of the magnitude of this dreadful accident. We still couldn’t see Mt Kosciuszko either. As our Park permit was valid for 24 hours we were up early next day and on the road to Perisher and Charlotte Pass in order to set eyes on this illusive mountain. Table Mountain in South Africa, Mt Wellington in New Zealand, Mt Kilimanjaro in Kenya are just some examples of a country’s mountain landmark. How strange it was to gaze out upon Mt Kosciuszko from the lookout above Charlotte Pass and see a rather nondescript profile, nothing to really distinguish it from other worn down tops! With not enough hours to walk the 18km return trip to the summit we made do with enjoying the serenity and vistas of this place. In a valley just below where we stood lay the source of the revered Snowy River. George walked down to it, Lea turning back halfway preferring to wander along the less strenuous old road to the summit looking at the odd shapes and colours of beautiful old snow gums that lined the route.

Mt Kosciuszko (at left) and Snowy river

With snow forecast we pulled out of Jindabyne and headed down south, back briefly into the State of Victoria to see something of its Wilderness Coast as we moved on up the coastline into New South Wales, a far more populated region. As a result bush camps are few and far between. Caravan parks are pricey and National Parks as expensive. We moved from one rest area to another along the Princes Highway and soon learnt if we didn’t get in by mid-day and choose our site we would have to squeeze in amongst other travellers. Irritatingly, campervans come in late, park alongside and disturb us with their slamming and sliding doors! We undertook short hops along the Sapphire Coast enabling us to enjoy walks along beaches and forest tracks before holing up for the last three days of April at Yellow Pinch Dam a busy night stop for nomadic folk. 3000kms plus travelled this month so we were glad to stay put. Text messages have kept us in touch with our newly found friends of the road we even hoped to intercept Scotsman George and Rhodesian Audrey, missing them by little more than an hour at Eden.

A poem in an Australian RV Club magazine The Wanderer aptly captured the essence of this month for us.

The road is a journey of people and places
It calls to the traveller in welcoming tones
It speaks of adventure and has many faces
With a great many places to rest weary bones

The road can be winding and troubled and narrow
Or wide and expansive across easy ground
There are places so cold that you’ll chill to the marrow
And places so quiet you can’t hear a sound.

There are friends who are waiting if you should go looking
There are wild rugged hills to climb and to cross
When wind brings the smell of the campfire and cooking
Then time is no longer a worrying boss.

The road is a journey of life and of laughter
Of places to go and people to see
And once the road has you, you’re hers ever after
There’s nothing and nowhere that you’d rather be.

By Marc and Belle Glasby,
The Wanderer, January 2008, Vol. 23 (1)

Tramping tales for March 2008

Leaving the Tarkine, we stopped for a peep at Dismal Swamp which advertised starting a nature experience with a twist. This had George keen to see “the slide” that takes you 110m down into an old sinkhole beneath a forest canopy of beautiful blackwoods. The slide was interesting ($20 a go and includes helmet and a blanket with a pocket for your feet!) George thought it was a short lived thrill and not worth the price and we saw no one attempt it while we were there. However, the visitors centre, a tubular structure was architecturally most unusual and well worth the visit. Fortunately a fellow visitor called out as we left “don’t miss the toilets”. Popping in, we found that each seat had a superb panoramic view for contemplation.
Much like the camp at Arthur River, we found another “world of our own” in Black River Campground on the sweeping bay between Stanley and Port Latta giving us a fine view of the odd volcanic rock formation, Circular Head, better known as The Nut under which is nestled the historic town of Stanley and at the opposite end of the bay an iron ore factory terminus with a long jetty jutting out into the sea sticks out like a sore thumb. At times we heard a camper rumbling up and down the rough track looking for a site amongst the dune thickets otherwise we were on our own. Even walking along Pegg’s beach we didn’t see a soul just the tracks of paddemelon. Weather was far warmer than the west side so that makes us happier! In those peaceful days George continued to work away with wood and Dremel developing his carving skills under difficult circumstances to that of a workshop. Irritating flies and fine flying dust swirling around his face added a little “colour”! Meantime, Lea recollects her childhood putting it all down on computer for her grandchildren. Time passing, is measured by Talia turning one at the start of this month. Hearts ache to be distant from these milestones as it does to hear of Otto’s wobbly tooth.

Once again shortage of water pushed us onwards to re-supply. Lea fancied Burnie Abattoir and Waste Water Treatment Plant for the night. Yes! You read right… George imagined nothing worse but Lea was insistent that we took a look. Almost unbelievable to find a place like this in a prime position on the ocean front of the Bass Strait. To our surprise there was no room for us… caravans and buses were lined up tightly on the grassy verge with its million dollar outlook while behind abattoir trucks pulled in an out. With no choice we moved on to Penguin, a pretty seaside town where we found a privately owned Caravan Park with equally good views. At the Abattoir they were virtually free here the seafront sites were expensive. We took a cheaper site and it was still well located. We would recommend this setting for a family holiday. The old school in Penguin hosts a market every Sunday with good ratings for its regional produce and we returned at the end of the week to check it out only to be disappointed by the lack of fresh produce.

According to the spin all this North West Tasmania was created from chaos! “The forces that shaped the coastline were among the most violent volcanic activity planet Earth ever experienced” … In its aftermath, a coastline characterised by steep bluffs, rocky platforms and fortuitous groynes outcropping to protect the coves and beaches. Inland a sea of undulating hills, occasional steep sided valleys with expansive views over a mixture of forestry and rural tranquillity. We found it heady stuff as we made our way through the Dial Range across Gunns Plains to the Leven Canyon Lookout where we holed up in the biggest patch of sunlight amidst the forest. That afternoon George suggested we walk down into the floor of the canyon which was great going down but quite another wending our way back home. Fortunately we found the sweetest black bramble berries and picked a hatful and enjoyed two nights of fresh berries for pud.

Creeping and crawling our way through this enthralling mountainous region known as Cradle Country we made our way to Wilmot. Once a bustling pioneer town the residents have turned to other means to entice folk through their little settlement by creating a “Letterbox Trail” and we found our selves keeping an eye out for the amusing letter boxes made of recycled materials. In the village we found the original Coles family general store with mural wings on either side depicting most of the mail boxes we had spotted. Coles is an Australian supermarket chain much like Tesco or Pick’n Pay.

Mailbox mural

We didn’t continue on to Cradle Mountain, as we had covered this most popular tourist destination in 2003. By now George was beginning to stress over the strain being placed upon Skiv restraining Getaway down interminably long descents. Tasmania is not the easiest place to tour with a heavy caravan. We had a bad one to contend with before the relief of coming to a stop for lunch in Gowrie Park. With wonderful close up views of Mount Roland – we could easily have believed we were in Cape Town, we stayed put for two nights. Walking in the foothills and forests was a pleasure. Our first night we were amazed how many campers rolled in onto the old tennis courts site – all lined up neatly, obediently following the plea not to park on the grass. The following day folk began turning in mid morning and deliberately finding spots any where but on the concrete! We learned this heralded a Rodeo and Ute Muster over the weekend, in what we thought was a small showground adjacent to us. Accordingly, these followers were making themselves at home in preparation for a weekend of mayhem. This signalled a departure for Sheffield the following day for us. In Sheffield, the residents took up the fight against economic decline in the 80’s by commissioning murals on its town walls. In the last week of March six artist have been invited to take part in a “Paint Off” in Sheffield. Each artist has to complete a mural in time for the judges, six days later. An ever growing outdoor Gallery has made this town! During the inevitable search for internet we spotted a beautifully groomed and charming alpaca taking tea with its owner, at a pavement table of Murray’s Scottish Scone Shoppe, an institution in itself! We were drawn here in 2003 for a cream scone and discovered it was a shrine to Australian Right wing politics. Just days ago we followed a documentary on Sir Joh Bjelke- Petersen, the highly controversial premier of Queensland for many years and this very place was established by his wife Flo. Strange how pieces of puzzles come together!

The frustration of internet drove us on to Latrobe where we hoped to camp by the Mersey River. Amazingly, this was originally the Port town with ships sailing up the river to its docks until Devonport superseded it. We found the free campground had also been superseded by a caravan park, set well back across a road with tight sites of little appeal. Not for us! Keen to attend the Penguin Festival and Sunday Market we decided to go back to the coast and find a convenient place which finally had us end up 13 kms inland from Penguin. Riana’s Pioneer Park a pretty setting with hot showers for 20cents and a few power points proved a good choice to sit out a long weekend. A wet spot outside our door had us rearrange Getaway. As the weekend progressed we notice the original damp spot was more of a “dam” that George drew it to the attention of one of Riana’s volunteer Park carers. Our “powrtouch” which has lately become something of a white elephant despite being a veritable conversation maker, came into its own as George impressively and coolly moved Getaway out of the way, at the press of a remote control button! The underground leaking pipe – had probably been pierced by a tent peg and George helped the man mend it.

Devonport had to be our next destination as not only did we need to replenish our run down stocks, we had been notified of a ‘recall’ and needed to check this out with Toyota Agents. While Lea shopped, a voice called out “hello there”! Used to being an ‘unknown’ she almost didn’t look around… It was ‘other George’ our “Pole” friend from the Huon valley. Shopping was put aside while they found his wife Elaine and caught up on past weeks and direction of travel. Turned out they were comfortably set up at Port Sorell - our next stop. Having downed temporary roots at a caravan park with a site giving us a wonderful view over the mouth of the Mersey we returned with our supplies and sorted out the laundry before enjoying a walk along the river. Close to the “Spirit of Tasmania” tied up for the day, we found a small boat ferrying folk back and forth across the Mersey. Humming the old Beetle song we hopped on hoping we’d find a good film showing at the waterfront cinema opposite. As free spirits we rarely concern ourselves with time. When we do – we are caught out! “Bucket List” was on after the last ferry crossing home. Instead of a film we made do watching the imposing Spirit of Tasmania pass our site out into the Bass Strait on its nightly run. Pulling into the Lions Club Campground at Port Sorell we found George and Elaine watching out for us having reserved a spot alongside them. The day sped by with all the nattering, stopped briefly by the many visitations of a rabbit! Or were there more? Quite the dearest wild rabbit, seeming to know his quaint ways were most beguiling as he came up on his haunches, twitched his nose in Peter Rabbit friendliness as if to say I’m here. Sometimes he’d strike lucky with a slice of carrot from “other George”, if not, he‘d give the lawn a trim. We all managed to fit in a walk along the beach and found bramble bushes loaded with blackberries – the two Georges fed their faces and forgot to return later to gather some. Fortunately, George thought about it during the night and slipped off to pick a bowl full before leaving for Batman Bridge.

Peter rabbit visiting

Other George brambling

An interlude with spiders:
Batman Bridge will not simply be just another campsite for us … it is the location of a fascinating spider that we have never seen before nor know the proper identity of so, for want of a better term, we shall call them “roll-leaf spiders”. The roll leaf spiders lived in a flowering bush directly opposite the caravan door and attracted our attention after we noticed that suspended amongst the branches of the bush were the dried leaves of a different plant, those of an overhanging acacia. Closer inspection revealed that each of these leaves had been rolled into a cylinder, sewn together as it were, by silk and at the entrance of each cylinder was a small spider patiently waiting for something to fly into its web. The discovery led us to begin wondering just how it all begins. With the spider selecting its future home from the leaf litter; attaching the leaf to it a thread of silk; hauling the leaf upwards until positioned exactly where he spider wants it; securing the leaf by adding several other tie points to surrounding branches; then, by sewing the margins of the leaf together, slowly tightening these until the leaf assumes a cylindrical form. Only then we presumed, with its “house now in order”, would the spider create its fish-net like web of silk amongst the branches of the bush and retreat to its leaf, ensuring in the process that it took with it a number of silken threads to act as sensors in the event of something becoming entangled.

Roll leaf spider

The doorman's domain

It is the likes of roll-leaf spiders that add much to the joys of our travels. And, while talking of spiders, herein is another tale … that of the “Doorman” who for the past three months or more is a black spider that has taken up residence in the hinge of Skiv’s back door. Doorman travels with us wherever we go and has since been joined by another, who lives in the hinge of the opposite door. Now and again the Doormen get a bit upset with George for destroying their webs while he is giving Skiv a wash, but they soon rebuild them and in spite of the incessant dust and rattle of corrugations, seem to thrive as well as we do with their nomadic lifestyle. They are a furtive couple, very rarely seen, but they are definitely part of the team. It remains to be seen is just how long they survive and how much further they are prepared to travel!

Our socialising wasn’t over! Elaine had told us Tom and Kim, another of the ‘Pole’ brigade, were up Bridport way and we text-ed them from Batman Bridge. Timing was perfect and we caught up with them at the Georgetown Information centre for well over two hours the following day. Tom & Kim had come from the area we were headed towards making for a good exchange of information. As we talked, we became increasingly aware of the hot dry wind spilling from the mainland where a record breaking heat wave has been prevalent for the last ten days. By the time we reached our next destination we knew all Tasmania was experiencing an unusually hot day. Three nights were spent at Mathers Campground in the Waterhouse Conservation Area at the western end of Ringarooma Bay with a beautiful beach to walk on at low tide. Masses of stranded sea grass piled at the high water mark made it an uncomfortable spongy, squelchy walk when the tide was in. Although the author of The Cloudspotter’s Guide aims “to fight blue sky thinking” we couldn’t help revelling in waking to blue dome mornings after a long spell of clouded starts to our days.

An expensive night was spent at Tomahawk Caravan Park. An odd place, rather morgue like in George’s opinion as most sites are filled by unoccupied caravans with many annexes and wooden fences or high barricades around them which gave a feel of many mini Fort Knoxes! Not a soul around either. Tap water came on for 20 minutes, three times a day and you were forbidden to attach a hose to the caravan. Even the showers were an added dollar – barely was the water hot than the shower ended. It really doesn’t make for a pleasant experience when the charge is the same rate as fancier caravan parks. Power enabled Lea to bake a chocolate cake in readiness for Easter. However, George talked her into freezing one layer and dashed off to find icing sugar for the other’s immediate consumption. This sweetened the Tomahawk stopover.

We arrived in Mt William National Park, lying on the north easternmost corner of Tasmania in good time before Easter to secure ourselves a suitable campsite. Having had Stumpy’s Bay recommended we were horrified to find many caravans already there. Relief came when we realised there were actually 4 alternative campgrounds along the bay and we happily set up in the third, to spend a week. Tucked just behind a dune with the roar of the waves ever present on one side and behind us she-oaks, not only providing us with shade and shelter when required they also served as a source of food to Bennetts wallabies. George became very attached to one who regularly approached him as he worked on his snake carvings at a picnic table. Just before Easter, gale force winds slammed the coastline and kept us inside all day, wondering what the weather had in store for us particularly as Alison was driving up from Hobart for the long weekend with us. Moenie worry nie - Weather was superb! We walked miles of beach, talking and birding. We took a day trip to explore Anson‘s Bay and the beautiful Eddystone Point where we came over a rise and momentarily thought we’d come across a dreadful accident, such were the conglomeration of vehicles and boat trailers. Unbelievable pressure demonstrating the popularity of the boat ramp! Fortunately the lighthouse was in the opposite direction and it owned a real sense of place with wonderful views over the rocky coastline. Around the base of the working 1887 lighthouse we found carcasses of mutton birds scattered around and in the nearby bush discarded piles reeked. A sorry story that had Alison and George contemplating how this mortality could be avoided, considering these birds were colliding with the lighthouse whilst returning to their burrows at night from off shore feeding grounds.

Alison and Lea soak in the atmosphere of Eddystone Point

Later while sitting on the rocks enjoying the special atmosphere of the place, movement caught Lea’s eye and below our feet a bedraggled fairy penguin emerged. We wondered if this lone creature had been blown off course by the gales as this habitat didn’t seem typical.
Easter Sunday triumphed with Lea taking a dip in the briny with Alison while George resolutely refrained. That was a change for the record! Having seen 3 wombat-tanks dead on the Anson stretch of road we decided on a safari style ride atop Skiv looking for wombats. Despite ideal stretches of grassy plain, nought were seen. We did observe some good sized Foresters Kangaroos (Tasmania’s only true kangaroo) though. This Park was the first to diagnose the facial disease of the Tasmania Devil that currently threatens the wild population of the Island with extinction. We found tracks around Getaway that we suspected were those of a Tassie Devil. Later confirmed by the Ranger but not hide nor hair did we ever see!

Ranger David called at Getaway to check all was well and whether we had any questions… I ‘m sure he was sorry he asked that, as we had many! Especially about “spoor” which in turn apparently gave away our origins and led to David telling us of the close Rhodesian friend he’d made in the Northern Territory. George knew him. Not only had they been at school together, both had served in different branches of Rhodesia’s Parks Board and we had a photo of him on the computer! In a delightful turn of events, Dave extended hospitality in typical Rhodesian style to join him over a glass of wine that evening in his home, which we thoroughly enjoyed. Twice, he offered us the use of his house for the rest of the week while he was away. An offer we had to turn down as we were running out of time and had a few places we wanted to see before March ended. On our way out of the Park, Dave intercepted us with books and a magazine he thought we would find useful on our travels- how good it was to unexpectedly form a personal rapport with someone like Dave when least expected.

Of course we had to have a night in our Derby camp site by the Ringarooma River, which would enable us to catch up with Leta’s friend Paddy, whose daughter had just got married. We stopped at The Painted Door to invite Paddy for a drink by the river that evening just as scones came out the oven. Too tantalising to resist that we sat down and ordered them for our lunch. Joined by Paddy’s Zimbabwe friend Nonie who’d come for the wedding, we had the bonus of an update on the situation there and the upcoming elections. It was hard to drag ourselves away to set up camp by the river. Just as well we did as the little spot was very busy and we nabbed the last site. Our evening with Paddy & Nonie was all too brief as conversations ranged in different directions with plenty of banter flying thick and fast. Amazingly of all, Nonie had known Lea’s parents, Roger and Stella. Nonie’s sister had played hockey for Rhodesia with Stella.

Chilly winds and rain blew in during the night but we did not let the weather deter us from going to see the wood carvings at Ledgerwood. As in the case of the carvings we’d seen in Huonville, when pines planted on ANZAC day in 1918 had reached the end of their safe life 90 years later, their stumps were transformed with a chain-saw by Eddy Freeman into memorials to local soldiers who had lost their lives. Sunlight filtering through the mists and a rainbow backdrop added a heavenly glow to the scene.

One of the Legerwood tree carvings

The much needed rain didn’t let up as we pulled into the recommended Scottsdale campground for a particularly noisy night with log trucks hurtling back and forth in close proximity. So much for recommendations! We decide it is too cold to consider an inland visit to Mt Ben Lomond and head for Lilydale Falls. A high chill factor there prevents us staying overnight and in next to no time we were up the west side of the Tamar Valley after being turned away from Caravan Parks with no room for us until we reached Beauty Point, a caravan park in a lovely setting. As travellers we are always curious to see round the next corner and yet revisiting favourite places brings a familiarity we enjoy. At the start of our Tasmanian journey we began with Narawntapu and its wombat metropolis and we are drawn back to close off March. Autumn weather subjected us to a succession of cold fronts bringing much needed rain.

It is four months since our first encounter with wombats on the plains of the Narawntapu National Park so the first thing we noticed on returning was its dryness. Tasmania has had an unusually hot, dry summer so on our first evening’s excursion, wombat hunting, it was interesting to find our furry little “pygmy hippos” feeding in an entirely different manner. George, the professional wombat-stalker, was able to get some lovely, low angle pictures of them engaged in “rooting”.

Wombat stalking

Evidence of wombat tillage

Previously we found the wombats closely cropping the leaves of the short grasses that characterise the plains of Narawntapu. This time the animals are actively digging the grass out in order to get at the roots. While the warthogs of Africa and the feral pigs of northern Australia are chaotic, unsystematic rooters – the wombats of Narawntapu root in a far more orderly fashion. The straight, neat lines of upturned turf they leave behind suggest they may have had lessons in minimum tillage. Nonetheless, the plains of Narawntapu currently look as if they have just been used for a ploughing competition, so much so that we find ourselves wondering whether the grass cover will ever recover. On the other hand it may be perfectly normal and nature’s way of preventing soil compaction.
We’ll simply have to come back to see.