Tramping tales for February 2009

All the fine-positioning of Getaway for our two week stay back at Samford show-grounds was in vain. We were told we had to move away from Golden Pond as the power lines overhead were now deemed a health and safety risk and work was beginning on the 9th to place them underground.

We moved Getaway out into the field before catching a train into Brisbane for the day!

The count down to our “grandchildren round” has started. We thought we had made a good job of spring cleaning “Getaway” in the search for the elusive “dead smell”! All that was undone by ANTS! The rain and damp ground around us has had these pesky creatures on a route march for dry refuges. Our caravan and Skiv fitted the bill. It has been an ongoing war with them, day after day. Fridge seal, window blinds, awning poles, even the outside shower recess which in turn gave access into the cupboard that backed on to it. There, all the carefully stacked plastic containers emptied in readiness for the coming year gave a perfect, undisturbed nesting place. Our friend Paula drove up from the Gold Coast to spend four days exploring the D’Aguilar Range with us and she too, became embroiled in the anti-ant campaign. Each day we’d set off on different scenic drives that would allow us to enjoy walking circuits laid on by National Parks and Forestry. At Jolly’s lookout on top of Mount Nebo we came across some excited tourists with a Ranger placing a torpid carpet python in a sack. This two metre snake was in a serious way after swallowing a cane toad. From both Mt Nebo and Mt Glorious we were able appreciate the long and spectacular views across the Samford valley and pick up our camping ground. Just too hazy for Moreton Bay! We tend to think flame lilies are synonymous with Africa. January was always their best blooming time - Justine and Daniel’s wedding was festooned with them and Lea’s friend Ruth in Durban, always marked her birthday with a bunch. Imagine our startled pleasure to come across a patch in the eucalypt forest entwined with flame lilies.

FLAME LILY! We literally had to pause a minute and wonder just where we were?

With sun drying out the coastal plains, days were particularly humid and we were relieved to be up high in cooler conditions thanks to shady rain forests. While enjoying the walking trail of Mount Mee, wildlife was out in force as we encountered a number of snakes, goannas and a large skink – affectionately known as land mullet according to Paula. Lea’s battered toes still cringe at putting on walking shoes since the marathon walk in Carnavon Gorge that she risked wearing her sandals. After walking through a muddy picabeen palm grove she happened to unconsciously scratch at her Achilles heel and dislodge something slimy. We decided it had been a leech although the black thread couldn’t be seen amongst the gravel, as her heel bled for a good while. Later as we packed away our picnic basket she noticed a big fat stripy slug wedged between her big toe and the next… Horrors! IT turned out to be a leech and that too bled profusely and two days later drove her crazy with itch.

George’s new glasses have given bother! First, they went missing and gave us twenty four hours of anxiety as we fine-combed the caravan and surrounding field. They turned up in the laundry basket – heaven knows how they fell in there… Up on the mountain consternation arose when a lens fell out having lost its screw.

With nothing to secure his glasses “MacGyver” relied on his bush skills and Paula’s aid to lash the frame together using a fine strip of bark.

Saturday- Paula’s last day with us and we decided time-out beside Lake Wivenhoe would be the better bet for a hot day. A 3.5km trail around Cormarant Bay provided us with exercise and bird life to observe but the steamy conditions and pockets of hot air didn’t make it overly pleasant that we were glad to arrive back at the picnic ground in time for lunch and find a spot that caught any lake breeze.

Caring friends have sent text messages concerned for the Rubber Tramps whereabouts as Australia – a land of climatic contrasts that readily brings devastation and anguish hits the world’s headlines. To the north of us floods and king tides have all but inundated Northern Queensland as monsoon troughs moved back and forth leaving homes under water and cut off for weeks, the worst flooding in eighteen years. A crocodile was on the news for unexpectedly creating a speed hump on a city street. Later, Queenslanders were warned to be wary of crocs swimming the streets! Walls of water take their toll on livestock and human life sweeping them all away and leaving destruction in its wake. To the south of us, horrendous bushfires! The historical Black Friday 1939 and Ash Wednesday 1983 were catastrophically surpassed by events beginning weekend 7th February. Almost from the onset these bushfires loomed as Australian’s greatest ever National tragedy as high temperatures combined with severe winds of up to 120km swept menacing fires through Victorian heartland taking the biggest number of lives ever and wiping out complete towns and hamlets - the sheer sight, sound and speed of these fire balls described by survivors, quite beyond comprehension. It’s a catastrophic terror made all the worse by the strong possibility of arsonists with many of these towns in their annihilation, declared crime scenes. How can this be? What kind of psyche wreaks such havoc on their neighbours and subjects so many to unbelievable ordeals. There is so much pain in Australia. Towns we visited last autumn leap to mind and we think of our friend Roger, a volunteer Firie with CFA out fighting the fires.

We spent the Sunday with Donald, Gail and family feeling aghast at the breaking news of whole families consumed by fire as they sought to escape in their cars- even then we had little idea of the growing magnitude of these fires in the worst conditions ever recorded. Gail had been a Brownie in Lea’s Kariba Pack back in 1967 and her parents were very special folk, living opposite the school gate readily providing Lea and Hilary, the two young teachers with moral support and above all a great friendship throughout all the years. Les died five years ago and Lottie, nine months ago. Although we missed their presence their grand-daughter Shannon who stole our hearts as a tiny kid while visiting our home in Perth with them in 1999 made up for their absence with her animation, twirls and arabesques that are part of her natural movement. A very talented ballerina!

We delivered our luggage, packed for our round world trip to see the grandchildren, into the care of our friend Liz just before we moved from Samford back to the shade and cooler climes of Kenilworth Recreational grounds for a couple of days. This region around the northern parts of Brisbane has more than caught our fancy. We could happily live here! Steep mountain backdrops to the hills and dales around here provide lovely vistas. It is often not possible to pull to a stop and listen to the tinkling of Bell birds in concealed gullies alongside the winding roads – their sound almost deafening as we pass by. So too, we’ll come to miss the feathered Indonesian holiday makers that have kept us company over these months in Queensland – Koels with their distinctive calls rising to a demented wirra, wirra, wirra and the Channel Billed cuckoo, sounding much like the African Francolin.

The ‘Queenslander’ home so characteristic of this State makes a tempting subject for Dr Picasso, as dubbed by his sisters in law!

Woombye, last stop for our mobile home for a year or more! We saw to a final laundry and made sure Getaway and Skiv were in ship-shape condition before being put on blocks and carefully covered.

Wrapping up Getaway

With that strange mixture of relief and anxiety at hopefully doing everything right as far as possible for their safekeeping over a long period of time and many backward glances at our mummified home on wheels, the Rubber Tramps made their way to the Woombye Gardens Caravan Park office as the manager had kindly offered to take us to the station for our train journey back to North Brisbane and Liz.
Before we knew we were filled with that heightened happiness at the prospect of joyous long months ahead in the company of our children and grandchildren as our flight rose out of Brisbane, bound for Perth.

With Paul away on business in Chile, we were able to keep Saxon and Talia company adding another dimension to their long days without a husband and dad. NO sitting back with these two – we were immediately put to work on Saxon’s job list that was as long as her arm. While Talia gleefully kept us on the hop, becoming quite indignant should we take a seat!

The construction of a miniature garden gate especially for Talia passed muster.

While Saxon drove George around town collecting the materials required for the many tasks, Lea and Talia were inadvertently locked out of the house in the small back yard on a particularly hot day. Keeping her grand-daughter unaware of their predicament took some doing over all those hours… A week later, we caught up with Des and Liz before they flew off to Europe leaving us to house-sit their home, dog Baffin and cat Rimsky for a month. Thus February flew by…

Tramping tales for January 2009

We “scrabbled” our way into 2009, surprised to find ourselves awake and feeling quite sprightly. Not only did Leecy win the game, she popped a bottle of bubbly! Fittingly we greeted the year being portrayed as one to compare with the Great Depression with good cheer before taking to our beds. Oppressive heat and humidity prevented us sleeping in and we decided the coolest place would be the cinema where we knew The curious case of Benjamin Button was showing first up. We were stunned by the queues awaiting us at that early hour of the day. Making the slow journey up to the ticket counter we decided that many parents bring their children to see a film in order to catch a peaceful sleep alongside!

Next day we pulled out of Woombye Gardens Caravan Park – which must be one of the regions best kept secrets, to begin our meanders inland towards Toowoomba. On reaching Kilcoy Leecy required a caffeine fix! Luckily for her, a newly established and quite delightful Blue Chantilly coffee house was opposite the town’s rest area we’d pulled up in as a possible overnight stop. Unusual décor and plenty of arty knick-knacks to browse amongst while our coffee was prepared did much to revive us and we decided not to ‘roost’ in Kilcoy, rather continue further up the road for lunch and spend the night in more peaceful Blackbutt show-grounds. Clouds were building up, offsetting the very steamy conditions a little as we motored along amongst the busy New Year traffic heading home. The first drizzle of rain seen in many weeks brought a measure of relief – that was until we came down a hill, and on rounding a corner we heard a dull thud and our rig began to shudder and shake. In those seconds that George battled for control on the wet road, Lea closed her eyes and awaited the worst like… overshooting the sharp bend and landing in a farm dam! Fortunately that didn’t happen as George managed to pull up. Why do our blow-outs happen in the worse possible places? Once again we were in a vulnerable position with a sloping verge on which to change a tyre. This time round, George had to dig into the turf beneath the axle before he was able to insert the jack.

Definitely not a Formula One pit stop type of operation!

Leecy acted as “spanner boy” while Lea made sandwiches with trucks and cars passing perilously close as to buffet Getaway around. We got out of that spot as soon as we were able and found a decent stopping place further along to gobble our lunch and found ourselves wondering how fate plays a hand- would this blow out have occurred if we’d stayed in Kilcoy, lucky we don’t travel fast and so forth …
We were glad to reach the tranquillity of Blackbutt’s showground and park under the same tree’s we’d camped under in late September. Leecy and George relaxed with their sketchbooks and as evening fell the two sisters took a long walk through the grounds and up into the hills - nothing lures George away from a work in progress. Such is his focus, he was totally unaware of hooligans arriving to decorate the trees and fences with loo paper a mere hundred yards away. Doubt it was done in silence!

We arrived in Cooyar early the next day and recognising the perfect camp, set down our short roots close by the “swinging bridge” and a grave of a 4year old girl who had drowned in the creek almost to the very day we found ourselves standing there, back in 1907. Crocus planted to her memory all those years ago and marking the season of her dying were out in full bloom on that tiny patch adding poignancy. Come evening time as we strolled into the village we were joined by a small Maltese crossbreed who led us on a guided tour, showing scant regard for the odd vehicle. Spike, as we later learnt, has the reputation of adopting campers and leading them along a popular walk on the outskirts of Cooyar.

Moving on to Crows Nest we were somewhat dismayed to find that the caravan park recommendations did not tally with our vision of a noisy and rather barren place and it certainly didn’t fit our requirements as a base for Toowoomba. On we went, only to be sidetracked by “coffee” shrieks from the back of Skiv on seeing a German Black Forest Haus with an invitingly large courtyard out front! We spent a good while within, enjoying a wonderful display of grandfather clocks chiming the hour followed by cuckoo clocks all out of synch! We decided to try another caravan park in Toowoomba, promptly put on a load of washing before all descended on the ablution block. Feeling fresh and clean we made for Mt Lofty to have Sunday afternoon tea with cousin Tim and Les and make arrangements for a Howman history day.

Leecy made contact with her good friends the Roses, living on a smallholding just south of Toowoomba. Plans were made to visit them next day followed by a round trip with Leecy into the Darling Downs visiting the camp spots we had liked in early December. However, the lovely surrounds of Imirie and warm hospitality of Hugh and Helen had us stay the week. Leecy slept in style within their beautiful home while we remained happily ensconced in Getaway, outside their tractor shed / stables with access to the groom quarters providing us with an “en suite” It was no hardship to ensure doors and toilet lid were kept closed to suppress ‘frog patrol’. Never-the-less two large tree frogs were already in residence which made Lea very squeamish to take a seat. George dutifully removed them but somehow, almost impossibly so – the normally bright green frogs would return... Their life in a water closet simply doesn’t bear thinking about.

That first afternoon George returned to the city to buy two new tyres for Skiv while the women went to sticky beak local properties with Hugh, a property agent in his retirement. On George’s return he delightedly took advantage of being on his own, to practise watercolours, leaving his sandals as usual, outside the caravan door. When he came to socialise on our return home he found they were G-O-N-E.
Suspecting the dog, he called Lea and Leecy to help track them - when we told Helen what we were doing we received confirmation that we were dealing with a fastidious dog thief who buries anything smelly! Earlier, we had been warned that Sally Rose, an old Beagle - deaf as a post, was a scavenger with an insatiable appetite. We took that to mean refrain from feeding her not guard your belongings well!

Sally knew instinctively the sandals were well past their use by date. Wire, dental floss and contact adhesive were all reflective of an owner unable to part with his shoes!

We certainly had a special time on that property with its quiet rural beauty of rolling green foothills and valleys hedged by a mountain. Leecy ‘caught up’ with her friends and George renewed his farm upbringing... removing and burning flood debris, mending fences, riding tractors and exercising the horses. He was in his element.

Back in the saddle after thirty odd years…

Hugh gave us on a guided tour of Toowoomba Grammar School where prior to his retirement, he had been headmaster for many years after leaving The King’s School in Parramatta. Another day, we packed a lunch and drove out to beyond Dalby to visit Bill Glasson, as we knew his wife Lorna was away visiting her sister in Victoria for a month and we were keen for Leecy to meet this distant Australian relative.
His delightful sense of humour led to never ending banter between Leecy and Bill. He thought the names Lea and Alice were weird ones and felt “Mildred” better suited Lea as in the TV series George and Mildred! While Bill was showing us family photos – Leecy turned over one of his mother, to discover her name was Alice too. That caught him out and much hilarity ensued!

Having plenty in common – thanks to the name HOWMAN!

Our week slipped away so easily and we found ourselves struggling to fit in everything. Whoops almost caught out! We made a rapid phone call to Jane and Jonathan after an arborist trimming trees in the Rose’s garden commented on George’s accent. Turned out he was the Palmer’s neighbour hence the recognition of a Zimbabwe accent. We shot round that evening to see them. As previously arranged for Saturday, we set off for a day of digging and delving within the old Howman chest bequeathed by Lea’s father into the custodial care of the eldest male heir, his nephew Tim, our generation’s Howman patriarch. Lea as the eldest daughter had gleaned much about ancestors by osmosis and from her close contact with old family members. To have Tim’s eldest son Heath present, a new father in waiting come June this year, showing a deep interest in who was who amongst the long line in his heritage, bodes well.

Listen intently - Heath and his wife, Kate.

With Leecy coming into her last week on the road with us, we reluctantly pulled out of our five star accommodations with the Roses to begin wending our way back to Brisbane. Making our goodbyes Helen presented us with her trademark posy of roses – which were to perfume our caravan throughout the week despite losing petals from road vibrations.
Leecy, Helen, two of three Rose children home for the weekend Nicky and Saxon, Lea & Hugh.
We thought Saxon an unusual name and yet here in Queensland we know Leta’s Saxon and now Helen and Hugh’s Saxon. A beautifully strong name for a boy or girl!

Choosing not to take the steep route down the Toowoomba escarpment we followed the Warwick road south, keeping our eyes peeled for a short cut through to Gatton and the main highway between Toowoomba and Brisbane. We planned to overnight in Laidley beside Lake Dyer which we had previewed the first trip down. Our choice was altered as we came through a steep sided gorge, a pass having been cut by the Theiss brothers through the scenic rim of Toowoomba’s escarpment. A rest area beside Heifer Creek with a memorial to the family for their many endeavours caught our fancy and we stayed… What a treat this grassed and shaded spot deep on the floor of a canyon like valley proved to be- sketch books came out fast! An unexpected low roar began reverberating around us, distracting the artists as they looked around questioningly. It rang a cord of remembrance for Lea though… MOTORBIKES! The last time she heard this amazingly loud guttural purr of engines overpowering our sense of space was in Washington DC on Memorial Day. Thousands of bikers came down Pennsylvanian Avenue in formation for Vietnam POW’s missing in action. We witnessed the same throaty purr of bikers galore arriving and leaving through the rocky confines of the gorge. The mere sound whipped up an inner excitement to have us run to watch the spectacle of well over a hundred bikers cross the bridge. Another memorable event occurred at the moment of nightfall when cicadas vociferate their shrilling and kookaburras bid good-night with an outpouring of laughter and cackles. A rendition, sufficiently appealing drew us out of Getaway to revel in the sounds.
We were unexpectedly treated to the sight of many kookaburras swooping across the creek hawking cicadas in mid air before perching on branches to tenderise their prey with a bashing.

Keen to avoid the tortuous route through Brisbane’s western suburbs, a back route to Samford via the D’Aguilar National Park didn’t seem too daunting until we were confronted by a sign saying unsuitable for caravans. Our hearts skipped a beat but having seen this warning before and tackled a fair number of steep inclines we took the precaution of changing into high range 4WD not realising that nearing the top of Mount Glorious we would need to convert to low range. A slow business getting up but Skiv does well. Our inner anxieties arise not from going up but descending.
It’s a different story with three tons of caravan pushing from behind and we become fraught with protecting the brakes on an unknown route. The silence is palpable as Skiv literally inches down. Lea’s ears prick up in dread that unsuspecting road users travelling at the expected speed should slam into us slowcoaches on a sharp bend. Reaching the end safely, releases enormous relief!

After all the tension, to find Samford Show-grounds at the base of Mt Glorious is even better. We set up camp in a shady place alongside a creek impoundment we dubbed “Golden Pond” thanks to the lovely glows that lit the water at sunset and sunrise. We couldn’t have wished for a more spacious and attractive setting after the high standard set by the Rose property. Unfortunately we found ourselves having to move a couple of days later as a Caravan Club had booked out this particular vicinity- a year in advance. We were politely forewarned and simply moved into a corner for the duration of their stay. Perfect for entertaining, we had Liz out for a lazy day with us. In fact we particularly liked chilling out in our camp.

Approximately 30 km west of Brisbane, we learned to catch the train from Ferny Grove into the city which gave us an air-conditioned and stress free trip. Up early and away on the first of many pension rate day trips we’d make – thanks to Prime Minister Rudd’s election promise to make all Australian States recognise each others senior cards coming to fruition. We met Leta at the station close to her apartment as she had thoughtfully arranged a day at the Queensland University campus. We were scheduled to hear Debbie Foster, Director of the Jane Goodall Institute speak on the wildlife research, education and conservation programme being conducted in Uganda to protect the widely scattered chimpanzee populations. The concept of sustainability and its multi-facetted components cropped up often and we couldn’t help thinking of grandson Otto in the throes of learning what ‘sustainability’ means, at his school. We were very taken by the sandstone buildings of learning surrounding the Great Courtyard. Jesse, in the exhausting final stages of completing a PhD in Marine Science, was good enough to show us around this impressive campus.

Lea, Jesse, Leta and Leecy (Jesse is the girl friend of Leta’s son, Saxon)

We managed to arrange a meeting with Muriel, Peter Howman’s mother, on Leecy’s last day with us. George and Lea had originally planned to meet Ken & Muriel Howman up in Hervey Bay way back in October. Unfortunately Ken suffered a stroke during an operation and their lives were upturned. Muriel gave us her retirement village address and we were amazed to realize just how close it was to the centrally situated Brisbane Caravan Park we had stayed in during December. If only we had known! With the help of a cabbie’s street finder, we checked the closest station to Muriel. Duly hopped off the train, sure we’d recognise landmarks. We didn’t! Fortunately cloudy skies made for a slightly less intense hot day as we walked in the wrong direction hoping to see something familiar as we reached each crest in the road. Empty streets, time no longer in our favour, our agitation began to rise until we met some young boys who sent us back in the right direction. Only on reaching the Newmarket shopping centre were we able to re-orientate ourselves.
Finally reaching our destination, feeling pretty hot and bothered, Muriel made it all worthwhile with her warm welcome and understanding – even apologising for not knowing enough about her new area to assist us. It was a most interesting afternoon following the lives of another branch of Australia’s Howmans. Muriel presented us with a book she had written both in story form and through poetry about her life in rural Australia during the 20th century, published by her son in Victoria.

Muriel inscribing her book “Life Wasn’t Meant to Be Easy” for us

After following in the footsteps of the pioneer Howmans down in the High Country of Victoria, Muriel’s book gives us an incredible insight into life in the very areas we merely viewed, back in the autumn of last year. Muriel, during her teenage years was one of the remarkable Cattle Women of the High Plains, a way of life that no longer exists. More amazingly her father was a teacher and yet saw little merit in formal education for his daughter. Ken, her husband of 60 years come September, is in the Care Centre close by and able to managed the downhill walk to visit. The return, too challenging! Of their four children, we met “Rusty” back in June - son Peter that is, living in Canberra. Such, was the pleasure of our visit that we would love to visit again and perhaps meet Ken and Coralie-Anne, the youngest daughter living near by. The other daughter lives in Tasmania and we hope cousin Alison will connect up that link.

Leecy’s unearthly hour of departure to the airport made for a long day of coming to terms with her absence. The whiff of something “dead” began permeating Getaway and in an effect to detect it, Lea checked, cleaned and straightened out the fridge and deepfreeze, leading in turn to every drawer and cupboard without anything untoward coming to light. Next day we were still aware of this nasty pong- and thought it was wafting in from the casing to the fridge. Another day of searching led to George removing the air vents at the back of the fridge and unscrewing facings to peer around the fridge surrounds- nothing! We then decided a cane toad must have died in one of the many nooks and crannies in the chassis – George lay underneath and power washed every crevice from his horizontal perspective. All too little avail! We moved back beside “Golden Pond” hoping to leave the odour behind and the jockey wheel no longer worked- George had to be creative. Our jockey wheel never quite recovered from being used to winch round Getaway in the tight confines of Forrest House driveway, on arrival at King’s School.

Sanford show-grounds allow a maximum stay of two weeks. A rough itinerary was required for the remaining four weeks to our flight out of Brisbane on the 18 February- we mulled over our options. At the time of putting our nephew Sheldon on the train for his flight home, we had popped into the Nambour RSL (Returned Soldier League) club to give him a quick meal. Lea delayed departure when she enquired at the front desk about the price of tickets to The Searchers performing on the 21st January. Despite heckling from the stairway – the kindly girl explained the show was FREE and suggested booking a table and if we couldn’t make it – to cancel.

Over the weeks that followed we found ourselves not wishing to lose out on this remarkable opportunity. We thought of driving to Nambour for the night and sleeping in Skiv after the show. In the end, with two loads of laundry piled up and no facilities immediately to hand we pulled out of Sanford, having been granted a two week stretch back there. We returned to Woombye Gardens Caravan Park through the scenically attractive back roads of the Sunshine Coast Hinterland. Deemed Lea’s birthday treat, a week ahead of schedule, excited anticipation was rising for us both. That evening – trying hard not to look our usual daggy-selves, we set off for the RSL club. Not daring to switch off the mobile in case all important news of a baby entering the world in Africa should come through – it was merely silenced and placed on the table in clear view. Dinner for two ordered- My! My! This kind of thing has long fallen off our radar and amidst a very crowded room of wrinklies just like us there was an air of youthfulism! Lights began flashing; a hush of immense expectation took over the whole club. WHAT a night unfolded… as the Searchers, haling from Liverpool with 46 years on the entertainment circuit under their belts returned us to a golden past.

The Searchers – still led by John McNally and Frank Allen from those glory days aided by Spencer James and Eddie Rothe to produce the melody, harmony and in particular the distinctive jangle of the 12 string guitar they pioneered during the beat-boom era of the sixties. REMEMBER?

Opening with Sweets for my Sweet, the more extroverted were fast up and dancing. It most certainly didn’t take long for the rest of us to get up on our pins to rock, jive, twist or jiggle around, singing our hearts out or clapping to the rhythms of many old time favourites like Sugar‘n’Spice, Love Potion No. 9, Goodbye my Love and so many more of their hits, all striking a special place within our hearts, that shrieks for encores followed throughout the duration of a wonderful, wonderful show. To think we grew up in Rhodesia loving this music. A country where concerts were an absolute rarity, even then tickets, cost an arm and a leg. Yet here in our retirement years an RSL club draws in a huge crowd by engaging a band recalling our long gone yesterdays for the cost of a well priced dinner and beer.

Riding high on the adrenalin of the night we lolled around camp next day. Found we had lost the “dead smell” and could only surmise we’d shaken it loose somewhere along the road or the days of heat had desiccated it?? We took a drive to Maroochydore to walk the beach front and found that the Maroochy River we’d seen integrated as a feature within the major shopping complex we had visited over New Year actually dominates the beach front creating an aquatic playground for all ages. Kite-surfers were out in force, both in the estuary and off shore as storm clouds massed and swirled away doing little to alleviate the high humidity.

With ten days in hand before our friend Paula joins us at Sanford, George plotted a trip up to Imbil and through to Lake Borumba to spend a few days followed by a couple on the Borumba Deer Farm near by. Being inland places we certainly didn’t expect Australia Day long weekend problems – both turned out to be fully booked with the odd cancellations due to the unpredictable cyclonic weather in the north and rain being forecast. We were not prepared to squeeze into these busy places and worst of all – neither of our mobiles, on different networks to give us wider coverage had a signal during the very time we need to be accessible to breaking news from Keith and Colleen. That was the decider! We retraced our steps and as we passed though the quaint little village of Kenilworth we unexpectedly noticed a caravan setting up in the grounds of the Village Hall and recreational grounds, one mobile had signal and we promptly turned in at the gates. A caravan club had booked out the southern side and we were able to put down roots for a week alongside the cricket oval in the opposite direction just before the skies opened for one of the many short downpours we were to experience throughout the long weekend interspersed with sticky heat. No matter being confined to Getaway. The Australian Open kept us glued to the TV watching magnificent tennis!

Kenilworth was a perfect rural centre – cattle and horses abounded on the outskirts and across the road was a cheese factory which also produced the most delicious yoghurt which had us both hooked from the first sample taste. On the first dry day we took the Fig Tree boardwalk down on Booloumba Creek through a cool and pretty rainforest. The many warnings about the giant stinging tree with its benign looking large, heart shaped leaves had us both very wary. These soft green leaves glisten with fine white silica tipped stinging hairs that sting like crazy- causing a pain that can linger for months. Even when they are dry and crinkly they will irritate the hell out of your skin (samples dating back to 1910 still pack a “bite”) as do the strange tiny globular fruits bunched up like grapes which feed bowerbirds, catbirds and flying foxes. We eyed plenty of fruit scattered around the bases of trees. Strange that such a toxic leaf is heavily “potholed” by web worm too.

The Aquarian’s birthday dawned and her husband offered to take her through to Eumundi Markets, for a second - less crowded visit. Its fame precedes it irrespective of the time of year and no matter whether it is a Wednesday or Saturday, it hums with activity and we enjoyed it more this time round. Before returning home we took the tourist route through the Blackall Mountain Range to Mapleton. For the first time we found a sign saying the route was forbidden to caravans, trucks and buses. We have fallen heavily for the calm behind the sunshine coast – it is such beautiful countryside with its mountains, undulating hills and broad low valleys and we were intrigued to see what lay ahead of us on the Obi Obi road to our destination. Such was the steep climb up to Mapleton that the road split. The UP road was tarred and the DOWN road was gravel with a couple of hair-raising bends and both gave us stupendous views in all directions. A bite to eat in the Daily Grind Cafe set in the village centre went down extremely well before we ambled along to The Lilyponds, a sight to match an old master’s painting with swamp hens either nesting or trotting the lily-pads herding tiny, intrepid black balls of fluff. The Gallery overlooking the ponds had plenty of work on show, even an artist busy at her easel. The Mapleton Falls and Wompoo Circuit walk finished off our day and we returned home for the best part of birthdays, hearing from family and friends.

In the early hours of the morning the peep-peep of a text message alerted us to the onset of labour in Cape Town. Colleen was awashed with good karma from afar as we back tracked the hours to South African time. We restlessly slept, knowing the earliest we could possibly get news was 6.30 a.m. Australian time. Right on cue, the mobile rang heralding the safe arrival of Finn William Begg which in turn perpetuates the Begg family name for another generation, much to the delight of his paternal grandfather. Sharing a birthday with her new grandson mixed with the elation of his birth brought an unforgettable culmination to the 28th.

“Our cup runneth over”- How hard it is to be so far away on different time zones, bursting with happiness and no one to share our news with other than by writing e-mails that will only go in a couple of days time. We had to simply get on with the mundane… walking up to a laundrette and seeing to our dirty washing before returning to Samford Show-grounds at the end of the week and closing up January with Brisbane friends.

One view of “Golden Pond” from Getaway - It is just as comfortable returning to places that bring us pleasure as it is in discovering new ones.

Tramping tales for December 2008

Ever thought to shower with a battalion of black sand crickets? Lea began December with that experience… She thought the hot water would soon send them packing, it simply kept them scattering around her with a few taking refuge in the folds of the shower curtain. All spruced up, we set off SW of Dalby to meet Bill and Lorna Glasson. Bill’s mother was a Howman descended from the Australian pioneer Howman’s and we spent a very happy morning with them beginning our social roll for the festive season.

Bill proved to be a delightful 85 year young man in fine fettle and we can vouch for Lorna making the best rosella jam.

We spent a week loitering around the good bush camps in their area- despite the Darling Downs being very flat land with dyke – like storage reservoirs rising out of the ground for flood irrigation of cotton and sorgum fields.

Our attention was caught by the size of prickly pears growing alongside the road into Dalby. Apparently this is “nothing” compared to its proliferation at the turn of the last century! The alien prickly pear, planted as a hedge in the 1850’s resulted in an impenetrable 26 million hectares covering the land between Dalby and Roma by 1920 that outside help was sought in the form of 3000 million moth eggs. Unlike the cane toad, these Cactoblastis cactorum larvae solved the problem in short order with no adverse repercussions and in recognition of its service to Queensland, a memorial hall, the only one of its kind to an insect, is to be found at Chinchilla.

En route for Toowoomba we spotted the historic Jondaryan Woolshed and decided it was worth spending the day there and over-nighting in the little caravan park attached. We stepped back into the architectural times of the late 1800’s following self guided trails that told the stories of the wool industry, life as a shearer and the development of pastoralism on the Darling Downs. It was early history at its best and we found ourselves steeped in the sights, sounds and smells, feeling mighty grateful that only a few sheep baa-ed in the woolshed opposed to the thousands in their day when 52 blade shearers were at work! It was a sweltering experience under all that corrugated iron.

Jolly Swagman Caravan Park in the centre of Toowoomba proved a good choice for its close proximity to the homes of family and friend. Over that weekend we caught up with Lea’s cousin Tim and wife Les, where we thoroughly enjoyed meeting their sons Heath & Traill, last seen as wee boys back in Zimbabwe. The occasion made all the more special on hearing that Heath’s wife is bearing the first of a new generation of Howman’s for us! Over sudza and wors we caught up on Junor news with Jane and Jonathan Palmer, who took us on a good orientation drive of Toowoomba.

Mid week Jane and daughter Rachel took us walking in Crow’s Nest National Park

We spent a day in the city trying to sort out safe storage and insurance possibilities for our rig while we are away on a year’s grand-children round! Time consuming, that we soon found it easier to slip into the cinema and watch the much hyped film Australia which had just opened on circuit. We were keen to see it before it was spoilt by chatter – as with all films that have lots to measure up to and many expectations we sat back and immersed ourselves in the story and spaces that were familiar to us…
As Leecy kindly reminded us- this was a Director’s version and we took an afternoon’s entertainment out of that vision.

Ask George suddenly came back into operation! We had both Liz and Leta keen to have odd jobs around their homes sorted out and thus we headed down to Brisbane and settled into the closest caravan park to the city for just over a week. This enabled George to travel back and forth between Liz’s home, north of Brisbane and Leta’s apartment in the city to sort out their list of chores spoilt only by a flu lurgy that knocked him out for a couple of days. For Lea the pleasure of socialising with her old pals, talking of this and that while she helped them get their homes in order after hard school terms and in readiness for the festive season made time slip by.

A Sunday lunch of fish & chips at Redcliff Beach with Liz

In next to no time we were out at the airport to meet Leecy, flying in from Newcastle to spend a month on the road with us.

Leta showed us around Brisbane River’s South Bank and we gained a better perspective of the city as a result!

Liz and Leta had the three of us round to their homes for fine dinners before we pulled out northwards to find a suitable caravan park in readiness for Christmas. A place in Glasshouse Mountain proved suitable with a railway station close by as Leecy’s son - our nephew, Sheldon flew up to Brisbane on Christmas Eve and caught the train to join us over the next five days making a perfect little gathering of family. No small children allowed for a late rising and large brunch before driving up to a lookout over the area. Too hot to think of walking but as shadows fell in the late afternoon we thoroughly enjoyed the challenging constraints of a mini tennis court in three sets of competitive tennis. During our formal dinner of smoked salmon and prawns with a mango and avocado salad we were first besieged by mozzies and then the rain came down… We ended up playing chocolate scrabble – YES, each letter was a chocolate piece and proved to be an excellent Christmas present from our Gee family.

CRIKEY! Once, we might have said we want to visit Steve Irwin’s Zoo but of late, we find ourselves saying Bindi’s Zoo!

Australia Zoo was 8 clicks (as Ozzies have it) up the road! We may well hear groans of disbelief and yet it was money well spent and well worth the visit. To see Bengal and Sumatran tigers rollicking around with their handlers displaying a relationship not seen in normal circumstances with caged animals was the BEST! It was the hands on contact between man and beast without the boredom and displacement one usually encounters in a zoo. Every where we went we found a wildlife team bringing animals into our midst for a natural and educational close encounter that we grew more impressed as the day progressed. At the start of the big show in The Crocoseum we were stunned to hear a personal welcome to Sheldon, Alice, Lea and George - Happened so quickly, it almost seemed a trick of the ears. Earlier, we’d chanced to bump into Michael, a friend of Leta’s who worked there and he had advised us on the coolest seating. Obviously he’d arranged this unexpected touch! For Leecy and Lea, the gloss to the day came when we found ourselves sitting a few seats away from Bindi and Robert Irwin. They found it hard to keep their eyes off the little folk who’d lost their larger than life Dad, so tragically. Another bonus, their mum Terri, was working with the big croc that day. Crocs may be the big draw card but we found the swirl of colourful macaws, lorikeets, cockatoos, Major Mitchell’s along with a Jabiru stork flying around the stadium a sight and sound show, second to none.


We stopped for Sheldon to enjoy a beer in the famous Ettamogah Pub…
As we passed a shop, infectious cackling stopped us in our tracks - the most delightful little witches were kicking up their heels. One reminded Lea of her youngest sister, which further added to our giggles!

The Rhodesian Howman Patriach turned 60 on Christmas Day. Hardly his special day all caught up in Christmas – we made do with a phone call. A couple of days later after setting up camp in Woombye we were close enough to drive up the coast to find Les and Tim’s holiday apartment in Coolum Beach and personally salute his new status as a senior!

Tim, Les, George, Lea, Leecy, Sheldon and Traill

We were delighted with the spaciousness and quietness of Woombye Caravan Park although that night we were relieved we hadn’t slipped into a site beside the creek maintaining a good distance from this popular spot, as all hell broke out during the night! A group of youngsters came to our notice with their thudding music, fire and loud whistling and we were glad to see them drive off to find new entertainment. Our air-con drowned out most of the noise when they returned in the early hours. Leecy and Sheldon woke to witness antics that turned into a drunken fight and a tent catching alight… Fortunately the Police were called and the “hoons” evicted. Thereon, peace and calm reigned in this perfect place allowing us to do day tours in different directions. Sheldon’s few days with us went like grease lightening.

Doing the Park & Ride into very popular Noosa proved to be the most painless method of exploring this particularly attractive coastal resort and when the heat finally go to us we darted into the cool of a cinema and saw a French drama – I’ve loved you so long. Montville, picturesquely perched of top of the Blackall Range, brought us another day of wandering amid art galleries and surprising scenic vistas to be found from shops.

We decide to stay put and see the New Year in at Woombye before moving back to Toowoomba. Up early on the last day of the year to visit the much talked of market in Eumundi, we were shattered to find huge crowds at that early hour along with the sheer extent of organised parking within this massive market. It was almost to much for us and each went their own way with an agreement to meet up an hour later- That was enough!

SWELTERING under a blue dome we quietly see out 2008 – a year highlighting the greed of our world and global recessions to be faced- all very scary. We can but square up and ride it out, enjoying the moments that come our way with gratitude and appreciation.

May 2009 be better than expected for us all.

“It is only when we silence the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts” K.T. Jong

Tramping tales for November 2008

Such a full October we had to put an immediate stop to our writing by sending the blog off 3 days early, from the Town of 1770. We retired inland to Calliope River Rest Area, a lovely spot frequented by the fishing fraternity, grey nomads and backpackers. Like the tide they swirled in as evening fell and were gone by breakfast.

From George’s visual diary … Heaven help those who came over the low level bridge when fisher-folk lined it to catch the rising tide. The reverse flow creates ideal fishing conditions.

What with general comings and goings, territorial conflict between Brahminy Kites and Black Kites, a local arriving each evening to cool off by floating on the river with his parakeet resting on his chest, we were kept well entertained. On our last evening of October, we were alerted by raucous noise to a couple of Channel-billed cuckoos, summer migrants from Indonesia.

To start November proper we pulled into Gracemere on the edge of Rockhampton ready to catch up with Ross, a 1968 Kariba pupil of Lea’s. Only to discover our advisory e-mails and sms had never reached them (we seem jinxed, when it comes to the Lebish family!). Ross and his family were heavily committed all weekend. A night in Gracemere wasn’t a problem as it was a veritable oasis alive with rainbow lorikeets and one of our favourites, not seen in a long while, the Apostlebirds. We moved on north of Rockhampton to Mt Etna Caves National Park which would enable Ross to pop in and make future plans with us, after their weekend away. The Caves turned out to be a pricey option and our mobile signal wasn’t strong. Late afternoon we took a walk hoping to find a stronger signal in case Ross had called. Feeling like a teenager anxiously searching for signal in the turning circle, Lea embarrassedly tucked the mobile in her pocket as a white pick-up approached. Neither of us looked in the car as it slowly drove through the virtually empty camp ground, we only noticed the dog on the back! Ten minutes later while observing a frog, our mobile rang! Turned out Ross hadn’t recognised us from inside the white pickup… Despite a weekend of wedding and their daughter’s 12th birthday, they turned back to see us and we made arrangements for the following weekend.

We took the road coast-wards to Byfield State Forest and ended up in Red Rock Campground as it was the only one with self registration – the other two camping grounds have to be pre-booked in advance - that’s a pain when you don’t know if a place will suit you. Red Rock was neatly set within a grove of pine tree with little else on offer. We were the only occupants- even bird life was depauperate. In these lonely spots Lea is inclined to accuse George of turning her into a hermit. Given the soaring temperatures (mid 30’s C) the shade proved beneficial and sufficient solar power kept the computer running beautifully to pick up on our work with family history’s and memoirs.

A where were YOU when …moment came on the 5th of November – Lea insisted the generator run all day to allow for the television to be kept on… She was determined not to miss the moment of history unfold in the American Presidential Elections. And unfold it did… with such high emotion for the required shift in Anglo American politics and the incredible Obama on whom, most unfairly, hangs so much hope for change in a world of conflict AND a global meltdown. The next day we pulled out of the forest along to Yappoon where we found a caravan site (Yes! A Shire Council park) on the edge of Farnborough Beach, beautifully flat and stretching away in each direction and looking out across the Great Keppel Islands. Cold showers were our first priority given the high humidity even then George constantly mopped his brow wondering if he’d lost the ability to cope in these temperatures. Late afternoon we took advantage of the sea breeze and could happily have walked forever along the beach ….found a dead sea-snake on the stretch towards Yappoon.
A lovely bit of rolling bush land adjoins the coastline and we explored the coastal route back to Rockhampton only to end up staying a night in Keppel Sands as that too, was a most attractive area. Generally, water restrictions are evident everywhere thus to have the manager issue the invitation to wash down our caravan should we desire to do so, took time to truly sink in, such was our surprise! By afternoon washing down Getaway and Skiv seemed an ideal way to try and feel cool. Our little step ladder and rope were brought into action as George worked away on the roof and Lea cleaned out red dust from nooks and crannies below. As George came down, the sun wearied rope gave way - giving us both palpitations, as George clutched on to the roof by fingernails. Whew, that was a close shave! Lea was still nervously giggling when Peter appeared offering good sized ladders and brushes from the storeroom but we were done.

We passed an amazing meat works perched on a hill (looked more like a hotel) as we returned to beef capital Rockhampton for our date with Ross, Jackie and their two daughters. We decided to stay central rather than return to Gracemere, booking into Riverside Caravan Park on the banks of the biggest river in Queensland, The Fitzroy, which winds is way through the city. Arriving at the Lebish home mid afternoon we were regaled by riveting stories from floods sweeping through their home thanks to the Fitzroy some kilometres away to pictorial evidence of the sweet, gentle 5 year old Ross, Lea had known, as a new immigrant, working as a stockman mustering feral cattle in the mighty hard yards of outback Queensland, at 17. That must have been culture shock. Later in time he was to dice with bulls, as a Rodeo clown… we could only admire his pluck. Around the house and tattooed on his arm, were poignant reminders of his son Kyle, who died in a car accident, oh so recently in June.

Ross, Jackie, Cheyenne and Imogen Lebish with their dogs

After dinner with stories still in steady flow, we were disrupted by an odd noise drawing ever closer until it began whipping the trees around us into a frenzy of movement and sound. As the wind swept through, followed by the smell of moisture laden air preceding a storm we all took to our heels and packed up for the night. The first big drops of rain began to fall as we pulled out the gate and we were very relieved we didn’t have far to travel as the storm broke. Safely back at “Getaway” we took a long look at the Fitzroy levels before Lea made a dash for the ablution block. Forced to leap left, right and centre along the path as a little plague of cane toads unexpectedly erupted out the shrubbery. Other than the odd dried out corpse, we had seen no sign of cane toads until this moment. George was dispatched to see them and returned without sighting one! Call her a liar?
Rain hammered down most of the night bringing welcome relief from the weeks of build up. Pre departure check found Getaway’s brake lights not working and we pulled out of the ‘Van Park to remedy them on the quiet street outside. An hour later all fuses, bulbs and connections had been double checked, changed or replaced to no avail. No auto electrician available until the morrow and with the safety issue debated we returned inside for another night. As George reversed back into our place by the river- the red lights LIT UP! Ever patiently, with a set grimace, George walked back to the office to see if they would refund him. They did, we were finally off – Destination: Carnarvon Gorge, taking the Capricorn Highway, which dauntingly posted a few warning signs along the route- # 1 Highway Killer.
Probably due to it near straight alignment as it virtually follows the Tropic of Capricorn westwards into the Central Highlands. Another telling sign - All those in favour of making it home- raise your right foot.

“Stops” provided for the travelling public by Local Councils are under threat, predominantly from Caravan Park owners who have to comply with so many health regulations objecting to the rudimentary facilities provided by some councils. Although the underlying reason is financial, competition also plays a role. Free Camping has been a way of life in Australia from way back when… and for those of us who relish the informality of bush camps and council travel stops they are a boon. The downside is when they are despoiled, the Code of Conduct ignored by some. We have often come across mess but we have yet to ever see anyone leave that mess!
We experienced two fine 24 hour road stops along the Capricorn Highway where the council has not only provided toilets but hot showers. Both Duaringa and Blackwater councils cared about encouraging travellers to stop and enjoy their towns providing clean ablution blocks amidst green and shady places. We were sorry when our time was up we would happily have stayed far longer!

In Emerald the “Traveller’s Stop” was squeezed in alongside the Botanic Gardens entrance close to the Nogoa River. Most off putting was the fact that both the road and railway bridges passed either side of the small area. We decided to assess the noise levels over the next few hours and parked in the only level grassed section directly under the railway line. Off we went to explore the Botanical Gardens discovering it was more extensive than first met the eye. We wandered the Western section of 6.5 hectares enjoying the gardens of roses, herbs and palm groves within natural bush. Once we realised the Gardens straddled the Nogoa River, lifeblood of the Emerald Irrigation area we knew we had to stay and explore the Eastern side in the late afternoon when it was cooler. We found we could put up with road trains and general traffic moving across the road bridge and waited with bated breath for the two kilometre long coal trains that ply the tracks, to pass over our heads. No trains put in an appearance – Well! Not until a lone engine clattered overhead as we departed next morning. As for the eastern side of the Botanic Gardens – what a backdoor asset for the town and it was good to see locals and dogs putting in their day’s exercise in wonderful surrounds. We were still walking as evening fell, bewitched by the screeching of cockatoos overhead, the differing bush scents that assailed our nostrils as we passed through different plant communities and in celebration of Australia’s centenary of Federation we gleaned much of Emerald’s history and its place within the Nation from The Federation Pillars and the Yarn Pit – each pillar representing a decade of history painted upon it.

The Yarn Pit - a meeting place to talk or reflect was equally symbolic – in turn, Lea recalled the Centenary medals that arrived for each child in her Darwin class in 2001.

A hundred trees for a 100 years planted to re-establish pre European plant communities had us come across a stand of Acacia erythroloba – We had been most taken by beautifully sculptured trunks of wood Ross used in his woodwork around their home and he could only tell us it was rosewood, an indigenous tree used for making fence posts. The light of an almost full moon led us home, feeling elated by the richness of nature only to have it crash seeing a slider-slammer camper had quite unnecessarily squeezed in between the rail line bridge pillars, next to us. Getaway’s door and their dreaded door a mere metre apart! Personal space means nothing to some folk and campervans are the worst to have alongside you, with the continual sliding and slamming of their doors. George huffed, puffed and glared for a good while after until Lea suggested they may be nervous girls wanting the safety of close proximity. They weren’t, but…

The unexpected delights of trundling along the Capricorn Highway dates back to pioneering times and Ludwig Leichhardt’s exploration of the Central Highlands in 1844 giving rise to many a settlement’s name.

A life sized bronze statue of a dingo commemorates the town’s name supposedly given when howling dingoes disturbed a pioneer’s sleep camping here.

Spotting a comet not only gave rise to a creek’s name but a town too, within which we found the very pretty Whistle Stop Park containing the remnants of a tree trunk marked with ‘DIG’. Leichhardt’s habit was to bury food and journals for those that followed, along his route. As for Blackwater, it was once just a whistle stop on the railway line until it earned itself the title of Coal Mining Capital of Queensland! It proudly flies the largest display of flags after the United Nations Building of course. And it boasted a Japanese Garden – reputed to be the best of its kind. When we arrived there ready to spend a good few hours we almost got hot under the collar until we reread “in Queensland” It was barely the size of two tennis courts and now comprised part of a new tourist landmark that appeared to be a work in progress from what we could see around the main complex - International Coal Centre requiring a ticket of $19 for admittance. Our senior concession would put us both in for $32 – far too much for our budget so we made do with a sighting over the fence and a disparaging comment of having seen far better in Durban! Bedford Weir with its facilities for road folk saved the day even if it was 26 kms off the road and away from Blackwater itself. Apart from the Botanic Gardens on the outskirt of Emerald, we found The Big Easel holding up a copy of Van Gogh’s sunflowers, which he saw as a symbol of life and hope. This huge structure in the town’s parkland celebrates the region’s reputation as a major sunflower producer – not that we saw one!

The Big Easel is 25m high and the painting 7x10m

Emerald’s Strawbale Visitor Information Centre also piqued our interest. Straw had been used in its construction because it was an inexpensive, renewable and aesthetically pleasing building material. The walls were raised over Easter 2005 by interested participants with little or no building skills under direct supervision of a registered builder and we were most impressed – we’d like a straw bale house IF we ever give up our wandering ways.

Turning south at Emerald and following the irrigation canal to its source Lake Maraboon, also known as Fairbairn Dam, we found a large and very turbid body of water, with a Resort that put us off, price wise. First time we have come to a place that charges the same for power or un-powered sites. We chose to move on to Springsure as a result and found it far more appealing with its Virgin Rock – a naturally formed likeness to the Virgin Mary and child – eroded beyond recognition to our minds, jutting out from Mt Zamia as you approach this country town situated in the valley. The town’s tiny caravan park gave us a chance to fill up with water, top up batteries and do our washing before going “bush”- or so we thought…

En Route to Carnarvon we happened on this memorial - A 1943 Dakota crash site, with no survivors amongst the 18 Air Force/Army personnel on board. (Note the new image – sleeveless shirts!)

Takarakka turned out to be the only place for campers and caravans and it was situated 4 kms outside Carnarvon Park. We’d been advised to take an un-powered site as prices were high in this captive market, but we found the difference barely merited going without power particularly in temperatures of 36’C the day we arrived.
Keen to sniff around and get a feel for this section of Carnarvon National Park we set off mid afternoon to do the short walks found along the road to the National Park Centre. While on the Baloon Cave Aboriginal cultural trail with its self-guided information on aspects of traditional use of the area’s resources we came across a tree with its last few blossoms. Earlier that day, Lea had noticed the odd two or three colourfully orange flowered trees. Not wanting to state the obvious, she had simply admired them in passing. Recognising the colour again she stopped to read the plaque beneath the tree – Erythrina vespertilio or Bat’s wing coral tree. As we gazed up, the leaves were remarkably like little bats against the cerulean sky and the artist inside of George became very excited. All the branches were well out of reach much to his frustration and he ended up scratching around in the leaf litter to finally find a withered specimen of these tiny fragile leaves with a fragment of blossom to assist colour matching. He hadn’t seen the tree before this and thereafter, kept his eye peeled throughout our Carnarvon days to no avail, that Lea promised to show him the fine examples she had seen well outside the Park. It didn’t happen- perhaps they were closer to Rolleston. Our next short walk took us to Mickey Creek Gorge – oh so pretty with its contrasting forms of giant fan palms and squat Macrazamias- a type of cycad so slow growing that some were possibly over a thousand years old with a lovely light being cast upon the towering sandstone cliffs that looked as if they had been roughly chiselled. Ending up at the Park Centre, we learnt much from all their resources, maps and models as to what lay in store for us. Everyone speaks highly of Carnarvon, considered one of Queensland’s top attractions. One afternoon and we were already inclined to agree.

After a game of scrabble – a good year since our last we took to our bed grateful for air conditioning as we needed an early start for our hike up Carnarvon Gorge as high temperatures were forecast. On rising, we were amazed to find conditions so overcast that George was concerned about photographs and Lea wanted a jacket! We were faced with a 10km hike up to Big Bend and we’d been advised to walk directly to this furthest point and then take the side tracks to other sites as we returned. Excitedly we set off in perfect walking conditions due to cloud coated cliff tops.

One, of 22 creek crossings on the main Gorge walk.
Spot Lea’s new walking stick? George made it to aid her wonky leg in the descent of stairs
and over uneven ground. NO! This one wasn’t carved “Lea’s I hate husband stick”!

Unthinkingly, Lea stayed on a right turn that took her up many steep steps to Ward’s Canyon. Fortunately, George spotted her disappearing and followed in her footsteps, winding round a small waterfall before rising further up, into a gorgeous narrow chasm with perennial water trickling through a well-worn stream bed.

Ward Canyon: This special place was used by the four Ward sons as a seasonal home, during possum hunting! Their father had discovered the canyon way back when and it was named for him.

A tiny pocket of remnant rain forest added an expensive boutique like touch that only nature really manages, tall tree ferns and rare king ferns predominating. Having no internal structure, King ferns depend on water pressure to remain turgid, “rather like a fireman’s hose” aptly describes it. Lovely, lovely little canyon!

The sun was fast burning up the cloud cover as we returned to the main track and we soon felt the strength of it making us glad to have intermittent shade cast by cliff sides or tree cover. We passed through a thick cover of blady grass, above which hovered and danced the prettiest black and white butterflies with transparent forewings and red dots on the hind wings – swallowtail like. Camera poised, waiting for one to settle proved impossibly frustrating and George was distinctly heard to say, in his inimitable way, “If I had a net I’d swoop it up and kill it” He immediately pointed out an ancient specimen, “as having lost all its wing scales and would die now” Fortunately a little chortle followed… Was all this activity, courting behaviour, stimulated by rains the previous week? On the Baloon Cultural trail, the previous day, we’d read that blady grass is used by Aboriginals for blood letting. Apparently pushing a blade of this grass up a nostril to induce bleeding relieves headaches. Lea quipped that perhaps the lady butterflies were here for that reason too… We’d liked to have picked a bundle for Haigho, our headache prone brother-in-law!
For anyone interested in entomology it was a paradise – with iridescent blue and red dragonflies, damselfly and hoverflies proving most distracting with their darting and dicing between our feet on the numerous stepping stones across the creek.



We side tracked to Cathedral Cave not wanting to sit on the heels of a couple, we’d caught up with.
The massive overhang brought cool respite along with Aboriginal stencilling, engravings and hand paintings.

On reaching Big Bend, marked by a massive sandstone elbow with a pool below surrounded with sand, we had come to the end of the 9.7km main walking track. We took a pit stop before turning round to formally begin exploring the many off-shoots to the Gorge. First to come up was Boowinda Gorge which didn’t look much from the pathway as we stared up a rock strewn entrance. Rock hopping our way along, Lea’s stick worked two ways either keeping her balanced or tiring her as it jammed up in rocks. However, the balancing act was well worth the effort to be confronted by a cavernous passage with stupendous sculpted sides that almost touched overhead. We could well imagine the spectacle of a flash flood with the thunderous rattling of boulders as the waters loomed bore down upon you, RUN Forrest, RUN! Later we learned that boowinda in Aboriginal language, is thunder.

By the time we arrived back at the Ward’s Canyon turn off, the heat was taking its toll and we both felt immense relief that we had inadvertently explored it earlier. Along with Boowinda Gorge, Ward’s Canyon had certainly been the highlights of our day. Thereafter, Lea began to struggle and didn’t want to do any more side explorations, just getting back to Skiv was daunting enough. We agreed to return for the remaining attractions next day. Those last 6kms had hot spots forming on the soles of her feet and her legs were burning from exertion – crossings became unbearable due to the full intensity of the sun and by that time there were still eight remaining. She begged George to whistle Bridge over the River Kwai, as a most uplifting marching tune and a reminder of men suffering far worse ordeals! George’s pitiful renderings due to dry lips would end in choked bouts of giggles. We were stunned, as we began to meet people for the first time, some very overweight, and all looked hot and bothered at the relative start of their walk! Mad dogs and … odd folk, go out in the midday sun???

Mind over matter; determinedly placing one foot in front of the other; Lea followed George’s easy gait back to the lush green shady picnic grounds of the Visitors Centre with a tremendous measure of relief to have completed the 25kms. There, surrounded by curious pretty face wallabies, George unpacked our lunch carted all the way up the Gorge and back so unnecessarily. Plus it must be told… he had picked up a discarded heavy-duty bulk bag that he could see a million uses for! Lea had to wedge this bulky thing between his back and rucksack a good few times.


Collapse - burnt out! Three blisters on the sole of a foot had her refusing to walk for the rest of the day.

Nothing, a good night’s sleep can’t sort out plus CURIOSITY had us both back on the track, under a hot blue sky just before 7am next day. We soon realized how lucky we’d been to have the cloud cover the day before as we made our way to the Amphitheatre, 5kms away where our preconceived expectations were blown away…
A steady climb upwards brought us to a halt at a rock face.

Thereon, metal ladders took us into a cleft in the rock face with a concealed passage of sacrificial metal platforms and ladders leading us into a vast chamber. Our camera could do it no justice!

For the erosive power of water to create a cavern of this size is truly phenomenal. Floods regularly scour it out forcing man’s structures to kingdom come.
Rangers must dread the constant repairing and maintenance required to meet the needs of 70,000 annual visitors. We hurried back down the main track to Moss Garden involving another steep climb before it opened up to enticing rock pools with tumbling water that beckoned sweaty bodies to stop and enjoy. We stayed focus and took steps up the boardwalk to be enveloped in a chilly, moist green paradise of ferns and liverworts. The sandstone walls thickly clad with moss dripping diamonds of water. The forces of erosion have certainly provided Carnarvon National Park with more than its fair share of nature’s sanctums.

We were back in Getaway well before mid-day. That evening we strolled down to the river bordering Takarakka campground to find platypus. Notices tell you No swimming, no fishing and no netting what so ever because of platypus thus we were most taken aback to be confronted by ropes straddling the first likely pool! On close inspection we could see a mesh dangling below. Continuing down stream we found more and obviously something was caught as the rope was bobbing! Fortunately as we stared in consternation, men broke out of bush and made for the rope, saying it was just a catfish! With platypus being at their most westerly limit of distribution, a group of researchers were establishing their home range and obtaining DNA samples. We got chatting to a Carnarvon Ranger who’d come to watch the activity and from him we found answers to our questions about the Park along with fascinating insights into the flood history of the river and staff nightmarish task of replacing stepping stones! He recommended we do the Boolimba Bluff walk as it towers 200m above the river giving a different perspective of the gorge, a wonderful bird’s eye view of distant ranges in the Park and enables one to see what lies above the cliff line.
We decided we would to do it! Next morning we caught the sunrise as we ascended the foot slopes of Boolimba- a beautiful soft light falling upon the varied vegetation types.

At the base we reached some seating and a serious notice …

This final assault brought home the realisation that the unsung heroes of this Park are the rangers who construct and maintain the steps and ladders required to get us to these wonderful high places. A job, Lea’s Dad may have relished!

It was a superb look out, particularly at that time of the morning.
We certainly completed our Carnarvon experience on a high note.

Dashing back to Takarakka, we hitched up and pulled out, back to the Great Inland Way south to Injune. Up on these highlands of Queensland, we found ourselves admiring undulating grassy downs, Bottle trees silhouetted above ridge lines and clumps of brigalow and shrubs giving long views in all directions throughout the two weeks we moved around in this region. Well conserved range lands – this was cattle and grain country and it was beautiful. Roads, relatively quiet other than the inevitable cattle transporters. We made use of a developmental road short cut keeping a wary eye on daily cloud build ups. Brisbane area having been struck with the heaviest storms in 25years gave us good reason to be watchful as severe weather warnings were issued in the south. Our first good rain fell while camping over east, along side the Dawson River in Taroom. George found tree frogs in the shower and toilet there! Heading north again, the road into Lake Murphy was a mud risk and we spent four nights instead, at Glebe Weir in cool unsettled weather, which suited us as Taroom Shire provided campers with power points at $5 a night - honesty box.

Wild winds swirled up a storm of tumble weed like dried plants that tore across a fallow field we overlooked, like mad rabbits. Eventually banking up against the fence alongside us!

Our last afternoon there, as George prepared to step out of Getaway, the sight of a snake’s tail next to his sandals stopped him in his tracks! Called Lea to look down and see it … Too late, it had moved under the caravan. Shortly after, the lazily moving reptile, well over a metre in length and a golden brown in the sunlight, slithered out towards the weir behind us. Naturally Lea was glad to move on next day and banned George walking around barefoot without a torch that night.
Theodore provided us with a perfect bush camp site tucked into a river junction and it provided hot showers. We had planned on spending the weekend there before shortcutting across to Burnett Highway in time to meet up in Cania Gorge with Jim & Jill, the new friends we’d met at Woodgate Beach. A change in their plans had us review the map and we decided to continue north on the last bit of Leichhardt Highway as it had proved such a picturesque route reminding us of Rhodesia in some way and we needed fuel. Banana was close by - other travellers had made particular effort to tell us of the cheap fuel there. No bananas grow there - the name is derived from a remarkable yellow bull helping stockmen in the 1880’s round up wild and difficult feral cattle. It turned out to be a blink and you miss it town but the fuel was the best diesel price we have seen all year. $1.35/L

Turning south down the Burnett Highway on eastern side of the highlands as we made for Cania Gorge we were amazed by the sudden desiccated state of the countryside – all rivers and creek bone dry and the vegetation scrubby. Cania Gorge too, was very hot and dry that we didn’t feel as if we were seeing it at its best. Pretty, without the grandeur of Carnarvon Gorge. The caravan park was in close proximity to all the National Park walks and we were able to do the west side walk on arrival early that morning and the eastern side late afternoon and be gone the next day.

A Cania Gorge outlook, from Dripping Rock

Even the dam we planned to spend a few days at was empty and grassed over from a long drought. As we ate lunch, an assortment of birds took refuge in Getaway’s shade- even in the doorway. Beaks gaping with the heat! Taking pity we put out water in a shallow plastic lid and were thereon entertained by their antics- drinking, bathing and grooming. We couldn’t face staying there and pushed on, only to find all the recommended sites in our Camps 3 bible fail to come up to expectations as we clicked up kilometres. Eventually, on the top of the Binjour Range, a roadside rest area proved our saviour. Cool breezes with long views over the plains below enabled us to put our heels up for a couple of nights and watch rainstorms sweeping around us. Thereafter, the terrain assumed a green hue thanks to recent rains - still not enough to generate a run off in creeks though. As we slowly made towards Dalby, we discovered lovely bush camps - one spoiled by its neglected condition yet we stayed a night regardless. Passing through the South Burnett region we were able to see out the last days of November enjoying heritage settlements and their museums. Kumbia, a stone fruit town goes out of its way to welcome caravans providing a small site, hot showers and power over 48 hours, for a donation.

We are lucky to have missed devastating storms during our explorations, zig-zagging across Queensland’s Central Highlands and sincerely hope the worst is over as we ready ourselves for the start of summer in the Toowoomba and Brisbane surrounds.

Tramping tales for October 2008

Moenie worry nie! We were fortunate to find a Library in the very next town of Kilcoy, allowing us to connect up our laptop and send off our September blog with no problems. We saw out the last two days of that month in carefree manner enjoying blue domed skies, back wearing our familiar easy wear summer gear and finding many perfect camps that so suit the Begg lifestyle! A delightful spot on a lonely showground in Blackbutt, a well run Bushcamping Park in Kilkivan (despite an incident that tickled George’s creative juices to follow!) to a perfect position beside the Mary River at Petrie Park just outside Tiaro.

We were ready to roll. Our 20 point pre-departure “flight check” had been completed (gas off; TV aerial down; brake system connection; ….) Lea was patiently awaiting the driver in Skiv. As I started the engine, my door not yet closed, a large huntsman spider disturbed by all this unexpected activity suddenly appeared, crawling as fast as its long legs could carry it down the inside of the driver’s door.

Lea can move with extreme rapidity when she has to, the problem on this occasion was that she was held fast by her safety belt! With her feet already running on the floorboard and her fingers scrabbling desperately for the release button all I could hear was a number of guttural sounds before her door opened and she last seen was running into the blue yonder.

I consider it fortunate that I had my hat on at the time because one quick slap enabled me to dislodge the arthropod before it took refuge inside Skiv.
Had this not been the case I have little doubt that we would have to had unpack the vehicle and delay our departure by a few hours.

These things happen now and again and serve to sharpen our senses.

How we bless these little towns that encourage brief “stopovers” in picturesque surrounds with basic facilities in an effort to boost passing trade. Petrie Park, honouring Andrew Petrie’s navigation of the Mary River 166 years ago and finishing at this point allowed a two night stay to travellers and we delighted in this camp even though Getaway had to park on an angle to give us our best view down the hillside onto the river. Young soldiers, doing water based training and river manoeuvres over the two days we were in situ amused us as feminine shrieks and masculine bellows vent the air to create their rowing rhythms. Folk coming and going with their boats on the slipway amicably shared with army activities. A number of houses and cars around Tiaro sport banners, stickers and notices trying to safeguard “Their Mary” from the Queensland Government building a dam to augment Brisbane’s water supply. A sign warning of a $75,000 penalty (we had to read it twice such was our disbelief) for catching a Mary River Cod seemed unreal considering Courts seldom impose anything like that on drunken driving or dire physical assaults! The Mary apparently supports lung fish, a fresh water turtle and this cod as endangered species. Put together with many other concerns, public sentiment is such as to have the potential for political downfall.

A long weekend loomed to end the school holidays and we decided it was safer to find a caravan park in Maryborough to replenish water and stocks and hopefully make contact with the Australian Howman’s living in Hervey Bay. We walked into this historic town, with its colonial buildings reminding us of a Salisbury, Rhodesia from our youth. Found a statue of Mary Poppins outside the house where the author, Pamela L. Travers was born - never stop learning something new! No response to our many calls to the Howman house had us move off next day and before we knew we had reached Bundaberg well ahead of schedule. Mindful of requiring safe storage for Getaway while we spent a week with Saxon, Paul and Talia in their holiday apartment we began at Burnett Heads to ask around and as chance had it, ended up in Bargara a mere 2kms from The Point. Bargara Beach Caravan Park was a perfect setting for us with most attractive walks along the well laid out esplanade and a pretty trail to Mon Repos Beach – Queensland’s best known and most accessible turtle laying beach. We walked the trail late afternoon on our eldest grandson’s 7th Birthday and midway received a mobile call from Otto just waking up in England to power outage and rain. How we wished he was in our idyllic place.

A couple of days later, in happy anticipation, we awaited the arrival of our Perth family driving up from the Gold Coast on the hottest day to date. We were looking forward to relaxing on the beach together only windy, grey skies prevailed thereafter… We were grateful to have a well appointed and spacious apartment with a view of the ocean (it’s not called Wide Bay for nothing as surf pounds volcanic rocks covering the shore below us) rather than being squeezed up in Getaway. When we did set off on touristy ventures, the rain would come down. We managed to visit Australia’s most baffling phenomenon, The Mystery Craters and just see them before a deluge! These 35 craters formed in a large slab of sandstone, siltstone and red ochre were discovered by a local farmer in 1971 beneath a layer of silt and sand. Teams of international geologists have yet to agree on their origins putting offering many theories. We fancied sink holes from volcanic action!

Mystery craters

We tossed up between visits to Bundy Rum Distillery or Bundaberg Ginger beer - The Barrel won out and we enjoyed sniffing and tasting the ginger beer products.
Disappointing weather could not dampen family time. Putt-putt and table tennis matches, walks along the beaches, esplanade and Mon Repos kept us all happy.
Talia entranced us with her rendition of Twinkle Star and particularly Row, row, row your boat which received constant encores from her doting grandparents.

We backtracked south to Woodgate Beach for the last three days and two nights…

Talia had her first experience sleeping in a tent.

At the start of her afternoon nap we could hear Talia mimicking bird calls from the surrounding trees, followed by peals of giggles that could hardly be suppressed despite her mother’s reprimands. Most infectious for us bystanders! This little sponge learner copied everything we said or did. George became Dandan toot-toot due to his trumpeting nose blows. The downside was the cacophony of birds at first light waking Talia at an hour the rest of us did not appreciate.

Paul discovered ant lions during an early morning walk in Burrum Coast National Park. Father-in-law explained their biology and showed him how to test for the presence of a larva by dropping in ants. A fascination of ant lion pits took hold that we’d see three heads with bums in the air inspecting conical pits where ever we went, as Talia joined into the curious activity. Our neighbours recognised accents and introduced themselves. We found new friends in Malawian Jill and Rhodie Jim who’d immigrated over forty years ago.

Finally able to relax on Woodgate beach

Glorious beach weather had arrived until the last night when a downpour had Paul and Lea running around in the early hours, zipping up the tent and saving other items from the wet and wind. We thought the beach kiosk “Woodys” was washed out… On cue, OUT came the sun and we settled on the rather slippery decking for a final breakfast together. Awaiting our order, a bird with heavily painted bright blue mascara swooped down and landed on the back of Talia’s chair and animatedly began to tell her a thing or two! Quite the most fantastic photo opportunity with George perfectly positioned to capture it all. Unbelievably his camera was not attached to his wrist this day! Talia, spellbound by this blue-cheeked honeyeater with its long pointed beak chirping nineteen to the dozen within inches of her face had Saxon agitatedly looking on while threatening the bird with dire consequences should it take out her daughter’s eye.
The sadness of the family departing brought back the rain and jolted us into haring back to the laundry to drag all our wet linen off the line.

Originally, we had all planned to visit Fraser Island only to find it was illegal to fit a car seat in Skiv. Other alternatives proved too costly and the visit was abandoned. We had expected to visit the Hervey Bay Howman’s after our family had gone taking this opportunity to reappraise Fraser Island prospects. Phone-calls to the Howman’s proved fruitless and we contacted Peter to discover his parents were in Brisbane as his father had sadly suffered a stroke. A trip to Fraser Island was feasible and we continued south into the Harvey Bay region. We were fortunate to find well situated Windmill Caravan Park in Urangan, who surprised us with a welcoming a plate of chockie biscuits and teabags. They were happy to look after Getaway for a dollar a day when we went to Fraser and parked us next to a beautifully kept and equipped camp kitchen. That afternoon we made our barge booking out of River Heads and bought the required permits for our trip to World Heritage Area, K’gari, the largest sand-island in the world better known as Fraser Island. Skiv was prepared for our adventure and basic camping supplies bought for our time away.

All we really knew about Fraser’s was lots of sand and aggressive dingoes! We were assailed with a sense of adventure as we reversed onto the barge. Folk reduced tyre pressures during the 30 minute crossing to Wanggoolba Creek – we held off until we disembarked because the steepness of the ramp had caught our tow hitch and bent the bolt protruding below, coming aboard and we needed to keep as much clearance as we could. Lots of heavy cloud around and our arrival on the island didn’t look like much as we engaged in four wheel drive and locked hubs for the duration of our time here before following the sandy corrugated track leading away from the mangroves. In no time we began rising up inland from the West side towards Central Station, tucked away in the rainforest. We assumed by the name that it was the Wildlife Service Headquarters and judging from all the 4x4’s parked, required a necessary stop. Quite the contrary, this historic site had been the centre of a forest industry around the turn of the last century and remnant buildings now used for educational purposes with the surrounds to picnic in and with many walks departing from here. We took a stroll through the rainforest along the Wanggoolba Creek boardwalk amidst impressive picabeen palms, our only regret being no sun to filter down and show up the colours and clarity for photographic purposes. Back in Skiv we slowly rocked and rolled our way along the narrowest rough tracks of the 30km Southern Lakes scenic drive – finding ourselves glad to take in the breaks and steady our bodies with walks to see Lake Birrabeen, an amazingly clear perched lake within glistening white sands. It just lacked a blue sky to enhance its colour. Later, our visit to Lake Boomanjin contrasted with its waters stained brown by tannins leached from all the vegetation. Lea understood how their elevation gave rise to the classification perched lakes but couldn’t understand why the water didn’t drain away through the sand until George explained that beneath the floor of the lake lay an impervious layer of organic debris.

Lake Boomanjin, the largest perched lake in the world

It was here we were somewhat horrified by the little fenced in camp ground resembling an internment camp! Everything dingo proofed and warning notices everywhere.

Look out for dingoes;
Always stay close to your children, even small teenagers;
Walk in small groups;
Stand back to back if approached and don’t make eye contact. And More…

Mercy! Lea began to a distinct uneasiness about the dingoes of Fraser and kept her eyes peeled. We approached Dilli Village only to find it was a well protected place and not easily accessible that we continued on to the Eastern Beachfront. With no tide tables available George made a rough estimate of his own. Optimal times for driving the 75 mile long beach are two hours either side of low tide. He walked down to inspect - All was well for nipping into Govi Camping zone looking out across a vast expanse of ocean to eat our lunch. One of many informal camping areas tucked just behind the fore-dunes offering no facilities other than “a quiet wilderness experience”. QUIET? Not a bird to be seen or heard, just the steady thump and whoosh of the waves. Curiosity to see more took us northwards along the beach. Up until now we’d hardly seen a soul. While out on this beach highway, we encountered heavy traffic- all speeding along. Beach buggies, 4WDs towing boats, some even with caravans, buses of all sizes, trail bikes and to cap it all, we shared the beach with light aircraft landing and taking off. The speed limit was 80km/hr and it was quite an odd sensation to have vehicles nonchalantly passing us slow coaches, when we found ourselves cringing on occasions at the noise arising from our bed boards slamming down as we bounced through unexpectedly sharp edged creek wash-outs. We turned into Happy Valley and found a dingo fence being erected as we crossed over an electrified grid. Inside the protected area many day trippers, chiefly 4WD tour groups of international youngsters stopping at the shop for refreshments plus a holiday resort. We continued on but after a while dodging vehicles with nothing but sand and sea, stretching away became quite bland that it was pleasing to reach Poyungan Rocks and have to do a short inland detour. We were stunned by the congestion of people and vehicles around Eli Creek that we simply bypassed this Fraser landmark and Maheno Wreck was almost as bad – the traffic just moved off faster. We were lucky that a couple of buses were pulling out as we drew up. Sunlight had come out briefly and the tide had only just turned to enable us to get up close to this ex WW1 hospital ship that had seen out its working days in 1935 and sold for scrap. En route to Japan, stormy weather broke the tow rope and Maheno was washed ashore.

During WW11 the RAF used the Maheno for target practice!

Lighting was not good at The Pinnacles and we realised it was time to choose a camping zone for the night. We kept passing the odd large camp of fishermen and steered clear of them! From the barge onwards we had noticed cross generational groups of macho men with off road utes laden with beer, fishing rods and eskies. Seldom did we see one of these blokes without a stubby in hand or parking a pint beside his back wheel - to put it politely! Burad (meaning white bellied sea eagle) camp zone suited us with its grassy patch beneath a pandanus tree backed by high dunes and close proximity to the beach which was no longer characterised by frenetic traffic. Just before dusk George went on a lone walkabout as Lea was too dingo conscious, never mind we hadn’t seen hide nor hair of one all day.

Lea had a fit having to go to bed so early, let alone when shafts of sunlight awoke us at an unearthly hour next morning. George was up with alacrity, persuading his wife to rise and shine, in practice for Mozambique next year! She wasn’t impressed. He needed another tactic - low tide and an ominously large bank of cloud sitting across the horizon looking to be rolling our way, did the trick.

The Burad camp outlook!

Thus at 5a.m. we were travelling back along the beach – in a world all our own, stopping at Red Canyon and The Pinnacles to look more closely at the coloured sands that characterise these features before pulling into Eli Creek. A beautiful place with a carefully constructed boardwalk leading up stream to an ideal swimming spot clearly warranting the crowds we had noticed the previous day. As we backtracked to Skiv for breakfast we found clear dingo footprints following ours in the wet sand. We hadn’t seen them going but they were there coming back. No dingo could be seen across the wide expanse of sand. We stayed for most of the day relishing having the place to ourselves until at least mid morning.

On the beach at Eli Creek

We became people watchers as folk began to arrive. Finally when the bus loads of day trippers turned up the pressure shortly after 2pm we took off for Cornwells, a camping zone at the start of the Central Lake scenic drive, an inland road that would take us back over to the West coast next day. As dusk fell, cramped on the bed cutting up salad, Lea voiced her disappointment at not seeing a dingo in the only place with a pure strain to George, standing at the back of Skiv helping prepare our supper. This led to pondering whether the powers of media had overly influenced public considering the only documentation appears to be one serious case of a 9 year old boy being killed by dingoes in 2000 and more recently, a 3 year old girl nipped. Here on expensive signage and fencing protection was being put in place in a wilderness area simply to make people feel safe and take the onus off … Swiftly, Lea tapped George on his inwardly bent head and hoarsely whispered “dingo behind you”. George wasn’t about to fall for her tricks BUT sure enough, 12 to 15 metres away, a most handsome dingo was trotting along the camp track showing not the slightest interest in us. As he reached the beach entrance he rose onto the slight fore-dune and surveyed the empty beach. We kinda held our breath in admiration, feeling joy at seeing a proud dingo going about his own business, for an abiding image of our own.

First light had us up and away without complaint to tackle the inland road crawling up the barrier dunes being thrown back and forth that we were glad of safety belts as we made our way to Lake Wabby – this one, a barrage lake. The approach to the lookout caught us by surprise at that early hour of a morning with the glare rising off the spectacular white sand drift that slowly advances to engulf this lake. We could see a group of girls swimming in the deep lake and left them to their piece of paradise and continued on our way.

Sand blow at Lake Wabby

In time for breakfast, we arrived at Lake Boorangoora or McKenzie, as it is more commonly called and ate our cereal staring at the human cage constructed to protect tour groups, lunching there. Campers could find lockups for their property too. No food or food preparation was permitted beyond a certain point! Our meal over, we took the trail through to the Lake and discovered an enticing stretch of water in idyllic surrounds.

George makes the most of solitude despite paparazzi

Obviously an incredibly popular attraction despite limited parking and we soon realised how lucky we were to have arrived there before the tour groups poured in around 10.30. We fled!

Having an open barge ticket to return any time we saw no reason why we should continue back to Wanggoolba Creek if we could depart from Kingfisher Bay. No signal on our mobiles necessitated going there to ascertain whether this would be feasible. We could and were booked on the 2p.m. barge. This attractive resort obviously caters for day trippers coming across Hervey Bay from the mainland towns. Close to Kingfisher jetty a swimming pool is tucked into the forest with picnic facilities and a pavilion, catering for others. We’d passed the local Servo with car washing facilities and with plenty of time to kill George took this opportunity to give Skiv a thorough cleansing and re-inflate the tyres. Once done, we took the resort’s trail up to its Northern Lookout winding its way through forest, at times we came up against the sturdy anti dingo fence. What a glorious view across the vast expanse of Hervey Bay. We hoped we’d see at least one of the many whales that come in annually to calve. Later we learnt it wasn’t in Hervey Bay itself, but Platypus Bay in the NW of Fraser Island. We’d loved our Fraser experience and came to realise it wasn’t a restful place for parents with young children to explore – NOT because of dingoes! Simply because the enormously bumpy tracks make travel slow and the beach is not only unsuitable for bathing, it becomes a dangerously busy thoroughfare at peak times.

Arriving back at Getaway we found a Park Snag Sizzle in progress around the camp kitchen. We were invited to join but with unpacking and a shower our agenda we only put in a brief appearance at the tail end, when curiosity to meet the faces behind the broad Lincolnshire voices we’d overheard talking about Skeggie and Scunthorpe overcame us! Our opening introduction that we may not talk properly but we came from yellow belly country too, went down a treat. Three“blueys” and the rest were all poms. Almost all were living in “permanents” in Windmill Caravan Park. How odd was that?

We stayed another day to get Skiv’s oil changed and see to laundry. There must have been method behind the madness when MM (mere male) unthinkingly packed our fresh milk for Fraser. It was sour by the time it was found! Lea couldn’t toss it and with camp kitchen oven turned out a batch of Eileen scones and a batch of date scones camouflaged into fruit ones with a few sultanas and frozen for the road. In the afternoon we walked the Hervey Bay esplanade (a particularly pleasant feature maintaining its indigenous woodlands) to the Urangan Pier. This 1917 icon of Hervey Bay was very nearly lost to “stupidity” resulting in the loss of its “end” before folk with foresight rescued the remaining 868m span. It is a splendid pier and judging by the fishermen, pelicans and vast shoals of little fish we could see, not to mention the 8-9kg golden trevally just caught – the pier was well worth saving.

Heading north again, we passed through Childers for the third time and this time, Lea insisted on stopping, as a father’s words “If love alone could keep you safe, we’d never fear a day” had hauntingly engraved themselves in her mind in association with Childers. Fortunately George was keen to buy peanuts from The Peanut Van which made a good excuse to walk the length of this National Trust town with its colonial buildings and ornate facades reminding us of colonial towns in Africa. DECAY SLAYER across one front caught our eye bringing a smile of appreciation at the dentist’s humour. Reaching the well advertised Peanut Van we were given tastes of all flavours of home grown peanuts. While George made decisions! Lea glanced along and noticed peanut erasers. Such was George’s intense interest… it required explaining that his nutty love was whittling peanuts. The lady serving us was immediately intrigued and asked George if he had some as thinking of Christmas presents for her boss was mighty difficult. George said he’d show her as we’d be passing by shortly. Returning on the opposite side of the road we popped into an Art Gallery in The Palace Building and discovered the Palace Backpackers Memorial to the 9 International backpackers who died in a fire that swept though in June 2000. A wall with glass inserts displaying poignant images of each victim befitted their memories. Before we could be our way… George found his carved peanuts in their shells and duly stopped at the side of the road and dashed across to show the lady. She bought both without hesitation. Thus we left Childers elated!

Having stopped in a rest area outside Gin Gin for lunch, we decided to stay put for the night and as the afternoon wore on, more and more fellow travellers pulled in for the night too. Next day we moved on a short distance to Lake Mondurah campground as it boasted a free internet hotspot. Lea had many e-mail waiting to go and more required writing. Technically there is a hotspot and to our disappointment it didn’t work. Obviously the boating fraternity frequenting this campground had no reason to test it out ever. Our next stop was a quiet bush park on the outskirts of Agnes Water and the Town of 1770 that we were keen to spend a few days exploring these beautiful locations. Odd names for two seaside towns in close proximity to each other, each with a story! Lieutenant James Cook anchored in Bustard Bay in 1770. This was Cook’s third landfall in Australia and the first in Queensland thus the claim that Town of 1770 is the birthplace of Queensland. We found the Town of 1770 to have a striking similarity to Cooks Town, further north. Agnes Water owes its name to a ship that went missing (not found to this day) somewhere in these waters. On board was the mother of a future Queensland Premier. We enjoyed many picnic lunches along the foreshores as George’s eye saw much of artistic appeal to get out his watercolours.
Deepwater National Park accessed only by 4WD, gave us a wonderful afternoon admiring the willow like growth form of cabbage palms while another delight, Joseph Banks Conservation Park could easily have been missed, if we hadn’t added on more and more days.

Deepwater National Park track.

Southport Paula had often spoken about the islands off Queensland, where she goes with her walking club. Ideal places to snorkel too that she recommended we visit one. We looked at visiting Lady Elliot only to find the flights were beyond our means for merely a day. Having been on The Great Barrier Reef out of Townsville in January 1995 we felt we were content with that life time chance. However, a poster at the entrance to our Discovery Caravan Park gradually embedded thoughts in our head about cruises over to Lady Musgrave Island. Not only would we walk the Island we could go coral viewing, reef fishing, snorkelling or even scuba dive. We succumbed to advertising, looked at weather and chose our day. Climbed aboard “Spirit of 1770” and headed out of Bustard Bay into the unexpectedly rough swell of the ocean for the next 90 minutes. Contrary to forecasters there seemed far too much cloud on the horizon for our liking but we were not going to allow that to spoil the day. Our pulses quickened at the sight of a picture book calm lagoon surrounded by atoll and a low lying green coral cay fringed in white. Our boat passed through a narrow entrance and tied up to a pontoon with a welcome cuppa and biscuits to steady unsettled tums. A glass bottomed boat took us to the cay, en route giving us more than a glimpse of the treasures in store for the rest of the day - two green turtles contentedly lying in a “cleaning station” within a bommie while wrasse fed off the algae attached to their shells! Cloud kept changing the light intensity and a nippy breeze was about as we stepped on to a shore littered by chunks of broken coral that crunched under foot. Above the Pisonia forest we could see black birds circling around yet nothing prepared us as we stepped into a seemingly prehistoric micro-habitat worthy of a Hitchcock movie. The full impact of all the Black Noddies really grew as we moved deeper into the forest. With no predators these blackish brown birds with a white cap sharply cut off by their black faces and long slender bills hovered and danced around us emitting nasal, rattling ‘chrrrs’ and tern-like ‘kik-kirriks’ as the males sought yellowed leaves for their mates to fussily inspect. Leaves not meeting approval drifted down upon us while others were pasted into rough and scruffy nest shapes with their guano.

No photograph did justice to our Noddy experience.

We had to be very guarded looking upwards to avoid a splatter landing in eye or mouth! Our visit had coincided with breeding season and nest building was almost at peak hence the magic of being engulfed in all the noise and activity taking place at all levels around us. Lea‘s mind kept thinking of her friend Sally back in Cleethorpes who suffers from a severe bird phobia! As a loyal reader of our log, what will she make of this! Our trip would have been worth it if we’d seen nothing else and we could easily have spent hours there. However, the lure of the reef beckoned. Here we were on the southern end of The Great Barrier Reef delighting in an underwater observatory as reef fish of all sizes, living under the pontoon swirled about in a feeding frenzy over pellets; to expeditions out in a semi-sub a couple of times, coral viewing with a qualified marine interpreter.

Low tide in Lady Musgrave Lagoon.

Buffet lunch with more than enough to feed large appetites generated by outdoor activity included lots of prawns. Low tide made snorkelling all the more productive as the turtles and fish were concentrated in deep passages between the coral mass. Despite chilly water no longer appealing to Lea, she took the plunge with the slightly warmer protection of a flotation vest and her usual gasps to join George in another close encounter with nature.

We have certainly had wonderful moments and memories to preserve this month.