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.
Alan, Paul, George, Kay, Talia and Lea, after putting together her new cubby house 
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!
Leecy, Helen, two of three Rose children home for the weekend Nicky and Saxon, Lea & Hugh.
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?
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.
Bill proved to be a delightful 85 year young man in fine fettle and we can vouch for Lorna making the best rosella jam.
Mid week Jane and daughter Rachel took us walking in Crow’s Nest National Park
CRIKEY! Once, we might have said we want to visit Steve Irwin’s Zoo but of late, we find ourselves saying Bindi’s Zoo!
We stopped for Sheldon to enjoy a beer in the famous Ettamogah Pub…
Tim, Les, George, Lea, Leecy, Sheldon and Traill