Don’t all rush at once

Posted on June 15, 2023 by Bev Marshall

This is not the blog you are expecting – that will come soon.

New Zealanders can become Australian citizens more easily, and enjoy all the rights and privileges that brings. Here are some of them. A snapshot from today’s news that will have Kiwis rushing over the ditch.

Politics:

Yet another politician has been stood down after sexual misconduct allegations from two female colleagues. Independent Senator Lydia Thorpe used Parliamentary Privilege to accuse Senator Van of sexual assault. Further allegations from others followed.
The Brittany Higgins rape case (in case you’re behind the news) continues, despite the trial collapsing. Yet the fall-out impacts through and the media, with allegations about who knew what, when. This event dates back to 2019, and happened in the office of the Defense Industry Minister in Parliament House after hours.
The 10 News political reporter confirms Parliament is a toxic environment to work.
The Government does not role model a safe workplace.

Economics:

Good news, unemployment is down. Bad news, this could trigger further inflation and another interest rate rise.
The country is headed to recession, just like New Zealand according to today’s figures.
As in New Zealand, house prices are falling and interest rates rising – no-one can sell and no-one can afford to buy.
Wages are higher, so are taxes – and there are more of them. Luxury car tax (which we had to pay when we bought the Landcruiser). Stamp duty on property.

Cultural:

After acknowledging the Aboriginal people have lived here for over 60,000 years, there’s a referendum this year which, in a nutshell, would enshrine a permanent Indigenous voice to Parliament in the Constitution. Be clear: this is to establish an ADVISORY body with the purpose of recognising and representing Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders. Advisory being the operative word. Not making legislation, just having a (non binding) say. Imagine. Asking people who would be directly impacted by a law for their input. While this may seem like a no brainer – it is a no brainer – success is by no means assured. It’s not quite MAGA, but red necks proliferate.
A ten kilo, two metre carpet python snake was found in a bathroom in Queensland.

None of these things reduce my pleasure at vacationing in this warm and pleasant land. We meet lovely people, most of the time; enjoy the opportunities offered to us as visiting neighbours; inject our enthusiasm and dollars into everything we do – It’s nice place to visit, but …….

One trip ends…and another one begins

Posted on June 6, 2023 by Bev Marshall

What could be more wonderful than the ferry from Tasmania arriving into Geelong three hours late, at 11:30pm? Only one thing: a midnight arrival at the caravan park to find the gate code they sent doesn’t work. Oh joy!

Fortunately another late arrival uses their code and we don’t have to camp on the side of the road.

We’re on a mission to drive the 1,645 km to Queensland where we plan to store the caravan for a few months. We take the Hume Freeway and our first stop is Glenrowan. If you don’t know, Glenrowan is the site of Ned Kelly and the Kelly Gang’s fatal last stand. This town is all Ned Kelly all the time. A new Ned Kelly Centre is under construction at cost of $3.5 million. Priorities, priorities.

In a last minute decision we to go to the museum – it advertises an animatronic experience: a what you say?

We move into a dark room which recreates the Railway waiting room; the Police are taking the train to Glenrowan where they hear the Kelly gang are resting. For the next 35 minutes we see the famous story from multiple points of view. We progress through several rooms, each with animated life-like mannequins (this is the animatronics bit) conveying the story. There is elaborate staging and multiple special effects. It’s not the Marvel universe, but it is engaging.

One minute we’re in a rowdy pub with a band playing while the barkeep serves customers; we’re on a verandah witnessing the final gun fight; we’re in the burning house where the gang take refuge. The room is full of smoke (steam) and the sound of crackling flames. Suddenly the roof caves. There are gasps. Someone swears (me). Two children are traumatised for life. And that’s before we witness Ned’s hanging.

After this we need a drink. A temperature of 33C means where’s the beer? We find Red Dog Brewery, which turns out to be a vineyard and winery as well. Peter, the current patriarch, is on duty and the man can tell a good story. Or ten. His grandfather not only planted the first vines, small blocks of Trebbiano and Shiraz, in 1919, he also built, by hand, the cavernous cellar in which we stand sampling some good beer and drinkable wine.

I engineer our trip so Scott can see the Dog on the Tucker-box at Gundagai. There’s a famous (in Australia) statue, inspired by a bullock driver’s poem, Bullocky Bill. The mythical dog loyally guards his owner’s tucker-box until death. You can read the full story here. Excitement builds as we approach the site, and….. well, there’s the tucker-box, but where’s the bloody faithful dog? So much for loyalty. Walter has to sub in.

Many ask where we leave the caravan when we return to New Zealand. It varies, as it depends on where we end the trip. This time we head to Ballandean, just over the NSW border into Queensland, to friends who have a vineyard and winery Just Red Wines on the Granite Belt, a lesser known winemaking area of Australia. The region is elevated and specialises in cool climate wines, and you will find varietals not typical in other regions: whites such as Alvarinho, Marsanne, Roussane, Vermentino and Petit Manseng, and reds such as Durif, Petit Verdot, Tannat, and Nero d’Avola.

The Just Red property has two accommodation cabins with lovely views over the vineyard, and bush over a few acres at the back. We bring some track markers to replace the fading strips that mark the trail and that will be our first job when we return.

Oh, look at that – we’re back! It takes a couple of days to mark, and check the marking, of the trail. We call it blazing, but Australians don’t like that word, especially when you are talking about the bush. As you see, the Granite Belt is aptly named as the trail not only leads through towering native trees, but traverses the massive boulders that give the area its name.

So here we are, back in Queensland and this is the final caravan excursion for us before we sell up. In the meantime we are heading north along the Queensland coast: first stop Dicky Beach, a destination we remember enjoying back in July 2019 – our first trip. Seems like a long time ago.

Beaches, Bays, and Breweries

Posted on January 25, 2023 by Bev Marshall

And wineries, but that spoils the alliteration. It all sums up the east coast of Tasmania, so what’s not to like? We admit we do not carry out exhaustive tastings at all the wineries, but we find few wines we really like. Most vineyards are also wineries, some with a bewildering number of varietals growing in tiny amounts. Almost all produce Chardonnay and Pinot Noir and so, invariably, they offer a Sparkling wine or two. Which tells you something; when you can’t ripen or have to pick early, you can always make bubbles. And we taste a lot of very drinkable bubbles, so actually, who’s complaining? We find little to rave about however, with a couple of notable exceptions: Gala and Sinapius, both with excellent cellar door staff and good wines.

And then there are the gin and whisky distilleries. And breweries. And breweries also distilling. It’s a wonder the streets of Tasmania don’t resemble the 18th Century Hogarth drawings, showing the drunken debauchery the demon drink visits on society. Figures vary, but Tasmania has more whisky distilleries than any other state, about 70 gin distillers and more than 20 breweries.

You could never accuse Tasmanians of being wowsers. We see more than one bumper sticker proudly proclaiming “I’m not drunk, I’m Australian”. And get this. Tasmania also has a huge poppy growing industry, growing half of the global supply of legal raw material for pharmaceutical processing. Drink and drugs – where’s the rock and roll?

The bays and beaches along the east coast are lovely. We look forward to this area as Tourism Tasmania heavily promotes Wineglass Bay, in the Freycinet National Park, and the Bay of Fires in particular. The sand is astoundingly white and the water as clear as gin – without tonic or lemon. Not always the case, as Wineglass Bay once ran as red as claret with the blood of whales hunted and then processed in the bay. Not so romantic a name then, as one might think.

It is the orange lichen-covered granite boulders that gives the Bay of Fires its name. Binalong Bay at the southern end of the Bay is paradise. It has the white sand and the water is the cleanest and clearest we have ever seen. the water temperature isn’t exactly tropical, but it is still swimmable – what we call bracing on first approach, moving to lovely once you are in.

Scott is delighted to find oysters for sale at $14 a dozen, unopenend. A trip back to the charity shop – the first time was to replace broken wine glasses – for a suitable knife, and he is one happy fellow. He immediately corrupts the neighbours’ 8 year old, who takes to oysters like a professional; the four and six year olds aren’t so sure.

I know the world is divided into two types of people, those who eat raw oysters and those who would rather poke their eyes out with an oyster knife. I’m in the latter group. Over our seven weeks here I lose count of the many dozens of raw oysters Scott consumes. I would eat them deep fried – to be fair I’d eat most things deep fried – but restaurants only offer natural or oven baked. Really, oven baked.

Binalong Bay, Bay of Fires. White sand and clear water

Port Arthur is famous for being both an early convict settlement and, more latterly, the site of a mass shooting in 1996. The site of the massacre, the cafe, is now a memorial garden. The historic settlement covers many hectares, but the main buildings are easy to walk around, and have plenty of information boards. The visitor centre houses interactive displays, short films, personal stories of convicts, and often details of what ultimately happened to them. Not always a happy ending.

The settlement is only accessible by boat or across a slim isthmus, so potential escapees either swam, or faced kilometres of heavy bush before being met by dogs, vicious through underfeeding. Guards would let them loose to chase those seeking freedom.

We are now leaving, but not escaping, Tasmania. There are places we would be happy to return to, and some lovely people we would like to see again. As I write this we are sitting in the queue of cars waiting to board the Spirit of Tasmania back to the mainland. So far it’s one and a half hours late.

Who knew Tasmania has a Lake District?

Posted on January 11, 2023 by Bev Marshall

I left you wondering, perhaps even worrying, about the next part of the journey from Strahan. It’s true, we thought we had left the worst roads behind us, but we now know there’s always something new to test your nerve. Queenstown, about 80kms inland from Strahan, is a copper mine town with a bewildering and empty landscape at odds with the wilderness that surrounds it. In the 1800’s they stripped all the trees, bushes and soils, as the sulphur produced by copper smelting kills the land. What’s left is what greed looks like.

The road in from Strahan is much as we expect, but the road out shows us why most people take the 100s of kms detour back north to go south to Hobart. Yes, people look at us strangely when we say we’re taking the Queenstown road, and we soon understand their puzzlement. The road is unlike any mountain road we’ve ever driven – anywhere. Certainly not dragging a 3.5 tonne caravan. Sheer rock one side, sheer drop the other. Pick your adjectives from steep; hairpin; precipitous; narrow; vertiginous; sheer; slow; suicidal. There are times we are going so slowly it would be quicker to get out and walk.

A break at the top of the range between Queenstown and Linda.

But we make it, nerves mostly intact if a little frayed, down the other side and find a lovely cafe in the literal middle of nowhere. Nothing else. Just a great cafe next to the ruins of the Royal Hotel Linda. They do a great Reuben sandwich, but I don’t recommend the trip to get there.

The Central Highlands surprise us – in a good way. The area is a labyrinth of alpine lakes and tarns, dolerite peaks, and alpine forests and vegetation. They call it the Land of Three Thousand Lakes though I’m sceptical anyone actually counts them. The largest is the Great Lake at 176 square kms. There are also lots of walking tracks, short and long, up and down and over ridges and peaks.

Yet the most remarkable attraction is man made, the Wall in the Wilderness at Derwent Bridge. (No photos allowed so use the link). The Wall is a 100 metre long wooden sculpture by artist Greg Duncan, and relates the region’s history. It is still a work in progress and it’s interesting to see his process sculpting laminated Huon pine. Some panels include the work of the hydro workers who built the dams and laid the pipes for hydro electric schemes across the highlands.

We are in Hobart to coincide with the arrival of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race. No, we don’t wait up until 1.00am to see the Maxi yachts arrive. Later that morning is interesting enough; wind absent for the previous 48 hours kicks up and catches those arriving around lunchtime. Tricky reversing manoeuvres ensue, give us plenty to watch. We empathise on one level, as I have a habit of guiding Scott into tricky caravan turning or parking situations – don’t ask.

We “do” all the things you do as a tourist in Hobart – Salamanca Markets; MONA (Museum of Old and New Art); Botanic Gardens; and historic places, such as Kelly’s Steps, pictured above. In 1839 convict labour cut these steps into the stone of the cliff dividing Battery Point and the harbour. That same stone quarried from the cliffs built the warehouses that line the wharf. These are the restaurants, shops and bars on what is now Salamanca Place. We leave Hobart feeling we could spend longer. It’s a charming city, just 244,000 people, but sitting as it does on the water with the river and the harbour, hills all around, lovely 18th Century architecture, it’s somewhere that would reward more time.

Kelly’s Steps, carved into the stone cliff

And I’d like to go back to MONA as you can never see it all at once. We take the boat up and enjoy some river views and Mimosas from the Posh Pit of the ferry. On arrival we climb up 99 steps to the expansive grounds. When we enter we descend several floors back to water level and work our way back up. No outside light and no clocks – just like a casino. And like a casino it’s a gamble you’ll get what you want. Everything you have heard about MONA is true – if you have heard about it at all. Art that isn’t a landscape of a portrait isn’t for everyone, but if you like a bit of provocation with your art it delivers on every level. It’s not every day you see a sculpture simulating the digestive system from mastication through to defecation.

From entry to exit, here’s your gastrointestinal tract

The Cloaca Professional (is there an amateur category for pooing?) or Poo Machine as it is more affectionately known, is fed twice a day and evacuates its “bowels” at 2.00pm. We didn’t wait for the poop to drop. Apparently it stinks.

Rock me in the Cradle

Posted on December 29, 2022 by Bev Marshall

Cradle Mountain is, by all accounts, one of the most fabulous tourist destinations in Tasmania. So we head there from Stanley, taking the road less travelled. Not necessarily on purpose. Paul McCartney must’ve travelled this way when he wrote Long and Winding Road. He should add narrow and hilly. This becomes a theme for us. We travel through farmland and also plantations of forestry, both pine and eucalyptus. About half way to Cradle Mountain we wind down a particularly gnarly section to Hellyer Reserve. It seems appropriate to take a break, have lunch in the picnic area beside the river and do, yet another, short bush walk. Again, we could be in New Zealand – the bush is so familiar, full of tree ferns (pongas) and native Beech.

Dove Lake against a backdrop of Cradle Mountain

We strike great weather for our three days at Cradle Mountain, which isn’t the highest mountain in Tasmania, but is surely its most iconic, standing above the beautiful Dove Lake. Famous for its remote wilderness and native flora and fauna, there are plenty of walks with varying degrees of difficulty. The 6km hike around the lake is popular, and as we circumnavigate it we see the shape of Cradle Mountain change. At first it looks wide and dense, but the closer we get, the more spiky, needle like shape becomes apparent. We don’t need to hike up there.

As it’s Summer – sort of – there are lots of beautiful flowers, most of which we can’t identify. One that continues to catch our attention is the Waratah, a Santa-red claw shaped flower. that stands out from the other white or pale yellow blossoms.

It’s a surprise to us that there are no koalas or kangaroos on Tasmania. They make up for it in the quantity of Wallabies and Wombats, the latter looking like big, mobile loaves of bread mowing the grass. And yes, Wombat poo is cube shaped – see photographic proof. On a night excursion we are lucky to see several endangered and very cute Eastern Quolls, which sleep in dens during the day and hunt at night. They are the second largest carnivorous marsupial, after the elusive Tasmanian Devil – which we still haven’t seen in the wild.

Because we can’t get enough of winding narrow roads we head to Strahan. Pronounce it any way you like – we try Strawn, Strewen, Straaaaaan, Stra-han, it seems anything goes. The star attraction here is the massive Macquarie Harbour, approximately 315 square kilometres with an average depth of 15 metres. The entrance into the harbour from the Indian Ocean is narrow and known as Hell’s Gate, which tells you something about the conditions rolling in.

In the South West sits Sarah Island, Tasmania’s oldest, and probably most brutal, convict settlement. Set up in 1822 to imprison those who reoffended while serving their first sentence – you know, the one for stealing a loaf of bread or a candlestick – at one time over 500 people were living there. Chain gangs were taken up the Gordon River, which flows into the harbour, to fell Huon Pines which they rafted downstream for milling and ship building – all convict labour. Over 100 ships were built before ultimately the remote location proved too hard to supply and in 1833 the prison was closed.

We go to a local play called The Ship That Never Was which recounts one of the most daring escapes – not surprisingly there were multiple escape attempts. In 1834, ten convicts working on the last ship before closing the island, stole the almost complete ship. Astoundingly they made it to Chile. Four of the men were captured and brought back to stand trial on charges of piracy but their fantastical, and successful, defence was that because the ship wasn’t finished and registered it wasn’t a ship so there was no piracy. They were found guilty of robbery.

You will see on the map primary roads in grey. Our roads, to find our roads we need to zoom in. It gets worse when we leave Strahan. Because we don’t do the sensible thing that everyone else does. More in the next instalment.

Going nuts in Stanley

Posted on December 20, 2022 by Bev Marshall

A week? In Stanley? The locals we meet in the historic cottage that serves as a bar are disbelieving. Most people only come to the whole of Tassie for a week, they say.

Well, those people don’t know what they’re missing.

A week in Stanley sees us visit Australia’s largest dairying operation; walk the site of a grim massacre – same farm in fact; stare at a wind farm – again, the same farm; take a long drive through a temperate rainforest; take a chairlift up a steep bluff; visit an historic house; fish off the jetty; bike along the long beach; go to a whisky distillery; eat scallop pies; wait for little penguins to come ashore at dusk, get cold and bored waiting and go home; see marsupials we haven’t seen before, (pademelons); eat local oysters; and see a highly venomous black tiger snake. Try doing all that in less than a week. And that doesn’t count a day in the caravan sheltering from the rain.

Yes, the weather is variable.

Pademelon, kind of like a wallaby; the beach is long and when the tide is out perfect for cycling; oysters fro lunch

In 1824, The Van Diemen’s Land (VDL) Company established its headquarters at Stanley to manage the 250,000 acres it was “granted” by King George IV on the north west coast of Tasmania. Needless to say, no-one asked the Aboriginal people who already lived there, and had done so for thousands of years. VDL was established and stocked with sheep to supply cheap wool to British factories. Although imported stock bloodlines were a success, failure to recognise and adapt to different conditions in the Southern Hemisphere meant wool production was a failure. Further problems arose when the manager of VDL, Edward Curr – by name and by nature – allowed convict shepherds free rein to “deal with” the Aboriginal people, which resulted in violent acts, culminating in the Cape Grim massacre. The details are disputed, but what is fact is about 30 Aboriginal men, women and children were murdered on and under the the cliffs at Cape Grim, and no-one was ever held to account. You can read more of the history here.

We take a tour out over the Woolnorth farms: Woolnorth Dairy Farm , Australia’s largest dairy farm running a dozen different herds and milking sheds with around 15,000 cows, and Woolnorth Wind Farm. Modern times see modern solutions, and as the wind rarely falls below 20 kph in the area the resource is readily available. In an interesting twist, until 2016 the owner of the Van Diemen’s Land Company, was, you’ll never guess, the New Plymouth City Council. In 2016, Moon Lake Investments, controlled by Lu Xianfeng, purchased it for $280 million AUD. In cash. Those of you in Taranaki may wish to ask the Council where the money went.

If there is a more attractive. well kept, small town in Australia, I’d like to know where it is. Stanley, on the north west coast of Tasmania is a gem. In 1826 the aforementioned VDL Company chose Stanley for the first European settlement in the north-west, largely for its sheltered, deep water anchorage. Cottages from the mid 1800s have been well preserved or renovated with concern for original features and a street of these charming buildings sit against the backdrop of the Nut, a sheer bluff that is the remains of an ancient volcanic plug.

The Poet’s Cottage, built 1849, originally intended for one of George IV’s illegitimate sons

Why is it called the Nut? I’m glad you asked – To create rubble to build a new breakwater the bright idea was to blast rock from the bluff. A 12 metre deep tunnel was excavated, at the end of which a cross chamber was driven for 20 metres, and the whole thing packed with 2,000 kilograms of dynamite. As there was no Occupational Health and Safety, people came from miles around to enjoy the spectacle, and possibly lose their hearing. Theoretically, the explosion would remove a mass of granite. When the dust settled, they realised this was a hard nut to crack – the explosion was a complete failure.

The village of Stanley sits at the foot of the Nut

Departing and Arriving, rinse and repeat.

Posted on December 13, 2022 by Bev Marshall

Everyone has their own travel horror stories but I’d hate for you to miss ours: I was unable to check in online, so we get to the airport extra early to find most other people couldn’t checkin either. In addition, a zombie apocalypse had wiped out all Air New Zealand staff, leaving a planeload of confused passengers wondering why they hadn’t booked a different airline. Even better, on arrival at Melbourne three Customs agents attempt to screen approximately 10 plane loads of passengers, something akin to squeezing toothpaste through a pin hole.

Minor problems in the greater scheme, I know. I feel for anyone flying over the Christmas period this year, as this is still early December. We have the weekend in Melbourne then head down the Mornington Peninsula and pick up the caravan. On discovering there is a ferry that runs across the entrance of Port Philip Bay from Sorrento to Queenscliff, we rejoice: we won’t have to run the motorway gauntlet back through Melbourne to Geelong to catch the ferry to Tasmania.

The coast at the end of the peninsula is lovely. You can see on the map it is very narrow, and beachside campgrounds run from north of the charmingly named Rosebud, down to Sorrento. There are very, very few people here yet, but I envisage the chaos it must be when the hordes arrive after Christmas, with kids, boats, jet skis, too much booze and entitled attitudes. When we arrive at our site just out of Rye it is so hot (32C) we fall into the ocean, limp with gratitude.

However, that’s possibly our first and last swim if current weather is anything to go by.

Although this map shows the Spirit of Tasmania leaving from down town Melbourne, in October 2022 the new terminal at Geelong came on line.

The ferry the Spirit of Tasmania runs across Bass Strait from Geelong to Devonport, a small town on the north coast of Tasmania. The trip takes between 9 and 11 hours, and the ferry itself is reassuringly massive: almost 200 metres long, 11 decks, a max capacity of 1400 passengers, 750 berths, 500 cars, plus 110 trucks (trailers).

We are on an evening sailing, departing at 6.45pm but they check you in, do a Agriculture check for forbidden fruit and vegetables (Tasmanian border control) then you sit in a queue for ages. We’re almost the very last on and a deckhand indicates a skinny lane – walls on each side – on the vehicle deck. Cue drama as Scott runs too close on one side and touches the wall. As he backs up the scraping noise sounds like a tribe of banshees wailing and I fear we’ve wiped the side off the caravan. In fact the damage is negligible, a scuff at best, but I’m sure you all won’t let that stop you ribbing him.

Our Deluxe cabin comes with a bottle of rather nice Pinot Noir which we drink with a rather average dinner. Over the course of the night I wake a few times as the ship thumps through what must be a bit of heavy sea, but it’s not enough to worry about. A wake up call comes at 5.45am – groan – for disembarkation at 6.30, but I get the feeling we have been in port for a while. Devonport still sleeps.

The virtue of being last on is we are first off – we’ve arrived. Tasmania.

And now, the end is nigh – at least for now

Posted on October 6, 2022 by Bev Marshall

Melbourne greets us with a slap in the face: after five months of small towns and country roads, the multi-lane M1 into a city of 5 million is a shock. How do people live here and do this every day? Yet we survive, thanks to Scott’s cool head and my navigation – the nav in the car needs a software update and has a reputation for sending us off into places we just do not want to go. I do not need to hear “make a legal U turn a head” ever again.

We spend our final couple of weeks meandering down through inland NSW into Victoria. A notable features in this part of the outback is the number of mullets, and I don’t mean the fish. I guess it goes with the territory when you not only have a Shire of Bogan (see previous post), but when those admirable role models of taste, inclusiveness and classy behaviour – rugby league players – wear the “yes your Honour at the front, party at the back” style.

Weather-wise, the temperature is decidedly cooler, and everyone complains about how wet this Spring is. Except the farmers, who unless its a raging flood, never complain about the rain.

In Narrandera we hope to join the annual koala audit – yes there is such a thing. The Koala Reserve just out of town is an ideal koala environment – river red gums are a great source of food and the Murrumbidgee River offers a cooler location on hotter days. Historically there was a large population of koalas, but by 1972, at a time when none had been seen around these parts since 1900, they were re-introduced into the district from Victoria and Queensland. Through heatwaves, flooding and fire, a healthy population survives and there are well over 200 of the furry cuties sitting up in the trees. Unfortunately for us, the shire cancels the annual audit as the Reserve itself is a lake after the recent rain. Between downpours, we take a walk along the trail at the edge of the Reserve and are lucky enough to spot two damp koala bundles huddled up in forks of the tall river gums. They are not marooned but can move from tree to tree if they need to, as apparently koalas can swim – who knew?

Australians love to slap a mural on a water tower or silo and Narrandera is no outlier. And it is lovely, featuring a big smiling koala along with the Murrumbidgee River, a plane, a tower and a paddle wheel. The Tiger Moth represents Narrandera’s location as one of the many Elementary Flight Training Schools (as is Temora) set up in World War One. The tower is the Oakbank Brewery Tower signalling early prosperity, the brewing industry having its heyday between the 1890’s and mid-1920’s. Though it’s not as if they don’t drink now – the town has 5 pubs and a population of 5,000. The paddle wheel signifies the historic river trade when from 1858 paddle steamers carried wool and stores for 360km between Narrandera and Hay.

It’s all about the rivers in this part of the country, and a river is the border between NSW and Victoria. We have a few days at Echuca, which takes a few hours of practice to pronounce correctly. It’s a bit like a sneeze with an ‘a’ on the end. On our first trip we spend some time at Mildura, 377kms from Echuca by road, but you can probably triple that by river distance. I have to laugh, wryly, reading my 2019 blog about Mildura and environs – it was the worst drought in a century. This year the Murray is running high and we see flooded walkways and sunken jetties. The river is running quite fast and when we take a riverboat cruise it feels like hard work for the paddle steamer to make way up against the flow.

And so this five month journey ends. We visit a friend in Ballarat then brave the urban jungle. At this point we introduce Little Doggy, my younger (but still old) brother Ian, and his wife Julie to Walter, our faithful koala companion, and transfer him to their care for 6 weeks. People tell us we are brave and generous, as it means we are lending them the Landcruiser and caravan as well. Not brave, just trusting.

will they take good care of Walter? I’m worried

For this trip the odometer tells us we have driven 17,500 kms (we’re up to 52,000 over the three trips so far). The cheapest diesel this year was $1.98 and the most expensive $2.49, and although I save all the receipts (why?) I refuse to add up the total.

In December we fly back to Melbourne to take Walter back into our care, and head across Bass Strait to Tasmania for a couple of months. As we’ve travelled through the shire of Bland already, I look forward to more excitement. Tasmania is like New Zealand many tell us. We’ll let you know.

Out the back of Bourke

Posted on September 29, 2022 by Bev Marshall

You may or may not be familiar with the expression “out the back of Bourke”. The Outback Dictionary defines the expression in the following way: Australian expression which means any place which is remote or inconvinient(sic). Based on an actual place west NSW which is an extremely hot country town known for cotton farming and dust storms. And helpfully goes on to give an example: Where the hell is that place? It’s out the back of Bourke…

So it comes as a surprise, to me at least, that Scott’s grandfather was born in Bourke. He comes into the world on the 25th November,1889, and we hope to find some trace of the ancestral home. Far from dust storms, we drive through a horrible thunder and lightning storm to get to Bourke, which really is a long way from anywhere else. And proud of it.

As close as Scott gets to the ancestral home

In the late 1890s Bourke was a thriving inland port. At its peak, the Bourke Wharf had three steam driven cranes handling 40,000 bales of wool a year. This freight travelled down the Darling River by paddle steamer to railheads in South Australia and Victoria, and from then by train to Adelaide and Melbourne to textile mills and for export. With the advent of irrigation (to combat all those dust storms) citrus, cotton and wheat were also grown and shipped down the river.

While we have bits and pieces of information – grandfather’s date of birth, his parents’ names, his father’s employer etc., after a couple of days canvassing extremely helpful people at the Library, the Shire office, and the Lands Department, it seems few records remain. There are some stunning old buildings in the town dating around the late 1800s, but it seems lots of information and history has been lost. And no, we didn’t find any family graves as the family left for New Zealand in 1896. Still, we had a lovely time wandering the streets, admiring the lovely old buildings and talking to lovely people. It was lovely.

We arrive in Bourke from equally as remote Lightning Ridge, world famous home of the Black Opal and weirdness. The sign at the entrance to town proclaims Lightning Ridge Population ? indicating the secretive nature of the inhabitants. Much like Coober Pedy, the other opal centre of Australia, people arrive and disappear underground – in both senses of the word. Black opals are not black. They come in various colours but on a black or dark body, which shows colours more vibrantly. They are very rare, therefore valuable – Economics 101, supply and demand.

If you are planning on moving to Lightning Ridge, you can lease a 50m x 50m home block. The town planners and council inspectors seem to have gone an a really long vacation because anything goes in terms of dwellings – I’m using the term extremely loosely. A broken down caravan, a tin shed, a bus or something that looks like a house but is made of rocks and beer bottles. And, yes, it is possible to build a house with beer cans.

the beer can house, currently available!

At the other end of the scale is a magnificent, although incomplete, castle built on a mining lease. The 15 metre tall structure is the work of Vittorio Stefanato, known locally as Amigo. Amigo commenced building his castle, completely by hand, from ironstone boulders he collected in the area. His scaffolding consisted of 44 gallon drums and boards. Under the castle there are tunnels, but these were closed off on our visit. The property is littered with piles of “interesting” bits and pieces – a pile of boots, drums, bike frames, iron pots and pans and other junk. Frankly, it’s a mess, but a dreamer’s mess. And in Lightning Ridge it’s not even eccentric. There are at least two castles.

When you think things can’t get any weirder in the outback, they do. From Bourke we are on the way to Dubbo (see previous post) and we enter the Shire of Bogan. Yes, we do. The town of Nyngan has such a sense of humour they decide to erect a statue in homage. Not just any old statue, but a Big Bogan. Controversial, yes, but after much, one imagines heated, discussion, the proposal goes through and has an understandably mixed reception.

Resplendent in singlet, stubbies and thongs (jandals), with a Southern Cross tattoo, fishing rod in hand and armed with an esky (chilly bin/cooler) full of cold ones (bevvies/beers), the final product is 5.96 m tall and weighs close to 1500 Kg. We are lost for words.

Planes, plains and rains

Posted on September 18, 2022 by Bev Marshall

I’m not a fan of either Sting or Coldplay, so it’s annoying that Fields of Gold and Yellow run through my brain as we drive through the south of New South Wales. Thousands of hectares of canola plants are in full flower, and if you think you know the colour yellow, I’m telling you you have no idea until you see these iridescent, fluorescent, luminous flowers flowing down hills and sweeping across plains for kilometres. Wheat, barley and other crops are a plain second to the compelling glory of the canola flowers. Photos do not do it justice, but here’s one – of several hundred taken.

We arrive in the Heart of Gold (enjoy Neil young) by way of our inland drive from southern Queensland. Lightning Ridge and Bourke are another story, coming soon on this blog. Dubbo saw us meet with friends Eleanor and Phillip who drive from Newcastle to catch up – last seen more than a couple of years ago. So what do we do? We go to the zoo. Typically mention of a zoo would see a deep lack of interest, but this is a zoo of another kind. Sydney’s Taronga Zoo has a satellite just out of Dubbo – the award winning Western Plains Zoo. This is an outstanding facility with nary a cage in sight. The open range design replaces walls and fences with clever use of islands and moats which, while dividing the animals from visitors still gives an impression of actually being with the animals. So you can walk, bike or drive around the five kilometres of track through the park, which incidentally covers 300 hectares. Being daredevils, we hire a golf cart and let Eleanor drive.

We watch a tiger take a poo, see otters dismember yabbies, marvel at the number of giraffes (there’s a breeding programme for several species), wonder how hippos swim, laugh at the antics of ring-tailed lemurs, and close our ears to the screech of Tasmanian Devils. It’s a great afternoon and though clearly it’s not the equivalent of an African safari, it’s miles better than most captive environments.

It is about now that rain stops play. Three glorious days in Dubbo then the rain sets in and refuses to stop all day and all night. As we are now in the low lying plains, and there are lots of rivers – Dubbo is on the Macquarie River – and there was a lot of rain the week before our arrival, there are floods across roads everywhere. Travelling south there are detours, closed lanes, and opportunities to drive through very big puddles. The paddocks are sodden and look like lakes. But the rain eases and we carry on.

About 20km north of Parkes, we detour out to the CSIRO Parkes Radio Telescope, star of the 2000 movie The Dish. The movie (comedy/drama) is the true story of the role a group of eccentric Aussie scientists play in relaying live television of the 1969 Apollo 11 mission. To NASA’s dismay the Aussies are the world’s only hope for receiving the historic images of man’s first steps on the moon. As in the movie, the giant dish stands impressively over surrounding farmlands – a sophisticated piece of scientific equipment ironically in the middle of sheep paddocks. There’s a terrific information centre with engaging hands on displays and lots of interesting, but less engaging, information – enough to make your brain hurt. The Dish started operating in 1961, but has been upgraded several times to keep the telescope at the cutting edge of radio astronomy. The telescope is now 10,000 times more sensitive than when it was first commissioned. Also on display is an astro photographic exhibition with competition winning photos which are glorious. If you haven’t seen the movie, do see it – it stars Sam Neill, pretending yet again to be Australian – when we all know he’s a Kiwi.

Sophisticated technology in the sheep paddocks

Our next foray into history is by way of a much longer detour to Temora, where we hear there is an Aviation Museum like no other. It is set up to be a flying museum, so all fifteen of the historic aircraft fly regularly. The collection includes the only two flying Spitfires in Australia, along with a Tiger Moth, a Canberra bomber, and the only Australia built fighter plane, the Boomerang. It is a well set up exhibition with exhaustive technical (and, I’d say, exhausting for all but the most passionate enthusiasts) information. I prefer the stories and videos of old pilots talking about their exploits, and giving lie to the saying there are old pilots and bold pilots but no old, bold pilots. Eight full time engineers keep the aircraft in working order and most months there’s a Showcase with flying displays, informative commentary, interviews with pilots and veterans and so on. Sadly, and typically, we are not here for September’s. One of the wondrous, and not in a good way, things about travelling is you are often a week late or a week early for what sound like must-do events. FYI, Temora alternates the Warbirds Down under with Wanaka in New Zealand.

We fly home in a couple of weeks and I owe a blog on Lightning Ridge and Bourke, and on whatever we do between now and the end of the month. So stay tuned – by radio telescope if necessary.

Scott and Bev are not caravanning

continuing our travels, but not by caravanning

Author Archives: Bev Marshall