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.

Dubbo to the Canola Way – our end point for now is Narrandera

Solving a sticky problem

Posted on September 7, 2022 by Bev Marshall

It is 1886 and you, sir or madam, but more likely sir, are a sugar baron, owning one or more sugar mills. Sweet as, you say, I must be a great fellow. Maybe, but you have a problem. A very sticky problem. The delicious and rich volcanic soils around Bundaberg are perfect for growing sugar cane, and by 1885 there are 166 sugar mills in Queensland, 40 of which are around Bundaberg producing 20% of the sugar in Australia.

The rich and fertile soils around Bundaberg

Excellent, you say, so what’s the problem? Molasses. Not surprisingly, 20% of the molasses in Australia, and there’s nowhere for it to go – you and your buddies have kegs, casks, buckets, vats of the stuff and please, do not empty it into the river – this a sticky situation any way you look at it.

So, let’s go to the pub and find a solution. I think your mate Frederick Buss has a idea. Yes he does. A distillery. Being the late 1800s some top hats and bushy sideburns sputter moral objections to the demon drink, but these are overcome by the prospect of a solution to the molasses problem, and of course, the prospect of filthy, but not sticky, lucre. And so the good and great give birth to a healthy offspring, Bundaberg Rum. It would be rude not to visit the distillery. And ruder to leave empty handed.

So, bearing the fruits of our visit we head inland for the remainder of our journey. Is it an irony that from Bundaberg Rum we head to Gin Gin? Or more specifically further out into the wilderness to visit the rellies: Scott’s cousin Elizabeth and her bloke David. It is almost exactly four years since our last visit and we see the difference a bit of rain makes – below left, Late July 2019, right early August 2022.

We have an enjoyable couple of days doing farm related things, like taking molasses – there’s that sticky thing again – to the cattle; checking out the damage this year’s torrential/beneficial rains did to the new ford; admiring Liz’s new red tractor; doing some preparation for the installation of a new shed; and driving David’s new (old) yellow bulldozer. I did neither of the latter two activities, but did drink my share of gin and cook the green beans just right.

If you ever wondered where the attractively named Darling Downs are, I can now tell you. Not that it was ever a secret. And, somewhat alarmingly, we have been here before, but the dog ate my homework so I failed to appreciate the importance of the area.

The Great Dividing Range stretches more than 3,500 kilometres from just off the northern tip of Cape York, runs the entire length of the eastern coastline through Queensland and NSW before turning west across Victoria. The Darling Downs is a tableland covering 14,200 square km on the western slopes of said Range. It sits at an elevation of 450–600 metres and is primarily a cropping and dairying area, so we see hectares and hectares of mainly wheat and canola, with massive grain silos punctuating the landscape.

We snake down the Great Dividing Range to arrive in Toowoomba, the largest city in the Downs and, incidentally, after Canberra the most populous inland city in the country (approx 120,000). Also known as the Garden City, it is a very attractive rural town with, as you’d expect lots of gardens and parks. We are too early for the Carnival of Flowers by a fortnight, but looking at some of the plantings, I think they may bloom too late. At Laurel Bank Park in the west of town, where every year Council gardeners plant 60,000 seedlings and 18,000 bulbs, the butterfly theme has some way to go before a riot of pansy and alyssum butterflies are evident. Thomas the Tank, on the other hand, looks proud of himself regardless.

We head to Ballandean, just out of Stanthorpe, to stay with friends Tony and Julia at their Granite Belt winery, Just Red Wines. You may not be aware that there are wineries in Queensland, but at nearly 1,000 m of elevation and a terroir of decomposing granite similar to France’s Cote du Rhone, it suits Shiraz in particular. The region has a growing reputation as one of Australia’s top producers of alternative variety wines: that is a variety representing no more than 1% of the total bearing vines in Australia as defined by Wine Australia. These are known here as Strange Birds, and include varieties such as Petit Manseng, Verdelho, and Rousanne, varieties more likely to grace the labels of Northern Hemisphere bottles. It makes for interesting cellar door visits as wineries are boutique and most growers are hands on in the winery and at the cellar door.

After so long in the warmer north it comes as a surprise to need our winter woollies in the evenings. The elevation means cold nights – just the excuse you need for a raging fire, a BBQ plate laden with steak, and bottles of those Strange Birds.

Our hosts build a great fire and cook a mean BBQ. And make delicious wine.

So much to see, so little time

Posted on August 26, 2022 by Bev Marshall

In our first year of caravanning, 2019, we have a lovely time on the beaches between Cairns and Townsville so to relive it, we book a week at South Mission Beach. There is a view out to Dunk Island, the white sand beach stretches for kilometres, the waters are calm and the sun shines every day. Except it doesn’t. It is overcast, warm, and humid and generally less enjoyable than having a sauna. The ocean is still pleasant and the cassowaries still wander through the campground. As they should. After all, this is the Cassowary Coast. It takes a little while to dawn on us that the weather should not be a surprise. We’re only a few kms from Tully, which along with Innisfail, vies for the wettest town in Australia. The clue is in the massive gumboot that proudly adorns the town’s entrance and proclaims its soggy history. We should remember this fun fact from our previous visit.

In the middle of the week we decamp, leaving the caravan in the campground and drive up to Cairns. A fancy air conditioned hotel beckons, with dinner at a gorgeous French restaurant, and for me, turning $50 into $260 playing roulette at the Casino.

yes, that’s my $130 all in on black, and yes, Scott got reprimanded for taking a photo in the gaming room

Cairns, while it does have some charms, is one of those weird coastal holiday towns with no beach. It does a roaring trade out to the Great Barrier Reef and surrounds, but the town itself feels a bit scuzzy: plenty of razzamatazz but it is all surface and no substance. I surprise myself in rereading my 2019 blog as apparently I fell in love with it then – how fickle I must be. This time overnight is enough. Besides, the temptation to risk my winnings back at the roulette table may be too much. On our return to the beach the weather clear and we enjoy sunny days for biking and swimming.

We glide down the coast stopping at places we haven’t been before. Bowen, population 10,000 , heralds itself as the mango capital of Australia and has a great big mango to prove it. Sadly it isn’t mango season, but there are still strawberries, melons, passionfruit and the ubiquitous bananas. And frozen mango does make an excellent smoothie. There are so many mango trees (that’s one in our caravan park in the pic below) and we see hectares and hectares of new plantings. It must be quite a sight to see a plantation in fruiting season with thousands of those delicious oval golden fruit waiting to be picked. Lovely bike paths and a beautiful coastline make Bowen a place to linger, though we can’t wait til mango season.

South, and closer to Mackay we find a necklace of sandy bays interrupted by rocky headlands, with the southernmost end butting up on Hillsborough National Park. A vertiginous scramble – slight exaggeration, but not much – takes up on a headland walk with magnificent views, though our planned walk back along the beach is thwarted by a rising tide. Several of these bays have Council owned camp grounds with gorgeous views so we earmark them for future travels.

This time we are staying on a small park at Haliday Bay Golf Course, though both Mark Twain and I consider golfing a good walk spoiled. The clubhouse is well worn and drab, but the beach is, again, glorious. This is our first time seeing a stinger net – see photo below, along with me fetchingly modelling a stinger suit. Scott is so tough he doesn’t need one – though it seems they are common in the north. Fortunately it isn’t stinger season but these beasts are potentially lethal, their metre long tendrils impossible to see in the water. Here people swim wearing stinger suits – which also explains why so many people have swimming pools.

The other pest which won’t kill you but may drive you insane is the equally invisible midge. In these warm evenings they loiter, waiting for an opportunity to strike, and are generally pretty successful as you don’t know you’ve been bitten until the middle of the night when the warmth of the bed causes the bites to come alive and itch like crazy. I wander around in a perfume haze that is the winning combination of multiple layers of bug repellant and sun screen.

In Mackay another boat trip beckons. We join an excursion out to Scawfell Island, about 75 minutes off the coast. I win a silent bet with myself when it is only five minutes before Scott is distracting the skipper to talk boats and fishing. We see a couple of humpback whales on the way out. The Queensland and NSW coast is nicknamed the Humpback Highway: depending on which website one consults, about 30,000 humpbacks travel 10,000 kilometres up from Antarctica over Winter, then back south when the waters warm again. A bit like grey nomads in their caravans.

Swimming, snorkelling and paddle boarding the order of the day. I actually manage to briefly stand on the board, but my glory is short lived – as are my hat, sunglasses and dignity when I fall in. While it’s beautiful out around the islands, I wouldn’t break my arm to go snorkelling there again, especially as we are spoiled by the wonders of the Ningaloo Reef on the West Coast.

It’s easy to fall in love with towns along this North Queensland Coast. There is generally good infrastructure including marinas, lots of parks, excellent swimming pools, sports fields, and great bike trails. Our personal requirements also include a yoga studio for me and croquet club for Scott. Mackay has all of this and we really enjoy our stay, thinking it’s a potential long stay location in the future. But then, who knows what the future will bring?

By popular request – the Julia Creek Dunnart

Posted on August 14, 2022 by Bev Marshall

There’s water under here

Posted on August 13, 2022 by Bev Marshall

Judging by these last few blogs, I seem to be developing an obsession with water. We tend to think of inland Australia as a huge desert, and by and large this is true. However as we cross into Northern Queensland we remember the Great Artesian Basin (GAB), sits beneath us. It is one of the largest underground water sources in the world, and Australia’s largest groundwater basin, holding 8,700 million millilitres. I’m not sure what that looks like, but I am sure it exceeds Department of Health daily guidelines. Much of the water in the GAB entered when the climate was much wetter and “they” estimate the water in the south-west of the basin is two million years old. Imagine – water off a dinosaur’s back, available for your tap.

red is the intake area, yellow the GAB, blue the concentration of springs, and arrows show the direction of flow

The 1,000+ km drive from the NT/QLD border through to Townsville on the east coast sees us retracing parts of our 2019 trip across Northern Queensland. Revisiting Camooweal, 14kms over the border, we find little has changed except the price of diesel – this from my July 2019 blog Not surprisingly, you pay more for things the further you are from civilisation, or competition. The least we’ve paid for diesel is $1.45 a litre (there’s no road user tax) and at Camooweal we pay the most at $1.82. Oh how we laugh to read that. We do not recall paying less than $2 a litre anywhere this year and Camooweal is charging $2.67. I also note it was 35°C (Sept 2019) and this year, in July, it’s a more manageable 26°C.

We don’t go back to the caves, but do take the time to visit the excellent Drovers’ Museum on the outskirts of town. There are fantastic displays including maps of the old stock routes, but best of all we have an old codger telling us about everything we ever wanted to know (and more) about droving.

Droving routes, taking months to get thousands of cattle to rail head or ports

The head drover hires on the other staff, gets the supplies in – which he is unable to pay for until he is paid on delivery of the stock – and to manage the whole drove from start to finish, including finding grazing and water. The horse tailor, a great job title and nothing to do with fashioning outfits for the men or the stock, has to look after about 6 horses per stockman plus 20 or so pack horses, depending on herd size, balancing the loads, knowing what’s in every pack, which horse is for which stockman, and so on. The cook manages supplies, though with basics of salted beef, damper and tea there’s unlikely to be any Instagram worthy pics. Men might be two years on a drove, travelling to the station from a distance, and then about 8 miles a day driving the stock to the railhead or port. Wearing the same set of clothes. Those were the days.

The landscape we drive through does change. There are vast sunburnt plains of desiccated grass where massive acreages of cattle stations eke out their existence. Sometimes there are fences lining the road, often not, and the evidence of wandering cattle is a beast four legs to the sky being ripped apart by raptors. Wedge tailed eagles, kites, and screaming crows circle the skies looking for an easy meal of roadkill and seldom experience disappointment.

The road surfaces vary but there are a lot of long straights. The colours change from rich robust reds to softer pastels of mauve and dusky pinks and greys. The night skies are spectacular. With no ambient light for hundreds of kilometres the constellations are easy to find – well they would be if you knew them – and the stars shimmer. One of the challenges when taking photos in the outback is scale (and only using an iPhone). To get any sort of panoramic shot trying to show the vastness of the scene, you find everything fades into the distance. If you zoom in, you lose the magnificence you want to capture.

Mount Isa is not a place to linger in our experience, unless it is for the rodeo, which we gave a good nudge in 2019, so we bypass and carry on towards Julia Creek. We are meeting Emily, an old friend who is in her camper van travelling down from the North. In the meantime we rendezvous at a free camp at Corella Dam with new friend Erica and her mate Trev. We met Erica last year when she was managing the station stay at Peedamulla in WA. This is another joy of life on the road – the opportunity to meet some cool people, and then arrange to find them again on your next trip! We circle the vans as if we are a wagon train. If you were born before the Bag of Pigs invasion and your family owned a TV set you will know about circling the wagons and remember the TV show Wagon Train – or Gunsmoke. Or The Virginian. Or Rawhide. Spuds roasted on the edge of the fire, marshmallows in the embers later and plenty of wine. Time with friends is seldom wasted.

So we do it again. This time with Emily and exploring the wonders of Julia Creek, where we learn about the aforementioned GAB, and the tiny marsupial, the Julia Creek Dunnart. if you’ve never heard of a dunnart I am not surprised – this country has a never ending supply of largely anonymous marsupials. This one is as small as a mouse and a lot cuter. It is also endangered so they are fencing off a little sanctuary to increase numbers. Clever little thing that it is, having stuffed itself silly in the good times it stores fat in its tail – no body shaming from me – and then in the dry season when there’s little food, it shelters within the cracking clay soils, living off its stored fat.

There are quite famous artesian baths at Julia Creek – can’t stop that hot water bubbling up -but the air temperature (34) is hot enough we opt for the swimming pool. It literally takes our breath away – the water is about 16 degrees – funnily enough, we are the only ones in the pool.

Drifting across the Northern Territory

Posted on July 31, 2022 by Bev Marshall

It may surprise you to know that the Northern Territory has many National Parks with beautiful river gorges, waterfalls, hot springs and many natural features aside from desert, killer crocs, vicious box jellyfish (can kill you in 2-3 minutes), deadly snakes and racists. In 2018 we visit Darwin and the 20,000 square km UNESCO listed Kakadu National Park – by the time we exit the park I’ve definitely had enough of crocodiles, we don’t encounter box jellyfish, see no snakes, and the last one, well, unavoidable. Early explorers, lacking both imagination and zoological expertise, named the three big rivers in these parts West Alligator, South Alligator, and East Alligator. They’re crocs mate.

Our river trip on the South Alligator takes us to Cahill’s Crossing, a remote river ford that crosses into Arnhem Land. The tides at the Top End reach highs of 11.8 metres, so there’s LOTS of water rushing up stream as the tide comes in, and just as much rushing out when the tide goes out. This creates the perfect conditions for idiocy and bravado as vehicles cross in unsuitable circumstances and frequently get washed into the croc infested waters. You’ll find a good summary of the crossing at https://www.youtube.com /watch?v=8ojzUCDR6lg but to see Darwinism at work, google Cahill’s Crossing on youtube – but beware of going down a rabbit hole.

That was the 2018 trip, so this year we are really just passing through on our way to the East Coast. Yet there’s plenty to attract us closer to Katherine, even if the town itself is a crossroads you pass through. We choose a farm campground about 20 kms out of town and near the Katherine River. From here we can day trip up to Edith Falls, which aren’t spectacular, but the lake at the base is large, lovely and perfect for swimming.

Although I am aware of the expression ‘the never never land’ until now I don’t know what it’s about. The area about 100 kms south of Katherine was made famous by Jeannie Gunn’s (largely autobiographical) 1908 novel We of the Never Never, written about her life on nearby Elsey Station. The expression comes from the saying that they who have lived in it and loved it, Never-Never want to leave it.

It is a beautiful area, enhanced by the towering palms leading to the sandy bottom thermal springs. However it’s a smaller pool than the nearby Bitter Springs which we prefer. More palms and woodlands, with crystal clear waters and a slow river current than allows you to drift for about 15 mins then climb out at the end, then walk back along the path to do it all over again. It is particularly lovely first thing in the morning – I know, it is almost becoming a habit – when there are few people, lots of birdlife, and steam coming off the water. With masks and snorkels we see a little underwater life, tiny fish and a few little turtles. The spring is associated with a massive limestone formation reaching from north of Katherine to the Queensland border. Most of the limestone is below ground and in the wet season the water is absorbed by the porous limestone and heated by the earth, emerging as perfectly clear 34 degree C springs.

We decide to go to see a whip cracking show a few kilometres away one evening, even though it necessitates a night drive – something we usually don’t do in the countryside to avoid hitting kangaroos that spring out of nowhere and hop across the road at night. I am driving when suddenly Scott shrieks STOP! I don’t see a kangaroo, but there’s the biggest blackest feral pig you will ever see, broadside on to us, gorging on roadkill kangaroo.

Nathan “Whippy” Griggs puts on a good show. What he lacks in subtlety -“youse all here to see me crack” – he makes up for in talent. He has bunch of Guinness world records in whip cracking (who knew) such as longest whip crack at a staggering 100metres, and most whip cracks in a minute. He is pretty good at cracking to music, and I suggest you check out his youtube, particularly if you like AC/DC.

By now you may realise these blogs lag behind real life. I need the right combo of time, inclination, motivation and material to make these happen and they don’t always coincide with location. We are now in northern Queensland, but more on that next time.

The East Kimberley – wet and wonderful

Posted on July 19, 2022 by Bev Marshall

For one thousand kilometres we drive across an arid and seemingly lifeless landscape, and then suddenly – a lush and verdant plain rises like the oasis it is. What a difference water makes. Kununurra (pop 7,000, tripling in the tourist season and harvest times) exists because of the Ord River Irrigation Scheme. Everything you want to know about the development of the dam, the irrigation scheme and agriculture it makes possible you can read here. Every litre that irrigates the agriculture between Kununurra and the coast is gravity fed and metered – there’s a 14 degree slope to the coast. Damming the Ord river creates Lake Argyle which when full, and it usually is, has a volume of water equivalent to 21 Sydney Harbours.

Lake Argyle from the air – a drowned cattle station

Now, none of us knows how much that is, but we can visualise one Sydney Harbour. So this is 21 of those with a resident population of approximately 25,000 crocodiles. There is so much consistent water in this part of the country that, from time to time, they (Perth politicans) bend their minds to how they can pipe water south. It fries their minds, as the cost to develop a 3,000 kilometre pipeline to Perth, with pumping stations and other infrastructure, is more than the current desalination system.

Confusingly, the Ord River below the dam on Lake Argyle, is also known as Lake Kununurra. We board a boat to travel the 55kms up river/lake to the dam. What a trip – it the closest to a jet boat trip without being on a jet boat as we go up the rapids. We see crocs, rock wallabies, sea eagles, egrets, snake birds, and scores of catfish to name a few. The river side is at times sheer rock and home to the sprightly rock wallabies, sandy shores for crocodiles to lay their eggs, or festooned with rushes and other vegetation.

We fly over this area, including the Argyle diamond mine, now closed, in 2018 – that story and photos of this and the stunning Bungle Bungles in my blog

While we are up this way there’s some outback driving to do. We are staying about 20 kms out of Wyndham, and I see there’s a road out west across the dry salt flats (see map below) that could conceivably link via the Karunjie stock track and then south to the Gibb River road at the Pentecost River. We can’t find anyone who has been out there to tell us the state of the road, but of course that doesn’t stop us. We guess it’s rough but then we have the mighty Landcruiser. Oh how we laugh.

We venture forth leaving our good sense at the gate and travel on. We get to the gate onto El Questro property and the track is not getting any better. We continue, but not for long – less than four kms in 15 minutes. This is a seriously rough cattle track and we have no idea what the actual distance is. Somewhere we find some sanity and turn back, probably saving search and rescue a day’s outing.

On the way back we stop alongside the river: it looks like you could walk on it, it is so thick and murky. Scott throws a lure, while I keep a keen eye out, visualising the moment a large salt water crocodile powers out of the depths and drags him under. I hasten to add this is a worry, not a hope. I imagine myself driving alone for the rest of the trip and returning home with no body to bury.

One morning we are up early – yes, again – to take the tag-a-long tour with local guide Alfie out to the Marlgu billabong, an internationally recognised wetland of 36,000 hectares with more than 20,000 birds across 180 species. You can imagine a lush garden of Eden in the wet season, and even now there are hundreds of lovely birds from rainbow bee eaters to Jabiru to the black and white Magpie Geese to he statuesque brolga, ibis and herons.

This part of the trip also affords us a day out at the Kununurra Agricultural Show. What a day. It’s difficult to drag Scott away from the hall hosting the baking competition; we tour the vegetable competition, marvel at the endless varieties of melons, gasp at the size of the biggest pumpkins; check out the dodgems, where the locals perfect their driving technique; the side shows, where there are more stuffed animals than in the British Conservative Party; see food in the form of candy (fairy) floss, fries and fizz. Remember this is a small country town, so the events are more of the novelty variety like haystacking, and our favourite, the Cowboy Challenge: a timed event where the cowboy, or in this case several cowgirls, have to get out of their swag, wash their face, put on boots and hat, eat breakfast (a dry weet-bix (vita brits) and glass of tomato juice), carry a poddy calf (that’s bobby calf to you NZ farmers, but for the purpose of the event it is a weighted bean bag calf) to the ute, roll a big bale several metres, ram in a couple of warratahs – that’s fence posts not the NSW rugby team – then crack a bullwhip three times, and to finish off, what else, drinking a can of beer. It’s fair to say many a bloke won his heat coming from behind and taking the win at the last hurdle.

At the end of the day the show auctions unclaimed produce with proceeds to the Show. That’s how we end up with five different melons to eat before we cross the quarantine border into the NT.

So that concludes this Kimberley adventure – next stop, Northern Territory.

Welcome to the Kimberley

Posted on July 14, 2022 by Bev Marshall

Barmaid: Are you staying in the motel?

Me: No, we’re in the caravan park.

Barmaid: Ok, I need to breathalyse you.

Me: What?

Barmaid: I need to breathalyse you?

Me: Why? I have just arrived.

Barmaid: It’s to make sure you don’t arrive already drunk. It’s the rules. If you are both drinking I need to breathalyse you both.

Me: What?

Barmaid: Welcome to the Kimberley.

We are in Fitzroy Crossing, about 400kms east of Broome. Stopping for fuel we find a sad state of affairs – a puncture in one of the caravan tyres. Luckily there is a repair business (there’s not much else in Fitzroy Crossing and generally travellers prefer to keep driving), but we end up staying the night. The “safest” place is the River Lodge and Campground, though there have been robberies and assaults.

I take a photo of the sign that instructs one drink per person. To get another drink bring back your glass/can/stubby. I’ve never seen a sign like this before, I say. The local woman next to me smiles and says: Welcome to the Kimberley.

The liquor licensing law in the Kimberley is the most stark example of shutting the door after the horse has won the Melbourne Cup, the Grand National and the Kentucky Derby. The unwritten social laws suggest we may be in the U.S. South in the 50s, or South Africa during apartheid: everyone out on the verandah is local Aboriginal, everyone in the bar and eating in the restaurant is white.

Scott blows the breathalyser before we buy a drink

In my blog on September 2018 I write about the area we are travelling, so I won’t repeat myself – follow that link for some of the interesting places we visit there.

Travelling east from Fitzroy Crossing is Halls Creek, or as people say Hell’s Crack. In 2018 I write: Halls Creek is fascinating in its nothingness – and that it’s the only town for 600kms. As with all these small settlements in the middle of nowhere it’s a sad place. There are few shops, any there have shutters or wire gates protecting them from break-ins after hours, there’s usually two or three big petrol stations, a caravan park/camp ground or two, and a reasonably large supermarket to service travellers and anyone living within several hundred kilometres. And nothing has changed.

We know New Zealand is far from perfect in race relations but travelling through this area really makes you think about the decimation of a race and culture through colonisation: land grabbing, rape, murder, taking children from their families, lack of social and political recognition, and basic everyday prejudice. Intergenerational problems will take many generations to address.

Especially when, once again, I’m driven from the camp fire when some ignorant pig asks if its ok to tell Aborigine jokes. There’s nothing funny about what this country has done and continues to do to Aboriginal people – mate.

I promise the East Kimberley write up will be more uplifting. Thanks for reading.

Scott and Bev are not caravanning

continuing our travels, but not by caravanning

Category Archives: Uncategorized