On Easter Sunday we bid farewell to the Jacaranda City, its bendy bridge and showery weather, to make the steady climb to cross the Gibraltar Range at 1170 metres elevation. The view isn’t much as we are in the clouds until we descend to the Northern Tablelands on the western side. At one point I check the fuel consumption and the Toyota is gobbling 40 litres/100 kms as it drags the caravan up the steep sections. And diesel is about $AUS1.50 a litre.
We have our first ‘unsupported’ night in an overnight camp. We pull off the highway to a large rest area beside a stream, surrounded by paddocks. There are a few horses, some cattle and a few kangaroos. We hear dogs barking in the distance. No power or water so we are self-sufficient. The gas runs the fridge when we’re not hooked up to power, and the stove top and barbecue are gas anyway. A couple more caravans turn up during the evening and there’s the usual chat about where you’re headed and where you’ve come from. As usual, Scott gains a few more tips about the caravan. Everything works as it should so we’re confident to free camp again.
We head for the small town of Inverell then south west to Copeton Dam. The Dam is in 1,400 hectares of State Park and we arrive on Easter Monday as most people are leaving. It’s hard to explain the extent of the waterway which, when full, is 4,600 hectares: three times the size of Sydney Harbour. Unlike Sydney Harbour, it needs rain and they haven’t had much for the past few years so the dam is nowhere near capacity.
Having set up camp we head off in the car to explore some of the Park’s 1400 hectares. We find a boat ramp that runs several hundred metres, but the water level is so low it doesn’t come near the ramp. We are a long way further down the track before I look at the nav screen and see we are in the blue bit – by rights we should be under water – or driving an amphibious vehicle.
Our camping spot is in the midst of several caravans peopled by an extended family who have been coming here every Easter for 20 years. Most of the older guys – well, they’re our age – were involved in building the dam in the 70s. They tell us it’s been at least five years since the dam was last full, and at that point it laps the road in front of our campsite.
Our new acquaintances also tell us to be careful when we go walking in the bush as ticks can fall from the trees. Having freaked us out telling us how the tiny bloodsuckers burrow into your flesh, Lynn casually says “but you’d have to be unlucky to get bitten”. I feel itchy just thinking about it and have visions of Scott and I examining each other like monkeys after every nature encounter.
A couple of hours later we join the family at the fire pit for drinks, and what do we find? Lynn attending to Peter who has a tick buried in his belly. Yep, really unlucky. They were collecting kindling from under the trees when Peter felt a bite on his belly. While Peter pinches his flesh to stop the tick burrowing deeper, Lynn dabs on Tea Tree oil, which apparently smothers the tick. It is then extracted with tweezers along with the advice “be careful not to break off the head”. Break off the head? The bloody thing is the size of half an ant.
At least now we’ve seen one and know what to do: I buy Tea Tree Oil in anticipation. However I must look like a Lady Grantham clutching her pearls whenever we are under trees, as I hold tight the neck of my shirt .
