The Devil's Marbles, Bras, Knickers and a near mythical Golf Course

Heading North up the Stuart Highway we intended to stop at the Devil’s Marbles then head off towards the Davenport National Park and over a 4WD track to the Barkly Homestead – needless to say nothing went to plan! Stopping for fuel at Wauchope we asked the owner of the roadhouse (it’s the only thing at Wauchope) about the road to Barkly Homestead – a mere 240k of dirt track - he was not very positive. Firstly, there had just been a couple of inches of rain so the road was probably been washed out; secondly it “wasn’t much of a road anyway”; thirdly, the cocky (i.e. farmer) who owned the land didn’t allow anyone to cross it. This all sounded pretty conclusive so we decided to give it a miss – so onward to the Devil’s Marbles.

These were a big surprise. The “Marbles” are blocks of granite, which, over the millennia, have eroded, to form large rounded stones. The amazing thing is that many of these have eroded so that a number of rounded stones, some as big as buses, are balanced one on top of the other. We had seen many photographs of these but were unprepared as to how many of them there actually were. Photographs suggest a few dozen at the most, however there were hundreds littering the landscape.

Another surprising thing was the “touchie-feelie” aspect. Many Australian sites restrict access, particularly if there is any Aboriginal cultural or religious significance, and photographs are generally restricted. However at the Marbles people are free to touch and climb at will.

A further surprise was that I had expected the campsite to be some distance from the Marbles, however it is possible to camp very near them. Sandra and I had a prime site literally within 20 yards of our “own” Marbles – for the night at least.

On arrival the day was pretty cloudy (so what’s new!) however we were lucky for it to clear and there was a fine sunset – important as the rocks are at their best in the evening glow. Sandra, as usual, went mad with the camera and took hundreds of photos. However the best was yet to come. Back at camp, after a dinner of stir fried beef in a blackbean sauce, the magic started to unfold. Whilst relaxing with a well deserved gin and tonic a full moon rose over the nearby dunny and bathed the Marbles, and our own Marbles in particular, in an amazing yellow light. We sat soaking this in for ages until Sandra felt the cold and went to bed leaving me to finish the gin.

At sunrise I arose (Sandra doesn’t do sunrises) to take more photos.

With our plans in disarray due to the vagaries of the weather and the local cocky we instead headed north on the Stuart Highway, a tarred main road, and set course for Daly Waters about 500k up the road. Whilst at the lava tubes of Undara we heard some bush poetry and Sandra bought a CD by a chap called Bob Magor which we have now listened to about 5 times. One of the poems is about a golf course which was created in Daly Waters and circumnavigates the Daly Waters Pub (a famous, iconic landmark in this part of the world) I was determined to have a look at the golf course and, the first thing we did after pitching the tent, next to the pub, was to head into the pub and find out about the golf course – was it real or a myth?

The first notable thing about the pub is that we had arrived during “Happy Hour” – but with a difference! Having ordered your drinks you had to toss a coin with the barmaid – heads or tails. If you lost you had to pay for the drinks – if you won, they were free. Work it out for yourself – you can’t lose, well at least I didn’t!

The second notable thing was every surface of the pub was covered with items “donated” by customers. As well as the usual paper currency and business cards, were photographs, t-shirts, sportswear, sports equipment (including, somewhat bizarrely, a number of signed hurling sticks from Ireland) However the mind started to boggle when you noted whole sections of the ceiling and roof beams were devoted to underpants, knickers and bras. What sort of pub was this!

The third notable thing was no member of the staff had ever heard of the Daly Waters Pub Golf Course – it was all a myth – or so it appeared. Later on that evening I raised the issue once again – still adamant there was no course, the barman agreed to ask the owner if he knew of a golf course. Somewhat surprised that anyone had ever heard of the course, Lindsay the owner admitted that the course did exist, it did circumnavigate the pub, but he also admitted that the fairways had not been cut for over three years and then only three of them. The eighth, known as Hiroshima (because, in the poem, “nothing ever grows there”) was the only still identifiable fairway.

Lindsay knew the poet Bob Magor (a gentleman sheep farmer with 35 head of sheep) who, although he lives in South Australia, still calls into the Daly Waters Pub. Tomorrow I plan to set forth to explore the golf course having been given directions by Lindsay how to get to the first tee – from there, a golf connoisseur such as I (??) should be able to work out the route of the course.

PS Please remember to post a comment on the blog nearest to 4 June to wish Sandra a Happy Birthday. If you don't know how to post a comment - see my blog in February which tells you how to post comments. Finally, if you are in touch with Sandra before her birthday next week, don't mention this to her, it's supposed to be a surprise!

Gorges, Gorges, Gorges - and no Beer

Leaving Kings Canyon we took the Mereenie Loop Road, 150k of other dirt track with lots of mud and corrugations but perfectly passable, to the small mission station of Hermannsburg. Set up in the 1890’s by German Lutheran missionaries to bring education and Christianity to the poor indigenous peoples in return food and other sustenance it rather reminded me of George Bernard Shaw’s “Major Barbara” – give the poor food and they become easy converts – I’m perhaps rather cynical! The town is now an aboriginal community and the mission buildings are a museum rather falling apart at the seams but none-the-less very interesting.

Our destination was Finke Gorge which was a further 20k down a track with dire warnings of being “severe 4WD only” with a rough surface and lots of deep riverbed sand. However it was well worth it as it proved to be the best camp we have had all trip. After numerous river crossings and the promised deep sand we found an ideal spot on the shore of the Finke River – so good was it our original one night visit extended to three. The gorge itself was excellent with a number of good but challenging walks with the highlight being a place called Palm Valley – one of the last places in Central Australia where the Red Cabbage Palm can be found – there’s one for the pub quiz.

Unfortunately, having set up camp in still conditions and having erected Sandra’s mobile craft studio tent (she felt her creative juices flowing in the perfect environment) at 3am a gale came whistling down the gorge and started to blow things down. Sandra is not good in the morning and needs at least one cup of coffee, and not before 7am, in order to get going. At 3am, wearing her yellow flannelette pyjamas, she was not really firing on all cylinders – unfortunately I was otherwise occupied fighting a blow away tent to take what could have been interesting photographs.

We had originally expected to be away from Alice Springs for about 5 days and had provided sufficient food and drink for that period. However our prolonged stay at Finke led to food rationing and, even worse, WE RAN OUT OF BEER! Camping nearby was a single guy from Sydney called David who had developed a blister on his foot. Sandra, the consummate negotiator and business woman, was able to trade a sticking plaster for two bottles of beer – she drives a hard bargain! David, who was leaving the next day, also kindly provided us with two massive steaks, some salad and milk. A white Knight and a Gentleman – even if he was an Estate Agent!!

After Finke, and having been away for 10 days, we had to return to Alice Springs to re-provision before setting off once more to explore the West Macdonnell Ranges. All the campsites in Alice were busy and, as we were being turned away from the G’Day Mate Tourist Park, we were told to wait as they may be able to fit us in provided we would accept a waterside site. This turned out to be by the swimming pool, which was not being used as it is too cold for the locals. The spot was excellent and we were given keys to a private shower and toilet so we decided to base ourselves in Alice and do day trips to West Macdonnell National Park as the distances were not too great.

A series of gorges and gorge walks then followed – all excellent including Standley Chasm, Ormiston Gorge (v. high cliffs and a great walk) Serpentine Gorge at which Sandra made me climb to the top of the cliffs to see “one of the finest views in Central Australia” – it was too but the camera battery ran out at that point.

As I type this Sandra is packing up at the G’Day Mate Tourist Park (well someone’s got to do the blog) and we will be heading north and expect to be in Darwin in about 7-10 days. Our route is as yet uncertain and may well depend on road closures however we should have enough food to last the trip and, just in case the trip is extended again, double beer supplies have been purchased.

One last thing – June 4 is Sandra’s birthday and I think it would be good if all blog readers could post a comment on the blog to wish her a Happy Birthday. If you don't know how to do this - go to the blog entry in February which tells you how to post a comment.

The Myth of the Red Centre, a pecking Emu and Kings Canyon

One of the Great Australian Myths is that the centre of Australia is both dry and red – so much so it is often referred to as The Red Centre. This however is total myth, no doubt originating from wily Australian cattle farmers who have perpetuated the story in the hope of gaining sympathy and compensatory handouts from both Federal and International agencies. Uluru (or Ayers Rock) and The Olgas symbolise this imaginary landscape, often being photographed as blood red monoliths smouldering in a red desert. As one who has been to both within the last few days I can assure you this is not the case and any photos emerging from this region showing Uluru glowing red in the sunset have obviously been Photoshopped!

Yes, once again, the Drought Busters from Scotland have brought welcome rain to yet another part of Australia.

The Olgas are a small but impressive range of hills about 50k from Uluru, dramatically emerging from a flat plain. Normally seen as red, rounded hills against a blue sunny sky, when we arrived in the pouring rain they took on an uncanny likeness to Suliven in west Sutherland – that same rounded look against a grey, sulky sky with rain somehow managing to penetrate the Goretex. Making the best of things we did one of the gorge walks and then decided we should head over to the main attraction – Uluru.

It is still possible, but politically incorrect due to Aboriginal beliefs, to climb the rock and I had been wrestling for days with my conscience – to climb or not to climb. However the decision was taken for me – the climb is automatically closed for health and safety reasons if the weather forecast indicated a 40% chance of rain – with an actuality of 100% rain it was definitely closed for us. Instead we visited the Cultural Centre and did one of the walks round the base of the rock – both of which were surprisingly interesting.

To be fair the rain did not spoil the experience too much. Both the Rock and The Olgas, even in a sea of green (due to a good wet season not just our presence) rather than red, were dramatic and we take some solace from the fact that although most tourist photographs show them glowing red, we are in the small minority to have experienced them looking like drookit Scottish hills under a dreich cloudy sky.

Leaving Curtin Springs Station and its million or so acres behind us we set off north for a few hundred kilometres to visit another of the “must do” sites – Kings Canyon – although not before a local emu took a liking to Sandra and gave her a good pecking – luckily I had the camera at the ready.

Unfortunately there are no campsites in the area except the two official ones at Kings Creek and Kings Canyon Resort. The rain was still with us and the dirt road was a bit muddy with many water crossings - not rivers, just flooded roads. The Kings Creek campsite looked OK but it was still about 40 k from the canyon and the campsite road was covered in a deep, red mud – so onward to KC Resort. Slightly more up-market than we were used to with computerised check-ins and on-site entertainment (“The Roadies : Australia’s best loved comedy act” - allegedly) we set up camp in the pouring rain – not the best of experiences. As with most of the more up-market commercial sites we have been to the facilities were very good although having dingoes scavenging round your tent was one of the non-optional extras we could probably have done without.

The next day dawned grey but hopeful. So Sandra decided to do her craftwork in the morning and head out to Kings Canyon about lunchtime – a good decision as the weather cleared and we had a fantastic day. Kings Canyon can be highly recommended and we would put it above much better known places such as Uluru and The Olgas. We did the two main walks – the first was a very easy walk up the canyon floor highlighting the flora and fauna. Littered with massive boulders, some as big as houses, which had fallen from the surrounding cliffs we were re-assured by a sign which said the last major rock fall had been in the 1930’s – so they were probably due another one any day now!! We survived.

The “Rim Walk” was spectacular. A very stiff climb to the top of the cliffs took us to a rough path round the rim of the canyon with some breathtaking views culminating in a descent into “The Garden of Eden” – a cool oasis with a water hole just right for swimming surrounded by exotic plants and trees. A long climb back up the side of the canyon then back to the tent for a meal and some well deserved cold beer.

[As I don’t currently have Google access and I have forgotten to bring my copy of Arthur Mee’s Childrens Encyclopaedia with me – can anyone tell me what the difference is between a canyon and a gorge?]

Not sure about our next port of call yet but we plan to head north and take the Mereenie Loop Road – yet another dirt track, currently closed to non-4WD traffic due to mud and washouts. This crosses Aboriginal land and you are supposed to have a permit before using “The Loop”

More anon.

Meteorites

Alice Springs – a place where the sun always shines. Well it didn’t for us! The bad weather, which has dogged our steps since arriving in Australia, hit us once again. A couple of weeks ago whilst in Greenvale Sandra asked a horny-handed son of the soil if it was going to rain – casting a rheumy eye to the sky he declared confidently “There won’t be any more rain now until December” – two hours later it was bucketing! However, fingers crossed, we now seemed to have escaped into glorious sunshine.

Leaving a grey, windy, wet Alice Springs we headed south to pop down to Uluru (aka Ayers Rock) – a “must see” destination if you are visiting this part of the world. Magically, within an hour or so, the skies turned blue, the sun shone and all was right with the world again. With confidence oozing we decided it was time to try our luck off road again and turned off the sealed Stuart Highway and ventured onto a dirt track with the grand title of Ernest Giles Road. Our immediate destination was a place called Curtin Springs where we intended to stay the night before heading off to Uluru. Typically however we never made it.

A mere 10k along Mr Giles’ road we saw a sign pointing towards the Henbury Meteorite Conservation Reserve, and, as one of Sandra’s hitherto unidentified passions is for meteorites, we set off for a look. At the end of a dirt track we found a small notice informing us that 4,000 years ago a number of meteorite fragments, travelling at 15,000 kph had landed with a bit of a dunt and left a few craters – four large ones about 80m across and a number of smaller ones. No normal craters these as, prior to the Apollo Moon Landings, American astronauts were shipped over to the middle of Australia to get a feel for what they might experience crater-wise on the moon. Personally I think this was a waste of time and resources as much the same experiences could have been had amongst the slag heaps of West Lothian!

Seriously though they were actually very impressive. The meteorite must has broken up very close to the ground as the four main craters were over-lapping and the rest within a few hundred metres – including my favourite one which was actually outside the conservation area. Only about 20m across, in the centre was a small pool of muddy water which was attracting hundreds of birds and, by the sets of paw prints in the wet mud, dingoes and kangaroos watered there.

The meteorite site was on a vast semi-arid plain with a small escarpment to the south and, having outrun the rain, the weather was very pleasant so, temporarily giving up on Curtin Springs, we decided to stay at Henbury. In fact, with perfect weather, glorious sunsets and splendid isolation we stayed for two nights which gave Sandra the ideal opportunity to get crafting.

For those of you unaware Sandra is “crafting” her way around Australia. Her main project is knitting wire “embellishments” which can be used a brooches, sunhat embellishments etc. Each is decorated with different objects she finds in her travels around Australia – shells, nuts, bark, stones etc. Many of our photographs consist of Sandra bent over double fossicking on beaches and other sites with potential items to be incorporated. They are then mounted on card with her name and the place where the items were found (I’ll see if I can find a photo) Her plan is to build up a stock and sell them at local markets. Whilst she has actually given away more than she has sold (typical – she’ll never make a business woman) those that she has sold have gone for $20 each.
She now has vast reserves of raw materials, which she organises and re-organises constantly, but which she now needs to convert into cash! Her day at Henbury resulted in 14 embellishments or $280 – pity we didn’t stay a few more days!

Reluctantly leaving the meteorite site we packed up and completed the Ernest Giles Road before heading south on another dirt track – the Luritja Road. Cresting a rise an amazing sight met our eyes - on the horizon was what I would describe as an enormous red monolith. Initially thinking we had received our first glimpse of Uluru we realised that this couldn’t be the case as it was still over 200k away. We had come across Mount Conner – a steep cliffed mountain towering above the surrounding plain with a flat plateau top and looking vaguely like something out of a wild west movie. I had never seen or heard of Mount Connor and so can’t really say much more other than, as I type these words for the blog, I am sitting outside our tent looking at this amazing flat red mountain on the horizon.

Uluru and The Olgas tomorrow.

SORRY _ NO PICS

Mount Isa to Alice Springs

Just a quick post - short of time.

Left Mt Isa and headed for Alice Springs over several hundred k's of dirt (some very dirty) roads. Overnighted at Jervois Station - a 1 million acre working cattle station. Took the Plenty Highway (a dirt track!) then cut south over a strictly 4WD track - should have been 60k but a slight navigational error made it nearer 150k!

Passed out of Queensland and into Northern Territory. Stayed 2 nights at Alice Springs and now moving on to Uluru area - likely to be outwith internet access for up to a week.

Lawn Hill - Gorges, Barking Owls and a Near Disaster

The jewel in the crown of Lawn Hill National Park and the main attraction for the dozens of tourists who flock there, is the gorge – or, to be more precise, the series of gorges. These are filled with water and, with very little current, provide ideal opportunities for swimming whilst the more adventurous can hire a canoe and make their way to the absolutely glorious Indarri (?) Falls. We spurned the offer of canoe hire as, being super organised, we had our own boat – a three metre inflatable four man dingy. On reflection we would have been better hiring a canoe!

I had assumed when purchasing the inflatable that it would either come with a pump or perhaps an adaptor so that I could attach it to the compressor I had bought for inflating the car tyres. It came with neither. The only way we were going to get afloat was to blow it up using nothing but lungpower – it was a nightmare! Taking it in turns Sandra and I finally managed to get enough air into the damned thing for it to float – but at what a cost – strained lungs, hyper-ventilation and hallucinations – not a task for the faint hearted. Mind you, these things affect women differently – I needed a beer but Sandra felt the need to soak her feet!

However the reward came the following day when we set sail up the gorge - the sun shone, a cloudless blue sky and magnificent scenery. With a supply of cold beer and a picnic lunch, what could be better? When a slight breeze started up we were even able to use the umbrella, brought as a sunshade, as a sail to propel us up stream. One minor problem occurred when my sail holder, Sandra, got distracted (again!) and somehow managed to let go of the umbrella which promptly blew away. After some frantic paddling we managed to catch it only for Sandra to throw it into the river again so that she could take a picture “for the blog”!!

Arriving at the falls we had to carry the boat about 50 metres then onward to the upper part of the gorge. After another kilometre we decided to return to the falls for a swim – that’s when the next problem hit us.

An inflatable dingy is very light with no keel and has a lot of wind resistance. It is great for being propelled with the wind behind you, especially if you have an umbrella sail. However trying to paddle into the wind was well nigh impossible – we couldn’t get back down stream the current being negligible. So, it being a beautiful day and with beautiful surroundings, we gave up and moored ourselves to a handy tree to wait for the wind to drop. Whilst making lousy boats, inflatables are supremely comfortable – so Sandra got out her craft work and I got out a book and we spent several very pleasant hours relaxing under the umbrella, which had now reverted to its primary purpose of being a sunshade.

One drawback of Lawn Hill was the noise, particularly the barking of dogs throughout the night - Sandra was convinced it was the howling of dingoes. However in the morning a fellow camper, Graeme from Perth who seemed well versed in outback flora and fauna, told us it wasn’t dogs but Barking Owls. This was such an obvious wind up, on par with the Vampire Kangaroo in my previous blog, that I naturally treated it with the contempt it deserved. However, after consulting Sandra’s copy of The Slater Field Guide to Australian Birds, Barking Owls not only exist but do make a dog-like barking noise. Graeme, if you do ever read this, my apologies for doubting you!!!!

After four days at Lawn Hill, and following a fabulous sunrise, we packed up camp and set out for Mount Isa, a fairly large mining town several hours drive south. I had been worried for the last few thousand kilometres that my tyres were getting rather on the bald side- and that’s putting it mildly. I had tried in a few places to get new ones but with no success so a trip to a tyre shop in Mount Isa was essential. The trip was largely uneventful with a brief but interesting stop at the Riversleigh World Heritage site to look at the fossils which appear in the rocks in great profusion. Our one bit of excitement however came as we crossed the Gregory River.

Perhaps I had a premonition that something was about to go wrong as I stopped to take a photograph of the sign warning motorists that the causeway was slippery and there were strong currents. The river crossing itself looked a piece of cake (see photo) and presented no obvious problems – so much so I didn’t even bother to engage four wheel drive. If I had had a good set of tyres, if I had engaged four wheel drive and if I hadn’t been too concerned about the drop to the left and had not veered too far to the right – all might have been well. However, we skidded off the causeway and into the river – only some magnificent (!) driving by me, and some skilful screaming by Sandra, managed to save the day.

Mount Isa is a mining area and the local mine totally dominates the town in a particularly unattractive way – especially “the chimney”. Towering above the mine and the town is an enormous chimney which can be seen from absolutely everywhere. I have no idea how tall it actually is, probably several hundred feet, suffice to say it has a flashing red light at the top to stop planes flying into it. However, despite the obvious drawbacks, Sandra liked Mount Isa.



So, with new tyres and provisions for a week, we set off tomorrow for ?

Undara Lava Tubes, Barramundi and a Very Big Croc

190,000 years ago a volcano erupted spewing molten lava over this part of Australia. The lava flowed for many miles taking the path of least resistance, which was often the dry river beds. A crust formed on the outside of the flow and this gradually solidified whilst hot lava continued to flow in the centre. Eventually the lava flow ceased and all that was left was a tube of solidified rock – hard on the outside and empty in the middle. For the next 189,800 years or so not much happened but when when European settlers appeared on the scene and started raising cattle questions started to be asked when stock suddenly started to disappear into mysterious holes in the ground – the tubes had been re-discovered. And thus Sandra and I appeared on the scene to explore The Undara Lava Tubes.

The tubes are amazing – I had expected them to be at most large enough for a man to walk through but they were immense – about 14 metres in diameter and some of them running for several hundred metres, often underwater and of course dark and inhabited by thousands of bats. There was evidence of other life forms both dead and alive – piles of bones were lying around of beasts which had found their way into the tubes but never left – including the almost mythical vampire kangaroo (see photo)

After several enjoyable days in Undara we set off westwards along the Gulf Developmental Road heading towards the Gulf of Carpentaria. Passing through a number of small towns including Georgetown and Croydon we ended up at Normanton – the main town in that part of the Gulf region. With no national park camping available in the area we set up camp in the Tourist Park in the middle of the town – as well as being pretty cheap it had the added bonus of an excellent swimming pool and was near to the Purple Pub – more of which shortly.

The site owner, when he heard we were from Scotland, gave us his Scottish story. A friend of his in Normanton called Jim Whyte was Scottish and had a very strong Scottish accent. One night he was arrested by the local policeman resulting in the following conversation:

Policeman – “What’s your name”
Jim Whyte – “Jim Whyte”
Policeman – “Do you spell that with a “y”?
Jim Whyte – “Aye”
Policeman then charged him as Jim White (with an "i") and was not too happy when it was discovered the name was wrong. Well it sounded funny at the time!

The next day we took a trip to Karumba on the coast where the barramundi fishing season was in full swing. The town was full of “tinnies” (small metal fishing boats) as was the sea, each tinnie with its 2-3 fishermen hopefully casting but not seeming to catch very much. Sandra has great difficulty trying to see what pleasure men get sitting in the baking sun and throwing a fishing line into the water – but there must be something going for it though as hundreds can’t all be trying to get away from their wives for a few hours!

Back in Normanton we discovered there were three pubs and decided to give them all some trade – we went on a pub crawl! The Albion Hotel was set back from the road and had a homely but rustic feel to it – pleasant enough but we had other places to visit. The Central Hotel was next – set right on the main street, it had seen better times, probably about twenty years ago when Sandra’s sister Gill had briefly been employed as breakfast cook and general dogsbody. We sat on the veranda over looking the main street and watched the world go slowly by – Sandra sipping her chilled red wine, something she hasn’t got used to yet!

Finally the famous Purple Pub, so called because it is painted – Purple - obviously the place to be and be seen if you are ever in Normanton. It was the busiest bar by far with what I assumed to be the usual clientele boosted by a posse of local politicians in town for a local government beanfeast and a large number of Indigenous People buying cartons of beer – Sandra reckoned it was probably dole day!

Our next destination was to be Lawn Hill National Park, the main attraction of which is a large, water filled gorge which was to witness the inaugural launch of our inflatable boat. As the campsite is very small, bookings are essential - however we had a problem as all mobile phone and mobile internet connections across Queensland were down. A further problem was our intended route via Burketown was closed due to flooding – large sections of the road had been washed away and police were turning back cars and even 4WD’s. An alternative route will have to be found.

PS Normanton is the place where, according to the Guinness Book of Records, the largest ever crocodile was shot. A scale model of said beast is in the main street – scary stuff!

Townsville, Mining Towns and the earthy smell of Horse Manure

Arriving in Townsville the SatNav couldn’t find Kevin and Helen McCarthy’s address – it turned out Sandra (my navigator) couldn’t read my writing and had entered the wrong street name – so we stopped the car, fired up the computer, went onto Google Streetmaps and Bingo. The Wonders of Technology!

Helen and Kevin are friends of my cousin Jean and we had never met them before. We arrived with the trepidation one always feels when landing upon strangers, especially when we interrupted their game of tennis, however all fears were unfounded as they welcomed us warmly and were excellent hosts. An evening of wine and chat then a bed with crisp white sheets (I don’t know when we will see those again) was followed by a day of sightseeing in Townsville. We strolled along the beachfront promenade and watched an outrigger canoe competition with teams from all over Northern Queensland – followed by a city tour culminating in a trip to Castle Hill with fabulous views over the city and across to Magnetic Island.

Helen and Sandra discovered a shared interest in craftwork and, after lunch, disappeared for “half an hour” to go to craft shops. Several hours later they returned as Kevin was starting his weekly tennis tournament on his en-suite tennis court with a group of friends who have been doing the same thing every week for twenty years or more.

After two excellent nights we set off again making for Charters Towers, a well known tourist attraction selling itself as an old goldmining town. One of the joys of being footloose and fancy free is the ability to change ones mind – so we went to Ravenswood instead, another gold mining heritage town which turned out to be an small but interesting time capsule. From a heyday population of 8500 there are now only about 400 many of whom are working to preserve the past by turning the whole town into a tourist attraction – with mixed results.

We had lunch in the impressive Railway Hotel, visited the old court house and mining museum (worlds away from its Newtongrange counterpart) and looked at an old miner’s cottage which housed man, wife and nineteen children. The house was lived in until 1980 and the old outside “dunny” is still standing – just – however Sandra was a bit dubious about having a shot!

We eventually arrived at Charters Towers and picked up a leaflet from the tourist office and started on one of the “heritage” walks. After a few minutes we came across an incredible old building which we couldn’t find on any of the walks. Called Aldborough, it had obviously been a grand old house with big windows and wide verandas but now looking sad, over-grown and derelict. Whilst debating whether to sneak in for a closer look we were accosted, in a reasonably friendly manner, by a passer-by. As luck would have it this was Diana who just happened to be the new owner of the house – she and her husband had recently bought it at auction and were in the process of renovation, with everything being restored to its original state. We were invited in for a tour of the property.

Despite external appearances a lot had been done to the house. It was raised about seven feet from the ground on wooden poles that had rotted and therefore these had been replaced. The ornate caste iron of the veranda was in the process of being sand blasted and repainted. All the electrics had been modernised although where possible all the visible fittings had been replaced with original switches etc. A massive job.
We thanked Diana and decided that our impromptu tour of Aldborough was probably more interesting than the official tour guide – so we said goodbye to Charters Towers and headed for our next stop – Undara and the Lava Tubes.

Too far to do in a oner we headed for a speck on the map called Greenvale not even knowing if there was anywhere to camp . Over the next couple of hours we spotted lots of horseboxes with caravans on the road and speculated “Wouldn’t it be funny if there was some sort of horsey event on in Greenvale” – needless to say there was! It was the annual rodeo and we just happened to arrive in the middle of proceedings. We camped next to the show ring - the air heavy with the smell of horses and cows with lots of tanned men wearing blue jeans and shirts with over size cowboy hats on their heads.

We had the main event described to us – a rider on horseback rounds up a group of cows then herds them round an obstacle course and through a gate. Sandra’s comment of “Oh, just like One Man and His Dog” was, I felt, not fully appreciated by the tanned men in big hats.

Greenvale’s other claim to fame is that it has one of only 4 sausage trees in Australia. The fruit is like giant sausages (interesting botanical fact from Sandra)

A quick overnight stop then back onto the Gregory Developmental Road for 50km then onto the Kennedy Developmental Road to look for Undara (of lava tube fame) and dodge Road Trains - scary stuff! They are upgrading this road and needless to say every traffic light was at red.

The Whitsundays, Giant Mangoes and Nicole Kidman

The Whitsundays are a group of 74 islands lying off the coast of Queensland. Half a dozen or so have been developed, primarily for tourism, whilst the rest are part of a national park and are largely uninhabited. We set sail on “Voyager” at the crack of dawn (or thereabouts) for a trip to three of the islands – Hook Island, Whitsunday Island (the largest of the group) and Daydream Island. “Voyager” was a fast catamaran, very swish, with a crew of six and about 40 passengers.

First up was Hook Island where we split into two groups, the first to go snorkelling whilst the second experienced the pleasures of the glass bottomed boat. Unfortunately both were fairly unsuccessful as adverse weather conditions (lots of rain and a cyclone a few days earlier) had stirred up the seabed which meant that no one saw anything of any interest on either trip – underwater that is. Above water the sight of Sandra in an all-encompassing “stinger suit” (to stop jelly fish attack) more than made up for the disappointment! (see photo)

Whitsunday Island boasts Whitehaven Beach – often cited as “the world’s best beach” – several miles of pristine white sand. As we approached we could see it was a very popular place as there were dozens of yachts lying off shore with people being ferried to the beach. Perhaps most impressive were those in helicopters stopping for picnics. The boat slowed whilst we had lunch then disgorged its passengers onto the pristine white sand. Sandra and I spent a pleasant couple of hours sunning ourselves, although we still needed stinger suits for the water, before getting back to Voyager for the last leg of the trip to Daydream Island.

Daydream reminded us of the Maldives as the whole island was a single holiday resort. Evidence of the cyclone was all around and a lot of work had gone into straightening things out. There we came across a couple of new naturalist firsts for us – beach wallabies and giant stingrays.

Despite the poor snorkelling conditions we had a good day out in beautiful surroundings – and Sandra managed to pinch a bag full of Whitehaven sand which someone had told her was good for exfoliating (whatever that is – I don’t think I have ever exfoliated – must be a woman thing)

Back at camp we had drinks and a meal with fellow campers then exchanged e-mail addresses. I always thought these were immediately discarded and you would never hear again from people you meet on holiday but now I know better – don’t I Gwyn and Linda! – so who knows. The following day we set a new record for packing the vehicle – it was our slowest yet! After the usual bickering about whose fault it was, we set off north once again – this time heading for Bowen.

As far as I can make out Bowen has two claims to fame – it is home to the biggest mango in the world at over 10 metres tall and it was the location for the 2008 film “Australia” with Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman, which coincidentally Sandra and I had re-watched only two night previously. For the film the town was transformed into wartime Darwin and many of the locals got heavily involved with the film. I fear that fleeting fame went to the heads of the Bowen-ites who, foreseeing a big future in the film industry for the town, painted on the side of the large water tower that dominates the town with large letters spelling out BOWENWOOD. As far as I am aware film companies are not queuing for the remaking of Ben Hur in Bowen. I think they would be better sticking to what they do well – Mangoes.

Joking apart, Bowen was a nice place with a good feel about it and had some fabulous beaches which put Airlie Beach firmly in the shade.

An uneventful journey then took us to Townsville, Queensland’s second largest city and home of our next hosts Kevin Helen McCarthy.