Farina to Mt Remarkable via Loch Ness - Mainly in the Rain

It’s funny how the chance sighting of a couple of words on a map can change ones travel plans. We were headed for the well-known Flinders Ranges National Park in South Australia when up from the map sprung the words - “Loch Ness”. Being from Inverness and well acquainted with the real Loch Ness, the urge to explore the Australian version was irresistible so off we detoured to the Vulkathunha-Gammon Ranges – “the last cluster of ancient mountains before the vast plains of central Australia where few travellers venture”

After the excitement of water skiing on mud towing a Toyota up the Oodnadatta Track the car, not to mention ourselves, were in a bit of a muddy mess and we decided to stay at the Farina homestead for a few days to get cleaned up and for Sandra to do more crafting. The thick, clay-like mud was several inches thick on the underside of the car and was setting hard. I spent a happy day with a knife and axe hacking at the mud whilst trying to ensure I didn’t chop through anything vital – like break pipes, electrics etc.

Farina, now just ruins, was once a thriving town built, as the name suggests, to be the centre of a developing wheat industry which unfortunately never got off the ground. In its day it was quite a place with two hotels, the Exchange and Intercontinental, shops, a post office, school, hospital, bakery (underground, restored and still looks as it could be operational) It even had its own “house of ill repute” called The Angle’s Rest, which I suspect may have been a spelling mistake for The Angel’s Rest (see photo) Australian spelling of that era was a bit hit and miss. The township is slowly being renovated by the sheep farmer whose land it is on and an enthusiastic band of conservation volunteers who periodically brave heat and flies to restore a little bit of Australian heritage. However there is still someway to go before the hotel bathroom is fit for purpose although, as can be seen from the photo, this doesn’t deter the odd vagrant from making use of the facilities!

Our campsite was very pleasant and, as we were staying for a few days, we set up a full camp including Sandra’s “studio” tent where she crafted away for a couple of days whilst avoiding the flies – then back onto the road heading south for the Flinders. Through the small town of Lyndhurst then on to Leigh Creek for a meal stop, a look at the map, the discovery of the Antipodean version of Loch Ness necessitating a route change from South to East.

Quite a reasonable dirt road took us the 60k or so into the Vulkathunha-Gammon Ranges with the only incident of note being when we spotted a black mass moving slowly across the road - going too fast to stop safely I ploughed on through it then stopped. Speaking to an opal miner in Coober Pedy he referred to the problems of the rain, the first being that it wasn’t possible to mine opals in the rain and, secondly, the rain brought “the plagues”. The first of these plagues was the flies, the second was the mosquitoes and the third, which I had just ploughed through, was locusts. The road, and either side of the road, was covered with hundreds of thousand hopping locusts as can be seen in the photo. I didn’t feel so bad about wiping out a few hundred of these when I later heard these are pests and were part of an eradication programme.

The road to Loch Ness was a 4WD track at the beginning of which was the most amazing sculpture of two traditional Aboriginal figures. It was just there, at the side of the road, with no plaque or explanation – quite unusual. The trip to Loch Ness was challenging – rocky, twisty, undulating and, perhaps most nerve-wracking of all, many blind summits where you had no idea if the track went straight ahead or did a corkscrew to the right or left – with a precipitous drop if you guessed wrongly. It was pretty remote and we didn’t see another vehicle during the trip.

After a mile or so however I discovered I had been duped by a very devious Sandra who was not really interested in Loch Ness at all but was on a quest to find a specimen of Sturt’s Desert Pea in its natural habitat. Like the Gouldian Finch for birdwatchers, Sturt’s Desert Pea is a must for wild flower enthusiasts. Although she had seen and photographed them in Alice Springs (on the a central reservation of a dual carriageway) and at Tom Price (in a car park) she had never seen one “in the wild” – and suddenly there they were in all their red and black glory. Ecstasy!

McTaggart’s Road i.e. the track we were on (I suspect some of the early explorers / settlers may have come from Scotland) led eventually to Loch Ness which, in a way, was a bit of a disappointment. The original Loch Ness is the best part of 30 miles long, about a mile wide and very deep. Its Australian counterpart is about 6 feet long, 5 feet wide and about 15 feet deep – it is a well, still with water in it – and I detect an ironic Scottish sense of humour went into its naming!

With more rain forecast we couldn’t afford to be trapped there if the road closed so we headed south towards the Flinders Ranges National Park. With light beginning to fade we decided that a stop at a roadhouse campsite with a meal and a drink in the pub would be attractive so off we went to the small town of Blinman. Whilst Blinman no doubt has many attractive features, the scruffy carpark doubling as a campsite at the back of the pub is not one of them thus, despite the failing light, we moved on and that night found us at Dingley Dell in the Flinders National Park.

The Flinders Ranges are visually stunning with fascinating geology and good information and interpretive panels and we drove down the Brachina Gorge Geological Trail and the Bunyaroo Valley. To Sandra the mountains resembled The Rockies whilst I was more inclined to think of the Cuillins in Skye particularly when the forecasted rain eventually arrived. With glowering mountains being lashed with rain under a grey and stormy sky I didn’t have to travel 12,000 miles to find this sort of scenery! We debated whether it was better to set up the tent now and sit out the rain or to drive through the rain – we decided the latter, said goodbye to Flinders National Park and set off south once again.

The distances between towns are now becoming less and we drove through Hawker and Quorn hoping for the rain to stop – it didn’t. With light failing we arrived at Mount Remarkable, a smallish National Park in the southern reaches of the Flinders Ranges. Pitching the tent in the lashing rain was not a lot of fun and it rained most of the night. However, once the Oztent is up we are secure and dry and ready to face the next day.

PS Written hours after the above was typed.

As I sit battened down in the tent with rain still lashing down hour after relentless hour; as the second thunderstorm rages over us (or has the first one come back with more); as I contemplate rain pouring off the roof and being caught in a bowl for dishwashing; as I look out at the firepit and barbeque area with the thoughtfully placed logs to sit on and sing jolly campfire songs; as I think of all the above I think back to a welcome sign I saw near Lake Eyre which read

“South Australia. The driest state in the driest continent on earth”

Bah!!!!

PPS Next day
Still raining. Keeping a watchful eye on nearby river which has been rising rapidly - hope it doesn't burst its banks . Am going to get out the umbrella and take the computer for a hike up Mt Remarkable to try to get a phone signal to get onto the internet to post this blog and, more importantly, get a weather forecast.

The Esperance Incident

One of the issues Sandra and I have had to address whilst living in a tent is that toilet facilities are not quite what they are at home. While most commercial campsites do provide facilities of a reasonable nature and even the national parks have come on leaps and bounds since we first experienced their “long drops” years ago, there still comes a time when nipping behind the nearest bush is the only available option. For many of these stops, where digging a hole is not a requirement, I as a man am better equipped to deal with these calls of nature than Sandra – although I must admit that, even in Scotland, she has never been reluctant to drop them as the need demands – although usually with a modicum of circumspection.

On the day in question we were in Esperance, a pleasant coastal town in the south of Western Australia. I had known since the last service in Perth that the car required new brake pads and thought it would be a good idea to get this done before heading back into more difficult country. Touring around the local industrial area we found a garage that would be able to do the work but we would have to wait for about 45 minutes – could we bring the car back then? No problem so, as we hadn’t had breakfast and it was 10.30, we went looking for somewhere to eat. With no time to go into town to find a café we suddenly spotted the “Bay of Isles Lunch Bar” – just the job.

The Bay of Isles Lunch Bar is what I might, perhaps somewhat unfairly, refer to as a “greasy spoon” café set up to service the cholesterol intake of employees from the local light service industries in the area – thus the queue of spotty apprentices sent down for the bacon rolls. As we ordered a meal from the extensive “chips with everything” menu, the waitress seemed bemused when we asked for our meal to be served on a plate rather than in a brown paper bag and even more bemused when we asked if we could sit down in the “restaurant”. The restaurant was a small area up a flight of stairs near the door and out of sight of the servery. It was sparsely furnished with three small tables and chairs of the plastic and formica variety and a pot plant in one corner, just what we needed to kill half an hour before taking the car back to the garage.

The meal, pie and chips, was taking a long time to appear so I amused myself reading the Health and Safety notices on the wall and leafing through a pile of down market womens magazines most of which seemed pre-possessed with the love life of David Beckham (is he still on the go?) Turning round I got the shock of my life. In the opposite corner of the room I saw Sandra squatting by the pot plant with her trousers down at her ankles. Having witnessed this performance many times over the past few months it was obvious what she was doing, and equally obvious she had temporarily lost control of either her mind or her bladder – possibly both! Had our standards dropped so much since leaving Scotland?

Before I could remonstrate things, already bad enough in my mind, took a turn for the worse – out of the corner of my eye I saw the waitress coming up the steps holding two plates of pie and chips. There was no time for me to warn Sandra and there was no way I could intercept the waitress, things just had to take their course.

At this point let’s freeze the tableau – me looking shocked and embarrassed, Sandra wondering why I was looking shocked and embarrassed and the waitress trying not to look shocked and embarrassed and failing miserably – and turn the clock back several months.

We were at a campsite in Broome, Western Australia and still travelling with Sandra’s sister Johann and Stretch. The site was packed and we were all jammed in like sardines. Next to us were a couple with a camper trailer and S & J got speaking to the wife - swapping traveller’s tales and the problems of leaving home for a life on the road. One of these problems, and it could only be a woman’s problem, was how to keep your clothes clean when living under canvas. The main grouse seemed to be getting dirty when packing up the tent etc as, at the end of the exercise, your clothes are invariably dirty. The lady in question, I never learnt her name, gave them a tip – when packing up, wear the clothes you intend wearing for the day BUT put them on inside out. Then, at the end of the packing up, simply turn them the right way round and, hey presto, clean clothes.

Sandra had obviously taken this advice to heart and, on the day in question, had tried the inside-out trick. Unfortunately, at the end of the packing, she had neglected to turn her trousers the right way around thus found herself in the Bay of Isles Lunch Bar restaurant with inside out trousers. Thinking that she had a minute or two to spare she decided to take them off and turn them the right way round but unfortunately her timing was slightly off and she was caught by both me and the waitress.

So all was not as it seemed. Sandra however was horrified that I could even think she would do what I thought she was doing. I have learned, yet again, not to jump to conclusions - how justified they may appear to be at the time. And as for the waitress - it was quite obvious that she didn’t believe a word of Sandra’s inside-out explanation and is probably even now regaling spotty apprentices with the story of the “Scotch sheila who took a leak in the potted plant”

Post in Two Sections - See Below

A long blog - a lot has happened and haven't had internet access. I have split the blog into two parts

1. Camels and Spiders in the “Centre” of Australia – then on to Coober Pedy

After a second day driving through the desert we eventually ran out of Western Australia. Apart from a brief trip to Sydney for the birth of Anathalia, we had been travelling through WA for three months – it’s a big place, and had only just scraped the surface. We camped at Docker River, a short way over the border in Northern Territory, and decided to have a “rest” day the following day. This meant that Sandra got the craft work production line going to build up more stock for the Christmas markets in Sydney - although she also did her share of domestic chores as can be seen in the photo. Meanwhile the local wildlife showed an interest in Sandra’s activities and I was kept busy keeping them on the right side of the mozzie netting – again see photo. The following day we set out to revisit the Olgas and Ayres Rock – last seen in May as lumps of grey rock being lashed with rain.

I once heard that there were more camels in Australia than in Saudi Arabia. Brought over in the pioneering days they were ideally adapted for the hot, dry Australian conditions – and in over 6 months travelling we hadn’t seen one. However this was put right on the road from Docker River to Uluru and we had to stop on three occasions to let them cross the road. Although the Nissan has a substantial set of bull bars on the front which can effortlessly swat off kangaroos and lesser animals, I wasn’t prepared to tackle a camel – they’re big beasts!

The Olgas and Ayres Rock were as they are usually seen on postcards – red and impressive under a hot blue sky – we were probably lucky to have seen them as they were in May – with the rain cascading down the sides. Back onto the Stuart Highway and heading south making towards Coober Pedy we did an overnighter at the Kulgera Roadhouse. A visit to the bar paid dividends (although the wine wasn’t very good) as we found a small snippet which seemed to have escaped most of the tourist leaflets – this is the geodetic centre of Australia – the point from which all maps in Australia are referenced. Apparently a cairn had been erected on the exact centre of Oz near to the Mt Cavanagh homestead some 15k away – so, the next morning off we went.

Mt Cavanagh is a cattlestation and, as we were travelling over private land, we though it would be polite to ask permission and thus met the station manager’s father-in-law who welcomed us with open arms (I don’t think he saw many people) He directed us to the Centre of Australia and, as photo opportunities go, it’s one that is missed by most people – and the view from the top was magnificent.

Further south we blinked through Marla and on to what was to be our destination for a few days (or so we thought) Coober Pedy – the opal capital of the world. This also meant another border crossing from Northern Territory into South Australia. After 3 months in WA we have now been in 3 states in 3 days (Yes Helen, I know NT isn’t a State – but we’re not in the Derry now!!)

When mining for coal, gold, iron ore and other minerals the geologists are able to give mining companies a pretty good idea where to start digging – with opals it’s different. Within a wide area known as the opal fields there is only one way to strike it rich – start digging and cross your fingers. Anyone can stake a claim – usually 50m x 50m – and start noodling (a technical term I picked up, somewhat akin to fossicking) The area around Coober Pedy is littered with small pyramids of waste from the mines and the area is exceptionally dangerous as it is covered with old, and current, mine shafts. Having been to some of the big open cut mines and Super Pits run by multinational mining companies I think I prefer the low tech, “anyone-could-strike-it-rich” attitude of opal mining.

Coober Pedy itself is the ultimate dump with evidence of what appears to be indiscriminate mining all around, and throughout, the town. It is hot, dusty, physically unattractive with limited services and yet …. I liked it. We had planned to stay for a few days then move on to Lake Eyre but a visit to the tourist information office led to an early exit.

We planned to get to Lake Eyre via a short (160k) dirt road called the William Creek Road, then join the better known Oodnadatta Track. However we were advised by the man in the tourist office that, although these tracks were currently open, rain was expected in the next few days and some of the tracks we hoped to use getting to Lake Eyre were likely to close – if we wanted to see the lake we would have to leave sooner rather than later – get in, then get out – quickly.

This chap, a mine of information, then informed me that it was a big football derby today – who did I think would win. Thinking he was talking about a match between Coober Pedy and Oodnadatta, I claimed to have no inside information. However he had picked up on the Scottish accents and was talking about what would have been a very big match in Scotland – Rangers vs Celtic. The conversation then became rather surreal when he then started talking about Ross County. I was amazed that an opal miner, and part-time tourist information officer, in Coober Pedy had even heard of Ross County never mind being able to tell me about their cup exploits (against Rangers I think) which he had followed on T.V. – he was particularly enthusiastic about the impossible optimism of their supporters.

2. Lake Eyre and the Muddy Hell of The Oodnadatta Track

Lake Eyre is deep in the Australian psyche - it is an Australian weather benchmark with phrases such as “Lake Eyre if full” indicating a lot of rain, whilst reference to the number of years since the lake has had any water in it at all being an indication as to the severity of the current drought. Lake Eyre is spoken about with an air of fondness or pride – but I somehow doubt if many Australians have actually been here – and now, on its bonny banks, I know why Australians don’t go there!

As I typed these words I was sitting at Halligan Bay (personally I think this is a misprint and should read “Helligan” Bay) on the shores of the lake– or at least I would have been if the water was a few hundred metres nearer. The 70k dirt road in from William Creek, the nearest settlement on the Oodnadatta Track, starts off bleak and featureless and, with every passing mile, becomes bleaker and even more featureless with a bit of desolation thrown in for good measure. The last few k’s before reaching the lake are a scene of naturally occurring post-industrial apocalypse – perhaps not surprising as scenes from Mad Max were shot not too far away. I have been in many bleak and barren places but even living in Caithness doesn’t prepare one for this.

As I approached the lake, words from a warning sign seemed to sum up everything “Under the salt layer lies a black bottomless ooze of mud, silt and clay, which is mostly soft and moist”. With these words echoing in my head, we set up camp for the night – and, although the bush flies were bad, at least it was warm, dry and sunny. Then, at three o’clock in the morning, the wheels started to come off the wagon once more – Sandra gently kneed me in the back and whispered the dreaded words - “It’s raining!”

5mls of rain is enough for the authorities to close the roads in this area – which is what had been forecast for the following day, with 40mls forecast later in the week. Whilst we had been keen to see Lake Eyre, we were even keener not to be trapped there for days – although we had food and water for nearly a week the beer supply wouldn’t last that long – we had to get out! When dawn broke a glimpse outside confirmed our fears, the rain was on and likely to get worse – the view from one vast horizon to the next was uniform grey rain clouds.

We set a new packing up record, didn’t bother with breakfast and were on our way – to the great disappointment of about half a million bush flies. The 60k to the Oodnadatta Track were no problem and we thought we had over-estimated the danger so set off south towards Marree in good spirits. Although the road was very muddy, with 4WD engaged we were sliding along quite nicely for about 25k – which is when we met Liam. Coming towards us through the murk was a 2WD Toyota, which, with low-profile sports tyres, had absolutely no hope of making it north to William Creek. In fact he had just slithered to a halt and put on his flashers when we arrived on the scene.

Now there is an unwritten rule in the Outback (and if there isn’t there should be) that you do not leave a fellow traveller stranded. Despite going in the opposite direction we agreed to tow him the 30k north to William Creek. I turned around and my brand new, and so far unused, tow rope came out of our emergency bag and we got hitched up. Then, out of the rain, another 4WD travelling north appeared and Liam approached the driver to provide the tow - the driver very reluctantly agreed so I unhitched, turned around and prepared to head south. Then the other car, the driver of which had not even got out to lend a hand or assess the situation, suddenly disappeared north. So it was up to us again.

The tow was horrendous – or, to put it in Liam’s words, “a bit of a buzz” – he was of course much younger than me! His tyres had virtually no traction at all and he basically slid behind me for the whole 30k. His car swung virtually out of control from one side of the road to the other. One moment I could see him in the drivers side wing mirror coming towards me sideways on the wrong side of the road, the next moment I could see him doing the same thing on the passenger side. My biggest fear was going down hill with him behind me as, along with no traction, he had no brakes. At one point we had to stop as he had over run the tow rope which had snarled up in his front wheel – we got very muddy, and it was clingy, clay type mud which stuck to everything – particularly me and the underside of the car.

On the way back Sandra and I decided that we didn’t want to do this a third time and would go back the way we had come back to Coober Pedy. Arriving safely in William Creek Liam bought us a beer, posed for photos and then we discovered the next problem. There are only three roads out of William Creek – North to Oodnadatta, West to Coober Pedy and south to Marree, the way we had just come. The first two had just been closed and the road south was expected to be closing shortly. We had two options – stay in the William Creek pub (the pub is all there is in WC) until the roads re-opened or tackle the road south again. Whilst being stuck in a pub for a week did have a certain attraction we decided to head south.

The trip had no further dramas. After 30k or so the roads improved. We found a strange hot spring called The Bubbler on top of a mound in the desert and managed to scrape off most of the mud from our legs. A thirty foot high sculpture of a Scotty dog did cause some consternation until we realised we had stumbled across an unofficial tourist attraction – a sculpture park (or rather a scrubby bit of bush) called Plane Henge (I could have done a whole blog on this alone) Further down the road a family of curious emus appeared on the scene to pose for a photograph

We are now camped at a homestead called Farina which, in its day, was a bustling little town but now a ruin. When I have finished this blog Sandra and I are going to explore Farina which may feature in the next blog.

PS Due to overwhelming demand for the sordid details of the embarrassing incident in Esperance as mentioned a couple of blogs ago, I have reluctantly agreed to publish a single topic blog with an account of events. As they say – watch this space!!

Ghost Towns, Statues and Living in the Desert

Gateshead – North of England - bleak, barren, miles from civilisation and the site of Antony Gormley’s iconic statue “Angel of the North”

Lake Ballard – Northern Goldfields of Western Australia – bleak, barren, miles from civilisation and the site of Antony Gormley’s epic creation “Inside Australia”

Lake Ballard is a vast salt lake which is the setting for the most amazing sculptural experience. Fifty-one metal figures, based on computer generated body scans of the inhabitants of Menzies, the nearest settlement, then placed, seemingly at random, over the bed of the lake which, when we were there, was dry and completely white with crystallised salt. The effect was quite surreal.

We were travelling through country with a fascinating past. The goldfields attracted people from Australia and from much further afield as many Scottish place names testify – particularly close to Sandra’s heart were Bowden and Melrose from her home turf in the Scottish Borders. In their goldrush heyday some of these towns boasted several thousand inhabitants with many hotels, shops, breweries etc. Most are long gone and those that remain are developing a tourist trade based upon their mining heritage. We stopped at a number of these sites – Menzies, Kookynie (“The Living Ghost Town”) Agnew (where all that was left was the pub, which was closed when we called) and, perhaps the most amazing of all, Gwalia.

When the Gwalia goldmine closed in 1964 – so did the town and many houses were deserted as they stood and gradually fell into decay. Some of these have been preserved (although not restored) to reflect what they were like when they were abandoned. It is now possible to wander from house to house to view how people lived in those days – and it must have been a hard life. The preservation has been very low key with none of the usual “interpretation panels” beloved of similar modern developments resulting in the viewer having to rely a combination of intelligence and imagination to paint pictures of the past – no bad thing.

The houses, usually incredibly small, had a wooden frame covered with the material that made The Outback famous – corrugated iron. The internal walls were covered with hessian sacking which was then covered with newspaper pasted to the hessian to form what seemed to me to be a pretty flimsy wall. These houses must have been like ovens during the scorching summer months and like ice boxes in the cold. In some of the houses the last internal decorating could be pretty accurately dated by the choice of wallpaper. The Kalgoorlie Miner seemed to be the wallpaper of choice as can be seen by the photo which shows the date Monday July 12 1937. This was actually on the wall of what I assume was the town barbershop which was in slightly better condition than some of the other buildings. If you double click on the photo to enlarge it you will be able to see reference to one of the big stories of the day – the disappearance of Amelia Earhart – all fascinating stuff.

We based ourselves in the small, but still thriving, mining town of Leonora staying for a couple of nights at the local campsite. Our trip should have continued along the south coast, however, beautiful as that area might (or might not?) have been, the weather was still a bit on the cool side and the decision to return to the Red Centre has paid dividends. As I type we are in the middle of The Great Victoria Desert, the largest desert in Australia and apparently the seventh largest desert in the world. The skies have returned to cloudless blue, the sun shines constantly throughout the day without hitting the intolerably high summer temperatures, it isn’t raining (a big plus for us as our trip seems to have been dogged by unseasonal rain) and it is possible to sit outside at night without having to raid the Winter Woollies bag for extra clothes – this is what we came for!

Mind you getting a beer has been a problem. As already reported the pub in Agnew was closed so we moved on to Leinster (a small, modern “company” town) where the pub was also shut – it didn’t open for business until 3pm. Before leaving for the desert it was essential to replenish our supplies of XXXX Gold in Laverton but the bottle shop didn’t open until noon so I had to queue with half of the local aboriginal population to wait for opening time. With beer supplies a bit healthier we hit the desert and after 300 k we arrived at the Tjukayiria Roadhouse and called in for a cold one only to be told “We don’t serve alcohol but you are welcome to finish any you have as it is illegal to take alcohol past here into Aboriginal lands”. We hid our supplies deep inside the vehicle and pressed on, set up our bush camp (see photo) and had a few refreshing beers – we deserved them.

We are heading eventually to Coober Pedy, a trip of almost 1800k mostly on good dirt roads. We had considered taking a short cut using the little used, and far more challenging, Anne Beadell track but was put off by the fact it required 5 permits, which could takes days or even weeks to organise, whereas our current route only requires two.

PS A few statistics. To keep us awake over the desert we started counting road traffic. Our tally at the end of Day One was:
Vehicles coming towards us – 13
Vehicles going the same way as us – 1
Crashed / Wrecked / Dumped vehicles at the side of the road - 129

Esperance, Kalgoorie, The Northern Goldfields ... and another Hut!

After overdosing on whales and wild flowers at Point Ann, Sandra was keen to have a look at a small town further along the coast called Hopetoun. Arriving after a very convoluted 4WD journey through Fitzgerald River National Park, made additionally convoluted by road closures and dodgy navigating, we found Hopetoun to be the proverbial one horse town. However, with no sign of the horse, we left town and headed along the coast looking for somewhere to doss for the night. This coastline has numerous beaches suitable for camping and we settled down for the night at Masons Bay, yards from the usual pristine white beach, blue sea, blue sky etc (one can get very blasé after a while!)

Esperance was our next port of call, a big town (pop about 15,000) and where I planned to get the Nissan’s rear brake pads replaced. Camping in the area had been really “sewn up” – you have to go to one of the commercial sites in town or one of the official approved sites out of town, anywhere else and you get fined. The nearest “official” out of town site was at Cape Le Grand 65k away – so off we went.

Cape Le Grand is a wild and beautiful place with two camping areas – Le Grand Beach and Lucky Bay. So far we had seen very few other campers in this part of the world and on many nights we were used to having campsites to ourselves. With darkness about to fall we were staggered to arrive at Le Grand Beach to find a “Campsite Full” notice in place, and we were similarly out of luck when we arrived at the ironically named “Lucky” Beach site. About to scout around for a bit of “illegal” camping space, a passing Park Ranger took pity on us and said it would be OK to pitch our tent in the bus parking area next to the slag heaps – “Oh, Lucky Man!” Out of the shelter of the trees, when the wind got up and it started to rain (yet again) we didn’t have the most pleasant of nights although the good old Oz tent coped easily with all that the elements could throw at it. We had planned to stay in the area for a few days but, come morning, we packed up and headed back to Esperance – it was a beautiful area though.

The new brakes for the Nissan took a couple of hours, which gave us time to look around Esperance – no one horse town this but a very attractive, vibrant place with a lot going for it. One bit of minutiae which both amused me and perhaps helps sum up the town was a quote to be found on the outdoor artwork in the centre of the town which gives a history of Esperance from the early days up to the present – “No traffic lights yet, let’s keep it that way”

My everlasting memory of Esperance however will be the highly embarrassing incident at the Bay of Isles Lunch Bar although there may not be enough space in this blog to relate the sordid details.

Brakes fixed, mid-afternoon and we are heading north on the Coolgardie – Esperance Highway and on our way to Norseman which is the gateway to the Nullabor. The Nullabor Plain is a vast area of pretty much nothing (the name means No Trees) and is traversed by the Eyre Highway which most people travelling East-West in this part of Australia are forced to take. It has the longest, totally straight bit of sealed road in Australia – 146ks with no curve, bend or deviation so matchsticks to prop open ones eyes are essential equipment.

We camped in a clearing a couple of ks off the main road at a place called Dundas Rocks. We were now in Goldfield country and in 1892 this was the site of the old goldmining town of Dundas (another Scottish connection?) although very little remains. The Rocks, a large granite outcrop below which we pitched our tent, had small walls built on it to channel the water into a dam which was the settlement’s water supply – these walls, and the dam, can still be seen. With very little rainfall and a burgeoning population of prospectors, miners etc, water was more precious than gold and people would pay up to a shilling a gallon for fresh rainwater or 25 shillings for 100 gallons of condensed water - enormous sums of money.

On a 4WD track from our campsite into Norseman we came across much evidence of the area’s mining history including vertical and horizontal mine shafts. At one point I even got out my shovel and tried a bit of prospecting myself – but with no luck! Near the site of the “Break o’Day” mine we came across the old cricket pitch used for inter-mine matches. Laid in 1895 the wicket is still in place although a little worn in places – I couldn’t resist taking a stance although, as the photo shows, my batting position still leaves much to be desired!

Norseman, when we eventually got there, seemed to be a tired, run down little place lacking in obvious appeal – not helped that we had brought with us from the coast both the wind and the rain, and it was cold! We decided to give the Nullabor a miss for the moment and head further north to a place, the name of which has, for some unknown reason , stirred my imagination for years – Kalgoorlie, Capital of the Goldfields.

Our first impression of Kalgoorlie was its size. Since Perth, a large city, most places we have visited have been pretty small whereas Kalgoorlie has a population of over 30,000. It is a city dominated by one industry – mining – and in that respect it reminded me very much of Mt Isa, although this time the mining is for gold from a huge open cast Super Pit over 3k long and 500m deep.

Water supply to a large population in such an arid region has always been a problem and, as we stood at the viewpoint on top of the Mt Charlotte Reservoir above the city, I realised that Sandra and I had now, unwittingly, completed a journey which began several weeks ago in the Perth Hills. With John and Marie we had gone on a trip to Mundaring Weir just outside Perth to look at the dam built as the water supply for Kalgoorlie and from which water was pumped overland for over 600k – and now here we were at journeys end.

Water was not the only commodity required by the miners and to service other needs brothels proliferated with over 25 in one street alone. Today these have dwindled and only three are still in operation - however it is interesting to see that these have moved with the times. It has been accepted that their murky past is also part of the town’s history and, in addition to fulfilling their traditional role in the community, for $20 it is possible to go on a Brothel Heritage Tour – over 18’s only. I would have like to stay in Kalgoorlie a little longer to soak up a bit of the heritage – however Sandra, somewhat prematurely I thought, decided it was time to move on.

As I type this we are in Goongarrie and living a shearers cottage (another hut!) Goongarrie Station was established in 1927 to run sheep but, due to the marginal nature of the country and water supply problems, the station was abandoned and in 1995 it was bought by the State Government. The original homestead and various outbuildings still stand and have been made wind and water-tight and we have temporarily taken up residence in what was the shearers cottage - used to accommodate workers during the shearing season. It’s pretty basic but does stimulate the pioneering spirit – life in those days must have been hard. The corrugated iron exterior blends well with the plywood interior and life with our co- inhabitants, particularly the bats, makes for never a dull moment!

A Hut, Whales, Dolphins, Orchids and no Flies on Sandra

Well we have a new first – although some may call it a new low – we have been living in a hut!

After the tree climbing exploits at Pemberton we set off for Walpole – gateway to the Walpole Wilderness – which turned out to be yet another pleasant seaside town. After a quick look around, and, as usual, not being attracted to the commercial campsites in the area, we went to look for Crystal Springs, a campsite in one of the many National Parks around Walpole. Not too enamoured by what we found, and with time getting short, we drove into the forest up a 4WD track looking for somewhere, anywhere, to pitch our tent. After 5k down the track a river blocked our path and, in the fading light, I didn’t want to risk driving across particularly as there was a sign advising people that the crossing was dangerous.

It’s amazing how, at times like these, things seem to work out for the best. Whilst contemplating the gathering gloom, and probably a night in the vehicle, we noticed a hut. Probably built for forestry workers, it had a single room about 5m by 4m, a closing door and a watertight roof – our prayers had been answered, and we didn’t even have to pitch the tent. Setting up beds, tables and chairs we made ourselves at home. The spot was idyllic – set deep in the forest and next to a beautiful (now that I didn’t have to cross it!) river - we couldn’t have asked for anything more – except possibly a pub. We stayed for two nights and in all that time saw not a soul. We were glad of the hut as, when it was time to move on, the rain arrived and it’s not much fun packing up a wet tent.

Our next port of call was to have been Albany which would see us just about turning the corner in the far south west of Australia and start the long trek along the south coast towards Sydney. Now I am sure Albany is a great wee town with a lot going for it – however, when you arrive in the pouring rain on a Sunday afternoon, not a lot of the attractions are obvious. Briefly contemplating one of the commercial campsites, where we would still have to put up the tent in the rain and sit around for the rest of a wet Sunday, we decided on a bold course of action – we would outrun the rain and find a campsite on the way. And thus we found ourselves at the Fitzgerald River National Park – and what a good move that was, although it didn’t seem so at the time.

The campsite at Point Ann is nearly 70k off the main highway along a good dirt road. Although we had outrun the rain (temporarily at least) it had done it’s damage and the beds, mattresses and some of the bedclothes which were on the roof rack were a bit on the damp side and this, coupled with the rain catching up with us, the wind rising and the temperatures falling made for one of our less comfortable nights. In fact it was reminiscent of our last ever camping trip, to North Wales when Jon and Steven were very young, after which Sandra made a vow never to go camping again.

However the following day made up for the discomfort of the night when both the sea and the land put on a magnificent display for us. We were camped just a few metres from a small bay with white sand and incredibly blue water and were walking along the beach the next morning when we had the argument. Armed with my trusty binoculars I announced that I could see a whale a short distance from the beach - however Sandra, armed with her new super-zoom camera with a 32 x Optical Zoom, declared it wasn’t a whale but dolphins - we were both right. A female Southern Right Whale and her calf were lying about 100 metres off the beach whilst around them about 15-20 Bottlenosed Dolphins were frolicking in the waves. I have heard of dolphins surfing before but had never seen it – they wait for a wave and then, just like a human surfer, “catch” the wave and “surf” towards the shore. Amazing scenes – particularly with the mother whale getting into the action by waving her enormous flippers at us.

Further along the beach a seal (or sealion?) started to perform for us, catching a fish then throwing it up in air, catching it, then repeating the whole performance.

In the afternoon Sandra went in to raptures over the wildflowers. A short foray into the bush and she came back claiming another twenty or so new ones – she now has several flower photos – she’s going to have a bit of sorting out when she gets home.

Finally, one of the presents Sandra was given when she left Bield was given a bit of an airing today (see last photo) All of her ex-colleagues who claimed “there were no flies on Sandra” have been proved wrong!

A Head for Heights

“I have no fear of heights and I have no fear of falling – it’s the landing that scares the hell out of me!” I have no recollection of who said this but these words, and others of a similar ilk, churned through my mind as Sandra and I climbed the Gloucester Tree.

We are near Pemberton, a very pleasant little town in the far South West of Australia. Despite the name, Snotty Gobble has proved to be one of the best campsites we have stayed in – deep in the forest with excellent facilities i.e. clean toilets, spacious campsites, fire pits and, as a bonus, a small river running near to our tent supplying unlimited water for hot showers. It obviously is not the camping season in this part of the world as we have been here for three days and have seen no other campers – probably just as well as they might have been disturbed by the sight of Sandra and I frolicking under our bush shower which we hung from a convenient tree – and all as nature intended!

This is Big Tree Country with forestry and logging being one of the mainstays of the local economy with a large sawmill in Pemberton, many wooden houses and woodcarving galleries which, naturally, Sandra was unable to resist. Forest fires are a major hazard in this part of the world and until the 1970’s, when planes took over, the fire watch was carried out by people perched on top of a network of trees throughout the forest. When a fire was spotted from a tree, fire fighters were dispatched to deal with the blaze. These trees were usually the tallest trees in the area and access to the top was by a series of metal spikes driven into the trunk to form a rudimentary staircase. At the top was a platform which was the fire watchers office for the day. When planes took over fire watching duties in 1972 the fire trees became largely redundant although several have been retained to scare the shit out of tourists – which brings us to Sandra and I.

Just out of Pemberton is the Gloucester Tree, named after the Duke of Gloucester, which was one of the original fire trees. The type of tree is Karri – very straight and tall with few lower branches. In Britain it is very doubtful if the Health and Safety “Police” would have allowed members of the public to risk life and limb climbing 200 feet up a tree using metal spikes as steps, with no supervision and no safety net. However things are a bit more relaxed Down Under so up we went. The metal spikes forming the staircase seemed OK so I sent Sandra on ahead to test them out – after the first hundred feet she seemed to be making good progress, so I followed her up. My thinking of course was, if she fell, I would be in a good position to catch her! After about 150 feet we reached the first of two platforms with further progress being by stepladder. The climb up was nerve wracking, the view from the top was spectacular and coming down was horrendous.

The photographs do not do justice to the white knuckle-ness of the expedition (double click them to see them full-size) I am continually amazed at the courage I have shown in following Sandra on such foolhardy missions!

(Posted from the pub in Northcliffe)

Margaret River - Big Trees, Big Waves and a Welcome Brewery

The Margaret River area is a dreadful place – you can travel no distance at all without stumbling across another Winery or yet another Brewery. Teetotallers would have an extremely difficult time finding anything to do here – fortunately however neither Sandra or I are teetotallers and so have had a great time!

Leaving Christmas Creek we headed back towards the coast passing through Dwellingup and Pinjarra, reaching the coast at Mandurah, a large town where we re-supplied. Moving south we felt we had to visit the small town of Harvey – obviously named after our grandson – and camped for a few nights on the Leschenault Peninsula. We set up camp on the site of an old “alternative lifestyle” – or, for those who remember the 60’s and 70’s, hippy – commune, where Zen Buddhists rubbed shoulders with potters and painters. Most signs of this occupation are long gone – the only remaining reminder being a few sad bricks which were part of the potters kiln.

We forayed out from our peninsula camp visiting exotic places such as Bunbury, Collie and Brunswick Junction. One of the main towns in the region has the interesting name Australind – a combination of Australia and India, as it was developed in anticipation of significant trade between the two British Colonies, which never materialised. Then on towards Margaret River.

The area stretches for over 100k between two capes – Cape Naturaliste to the north and Cape Leeuwin to the south with most of the area between the two being part of the Leeuwin-Natuaraliste National Park, which is where we camped – eventually. Arriving at the Conto Road Campsite we found it full of campers! Being the anti-social sort and having got used to “splendid isolation” we decided to make for a bush camp a few kilometres away – if only we could find it! Coming across a Park Ranger es we asked for directions and experienced some cultural linguistic problems. There were two 4WD tracks to the site and he advised us to take the Point Road route and “follow the burn for several k’s” until we arrived at the campsite – it all seemed clear enough – but could we find the burn to follow? It took sometime for us to realise our mistake – in Scotland a “burn” is a small stream whilst in Australia it is an area of controlled burning!

Having eventually set up in “splendid isolation”, the following day we set off north to Cape Naturaliste calling at all points of interest and dodging wineries by the score and getting in a bit of whale watching just down from the lighthouse. – amazing beasts, migrating to the Antarctic for the summer.

For beer lovers, much of the main stream Australian beer is pretty poor fare. Being mainly of the lager variety they are undoubtedly refreshing served ice cold on a hot day – but they are not what one would call a “session” beer. However a trip to the Ferguson Valley in the Margaret River region was a revelation. Set amongst beautiful rolling countryside amidst a multitude of wineries we came across the Wild Bull Brewery serving hand crafted beers. I can personally recommend their Irish Ale which had an unusual quality for Australian beer – taste! Their Amber Ale was pretty good too – and they also do meals, highly recommended.

Mind you the visit to the brewery seemed to mess up the navigation systems and our trip back to camp, whilst initially OK, rather came off the rails when we entered the forest and tried to find the right track. The Sat Nav we have been using has been excellent in towns and cities but has its problems when navigating forests – it got us well and truly lost and we only just made it back to our forest lair before darkness fell.

The following day we went south to the other cape – Cape Leeuwin. This is where the Indian Ocean and Southern Oceans clash with resultant incredible seascapes – probably even more dramatic than the northern cape. The nearest place, Augusta, had the air of a holiday town but the local bakery is highly recommended especially their spinach and ricotta pasties.

Our last afternoon in the area – the weather was beautiful so we took a bottle of chilled white wine went down to the beach near our campsite – the sea was incredible as, although there was little wind, enormous waves were crashing onto the beach and rocks. We debated whether the tide was coming in or going out and, wrongly, decided the latter - resulting in the two of us perched on a rock, clutching our wine as the sea churned all around us. It’s not surprising that one of the major causes of accidental death in Australia is fishing from rocks – luckily all we lost was a modicum of dignity and got wet.

We have now packed up and moved further south and have set up a new camp at a place with the most wonderful name – Snotty Gobble – which is near the small town of Pemberton and close to a tree big enough for Sandra to walk through!