Camping by the Goulburn River was very pleasant with only kangaroos for company - we decided to stay for two nights with not another camper to be seen - splendid isolation. On the second morning, having eaten our way through our food and almost all of our water gone, we packed up camp to start out for Sydney some 300k away. We were planning to get back in time for Sandra's sister's "significant" birthday dinner (Beatles - "When I'm 64") and take our time sightseeing. However, with the car about to be packed, I put the key in the ignitiopn and .... absolutely nothing .... flat as the proverbial pancake.
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| The calm before the storm |
Having parked on a flat bit of ground there was no chance of a push start - even if there was anyone to push. The only feasible hill in the near vicinity was down to the river but we reckoned that a move in that direction might be out of the frying pan and into the fire - probably in spades! As we were at the end of the road (literally as well as metaphorically) with no possibility of passing traffic and with no phone or internet access our options were limited. Should we stay by the car and hope for help (as per received wisdom) or start to walk out - after all it was only 24k? We decided to walk.
Packing all essential items into Sandra's backpack (mobile phone, iPad, mobile internet thingy, a camera and a gadget for charging all the other gadgets - along with our last few drops of water and a packet of biscuits for cheese) we set off on foot. We were not really expecting to walk all the way out but thought that if we could reach higher ground we might get phone or internet access and summon help.
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| "We've been climbing for hours, there must be a phone signal around here somewhere!" |
The first hour was mainly uphill but, despite trying umpteen times, there was no phone access. The track provided a reasonable walking surface but the killer was the sun and by mid-day we were starting to wilt. Sandra, who usually manages to rise to most occasions when it comes to equipment for sewing, failed miserably when I asked her for a thimble to help with the water rationing! On a more serious note, her ankle which she broke a few weeks ago was starting to cause problems and I was beginning to regret not leaving her with the car whilst I went for help on my own.
We saw a couple of houses which looked a bit derelict but, as it would probably have taken the best part of an hour to get to them with very little chance of assistance, we decided to plod on. We weren't able to say exactly how far we had walked, but after about three and a half hours Sandra's ankle was starting to give in and my dodgy legs were none too clever - a new plan was required. At the top of a nearby hill was a house which looked as if it might be inhabited. Leaving Sandra at the bottom of the road in case a car came by, I headed uphill - and eventually found myself in an amazing wonderland dreamed up by a demented artist-cum-welder.
The track up the hill was lined with what I assumed were artistic creations - weird objects, mainly put together from welded pieces of metal. The entrance, to what in more normal surroundings would have been the garden, was protccted by a cannon made from a metal drain-pipe welded to a set of metal wheels. Beyond that was a bright yellow mini car (the original version) on the top a pole with a mannequin as a driver, beyond the mini was a space rocket looking like something out of a Dan Dare comic.
Approaching the house I saw the door was open and assumed someone would be home. Knocking on the door and giving a shout got no response except for a small hairy dog to which I assumed that the "Beware of the Dog" sign referred. He didn't seem to upset about an intruder.
The house was an amazing hotch-potch of the most eclectic collection of absolute rubbish I had ever seen. Tables, chairs and bookcases sagged with piles of assorted bric-a-brac obviously destined for future artistic creations. Deciding not to intrude too far I had a look around outside and, after falling over a collection of car batteries, found a row of open sided sheds also full of similar stuff. A few more shouts but it was obvious the owner was either not at home or in hiding.
On the way back down the hill I discovered that I had a phone connection and gave the National Parks people a call and hoped to hear that a Park Ranger would be doing his rounds later in the day. No such luck - the best they could offer was the suggestion that I joined a breakdown organisation such as the NRMA (equivalent to the AA) and gave me the number - which I had to scratch in the dirt as I had no pen. I trekked back down the hill to Sandra as she had my wallet and credit card and told her I was off to join the NRMA - and that help would soon be in the way . I didn't really believe this but was trying to keep her spirits up - but I don't think she believed it either.
I turned and trudged back up the hill again.
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