Belly dancers, hammocks and hailstones as big as golf balls

Due to our poor map-reading and almost double circumnavigation of the Glass House Mountains we were late arriving at Willie and Helen's house in Ormiston on the outskirts of Brisbane. It was dark as we walked up to the front door and it was immediately obvious that something was amiss - a dog was barking in the house and they don't have a dog, at least they didn't when we were here four years ago. The door opened and Helen appeared holding the offending article – a small, fluffy creature that personified “cuteness”. This was Abby, the latest addition to the Tait family, and perhaps some attempt to fill up the house now that the two oldest Taits, Jenny and Cameron, have both left home to study in the USA. There then followed a pretty full on week.

Unfortunately our timing was not very good as Willie was very busy at work and burning the midnight oil at both ends! His company had a big military contract and a deadline was fast approaching requiring him to leave for work at 6am and not getting home until well into the evening – almost every day we were there, including weekends.

First up for us was the result of the Scottish Referendum on Independence. I'm sure if we had been back in Scotland we would have stayed awake throughout the night watching the results programme. However, with the time difference, it was much more civilised in Australia and, after a good nights sleep, we watched the results come in throughout the morning as the same BBC programme shown in Scotland was broadcast live here in Australia. As Sandra had threatened to emigrate if there was a Yes vote, I'm glad it was No – I'm sure emigration would have been too much of a hassle.

As luck would have it, it was the Brisbane Festival and the city was alive with performance arts – pretty much along the lines of the Edinburgh Festival. On Saturday afternoon we picked Willie up from work to go to a show then on for a meal. The show, called “Soap”, was a mixture of music, song, dance, acrobatics and humour delivered from a number of full sized baths on stage along with copious amounts of water – it paid not to be in the front seats!

On stage with "Soap" before we were told to stop taking photos

Then on to the restaurant along with two friends of the Taits.

Sandra and Willie in Turkish Restaurant

For some reason I had it in my head we were going Mexican so I was surprised when we arrived at a Turkish restaurant. There are two reasons to go to a Turkish restaurant – the first is obviously the food, the second – even more obviously, is the Belly Dancers. Neither disappointed.

Helen, me and Helen;s friend in Turkish Restaurant

 Just as we completed our meal there was a crash of music and Fatima (or one of her sisters) appeared wearing an appropriately revealing costume – at least, a substantial amount of sinuous belly was appropriately revealed. My previous experience of belly dancers has been a lot of veils concealing a lot of belly and often a face that has seen a bit of life on the wrong side of the tracks. Not so Fatima who, as can be seen from my photo, was quite nicely proportioned and who, for some reason seemed attracted to our table. She returned several times to allow us to study at close quarter the Art of the Belly Dancer – and then she swooped. Picking on Willie she stood him in the middle of the crowded restaurant for a sensuous one-to-one dance. Willie had no option but to respond as best he could – and to give him his due, he probably wiggled as well as any other man would do in similar circumstances. I have resisted to temptation to use the photo of him performing so as not to embarrass the poor boy.

Willie's dancing partner

Then a walk along the very attractive river bank in the centre of Brisbane before a trip to the top of a nearby mountain for a birds-eye view of the city at night – spectacular.

With Jenny and Cameron in the States studying only Kirsty is left at home but only for another day or so before she leaves for a couple of weeks on a school trip to Japan.

Kirsty and Abby

Then W & H won't know what's hit them – the empty nest syndrome. However, before she left for the Land of the Rising Sun, we managed an evening out where we all went to a seaside park and ate fish and chips. If the weather had been a bit warmer it would have been very pleasant, however with the chill factor demanding fleeces all round, we only had time for a brief photo call before retreating back to the house.

After Fish and Chips - blooming freezing!

With the house being a bit on the empty side, Helen had decided to re-decorate a bedroom for Jenny for when she returns next year. Sandra and I waded in and spent a few days scraping, filling, sanding, under-coating, re-under-coating, re-sanding, top-coating etc.

Painting walls - just like being at home!

 It was difficult for three people to work together in a relatively small space particularly when they include two forewomen and one labourer – the latter being the person who inevitably “did it wrong”. However, job well done, and the room was looking good before we left.

Our trip to Brisbane would not have been complete without visiting Paul and Pam who live just a few minutes away from W & H. Paul is my second, or perhaps even third, cousin and is notably for looking amazingly like my late father – the Douglas genes will out, warts and all!! It was really annoying to hear that his two daughters, Kate and Emily, were on a whistle-stop tour of what appears to be The World and had recently spent a few days in Edinburgh where of course we were unable to offer them a bed for the night.



Paul, me and David ; Pam and Sandra

 Their son David, a traditional Douglas name, has yet to make the trip and hopefully, if he does, he will pick a time when we are at home. Like nephew Calum he is a good rugby player, but touch rugby which is a much bigger sport in Australia than the UK, he has plays for Queensland and hopes to be in the Australian team playing New Zealand in the near future.

After a week Chez Tait it was time to be on our way again. I have just about given up trying to plan a route as inevitably we never get to where we planned. The general idea was to head west and do a big loop round before arriving in Sydney in about a weeks time. Setting off due south we passed through Beaudesert, then headed west through Boonah onto the Cunningham Highway and arrived in the substantial town (pop 12,500) of Warwick before looking for somewhere to spend the night. About 20k out of town is the Leslie Dam where we put up the tent at the Washpool campsite right on the shores of the lake and surrounded by the inevitable mob of kangaroos. With hammock slung up between a couple of trees it was too pleasant a spot to leave in a hurry so we spent another day there.

It's a hard life

On packing up the next day – disaster – we broke one of the angle joints on the tent. It was a surprise that they had lasted as well as they had, but annoying that they had broken only a week or so before the end of the trip – c'est la vie. For some reason we decided not to go west but to head back towards the coast – I have a suspicion that Sandra has identified a craft shop she wants to visit. We initially aimed for the small country town of Killarney where we noticed a signpost for a tourist drive to Queen Mary's Fall and we were off again into the unplanned.

Queen Mary's Falls

A very scenic drive took us past Daggs Falls and onto Queen Mary's Falls. The falls themselves were pretty spectacular but so was the wildlife – with our first sighting this trip of a Koala in the wild. But it was the birdlife which really excelled with Sandra heading off with her camera looking for fairy wrens whilst being surrounded by multi-coloured parrotty things one of which had the temerity to land on her head.

We were heading for Kyogle – but we never got there. Stopping for a picnic lunch at a fly speck on the map called Wiangaree we noticed a track going into the Border Ranges National Park and thus ended up at Lynch's Creek. This is the site of a school which closed down half a century ago. The school, which once had 40 pupils in a single classroom most of whom rode to school by horse, is still standing and it is possible to camp in the school grounds.

Lynch;s Creek School - where we camped

These are grassy, flat with plenty of shade and toilet facilities which I doubt have been upgraded since the school closed. Sandra has read somewhere about a particularly poisonous spider which, allegedly, lurks under the seat of these old-fashioned “thunder box” toilets - and can jump - so has declined to make use of them, disappearing into the woods when nature calls.

Spiders - what Spiders?

First up was a running repair on the broken tent – it's amazing what you can do with duct tape. We got the tent up just in time as the sky suddenly darkened, lightning flashed, thunder rolled and the heavens opened. Rain would have been bad enough but within seconds the ground was white as hailstones the size of marbles lashed down. Luckily for Sandra she was in the tent but, on a brief excursion to batten down the hatches, the top of my head took the brunt of hailstones bigger than golf balls – OK slight exaggeration, but look at the photo.

It's now the following morning, the storm is over, the sun is shining and we have decided to stay another day.

Canondale National Park, the Glass House Mountains, Brisbane and Referendum Result

Well it was a long time coming, over two years, and now it's over – the Referendum on Scottish Independence. As the date for voting approached the Yes campaign seemed to be gathering momentum and a vote to break away from the rest of the UK somehow seemed to be within the realms of possibility – this led to unexpected behaviour from Sandra. As we passed through each small country town in rural Australia she visited the local estate agents to look at the price of houses muttering threats of emigration should a Yes vote be declared and asking “Do you think Australia would have us”. Now, with common-sense winning the day by what was a pretty comfortable margin, Australia can breath easy – we will be returning home.

One advantage we had being in Australia was being able to watch live BBC coverage of the results coming in at a civilised time of day rather than having to stay up all night.

Before arriving to stay with Willie and Helen just outside Brisbane we spent a few days meandering south from our last campsite in Wongi National Park. Heading first to the coast we passed the military training area at the curiously named Tin Can Bay and ended up at glorious Rainbow Beach where my attention was split between watching hang gliders and suntanned girls in bikinis.

Sandra on Rainbow Beach

After a picnic lunch we drove on through Gympie and Kenilworth and eventually rolled into Conondale National Park where we set up camp on the banks of Booloumba Creek. As was so often the case we were not alone with maurauding Brush Turkeys, Goannas and predatory Kookaburras being much in evidence.



Campsite at Booloumba Creek

One of our camp neighbours

We walked to a waterhole which looked an attractive proposition for a quick skinny dip (we hadn't brought our costumes with us) However the sudden arrival of a big crocodile soon put paid to that idea. Some people would point out that this was not crocodile country and we must have been imagining things – however it was real and large.

Swimming hole - before crocodile appeared

Okay, it maybe wasn't a Saltwater Crocodile or even a Freshie – but when a long crocodile of kids, with a teacher at either end, troops over the horizon on a Duke of Edinburgh Award outing and makes straight for your waterhole for a swim – all thoughts of dipping, skinny or otherwise, go out of the window!

Back at camp Sandra was patiently waiting for birds to photograph when a Kookaburra swooped down, snatched up a lizard and perched on a nearby tree with the wriggling reptile in its beak.

Kookaburra with dinner in beak

A second Kookaburra then arrived spoiling for a fight, or at least a share of the still wriggling dinner. Whilst K1 hung on grimly, K2 grabbed the lizard by the head and let go of the branch with its feet and hung suspended - with K1 having to cope with the combined deadweight of both the lizard and K2 and all the time posing for a photograph.

 

Kookaburra 1 holding on as K2 grips lizard's head and hangs down

The David Attenburgh moments continued when we noticed a large tail sticking out of a termite mound at the top of a dead tree stump. It was a goanna going head first into the mound. We weren't sure if it was feasting on the inhabitants or was digging out a nest for its own use.

Eating termites or making a nest?

Anyway, enough of nature.

After three nights by the creek we packed up and made for Brisbane via the Glass House Mountains.

Glass House Mountains

A Glass House Mountain

These strange volcanic plugs emerge from flat coastal plains and were named by Captain Cook who thought they looked like the glass furnaces back in his native Yorkshire. We weren't in a particular hurry which was just as well as Sandra had a bit of an off day with her navigation. A 125k circumnavigation of the mountains was quite acceptable, however a second almost complete circumnavigation via Lakes Somerset and Wivenhoe, was probably unnecessary - the Satnav was switched back on but we didn’t arrive in Ormiston outside Brisbane until after dark

Lake Somerset - during second circumnavigation of the Glass House Mountains

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From "The Limit" to Wongi via Cracow

From what I recall of the previous evening, when good wines were being demolished as if they were going out of fashion, John and Libby were excellent hosts and it was hangovers all round the following morning then, after breakfast, it was off to see the sights. They live on a farm surrounded by hills and fabulous views in every direction – a rural idyll, and yet, within a very short distance, lies the town of Gladstone which we missed out on during our last visit – smart move in retrospect. Whilst I realise we need heavy industry, Gladstone seems to have cornered the market in this part of the world – a smelter, a power station, three gas plants with attendant pipelines, coal exporting facilities, the cement works – the list goes on. Perhaps not the most attractive of towns and, when the wind blows, a film of coal dust carries for many miles.

Us with our hosts John and Libby

When we were here four years ago John and Libby's son Michael and his wife Shannon, who live next door on the farm, had just produced a grandchild. In the intervening years they had been very busy and now John and Libby have three grandsons on the premises – Archer, Nathan and Zander.

 

With grandchildren - Archer, Nathan and Zander

 

The eldest, Archer, has just started kindergarten, is particularly gregarious and already knows more about farming and stockmanship than I ever will. One evening he marched me up to the top of the hill to show me the views of his farm and to look at the sunset whilst he informed me he was very lucky – an opinion which I for one could not contradict.

Archer holding court - King of all he surveyed!

After a slightly less subdued evening of food and drink we took to the road again the next morning to see yet more of the sights that somehow fall below the tourist radar – including the salt factory and dock facilities at Port Alma. Sights not to be missed and indeed interesting in their own surreal way - particularly the armed police and military presence that accompanies shipments of explosives to foreign places. This was all topped off nicely with a trip to a local roadhouse for a few beers and some excellent fish and chips.

After three nights at “The Limit” (the rather unusual name of the farm) it was time to get on the road again. John gave us his recommended route for travelling south – directions which we completely ignored or forgot as the road rolled out ahead of us in its usual willy-nilly way. Passing through Biloela and the small town of Banana, we found ourselves visiting an open cut coal mine the name of which neither of us can remember other than it was near another small town called Theodore.

Coal mine near Theodore

 As darkness started to fall we rolled into Isla Gorge National Park and found ourselves the only campers on the premises – which suited us just fine.

At Isla Gorge

The following morning we did a ridge walk to view the gorge then got on our way again. Before leaving for our walk a caravan arrived and duly set up for the day and the owners approached us complaining about the Queensland National Park booking system which I too have complained about even more vociferously. However, this is more forgiving country and access both internet and telephone is much easier than up north and we have been paying our dues like dutiful citizens – therefore it bugs me when we have paid and other cheapskates are intent on cheating the system. Having complained about the system they then feigned ignorance of how to book, we told them, saying that we had booked on line. I then developed a small white lie and said that the booking website indicated that the site was fully booked for that night. When we returned from our walk they had re-packed their caravan and buggered off – Sandra said I had scared them off – Good!

A cracking pub - the Hotel Cracow

We back tracked to Theodore then arrived in the small and very interesting town of Cracow – yes there is a Polish connection (different spelling) but I'm not quite sure what it is. Cracow, where John and Libby used to have a farm, is a goldmining town which over the last century has seen its ups and downs. Although the goldmine has fairly recently re-opened I would say that the town itself is definitely going through a “down” period with the main exception being the amazing Cracow Hotel. Not only in good structural nick, the inside of the bar is stuffed with a wide range of what I would call “outback paraphernalia” - and it all appears to be genuine. However even here there was a Scottish connection with a photograph of a “C U Jimmy” hat – if only Danny Mackay had been able to collect royalties on the hat he would have been a millionaire! (Jon, make sure Danny sees this)

The Scot's influence is everywhere - C U Jimmy!

Apart from the hotel the town is almost derelict apart from an interesting visitor centre mainly focussed on mining and of course paid for by the current mining company.

 

Monument at visitor centre - three types shotblasting

 

Most of the houses, mainly wood and corrugated iron, are falling down but amazingly many still have people living in them. Perhaps most poignant was the row of wooden shops in what was probably the main shopping street in another era – all boarded up and falling down. Sandra was most taken by one whose peeling painted sign identified it as the “Frock Shop” whilst another, signed as the Bank of New South Wales, still had a wooden hitching rail for horses at the front.

The shopping precinct

The Billiard Saloon

The Bank - note the wooden hitching rail for horses

Dragging ourselves away from the pub after a couple of beers – served by a girl from Ireland – we ended up camping for a one-nighter near the banks of the Burnett River a few kilometres from the town of Eidsvold which is no doubt famous for something but we didn't find out what. The following day we passed through Mundubbera, Gayndah, Biggenden and finally Maryborough before setting up camp at Wongi Waterhole. Thankfully we seem to have outrun the Grey Nomads and Caravan Brigade and Wongi is very peaceful – an idyllic spot with a quiet stretch of water flanked by paperbark gums and lots of birds.

Wongi Waterhole - view from our campsite

Our intention was to visit Fraser Island, the world's largest sand island, which lies a few kilometres off shore – but somehow I don't think that this will materialise. We visited two local towns, Maryborough with its traditional Queenslander houses and Hervey Bay, a seaside town with its traditional fish and chip shops and kiss-me-quick hats.

Our intention is now to work our way south to Brisbane where will be staying for a few days with old friends Willie and Helen Tait. We have of course tried to stay with them for a few days several times in the past and have failed miserably – it's impossible to stay for just a few days, their hospitality is such we have never managed to get away in less than a week! We are likely to be Chez Tait when the result of the Referendum on Scottish Independence is announced. I only hope that the Scottish people vote a resounding “No” (or even a close “No”) - we don't want the lunatics taking over the asylum. Yes, we do have a vote on the most important decision to have been taken in Scotland for over 300 years – our son Jon will be casting our votes by proxy next Thursday.

My next posting to the blog will probably be after the Referendum – depending on the result we my be claiming political asylum in Australia – but would they have us?!

A Bush Poet, Giant Sunflowers and a Hangover

Despite being full of caravans and the dreaded Grey Nomads, Theresa Creek Dam campsite was actually a very pleasant place to spend a few days with wonderful open views across the lake.

 

Theresa Creek Dam

 

 Sandra spent hours with the binoculars (which we have now lost) and camera - spotting and photographing birds. I in the meanwhile was being attacked by some of these self-same birds – especially some green and red parroty things which for some reason seemed particularly interested in pecking at my head.

Parroty thing that kept pecking at my head

About 150 years ago this area was hit by yet another Scotsman on the make. Called Maclaren, he took possession of a large tract of land and, presumably in memory of home, named it Blair Athol. When copper was found, a town quickly materialised – imaginatively called Copperfield, it was soon home to several thousand people. All that is left now is the chimney of the smelter and one of the town stores which had been restored, turned into a museum but even this second lease of life has come to an end and it is now falling back into disrepair. It was whilst Sandra and I were looking at the sad remains that we came across Bernie Bettridge.

Copperfield Smelter Chimney

 

Bernie is an 85 year old local historian, raconteur, bush poet and ex-miner who suddenly materialised and brought us up to date with the Blair Athol story in which he played a small part. The copper mining was short lived but then coal was discovered and the Blair Athol coal mine was established and operated until 2012 when it closed and brought to an end over 100 years of mining in the area. Bernie just happened to have in the back of his car a scrapbook giving the history of BA as he called it, plus a photo album covering his life as a mineworker in the area. He sat Sandra and I down on the wooden step of the old store and gave us his history and the history of the mine.

 

Sandra and Bernie Bettridge - Bush Poet

Being a bit of a bush poet he just happened to have written a book of poems and reminiscences of BA and, yes you've guessed it, he just happened to have some copies of his book in the car – a “steal” at only $15. Yes, we bought one and he was delighted when we told him when we returned to Scotland we would take the book with us on our first journey north through the original Blair Atholl – albeit with a double “l” at the end.

A final story from Bernie, told with photographic evidence. After the terrible flood of 1916 one of the hotels in nearby Clermont was moved to higher ground. It was not dismantled then rebuilt on the new site – it was lifted onto logs which were used as rollers and pulled to the new site. This process was slow going and took several weeks. However, the most amazing part of the story was that the hotel remained open during the whole process. Guests were accommodated and fed and the bar stayed open - we were shown photographs of guests standing on the verandas as the hotel was re-located. No health and safety in those days – only in Australia.

Leaving Clermont we headed south to the gem fields passing through towns whose names gave away what they were famous for – Rubyvale, Sapphire and Emerald – but we passed on the invitation to spend a day fossicking in the area. As mentioned in my previous posting, many small Australian towns promote themselves as having the “biggest” or “longest” of “something” in the world – and Emerald was no different. This time it was the “Tallest painting held up by an easel in the world”!! A 25 metre high easel supporting a painting of Van Gogh's “Sunflowers” towered over the Tourist Information Centre. Apparently they grow sunflowers in the area.

Emerald - the biggest easel held painting in the world

Then it was off to the Blackdown Tableland National Park for a couple of nights.

This area, perched high on a steep escarpment, was only opened up in 1971 when a road was created to extract timber. Prior to that access was only possible by horse. As we climbed up the tortuous road the temperature started to drop and by the time we reached the top we had lost seven degrees – extra blankets were going to be needed for the next few nights. The campsite was good, the park interesting with some good walks and fantastic views down the escarpment – it would also be a good setting for a remake of Alfred Hitchcock's masterpiece “The Birds”. With the slightest sniff of food we were besieged by crows, magpies and the evil looking currongs. A few days earlier a woman had been attacked by a small flock of these large birds and had been left nursing a bleeding face. Cooking and food preparation were taken nearer to the tent and, at meal times, I was on constant watch armed with a wooden spoon.

"Officers Pocket" Lookout at Blackdown National Park

After the rigours of camping and thwarting the wildlife we are now living in the lap of luxury and sleeping in a comfortable double bed with clean sheets – small things in everyday life but, when you haven't had them for a while, it's nice to have them again. Mind you I don't think that we fully appreciated them last night as we both went to bed in an alcoholic haze. We are staying with John and Libby Peart on their cattle farm between Gladstone and Rockhampton. They are friends of my cousin Jean in Canada and we stayed with them on our last trip round Australia. Forsaking our usual tipple of cheap red wine in a cask we splashed out on TWO good bottles of red and a good bottle of fizz – reasonable value for a bed for the night. Not to be outdone John trumped me by producing a bottle of fizz and THREE bottles of exceptionally good red – part of his Fathers Day stash. This, coupled with cans of XXXX Bitter resulted in hangovers all round the next day.

Museums, Stockmen, Roadkill and The Tree of Knowledge

Well we did set off to Winton to “do” the Dinosaur Trail and discover everything there was to know about “Waltzing Matilda” but as so often happens we did neither. The Dinosaur Trail involved a 200k plus trip on dirt roads and there is just so much one needs to know about Waltzing Matilda. The latter was written in 1895 by “Banjo” Paterson when he was staying in the area and was first performed at the North Gregory Hotel which still stands over the road from Banjo's statue - erected by the grateful citizens of Winton and now welcomes tourists to the “Waltzing Matilda Centre”.

"Banjo" Paterson - author of "Waltzing Matilda"

After a brief trip into town we decided to spend the day exploring the Bladensburg National Park where we were camping at Bough Hole – a rather muddy waterhole on an otherwise dried up creek. The old homestead and attendant buildings still stand today and now incorporate an office for the park ranger.

Old Bladensburg Homestead

This is pretty bleak, dry country as the view from the homestead will confirm and we set off on a 4WD track to take in the sights including Scraggy's Gorge, Scraggy's Waterhole and Scraggy's Viewpoint.

View from the old homestead

 The Scraggy in question lived a solitary life over 100 years ago mending fences and whose only human contact was a hand from the homestead who, every couple of months, would deliver supplies. With no communication it was several months before anyone realised that Scraggy was actually dead – still, in his memory, he had a number of natural features were called after him, so he left something for posterity – which is probably more than I'll manage – so good for Scraggy.

Dinner is served at our Bough Hole camp

Next port of call was Longreach particularly to visit the famous Stockmans Hall of Fame – a very impressive building and museum opened by The Queen in 1988 and, I suspect, subsequently upgraded to its current very high standard. Whilst obviously covering the role played by the Australian stockmen in the opening up of Australia it also covers a full spectrum of Australian history from prehistoric times, Aboriginal history, the period of white settlement and exploration through to more modern times. It has an exceptionally good section on the History of the Flying Doctor Service with a range of interactive displays including a replica of the inside of one of the aircraft.

Stockman's Hall of Fame, Longreach. Excellent museum

Trainee Flying Doctor

 

We decided not to spend the night at Longreach but moved on a short distance to the small but apparently interesting town of Ilfracombe full of exciting things to do such as visit Machinery Mile, a mile long collection of machinery displayed along the main street, or visit Hilton's Bottle Display to see a collection of around 30,000 bottles. We did neither - but did manage a very welcome trip to the town's mineral spa to luxuriate in hot artesian water, pumped from the bowels of the earth, and which fell as rain over a million years ago – fantastic after a long hot day. Ilfracombe was also the place where the first delivery of mail by motor vehicle anywhere in Australia took place in about 1908.

Hot artesian spa - very welcoming

 

After getting Sandra settled down for the night in our tent I went to the nearby Wellshot Hotel (good name for a pub) for a nightcap and found myself being served by a very pleasant young girl from Inverness who was on a working holiday in Australia. We spoke of people, places and pubs – she had been to The Gellions but preferred Johnny Fox's round the corner – as they say, it's a small world.

The road from Ilfracombe to Barcaldine was notable for that well known Australian phenomenon “roadkill”. Travel on most rural roads in Australia and you will see the odd kangaroo or other beastie lying dead at the roadside after unwisely tangling with a road train – but the roadside carnage facing us yesterday morning was incredible.

 

Potential Roadkill

"Gotcha!" (NB No animal was hurt during the making of this blog)

 

 So much so I decided to count the corpses - setting my trip recorder to zero I counted the bodies over a 10k period. At times they came so thick and fast I missed many but still, after 10k had recorded 313 dead animals – over 30 per kilometre or approximately 3 every 100 metres. These were mainly kangaroos with the odd feral pig thrown in. Some of these were big beasts, perhaps the size of a sheep, and would present a real road hazard and at times I felt that I should be a good citizen and drag the corpses to the verge to prevent further accidents. However there was no need as I shortly discovered what must surely be one of the world's most obscure occupations – a Roo Tosser! Presumably employed by the local council the Roo Tosser carries out morning patrols after the carnage of the night – armed with a Toyota ute and a long pointed stick he stops at each dead kangaroo, spears it with his stick, then tosses it off the road. If only “What's My Line” was still running on TV this would have been a stumper for the panel (This is for older readers only!)

Reaching the very pleasant little town of Barcaldine we had a brief re-provision and then discovered “The Tree of Knowledge”. Each of these small Australian towns seems to aspire to have something which sets them apart from the rest of Australia and Barcaldine is no different – it is effectively the birthplace of the Australian Labor (sic) Party. Back in the 1890's the sheep shearers were in dispute over wages and conditions – a number of strikes were called which were ruthlessly put down and many strikers imprisoned. In 1891, under the shade of a tree standing outside Barcaldine railway station, a meeting was held which led to the formation of an organisation which eventually became the Australian Labor (sic) Party.

Barcaldine "Tree of Knowledge"

The tree itself has now died but the remains have been preserved for posterity and are exhibited outside the railway station along with a monument to the imprisoned strikers. The tree and monument are covered by what initially looks like a great, square wooden monstrosity until, on closer inspection, it is revealed as an enormous wind chime. Hundreds of large slabs of wood, shaped to resemble sheep shears, hang down and chime as they catch any passing puff of wind – most unusual.

We were heading to camp at Theresa Dam near the small town of Clermont 272k away by sealed roads, but a mere 178k if we took a dirt track. We passed through Jericho – a small town built on Jordan Creek south of Lake Galilee – with its claim to fame being home to the world's only “Crystal Trumpeters” commemorating the Israelites demolishing the walls of Jericho – Australia never ceases to amaze!

Half way along our dirt road we realised that horse-riding stockmen, although perhaps a dying breed, were not yet consigned to museums. A mob of cattle suddenly appeared on the trail before us being driven by five stockmen. When one of the beasts made a bid for freedom it was quickly ridden down and put back in line by one of the horsemen.

Stockmen driving stock

The photo, through the windscreen, didn't do justice to the occasion. Mind you we could have done with the services of a stockman a few kilometres further on when a rather belligerent beast blocked the road and didn't seem inclined to give way to passing traffic.

Where's a stockman when you need one?

Arriving in Clermont we found the Dam was about 25k away. Somehow we assumed that this was going to be a quiet campsite rather like a National Park and, like the NP's, very cheap at only $10 per night – we should have known better. As we came over the final crest we were confronted by a sea of white – caravans, and lots of them. This was Grey Nomad country in Spades. Resisting the urge to turn tail and flee we pressed on and eventually were heartened to find an excellent, reasonably flat, shady area overlooking the lake completely devoid of the dreaded caravans. I suspect the sign stating “No Caravan Parking” helped, so as the only tenters, we are alone in a sea of caravanners.