Boy Scouts and Kangaroos at Burrinjuck to Canberra in the Rain

Burrinjuck State Park is beautiful and our campsite at Carrolls Creek, overlooking the lake near Burrinjuck Dam, was perfect. With only one other lot of campers there, who left the next morning, we were again in splendid isolation - except for the kangaroos and parrots. I still can’t figure out how the Joey, at least half the size of the mother, can fit into the pouch. However our isolation was not to last for long. This park and the lake are used by the boating fraternity and during the next day our idyllic spot gradually started to fill up with tents and boats. Water skiing and general power-boating activities, along with the usual fishing, were the order of the day and a build-up of high octane motors made the place increasingly less attractive.

As evening fell however things took a turn for the worse as twenty-two boy scouts plus scout leaders and assorted parents rolled onto the scene. With a roar of engines, unloading of boats, the hammering of tent pegs as their camp was established plus the bellowing of orders from all quarters it sounded like a re-enactment of the D-Day Landings. Our peace was shattered and we thought it might be time to move on. The final clincher came the next morning when Sandra was told by one of the scout leaders that this was merely an advance party and a further group of thirty cub scouts along with Akelas and parents was expected later in the day – time to exit!

We were within easy striking distance of Canberra so, after a brief stop in Yass, we headed into the city to look for a camp ground. The first one at the Exhibition Centre was just a windswept field made even less attractive, in the olfactory sense, by the horse show which was taking place at the Centre – so we ended up at the Canberra Motor Park. Things started badly when I took a dislike to the very officious and rather stroppy young lady at reception. However it was not just me as later on I had to kick Sandra as she was about to unleash one of her verbal torpedoes on the subject of customer relations – relations were bad enough already without adding more fuel.

The Motor Park was a soul-less array of carbon copy cabins crammed together in serried ranks with a small, unattractive area for tent camping – we know now why we prefer bush or National Park camping. As we were about to pitch the tent Sandra noticed a small drainage ditch and suggested we move the tent away from it by a couple of feet. As we have not had any rain for almost two weeks and the weather was beautiful I thought this was probably unnecessary but, to humour her, did as she suggested. Sandra must have a sixth sense about these things as, at three in the morning, the rain started – and it didn’t stop.

At 8.30 am we packed up in a downpour and left.

Readers of this blog will know that rain has followed us round Australia and that any complaints from us have branded us as “whinging poms”. The stock answer from the natives to our whinging has been “The farmers need the rain” therefore it gives me some pleasure to note on the front page of The Canberra Times” that the whinging is now on the other foot with the headline “Too much rain threatens harvests”. Even the farmers are getting fed up of the rain.

We are in Canberra for Sandra to visit a craft fair in the Old Bus Depot and I have left her to it and I am writing this in the car as I shelter from the rain. Our impressions of Canberra are, perhaps not surprisingly, less than positive. The centre piece of the city is a lake which I am looking out over and I’m sure if I could see through the rain and could catch a glimpse of the other side it might actually appear attractive. I have been on the internet for a weather forecast to see where we could go to avoid the rain – but there is nowhere. I think we could end up back in Sydney a few days earlier than expected – at least it might be dry in a house.

From sunny Cape Conran to The Snowy Mountains and a Muscle-bound Kangaroo

Cape Conran, in the far south-east of Australia, and at last some decent weather. We camped in a shady spot set back about 150m from an excellent beach providing a combination of sweeping sands and rocky inlets with walks in both directions – we didn’t move for 3 days. After Sandra doing a final stock take for the markets in Sydney we did the typical beach thing – beach walking, rock-clambering and setting up chairs under the umbrella, reading books and getting sunburnt – this was the life! Apparently during the summer school holidays this area gets quite crowded, however being a little out of season we had the place almost to ourselves with very few other campers and hardly any day trippers.

Night time saw the return of The Possums. Absent for most of our trip round Australia we had become a bit slack about locking food and scraps away before going to bed. In the wee small hours I heard a noise and upon investigation found a large possum sitting on one of our tables calmly gnawing away on a banana – and, bold as brass, refusing to move when asked. By the time I dug out the camera mum, and baby, had climbed up a nearby tree to pose for photographs. Food has been put away at night ever since.

We also caught a glimpse of another creature which had so far eluded us on our travel – the echidna. However wombats in the wild are still proving elusive except of course for the roadkills.

With food running low, along with a shortage of beer and wine, we were eventually forced to get on our way. Passing through the village of Marlo we stopped at the pleasant little country town of Orbost to get fuel and provisions – and of course for Sandra to visit the town’s two craft shops. Heading north back towards New South Wales the distances between places are much less than in the vast emptiness of Western Australia and after a mere 150k of narrow, winding roads we found ourselves at the Delegate River which marks the boundary between Victoria and New South Wales. Despite the road going over the river across a fairly dodgy looking bridge with wooden supports we decided to do it the old fashioned way and forded the river – we felt we were sneaking into NSW by the back door.

Next port of call – the Snowy Mountains. Let’s hope they don’t live up to their name!

Passing through Bombala and Cooma we found ourselves fairly late in the day at Jindabyne, a lakeside resort town, and the gateway to the south part of the national park. At the beginning of our trip heading north from Sydney we bought an annual pass for the NSW National Parks which we thought would save us money in the long term. Much of the Snowy Mountain Range, including Australia’s highest mountain Mt Kosciuszko, are found within one of Australia’s premier national parks – the Kosciuszko National Park. Arriving at the park pay station we confidently flourished our rather worn looking pass only to be informed we had the wrong kind of pass. Our New South Wales Multi Parks Pass covered all national parks – except this one. We had to pay $16 to get in.

A warning to potential travellers visiting parks around Australia – it is very confusing. There are National (which aren’t really “national”) Parks, State Parks, Commonwealth Parks, State Forests Parks and all manner of Reserves and other oddities. Some allow you free entry but you have to pay to camp; some offer you free camping but you have to pay to enter; for some you have to pay to enter AND pay to camp. Some appear to offer free entry AND free camping – although I suspect we just missed the pay point. Most States offer a variety of passes, the small print on which clearly states the various rules and regulations and exceptions to the rules and regulations. None of the passes are multi-state passes so when you cross a state border you have to start all over again. A multi-state Parks and Camping Pass would be very convenient. End of Rant!

Anyway we paid our $16 after a slight rant with the parks officer who in retort to Sandra saying when you visit Scotland at least the NP are free, responded I know I’ve visited but the weather is better here which led on to my Australian weather rant and set up camp at a beautiful spot called Island Bend.

Our campsite came with its own mob of kangaroos. With wine glass in hand I was strolling around admiring the views when I felt I was being watched. Turning around I was confronted by the biggest kangaroo I had ever seen - if he had reared up on his hind legs I would have had to look up to stare him in the face. Surrounded by his harum I suppose he was only being protective as he glared at me with a malevolent eye. Stopping only long enough to get their photo taken they ambled off into the bush.

The Snowy Mountains (still with snow on them) are fabulous and were the site of one of the most ambitious engineering projects of all time – to divert the flow of water from the mountains inland to provide both power and irrigation. Starting in 1949 and taking 25 years to complete over 100,000 workers from 30 countries diverted 5 rivers and constructed 16 major dams, 7 power stations, a pumping station and 145k of inter-connected tunnels. In addition there are several large ski resorts including the well named Perisher Valley.

Setting off over the mountains we came across a hut. Readers of this blog will know that Sandra and I have become quite partial to living in huts – it saves having to put the tent up! However, with the mountain winds blowing and local insects looking for blood, we decided to give it a miss and look for somewhere at a lower altitude to spend the night – and so here we are at Yarrangobilly.

Still within the Kosciuszko National Park but in the northern section, we came across a grassy site beside a fast flowing stream and some nice, big shady trees.. We set up camp last night in what appeared to be idyllic surroundings and the problems didn’t start until later. Of course it could have been my cooking to blame as gradually the vague, insect-like hum built up to an intense buzzing crescendo. As I stirred the cheese sauce (Sandra had had a fraught day negotiating mountain hairpin bends from the passenger seat - cauliflower and cheese calms her down) I thought we had disturbed a nest of feral bees but no- they were giant flies. Horseflies, march flies, clegs or just enormous bluebottles – I don’t know what they were. We ended up having to eat dinner zipped up in the insect proof Oztent whilst flies swarmed outside and blanketed the remains of the cheese sauce still in the pot – we didn’t bother with second helpings!

If we wanted snow we could have stayed in Scotland!

We have been cold, we have had wind and we have had rain …… surely things couldn’t get any worse? At least that is what we hoped. However a glance at the first photo tells a different story. Yes that is a snowball Sandra is making and the old dustbin lid improvised as a toboggan.

After three glorious days at Mt Samaria my navigator decided that we should “do” The Great Alpine Road. After breakfast and a trip to a craft shop in Mansfield we set off north through the King Valley area and picked up the GAR at Myrtleford. We were no sooner on the road when the navigator decided that Mount Buffalo seemed a likely port of call so we set off from the picturesque little village of Porepunkah on what was to be over 30k of climbing, twisting roads the last stretch of which was a dirt track – but it was worth it. The countryside was magnificent and the views were staggering. A series of waterfalls, including the very attractive Ladies Bath Falls, cascaded down the mountainside. This is where gentle womenfolk would take refuge from the summer heat and bathe in the cool mountain water. Despite my promising not to take any compromising photos Sandra was not impressed with my suggestion that she did likewise!

Knowing how cold the nights can be at even reasonable altitudes we were reluctant to camp overnight in the mountains and, on descending Mt Buffalo, we were faced with either an early stop on the north side of The Great Dividing Range or to press on. Unusually for us we decided to stop – a good choice as otherwise I would not have found the Bright Brewery.

The neat wee town of Bright is unashamedly a tourist town offering a wide range of outdoor activities including skiing, snow boarding, mountain biking, paragliding, hill walking etc. etc. With no bush camping available in the area and with the Dirty Washing Bag full to overflowing we checked into one of the several commercial campsites in the town. Our site was pretty idyllic with a grassy surface for the tent, the river literally feet away, three ducks looking for company and a launderette for Sandra to get the washing up to date - what more could a man ask for? Well how about a brewery.

Apart from the weather, Australia’s other problem is the beer – served icy cold most of the commercial brands hit the spot on a hot day but after a few there is something lacking – and that is taste. To fill this void in the market a growing number of small, independent breweries are starting to produce hand-crafted beers which actually tastes of beer. The Bright Brewery was established a few years ago by a couple of guys who initially came for the skiing, started a homebrew club and then decided to start brewing commercially. They produce seven beers – Bright Lager, Hellfire Amber Ale (that's what I'm holding in the photo) Blowhard Pale Ale, Razor Witbier, Staircase Porter, Fainters Dubbel (a Belgian style ale at 8.5%) and a Stout. After a personal tour of the brewery with Tim I was able to try all seven – and very good they were as well (apart from the Witbier!) To allow for my alcoholic indulgence, or at least for it to wear off, we had to stay in Bright for an extra day.

Then we were ready to tackle the mountains.

Over the past few weeks Sandra and I have taken particular interest in the weather forecast for Victoria and one place that has stood out above all others as somewhere to avoid – the ironically named Mt. Hotham. When most of Victoria was basking in the low 20’s Mt Hotham never made it into the 20’s and at night even recorded a temperature of –1C. The road to Mt Hotham was long and inextricably upwards with spectacular views over the Victorian Alps – and the remains of the winter snowfields where we, briefly, frolicked in the snow.

A quick descent from the snowy wastes and we decided to give the coast another try. Driving south past Omeo, Bruthen then on to Orbost along the Princes Highway we have ended up at the Cape Conran Coastal Park on a shady campsite just a few yards from the beach. We will probably stay here for a couple of days then on to who knows where?

Finally a few titbits from the “Isn’t it a small world” file.

1. The barman in the Bright Brewery recognised my accent and announced that he too was from Scotland and came from a place I had probably never heard of called Inverurie. Mentioning that I knew Inverurie quite well he said he actually came from the small village of Insch!

2. Stopping at the tourist information office in Orbost to get a map of the area and ask about camping the man in the office, again recognising the accent, asked where we were from. We usually answer Edinburgh to this question to which he replied “You don’t happen to know Dalkeith by any chance – that’s where my wife is from”

3. Sandra bought an ornament in a shop in Bright and was staggered to find that it was imported, not from China like almost everything else in Australia, but from Peebles just down the road from where we live in Scotland!

PS Thanks to those who posted a comment - it does seem the software was working properly - it was just those lazy people out there not bothering to communicate!!!!

From Wet Misery at Kurth Kiln to Glorious Mount Samaria

After two nights and days sheltering from the rain in the sodden forests of Kurth Kiln we decided to make a run for it. Having got an internet connection in the small, attractive (well it would have been if the sun was shining) village of Gembrook, I got a weather forecast. A band of wet and stormy weather stretched from Darwin right down through Australia to Victoria – which was getting the worst of it and of course where we were camped. This band of weather was moving eastwards, we wouldn’t be able to outrun it so we decided to sneak in behind it as it moved towards the coast. We packed up in the wet and fled towards dry weather not unhappy to leave our Kurth Kiln campsite behind us (see first photo)

Kurth Kiln however had an interesting history – the Kiln in question was named after Professor Kurth who, in the early 1940’s during wartime petrol rationing, developed a process that could make cars run on charcoal (I jest not) A large charcoal burner, weighing up to 200kg, was attached to the back of a car (see photo) When charcoal was burned it produced carbon monoxide which, when cooled, filtered then mixed with air would explode thus running the internal combustion engine. The car was started on petrol then switched to charcoal. Kurth Kiln was the site where trees from the surrounding forests were converted to charcoal for this process – the kiln has been restored and there are some rusting examples of the charcoal burning engines. Around 58,000 cars were converted in this way. One problem was knowing when to re-fuel i.e. when to tip some more charcoal into the burner. The only way to do this was to open the top of the burner and have a look, a dangerous task as, with the addition of more air, there was frequently a small explosion. It was apparently said that you could always spot the driver of one of these converted vehicles as they usually had no eyebrows or other facial hair!

Heading northwards we stopped at Healesville for brunch then aimed for the small village of Eildon in the Eildon National park. The park itself was beautiful with high mountain tracks through forests with magnificent views over the mountains and Lake Eildon – but we decided not to stay. Leaving Eildon we headed further north on the Maroondah Highway passing the Strathbogie Ranges (where Ned Kelly and his Gang were known to hide out) then stopping briefly at Bonnie Doon for a quick reality check – it really was called Bonnie Doon! And, being on the northern shores of Lake Eildon, there were even a few Banks and Braes.

By this time the miracle had occurred – the rain had stopped and the sun had emerged.

Arriving at Mount Samaria State Park near the small town of Mansfield we set about looking for somewhere to camp. Following a dirt road for a few kilometres then crossing a swollen creek, we found a likely looking track disappearing into the forest. However, after a few k, we decided the area was none too attractive and the track was starting to disappear so a U-turn was required. Bad move, or at least a bad place to do a U-y, I hadn’t noticed the big hole! There we were again with the front of the car on its axles down a hole with the rear pointing to the heavens - thank goodness for four wheel drive. Locking the hubs and engaging low ratio I eventually managed to ease us out of the hole – throughout all this Sandra kept on knitting without even dropping a stitch!

Backtracking – literally – we found an open, grassy glade at the edge of the forest beside a creek. With the sun still shining the place was idyllic and Sandra, upon whom the travelling and bad weather was taking its toll, decided this was the place to stop for a few days. So we set up a full camp including her studio tent (which doubles as a formal dining room in the evenings) and, three days later, we are still here. Sandra has been finishing off her craft stuff to sell at the Christmas markets in Sydney including two new product lines – wire bracelets and wire butterflies.

PS There have been no comments on the blog for several weeks. This of course could be that no one has bothered to get in touch - or it could be I need to do something to the software. Could someone out there please drop a comment to test the system. Thanks.

Grampian Mountains to Melbourne. Living with Ferals and Leeches.

[Sorry - trying out some new photo software and haven't cracked it! Batteriy about to go and don't have time to play around with it - so I think the photos will be at the end}

Australia – a land of false dawns and broken promises – at least as far as the weather is concerned!

The Grampian Mountains and our camp at Troopers Creek were beautiful – as was the weather, warm with blue skies and NO rain. Sandra decided to have a rest day i.e. instead of driving she spent the day in camp finishing off the wire butterflies she has been experimenting with, whilst I got happily lost driving the network of 4WD tracks that criss-crossed the mountains. The following day we explored a landscape of dramatic mountain vistas dotted with lakes and waterfalls – we could have been at home in the “real” Grampian Mountains! We then headed south again through Dunkeld, crossing the Glenelg Highway and hitting the coast at Warrnambool – the largest place we had encountered since leaving Adelaide. After re-fuelling and re-provisioning we set off one what is billed as one of the world’s great road trips – The Great Ocean Road - but first we needed a place to camp for the night.



We usually camped in the national parks but with nothing suitable along that bit of coast and wild bush camping not really available, we looked for a commercial site. The coastal scenery of The Bay of Islands Coastal Park was absolutely stunning in the late afternoon sunlight and our search for a campsite was continually hampered by yet another must see viewpoint – so it was late on in the day that we rolled into the small coastal village Peterborough. With the sun setting we sat outside the tent in the evening warmth with a glass or two of red wine – perfect. With less than a month left of our trip and our weather experiences so far being variable to wet – here was hoping that the last few weeks would be of the warm, dry, blue skies variety.



Peterborough lies on “The Shipwreck Coast” – for obvious reasons as the seas and coastline in this part of the world are treacherous and there are various plaques commemorating 19th century maritime tragedies. Interestingly many of the ships were built in Scotland and at least two of the plaques told of cargoes of alcohol being “rescued” from the waves by thirsty locals and constables being stationed on the beach to stop pilfering. The original stories upon which Compton McKenzie based “Whisky Galore” perhaps?



The next day was to be the highlights of The Great Ocean Road – natural rock formations along the coast caused by erosion including The Grotto, London Bridge, The Arch, Sentinel Rock, Loch Ard Gorge and, most famous and iconic of all, The Twelve Apostles.



Like many Australian icons including The Opera House, The Harbour Bridge, Ayres Rock, The Olgas, The Devils Marbles, Ningaloo Reef, The Flinders etc. etc. they are most frequently viewed and photographed in the sun with a backdrop of unblemished blue sky. It is only the most fortunate of tourists who manage to get photographs of these Great Australian Icons in the rain – and once again we were very fortunate and were able to add The Twelve Apostles to our long list of wet icons!



The hope of fine weather proved to be yet another false dawn and the morning skies in Peterborough were grey and blustery with a promise of rain to come – a promise kept to the full – and thus we did the Great Ocean Road wrapped in fleeces and Goretex. None-the-less the natural features of the coastal landscape were very impressive as we queued up with bus loads of Japanese/Chinese/ tourists to take our snaps. Sandra had a problem counting 12 Apostles and, amidst rumours that one of them had fallen down, I maintained they were still all there but several couldn’t be seen as they were lurking in the mist!



Sandra and I saw the Apostles separately as she marched off in the lead and assumed that I would follow. However, as I was about to follow, I was accosted in the carpark by two young(ish) girls who asked if I had a wire coathanger - a “locked-keys-in-car” scenario I thought, and so it proved. Being short of coathangers I improvised using a tent peg and an axe, managed to break into the car and, after being thanking me in the customary manner, they were on their way. I hope it actually was their car – Sandra of course didn’t believe a word of the story.



Thinking about where to camp for the night we headed inland hoping to get away from the rain - bad move. As we went up into the hills it got worse, so evening saw us back at the coast at the bottom end of the Great Otway National Park camped by the beach at Blanket Bay. A brief glimpse of late evening sun, a walk along the very attractive beach with a glass of wine and suddenly things didn’t seem too bad. It was here that Sandra had one of her biggest thrills of the trip so far – sitting outside the tent in the failing light she suddenly shrieked – a face was looking at her from a tree. Closer inspection showed it was two faces – a mother Koala and her baby, just feet away – our first Koalas in the wild.



Next morning it was cloudy and wet again, the beach didn’t seem so attractive, the Koalas had disappeared, so we packed up and left to make our way to Melbourne (although we didn’t get there)



We gave the rest of the G.O.Road a miss and, just after Apollo Bay, turned inland into the Otway Ranges and some very attractive countryside. Shortly after this I realised that once again I had been duped as, by some incredible coincidence, we found ourselves at Birregurra where there just happened to be a world famous wool producer who just happened to have a retail outlet which Sandra just happened to want to visit. However there is a God – it was Thursday, the one day of the week the shop was closed. She decided to have a look anyway and it was at this point that it was confirmed that there was a God – but he wasn’t on my side. Down a long, windy track we found the farm and, as Sandra was peering longingly through the barn window, the farmer appeared on the scene and, upon finding we were from Scotland (his wife is from Galashiels) he opened the place up specially for Sandra – who of course felt obliged to spend a small fortune on wool.



Laden down with wool we headed for Geelong (where I seem to remember Prince Charles went to school for a term or so but we missed the plaque) and had lunch in the very trendy Lambys Restaurant – part of the Wool Museum complex – wool seems to be quite prominent in this part of the world. A wander down the modern, attractive seafront development with its bigger that lifesize figures (including a sailor with a couple of floozies and some decidedly gay life guards) then north to The Brisbane Ranges National Park – a park where the Koalas are so thick on the ground you have to step over them to get to your tent – allegedly!



I am typing this next morning in the Boar Gully campsite in Brisbane Ranges NP – not a Koala in sight; the frogs have chorused all night sounding like a band of demented banjo players; the skies are grey; the wind is getting up; it has started to rain – but, as Sandra has just commented, “At least it’s not too cold” Such is life on the road in Australia.



PS Written about 12 hours later.



We spent the day in Melbourne with Sandra going round wool and thread shops in a trendy/crafty area of the city. I hung around trying not to look too bored – obviously unsuccessfully as a shop owner commented to Sandra “Is he yours?” the implication being I was scaring away paying customers. Sandra spent a small fortune on wool and other assorted nonsense, whilst I incurred a small fortune when I discovered that, although I had paid $13 for a parking ticket, I had inadvertently parked in a loading zone and got a $119 fine – $132 (about £80) down the drain - I was none too happy!



With the journey out of Melbourne during the rush hour taking the best part of two hours then getting lost in a national park looking for a campsite (and not finding one) taking us almost to sunset, things were not looking too good. Eventually finding somewhere to set up house in the Kurth Kiln State Park, we had no sooner put the tent up when there was a flash of lightning, a peal of thunder then the heavens opened and the torrents of rain were upon us. This was the last straw - after so much rain over the last few weeks (months?) I was just about ready to pack in and go home - but as Sandra said, putting on her most optimistic voice “Well at least it’s still warm - and I do like a good thunderstorm” – so I’ll probably just stick it out.

PPS Another day later.
Still raining. Holed up in a forest with a bunch of "ferals" who were digging trenches to try to keep the water out of their living accommodation. Rain let up for a bit around noon so we went for a walk in the forest. Sandra thought she was being bitten by mosquitos but when she looked down she saw he legs were covered with small slimey things - leeches! That wouldn't have been so bad but she then pointed out they were also all over me. This led to a happy 15min leech picking session before they managed to squirm anywhere more intimate!

I have been sent to look for an internet connection to firstly post this blog and, more importantly, to get a weather forecast. We will go anywhere it isn't raining - this of course may require an early exit from Australia - a country of neverending rain - at least everywhere we go. 'm not paranoid - the rain is really after us!!!!!!

 

Adelaide to Victoria and The Megafauna

Innes National Park, whilst unremarkable on the landward side, had a fabulous coastline – lots of small bays with rocky headlands sheltering small sandy beaches and all visitorless – except for us. Unfortunately neither air nor water temperature made swimming an attractive proposition – infact our swimmers haven’t seen light of day since we left Nanga – thousands of miles to the north.

Innes National Park did have one fascinating attraction – Inneston. The site of a gypsum mine in the early 20th century, Inneston went into terminal decline at the time of the Depression when the bottom fell out of the gypsum market. With many of the houses constructed from stone they have survived and some have been restored. Most of the workers houses have long gone and what remain were probably occupied by foremen and junior managers. However, perched on a hill overlooking the lower order houses, the mine workings and the lake, were The Engineers House and The Managers House from where the Innes family ruled over their domain. These were renovated 15 years ago as part of a youth training programme with the local college – both can be rented and would be excellent for a group of like minded people wanting to make a noisy week-end of it (Cue for the Kenmore Club’s visit to Australia!)

Next day – off to Adelaide.

The journey from the bottom of the Yorke Peninsula to Adelaide was uneventful although we couldn’t resist stopping at yet another “Scottish” town – this time Ardrossan which, like its Scottish namesake, is a smallish coastal town.

With not much bush camping available within the city of Adelaide we “went commercial” and set up home for three days at the Belair National Park, next to the Belair Country Club and Golf Course. It provided a green, grassy woodland site convenient for getting into the city.

Our reasons for being in Adelaide were threefold (i) to see it (ii) for me to get the car serviced and (iii) for Sandra to attend the Adelaide Craft Fair. With Sandra taxied off to her craft fair (she wouldn’t let me go with her – shame!!) and the car into a garage, I was left to wander Adelaide by myself. The central city area is very self contained being almost completely surrounded by parks and green space. The public transport system is very good and I soon found myself on the 99C – a free bus which runs in a loop around the central business district.

As with so many places in Australia the Scottish connections soon started to appear – the first of these being a very familiar statue prominently placed outside the main library (see photo). The library also housed the Don Bradman Collection for anyone interested in cricket.

Adelaide is known as “The City of Churches” – for very obvious reasons – and it was interesting to note that the “Free Church of Scotland (Presbyterian)” built in 1851 is the second oldest church remaining in the city. It is now known simply as the Scots Church and stands in very august company on the other side of North Terrace from the University, the Museum, the Library and the Casino.

My day was spoiled somewhat by a call from the garage. In addition to the service I had asked them to have a look at the air conditioning that hadn’t been working properly since my “water-skiing through mud” episode on the Oodnadatta Track. It appears that I had somehow blown a hole in the condenser which needed to be replaced – at a cost of over $800 – ouch!

Adelaide was cold. Our image of camping in Australia included being able to sit outside the tent at night having a cold beer whilst watching kangaroos cavorting in the sunset. With Sandra having taken to bed to keep warm I was left to shiver – watching my fingers turn blue and pruney with the cold. The last time I felt like this was in Esperance in the south of Western Australia and the next day we headed back north into the desert. Being a creature of habit I told Sandra I had had enough and I was abandoning the south and heading north again. This time however I met resistance – Sandra had a hidden agenda. Melbourne it appears is the craft centre of Australia – and she wasn’t going to give it a miss. Luckily for our marriage the weather next day was slightly warmer so we packed up and started the trek to Melbourne.

A few miles down the road, as we hadn’t had breakfast before leaving Adelaide, my stomach started that sort of grumble which can only be satisfied with a bacon roll – and so we found ourselves in Hanndorf.

In the first half of the 19th century a bunch of German immigrants, fleeing religious persecution in Prussia, arrived in Australia and eventually set up shop in what was to become Hanndorf – named after the captain of the ship which brought them on what had been a hazardous crossing. The town is now trading almost exclusively on its Germanic heritage and is a real tourist trap aimed at lovers of Kranski, Bratwurst and Sauerkraut. A long row of gift shops and restaurants has at its centre The Hanndorf Inn complete with piped oompah-band music. Having assuaged my hunger pangs at Otto’s Bakery we left.

On our trip I do the driving whilst Sandra acts as my, usually reasonably competent, navigator. To be fair, when in her normal state of health, she is actually very good and I can only explain her lapse as being a consequence of having been unwell for the last week. Hit with a double-whammy of cystitis and gastric problems she has not been firing on all cylinders and her map reading skills were not 100%. I really blame myself as, knowing she wasn’t herself, I should have checked before setting off to the Younghusband Peninsula as our route south.

The Younghusband Peninsula is part of Coorong National Park and is a thin strip of land running in a southeastery direction for about 160k with the Southern Ocean on one side and a lagoon, The Coorong, on the other. Sandra’s plan was to drive the length of this peninsula camping on the way – all good, exciting stuff. I did query how we actually got onto the Peninsula from the north and whether there was actually a road as it seemed to be a chain of islands. No problem said Sandra they are all linked by barrages and you can drive across them.

Arriving after a long and boring trip at Goolwa, the last mainland town before the islands, I thought a trip to the information office would be a good idea to check on local road conditions – and it’s a good job I did or our back-track would have been even further. When I said I was travelling south, the not very helpful man on duty said “South? You’ll be heading into the ocean – you’ll need a boat” Redefining my direction as south east he was no more helpful “You’ll still need a boat – there’s no roads”
Sandra’s experiences of barrages are in the Orkney Islands in Scotland where a number of islands were joined by barrages during the war. Known as the Churchhill Barriers, as well as providing a defence against sea attack, they also provided roads linking the islands. With the south coast of Australia unthreatened by the might of the Third Reich it was not felt necessary to install drivable barrages as part of the road network – so we had to re-trace our steps thus adding several hours to our journey!

Passing through interesting named places such as Magrath Flat, Policemans Point and Tilley Swamp we eventually rolled into Little Dip Conservation Park no doubt annoying the only other campers, a young couple, who probably thought they had the place to them selves for the night. We camped behind sand dunes which hid a very interesting limestone coastline absolutely riddled with caves. After a beautiful sunset, which goes unrecorded as we forgot the camera, we hit the sack only to be woken at about 3am by thunder and torrential rain – was it too late for me to head north back to the welcoming desert? Apparently yes!

We compromised by turning east to Naracoorte to visit Naracoorte Caves National Park – a World Heritage Area with a very complete mammalian fossil record dating back 500,000 years. There can be found one of Australia’s best kept secrets. In caves deep below the ground descendents of the giant megafauna that once stalked Australia’s forests can still be found. Rare examples of the Thylacoleo, Diprotodon and giant kangaroos can still be found lurking in dark subterranean recesses. Although photographing these rare creatures is strictly prohibited, Sandra managed to elude the security system for a few seconds to get some photos which she knew Harvey, Oliver and Lex would enjoy!

We crossed into Victoria, our 6th State/Territory and made for The Grampians a range of mountains after which was named the Grampians National Park. We are camped at Troopers Creek, a beautiful site with great birdlife, lots of nice walks and a fabulous view of the nearby mountains from out tent. Today the weather has been reasonably warm with no rain – is this a turn for the better?

Scottish Towns and The Lady of the Lake

The rain eased slightly and, in a short break between torrents, we ventured out to take some photos. The first shows, not the river, but the footpath near the tent (nice scenery though), the second showing that Sandra, despite trying circumstances, is still managing to keep her feet clean. Then we went exploring.

Telowie Gorge was beautiful and looked very like Scotland with a swollen mountain stream roaring through the trees - we were transported back to Glen Affric in the Highlands. A narrow path followed the stream up through the gorge which in normal circumstances i.e. the stream not in spate, would have provided very little difficulty. However, with the path crossing and re-crossing the swollen stream, advanced rock-hopping skills were required to get up into the gorge. Sandra, normally the most confident of rock-hoppers, was carrying the camera when it happened.

To fully appreciate the story the clock must be wound back several months to when we were staying on Squeaky Beach with Johann and Stretch (before we were evicted) We had recently bought a new camera to replace one that had broken and I was concerned to find Sandra cavorting afloat in our inflatable dinghy with half a dozen Aboriginal children and holding the camera. It was a recipe for disaster and, despite my asking her, several times, to get the camera back to dry land, disaster followed. Salt water and high-tech digital cameras do not mix and consequently we had to buy yet another. Since that expensive accident she has shown a slightly less cavalier attitude to looking after the camera.

On the day in question we were making our way down the gorge with me in the lead. I, with the help of my trusty stick, had just negotiated a slightly difficult traverse when, from behind me, came a scream followed by a splash. I was immediately concerned for Sandra and the new camera – not necessarily in that order. However I need not have worried – the lesson had been learned. Looking back I saw a scene reminiscent of the Lady of the Lake holding Excalibur above the water. I saw an arm stretched high above the water triumphantly holding a dry camera above the raging torrent. Below the camera was Sandra emerging from the water – drookit! Drookit, but quite proud of herself. Unfortunately I didn’t have a camera to catch the actual moment but did get one of the aftermath showing a dampish Sandra.

Luckily she had a change of clothes in the car and we were on our way again – this time to Melrose! A neat wee town nestling at the foot of a range of hills. A description that could be applied to both Melrose in Scotland and in the Flinders.

The following day we packed up a rather wet tent and headed further south to the Yorke Peninsula where we planned to spend a couple of days before going to Adelaide for Sandra to go the Craft Fair. On our way we passed through yet another town with Scottish connections, Alford, and stopped for a couple of hours at Moonta, a town not with Scottish connections but Cornish. An ex-mining town which was the destination for a large number of Cornish miners who presumably left when the tin mining industry in Cornwall took a turn for the worse. Cornish pasties were offered at numerous outlets and one shop even had a sign in what I took to be the old Cornish language (see photo) Perhaps someone with more time on their hands and interested in this type of exercise (Ron?) could do a bit of research to check the language and translation. However, even in Moonta, there was a Scottish influence – I’d assumed I had found a Scottish (as opposed to Irish) pub and went in for a pint only to find it was an antiques shop! (see photo)


We are currently camped at Shell Beach in the Innes National Park. The beach is beautiful but it is still pretty cold with occasional bursts of rain. No dramas to report although Sandra has just commented on the large number of feral bees around the place, which fits in with the warning notices in the park about bee attacks. It’s a wonderful life!