The rain eased slightly and, in a short break between torrents, we ven
tured 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!
tured 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! 
No comments:
Post a Comment