Living beside the Mighty Murray

Before leaving Maldon we visited the local lookout tower. Like many small towns in the area, when the gold started to run out the town started to go downhill. In an attempt to prevent this happening to Maldon the local council hit upon a plan – to build a lookout tower at the top of the town's hill. With it's magnificent 360 degree views it was bound to attract tourists and daytrippers from miles around. Surprisingly it seems to have worked and the views are spectacular. The tower now has the dual function of tourist attraction and fire lookout – the latter for approximately 125 days a year.

And then on to Bendigo – naturally taking the most convoluted route available.

Bendigo proved to be a large town with a population of about 100,000 – very well set out and with impressive architecture including a cathedral which, at one time, was the largest in the Southern Hemisphere. We decided to do the real tourist stuff and went for a trip on the talking tram – a hop-on hop-off journey through the city by old fashioned tram. At the halfway point we de-trammed to visit the Joss Temple at which, during the heyday of gold the Chinese population of Bendigo which numbered many thousands, worshipped. Saved from demolition on numerous occasions it is now the oldest temple of its type outside China. Despite being little more than three small brick and corrugated iron shacks it is still used as a temple for the Chinese today – although numbers have dwindled somewhat.

Back onto the tram and our next stop was the Chinese Museum near the centre of the city which gave a fascinating view of the history of the Chinese during the gold rush. So fascinating that, despited being reminded several times, Sandra's insistence on getting her moneys worth meant that we missed the next tram and ended up walking back to the tram depot to get the car.

The final, unmissable (for Sandra at least) stop was the Bendigo Woollen Mill where she had her normal over whelming urge to buy some wool – I think she's knitting gloves. Despite its obvious attractions we decided not to stay in Bendigo – there seemed to be little bush camping available and I doubt if putting up a tent on the manicured lawns in the city parks would go down very well – so we pushed on another 80k to Echuca on the banks of the Murray River.

Unusually for us we headed straight there – partly because it was getting late and partly because it had begun to rain. Arriving in any new town in the gloomy and rain is never very attractive and this was no exception – we needed to find somewhere quickly. We thought there might be bush camping available several kilometres out of town on the banks of the river – if only we could find it. Even with satnav we had difficulty locating a place but eventually found a promising looking track and set too looking for a bit of flattish ground. The track got rougher and wetter with deep ruts caused by the tyres of many 4WD vehicles, eventually however we found a spot right on the banks of the river and set about putting up the tent.

Fortunately there was a brief lull in the rain which allowed us to get set up in the relative dry. Our previous experiences had shown the value of setting the tent up properly pegged, guyed and all windows closed to the weather. Just as well we were properly prepared as we were no sooner in the tent when the heavens opened and it poured constantly throughout the night – and I mean constantly. However we were snug and probably a bit smug inside as we congratulated ourselves on our arrangements. This smugness lasted until morning when, getting out of the tent and thinking we had got off pretty lightly, I had a look at the roof rack on the car to find that I hadn't secured the tarp properly and that the bags on the roof, including some of our clothes bags, were a wee bit damp. We had to string up a washing line between trees!

Murray River near our campsite

The Murray at dusk from our campsite

A passing "tinnie" with fisherman drinking beer

Despite being several hundred kilometres inland, Echuca was once the second most important port in the State of Victoria as numerous paddle-steamers carried goods and passengers up the Murray River – Australia's biggest river. Several paddle-steamers and many house boats still ply their trade there but only as tourist attractions. We explored the town, Sandra posed out side the local brothel (unfortunately no longer operational) but we didn't find time to take a boat trip. After a second night by the river which, now the rain was off, took on a totally different appearance and was rather idyllic, we packed up, crossed the river and spent the day in the very interesting little town of Deniliquin about 80k over the border into New South Wales. Deliquin was built on the sheep trade and has a very good visitor centre housed in the old school which is well worth a visit if you are interested in sheep.

Sandra had wanted to visit Deniliquin as she had read that it has the largest rice processing factory in the Southern Hemisphere – as good a reason as any I suppose! And it does. The countryside around is very dry and the traditional image of rice paddies cascading down hillsides does not apply – vast irrigation schemes allow local growers to plant great prairies of rice for processing at the local plant.

Largest rice processing plant in the southern hemisphere - worth the trip to Australia
just to see it !

Vast irrigation schemes allow mass production of rice

Deniliquin has other claims to fame and apparently has two entries in the Guinness Book of Records.

Firstly it annually hosts the biggest Ute Muster in the world and, even more impressively, it has the record for the greatest number of people gathered together wearing a Blue Singlet. Not a town to be treated lightly!

Finally, back into Victoria to spend the night again beside the Might Murray, but this time 80k or so down stream near a place called Koondrook. The site we found is once again idyllic and I am sitting here typing in between watching the river drift past and counting fish jumping and the occasional man in a boat fishing. Sandra is sitting doing felting which seems to be something one does with wool and pointed needles which, judging by the occasional yelp, are inserted into the flesh on a fairly regular basis.

Sandra crafting by the river and jabbing herself with felting needles

[NB I've been having problems putting photos into the blog – these have, I hope, been resolved and normal photographs will re-appear shortly, possibly even in this post if I can find an internet connection]

Bacchus Marsh and thus to Maldon

The caravan park at Bacchus Marsh turned out to be OK – once we had sorted out our slightly unconventional arrival with the management. The caravan park was pretty full but there was a bit for tents that we had to ourselves – although our first job of the next day was to take the tent down and put it up properly. Erecting in the dark obviously presents problems and we need a bit more practice.

One of the main reasons we stayed for two nights was, after several weeks living away from normal hygiene facilities i.e. showers, hot running water and washing machines, the smell in the tent was starting to become a bit over-powering especially the night Sandra picked in between her toes although she contends that my socks and underpants were the main culprits. Bacchus Marsh had excellent showers and a first class laundry so, by the following day we had all our clothes and sheets etc washed – although not ironed.

After doing the laundry we discovered that we were very near the Brisbane Ranges where Koalas were thick on the ground , not to mention competing for space in the eucalyptus trees. Arriving at the carpark we discovered that there was a 3k walk through the bush past some interesting country before arriving at “Koala Central”. After an hour walking, without sight of even the odd wallaby, we arrived at the site to find a kiddies birthday party in progress and not a koala to be seen. Even worse, as we started the trudge back to the car, we discovered we could have driven all the way there. Still, it was a good walk.

Leaving BM on Sunday we managed about 20k up the road to the even smaller town of Ballan – and it was heaving. There was some sort of gala in progress and the main street was lined with stalls selling the same sort of crap you see at village gala days all over the world. As we ate our bacon and egg sandwiches (this was breakfast) the parade started. Australians are very proud of their history and seem to have a particular fondness for their military – the parade was headed by soldiers, presumably from the First World War era, either mounted on horses or marching on foot. They were followed by just about every local community group in town. In particularly close attendance with the cavalry was a small tractor and trailer with a man wielding a shovel to clear up the fertilizer dropped copiously by the horses.

Of particular interest was the “Axemen” competition where locals, but mainly semi-professionals from further afield, competed to chop logs in half. The leading lights from this competition went on to national finals in Sydney. It was amazing to watch logs, probably about 20 inches in diameter being halved in less than 20 seconds.

After a visit to Ballarat we settled for a couple of nights at Slatey Creek near the small town of Creswick. It was not the best of campsites with the ground being too hard to hold a peg. I had to guy the tent to trees on one side and to a few small logs and one single peg on the other. On the second night the wind got up and at about 1am there was a crash as the single peg gave way. Once again I found myself naked, except for a head torch, trying to secure the tent which I then guyed to the car. Sandra slept through it all.

Creswick is the home of the only spinning / weaving mill still left operating in Australia, all the others having succumbed to China, and Sandra could not help herself buying a piece of alpaca material for $100 to keep her warm at night.

The next day we decamped with the intention of getting to Bendigo – for no other reason that Sandra liked the name – but, as usual, we never got there. After brief visits to Clunes, another town stuck very much in history, and Maryborough, whos claim to fame is its grand Victorian Railway Station (closed when we got there) we arrived at “Australia's Most Notable Town” of Maldon. Most notable as it has the highest number of original 19^th century shops and houses per square foot than anywhere else in Australia. We had lunch at a pavement cafe then visited the site of old goldmine workings.

These were fascinating. Men could license a 10 foot by 10 foot sqare of land and start digging for aleuvial gold which was quite near the surface. Even after 150 years the landscape is pock-marked by these diggings and it reminded me of the trenches and shell holes of First World War battlefields. Sandra was particularly taken with the Cyanide Pits and insisted on several photo shots of me kneeling in cyanide.

We are now encamped on the outskirts of Maldon and planning to complete our trip to Bendigo tomorrow.

To Walhalla and on to Bacchus Marsh

Leaving White Womans Waterhole we headed more or less north and found ourselves to be about the only visitors to the Tarra-Bulga National Park – or Tarragon-Bulgaria Park if the predictive text on my iPad were to have its way. A short walk took us across an impressive suspension bridge over a fern filled gully then down into the gully itself for a walk in a landscape “which hasn't changed since dinosaurs roamed the earth”

Hunting dinosaurs in Terragon-Bulgaria National Park

Trees in the National Park

Then on to a large town called Traralgon to pick up a few supplies including a new cooking pot as the handle had broken off the one bought at great expense in Aldi a few weeks ago. We were heading for an old mining town called Walhalla. A few kilometres outside Traralgon was a view point with an amazing view of a valley with an incredible number of power stations – four I think – which between them supplied almost 100% of Victoria's electricity. In addition there was at least one coal mine in the area which produces 50 million tonnes of coal a year. However the amazing thing was, despite all this very heavy industry, there was no suggestion of an industrial wasteland – all the power stations seemed to fit their environment and we could see no evidence of coal workings.

Walhalla turned out to be a twee little ghost town (Pop 21) full of holiday cottages and a few shops and aimed very much at tourists. Once the most productive gold mine in Victoria with a population of around 4000, Walhalla went the way of most of these boom and bust mining towns – when the gold ran out the town went rapidly downhill. The main tourist attractions, apart from the village itself, are visits to the mine – which went down over 1000 metres – and trips on the narrow gauge railway. Both of which had closed by the time we got there.

Walhalla - a town out of its time

Even the adverts were well out of date!

There was a free campsite on the outskirts of the village which, whilst quite attractive, had a number of caravans already in situ. After a closer inspection Sandra decided “No” - the deciding factor seemed to be the strident voice of one of the female campers. A bit further out was the site of the old Chinese gardens. In the “golden” heyday of Walhalla some entrepreneurial Chinese had set up a market garden to supply the burgeoning population. Now long gone the garden is now a campsite – but we gave that a miss as well.

We are now in the Moondarra State Forest on arguably the best site we have found so far. An open grassy area with plenty of surrounding trees for shade and bounded on three sides by a slow flowing river. It is very quiet and peaceful and we have decided to stay a couple of days and vegetate, and unlike Sandy Point there will be absolutely no problems getting away from the site. Sandra has spent the day in the sun re-organising her packing system (yet again) doing some craftwork, birdwatching, drafting a few emails and planning where we head to next.

"Yes, there's only one solution - a trip to IKEA

Leaving Moondarra with the re-organisation of the vehicle almost organised – all that was needed was yet another trip to IKEA for storage bags – we foolishly visited Mount Baw Baw Alpine Resort – it was closed and the weather was bloody freezing, only just getting up to double figures. The long descent was notable for being very long and the smell of the brakes of the Honda starting to smaell with the effort of slowing down our heavily laden vehicle. A short stop about half way down seemed to sort that problem.

With Melbourne almost within sight a visit to the iPad gave us the address of the nearest IKEA – this was put into the Satnav and before long the Big Blue hove into sight. Sandra knew exactly what she wanted but still had to have the grand tour just in case there was anything else she had forgotten. Rather phased by the sheer scale of the big city, after all we had been living in forests and on beaches fot the last few weeks, we decided to give Melbourne a miss and eventually found ourselves in the quaintly named little market town of Bacchus Marsh. Goodness knows where the name came from – it sounds as if it came straight from PG Wodehouse and the rural English shires.

A visit to the local tourist information office revealed there was no camping in the town (this transpired to be incorrect when several hours later we were forced to break in to the local caravan park) With no camping in Bacchus Marsh we headed for Lerderderg State Park to look for campsites at Wild Boar Gully and O'Briens Crossing. Managing to miss both, we ended up in the even smaller town of Gisbourne – again no camping. With darkness starting to fall we re-traced our steps, this time using the satnav rather than human navigation and eventually found Wild Boar Gully – a not very attractive site, on a slope, with almost every conceivable space fully occupied with what looked like a full scale boy scout jamboree. Dozens of small boys sitting outside their tents prodding their campfires with sticks – so it was off to look for O'Briens Crossing.

After 10k's on a very bumpy and steep dirt track O'Briens Crossing was pretty fully occupied with not a site to be seen - people were pitching small two man tents on the sides of precipices, our eight man tent didn't have a look in. So it was back to Bacchus Marsh.

A quick Google search revealed that the ever-so nice, but wildly misinformed, lady volunteer at the Information Office was wrong – there was a caravan site. By the time the satnav had guided us in however there was a problem – not only was in now pitch black but the office was closed and there was a barrier down across the entrance. Undeterred I drove at the barrier, stopping to let Sandra out, and asked her to use her strength to lift the barrier manually whilst I drove through. Low and behold we were in – we pitched the tent in the dark and hit the sack almost immediately Another day done.

Up the hill and away and a spotting of a Great White

After the thunderstorm of the previous night we decided to stay another day at Sandy Point – partly because it was a nice place but also to let the road dry out before attempting the steep tracks out. We had a nice lazy day of reading, exploring and making use of the clean waters of the Snowy River where I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a Great White basking in the water!

The rare Great White of the Snowy River

This next bit's not for the squeamish!

What is the best way to dispose of your toilet waste when camping on a site with no facilities? Sandra and I are at odds on this one. Her theory and practice is to treat it like you would a dog in your local park i.e. do it on the ground, pick it up in a pooper-scooper bag and take it away when you leave. Not my cup of tea at all. I prefer finding a site away from the camp and any water-course, digging a hole big enough to contain the offering, then filling the hole up afterwards. Enough of that.

Returning from putting theory into practice

The following morning we packed up and prepared to tackle the hills out of Sandy Point. Preliminary examination of the “road” revealed that a lot of the road surface had been washed away and the ruts, which were big on our way in, were even bigger now. Before attempting the ascent however we had another problem – the front near side tyre of the Honda was as smooth as a baby's bottom – not much grip there I'm afraid, and we would need as much grip as possible. The ground was so boggy that to try to jack up the car would result in the jack going down the way rather than the cap up. So it was down to the river to look for a suitable flat stone (which I have kept for possible future use) Wheel changed we were set for the hill.

Not much grip when grip was needed - and a stone to place the jack on

We had re-arranged our loading to ensure that all the heavy equipment was inside and light stuff on the roof to give us a lower centre of gravity. Sandra walked up the first hill in order to give directions and to take some hair-raising photographs. Unfortunately she was so stressed she did neither so no photos for the blog I'm afraid. Engaging first gear, and hoping the automatic 4WD would kick in, we set off – no problem at all, I don't know what all the fuss was about !!

Back onto the “main” road and less that 30 minutes into the day's journey, we hit our next problem. Sandra asked me to stop so she could take a photograph of a tree but then we found the car wouldn't start. There didn't seem to be enough juice in the battery to turn the engine even though we had been running for half an hour. It was a repeat of what had happened in the Goulburn River National Park a few weeks ago. Once again, as at Goulburn River, our salvation was a wizened old man in a beat up wreck of a car. Looking like some sort of skinny hilly-billy with a straggly beard down to his chest (Australia's full of them) he gave us a jump start and we were on our way again.

We stopped in Bairnsdale, a pleasant fairly large country town with wide streets and a good range of facilities including places to buy tyres. Wanting heavy duty tyres to cope with the rougher roads to the north and west I tried two places and was told the same thing – they don't make big, rough, tough off-road tyres for a Sydney hairdresser's Honda. I had to make do with the best quality tyres I could get – at $210 a time – plus I had the wheel alignment checked and adjusted.

Whilst the tyres were being done we had lunch in the pub and, because I had good internet access via my mobile gizmo, I sat on a park bench and posted the blog whilst Sandra did a small grocery shopping. An hour later there was no sign of her – she had gone AWOL. Thinking she might have gone back to the garage I re-traced my steps, but still no sign of her. Eventually she strolled into view surprised at my concern, her only comment being “Spotlight (a craft/material shop) had a 30% off sale” - she had bought material for a tablecloth for our camp table!

It was now getting late in the afternoon and we had no idea where we were going. After about 100k we reckoned there was a small campsite near a place called Woodside on the Woy Wron Road – and thus we found The White Womans Waterhole.

Legend - or maybe it was truth - has it that in the 19^th Century a white woman was captured by a group of Aborigines and armed search parties scoured the countryside looking for her. Notices were posted on trees throughout the district hoping that she would see them and make contact with her erstwhile rescuers. Interestingly enough these notices were in two languages – the first part in English and the second part in what may be Gaelic. Perhaps any reader familiar with the latter could clarify. Certainly the name of the person leading the search suggests a Scottish connection – Angus McGregor.



The search for the "captured" white woman - was the notice in Gaelic?

As most people know the McGregors were a bad lot and this particular specimen went on the rampage killing many of the indigenous people, supposedly in retribution for the abducted white woman, but I suspect just to further his land acquisitions in the area. It is doubtful that the white woman ever existed – however she now has a waterhole in her honour which is hosting Sandra and I for a few days.

From our waterhole we forayed out to Port Albert, once the main port for this area of Victoria, then on to Agnes Falls – apparently the highest waterfall in Victoria – then on to Wilsons Promontory National Park. This is the most southerly point on mainland Australia and we were duly captured on camera.

Agnes Falls - Victoria's longest single drop waterfall

For the gourmets - a bush breakfast

We are planning a trip to Melbourne sometime in the next week and have decided to do it like real tourists. No more skulking around forest campsites – we are going to book into a hotel, take an open top bus around the city, visit lots of museums and galleries - in fact be a bit more civilised and keep ourselves out of trouble – Perhaps!

Just another normal night beside the Snowy River

Well we made it through the fire ravaged road and arrived in Orbost without being arrested and with the car crawling along on unleaded fumes. First stop to find petrol then where to stay? With darkness starting to fall it was too late to look for our usual sort of campsite i.e. free, so we booked in to the local caravan park, threw up the tent and decided on a takeaway rather than do any cooking. Sandra was exhausted. We managed to get a very mediocre pizza, eat half of it then went to bed.

Up bright and breezy the next day we did a shopping and decided to head for Buchan to visit the famous (?) Buchan Caves. This was about 60k away on a dirt road – we never got there. Distracted by a sign to Stringers Knob – Historic Fire Lookout we diverted from course and found ourselves staring up at a huge man-made wooden tower with a lookout platform on top with an interesting information board about firewatching in Victoria. Unfortunately, unlike the Gloucester Tree in W.A. you weren't able to climb it.

Stringers Knob - firewatch tower

Hearing another vehicle coming up the hill we should have left there and then and we would not be in our current predicament – hindsight is a wonderful thing. An ancient Toyota with plenty of off-road grunt ground its way towards us and parked. Having passed due pleasantries, as we made to leave one of the two guys said there was a fabulous camping spot not to far away at a place called Sandy Point. “Just turn left and after about one k you'll see the track, just follow it for about twenty minutes. The road's a bit rough but it should be OK but I wouldn't like to do it in the wet.” If only we had gone to the Buchan Caves!

Our new home at Sandy Point next to the Snowy River

The road was rough and steep, not really serious four wheel driving but bad enough to make you concentrate but with two particularly steep drops as you near the campsite. After about half an hour we arrived at Sandy Point. There is a bend in the river, it was the famous Snowy River, the sweep of the opposite bank rose steeply and was thickly covered in gum trees. Our side of the river was relatively clear with plenty of space for camping right next to the slow flowing river. We set up camp, explored and generally lazed around until it was beer-o-clock and got stuck into the VB Gold from the fridge. It was a dry, hot afternoon and at about 5 o'clock both Sandra and I got the first smell of wood burning and saw smoke rising. Being very isolated it was unlikely to be a house or other campers and, having been through the devastation of the bush fires the day before, we were very aware of the potential problem.

A couple of forays into the surrounding bush revealed nothing – so we decided to stay. This could have been the wrong decision. I am typing this at Sandy Point with no internet access and I assume that if this ever appears in the blog and you are reading,it that all turned out OK. However, as I type, I have no idea how easy it is going to be getting away from our campsite and back on the road again.



Some things never change - breakfast in bed as usual

An unusual sight!!

It was a hot evening and we left both the inside and outside windows down for as much air as possible – then, in true Douglaswalkabout fashion, at about 8pm it started to rain. Gently at first and, as I prepared to batten down the hatches, Sandra said that the two layers of window mesh should be enough to keep the rain out. At about 10pm as the rain got heavier we closed the inside windows leaving the outside ones open – that should be OK said Sandra. Midnight saw me outside bollock naked except a head torch zipping down the outside windows and checking the guys and getting soaked. And then the main storm hit.

We could hear it coming. Before it arrived there was a whooshing sound as the wind shook the trees, then about 30 seconds later, the wind and “real” rain hit us. By this time we were water proofed but I was wishing I had been a bit more diligent with guying out the tent. The battering of the rain on the roof was deafening and Sandra and I had to shout to make ourselves heard – and then came the thunder and lightening.

Suddenly, for the briefest of seconds, the inside of the tent was awash with lightening, the roof appeared white and the poles of the tent showed up like a black skeleton – it was like being inside a weird X-ray machine. I tried the old trick of counting the seconds between flashes and the thunder but at times this was impossible as the thunder of the rain on the tent out-thundered the noise of the real thunder. With Sandra sleeping, or at least lying on the river side of the tent, I suggested that she try to listen for the river to see if it were rising – we didn't want to get washed away! What was really going through my mind was what was happening to the road, would we be able to get out? What seemed to be a throwaway remark about doing this road in the wet by the chap at the fire tower was coming home to haunt me.

At about 2.30am the storm abated or at least I must have fallen asleep.

It is now the following morning, the rain has stopped, everything outside is saturated, much of the surface of the very rough and steep bit of track leading out of the campsite has come down the slope to join us. Our debate now is whether to stay here for another day or get the hell out of here ASAP.

On the bright side it doesn't look as if we are going to burn to death in a bushfire.

On the wrong side of the law - twice in one day!

Well it's been an interesting day – at least it started off interesting and got progressively worse. Of course it was our own fault – if we had been keeping up with the local news we would have known that this part of Victoria had been ravaged by bush fires and would have kept well away. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My last entry had left me unable to walk, in a campsite at Boydtown just outside the small town of Eden. Sandra went to the local pharmacy and returned – after a prolonged visit to the whaling museum – laden with items guaranteed to cure my attack of Infra-patellar Burstitis – ibuprofen, icepack, knee bandage to keep the icepack in place and ice gel. Whilst not miracle cures they all seemed to help and I am now a bit more mobile – although I am of course still persuading Sandra to do a bit more of the kneeling down chores.

The day started by us doing a runner. We owed $54 in camp fees but the place was deserted, we couldn't find anyone to pay and there wasn't an honesty box – so we scarpered, hoping that there was no CCTV noting our registration number. After her visit to the Whaling Museum Sandra wanted to visit the site of the whaling station set a few miles away on a beautiful inlet. Little remained - but a few information boards and a lot of imagination revealed that catching and processing whales was a dangerous and smelly occupation. The process of reducing the blubber to oil seemed particularly revolting.

Site of whaling station

An interesting, and possibly unique, partnership had developed between the whalers and a pod of killer whales. Whenever large whales were close to shore the killer whales harried them towards the land and alerted the whalers that they were there for the harpooning. Their reward for their part in the killing of the larger whales was first dibs at the carcass – from which they only ate the tongue and the lips leaving the rest to be hauled away by their erstwhile partners. Fascinating stuff.

Benjamin Boyd's lookout tower
Yet another Folly by a Scotsman

From the whaling station on to Boyd's Lookout. Benjamin Boyd, a Scottish entrepreneur, had set up Boydtown to hopefully rival Sydney. It didn't – but one of the striking remains is a tower perched on a headland used as a spotting post to look for whales. When Boydtown didn't develop as hoped he hightailed to California to look for gold instead!

We decided to head for the Errinundra National Park where we hoped to find somewhere to camp for a night or two. Stopping for lunch at White Rock Picnic Area, we passed through the small town of Delegate then sneaked over the Victoria border by a dirt track and arrived at an even smaller town called Bendoc. On the way we stopped at the Delegate River Tunnel – a relic of the gold mining days. Teams of Chinese labourers had been used to cut a tunnel at a bend in the river thus diverting the river and leaving the old river bed clear for prospectors to look for gold. It was a big job – I hope it was worth it.

Delegate River Tunnel - a small monument to mans' greed for gold

Until then all had been interesting but then we got lost – or to be more precise a combination of poor maps and roads closed because of fire led to a certain amount of disorientation! Because of the road closures we could not find a campsite and seemed to go round in ever increasing circles. Fuel was becoming a problem – the Honda is a relatively small car but with a big thirst. We now didn't have enough fuel to go back – we had to go on.

Giving up the idea of camping in the forest we decided to head for Orbost, the main town in the area and almost at the coast. Switching from old to new technology we put on the satnav and found that Orbost was 91k away and coincidentally that was about as much fuel as we had – it was going to be touch and go. Unfortunately new tech took us the same way as old tech and we duly rolled up at the road closed sign that we had turned back from hours before. This time however there was a man in some sort of uniform from whom we asked directions. He advised us to turn round and go back north into New South Wales – this was a non-starter as we didn't have enough fuel. However he then let the cat out of the bag by announcing that, although the road was closed, it was in fact passable. That was enough for us, we gatecrashed the “Road Closed Due to Fire Damage” sign and headed the 91k south for Orbost. We found out later that a series of bush fires over the previous several weeks had devastated the area and the road had been closed for weeks. Expecting to be through the worst of it in maybe 10 or 20k we were amazed at the destruction which was almost continuous for over 70k. Vast swathes of forest had been destroyed along with property left burnt out at the side of the road. Perhaps saddest of all was the poor wombat we met on the road looking totally shell-shocked and probably hungry as there was no greenery to be seen anywhere.

70 kilometres of  burnt out trees

A shell-shocked survivor of the inferno

"Hot footing" it for home - slowly!

 

One advantage of the road being closed was the total lack of traffic – the big disadvantage was the fact we felt like criminals and kept waiting for the police sirens to wail us down. I'm sure we must have violated several State and Federal laws – but it's difficult to think what we might have done different. And we still had our fuel problem.

From Shallow Crossing to Mystery Bay and Eden - plus Clergyman's Knee

Our last camp-site was beside the Clyde River at a place called Shallow Crossing. If anyone was wondering why it was called this the picture below should explain all. The crossing marked the tidal limit of the river and it was interesting to note (and taste) the water to the left of the photo was fresh whilst the water down stream to the right was salty.



Why Shallow Crossing was called Shallow Crossing
Probably easier to go to a car wash!

Without any definite place to go we meandered down the coast stopping at will until, with afternoon advancing, we had to find a new place to camp.

 

 

We stopped at this sleepy little village called Central Tilba - Pop 30 

 Noting a place with the intriguing name Mystery Bay where there was camping we arrived to find what appeared to be a small, rather scruffy looking site that was pretty well packed out with the only attraction being it was right by the beach. It did not appeal so we started looking for other options which were few and very far between and decided to give the Mystery Bay site a closer look – and we were glad we did. Parking the car on one of the very few available sites we had a walk around – a course of action which I can recommend. We discovered a track at the back of the site leading to extensive wooded areas at the back of the beach – which were virtually deserted. I don't know what it is with campers but they often seem to want to congregate together exhibiting some sort of herd instinct – our idea of camping is to get away from people not to pitch you tent as near to others as possible.

Paddling on Billy's Beach

Is this a mermaid or perhaps a water nymph?

Alone at Mystery Bay

Mystery Bay was home for two days. At the other end of the site we came across Billy's Beach – I don't know who Billy was but he could certainly pick his beaches. A small bay with about 100 metres of golden sand bounded by small cliffs, rocks and rock pools on either side – and it was deserted. We lugged a couple of chairs and our swimming gear down to the beach and spent a very relaxing day reading, paddling, rock pooling and eating grapes.

 

In tent - catching up with emails

That night it bucketed with rain, so not wanting to pack away a wet tent we decided to stay for a third night and I was dispatched to Narooma up the coast to get some more supplies. Arriving back in the early afternoon I found that Sandra had changed her mind - the tent was now dry, so she had packed up and was waiting for me to return with the car. So an hour later we were on our way south again this time ending up in yet another attractive seaside town called Eden.

Unloading all the gear we had packed up just a few hours before – we decided we had too much with us but couldn't think of what to ditch – Sandra is about to go into another of her re-organising phases – I can feel it.

Too many goods and chattels - I feel a rationalisation coming on!

However, as I write, she has disappeared into Eden to look for a chemist to track down some anti-inflammatories. Unfortunately I have developed a problem with my right leg and can't walk – I think it is a dose of Clergyman's Knee, an ailment closely related to Housemaid's Knee (Google it!) I blame all the time I spend on my knees rolling up sleeping mats and the tent! Ironically I lost my trekking pole at Mystery Bay.

From Kangaroo Valley to Shallow Crossing - the long way round

From our base in Kangaroo Valley, where we stayed for four nights, we made forays out to explore the area. After a trip to Nowra to replenish some of our stores we went down to the coast to the twee little fishing cum tourist village of Greenwell Point with its manicured lawns and picnic areas right on the seafront. A tranquil place with beautiful views over the bay then on to Culburra Beach.

The purpose of this particular trip was to test out all the equipment and so far all seems well otherwise, if any major difficulties arose, it would have been back to Sydney for a re-assessment. I suspect the experiences of 2010 with our constant re-organisations during the first three months, have stood us in good stead and I think we can finally say we are on our way – but to where who knows? All I can say is that this time it looks like a clockwise circumnavigation – as Sandra always says the view always looks different when going the other way. We are however hoping not take a different route to see new places but such is the nature of the country a certain amount of overlap is inevitable.

One of our forays out of Kangaroo Valley took us the length of Seven Mile Beach from Shoalhaven Heads to the south with its wide sweep of sand and surf populated with only a couple of surfers and a few geriatrics taking in the sun and views – and I don't mean us – up through Gerroa, Gerringong then up to Kiama.

In Kiama the “must do” thing is to see the blowhole near the Visitor Centre and Light House. Obviously very impressive with tiers of viewing platforms for several hundred people to take in the spectacle – unfortunately it wasn't working when we were there, something to do with the wind, current or tides were not suitable. In fact it was a bit of a damp squib – although the coastal scenery was attractive. At this point I received a phone call from Steven to say that Talia was missing her granny and could I put Sandra on to speak to her. I actually think that Steven has found a new way to keep her quiet and under control when he takes her shopping.

Hearing we were in Kiama, Steven said the “must do” thing was not the main blowhole but the Little Blowhole which was much more impressive – it wasn't!

To celebrate our last night at Kangaroo Valley we opened a bottle of fizz to supplement the red wine and beer – not a good idea as it turned out as packing up camp in the hot morning sun with a hangover is not the best way to start the day. Then it was off south. We stopped at Mollymook with its fabulous beach, loads of people in the sea and a squad of dolphins “putting on a show” as one of the locals said. Probably most impressive of all was the ultra-modern Mollymook Golf Clubhouse overlooking the beach with its vast windows providing a fabulous view of the bay. I presume the other side would have given a fabulous view of the 18^th but I never got that far.

 

One good reason for drowning in Mollymook Bay - the Life Guard!

Where to spend the night became the question of the day and we set of to look for Pretty Beach south of the small town of Kioloa and in the Murramarang National Park - in true Douglaswalkabout fashion we never got there. Missing the sign (assuming there was one!) we headed off into the forest on a dirt track which got rougher by the kilometre. Our new destination was one of the premier camp sites in the region – the famous Pebbly Beach. Sandra estimated about 7k should get us there – it didn't. We took solace from the fact that, as the road was so bad there wouldn't be any caravans there – in fact traffic was so light (there was none) we had hopes that we would have the place to ourselves. What we didn't know was that there was a tarred road in from another direction and that we had taken a little used forest track to get there – eventually.

A selfie on Pebbly Beach - thunderclouds top left

 

Whilst Pebbly Beach had a nice location in a sandy cove with rocky outcrops and kangaroos performing on the beach for tourists – we were rather underwhelmed by the camping facilities. The choice was either a caravan stance which was full of rocks that would have ripped the bottom of the tent or one of the tent stances which were less than appealing. As Sandra said – she doesn't mind putting up with a poor site – but not when you are having to pay $27 a night for the privilege. Mind you we had probably been spoiled at Kangaroo Valley which was free. We decided to give Pebbly beach a miss – but it was starting to get late.



Two of the famous inhabitants of Pebbly Beach

Consulting the map Sandra had noticed what appeared to be a campsite at a place called Shallow Crossing about 14k inland from Pebbly Beach. Missing the road we ended up in Batemans Bay and starting to consider the possibility of a commercial site or setting up a bush camp for the night. Spotting another way into Shallow Crossing we set off into the evening gloom to look for a town called Nelligan and thereafter a track up beside the Clyde River. Crossing the river we hit a dirt track which, after about 8k, according to my navigator, we should arrive at an idyllic grassy campsite by the River Clyde. After 15k, getting low on fuel and with a thunder storm bearing down on us, we decided to give it another 5k …. then another 5, until finally when we were on the point of turning back, we found ourself in Shallow Crossing.



Shallow Crossing camp site - when sun came out next day

It's a hard life in Shallow Crossing

Dusk had descended and so had the thunder storm and we set up camp amidst flashes of lightning, rumbles of thunder and torrential rain. It was all reminiscent of the time on our last trip that we huddled in our tent for three days waiting for the rain and thunder to abate – and when it did, Sandra managed to fall into a river. Deciding not to bother cooking we went to bed, waking up the next day to find that the site was brilliant – acres of space, few people and the river just yards away.

Domestics done - now for a beer and a blog

And yes, Sandra did get wet in the river after borrowing a canoe for a jaunt upstream.

We are leaving tomorrow and heading further south.

Leaving Sydney for Kangaroo Valley

After a month in Sydney for me and three months for Sandra it was time to move on and get on with the trip. This was a great disappointment for Steven and Ana who, I suspect, were hoping for us to move on to the hallway having completed the decoration of two bedrooms !!

"Granny don't go" - a tearful Talia upon hearing Sandra was leaving

One of the reasons for Sandra's more prolonged stay was “bonding” with the grandchildren. This was obviously a great success as the parting goodbyes were particularly heart-wrenching with young Anatalia clinging tearfully to Sandra saying “I don't want to lose you Granny”.

Packed and ready to go

We delayed our departure by a day in order to hopefully avoid our old enemy the rain but also to pick up some up-to-date maps for the trip. We went into the city centre for the maps and, as this was the first time I had been into the city on this trip, we did one or two tourist things, had lunch and returned home via a ferry travelling past the Opera House and under the Harbour Bridge. We had missed the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras but saw some evidence of the event in the shape of a couple of Gay ATM machines at a bank.

A Gay ATM - celebrating the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras

After using Johann's old tent for our trial camping trip to Goulburn River we had decided to buy a new tent for the main trip. The brilliant Oztent we bought for the last trip was out of the question as, being over 2 metres long in its bag, there was no room for it on the smaller Honda CRV. We opted for a Coleman Instant Up 8 man tent – hopefully with emphasis on the “Instant” - we had no intention of spending ages wrestling to thread poles through sleeves in order to put up house for the night. In an ideal world we should have had a trial run of the new tent before setting out – even if this meant erecting it in the back garden. However, with the weather being wet, it didn't seem to be a good idea and we decided to set off without a trial – but with crossed fingers.

With the car loaded and departure photographs taken – we set off.

As yet we have no overall plan for the trip. Johann and Stretch will be joining us for some of the time with their fancy new camper trailer but, as they will not be able to leave Sydney for another month, the provisional idea is that Sandra and I bum around southern New South Wales and Victoria and meet up with them sometime in April at Broken Hill – which is worth a visit if only for the name.

We did have a brief sort of planning meeting where each sister was asked to state their preferred regions of Australia to visit – the results were not particularly helpful, with the four regions being: the far South of Western Australia – the far North of Western Australia – the far South of Eastern Australia – the far North of Eastern Australia i.e. the four furthest points of the continent ! The only common factor was a visit to Darwin to visit sister number three in Humpty Doo.

As I write this we are happily ensconced in Kangaroo Valley on a campsite a few hours south of Sydney that Sandra had visited a couple of months ago. As my navigator she decided to take a rural route off the main highway and we spent hours travelling through suburb after suburb – it wasn't as rural as she thought! However we found Kangaroo Valley without any problems and, I am delighted to say, managed to get the tent out of it's bag and erected within a few minutes.

Our campsite with new tent

Solar panels to charge the battery to run the fridge to keep the beer cold

Our campsite by the river is idyllic although Sandra keeps mumping on about how much better it would be if we had brought a canoe – goodness knows where we would put one. The other big draw back is the infestation of wombats. They hide in their wombat holes during daylight hours but, come dusk, as you are getting down to cooking and having a glass of wine, they come bumbling out of the undergrowth to graze like a herd of miniature buffalo. Throughout the night they can be heard snuffling around the tent, chomping on the grass and have the uncanny knack of knowing exactly where to poo so that you stand on it as you get out of the tent next day. Wombat poo has the pungent aroma and the texture of well rotted horse manure – probably very good for roses and rhubarb – but we could probably live without it!



A rather scabby wombat outside our tent