From "The Limit" to Wongi via Cracow

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

Us with our hosts John and Libby

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

 

With grandchildren - Archer, Nathan and Zander

 

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

Archer holding court - King of all he surveyed!

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

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

Coal mine near Theodore

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

At Isla Gorge

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

A cracking pub - the Hotel Cracow

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

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

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

 

Monument at visitor centre - three types shotblasting

 

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

The shopping precinct

The Billiard Saloon

The Bank - note the wooden hitching rail for horses

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

Wongi Waterhole - view from our campsite

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

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

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

A Bush Poet, Giant Sunflowers and a Hangover

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

 

Theresa Creek Dam

 

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

Parroty thing that kept pecking at my head

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

Copperfield Smelter Chimney

 

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

 

Sandra and Bernie Bettridge - Bush Poet

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

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

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

Emerald - the biggest easel held painting in the world

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

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

"Officers Pocket" Lookout at Blackdown National Park

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

Museums, Stockmen, Roadkill and The Tree of Knowledge

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

"Banjo" Paterson - author of "Waltzing Matilda"

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

Old Bladensburg Homestead

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

View from the old homestead

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

Dinner is served at our Bough Hole camp

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

Stockman's Hall of Fame, Longreach. Excellent museum

Trainee Flying Doctor

 

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

Hot artesian spa - very welcoming

 

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

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

 

Potential Roadkill

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

 

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

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

Barcaldine "Tree of Knowledge"

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

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

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

Stockmen driving stock

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

Where's a stockman when you need one?

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

Townsville, Rugby and a Rufous Bettong

With the beer in the broken down fridge rapidly warming up and the veggies going off we made for Townsville a day early to find an auto electrician. Checking in to the Black River Stadium campsite just outside town we hit it lucky when, upon asking for a place to go for the electrics, Col the camp manager said “No problem, you get the parts and I'll do it for you.” A quick trip to SupaCheap and a good bottle of Merlot for Col and we were back in business again better than ever.

Apart from the fridge we were in Townsville to visit Kevin and Helen McCarthy who we met on our 2010 trip; to hopefully see nephew Calum playing a game of rugby; and because it is a really nice place where somehow the weather is always beautiful when we are in town.

The first two days were a rugby fest with five games of rugby to watch - somehow I suspected Sandra was going to have a hard time! Arriving at Kevin and Helen's house on Saturday afternoon, first up was the Australia / New Zealand test match on TV (the Kiwis wiped the floor with the Wallabies) followed by the Big Game – the North Queensland Cowboys vs the Rabbitos. This is Rugby League country and the Cowboys are the local Townsville team so everyone was delighted when they won. The main event though was on Sunday.

Sandra's nephew Calum from Darwin is a good rugby player and has been signed by the Cowboys. Just 17 he is continuing his education in Townsville and combining this with preparation for what will hopefully be a career in rugby league. He is still too young to play for the Cowboys and is getting experience playing for one of the local clubs – The Centrals. On Sunday the Centrals were playing three games – all against a club called The Brothers. The first game was at Under 18 level, followed by the Reserve Grade game (basically the Seconds) and finally the A Grade (the Firsts) The bad news, certainly for Sandra, was that Calum was playing in two games – the first and the last, so we would have to sit through all three games to see Calum playing – and we did.

Sandra's nephew Calum

Sandra did very well despite letting out small shrieks when bodies came violently together i.e. every few seconds and she was under strict instructions not to embarrass me, not to mention Calum, by bringing out her knitting. Calum's team won the Under 18 game but were well beaten in the A Grade game which was not surprising as they were semi-professionals.

Calum in Action

After the rugby there was no rest for the wicked as I searched through my by now pretty revolting and well travelled clothes for something approaching smart casual for a night out at the Townsville Jazz Club. With my off white trousers, a pink polo shirt, a reasonably clean pair of trainers and very subdued lighting I think I managed to pull it off. However I think Sandra must have a hidden wardrobe somewhere in our camping equipment as she managed a degree of sophistication that made me look even more tawdry than usual.

On Monday the car was in for a service so we were given a chauffeured tour of Townsville by Kevin before going out to Cactus Jack's Mexican restaurant for an early evening meal with Calum.

Townsville from Castle Hill - Magnetic Island on the horizon

Kevin and Helen are an amazing couple – now well into their 70's they have a tremendous knowledge and enthusiasm for sport, and not just as spectators. Their house in Townsville boasts not only a swimming pool but a full sized, flood lit tennis court which is not just for show but hosts weekly matches played, to my eyes at least, to a pretty good standard.

Our hosts Helen and Kevin

As well as playing a mean set of tennis Helen is still playing competitive squash. On the night Sandra and I were stuffing ourselves in Cactus Jacks she, in her mid-seventies, was off playing a squash match where her opponent for the night was a young man in his twenties. She beat him in 5 sets saying that young men tend to run about the court too much and try to thrash the ball too hard. And they are excellent hosts and we hope that one day they will make the trip to Scotland in order that we can repay their hospitality.

What do you mean it was out?

Of course it was out!

 

There was good news on the car front when I got it back from the service. Regular readers will know that we have had a number of problems with the Honda during our trip, the latest being that for the last few months there has been a judder usually at around 80 km/hour. Several trips to the Honda dealer in Darwin resulted in new rear shock absorbers being fitted, followed by new bushes (whatever they are) and a new differential vibration damper (again, whatever that is) When this didn't work Honda referred me to their wheel and tyre place where all four wheels were balanced, the front wheels re-aligned and several kilos of dried mud removed from one of the wheels. We were assured that this would b the problem cured – it wasn't, and it had cost us many hundreds of dollars and it has been getting worse.
 

I mentioned all this to the garage in Townsville and the problem now seems to be cured. It would appear that the transmission oil has never been changed. The oil, which should be a clear red colour, was a murky black gunge full of contaminants and it was this that caused the juddering. A 138 dollars worth of new oil and the car is now going pretty smoothly, although a further oil change to ensure the transmission has been fully flushed may be required.

We did consider staying on in the Townsville area and were keen on a trip to Magnetic Island 8 kilometres off shore. However, discovering it was Magnetic Island yacht race week we decided to give it a miss and instead headed west, planning eventually to get to Longreach in Outback Queensland.

Our first stop was for a couple of days at Porcupine Gorge about 60k north of Hughenden. The gorge itself was very attractive but required a steep rocky descent of over a kilometre. That in itself wasn't a major problem other than that it required an Ascent of the same distance!



Sandra in Porcupine Gorge

The structure behind is known as The Pyramid

On our second day there, as dusk was falling, we were having a few beers with some fellow campers when I noticed something hopping by our tent. Thinking nothing of it I later went to the tent only to find we had been invaded yet again – this time by a curious creature with an even more curious name – a Rufous Bettong. Looking like a cross between a kangaroo and a giant, long-tailed rat, the Bettong had not only rifled through some of our bags, but was still doing so as I went into the tent and was determined to keep on rifling whether I was there or not! As I tried to chase it away it ran further into the tent and refused to leave, eventually doing so under protest.

Our Rufous Bettong with very long tail

And then there were two

 

That however was not the last of our Bettong problems. Having prepared a chicken and pumpkin curry with brown rice for dinner we put the dirty pots on the floor whilst we ate and suddenly found that we had not one but two Bettongs for company. Once again they proved that, when food was at stake, they were not easily persuaded to move. Although we do not usually feed the wildlife, in this case let them lick the pots as it saved us doing the washing up!

Efficient little dishwashers - saves water too!

 

After a couple of pleasant nights at Porcupine Gorge we sallied forth once again going through Hughenden then on a mere 213k to Winton the next town of any consequence in the area – although the inhabitants of Corfield (population 3) might dispute this. Winton is known as “The Dinosaur Capital of Australia” and is reputedly the first place to hear the familiar strain of that well known Australian song “Waltzing Matilda”. We intend staying a couple of days before heading to Longreach.

Giant windmill in Hughenden

 

We are camped by a rather muddy looking waterhole in the Bladensburg National Park about 20k south of Winton. Unlike our trip through “The Wet Tropics” which certainly lived up to their name (despite it being the “dry” season) this area of Queensland is still suffering from drought. The land is parched and dry with what looks like pretty slim pickings for the livestock. Being a National Park we had to pay up front for the right to camp and are continually amused at the people who roll up as darkness falls, stay the night, then pack up shortly after dawn in an attempt to avoid the Ranger and paying the $5 a night camping fee.

Anyway – we are now off on the Dinosaur Trail to the tune of Waltzing Matilda.

From Fishery Falls to Wallaman Falls via the Banana Races at Innisfail

After a wet, sleepless night at Goldsborough Valley we had an early morning call from the friendly Park Ranger to tell us that it had been raining heavily overnight (as if we needed to be told!) and he advised us to have made the two rivers crossings and be out of the park by midday. We didn't need a second telling, particularly when he told us that he himself was already packed ready for a quick exit. Taking advantage of a lull in the rain we loaded everything into the car and left – even though we had already paid for another night we decided that the principle wasn't worth fighting for.

Thinking that we might dodge further rain if we headed inland we made the tortuous, hairpin bended ascent up to the Atherton Tablelands stopping for brunch in the neat little town of Yungaburra then heading on to Atherton itself. On the way we stopped at two of the areas “must see” tourist sites – the Cathedral Fig and the Curtain Fig.

The Cathedral Fig

Sandra inside the Cathedral Fig

We had visited the former about 15 years ago and it hadn't changed much although, as it is about 500 years old, that perhaps wasn't too surprising. Both are “stranglers” which latch on to a host tree gradually strangling it until it dies, by which time the fig is self supporting.

The Curtain Fig

A quick look at the weather forecast and we realised that we were unlikely to outrun the rain by going further west so it was back down the hairpins to the coast again to look for a berth for the night – and thus we ended up at Fishery Falls. This was a very neat, clean, well set out campsite which just happened to be at the back of the Fishery Falls pub. Arriving late on the Friday afternoon we were told by the camp hosts that Happy Hour was at five o'clock and we were invited to have a drink and nibbles with fellow campers. This sort of campsite, or to be exact caravan park, was not the type of place we would normally gravitate towards. Happy Hour was held in the camp kitchen and our attendance must have taken the average age down by quite a bit – and we're no spring chickens. The average age of our companions was probably between 70 and 80 - Sandra said it reminded her of the meetings she used to have with tenants in the sheltered housing and care homes she managed back in Scotland. Still it was quite a good base from which to explore the area for a few days and, low and behold, the sun came out.

First up was a trip to the races at Innisfail for which we were given free tickets by Di, our campsite hostess. The tickets were dated 2013 but they seemed to pass muster at the gate and we got in – saving ourselves $30.

The Banana Race Meeting at Innisfail

This is banana growing country and these were the Banana Races sponsored by the local banana industry. After studying form for the “Lamanna Group Benchmark Handicap”, Sandra selected Dazzle On but was too late to get a bet on – and it romped home. The next race was the “JE Tipper, Costa Bananas, Orora Fibre Packaging Handicap” and Sandra, feeling she was on a roll, fancied Skitter and managed to get a bet on – it came home 2^nd. Unfortunately she had backed it to win – and that was our last bet.

Sandra's nag coming second

I am not really one for the horses and am not a gambler but, as I heard Sandra telling someone later, I was more interested in the other “fillies” that were on the course. The was a $3000 prize for the best dressed woman and, as it was a hot day, some of the outfits were …. well enough of that!


We did a range of local local trips including the famous Babinda Boulders (no I hadn't heard of them either) Josephine Falls and Bramston Beach.

Sandra at Babinda Boulders

The beautiful Josephine Falls

On the Saturday night I entered the pub just as the Australia / New Zealand Rugby Union test was kicking off in a very wet Sydney and I sat drinking VB with the locals – all two of them. We had booked in to the campsite for one day and stayed for four – Sandra is getting a bit fed up of travelling and wants to have longer stops between putting up the tent and taking it down again.

Bramston Beach

A last lazy day camping at Fishery Falls

We are heading to Townsville where we plan to see old friends Kevin and Helen and hopefully take in a game of rugby watching nephew Calum (Gill's younger son) playing We travelled south through Tully (allegedly the wettest town in Australia) then Cardwell and Ingham on our way to Girringun National Park as we decided to give the national parks another go – we needed a change of environment after four days in an old folks home! Arriving at the campsite as the sun was setting we managed to get the tent up as darkness fell and then noticed a number of dark shapes scurrying around and breathed a sigh of relief to discover they were only harmless brush turkeys. Our encounter with the rat was still fresh in our minds – and then a dark, four-legged animal made its way towards us. We immediately thought “Rat” - but it was far too large and not in the least bit timid as it made directly for the door of the tent – a Bandicoot! Zipping up before it could get in and find the food we chased it away – but I didn't think we'd seen the last of him. We hadn't – during the second night he gnawed through a fresh plastic container of orange juice we had left under the awning of the tent and we lost the lot.

One of our neighbours at Wallaman Falls

Wallaman Falls, where we are camping, is quite genuinely famous – the falls are the longest, single drop falls in Australia and are mightily impressive. The total height of the falls is, in old money as it sounds even more impressive, over 1100 feet (338m) - the Stoney Creek cascades initially over 200 feet, then, in the single longest drop in the country, plunges a further 900 feet. As I said – impressive.

Wallaman Falls - 1100 ft from top to bottom - Impressive

Tomorrow we leave with a mission – the plug for the fridge has broken - this is disastrous. No cold beer! ... not to mention problems with inconsequentials such as meat and veggies.