WEDNESDAY 29 APRIL WEST WYALONG TO GILGANDRA 340kms
Yes, it was a really cold night! About the only drawback of a poptop caravan, that we’d found, was that the vinyl sided walls of the poptop seemed to allow the inside to be colder when the outside was chilly. But, against that, the cross ventilation allowed by the zippered flaps made hot days more pleasant inside. And we did spend much more time in hot places rather than cold.
It was hard to venture out of the warm bed, so it was another 10am departure.
The Newell Highway passed through attractive country, in this part of NSW. There were always hills somewhere in the distance, and scenic variations to keep the drive interesting. There was generally no more than forty five or fifty minutes between towns or villages, which provided more variety.
There was, as we expected, lots of truck traffic, in both directions. We were overtaken regularly by large trucks, but this did not cause us any issues. John always attempted to use the CB radio to let the truck driver behind know that we were aware of him coming up behind us, and used our lights to show when it was safe to pull in front of us again. I would expect that the long-haul drivers of the Newell were pretty experienced and on this part of the highway there were lots of places where overtaking was easy.
We stopped at a very pretty park in Peak Hill to eat lunch and stretch our legs a bit.
In the much larger Dubbo, we were able to park the rig in a side street and went shoe hunting. Eventually fetched up at Athlete’s Foot and bought a pair of very comfortable specialist walking sneakers which were, by a huge margin, the most expensive footwear I had ever owned!
John found a car radio type shop. He wanted a new aerial for the CB, as a recent encounter with an overhanging branch appeared to have terminally damaged the existing one. He found what he wanted, on display, but the assistant on duty couldn’t work the stock computer and didn’t seem very interested in helping, anyway, so John walked out. Said he’d spend his money somewhere that deserved it.
By the time we reached Gilgandra, it was time to stop for the day. The caravan park there was a member of the OzParks group, so we joined that on the spot, for $16, and our site then cost $20. It was a large, park-like establishment with lots of trees, bordered on one side by the Castlereagh River. The amenities were perhaps a bit dated but they were clean enough. We found it a pleasant place to stay and it was set far enough back from the highway to mute the traffic noise in the night. Yet again, we were able to stay hitched up.
Grey crowned babblers at Gilgandra
We went for a walk around the park. It was large enough to make this worthwhile exercise. Right up at the far end, a couple who were obviously longer-term dwellers, had established a thriving vegie garden. It was not just a few pots or boxes around their van, but several big beds. There was obviously no water shortage here – we were envious of their productivity. Our recent summer gardening back at home had been limited by water restrictions that had seen us showering surrounded by buckets to catch water that was carried out to water the tomatoes!
After browsing through some of the tourist booklets that I’d picked up over the past couple of days, John floated the idea of detouring to the Warrumbungles National Park for a few days. I liked the suggestion. We’d had a brief visit there, back in 1997 Term 1 holidays, after attending step daughter’s wedding in Sydney. It was tent based camping then, and we’d really enjoyed the place. We should be able to do some walking and it would be great to stay in a “bush” setting again.
We both slept in this morning, possibly due to the overcast, dull morning. So, even though already hitched up, it was 10am before we were ready to leave.
The rain had let up during the night, but the ground was still wet.
The Mid Western Highway, eastwards, was wider than the road yesterday had been, but the edges were still very soft and John was very careful not to stray off the sealed stuff, at all. We saw places where vehicles had driven off the black top and bogged.
Stopped for a coffee break at Goolgowi, familiar from previous trips north to Qld. However, this time we would not be going north from there, towards Hillston and Cobar, but continuing eastwards.
While drinking our coffee, watched some ringneck parrots, who appeared to have a nest in a nearby tree – or else be sussing it out for one. It was the first of this type of parrot seen on this trip.
A pair of Ringneck ParrotsThe yellow ring at the back of the neck explains the name
Our lunch stop was at Rankins Springs – I’d made sandwiches before we left this morning. Whilst eating, we watched babblers and apostle birds pecking about on the ground nearby.
By this time the previously flat plains had become more undulating, even hilly. Much more interesting and cheerful….
I noted that the caravan park at Rankins Springs would be alright for a future stay, maybe to explore the nearby Cocoparra National Park.
From here, it was a pleasant run through farming country, to West Wyalong. We passed what appeared to be a very large olive growing venture.
Booked into the Ace Caravan Park, for $23. Found this park quite good and would certainly stay here again. It was still being actively developed and improved. Most sites were drive through style and attractively set out. By late afternoon, most were occupied. There was a railway line behind the park, but no trains went through while we were there.
Drive through – stay hitched up sites for greatest convenience
After a minimal set up, we walked the length of the town’s main street. I had hopes of being able to buy some new sneakers. The walking we’d done at Echuca and Hay had resulted in very wet feet, because I’d picked up the wrong pair of shoes from outside our back door at home. Instead of good solid, walking suitable sneakers, I’d brought my older gardening ones, complete with soles cracked right across. From the top, they didn’t look much different.
The only sneakers I could find locally that were anywhere near sturdy enough were also white! Not exactly a practical colour for my lifestyle, so I passed on buying those. Maybe in the larger centre of Dubbo?
Detoured into a supermarket and bought some groceries. There were more than I’d expected to need, so the walk ended up doubling as weights training too.
There was still some cloud about, but it felt like it was going to be a really cold night. I was glad I’d packed my woolly bedsocks.
John was feeling rather frustrated by the short stages we had done to date – not his preferred travelling style – and so said that he wanted to reach Lightning Ridge tomorrow. I had planned to stay at Peak Hill, where we had never stopped to look about and where there was a caravan park I wanted to sample. But, must keep the driver happy, so wasn’t going to make a fuss about that.
Due to the rain we had not done any preliminary packing up, so it was well gone 10am before we pulled out of the caravan park.
A little hiccup had occurred when we couldn’t find the locking pin for the Treg bolt. It must have been loose in the van boot somewhere. This was pretty full of “stuff”, so we eventually used the spare I kept in the cutlery drawer. Must remember to replace that.
In the continuing rain, we drove north into NSW and on to Deniliquin. The road roughly paralleled the Murray River or tributaries, with swampy sections or billabongs coming close in a couple of places. But overall it was not particularly interesting – mostly broad grazing country. Tree lines marked creeks or rivers and the occasional homestead complex provided something different to look at, as did the small town of Mathoura, about half way.
In Deniliquin, we pulled into the van parking area so thoughtfully provided, and walked to the nearby shops to buy papers. John wanted the football post mortems from the weekend.
Whilst walking, saw a big flock of silvereyes in some bushes.
We stopped to look at a community art work project – featuring utes (utility vehicle) as objects of art. I took a photo of the very first one of these that had been completed – a mosaic covered ute. “Deni” had attempted to tackle the difficult task that faces such rural towns these days, of finding some unique niche that would attract visitors. Their quite successful solution had been to run an annual ute muster – a kind of festival and get-together for ute enthusiasts from all over the country. The art project was a spin off from that, I guessed.
Mosaic covered ute at the home of the Denni Ute Muster
We headed north again, out onto the Hay Plains. Flat, featureless, unattractive, especially in the continuing rain. According to some sources, the Hay Plains are the flattest part of Australia. Not only were they flat, but barren too.
After some time of the monotony of the plains, a single, tall dead tree came into view, with a big eagle’s nest in its few branches. It was so stark and somehow symptomatic in its deadness, that we simultaneously said “photo”.
The Black Swamp
The bitumen part of the road here was a bit narrow, so John pulled off onto the gravel verge – and down we sank! I couldn’t believe it.
Truck’s driver side wheels were about 1cm off the bitumen, the van wheel on that side was still on it. But we couldn’t drive out of it – trying only made the van start to move sideways, sliding down the roadside slope, threatening to pull Truck down backwards with it. It didn’t take much imagination to envisage the van slid right down, at right angles to truck….
The most innocuous looking problems can be the worst….
I went and took photos of the tree that was the cause of all this, while John pondered options. We had never before been bogged with the van on. As with previous times we had bogged Truck, there was never an accessible tree or pole within cooee to attach the winch to. There must be some sort of rule of stuck vehicles – like, never where convenient or easy.
While we were trying to come up with some solution, a 4WD came along. This was not a very frequently trafficked road, either. We waved him down. He turned around – very cautiously – and came back to us.
We used our snatch strap and he pulled us forward and thus out – carefully, but easily.
We were very relieved. It just seemed so ridiculous, given all the hairy places we had taken the van, to be bogged on the verge of a made highway!
Later, we found out that this section of the plains is called the Black Swamp. That explained why I felt the ground was spongy underfoot, when I walked up a little track to take my photos. I also found out later, that the Black Swamp was supposed to be haunted by the ghost of a dead drover, who appeared as a horseman riding – but without a head! Given the nature of the country here, it was believable! Not somewhere I would want to do an overnight camp, for sure.
We drove on to Hay – carefully and uneventfully. Decided to stay the night here. It was still raining, and we’d had enough adventures for one day!
Went into the Hay Plains Caravan Park, for $21.60, after discount. We were able to stay hitched up, which was a bonus.
Did get a bit damp, doing the minimal set up, and felt the need for some exercise, so – despite the rain – walked to the shops. This took us across the bridge over the Murrumbidgee River – like the Murray had been, very low.
At the Visitor Information Centre, I collected some propaganda, otherwise called tourist information. There was a featured display of local postcards, prominent amongst them one of THAT tree! It kind of added insult to injury. I bought one to send to grandson; thought I could spin a pretty good story on it, for him.
We found a hardware store and bought a new coupling pin, to be the spare in the cutlery drawer.
The forecast was for very cold nights in inland NSW, this coming week. Not sure this trip is getting any better……
The wet, cold and windy weather continued. I’d dug out my woolly socks and polar fleece jacket, and was mostly confined to the van. The country needed the rain, of course, and lots more of it. I just wished it didn’t have to fall on us.
I did manage a short walk along the river bank. The gum trees were very aromatic after the rain.
The paddle steamers were such an integral part of being here. They churned past. regularly, and we heard their high pitched, distinctive, whistles, a lot. There seemed to be three or four taking tourist trips, with a couple offering meals afloat, as well. Right now, they did not have all that much river to float on. Had to be bad for business, as well as making navigation trickier.
To enliven the otherwise dreary day, we drove to the Beechworth Bakery to get lunch. Despite the name, we did not have to go that far. This well known brand started, as the name suggested, in Beechworth, and gained a bit of a cult following, so had expanded to other places, like Echuca. I had the Beechworth Bakery Cookbook at home, and had made some of the recipes within, so really wanted to take this chance to sample their wares. We indulged in savoury pastry things – pie and pastie for John, spinach and fetta concoction for me, and shared a vanilla slice. The bottomless coffee was excellent. They were doing a really good trade, justified, because the food was really good.
Drove up past the Murray River Sawmill, previous source of red gum for John. We were pleased to see that it was still there and functioning although, being Sunday, was closed. This was probably fortunate, otherwise there could well have been another shipment of timber making its way to our place. I collect cookbooks, John collects timber – by the cubic metre.
Did a small shop at Safeway. John insisted we used the self-help checkout, which I was dubious about, having previously experienced hassles in these with the types of fresh produce I was buying. Some 30 minutes later, and after 5 calls on attendants for help, he finally got us clear with our purchases, and barely on speaking terms with each other. I had intended to use our $20 bowls prize voucher here, but decided things were already too complicated. We used it when Truck was fuelled up, instead.
I cooked meat patties for tea, using the electric frypan outside, under the awning roof. It was very cold out there, but at least I avoided condensing up the van interior.
When I went outside, first thing in the morning, found that rain through the night had pooled heavily on the awning roof. We had overlooked the need to have the corner poles at different heights, so rain would run off. I got rather wet draining the large pool of water off – most of it onto my feet and legs.
I sat outside, under said roof, with my morning coffee. Watched the neighbouring Phoenix van owner hitch up. His weight distribution bars seemed to bend greatly once their chains were hooked up and lifted. It was such a heavy van. The bars looked the same as ours, but ours stay straight. I wasn’t sure how much bending was acceptable though.
After coffee I walked up to the shops to get the weekend papers and post grandson’s card. Most shops were closed, either for the whole day, or until 1pm. Groups of people were obviously heading for the Anzac Service at the town Memorial, which I passed on my walk back.
There were not all that many tourists around, though. The caravan park had been nowhere near full last night, despite what was intimated to us when we booked in, in order to get us to commit to the whole four days at once. I thought the rain and dismal forecast may have caused cancellations.
Low Murray River. Steps on left were usual access to moored boat.
John had surfaced when I got back. Read the papers for a while, then it was time to head off to bowls. When we got there, found the start time had been put back half an hour, due to the Anzac occasion, so waited around, trying to be social.
There was not a large turn out – again, probably due to the weather. We played in rain showers and gusty wind. We were drawn in different teams. John’s team won the prize of $20 of vouchers, redeemable at local shops. A useful prize. We finished in profit for the day – the princely amount of $5, given entry fees of $5 each and $5 spent on the obligatory post-game beers for our opponents. High finance!
A woman I encountered in one game really annoyed me. Originally from England, she was complaining that their investments had lost so much that they could not afford to go overseas for their usual annual four month trip to the UK. She would not countenance that travel within Australia might be a good alternative – it was “too boring”, the “villages are all the same”, though she thought Perth passed muster – barely. She wouldn’t consider going outback, although her husband would really love to drive up through the Centre, because there were snakes and spiders there. What a blinkered outlook. It took a lot of self discipline on my part not to start talking about spiders and snakes around Moama.
Just after we got back to the van, heavy rain set in, accompanied by thunder, lightning and big wind gusts. Most unpleasant.
I cooked tea of cheese omelets and green vegies. The poptop side flaps were zipped up against the rain, so there was lots of condensation from my cooking on the vinyl and metal frame. I don’t like having to cook enclosed in the van, for just this reason, but sometimes there is no other option.
To annoy me further, the omelets stuck to the pan, so turned into scrambled cheese.
There was a different van next to us, tonight. It did not seem to have a maker’s label, but the label read something like “our van by XXXX and YYYY.” It looked to be about 18 foot long, but only had a single axle and seemed too long for it, at the back. It had no weight distribution type gear either. They had a domestic reverse cycle air conditioner built into the rear of the van; the noise from this kept going on and off all through the night. I felt this was really inconsiderate. It was not quite as noisy as the roof mounted ones, but must have been very intrusive for the family in the camper trailer on the other side.
In the wee small hours, I pondered the question: are fellow travellers becoming less considerate, or am I becoming less tolerant, as I age?
Some rain set in through last night and today was cooler and cloudy, with some rain spells.
We spent a quiet day: some emailing, John gaming on his laptop, me studying share prices and trends on mine, and then reading the daily paper.
Between rain sessions, we managed a walk to the shopping centre, keeping a wary eye on an ominously huge cloud build up to the north.
I bought a newspaper, and a postcard for grandson – predictably, of a paddle steamer. Hardly a novelty for him, who has visited Echuca himself a few times, but there wasn’t much else on offer.
The drought had lasted so long that vegetation had regrown on banks where the river level had dropped
The caravan park partly filled up as the afternoon wore on. Our new neighbours were from Qld. They were not happy about the weather.
Being Friday, indulged in the weekly fish and chip treat. We found a promising looking, award winning establishment, and ordered our usual meal of fish, chips, potato cakes and a dim sim for John. It cost $31. Ouch! That was definitely NOT usual! It was very nice; the barra really was barra and not the Nile Perch that is often substituted, but the serving of chips was miniscule. If that was gourmet fish and chips, I’ll take the plebian variety, thanks.
Echuca was a costly place to stay. I was not sure I would like to live here, subjected to a tourism-determined local economy.
On TV at night, watched St Kilda demolish Port Adelaide: the season had begun well for “my” Saints.
The human alarm clock arrived at 6.30am. By the time he was called in to breakfast, we had discussed such diverse topics as cane toads, long iron ore trains, crocodiles, parrots, sandflies, Easter eggs, monster trucks – and I had a huge postcard “order”.
After the family – otherwise known as the audience – had departed for work and school, we tackled the dreaded hitch up. A breeze – why did I worry myself sleepless last night?
Before we left home on this trip, I had asked John to pack a small piece of MDF board, to put under the jockey wheel so I could more easily move the van sideways when he was trying to back in line with the hitch. Thus far, it seemed to make a great difference. Had only taken me eleven years of hitching hassles to think of that one. How slow am I?
As we headed towards Echuca, I discovered that my recent-edition Road Atlas showed a fruit exclusion zone, north of Elmore. The front line of the losing battle being fought in the southern States against Queensland fruit fly. I could remember when there were actual manned checkpoints at the NSW/Victoria border crossings. These days, the campaign is reliant mostly on people doing the right thing – and we all know how that ends!
We parked in Elmore whilst I gathered and disposed of my fruit and vegies including, sadly, the last of our home grown tomatoes – the ones that really taste like tomatoes.
Once, when exploring on little back roads in northern Victoria, we were pulled over by a mobile fruit inspector; ignorance of being in a fruit exclusion zone was no excuse, and we were lucky to escape a fine. So, we were not prepared to take the risk, this time.
However, we did not sight any of the usual warning signs by the road, between Elmore and Echuca, so I then wondered if I had disposed of my lovely tomatoes for a now obsolete line on a map? If so, I would be mightily cross with Mr Hema.
The Northern Highway was an attractive road to travel, one of those country highways that had lots of eucalypt trees lining the roadsides, with glimpses of mostly flat grazing and cropping country through the trees. For much of the way it paralleled the nearby Campaspe River. This was mostly evident as a thicker line of trees in the distance, but occasionally the river channel came close to the highway. The townships of Elmore and Rochester were both built beside the Campaspe, but we did not stop to explore either of these.
I had phoned before leaving this morning and booked us into the Echuca Caravan Park for four nights. We wanted to wait out the end of the NSW school holidays before venturing into that State, plus the coming Anzac Day, which too many Melbourne people seemed to make into an unofficial long weekend and an excuse to escape to the country.
At $39 a night for an ordinary powered site, I considered we must be paying long weekend rates! The Top Tourist discount reduced that by $3.90 a night, but still….
This park was rather a favourite of ours because it was close to the Old Port historic area, beside the Murray River, and within walking distance of the main street and shops. The facilities were reasonable, although there was no longer any grass. Where there were not cement annexe slabs, rubber matting had been laid instead. Some of the trees were looking very distressed – the toll of the prolonged drought.
Our site backed on to the river levee bank. If the river’s water level had not been so low, we would have had a great view of the passing paddle steamers. As it was, we got to see the passing funnels!
Murray River levee, behind our Echuca camp
After setting up, awning and all, we drove across the bridge over the Murray, to Moama, the NSW twin town of Echuca. Here there was a large bowls club, one whose size and wealth was established in the days when Victoria did not have poker machines at all, but NSW did. There used to be a thriving bus tour industry based on “trips to the pokies” from all over Victoria. Moama benefitted greatly, being the closest NSW town to Melbourne, as did Echuca accommodation places.
John booked us in to play bowls on Saturday afternoon. He said I “owed” him a game, in return for his school walk yesterday. We had a long standing arrangement, whereby he bushwalks with me, I bowl with him. The definition of bushwalk appeared to have broadened somewhat.
Then it was off to Safeway to stock up on fruit and vegies, to replace the produce I still resented forfeiting. We managed to find a checkout girl who could not distinguish between grapefruit and oranges, zucchini and cucumber. I wondered what she ate at home? I also bought a large cask of water, as the local supply did not taste nice – another effect of the drought.
After offloading our produce and having lunch, we went for a walk along the river towards the old port area that dates from the 1860’s.
Echuca began in the 1850’s at the point where a small punt service crossed the Murray River near its junction with the Campaspe. The port – and town – soon grew to become the largest inland port in the Australian colonies. Shallow draught paddle steamers brought produce, especially wool and wheat from a vast area of the inland, to Echuca and from thence to Melbourne, particularly after the railway reached Echuca in 1864. It was a railway company that built the large timber wharf here, from local timber. A major sawmilling industry based on the abundant local river red gum trees, had developed; some years ago, John bought red gum from the mill here that still exists, from which to make our dining table and chairs. Back in the 1860’s, apart from construction, it was used to build steam driven paddle boats for the river trade.
The twin town of Moama grew on the other end of the river punt crossing. Its growth was initially stimulated by being a major crossing point of the river during the Victorian gold rushes of the 1850’s. The movement of cattle from NSW for meat for the goldfields of Bendigo was particularly important. In fact, an enterprising Moama innkeeper – James Maiden – established a holding paddock for his cattle on the outskirts of the Bendigo goldfields – the present day suburb of Maiden Gully.
Some of the paddle boats built at Echuca have been restored and offer tourists rides on the river, at various present-day river towns. But however authentic it may appear, the well known tourist paddle steamer operating from Echuca, the Emmy Lou, was only built in the 1980’s.
The present port of Echuca area is a fascinating preservation/recreation of what existed in the late 1800’s. Even down to horse drawn vehicles. It is a little compromised by being tourist oriented now, but wandering about there, it is easy to feel what it was like back then. The historian in me really appreciates the place. We had visited here before and it did not seem to have changed much.
John’s hip seemed to have been improved by all the recent activity. He was pleased.
We watched a bus load of tourists queue up to board the Emmy Lou for a dinner “cruise” on the river. It was amusing to watch the jockeying to be at the front of the line.
There were houseboats parked along the river’s edge. It was a measure of how low the river was that they were well below the level of their access stairs, and with prows resting on the mud. John mused about owning one of these. I pointed out that it was traumatic enough worrying about leaks in our caravan, without doing the same about something that is meant to float!
Today’s weather had been lovely: blue skies, warm. However, the forecast was for rain for the next few days. Maybe we should have kept going north, after all?
A 6am knocking on the van door was grandson, come to wake us up – a task at which he excelled. Well, Grandad did need an early start!
Truck and driver departed at 7.30 and, via the newly opened Calder Freeway and Eastlink, arrived at the mechanic at Lilydale at 10am.
I remained in Bendigo and spent the morning working on my laptop computer. As I used a desktop set up at home, it took me some time to update the laptop with things like current Bookmarks. I had at least updated my share trading programs before leaving home – downloading the price data for several months took a long time! Murphy was still hovering around, though, because I lost a couple of programs I was trying to set up.
About 1.30, I was astounded to hear the unmistakeable Truck burble. I had been so sure that repairs would be major and take days, not to mention lots more dollars. After all that, when John had gotten there, after a cursory look, mechanic said there wasn’t much he could do. I was less than impressed, to put it mildly. Suspected that “not much he can do” translated into something like being too busy, or couldn’t be bothered to properly look for the problem with the work he’d already done. He suggested seeing a brake specialist in Bendigo – talk about passing the buck. John wasn’t keen on that idea – so many car people do not like playing with Landrovers!
So, the brakes issue was not really resolved. Didn’t know where we would go for future work on Truck, but it wouldn’t be back to that incompetent clown.
Our 1996 Defender was getting on in years…..
This morning, I’d arranged with daughter that I would collect grandson from school and walk home with him. Daughter assured me that it “wasn’t far” and that the Preppie would really enjoy this, instead of the usual after-school care.
John and I left at 2.30, walked briskly, and just got there at 3.15. John’s “good” hip (the unreplaced one) hurt badly, but he pressed on. Grandson was happily surprised to see grandad too. John got the grand tour of “my classroom” and met “my teacher”. The former primary school Principal was most impressed with the facilities.
The walk back seemed never-ending. Grandson took us on a short cut that involved a big hill. I was carrying his backpack: how on earth can a Prep kid have a pack that weighs a ton? By the time we got back from this expedition we were hot and tired and my feet hurt.
After some grandparent recovery time and refuel for junior, we were off again, in Truck this time, to go watch the weekly swimming lesson. Then, grandson’s day was really made because, for once, he could get changed in the boys’ room, with grandad to supervise, rather than in the girls’ with mum.
Over dinner, I challenged daughter’s sense of distance. Turned out she had never walked the school route, just driven it, and it “didn’t seem all that far”. (A couple of days later she texted me to say that she had measured it – 3kms each way. So we walked 6kms!)
Whilst he had been back in the vicinity John had called back in to home – to the surprise of the house sitters – and collected some forgotten items: the sheepskin bed underlay he needed for the deteriorating hip, and my sleeper earrings. There is always something forgotten…..
After all of today’s activities we needed a VERY early night.
I had been so looking forward to this day – ever since 30 September 2007, which was the day we arrived home from our last extended trip.
We were better organized this time, more so than any of the previous times I could remember. Probably because we were not going hard on the heels of the end of the bowls season – John had time to get his head into trip mode! Our house sitters arrived yesterday, and slotted back into the place like they had never been away.
There were only the normal few last minute bits of packing to do – things like our pills, all the electronic gear which I did not like to leave out front in van or Truck overnight.
John went out to the van to take some of his oddments there, and came back saying some things which I would not put into print here! Suffice to say that he was distinctly unhappy. Murphy’s Law – a neighbour had parked his caravan out in the street, in order to avoid some tree lopping work he was having done – but he parked it right where we needed to swing out and around when we had the van on the back. It was a narrow, dead-end street, and said neighbour had long left for work.
A wide turning circle was needed to get the rig out through the narrow gateway onto the road……
After much swearing, head scratching, advice from other neighbours, it seemed the only option was to turn the wrong way upon exiting our drive – away from the offending obstacle – and perform a multi-point turn in someone else’s driveway. Not easy, either, as the only one with enough space was on the downhill side of the road. But, after that fraught start, we were away, at last.
Today’s target was only Bendigo – the customary first night when we were travelling north or west. Extra special on this occasion because it was daughter’s birthday. We would park in daughter’s driveway and spend the customary first trip night saying adieu to 6 year old grandson. He would then know that he won’t see us again for months, but that the postcards and letters would begin arriving regularly, from places he would need to find on his map. He had started school this year and was, reportedly, enjoying it.
Off to school for the first time
We took the usual route north and west: via Lilydale, Yea, Seymour, Tooborac, Heathcote. This avoids the city traffic, and is normally a varied, pleasant drive, over the Great Divide – at a reasonable gradient – and then along the Goulburn River valley. After Seymour the country changes to low, rolling hills and a mix of drier bushland and grazing country. In these drought times, very much drier!
However, this was the first time we had been this way since the February bushfires, and the devastation was truly sobering. Beyond Dixons Creek, where the fire front came through from Kinglake, its intensity was shown by the total lack of any ground timber or litter. There were just black, skeleton-like standing trunks and what looked like fine grey ash on the ground. It used to be green, lush, forest, lots of ferns, undergrowth, hollow fallen logs. One could not see very far into it from the road then. Now, the shape of the land was totally visible.
It was a little encouraging to see some revegetation starting, with some trees shooting green and golden brown leaves, and green shoots from the occasional tree fern trunk. However, it would take a long time to again build up the fallen logs and forest floor debris that would shelter small wildlife.
Over the crest of the Range, the fire seemed to have been less intense. Still, we wondered how some of the houses tucked into pockets of forest, survived.
In a burnt section, there is a wombat dead on the road, killed by a vehicle. The poor creature survived the fires, but…….
Despite being well away from forest, the Glenburn Hotel had gone; ember attack, apparently.
Work on the controversial pipeline, intended to bring water from the Goulburn River, north of the Divide, to Melbourne, in drought times, had resumed after the fires, and we were slowed by works a few times.
Lunch stop at the rest area in Yea, by the old railway station. I’d packed sandwiches for us before leaving home. We walked around to stretch legs, ate, had a quick coffee from the travelling thermos.
After that, it was an uneventful run to Bendigo. More by luck than intent, managed to time the Bendigo section for just before school traffic time. I usually direct us to avoid the town centre and deviate from the main road, taking a fairly direct route across to Golden Square, via suburban streets. But there are quite a few school crossings, so it was good to be early.
At daughter’s, we backed down the slope that is their driveway, intending to stay hitched-up for our one night stay. But up trotted Murphy again….. John was definitely not happy with the Truck brakes. They would not properly hold the rig on the driveway and I had to hurry and get bricks to put behind the van wheels.
We’d had the brake vacuum pump replaced twice in the past month, the most recent five days ago. When we set off this morning, John was thinking (hoping?) the brakes would “wear in”. They hadn’t.
A phone call was made to the mechanic and arrangements made for Truck and John to return to Melbourne tomorrow. I suspected that the gloss was well and truly wearing off the new mechanic, as far as John was concerned!
We put chocks and brick stacks behind the van wheels, and unhitched the van. I refused, at this point, to dwell on past dramas with the Treg hitch on sloping ground. Would worry about that whenever Truck was fit to go again.
I could be having quite an extended stay here – which prospect pleased daughter and grandson. The latter currently “luffs” us very much – Grandad John won a big Easter raffle, so we had arrived bearing many sinful goodies.
We celebrated daughter’s birthday with takeaway Chinese and an early night.
After this start, surely things would improve – wouldn’t they? And Murphy would stay away – wouldn’t he?
Although we’d had to cancel last year’s booking with our great house sitters, we had managed to secure them for about four months of this year. So that enabled me to attempt to plan a trip, again, with fervent hopes that circumstances would not wreck plans, as they had last year.
Before last Xmas, son had moved into a flat nearby, and appeared to be well on the way to recovery from the distress of his marriage break up. Friend M had vacated the other back bedroom and was house sitting for friends, in between various trips away. She was all planned up for this year.
So, our house had become our own again, and our lives more under our own control.
Grandson decided that my green tree frog should go and live at the new flat…..
We had experienced the horrors of the February Black Saturday bushfires in ways that were a bit too close…..Total Fire Ban hot north wind days were always tense ones, for those of us living in the Dandenong Ranges, and I listened to the drama unfolding on ABC radio, as the fires grew and spread so quickly. Kinglake, then Yarra Glen were impacted, then there were alerts for areas between there and Lilydale – where my grandchildren’s other grandparents were caretaking a property, and where son’s flat was. A plume of smoke and the fire siren indicated a fire started not far down the hill from us, and out went the local brigade. It was extinguished quickly, started by local firebugs.
Around 4pm ABC radio broadcast an alert for the Golden Square area of Bendigo, where daughter lived. I phoned her to check that she was not being impacted by the fire there……”What fire?”. I asked if she had been listening to the emergency radio….”No, don’t have a radio. I’ll just go look through the window……Oh, shit!” The latter in response to a large evident smoke cloud. I left her to watch and prepare. Although Golden Square was not eventually impacted, that fire burnt quite close to the centre of Bendigo. Daughter bought a small, portable radio.
The tenant of our former granny flat spent every weekend at an ashram at Yarra Glen, and they got quite a fright from it all. A former colleague and her husband died at Kinglake.
There was the devastation of so much superb bushland, the animals and birds that lived in it.
It was so much a repetitive cycle, from which necessary lessons did not seem to be learned. As a teenager in 1962, I’d watched from then rural North Bayswater, as the Dandenongs burned: a horseshoe of fire in the night. Ash Wednesday of 1983 in the Dandenongs impacted heavily on the families whose students I taught, and colleagues who lost homes at Cockatoo and Lorne. I was out at night in my bushy backyard at Montrose, extinguishing embers that drifted down the mountain on the wind change. In 1997 parts of the Dandenongs burned again and friends experienced traumatic evacuations. Yet the whole area continued to be more densely settled as Melbourne’s urban sprawl grew unchecked. At our end of the mountains, there were few exit roads and they were one lane each way, and winding – with the population growth, a disaster in the making……
It was, of course, a given that we could not depart for travels before John’s bowls season ended, which could be as late as mid-March if they made finals. Then there were Club championships to be played….
Easter, with its associated school holidays, was in April this year. I really did not want to be sharing roads and caravan parks with the Easter crowds, if avoidable.
A booking that commenced later in April had suited our sitters, so for all those reasons, this year’s trip started a bit later than normal.
John had decided to abandon having Truck serviced by Landrover dealers in Melbourne, given the issues we’d had with work done by same, over recent trips. Plus the logistical challenges of getting Truck to the most recent service centre we’d used – which had been the best. This one was in the inner Melbourne eastern suburbs, so to have Truck there for the requested 8am, each time, meant leaving home well before 7am and battling the heavy commuter traffic all the way. Both of us, because I had to also drive my car, to collect John. The reverse trip, to pick up Truck always put us into the afternoon traffic peak, too, so it was a pain, all round.
The son of a neighbour from a few doors away, ran a local vehicle service centre and, despite being only in his 20’s, was supposed to specialize in Landrovers. Certainly the various family members drove a range of them. So John had committed Truck to his care, in March, with the usual instructions for a thorough check and service, with particular attention to the brakes. Several faults were rectified. A new vacuum pump was fitted, to solve the brake problems John had detected. He was still not happy, however, and a return to the local mechanic saw the – faulty – new vacuum pump replaced with yet another new one, just a few days before our scheduled departure time. All that work had really dragged on, it seemed, and had made a significant dent in the bank account.
This Adventurous Age 