Bacon and eggs was the order of the day as the sun climbed into the sky high above the gorge we were camped in. We ate, watched a baby goat learn high altitude adaptation from a sure footed mum and marvelled at the lack of road sense of a rock wallaby.
On the road again, G found a massive old tree with a rotting trunk so decided it would be a great idea to have her picture taken inside it. She ensured her safety from reptilian venom by announcing herself and asking loudly if there were any snakes inside. I worried when she believed she had received an answer in the negative.
Soon enough we arrived at Parachilna. A lap of town revealed the iconic pub able to supply a camel or goat burger. The township offered a point of interest in the Parachilna Horseman made of wire sitting atop the disused Old Ghan Railway platform. A lone motorcyclist was sitting under the pub veranda. He let me know he had taken off from Melbourne a few weeks ago to do a trip to the Barrington Tops in NSW. As he told it the Tops were bitterly cold, so he turned left and here he was. His ‘where to next’ was undecided but he had a map. I could only think it must have been one hell of a barney with his wife to set him this far from home for so long.
Next stop was the old town of Beltana currently under refurbishment. Actually it was an early settler town, mostly privately owned with one or two buildings having been semi brought back to life. We decided it was a once in a lifetime experience, for we did not see the need to visit again. I also wondered just what part of life the inhabitants were escaping living in such a place.
We plundered up the highway to Leigh Creek, now an almost abandoned mining town. The few signs of life included a service station, police station and pretty fancy school. Our visitor lap complete, we dropped across the highway to Copley to the van park for the night.
Our host chatted for a fair while enabling us to absorb quality information. Horses at night were our main issue apparently with every tap in the entire area covered by a rubbish bin full of sand so the equine thieves could not knock the pipe over to get a drink. He did warn we may lose our van water hoses in the wee hours.
Our afternoon was a lazy one. I met and chatted to one of the thieving beasts who allowed me to give her a pat. She appeared to understand the gentle warning about chewing up my water hoses and which brand of dog meat she would feature in if she did. We left on good terms.
Tomorrow we start the Strzelecki Track. Should be fun.
Devonshire Tea was a must do experience for G before we left Quorn. Apparently it is rated very highly on the Dev Tea Australasian circuit. We paddled around town marvelling at the old buildings before dropping into the information centre keeping the economy alive with some must have purchases. Additional information from the centre revealed the Dev Tea was not open on Mondays. Shattered we marched on to the Quandong Café.
A few scones and a bacon and egg delicious later we were on the road headed around the Flinders Ranges loop. We motored up past Rawnsley Park Station and Wilpena, eyeing off the magnificent cliffs surrounding the big hole in the ground made by a decent sized rock falling out of the sky a few years back.
Before too long the City of Blinman came into view. We stopped, peed and walked the street containing one café being closed, and one pub being open. We learned that for $22 we could purchase a glass of beer, get a pub pie and a plate of chips. Tempting. We had places to be.
With the sure knowledge of a camp spot G and I had seen on our last visit some km down the Parachilna Gorge Road, we set off on dirt. After about five ks we both acknowledged we had gone the wrong way as our exit last time from Blinman was from the top of town and not this way. We whipped around a u-turn followed by Trev and Sue before finding our way back to town and out the Glass Gorge Road.
Glass Gorge Road is not a SA government priority it would seem. Despite being loads of fun as it took us through narrow winding tracks into and out of creeks beds, it was a bit of hard work. The further we went the surer we were that we had made a mistake and we were on the wrong road. An hour or so later we popped out at the intersection of Parachilna Gorge Road. A left turn had us at the camp we well remembered; just a bit later than planned.
Perhaps the best camp in the land, we relaxed, watched rock wallabies do their thing high on the cliffs and marvelled at the adaptation of feral goats to this harsh environment. No one was out of bed late tonight with no promise of being up early tomorrow either.
With Sue’s Discovery now fully fixed and flying faster than a Qatar Airlines jet our of Australia, we set sail for somewhere north. We did not really now where we would end up today. A few attractions around Quorn (from here on pronounced Q-worn not Corn).
With Hema and Google back at for the title fight we flicked from freeway to by-way to no-way in pretty quick succession. Sue and Trev heading more directly to the ultimately the same location as us following visits to Two Wells and Mallala. I think we dropped into Balaclava but did not see much there although it had potential. The bakery was not open, so we pressed on. Again we were in wheat country, with long open roads, crumbling historic buildings and huge machinery.
We kept the momentum scooting through Yaka for the second time noting since our last visit it had not become the bastion of residential or commercial development, until Gladstone caught our eye.
We fuelled, ate, and strolled around town for a bit before yet again driving north. A lively little business stood out, however. It was named Scratch and Itch. Not sure what demons afflicted the owner to name a business like that. Equally not sure what type of business it was. I had to wonder the order of the tile though. Doesn’t the itch come before the scratch.
Wirrabara was a highlight. A small hamlet amid the expanse of wheat, it boasted brilliant silo art. This one depicted a bloke and a couple of birds. No doubt there was a heartfelt story behind it all. We just liked the pictures.
The old Landrover parade outside the old shop in Wilmington had not changed over the years as we slipped though now with a known destination. Quorn was it.
Arriving afternoonish, we eventually found the RV park close to town and set up. Surrounded by old machinery being slowly restored and displayed by the local Lions club, it was a decent spot.
Into the evening G and I headed on foot into town to see the famed Quorn silo light show. Basically a free light show projected onto a set of three silos in the middle of town. The intro was interesting if not a bit long as a 20 minute timer counted down to the main event.
When the big red button was pushed, and things kicked off it was a cracker. A bit of the indigenous history first, followed by chapters on the town history, the rail and its part in South Australian development, the CWA in the war years and info on the driving loop
around the area.
All were good, no doubt about that. We will forever have an immensely greater appreciation for the Country Womens Association. In this town alone during World War Two, the ladies voluntarily fed and watered over 40 trains a day full of troops coming back from up north including civilians evacuating Darwin and prisoners of war. We could not imagine our Instagram generation putting their hands up for that these days.
We did not see the end of the show as the cool refreshing wind turned to a bitterly cold frozen body wind within the space of four minutes. We scurried back to the van but not without a quick visit to the ANZAC memorial where soldiers and nurses were sculptured form chicken mesh. There are no words to describe how beautiful these were. Worth every kilometre of the 3000 to get here.
And to finish off the experience the local bowling green used cats to scare away bird life! True story.
This morning was washing morning. Up early to implement the now proven strategy of first in, first dressed in laundry wars, we again nailed it.
Eventually we slapped on our best shorts and t-shirts before heading into Glenelg. Our memories of this beautiful place from 2007 were re-kindled until we saw all the people. Who would have believed a stunning seaside area at the end of the City tram line would catch on. It was still beautiful, just not much to our liking anymore. G canned the mood when she said, “if I wanted to be with this many people at the beach, I’d go to Noosa”. Got it in one.
We ate breakfast at a poky little café in a side street. I wrangled a few roses from a florist for G on our 34th wedding anniversary as the sun continued to shine in the makings of a very good day.
Back at Christies Beach we relaxed a bit before wine and chippy o’clock arrived yet again. We chatted to Trev and Sue about the work done on her car, learning heaps until the real show began.
Across the way we had heard some raised voices and periodically noticed a few people walking with the idiosyncrasies reserved for those habitually inhaling nutrition other than that from the five known food groups. The head down, flat out walking, swearing and fist punching were all there.
After a while from the partially erected tents came threats, and a more than gentlemanly offer of a fight which was declined on advice from a fairly sober coach standing nearby. Ultimately a crowd gathered, park management were called as were the police and social workers.
Taking the best part of an hour to resolve, everyone involved left via the appropriate mode of transport. Some walked, others hitched a lift with the social workers whilst one took the PoliceUber to his chosen destination. The comedy act began however, when the social workers tried to pack up three tents and put them into cars. Let’s just say camping was not their first language.
Some scrumptious rissoles for entre before a long, almost bearable, walk on the beach to watch the sunset and moon rise over cracking red and white cliffs. G took great pleasure in encouraging me to climb up on a ledge on a cliff face to get ‘that shot’. That shot taken, she could not contain her glee watching me try to get down again. The combination of stone wall like flexibility, a fear of heights and feet clad in thongs, made for an apparently very funny exhibition of mountain climbing incompetence.
Our night came to a close watching The Good Wife streamed on the i-pad whilst working on the now proven medicinal qualities of chocolate.
Big Boy Ben (henceforth BBB)the tow truck driver phoned when he said he would, arrived just a little bit before he said he would and had the broken Discovery loaded with van hooked up in no time.
Not that I’m one to overview the activities of professionals toiling in their own domain, but if I had not alerted BBB to the fact he had tried to hook the van up under the frame as opposed to on the tow hook, we may have had a bit of a brokenvanality on our hands. Still old BBB was a great bloke, had driven all the way from Adelaide, leaving at 4am.
BBB assured us he would not be that far behind us when we arrived at the van park. He even suggested we pull over with him to munch on a crocodile burger washed down with camel milk at Harry’s Diner not far south on the journey to the capital city. Salivating at the opportunity, we elected to keep a keen eye out for a bakery instead.
We piled into Panther, with Henry the travelling dog taking centre rear position having clear and uninterrupted view forward just in case there was a B-Double he need to scare away or something similar. The trip south was uneventful. We again marvelled at the environmental destruction by virtue of wind generators, backed up by their solar mates nearby.
After not to long we realised that the only way we were ever going to arrive at the van park on the same day of the same week as BBB was if he stopped. Thankfully as we flashed past Harry’s we saw the tow truck parked up. BBB was no ‘slow tow’.
A lacklustre pie with some other three point below par bakery offerings at Port Wakefield filled our bellies for the final push into the biggest town we had seen for quite a spell. Adelaide is one of our favourites. It has the country town feel we hope it never loses.
Thanks to our resident local, Sue, we picked our way through the afternoon traffic to Christies Beach van park to find her van safely on its site. BBB had arrived, delivered and gone. We dropped G-String before heading to Triumph Rover Spares not more than six google minutes away.
This place should be called Triumph Rover Toy Store. It’s not often I get excited about a retail opportunity, but picture rows and rows of Discovery’s, Range Rovers, Jaguars and Defenders. All just waiting to offer up parts to enthusiasts.……..like me!
Sue sorted her car repair with Mark or was it with one of the five or seven Ian’s they have working there. Either way, the service was off the scale fantastic. G looked around the showroom and selected a dash mat for Puma while Trev and I got a guided tour of the wrecking yard by a Landrover fanatic. I came away with a replacement front air dam cover and a set of side steps I’d wanted for a while.
Sue’s car was diagnosed as having a split inlet manifold that is described in the official Landrover workshop bulletin as a ‘Prick of a Job’. Still it had to be done with a completion date of maybe Saturday or Monday. The offer of a workshop drive car was welcomed by Sue and Trev. It was welcomed with open arms when the keys to a pretty slick 2014 Jaguar were thrown their way. No ridiculous insurance conditions. Just a reasonable ask to fill it with fuel to where it is now on the gauge and please don’t get a speeding ticket. Service at its best.
The night was cold again forcing us to consider plans inside. Apparently tomorrow we will be visiting wineries. I think I might go and visit Triumph Rover Spares again!!
Friday morning turned out to be the start of a brilliant day. Not to cold, no clouds and hungry bellies. We piled into the Jag, because we thought the cool factor was higher in that than our dirty, filthy dirty Panther. Arriving in McLaren Vale we found Oxenberry Farm. The breakfast was huge and semi-enjoyable. Trev set the scene for the day though when the lovely lady asked how he would like his eggs. He simply replied “Cooked”. Well she asked!!
Off we went to see a well know winery that is typified by a ‘Cube’. We know why it is called the cube for we travelled the four sides of a rectangle at least 16 times before finding it although we could see it the entire time.
The cube is part of Daren Burg’s winery. (no you do not say that way and it’s not a blokes name, but if you say it like that you will sound informed). Bottom line is this place has spent a squillion on building a structure made of cubes of glass that is about four stories high to house high end art. You are welcome to go in to have a look; for $30 a head. You are welcome to have a wine tasting for $20 a head. At the end of the day we took pics of funny beings made from gum boots in the yard and were done.
We strolled the streets of the Vale for nothing in particular finding me a barber before heading back to the van park.
Later on G and I went back to Triumph Rover to pick up our parts, walked the beach marvelling at the desalinated water plant before drinks and chippies time appeared on the clock. Trev and Sue told us that whilst we were away the lady friend of the very fit looking man across the way with his beautifully polished Dodge RAM, had provided direct and public competition for G-String as she bathed in the afternoon sunshine.
I decided it was a good time to take advantage of daylight saving so fitted the newly acquired sidesteps to Panther. Let’s just say next time I do it I won’t even begin unless I have someone at least as competent as Trev to help and a few hours to waste. It should take no more than half an hour each side!! But it does. My library of useable swear words is now devoid of 17 quality items.
Well if the night before was cold and windy, good old Whyalla gave it to us in bucket loads. With all the van legs down we still rocked and rolled all night. The only time we had felt cold like it was the last time we were in Whyalla. The love, hate relationship continued.
Some more running around located a brilliant café, sort on in, sort of out of the University grounds. We figured the parking situation would be in our favour as we both look semi-educated on a good day.
Shopping done, we retreated to the van for the afternoon as there was honestly no other place to be that was comfortable.
Trev and Sue let us know that their trip from Cowell to Port Augusta went well, although still on reduced power. They had ordered a new MAF sensor from Adelaide with an expectation it would arrive tomorrow. We asked them to order an extra for us as well…..just in case.
We had fully intended to walk out to the whistling jetty again for the wind tonight would surely make that puppy sing like Tom Jones on a good night. Intentions abandoned; we scurried inside for an early night.
Heading out fairly early we made it to Port Augusta by 9.30am heading straight to a café with a few stars on review. When we saw the Ambos, then the Police arrive we knew it was the best in town. I had a yarn to two bike riders drooling over their BMWs before realising one of them was an ex-Queensland bike rider from a few years back.
After some messing around we headed north with Quorn in our sights. Sue’s Discovery, now equipped with a new MAF sensor went like a rocket for not long at all. Some roadside technical work with the original two MAFs, and the two new MAFs saw us do something like this.
MAF B which is where MAF A would rationally be was replaced with a new one, MAF C. Test drive; fail. MAF A was replaced with the other new MAF, MAF D. Test drive; fail. In the end we think MAFs A, B, C, D all had a crack at making the car go but failed. We had pretty much hit the same success rate as the TV program by the same name. Maybe it was not a MAF issue. We limped back to Port Augusta for the night pending a tow truck trip tomorrow to Adelaide to get it fixed. Thankfully we are a bit ahead of schedule so all should be well.
To top off Sue’s rotten day, her car phone holder broke just for effect. Back in the van Henry the travelling dog scoffed Sue’s lunch when she turned her back. We laughed with her not at her. Funny but!!
Throughout the day I got as sick as a dog with the flu. I self-diagnosed as Man Flu Grade Three. The worst kind. Codral tablets by the bucket load at least dulled the sinus effect to where I was tolerable at best. I was able to scientifically determine a correlation between the flu and chocolate. Apparently following extensive testing, if the two are put together in the one host, the chocolate disappears at an expediential rate. Who would have thought.
G, Sue and Trev let me sleep whilst they chatted and worked on opening bottles. When I dropped over to their van a few hours later it was obvious they were very successful at the endeavour as good sense and rational argument was being slightly challenged but gave me some good belly laughs despite feeling like a cold corpse.
The wind had howled all night. One nose point outside the door told us it was at least minus 86 degrees on the Queenslander temperature scale. There was however not a cloud in sight.
G kicked the day off splendidly with a massive slurp of my coffee instead of her tea. As the first female chair of the Avid Coffee Haters Collective, the face she pulled was the funniest thing I had seen for quite a time.
Our extended walk on the beach amongst the brown seaweed, followed by the same in the soft sand hills was indeed decent. The time watching sea birds of all sizes doing all sorts of things took our interest. The ‘beach scooters’ as we named them were the best. About the size of a small budgie in black and white, their ground speed was phenomenal. They just needed a V8 soundtrack to go with them and it could have been a grand prix.
We had intended to stay at Point Gibbon all day, but the rising wind changed our minds. It was increasingly cold. It was destined to be mixture of rotten and worse for the duration. We packed up prior to heading into Cowell. Our time there was limited to say the least. It appeared that only the chemist was open on a Monday. When the Eyre Peninsula tourist brochures mention ‘sleepy little seaside village’ they mean it. This place definitely snores.
The road to Wyalla was eventful only to the extent of nearly being hit by Henry and Mavis travelling at 40 km/h then trying to execute a turn across our path. Certain death avoided; we arrived in peak hour at the Wyalla Foreshore Van Park.
In an effort to get set up quickly, thereby helping the overall arrival efficiencies in a very crowded area, I wound down chassis stabiliser leg in a hurry. I’m not sure whether it was my not insurmountable strength or the fact I committed the cardinal sin of not having a second hand on the winder, but it flew off at speed continuing its rotational path straight into my mouth.
Instantly blood dripped to the ground and filled my mouth. It hurt like hell providing great viewing for those watching I’m sure. I was instantly glad I had not visited the dentist for over 25 years as the immense plaque build-up had set a strong foundation for my teeth. They had copped a big whack and somehow didn’t chip or break.
We did a bit of running around town for bibs and bobs. G got her nails done, I rounded up some gas and toilet treatment before heading back to the van to be greeted by new neighbours with a beautiful 13 week old Kelpie pup. Not sure who was more excited to say gidday.
Our afternoon walk was out to the Whistling Jetty. It is a cool structure with two big round sections in the middle that whistle when the wind is strong enough from the right direction at the right time on the right day if you are right lucky. We are still listening.
With the wind now dropped but the temperature still in the frozen peas part of the thermometer, we packed and prepared for take-off.
With only water to take on board we noticed our neighbour across the way had directly hooked his van up to the only potable water point via a very long hose. We could not figure out why when all he had to do was fill his tanks. After a bit of observation, mainly seeing the washing on the line, we realised this selfish knob had hooked the drinking tap up to his washing machine in his van. He took the poor effort award for the day, and it was only 9am. Luckily the fitting he used on the tap was a double connector we could hook on to it. He managed to avoid the Wrath of G.
We spent the next few hours walking around Tumby Bay. Looking at its closed jetty, unique sea creature mosaic walking path and beautifully restored beach houses. We decided we could live here in summer.
A coffee at the only open café was spent talking to the people from Queensland and their two truffle hunting dogs. Not sure these spoilt pooches have ever seen a truffle or smelt one or eaten one. They did however have a cool Italian name something like Legotto. We’ll call them Leggo dogs.
The next conversation was with a couple from WA who had travelled on the road since July or was it August? They had insights such as their caravan builder had gone broke, everything in WA was expensive and that it was a long way from Perth to Queensland. Filled with new knowledge we finally got our coffee, tea and second hand apple and cinnamon muffin before hitting the road.
A quick stop before leaving town had us bagging a few snaps of the obligatory silo art. This example was on the below average to slightly pathetic scale, yet was still better than a blank white silo.
We motored without thought of economy ever northward towards Cowell for Trevor and Sue had put the call out that their car was now running OK but not at full power. They had gotten to the Cowell Hotel for lunch wondering if we wanted to join them. In a beautiful old hotel we discussed where to stand in an earthquake, how crap it would be to be in a Tornado, and how lucky we were in Australia to only have bush fires, floods, cyclones and snakes to kill you.
Outstanding seafood at a fraction of the cost of the Sunshine Coast filled our bellies before G and I retired to the Point Gibbon campground.
If you were going to design the most perfect camp in the world this would be up there. Huge individual caravan camps, literally on top of cliffs overlooking the ocean backed by rolling sand hills. All for $10 a night with spotless toilets included.
We spent the late afternoon taking photos and cooking an early dinner of chops and sausages before sheltering from the now freezing cold wind. We decided to stay two nights in this spot as tomorrow promises to be 29 degrees, sunny and no wind. Willy Weather hasn’t told the truth so far, so we will see what happens.
Our greatest expectations were again beaten down by blustering, freezing winds dictating our reasonable early pack up and move on. Walkers Rock is a beautiful place but not that beautiful.
We headed down to Elliston, found the bakery and ate excellent pies. We unfortunately found out that the toilet dump point in town was out of order. A change of strategy meant we had to manage inputs and outputs a little better till we could next empty the on board cassette.
Memories came flooding back the minute we drove up to the sign saying no heavy vehicles or caravans past this point. Last time we were here we did exactly the same thing. Reversed the same distance, taking the same exit road towards Cummins. What’s that saying about doing the same thing over and over again and getting the same results?
Not far down the track we turned seaward to Sheringa Beach. Being one of the most picture perfect beaches in the country, today did not disappoint. As we climbed a hill overlooking the beach total strangers beckoned us to the edge of a cliff. Not totally convinced we approached cautiously to be greeted by a pod of about 20 Dolphins feeding close to shore. We watched them for a good ten minutes whilst chatting to our new friends from Western Australia.
A visit to the far beach revealed wind of an unrelenting nature forcing us to retreat to a small lunch spot behind some dunes. The retreat coincided with the dreaded red triangle appearing on the dash of Sue and Trevor’s Discovery.
Soon enough we figured the likely culprit was a mass air flow sensor on the blink. A quick code clear with my little electronic box of tricks got it going like a steam train for about 10 minutes before the ‘reduced performance’ message flashed up.
The trip to Cummins was a slow battle for Sue and Trev, followed by an equally slow trip for the next 40 ks into Tumby Bay for the night. In the freezing wind and dust we cleaned the sensor, reset the codes and prayed. Thus far; thus not being very far at all; it seems to be working.
The shouts of appeal had my ears burning. I just had to walk the few hundred metres across the park to the cricket ground to watch some of the Tumby Bay senior A Grade competition. The standard was not bad, the enthusiasm up there and the wind still ridiculously cold. It did not look like the fielding side were enjoying the weather much either. I skulked back to the van for a quick dinner and an early night.
Today was always planned as a rest day. Taking our time to rise late, walk stunning white sand beaches bathed in warm sunshine and just simply relax.
Reality was the wind came up during the night, the van awning banged for at least half the night, and we rose early due to lack of sleep.
Stepping outside the warn van revealed the Antarctic had jumped on cheap tickets on Jetstar and arrived at Walkers Rock overnight. The wind howled all day, we froze all day. Opting for a day indoors we watched some high quality streamed TV amid a bit of exercise to keep our bodies moving.
Late afternoon following a few wines, G thought it would be a good idea to officially identify a small red fruit hanging off a small bush nearby. I had located the fruit, noting that in general, anything growing wild that was bright red was deemed poisonous until proven otherwise. Google told us with some confidence that the red devil was a native peach also called a Quandong. With the fruit now identified, G boldly stepped up to taste it. By the look on her face she would have to be pretty hungry to try more than a morsel.
Now full of bravado, G decided it was time to head into the sand hills and slide down the biggest of them all like we all did as kids. Without a proper piece of cardboard or similar to sit on G elected to plonk herself upon a plastic tarp.
None of us will ever know the science behind the failed attempt. It may have been body position, weight distribution or just soft sand, but try as she might, G simple sank and went nowhere. She eventually pedalled herself down the hill demonstrating a distinct lack of style.
The afternoon got colder and more miserable. Our attempts to cook outside failed with the wind blowing out the gas burners instantly. Finally we scoffed scrumptious burgers indoors whilst shivering slightly less.
