Month: July 2024

Day Seventeen : Cobbold Gorge To Normanton

Getting away just a bit earlier than planned we attacked the 40 ks of dirt to the turnoff to Georgetown just out of Forsayth. Well we attacked with as much vigour as we could still getting mowed down by a briskly driven Kenworth, and not long after by a revved up local hitting every 60^th corrugation in his Hyundai excel.

It’s funny how the memory fades over time and adds bits that really aren’t true. So it was with Georgetown. We remembered it a s a beautifully kept little town with a great shop and a wonderful park. Ron remembered it had great sausages at the butcher shop.

Reality was it is a dusty little place with one shop worthy of the shop designation, and we haven’t got a ruling on the sausages yet. We spotted a coffee van resplendent in its livery but alas it might as well have been a signpost, as it had nought but a driver.

We fuelled and turned towards Normanton some 300 ks to the westish. Just as we got underway, the brakes on the right side of Richard and Denise’s’ van locked on, leaving a cracker of a skid mark on the road in downtown Georgetown. A well-seasoned hoon would have had a challenge matching it.

After a bit of electrical guesswork we moved a few things, wriggled another and said a prayer to the voltage gods before hitting the road. The combined effort must have worked as it did not play up again all day.

We got off the road for a committed, yet very polite tour truck driver who overtook us and continued on as did the same resplendent coffee van. We did not get off the road for POP (Pensioner on Patrol) in the red bongo van who reckoned his real-estate was indeed ours. His gesture to us as we passed was interpreted as ‘hello, I love your Zone van’ although the positioning of his fingers may have suggested otherwise.

Croydon was next at about the halfway point. It was everything Georgetown wasn’t. It had a lovely little park, a decommissioned Police watchhouse doubling as a doghouse for two beautiful Labradors who, like their owner, were waiting for their new hose to be completed before moving in; and a café.

The café was complete in all respects. Serving mostly servo food with an Asian twist, it was only challenged in unique things to talk about by the funny little man with a long beard, very short T-shirt, suspenders and a potty little gut hanging over his belt. Like the coffee van, he turned up everywhere.

We had a feed under the umbrella near the pub before heading off again. On the outskirts of town we located a coffee trailer with twocustomers evident. One was the local police officer and the other was the driver of the Georgetown coffee van!!! We figured the Croydon coffee was fantastic or the coffee van coffee was crap……or both!

One lane bridges, big rivers, transparent Brolgas (G and Peter didn’t see them whilst everyone else did) and a few random roos filled out the afternoon as the road got better and straighter. By about two and a bit we rolled into Normanton. We fuelled up, watched the lady with her van almost wipe out the bowsers then had a look at the Purple Pub and the huge model croc. G and Peter reminisced about their dog Jarra sitting in the mouth of the croc more than 20 years ago. Julie did the same, but it was her in the crocs mouth back then. We recreated the moment for Julie but did not have a spare dog on hand for the full re-enactment.

We noticed that Normanton has had some major money spent on infrastructure over years including a spanking Christian College but still needed three working hotels to service a mere 1300 residents. Its thirsty work in the north. And it had the same bloody coffee van!

We found our camping spot in the heat just north of the town towards Karumba. Once set up, we sat beside the river at a croc safe distance and yarned. Well we yarned and watched fisherman Ron put on a masterclass. Literally every time he cast he hauled back in a lure! To make this class outstanding he demonstrated how to cast into a tree, snag a lure on the bank and lose one, only to find it at his feet. We were blessed.

Julie and Denise excelled again. Their combined pasta effort was delicious at the top end of the scale, leaving us full and contented, ready to enjoy a magnificent sunset over a croc infested river. Taking photos was a balance of getting close to the water but making sure a safety tree was between us and anything with nasty teeth.

The long day in the saddle had left us beaten and ready for bed.

Day Sixteen : Cobbold Gorge

Not so early this morning Peter and G headed off on a promised adventure, taking on two of the Cobbold walking tracks. With but a few geographical mistakes they managed to finish the Diggers Track and Dell’s Track with but a wet shoe when Peter may have almost fallen into the creek getting ‘that shot’ for this blog!

For the remained of the day each of us set about fixing the things that needed fixing, looking at the things that needed a look at and soaking up the sun and a well-earned rest day whilst taking the opportunity to pat any dog that happened to pass within 200 metres. Julie, Ron, Richard and Denise headed out to the quartz blow for a look returning not underwhelmed yet not disappointed.

Julie dropped around to advise she was cooking damper for lunch. Sorry have to stop typing now. If Julie is cooking, we’ve got to go!

Back on deck after a wonderful damper full of really nice stuff, we lazed away the afternoon before gathering for dinner at the on-site restaurant. The food was pretty good as was the conversation that covered everything from the Olympics, to overflowing and exploding caravan toilets, all whilst we munched on crumbed steak, lamb chops and lasagne.

Tomorrow we hit the road again for about 350 ks to reach Normanton.

Day Fifteen : Cobbold Gorge

Just before sunrise Peter and Denise headed off into the hills on the 4.5km Russell’s Lookout walk. So named as a bloke called Stuart Russell used to hang about in the area in about 1898. This one headed up and continued up. It was nothing too challenging until the last 800 metres where some scrambling shoes were needed. Not sure what old Stuart was on about, but the lookout at the top was essentially closed in by trees not permitting any expected sunrise perfect vistas.

Back down the hill for breakfast and the crew gathered for the long awaited gorge tour. We joined about 50 our closest friends on three buses before heading the few short km across the Robertson river sand bed gathering again at a big shed.

Our group of 14 were guided by a young British bloke called Rob. Given he had been born and bred in these parts for at least the two months he did a pretty decent job of explaining the ins and outs of how Cobbold Gorge was created, found and managed. He also espoused his vast knowledge of the flora and fauna around although had to admit the numbered yellow disc markers on the ground were reminders to him to stop and explain something or other. It was so tempting to mix them up and have him detail the taste and uses of the deadly red thing instead of the husky brown thing, but someone might have died as ‘Red is Dead’ is the rule of the bush.

The boat ride the little unstable electric boat for the length of the gorge highlighted Rob’s navigational skills…..absolutely none. We bounced and scraped our way up between ever narrowing cliffs till we could go no more. Along the way we learnt heaps about the gorge, looked at spiders, moss, and other creatures. On cue, Julie dropped her steel water bottle on the floor of the aluminium boat sending most of us sky high in fright before settling into a nervous laughter only those about to capsize understand.

The return trip revealed a couple of freshwater crocs sunning themselves on the banks of the gorge as well as a low speed passing manoeuvre as another boat came out way.

It was our turn to walk next. We climbed along and up the side of the gorge, stopping every now and then to examine sandpaper trees, some other tree bearing fruit that tasted like microwaved poo and little flowers that smelt like Dettol.

The crowning glory, however, was walking across the glass bridge directly above the gorge. Costing about $1million a few years back the bridge spans 13 metres with a direct downward view into the gorge below. We donned our surgical shoe covers, to stop scratching the surface, then marched out into the middle putting out height fears aside just long enough to grab a photo and scamper to the other side.

Our return trip was via the northern side of the gorge with entertainment provided by two little kids, Ollie and Ollie’s brother. Their insights made the tour an outstanding event. Back at the bus, we returned to Cobbold Village unscathed.

In the afternoon Richard and Denise jumped in a beautiful black helicopter for a ride over the gorge and its surrounds. Returning they were beaming as the trip was the icing on the cake for the Cobbold visit.

Our afternoon was spent catching up doing not a lot of much. Mainly we prepared for one of Julie’s feasts. And what a feast it was. She cooked dumplings on top of scrumptious stuff in the camp oven that made the mouth water. As usual we talked, laughed and defended the unfounded allegations of snoring levelled at Ron and Peter by G and Julie.

Day Fourteen : Mt Surprise to Cobbold Gorge

We had agreed a turn out time of 9am was appropriate, as we had but a couple of hundred ks to reach our overnight destination of Cobbold Gorge to the southwest. A sleep in was the order of the day. Until….. the speed charge wallaby decided right on 7am was the best time to empty the recycling bin full of bottles next to Ron and Julie’s van. Job done, we were then all awake and ended up getting away a few minutes early.

On the way out we noticed a group of about 20 Rural Fire workers lining up for breakfast. Based on last night’s panic we reckoned we would seek morning tea somewhere else. Anywhere else! Richard was well pleased to see this little hamlet in his rear view camera.

Headed towards our first stop at Einasleigh we motored along mostly on dirt road of varying quality. Again we dove into and out of dips, gullies and the odd washout. Roos and cattle were our constant companions with one big jumper deciding to drag race Ron and Julie for a bit before cutting directly across in font of them.

Not that far before reaching Einasleigh we came across the spectacular Einasleigh River crossing. Only ankle deep, it presented no problems, yet was the perfect back drop for those iconic photos of our 4wds in the remote outback we can brag about for years. Any well driven Hyundai Excel would have cleared the obstacle but that’s not the point of a good story.

We dropped in to see Copperfield Gorge opposite the Einasleigh pub, including a walk along its banks. There were fish of a size Ron was very interested in, but he chose not to hunt and gather this time. Genevieve befriended a calf, chatting quality bovine for a short time whilst learning of its home life and shortage of good long green grass in the harsh brown land.

Julie headed off towards the still used rail bridge crossing the southern end of the gorge. She came back a little bemused as to any self respecting trian that would dare to cross that structure. Her description of the rehabilitation work was thus; it looks like they put up a steel stay and hoped the next one would support it. From our viewpoint she was right on target.

Upon leaving we got the inevitable photo of the group outside the iconic pub and spoke to the equally iconic owner who was recovering from and equally iconic long, hard night it seemed. He was a decent chap and had a decent story to tell.

Off we headed toward Forsyth on a cracker of a road that wound its way along every ridge line it could reasonably find this far from the coast. We came across road works of significant magnitude turning a rotten dirt track into a wide open bitumen highway. Just not yet.

Forsyth was the surprise Mt Surprise wasn’t. The pub for lunch was clean, efficient ,with great food and even better service from the two English backpackers and the old Australian bloke keeping them in line. It was a blissful experience to say the least.

The last 40 odd ks to Cobbold Gorge was dirt with interest. More dips, cattle, and roos with a few thousand corrugations thrown in. Still, the country was picturesque verging on beautiful in its own right.

Arriving at Cobbold, we noted it had not much changed from last time we were here. The dam, now called a lagoon was bigger, but that about rounded out the enhancements. We set up, watched the Broncos get rounded up by the Bulldogs and ate cheese.

Julie, however was heart broken for her sipping glass now 14 years old was no longer. It had not survived a category 6 fall from the overhead cupboard to the floor of the van whilst crossing corrugation number 4591. She sadly carried it to its last resting place in the big green bin of eternity.

Daylight faded as did our energy with dreamtime fast approaching.

Day Thirteen: Chillagoe to Mt Surprise

With our plans now completely changed due to yesterday’s power outage, we bounced out of bed, scoffed breakfast and made out way to the Donna Cave for our first tour of the day. It seemed half of north Queensland had also been power afflicted, as the tour ended up being 30 people with one straggler rounding it out to a neat 31.

Donna was a completely different experience to the Royal Arch the previous day. It was much smaller, yet much more spectacular in its intricate stalactites and stalagmites. A minute after entry to the cave via some very steep steps, we found out that the name being a shortened version of the ‘Madonna’, was so named for its first feature halfway down the stairs. One of the tites or mites (not sure which one) showed the form of a regal lady. The shadow she cast was even more lifelike with Ron making the very real observation that her boobs got bigger with each step into the cave.

We very slowly moved from chamber to chamber mesmerised by what nature could throw up if given a few million years of encouragement. The odd rock fall was evident, and it wasn’t lost on any of us that they had occurred at a moment in time and their mates far above us could at any moment join the party down below. The trick was for us not to be there when that happened.

With a bit of time between the first and second tours we packed the vans, hit the dump point and had a coffee before heading into the Trezkinn Cave for a look. A smaller group this time added to the experience that was highlighted by a close up look at a formation called the chandelier. At about a bit to 12 we were done with caving and on the road towards Mt Surprise via the Savannah Way Alternate Route.

Just as we left the city of Chillagoe, G alerted Peter (yelled at him) to not hit ‘them’. ‘Them’ are correctly named Guinea Fowl and appear in abundance in the area. Not native as far as we know, Peter has re-named them Waddle Ducks, for their little bums go hell for leather side to side when walking. He swore upon a Landrover badge he would never place the life of a waddle duck in mortal danger again.

For an alternate, the route was a good one. We had mostly dirt road in mostly pretty good condition. Dips and culverts were our friends but nothing to set us back at all. We crossed a couple of creeks that were frankly pristine. We lunched at one after Pete the Picnic Place Picker, failed again. In his memory he had a picture of a creek he had stopped at years ago just near a left turn, just near a cattle station. Finally giving up after not finding it, we stopped a close second best only to happen upon the real thing a few short kilometres later.

Mt Surprise came up in the early afternoon. And what a Surprise. Like stepping into a lift to see your boss face to face and it is obvious for the next 13 floors he has let one rip moments before your entry. Something instantly smelt off.

It took a bit to find fuel. It took a moment to find out the pub was open but did not do meals, and according to a local, had an unfriendly publican. Although this was not our experience. He seemed OK by Mt Surprise standards.

Our visit to the shop of horrors revealed a lady desperate to sell her shop so she could go and meet with Elon Musk and tell him where he is going wrong with implants into the human brain. We excused ourselves quickly fearing being a future brain wave subject. Next was the van park.

The little man zoomed around like a wallaby on speed to situate us somewhere near where he wanted us to be, but demanded Ron and Julie have a powered site so he could fit another van in if it came calling. It didn’t!! It appeared he was the manager and told us with certain authority that the police would charge us if we even thought of using the massive free camp site just down the road. Peter was tempted to tell him, but let’s face it we are on holidays and what would we write about if there was not the odd out of kilter personality to endure.

We spent the next hour or two fixing the little things that go bust on any trip. Peter straightened the radio ariel on the van. We fixed a technical hiccough with Richard and Denise’s van rear camera, and Ron dreamt about his new bulbar.

Dinner was next, to be ordered from the little man’s wife. Armed with the knowledge that dinner was only to be cooked between 4pm and 6pm, and that the kitchen would stop cooking before 6pm, we did the unthinkable and ordered our food early to be picked up at 5.30pm.

We dropped back over with no apparent urgency to be told ‘we are under the pump; we’ll get to it.’ We waited patiently and genuinely enjoyed the entertainment as customers were rejected at the counter only to inform the lady that they had pre-ordered as well. Finally our orders came off the assembly line. They weren’t half bad either. The burger was a solid seven out of ten and the fish was a genuine slab of barramundi.

It had been a full day. Sleep came easy.

Day Twelve: Around Chillagoe

Jumping out of bed like a well-trained sloth, Peter met Denise for a pre-sunrise trail walk to the top of the hill behind our camp site. For 25 odd minutes they huffed and puffed their way over good rocks, bad rocks and rotten rocks to be greeted by a magnificent vista across plains and ranges just as the sun peeped its head over the horizon.

With phones full of images they headed back down the mountain taking great care with foot placement, making sure they arrived back for breakfast in one piece.

The camp was in a bit of a dilemma. It seemed someone had gone around and disconnected all water and power from our vans during the night. Reality soon revealed the entire town was without electricity, therefore water pumps as well, due to a fallen power pole in Dimbulah.

None of that mattered, for we were scheduled to enjoy our first of three cave tours at about 9am. Dutifully, at 8.45, we were the first kids on the block at the waiting area eager to hear what the National Parks Ranger had to say about that formation of the cave systems, including their stalactites and stalactites.

The ranger arrived, full of knowledge. He was able to tell us that the cave tour was cancelled. Apparently you have to have light to see in a pitch black cave. Light requires electricity, which requires a power pole in Dimbulah, which we didn’t have and would not have till 12.30pm. We satisfied ourselves having a long chat to a family from Weipa who had some of the same remote experiences as us. They ran the Weipa Rodeo each year, so had an intimate understanding of the livestock and people stock attending those events.

Disappointed but not beaten, the Landcruiser crew of pilot Julie, Ron, Denise and Richard headed to Balancing Rock to see some acrobatics from a massive stone sitting pretty upon another massive stone; hence the name.

G and Peter headed into the hub cave booking centre to sort out our immediate futures. After some confusion, refunds, and payments National Parks came up with a fantastic solution. We could go on our morning tour tomorrow at 8am in the Donna Cave, then do our 11am tour at, funnily enough 11am, in the Trezkinn Cave whilst maintaining our afternoon booking when the power was back on in the Royal Arch Cave.

Armed with our new plan we trapsed off to the only building in town not requiring power. The old Court House Museum attached to the Police station was outstanding. We don’t know who maintains it, but they deserve a Citizen of Chillagoe Australia Day award. Full of memorabilia, professionally presented, the small building contains bucket loads of information about a life our generation find hard to comprehend.

After lunch we drove the short distance to a covered waiting area for the Royal Arch tour. Our small group had grown. It contained a police officer Peter finally recognised, and the

Weipa crew from the morning tour. Whilst waiting for the ranger to arrive, Peter learnt the bloke he was chatting with was a hydrographer form the Weipa mine. His job was pretty much to predict water levels in the north up to ten years ahead. No pressure by the sounds of it.

The cave tour was excellent. We wound our way though, up, down, across and over all manner of rock formations. We used our imagination to ooh and aah at formations that we were told looked like elephants, walruses, tigers and a few other creatures.

And then…….

Faced with a tight passage between two faces of rock, Richard launched himself with a sideways flick, figuring a bit of momentum should see him through. The launch power was appropriate, the sideways flick was on point, but the passage was indeed tight. For a few extended moments, our good friend was destined to have Royal Arch Cave Chillagoe Qld as the new address on his license. Richard was stuck fast like a cork in a bottle!

Credit where credit is due. Richard, with a newfound dexterity, shimmied and shook in the right sequence to propel himself out of his predicament with the joy and excitement of popping a new bottle of champaign. He was free, ready to take on anything this earthen fortress could throw at him. We were proud of you mate.

Tour done, the crew split, with Denise and Julie going back to camp to do whatever it is ladies do at camp whilst the rest of us visited the Post Office Pub to have a cool drink now that the power and fridge’s were back up and running.

Peter later decided the hill behind the camp was a good fitness environment so tramped up and down again. This time without photos in the mix as he just wanted to give the legs a workout. He met a near dying man on the way up asking how much further the top was. Peter may have exaggerated in his favour just a bit for this athlete was not making the summit anytime before Christmas.

At sometime during the day Peter and G decided to check out the dump point at the local show grounds so they knew where to go on leaving day. They found it right beside the ladies toilets. By the looks of it it may be more appealing on rodeo week-end for the femmes to use the dump point as opposed to the stunning offering provided.

As usual we dinnered together, told almost true stories and laughed a lot. Time for bed.

Day Eleven: Yungaburra to Chillagoe.

We woke to a dim old morning with a slight drizzle aiming for a set off time of 9am. We overachieved by a few minutes hitting the road in time to have a loo dump run completed and the cars pointed west toward Atherton on schedule.

We scooted past the platypus viewing area again, however thought better of dropping in to stare at still water for a second time. Atherton came and went without drama, as did the outskirts of Mareeba, save a fly-by past the Lotus Glen prison farm.

Before long we found ourselves pushing along the Wheelbarrow Way towards Dimbulah. Surrounded by thousands of acres of mango trees, we were impressed at the magnitude of the agricultural undertakings and the effect the in-flower trees were having on G’s asthma.

Rolling into Dimbulah we were greeted by a lovely little town. The Crew 64 Café was a cracker. Brimming with old and whacky memorabilia it served up a pretty good coffee and an equally good cake of sorts. The chemist was in for a chat, but not so much the supermarket lady. Still it’s a definite on the list of top 2000 towns to re-visit someday.

From Dimbulah we wheeled our way through Petford rail siding to Almaden for a look to our left and not much else, before hitting some of the best dirt road we could wish for. It was fast rolling and as smooth as could be. Bitumen took over again as we headed into Chillagoe noticing lots of old marble mining sites littered with huge blocks of reject marble formed in circles to stop cattle getting stuck in boggy dams and sitting it out for a long slow death.

Chillagoe is a unique place. It bats far above its average for points of interest given its size, and is outrightly friendly. First stop was the information hub where a lovely lady told us all we needed to know and took our money for cave tours tomorrow. She drew important things on a map at such a speed none of us had any idea where to go but figured in a City this size we may be able to find our destinations unassisted.

Into the overnight stay at the Eco Lodge we ventured. At first it appeared to be a near barren expanse of not much at all. As time wore on however it became a downright decent place to spend an afternoon caressed by gentle breezes that left us refreshed and not frozen for the first time on the trip.

At three o’clock we set off on a short walk to visit the Tom Prior Ford Museum just down the road. This place is a real find. It is owned and run by old Tom who has forgotten more about Fords then Henry himself. For the princely sum of $5 each we were treated to a collection of very original and fully running Fords from the ages. Tom started a 1942 Blitz body truck for us. It sprang into life instantly then settled down into the most beautiful V8 idle. It was simply music to the ears of anyone interested in vehicles. He chose not to start his 672 horsepower GT Falcon as it was sitting in its own enviro bubble.  

A bit later on Peter headed up the walking track to the top of a nearby hillish type mountain that turned out to be steep and rocky before revealing a spectacular view or the northern ranges. This excursion was followed up with a trip to the smelter ruins with Denise and Julie for a sunset experience that did not disappoint.

As the sun disappeared we prepared dinner then sat down to de-brief the day and tell a few travel stories. Ron revealed whilst battling the Llewellyn Currents of Western Australia when swimming with Whale Sharks, he was called upon to use all of his skill and cunning from younger days as a competitive swimmer. His race strategy of making sure he was no more than two laps behind the winner at the last turn whilst still coming second, served him well preventing his almost certain demise in the Indian Ocean. We were in disbelief that he had not stood tall on an Olympic podium at some time in his past.

As usual most subjects of conversation copped a short sharp hiding where learnings were many and challenge on truths few. Equally the conversation finally ran out of puff and our group headed off to bed with the promise of a full day tomorrow, beginning with a hilltop trail walk early in the morning.

Day Ten: Around Yungaburra

The day opened to be a stunner. A coolish sun rising over a glassy lake. It doesn’t get much better.

Peter was up first to head into Atherton to see a physio as his shoulder pain was at best an annoyance and at worst equal to an undiagnosed grade three man flu.

Physio visit done, with some immediate improvement noticed, Peter headed back to camp to find Ron’s waterworks had backed up badly. Truth is, Ron had just forgotten to turn the grey water tap on so the addition of washing water, shower water and whatever else water had overflowed the tank and caused it to back up the line into the vanity. Quickly fixed, the van was back on track and the world could rest easy again.

We finally got ourselves tourist ready and headed out to visit the Lake Barrine tea house on the shores of an oversized dam of the same name. The scones, pumpkin damper, tea and coffee were all great, yet the grumpy lady serving still had cause to falsely accuse our gathering of a code four misdemeanour being changing the table numbers. We quietly reasoned she would probably need a bit more solid evidence to prosecute given her audience this day.

Tummies filled we motored off to Lake Eacham but a short drive away. This landmark was only slightly less impressive than its cousin with neither demanding a return visit in the next few decades. Further on we encountered the curtain fig. Now this attraction was worth every cent of the free admission. The story goes, two fig trees were growing close to one another. One fell onto the other, then a bit of inbreeding took place, so now they are one with the massive root system forming a curtain in the rain forest. Pretty impressive stuff.

Finally our visitations landed at the platypus viewing area just west of town. It is fair to say we stared at the water for long enough to entice any true blue platypus to pop their head up to say g’day, but today was not a day to be social. From our experience this spot will be known as the water viewing area.

Before heading back to camp we dropped into town and happened upon the Yungaburra corner store or something. This place was in a league of its own. In the one spot you could, get fuel, wine from the bottle shop, bait, and an infinite variety of other goods usually sold only in specialty stores. What a little gold mine.

Back at camp we started to think about preparing a feast for dinner as we had Denise and Richard’s friends, Bill and Marri-Anne coming over for dinner. In the interim G and Denise walked back from town dropping into the memorial recognising the sacrifice of our armed forces serving in Afghanistan. This was a beautiful way honour those who served.

Dinner was served as a veritable banquet of roast everything followed by lemon curd tarts and chocolate cake. It arrived just as the rain did, so we huddled a bit closer and had a wonderful evening talking travel and most other things accompanied by some very friendly Curlews.

Tomorrow we head for Chillagoe armed with wisdom of the ages.

Day Nine: Paronella Park to Yungaburra

For no particular reason we scrambled to meet the 9.15am deadline to exit the caravan park and walk the short distance to Paronella Park for the day tour.

Blessed by a small group of eight, we spent the next 35 plus minutes listening to Vicki our tour guide explain all there was to know about Paronella. Her story telling combined detail with a drop of humour and Australiana to relay the life of a Spaniard. All in all it was and entertaining time, highlighting again the work ethic of one man determined to make his dreams and fortune come true in the rainforest.

With Vicki off to her next group, we spent about an hour walking the trails of the park taking time to grab photos, marvelling at the old buildings and ingenuity of the man who built them.

And we fed fish. Actually the free fish food was for the sole purpose of feeding turtles apparently. Reality revealed two lonely, hungry old turtles looking longingly at us for a morsel as hundreds of black something fish made the water boil at the sight of a pellet of food. We doubt the turtles will ever die of diabetes at this rate.

At slightly before lunch o’clock we hit the road, finally deciding on the best way to get to Yungaburra. In essence the best way was up the Palmerston Range into Malanda for a bite to eat at the bakery. On the way we scooted through beautiful country and marvelled at the amount of crystal clear water in the creeks. Something we don’t often see at home.

Finally we headed off towards our overnight stop at the Lakeside Caravan Park, a bit over 15s ks from Malanda. Or some of us did. A bit of radio and phone traffic revealed Denise and Richard had fought a long hard fight with google and lost. They finally arrived at the caravan park. Just the wrong one on the other side of the lake. A back track and they arrived to set up with us overlooking a beautiful waterway.

We busied ourselves doing van maintenance, re-acquainting ourselves with Hindenburg and doing not a lot else. A bit later Ron and Julie arrived having had a brilliant time at Ayr with relatives amongst cane fires. In a photo Ron sports a new age ‘Ash Cut’ with freshly burnt cane ash on his head.

As the night settled in we watched the moon rise over the lake, celebrated Julie’s 32^nd birthday and told a few barely believable stories. The day ended with good food, great company and the promise of a better day tomorrow.

Day Eight: Townsville to Paronella Park.

It’s amazing what difference a couple of letters can make. Peter and G’s fridge bloke was called Mark. Denise and Ricard’s, Mick. Just two tiny letters different!! Mick turned out to be a fridge guru who could not do enough to fix the problem in the Sunland van. Mark tuned out to be late for his appointment and less than capable. Consequently the Sunland travels on with a beautifully cold fridge, whilst the Zone plugs along with a 190 lite storage box at room temperature, its void being filled by a cheap XTM cooler picked up at BCF.

With fridge issues behind us we all did a bit of stuff separately in Townsville. Denise and Richard went to a wedding whilst Peter and G finally had a run of luck at the Cowboys Club winning a chicken tray and a meat tray. These were donated to our friend Elle because she a place to keep them!

Heading out of Townsville to meet up with our travelling crew at the Frosty Mango, we noticed that the ‘Cancel Culture’ has finally had its long awaited victory. Near a power pole stood a cardboard cut-out of a safety human pointing upwards. The poor thing had neither colour nor gender to offer this mixed up world.

Denise and Richard had arrived at the Frosty Mango a bit before us but that did not stop us grabbing the time we needed to have scones and mango ice-cream. Funnily enough the day before in Townsville the staff from the place had a tasting at a coffee venue. When asked what Peter’s favourite flavour of ice cream was, he replied, ‘My mum’s mango ice-cream’. Not sure it went down too well with the crew to know a 95 year old lady had outdone them at their specialty.

Not that we are weird or anything, but we felt the need to drop into the Ingham Cemetery for a look. Well what a cracker of thing to do when you a bit of time to kill. This place is the final rest for a large number of the Ingham community from a time when the area was incredibly rich with a strong Italian influence. Consequently the tombs are like small buildings. Adorned with marble tiles and ornate decoration they are a sight. Peter noted that one even appeared to be so big it had its own rubbish bin outside!

The journey north highlighted the dangers with cane trains crossing the road regularly. We passed heaps of signs telling us to engage out ‘Train Brian’. As time and distance passed we entered banana growing territory so switched to engage our ‘Banana Brain’, before a bit later seeing signs for Custard Apples. We decided to give the brain games a miss after that. Not before however, G indulged herself in the science of why the banana plantations have different coloured bags over the bananas. Apparently more research is needed to answer this vexing question.

We continued north finding our way to Paronella Park via the longer but apparently quicker way through South Johnstone. Soon we were parked up in the Mena Creek Caravan Park and pretty much settled in with only a couple of u-turns involved in the journey to stay on track.

The Mena Creek publican told us that we had better have dinner early so as to catch the night show at Paronella and was convinced by G and Denise to stay open after the show to make us Sticky Date Pudding. Dinner was some good old fashioned food and tasted pretty good. The chuckle of the night however was when Denise went to the ladies and came back telling us there was a sign advising patrons to only have one person in the each cubicle at a time. We figured there must be the odd wild night at the Mena Creek Hotel for that to be a necessity.

It’s hard to describe Paronella Park. It’s even harder to appreciate it when you hear the story of Jose Paronella and the immense amount of work he put in to build the place pretty much by himself. Indeed he built a stone cottage for his wife in three months. We imagine at that time in the early 1900’s he did not have to be bothered with council approvals though.

The short story is that Jose had a lovely young lady betrothed to him in Spain before coming to Australia. He came out here, made a fortune then returned to pick up his bride but found out she had moved on. Undeterred he took up the offer of her sister that her mum and dad had prepared earlier. She apparently wasn’t too keen initially, but he become much better looking when she found out he was rich. So Australia bound they went. The rest is history.

The night show at the park was sensational and the sticky date pudding was pretty good as well. We headed off to bed with promise of a good day tomorrow.