Day Five: Burdekin Dam to Charters Towers and Townsville.
We’re not sure what today was going to be. We knew we had to head into Charters Towers, but with the news that Peter and G’s van fridge had decided to re-identify as a hot box, we had some decisions to make. For the next few days Richard and Denise and Peter and G would travel independently of Ron and Julie who had chosen to stay another night at the dam.
Topping off our start with a quick number plate light fix turning into a major rear light mounting plate failure on G-String, we were behind time before we began. Still the journey into The Towers via a quaint and spotlessly clean servo at Ravenswood was a ripper. Zooming through beautiful country, dodging cattle of all shapes, sizes and breeds was great fun.
We arrived in Charters at lunch o’clock. Finding the somethingorother café just up the road from the council building we ate well. The servings, no matter what were massive. Richard and I fought hard to defeat our club sandwiches whilst Denise and G just managed to win the battle over quiche and a pie.
Peter and G needed to be in Townsville as they had lucked upon a bloke to fix their fridge; or at least look at it early tomorrow morning. Denise and Richard had also managed to find ‘Mick’, who it appears is Townsville’s go to man, to look at their fridge but later on Friday afternoon.
We parted ways, pointed Panther and G-String east. With the wind behind us we pranced along at a good clip munching up the 140 odd ks quickly. We found the shed where our friends Elle and Terry were letting us park the car and van. We set up and did pretty much nothing.
And then a miracle.
We jumped for joy as we’re sure Denise did as well. The message told us that Ron and Julie had somehow found Hindenburg. It was undamaged and ready for another mission. We can’t wait to catch up and hear a blow by blow account of how against all odds the little flying machine was located after spending a freezing night all alone in the wilderness surrounded by howling dingoes.
Wow, wow and more wow. The sunrise over Elphinstone Dam was spectacular. It was not your complicated, full of cloud formations spectacular. Rather just nature in its purest form. A lake, the rising sun and a lonely old tree. And bloody cold.
Peter launched out of bed at rotten o’clock to head to the showers as he had tickets on hot water ahead of all other campers. Luckily, experience told him to turn the hot water on whilst still fully clothed. When that failed with not a drop coming from the shower head, he reasoned although it was a two tap set up, the left ap was indeed a mixer and the right only for show. Tap on, arm extended, hand out; nothing but cold. Wait five minutes, still nothing but cold. He skulked back to the van, colder than before and not one bit cleaner. The only saving grace was Julie later disclosed she did exactly the same thing, only for both of them to later find out the ‘parents room’ had piping hot liquid on tap. One had to wonder why the breeders get the preferential treatment!
We packed up slowly having a breakfast of left over last night’s dinner, bacon and eggs before hitting the road.
Knowing today was a fair bit of dirt road we enjoyed skipping along the first few kilometres on bitumen and it wound along beside a creek. First dirt was a bit of fun with a good surface save a few bits of skittish gravel atop hard packed clay that had G-String fighting for comfort.
We tumbled across some road works, pulling up just before a massive centre mound of gravel stretching as far as we could see. The radio came to life with the roller driver telling us to keep going and we may encounter a grader. We did. A big bugger coming right at us. A hurdle that would make an Olympic athlete proud, got us out of the dilemma and safely on the other side of the road without calamity.
Soon enough, if 90km is soon enough we happened upon the township of Mt Coolon. Consisting of a tumbled down hotel come shop and not much else Peter drove past a pristine little park for morning tea, choosing a crappy roadside nothing spot instead. A coffee, ginger nut biscuits and a phone call from work later we were on our way but not before Richard discovered a vent cover on their van had dropped off.
With only one hundred of so ks to go we encountered some surprises. The first included a fox. No not a fox, but a big feral cat the size of a fox. It was majestic in its own right, but what a killing machine it would be. We dodged roos, cattle in incredible condition, a few slow moving wedge tail eagles and council workers.
There may have been a sign, probably not. A left hand bend led to multiple piles of gravel tipped in the middle of the road with only a far left or father right option available. We chose left and soon found out the tip truck driver had an angle issue with the left track beside the piles diminishing rapidly. G-String hung on gamely as Panther jumped the gravel mounds and continued on.
But a few hundred metres further we encountered a chilled out road crew who helped us through the next obstacle without issue. We had to chuckle as this event would have all hell breaking loose if it happened on the Bruce Highway. We had to admire the ‘she’ll be right’ attitude if one is allowed to have that attitude these days.
From here on in the road was tighter, rougher and dippier. Every few hundred metres there was a dip. Some were just a jiggle, others were monsters that came up unexpectedly, dove deep into gullies and shook the car and van like a rag doll. We decided we couldn’t pay for fun like this at the Ekka!
Finally the magnificent Burdekin Dam popped up. Well, it didn’t pop up, it dominated the entire landscape. We slid down the steep access road, parked up and took a small walk towards the wall noting the sing that said we were not allowed within 100 metres of that structure. Both Richard and Peter looked around nervously just case the sign police from two days earlier had been following us ready to pounce.
A plan was set. Denise would jump in our car as we drove across the road directly beneath the dam wall. Once we reached the other side she would whip out her drone (called Hindenburg) and video Richard, Ron and Julie diving across in their respective rigs.
It had all the promise of a Logie winning docudrama until…..Where’s Hindenburg? It appeared in a fleeting second, the drone had escaped view and crash landed high on a cliff overlooking the dam spillway, to forever provide vigil over the Burdekin Dam access road. To add salt to the wound, Hindenburg was still relaying video to show us its exact location was ‘amongst sticks somewhere. Devastated, Denise and the rest of our crew headed up to the caravan park and settled in.
The afternoon became cold, the night filled with outstanding home-made pizza was colder and the loss to NSW was freezing.
We went to bed saying a prayer to the drone gods that through some miracle Hindenburg would come home.
We rose early, did a bit of exercise in the park, had breakfast, then Richard got attacked.
It came from nowhere in the form of one of gods special people on day release from the Grumpy Old Man’s infirmary. As we plugged the water hose into a tap in the park to fill our water tanks, he launched. “The water filling station is over there”, pointing with a distinct lack of authority.
Bemuddled, Richard and Peter looked at the tap, then at the idiot. Undeterred he then referred them to the sign attached to the tap bleating out “read the sign.” So they did. After reading out loud that a park visitor could not hook up to the tap permanently, Richard informed our newfound annoyance that the sign indicated we could hook up so long as we were not permanently there. A second reading was required by the hose police before he skulked off into his van to nurture his stupidity and bathe his damaged ego.
Water filled, we headed North on Apis Creek Road collectively cursing Dometic fridges for the new product in Denise and Richard’s van had decided to remain on strike as it had done since day one.
We stopped for the coal train wondering how many wheelbarrow loads of the black stuff was in each behemoth. Soon after, we hit dirt and would remain on this surface for the next hundred or so ks.
Apis Creek Road is a damned good drive. It winds its way through cattle properties, over ranges and into and out of steep gullies, pretending to be creeks. We reckoned the road, as good as it was, would be diabolical in the wet as the predominate surface was clay.
Throughout the gravel section, Australian wildlife was on full display. Together we encountered roos of dark brown, red, and grey colour as well as their companions on the Coat of Arms, the emu. A dingo shot out in front of Julie and Ron with the odd Brahman having a crack at Peter and G.
As this lively drive came to an end at the Marlborough Sarina Road (Old Bruce Highway), we noted the landscape change suddenly. It was now dominated by massive white beasts sitting in commanding positions atop hills of all denominations. It was frankly disgusting, and wholly un-Australian. It was the Clarke Creek windfarm!! We wondered if any of the decision makers had ever ventured from behind their desk to see the destruction this type of cosmetic agriculture causes.
We headed north on the rougher than dirt bitumen highway. After what seemed not much time we dropped in for lunch at the lovely little park in the middle of nowhere that celebrates the 1956 Olympic Torch coming through that way. There is an over-size replica of the torch from 56 and a plaque explaining the significance of the monument.
About 100 km latter we were turning left before arriving at Nebo for fuel not much later. As the afternoon was drawing on we made haste for our camp at Elphinstone Dam.
Last time we were here the dam was a muddy puddle with not much life about and nothing at all to inspire. Today however, it was the opposite. It was picturesque and most welcoming. We found a great spot for three vans parked in a semi-circle before enjoying a relaxing afternoon. The setting sun changed the colours of the lake minute by minute before darkness arrived not long before a scrumptious dinner of lamb chops, foiled potatoes done in the fire, and slightly burnt sausages.
Richard took on the title of Chief Drone as we played with his new toy, soon realising it was dead easy to fly and really spooky when it hovered starring at you from a metre away. We found out it is very useful for checking solar panels on the roof of the vans, saving a ladder climb and possible hospital visit in the process.
Again our conversation was riveting. Tonight we covered driving through round-a-bouts, accidents around camps, UHF radios and a heap of other random topics popping up for no particular reason.
Despite needing a sleep in, tomorrow will be worth crawling out of bed early, as the rising sun is set to make some special magic on the lake that will need to be captured in camera.
One step outside and the toes curled up instantly. It was cold this morning. Not sunshine coast cold, genuinely cold. Thongs were definitely not going to be the chosen footwear today.
The morning was otherwise quite the cracker. Once the sun warmed the air it was decidedly cosy sitting and chatting about nothing in particular. Richard demonstrated his newly acquired drone skills zipping about the camp site with some degree of aplomb.
We scoffed a breakfast of bacon and eggs, followed by a tour of the RM Williams centre then felt the need for a coffee at the corner café before heading out. Well the coffee was OK; the pie was OK, and the tea wasn’t.
At about 10.30ish we motored sort of westish towards Cracow. The road was brilliant, winding its way through bushland, over rivers and creeks before popping out at the City limits. Cracow is indeed a fun place to be. It is old, quirky and quaint all at once. History tells us it was a gold mining centre of note with a modern version still in operation.
The pub, being the centre of town, but not open Mondays, sits proudly opposite the mower tree just beside the most interesting directional sign to be had anywhere. We stayed for the time it took to take a few photos and test out the not too shabby public toilets. We always like to support local communities so made sure we made a deposit before we left.
Not long afterwards we were bearing down upon Theodore where we fuelled and found a nice little park to have lunch. Peter went fishing, catching a big one, but chose to give it kiss and sent it back.
Now in the early afternoon we pedalled a bit harder toward Banana then Baralaba. Cotton is the order of the day out here. There are cotton plantations everywhere, fed by bore drains beside the road, with road trains and B-doubles hauling the produce in huge round bails to wherever the local cotton gin may be. It was hard not to try to calculate how many t-shirts each trailer load would make in your average Chinese sweat shop. Possibly a lot.
With cotton comes the need for water. Ship loads of it. We were reminded of this when we saw a freshly made (well it probably took at least 12 months to construct) turkey’s nest amid thousands of acres of ploughed cotton paddocks. This thing was at least a kilometre across one side and equally proportioned on the other two sides we could see. We imagined there was a fourth side for if there wasn’t all the millions of gallons of water stored within would soon be without. How these massive above ground dams are filled just by rainwater is amazing.
The road narrowed. The cattle came out to say hello a few times, yet we skipped along. Soon enough we turned left for the short run into Duaringa for the night. We parked up and met Julie and Ron who we would travel with for the rest of the trip, save a couple of excursions.
The afternoon included settling in, fixing the inevitable things that need fixing and chatting about all things important. Top of list included our travels over the years, crocodiles and why Mr Trump put his ear so close to a speeding bullet. Coupled with new collective knowledge wealth, we sat by the campfire and continued our pursuits.
Denise delivered a spectacular pasta dish with just enough zing to start a sweat with a taste that had the buds dancing a jig. With full bellies and the temperature dropping by the minute it was time to grab some sleep.
There’s a little bunny that is well known called Eveready. Unfortunately we inherited his illegitimate cousin, Neveready! For that is yet again how we felt on the morn of our mid-year sojourn north and west through Queensland.
The car was not packed. The clothes were over packed with no idea of what we had packed and our 11am meeting limit was fast approaching. Through some grace of god we managed to slip into the BP service station at Glenview just on time to see Richard and Denise waiting not so patiently.
The lack of patience was not on our behalf though, as an electrical gremlin had struck them not 30 km into the 5500km trip. After a bit of diagnostic work Peter and Richard decided in true tradesman fashion, to ‘let the problem develop’. The result would be it would fix itself or catastrophic failure. Either way we would know where we stood.
We headed off with the mandatory $2 bag of lollies in hand with nothing of significance going on; until.
Just before we had the chance to admire hundreds of acres of Solar Plants (just like sunflowers, only environmentally irresponsible and not at all pretty) we were dispatched almost into the culvert on the left of the road near Woolooga. It appears old mate in his V8 Landcruiser did in fact own the road so overtook at speed running us and the vehicles oncoming off the road. It was one of those times where the elastic in G-String was tested and she became just a little bit soiled in the process. No damage, just a big fright.
We motored on thinking, ‘well thank god that one is our of the way early in the trip’. Kilkivan threw up a mighty burger for lunch, with Denise munching on an equally superb toasted sandwich.
Tansey was next followed by Gayndah for a leg stretch and a brief look at the big orange. We noticed also a protest sign about hydro not being so good. The funny thing was it was attached to a dump point. Just sayin, if was us we would probably protest water issues where water quality was sound as opposed to a poo receptacle!.
Soon after we entered BinJour and proudly did what all tourists do in BinJour. Turned left!! This was followed by an RBT just outside Mundubbera, brilliantly delivered by the Eidsvold Police. Peter’s heart had its cockles warmed at the site and sound of the troops out on the road intercepting vehicles. A lost art that apparently is still alive and well in these parts. The gods of rod safety were with us today.
Eidsvold popped up within about 40 km. We fuelled then selected our spot for the night at the RM Williams centre. We pretty much had the place to ourselves realising it was now cooling off and the predicted four degrees of tomorrow being a reality.
G and Denise felt their inner youth; toddlerhood, rising so attacked the zip line with a style and grace we, and indeed Eidsvold, had not seen in many years. Following a few Gins we watched the free RM lightshow before Peter failed dismally at herding G towards the pub for dinner. Maybe she had been just a little bit affected by the light show.
Peter headed off to explore ultimately locating the wall of legends. Disappointed in not seeing how name there, he continued on to capture pics of plants in boots, old farm implements and other random stuff.
We’re not sure how many chooks and beasts lent their lives to our meals but ‘holy hungry tourists Batman’ they were huge. Huge and amazing. The food was perfectly cooked and tasted like no other in Eidsvold. What an experience. The Parmi set new standards not imagined to be surpassed for decades to come.
We waddled back to the vans, said our good nights and drifted off to sleep. Day one had been a good start.
