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Point Gibbon to Whyalla and on to Port Augusta

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.

Point Gibbon to Wyalla

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.

Tumby Bay to Point Gibbon

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.

Walkers Rock to Tumby Bay

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.

Freezing Walkers Rock

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.

Streaky Bay to Walkers Rock

Our attempts to stay at the Streaky Bay Islands van park for one more day failed dismally. The place is so popular that we just had to leave to allow others to flow in. At exactly 9.57 am the lovely lady from the office did her rounds to make certain those who were due to leave by ten were all packed up and leaving. Cutthroat business this caravanning!

Before leaving town we naturally had to visit the nice café just one more time. It again did not disappoint. The bacon and egg jaffles were spot on as was the coffee and service. We will be back one day.

A last minute visit to the fish shop to bag some King George Whiting and we were off.

With just over 100ks to travel we made short work of the trip passing roads to some sights we had seen last time. Port Kenny was still bare and sparse with little to no signs of life evident.

We arrived at Walkers Rock, officially known as Lake Newland Conservation Park, after about 3 ks of good dirt road to be met by a sign saying we needed to book on the SA tourism or something website. We found our campsites then negotiated with the almost absent internet to book on a, let’s just say ‘difficult’ website. It was one of those that would have won efficiency awards for an up and coming future star of SA tourism, but in reality just confused anyone over the age of thirty. We remained confused.

We had noticed about 5 ks prior to the camp ground, a local farm at Colton had freshly baked bread for sale out of an old timber toilet looking structure roadside. It was now necessary to turn around, drive back, select a loaf and return. It was definitely worth the trip with the bread being superb.

After set up we walked the beaches marvelling at their natural beauty and in some small way wondering why we holiday to beaches when we have them on tap at home.

The whiting went down a treat for dinner with both us and the swarms of mozzies giving it top marks. We ate, we sprayed mozzie repellent, and we scurried inside for cover as both the insects and the now bloody cold weather gave us no reason to remain in the elements.

Tomorrow is destined to be overcast, cold and windy. It might be a day of doing not much.

Around Streaky Bay again

Now in fine form G literally smacked the ‘would be if they could be’s’ at the laundry for a second morning running. Not sure what she had left to wash. Maybe it was just a hierarchical reinforcement, but in the end G had a wide smile whilst others sat in the corner wishing for better things in life. Can’t help but be proud of the fight in G at times. Upon her return to the van she reiterated the pure mayhem that had played out in the Streaky Bay Caravan Park Laundry. No doubt there will be a medal struck for this encounter.

With the early victory coursing through her veins, G and I took advantage of the low tide and puddle jumped over to the two little island just off the van park. We spent the next hour photographing breeding birds nesting on top of the craggy rocks. We took great pains to make sure we didn’t disturb them, primarily as they were nesting, but also to get some good pics.

As we were respectfully retreating, happy that we had not ruined the flighted ones day, we passed an ordinary looking lady, mid-fifties, (unless she had a hard life), walking to whence we had come. She wore a red top, being in all ways unremarkable with no hint of what was to come.

A slight noise, then a major flutter of wings called my attention back to the island. Unbelievable is the only word to describe it. Here was old red top thrashing her arms about like an electric scare crow on meth, trying to get a rise out of the birds, just to get a picture. I’m not that good a shot, yet I reckon on a good day I could have put her down. She honestly deserved it. I prayed to the water gods a freak wave would sneak around the island and do what desperately needed to be done.

A bit later o’clock we drove into town, arrived a tad early to meet Trev and Sue for lunch so found a natty little coffee shop. Oh dear, how to make a muffin. G selected an apple and cinnamon example. It was indeed the best muffin ever. Truly, best ever. So thus far Streaky Bay has the best van park and the best muffins in the country. Not bad for a seaside hamlet with half a dozen residents.

I do wish King George Whiting would take a long swim north to Queensland. As good as the last time we were in South Australia the fish was magnificent at lunch overlooking the bay and town jetty. Drift is pretty much the only restaurant in town, so we celebrated Trev’s birthday there. Great food, great company and seagulls. Yes, the veranda tables come with their own water spray bottle labelled seagull repellent!! The little buggers get to close; you take them out.

A lacklustre afternoon led to some late pics of the sun setting across the receding water preceded by a long chat with our new friends from yesterday. Not a bad way to pull up stumps on another day where work feels a million miles away.

Around Streaky Bay

Today we bounded out of bed early to be ahead of the pack in the eternal fight for caravan park washing machines. G impressed with her strategy and cunning. As we approached the laundry she marched with purpose towards the washing line rather than the washing machine. Thinking she had lost her way just a little, I questioned. Apparently in this world of dog eat dog washing dramas, the truly experienced put their dirty sheets on the line first, thereby establishing occupation rights, but importantly stopping anyone else from having access to the line. Once the opposition is banished waiting impatiently, you merrily go about washing clothes with full knowledge you have a line or two available to dry them.

I saw the mean and nasty streak in my wife today. I believe a series called ‘Real housewives of caravanning Australia’ is airing soon with my darling G as the star.

After breakfast and a bit of exercise we grabbed Trev, Sue and Henry the travelling dog taking Panther on a drive around Streaky Bay. Ultimately we spun round the Westall Way Loop and the Cape Bauer Loop. Neither being long or arduous, we encountered a series of stunning beaches, spectacular cliffs and cracking rock pools.

One of the highlights was a visit to the Whistling Rocks and Blowholes. Simply, the cliffs we were standing on were undercut by multiple holes and channels that lead from the sea to the top of the cliffs. On a good day when big waves roll in, water spirts high into the air creating a water sprout. At the same time air being pushed up the channels in the cliff making a whistling sound. Reality is, on any day other than the perfect one, waves come in, a puff of water jumps a few inches into the air and the whistle sounds like a semi-silent beer fart. We arrived on any other day!!

Sometime between the travel loops we had a nice but cold pie at the local bakery. We will return one day soon when the ovens are turned on.

Our afternoon was spent consuming nibbles before a beach walk and chat to another Queensland couple who are now invited for tomorrows nibbles. All of us agreed that we are feeling the cold with the wind ripping through us like a quick dose of COVID. Hopefully tomorrow will be a bit warmer.

Pildappa Rock to Streaky Bay

With Pildappa Rock done and dusted we hitched up and headed ever west. Actually south then east for a bit then west then south, but generally westish.

As we scooted across the fantastic dirt road towards Minippa we noticed the early morning sun on the extensive wheat and barley crops created a uniquely Australian landscape. It was a simple landscape with just the golden crops reflecting light interrupted only by the odd tree atop a rise. If we have to be on holidays it’s hard to beat this area.

Not long later we turned left into Tcharkuldu Rock. Pronounce it how you will. Promising similar ooohs and aaahs as Pildappa, this one excelled. It was very different to the other, yet was stunning in every sense. Containing hundreds of individual rocks mounted on a giant, we could have spent days wandering around getting lost. The old story of Picnic at Hanging Rock came to mind with G walking around never to be seen again unless Henry the travelling dog found her.

On the downwind side of the rock we encountered a park toilet that out did the one at Pildappa in spades. Cleary constructed by the same building contractor this one was more than adequately filthy, coming complete with its own warning sign. In simple terms it basically said disinfect this thing or risk ugly parasites of unknown origin crawling into places they should never see. Seventeen healthy squirts of hand sanitiser later were headed off feeling just slightly violated.

We paddled our way through towards Poochera without drama until we decided to contact Trevor and Sue via the CB. “Hey Trev, you on air.” Silence. “Sue, you there.” More silence. Figuring our radio was on the blink we stopped to sort out the problem. As it turned out Sue’s radio had a technical problem. The problem was multi-faceted. Firstly Sue had somehow got the radio on scan then channel five rather than channel 40. To make certain we could not talk to her she had managed to grab the radio upside down, so she did not have a talk button to push. We collectively fixed the technical problem, and all was well again.

Turning towards Streaky Bay we noticed blue guide posts every few hundred metres. They had the letters, FP of SV or something else I can’t remember. For the next 60 ks or so we spent our time trying to figure out what the letters meant. We figured it had something to do what bush fire brigade but never did get it sorted with our best guess being Fire Point. We had nothing for SV.

The Streaky Bay Islands Caravan Park is frankly the best in the country. Yes I will stand by that. So big are the parking spots that both Trevor and I thought we had to put the vans  close to one side as it was a two van space. Not at all. The entire spot was ours. Van parked beside car with still room for a road train.

In similar style the bathrooms were all individual ensuites spotlessly clean. Gotta love this place.

Our afternoon was spent walking in freezing cold wind around a little island just off the beach. At low tide it is a cracker spot to explore.

I cooked smashing pizza for dinner under very specific instruction from G. I excelled apparently.

Pildappa Rock

With no place to travel to today we rose late. Ate breakfast late and headed for a walk up on the rock late.

Pildappa Rock appears to be a bit of a unicorn. It is fantastically amazing, huge, accessible without a fee or permit and not restricted in any way. You just don’t find that in Australia these days. Accordingly it was a winner before we even set foot upon it.

Prior to setting upon the rock we decided to set foot within the long drop toilet in the camping area. Oh mother of god pray for us. This experience was worse than sipping paint stripper through a straw. I felt myself gag at the smell, not breath for fear of one of a thousand flies slipping into my mouth and do business with a haste I have never had reason to previously.

Prior to putting our mountaineering boots on we noticed at the bottom of the rock was a sign telling us about some geraniums that were planted by a girls in 1938. Must say the ‘I think you are talking BS’ metre suddenly flicked into the red for the avid gardener in all of us reckoned we could barely make a geranium last six months let alone 80 or 90 years. A pretty odd place to plant flowers also came to mid. Still in the absence of a better flimsy story we chose to congratulate the girls and walk on.

Climbing the northern face of the rock did not extend our non-existent climbing skills. It was grippy granite on not much of an angle. Once atop we explored for an hour or so noting that the entire area was covered with small round dry pools that clearly held water aplenty when it rained. We also noticed that at a few spots the natural waterfalls had been dammed to hold water on the top. Henry the travelling dog had the time of his life sniffing, running, and climbing. His life was about perfect.

As we circumnavigated Pildappa we walked inside a small rock wall that had been erected about its circumference. It was clear that many years ago local farmers had figured out that the top of the rock not only held huge amounts of water they could harvest , but also that catching the falling water and re-directing it via the wall to a nearby dam provided a valuable resource that otherwise would have evaporated. We collectively decided this was a bit of genius.

Most of the day was spent effectively doing nothing. We chatted, did a bit of maintenance on the vans and prepared for the afternoon assault on the rock for sunset pics.

Late afternoon the sky darkened quickly threatening to dump gallons of water on us. Ultimately, it just stayed dark, didn’t rain yet provided some amazing shots. Again it was cold. Bloody cold. The wind cut through us sending us to bed early.