Lake Cargelligo to Mildura
I leapt out of bed like a sprung sloth to head down to the lake and create a few iconic images. Truth was that the sunrise was a bit asthmatic and ochre cliffs were without colour. Returning half an hour later I realised G had taken herself to the showers for a long overdue hair wash and whatever else women do in there. After doing the same I still had no G back at the van.
Then out of the amenities block came my love. She was obviously not freshly showered with the only steam visible coming from her ears. A not happy G is a site to behold. Choosing listening as the appropriate communication strategy, I quickly learned that despite my piping hot shower, the same was ice cold on the opposite side of the wall, despite the same hot water system being utilised.
With duty calling, I entered the ladies showers, turned the mixer tap to the opposite side and was able to provide G with a steaming hot shower! Until it didn’t. Ice was the description. G came back a beaten woman, wondering just what she had to do to get a dribble of hot water. Apparently washing your hair in icy cold water is quote “as f&*^%d up as the Hema”. We did not discuss this matter further.
After a quick look around the lake CBD we choofed off towards Hillston. Well that is where the combination of Hema and Landrover mapping took us. Arriving in the hamlet via the Lachlan Valley Way, we fell in love instantly. What a special little place with quaint old shops, a charm that is hard to find and another lovely lady who struggled with the concept of making tea. She did however master producing cold raison toast!
On we went towards Booligal entering the flood plain area where wheat crops grew aplenty. We were on gravel road for the most part yet barely ran under 80km/h. Panther was in its element and G-string found her groove just nicely.
Booligal led us to Hay. Hay, known for its ferocious winds on the plains surrounding it was the epitome of a welcoming country town. Beautiful old buildings surrounded by magnificent gardens and some quirky elements thrown in. The food stood out with G’s caramel tart and fresh cream being top of the crop.
We had intended to camp somewhere within about 50 km of Mildura dependent upon how we were travelling in the late afternoon. I made a right knob of myself when I asked G what crop was growing on our left. She announced without hesitation it was Jojoba. Asking how in the world she knew that, thinking she had been taking horticulture classes behind my back, she announced, “I read the sign you dick”. I chose to wonder in silence at the remainder of the agricultural experiences for the rest of the day.
Offering remote camping beside the river just 20km out of Mildura, our chosen camp spot looked the goods. As we approached a potential turnoff guided by ‘that F$%*&#@g Hema the third’, we looked left to see the beast had done it again. We were past the point before it appeared on the map. Our never turn back philosophy deployed. We continued on ultimately ending up in a second hand caravan park on the river at Mildura.
All in all not a bad day. We covered huge ks, were tired but satisfied we were breaking the back of the long journey towards the Eyre Peninsular.