Day One: Home to Eidsvold.
Panther pounced out of bed already wearing her G-String, hitting the road at not much after 7.30am. Shooting out to the highway, headed north, all was running well with the big V6 making mincemeat of pulling a caravan.
Gympie came and went shortly before a left run saw us cross Bells Bridge and head into the Burnett Region. We had planned a breakfast at Kilkivan. This little gem did not disappoint. We stopped at Katie’s Café and partook of one of the best bacon and egg delicious we have ever eaten. Washed down with fantastic tea and a cracker coffee. We were set.
As we entered the café to order our fill, tears filled her eyes. From her spot in the kitchen Katie had seen G. Nothing but a bulldozer would have stopped her running to embrace her old friend. Katie, worked with us in Doomadgee almost 20 years ago. She was an outstanding police officer then and an even more outstanding person now. We spent quite a few precious minutes reminiscing about the good, bad and ugly of our time together in the north before we walked the short walk to the service station to have a similar catch up with Katie’s husband Rob who was also with us for the tropical adventure. Rob, like Katie exude a decency that is almost lost in this funny old world.
Time waits for no cat, so Panther set sail again for our scheduled meet up with Sue and Trevor at Ban Ban Springs. Over the Tansy Range we went, right onto the Something Highway and into the second hand siding known as Ban Ban Springs. The service station is the jewel in the crown of this spot. Actually it is the crown as it stands alone, save a smelly toilet block. Across the road however, is a real life spring, and a few thousand ducks making the fresh waters home. Using our vast knowledge of flying creatures we figured that they were in fact the, indigenous to Ban Ban Springs, Brown Duck.
No trip to the Burnett is complete without a stop at the Gayndah Big Orange. Peter was the model for the embarrassing, ‘here I am at the big orange’ picture as G found and scouted a nearby shop. In a travelling first her return to the car was one of empty hands. Apparently the souvenir Big Oranges did not take her fancy this day.
Soon enough Eidsvold, being our destination, popped up. We fuelled and flicked across the road to the campground of the RM Williams Learning Centre. Finding a camp in the far corner, we settled in. As is often the case, in a ground of at least 10 acres, Mr and Mrs Noidea trundled down our way and camped right beside us. If you ever thought humans were independent and capable of self-determination, just study a campground in the early afternoon. We chose to laugh.
Not long after a Landrover Discovery towing a Zone Caravan came into the area. They pulled up at a socially acceptable distance and promptly lifted their big hairy dog out of the car. We instantly reconned these were good people. Anyone who drives a Disco, tows a Zone and has a dog, is right up there in our book.
We yarned to Bron and …….. Bron’s husband, for quite a while. They were Sydneyites with he having retired as an airline pilot at the start of COVID. The Zone was their first van as they wanted to buy right once. It looked like they had done. Peter and Bron’s husband talked van weights for a bit, looked at nifty fixes for kitchen draws and got on like a house on fire. Half an hour passed, they left headed for Monto. We afternoon snacked.
As the time for the RM Williams night light show approached, G and Sue walked slowly towards the venue. But not before G spotted a 40 metre zip line and could not resist. Hearing the commotion from near the van, Peter sensed danger and began running as fast as his torn calf would allow. He barely touched the tips of the grass beneath his feet, moving with all the grace of a fat lady with a broken stiletto, for experience told him a trip for G in an Ambulance was nigh. As she let go and started to zip, Peter, now frantic, tried with all his trying might to remember the number for 000 emergency as he neared the scene of impending broken bones.
G zipped, took one hand of just for effect, slammed into the braking system at the other end and rebounded laughing her head off. No injury this time. Seeing how much fun it was the rest of had a go as well; enjoying reliving our kid years.
The light show was a stunner. Projected onto a series of metal walls, we learned a bit about RM’s life, work history and impact on the Australian culture. We heard from a few of his mates and a local singer whose fame is most probably limited to the light show.
We returned to the vans and snuggled in for the evening had become bitterly cold.
Day Two: Eidsvold to Cania Gorge:
Today followed last night, being bitterly cold. The 120m walk to the toilets was one of frozen toes, frozen thoughts and not much else. Still it looked as though the day was going to be just lovely from about 2pm onwards.
Peter headed out for an exploratory walk around town whilst Genevieve lay in bed. The town was still asleep at 6.30am with naught but the service station awake for business. Upon reaching the intersection of the highway and the steaming swimming pool, Peter had a decision to make. Straight ahead or right. Diagonally through the park it would be.
Having now reached the main street, Peter noticed a café on the corner, an Indigenous Centre, a Chemist and a second hand store. The later best described the main street. Eidsvold looked and felt like a town in pain. Where were the businesses looking like businesses. Yet with all the drear, the second hand store had left most of its goods outside on the street overnight, so crime must not feature highly.
Heading back Peter was approached by a bloke in a ute. Expecting a good old fashioned questioning as to what a stranger was doing in these parts, Peter braced himself for the inevitable onslaught. Not this time. It was a young fella who simply wanted to know where the RM Williams Centre was. “Well you’re in luck” was Peter’s reply. “It’s the only place in town I know. Turn right, then left, over the bridge and it’s on your right.” Clearly this young traveller recognised a knowledge base when he saw one, as He picked Peter out of a completely empty street as the one to ask.
A couple of hundred yards later Peter was again accosted. This time by the thundering hooves of a part grown Wolf Hound and his Kelpie mate. They pounced before Peter knew what hit him. With paw prints from head to toe the game went on till the smell of bandicoot poo proved a better offer and the pups headed on their way.
Breakfast vanished as did a good cup of coffee, followed by a drop-in to the RM Williams Centre proper. Sadly, the centre did not live up to the light show of the nigh prior or indeed to the campground. Not sure why, it just did not have that, ‘come and see me’ vibe.
After emptying the van toilets and filling tanks with fresh water we headed towards Monto. The trip, being uneventful ,led us to conclude the area had received far more than its fair share of rain in the recent past. Grass was green, cattle were fat, and creeks were running. Soon enough we ventured upon a set of painted silos. As Peter stepped into photo mode, G found a shop. Nestled within a farmers old trailer was more than 20 old eskys filled with all sorts of home made goods for sale. Demonstrating immaculate restraint G left with but a $10 packet of ANZAC biscuits at $2 per biscuit and a half share an $8 box of firwood. Not a piece of jewellery in sight.
Monto inspired to the same extent a good dose of COVID with not much to encourage us to search for local real estate for that rural lifestyle change. A few short ks later we turned right onto Cania Road set for Cania Gorge Tourist Retreat.
If Monto was a bit disappointing, the tourist park was the opposite. We settled into a fantastic spot at one end of the campground in a near perfect setting. Not overly populated, and meticulously kept, the camping experience was second to none. We afternoon snacked, gave Henry the travelling dog a walk and got comfortable with a simpler life.
Day Three: Cania Gorge:
Cold, misty and even a bit rainy, this morning was not inspiring the spirit of adventure. We elected to jump in the cars and take a trip to Cania Dam a few short ks up the road from our camp. We noted the area was immaculately kept by its Sunwater guardians, with mown lawns and enough ‘don’t go there or do this’ signs to keep even the best recalcitrant out.
A wander down to the waters edge revealed an interesting lake that obviously had not, in recent times, seen the amount of rain in the ranges that fed it the rest of the state had. It was not nearly full. Our views were supported by a sign that rambled on at length about the presence of Blue Green Algie. It proffered the folly of swimming in it, touching it, diving in it or indeed accidently drinking it. After we deliberately had a good long slurp from its depths we moved on.
The middle of the day was a drizzly loss. We occupied ourselves by gazing at the increasing number of vans coming into the park and the trying to imagine what legal or otherwise employment those who could afford them undertook. We concluded the world was full of drug dealers and people smugglers.
G and Peter headed off for a walk in the afternoon. The sign told us that the walk to the Ferntree Pool was 3.1km. Even with a broken calf, Peter thought it achievable if he limped and grimaced alternately. The track was not much to write home about as it undulated alongside a trickle trying to be a creek. Finally we happened upon a bathtub sized pool fed by a piddling dribble of milky water. We had arrived at Ferntree Pool. By now Peter’s calf was saying it was time to call it a day but the sign pointing up an almost vertical cliff said it was but 2.5 km to go. Ok now we got it, 3.1km was not for the circuit, it was only for the outward run. Bugger!
We trudged on, finally happening upon the Giant Chair Lookout, noticing it was now just the Giant Lookout as no chair was to be found. We stared into the thickening mist and decided in this weather it was just the Giant; no chair and no lookout!
Now pouring rain we descended the mountain before scurrying into the camp a site, a steaming hot shower and late afternoon snacks.
As the night worn on, we knew it was only going to get colder and wetter. Bed was the best option.
Day Four: To Boynedale Bush Camp:
We rose after a damp night to a campground filled with fog the likes of pea soup. Not quite the thick opaque pea soup grandma used to make but more like the one Aldi sells. A bit runny and you can still through it. Consequently, everything we touched was saturated and cold. Desperately, the sun tried to show, but failed badly till well after breakfast o’clock.
We packed slowly, realised a resettable fuse powering the van was not working properly and trudged out towards Biloela. We chose the bitumen as the shorter trip over the range to Boynedale Bush Camp meant hauling up and over what would be a very wet and slippery dirt rack. Just warmed up we encountered a short stint of unexpected roadworks that meant we hauled over a very wet and slippery dirt track causing our vans to go from pristine all English albino to West Indian brown in less than 23 seconds.
On we went.
Biloela was Biloela. We fuelled, ate truly terrible bakery food, failed to find a new resettable fuse, so headed off. The road towards Calliope before the turnoff to Boynedale was like the Oscars of roadworks. They had roadworks that were outstanding in their set up, roadworks that simply took too long in their acceptance speeches, roadworks that tried to be, but were just not funny and even ones where we felt like slapping someone. The right turn off the highway did not come soon enough.
Boynedale Bush Camp sits beside what will now be known as Boynedale Dam. It’s a camp beside a large body of water pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Upon arrival we quickly determined lots of other people had found the middle of nowhere just as we had. Fortunately we found a spot on the edge of nowhere to overlook the swamp fand listen to the symphony of frogs. Not a bd way to settle in for an afternoon.
We nibbled, chatted, snoozed and explored the many subjects you do when four people sit down in the middle of nowhere. Not long after dark we noticed a convoy of vehicles come into the campground. Led by a Suzuki Jimny, the convoy presented in order. Jimny, camper van, Jimny, camper van. We quickly determined they were travelling together and that each Jimny required an accompanying camper to sleep in. They stopped, looked and then moved on.
Within a quick 30 seconds another convoy arrived. Identical to the first. Jimny, Camper, Jimny, Camper. We all, but Sue in particular, figured out it was a Jimny club on an outing and that they had, with a bit of imagination, at least 20 of them in convoy all coming to stay with us this night. As tears welled, and bellies laughed deep laughs, we realised that the first four had just done a flying lap on the campground and arrived back to camp beside us. We had but two Jimny’s and two campers in our midst. Still, it was a bloody quick lap of the campground!
We stayed up late this night, not seeing sleep until at least 8pm.
Day Five, Six and a bit: Boynedale Bush Camp.
The next couple of days were spent relaxing. The odd yarn with the odd person broke up the daylight hours as did a bit of a walk to nowhere in particular.
We noted the big trees with the bean pods all looked dead, probably poisoned as they looked pestish at best. A glance up into the nearby living tree revealed an owl desperately trying to have a nap during the hottest part of the day. Again we used all of our flying thing knowledge to decide that this was in fact a cousin of the ducks at Ban Ban Springs. As such we jotted it down as the Brown Owl.
Campfires were a welcome offset to very cool afternoons and slightly warmer nights. Fog was an ever-present friend in the mornings till quite late, with perfect temperature days following. Other than that Boynedale Bush Camp was about a 5 out of 10 on the will I ever visit again scale.
Onwards from Boynedale
On day whateveritwas we packed up pretty early and scooted ever southish towards the city of Ubobo. To say the drive through the valley was stunning, amazing, beautiful, not bad at all, was the understatement of whatever day it was. What a cracker. Off the scale of the will I ever visit again scale.
Ubobo a distant memory, we came to Builyan (pronounced ‘bull yan’, spoken quickly). What a special spot this was. With nothing to write home about other than an old railway siding, a school, a hall and a coffee shop come gift shop, this little hamlet stole hour hearts.
The owner of the coffee shop was a 30ish lady who had started the shop seven years ago. It has gone so well she is now selling as it is getting too busy for her. Hats off, she took a big risk it has paid off handsomely. She was able to tell us the town had set up free camping areas near the rail sheds with hot showers just across the road at the hall. Additionally they had just finished the rail trail from Many Peaks to welcome mountain bikers and hikers to town. This place was pumping.
Before leaving we took a few pics and spotted the rare Builyan Wire Bird. So lovely were these almost extinct creatures G bought two as they would no doubt look lovely sitting on the mantelpiece in our new house sometime in the future.
We climbed out of Builyan up the range with the unknown name. Panther and to dig deep on this one. It was long and steep complete with an advisory sign that it was not suitable for caravans. Too late! The stunning beauty of the valley continued to make us smile. We were truly blessed today.
Soon enough we came to Many Peaks. Again we marvelled at the quaint splendour of the place as the multiple creek crossings added to the adventure and sense of calm only the bush can bring. We boxed on, stopping for photos and to ogle at the countryside as we headed towards Kalpowar.
About a half days walk from the town we turned left onto Kalpowar Road and sought out the Kalpowar State Forest camping area. Set off the main road this was an outstanding camping spot. We didn’t stay but noted we were coming back. Maybe with our friends Denise and Richard when they get their new van. We reckoned they’d love it.
Kalpowar Road from the camp to the Bruce Highway about 60 odd ks away, was a step up again. I hate the saying, but OMG!! We climbed ranges, crossed creeks, plunged into valleys and uttered more ‘holy shit that’s awesomes’ than ever before. It was gorgeous in every sense. With every mile Panther and G-String gained an ever increasing coat of dirt and mud. By the highway they looked like a couple of bushrangers emerging to see the big city for the first time.
Gin Gin was as good as Gin Gin gets. Although we did have the very best chicken burger we have ever eaten between Bundaberg and Miriam Vale. It was outstanding. We dropped into Bundaberg to stay with rellies for a couple of days in rainy weather before our week away ended.
All in all a cracker little break that whet the appetite for many more.