G and Peter set off a bit earlier today as they had a fair bit of stuff to do in Mt Isa. A quick stop in Camooweal about a kilometre from the camp had the car fuelled ready for another leg. With the scenery not changing much until about 50km from the big smoke, it dragged on a bit. We reminisced about the times we used to take the back road home to Doomadgee through Lawn Hill, but that was about it.
Mt Isa greeted us with its massive smoke stacks, industrial look and feel. It hadn’t changed. After a few chores we met up with our dear friend Adrian Cooney, owner of the Dajarra Roadhouse. Adrian was in town to pick up supplies for his business. He greeted us with a “time has not been too bad to any of us has it”. He looked fantastic. The western air had preserved him well. We chatted about all things Dajarra, enjoying a great catch up with that type of friend you don’t see for years, yet feel as though you spoke to them yesterday.
Groceries were next. A bit more fuel and we were off. The road between Mt Isa and Cloncurry is simply stunning. Winding through craggy, spinifex covered hills trying to be mountains. They are spectacular. Puma worked hard enjoying the challenge.
We arrived at Clem Walton Lake about half way between the two towns to be greeted by a dummy locked gate. We waited a bit for Trevor and Sue to come and lead the way as they had camped here before. Hidden from the highway, the lake is a real picture. Blue green algae and all. Surrounding the lake, hills and flats were covered with what is becoming a native animal in Australia……caravans. The place was covered. Peter counted 60 something just in one corner of the natural environment.
On we went the next day towards Winton. Trevor and Sue headed due east towards Townsville to visit family.
The road to Winton from Cloncurry is just slightly less interesting than watching the Broncos play. Nothing to report except a delicious bacon and egg sandwich at Kynuna roadhouse. If ever you come this way, a visit is a must. The comedy show between the matriarch in the kitchen and the hired help at the counter is epic. By the time we had taken a few bites we had come to realise the hired help’s name was ‘Dickhead’. She repeated it, he answered to it. You just don’t get entertainment like that in the big city.
We headed out again a few minutes after three double deck cattle road trains headed to Roma. We caught the first and rounded him up without drama. The second and third however sat at a very comfortable Puma pace. We followed them all the way to Winton.
In the town with the second most smelly water in the country, we found a new caravan park that was heavily booked. We set up in-between two travellers, went to town and had a look around, booking a dinosaur tour for tomorrow. A coffee was in order. G tried to order tea. She asked if they had Earl Grey. “No”. She asked if they had English Breakfast, “Yes”. She got a Bushells Blue Label tea bag. Peter asked for a caramel milkshake “We don’t do milkshakes”. Peter asked, what is the nearest thing you have to a milkshake. System overload! Consequently his Mocha was just slightly worse than a cold Blend 43.
Late afternoon one set of neighbours returned. Apparently we had parked too close to them for their liking. Old mate had a ‘spac attack’ going off his chops at Peter. Dismissed for the fool he was, we had a lovely chicken dinner and a good long sleep.
Sunday we crawled out of bed at a reasonable hour with thoughts that our trip was nearing its end. By Thursday next week we would be home. It was hard not to feel just a little bit deflated. In the meantime there was more to come.
