Category: Bound for South Australia 2023

Becoming Clare locals

This morning was unreasonably cold. The Clare we know from our last winter visit knocked on the door and said, ‘Welcome back Queenslander’. We froze until G found her new jacket purchased in Hay, whereupon the world was a better place once again.

After steaming hot showers and a few aimless laps of the van we took ourselves to a recommended coffee spot a few ks south. Velvet and Willow is a damned good coffee shop. The tea was made perfectly, the coffee good enough and the ham, cheese and tomato toasty up there with the best. Boasting tasteful background music from our era and a sunken eating area surrounded by century old sandstone, this place shone. Our day had started well.

Into Clare township we headed. A visit to the only auto parts store in town revealed they had just the weird part I needed to do an electrical job on the car in the afternoon. Funnily enough exactly the same thing happened on our last visit. Unfortunately the hardware shop nearby was not up to the same standard, being unable to provide a tube of Silastic.

We walked the main street for a while. G booked a hair appointment for tomorrow and I got a haircut. I’m always nervous when it comes to paying for a haircut. I never know whether I will get a fair price or whether it will have a metrosexual tax added and cost a bomb. At $25 this one was a steal. Almost worth the drive back every month or so for such a bargain. According to the hair assessor it looks OK, but not necessarily great.

Sevenhill winery is apparently the oldest in the area. It is somehow slotted into a church yard perched on top of a hill just out of Clare. Not sure whether the winery owned the church, or the church owned the winery. Probably the latter as the Jesuits brought the original vines to the area on a slow boat from wherever Jesuits come from. Either way it would be a bugger to keep a grape vine alive for months on end at sea.

We saw the sign saying ‘Sevenhill’ yet missed the one beside it saying ‘entrance 300 metres’. Our entrance thus became an unplanned visit to a graveyard, a trip down a 4×4 track amongst grape vines, a short excursion down a cycle only path, a drop down a bank back onto the 4×4 track and a drive into the back of the winery rather than the front. We figured we did not need the winery tour on offer at the cellar door. We got lost leaving as well!!

The cracker of the day however came when we visited a crypt positioned under the church. Here twenty or so priests are interned. It was as it was. No touristy polish, just a small dark place with plaques marking sealed coffin size holes in the wall. We noticed at the far end there was two empty holes. We chose to exit quickly just in case those we decide fate saw an opportunity to fill the holes with us to finish the job and move on to a new project.

For lunch we took advice and drove the short distance to Mister Micks winery. Not realising we had been here before, the vine covered walls of the old brick building gave it away on our approach. We had Tapas apparently. In my words we had lovely bread, Haloumi (G had that. I’d rather eat leather soaked in petrol), meat balls and Arancini balls. To say the food was amazing is an understatement. It was that good; served with style and cost about a third of what we are used to paying at home. It might be worth the drive back to get lunch and a haircut.

Our late afternoon was spent on household chores. Washing, fixing little things on the van and making an Anderson plug outlet for the car so we can charge the second battery from solar panels.

Some dinner and chocolate later and we were ready for bed.

Mildura to Clare

Waking amongst the general rumble of a caravan park, we packed the van and trundled off into town for a walk along the mighty Murray River. The plan was to then partake of a scrumptious breakfast sitting somewhere above the Murray just taking in the ambiance.

The walk went particularly well ,being more of a stroll with no destination. We happened upon a garden put together in honour of a famous local council bloke or something like that. It was apparently a scented garden. Try as I might I could not smell a thing.

Returning to the Rowing Club for breakfast on the deck, we sat, chatted then looked at the menu. Thank god the Ambos got there in a hurry, for both of us needed resuscitating. $41 for a couple of sausages, a bit of bacon and a couple of eggs overlooking a muddy creek. And I thought Noosa was unrealistically expensive. We left hungry.

Up town we located a genuinely good café. Great breaky at a decent price and lovely staff to deal with. What’s not to like. Well, a lot actually. Mildura has dress shops. G likes dress shops. Our departure was delayed significantly. G purchased a few pieces that would assist in her summer wardrobe; apparently. I was not to upset as one of the dresses has a lovely checked print so can be re-used as a tea towel when it gets old. Value was definitely there.

Not long after we entered South Australia from Victoria we encountered quarantine bins on the side of the road. Basically you get to ditch your fruit and veges into a long drop fruit toilet before heading to the offical inspection station up the road.

The inspection officer was a really decent lady. She had a look inside the van, commented that it looked brand new and left us to our day. The encounter even included getting to travel under a Dunlop Tyre bridge just like they used to have at the old Surfers Paradise Raceway when I was a kid.

Heading out towards Renmark, we encountered little until we arrived. A cracker narrow bridge across the Murray accompanied by a lovely park made our brief stay worthwhile.

A list of less than memorable towns flew by unit we pulled up in Morgan for a pic of a church and a getting desperate wee. Upon returning to the van I noticed the weather strip running the full length of the van on the left side was dragging on the ground. A quick inspection revealed something (probably a rock) had flicked up from the van tyre and knocked the head off a screw that held the bottom of the strip to the van frame. Without the head the strip was free to pull out of its runner and fly free.

Nine well selected swear words later, I had the weather strip remounted, and my order for another role of hundred mile and hour tape submitted. I decided tomorrow was the appropriate day to fix it properly.

The next town to take our attention was Eudunda. A village pretty much in the middle of nowhere, with not a green stick of grass to show, for some reason had the cheapest fuel we had seen for a thousand ks, and a couple of amazing silos to match. Thankfully the fuel was cheap as we had been battling 50km/h headwinds all day making the fuel gauge drop dramatically. Panther was sucking over 20 litres of diesel per 100 kilometres.  I thought this was bad until a Mitsubishi owner told me a bit later his used that much on a good day. I love how another’s misery makes me feel so good.

It’s incredible how quickly the landscape can change as we travel. Literally one hill after Eudunda the entire world was covered with knee high barley crops creating a truly beautiful spectre. Ancient cottages perched on hills completed the moving picture perfectly.

Our day ended as we skipped through a number of little towns close together before finally coming to rest about six kilometres south of Clare.

I’m told the next couple of days are visiting wineries. No doubt I will be driving and G drinking. I wet my pants in anticipation!!

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.

Pilliga to Lake Cargelligo

Out at a reasonable time, we chose to pick our way around the tourist spots of this great town. An old phone box and a tumbling café later, we were off.

Within moments ‘that F$%*&#@g Hema the third’ was on the field and making an impact.  At one stage we had that beast, the car mapping system and Miss Google all arguing which way to go, spitting out directions like a drunken auctioneer.

We decided to follow the big green road sign that said Coonamble 83.

Arriving by some grace of god at Coonamble, we reckoned it was a really nice place with stunning old buildings, a convenient wee spot and a good feel. It rated just over halfway up the ‘would we come and visit again’ ladder.

Ploughing on to Warren (the town, not a bloke we know) we fuelled up at Uncle Somefellas servo before skipping over the river into town for a coffee.

The poor soul. She was still wearing the graduation robes from the South-Western NSW University of Useless Contributions to Society. She had flown through her classes leaving all others in her wake. Cup, tea bag, water; it’s not that hard. Oh yes it is!! We endured the worst tea and coffee of the new millennium.

Not to be outdone by her refreshment making skills, her advice that the amazing town gallery three doors up was a must visit, would have been brilliant…….had it been open. Her potential is unlimited.

We skulked out of Warren vowing only to return for funerals of close friends and weddings with a guaranteed good feed.

Rounding the right hand corner as we slowed into town it smacked us squarely in the face. Holy stunning silos Batman. This was the most outstanding piece of silo art we had ever seen. Positioned perfectly so it is the first thing you see entering Tottenham, there were not words. Depicting primarily a massive Goanna, the detail was so lifelike, we swore it had a heartbeat .

Having been traveling the Bogan highway to this point we wondered where they all were. Funny how a small town can serve up in bucket loads. Whilst eyeing the silo, I also spotted the allusive creature in all her worldly class posing in the main street. She looked so lonely I decided to give her a ride.

Scooting through Tullamore, sighing at yet more beautiful old buildings, we made haste to Condoblin as the day was drawing short.  Condoblin is a smashing town. Kept to perfection by the local council and home to one of Australia’s biggest Ute Musters, it boasts a new multi-million dollar information centre soon to be opened, and a lovely tasteful memorial to fallen jockeys.

The real attraction however is the long line of holden utes decorated in a myriads of ways reflecting icons of the country. Condoblin is way up the ladder of re-visits.

With our friendly mapping device giving us one last bad piece of advice, we u-turned just out of Condoblin headed for Lake Cargelligo. This destination was a chance find. Planned originally just because the name sounded cool, it is a jewel in the west for NSW.

The natural lake is massive. As in really big massive. The town sits perched on its banks providing a truly idyllic setting rivalling anything in Warren for sure. We found the van park, walked the lake, relaxed and did not much.

I think tomorrow we may leave late and not go too hard. This holiday thing is starting to seem quite ok.

Cooyar to Pilliga

Oh my, how good is sleep when your head is not consumed with ‘what do I have to do at work next week?’. The night was cold, the doona was warm and the morning coffee just right. It might take a while for the internal alarm to reset though as we were wide awake to long before 5am!

First sign was a white flash in my right hand mirror. A sedan of minimalistic proportions had begun its overtaking manoeuvre. The chrome bulbar on the Kenworth towing a B-Triple trailer shone brightly with the afternoon sun reflecting magnificently, creating its own light. The outfit was a stunning site as it trundled towards us at a good clip.

No matter the two lane road, a B-Triple, Landrover towing a van and a tiny white car don’t fit. If something didn’t happen now, the Forensic Investigators would write; “White car on incorrect side of the road hit head on with Kenworth, being then driven backwards into a Black Landrover. Pick the number of dead!

As it happened the gods gave me just enough time to see the brain dead fool, jag left off the road and brake hard allowing the last ten inches of space he needed to splice the gap between the Kenworth and us.

Only once before have we come so close to not coming home under our own steam. Shaken but not stirred! I congratulated the truckie via CB on his efforts of avoidance, he returned the sentiment. We both thought the car driver was a dick. G described him more appropriately. I think he may have worked for Hema!

So the day ended poorly yet started quite nicely. We snuck out of Cooyar at about 8.30am trying not to wake the growing group of motorhome owners, all headed to the Dalby muster. As we left the town we noticed a massive horse event day in the making at the showgrounds. The population of Cooyar had multiplied. One suspected in good country style as the grog flowed into the following night, the population had again multiply with the worldwide shortage of swags taking hold.

As predicted ‘that F$%*&#@g Hema the third’ lived up to its reputation. Working perfectly for the first hour or so, it then pulled Pilates move, pointed it’s butt to the sky and blew nothing but hot air. For a moment G decided it needed to go out the window. Thank god it was shut, and the box of death lived another day.

About Millmerran, ‘that F$%*&#@g Hema the third’ jumped from the grave and put on a faultless performance for the rest of the day if you can excuse about four wrong turns into the middle of somewhere.

With a keen eye upon getting back into the car after a fuel stop, G announced she had seen a snake under her seat. She was reasonably sure it was a green tree snake. She was not sure though.  Being the good husband, but completely inexperienced snake catcher, I launched into action. None of this long wire thing to twist the snake around. No, it was bare hands for this wildlife warrior.

Tension built; within but a few seconds I had eyed the culprit and with hands as swift as lighting, bagged the little beauty. He would never again terrorise the Landrover.  He was yummy and just what I needed for a snack.

Goondiwindi came and went, as did lunch in a town that closes down on a Sunday. We entered NSW and promptly forgot all about day light saving time bouncing along in good time towards our goal.

We slid through Moree, Narrabri and ended up in the Pilliga Forest. Well almost. We realised our mate from the Hema camp had got it wrong again. Still, all the years my dear old dad spoke of the Pilliga Scrub now meant something despite it now having an evolved name moving form Scrub to Forest. It appeared to still be a large area of stunted trees desperate for a cup of water.

The last 60 odd kilometres were sprinkled with some good dirt road. We marvelled at the way Puma silenced the corrugations and just powered on until………..”Roos”. The call went out instantly making the speed drop until we entered the town of Pilliga.

The chicken Snitz and chips at the pub was….. Well we were pretty hungry so a toasted cheese on cardboard would have gone done OK.

We ate, said hello to ‘dog’ who had seen far too many litters, and retired to a cooling night. Tomorrow is another big day. The holiday will start soon.

Home to Cooyar – Unready

Unready. Maybe not a word, yet as sure as I draw breath it is a situation, feeling, state of being, reality. We were as unready for this long overdue holiday as we were for a quick case of diarrhea and a slap across the head with a blunt fish. Unready just did not do it justice.

Still fashioning the rear window stone protector at 6am out of $10 Bunnings corflute because I’m a cheapskate and could not bring myself to cough up $400 for the same commercial offering, the day already sucked. Car packing. Car re-packing. Nothing seemed to be saying get in Panther and drive.

Finally a bit after lunch o’clock we settled in and headed out. Actually it was just a bit after o’clock, because we did not get a chance to have lunch. That would be had at the ever reliable Tilley’s Café at Moore.

Arriving at Landsborough, the home of G-String, we noted she had gathered a bit of dust since last we met. Still, we packed her with goodies for the trip, hooked up and motored out via Beerwah, Peachester and Kilcoy. Fuelled up, we could almost smell the world’s best chippies at Moore, bubbling away in piping hot oil, just waiting for us.

By now we were already deep into snake country, with some of Allen’s short red, green and yellow ones going down a treat. Not not sure if there was a hole in the packer but the snakes seemed to escape pretty quickly.

We slowed, we stopped, we gasped. Our beloved Tilley’s was ‘closed for renovation’. Despair hit hard. No chips. Is there no god? With rumbling bellies we motored on.

We noted that Panther was pulling like a train today. Probably due to cool weather and damp air, the nectar diesels thrive upon. Similarly G-String was hanging in after a few twitches yet seemed to have found her comfortable place for the journey. All was well.

The Bunya Nut Café in Blackbutt stood in for Tilley’s and did a fair job. The 13 year old boy running the place cooked a two point above average burger and for G a pretty decent bacon and egg delicious. There is at least three less pigs in Blackbutt tonight given the amount of bacon he served up.

The feeling of freedom was present fleetingly before we decided to try to operate our third generation expensive Hema navigation system. Having been bitten by this creature twice before with our first many years ago being named ‘that F$&*%$g Hema’, followed by ‘that F$&*%$g Hema Junior’, a few years later, it did not take long for this new model to be christened ‘that F$&*%$g Hema the third’. Logic is simply not in the box. It’s a moody bugger, so tomorrow we expect it will work fine…..until it doesn’t.

Arriving in Cooyar at the Swinging Bridge campground we realised rain had not visited for a good time. The area was dry to the bone with dust becoming our friend. Still our usual spot up the back beside the nesting parroty looking birds, was again all ours. We parked, realised our van level was not, so levelled some more. All in all a fair day for a first on a long trip. With both of feeling the effects of maddening lives leading up to this break, we set the town on fire and were in bed fast asleep by 8pm.