You've got 170 kilometres to eat your carrot's so chew!

There's been a bit going on since I last wrote. Sara had a birthday, I surfed at Cactus beach, we smuggled 4 onions and some pumpkin seeds across the border, and the most exciting of all for the kids, we met Tattoo Dude!

Those pesky Lintons were at Streaky bay which meant planned AFD's were thrown out the window. Streaky Bay has some beautiful beaches. There are sealions, sand dunes, massive rockpools, and a bunch of women who paddle dragon boats and are adept at kidnapping anyone who shows a vague interest in their training and happens to admit that he once paddled outrigger canoes. There is also, to Ned's disgust, a public library where the kids did projects on things they had seen along the way. Oli wrote about Charles Sturt the explorer, Ned did sealions (they can swim faster than a shark which is important), and Ivy told us all about camels, especially their feet.

Sand surfing, note curious stance.

We left for Cactus Beach, a world renowned surfing mecca. I saw the swell and realised immediately that without BF or Presnell to get me out there, I was never going to go close to that reef. It's an amazing coast though, with big swell, and breaks everywhere. The bush camp was a beauty. Once again I got in trouble for mentioning how good it would be to be there for a fortnight with your mates and your dog. Wake up, surf, fish, eat, surf, drink, sleep, repeat. We found a beach break I could handle, and again, all the kids bounced up. Nothing difficult about standing on a board. Sara gave it a brief shot too, before saying that her legs simply couldn't get into that position. I was just stunned she'd even made it into the water, again!

Cactus Beach campsite

It was of course, Sara's 43rd birthday on the 25th. She'd had a week of presents, and the kids did some beautiful cards. She was rapt with her present of a 5 pack of Rio undies in a variety of colours. Hopefully I'll never have to hang those old, holey grey things up to dry in a public place again. We had a couple of gins, a good bottle, a seafood extravaganza (read prawns), with melted chocolate Lindt squares for dessert.

The Nullabor loomed large. This was especially exciting for Ivy who for some reason just loves to say "Nullabor". The main topic of conversation was not the treeless plain itself, but the quarantine at the border into Western Australia. Sara had taken precautions and cooked up a two dollar bag of potatoes, and juiced three dollars worth of lemons. We'd learnt from Tanya, and had no honey anywhere. Then we realised that there were two massive tubs of seeds for our muesli underneath the seats. This was a potential disaster. A plan was hatched. No mention would be made of the seeds. We would offer all our banana skins and nectarine pips as proof we were law abiding citizens. Sara would mention the potatos and the lemon juice now in the freezer. We'd be fine.

And it worked, almost. The fruit bats in the back seat were on glucose highs having munched their way through everything including the carrots. Sworn to secrecy, they smiled at Bubba the nice customs man. I said, as blokes do, "Dunno if we've got anything mate, you'd better talk to the chef..."and Sara opened up the van to show Bubba around. Then an onion rolled out. "Oh, how ever did that get there?" said our innocent heroine blinking her eyes ever so rapidly. Bubba was won over, and left the van oblivious to the 4 other onions and muesli seeds right under his nose. Lucky it wasn't a quarantine stop for bacon; we'd have been stuffed then.

Nullabor Road sign

The cliffs of the Great Australian Bight

We'd caught up with the Lintons by the border. They'd had a fun day of punctures, deflating tyres, and lost golf balls. We all decided to call it quits and pulled into the caravan park at Eucla...and so did Tattoo Dude. Ned and Ivy almost had caniptions. I said hello again, and then, with a slight stammer in my strine, asked if I could get a photo of him with the kids (for future reference). Tattoo Dude said yes, and I took the shot. We met Tattoo Dude at the pub later and had a beer. Peter, his real name, is a great guy. He has been on the road since October, loves cricket, running, and things with big engines. He's off to Kalgoorlie after this, and because we are heading to Esperance we may not see him again, but you never know.

Tattoo Dude

H

Ed's Note / Disclaimer: The onions were a genuine error and we were pretty sure the seeds were permissible. Facts have been embellished to make this story seem more exciting than it actually was.

Plans, sort of.

Yes, well...ummm...you know  that solid promise to work on the itinerary...ummm, yes well... got a bit soft. We did work out that we could be across the Nullabor in three days which would be time enough for the fruit bats in the back of the car not to collapse from lack of glucose. Apparently the border patrol South to Western Australia is much more serious; they would find lemons in a guitar case without a problem. Fruit sniffing beagles is the answer we're told.

Elliston was nice. A storm came through and the advice form will the truckie came through as I'd tied the annex down using massive pegs. Beautiful beach at Walkers Rocks, but no swell at all, and plenty of stories about great white sharks. Notwithstanding that, Ivy's frog like stance on the board got some work. Ned got out there too, but Oli was content devising indigenous inspired beach fashion ensembles, from the flotsam and jetsam he found in the sand. Look out

Left for Streaky Bay today after local advice told us to skip our planned stop. We've hit a wall of grey nomads. Glad we got here early, as the park is packed. Reversed in with minimal stress. Not even getting an audience now; kind of makes me miss the good old days of complete panic. Had to use a drill to make holes for the pegs, and it's a windy, plain site, but we're happy.

We think we'll  stay here for a few days before the Nullabor crossing. Our new friends from Port Lincoln arrived today too, Ned's already talking about a sleepover! There's a couple over the road who have been playing banjo and guitar as we had dinner (local mussels, very salty, but good enough to go back for), and there's Tattoo Dude! Tattoo Dude is a bloke who camped opposite us in Port Augusta. The kids spotted him in the Flinders Ranges, and then in Port Lincoln and Elliston. Thought I'd better introduce myself so that he didn't feel we were stalking him, so I went over and asked some stupid question about inserting a 10amp plug into a 15amp socket. I didn't get fried, so Tattoo Dude is okay by me. He's certainly got a nice Harley.


H

Elliston Jetty

Fashions on the beach

Murphy's Haystacks

Five Dollars

Having decimated the local fish stocks at Port Neill, we headed down the highway to Port Lincoln, Australia's tuna capital. We didn't stay there, no, we had been told of a great site up the road. So after shopping and restocking, we got back on the road and drove to Farm Beach. Five bucks a night. Not even going to tell you about PJ, the site manager who apologised for his appearance and then explained he'd had his head kicked in in Adelaide over Christmas, as you do. Still, five bucks is five bucks.

We set up, then went and visited the local piggery. Happy fat, black Berkshire pigs lay everywhere in this free range farm. Got to see some three day old pigs, and Ivy was estatic. Glad he'd run out of bacon; eating them would have seemed wrong after all that. Sara bought some green glass instead.

Coffin Bay and it's oysters beckoned. Bought a dozen from the local butcher, who before we'd even realised it had sold us a couple of kilos of local prawns, and four sticks of local kabana. The latter was the most popular with the kids. The oysters were amazing, but I'm still unlikely to ever list them as a deathbed food.

Having paid so little on accommodation, we felt like millionaires, so we paid up to swim with the tuna. It's a slick operation, before we knew it we were in the middle of Boston Bay, in wetsuits, and holding pilchards in front of our faces as massive tuna swarmed around us. I got out of the water when it seemed these "Porsches of the sea" were taking more of an interest in my fingers than the bait fish. Sara didn't go in. Did I need to say that?

We met another family who were also travelling around Australia, and ended up having a BBQ with Nick, Rosie, Josh, Matt, Zach, and Abbie. Different setup to ours, but very impressive. We stole the best bits of their itinerary given that we don't really have one over a couple of bottles and a great view. Hope to see them again along the way.

We left Farm Beach late yesterday after homework. I'd made a pilgrimage to Gallipoli Beach where the movie was filmed earlier that morning. It would be a fabulous spot to camp. Not far along, we stopped at Elliston. Massive jetty, Ollie caught a squid, and I stopped on the hill overlooking Blackfellas surf break. It wasn't working then, but would be unbelievable when it's on. I bet Bill Fry has surfed it. Last night we went to the local community hall to watch "Australia" the movie. Five dollars each included popcorn and freshly baked scones!

Uncertain how long we'll be here. Sara and I have made solid promises to each other to work on the itinerary. Fishing looks good, and there must be surf somewhere. I've been trying to clean up this blog all morning without joy. Sara and Ned cooked Anzac bikkies. Might be time for a cuppa.

H

Squiddng

Tuna ready

Tuna

Awwwww

New York, Paris, Rome, London, Port Neill

Sara, squid hunter

Messy business, cleaning squid.

We were hooked up and ready to leave Port Augusta when a woman came over for a chat. She gave the kids Sköda caps from the recent Tour Down Under bike race, and suggested we stop in at Port Neill on the way to Port Lincoln. One night has become four.

This place is lovely. Fishing cottages around the bay. A long jetty, and an old pub. After setting up, Sara and I had beers on the foreshore while the kids swam and monkey barred. The grassy site is welcome after the dirt and dust of the outback, there are plenty of fish in the bay (allegedly), and the neighbours...well there's Tony.

Fresh caught whiting, and Millie (Tony's daughter)

Tony is a farmer from Greve, a small town about an hour away. He's been coming here since he was a kid. He has two gorgeous daughters, Millie and Tori, and his wife Fiona is pregnant with number three. Tony loves to fish. Tony re-rigged all our rods on the first night, donating squid jigs. Tony fixed Ollie's and Ned's reels. Tony has kept us fed by providing us, the caravan park's charity case, with squid and whiting when we caught nothing. Tony convinced Ivy to go snorkelling and jump off the pier. Tony caught an abalone for Ivy. Tony taught Sara how to prepare a squid. Tony had a pre-season with the Port Adelaide footy club. Tony is a ripper bloke. But if anyone else starts a sentence with “Tony said...”, I'm gone.

We've spent the time here fishing, swimming and generally just being calm. It's such a nice rest after the non-stop movement of the previous fortnight. No surf, but a bloke called Kingo told me to stop at Elliston on the west coast of the Eyre Peninsula for that. In the mean time, we'll try and catch some fish for ourselves. Ivy caught a squid yesterday and was justifiably proud, the rest of us have had nothing. If it wasn't for the generosity of Tony, Stewie, Rob, Greg, and some other bloke who has a habit of catching 15 squid a day, we'd be on bread and water.

The boys have come back from the beach after looking for worms to use as bait. They didn't find any. They want to know where Tony is because Tony said they would be under the seaweed, and that you can dig them up easily, and Tony said we'd need about thirty, and we'd catch heaps of yellow fin whiting just off the beach, and Tony said yellow fin whiting are the best eating fish in the world, and Tony said there were heaps of them at the surf beach near the rocks, and Tony said we could fish for them after lunch. So we went fishing after lunch and caught 9 whiting big enough to eat, and about 20 who weren't. Bugger it. If Tony said it, bank it.

H

Summertime Blues

Lake Eyre

 

Lake Eyre

I appreciate that we are travelling through the hottest, driest part of Australia in the hottest,driest time of the year. I appreciate that the people who live and work in the hottest, driest part of Australia need their rest; Talc Alf being the exception - google him and his flag. They need to recover from the hordes of people who are sensible enough to travel through here during the tourist season. We are not part of that horde, but sometimes we wonder if we should be.

The weather has not been hot for summer. We have camped in some great spots with only flies, mosquitoes, cows and cockatoos for company. There was a bus of backpackers that joined the kids briefly in the natural spa at Coward Springs; but they left and headed on down the road to the pub at Williams C reek. It's a place that calls itself “the pub in the middle of nowhere”. This doesn't explain why half the population of Germany, and probably Bill Fry, has found their way there to staple a bad passport photo of themselves to the wall. It's a place you want to have a session at with a big bunch of friends. We got a not bad coffee there this morning from a surly Irish woman after the kids had done their homework in the beer-garden.

On to the Pink Palace, no, wait, that was a lifetime ago. On to the Pink Roadhouse. Plenty of local press and promotion for this place. Relying on the wit and charm of stranded Scandanavians to microwave pies for us in the summer months. Empty caravan park with a broken electric stove, but no summer discount. Almost too stony for tent pegs. A pub with a front bar less inviting than The Palace in Camberwell. Saved to some extent by a dusty, dark but interesting museum and a great pool. Oodnadatta...doesn't matter.

Or does it. I am being unreasonably harsh. We haven't met any bad people, and the ones we have have always been happy to chat and help. I mean, this is Australia most of the time. We can't expect a Hollywood like cast of thousands to make the trip special. We can't expect an “experience” everywhere we go. Yet as I look at the walls around me, I can't help but feel jealous of the 25 people who were stuck in this park for four days by floods in August, 2010. They had an “experience”, we have the real thing. Dry, dusty, dirt poor, and depressingly lonely.

It is beautiful though. It is special. Lake Eyre was so vast, so empty, and so white. The desert itself is unceasing in its variety. Sara said she didn't get bored travelling over it because it is so different to anything she's experienced. Ollie likes the graffiti on the “DIP”signs e.g. spinach / stick / sheep / iddy do dah etc. Ned counts kilometres, and Ivy watches for the old Ghan train tracks. I don't get bored because I'm always rehearsing the process I'll run through if we get a puncture. The kids are working it out. I'm confident that this trip will help them develop a feel for this country beyond “experiences”, and that has to be a good thing, unless you're a German.

H

Dad, You Have to See This.

The success of a stay anywhere depends on the people you meet. Arkaroola initially looked like a complete waste of time. The young, pretty blonde woman at reception was nice, but hardly welcoming. We paid top dollar for a stony bush campsite next to dirty toilets with no sign of life anywhere. Great pool, warm weather, and no flies (Not the insect type, the tent type. Insect type bloody everywhere.) on the tents made for some optimism, but by morning, Sara and I had determined we would do a brief hike and bolt. Then we met Peter.

Peter drove the car to the trailhead for our walk up Acacia Ridge. Peter, before he retired, worked in advertising and at one stage was in charge of the Myer account Australia wide. Peter used to be in the business of convincing people to do things they had decided they wouldn't. Sara and I were babes in the woods to Peter. We returned from our walk, handed over the credit card, and signed up to do the Ridgetop 4WD tour.

We now understand Arkaroola. We now appreciate why it is a special place, and why (Dad) so many people make an effort to get here. Peter was able to explain basic geology and biology. He discussed the eco-politics of the place. He even told a ghost story, and served us Milo, coffee, and lamingtons. He did all this whilst driving along a precipitous 4WD track in a big old Toyota. It's a long way from St Kilda Peter, but we're glad you ran away from the glamour, even if it means you are the only person in a 5,000k radius who actually knows what a food stylist is.

Peter's final piece of local knowledge was that the Leigh Hotel in Copely does a good bar meal. He's right. It's amazing how good crumbed sausages in onion gravy can look if the parsley is positioned just so. On the money ($10) again. Seriously Dad, get out here.

H

PS Mike and Jen, we are staying with you at Grindells Hut at some stage. Peter told us to put it on our bucket list, and Peter knows about buckets.

It's a Lot Different from Camberwell

New thermals for first night in a tent

Campsite, Wilpena Pound

Flinders Ranges

And with those six words, uttered as he stood at the top of Mt Ohlsen Bagge looking into Wilpena Pound, Ollie's fate for the next 11 months was sealed. There would be no turning back regardless of the fact that Ivy still refuses to admit she is having a good time. Leaving Kimmy the Wondervan at Port Augusta was no problem. Larry said he'd keep an eye on her so we left her in a corner of the Shoreline Caravan Park next to the greyhound track.

Driving the Disco without Kimmy attached is a revelation. The fuel gauge remains stable, the revs don't go above 2000, and we can travel at 110 like everyone else. Not that that counts for much. Have driven for over 5 hours the last two days and have seen one other car on the road. Raised my two fingers from the steering wheel, and left him in a cloud of dust.

First stop was Wilpena Pound. We found a campsite that was well shaded and well away from others. Not hard. We're here in the off season and most of the usual tourist attractions are closed. To my disgust, that meant no feral feast at the Parachilna pub (thanks anyway Joc, Mark, & Sadie). Out came the tents. Madness ensued. Wind came from nowhere to steal tent bags and flies. Ned tripped through every zip that didn't get stuck in Ivy's hair. Tent pegs bent as if Uri Geller was sitting in the tree above us. Somehow, within 45 minutes, two passable shelters rose from the dirt, and the kids and Sara went off for a swim. I set up camp and revelled in the serenity.

Lots of serenity to be found here. We walked a lot, counted lizards (lots), emus (lots), kangaroos (lots), crows (lots), brown snakes (one, thank you Ivy for warning Ollie before he stomped on it in the middle of talking about how few reptiles there actually were in the park). Woke to big winds and the threat of rain. Packed up as if to move, but decided to do another walk first to the old homestead. Ollie and I walked the extra 2 kilometres to the lookout, then pretended we were Plowmans and ran 3k to catch up with Sara and the litllies. Back in the car, and on to Arkaroola. Photos to follow.

Things are Starting to Get Outbackish

Port Augusta site

Mark got the computer back to us by Tuesday, so we bolted. Adelaide was nice, but we didn't want to become like Chris and get so comfortable with it that we never left. The drive to Port Augusta was pretty easy. Schools in now, so I drove to a steady diet of times tables and spelling tests. It's been funny to watch the kids be so excited to fill in their school work books. Won't last too long I'm sure. Ivy was very happy with the mark Mrs Backhouse gave her, although she must try to be a little neater.

We're in a drive through park in a windy gravel pit with a view of the Flinders Ranges behind a barbed wire fence. Spectacular. Larry from Toowoomba came over to check the time. He'd just shown up in his converted horse float. Big enough for 5 horses if needed, he carries all his saddle making gear in it, and has been travelling around Australia gettin' work weldin' n that. Tony, you'll be happy to know that the CB radio is now functional. Larry pulled the speaker out, gave it a cursory clean, and we had transmission. I repayed the favour later on by fixing Larry's bike lock.

Spent the day at another skate park, getting pretty over these, and don't start me on the subject of scooters (lazy man's skateboard), after a morning in the local museum which is brilliant. The afternoon was spent prepping for the next fortnight of camping and 4WD'íng. Kids excited, mum and dad a bit nervy. Didn't buy any Deb Instant Mashed potato, Sara has cooked and frozen 6 meals already. Love the thermomix! Shame it won't fit on the Disco's roof. 

H

PS Will post photos later. Have been flat stick getting words down having not had a computer for the past fortnight.

I'm from Adelaide

"Penguins"at Granite island, Victor Harbour

Adelaide site, Belair NP

Three nights off the grid was enough. Sara a little better. We packed up and set off for Murray Bridge for some running repairs on the van. Kids and Sara spent the day at the skate park and playground next door to the local bunyip. I walked into town, read the paper, had a coffee, and did a few jobs. Meanwhile Trevor and Carole did a great job fixing the van and we were back on the road by 3.

Unfortunately, we hadn't banked on the Australia Day weekend. We called 5 parks before we got into the Belair National Park Caravan Park. We wished we'd called it first. This park is in the middle of a national park, 8k's out of Adelaide. It's up in the hills, and the drive into it was hairy, but the park itself was beautiful. Trees all over. You wouldn't know you were so close to the city.

Sara had taken a turn for the worse, so I ordered pizza. Expensive dinner, but really good. We stayed put the next day exploring the park. On the Friday, I got to tick something off the bucket list and spent the day on the hill at the Adelaide oval watching the cricket. Sara and the kids went to the zoo. I won. We did a day trip to Middleton Beach and Victor Harbour. Surf was good. Ivy stood on a board for the first time. She's a goofy foot with an effective but unusual frog like stance.

When in Adelaide we caught up with Katie, Bruce and Declan. I used to live next door to Katie when we were growing up. We all (not Sara) went to the cricket on Saturday for an hour to watch the Aussies led by Captain Clark (can't warm to him, and Haddin is a goose) finish off the Indians who I think had been on the plane home since the test started. That night we had a barbie in Belair NP and ate some Coorong mullet with fresh vegies from Katie's garden. Bruce gave us an introduction to the local birdlife, Katie told us which snakes to avoid, and then they argued over why exactly a koala I spotted would be so close to the ground and not in a eucalypt. Probably sick was the conclusion.

Adelaide is a great place. Big enough to be a city with all the comforts someone from Camberwell could want. Small enough to make it feel not like Camberwell, and more like a country town. The museum and gallery were first class. We met some locals too. Chris and his family were staying opposite us in their new Winnebago. They'd driven from Happy Valley, 5 minutes down the road. If you live in Adelaide, why would you choose to holiday anywhere else.

Whatever Happened to Storm Boy?

We're in the Coorong. I'm writing as I watch pelicans fly over my head in formation. We're staying in the National Park for $12 a night not that anyone's checking. Off the grid and the battery is holding up fine thank you Tony.

We left Robe and headed straight to Kingston, for Larry the Lobster, first of our Big Things. Skate park and monkey bars all deemed more than satisfactory. By 2:30 we were in Meningie hoping for some good advice re camping. None was forth coming, so we reverted to Tony's Tightarse Camping Book #5 (TTCB5). It sent us to Long Point. Long point was a depressing, windy, exposed spit of land so we left and headed back south to Parnka Point.

Spectacular. Birds everywhere. Sun setting over the sand dunes. Water views and only a couple of neighbours. Sara was coming good, and things seemed back on track. Unfortunately, the migraine came back with a vengeance, and she spent most of the next 2 days in the van. At least it was quiet.

The kids and I went hiking. We paddled the boards across the lagoon to the dunes, and traversed them until we reached the ocean. Phenomenal waves, but needed Bill Fry or Presnell to take me out there, certainly not benign. In the afternoons we drove into Meningie and swam in the lake. The kids attempted to stalk an egret. Despite Sara being so sick, they had a great time. Unfortunately I couldn't escape the sadness that the Coorong seemed to create.

The Coorong is a series of lagoons that run south from where the Murray River enters the sea. With overuse of the water and poor farming practice, it has become increasingly saline, with the river mouth requiring dredging up until the recent floods. I was aware of this. I was not aware that it has been a problem since the 1880's. I only found out the fact that this has been going on for over 120 years because I read an obscure history post in Meningie.

The lack of local information and local guides was all too apparent. We tried to visit an advertised indigenous cultural centre only to find it boarded up and shut down without any indication as to why. Surely if something needs to be done, educating others is paramount so that our vote might support local attempts to restore the balance, and our wallets might help the local economy. The place seemed resigned to its fate, which is a damned shame because despite it's desolation, it was breathtakingly beautiful.

Obligations

Ty, our neighbour from Altona in Narracorte, referred to our time in Robe as being the “last of our obligations”. To call spending a week at the beach with Sadie, Mark, Roy and Della an obligation is a bit harsh, but he did have a point.

Robe is not a place I will hurry back to. The beach is stunning but the wind, the wind! If it's not a Northerly, it's a Southerly, or a South Westerly. And it's always a wind, never a breeze. We did have a few hours of stillness, but that was followed by a raging storm that threatened to pick us up and fly us across the Nullabor. Luckily Will the truckie from Horsham ( “They make wind here”), lent us some guy ropes that tied the annex down and let me sleep at night.

Robe saved itself partially though, by providing me with two things; benign 2-3 foot waves and on Bill Fry's recommendation, the Caledonian. This pub is fantastic, built in the 1850's, cold Coopers Pale on tap most of the time, low ceilings and good food. Could have easily wasted an afternoon in there.

The kids had a ball as expected. Ollie, Roy, and Ned lived in the TV / games room. All of them found money in various places and used it to win soft toys in the claw machine. Ivy and Della were queens of the disco and the jumping pillow although it wasn't as pumped up as it could have been. Scooters, those damned scooters were everywhere. Ivy was glued to the boogie board, and there was cricket on the beach with Roy the legside legend, and Mark “Flipper” Hughsen. Dinner was usually by the BBQ's on the foreshore. Time flew, until Sara got sick and the computer died.

Sara was out of action for the last three days at Robe having picked up some sort of virusy gastroey thing. Nasty. The computer went out in sympathy, with neither Mark, nor Perry and David, the next door IBM IT experts able to restore it. It went back to Melbourne with Mark along with the white elephant of a solar panel. Got a bit enthusiastic on that purchase. Said good bye to the Powsens, packed up and took off for the Coorong. It was time to leave our obligations behind.

Case for the Defence

The defence rests your honour. Sadie was observed reverse parking her caravan into a too tight spot from the wrong side without any help first time in. As you know, we have trouble getting into drive-thru sites. We have no case to answer, and plead guilty as charged in our hopelessness.

H