Just nine hours by ferry from Tasmania

This is the last blogpost from mainland soil, as for the next two months we’ll be in Tasmania.



The colourful bathing boxes.



We are filling in a few hours before we board the ferry, parked in a little area just south of the St Kilda beach and its famous bathing boxes.

Last night we stayed at a delightful caravan park at Mornington, obviously on Mornington Peninsula, and drove up the beach-side road on the western side of Port Phillip Bay to Station Pier, where we’ll return later this afternoon to board the Spirit of Tasmania.

This drive was mainly for us to know the way, which was dead simple, and we found the Spirit absolutely dwarfed by a hu-u-u-ge cruise ship pulled in on the other side of the pier.

So we then turned around, and found this little park where we can watch the sailing craft on the bay, as well as people parasailing, and the arrival of huge bulk cargo ships.

Melbourne is sunny and pleasant, a big change from the past few days when we were at Lakes Entrance and endured westerly gales and scudding rain most of the time.

We took a boat cruise a little way into the lakes system, which is immense and claimed to be five times the size of Sydney Harbour. This involved bouncing around in the chop as we passed the entrance from the sea, but things quietened down once we started getting into the lakes themselves. Lunch was at the Metung pub, then we set off again for Lakes Entrance . . . virtually blown home by the wind.

There were only 6 on board the boat which could take 47 (that’s the minimum they need to do a cruise) as several groups had cancelled when the weather got bad. We were so glad we went as the bird life on the lakes includes great flocks of black swans and pelicans. I’d never seen so many swans gathered in one place before.

The wind was so strong that night that even the motorhome was rocking, and of course we had taken down the awning the day before.

Just one of the Lakes Entrance sculptures, an army nurse
 and wheelchair. Part of the huge fishing fleet is in the
background

We were entranced by some chainsaw sculptures carved into huge tree stumps along the main street of Lakes Entrance. They commemorate the maritime history of the area, as well as a set which commemorate World War I veterans, including nurses and Simpson and his donkey, all ‘growing’ out of the tree stumps.

Last night we had to make sure we had eaten all our fruit and vegies as we can’t take any into Tasmania. And of course, there was just one onion left, and as we really didn’t fancy onion on toast for breakfast, I donated it to the receptionist at the caravan park.

Bermagui bliss

On a cool morning in Bermagui, a bit different from the couple of days we spent in a very hot Canberra, we’ve just walked along the beach, then re-stocked the pantry with some essentials, including fresh fish.

After our quiet time in a couple of national parks, Canberra was a shock to the system, but we had a great time with John’s brother and sister-in-law.

Pebbly Beach, in the Murramarang National Park just north of Bateman’s Bay was a favourite, particularly for encounters with wildlife. Even on the way there we called in at Bendalong, with John regaling me with tales of how for years people fed stingrays there. And would you believe it, as we pulled into a little beach near the headland, there were two people feeding stingrays!

I haven’t seen that since I was with a friend on Rottnest Island about 5 years ago.

The female satin bowerbird trying to clean up our
avocado dip (note her bright blue eyes).

And once we had established ourselves at Pebbly Beach, noting a rather geriatric wallaby lying on the grass nearby with one ear that couldn’t prick anymore, in swooped a rather super bird with green markings and bright blue eyes (a quick glance at our bird book identified her as a female satin bowerbird) who was all over us, literally.

As we sat outside, she jumped up on my lap, found a crumb on my shorts, then onto the arm of the chair. Later on she jumped onto my foot as I sat with legs crossed. It was a perch later favoured by a couple of rainbow lorikeets, much to our delight, but we weren’t quick enough to photograph them. The ranger’s wife, who came around later to collect our camping fee, told us they had probably been fed by past visitors, which had made them so trusting.

The female bowerbird later came diving in to pinch a nut from our drinks table, and after we’d cleaned up a bowl of avocado dip, she came looking to see if any was left.

And the wallabies! They were basking in the sun on ledges close to the sea, feeding on the grass, totally unafraid of people walking among them and generally being a delight for some of the overseas people among the day visitors to the park. Hardly anyone spent the night there so we were able to witness the usual late afternoon mayhem with rosellas and lorikeets flying from one tree to another, all making a huge racket until suddenly, as night fell, they all became silent.



Bermagui breakfast . . . our new Oz eggrings have their first
 outing for a beachside meal we enjoyed.



But back to the present. Yesterday we travelled from Canberra to Moruya, then south to Bermagui, not taking main roads when we could find a back road. So we went south from Queanbeyan to the little old mining town of Captains Flat, then east along forest and mountain roads (and they were mountainous!) until we were down in the Araluen valley where peaches and nectarines are ripening, and then headed for the coast.

Here we go again!

We are happily tooling along the roads of the South Coast of NSW, heading in a roundabout way for the Spirit of Tasmania ferry in Melbourne on Dec 6.

Even our first day out of the Central Coast was not just a matter of driving to Kiama, where we were booked into a beachside caravan park.

No, once we got through the Sydney area, we veered east to the Royal National Park, emerging onto that glorious coast north of Wollongong. Avoiding that metropolis, we then headed west along a forest road which brought us to Robertson, then we deviated back towards the coast, eventually reaching Kiama from the south.



A Kiama dairy cow, albeit made of fibreglass, wearing one
 of the quilts in a display we saw in that town.



On the way we took in lots of wonderful country, with even more waiting for us around Kiama. That’s where my maternal great-great-grandfather came to from Northern Ireland in the 1850s, becoming one of the founders of the Kiama Agricultural Society (with one of his descendants serving on the committee ever since), as well as helping establish the little white Anglican church near the blowhole.

We walked and walked around Kiama, loving the fact that one of the finest pieces of real estate on a headland just south of the blowhole and lighthouse is still occupied by the lovely little showground. G-G-grandfather George Grey would be pleased!

After 2 nights there we headed further south through Nowra for John to have his own little sentimental journey to Currarong, where his maternal grandmother had lived and where he spent many holidays as a child. It’s a lovely little spot, out on a peninsula that’s mostly a bombing range for the Navy, and while the little creek feeding into the ocean is now lined with holiday homes, they were mostly empty mid-week.

And so we came to Boorabee National Park, fronting the southern part of Jervis Bay. We are in a camping area known as Green Patch, which must be the only one in Australia  . . . possibly the world . . . with a grave right in front of an amenities block.



Harriet Parker's grave amid the bushland camp area.



It’s the grave of Harriet Parker, who died aged 19 in 1887 when accidentally shot by a girlfriend while they were larking about in a neighbour’s hut. Harriet was the daughter of a lighthouse keeper nearby. The girls had gone to fetch horses but called into the hut to make a cup of tea. One put on a big hat she found there (covering her face), picked up the rifle lying nearby, and when Harriet came in the door carrying wood for the fire, bumped into her, discharging the firearm.

The crimson rosellas have become a nuisance here, apparently hurling other birds and small mammals out of nesting holes in the trees, and they are certainly unafraid of humans, landing on our picnic table as we barbecued chicken last night. Even a pair of wood ducks potter around almost under our feet; some king parrots swooped in just before some rain started; and there are signs of bandicoots at night. It’s a lovely bushland setting with very few people here mid-week. Next stop, in another national park, Pebbly Beach, north of Batemans Bay.

The end of our Queensland travels

Reluctantly, we left the town of 1770 and our site right beside the beach, heading south to the metropolis (by comparison) of the Sunshine Coast.

We’d booked a site in a caravan park on the Maroochy River, quite close to where Penny’s prospective in-laws live, so had a wonderful time catching up with them and a couple of others who’ll  be at the wedding on September 8.

We cruised around the coast, quite astonished by the amount of suburban development and high-rise apartment blocks, but must admit the beaches are glorious. There was a lot of heavy-duty shipping lurking offshore, waiting for the word to enter the Brisbane port and even as we watched from the Point Cartwright lighthouse, two headed south, obviously under the control of pilots.

Looking back at Mooloolabah development from
Point Cartwright.

Today we left the coast and headed for the hills, thoroughly enjoying wandering through Mapleton, Montville and Maleny.

We’d already bought seafood on the coast and we topped this off with some delicious cheeses from Maleny Cheese . . . some for us and some for Penny.

The Glasshouse Mountains on a hazy day from the Maleny
area.

As a bit of nostalgia for my mother’s family, who had been dairy farmers in the Maleny area for a couple of generations, we drove along Mountain View Road, where my grandfather had his farm. As the name implies, it looks down on the Glasshouse Mountains to the south, and I remember it as all farmland. Now, it’s positively suburban, but the Mary Cairncross Park remains and that’s where we had our lunch.

We arrived in Penny’s Brisbane street while she was still at work so will have the house to ourselves until she returns with the boys from daycare in a few hours.

After spending at least one night with her, we’ll head back to Goolmangar, and that, dear friends, will be the end of our travels.

I know many of you feel you’ve travelled with us. Well, you’ll just have to go it alone from now on . . . but we HAVE made bookings on the Spirit of Tasmania to take the motorhome to that island state in December for 2 months, so I might be persuaded to write a blog about that as well.

Thanks for your comments and good wishes. We have had an idyllic 11 weeks together, exploring Queensland, and even after living in such a confined space for that time, we’re still speaking to each other!

Paradise With a Pub

If we thought Cape Hillsborough was Paradise, well now we’re in Paradise With a Pub.

After a wonderful few days with our friends Judith and Barry at Yeppoon, we moved further south to the town of 1770.

Gladstone marina.

On the way we visited Gladstone, which we really liked for its mix of industrial bustle and reef access. When we were watching the boat loading with passengers for Heron Island, John, who has been there twice already, announced that that’s definitely on our list for next year.

I think we’ll need a year of 24 months to accommodate all the places we want to see in 2013.

On we went to Boyne Island and Tannum Sands, where we had lunch beside a perfect little beach . . . so that’s on our list as well.

We had booked with a caravan park at 1770 and when we pulled in, realised it was not the one John had seen illustrated somewhere, right on the beach.

However, the next day, while we were pondering where we would move to next on our way south, we had a long walk (abt 6km return) north along the peninsula (which is almost a miniature version of Cape York Peninsula), past the marina and boat ramp where cruises go daily to Lady Musgrave Island, past the pub and a fringe of houses fronting a glorious bay, past a picnic area busy with Saturday family barbecues, and we came to the 1770 Campground.

This is our beachfront site. Life is tough.

We secured a site right on the beachfront for a couple of nights, celebrated with a meal at the pub, then walked back to our other caravan park for one more night.

This morning it was a simple matter to pack everything up, drive just up the road to where the Discovery Coast markets were being held, bought a few things, then kept driving to the campground where we are very happily settled.



The locals were very laid-back at the markets.

There are boats moored in the channel, people fishing off rocks, and even from folding chairs right on the water’s edge at low tide, shady trees everywhere, and a young family next door of Italian-Brazilian background.

At the market today we bought some olives from local producers who know the Northern Rivers well and in their youth used to camp at Paddys Flat (that’ll bring some memories to MY family).

Fishing, the easy 1770 way.

Jottings from Paradise

We’ve been out of contact in Paradise for several days at Cape Hillsborough National Park, staying in a resort (cabins and caravans) right on the beach. It’s only about 40km north of Mackay.

It was fairly crowded when we arrived on Saturday, but luckily I’d phoned ahead and booked so we had a site waiting. The campground cleared out on Sunday, obviously people just weekending, and has been relatively quiet ever since though we’re told there are some folk in caravans on the top level who come from the south for months.

It has a perfect bay and beach, rocky headlands around which one can scramble, and a small island linked by a rock causeway that goes under at high tide.

The causeway that was nearly our undoing.

There’s a 3km walk (or climb) to various lookouts, returning along the beach. We did that this morning, crossing over the causeway to explore the island and have a banana and a drink from the backpack I’d been carrying throughout our walk. Suddenly I realised that part of the causeway was awash so there was a bit of a scramble . . . and a wade . . . through the big rocks forming the causeway. We were wearing strong hiking boots so they stood it rather well but the seawater still came in over our ankles.

Naturally, we hadn’t really thought about the tide and it turned very fast!

The cabins and the tent camping areas, as well as spaces for motorhomes, are at beach level, with just a thin fringe of trees through which one walks to the beach. Then there’s a rock terrace on which sit quite a lot more caravan sites as well as amenity blocks, laundry, pool, etc.

Scrub turkeys fossick around most of the day and yesterday a randy male turkey had the hens on the run most of the time. As well there’s a big old kangaroo who lies around under the clothes lines. He literally lies there all day, turning his head to nibble at the grass, the picture of indolence.

The resident kangaroos, keeping an eye
on the washing.

On the wildlife front, we saw turtles in the sea from one of the headland lookouts this morning during our walk, and John, who was walking in front of me, suddenly propped to let a diamond-backed black snake glide across the path and into the bush. We’re told there may be kangaroos and wallabies on the beach at 6am (and we saw back claw-marks of one while walking there late this morning) but we’ve never been up in time to see them.

It has been lovely just being totally idle for a few days, reading, sleeping, walking, but not swimming as the water is actually quite cold.

We’ll wander down the coast when we leave tomorrow, planning to catch up with friends in Yeppoon on Wednesday.

PS: We’re now at Yeppoon, with the motorhome in the driveway of our friends’ house.

Old friends, and back in the bush

What a great couple of days we’ve had! After leaving Cairns we called in at a few beaches en route to Townsville, then arrived at the Rowes Bay Caravan Park . . . packed to the gills so we had an unpowered site for the first night, then were moved to one with power.

Early morning on The Strand, looking across at
Magnetic Island.

We did the tourist bit the next day, enjoying every inch of that city’s beautiful Strand along the seafront, and walking through the magnificent Queen’s Gardens, full of tropical splendour. We were finally able to identify a tree we’d seen all over the north, and had sat under at Karumba Point tavern as Beauty Leaf.

Then we took a deep breath and drove the Isuzu to the top of Castle Hill, which dominates the city skyline. Up and up we went for 2.9km on a steep and winding road, but the 360 degree views at the top were just great.

That night we had dinner with an old friend from my days at Brisbane Girls Grammar and the next morning set off for Charters Towers.

One of the 2 hotels still in Ravenswood. There
used to be 48 in its glory days of gold-mining.

We made a detour on the way to the historic village of Ravenswood, which had had its heyday in the 1880s with 48 pubs and assorted services. Now there are just 2 left but behind the village is a whacking great open cut mine which is once again extracting gold.

Then we drove on to Charters Towers and out to the property of friends Ann and Bob Taylor, who had been at Charters Towers High with me. They opened their hospitable arms to us and we had a great night there, with John riding off into the sunset with Bob at one stage on quad bikes to inspect the property. I was able to enjoy pix of a June centenary reunion of the high school, seeing faces I had not sighted for around 50 years.

They warned us it was going to be a cold night, and it was, with Bob’s thermometer recording a reading of 3 sometime during the night outside. When we awoke it was 11 in the motorhome, but with the touch of a button, the diesel heater turned on and we didn’t get out of bed until it reached 19.

My grandmother's house in Charters Towers, now
a Mormon church.

That morning they accompanied us to Charters Towers and then drove us around on a great tour. One highlight was visiting my grandmother’s retirement house after she left the Boulia home property, built originally for the owner/manager of one of the biggest mines, so I guess it would also be an 1880 number. It’s now owned by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and all locked up but we were able to walk around while I remembered my step-grandfather sitting on one of the verandahs having his mid-morning drink of cold tea from breakfast, laced with rum.

The town really does have some of the most beautiful buildings and we thoroughly enjoyed walking around and soaking it all in.

After lunch we parted company y, with Bob and Ann going back to their property to prepare to return to their home in Townsville that afternoon and we headed east towards Townsville. We turned south before we reached that, taking a shortcut to the Bruce Highway near a place called Giru. This brought us back into the sugar country, with the mills going full steam, literally, and sugar trains bisecting the highway every so often. One we saw must have had 200 bins on it.

And then we saw a sign that the Brandon tavern had caravan accommodation, so here we are for the night. There’s lots of green grass and only about 3 other motorhomes/caravans . . . and a short path takes us to the tavern where we’ll probably have a drink and a meal later.

It’s so much better than a crowded caravan park and we haven’t had to let go our pleasure at being in the bush again by adapting to a busy urban environment.