11 January 2012 - Bung Bong Rest Area, near Avoca, Victoria

The heavy rain of the night cleared by the time we were ready to pack up camp, and there was the promise of a better day; patches of blue sky appeared above the steep rugged peaks that embrace Halls Gap. However by the time we were half way to Stawell, just twenty six kilometres to the north east, the wind was as strong as ever and black clouds menaced. There were great flocks of cockatoos on the side of the road, taking advantage of the pools of rain water and living dangerously. We tooted the horn as we approached each lot, and were sad to see that not everyone had done the same. Squashed cockatoos are not pretty.

Stawell started life as a gold mining town, and still remains so. With a population of about 6,000, it services the mine employees and the surrounding farmland, which is around here and all that covered today, principally sheep grazing. It did occur to me today, that Australian’s really have no right to make those very rude sheep jokes about Kiwis, because I am sure there are more sheep here than there are in New Zealand.

Gold was discovered here in the early 1850s and much of the town’s architecture is testimony to the history of the town. While I am sure there are all the services here that one could need, it is not a town to inspire. Like many tired towns, there are quite a few empty shops and those that are occupied are so frequently host to Vinnies,  Salvation Army, those peculiar shops that sell dragons and incense; all signs of the rather special needs of the populace. Certainly the council have tried to jazz it up with the planting boxes of colour up the main street, and plaques denoting the annual winners of the very famous foot race, the Stawell Gift, which started in 1858 and has been staged annually ever since. How come I had never heard of that?

The shop assistants in the shops we patronised were helpful and pleasant, however I was not too upset to think that I may never come this way again.

From here we travelled the seventy five kilometres further north east to St Arnaud, with a population less than half that of Stawell. It too was settled during the gold rush of 1855 and was first named New Bendigo (famous Bendigo is not too far up the road from here and is on our Must Do list for another time), later being given the name St Arnaud in honour of a French Commander who had fought valiantly and successfully in the Crimean War. While this Commander was brave and a winner, it does baffle me why the new Australian’s here on the gold fields would think to honour this Jacques le Roy de Saint Arnaud with the name of this outback gold digging settlement. But there you are. Who knows when they might be inspiration of some geographical point on a map. After all, streets bear the names of the rich and famous, and the not so famous. There is hope for us all yet.

In 1861, WM Wills, later famous for his tragic adventure with Robert O’Hara Burke, referred to much earlier in this blog with reference to the ill-fated expedition from Victoria north to the Gulf of Carpentaria, drew up the town and even today, it has a charm that cannot be ignored. There is a very nice park at one end of the main street and the very old heritage buildings, famous for their cast iron lace verandahs, are a delight even if they would look better with a little more love and attention. 

We walked up and down the street, as we had in Stawell, but did the last leg rather hastily because rain started to fall and it was still cold, cold, cold.

Speaking of which, here it is 11 January and the forecast is for more of the same of this cold and blustery weather, 12 degrees when I rose this morning, and snow is forecasted in the Victorian alpine regions today and during the next few days. Let me never complain again of the heat, even when it soars over 40 degrees!

Our camp tonight

It was still very early afternoon when we drove south along the eastern side of the St Arnaud Ranges and the Pyrenees. We checked out a couple of rest areas beside the Sunraysia Highway, both quite acceptable, but thought it too early to park up for the night. We arrived at Avoca, which has a modest population of about 1,200, thinking that we would walk about and explore the town before considering where to stay. We were through the settlement before we knew it and said to each other, “Well, that was Avoca!” The pleasant village does have very wide streets, with real parklands between the coming down and going up sides of the main street, utilising the space that was once required for the turning of ox pulled logging wagons. It too was established in the gold rush but quickly became a pastoral service centre. Today there are several vineyards about, which are the basis for the annual Seduction of Tastebuds event and the annual Pyrenees Escapade which showcases food and wine across the region. These events along with others during the year are evidence that Avoca is absolutely positively promoting its existence and making sure that it will not fade away as many small communities can.

Rural view from my kitchen window

We turned east here, toward Maryborough, away from our planned route, to hunt out this camp, shown in the Camps 5 bible. There is no rest area sign to alert one of its existence, but the historical church is here among the gums and convinced us that this was the place. From the windows I can see flocks of sheep grazing beyond the beautiful stately gums, the birds are squawking about and the road noise will fade as the evening progresses. I ventured out into the wind briefly to check for more information about the neglected brick edifice nearby; there is little but the year above the door, 1876. The windows are all covered up with heavy wire grills and the only sign of recent human presence are the empty RTD bottles lying about.