This morning we woke in this wide gully to the melodious song of a multitude of magpies and to blue skies. We both agreed that it was a lovely camp and decided to run with one of the plans hatched yesterday afternoon; to stay another day.
After breakfast we headed eastwards to the Cairn Curran Reservoir, a large body of water, seen yesterday from the top of Mount Tarrengower. This had also been recommended by the volunteers in the Visitors Centre yesterday.
When we arrived at this lovely place there were only a few fishermen along the shore but by the time we left, people were arriving with their motor boats and the local junior yacht club was readying their small sailing craft.
The dam was completed in 1956, is just 656 metres in length and 44 metres in height, across the Lodden River which flows on in to the Murray River. During the ten years of drought leading up to the rains of the summer of 2010/11, it remained almost empty. We were told that there were those who drove about the bed of the lake; we imagined it to be the local larrikins just for fun, however with further thought I suspect it might have been in search of the few pools of water left harbouring the ancestors of the fish being hunted today.
We wandered along the banks of the reservoir, across several small sandy bays, over rocky outcrops and up scrubby banks until we reached the dam itself which we walked across to admire the views across the water to the distant dry farmland.
On our way back toward town, we called into the cemetery, as one does, to wander about this 20 acre area which is residence to many old souls. In the years up to 1953, there were 5,100 alone, however since then there has been a slowing down of new residents. Unlike the ornate graves of the Italian descendants up Ingram way (in Queensland) these are far more modest affairs, often containing Mum, Dad, daughter, son, nephews and nieces and half a dozen children who didn’t reach school age. It certainly reminds one how fortunate we are to live in this age of modern medicine, less dangerous work and contraception.
As we came back out on to the more major road, we took note of an official group of buildings on the corner and found them to be the Tarrangower Prison. Further investigation revealed that this is a minimum security women’s prison, with no more than fifty four inmates. When we first spotted this, Chris said it was a good thing that we had double padlocked the caravan’s tow bar however I cannot imagine how even fifty women having broken out from the prison would manage to (wo)man handle a caravan along the road and away without calling too much attention to themselves.
We popped down in to the town which was enjoying very busy Saturday trade, especially with the café goers, and purchased vegetables, the weekend newspaper and some delicious bread from the Maldon Heritage Bakery, fresh from the wood fired Scottish oven.
After lunch we drove back through the village and across to the North British Mine. This is one of the many mining sites about the town now part of the Historic Reserve. The remains of this mine are in a fairly compact area under lovely regenerating gums and consist mainly of broken brick constructions, the ironmongery having been removed long ago. This particular mine had twenty three kilometres of tunnels, shafts and drives and was just less than 400 metres deep. It operated right through to 1926 and produced enough gold to make the owner, Robert Oswald, a very wealthy man. Unlike many of the other ‘quartz kings”, he did offer much back in to the community in which he lived.
By now the sun had some heat in it and we were happy to return to our camp and spend the afternoon in the shade reading, during the course of which another caravanner arrived who it seems will be keeping us company for the night. I rather liked the solitude, however I should not be so selfish.
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