We were supposed to have left Mansfield today, but we woke to rain and it didn’t look like improving anytime soon. After checking out the weather forecast on Google, we decided that tomorrow would be a better day for continuing our exploration of this beautiful part of Victoria and today was best spent holed up with the heater, a hot lunch and a few good books.
Thankfully yesterday had been just fabulous despite the 6 degree temperature on rising. Not that we rose early; time was better spent under the covers lamenting the lack of insulation in caravans and the fact that winter in the high lands was incredibly early. So much for global warming! But the vicious temperature was herald to the most perfect cloudless autumn day, one out of the box.
Even after such sloth, we allowed ourselves to be further delayed talking at great length with the campers immediately next to us, Richard and Relli. Again we found much in common although they had yet to take the total plunge of early retirement, finding a way to ply their trade using the excellent technology available to even those on the road. They were heading out bush camping, to give their labrador some time off the leash, but insisted we call on them as we passed through Traralgon.
When we finally did head out for the day, we had not had an opportunity to discuss the route in detail, so when Chris twigged that we were past a turnoff to an area he had wanted to see, there were many words, and then we agreed that there had been an abysmal lack of communication and no more should be said. We pressed on, travelling south along the eastern side of Lake Eildon, over the Delatite River, picnicked beside the day before further upstream, and turned into Gough Bay.
The first dam on the Goulburn River creating Lake Eildon was completed in 1929, and then enlarged to create a reservoir ten times as large between 1951 and 1955. When full (it is currently at 98%) it holds six times as much water as the Sydney Harbour. I was surprised to learn that the maximum depth is only seventy nine metres; the hills or mountains around most of its shores are steep and high. Because of this, the lake is shaped a bit like a spider, with its tentacles of water stretching up long valleys and it is therefore only seen in its entirety from the sky, not even the summit of Mount Buller.
Gough Bay is a delightful little lakeside settlement with a small general store that does not stock the Australian newspaper, or at least by midday. While we paused to enjoy the scenery, we agreed that it would only suit us to stay here for more than a day if we were avid fishermen, and then only with a tinny that could manoeuvre the tops of the trees protruding from the lake surface. Many of these dead trees we are seeing here and over the past year are those that grew on the edge of much diminished lakes during the drought years, which have now been subjected once more to drowning in better times. Again considering these better times of rain, we could well imagine that the lake would not be even half so lovely during those many years of drought.
We returned to the main road, sealed but hardly a highway, and pressed on to the southern tongue where the upper Goulburn River enters the lake. A couple of kilometres south lies Jamieson, a delightful has-been village tucked between the hills amidst a multitude of deciduous trees. There is a general store here which does stock The Australian even at midday, but requires any shopper to ring the bell many times and shout out loudly for service. Perhaps they had been enjoying a quiet lunch? The old courthouse still stands, now a heritage protected building.
Jamieson is situated on the river of the same name and for many years served as the supply town for Woods Point, a gold mining settlement more than fifty kilometres further up the Goulburn River. Had we left camp at a more respectable hour, we might have driven up the valley to discover the charms of this old township, which has reportedly the most photographed petrol station, now disused, in Australia.
But we did stay long enough in the area to enjoy our lunch at a delightful reserve beside the Jamieson River and then walk the well maintained path on “The Island”, where the two rivers converge. We looked for platypus but saw none, although there were many very beautiful brightly coloured parrots about; all shades of green, scarlet, blue and yellow in varying combinations. These were the first of the thousands we were to encounter as we continued on our way.
We wended our way across the ranges on the southern side of the lake, sixty two kilometres of very twisty road up and down the steep ranges, through the Eildon National Park and State Forests, catching rare glimpses of the lake, and passed only a couple of vehicles toward the end of the route. Chris had been hesitant about travelling a full circuit of the lake given the distance and the infrequent shore line to the road, however had to agree that it was a very very beautiful drive through equally beautiful bush.
The meaning of the word bush has become increasingly blurred in my ramblings. To an Englishman, it means a small tree, to a New Zealander it means dense native “forest” and here in Australia, more often than not, it means anywhere outside a built up area, that is, “the country”. So here when someone says they were brought up in “the bush”, they simply mean they were brought up in the country. Using this definition, so was I.
Back to the lake and the day’s journey; we finally reached Eildon, the site of the dam and the storage place of many house boats. We stopped for fuel and wandered through the very small shopping centre which does boast a couple of cafes, a supermarket, a hardware store, et cetera and a House Boat Sales office. Here we poured over the advertisements displayed in the window, marvelling at the range of prices, some as low as $32,000 and some nearing the half million mark. We decided that we would stick with the caravan after all and pressed on to the marina, a wonderful sheltered arm of the lake and full of such an array of delightful house boats. We crossed the dam wall and enjoyed the view down over the power station, the pondage lakes and the Goulburn River as it headed on its way to the Murray.
There was still another ninety or so kilometres to drive back to camp, however the road was wide, and through beautiful valleys, over low ridges and along the northern end of the lake, passing through the towns of Alexandra, a thriving rural service town and the very beautiful Bonnie Doon. The farmland throughout this last part of the trip was green and lush, the hills peppered with fine gums and sheep and beef cattle. It reminded me of the lovely parts of the King Country or South Waikato in New Zealand.
A bonus to all of this was evidence of the wonderful cycling trails that criss-cross this whole area and we agreed that we must return here after the winter, but this time with a couple of second hand bikes.
And so we arrived home rather later than normal, and since my dear husband had driven so far on roads that had required so much concentration, I insisted I cooked dinner for a change, but subjected him to one of my pasta bake specials. Such is life!
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