15 July 2012 - Dangar Falls Lodge & Camping, Dorrigo, NSW

Of course it was a perfect day for our departure, a pity that we had not had more of this during our time in the Port. The road out followed the lovely Hastings River up to the Pacific Highway, crossed it and from there we headed north toward Kempsey. Just as we had seen on the Manning River, there were great areas of oyster farm pontoons on the Hastings. Perhaps it is this that attracts the numerous pelicans that inhabit these areas? Whatever the reason, it is all rather wonderful.

We were surprised at the number of vehicles towing caravans travelling south, in the opposite direction to us, and decided that it must be parents and grandparents taking children home ready for the start of school tomorrow.

We had not bothered to detour to Wauhope (pronounced War-hope unlike Wauhope north of Alice Springs pronounced Walk-up) just west of Port Macquarie. Wauhope, like most of these settlements up the coast on the rivers, started its life as a timber town, the hive of activity for the cedar-getters (I love this use of “getters” here in Australia) and celebrates that history with tourist attractions using this historical theme.

Kempsey, a rural town of about 8,000 people is home to the Akubra hats (those quintessential Aussie hats fashioned from rabbit hide) and the birth place of singer Slim Dusty (1927 – 2003). A substantial by-pass is currently being built however in the meantime the main road passes right through the middle of this town that seems to have every service you would normally wish for. We stopped only for diesel, in the belief that a price of $1.49 a litre before the Coles 4 cents-a-litre discount was pretty good. You can imagine our disappointment when we passed a rather isolated service station further up the route selling their brand of diesel at somewhat less than even the discounted price.

We stopped too at Frederickton, home to the Fredo Pie Shop. Way back in Sydney more than a year ago, Uta had told us to look out for these, to buy frozen day old pies and this was supported in a Travel Tip in one of our travel bibles. Several other people had obviously been similarly advised; the shop was packed. Fifty kinds of pies were available and all smelling delicious, however we were simply overcome with the choice and left without purchase. The smell of the pies remained in my nostrils for some time; a lingering delight!

About forty kilometres on, we reached Macksville, a small town situated on the banks of the Nambucca River, crossing the glistening water and following this very attractive river for eleven kilometres through to Nambucca Heads. We watched a small motor boat making its way down river with an entourage of pelicans, all hoping for fishy scraps. We left the highway and found our way along Wellington Drive to a park on the riverside, from where we walked along a good part of the riverside walk, some of it on boardwalk through mangroves and the last part out on to the breakwater wall. Nambucca Heads is just so lovely, particularly along the river to the mouth where all the holiday accommodation appears to be. But we were not at all impressed with the Graffiti Gallery, the name given to the rock wall along the breakwater where visitors have taken the opportunity to paint their own postcards on rocks, just as we saw yesterday at Port Macquarie. Here many of the artists of these “postcards” have used tiles and shells in addition to the bright and gaudy paint. The natural beauty of this place, or that in the Port, is not enhanced by such defacement. (In our opinion)

After lunch we set off again and travelled the fourteen kilometres or so to the turn off to Bellingen, the gateway to the Waterfall Way through to Armidale. When we reached Armidale last year we were torn as to what direction we should next head; east to the coast via this well recommended route or to continue south on the New England Highway. We chose the latter and vowed to fill in the space another day, and now that time has come.

Bellingen is situated eleven kilometres up river from Urunga  in the Bellingen Valley surrounded in rich farmlands. Bellingen began its life as a service centre for the timber-getters and dairy farmers who populated the valley in the early 1800s but today is a haven for urban dwellers fleeing the chaos of cities. 

Our brief visit today confirmed that this little town of just less than 3,000 folk is truly lovely. We popped into the Information Centre and came away with a pile of brochures and confirmation that the showgrounds , our planned destination, was in fact the only camp ground in town.  We drove down across the Bellinger River noting the many locals enjoying the water and the parklands on the riverside, and soon found ourselves entering the showgrounds. Everywhere there were plastic tape barriers protecting wet areas. There were two campers already established; the first soon informed us that he personally was unable to move his three and a half ton caravan from the bog and that the other had recently arrived and found a relatively dry spot in the No Camping area. We should look about ourselves for a spot then give the caretaker, Rhonda, a call and ask if we could set up camp there. We wandered about through the mud and the puddles but were unable to find anywhere near a power box worth risking becoming permanently grounded.

We discussed the possibility of returning to the coast, then decided that we would try Dorrigo, but would phone ahead first. We had previously dismissed Dorrigo, a further thirty kilometres west, because the descriptions we had read suggested that it was somewhat elevated and we did not fancy hauling the caravan up into mountains unnecessarily.

A telephone call assured us that yes, there was a camp site available, and no, it would be no problem for a landcruiser to travel further west on the Waterfall Way. And so we found ourselves back on the road, following the Bellinger River through the very beautiful valley up as far as Thora, then turning up into the bush covered escarpment, fifteen kilometres winding our way very very slowly up the steep road to the top of Mount Dorrigo, at 762 metres ASL. We pulled over at one of the waterfalls which tumble down toward the narrow road and then plunge under and on down below, just to let the gathering traffic pass. The road was wide enough and very good, the surface in fact better than much of that we had travelled on the Pacific Highway earlier in the day.

Dorrigo  is a small town of 1,192 folk situated here on the Dorrigo Plains, extensive farmlands grazing Charolais and Hereford cattle. We have yet to explore the town because we skirted around the edge on our way two kilometres east to the Dangar Falls and to this lodge and camp next door to the reserve.

The camp appears to be the conversion of a dairy farmer’s large garden, sloping with a couple of power boxes installed. We are parked at the bottom of the area against a fence and with our front jockey wheel buried in a hole that Chris dug in an attempt to level up the van. The back supports are resting on a pyramid of wooden blocks and I fear that if I move too quickly, the caravan will take off down the steep hill to the base of the falls. This fear is actually quite unfounded because my husband is very practical and we are really very safe. Bill came by in his ute to collect the tariff and to suggest there could be a frost tonight. Temperatures up here on the plateau are quite different to those down on the coast but hopefully we will enjoy clear days to explore this inland area.