24 September 2012 - Abbotsford Bend on the Murray River, near Curlwaa, Victoria

In writing the above “address”, I realise that this is totally confusing. We are on the southern bank of the river which means we are in the state of Victoria however Curlwaa is actually in New South Wales. The reality is that we are in one of those very vague spots that will not show correctly on any internet location map. These are the very best places to camp.

We were away from our roadside camp by 8.30 this morning, having spent an excellent night. There was a time last night, even after dark fell, I was convinced we were to be subjected to tooting by every road train that passed, however they were considerate enough to let their dislike for travellers go by bedtime.

The road continued through the arid pastoral lands, passing small mobs of sheep, a few cattle here and there, a few kangaroos and emus and a lot more goats than we had seen over the past few days. We had to brake heavily for a ewe and lamb as they ran stupidly across the road and again for an eagle as it became caught in the head wind.

The wind was no less than yesterday and the landcruiser worked hard all the way south toward Wentworth. We passed more lakes, some full and some simply dry depressions in the landscape, and then the Great Darling Anabranch, a river that seemed to carry as much water as the main river, albeit much slower. We noted the excellent roadside area there we might have stayed at had the Popiltah proved unsuitable.

Crossing the Perry Sandhills

Just two kilometres north of Wentworth, we turned on to the Old Renmark Road and drove out to the Perry Sandhills, a huge area of shifting sand dunes. We walked and ran and slid and laughed through the deep red sand and imagined how much fun the grandchildren would have here. The sandhills have been used in scenes in numerous international and Australian movies, and back in the Second World War were used as an artillery practice range. In places they are apparently twelve metres high and span four hundred acres.

We drove on to the Information Centre at Wentworth and learned much from the very helpful staff member there, including the fact that all the camping grounds were booked out. She showed us on a map all of the places one could free camp and so we set off to suss them all out.

Before we did so, we paused at the park near the confluence of the Darling and Murray Rivers and climbed the observation tower to observe the scene better.

Wentworth was once Australia’s busiest inland port, or at least in the 1880s and is the oldest town in the region. The wharf was originally built in 1879 and during its heyday, thirty one steamers were docked here in just one week.

Lock 10 is one such camp, marked in several of our travel bibles however the river is high and the camp spots few. We spoke to one chap who with his wife had been there last night, however had just been advised by some council womble that they had to move on. Given that Wentworth is part of the Mildura Country Music Festival, and these events are created to promote the economy of an area, and the fact that the formal camps are booked out, one would think the powers that be would be more tolerant.

Our camp beside the Murray River

We decided not to push out luck here and checked out this spot about six kilometres toward Mildura. We crossed the bridge over the Murray and turned onto the dirt road along the river, eventually deciding on this spot close to the river’s edge but screened by a row of pampas-like reeds. Gums line the river, old and tall, we can hear the traffic on the other side of the river but it is at a very acceptable distance.

We went for a walk further downstream to check out our fellow campers. The first couple have been camped here on and off for nearly two weeks and hail from grain growing country near Wodonga further upriver. Their experience here waylaid any concerns we may have had about staying.

Beyond Laurie and Nessie are a large group of campers, perhaps an extended family whose fat Labrador dog came bounding out to greet us, boisterously jumping against my jean clad legs. The next was a caravan with an incredibly noisy generator whose occupants had already made a start on their evening wine. It was somewhere close to this lot we watched a very large goanna cross the track in front of us. Needless to say, I am being particularly careful where I place my feet. Both the camping grounds stayed at last made special mention of the fact that snakes had been seen in camp. T’is the season, no doubt.

Ian and his dead white owl

Finally we came upon a very elderly couple seated in deckchairs fishing for carp, or at least that is all they had managed to catch so far. Judy remained solidly in her chair calling for help from time to time when she became stuck, probably to call attention back to herself. Ian on the other hand, a delightful slightly shrunken chap of probably ninety or more regaled us with stories of fishing, the years he spent shearing on huge outback stations north of White Cliffs and beyond during his single years, the years he and Judy managed the Mungo Station before it was made a National Park and other wonderful reminiscences. He then showed us a baby white owl he and his wife had rescued from the attack of a kookaburra, wrapped up in a shirt in the boot of his car. They intended to take it to the vet when they returned to Mildura later in the afternoon, however as he tenderly extracted it from the Coles shopping bag, it was clearly dead. I stroked its beautiful feathers, soft and white, and was saddened by the demise of this beautiful bird. Ian said they would take it home and give it a decent burial rather than simply throw it on to the riverside as they were doing to the carp they caught.

A very large houseboat which we had seen down near the lock passed by and by the time we made our way back up river to our camp, we found they had tied up to the gums along from us. Fortunately they are far enough away we should not hear their revelry.

Here at camp as the sun travels lower in the sky, the tweety birds are noisy in the trees all about. We have found ourselves a perfect spot to stay and may remain here for some days, providing there is no rain here or upstream for the duration.