I was quite surprised that we actually got away before 10 am this morning. We made several telephone calls after breakfast, firstly to Battery World, then Century Batteries, and then to their distributor in Port Augusta who informed us that, contrary to all advice received, there were in fact two distributors in Ceduna. Tanya from Port Augusta rang ahead to both the roadhouse and then Landmark to track down the right battery while Chris set out in the landcruiser. He was back within the hour with a replacement and immediately set to and installed it. In the meantime I packed up all the pipes and leads, a job normally left to Chris alone, and we managed to depart about three minutes before pumpkin hour.
With a new and hopefully reliable battery, we reverted to our Plan A; to head south to Streaky Bay, a place recommended numerous times by a diverse group of people we had met along our route.
Streaky Bay lies 111 kilometres south of Ceduna on the Flinders Highway, at the base of a secluded bay sheltered from all but northerly winds. It was so named by Captain Matthew Flinders, in 1802, who was inspired by the bands of colour in the water which he thought to indicate the mouth of a significant river, however it turned out to the result of seaweed oils leeching into the water.
With a population of just over 1,000 it is much smaller than Ceduna, however has a more permanent charm with several historical buildings still gracing the main street, which sits high above the shore and the long jetty. Further around the bay, we caught sight of the caravan park, right down on the edge of the seashore, more welcoming to swimmers than that directly below the town. We spent little time here, walking along the street, one way and back the other, through the bracing wind that somehow managed to blow into the bay despite my saying it is sheltered.
It was nearly midday, however neither of us were particularly keen to linger, so we decided to drive on south to Port Kenny, a further sixty five kilometres on, but to stop halfway and call into Murphy’s Haystacks where we would lunch then explore.
On the road south we passed dozens of decorated but decrepit looking vehicles all taking part in the 2013 Variety Bash. This started at Two Wells a couple of days ago and will finish down at McLaren Vale next Saturday. The occupants of the cars were all suitably (or unsuitably) arrayed in the oddest lot of costumes and obviously having a lot of fun. Stuff shirt that I am, I thought them a childish bunch, particular given their age. I was quite happy with my lot, but probably would be a much better person if I were a more giving person as most of these people apparently are. So be it.
We spotted the odd shaped rocks a few kilometres away from the turnoff, so had no problem finding them. However we could have simply switched the engine off and listened carefully for the happy noises of the fancy dressed crowd who were also taking in the scenery. Once parked up, we lunched and watched with critical eye the carryings on of the populace. By the time we set off ourselves to explore the granite inselbergs, everyone else had gone, which was actually very nice.
 |
| Murphy's Haystacks |
This assortment of rather erotic shaped stones was named “haystacks” because from afar, they appeared once like stacked hay to a passer-by and the name stuck. The land belonged to Murphy, and so his name too has gone down for posterity. The wind-worn rocks, reported to be over 1500 million years old, sit above the grain growing plains amongst some lovely old gums, and the scene is truly impressive. Entry is by donation, and there are toilets and a picnic area available, however you would want to be there on a warm calm day to do more than walk briskly about the well-formed path, as we did.
A little further on, we passed through Port Kenny, a tiny settlement with little more than a roadhouse, from where we could see across the lagoon-like bay to a collection of shining white shapes that could have been mistaken for a white-washed village perched on a rocky island off the Greece coast. This picture is drawn from calendar scenes not from my own experience; however you will get the idea. Checking my map once more, I decided it must be the settlement of Venus Bay, situated near the entrance to this lagoon or bay of the same name.
We turned inland and drove seventy eight kilometres more or less eastwards, across great areas of sheep, grain and brilliant golden canola growing, soon arriving here at Wudinna, a watering hole back on the Eyre Highway. The settlement has a population of about 600 and today, apart from being a traveller’s refuelling stop, is one of the gateways to the Gawler Ranges National Park, which we are looking forward to exploring tomorrow.
The areas first pastoral lease was allotted in 1861, the township was proclaimed in 1916 and it has remained a centre of this surprisingly expansive agricultural area.
The caravan park is part of a motel complex, which also has a restaurant which we were invited to patronise. Like so many caravans parks in the outback, the ground is dirt and dirty, however the facilities are otherwise impeccable. Such a change from the last few days!
I fell into conversation earlier with a chap who is travelling in the same direction as us, and has done much of the route we have taken over the past few months, although his window of opportunity is a mere seven weeks. He referred to his wife, which alerted me to the fact that he was neither widowed nor single, so I asked if his wife did not like travel. “Oh yes,” he said, “she loves to travel. She has been for a cruise on the Murray and another trip further south this year, and she is off to Europe in a few months.”
“Obviously”, I said, “she prefers not to rough it?” And she is obviously high maintenance, I thought. I also thought how very sad it was, that a couple, who had evidently been together for a long time, chose to travel separately. This was not the first time I had encountered such a story, and again I realised how lucky I was.
No comments:
Post a Comment