30 August 2013 - Paringa Caravan Park, Paringa, Sturt Highway, South Australia

Interestingly as I start this, as part of the on line ritual, updating my Skype and Facebook location, Facebook did not recognise “Paringa”, so I shall explain. Paringa is just four kilometres south east, and across the Murray River from Renmark, and we are settled in here, as no surprise to my regular readers, because it is the cheapest park. Of course we have been here before, and then we free camped along the river, but then the summer had settled in and we had no need for either heaters or air conditioners.

This morning we left Burra at about 9 am, on time which is just as well; the caravan park there does allow for late departures, for the fee of $5 which seemed on the face of it rather harsh. But understanding the stream of traffic through this park and accepting that this is indeed a commercial operation, the managers need to shift people in and out efficiently and so it makes for good commercial sense. But this was all academic, we were well gone, and drove up out of the town and on to the Goyder Highway. The highway passes through beautiful rolling sheep grazing country before descending ever so gently through arid saltbush bearing country, across a well maintained highway, a joy to drive. There were far fewer abandoned stone ruins than seen over the past few days which suggested that here; the settlors had been far more realistic. 

Morgan is eighty eight kilometres almost directly south east of Burra, and was reached within the time constraints that our TomTom suggested. Bearing in mind that the Fruit Fly Exclusion Zone quarantine zone kicks in about ten kilometres north west of Morgan, and that we had spent the entire evening before cooking up potatoes, onions, carrots and eating massive salads of every other vegetable and that we had consumed every piece of fruit lurking in our cupboards, we were not impressed to find absolutely no Hitler-like quarantine officer at the “border”. Now I do indeed understand and acknowledge the purpose of these bio-security measures, however given that we would have carefully dealt with our waste, I was not impressed. Let it be said that we should have received some sort of award for our effort to control the transfer of deadly whatsits across these unmarked borders. I was ready to face the officers and the inspections and was totally disappointed. 

Given the official fear tactics of quarantine tactics, it would be reasonable to suggest that when one reached Morgan, one would be able to replace all the discarded fruit and vegetables. Morgan does indeed have a “supermarket”; a tiny very modest Friendly Grocer where one would pay inflated prices to restock one’s fridge contents. Needless to say, we did not.

Morgan has a population of not much more than 500 folk and has had an important part in South Australia’s history. We arrived at the edge of the township having come down from Burra’s 472 metres ASL to here beside the Murray at about just 40 metres ASL, and pulled into the lookout above the murky and mighty Murray River expecting more than we found. Back at the height of the paddle steamer days, Morgan was the busiest inland port in South Australia, with the rail carrying up to six trains a day terminating at the river’s edge and the cargo being loaded on and off the busy river traffic. And this is of course the point from where all that drinking water we have been consuming since arriving at Ceduna, comes from, piped across the hundreds and hundreds of kilometres of arid lands. 

Today as we stood near the ferry crossing, itself very busy with the normal traffic of the day along with dozens of caravan towing rigs, we had an excellent view of hundreds of houseboats anchored or tied up a little downstream waiting for The Season and the tourist demand that comes with it.

We walked up the hill to the township where there are two pubs, a post office and the very modest “supermarket” along with a museum and an antique outlet. There was little to occupy our attention; in fact I had expected somewhat more, even enough to keep us there overnight, however we decided to head on, midday still at least half an hour away.

Relic of rail at Morgan

So we resumed the Goyder Highway, travelling along the northern banks of the Murray, sometimes at a distance and sometimes within view, but passing through very few centres of any consequence. The southern bank is busier with settlements and orchards, all of which we had travelled through when we came this way from Gawler a couple of years ago. That is not to say however that the northern banks were devoid of industry. We passed small areas of vineyards, almonds and citrus growing, but mostly the highway, not at all up to the standard of that between Burra and Morgan, passed through arid salt bush country, with road kill of roos, sheep, cats and foxes, and the live entertainment of dragons who thankfully froze unscathed as we passed directly over them and the odd wild-eyed emu.

We joined the Sturt Highway just east of Barmera, thankful to be on a better road, and headed the last few kilometres into Renmark, having travelled 209 kilometres since leaving camp in the morning.

We made our way to the Information Centre, and I have to confess it was not until we were in the centre of town that I remembered the detail and layout of this small revisited metropolis, a rural centre with a population of 9,898 according to the sign at the town’s entrance . We confirmed the prices of the three caravan parks before selecting this one. Last time we were in the area, temperatures were warmer and we chose to stay at several of the wonderful free camps along the river. We called into the Renmark Caravan Centre and spoke to Simon who was holding the fort in the absent of his boss who had been rushed to hospital. While he could make no commitment to the availability of his time, he did offer several solutions to resolving the scar on the rear of our caravan, mentioning the words “insurance”, “delay” and “camouflage patches”, all of which were worthy for later consideration, then we shopped at Renmark’s Woolworths supermarket to replenish our vegetables and fruits provisions. 

Again the weather deserves a special mention; when we woke this morning, the rain and severe winds had abated, and we enjoyed a gentle assistant breeze as we crossed the plains to this eastern section of the state. Temperatures were so much more enjoyable, in fact while lunching on the route along the Murray, we threw the windows wide open as we have not done for months, and later on arrival at the camp here, we stripped several layers off and spoke of wearing shorts tomorrow. Today the temperature reached 24 degrees here in Renmark and is forecasted to reach 28 degrees tomorrow, the days ahead to 30 and climbing to 33 degrees by next Wednesday; surely the end of the winter?

We have booked into this park for a couple of days, but may well extend. Major decisions have been reached today, commitments made by way of fares paid, and we will not be back in New Zealand as early as suggested to our family. We have also decided which route we will take out of Renmark which is entirely contrary to that discussed last week. Such is the contrary nature of gypsies and after all that, it has been quite a day.