15 September 2013 - Central Caravan Park, Colac, Victoria

They did! Redeem themselves, that is. A rugby game best watched from the confines of a cosy warm caravan on the television screen rather than the side-lines of the Patterson Stadium in Perth under cold relentless rain storms. The Pumas lost a very scrappy game by just one point: 13:14. I had been rooting for the Pumas, still smarting from the Wallabies’ Kiwi coach’s sacking at the beginning of the season. I should get over it and move on. Next time, it will be “Go Wallabies!”

For Chris the night was much bigger than a soggy rugby game; there was another one day British v. Aussie cricket match and the second to last night of the Vuelta to follow. I was appalled to learn what time he came to bed. It’s a hard job, being a sportsman, so he keeps telling me.

We sought out the camp manager, who is currently operating the office out of her cabin accommodation which is no more than a bed-sit; not at all appropriate to receive male guests in any way but the alternative professional manner.

Here in the park, there are a couple of rather eccentric long term guests; one a very bent elderly women who has been here for twenty eight years. She gets about towing one of those wonderful four wheeled garden trolleys, often with her pet chook, and always wearing her full brimmed cotton hat, not unlike the uniform sunhats that most Australian school children are obliged to wear. Her sight is only relieved by thick milk-bottle-bottom lenses, most of her teeth are missing, but her mind is as spry as it no doubt was in her youth, now far gone.   She spends most of her days when not busy moving about the park, sitting outside her caravan watching every movement made by every other resident or guest in the park.

Her competitor as host when Ms Caretaker is not about, is an incredibly paunchy man of past retirement age who spends time seated outside his caravan amongst a great collection of gnomes and potted plants which sport fake butterflies on wires.

Despite the number of permanents in the park, the old caravans are quite orderly and the residents otherwise unobtrusive. Perhaps if this was promoted as a smart tourist park, one could be far more scathing as to their existence, but it is not, and they are more an entertainment as we, no doubt, are to them.

It was after 10 am when we finally set out for the day, heading firstly to the Woolworths supermarket to pick up some lovely crispy buns. From there we headed the twenty or so kilometres to Gellibrand, on one of the roads that continue through to the Great Ocean Road, this one emerging at Lavers Hill.

Colac lies at 133 metres ASL and Gellibrand a mere 75 metres ASL, but the connecting road rises to over 220 metres as it passes south through Barongarook and Kawarren, places that are little more than once-upon-a-time railway stations on the Old Beechy Rail. The rail route leaves Gellibrand climbing to Coram to the north, at 272 metres before descending to Colac. A lateral slice of the tracks elevations looks a little like some of the Vuelta stages.

We were keen to walk part of this relatively new rail trail, the Old Beechy Rail Trail, opened in 2005 after eight years in the planning. The Beechy was the first reliable transport service into an area with dense timber and high rainfall, and became the major agent of development for the region south of Colac up to the 1940s. The narrow gauge railway from Colac to Beech Forest opened in 1902, with twenty six stations and sidings, and operated for eighty years until closure.

Rural scene about Gellibrand

I chose the 6.3 kilometre section between Gellibrand and Banool, the track notes advising that it was a medium, steady uphill section on a gravel path, climbing steadily on the original rail line, through farms and picturesque bushland and should take a walker an hour and a half. It did not disappoint and we arrived absolutely on schedule having encountered only one cyclist exiting at Gellibrand as we set out. I had had visions of us being at extreme danger of being mowed down by weekend cyclists, especially those coming downhill in the opposite direction and more especially women of about sixty, who did not learn to ride a bicycle when they were children and who rarely use their brakes because they are terrified of going over the handlebars; I am very very familiar with these crazies. We were fortunate to not come upon any such people or even fellow walkers.

This morning the day had dawned with little wind and sunny skies, a perfect day for the Chook lady and her Gnome neighbour to exercise their vigilance and observation of the little lives that go on about them. We could not have picked a better day to undertake this walk, and we were rewarded every step of our walk.

We left the landcruiser at Gellibrand, a quaint little settlement of less than 500 residents, many of whom have gone out of their way to cater for the trail users. The trail has been diverted up past the café and then wanders through a charming well planned garden to the edge of the settlement.

The settlement was named after Joseph Gellibrand, the first attorney-general of Tasmania, an earlier settlor in Victoria and an explorer, who went missing mysteriously in 1837 and was never found. It does question his credentials as “explorer”, doesn’t it?

Walking the Old Beechy Rail Trail

Interpretative panels explained many facets of the trail and highlights as we made our way along; a box culvert, the remains of an old timber rail bridge, a ballast siding and another listing the wildlife we might well come upon. Those listed were the carnivorous Otway Black Snail, Tiger Snakes, Lowland Copperhead snakes, Eastern Grey Kangaroos, Australian King Parrots, Rainbow Lorikeets and various skinks. Those we did encounter were a great number of Crimson Rosellas, superb Fairy-Wrens, finches, other wrens, curious cattle and two Black Wallabies who darted out across in front of us on the track.

Reaching the small shelter at Banool, situated starkly in the recently milled eucalypt forest, now replanted with the same, we dined in the shade before starting off yet again heading back down the hills, again not meeting a human soul. 

We were so glad we had made the effort to walk up through this northern section of the Otways, albeit a very small one. I guess the trail becomes busier with the onset of better weather, however I am not sure I would want to walk it in the middle of the summer, even though so much passes through forest; beautiful tall stands of eucalypt and pines. But we will leave that for others, because tomorrow we will move on yet again, this time to Geelong, a mere seventy three kilometres away. We should be there by lunchtime.