27 May 2011 - Darling Downs Hotel, near Warwick, Queensland

Outside my window, maybe just twenty meters away are tens of go-carts, racing around at high speed, like a swarm of angry bees. Chris is in his element; live motor racing at his doorstep, literally. A far cry from the dusty dry cotton fields of Koramba.

The harvest came to an end at about five o’clock on Wednesday afternoon, over six weeks since beginning. There was no great celebration or beer-in-the-mess, just general relief for everyone, no more so than for the bosses I am sure, who probably have never thought to mark the end by a shout because it is after all only the end of one stage and the beginning of yet another. Those staying on for other tasks fronted up at the gate the next morning, and we were up as usual so that Chris could make sure his final time-sheet was dealt with correctly and to say farewell to some of the "lads”.

We took our time uprooting our long term camp, watched by The Dog who came over and pressed his head against my knees which wasn’t very helpful when I was trying to pack up. We took our leave of Diego, wishing him happy and safe travels with his fiancé when she arrives in early July. He shook our hands warmly and gave us two litres of milk, telling us that it would have to be otherwise dumped. He then went in to a lengthy diatribe of how difficult it is to buy correct quanities; last week he was catering for 31 and this week only 21, all explained with great latino gestures. Again we wished him well, and shook hands with the chap who had taken it upon himself to assist that day with the lasagne which would use up nine litres of the aging milk, who neither of us had met, and made our exit.

As we passed back through the barracks, the first time for me, we passed Tom, the long haired guy from Grafton who is unable to speak a whole sentence without including the F-word; he told us that he was leaving as well for he had just learned that his father had died the night before. His sad eyes set in a surprisingly sweet face belied the opinion I had of him until then. Tebby, who was supposed to have departed a couple of days before, was still standing around baffled by the contents of his car boot still lying in a great heap behind the car, and the confusion under the bonnet. We bade him farewell and drove on out of our park, met by Kathy at the gate, who was duly introduced to me, and who I thought to be as lovely as all reports. A shame that she had been too busy running men and parts and other errands around the farm twelve hours a day and could not have called for a coffee and a civilised chat. I do think we could have been friends. She said that she and her partner were looking forward to the weekend off, as were the rest of the crew. We tried not to rub in the fact that we were having more than the weekend off!

Finally we were off, out onto the dirt road, north to Talwood where we stopped to buy bread and farewell the storekeeper. For Chris it was the first time he had travelled the road to Gundy, west to east through Queensland, and for me the first time travelled in that direction. He agreed that it was a wonderful road and far more interesting with the opportunities to stop at settlements such as they are. We did pop in to Bungunya to adjust the side mirrors and chatted a while with some fellow caravanners travelling in the same general direction. When  we reached Gundy, we drove straight to the Botanic Gardens which we had visited when we were there first as tourists, and had lunch. The Gardens were even lovelier than remembered, because the day was clear and not threatening to rain as it had previously.

Our chores in Gundy; at the bank, the Post Office, the Newsagent, the supermarket and finally the service station, were soon attended to and we set the Tomtom to the GPS co-ordinates of a bush camp that was mentioned in our CMCA bible; the Bengalla Reserve, just 34 kilometres east of Gundy, listed under Yelarbon. Yelarbon was the first town to be reached on our planned trip east along the Cunningham Highway toward Warwick and on to Brisbane.

We found ourselves on a small road, sealed but narrow, that took us out past the MacIntyre Gin we had discovered again as tourists, becoming more and more narrow. We marvelled that this could be the great Cunningham Highway, but then after the Boomi Road, nothing really should faze us. We drove on and on past many huge cotton farms, but an otherwise prettier scenery than our Koramba. Perhaps that is simply because the brown cotton fields are set back further from the road and the levees are less of an eyesore. Secretly I was thinking that this could not be the right highway, but I was content that we were heading in the right direction. This is the problem when you entrust a robot to navigate instead of using it only to assist.

Camp at the Bengalla Reserve

At last we were instructed to pull into a gateway, where the sign did indeed confirm that we had arrived at the right reserve. The dirt track, pitted with water filled holes did not inspire Chris, even with my bullying that he proceed on down to the river which surely must be over by the dense trees. Instead we walked, until he said that it was silly to be walking when we could drive, and so we returned to the Cruiser, and drove slowly on down the track until we came to the edge of the bush, from where we could see the track ran down steeply through muddy mysteries. We found a flat place on the grass covered reserve, between the many stumps of trees, and set up camp, without unhitching.

It was by now late afternoon so we did not delay in setting off down the track on foot to see what we were missing. Alongside the river, which we later discovered to be the Dumaresq which we had encountered upstream, but further south east, at Armadale, there were some delightful camping spots, providing one was willing to risk getting stuck, flooded or bombarded by falling branches. The birds here, as well as up by our camp, were many, more than we had ever encountered before in one place. We had been escorted by a family of roos as we had crawled in and now were being greeted by a cacophony of Australian birdlife. 

Yet another fabuous sunset

We returned to the van, closed up tight because the night promised to be cold and we were without heating. Just after six, as dinner was close to ready, a Police vehicle turned up and the officer came over to us, asking us whether a yellow ute, stolen that afternoon, had come on down our way. He cautioned us to lock everything up securely, and to give him a call if we should see anything untoward. He said there was a mission about ten kilometres up the road, and "the little brown people there liked to steal things"; his words, not mine. After he left I remarked to Chris, that while we had already ascertained that he had no Telstra reception, I only had one bar of Vodafone, and then we were not quite sure what to ring (000?) and where were we again? Fortunately none of the above were a problem. We went to bed early in an effort to keep warm and were not disturbed by man or beast all night.

This morning we were awake to see the sun come up, but alas the windows were too steamed up for us to see any roos heading off to wherever they go for their day. The birds were as noisy and as delightful as the previous day, and it was almost with regret that we set off on the road once more.

Morning mist

When Tomtom took us to Yelarbon, we were able to confirm that we had come east on a secondary route south of the Cunningham Highway, but with no regrets having enjoyed every bit of it. From there I took control of the navigation and we have remained en route for the rest of the day.

When we reached Inglewood, we walked up and down the street, filled our water tank and lunched by the bridge over the McIntyre River, at the end of the town. Inglewood is a settlement of 1,000 souls, which is coming back to life slowly after having died a death in the 1956 floods. It had previously been a thriving community around tobacco growing, and regained some vibrancy after the Coolmunda Dam was built, now growing irrigated crops such as lucerne and grains.

The Coolmunda Dam is just off the highway, so we stopped by to look over this very pretty lake. It was too early to consider stopping for the night, so we pressed on and decided that we would come right on through to this place which is just 10 kilometres west of Warwick.

After we left Inglewood, the plains gave way to steadily rising hills, the first of any consequence we have encountered since leaving Orange. We have yet to climb back up on to the tablelands, from whence we will descend to the coast. No doubt the days and nights will get colder before then.

The Darling Downs Hotel is a lovely old homestead style building which has a flat paddock alongside. This area is directly adjacent to the West Warwick Go-Cart Club track, and this weekend is obviously a busy one for the club.

There are no facilities at this camp except for hot showers at the back of the hotel should we wish to use them. Obviously there is a cost for that, but otherwise it is all for free. I guess they would hope we would patronise their establishment, which is actually what we normally consider ourselves duty bound to do, even for one drink