22 July 2011 - Bushy Parker Park, Rollingstone, Queensland

Last night was a very big night in the Alps, those in Europe currently being assaulted by hundreds of sports cyclists and thousands of fans, watched by millions of armchair sportsmen, not least of all my husband, who sat in front of the screen until Andy Schleck reached the stage end, pushing the local favourite, Australian Cadel Evans back to 4^th in the over all placings. With only three more stages left to ride, excitement is at pitch level and battery power is being stretched to the limit, especially since we are on day three of free camping.

I was not surprised therefore when Chris expressed a desire to spend another day here, taking us out to our allowed time limit. The council parks’ “policeman” was here yesterday morning, recording everyone’s number plates on an official looking clipboard. He would normally return in 48 hours to check whether there were any rebels among the grey nomads using these excellent free camps, however we are all working on the assumption that he will not work over the weekend, but will be here bright and early on Monday morning. So this means the likes of us, could in theory, spend four nights in any one of the parks. This is for us however, all very academic. We do intend to leave tomorrow and head further up the road.

Today has therefore been a slow day, allowing Chris to recuperate in readiness for another exciting night. He has in fact been very busy doing maintenance work about: removing and reinstalling the pelmet above one of the bedroom windows which was originally poorly assembled, and installing the new wind deflector on the landcruiser’s roof rack.

After successfully completing these projects, we walked the short distance to the general store to purchase a newspaper and a budget loaf of bread for a luxury price. On our return, we met up with a couple on cyclists who turned out to be Kiwis from Nelson who travel six months every year in their Winnebago motorhome here in Australia and spend the rest of their year back in New Zealand. Jack and Sheree are about our age and currently camping out at the council free camp at Balgal Beach, just five kilometres away.

We spent some time chatting with them and in the process learned that the Cairns Showground which advertises in the CMCA book as being available to campers at an excellently fair tariff, is no longer so. I had been delighted to see this in the bible, and was therefore quite devastated to have this dashed. It means that there is nothing available to anyone in or close to Cairns under about forty or fifty dollars a night. Obviously they do not want the money that us, the grey nomads and other tourists touring as we do, spend in the towns we stay or pass through. One is tempted to give a rude sign and tell them to go you-know-where, however that might yet be another case of cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face.

Fishermen at the mouth of the Rollingstone Creek

After lunch, we went for a drive out to Balgal Beach, where the Perth brigade was heading after they left us at Black River Stadium. We had heard stories at Bluewater Park that Balgal Beach was incredibly busy, that campers were lining up to take the place of those departing, as early as eight o’clock in the morning. We wondered therefore whether our friends had actually managed to stay at Balgal Beach, or had pressed on to another camp less busy, perhaps here at Rollingstone.

Balgal is absolutely charming, situated at the mouth of the Rollingstone Creek with a long stretch of white sand along the sea frontage, a boat ramp and obviously before Cyclone Yasi had an excellent pontoon. There is a store cum pub cum takeaway next to the boat ramp, with a back drop of mangroves and the mountain range to the west.

We walked the kilometre or more along the esplanade, detouring down to the sandy shore to gather coconuts. There were many remnants of coconuts that had long ago fallen and dried up, and those that had been harvested, carved up and eaten then and there. We were interested in the golden globes that hung on the palms high above us. Chris managed several excellent shots with a small premature coconut, but those in the palms stubbornly hung on. He then found a very long stick and poked and prodded from below, and then finally success. This was all very entertaining; people would pay money to watch such a show, but we were satisfied with the two coconuts felled, deciding that the others could remain hanging to challenge others. We returned to the car carrying a coconut each, looking rather absurd.

Poking for coconuts

We had a close look at the camp, noting the Nelsonian’s motorhome and their friends’ one parked alongside. Rigs were all packed in like sardines, not unlike those at Bluewater. The camp is not even half the size of that here, and the wind swept in from the sea.

Several fishermen stood out near the river mouth in the hot sun casting for bigger fish than those hooked while we watched. It is a delightful spot and for avid fishermen, probably more attractive than this camp here. We came away with no regrets that we had chosen to stay at Rollingstone.

No sooner were we back that we had a visit from a man and his eleven year old son. I had noticed him and two children yesterday evening; children tend to stick out like sore toes in this environment. Today was Talullah’s eighth birthday and she was lamenting the fact that there was no one to have a party with, so Father was circling the camp inviting everyone to come over to the rented Apollo motorhome to create a birthday party atmosphere. He hoped that a few people would accept the invitation and was overwhelmed by the response. About fifty people assembled carrying their chairs and their respective drinks, making a very large circle out from the Apollo. There were a couple of dogs brought along who leapt about playing with the brightly coloured balloons until they burst, whereupon everyone clapped their hands in delight. Talullah did cartwheels and everyone clapped again, then she moved about the circle with her brother offering crackers and dip. Then there was the cake and candles which were duly extinguished amid more clapping and cheering. The cake did the rounds and most people politely took a little piece, trying not to spoil their appetite for dinner. And so Talullah ended up having a wonderful party, with dozens of guests, albeit all old enough to be her grandparents.

She and her family have traveled from England and are spending six months here in Australia sightseeing. They will then travel on to New Zealand to spend the same amount of time there before returning home. What an adventure for them all!!

We found ourselves sitting next to a couple from Auckland who spend four and a half months every year here in Australia and the rest of the time living in their boat which is moored at Gulf Harbour. Bruce and Dot have been coming over here for the last seventeen years, having taken the mad leap as we have before the official age of retirement. Naturally they are somewhat older than us, but still young enough to enjoy this endless adventure.

As I write this, Chris is prising the coconut from the shell. Generously he offered half of this to Talullah as a birthday gift but as he savours the especially tasty flesh, is hoping that the English tourists will appreciate this delicacy as much as he is. If not, he would quite like it back so he can.