24 December 2011 - Belair National Park Caravan Park, Adelaide, South Australia

Here it is Christmas Eve and we have indulged in wine and chocolates, substances not part of our normal diet. The sun is just setting at the back of the camp and all is strangely quiet. Last night after dark, the possums decided to party and like the night before, thought it amusing to drop light objects on to our caravan roof. I have not seen possums since the east coast, so I was somewhat disappointed that this all took place after I was sound asleep. Tonight I intend to go out with the torch and spend time spot-lighting in the trees after dark. While my attitude toward possums in Australia has changed from that which it was in New Zealand, despite my softer outlook, I will not falter from my support of 1080 drops and the like in wild New Zealand.

And speaking of fluffy cuties, I failed to mention in yesterday’s instalment that we had observed a large koala in a gum opposite the Glenalta Railway Station yesterday while we were waiting for the scheduled train. He was totally oblivious to our presence and that of a many waggoned freight trains that past immediately under him, astride a sturdy forked tree, one leg trailing nonchalantly, incorrectly suggesting a rather strange tail. He was still there when we returned four to five hours later, but this time was engaged in busy eating. Busy is actually not a word one should use for these beasts; they seem to move at a pace not unlike that of a tuatara.

Today was engaged in seeing the rest of the Fleureau Peninsula. I say that as if it was such a chore; it was not. On the contrary it was a joy as has been every outing here in Adelaide, in fact, all in Australia. We were on the road by 9 am and soon found ourselves on the Southern Expressway. This is worth explaining further because it is a two lane express highway that bypasses all the tedious series of lights and intersections on the Main South Road, between about Sturt and Noarlunga, constructed to alleviate pressure on that road during peak hour traffic. Uniquely, this is open to travellers by schedule only as follows:

Weekdays:

Citybound: Open 2.00 pm – 12.30 pm, closed 12.30 to 2.00 am

Southbound: Open 2.00 pm – 12.30 am, closed 12.30 to 2.00 p.m.

Weekends & Public Holidays:

Citybound: Open 2.00 am – 12.30 pm, closed 12.30 to 2.00 am

Southbound: Open 2.00 pm – 12.30 am, closed 12.30 am – 2.00 pm

Confused? We managed to figure out that today being Saturday, it was most likely open for us to travel south on. And so we did. A much better hassle free trip than that travelled when we drove to McLaren Vale the other day.

We pulled in to Old Noarunga, a delightful old village set on the Onkaparinga River, founded in 1841. Today it sits on the edge of the suburban spread of southern Adelaide, and yet has still retained a certain charm. We walked up and down the main street and discovered that celebrating Christmas in a visual manner was the order of the day (or week). There were two residences which were particularly smothered in kitsch decorations and lighting effects. The rest of the village were slightly more modest, bound up in glittery ribbons and more modest lights. We walked along the river and could see that once upon a time, this might have accommodated vessels larger than pleasure jet boats. We were glad we had bothered to stop.

Intending to stay with the west coast of the peninsular in the first instance, we first stopped at Port Willunga, where we stopped on the top of the cliff above the long sandy beach, an old port on the same river as old Noarunga. One does wonder why this was ever considered a good place for such, reinforced by the fact that this is also the site of South Australia’s worst maritime disaster, the Star of Greece,  an iron cargo ship wrecked in 1888 just metres offshore.

We followed the coast road down, passing lovely houses along the cliff top, on past Aldinga Beach to Silver Beach and then inland up into the lower Mount Lofty Ranges and across to Myponga, a small rural village beside a reservoir of the same name. We stopped in the main street, lured in by the market which advertised over 100 different stalls all under cover. Chris was accosted by the buxom woman in the door way frying sausages and onions, and felt obliged to satisfy her vending ways, and the second hand book stall just inside held our attention for some time, but we did manage to escape without adding to our already wordy book supply. There was nothing in the rest of the market wares that appealed; in fact, in our opinion, most of it was just a big pile of junk, but then that is all a matter of opinion, and one man’s trash is another’s treasure, so they say.

We drove south to Yankalilla, another rural village, well spread out, in fact, stretching fairly seamlessly along the three kilometres to Normanville. Yankavilla boasts a church with an attraction that apparently draws pilgrims and documentary makers from all over the world; an image of  the Madonna and Child that has appeared miraculously on the rear wall of the Anglican Church, alongside the alter. Today on close inspection, Chris explained this phenomenon quite simply as a process of efflorescence (the process of minerals in the plaster reacting with moisture). One would think that this could have been worked out by another since its miraculous appearance in 1994, but then there are financial advantages in being host to such a phenomenon. No doubt there are also lots of gullible people who gain great comfort and joy from believing it. Certainly the village recreational facilities are smart and modern; we took advantage of the clean park and amenities to enjoy our packed lunch.

 Normanville had a lovely beach, today well patronised by families and fishermen alike. From here many enjoy the inshore reefs which were the downfall of many sailors shipwrecked in the 19^th century. The resort aspect of the place is certainly understated and therefore, for us, far more appealing than other seaside places we have visited.

We travelled on further south, a little inland, up into the hills which seemed to get steeper rather than more gentle as one might expect the end of a mountain range, blinked and nearly missed Delamere, just east of twenty two large wind mills standing above the cliffs, all but one turning in the breeze, generating electricity for all those Christmas lights and busy cash registers. Just eleven kilometres south west, we arrived at Cape Jervis, the gateway to the sea road to Kangaroo Island.

Kangaroo Island is Australia’s third largest island after Tasmania and Melville Island, covering an area of 4,405 square kilometres, one hundred and fifty kilometres in length and between ninety seven metres and fifty seven kilometres wide. It lies just thirteen kilometres offshore and is a popular holiday destination as was evidenced today by all the tourists waiting for the ferry we saw approaching from afar.

We were not tempted to sail, nor had it been on the agenda. Instead, we back tracked to Delamere, and headed east across the top of a high ridge toward Victor Harbour, the land alternatively clear and farmed for dairy or dry livestock, and planted in pine and gum plantations. From on high the views back toward the Gulf St Vincent past the windmills and south toward the rugged coast were spectacular.

The road up into the wide and fertile Inman Valley is very pretty, and one of the loveliest vistas on the peninsula. We zigzagged up the peninsula, east and west, never touching roads we had passed through previously, until we came upon the road across from Willunga to Mount Compass which was familiar. We descended the steep road to charming Willunga, and made our way back to Belair National Park via the winding country roads through McLaren Flat, Clarendon and Coromandel Valley.

The temperature in the caravan on our return was still a warm 37 degrees and the evening has not cooled down much. I hope tomorrow afternoon is a little cooler.