We left our camp at Belair National Park yesterday morning, after having spent four whole weeks there, the longest we have stayed in any one place. Because we had been stationery for so long, apart from having moved across the park five days ago, we were a little rusty on procedures, highlighted when Chris realised that he had failed to fit the side mirror extensions on to the landcruiser. We noted with frustration that our immediate neighbours with the yapping cocker spaniels were also packing up; a pity they hadn’t been hounded out days ago. Surely they got the message that they were not welcome fellow campers when no one was more than barely civil to them. Next time they might think to leave the dogs in a kennel before venturing forth to camp with others. However this is all of no concern to us, unless we are unfortunate enough to encounter them further on our journey.
And so after fond farewells to Gary and Deb, the resident camp managers, we set off north, back through Gawler and eastward across the northern reaches of the Barossa Valley, pausing with dozens of other summer holiday travellers to lunch at Truro in a parking area that had little to offer other than its proximity to a bakery, clean toilets and space to pull off the very busy highway. Resuming our route, we soon descended to the Murray Riverlands, flat plains stretching forever ahead. I was surprised to find much of the landscape we travelled across before reaching the river at Blanchetown, was similar to the saltbush cattle stations on the Stuart Highway much further north west.
We crossed the Fruitfly Quarantine Border, comfortable in the knowledge that we had eaten our last pear and apple for lunch at Truro, and restrained from stocking up on further vegetables this morning when we shopped at Coles in north Adelaide. We wondered whether the many travellers all stocked up for their family holiday, stopped at the border, discarded all fruit and vegetables, and then restocked at Waikerie. The quarantine border control office was shut and so the question was fairly hypothetical.
We pulled into Blanchetown south west of the crossing and were duly unimpressed with this tired and unimpressive collection of shacks which apparently house those who appreciate fishing and water sports. However when we returned to the highway and crossed over the river, high above the first of the many locks across the Murray, we saw a small fleet of jaded house-boats moored on the riverbank, noted the wide lake like recreational area, with dead gums standing like sentinels in the water and the many water sport enthusiasts creating a mass of vibrant colour on the shore opposite the towering cliffs. Perhaps Blanchetown is not such a disappointment after all. We did not pause to investigate further, but carried on eastward toward the very Maori sounding named settlement of Waikerie. Here we popped into Woolworths and restocked our fruit supplies, now righteously carrying cleared cargo.
Waikerie was established as late as 1894 when the first settlers arrived by paddle-steamer. Experiments with irrigation techniques had proved successful (I shall refer to this again when we reach Renmark) and so these settlers established fruit and citrus orchards, and much more recently, the inevitable vineyards. It is interesting that Waikerie is considered the centre of citrus growing in Australia, which does surprise us.
 |
| Our camp at Ramco Point |
After dinner, as the sun was setting, we walked down river, keeping to the sandy spit lined with old dying or dead trees, and found more than half a dozen other fellow campers, all established close to the river bank, some with their small fizz boats tied to trees and some dangling rods into the slow flowing Murray. We returned to camp feeling a lot more secure about our decision to camp here.
This morning we decided to stay another day. I pinched a nerve in my back yesterday and the codeine I consumed yesterday made little difference. Chris hunted out his gout tablets so I made a start on those after breakfast. We thought there was little point in venturing into new territory if I was feeling more like wallowing in my misery rather than marvelling at the landscape.
We went for a walk back toward the boat ramp, paused to chat with the council workers who stopped to take our rubbish from us, and returned to the caravan even more satisfied that we were in an approved camp, albeit free and devoid of facilities.
The Murray – Darling River system is one of the world’s largest river systems, water flowing from Queensland, New South Wales, the ACT and Victoria all down to here in South Australia. Its official source is in the Snowy Mountains, an area we have yet to visit, 2,530 kilometres from the Murray Mouth close to Goolwa, visited just last week. A series of locks and weirs were designed by an American engineer, Captain Johnson, and were subsequently built during the 1920s and 1930s, however by the time they were completed, most of the river trade had been replaced by rail and road transport so the plans to extend were abandoned. The river in its natural state would diminish to a chain of ponds through the dry if it were not for this system which allows the river to be navigable right up through the South Australian section.
And a little something for thought and titillation: we stopped to walk over the first of the many bridges across the Murray and discovered a small bronze plaque with the following:
Near this spot in January 1830, Captain Charles Sturt, Pioneer Explorer, had an exciting experience with natives. Erected in January 1930.
Thanks for sharing this blog....
ReplyDeletecamping shops toowoomba
Thank you!
ReplyDelete