Apparently we have travelled about 180 kilometres today, a greater distance than I had guessed, however we have zigzagged our way down from last night’s camp north of Kingston SE and enjoyed it all immensely. Tonight we are parked across from the Tantanoola Pub, close and parallel to the railway line, which we understand to be no longer in use. Are we in for a surprise in the middle of the night? I hope not. Apparently the pub has a stuffed “tiger’ as its main attraction and given that it was killed in August 1895, I expect it is no longer looking as fierce as it once did.
We spent a quiet night beside Long Beach, which stretches in the south from Kingston to the north where the Murray River enters the sea, a distance of some one hundred kilometres. The thrashing of the waves upon the sandy beach were like a lullaby, but by morning all was much calmer and the small tweety birds were busy in the scrub beside the caravan, audible in the morning stillness.
We were soon in Kingston, which together with the adjacent Cape Jaffa boasts a population of 2,600. As we entered the town, we were greeted by the monster size model of a Southern Rock Lobster which is at the heart of the area’s industry apart from summer tourism. Kingston, formerly known as Port Caroline, was founded in 1865, having a safe harbour to service the wool and wheat growing settlements about, although pastoral efforts had been going on since soon after 1854. The Cape Jaffa lighthouse, its construction completed in 1872, was rather an unusual structure in its day: built of wrought iron, forty one metres high, having eight rooms and able to accommodate two families. Nowadays, it stands along the esplanade, rebuilt in a rather unassuming location, and more accessible to those who arrange to be shown through it.
We drove out to Cape Jaffa to see the marina, the Cape Jaffa Anchorage. It is still very much a work in progress and would certainly be worth another look in forty years or so. Because the land all around is without great geological feature, it will never be a striking sight, but will offer better protection than the many folk further toward the point have enjoyed (or suffered) in their windswept shacks and yards.
The road back to the Southern Ports Highway can be re-joined by driving east back through the Mount Benson Wine Region. These gentle hills behind Cape Jaffa are slowly giving up their grazing acres to vineyards, the first planted in 1989.
From here it is not far down to Robe which sits on the southern end of Guichen Bay. There we realised that this was where all the traffic met yesterday had come from, and that there was as much still to be evacuated from this absolutely charming seaside resort. The streetscape itself was a little reminiscent of Hahndorf in the Adelaide Hills, its many lovely old buildings having been lovingly restored and in use as shops, restaurants, accommodation, hotels, et cetera.
Like Kingston, Robe also has a shipping history, originally one of the Limestone Coast’s largest ports. The town was originally settled in 1802, but it was not until 1847 that Robe was declared a port and wool began to arrive for shipment. Through the 1850’s many immigrants arrived, and even more interestingly, it was the port through which about 17,000 Chinese arrived to make their fortune on the gold fields of Ballarat and Bendigo, across the border in Victoria. They chose this rather round about route rather than pay the Victorian poll tax of 10 pounds. They still had to pay guides to take them the one hundred and fifty kilometres to the border before travelling on a further four hundred kilometres to the goldfields.
Alas, by the 1870s Robe’s status as a thriving port had declined; pastoralists were concerned their leases would not be renewed and rail was diminishing the need for shipping. It remained a quiet little town right through until the 1940s when the roads were improved and it was easier for the tourists to arrive in their droves. In the 1950’s the local rock lobster industry was developed in response to overseas demand and Robe came alive again. Today it was just buzzing with people happy to be on holiday despite the heat. The beaches were full, the sea was awash with swimmers and the cafes were packed out.
We drove around trying to find space to park and have our lunch, but there was none, so we drove out of town and stopped at a rest area beside the first of three large lakes that run in a chain down the coast. The park was shady and off the road, boasted a rubbish can but the view of the lake was obscured by those same shady trees.
Soon we were heading further south toward Beachport, yet another delightful seaside resort. Here the surf rolls in to the bay one crosses on a spit of land not much more than a causeway. The town itself is quite modest, but gateway to a wonderful rugged picturesque coastline with tiny sandy bays and crystal clear waters, almost too blue to be true, invitation to would be divers.
Just metres inland is a small lake, called the Pool of Saloam, apparently with a salt concentration seven times greater than the sea. It must be like swimming in the Sea of Galilee. The lake was full of children enjoying what appeared to be a very safe swimming space.
We left Beachport, and commented that this and Robe were indeed beautiful places, however far too busy for our taste. Neither of us are keen on crowds.
It was just another thirty or so kilometres through to Millicent, but we stopped just a few kilometres north and visited Lake McIntyre, a native wildlife and vegetation reserve, created from an old quarry. A flock of purple swamp hens (aka pukekos) rose in front of us as we emerged from the trees, surprising us because while we are well aware that pukekos can fly, we have only seen them take flight individually to escape a situation. There were also signs about to warn of the three species of venomous snakes in the park, suggesting that “if we were lucky enough to see one” we should leave them alone. Needless advice!
Millicent did not impress us enough for us to more than drive through, check out the free camp at the Information Centre which is indeed an excellent spot but in the middle of this quiet rural service town.
The road south to Tantanoola is a mere ten kilometres or so, and turns off the Princes Highway, now returned to, beside two paper mills, one, if not both, owned by Kimberley-Clark whose name we have seen stamped on public toilet facilities all about both here in Australia and New Zealand.
After dinner we went for a walk around the large area in the centre of this almost deserted village. From here under the treed parklands and noisy galahs, we could see those mills and to the west, many of the one hundred and twenty two Waokwine Windmills. Apparently these can produce 300 megawatts of electricity when fully operational, which represents the equivalent of one eighth of South Australia’s energy needs.
It is now late and there is no danger of trains roaring past. We discovered shrubs growing over one end of the rail tracks whilst on our walk so there will be no trains for some time, I am thinking. The temperature has dropped right down to 24 degrees and I am sure we will sleep well tonight. This is the eighth free camp in a row, equalling our best record so far travelling in Australia. I did the numbers on our free camps since we have been on the road; 23% free versus 77% having paid some fee is not as we had planned, however it was unreasonable to suggest we would do as well as we have in the years we have travelled in our motorhome in New Zealand.
No comments:
Post a Comment