The expected front is now upon us, bringing wind and rain and altogether unpleasant weather. The caravan rocked as we breakfasted and we were glad that we, and everyone else in the park, had taken in their awnings yesterday afternoon.
I had plans for the day, excellent plans if I may say so myself, but they were, in the main, thwarted by the weather. We did set out with the best intentions, firstly into town to pick up a newspaper and a devilish delight from the well patronised bakery, and then headed up to the Winter Hill Lookout.
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| Views from Winter Hill |
Even before we arrived at the top, views were to be had over the entire Boston Bay and all the way down over the Lincoln National Park, explored yesterday. At the summit I stepped out to take a photo or three; the landcruiser door was nearly whipped off in the wind, as were my glasses and the camera in my hand. Securing all, I made my way up the ramp to the lookout tower, steadying myself on the rail. The door to the observation tower was locked, which is probably just as well; I may have been blown off the top. I propped myself against a sheltered wall and attempted again to take some photos. Chris wisely had chosen to remain in the car, and why would you not?
It really is the most marvellous spot to view the whole area, and would be so much better on a sunny and calm day. On our descent we could see across the inland agricultural land, canola gold and lush with grain bearing greenery. We agreed, yet again, that Port Lincoln was indeed a delightful place, and in our opinion, superior to Albany and Esperance, although those two Western Australian towns do have the advantage of being closer to the lovely forests of that state. From here, it is a very long way to anywhere but seashore based activities.
We drove on, inland and in a northerly direction, up gravel country roads, through more cropping country, then up through gentle hills where there was more sheep growing than canola, until we reached the Tod River Reservoir.
I had read that there was a museum here where one could learn all about Eyre Peninsula’s water supply history and logistics, a subject that interested me very much. How could one follow so many hundreds of pipe line and not want to know more?
The reservoir and the related pumping station were completed in 1922 after six years of construction. Water was pumped by the pumping station to a nearby reservoir from which it the gravitated through the Tod Trunk Main all the way to Ceduna, with a boost at Minnipa passed through the other day coming back from the Gawler Ranges National Park, a distance of 386 kilometres. Water was also pumped to the summit tanks to feed the east coast main as far as Cowell or the southern branch to Port Lincoln. The capacity of the reservoir is 11,300 millilitres, captured from an area of 186 square kilometres. The reservoir surface area itself is 134 hectares.
Since the completion of the reservoir, there have been further mains added to the network, and other sources used to supply that network. While I saw no evidence or mention of water from the Murray River being added to the equation, I have no reason to doubt this, because recent discussions have included the incorporation of using desalinated water from Adelaide. Obviously settlement, industry and agriculture over the intervening years, not too far off a century have put greater demands on the system, and water is South Australia’s biggest problem, or at least after the car manufacturing industry in Adelaide.
The little heritage centre up at the reservoir is open to the public during work hours Monday to Friday, and while there is quite a collection of machinery relics in the picnic area outside the old building, none of which excite me much, the centre had a good collection of photos, stories, maps and a very old video, and much that dealt with the original settlement of the area. I was glad we had made the effort.
It was here we learned that Port Lincoln was briefly considered for a greater destiny, when in 1836 Governor Hindmarsh, the first Governor of South Australia, gave instructions to Colonial William Light, he who planned the lovely Adelaide, to survey the capital of the new province at Port Lincoln. Light however rejected the site in favour of Adelaide, and I have to say, he did make the right descicion. Adelaide is already quite far enough from the hubub of Australia’s central government and commerce.
Despite missing out on the honour, pioneers and developers arrived with the first settlors in March 1839, and the new Governor Gawler proclaimed the whole area from Cape Catastrophe to the head of the Spencer Gulf as one district, which he named the District of Port Lincoln.
Interestingly it was not until 1880 that local government formally began, with the establishment of the District Council of Lincoln. And then, much later, in 1921, the Municipality of Port Lincoln was formally proclaimed. Fifty years later, Port Lincoln was granted city status.
Still with an avid interest in the infrasturcure of this amazing peninsula, and keen to understand the rail system here, knowing that the India – Pacific Railway lies far to the north and does not seem to link in with the rail we have seen down here, I learned today that Port Lincoln is the terminus of an isolated 3 ft 6 inch narrow guage railway system to bring wheat to the port. Like the water reticulation system, it forms a rather errant triangle, to match the shape of the peninsula.
The mention of the gauge should not be considered odd because over the years, there have been varying gauge sizes from one state to another, and it was this that stalled development in the nation’s infrastructure for some years. I do believe I made mention of this in regard to Albury-Wodonga situated on the border of Victoria and New South Wales?
By the time we came out from this modest little museum, the rain had set in. We continued on a little, toward the rural location of Koppio, through flooded road crossings and mud which now covered the back of the landcruiser much to Chris’s dismay, then pulled into the Koppio Picnic Reserve where we parked and ate our lunch.
Just up the road is the Koppio Smithy Museum, which Chris thought he might like to visit, so I showed him the brochure, drawing his attention to the fact that the museum was a collection of buildings and machinery that would require walking about. I also drew his attention to the fact that the rain had become even heavier while we devoured our jam scrolls.
I should add here as a respectful aside, that here in this little museum, is reference to the terrible bush fires of 2005 on the Eyre Peninsula, which burnt more than 80,000 hectares of land about here. The fire was thought to have been started when a car stopped in the long grass and the exhaust pipe caused the grass to ignite. Strong winds fanned the fire leading to the deaths of nine people, the destruction of more than seventy homes and thousands of livestock. On the road through to Koppio, we had remarked on the tree skeletons standing high above regenerated vegetation. This was the legacy of the fire, along with the enduring pain of many locals.
However, for all the interesting history beckoning, Chris conceded that we would be best to simply head home, call it a day and, given the winds, extend a couple more days. He was not willing to pull the caravan along these roads in such conditions, which on subsequent checking, confirmed they were unlikely to change until at least Monday.
So we drove across the apparently beautiful Koppio hills, now all shrouded in mist and rain, down to the Lincoln Highway and headed the thirty or so kilometres back home, seeing little of the landscape, but enough to enjoy the view of the city across the bay as we entered this time from the north.
And so that is why I write this up mid-afternoon, slippers on my feet, heater roaring and the occasional glimpse out the window in the vain hope the weather may clear enough for us to wander down to the jetty at the bottom of the caravan park. I think I spied some pelicans there yesterday; perhaps they are still there despite the rain.
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