We did venture out into the rain yesterday afternoon; it had abated a little and we found that Guyra is indeed a charmingly friendly rural centre catering for the locals and the simple needs of those travelling through, which for us included a rare bottle of wine. By the time we closed the blinds and settled in to watch a DVD after dinner, there were about half a dozen parties in to overnight, always a comforting fact, although to be quite honest, gypsy travel in Australia during the past nearly three years has never been a bother. Not once have we felt threatened or in danger, and while New Zealand readers will possibly find this next comment offensive, we have found Australia a far safer place to travel than New Zealand, despite the many hideous reports of violence that are reported on Australia’s daily news. There are certain parts of New Zealand society which harbour such aggressive mannerisms and such large chips on their shoulders, they make for unwelcome visitors. I will say no more.
This morning we were away by 9 am, the rain threatening but little else. We headed on, north along the New England Highway, still in familiar territory, and yet so much of it seemed new. My father once told me that when he and my mother travel roads in New Zealand, she is sometimes adamant that they have not passed this way before. This means that it is new and exciting, all over again; a bit like a cheap drunk although I should never use that simile in relation to my own mother. It does mean that one can travel the same country over and over, this way, that way and then this, all over again, and be entranced every time. What a gift! And so it seemed for me today.
A little to the north of Tenterfield, as we passed over Bolivia Hill at 1,025 metres ASL, I spotted a pair of Yellow Tailed Black Cockatoos in the trees beside the road; what a treat! I had no idea they frequented this area, however when I checked my Field Guide later, it was evident that this was nothing new.
We passed over the Ben Lomond Range which is higher still than Guyra, at 1,410 metres ASL, a locality which according to extracts from past but fairly recent newspaper reports has experienced both snow and tornados. The rural land all about is lovely, but probably no more so than any of that travelled through today.
We arrived at Glen Innes, the home of the Standing Stones and the odd ball chap who is happy to explain their story, or at least was when we last passed through here. Today we did not stop but passed on north, leaving the kilted-cutie to others to marvel over, along with the tall granite stones he guards. I was amused to see the welcoming sign at the edge of the town, Home of the Celts and of the Ngoorabul, and I wondered how many residents had smatterings of both, and were as mongrel as I, although my mix is all from the European part of the world. I wondered whether their annual festival Celtic included boomerangs and caber throwing; a curious thought.
On we went, a further ninety or so kilometres to Tenterfield. Here we found the creek bearing the name as the town, swollen but showing no signs of the devastation we had seen when we stayed for several days back in February 2011. That had been immediately after the terrible Queensland floods, those that had taken away our first landcruiser, and the property and livelihood of so many. We were lucky, many were not.
We parked up within sight of our showground camp site of past times and wandered up into the town, enjoying the better weather although still swathed in coats and hats. Despite the fact it was Saturday morning, the town was buzzing with activity and we were reminded that we had enjoyed our brief time here in Tenterfield, a town which promotes itself as one of the country’s most significant historical settlements, given its connection with Henry Parkes, one of the Fathers of Australia’s Federation.
We lunched here before heading on again, this time turning east across the Great Divide, one hundred and thirty three kilometres to Casino. Tenterfield sits at 850 metres ASL, much lower than Guyra, and after we crossed the river catchment line at 888 metres ASL on the Bruxner Highway, we travelled down more than up although one had to have an understanding of the general lay of the land and the supporting maps to accept that premise. Given that Casino sits at a mere 26 metres ASL, it should be immediately clear how steeply the road must descend from the heights of New England. Chris remembered the steepness of the roads and the extent of the bush land up and down across the top of the Divide. Alas I did not, and yet the positive was that it was a trip anew.
And so here we are now back at Casino, the town we bought our tramping poles all that time ago, a charming town on the Richmond River and one that is home to the RV Village which has passed through several hands and several financial crisis; today managed as part of the Big4 franchise and offers excellent camping facilities for a very fair price. We had hoped to free camp all the way through to Brisbane, but these are fewer and far between and it is always good to plug into the modern amenities of electricity and water. We are well served here today.
As I returned late this afternoon from the amenities block, I could not help but notice the many flocks of birds flying high in the sky; ibis among them, birds we have seen little since leaving Queensland early in the year. The birds of Australia are what I shall miss most when we leave and may well draw us back, despite our resolve to move to the next stage of our lives.
I thought too
that it was unfortunate that I had thrown out a shopping bag full of baggy track
pants and my stretched woolly slippers. It does seem I was a little premature
in making such decisions.
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