15 October 2011 Normanton Tourist Park, Gulf of Carpentaria, Queensland

We are now established in this shady park, happily for us, not very crowded. There is a delightful breeze blowing which makes the warm temperatures rather attractive.

Our camp beside the Gilbert River

Our exploration of the Gilbert River this morning offered little more than we had already seen; that this river in the Wet must indeed be a mighty menace, rushing over the bridge even though there is such a wide bed to accommodate the extra water.

The road westward from the river all the way to Normanton was sealed, two laned and excellent. We paused at Croydon to top up with diesel, then  drove through slowly and wondered why tourists make the effort to catch the famous Gulflander train from Normanton on Wednesdays to Croydon, returning the next day. Perhaps the bonhomie of fellow passengers is what they seek and that is probably assured. Otherwise, why would you?

At Black Bull, the one railway station between the start and the destination, we pulled off and lunched, interrupted by sudden activity on the rail. Eight motorised jiggers arrived, obviously a tour party. All were wearing orange shirts and blue pants in keeping with safety regulations, and all alighted with their packed lunch. We headed off as they were getting ready to push on to Croydon.

The Savannah Way by road or train is gently undulating, mostly of open eucalypt forest. Cattle graze unfenced on the road side and this morning the roos that had lost their game of chicken lay like slalom points on the road. Crows and harriers hover about waiting for the big trucks to make their meals more manageable by flattening, tenderising or mashing, and then become so engrossed in their feasting, they sometimes miss hearing the oncoming cars. We toot, but I am sure we are in the minority.

We were absolutely delighted to see masses, even thousands, of the black cockatoos, with the red feathers under their tails. They too were hanging about for excitement near the road edge. At one point we approached a flock of about two hundred who rose in all directions in front of us; we manage to slow thus avoiding hitting any.

Normanton has a population of 1,500, wide streets, sells newspapers just a day old, has two camping grounds, and will be our home for a couple of days. We will investigate this very small town over the weekend and hopefully find one of the pubs keen to show the World Cup Rugby if we cannot get the right channels on the television.

I have also given in to the fact that my illness brought back from New Zealand will not go away with just exciting travel and good food. I found a stash of antibiotics in the cupboard, and have started consuming them with meals my wonderful husband provides. We will stay put until I am well, and next time we travel to New Zealand I will wear one of those stupid looking surgical masks. Better to look a dork for four hours than suffer illness for months. After so many months of being so very well, I resent feeling anything less.

And tonight I think it may rain; really rain. I look forward to that.

14 October 2011 Gilbert River, The Savannah Way / Gulf Development Road, Queensland

This morning I woke prematurely to the song of magpies having mistaken the bright full moon for the sun. I am not sure about them, but I went back to sleep again to wake to wonderful birdsong at the right time of morning. Our park here is a large flat dusty area on the western side of the Gilbert River which we shared with three other parties. This river is one of the larger significant rivers that flow into the Gulf of Carpentaria, but here when we crossed it last night it appeared little more than a trickle. We will go and investigate the situation further when we have both finished writing and drinking our breakfast coffee.  

The night before last was punctuated by the odd road train rumbling through, however they were all decent enough to refrain from tooting, unlike some truckies we struck in the South Island of New Zealand! We headed off promptly, passing the junction of the Savannah Way and the Kennedy Highway which carries on south toward Townsville, and were soon at the turnoff to the Undara Volcanic National Park.

This is a large area that was farmed by the Collins family since 1860, through many generations, all aware but dismissing the significance of the large holes in the earth and the many pimples across the landscape. Through the middle of last century a geologist, Ann Atkinson, together with a willing team, ascertained that the 164 "pimples" on the landscape were all volcanos and that the holes were cave ins of a series of lava tubes. In fact there are many kilometres of lava tubes, running like huge drain pipes under the earth, which an estimated 23 cubic kilometres of lava, at a temperature of 1,000 degrees Celsius, flowed at an estimated 1,000 cubic metres every second. This all occurred about 190,000 years ago; there are not too many around to dispute the numbers so we have little option but to accept the scientists expertise.

The government took the area over as a park, compensating the Collins no doubt with a good wad of cash, a long term lease of the land and the exclusive rights for ten years to run tours. That initial ten years has passed and so there are more parties now doing tours in, but the Collins family still has the lease of the lodge. This is an amazing set up; a huge number of tastefully restored railway carriages, pioneer huts, stockman’s quarters , a swag tent village, a caravan park, a restaurant, et cetera, et cetera. The prices for package deals look quite reasonable too and having said all this and with more to come, I am thinking I should be receiving a commission for such a positive plug!

Down in the lava tubes of Undara

Way back in Sydney, Lance and Uta had told us that this was a must do, although quite expensive, and so we entered cautiously to suss the situation out. We found we had missed the 8 o’clock tour and did not wish to hang about for the 1 o’clock, but then saw another two tours squeezed in, more importantly one at 10.30 am that seemed  just right, and so we booked. There was still more than an hour to go so we partook in the complimentary coffee and joined a crowd of others who were waiting for the same. Surprisingly most were either English tourists or English immigrants. After finding most of our fellow travellers to be Aussies, New Zealanders and western Europeans (excluding those from the British Isles) this was quite a surprise. Right on time, twenty of us boarded a small bus and were driven and guided by Tim, who proved to be a mine of information. We were driven across what had once been the station, past an expanse of swamp that for the first time in many years has not completely dried up and then taken on boardwalks accessed by stairways, down in to the lava tubes and given an excellent geological lesson. 

While the cost was about 33% more than Uta had advised, it did fall beneath our reject threshold and we were pleased that we had taken the plunge. My commission now, please?

We were told about the Kalkani crater, still within the Park, to which we could drive, climb and walk around the top. And so we did, pausing at the base of the crater for lunch before we set off in sturdy shoes and with bottles of water. We met up with the only other people who had been inspired to do the same, a young English couple who were travelling around Australia with a tent, and had survived over 365 nights, they proudly told us. While they had been living together, here in Australia as new immigrants, they also proudly told us that they had just become engaged. Chris and I wished them the very best and truly believed that after 365 nights in a tent and 365 days in one another’s full time company, their marriage should be very successful.

From the top of the crater we were able to see right across the landscape and noted the many small volcano peaks, and the darker areas of dry rain forest that filled the caved in lava tubes.

By the time we had returned to the rig, it was three in the afternoon. After much consultation and rechecking of maps, we decided to stay with Plan A which was to come through to this camp spot at the Gilbert River, making the days travel about 270 kilometres. We set off, stopping at Mount Surprise, a small but appealing settlement to the west, taking the opportunity to dispose of our waste and fill up with diesel, and then pressed on to Georgetown, where we intended to buy a newspaper, something we had been unable to do at Mount Surprise. We were through the settlement in the blink of an eye, and rather than turn back and hunt the general store or the newsagent down, we decided we would just have to do without.

We pressed on, the highway having narrowed to a one lane sealed strip, with frilly edges, relieved in some places with a good two lane sealed and marked road. Because of the late time of day, the roos were out in force, lining the side of the road like spectators or ready to play chicken. At one point we had to pull up for a female emu and three gorgeous chicks who were mid-way across the road, who then became confused by our arrival and decided to turn back the way they had come. The roads through this region remind us of those up to Cape York, long straight roads through hundreds of kilometres of open eucalypt woodland, but unlike those wide dirt roads, this is narrow and sealed. There is a relatively flat edge where one can pull off safely to let the oncoming road trains through, however these are not as prevalent as they were before we came on to the Gulf Development Road.

It was nearly 6 pm when we arrived, and hot as could be. At Undara the guide said the temperatures had been about 42 however our thermometer has not topped 39 degrees. We sat outside on deck chairs as the sun set, enjoying the breeze until thunder rumbled all around us, lightening flashed and our hunger drove us inside. The few drops of rain that fell evaporated into nothing. Small bugs crawled in to the caravan under the window sills bypassing the flyscreens so Chris and I sat after dinner in the dark watching our blue light bug zapper incinerate those who dared enter, until I retired to bed.

                                                                                                       

My travelling buddy, chief cook, driver and tyre changer, has now done all the housework while I sit upon my bottom, computer on my lap, so I shall end here for now, and ready myself for further exploration.

12 October 2011 Forty Mile Scrub National Park, west of Mt Garnet, Queensland.

We have just moved outside the caravan as the sun sets, to once more brave the small flies and sundry bugs that drove us inside earlier. The temperature has dropped from a warm 37 degrees, but then so has the breeze dropped. I am being acclimatised; live and breathe and enjoy the heat, preaches my husband.

Our departure from Atherton was without event this morning, and we soon found ourselves at Herberton, after climbing over the Herberton Range, in first gear more often that not. Herberton is an old mining town spread along a dry valley looking much as it did one hundred years ago, I would think. There is a heritage museum there that is much acclaimed, however both Chris and I feel we are rather heritage museumed out for now. We paused to buy The Australian and were annoyed to find the price has gone up by 20 cents, something we had not noticed yesterday when it was purchased with the groceries. How very sneaky of the publishers!

To digress, but staying with The Australian, I read just yesterday that wild fires had been burning out of control up near Walkamin, just north of our War Memorial Park stayed at a few days ago. It was smoke from this that disrupted the All Black’s annihilation of Argentina on Sunday afternoon.

The road through to Ravenshoe (pronounced Ravens-hoe not Raven-shoe as Chris and I have been saying while planning our route) was through beautiful farmland, much of it planted in crops, including potatoes. At one point of the trip, we were stopped by police to pull well off the road to let a large truck with an even larger load through, a piece of mining machinery as we had encountered on the Bruce Highway when travelling northwards now many months ago, but here the road was much narrower. The route we took through to Ravenshoe is apparently the highest in Queensland, the summit at 1,143 metres, and so it is no surprise that the town is Queensland’s highest at 920 metres ASL. You might be excused by thinking that there one might enjoy alpine temperatures as one walks about the streets in the bright sunshine, however this is definitely not so. The temperatures on the television weather report for Mareeba over the last few days have been at 37 degrees and I would say that this is fairly standard for the whole area.

Ravenshoe, has a population of about 1,000 and once upon a time was heavily involved in the timber industry. In 1988 the area was World Heritage listed and has become increasingly a tourist destination. We did not find it to be a very inspiring town, however the people we spoke to were all very friendly and helpful, and I am sure it has a wonderful community spirit. It seems also that once World Heritage status is achieved, all modernity is abandoned and the place becomes locked in a time capsule.

The Millstream Falls

There is a steam train that operates from Ravenshoe on part of the remaining railway line back to Tumoulin, which we had passed in getting there.  The station and all the paraphernalia that goes with rail enthusiasm is all here for the tourist, however we decided to give it a miss, at least for today. We left after buying cream buns to go with our lunch and a resolve that we would start our more regulated food intake tomorrow (the need for this being the over indulgence during our month of being so hospitably wined and dined in New Zealand).

We drove on to the Millstream Falls National Park and walked down to see the widest single drop falls in Australia. While they are only 13 metres high, they are very pretty, falling over layers of black basalt, residue of former volcanic activity.

Back up to the car park, we did another walk around an area once busy with military might, well marked with explanations.

This whole matter of the military activity throughout this area has fascinated me and up until now, not been satisfactorily explained. The panel at the start of the walk explained clearly and concisely as set out here:

In 1942, the Commander in Chief of the Australian Military Forces, General Sir Thomas Blamey, decided that he would use the Atherton and Evelyn tablelands as a base for rehabilitating and training troops. The area was close to the battle fields of Papua New Guinea and the climate would give the troops respite from the tropical heat of the coast. The tablelands also provided training areas with environments similar to that of South East Asia. During 1943 troops began arriving at bases established on the tablelands.

At any one time, up to 100,000 troops in 320 army and ancillary units were based on the tablelands across 160 sites. Today, the remains found here are the most complete: tent sites, walking tracks, drains, concrete slabs, trenches, training areas. corduroy roads, a flag pole site and training and parade grounds are clearly evident.

It struck me that conservation for  historical purposes is quite an interesting problem. Here at the end of the war, much of the building and plant was removed to return the area back to its original state, as miners now do with rehabilitation of the land. In doing so, the evidence and the stories of the past are lost and yet I am the first to scoff at the exhibition of middens all around the place which are essentially just rubbish tips.

We lunched in the cool confines of the caravan, then headed off south west on the Kennedy Highway, passing a rest area near the Innot Hot Springs we had considered to be the day’s  destination, the afternoon still young and the air conditioning of the land cruiser very attractive. We carried on, through Mount Garnet to this rest area here on the edge of the Forty Mile Scrub National Park.

The reserve or National Park is just a tiny pocket of Dry Tropical Rain Forest in a midst of open eucalypt woodlands, of the kind we had been travelling through since we left Ravenshoe. When we arrived there were three road trains parked and taking up most of the car park space, detracting from the charm of the place. We walked the small loop track by which time the trucks had gone and we decided that we would stay on here after all. The trucks have continued to rumble on by, but are lessening in number as the day closes. I suspect they will be on the road again early in the morning, and so our day will start accordingly.

11 October 2011 - Atherton Holiday Park, Queensland

Tomorrow we will head away from the Atherton Tablelands, having explored the last gems this place has to offer or those we wish to. We have stocked up the caravan with provisions to last through the next week, as we are not quite sure what lies ahead of us. No doubt we will pass through towns with supermarkets or food stores, but perhaps at inflated prices, but by now you will know that we economise where possible to allow indulgences at other times. One cannot live the perpetual holiday spending as one would if the holiday were only a week or so long.

This morning we also had the Central Tyre Service rotate the tyres on the landcruiser, something that Chris had wanted to have done for some time. And we returned the gas hose to the Gas Centre for exchanging but came away with the same assured that it would work. Practical application this evening proved that it did not.

Then after lunch we headed south back on yesterday’s homebound route to walk in the Wongabel State Forest, an easy 2.6 km leaf strewn path through bush, between a great variety of huge trees 40 to 50 metres high with names like Tamarind, Silver Beech, Red Cedar, and a hundred more. We spotted a little roo like rat creature rush across in front of us and spent some time debating whether it was a small wallaby or the tree climbing kangaroo or perhaps even the giant white tailed rat celebrated two days ago at Lake Tinaroo. The birds remained high in the canopy, noisy but unseen.

Nyleta Wetlands from the birdhide

Closer to home we called in to Hasties Swamp otherwise known as the Nyleta Wetlands covering 57 hectares hosting 220 species of birds, including harriers, pelicans, purple swamp hens (identical to their Kiwi cousins, the Pukekos), cormorants, ducks, geese, and many more. Wandering through this national park is not allowed, however a two story bird hide is built on the edge of the lake and it was just delightful to sit in the shade catching the breeze watching the wildlife. This peace  however was soon interrupted by a horrendous hissing machine racket. Chris and I hurried outside, I thinking that it might be the water pump to the loos starting up, Chris having no idea. As we approached the land cruiser, we realised the back tyre was rapidly and noisily deflating. We soon had it changed and were glad that the vehicle had been parked rather than travelling on the road, and that there were ablutions where we could make an attempt to clean up. Back to the Central Tyre Service who changed the tyre back after replacing the valve and insisted that no further charge be made. And so we returned to camp to enjoy the rest of the afternoon sitting out under the awning until the television news called us inside.

10 October 2011 - Atherton Holiday Park, Queensland

This will be our second night here at this very pleasant park situated on the edge of town, views beyond the fence across the farmlands as far as the Seven Sisters. The bird life is not quite as wonderful as that in the Cairns Sunland Leisure Park but warrants a mention none the less. There is a swimming pool that we are unlikely to use, pawpaw trees that have conveniently dropped a couple of fruit on to our site and large spaces for caravans particularly since the masses of southern nomads have set off for home. There are quite a few permanents whom we unfortunately discovered while investigating the swimming pool; we should have remained ignorant. Our hosts are friendly Agan whose English is poor and his wife, Lorna, who is efficient but dour.

We moved here yesterday morning from our bush camp north of Tolga, so that we had uninterrupted television reception of the last two Rugby World Cup quarter finals, and any fault in that could not be laid at the feet of this caravan park. But yesterday afternoon, after enjoying the first of the two games, pleased that the Wallabies had beaten the Springboks even if they did play the lesser game (in our uneducated opinion), the surrounding countryside closed in on us. Somewhere out there was fire and while we were not directly affected, we are sure it was the smoke that caused the intermittent reception during the All Black v. Pumas game. But we were pleased to find a channel televising it live rather than having to wait for the delayed replay after midnight as we had expected.

Today dawned warm and fine, yet again, and we agreed that we were not here to sit about in front of the television. After a load of washing was duly hand wrung out (since the spin cycle did not work) and hung, and after I tried to explain the fault unsuccessfully to Agan, we drove into town and dealt with a couple of small technical matters; light bulbs and gas hoses. We also called at the Crystal Caves, a shop and display basement of wonderful crystals and other geological wonders collected from around the world. The shop has thousands of pieces of rock and crystal for sale, jewellery made of the same and something we did appreciate, some beautiful globes made with inlaid mother of pearl and other fabulous materials, each country different to the other. We decided that when we eventually settle down again in a house, we will buy ourselves one of these treasures. The under-street “caves” we left for those more enthusiastic than ourselves and instead walked the main streets sizing up everything else Atherton has to offer.

We also called into the three pet shops we found here in this small town, the first housing snakes, dragons, skinks, birds, fish and the usual puppies and kittens. We found the reptiles particularly fascinating as the local pet owners obviously do. There was a huge range of “cages” available with all sorts of interior décor. Obviously if one lives permanently in Atherton, it would be appropriate to own a small taipan housed in its own room complete with tasteful rocks and artificial plants. The birds were all very beautiful and crying to be released, however I am sure the shop owner was correct in telling me that they would be lucky to last five minutes in the wild, all having been bred for domestic pleasure. 

Atherton is the centre of a huge agricultural region, with a population of 7,100 in the 2006 census, sitting at 762 metres above sea level. Crops grown around are numerous but we have particularly noticed the potatoes sold “in their jackets” (obviously elsewhere potatoes are sold “undressed”?) and the peanuts (evidently in competition to Kingaroy).

Views over the Atherton Tablelands

We drove up Halloran’s Hill from where we had a magnificent view south, east and west across a patchwork of cultivated farmlands, and could indeed see why this area is known as the “Tablelands”.

After lunch, we headed off on one of the expeditions I had planned as a full day trip, but now ready to turn back at any point when we felt we had done enough.

First to  Gallo Dairyland, a wonderful tourist attraction on a working dairy farm, where the visitor centre sports a café, a shop selling their homemade cheeses and chocolates, and a viewing area of the cheese factory itself. As we emerged from the land cruiser to cross to the shop, we were nearly bowled over by the smell rising from the dairy shed beyond. Neither Chris nor I are particularly squeamish when it comes to agricultural smells; however this was not just fresh excrement. It rather put one off buying the well displayed wares in the refrigerated glass display counters. We have also been rather spoilt paying $6.99 for our tasty cheese, so much so that $40 a kilo for special gourmet products just seemed rather over the top and aimed for the captive and vulnerable tourist market. We did pop up the pathway in the direction of the smells to the “Nursery” and delighted in the doe-eyed calves lying prone in the shade, the doves with what appeared to be hideously deformed (but uniform) feet, a large fat ram who was keen for a cuddle and a goat sharing his bowl of tucker with a fluffy white chook. The grandkids would have loved it.

Driving south, we soon found ourselves at Malanda, stopping briefly at the falls of that name; disappointing but for those who were there to swim in the formed swimming pool at the base of these uninspiring falls on the North Johnson River which flows on south westerly to the sea passing through Innisfail. We drove on through Malanda, the administrative centre for the southern Tablelands, without stopping further.

The Nerada tea plantation

Travelling further south east, we made our way to the Nerada Tea Visitors Centre, having decided we would do a tour. The lush green growth of the neatly harvested tea bushes greeted us as we approached the plantation. This was not the first time we had seen tea grown in Australia; there is a small boutique plantation on the north side of the Daintree River, on the road to Cape Tribulation. Today there were just us and another couple there, arriving at a similar time. While there was a notice at the counter showing the tour prices, no one asked if we would like to do one. The two women in the centre were busy doing everything but noting our presence and so all four of us occupied ourselves reading the excellent interpretative panels about the building explaining not just the history, growing and processing of tea, but the history of this particular operation. Today Nerada is Australia’s biggest grower and producer of tea, with over 1,000 acres planted and delivering 6 million kilos of fresh tea leaves to the processing plant annually.

While we would applaud the concept of this visitor’s centre and the operation both commercially as a producer and in tourism, we would have to give it poor marks in aggressive marketing. We purchased a packet of tea bags, wanting to give something for the museum like experience we had there, before we left.

The Millaa Lillaa Falls

I directed us back to the main road by a very convoluted route, partly on gravel road, but through beautiful rolling pastoral land, then through farmland that could have just as easily been anywhere in New Zealand, eventually arriving at Millaa Millaa.

This village with such a strange name, is the gateway to the Southern Tablelands, and while still surrounded by a thriving dairy region, is populated by so many derelict buildings and houses. A loop road starts on the eastern edge of the village and takes the traveller to the Millaa Milla Falls, which plunge attractively down into a swimming hole enjoyed by foreign tourists even at the end of the Dry, the Zillie Falls which are higher again, but deemed too dangerous for more than a fenced peek at the top, and then the Elinjaa Falls, very pretty, less popular and where one can walk down to the base to enjoy their beauty.

Once back out on to the main road, we turned back through Millaa Millaa and travelled north west, calling in to lookout high above Millaa Millaa and the tablelands, before joining Highway One, heading back toward Atherton. We stopped again, this time at the Mt Hypipamee National Park and walked to the Dinner Falls where the head waters of the Barron River cascade through a deep canyon, and to see a crater, seventy metres across, fifty eight metres down to the green murky water which then continues on for a further eighty two metres before it turns back under the viewing platform. Evidently no intrepid divers have been game to explore this crater as yet. This was further evidence that this whole area is a geologist’s paradise with all of the volcanic history etched through the landscape.

Recycled dairy factory at Millaa Millaa

It was already late in the afternoon and so we came on back to the park, not tempted by several other attractions en route. We were glad that dinner was waiting for us in the crock pot, so there was little to do. It had been a very full and wonderful day, having covered about 150 kilometres.

8 October 2011 - Rocky Creek War Memorial Park, near Tolga, Queensland

We are still here, camped early alongside a couple of motorhomes, one of which sports NZMCA wings. No doubt they are as us, seated in front of their television watching the first quarter final of the Rugby World Cup. We were happy to find that it is being televised free to air and the second match will follow. Alas the fourth match, that between New Zealand and Argentina will not be on until midnight tomorrow and so this will entail being woken in the middle of the night to see it or alternatively simply missing it. Alas, for rugby aficionados, this weekend in Australia is all about the Bathurst 1000.

We spent a good night here along with a dozen other parties, not disturbed at all by the road noise, and woke to yet another fine warm day. We packed our lunch and moved the caravan further away from the road to the end of the camping area, hoping that there it would be more secure to abandon for the day.

Back south to Tolga, then east toward Lake Tinaroo, an irrigation dam across the Barron River, the first of its kind in Queensland completed in 1958. The 28 kilometre drive around the lake passes through Tinaroo, at the dam point where quite a holiday village has become established back from the very pleasant picnic and recreational areas. We stopped and read the statistics of the construction and attempted to absorb the map showing the irrigated areas, many of which we had travelled through when we were based further north at Mareeba prior to our trip up the Cape.

Lake Tinaroo

Once across the dam, the road enters the Danbulla National Park and State Forest. This gravel road follows the lake edge for some time, offering access to camp sites and boat ramps and then winds up through the forest eventually joining the Gordonvale – Atherton road we travelled yesterday.

I was fascinated to see that the trees drowned in the filling of the dam over fifty years ago are still standing with their bare branches reaching out of the lake like ghosts, defying the law of decomposition.

The remains of an abandoned farm

En route we stopped at several points to enjoy short walks by yet another “maar”, Lake Euromoo, around the Mobo Creek Crater which is home to some very elusive platypus and around the Cathedral Fig Tree, one of the most impressive strangler trees to be seen alleged to be 500 years old, 48 metres tall and extending over 1000 m square metres. Lunch was enjoyed in a deserted picnic area which boasts toilets, picnic shelters, and two lone chimneys, remnants of a life similar to those return soldiers who settled and then after years of effort had to abandon their holdings in Mangapurua. But unlike my grandparents, these Australians were dairy farmers and the land was unfertile and dry and totally unsuited to such enterprise. This was back in 1924 long before irrigation was a reality. I guess the world is full of such sad stories.

This is the land of the amethyst python, a very large and lovely tree snake, which I have yet to spot on our walks. We did however find the discarded skin of a long snake by our picnic table; th thin scaly patterns faded.

The National Park is home to many wonderful species of bird and creature, but the one that particularly fascinated us, and thankfully remained unseen was the native Giant White Tailed Rat. At the entrance of the park there was a special notice to announce its presence and a warning as to its habits: chewing through tents, plastic eskis, tin cans and vehicle wiring. Imagine what they would do to an ankle!!

The Curtain Fig Tree

Back on the main road, we travelled through to Yungaburra, which we had rushed through yesterday pulling the caravan heading for our ultimate destination. Today we drove slowly around this village, much of it heritage listed. Many of these otherwise fine old buildings are desperately in need of maintenance however I imagine that such undertaking is too grand for the profits gained from the modest trade. Again, such a familiar story.

We called at the platypus viewing platform on the Peterson Creek, however it was evident from the still murky waters that the cute little fellows were all asleep in their river bank burrows and would not be out hunting until dusk, by which time we would be long gone. We visited the Curtain Fig Tree close by and were duly impressed as we had been by the Cathedral Fig Tree back up the road.

Our watches reminded us that the Games would soon be starting so we headed back through Atherton, filling our water containers at the Information Centre on the way and soon arrived back here to find our caravan where it had been left and all in order.

7 October 2011 - Rocky Creek War Memorial Park, near Tolga, Queensland

As I start this, the sun is low in the sky, shining through the rain splattered windows. The few showers of the afternoon have freshened everything up, but not so much as to announce the beginning of the Wet here in Far North Queensland.

Our camp for the night is a large open area set aside as a memorial to the hospital bases for the Australian troops during World War II. At least 60,000 soldiers were treated here or close by in the numerous field hospitals and military bases located on the Atherton Tablelands. In fact troops numbering between 200,000 and 300,000 were stationed here at some time during the time of the Pacific war theatre. I have yet to learn for sure, but would suspect that this whole fertile area of the country was enormously important for providing fresh fruit and vegetables to the invalids and their support personnel.

We are delighted to be back here in Australia, the land of adventure and opportunity (probably no more than New Zealand) but also the land of warmth and less rain. We spent a month in New Zealand attending to business matters and catching up with our family. A month however is only long enough to touch base with those few in the short spaces of time they have available, because unlike us, they are still so busy working and bringing up children with all the demands and restrictions that entails.

I have moaned to myself about the cold wet weather in New Zealand and blamed the unwellness that hampered my enjoyment on the inclement days. This is actually quite unfair, because it was after all September and we enjoyed warm sunny days in the first week of our trip. And in those first sunny days we were fortunate to have the opportunity to participate in the grand opening for the Rugby World Cup which is still in progress. The afternoon of that ceremony we found a park for our motorhome within walking distance of the Auckland waterfront and wandered along through the growing crowds, the incredibly festive air and delighted with the bright decoration of the many flags announcing the competing teams. I had thought Australia enormously festive and patriotic around Australia Day and the months thereafter, however New Zealand, while not normally so, is giving Australia a run for the money this month. We have since enjoyed watching several of the qualifying games on television and are hopeful that the quarter finals and those through to the final will be televised free to air here in Australia, this land that prefers League and Aussie Rules.

We spent much of that month discovering little treasures we had stored away and relearning living in our motorhome. On returning here, we have had to do the same and in the process had a few surprises. Those come of having aging memories, in many ways a bonus.

One of our first tasks was to call at the supermarket and re-provision our perishable food stocks. Chris helpfully suggested that the list should include all those stocks we kept normally in the fridge; an obvious starting point. However when  we arrived back to the caravan with a lighter pocket and heavier shopping bags and started to store everything away, I found that I had carefully wrapped bottles and jars of condiments in plastic food wrap, then stood them in a bed of talcum powder in a square bucket to deter ants and the like. This was all carefully tucked away out of sight, hence had slipped my examination and memory. We now have barbeque sauce, sweet chilli sauce and the like to do us through until at least the end of next year!

Apart from recovering from the horrors of our Jetstar direct flight, we had to attend to a few maintenance matters before considering venturing on. The air conditioner in the caravan had given up the ghost before we left so before we returned we had identified the agent for the correct make and contacted them with a view to having them look at the problem. Chris was sure that the fault lay in the control panel and told the technician when we arrived. They had other ideas and so dismantled the whole mechanism on the roof without success and finally came to the conclusion that the fault lay in the control panel. This was duly replaced and we were out of the workshop within two hours, the work and parts all covered under warranty.

The second problem related to the UHF radio that had not functioned since the aerial nearly fell off when we hit the corrugations heading north toward Cape York. Chris had tightened nuts and taped up the connections so that the further torture did not do any more damage. The young chap at Austek Communications in Cairns took off the tape, fiddled a bit, tried the radio and found that there was nothing wrong. Very odd! No charge he said, but we were flabbergasted that a different day had produced such a miracle. This same young chap suggested that the aerial whip end we had was not the best for the harsh treatment it was likely to be subjected to and we decided to have a hardier variety installed, keeping the first as a backup. Chris and I believe however that there is a break and that the fiddling has temporarily corrected the situation until it detaches. This would offer a logical solution or explanation for the miracle, but does then put us in the position of wondering when that break will occur. Oh well…..

As an aside and in defence of Jetstar; they provide a budget service, direct as we required, and while they were two hours late on the Cairns – Auckland leg, they were otherwise efficient and professional, even handing out the bottles of water at $3.50 each for those who chose not to imbibe of more exciting beverages. We chose to book and fly back with them, despite the bare bones nature of the first flight, and after all, you get what you pay for. We will however in future seek an alternative service if such exists to suit our purposes.

And so with all in order, fuel and water tanks full, fridge and pantry replenished, and feeling fit once more, we set off from Cairns this morning, after three nights in the excellent Sunland Leisure Park, and waking to the gloriously noisy chorus of birdsong, heading south as far as Gordonvale and then west up the Mulgrave River valley, then across the picturesque Gillies Range, winding our way round and round, higher and higher up to the tableland, through the open gum clad hills to the dense rain forest. We stopped off to visit the Crater Lakes National Park, firstly a coffee stop at Lake Barrine and a short work to see two very large Bull Kauri trees (similar but different to those kauri in New Zealand, existing only in this particular part of the country, and that between 600 and 1000 metres above sea level) and to admire the little cruise launch setting off across this very picturesque “maar” (a special kind of  volcanic crater lake that works with the heating of water rather than magma – I am no geologist). A few kilometres on, we drove in to Lake Eacham, a smaller but more accessible “maar” offering swimming access and a delightful three kilometre walk around the perimeter, the latter we took advantage of after lunch.

We decided to push on through to Atherton rather than explore the supposedly charming village of Yungaburra; we called at the Visitor Centre to find out where the very low cost camp advertised in the CMCA bible was. Atherton is a RV Friendly Town and the man in the Centre endorsed that. We were disappointed to learn that the “free long term park” was in fact ten kilometres north of Atherton and is not a lot more secure than many of the excellent roadside spots Queensland offers for travellers such as ourselves. I am sorry if that sounds ungracious because it does after all have excellent toilets, picnic shelters, barbeques, shade and water (even if non-potable) but we had supposed it might be more convenient to leave the caravan for the allowable 72 hours while we explored this area further. We may have to review our options. However for now we are comfortable, safe and glad for the spot, all for the cost of a gold coin donation.