23 October 2011 - Argylla Tourist Park, Mt Isa, Queensland

Forty hours later and we are now anticipating the final Rugby World Cup game. You might think our life has revolved around this six week-long event in New Zealand, but it is not really so, and certainly not as it has for some we know. I am sure there will be great cricket tests and tennis grand slams and cycling tours that will fill the void for sports fans, however it is the rugby that has captured me over the last little while, and for me, not a sports fan at all, that is really something.

Of course we did watch the Wallabies victory over Wales on Friday night and were pleased with the result. Interestingly, nowhere but a brief mention on the news, did we hear further about it. For Australia, rugby is over and out for the time being and I suspect we might be among a minority hanging on to our screens this afternoon.

But enough, for now….

Yesterday morning we drove into town and booked a mine tour, the only one now available here in Mount Isa, that with Hard Times Mine, a purpose built underground mine, constructed 20 metres beneath the Information Centre and museum. Apparently Xstrata Mt Isa Mine used to run tours for tourists and anyone else interested, however about eight years ago, a woman broke her leg whilst on the tour and sued the company. I have no idea of the financial outcome, however the whole fuss and bother, and no doubt the cost of the law suit, persuaded the mining company to put an end to the tours. Thank you Lady Tourist!!!

Pressure was put on the company soon after and it was agreed that the mine would construct this dummy mine here in the town, investing $16 million or so in the project. There are about 1.2 kilometres of tunnels with all the fans, electrics, pneumatics, and machinery that a real mine has. The equipment in the mines is authentic but obsolete. It all works and is of the era when the guide, Bill, worked his 33 years in the mine.

After an early lunch we returned to the centre and set off with Bill and his eight year old grandson, Trent, a worthy apprentice tour guide. We were kitted out with orange paper jumpsuits, complete with front zippers, gumboots, one marked red and the other green, orange helmets, heavy belts from which we hung a heavier battery to power our headlights. Bill was similarly dressed however Trent’s token gesture toward the safety requirements was sneakers and helmet. Obviously the costume had more to do with the dramatic experience and less to do with regulation.

We were shown various pieces of retired machinery on the surface then taken to the shaft lift, photos taken, then told that the brake on the lift mechanism was unfortunately faulty and we would be driven down into the mine. Personally I think the lift has never been operational but then maybe I am just a sceptic.

In the mine we were led about from one tunnel to another to experience and see the equipment that had been used to dig the tunnel, would have taken us from the shaft had it been working and pretended to drill holes with a real pneumatic drill. At one point we were asked to all switch our lights off and experience the absolute silent darkness when the lights all go off. I, who do not like enclosed spaces, was captured by the whole experience, asked questions as I always do, probably driving the other tourists mad, and found out that Trent’s ninth birthday was just six days away. Because of my claustrophobia, I had not been hell bent on doing the tour however Chris was keen, so I went along, and as always, was so very pleased I had. We would recommend this tour to all visitors of Mt Isa, after all, mining is what Mt Isa is all about.

In 1923 John Campbell Miles discovered rich mineral ore in these Selwyn Ranges. It took some years and a few ownership changes before the mine showed a profit. Silver, lead, copper and zinc are all mined here and it was the more intensive copper extraction and export that turned the business around in the years of the Second World War. Initially there was the mine town on the western side of the Leichardt River and the other town across the river; and then as the mine expanded, all residences and the town business was moved to the Eastern side. With unity at last, the town has thrived and is a city with all the services you could expect in the outback. It does still however close on Sundays except for the IGA just up the road from the camp.

Today we set off up to Lake Moondarra, 16 kilometres north west of the city, the manmade reservoir on the Leichardt River first operational in 1958. Interestingly it was constructed by an American company, Utah Construction. Prior to the dam, Mt Isa had sourced its water from a series of bores on the bed of the Leichardt River and the Rifle Creek dam. The information regarding the construction of the dam speaks of the rocky gorge of the river, and while the word gorge is not one that springs to mind when one considers this area, it must indeed be so, because there are numerous islands in the lake and the hills around the side of the lake are rocky and rugged if not terribly high.

Lake Moondarra

There is a considerable area around the lake that is available for the enjoyment of the Mt Isa population. We enjoyed a picnic lunch under a well-constructed and particularly clean shelter, in the company of dozens of gallahs and one lone peewee. Later we drove further around the lake and saw the areas put aside for water ski clubs and the like, and did a short walk from where we had lovely views over the lake and the recreational areas. Along the path were excellent interpretive panels giving details of the trees and again I realised that a gum is not necessarily a gum, and that the huge wealth of information, botanical, nutritional and medicinal that was carried in the heads of the aboriginal people when they roamed this expanse was far more than I could ever begin to absorb and retain.

We called in to the one open supermarket on our return and stocked up with what we could in anticipation of the next stage of our journey. Up to this time and even then, we had swung from one decision to the next regarding the direction we would take. We were agreed however that we would head either east or west rather than take the road south which, if followed diligently, would have eventually taken us to Burke, hundreds and hundreds of dirt road to see the famous pub.

21 October 2011 - Argylla Tourist Park, Mount Isa, Queensland

It is still early afternoon, earlier than I would normally put fingers to keys. The day has clouded over, a warm breeze drifts through the awning and Chris and I are resting having finished lunch; he reading today’s paper and me here playing with my blog.

We breakfasted early this morning then took the land cruiser around to MAS Mechanical for its service, walking the three and a half kilometres back to the caravan park. Walking in the warm breeze before nine in the morning is rather wonderful, although we were singularly unimpressed with the area we walked through. It was definitely not the classiest area of Mount Isa, and I would hope there are none less classy. Fortunately most untidy houses had high wire fences around them, restraining the vicious man eating dogs that barked at us as we passed. Those residents that were home and out of bed were either sitting about looking like they weren’t too anxious to head for work (they might have just come off shift?) or were engaged in angry domestic rows.

The next couple of hours were spent reading and doing laundry, then just before eleven the garage rang to say the vehicle was ready. This co-incided well with the hair appointment I had made on our way back earlier in the day, so Chris walked the distance alone in the heat back to the garage while I sat chatting with my hairdresser in an air-conditioned salon. She was most informative about her life,  some of which echoed my own. I did have to walk about half a kilometre back to the park and was pleased to have my straw hat on. A nesting magpie flew at me quite aggressively four times in a row. I now realise that I was, after all, far too hasty in turning off my negative attitude to magpies. They are, here just as they are in Otago, nasty natured after all, even if they do sing well.

And Chris was happy to find the service less than half that quoted by the Toyota dealer. All in all, an excellent day so far.

20 October 2011 - Argylla Tourist Park, Mount Isa, Queensland

We arrived in Mount Isa this morning soon after ten and found the Information Centre, acquiring a list of caravan parks and a handful of other useful information. The Argylla Tourist Park is situated on the eastern edge of the city, rural on one side and shielded from the town and all that goes with that on the other side by a hillock of rock. We chose this above the other three parks because the three big signs as we approached the city had cleverly won us over. So far we have not regretted the choice.

The journey through to Mount Isa was quite wonderful this morning. We travelled through rugged red hills, climbing up into the Selwyn Range, and then came upon the city laid out in front of us at 356 metres ASL. The first impression was as if we had simply arrived at a great open cast mine, no more and no less.

In fact that is what Mt Isa is, but it is also a city of about 23,500 people. It is dominated by the sprawling Xstrata Mount Isa Mine with its 270 metre exhaust stack from the lead smelter. Xstrata Mount Isa Mine is the nation’s deepest underground mine and is still the largest single producer of copper, silver, lead and zinc in the world. This record will not last for too long; the Olympic Mine in South Australia, currently in its planning and consent stages, will dwarf even this mining operation.

After setting up camp and having lunch, amid the company of a dozen noisy Apostle birds, we set off back into town to find a garage to undertake the 140,000 kilometre service on the land cruiser. The Toyota dealer was happy to oblige; they could book us in early November and it would cost about $1,000. Reeling from shock, we thanked them for the information and backed out, before checking out the next name on the list. The vehicle is now booked in for a service at a price nearer 50% of Bell & More’s quote, at MAS Mechanical at 8.30 am tomorrow. We will set the alarm.

19 October 2011 - Fountain Spring Rest Area, Barkly Highway, Queensland

Our trip into Cloncurry this morning was a continuation of the same beautiful scenery enjoyed the afternoon before. Outcrops of rugged red rock sprang from the otherwise flat, or seemingly flat, stations that are accessed by gravel roads from the highway, the entries barely marked, the tracks disappearing into the distance. Actual evidence of human habitation is scarce, the buildings and settlements are beyond view of the passing tourist. While it was evident from the road side fences that there must be cattle grazing somewhere near, the only beasts we saw were two that had been hit by road trains and lay inflated beside the road.

In 1861 when Burke and Wills were battling through the terrain looking for the Gulf of Carpentaria, Burke named the river Cloncurry after his cousin. Six years later, one Ernest Henry came wandering through the area looking for grazing land and instead discovered copper. Today the mine bearing his name still operates just north of the township. The town was surveyed in 1876 and given the same name as the river. Today it has a population of about 3,500. Situated at an altitude of 186 metres above sea level, Cloncurry enjoys much higher temperatures, often reaching the high 40s in the summer months and was notedn fact as having Australia’s highest recorded temperature taken in 1889 of 53 degrees centigrade. Chris says this is piffle because he has seen contrary facts in the Guinness Book of Records and other sources. Perhaps in 1889 it was the highest recorded temperature, but not necessarily after.

Cloncurry has also suffered hideous floods over the years and perhaps has had to rebuild or patch all too often to bother too much with the niceties of architecture. It seems to have all the services and shops that one would need, but did not appeal to us greatly. Having said that, we did meet lovely people and enjoyed our time there very much.

When we first arrived we drove to the Information Centre which is situated in the Mary Kathleen Park. Here one can visit the onsite museum and see memorabilia from the Mary Kathleen Uranium Mine and Township and  see a water bottle discarded by Robert Burke on his outing with Wills. We decided to give that all a miss but did walk to the top of the hill behind the Centre, the best Cloncurry can offer as a lookout hill. The view below and all around did little to enhance our initial impression.

We then drove around to the Cloncurry Cemetery to visit in particular the Afghan corner, where the graves all face Mecca as opposed to the others which face toward the coast. The graves date from the turn of the century to about 1950. Cloncurry was Queensland’s largest “Ghantown” in the late 1880s and early 1900s. It was estimated that there were more than 200 Afghan Cameleers and 2000 camels providing transport in the Cloncurry district.

The cameleers with their strings of camels carried supplies, tools and machinery from the nearest railhead for homesteads, mining camps and townships returning with bales of wool and bags of ore. They also carried firewood, railway sleepers, telegraph poles, other necessary items and sometimes even water.

Despite their important contribution to Australia’s development, the cameleers were not always accepted and were often the victims of racial and religious intolerance. Although many lived most of their lives in Australia, there were not eligible for Australian citizenship because they were born in Asia. Many European teamsters objected to the cameleers for economic reasons. Camels could traverse country too difficult for horse and bullock teams, thus the time taken was shorter and the costs of transporting goods cheaper.

Only two graves remain and only one marked; that of the Ghantown’s mullah (priest), Syid O Mar who died in 1915, aged 45, from unknown causes. The Afghans who came with the camels are part of the more obscure history of this country, less celebrated but more interesting to me. Perhaps we should have visited that museum after all?

After lunch we visited the John Flynn Place Museum and Art Gallery. This was a fascinating exhibition, or rather a series of exhibitions, that was well worth the effort, time and entry fee. The greater part of the museum commemorates the work of Reverend John Flynn and the beginnings of his brainchild, the Royal Flying Doctor Service, which began in Cloncurry in May 1928.  There is a one third scale of the plane that flew the first mission, a single engine DH150 named Victory. There is also a display and interpretive section about the Treagar pedal wireless and stories about how this revolutionised life in the outback. The opening up of communication and providing a net of safety for this community spread over such a great area, included the School of the Air. Audio tapes, a DVD and a mass of written information on all of this kept us occupied foralmost a couple of hours.

Before leaving the Museum we popped up to the top two floors to see the Fred McKay Art Gallery; there were quite a few excellent works.

We managed to pick up today's Courier Mail and thus armed, set off west toward Mount Isa. Our camp tonight is halfway between Mt Isa and Cloncurry, is as close to the road as last night, however this road is much busier than the Mathilda Highway. Huge trucks pulling three trailers are transporting material toward Mt Isa, sharing the road with the occasional stock truck and a variety of other traffic. At Cloncurry we noted that the railway does pass through, but then heads way south toward Duchess before heading back north west to Mt Isa. Obviously the roadway is one half the distance and the preferred option.

There are three other parties in here tonight; one a family of six, the four children between about eight and fifteen. Chris paused to chat with them and learned they have been travelling for a month, and are now heading back home on the east coast after having been up into the Northern Territory. They have a vehicle loaded with camping gear and somehow all manage to squeeze in!

Chris has just returned from the Gents after seeing the following graffiti on the wall which clearly spells out how the road train drivers feel about the likes of us:

The truckie wrote:

The next war Australia fights, they should send the Grey Nomads. There are a f…ing enough of them!

A traveller scrubbed out the f-word and wrote:

And history proves they have the balls to get the job done.

That says it all, doesn’t it. I shall start waving at the road train drivers.

18 October 2011 - Terry Smith Lookout, Matilda Highway, Queensland

If one were to circumnavigate Australia on Highway One, a trip of some 14,000 kilometres, some of which we have travelled up the east coast, one would now set off from Normanton across 635 kilometres of  unsealed road to Borroloola in the Northern Territory and on toward Katherine. However we, as so many, have chosen to avoid dirt roads where possible, and would take the roundabout detour down to Mt Isa, across to Threeways, and up toward Katherine via Daly Waters. And more to the point, it is not our intention to start a straight forward round trip at this stage of the game. In fact, we are still undecided as to which direction we will travel on through the summer, and have decided only to go as far as Mt Isa, via Cloncurry, before tossing a coin or spinning the bottle.

The route from Karumba to Cloncurry is just short of 450 kilometres, a distance that can be travelled quite safely in one day, but for us, deserves to be taken more slowly.

Brolgas and a pelican beside a lagoon

We travelled the road back to Normanton, back around the wetlands, past the many flocks of brolgas standing in the dry lagoons waiting for the Wet, dodging the road-killed feral pigs, and remarking on the kapok trees, now identified, their pods hanging like Christmas decorations, and waving to all those we passed as local custom decrees.

On reaching Normanton, we bought a loaf of bread at the inflated price of $4.50, checked to see if more up to date papers had arrived since Saturday and topped up with diesel once more. We also discovered a fact we had missed when we stayed here just a few days ago; that Normanton was used by Neville Shute in his novel “A Town Like Alice” as a model for his town like Alice. When he visited this place back in the early 20^th century, it was short on services and short on women, as it still is today by modern standards. I did reread the book just a few months ago, and am now regretting that I swapped it in one of the many excellent book exchanges we have made use of. Chris belatedly expressed an interest in reading it.

The morning had got away on us as they do some days, and we covered only forty or so kilometres more before stopping to have lunch.

For about one hundred kilometres the road climbed away from the Gulf so gradually, one had the sensation of travelling through expanses of flat pastoral land, much of it cleared and surprisingly monotonous. We pulled over at Bang Bank Jump Up and Chris catnapped while I read my book, and then armed with a fresh bottle of cold water, we set off again for the Burke and Wills Roadhouse at almost the halfway point between Normanton and Cloncurry. Once past Bang Bang Jump Up, the road did become more interesting. We saw our first red kangaroos, as opposed to the eastern grey that have become so common (to us), saw many flocks of green budgerigars rise from the side of the road in front of us (I learned that the true budgie is only green and that all the coloured ones are mutations inbred for human pleasure) and saw the many hundreds of harriers and carrion creatures carrying out their road clearing chores.

For those who do not know, Burke and Wills were very famous early explorers here in Australia who travelled the route from Melbourne to the Gulf of Carpentaria, essentially for the purpose of installing lines of communication between the southern Australian cities and the rest of the world via South East Asia. Their journey was ill-fated from the beginning; they set off with a huge party in 1860, were poorly qualified to undertake such a journey, set off too late in the season, lost many of their party to either mutiny or death, and themselves perished after they turned toward home. One of their number made it out to tell the story. Many books have been written on the subject, one I read soon after arriving here earlier this year. Note the above is a very simple and not very accurate précis of this great Australian story, which I am hardly qualified to recount.

However the point of my mentioning the above, is to give reference to the fact that there are several points on the map around this area which honour that journey. We assumed incorrectly that the Burke and Wills Roadhouse would be such a one and were rather disappointed to find nothing to explain the significance of that actual spot or any reference to them at all except for a mural across the entrance, of the two explorers and a train of camels.

Our camp beside the Matilda Highway

The Roadhouse is situated on the crossroads of the Burke Development Road (aka Matilda Highway) and the Wills Development Road. Perhaps the significance of the Roadhouse name is no more the fact that it intersects the roads with those names? We had understood it to be the site of one of their camps.

As we alighted at the roadhouse, we remarked that the grass and growth all about seemed so much greener than before, and then noticed that water lay in many of the roadside depressions. It had evidently rained not long ago; even though we had personally had had none apart from a few futile drops on the windscreen. Australia’s vegetation has resilience to drought and the ability to reincarnate annually or whenever rain should fall; it had taken little to rejuvenate the growth here across this landscape.

We arrived here at our camp on the side of the highway about eighty kilometres north of Cloncurry close to five o’clock, the second time we have travelled on the roads so late in the afternoon. Again we were pleased to have the air-conditioning and perhaps this habit of delayed travel during the day will become the norm as the temperatures continue to increase.

Yet another humid evening with the temperatures still in the high thirties, and tonight, lightening, both sheet and fork, rather unusual, is flashing in the east. We are sharing this excellent expanse with just one other party, a keen birdwatcher travelling on his own.

Tonight the bugs are plaguing us again. We have just set the zapper up, powered through the inverter. I am not sure how they are getting in around the fly screens; however it is almost as if they are laughing at our pathetic efforts to fence them out. Both of us have even more bites to scratch and we are thoroughly fed up with the hitchhikers that joined us at Normanton; the tiny ants that have found their way in to every nook and cranny and have developed a dislike for the ant killer laid in jar lids for their pleasure. They have also found their way inside this computer and I only hope they have no appetite for electric wires and components. When we reach Mt Isa I shall go see an IT expert about them. I am sure it is not an uncommon problem here.

17 October 2011 - Sunset Caravan Park, Karumba, Queensland

What a day yesterday turned out to be! When my parents contacted us on Skype, I expressed surprise that Dad had called before the end of the Rugby League test between the Kangaroos and the Kiwis. He said he was too disgusted to watch the game further and we agreed with him; the final score was 42:6 to the Australians. So we were delighted that the tables were turned when we watched the All Blacks beat the Wallabies an hour or so later. An excellent day for all; the Australians obviously superior league players and the mighty All Blacks moving on through to the finals, which we shall look forward to in another week. We sat out under the awning for both games, chairs side by side, peering through the caravan door at the television. Toward the end of the second game, the mosquitos attacked, avoiding or detouring on their way to the bug zapper. Today we have felt the aftermath of the welts.

This morning we woke to yet another warm day. I felt a lot better and so the decision was made to move on to Karumba, the port on the Norman River mouth, accessed by a good sealed road seventy kilometres long which skirts the wetlands which cover extensive areas throughout the Gulflands. The ebb and flow of the tides create spectacular estuaries, mudflats and saltpans that support a diverse ecosystem. This whole system has two very diverse faces, dependant on the monsoons. We drove the route, through open woodlands and then through wide yellow grasslands, great expanses of burnt land, and dry or almost dry lagoons full of brolgas and sarus cranes. This was all very different from country previously travelled.

Karumba is divided in to two distinctive areas, the town proper and Karumba Point Beach, the population of these combined areas a mere 600. There are three camping grounds and a multitude of motels and hotels. We chose to stay at the Sunset Caravan Park, that closest to the shore and thus best located to view the famed sunsets over the Gulf of Carpentaria. We were set up soon after 11 am then relaxed through until after lunch when we set off into the town part of Karumba. We called firstly at the Information Centre and spent some time chatting with a couple of locals there, the official who has spent her entire life in the Gulf and her friend who is employed by MMG, the mining company who has a processing plant here.

MMG mines zinc and lead south west in the Lawn Hill National Park and piped as a slurry along a 360 kilometre pipe line. Here in Karumba the slurry is refined and pumped out onto ships and carted off for export. Many of the staff here are of the FIFO variety, the notorious fly in, fly out, hence adding little to the local economy. Locals are given priority opportunity for employment by MMG, which means that many young people here do not necessarily have to leave this rather isolated backwater. Karumba advertises itself as the Outback on the Sea.

Live cattle exports are another of the industries operated here, however this, like the transport of the lead, is all kept fairly low key.

Many grey nomads spend the winter up here enjoying the excellent fishing, but they have all returned south now so the tourist businesses here are mainly on Out of Season mode. For instance, the Barramundi Discovery Centre where these famous fish are bred is closed for the season. Instead we had to make do with Barramundi and chips for dinner, a default option that we particularly enjoyed.

We spoke to these two women about the isolation, about education for their children and about the Wet.

Our camp at Karumba

Both Karumba and Normanton are nearly always cut off for some weeks during the wet each year. Supplies are sometimes battled through on the normal road routes being ferried across the flooded sections, an unsatisfactory solution according to the end consumers, because the extra handling tends to cause more deterioration than the delays in themselves. The preferred option is the barging of provisions from Cairns around to Weipa and then by local barge down to the Norman River. Normanton is eighty three kilometres by barge from the mouth, a long seven and a half to eight hours journey, the return trip a faster flow driven five hours, dodging flood debris.

Most send their secondary age children out to boarding school at Cairns, Townsville, Charters Towers or beyond. There is a secondary school at Normanton, however we were led to believe that it is the least desired option for those with high aspirations for their offspring.

Finally we tore ourselves away from these friendly and informative women and drove around Karumba to see for ourselves what there was on offer. By this time it was two thirty, half an hour after off season closing. The bakery and post office were closed, however the superette and the pub were open, but we had no call for either of their services. We noted that most residences sported a boat of one kind or another, many boats of more than fifty feet or more, in a state of disrepair.

There was little to inspire us in the town and we were glad we had elected to stay at the beach rather than upriver in the town. The one caravan park in this spot was nearly empty, and we had done nothing to improve the situation. Obviously most other travellers thought like us, and while this park at the beach is apparently empty compared to the busy winter season, we find it pleasantly busy enough.

The rules and regulations for the park told us that there was a Happy Hour on Monday nights, where guests should turn up with their drinks, nibbles and entertainment provided by the hosts. We took our coffee along to the large communal area, to discover the one other couple who had decided to participate. It turned out that the camp hosts had decided that it was now the Off Season, so their obligations were zilch. We spent more than an hour chatting with Ray and Bev, enjoying their company enormously and then we all went over to the sandy beach to watch the sunset.

Karumba sunset

After taking a few hundred photographs, Chris and I wandered down to the local store and ordered Barra and chips, which as mentioned earlier, were absolutely delicious. Our only gripe was that we were not advised of the surcharge for using our credit card. We believe it is an obligation on the shopkeeper to advertise the fact they will do this and offer the opportunity to pay by debit card instead. The folk at Undara did this, and while it is annoying when you are trying to operate just with a credit card, one does appreciate the openness.

So today has been a wonderfully successful day as was yesterday; we came to Karumba to experience the sunset and the Barra, and both have more than met our expectations.

16 October 2011 - Normanton Tourist Park, Gulf of Carpentaria, Queensland

Two days of relaxing, enjoying even less stress than the normal diet of no stress; prescription for illnesses caused by travel. How hideous it must be for those who suffer like me to spend ten days at the holiday destination unwell just in time to head back to work! I consider myself fortunate in this regard.

The caravan park here is just the best sort for fudging out. We are surrounded in shady trees filled with a miscellany of birds, and the barking geckos and frogs are out in force at night. The fellow tourists however are scarcer, most having headed further south chasing the cooler temperatures. There is a pool here, quite sizeable that draws most of those staying here at one stage of the day or another. To date my “doctor” has forbidden such activity, however I do intend to get in at least once before we move on.

Yesterday morning we wandered up the wide quiet streets to Normanton Traders to buy a more up to date newspaper, or alternatively some publication that may offer a television guide. We found a selection of the Brisbane Courier Mail, able to choose from any one day of last week, and found last Wednesday’s edition that included a weekly summary of what was on the box. Hence we were able to confirm the time of the big Rugby World Cup games this weekend. As we wandered back at a pace suitable for this steamy weather, we noted the beautiful flowers on the trees that decorate the town; frangipani, hibiscus, and so many unknown varieties.

Outside the shire administration building is a concrete statue of Krys the Crocodile, a life size tribute to a crocodile shot by Krystina Powlowski in July 1957. Her husband Ron, who photographed the slain beast estimated Krys to be over two tons. He measured the length to be 8.63 meters and took several photographs to establish the correct size. Most were lost in the 1974 floods however one graces the informative panel alongside the replica. Both the crocodile (even in death) and Krystina with her gun have that “don’t mess with me” look.

Krys the crocodile

Here in Normanton, aboriginal people make up about 60% of the population, but none of those you encounter in shops and service industries, or their ancestors, have been here for more than two hundred years. The council have gone out of their way here to erect signs and parks and areas for recreation, such as the wonderful fishing area on the old bridge over the Norman River, which we stopped to walk over ourselves this morning. Here there are seats, barbeque plates, fish cleaning and gutting benches with water laid on, stainless steel tubes to hold your rod on the side of the bridge in case you need to leave your rod for a moment, rubbish bins, but alas, as so often the case with the ungrateful public, there are cigarette butts, empty soft drink bottles and cans, fish guts and large carnivorous ants on patrol. Hopefully when the monsoon rains arrive, the filth will be washed away and the area will again be restored to the excellent state it was when the council presented it to the people. This morning there was an aboriginal family down under the bridge, sitting as they do in the shade, but then it is Sunday, and we are now doing the same here under our awning.  

The afternoon was spent even more sedentary waiting for the game between France and Wales showing at 5.30 pm. We set our chairs up outside the van, turned in toward the door from where we could see the television. Mosquito coils were set up, along with the ultra violet light bug zapper. Chris doused himself in Bushman’s bug spray, had dinner as prepared as it could be prior to the actual cooking and we were ready. These matters go down in history to be recalled by rugby lovers but for us will be forgotten within the weeks to come. France won by one point, defending well but playing below expectations given that Wales had their main scrum man injured and replaced early in the piece and their captain disgraced for a high tackle, spending the rest of the game watching from the side. The short sided team went on to play bravely, adopted by the crowd as the darlings of the day, despite their eventual loss. And so, it will be France who plays the winner of tonight’s match; the Wallabies v. All Blacks.

This morning I spent time in the kitchen fighting an infestation of tiny ants, found in the milk powder as I went to make up more milk. Had I a sieve it would have been of little use, because they would have simply enjoyed the game; Passing through the Sieve. I laborously spooned the powder into a plate and caught each one individually. Unfortunately this is not a failsafe method and there will no doubt be some who will survive to swim in Chris’ cereal. Chris assures me that they will do little harm, and given that they do not reek of formalin when squashed, they should simply add protein.  

We went out for a drive, hoping to do a circuit about the lagoon wetland areas of Normanton, a drive of perhaps fifty kilometres. Unfortunately the RACQ map shows routes that are barred from public thoroughfare and so we ended up driving up and down roads going nowhere. The sky had closed in on the landscape, seeming at first to be like bush fire smoke, but soon interpreted as humid fog. Later it cleared, and even later the wind came up, chasing any residue away.

We called into the Railway Station and wandered about through the palms, mango trees and old engines, leaving with four ripe mangoes rescued from the lawn. We would like to visit the museum, but it was not open today and there was no indication as to when it might do so. Perhaps we will check out the Information Centre again tomorrow morning, but then who knows what tomorrow will bring.