7 February 2012 - Prince of Wales Showgrounds, Bendigo, Victoria

Today is the third anniversary of Black Saturday, that hideous day when so many lost their lives in bush fires just forty or so kilometres north west of Melbourne. Tonight a heart wrenching documentary relives this horror; this is a harsh country. Further north, residents of St George, just one hundred kilometres north of the cotton farm we stayed on in May last year, are waiting for the flood waters to recede, and further downstream, other towns wait with baited breathe and sand bags.

This morning the neighbours up the street were still at it; yelling abuse and totally oblivious to the fact that those around can hear all. The ruckus started yesterday afternoon, with music and yelling spiralling down to domestic grief. This and the dust storm encountered on our arrival are the down sides of this place as a stopover. One of our fellow campers who has persevered despite all of this and returned for at least the second time, told us that those who live across from the showgrounds are “known” to the police and in fact around Christmas an aboriginal woman staying here in the camp, managed to knife her partner in the eye, putting an end forever to any further bother from him. This all goes to prove that the underclass is alive and well in Bendigo. It probably is everywhere in Australia as it is in most parts of the world; but as travellers we manage to remain ignorant, or sheltered from this, most of the time.

After breakfast we left with the eski packed with lunch and headed into the more attractive part of Bendigo, soon parked and lined up at the Art Gallery door waiting for it to open. How these regional galleries surprise, and this no less than any other visited! The gallery has an exceptional permanent collection of European and Australian works and is currently hosting two other exhibitions. The first is titled “Made in Hollywood: Photographs from the John Kobal Foundation”, and is drawn from a collection of photographic portraits taken in Hollywood at the film studios, over the years 1920 through to 1960. The photos themselves are just beautiful and the blurbs with each one equally fascinating. Most of the names were familiar to us even if we knew little about them, however I am sure that would not have been true for our children, had they occasion to walk with us through the gallery. The second was an exhibition titled “The Lost Modernist: Michael O’Connell” showing textile design and craft by this talented man.  Both Chris and I had to admit that much of this was lost on us although I did appreciate some of the wall hangings, Chris was left cold. But then art is for all; different strokes for different folk.

We drove a few kilometres east, past Lake Weemoona, and on to the Bendigo Botanic Gardens, or more correctly, the White Hills Botanic Gardens, and sat out of the cold wind, eating our lunch with the eski balanced between us in the front of the landcruiser. We were kept busy watching wee tots who were enjoying the playground, unfenced from the car park, while their mothers, many pregnant, enjoyed the company of each other. At one time we had to intercept one little fellow heading past our vehicle, but there were no tragedies. Mothers need to keep an eye on their tricky tots at all times, but sometimes that is easier said than done. Just as well there are oldies lurking in parked cars as a backup.

After the children had been carted off home for their afternoon sleeps, Chris and I walked about the park and found it to be a great disappointment. There are a couple of aviaries, one holding three forlorn sulphur crested cockatoos who would be happier free to fly, and another harbouring a sad colourful parrot and a more colourful Golden Pheasant. A few rare pines are well labelled but apart from that, there is a general feeling of neglect. We would not put these gardens on the Must-do list for visitors to Bendigo.

We found our way to the Market Place shopping centre where I located Just Cuts and had my hair trimmed while Chris successfully window shopped; successful in that he purchased nothing but a newspaper, unlike me who window shopped yesterday when he had his cut and was unable to resist the lure of the clothing sale racks. We picked up maps from the RACV, who here in Victoria, even for members, charge $4.95 for a map, unlike the RACQ who generously hand out maps to members without charge. We shopped up large at Coles and headed back to camp to unpack, pick up emails and spend the rest of the day digesting those and the daily newspaper.

6 February 2012 - Prince of Wales Showgrounds, Bendigo, Victoria

Today is Waitangi Day in New Zealand, the nearest that country has to a national day and a day which over the years has become fraught with protest action and controversy, just as it seems Australia Day has become here. I heard on the news that John Key had removed himself from a fiery confrontation yesterday only just avoiding the need to be carried out by security staff as Julia Gillard was in Canberra on 26 January. I think there is a real call to adopt another date for the National Holidays in both countries, however such matters are not my concern.

Today the gusts had relented and the sun was out although the temperatures remained quite comfortable. We packed up the eski with lunch as a default action and drove in to the centre of the city. (If we are not sure how the day will pan out, a packed lunch comes with us as we venture out and about.)

At the Visitors Centre we spoke at length with one of the delightful volunteers who used superlatives in describing this lovely city. Bendigo is the biggest inland city after Toowoomba in Queensland, it has a population of about 106,000 and is the only city without a river or a seaside port.

Bendigo was initially settled by pastoralists, and it was two wives of farm workers who stumbled over gold in the Bendigo Creek in 1851. The gold rush of Bendigo was apparently the largest in the country, and subsequently produced nine billion dollars’ worth of gold. Somewhere today I saw the figures of seventeen million ounces of gold; presumably these two statistics match up somewhere.

 
The wealth produced this city of grand buildings just as it did in Ballarat. We parked on a rise above the centre of the city and wandered down into the centre, admiring all the wonderful architecture and finding a barber for Chris to have a haircut. We walked up through Rosalind Park to the poppet head tower and climbed up the ten flights of metal stairs to enjoy the wonderful views over the city.

Lake Weeroona, just a kilometre along the street, provided us with a lovely picnic venue and after lunch walking circuit. This small manmade lake was completed in 1869 and today was still busy with walkers, cyclists and birds. The one thing missing in all of this was the ability to visually record it all.

This problem was rectified before the day was out; we called in to JB Hifi and secured a new digital camera. Chris said it is my early birthday present, as was its predecessor less than four years ago. Happy Birthday me! Months ahead of schedule! I shall capture the architecture of Bendigo after all.

5 February 2012 - Prince of Wales Showgrounds, Bendigo, Victoria

The skies were overcast when we rose this morning and it was raining seed pods from the surrounding gums. Over breakfast, we watched the campers who had come in late yesterday afternoon, or at least the one who had emerged to collect up the empty bottles and windblown water canisters. Two women of indeterminate age and of indeterminate sexual preferences, had sluggishly set up their tent close by and then gathered up stones with which to fashion a camp fire. I had wandered nonchalantly over and spoken to them about the fire bans in place, the need to have written permits for fires, the extreme bush fire danger, and generally alerted them to all my concerns, and using my kiwi-ish accent added that I however, did not really know how these things worked and I was sure that they, having checked out the CFS (Country Fire Service) website, would know far better than I. When I reported this conversation back to Chris, he was sure I would have put the kibosh on any camp fire, and he hoped that they had alternative cooking means. Then we watched incredulously as they lit their fire, cooked on it, stoked it up and settled down on their chairs for the evening to enjoy the ambience and their refreshments. We ended our vigilance fairly early on, having had to close everything up to save ourselves from being totally suffocated by smoke, but decided that they were being careful. Had we known how much alcohol was to be consumed, we might have thought otherwise. However, the important thing is, we have all survived another day with no loss of life or possessions, in fact with no fire danger at all!

Camping near fragile gums

The danger of fire and that relating to the falling of branches are the least concerns about this camp. There is a hex on the toilets, all the more scary given that on first use, they seem to be amongst the best public toilets about. Apart from relative cleanliness, they offer open views to the trees and sky while still affording crucial privacy. These toilets have claimed from us alone, a digital camera and a pair of prescription specs. My camera had been playing up, occasionally pulsing in its case when turned off but after falling from the top of the cistern, has truly died, and Chris returned this morning with one scratched lens and the frame hanging loose. Hopefully this can be rectified and blamed on shoddy workmanship rather than any Loo Voodoo.

We were away from our camp by nine thirty and heading up a back road toward Bendigo, bumping across the lumpy road through beautiful rural countryside, well-populated by dirty sheep, horses and well-heeled life style farmers. We arrived at Kangaroo Flat to be met by a great wall of smoke, and followed the rest of the traffic through the lights and through the smoke. The narrow garden bordering the car park at the Aldi supermarket was on fire, and employees were running to and fro with buckets of water, while others watched unperturbed.

Soon we arrived in the southern outer suburbs of Bendigo, and wound our way through the residential areas to reach the Showgrounds on the western side of the city. As we approached, we could see the great number of vehicles parked in and near the grounds and decided that this was not the day to have chosen this camp. We caught sight of a few caravans in amongst the parked cars and so thought we would investigate the possibilities before abandoning the idea of fair cost tariffs.

Today there is a Guns and Hunting Show being held down in the exhibition halls which coincides with the weekly fleamarket. It would seem that half of Bendigo frequents the flea markets, which are quite marvellous with their great array of books, plants, fruit and vegetables, bread, clothing, tools and other hardware, furniture, baby accessories, and all the other stuff one finds at markets. We filled our “green” shopping bag with more books, capsicums and focaccia bread before returning to the caravan, lunching and then finally making our way in to the grounds when the bulk of the market goer’s cars had left. By this time, the wind had come up, gusting to 54 kph (according to the on-line weather report) and stirring up great dust storms. As a result we are sealed up inside the van, waiting for the wind to change direction. Tomorrow we will drive into Bendigo and discover what it has to offer. In the meantime there is another day cricket match between the Indians and the Australians, and the television reception is excellent. Chris is happy and I have another pile of books to read.  

4 February 2012 - Butts Reserve, Maldon, Victoria

This morning we woke in this wide gully to the melodious song of a multitude of magpies and to blue skies. We both agreed that it was a lovely camp and decided to run with one of the plans hatched yesterday afternoon; to stay another day.

After breakfast we headed eastwards to the Cairn Curran Reservoir, a large body of water, seen yesterday from the top of Mount Tarrengower. This had also been recommended by the volunteers in the Visitors Centre yesterday.

When we arrived at this lovely place there were only a few fishermen along the shore but by the time we left, people were arriving with their motor boats and the local junior yacht club was readying their small sailing craft.

The dam was completed in 1956, is just 656 metres in length and 44 metres in height, across the Lodden River which flows on in to the Murray River. During the ten years of drought leading up to the rains of the summer of 2010/11, it remained almost empty. We were told that there were those who drove about the bed of the lake; we imagined it to be the local larrikins just for fun, however with further thought I suspect it might have been in search of the few pools of water left harbouring the ancestors of the fish being hunted today.

We wandered along the banks of the reservoir, across several small sandy bays, over rocky outcrops and up scrubby banks until we reached the dam itself which we walked across to admire the views across the water to the distant dry farmland.

On our way back toward town, we called into the cemetery, as one does, to wander about this 20 acre area which is residence to many old souls. In the years up to 1953, there were 5,100 alone, however since then there has been a slowing down of new residents. Unlike the ornate graves of the Italian descendants up Ingram way (in Queensland) these are far more modest affairs, often containing Mum, Dad, daughter, son, nephews and nieces and half a dozen children who didn’t reach school age. It certainly reminds one how fortunate we are to live in this age of modern medicine, less dangerous work and contraception. 

As we came back out on to the more major road, we took note of an official group of buildings on the corner and found them to be the Tarrangower Prison. Further investigation revealed that this is a minimum security women’s prison, with no more than fifty four inmates. When we first spotted this, Chris said it was a good thing that we had double padlocked the caravan’s tow bar however I cannot imagine how even fifty women having broken out from the prison would manage to (wo)man handle a caravan along the road and away without calling too much attention to themselves.

We popped down in to the town which was enjoying very busy Saturday trade, especially with the café goers, and purchased vegetables, the weekend newspaper and some delicious bread from the Maldon Heritage Bakery, fresh from the wood fired Scottish oven.

After lunch we drove back through the village and across to the North British Mine. This is one of the many mining sites about the town now part of the Historic Reserve. The remains of this mine are in a fairly compact area under lovely regenerating gums and consist mainly of broken brick constructions, the ironmongery having been removed long ago. This particular mine had twenty three kilometres of tunnels, shafts and drives and was just less than 400 metres deep. It operated right through to 1926 and produced enough gold to make the owner, Robert Oswald, a very wealthy man. Unlike many of the other ‘quartz kings”, he did offer much back in to the community in which he lived.

By now the sun had some heat in it and we were happy to return to our camp and spend the afternoon in the shade reading, during the course of which another caravanner arrived who it seems will be keeping us company for the night. I rather liked the solitude, however I should not be so selfish.   

3 February 2012 - Butts Reserve, Maldon, Victoria

A moment ago we were sitting out under the gums drinking our late afternoon coffee, with just the magpies for company, one of which joined us on the table. This is a lovely spot at the foot of Mount Tarrangower, a picnic and camping spot set aside in an historic reserve.

We are in the Mount Alexander Gold Diggings area, where the largest alluvial gold was mined in Australia. The words “largest”, biggest”, oldest” and other “-est” are constantly littering this blog and I wonder where the truth lies, however you may be assured that it is not I personally making these judgements.

We woke much earlier than usual this morning due to the road noise; normal people start their day earlier than we do these days, so we cannot really complain. The roadside camp had been most satisfactory and it was lovely to breakfast with a pastoral view out the window across the creek; a small flock of Dorper sheep making their way along the gum scattered paddocks. (These dorper sheep are quite strange looking, with not only their heads black, but often their shoulders or breast as well. They are a breed developed in South Africa specifically for their meat, not for their wool, which they manage to shed twice a year without the assistance of shearers. Well, that is what I learned by googling them, having read the sign on the farm gate showing that this was a dorper stud.)  A rabbit added to the scene, a sunlit one promising a lovely day.

We found ourselves just around the corner from Campbells Creek, which is now really part of Castlemaine. After finding a level park and disposing of our rubbish in an acceptable fashion, we spent nearly three hours wandering up and down the streets of this lovely town, another full of lovely old buildings, friendly people, restaurants, wonderful book shops and all manner of urban delights. The café culture is alive and well in Castlemaine, as is a passion for exercise. It surprised us how many women on cycles or pushing pushchairs we met as we walked about, especially since the town is spread over hills.

Armed with fresh bread for lunch, we made our way to the Botanic Gardens, having been encouraged to do so by those in the Information Centre. Alas there is nowhere level for a rig such as ours to park  and enjoy even the edge of the gardens, so we left without exploring this reportedly very attractive parkland.

We had intended to drive on to Maldon after lunch and a walk about the Botanic Gardens, so did so earlier than planned. Just a few kilometres east of Maldon, we came upon a reserve set aside in honour of the old Gower school, now just the two end walls held erect by metal frames. It was a pretty place, even close to the road, and we had lunch and previewed the day’s newspaper, before moving on to Maldon.

Remains of the Gower School

Maldon is off the route to Bendigo, and was not on our original itinerary, however we discovered in our research that it is Australia’s first Notable Town, classified as such by the National Trust of Australia in 1966 and therefore worthy of our investigation. Thus listed, the town and its immediate surrounds must remain as they were and cannot be altered other than with the Trust’s consideration.

Walking around the streets of Maldon today is as if you were walking about it back in the 18^th century except for the fact there are cars on the roads rather than horses. The bakery bakes its wares by wood fire; we saw the wood shed where they keep great piles of wood for doing so. The gutters are great wide stone affairs that require some effort to cross unless you are doing so at a normal street crossing.

The town location was first “discovered” by Major George Mitchell, whose name pops up all about the country. Pastoral runs were established in the early 1840s, and gold discovered in early 1853. By 1854 there were probably about 30,000 diggers working alluvial deposits in the area, however the surface gold was largely exhausted by the end of that year. Gold continued to be discovered in areas close by so there was still call for the town to develop. It was surveyed in 1856 and by 1863, the population was 7,000. (Today it is about 1,600)

The total amount of gold recovered here was over 2 million ounces, with a value of over one billion Australian dollars in today’s currency. Gold mining still goes on here today, but in a far more discreet way, much of it far far underground.

After walking about the town, we drove out here to investigate the camp and decided that it would do indeed. We unhitched and then drove to the top of Mount Tarrangower, climbed the tower and took in the wonderful views all about, up to one hundred kilometres in most directions. We could see westwards across to the Grampians, and realised that we had not really come very far since 10^th January.

2 February 2012 - Jessie Kennedy Reserve, near Yapeen, Victoria

Today we have returned to the road in all respects; travelling towing the caravan and tonight parked up in a layby beside the Midland Highway. The “reserve” is essentially a gravel stock pile and a rubbish tip, although there is a tasteful plaque that tells us that it was on this flat in a small cottage now long gone, that Jessie Kennedy was born in 1845, making her the first white child born in the Castlemaine area. Two vehicles have pulled in briefly to perhaps take a catnap and a large truck came in looking as if it were about to unload another pile of gravel. All hands were on deck; closing the ceiling vents and the starboard windows. However it proved to be a false alarm.

We left our camp in Ballarat this morning in a timely fashion, waving to the proprietor as we left to convey our appreciation for what had turned out to be an excellent camp. Joining the highway at the gateway, we were soon through to Creswick, just twenty odd kilometres away, having climbed some distance from the flatland of Ballarat. Creswick is surrounded by pine forest, planted (or rather masterminded) in 1890 by one John La Gerche, to cover the land laid bare by gold mining. Creswick, often named a Foresters Forest, with a population of about 3,000, was established in 1851, and is a delightfully beautiful town, full of lovely old buildings and just the friendliest people.

We called at the Information Centre and spent some time chatting with a retired farmer, convincing him that he and his wife should do Cape York this year and were offered a whole heap of brochures about Creswick and surrounds. I have four pages of information about this chap La Gerche and will reserve it for bedtime reading before it ends up where much of the paper work gathered on our travels does. It would seem at a quick glance however that this chap should probably have received a prize for being Australia’s first Greenie!

As we walked up and down the street, taking photos, buying a newspaper, debating the purchase of unnecessary morning tea, we came upon the office of the Hepburn Council Flood Relief, where we stood gazing at photos in the window of a town severely affected by flood. The automatic door kept opening and shutting as they sometimes do, and finally a voice called from within, “Come on in!” We were met by the co-ordinator and manager of this enterprise and given a full rundown of the flood history of Creswick, nearby Clunes and other places about. Creswick was hit three times by flash floods; November and December 2010 and then again in January 2011. Even now, the council are still doing repair work and the social toll on the population is huge. We must have spent at least an hour in the company of this fascinating woman, and could easily have spent more, however we presumed she should be doing work other than explaining the state of Creswick to us, and tore ourselves away. We made her promise that she would write or at least record, the stories of the flood, the victims and her involvement with them, as well as a second account of her own working life which has to date been equally fascinating.

The Norman family, five of whom are famous for their artistic talent, were born and raised in Creswick in the late 1800s and early 1900s. We have come upon frequent references to this as we have travelled about Australia, particularly so in Ballarat where there are a couple of galleries entirely given over to work by members of the family and the relocation of the lounge, furniture and knickknacks authentically placed as per request of the benefactor. Apparently the museum in Creswick has a further display of Norman treasures, however it is not open on Thursdays. Every year in April, the town celebrates the family by way of a festival; perhaps even on a Thursday?

We returned to the rig and continued north through to Daylesford, despite the suggestion from our farming retiree who suggested we travel out to Smeaton, and other fascinating places, but there are only so many hours in the day and only so any days in the year, even when you are doing as we are.

Not keen to try the water himself

Chris had been to the spa town of Daylesford several times in his past life, however could not remember the exact address of specific attractions, and so we were not really advantaged by this prior experience. In fact, in some ways, it was a disadvantage. We spotted a sign as we entered the town, directing us to the Daylesford Spring, and turned in and down to what was the Central Springs. The area is now derelict, flood damaged, but abandoned long before then. There were three or four old pumps where one could siphon the famed spring waters to the surface, which we did. Chris had memories of it being foul and was not to be coerced into repeating what had been an unpleasant experiment. But I had to find out for myself. He was right; like drinking soda water from a rusty tin can. Even after spitting it out, the taste lingered long in my mouth. So much for taking in the waters!

We lunched in the parking area then drove on up into the township. The road to Daylesford is over hills, through dry stock farms and forests, much of it similar to New Zealand countryside. The town itself is nestled in the hills, the main shopping area straddles a knoll which makes the business of exploring the streets an exercise in itself. Here again there are beautiful old buildings, and the town since the early 1980s when Chris was here has moved ahead with the times. As Victoria’s spa town, with a permanent population of not too much more than 2,000, it has hotels, restaurants, cafes, boutiques and health and beauty parlours to cater for the Melburnians and others that flock here for the spoiling, all of which would apparently equal any such in Europe. Well at least that is what the brochures boast and we will simply have to agree, not having patronised these kind of places either here, or there.

We also called in to a wonderful private art gallery in Vincent Street; the Pantechnicon. Given the population of Australia, I suppose it should come as no surprise that there are so very many wonderful Australian artists, however I never cease to be impressed by the array of such excellent work.

On returning to the rig, we drove the three kilometres west to the Hepburn Springs, which did this time seem more familiar to Chris, although he could not recall the Bathhouse and Spa, even accepting that the very modern renovations make it look entirely new. After taking a wrong turn and having to turn around in a particularly restricted corner which had a very smart red car strategically placed as an obstacle, we found the spot deep in a valley. We walked along the valley pausing to try the various springs, and finding them no better than those at the Central Springs. Notices sang their praises and list their wonderful mineral qualities. Iron was the one mineral that seemed common to all, hence the tinny taste. We came upon a chap armed with a bag of fancy water bottles, which he duly filled with this blessed water for consumption at home until he returned for the next fortnight’s supply. We quizzed him regarding the pleasure in drinking this beverage. He responded that you could get used to it, and now having replaced the great quantities of fruit juice previously imbibed, he and his family found they had lost weight. Surprise, surprise!

The day had warmed up considerably from the cold start, and the wind was no longer evident; another burst of summer had arrived with February. We drove on north, and soon after the miniscule settlement of Yapeen, found this wayside camp documented in Camps 5. I am sure we will be quite comfortable here; the road is already quietening down as the evening sets in.

1 February 2012 - Shady Acres Caravan Park, Ballarat, Victoria

A new month, one that is not January, kids back at school and the peak tariffs off the menu at the caravan parks, blue skies and the road stretching tantalising ahead. What could I complain about today! Actually it was blimmin freezing this morning; 11 degrees and the wind had not dropped. Yet as I watched the international reports this evening about the freezing temperatures currently in west and central Europe, I did acknowledge that everything is relative.

We called into Bunnings this morning to buy new carpet runner for the caravan. We had gone there yesterday to do the same, however short term memories and debate had deterred us from going ahead there and then. Checking the colour on our return, Chris had to agree that I had been right after all; the carpet was an oatmeal coloured rib, practical if not pretty, and was worth duplicating for another year.

We had mapped out today’s excursion last night, to take in villages south that we had driven through as we drove north, with only our destination of Ballarat in mind rather than the places along the journey. So our first stop was Buninyong, a township set up around the pastoralists in the very early 1840s. There was a time early on in the white settlement of Port Philip Bay (or Victoria) that Buninyong was the third busiest township after Melbourne and Geelong. The gold rush changed all that, even though Buninyong itself did play host to several gold discoveries around about in 1851.

We spent some time chatting with the volunteer in the Information Centre, a long term resident of the district and descendant of one of the original pastoralists. She lamented the changing face of the settlement, the new development on the northern end of the town and the more affluent and mobile residents who were overwhelming the down to earth nature of traditional Buninyong.

There are several lovely old buildings here in this small settlement, in fact a surprising number given its size. We wandered about a few streets, peeked behind hedges into private gardens and generally admired the place. The bakery provided some yummy buns to add to our cut lunch and so we headed away looking forward to that.

Before dining however, we drove to the top of Mount Buninyong, a long extinct volcano, 719 metres above sea level, and climbed to the top of the iron lookout tower from where we enjoyed expansive views all around the countryside and back north to Ballarat. The cold wind was no less at the top, so we did not hang about, but returned to the cruiser and drove south east to Lal Lal.

There is little at Lal Lal these days except a pub, which we did not patronise. Close by are the Lal Lal Falls, subject of yet more paintings by von Guerard. This year, or at least today, there was only a rather stagnant puddle at the base of the falls. It is obvious however from the steep ravine, that the Lal Lal Creek does rage through here sometimes and flow on to the Lal Lal Reservoir further downsteam. The dammed Moorabool River is the main source of the Reservoir, the Lal Lal just a tributary. We walked along the top of the ravine, through gums and long golden grass, through a gap in a fence and on through a pine plantation from where we could see across the deep clean waters of the reservoir.


The Lal Lal Reserve here about the Falls has quite an amazing history. Even by 1840, it had become a popular destination for picnickers, painters and photographers. In 1877 it was officially reserved as a public park and remained well known and popular for one hundred and thirty years.

The Lal Lal Falls in the distance

New Year’s Day horse racing commenced in 1864 and a railway line was built from Lal Lal to the racecourse to cater for the crowds. In 1887, a new grandstand was erected, capable of holding one thousand people. Eventually support diminished and the last meeting was held in 1938. Looking about the area now, it is quite difficult to visualise all the above.

From Lal Lal, we made our way through the countryside  via Yendon (almost missed) Mount Egerton (absolutely missed), Gordon (small but charming), then westward back along the Western Freeway toward Ballarat. Closer to home, we popped further north to check out the parklands at the Kirk’s and Gong Gong Reservoirs. The latter offered bush walks, the former advice on how to grow a flower garden using minimal water resources. We drove in and out; been there, done that, and returned home, whereupon Chris washed the caravan and landcruiser.