20 March 2012 - Mansfield Holiday Park, Victoria

Trains did not start to pass en masse until just before dawn, and I heard every one of them. We were up and on the road about 8 am, almost unheard of these days.

We turned off the Hume Freeway about ten kilometres after the Benalla exit, and on to the Midway Highway, bumping on down the sealed road through the most lovely rolling farmland, open woodland grazing beef stock and thousands of sulphur crested cockatoos. We pulled into the recreational area of Lake Nilahcootie, the dammed Broken River, the same camped beside at Casey’s Weir nearly a week ago. Unlike most of these reservoirs which have kept their drowned trees as souvenirs, still standing in the shallow water, this was clear of trees except for the southern end.

At the lake we met up with people travelling in the same direction as us, but by car on the way through to Melbourne to enjoy a week of wining and dining with friends. Chris and Yvonne have a caravan too and spend most of their caravanning time up in the Red Centre. We spent some time chatting with this lovely couple, who now live at Wangaratta, and found much in common. After exchanging email addresses and accepting a vague but future invitation to call on them when we are next passing, we each continued on our way.

Mansfield is only about sixty kilometres south of Benalla and is the gateway to the High Country around Mount Buller and Lake Eildon, with a population of about five thousand.

We made our way to this caravan park after calling in to the Information Centre. It is only ten years old, set up on seventeen acres of farmland, on the edge of town, complete with horses, cows and sheep grazing in the next paddock and ducks and swamp hens on and about the small lake. Unlike the only other park in town, this has spacious sites and more importantly, a lower tariff.

We set up camp and had an early lunch, then set out on our afternoon’s expedition, tracing further haunts of local bush rangers. The first was the Kelly Tree and Stringy Bark Creek, where Ned Kelly committed the crime for which he was eventually hanged, the murder of a policeman. In fact, he and his gang took out three policemen here, but the other murders were attributed to other members who met their demise at Glenrowan. Today, this lovely setting on the creek, thirty eight kilometres north of Mansfield in the Toombullup Range did not suggest that any historical horror had ever taken place, had it not been for the excellent descriptive panels. We had wound our way up into the mountain range, through cattle grazing country, then up a gravel road into the Toombullup Forest, a dense forest of tall stringy bark gums. As we made our way around the well-marked gravel path, some of it still wet and muddy from the recent rain, we were careful to avoid the mine shafts full to the brim with water. There were no other tourists here; we were alone except for the kookaburras.

We have traced the path of the Kelly exploits all through this area, an action that has in the process shown us the natural beauty the country. It seems that the intervening years have made Ned Kelly a hero, someone who had the guts to stand up to authority and thus became a champion or advocate for the underdog, particularly in a time when the authorities did treat a certain sector of the population so appallingly. But apart from the fact we now hand out welfare payments to these poor battlers, what really has changed over the intervening years? For myself, I see him as a ruthless criminal, an outlaw, who deserved everything he got, and have little sympathy for his background althlough I shall trouble myself here to precis these local bushranger stories:

Bushranger Lesson I:

1850    John “Red” Kelly, a twenty nine year old ex-convict from Ireland, married eighteen year old Irish born Ellen Quinn (six months pregnant) in Melbourne. They settled as dairy farmers at Wallan.

1854    The Kellys buy a small farm at Beveridge (south of Wallan). Edward “Ned” Kelly is born, the third of eight children, and the elder son.

1864    The Kelly move to a rented 40 acre dairy farm near Avenel.

1865    “Red” Kelly is found guilty of “having illegally in his possession one cow hide”, he begins six months hard labour in the Avenel lock up. Eleven year old Ned rescues a seven year old  from the rain flooded Hughes Creek near Avenel. He is rewarded with a green-silk sash (that Ned later wears at his last stand). The sash is now displayed at the Benalla Museum.

1866    In December forty five year old “Red” Kelly dies from dropsy. Twelve year old Ned assumes responsibility for the large Kelly clan.

1867    The Kelly’s move to Eleven Mile Creek, near Great, to be closer to Ellen’s family, the Quinns.

1869    At fourteen, Ned is arrested for the first time for “assault and robbery”, with his charges later dismissed. By May, Ned is apprenticed to the popular bushranger Harry Power. Ned learns highway robbery and bushranging.

1870    Ned’s alliance with Power leads to his second arrest, this time for highway robbery, and for being Power’s accomplice. At Kyneton, Ned’s charges are dismissed, he is later (unfairly) blamed for Power’s capture (and fifteen year gaol sentence).

1871    Sergeant Constable Hall gives Ned a brutal pistol whipping while arresting him at Greta for riding a horse stolen from Mansfield. The actual thief, receives eighteen months gaol for “illegal use”, Ned gets three years hard labour (Beechworth Gaol, Williamstown and Pentridge)

1874    The now bearded 19 year old Ned returns to Greta to find his mother married to American George King, and his brother Jim, serving five years for “horse stealing”, sister Maggie married to family friend, William Skilling and older sister Annie dead after giving birth to an illegitimate daughter, possibly fathered by Greta Police Constable Flood. Ned settles down and finds work at a sawmill, near Moyhu.

1877    Ned and step-father George run a stock stealing outfit, aided by Joe Byrne, Aaron Skillett, Wright and “Brickey”Williamson. Police issue arrest warrants for Ned, his younger brother Dan and cousin John Lloyd Jnr, all for horse theft.

1878    On 15 April, new Greta constable Alexander Fitzpatrick, a man later described as “a liar and a larrikin”, rides to the Kelly homestead to arrest Dan for “horse theft” (without a warrant). A confusing brawl erupts, (later a drunken Fitzpatrick testifies Mrs Kelly assaulted him, and that Ned shot him in the foot. Fitzpatrick escapes to Benalla, Ned and Dan flee the scene. Next day, the Police return to arrest Mrs Kelly, her son-in-law Skilling and neighbour Brickey Williamson. On 9 October Mrs Kelly, Williamson and Skilling stand trial at Beechworth Courthouse for “attempted murder”. Mrs Kelly gets three years hard labour, Skilling and Williamson each receive six years. Ned and Dan offer to surrender if the police release their mother, the offer is refused and a police search gets underway. By sheer luck, on October 25 four police officers sent from Mansfield (Sergeant Kennedy and Constables Lonigan, Scanlon and McIntyre) camp at Stringy Bark Creek less than two kilometres from Ned’s and Dan’s hideout at Bullock Creek. Next day, the Kellys, joined by Joseph Byrne and Steve Hart, attempt to disarm the police and take their horses. Kennedy, Scanlon and Lonigan are killed. The Victorian Government posts a 2,000 pounds reward. On 9 December 1878 the Kelly Gang occupies Faithful’s Creek homestead, near Euroa. Next day, as Joe Byrne guards their prisoners, the Kellys and Steve Hart steal 2,000 pounds from the National Bank at Euroa, then escape as the police search.

1879    On 10 February the Gang steals 2,000 pounds from the Bank of New South Wales in the small isolated Riverina town of Jiriderie. Before fleeing, Ned leaves his now-famous 7,500 word “Jerilderie Letter” with the bank’s accountant, who promises to have it published. (The letter is not published until 1930) The Victorian and New South Wales Governments, and certain NSW banks, increase the gang’s reward to 8,000 pounds. Meanwhile, police informers, including Aaron Sherritt, camp in the Police Caves in the bush near Beechworth, to spy on the homes of Joe Byrne and other Kelly sympathisers.

1880    The Kelly Gang “disappears’ for seventeen months. Frustrated police lock up Kelly friends and relatives for months without trial, and draw up black lists of sympathisers to be barred from selecting land in NE Victoria, this fuels more local sympathy for the gang. Early in 1880, Ned decides his gang should wear protective armour. They forge four sets of crude armour, complete with helmets from plough boards. Police setup their informer Aaron Sherritt as a Kelly trainee, despite Sherritt being a friend of Joe Byrne and a Kelly gang sympathiser. The police hope the gang will break from hiding to kill Sherritt, giving them a chance to capture the outlaws. On 26 June Dan and Joe Byrne ride to Woolshed valley, near Beechworth, where Byrne shoots Sherritt dead. Meanwhile Ned and Steve Hart ride to Glenrowan, here they break up the railway line on a dangerous bend, then round up the townsfolk into Ann Jones’ Glenrowan Inn to wait the special police train (en route to avenge Sherritt’s murder). The police train approaches Glenrowan in the early hours of Monday 28 June. Glenrowan teacher, Thomas Curnow, earlier released by the gang, uses a candle and red scarf to warn the train driver of Ned’s ambush ahead. As the police lay siege to the Glenrowan Inn, the Ned Kelly dons its armour and opens fire. Within minutes Ned is badly wounded, he leaves to warn his supporters (wrongly summoned by a misfired signal rocket) of the police siege. Ned returns at dawn to rescue his gang, still trapped inside the Glenrowan Inn. After a remarkable half hour gunfight, police finally bring Ned down. Despite his armour, Kelly is riddled with twenty eight bullet wounds and near death, his gang dead. Police raze the Glenrowan Inn, then load Ned and Joe Byrne’s corpse onto a train for Benalla. Next morning, Kelly travels to Melbourne and is locked up in the Melbourne Gaol. Ned’s committal hearing is held in Beechworth on 2 August. Here he is formally charged with the murder of Lonnigan and Scanlon. Fearing growing public unrest, authorities relocate Kelly’s trial to Melbourne, to be heard on October 28 & 29. The jury returns a verdict of guilty for the murder of Constable Lonigan, Scanlon’s murder is never heard. A public campaign to save Ned gathers over 32,000 signatures on a petition for his reprieve. On 11 November 180, Ned Kelly dies on the gallows.

We returned to the Mansfield – Whitfield Road, and travelled on along the top of the range until we came to the turnoff for Powers Lookout, a reserve since 1886 covering 1,100 hectares. From this lookout perched up on a rocky outcrop, we had the most wonderful view up the King Valley, known for its wines and gourmet produce. It was here that a bush ranger by the name of Power kept watch for the law, and here we learned much more about this lesser known bad egg.

Bushrangers Lesson II:

Harry Power was one of Victoria’s most notorious bushrangers, committing over thirty crimes. History books are full of the exploits of the Kelly gang, but few know of the bushranger who taught the young Ned. The teenage Ned Kelly partnered Power on several hold-ups, and as his apprentice learnt how to escape the police and survive in the bush.

Harry Power, an excellent bushman and horseman, often eluded capture by disappearing into rugged terrain. He had several well-hidden camps scattered around the wild hill country that was his domain, including one near this lookout.

A fifty pound reward led Harry’s capture here on a dark and stormy night in 1870s.

Harry Power (also known as Henry Johnstone) spent thirty of his seventy two years in gaol. Born in Ireland in 1819, he was sentenced to seven years for stealing a pair of shoes and transported to Tasmania in 1840, aged twenty one.

Some time after his release he ventured to Victoria. In 1855 he was sentenced to eight years for horse theft and wounding a policeman with intent to do grievous bodily harm. Within a year of his release he was caught for horse stealing and sentenced to seven years on a road-gang.

In 1869, just a few months before his official release, Harry Power escaped. He remained at large for sixteen months as a bushranger. On his recapture, he was sentenced to fifteen years hard labour. He was released in 1885, aged sixty six years, having spent most of his adult life in gaol.

While in Pentridge gaol, Harry met Ned Kelly’s uncles, Thomas and John “Jack” Lloyd. The brothers were serving five years for cattle stealing. Soon after Harry escaped the road gang he visited the Lloyds who lived in the King Valley. The Lloyds introduced Harry to their brothers-in-law, John and James Quinn, criminals in their right.

The Quinn family homestead, Glenmore Station, the home of Ned Kelly’s grandparents, was located in the King valley below this lookout. Harry set up a permanent camp on this rocky outcrop with its natural vantage point and used some of his bushranger’s bounty to reward the Quinns (and others) for harbouring him.

Power conducted many robberies but a cash bounty was always small, often a few pounds or even shillings. Sometimes he took nothing if he thought the people could not afford it. Harry Power never killed anyone and it has been reported that he was always courteous to the women he held up.

But Power frequently took his victim’s horse – the transport of the day. This gave him a fresh mount and more time to get away before his victim could notify the nearest local constable or trooper.

After his release in 1885, Power worked for over five years as a tour guide on a ship that had once been his prison quarters. The prison hulk “Success”, moored in Port Philip Bay, was converted to a floating museum where people came to see what was described as a “living hell” for prisoners. Power, the infamous bushranger and former inmate, was its star attraction. Old Harry returned to north-east Victoria in 1891 when the “Success” was towed to Sydney.

Death came by drowning, in October 1891. A passing steamboat uncovered a body that turned out to be Harry Power. He apparently fell into the Murray River while drinking.

After having saturated ourselves with regard to bushranger folklore and history, we turned and retraced our route back to Mansfield.

19 March 2012 - Mokoan Rest Area, Hume Freeway, Victoria

This morning the road took us back out down the Ovens Valley, through Myrtleford  to Bowman which is no more than a place name on the map, where we turned north east toward Beechworth, crawling up and over the Buckland Gap Road.

Beechworth’s history is very like that of Bright, but is situated up out of the valley, well spread out over undulating hills. Like Maldon just south of Ballarat, the town is now protected with heritage status, however has a vibrancy that Maldon lacks. Maldon, for me, was how I often see history, in sepia; Beechworth is all in bright vibrant technocolour.

Through the 1850s and right through until the first decades of last century, Beechworth was the centre of the Ovens Goldfields and the administrative centre for North East Victoria. During those lucrative years, the population rose to 30,000 and numerous public buildings were erected to support its eminent status. Now known as the Historic and Cultural Precinct, these buildings are registered by Heritage Victoria and the National Trust.

The town is situated on the Murray to the Mountains Rail Trail and is serious about providing accommodation and dining options for those undertaking this ride. The commercial precinct is full of fascinating shops and boutiques, all in these wonderful old buildings; shops with names like Splatoons Cartoon Shop & Gallery, Beechworth Honey. The Ardent Alpaca, The Beechworth Sweet Co., Crime Scene Gift Shop, Beechworth Provender, Larder Fromagerie & Provisions, and so on. The tourist blurbs suggest that touring Melburnians should delay their shopping until they arrive here and I can well imagine what a delight it would be to exercise one’s credit card in this charming town.

We utilised few of these services, except for the newspaper, some stamps and some delicious sourdough bread from the Beechworth Bakery which does the most amazing trade, and this was Monday!

After exploring all the streets of the centre, we retired to the local lake, Lake Sambell, where we parked to have our lunch. Apart from being wet and having a good population of birds, we did not find the lake hugely inspiring, but it did provide a refuge from the busi-ness of the town.

After lunch we headed toward Wangaratta, but joined the Hume Freeway heading toward Melbourne before reaching Wangaratta visited just days ago. It wasn’t long before we reached the exit for Glenrowan, the capital of Kellyana. This was the setting for Ned Kelly’s last stand against the law, where his three gang fellows were slain and he was finally laid low enough to be taken into custody.

In 1880, the year of this big show down, Glenrowan had a population of about one hundred, two pubs, a railway station and little else. Today it is about the same, but with only one pub.

Armed with a self-guide brochure we walked about the spots now famous in this final chapter of great Australian folk lore, including Ann Jones’ Glenrowan  Inn where Kelly holed up for a couple of days with his hostages, the Police Shelter Site, the capture site, the railway station from where he was finally taken from to Melbourne for sentencing and hanging. There are excellent interpretative panels in each spot, however for the complete experience one is encouraged to enjoy the animated show where you are guaranteed to be frightened, and warned off if you have a heart condition. We recently reread Bill Bryson’s DownUnder, or at least the section that relates to this part of Victoria. He has a hilarious account of the show at Glenrowan; we decided that was enough for us.

There are several shops just full of souvenirs all based on the Kelly story; we managed to avoid temptation, and instead returned to the highway and pressed on to this rest area we had checked out when we came past nearly a week ago.

We are within view of the railway line and a body of water that was once known as Lake Mokoan, but today the Winton Wetlands. The swamps all about were flooded back in 1971 to create a reservoir for water supply. Thirty nine years after problems with weed and no doubt, Greenies, the reservoir was decommissioned and today nature is back in control. It is quite a noisy rest area, with large trucks sharing the space and while the trains do not seem very numerous, there was one who appeared to take delight in tooting as they approached a crossing in the distance. Hopefully this was a one off. There are currently three other camping parties here with us, one of whom came a moment ago to borrow our lighter. We were pleased to oblige but begged that they take care. They are recently arrived German tourists who may not be familiar with the dangers of bush fire. I read today in a small Forestry Museum at Beechworth that the north eastern part of Victoria has the best conditions for bush fire. Those in 2003 were caused by a series of lightning strikes all occurring over the region at the same time. Even today as we travelled down the freeway, we were surprised to see a farmer working his way around a so called controlled grass fire.

18 March 2012 - Big4 Porepunkah Mill Holiday Park, Victoria

We spent the next day holed up in the caravan, venturing out only briefly to the local general store at Porepunkah, for the newspaper. By afternoon the rain had eased a little, thus promising better weather for the morrow. Our one accomplishment of the day was to make Skype contact with Chris’s sister to wish her and her husband our congratulations and best wishes for their fiftieth wedding anniversary to be celebrated in England the next day.

On Saturday morning, our optimism was rewarded. The rain had abated overnight, the lake outside our caravan had disappeared, and while the hills all about were still shrouded in thick cloud, it was promising enough to set off into Bright for a few fresh vegetables and of course the important weekend newspaper.

On arrival, we discovered the weekly market underway down in the riverside park. Markets should never be ignored even if only wandered through with one’s hands in pockets, as we did. This market was not the common variety flea market but an upmarket collection of classy boutique wares; olive oils, wine, jewellery, paintings, fresh fruit and vegetables at inflated market prices, chocolates, cupcakes, coffee, assorted nuts, more coffee and even more importantly, stall holders announcing that the sun was forecasted to shine before the end of the day.

We wandered beyond the market area to discover charming parklands all along the river and decided that we simply must investigate further, but not today. If the weather was indeed to improve to a state of “sunny”, we had other plans for the afternoon.

The Information Centre was close-by and proved to be well worth the visit, having a very good display of matters alpine, including a DVD explaining the history and natural wonders of the Alpine National Park.

Bright at 319 metres above sea level is a township of only about three thousand people, although the number of residences suggest more. Like all tourist destinations, the number of beds in the town does not reflect the number of permanent residents. In the summer, people come for the proximity to the Victorian Alps and Mount Buffalo National Park, and in the winter, the same, albeit for different activities. Like all rail trails, cycling trails constructed from disused rail tracks, the tourist industry that springs up needs to grow quickly to keep up with its reputation. Bright reminded us of New Zealand’s Hamner Springs, without the thermal springs, but with a rail trail. This likeness may be misleading however I would suggest that there are few differences between the clientele.

Bright, initially known as Morse’s Creek, is located at the confluence of the Oven’s River and Morse’s Creek, and started its life as a small rural service area in the midst of the sheep and cattle grazing, but was soon replaced as a goldfield centre in about 1853. As most of the goldfields, it drew many from China, and also as many of the stories we have come across as we have criss-crossed Victoria, it became the location of yet another historical crisis; the Morse’s Creek Riots.

By the late 1850s, Chinese miners dominated the alluvial diggings. After the Buckland Riots of 1857, just up the road from here, anti-Chinese feelings festered on the diggings. In April 1859, the Chinese camp here in Bright was attacked by a group of European miners. The Chinese were driven off their claims and the camp was looted and burnt. One miner, Ah Sang, was bludgeoned to death and another severely injured. Despite attempts to trivialise the incident, authorities took a dim view, and three months later, a new camp was laid out in an attempt to protect these miners. It is estimated that between 1200 and 1400 Chinese were then working on the upper Ovens River. It is interesting that there is so much repetition in the general history of these gold rush days here in Victoria.

After purchasing some wonderful bread from the bakery and a few items from the Woolworths supermarket, we made our way back to the caravan park, had an early lunch and then set off up into the Mount Buffalo National Park, the end of the road near the summit our goal, a distance of thirty six kilometres.

As we wound our way up the steep road into the mountains, we could not help but notice the abundance of water spilling down the mountainside, over the high cliffs and over the wonderful granite outcrops. Yesterday’s rain was a bonus to our sightseeing and had not adversely affected access.

We called into the National Park historic chalet and the lookout opposite, out over the Gorge, from which we had spectacular views from the sheer cliff side. Bent’s Lookout is at an altitude of 1,300 metres above sea level and a collection of structures perched out over the ledge.

We drove on up the road toward the Horn, but were advised that the road was closed three kilometres from the top. When we reached the road block, we quizzed the barrier keeper who explained that a helicopter was working further up and was anxious not to drop his cargo on tourists, however he should be finished in half an hour or so. We took the opportunity to don our walking boots and head up a track to the Cathedral, a great pile of impressive rocks from where we could see great areas of snow gums bravely fighting the elements. Here great fires swept through in 1985 and so the dead trees are lying more prostrate than those up further in the alpine park.

When we descended to the car park, the man with the orange cones had gone, and so we resumed our drive to the top. The Horn is 1,723 metres above sea level, and is another high rocky outcrop above a lookout at the car park. This time, we packed water into the day pack, in case we should perish in the heat part way up, and then found a barrier on the track with a notice to say it was closed. Two young women had preceded us so we pressed on despite the barrier, only to come to yet another repeating the same. Being law abiding citizens (well, Chris is), we gave up and instead engaged in lengthy conversation with half a dozen other grey headed tourists, travelling from the Hunter Valley in New South Wales.

On our return, we pulled in to the manmade Lake Catani and the ski fields of Cresta Valley, all rather deserted and waiting for the influx of skiers during the “declared snow season”. We returned also to Bent’s Lookout over the Canyon, now devoid of the masses and now also with better visibility. When we had called in earlier in the afternoon, there had been periods of rising cloud between moments of clarity. We also walked along Crystal Brook to where the creek falls dramatically off the top of the mountain plunging 200 metres to the rocks below.

After this there was nothing but to return to camp and agree that the mountains of Bright were just wonderful and had to be on any Must-do list for Victoria.

This morning dawned cloudless, or at least was so by the time we slug-a-beds poked our heads outside. We had debated the number of days we needed to book further, and finally decided that beyond the original two and an extension of two more, another one should do. And so today was the last in Bright and should be well spent. Lunch was packed into the eski and we belatedly set out toward Bright, detouring up to the Tower Hill lookout, a modestly signed track up into forestry. A car park under a power pylon suggested this might be the destination; however the view over Bright was divided into sections by the massive power lines. The track continued, hopefully further up, but in fact took us into a timber felling working area. We returned to the main road and pressed on to our next destination: Wandilidong.

This is a small settlement up the Morse’s Creek valley, with oodles of gold mining history and today, home to fruit and nut orchards. Armed with walking maps, we parked at the centre, beside the once-upon-a-time-general store, more-recently-sometimes post office, now closed, and walked down into the old diggings area. The track was poorly maintained and much of it had been destroyed by flooding over the past years. A meeting of interested local residents was in progress down by the creek, in the hope of motivating money and effort. We discreetly moved on in an effort to find the Chinese Swing Bridge. Alas, access to this and the more commercial tourism attraction, the Maze, were closed and so we returned on the same route, poached some apples from a tree badly neglected by all but codling moth, where we were caught out by a local orchardist returning from the local community meeting (referred to above). He suggested we might end up with bad stomachs by eating the stolen apples, however we were able to assure him they tasted fine; he of course had a vested interest, his apples codling free and commercially viable. We chatted for some time, assuring him that his Australia was not boringly the same, but a magical land that inspired us greatly, and was well worth taking the effort to tour.

We finally parted, wishing each other good lives and good health, and headed back toward Bright. We had paused on the Wandilidong Road earlier and watched paragliders land on a flat road side paddock. We wanted to investigate this further, and so on our return, turned up Mystic Lane toward the Huggins Lookout. This was a gravel forestry road, better than the one travelled earlier in the morning, and as we turned in the opposite direction from the Lookout, even more utilitarian. We wound our way up the hill, to a point 737 metres above sea level, from where alpine paragliding and mountain biking tours launch themselves off the heights. An hour and a half later, having lunched and spent an hour or more conversing with an aficionado, we were so much more informed as to the activities carried on here.

Apparently one can pay about a couple of grand and enjoy a nine day course of paragliding obtaining a ticket as a temporary pilot. The price includes the tuition, the “hire” of the equipment, transport up and down Mystic Hill and a whole lot of fun. The young Melburnian whose wife had come along as an observer only was well satisfied with the service and was enjoying his last days throwing himself off the hill, despite the pain from what he suspected was a broken rib. We watched one head off with a corner of his “wing” entangled in the mass of cords, and hoped as he glided toward the landing pad, he would land safely. We watched a couple of others head off running from the launching pad, hop step and jump, and land on their well-padded bottoms with their chutes falling in a confused mess around them. We also watched others launch successfully and fly high above in the thermals for the duration. The possibility of a tandem flight did greatly appeal, but without a good reason such as a decade-birthday, it seemed a frivolous wish. But do watch this space in the years to come!

We finally tore ourselves away from this excitement and descended to Bright, where we donned our walking boots and set off down along the Ovens River to do the Canyon Walk. This was far less civilised than my expectation, proving the existence of canyon status which I had doubted. The river has carved its way through the valley and flows fiercely on toward the Murray even in its upper reaches here. This entire area was hugely mined for gold, mostly through sluicing and dredging. From the years from 1900 to 1955, fifty five dredges operated here, even changing the whole route of the river. Today as we walked down river, we passed over dozens of water races cut by hand by those tireless miners.

At one point we encountered a couple of dogs, one fierce and small, the other of the kind I consider worthy of extinction, his strong shoulders and the black patch over his eye even more intimidating in the absence of owner. They greeted us aggressively; we reciprocated with soft greetings, immediately ignored. Fortunately there were pieces of stick lying about which we armed ourselves with. At that point, the larger dog turned and ran off, his smaller friend resigned to follow. We continued the route thus armed until we came upon fellow walkers on the return up the other side of the river who assured us there were no dogs ahead. In this country of snakes and spiders, who would think to arm themselves against domestic dogs? 

On our return to camp, we were pleased to make contact, albeit with terrible Skype reception, with my parents. We are now better prepared to head off in the morning.

15 March 2012 Big4 Porepunkah Mill Holiday Park, Victoria

Today was one of those days where the argument for travelling about in Australia in a motorhome versus a caravan comes clearly out in favour of the former. This dilemma was one we struggled with before we first came across the Tasman to set ourselves up ready for this great adventure. We had enjoyed travelling around New Zealand in our own motorhome for five years, but also had previous experience with caravans when the kids were still at home, so we could see the wisdom in both sides of the argument. In the end, of course, we chose to run with the caravan and for myself, I have until today, been absolutely happy with that decision.

We set off from the park just after nine, passing through Porepunkah just a kilometre down the road and on to Bright six kilometres further on, where we purchased a newspaper. We wanted to save exploration of Bright for another day, however we could not but note the avenues of poplars already changing colour, the abundance of other deciduous trees throughout the township and the banner announcing that the annual Autumn Festival was still about six weeks away. Our homework had shown us that Bright would be a delight, and the quick visit today did nothing to suggest otherwise.

Snow Gums regenerating from past damage

We continued on south, following the Ovens River up into the narrowing valley, and then at Harrietville, the road turned steeply away from the river and started to climb up into the Alpine National Park. Harrietville is a charming alpine village of about three hundred folk, their residences and the school tucked discreetly behind the rows of trees soon to turn autumn shades.

While the Great Alpine Road is wide and sealed, it is steep and winding, with steep drops on one side. Soon we were passing through mountains of alpine ash, much of it standing tall and dead, killed by the dreadful 2003 fires, and much of it fresh growth struggling to survive on the steep sides of the mountains all around. One stretch of the road marked as “The Meg” rises continuously for 670 metres, this piece of road being the one that caused Chris to comment on the wisdom of having left the caravan at the park.

We were impressed with the alpine ash in the Otways, the National Park accessed from the Great Ocean Road. They are indeed lovely trees, sometimes known as woolybutt and apparently the second tallest trees on the planet after Californian redwoods. They only grow between the altitude of 900 and 1,450 metres where the snow lies about enough for the seeds to germinate. Which does make me wonder about the Otways; surely we were not so elevated there?

As we approached Mount Hotham, 1,867 metres above sea level, the alpine ash gave way to snow gums, stunted eucalypts which can withstand fire, the weight of the snow and the cold driving winds. These too had been severely affected by the fires and with the regrowth at the base of each tree, they appeared as bouquets of white, wrapped in green crepe paper.

The ski village of Hotham Heights

  
Hotham Heights is situated at 1,750 metres and as such is the second highest resort village in Australia. Chris had been here before, about thirty years ago, but found little familiar. The lodges and hotels which cover only a small area, are modern and open only for business in the ski season. The chairlift structures run on well into the distance, but the actual chairs were all piled up at the resort waiting for the seasonal staff to install them for the masses who will surely arrive with the winter.

Just ten kilometres down the road, we came to Dinner Plain which is also a purpose built ski resort village, with a population of less than one hundred but with over two hundred lodges. Its tradition of hospitality dates from well over a hundred and fifty years ago when drovers stopped by. When the horse drawn coaches were running between Omeo and Bright, they would also stop here for their midday dinner, hence the name. Today it hosts the likes of us travellers and those who come in the summer to enjoy walking and similar pursuits in the National Park, and in the winter, to enjoy snow play.

Sad Alpine Ash

Immediately on from Dinner Plain, the landscape changed to open wooded pasture land, not as steep as the western side, and then a little further, more open valleys with beautiful farmland. We were now in East Gippsland which is famous for pastoral farming. Before descending too far, we turned up a track marked “Mount Kosciusko”, curious to say the least. Of course Mount Kosciusko is Australia’s highest mountain and is situated in New South Wales: from the vantage point here in the Victorian Alps, we were able to see this just fifty kilometres away as the crow might fly.

Omeo is just over forty kilometres from Dinner Plain and sits on land a far cry from the mountainous majesty we had travelled through earlier in the morning. Gold was discovered near Omeo in the early 1850s at Oriental Claims. This name had nothing to do with the Chinese miners who mined here, they were just a small proportion of those who worked the claim. The claim was named so because of the European company named Oriental Company, who worked the mine from 1876 to 1904. The practice of water sluicing was the downfall of any mining here; in 1904 the Sludge Abatement Board prohibited further washing of gravel and silt into the creek. This was in part the reason that extraction of the gold became uneconomical and the mine had closed by 1912.

Omeo suffered as a consequence, then there was an exodus of able bodied men when the Great War broke out in 1914, and then if this was not enough, fire destroyed huge parts of the town in January 1939. In fact in that one day, 1.6 million hectares of forest and grazing country were destroyed, and seventy one lives were lost. Despite all this doom and gloom, today this small rural service town appeared a pleasant little place. We drove into the Oriental Claim historical area and ate our lunch on a rather dilapidated table under gums beside a charming creek, with just a kookaburra in attendance. One could have freedom camped here quite easily, and stayed on to enjoy the many walks on offer.

The road goes on south of Omeo, on down to the south coast at Bairnsdale. We plan to do this section of the road from there at some future date. Instead we turned north back up the Alpine Discovery route, otherwise known as the Bogong High Plains Road. We continued to travel through beautiful hill country, over high ridges and into valleys carved out by equally beautiful rivers. It was interesting to note a sign advising that English Broom Control was being undertaken. This was the first reference we had seen to this plant that grows so prolifically on the east coast of New Zealand’s South Island, south of Kaikoura; gloriously golden in flower but the bane of both farmers and councils. We did not however see any broom here, but were back amongst the more common variety gums, until at Shannonvale we turned steeply up on to the Bogong High Plains. These plains cover 120 square kilometres and are the largest area of alpine grasslands in Victoria. Sheep were grazed here right through to the 1946 but cattle grazing continued on through to 2005. Just recently there has been controversy about the rights of graziers here in the high country, about their carrying of this old age tradition.

At Trapyard Gap, where the 650 kilometre Australian Alps Walking Track crosses, we came upon several busloads of scientists and walkers, all looking the part; all rather surprising after having encountered so few on the road. These wombles and walkers seemed undeterred by the spots of rain and the cold wind. We could understand their interest in this landscape, home to what seems such a fragile environment.

As we drove on past the two mountain top lakes, the Rocky Valley Storage and the Pretty Valley Pondage, the fascinating rocky outcrops, the stunted snow gums, we were tempted to stop and join the other outdoor types, but there was still a long way to go. Had we been travelling in a camper, we would have parked up and spent several days enjoying the many walks on offer.

The ski resort of Falls Creek is here on these plains, lower than the others at 1,100 metres but no less patronised. It, like the other two, seems to be mainly made up of very modern buildings, compact and offering little but specialist services for skiers.

Soon after Falls Creek, the road follows the Kiewa River, down a narrow valley, descending sharply to each of the four hydro-electricity stations, the first at Bogong. The scenery was stunning, but no more so than it had been for the whole trip. Finally we arrived at Mount Beauty, built in 1947 by the State Electricity Commission expressly for the construction of the hydro-electric scheme. From Mount Beauty we turned west and climbed up over the Tawonga Gap, from where we had magnificent views back over the Kiewa valley, and then back down toward Bright, and on home.

We were back after a wonderful eight hours journey, one we joked about redoing tomorrow but in reverse. Apart from the frivolous waste of diesel, it would be a most welcome way to spend yet another day.

14 March 2012 - Big4 Porepunkah Mill Holiday Park, Victoria

We slept well through the night, hearing only the click clacking of frogs, a particular variety not heard before, and were the last of the four overnight parties to leave this morning. The road on to Benalla continued as yesterday, passing through beautiful countryside very reminiscent of that east of Goondiwindi passed through about June last year. Evidence of the floods was all about, with creeks and billabongs filled to the top and the ground beside the road waterlogged and hazardous to those who might choose to pull off for whatever reason.

Benalla has a population of somewhere between six and nine thousand, depending on what source you use. Perhaps the woman in the Visitor Centre was referring to the entire district when she cited the greater figure. Whatever the correct figure, it certainly warrants more attention that we gave it this morning.

The township, situated on the Broken River, was surveyed and first populated in 1849, coming into its own in the 1850s when it served as a provisioning centre for the prospectors and miners passing through on their way to the goldfields.  In the 1870s, Benalla served as headquarters for the hunt of the infamous Ned Kelly, and nowadays cashes in on Kellyana and Kelly history, sharing the role with other towns, Glenrowen, Beechworth and Wangaratta.

Ceramics beside the river

We were most taken with the ceramic mural beside the river, which also serves as the town lake, although not today, the dam having been opened. The mural is a fascinating sculptural piece started in 1983 and finished decades later. Both Chris and I wondered why the nooks and crannies of this creation were not filled with rubbish and all sorts of other horrors that the homeless or the irresponsible care to leave in such shelters, and expressed our concerns to the volunteer in the nearby Centre. She confirmed that this indeed had happened along with mindless vandalism from time to time, and while appreciating the beauty and artistry of the sculpture, confessed that the whole project had its detractors.

Ned Kelly's Siege at Glenrowan

We wandered up and down the main street, purchasing the day’s newspaper and a loaf of bread, then made our way across the river to the Art Gallery which is housed in a lovely modern building tastefully situated beside the sometimes lake. The gallery boasts paintings by some of Australia’s greatest artists, and we certainly can attest to this, however they are, in our opinion, poorer examples of their works. Again the now familiar names of Streeton, Von Guerard, Roberts, Bunny; confirming that we are being educated in matters Australian.  Currently there is an exhibition of Sidney Nolan’s Ned Kelly Series, a collection of sixteen paintings depicting the highlights of The Story of the region. We had seen several of Nolan’s paintings where the armoured Kelly features prominently; I had not particularly liked them. This "collection of illustrations" (my words, not the curators) did appeal a whole lot more. But even more, both Chris and I were particularly taken with the large tapestry rendition of Sidney Nolan’s Siege at Glenrowan, Kelly’s last stand, made in Portugal. The tapestry is far more vibrant than the original painting and is huge. It is part of the permanent collection of the Gallery.

We left Benalla with a great handful of pamphlets about attractions that are evidently worth visiting, and for me, leaving so quickly seemed a shame. We discussed our travel plans again and agreed that we should set out an alternative itinerary then email Advantage Caravan Repairs to reschedule our service appointment.

Just east of Benalla, we re-joined the Hume Freeway and motored on to Wangaratta. With a population of over 16,000 and situated beside the Ovens River, Wangaratta considers itself the gateway to the gourmet wine and food region. Squatter’s runs were taken up in the 1830s and again, like Benalla, it prospered as a provisioning centre for those travelling on through.

There we called into the Information Centre where we were once more overwhelmed with the amount of excellent attractions on offer. We found a park just across the river, and after lunch worked through an optional plan, day by day, and decided that ideally a further week would allow us a more relaxed tour of this region which was becoming more and more fascinating as we travelled on. Contact with Advantage Caravan Repairs proved fruitful; hopefully it is a win-win for all. And so, confident that we would return this way within the week to do Wangaratta (and Benalla) justice, we headed south on the Great Alpine Road, travelling up the Ovens River, parallel to the Murray to Mountains Rail Trail popular even today with cyclists. The valley reminded us of travelling up the Motueka Valley in the north of New Zealand’s South Island, especially when we saw pockets of hop growing, the vines stretching toward the sky on high vertical wires, and the ruins of tobacco drying oast houses, some of which are now being turned into luxury accommodation according to our host here at the park. We also passed wineries and farm gate producers, such as fresh beef, free range eggs and berries, but have learned during the last year that this wonderful fresh produce sells for two to three times the price it sells for at Coles or Woolworths. (I am sure that comment will cause much criticism amongst those who would protect primary producers, but I am a firm follower of the doctrine of supply and demand).  

Soon the flat land which we have been travelling through since well south of Shepparton, rose steeply beside us, and here at Porepunkah, just a few kilometres north of Bright, situated at the confluence of the Buckland and Ovens Rivers, the Mount Buffalo National Park protects us from any westerly winds and any hope of television reception. This is a Big4 camp, has many trees, is so superior to that we have stayed in recently, is full of very friendly fellow travellers, provides folk such as us with a television aerial cord which plugs into a socket beside the power outlet thus providing excellent reception after all, and of course charges accordingly, but fairly.

The highest peak in the Mount Buffalo Park, The Horn, rises to 1,723 metres above sea level. This is apparently a popular destination for snow skiers during the winter. We took a short walk from the park here to the river and looked up to the slopes rising steeply above, catching the last of the afternoon sun. The sparse growth at higher altitudes is evidence of serious bush fires here in 2006. We will drive high into the mountains around us over the next few days and will no doubt see this at closer quarters.  

13 March 2012 - Casey’s Weir Rest Area, Victoria

Tonight we are parked up beside the Broken River, just upstream from a weir, again part of the irrigation systems that make this whole area famous and fertile.

We passed an uneventful night on the side of the road, hearing the dozens of trucks making their way up and down, and also finding that we were not too far from the rail. Shades of the Bruce Highway! We woke to find that we were not alone after all; several travellers in trucks, vans and cars had joined us after our blinds were down.

Last night Chris had checked our power levels and found the battery system blinking red lights at him, not a happy sign. So we skimped on all electricity and checked this morning to find the same unwelcome message. Needless to say that our first stop in Shepparton was at an auto electrician and we passed the rest of the morning there while the young man tinkered with wires, detaching and re-attaching, and finally announcing that all was working correctly. Hopefully if I were to rise off this seat for Chris to check the battery system beneath, he would now find that the battery blinking green lights telling us that our brief motoring and the bright sun has been enough to fully charge the batteries.

Shepperton is a rural centre of over twenty seven thousand souls, reaping its wealth from dairying and fruit growing. The SPC Ardmona and Campbell Soups processing and canning factories are situated here and big employers, and the town is doing its utmost to promote itself as a conference centre and a family tourist destination. There are numerous walks along rail trails and the river, and the Victoria Park Lake is just lovely, a destination to runners and walkers and families with its Splash Park. The lake was constructed earlier last century making the most of the unemployed during the Great Depression however it is only since late in the same century that it has been developed to be such a first class attraction.

After lunch we visited the Art Gallery also known as SAM (the Shepparton Art Museum) which we thoroughly enjoyed. The current star exhibition is a collection of portraits by Sir John Longstaff titled Portraits of a Lady. Chris was not as impressed as I however I am no connoisseur. I simply know what moves or delights me, and these portraits of women painted through the late 1890s to the 1920s did just that. There was also an excellent exhibition of ceramics by Aboriginal artists; this I also enjoyed very much. Upstairs there was the collection; ceramics and paintings by Arthur Boyd which appeal to the warped part of one’s personality (don’t we all have that?), other art by other members of his family and his friend John Perceval, Arthur Streeton, Rupert Bunny and other artists we have come to recognise. And the one piece that grabbed us was a sculpture by Sam Jinks titled Woman and Child, done in the style of those by Patricia Piccanini that had so impressed us in Mount Gambier. There was also a piece of sculpture by this same Patricia, but in fibre glass and not suggesting any animate form. Needless to say, we were impressed with the gallery and would recommend it to anyone passing through this rather lovely town, even as briefly as we were.

A canoeist sharing our river camping spot

And brief our visit was, because after a quick walk around the block and around Furphy Square where there is a large collection of the cows “On the Mooove”. There are more than one hundred life-sized three dimensional fibre-glass cows about the town, with designs ranging from the artful and fanciful to whimsical and those representing stories behind the local community.

Soon we were once more on the move ourselves, heading east toward Benalla. We have reviewed our short tour away from Melbourne and realise that we will be hard pushed to travel and see those places planned within the time frame, hence our speed. However this evening we will enjoy the cicadas and the birds, already in evidence, and try to avoid the mosquitos, which have already announced their presence.

12 March 2012 - Calder Woodburn Memorial Rest Area, Victoria

On the road again after four weeks and four days at Rockbank! We were still away by ten o’clock, half an hour before the required departure time. I did wonder when we arrived why this particular camp had a later check out time, however over the weeks of travelling in the city traffic, I would suspect it is to assist the traveller get out on to the road safely. Sundowner Rockbank Caravan Park is right on the edge of the Freeway, a road with relentless traffic coming at you from both east and west, and it is quite an ordeal to get across to the middle of the freeway, before launching oneself into the traffic heading for the city. I confess to shutting my eyes on several occasions rather than add to the driver’s stress, this more of an ordeal with a vehicle such as ours which cannot boast immediate acceleration, such as cars we have owned in the past.

Today was a holiday here in Victoria so the traffic was less frenzied; the trip out of the city via the Western Ring Road and on to the Hume Freeway was without event. We were soon out into the country heading north, expanses of grassland and avenues of gums, kangaroo corpses on the side of the road, sunny blue skies, all familiar as one travels through this wonderful country. As we travelled north, Mount Disappointment in the Kinglake National Park rose to the east, still scarred from the fires a couple of years ago.

Seymour lies one hundred and twelve kilometres to the north of Melbourne, beside the upper Goulburn River, a small rural town of over six and a half thousand people. We stopped at the Information Centre which is housed  in the old Courthouse, built in the 1850s when the one hundred and thirty eight inhabitants demanded the services of their own courthouse. This we found quite amazing; imagine if every one hundred and thirty eight persons had their own courthouse! The courtroom and side chambers are now home to the local Art Society where there are a remarkable number of very good paintings, some for sale at realistic prices.

Across the street, we called into the old Post Office which is now a restaurant and art gallery operated privately. There are some lovely pieces of art for sale here too, however since we did not wish to order any refreshment, and felt uncomfortable browsing, we did not hang about too long.

The down-to-earth volunteer in the Information Centre made a call to VicRoads to confirm that the highway from Shepperton to Benalla was open, but that most roads further north from there were closed due to the extensive flooding still on-going. She also mentioned that there was a fair going on down at the river side, so after lunch we set out to investigate.

We were quite amazed to find so many sideshows there; we had assumed that all Victoria’s sideshow folk were at the Moomba Festival in Melbourne. There were also a lot of market stalls, selling food items, vegetables now wilted in the sun, clothes, hats, crafts and more clothes. The parkland beside the Goulburn River was just delightful despite the thick brown consistency of the river.

Returning to the town centre, we walked about the streets, surprised to find the newsagency open today of all days. We agreed that Seymour had a good feel about it and was just full of unpretentious folk, the sort of people you would rather have beside you during fire or flood events.

We left with the intention of parking up for the night at a rest area within ten kilometres of Seymour, but were unable to find it. We continued on north, now on the Goulburn Valley Highway, passing through Nagambie on the shores of a manmade lake of the same name. The river was dammed way back in 1887, making it Australia’s first water diversion project. As all irrigation reservoirs here in Australia, it serves a dual purpose and that was evident today with all the boats and activity on its shores.

Twenty kilometres from Shepperton, we came upon this rest area. It is wide, open, has modern clean toilets and best of all, a solid parking area. We are unlikely to wake in the morning to find ourselves bogged to the axles, which we can imagine might be a real concern as we travel through this flood ravaged countryside.