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The Great Oz Walkabout - Continues!  

Australia 2013 Trip Logs  Cruise Trip Logs eBooks

October 2013 -- Website Update: We left the mainland USA in late December 2012, after months of planning a grand walkabout in Australia. Christmas 2012 was celebrated on the island of Saipan in the Marianas chain and after New Year's we visited the islands of Tinian, Guam, Yap and Palau before flying to Cairns, Australia. We had been researching used motor-homes in Australia for months and planned to purchase same for use in our "Great Oz Walkabout".

I have re-ordered the daily entries into time order, moved the trip-logs to a new page and you will find the link to the right (click on the white bus picture).







Meanwhile, we have moved the trip-logs of our sailing circumnavigation down a level and you will find the link to the right (click on the S/V DoodleBug picture to get to the "old" web-site).










We have also "cleaned up" the sailing logs and reformatted them into .epub files, so that they may be downloaded and read at your convenience on an iPad or Kindle reader as "e-books". Because there are about 6,000 embedded photos in the original website, I needed to split the log of the cruise into 18 "volumes". To date, I have tested these eBook files on both a "Kindle Fire" and an "iPad3". Click right on the "books" icon to access the files for download.







We dit it!!! All the way around!

November 22, 2014

Northbound again and we were driving through dry country, with fewer bushes and more red dirt visible between them. Before long, the bushes were gone and empty, dry grass land stretched out before us. We passed a road sign indicating that we had just crossed the Tropic of Capricorn, where on December 21st, a month from now, the post holding up the road sign should cast no noon shadow, with the sun directly overhead. Our latitude was South 23 degrees 26 minutes as we drove by and almost instantly the landscape was dotted with huge red termite mounds – how did they know? The mounds were six feet tall, like rusted snowmen and of course we had to stop to take pictures, with Annette stepping carefully through the Spinifex grass, looking to avoid poisonous snakes. We knew that there were reptiles such as Monitor lizards around, as we had seen two live specimens, one crossing the road (our wheels passed either side of him) and the other, larger one observing from the safety of the roadside and looking on with the disapproval and disdain that only such lizards can exhibit.

We left the North West Coastal highway just beyond Minilya- heading up the minor road to Exmouth. More dry country and a low range of hills to the west blocking any view of the Indian Ocean. Our drive was interrupted, just before noon, when we reached the intersection of the Burkett Road, the latter coming in from the east. We stopped at the intersection to take pictures because....WE HAVE DONE IT!!! We have circumnavigated Australia by driving our bus all the way around! Jo and Humpy stopped their rental car to ask if we were OK and were promptly conscripted to take our picture. Very nice people and typical of the folks you meet in the Outback.

Continuing our journey, we drove the 90 kms. into Exmouth over the same highway we had driven in 2013 pulling into the Ningaloo caravan park where we had also stayed before. The afternoon was warm and we cooled off in the park swimming pool. It is Saturday in Australia, we are at the mid-point of this trip and we plan to stay here for a few days to catch up on chores and plan our next move.

November 21, 2014

This morning we asked at the caravan park office when the Telegraph Station museum might open and the owner promptly sent her husband across to unlock it for us and turn the lights on. There were examples and information on stromatolites but for me the major point of interest was the ancient telegraphy equipment. I had seen lots of cowboy movies where the telegraph operator would click away on a morse key and receive clicking noises in return from a device hooked to the line. I had thought it would be difficult to tell the difference between a dot and a dash, just based upon the sound difference between an "up click" and a "down click" of a fraction of a millisecond and today I learned that this was not the method used. Unlike "modern" morse code where an oscillator produces a tone (short beep = dot, long beep = dash) the original telegraph used three clicks for a dash and a single click for a dot. A time gap equal to the time of three clicks separated the letters.

The Hamelin Pool repeater station had a team of men who would decode a message and then manually re-key it again for the next section of line. The labor intensive procedure was eliminated following the introduction of automatic telegraph repeaters, in fact one of Edisons' earliest inventions was an automatic repeater in 1864. Apparently this technology did not make it to Hamelin Pool until much later, however a delightful story concerns the connection of Hamelin Pool with technology giant NASA.

In 1964 the first test of an unmanned Gemini capsule was on the launching pad at Cape Canaveral. Woomera would track it in the Southern Hemisphere using their tracking station on the west coast of Australia at Carnarvon. Just one minute after liftoff, a lightning strike vaporized 10 feet of the telephone trunk line connecting Carnarvon to the world. Some quick thinking telecom people in Perth remembered that the original telegraph line, running up the Australian coast, was still in existence. It was a single copper wire using the ground for return and was thought to be unreliable because of salt corrosion due to its proximity to the sea. This is why the new telephone line had been moved inland. The telegraph line had already been sold for salvage but the contractor had yet to begin work stripping the copper and removing the poles. The postmistress at Hamelin Pool was awakened at 10:30 p.m. by a call using a "ringdown magneto line" (the "crank phone" you see in the movies). She had four months experience at the time, recognized the emergency and thought she had "better get dressed". She then proceeded to pass on thousands of coded numbers to the technicians at Carnarvon station to provide guidance for their antennas, as well as passing data back to Woomera. NASA sent a thank you letter and her employers granted her overtime pay worth AU 5 dollars and 95 cents.

We hit the road again, heading north. A beautiful drive with clear blue skies and a few fluffy white clouds. As we approached Carnarvon, there were emus, goats, sheep and cattle feeding in the bush and ample evidence that they are often victims to vehicles. We passed the huge white dishes of the Carnarvon tracking station and hoped their Wi-Fi is working.

November 20, 2014

A late start but we were on the road again, driving east across the Kalbarri National Park. The landscape was a sea of spring flowers, bushes blossoming in improbable hues, some thrusting spindly spikes skywards bearing orchid-like trumpets. There were sections with no flowers and in these areas both the bushes and the road itself looked scorched, we assumed by recent bush fires.

We turned north again on “The Great North West Highway” and after crossing the green of the Murchison River, the terrain again changed, drier now with fewer flowering bushes. Tania had recommended the Billabong Roadhouse for supper but we arrived there around 1:30 p.m. and instead, ordered the “Big Breakfast”. Fat, salt and carbohydrates with a few nitrites thrown in! Does it get any better than this?,

On the south end of Shark Bay is Hamelin Pool and stromatolites. We pulled in here and walked down to the water’s edge to observe these strange formations.

Wikipedia states, "The stromatolites in Hamelin Pool were discovered by surveyors working for an oil exploration company in 1956 and were the first living examples of structures built by cyanobacteria, the direct descendants of the oldest form of photosynthetic life on earth." The mats of weathered rock we observed looked like misshapen and eroded limestone structures. It is not surprising that they had camel drawn wagons driven over them for half a century before their discovery. The camels had been hauling wool and Hamelin Pools wool shed was the terminus for the area's wool production, where it was transshipped to shallow lighters before being transshipped once more to the deeper draught vessels in Shark Bay. At that time there was no road access in this part of Australia.

Hamelin Bay had been chosen as the site of a repeater station of the telegraph line from Perth to the Gold Fields on the western end of the Australian northern coast and was established in 1884. It was not a popular posting for the telecommunication employees of the 19th century. The original building, now used as a museum, was closed when we arrived and an hour or so before sunset, we walked up the low hill behind the station. Halfway up the hill was a lone gravesite of a 7 month old baby who died in March, 1898. As we gazed behind us at the few primitive buildings that comprised the telegraph station (the wool shed had been torn down and relocated some time ago) we saw the empty bush spreading to the horizon. What an awful feeling of helplessness for the parents of a sick child - no "flying doctor" 116 years ago.

We topped the ridge and admired the flagpole, used as a navigation marker by the wool lighters navigating a flat and mostly featureless shallow bay, and before us were the quarries. Here the enterprising local settlers mined "Coquina", a sedimentary rock composed of tiny shells that have become cemented together and form a lightweight, highly insulating building material, similar to the "Pumicecrete" used in New Mexico. The Coquina was cut into blocks using hand cross-cut saws, such as you would use for cutting lumber and the blocks were hauled away by camel cart. The quarry is closed today for mining and is preserved as a historical feature.

We had passed a freshly dead kangaroo on the way in to this location and the Caravan park owner had lamented to me that she had hit one this very morning and damaged the whole side of her car which had just been repaired from a previous kangaroo encounter. It was already late afternoon and we decided to stay here for the the night. (She probably keeps stuffed kangaroos to salt the road with)

November 19, 2014

Annette had researched “the Principality of Hutt River” , wanted to visit and she further knew we must be nearby but where was it? The first gas station where we enquired insisted it was, “Up the road, lots of signage - You can’t miss it!”. When the odometer indicated we must have missed the place, we stopped at another gas station for directions. This time we were directed to reverse our course by about a hundred yards and drive some 10 kms. on a dirt road. About 10 kms from the blacktop, we received our first encouragement, a small blue sign that indicated another 30 kms to go.

The red dirt / gravel road was not too badly wash boarded but we heard a curious thumping from underneath the bus. I finally noticed what looked like dozens of grasshoppers fleeing our passage, some unsuccessfully. The roads were empty, there was no signs of habitation, just empty harvested fields stretching to the horizon. Our GPS complained and whined about our course but she did admit that we were on named roads and eventually and after a couple of turns, we arrived at the “Principality of Hutt River”.

The history of Hutt River is simply amazing and has been fleshed out in detail in Wikipedia. The story began in 1970 when the government of Western Australia imposed a production quota on the Casley family, who had been wheat farming on 4,000 hectares. Essentially, the Casley's were told that only one tenth of the crop they had raised could be sold, no appeal. Leonard Casley was sure that a mistake had been made, since what had been promised the farmers was only a small reduction in production quotas but he was informed by the then Governor of Western Australia, no correction or adjustment would be granted. The law had not yet been passed by Parliament so Casley filed a claim under the Law of Tort for damages of AU$52 million dollars against the Queen of England as the Governor was her representative. Casley then used the “Law of Unjust Enrichment” to successfully seize government land around his farm, in an attempt to increase his wheat quota. Two weeks later, the government introduced a bill in Parliament to compulsorily acquire his land or “resume” their holdings. Casley responded by switching to International Law by seceding and declaring his independence from the Commonwealth of Australia. The government of Western Australia felt it couldn’t do anything without the help of the Commonwealth (sort of like the “Feds”) but the latter felt it was unconstitutional to interfere and in correspondence, inadvertently referred to Casley as the, “Administrator of the Hutt River Province”. When Australian Prime Minister William McMahon threatened Casley with “infringement of territory”, Casley styled himself, “His Majesty Prince Leonard I of Hutt” and used the British Treason Act of 1495 in which a self proclaimed monarch could not be guilty of any offence against the rightful ruler and anyone who interfered with his duties was guilty of treason. This was not the end of it as you can well imagine but Australians do love an underdog and despise arrogant bureaucrats. H.R.H. Prince Leonard has kept his land and his independent micro country ever since.

We first met Prince Leonard’s son Prince Graeme, just outside of the Principality’s post office. Inside the building, we looked at Hutt River stamps and bank notes and then HRH Prince Graeme gave us a tour and explanation of the memorabilia. This is still a working station but now focused on sheep rather than wheat. I was reminded of the brothers who built a two thirds replica of Stonehenge in their wheat fields near Kerrville, Texas. What else do wheat farmers do between planting and reaping? The Principality of Hutt River goes way beyond Stonehenge replicas and the various buildings and monuments were very tastefully executed. Prince Leonard I has surrounded himself with all of the trappings of monarchy, he has reached out graciously to diplomats, churchmen and fellow monarchs across the globe and many have responded in kind. The web-site link I indicated above is nicely done and provides lots of information as to the Constitution of Hutt River, Defense Forces, Postal Services – the list is endless. We met Prince Leonard himself and at 82 years old, he is a bright and interesting character.

For us this was good fun but I can well imagine the anguish and stress this family endured, not knowing if the government with their guns and unlimited taxpayers money behind them, was going to snatch away the Casley’s livelihood on the whim of the moment from some slimebag politician. Go on, ask me how I really feel!

All too soon, we bade our farewells, crossed the border back into Australia,  continuing west across another 30 kms. or so of red dirt roads before reaching the sea. We stopped for the night at Kalbarri and were suitably impressed with the quantity of Kamikaze dead grasshoppers across our formerly white bus. The white panel below the windshield is now yellow and green and we asked for a waiver (duly granted) of the “no vehicle washing” rule, for a bucket wash of at least the front of the bus.

November 18, 2014

Heading north again we left Guilderton and followed the Indian Ocean Drive as it snaked it way between sea and white sand dunes, through the bush of Western Australia. The “Christmas trees” (Nuytsia Floribunda) were in full bloom, with their bright orange blossoms standing up like candles in the branches. The Grass Trees (formerly known as the now politically incorrect “Black Boys”) are spectacular and look as though they are from another planet. They often have a charred and blackened trunk that resists bush fires, topped by a spherical bush of grass like the 60’s “Afro” hair style. From this shoots up one or more long vertical “spears”, maybe eight feet in length and sometimes white with blossoms. “Grass Tree” is such a nondescript name for this unusual tree.

We stopped for lunch at a small cove, parking next to the beach. The sand was near covered with sea weed on the strand and we decided if we owned all of the cove, we would get a tractor and clean up the beach. Our house would stand on the south, on rocky higher ground and the windows would face Africa across the Indian Ocean.

Continuing north we saw several buildings, constructed mostly of corrugated metal and often, little more than lean to’s, built in the bush between the highway and the beach. We wondered if this was legal and who indeed owned the land. There was not much evidence of “improvements” in the various buildings, as abandoned, rusting vehicles really don’t fall into this category.

We stopped for the night at Geraldton, at the “African Sunset” caravan park, associated with a hotel and restaurant. We decided to eat at their restaurant and the view from the dining room was interesting, with a reef a mile or so offshore, no small boats of any kind fishing, just the empty ocean with breakers over the far reef. As twilight approached, a distant navigation light began to wink and a ocean going barge left Geraldton, turned to starboard and vanished into the gathering dusk, bound for some unknown port. I had just remarked that there would be no “green flash” tonight, when the sky near exploded with an awesome display of sunset color from what was such an unpromising, cloudy sky. As the unseen sun descended further below the horizon, the higher altitude clouds in turn became fire. Well worth the eight bucks for the beer.

November 17, 2014

Last night Tania had loaded our flat tire into her car and dropped it off this morning at a local Perth repair shop on her way to work. We had a more leisurely takeoff, since we weren’t trying to get a couple of kids ready for school and by the time we drove over to the repair shop, the tire had a new tube, had been blessed by the mechanics as undamaged and was swapped out for the spare. The guys even restored my spare back under the bus leaving my hands almost spotless. I just had to look old, feeble, helpless and pay the bill. Back on the highway, we headed north up the Indian Ocean coast road and as we approached Guilderton, Annette felt the need for a good beach comb, thus we pulled into a caravan park at the mouth of the Moore River.

The park only had a few sites occupied but those that were, seemed to have a dozen toddlers each. The kids were all playing nicely and we wandered over to the river bank and observed even more children swimming in the river. This seems a great family spot, with a white sand beach just feet from the caravan park, plus ducks and seagulls to chase in the park. The Moore river is tea colored and we assumed that we were seeing its estuary. There were ducks swimming next to the kids and in the distance a white sand bar with the blue of the Indian ocean beyond. Just outside the caravan park was a sign requesting that we not damage the bar and upset the fragile environment of the river. A little puzzled by this warning we walked on, climbed a steep path to an overlook and then based upon the quantity of existing footprints, climbed over a wall and descended to the beach down a sandy trail through the bush. From this vantage we could see that the Moore river was trapped behind the narrow sand bar to our left and the steeply sloping beach to our right, with crashing waves and strong undertow. The dammed waters of the Moore were obviously higher than the Indian Ocean and as we walked the narrow spit between the two, we clearly surmised that three grandkids, fueled liberally with sugar and possessing a shovel, could cut a usable channel in about twenty minutes. What fun they could have!

We walked the length of beach, perhaps three quarters of a mile and Annette found a stick to poke gooey stuff with but there were few shells, just stranded weed, trapped jelly fish, squid (cuttlefish) bones and soft sand. On our return, the sand seemed softer, the air warmer and Annette’s tree climbing muscles started to whimper. I quoted, “The guns at Aqaba face the sea, Sherif Ali and cannot be turned round” but it didn’t help.

November 16, 2014

Last night we had stopped in Perth at Tania and Barry’s place and again parked on their lawn, the deep tire impressions from our previous visit still evident. I had made myself a mental note to recheck the rear tire pressures and this morning noticed that one of the inner rear tires looked distinctly flat. I attempted to measure its pressure but there was no valve stem visible – bad sign! The bus has dual rear tires and so the axle weight was supported by the outer tire, therefore not an immediate crisis but we moved from the lawn to a flat section of roadway, where the inner tire was swapped for the spare. This procedure felt a whole lot safer than working on the front wheels, as the bottle jack we used is trapped under the leaf springs and is not such a big risk for slipping.

Barry and Tania took us out for lunch and we all loaded into the car and headed for downtown Perth. Barry then took us on a guided tour through the downtown area, followed by a visit to Kings Park and Botanic Gardens, on the banks of the Swan estuary. Here were manicured lawns like a golf course, families picnicking, yachts sailing serenely on the Swan river below - an idyllic setting. Perth has a cosmopolitan population at just under 2 million, rarely freezes, low cyclone risk, has low humidity and sunshine. Our impression of the city is unpolluted, not particularly crowded and an attractive place to live. They do get bush fires but every place has to have some negative feature.

We walked through the park admiring the gardens and located a grove of Boab trees (believed to have been imported to Australia from Africa thousands of years ago), the largest of which is estimated at 750 years old and was transplanted here by being trucked 2,000 miles from the Kimberley region of Western Australia. All of the Boabs in the park were leafless and we were assured that this is “normal” and what they do in the “dry” season.

Our next stop was Whiteman Park where there was much kangaroo poo in evidence and is the source of the live kangaroos we had seen when we first approached Tania and Barry’s home. There was also a sign at the park entrance warning of feral buffaloes but we didn’t see any and a large black animal weighing in at a ton is hard to miss. There was also warnings of trams crossing the road and there is indeed a vintage electric tram providing tram rides between a mussel farm and the village. Our destination however was the “Lolly shop” in the village and while the kids got lollies, the adults made do with “gourmet” ice cream bars. Barry made one more stop on the way home and this was to visit the model airplane and model “off road” buggy racing clubs. The buggy races were fun to watch, as skillful drivers raced the cars around a dirt track with tight serpentine bends and humps. The cars were often airborne and although there were stewards strategically placed to right any capsizes and return them to the track, there were several drivers so skilled, they could not only stay on the track but pick a route through the jumps and pass other vehicles without mishap. My favorites were the model aircraft and there were several bi-planes that were huge as models and the pilots obviously super skilled. They were practicing for an airshow / competition and flew complex aerobatics with multiple aircraft. The most amazing craft we watched was a helicopter. It flew more like a dragonfly than a model and seemingly defied the laws of physics. It could fly stably upside down and therefore the pilot must have had the ability to completely reverse the pitch of the blades. It also “hovered” with its nose pointing at the ground and its tail vertical and was able to “jump” forwards and backwards using the main rotor. This is impossible. There was no thrust holding it up. I saw it happen. I still don’t believe it. A great visit and a great day.

November 15, 2014

We spent the night at Manjimup (Meaning place of water with bulrush roots) and in the morning set out for the nearby Truffle and Wine Company, where black Perigord truffles are produced. The company used to be the Wine and Truffle Company but since 2003 when the first truffle was unearthed, truffle production has since dominated and the renamed enterprise is now largest producer of black truffles in the world, exporting to gourmet kitchens all over the globe, including of course, the USA and France. The truffles are a fungus found at the roots of Oak and Hazelnut trees and are harvested using trained “truffle dogs”. Since we were visiting on the week-end, the truffle dogs were all on break and the harvesting doesn’t begin until next May anyway. Truffles sell for around US$4,000 per pound in France and here at the truffiere, they had frozen truffle for sale at AU$37 per gram. That works out at around $16,700 per pound Australian dollars but I am sure we could have made a better deal for a volume purchase. Sadly we didn’t get to pet the truffle dogs (Labradors) and continued our drive through the spectacular forests, charming small towns, and then up the coast road to Perth.

November 14, 2014

Back to the auto electrical shop this morning and we parked in the lot until around 9:15 a.m., when the “Toll” delivery service dropped off the needed parts. Simon and Allan of “Autospark”, jumped right into swapping out the damaged alternator from our bus but soon discovered that not only was the old alternator damaged with “ovalled out” bolt holes but the mounting bracket on the engine was similarly damaged. Simon solved this problem by jumping into his truck and taking off to the nearby wrecking yard, returning with a salvaged replacement bracket. By 11:30 a.m. we were back on the road, new alternator installed, driven by its new belts and heading for Shannon National Park and the Great Forest Trees Walk.

The attraction was the tree top walk through a grove of giant “Tingle trees” at Walpole. (I’m not making this up, that’s what they’re called). The “walk” is a series of linked walkways, suspended between poles like suspension bridges. The walkways allowed us to ascend 130 feet or so into the canopy of the “Tingle” grove, with great views into the distance. Looking down you can visualize what the birds are seeing and if you “accidently” spit over the edge, it takes 8 seconds for the goober to hit bottom. The trees can grow to 250 feet or so and are some of the tallest in Australia, living up to four centuries.

We next walked at ground level through a grove ancient trees, searching the undergrowth for Quokkas. We didn’t spot any, not a surprise since they are a nocturnal marsupial about the size of a cat. The Tingle trees are often decayed at their base and naturally occurring fires will burn out this center decayed section, leaving a natural cave at the heart of the tree, with the huge bole supported by buttresses of live wood from the roots. Quite extraordinary and most of the Tingles in this grove contained these caves with walls of charred timber. We searched inside for bats that allegedly made their homes here but again, didn’t spot any.

We continued north to Pemberton driving through heavily forested countryside. Just outside Manjimup is the “Diamond Tree”, a 168 foot tall Karri tree, perhaps 250 years old, that in 1941 had a wooden cabin built upon its crest and used as a fire lookout tower. This is the ultimate “tree house”, easily accessible with a parking area just off the highway. The vertical bole of the Karri tree was made climbable by having metal spikes, like giant straight-pins, driven in to the trunk about 18 inches apart and sticking out around three feet. There was a small platform at 90 feet altitude and the metal spikes spiraled up around the trunk to this platform. Here was a warning that the balance of the climb was vertical and the spikes narrower. The final section was a fifteen foot vertical steel ladder that entered the summit platform through a shoulder width cutout. This was simply amazing. There was no fee for climbing this tree and as I pondered this, it is not so surprising since no commercial enterprise outside of Somalia would take the liability risk on something so dangerous. I cannot imagine that in a modern “nanny” state, where children must wear a helmet just to ride a toy scooter, this exhilarating experience will survive too much longer. The Pemberton visitor’s website maintains that there have been no deaths to date but there have been two tree climbing heart attacks.

Annette, who is terrified of heights and in the past has refused to walk across the two lane Taos Gorge bridge in New Mexico (565 feet above the river), shot up this tree like a squirrel chased by a cat. We climbed to the summit platform and gazed out at the surrounding Karri forest with Australia stretching to the horizons. Wonderful.

November 13, 2014

Still blowing, raining and it’s cold! Thank goodness for heaters. We arrived promptly for our appointment with the auto electrical shop and everything was going swimmingly, until I pointed out that the Coaster has a 24 volt system. The required parts won’t be available until tomorrow morning and we decided to use the opportunity for some sightseeing. Our destination was “The Gap” rocks on the southern coast, inside Torndirrup National Park. The gap is a quarry-like, naturally formed “notch” in the south facing granite cliffs. The cliffs are around 80 feet high, the “gap” itself about 60 feet across and the drop from the cliff’s edge is sheer, to a rocky base with crashing waves from the Southern Ocean. We were later told that this is a popular local spot for suicides. The earth tectonics folks claim that this part of Australia was once attached to Antarctica and with the cold wind blowing over the ice floes and a faint smell of penguin, I believe it. We looked in awe as the waves crashed below us, gasping as the bitterly cold wind drove rain gusts at us and then we scurried over to the nearby natural rock arch where more waves were crashing below. If the weather had been a trifle warmer, I would have walked over the arch to see if it would bear my weight but we will need to “photo-shop” that picture.

In the early days of settlement, the only viable industry as such, was whaling and the whalers arrived in numbers, about four years after the first colonists. Albany’s proximity to the Antarctic whale feeding grounds made it an important base for the industry and in 1952 the Cheynes Beach Whaling Company began operations. This was industrial scale whaling and continued until 1978, when the economics of whaling forced the company’s closure. The factory remains intact and together with the last whale chaser to operate in Australian waters, the M/V Cheynes IV, was preserved as a museum. The steam winches are no longer steam driven, hidden electric motors now turn the machinery and combined with hidden speakers and a sound system, provide a small taste of what it might have been like to work here. I say “small” since what was missing was the smell of decaying whale and the bang of rifles as a two man crew attempted to suppress the hundreds of sharks attracted by the blood. This factory was limited by regulation to a catch of 1,500 whales per year and the whale chasers would set out to the south on a two day trip, guided by Cessna aircraft spotters, to kill and harvest up to a score of the animals. The dead whales were towed back Cheynes Beach where steam winches would haul the 60 ton carcasses up a ramp for the fletching crew to strip the blubber for rendering to oil, while the balance of the carcass was boiled, ground and dried for animal feed. The huge whale oil storage tanks had been converted to movie theatres and we wandered from tank to tank watching short documentaries on the topics of whaling, sharks and the known biology of whales. In the old machinery shed, there were skeletons of various whales including an intact skeleton of a pygmy blue whale, nearly 80 feet in length. Adult Blue whales can be over a 100 feet in length weighing in at 200 tons. We had seen Humpback whales up close when we were sailing in Tonga but nothing like the size of these gentle monsters. An instructive visit but the lad at the grocery store checkout stated that he “hated” the Whaling Museum, because every year throughout elementary school and beyond, there was a school day trip followed by a necessary report. Perhaps if he had paid more attention, he wouldn’t be working as a grocery store checker today.

It was still raining, cold and blowing when we left the museum, so we called a “rain day”, to settle back at the caravan park with movies and popcorn.

November 12, 2014

We continued south to the city of Albany, a pretty drive marred only by the fact that the wind was gusting violently, it was overcast and occasionally raining. We parked downtown and visited the information center, running between showers and leisurely ate our lunch in the bus while watching the downtown shoppers. I then realized that we were actually parked in a “one hour” zone and two slots from a “fifteen minute” zone. We hastily decamped and fervently hope that the enforcement mechanism isn’t some mysterious electronic version that sends you a bill a month or so later. We have an appointment to have our alternator checked at a shop tomorrow morning so we relocated a nearby caravan park and spent the afternoon catching up on chores.

November 11, 2014

This morning we visited the York “sock factory”, the only one in Western Australia. Here we looked at the socks but instead bought merino wool / possum mix sweaters for each of us. Jackie, the energetic proprietor, plans to visit the USA with her husband in the near future and they want to rent Harley Davidson motorcycles and tour the famous “Route 66”. Until 1937, “Route 66” passed through Santa Fe, New Mexico, before the route was realigned to avoid some of the more daunting mountain passes and there are many historical buildings from this era that have survived.

Our road lay south along “The Great Southern Highway”. Tree lined, empty roads passing between hayfields with sheep grazing, some occasional cattle but no wildlife, except brightly colored parrots and the inevitable grey and pink galahs.

Just north of Pingelly, there was a curious thump from the engine compartment, which didn’t sound like a rock. We pulled over and looked under the bus with a mirror. Just as suspected, one of two alternator belts was missing. In Pingelly, the lad at the fuel stop recommended we try Narrogin for parts and a mechanic. This was a further 50 kms. and I estimated that the remaining alternator belt was good for somewhere between two minutes and six months. We found the parts store immediately on the outskirts of town and they sold me a matched pair of belts before mentioning there is a Toyota dealership in town.

We headed over to Toyota Service and the service manager first told me they were swamped. He then looked over the bus, looked under the bus and disappeared. I was puzzled at first with his absence but assumed he would have been more definite with telling us to buzz off. He then returned, grabbed the bus keys from us, handed us another set of keys for a nearby Toyota Camry and told us to go and get a coffee back in town. We watched in fascination as he drove the bus to the edge of an ancient loading dock, with a junior mechanic guiding him. If the bus front wheels fell off the dock, it would have made for some interesting photographs but the edge of the dock did not crumble and the bus didn’t in fact roll over the edge. The purpose of the maneuver was apparent since the engine could now be accessed without a lift.

As instructed Annette and I drove our “loaner” into town, a few hundred yards at most and scoured the various stores until we got a call to say the bus was ready. The service manager had himself “helped” his junior mechanic work on our vehicle and warned us that the loose bolt had worn an “oval” hole in the alternator. To repair this the alternator housing would have to be replaced and what we have at present is a temporary fix that should enable us to reach an automotive electrical specialist shop in Albany to the south. The “old” alternator belt, sole survivor of the original pair was left inside the bus for us. I examined it and noted it had deep cracks in a half dozen places, extending more than half way through the rubber. Its life expectancy closer to the two minutes, rather than the six months end of the spectrum.

November 10, 2014

Last week we had a stone smack into the windshield and since then, there has been a crack, growing a couple of inches per day and bisecting our view of the world. We set out this morning for a nine o’clock appointment at O’Brien Glass Repair and with our allowance for rush hour traffic, arrived some twenty minutes early. Two men were already waiting for us at O’Briens and almost as soon as I put the brake on, they began tearing out the old windshield. These guys really looked like they had done this before and in less than an hour, Russell had installed a brand new piece of glass that sparkled better than when the bus left the Toyota plant. It is always instructive to watch skilled craftsmen. Unlike the USA experience, the bulk of the expense was picked up by our Australian insurance coverage and we were soon heading off down the road, willing the bugs to miss us.

Our destination was the Perth Mint, alleged source of Australian bank notes. We drove into the downtown area and found it clean, modern looking and bustling. Parking was an issue as the Perth downtown is business, not tourist oriented but we managed to squeeze into a “car” space, just overhanging a little and paid the meter. As we discovered, the Perth mint does not make the notes, just coins and bullion. The bullion is actively traded at the mint and so security was far more evident than at the Canberra Mint. Our parking meter time was limited, thus we did not linger and returned to our bus to find the wipers free of tickets.

Back on the highway again, we headed east from Perth to the town of York, a pristine little town with hundred and fifty year old, brick buildings lining the high street. We exited the information center and spotted a sign indicating a dump-site for our “cassette toilet” – an occupational habit of caravanners. This was located next to the town park with a sign advertising 24 hours, i.e. overnight parking available. Amazingly, there were unmetered power outlets along the parking area for use by the overnighters. We walked through the town and then headed for the Castle Hotel, established in 1853. The lady at the info center had given us a four page list of the eateries in town and then helpfully mentioned that the Castle was in fact the only one open. The meal there was great, as was the beer and we had but a half block walk back to the bus.

November 9, 2014

Road trip day! Barry and Tania loaded us and the kids into the car for a trip to “the Pinnacles”, within the Nambung National Park, north of Perth. “How much further? I need to go potty! I need a drink of water!” – and that was just us; the kids were good as gold. The Pinnacles are thousands of limestone pillars, rising out of a sea of yellow sand the color of curry powder. The pillars are anything up to 15 feet high and are twisted, jagged and weathered. Some look like Halloween ghosts, some with sharp points and some “rather naughty”, observed Tania. We walked amongst these strange objects, speculating as to their origin. Some seemed to have fossilized worm tubes embedded, some looked like ferns and some with dendritic root structures. Our most popular postulate was that these were formed from a shallow reef system. At the visitor’s center, it was said that there were “conflicting theories” and the most popular was that these were the stumps of fossilized trees from a marsh environment. Rubbish! We have the correct idea - based upon our extensive research spanning over an hour!

From the Pinnacles we headed over to Hansen Beach to devour the wonderful sandwiches Tania had prepared, before the flies found us. We walked the beach and Annette found some kind of stranded sea slug, green and about the size of a small rabbit. She decided to “save it” by hurling it back into the sea but each successive wave dumped it back on the beach, looking a little more disheveled, if a slug can even look disheveled. Finally Tania came to the rescue with a long distance pitch that sufficed at least until we had driven away.

Just down from Hansen Beach was a salt lake containing Stromatolites, defined by Wikipedia as, “layered bio-chemical accretionary structures, formed in shallow water by the trapping, binding and cementation of sedimentary grains by biofilms microbial mats of microorganisms, especially cyanobacteria”. Got it? What we saw looked like giant warts, about a yard in diameter. The lake water is supposed to be one and half times more salty than the sea, thereby dissuading land animals from drinking or grazing here. These particular colonies were estimated to be 3,500 years old, amongst the world’s oldest living organisms. On the walk back along the trail to the car, Annette spotted a blue tongued skink, a chubby, short legged lizard about 18 inches long. It darted into the bush and hid but Annette reached in after it, pushing the scorpions and King Brown snakes aside and pulled it back onto the trail to examine. She then noticed that its ears were covered in bloated ticks; so she proceeded to de-tick it, whilst Jade and Lewis assisted by gleefully smashing the extracted ticks. I made her wash her hands afterwards and gave no sympathy when she itched and dreamt of ticks all night.

November 8, 2014

Our hosts took off for scheduled ice skating lessons this morning and Annette and I took advantage of a slow day to catch up on chores. We first washed the bus, removing most of a thick layer of muck, accumulated over the past 3,000 kilometers. The day was sunny and not too hot and I took the opportunity to borrow Barry’s ladder to check out the bus roof. A minor paint blemish was fixed with Barry doing most of the work and then we headed to a marina / restaurant complex to see if we could get supper for six without a reservation. At the first restaurant we tried, we were told, “no way” and then moments later, the same waiter chased us down as we were leaving, to say they had a table of six, who had made a reservation but failed to show up. What serendipity! One of the few times when having a party of six pays off, as we waltzed past the waiting couples. A pleasant perambulation around the gift shops and boat docks followed. We always enjoy looking at boats and as you know by now, Annette simply hates gift shops.

November 7, 2014

We continued west from the town of Southern Cross and the wheat fields appeared on both sides of the highway, plus occasional termite mounds, the first we have seen since Brisbane.

O’Connor’s pipeline carrying water from Perth to Kalgoorlie was still to be seen, running parallel with the highway. As we approached Perth we saw that the pipe-line is of newer construction, machine welded and of bigger pipe diameter. There were sections with two parallel pipes and we assumed that the long term plan is to gradually replace all of the the 1900 vintage pipe with the larger, modern pipe.

We passed a railway train carrying some kind of ore and in fact passed it more than once, as we stopped for a break and it didn’t. Each time we just made it back in front before the barriers closed at the road crossings and before we had to do the “Dukes of Hazard” bit with a bus. On the outskirts of Perth our GPS hiccupped, (she gets bored occasionally) and took us off the four lane highway we were enjoying, onto a single lane sealed road with no center markings or verges. We humor her when she does this, because we get to see a part of Australia rarely seen by tourists. We passed isolated homesteads and pretty yards with flowering bushes and “muppet like” trees, resembling a sort of a giant yucca plant (Australian Grass Tree – Xanthorrhoea Preissii). I fully expected to see the fourteen camels pulling a wagon-load of of supplies on its way to the Wilson Sheep station but before this occurred, we popped back into civilization, onto a four lane highway with stop lights and signs telling you not to litter and killing people by driving fast is bad.

We were headed to a friends’ home, Tania, Barry, Jade and Lewis, whom we met in Broome last year. As we neared their home on the outskirts of Perth, a dozen or more kangaroos were hopping across an open meadow, just a few hundred yards from their driveway. It was a fun reunion and we parked our bus on their immaculate lawn, just inches from an impeccable rose garden (Tania told us to do it, honest!), while Barry fired up the barbeque. At one point in the evening, we heard in the background, a minor sibling squabble, “Mom, he’s come into my world and he’s shooting arrows at me!” The two children were on opposite sides of the room, each with an iPad, supposedly playing “minecraft”. I think that is truly when I realized, the world has changed and moved on. We are left behind.

November 6, 2014

For several days we had been hearing an occasional squeal from our Coaster bus, usually indicating a slipping engine belt. The main engine access for routine service is under a cover between the two front seats and from here you can only see one belt, a very wide one and it seemed tight enough. I checked the power steering fluid and it was OK too. This morning I decided I would “do the dirty” and slide under the bus to see where the power steering pump is, etc. To my horror, I immediately noticed that the main alternator bolt was unscrewed, protruding about an inch and held in place by friction alone. The alternator was serviced last year and apparently they never bothered to tighten this. I now had to undo the upper bolts, seen only with a mirror and flashlight from below, in order to get enough slack on the alternator belts so that I could coax the main “hinge” bolt back into position. I have now probably over-tightened the alternator and will blow the bearings next week. What a relief that this did not “let go” when crossing the Nullarbor! The vehicle would have been undriveable without that single bolt.

We had booked a tour of the Kalgoorlie “Super Pit”, the largest open pit gold mine in Australia and our Coaster drove to the downtown parking area without so much as a whimper. Kalgoorlie had some 3,000 traditional underground mines in the “golden mile”, dating back 110 years. They extracted the highest concentrations of gold ore but left “haloes” of rock, still containing gold but at lower concentrations. The “Super Pit” mine was begun in 1998 and targets this “left over gold”, producing about 22 tons of gold per year, by moving 15 million tons of rock in the process. I calculate that this is a little over 40 cubic feet of gold; that is a cube, three and a half feet per side.

We met our tour bus and predictably were issued with “day-glo”, high visibility shirts and safety glasses; our safety helmets we would receive when we stepped off the bus at view points. For me, the most spectacular objects on the tour are the 40 dump trucks used, American made by Caterpillar Corporation. They weigh 166 tons empty and carry 240 tons of rock per load. Their 2,300 h.p. engine can drive the truck at up to 35 mph and I would hate to step out in front of a 400 ton loaded vehicle, since the braking distance was not mentioned in the literature. These trucks cost $4.4 million apiece and would be a lot of fun on the freeway.

We drove between moving trucks, past maintenance yards and rock crushing operations to a view point at the edge of the pit. The excavation has reached about two and a half miles long and a mile across. The walls were sloped to reduce the risk of slides and so the base of the pit is about 2,000 feet down. We could look across empty space and see the far pit wall, riddled with the worm holes of previous traditional mines. It was strange to consider the men who had toiled deep underground for long decades, to dig these tunnels that we so casually glanced at. Below we could see the current “working level” with four immense “face shovels” lifting near 70 tons of blasted rock at a scoop and loading it into a waiting dump truck. There were exploratory drills taking core samples as well as shot hole drills preparing the next layer of rock to be blasted with ammonium nitrate charges. The drill core samples are analyzed and the results fed into a three dimensional computer model of the ore body indicating it’s quality. It is this model plus GPS tracking that determines whether a truck load of blasted rock is processed to extract gold or directed to a waste dump.

The original miners had denuded the surrounding countryside of timber for 20 miles in any direction and the subsequent dust storms were historical. This wasteland has now been replanted and water trucks sprayed “bore” water on all of the active roadways in order to keep down dust from the current mining operations. The bore water is reported to be some six times saltier than sea water and tremendously corrosive to machinery. The original miners used timber for posts, props and railroad ties in their mines and of course all had been abandoned below ground as the mines were worked out. The current open pit operation would dig up these abandoned artifacts and the ancient wood and twisted steel rails cannot be fed through the rock crushers and have to be separated from the ore. This must be done by hand and is the apprentice task of the mine, low paid and dangerous work.

Our bus then drove through the various rock crushers and these are multi-stage, reducing the blasted rock to a fine slurry. The slurry is processed in what looks like an oil refinery with a forest of tanks and pipes and a cyanide / electrolysis procedure is applied to extract the gold. An incredibly complex and expensive procedure to produce such a tiny volume of yellow metal having miniscule industrial uses. I am reminded that all of the gold discovered throughout human history, if gathered together, would make a cube of metal, about 65 feet per side.

A really good tour and we felt as though we understood the gold mining process as we headed out of Kalgoorlie, bound for Coolgardie. The rock shop in Coolgardie was a disappointment to Annette and the camel farm too was closed (potential site of petting baby camels), thus we didn’t linger, heading west again to the town of “Southern Cross” for the night. As we drove, we followed the route of O’Connor’s pipeline and noted that almost all pipe sections had the distinctive barred seam indicating that this was the “original” pipe from around 1900.

November 5, 2014

Guy Fawkes Day in Australia, election day in the USA and we head for the Kalgoorlie Mining Museum. The museum is identified by a huge mine head gantry that supported the elevator used to transport both workers and mined rock from nearly a mile underground. This elevator now has less work to do and easily transported Annette and me up to a viewing deck, where we could see the town laid out below and the active mine operations, seemingly all around us. The town was founded in 1893 during the Yilgarn-Goldfields gold rush and the multiple gold mines we see, constitute the richest square mile on earth. There are also nickel mines here plus the extracted gold is contaminated with about 8% “silver”. Bummer! The elevator next took us a level underground to a vault where we saw gold nuggets from various mines, plus jewelry that the successful prospectors had custom produced to celebrate their finds or to honor their current spouse. Professional jewelers followed the successful gold strikes and it is not a stretch to say that their customers were unsophisticated. Big hunks of polished gold predominated.

The museum also had examples of extinct megafauna discovered in nearby caves. There was a sheep sized echidna and a marsupial lion, the latter looking like a huge beaver with very sharp teeth. There were all sorts of displays of period buildings and it was obviously hard living with the heat and lack of water in a goldrush boom town.

Next stop was Mt. Charlotte Lookout. C.Y. O’Connor was the engineer who conceived the plan to build a water pipeline from Perth to Kalgoorlie, a distance of 330 miles (530 kms). The pipeline was commissioned in 1896 and construction completed in 1903. The designer got caught up as a foil in a political campaign, was accused of incompetence and corruption and ridiculed in the local press. Although a later investigation completely cleared him of any corruption charges, 12 months before the pipeline was completed, he committed suicide. A meticulous planner to the end, he rode his horse out into the sea at Perth and then shot himself. A tragic end to a brilliant engineer. Mt. Charlotte is the site of the town water tank and the terminal of the pipeline. Examples of the pipeline construction methods were on display here. Two rectangular sheets of steel were bent into semi-circles and then inserted into an “H” shaped extrusion, sealing the joint between the sheets and thereby eliminating rivets. For the time, this was a daring innovation, since the customary rivets provided both potential leak points as well as disrupting the smooth flow of water. Although O’Connor’s pipeline has been upgraded in the past 110 years, I was impressed to note that over 50% of his original pipe is still in use.

Since it was lunch-time, we next visited the “Shaft Bar” at the Metropole hotel in nearby Boulder, where allegedly miners would pop up out of the ground for a quick beer before descending again to their diggings. The mine shaft is now covered by a plate of glass and you can peer down into the depths as you order your own beer. The bartender explained that the sides of the historic shaft are now collapsing due to shocks and vibration from the frequent nearby blasting operations in the working gold mines. However, the floor of the bar did not fall in whilst we were there.

Our final stop of day was for a tour of one of the last two working brothels in Kalgoorlie. The “madam” met us at the doorway, invited us inside to hear a lecture on the history and operating procedures of the house and then took us on a tour of the various bedrooms. The brothel is still operating as such but is down to a single girl (we didn’t get shown that bit). Back in the early days, the Kalgoorlie local government had moved all working girls to a single street and the local police force had rigidly controlled the trade. This lucrative arrangement had been destroyed by the Western Australia government easing all restrictions about fourteen years ago. Now the brothel faces fierce competition from foreign girls on a six week visitor’s visa, plus internet advertising has changed the whole sex trade. In addition, many of the miners are “fifo” meaning fly in, fly out and are no longer trapped here for years at a time, with only sheep and fellow miners for comfort.

November 4, 2014

We fired up the 'ol Coaster golf cart and drove to the tee, a good choice since it was further than we thought. The tee and green had been located in a beautiful meadow lying in shallow basin, a very pretty location and the silhouettes of kangaroos looked down on us in puzzlement from the ridge above. Probably wondering why we weren't using a four iron. The biting flies weren’t awake yet and we enjoyed the peace and solitude as we beat our golf ball down the 141 meter par 3.

Next was a drive on to Norseman, where we played two holes on a "real" golf course. There was nobody else on the course and the “clubhouse” was tightly locked up, the rubber stamp to validate our course cards sitting on a table on the clubhouse porch. No biting flies here but a swarm of the annoying "mucus" flies made us glad we had remembered our hats with fly nets protecting our faces. From Norseman, we called the pro’s shed in Kalgoorlie and set up a tee time for 3:00 p.m.

At Kambalda, another golf club and again the course was empty but here the clubhouse was full of people eating and drinking. The course itself was similar to Norseman with black, oily, scraped dirt for the “greens”. When we returned to the clubhouse, we were told that today is the Melbourne Cup horserace and we were invited in for drinks. A beer would have gone down nicely about now but the pro's at Kalgoorlie were expecting the US team and we needed to push on.

Our GPS had difficulty locating the golf course at Kalgoorlie but we persisted and finally found the parking lot. Last week the Kalgoorlie Golf Club hosted the Western Australia "Goldfields" PGA Championship and if we had pulled in then, it might have been a little harder for us to get a tee time on an hours notice. We had heard that one player was fined $5,000 for not using a "correct" putter in the competition. For us, this is a non-issue since we don't have a putter.

We dressed nicely and correctly (no denim; shirt with button down collar; shoes not flip-flops), checked in with pro-desk and then returned to the bus for our equipment; two drivers, two wooden "tee" pegs, the cut off base of a 500 ml. plastic water bottle (used as a tee when the ground was too hard or rough for those little wooden pegs) and two golf balls, (the second as back-up in case the first was lost). We had watched the other players hitting 3 kilometer drives like robots, with their shiny golf carts parked nearby and their bulging bags of golf clubs all wearing little wooly hats.

We confidently approached the first tee, in full view of the loungers at the clubhouse and were invited to "go ahead" as this group were waiting on additional players. I explained that we were "not very fast". They said they would wait. I asked if they had flashlights and they laughed, thinking we we were kidding. Annette teed off and we wandered nonchalantly down the slope taking two strokes to get the 100 meters to the ladies tee. Here we found our form and slaughtered this hole in only 8 strokes, Annette sinking a long putt from the edge of the green that bounced off the pole I was holding and into the hole. We high fived and headed for the last hole.

The greens and fairways were immaculate. No rocks, no scrub, no abandoned partially burned out motorhomes, old drill pipe or mixed, industrial detritus. Instead, smooth green hillocks weaved between sand traps to velvet greens. On this hole we were alone, that is out of sight of other players and although we were enjoying the experience, it was taking us much longer to navigate the final hole with the high number of necessary Mulligans. Finally we sank the ball. We are done! What a beautiful course and what a fun experience. We walked back down the fairway a little towards the clubhouse, just as the following group started showing off with their machine accurate, 300 meter drives, when three kangaroos ran into the middle of the fairway and began grazing. They were oblivious to the golf balls dropping around them. So too was Annette trying to get as many pictures as possible. An amazing Australian finish to a really fun adventure.

November 3, 2014

Day three of the tournament and we are on the back nine. We spent last night at the Madura Pass Roadhouse, site of “Brumby’s Run” a par 3, 125 meter hole. Our first task of the day was to play the hole and we almost got a “birdie” - but at the last minute it flew away before the ball clobbered it. The road we had travelled had paralleled sea cliffs and an escarpment but as we left Madura, it finally climbed up the face of the escarpment to the plateau above. The view from the summit looked down upon of a vast, hazy, flat and waterless plain below. Somehow we had expected exposed, wind scoured, white limestone but the rocks are hidden below several feet of soil and a thick layer of bushes. Far more vegetation than we had been led to expect with the name “Nullarbor” meaning “treeless” and perhaps the Aboriginal name meaning “no water” was more accurate.

At the Cocklebiddy Roadhouse, we aced the par 4 hole “Eagle’s Nest” in only 9 strokes and returned to the tee where the bus was parked, searching the edges of the “rough” for any lost balls. We spotted a “skink”, looking like an orange / black / brown pinecone and when he hid under a tuft of grass, we poked him with an ever useful golf club until he emerged to have his picture taken.

The hole at Caiguna was described as “through the trees” and Annette finally sank this hole with a perfect 10 foot putt. In 1841 Edward Eyre, together with John Baxter and three aboriginal men, set out to cross the Nullarbor. When they reached Caiguna, two of the aboriginal “guides” murdered the sleeping Baxter, stole the weaponry plus half the supplies. The remaining aborigine “Wylie” continued travelling with Eyre to Rossiter Bay, both arriving in “poor” condition, where they were rescued by a whaling ship. Nevertheless they become the first people to transit the Nullarbor plain. Our experience of Caiguna was better.

The next hole was at Belladonia and the roadhouse roof is decorated with a piece of Skylab, with additional artifacts displayed in the interior. In 1979 the orbiting laboratory Sky-lab re-entered the earth’s atmosphere and debris rained upon the area around this roadhouse. A local policeman is said to have sent notice of a littering fine to Washington DC but they never paid it. We too had an airborne problem as we played the hole, “Skylab”, a 175 meter par 3. The golfing guide warned us to beware of snakes but the true hazards were biting flies, locally called “March flies” (we would call them “horse flies” in the USA). There was little refinement in our golf drives and we beat off the little beasts that were attacking bare arms and legs with our useless face fly nets while racing to get back to the safety of our bus.

As we headed for the next hole, we noticed a Toyota van at the roadside, people milling about and unloading luggage. We stopped to see if they needed assistance and discovered that the van had just died. There had been a “burning smell”, a little later the engine had stopped abruptly and there was “oil pouring out”. Contradictory symptoms but to compound matters, there was no cell coverage at this location. We picked up Richard, the driver, leaving his parents to camp out at the roadside. Richard is from London, here on a “Working Holiday” visa and his parents were visiting him for a short and adventurous road trip. About 20 kms. down the highway he was able to get cell coverage and contact a towing service. I suggested that he wait at the next point of civilization, where there was both a bar and a phone and have the wrecker pick him up there but the towing service wanted him back at his vehicle in “90 minutes”. Good luck on that! We reversed our course and returned him to his parents, simultaneously restoring his status of incommunicado. We will check the internet to see if desiccated bodies are discovered along a major Australian highway in a couple of weeks time.

We stopped at the Fraser Sheep station, had our golf course card stamped, set our bus up at a campsite and began to walk over to the tee, carrying camera, golf clubs and beer. We never made it to the tee but were driven off by biting flies, within a hundred yards or so. We will try again tomorrow, with more protective clothing and we will do it the “American way”! We will drive the bus to the tee before exposing ourselves to the golfing hazards.

November 2, 2014

The golf tournament continues. It was cold this morning and the wind picked up somewhat causing the contestants to bundle up with extra clothing. This made it a little difficult when we climbed the fence at the rear of the caravan park and crossed the airstrip runway towards the tee. I began my first shot by swinging magnificently and missing the ball completely. This was repeated. I reviewed my Arnold Palmer on-line tutorial and the fourth swing connected; a solid “thwack”, sending the ball up the fairway, across the first bend and into the bush. How do you lose an orange ball that quickly? We searched for some time but the wombats must have eaten it. Fortunately we had five more balls and the ball that Annette had colored up with red “magic marker” was substituted. We finished the hole, “the Dingo’s Den”, a 538 meter par 5 in only 16 more strokes. I took a penalty stroke for losing the ball and Annette surged into the lead with a score of 17 for that hole.

The next hole was 182 kilometers away and our drive was interrupted several times by short side trips to the coast. We could see the Southern Ocean from the highway but until we approached the rim, we did not appreciate the towering, multi-layered cliffs that mark the southern boundary of Australia. The clear blue waters crashed in a welter of white foam at the base of cliffs over 200 feet tall. With the wind blowing strongly I could not help but shudder at what an awful lee shore this would make and we watched the power of huge waves expend their energy, eroding and undercutting the rocks. We searched for whale spouts, knowing that this is the wrong season and similarly searched below for great white sharks or their seal prey. Nothing but wind, waves, blue skies and sunshine. We headed onwards towards “Border Village” and the sixth hole, the tee located tastefully behind a giant fiberglass kangaroo holding a water barrel sized beer can.

The hole was a par 3 and we dispatched it easily in just 9 strokes. We then drove perhaps two hundred yards to the border crossing into Western Australia and our bus was searched for quarantined contraband. We discussed golf tournament strategy with the quarantine officer before setting off again for the “Nullarbur Nymph”, a 315 meter par 4 at Eucla golf course. We were puzzled as to why we had to drive some 15 minutes or so on dirt / gravel roads but all was made clear when we arrived at the former Eucla shooting club, with its weathered and abandoned targets. Here we had a brush-free, broad fairway which we zig-zagged down in only 11 strokes. The hole was named “The Nymph” because in 1971, a couple of kangaroo shooters claimed to have seen a blonde, naked, white woman, living amongst the kangaroos. A grainy photograph was produced and the world media, including a BBC team, descended upon Eucla, with its population of 8. The following year an inebriated kangaroo hunter admitted the hoax but by then, Eucla was on the map!

We sped onwards another 65 Kms to the “Watering Hole” at Mundrabilla, where I lost my second ball of the day. If we can hold to the current wastage we should be able to complete the course but it is worrisome. Annette is now two points ahead of me due to my penalty strokes and she finished the hole with a beautiful 3 foot put.

November 1, 2014

We have gathered pine cones, emptied and flushed the cassette toilet, we are ready for our GOLF!

We messed up at the first course, maybe a quarter mile from the caravan park and wandered around the golf course for thirty minutes, looking for the first tee. As we walked back towards the clubhouse, we saw a lone individual carrying a golf bag. Annette confronted him and asked him where the tee was and he pointed back towards the entrance, to a spot maybe thirty paces behind where we had parked the bus. He made some remark about not having played golf in nine months and strode off to the north, into the wilderness; what for and where he went, we don’t know, because we never saw him again. The locals just call him the “Phantom golfer” and he only shows up in times of dire need........... 

OK, now we know where the tee is (that’s the place you start hitting the ball from) and there is a sort of colored map on a post nearby, showing where you might find the flag, that is where you are hitting the ball to. We haven’t actually hit anything yet, so we begin by dumping out the bag of pine cones, gathered from the caravan park this morning. A few practice swings convince us that this might be harder than it looks. A quick conference and a rules revision is proposed, voted upon and unanimously passed. We will play the game according to strict rules of golf (whatever they are) and make up any other rules as needed. To speed the ridiculously slow game up a bit, we will use but one ball, the day-glo orange one that was mixed in with all of the boring white ones. This means that I hit the ball and then Annette hits the ball etcetera and we will keep track of how many strokes it takes to get the ball from tee to hole. If we miss the ball completely we assume that just like in a game of chess, it doesn’t count. Then we use the Clinton / Obama rule that if you hit it and it only rolls a few feet, you get to try again. Using these enhanced rules, we managed to play the first hole, “Oyster Beds”, a 485 meter par 5 in only 16 strokes. Denial Bay came next, a 370 meter par 4 that we sank swiftly in 11 strokes – we are getting the hang of this! Denial Bay even had a water hazard; four agricultural sprayers that were at work mid-way down the “fairway”. We timed them, rather like the “chompers” on “Galaxy Quest” and then ran like hell for the ball. My golf partner might have picked the ball up and thrown it clear but I’m not sure, I was dodging a hosepipe torrent of water at the time.

The next hole was 75 kilometers away at the Penong Roadhouse, so we drove our Toyota Coaster golf cart over there. The drive was through vast wheat fields and we saw no other golfers. This hole was called Windmills, a par 4, 260 meter hole but the drive had made us over-confident and we slipped back to a disappointing 15 stroke hole.

By now you are wondering why it was necessary to empty and flush the cassette toilet before beginning the game and the truth is, it wasn’t. We had these courses pretty much to ourselves. Leaving Penong, we headed to the Nundroo roadhouse, 86 kilometers between holes and the course was marked with warning signs to beware of kangaroos and wombats. We saw no dead kangaroos but we saw several dead wombats, including a recent kill, just beginning to bloat nicely in the sun. The hole at Nundroo is called “Wombat’s Hole” and is a par 5, 520 meter. This presented us a problem in that we couldn’t see the hole from the tee and the mowed area of wheat field ran in a broad swath up a hill, in a direction that did not appear to match the map at the tee. We bashed along on limestone, rocks and wheat stubble until we were part way up the hill and then I set off in a reconnaissance, leaving Annette to guard the ball and thereby locate it upon my return. Bingo! There was a flag in the distance, so unless they have two holes, we are golden. This may be a par 5 but it seemed a long way to us. By the time we got back to the bus we couldn’t remember if it was 14 strokes or 18 strokes, so we compromised on 14 for our scorecards.

It was still fairly early when we again fired up the ‘ol golf cart and set off west again, bound for the Nullarbor roadhouse and the fifth hole, about 148 kilometers away. The wheat fields were gone and the trees beginning to thin out. We passed a section of the dog-proof fence and marveled that it was nowhere identified as such on the highway, although there was an adjacent parking lot so you could pull over and take pictures. The Nullarbor proper begins here and like throwing a switch, the trees were gone. A road sign warned of kangaroos, wombats and camels. We scanned the horizons but no camels to be seen anywhere. By five o’clock we pulled into the road house to get our score cards stamped but were tired and hungry and took a caravan site for the night. We could see the flag for the fifth hole from our bus but it must wait for the morning.

October 31, 2014

Near overflowing with diesel we set out again to the west. The roads straight and the wheat fields unending. The few trees look African, bare branches below with a flattened crown. I kept expecting to see giraffes or at least a pride of lions. To date we haven’t identified them but we will keep trying (Mulgas, Wattles, Acacias?).

For the next three hundred kilometers we were to see no road kill and we postulated that the posted kangaroo crossing warning signs were just to excite the tourists. One Shingleback Lizard we swerved to avoid and we think he made it. We waved at the passing cars, caravans and trucks and they mostly waved back. Those that didn’t will surely share the fate of the Jackdaw of Rheims.

As we entered the town limits of Ceduna, there was a police barricade for an “inspection point”. An officer asked me to blow into a breathalyzer, the first time in my life this has happened. He made no comment regarding the reading and I was not too surprised since in an unusual act, I had chosen to drink fruit juice for lunch today instead of my customary beer. He then asked for my driver’s license and showed his first element of surprise when he said, “Texas”. “Yes”, I replied, “the big one, not the one in Queensland”. What excitement!

We continued a very pleasant drive and we arrived in mid-afternoon at the information center in Ceduna. Our goal here was to sign up for the Nullabor Links, aka “the longest golf course in the world” – 18 holes that begin in Ceduna with the finish 1,365 kilometers later in Kalgoorlie. Since Annette and I are such expert golfers, we bought a couple of used clubs at $10 each and a half dozen balls for $3. Seems like enough. The last two holes in Kalgoorlie require advance reservations and the dress code excludes blue jeans, flip-flops and collarless shirts. We believe we have this covered and we should have practiced for 16 holes before we get there. The fifth hole is a par 5 and players are warned that there is a crow that steals the balls and the eleventh hole includes a warning to beware of snakes. I think that the course is a par 72 and the highest recorded score around 450. This is our target to beat.

We pulled into the Foreshore Caravan Park for the night and the stern of our bus overlooks Murat Bay and the Southern Ocean.

October 30, 2014

We dawdled this morning since the Woomera rocketry museum claims a 10:00 a.m. opening. When we arrived at the museum site, a contingent of Chinese tourists were milling around, looking at the military hardware in the forecourt and it was now near 10:30. Nobody had showed up to open the building and I noticed an obscure sign on a window, perhaps 30 feet from the entrance, warning that the facility was “volunteer operated” and would be closed “until 2014”. The fact that 2014 is ten twelfths gone is a pretty clear indication that we have struck out again.

We continued our drive south spotting a single live emu and one rather shocked lizard, perhaps eighteen inches long, pink head and yellow body. He was attempting to cross the highway and we missed him by inches. It might have been a frilled lizard but at 60 mph, identification is tricky.

We restocked our bus with beer, drinking water and groceries in Port Augusta but after an argument at the drive through bottle shop as to why USA credit cards don’t have PIN numbers, I forgot to refill the fuel tank. The latter was showing just over a half tank of diesel before we set out west towards the Nullarbor plain, passing through dense brush with noticeably taller trees than those of the interior, before the landscape opened up into vast wheat-fields. We stopped for the night at the Kimba roadhouse, with the fuel gauge needle on empty and with a resolve not to repeat this unnecessary excitement.

October 29, 2014

This morning we headed out of town to find “Crocodile Harry’s” place, an underground home that was described as “weird”. Harry’s home was used in the movie “Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome”, as the lair of the aerial bandit who stole Max’s camel powered vehicle at the start of the movie. We found the place a couple of miles from the pavement and Crocodile Harry was certainly an eccentric. His property was decorated with sculptures constructed from “found objects”, as they are called in the art world. The place was deserted except for two dogs, a huge pit bull type mastiff that never stirred but movement of its chest indicated that it was breathing and a puppy that playfully nipped both Annette and me and drew blood on both occasions. If it had been my dog I would have whacked the crap out of him. Inside the “front door” was a can with a note asking for $5 admission on an honor system. The interior of the home was heavily decorated with personal notes and memorabilia left for Harry. Either he threw a lot of parties or the movie people camped there a long time.

Back in town the store Annette wanted to visit was locked up tight and calling the advertised number just got a recording. We toured the cemetery on the edge of town and noted that many of the graves are simply marked with a wooden cross and a name, no other information and we assumed these to be the graves of unknown opal miners. The most elaborate headstones and gravesites were those of the Serbian community and there was another in particular, that used a beer keg with raised welded inscription plus empty beer bottles and cans decorating the grave. We found Crocodile Harry there too and he has been camped in this underground location for the past eight years. He was 82 years old at his death and obviously a really fun and interesting character.

That afternoon we split Coober Pedy, heading back south and stopped in a rest area near Lake Hart. There was an unmarked trail that seemed to lead to the lake and we locked the bus and headed downhill. Unfortunately we had forgotten about the persistence of outback flies and had neglected to equip ourselves with face nets. The trail we were following led to a railway line and we crossed this in full certainty that this was legal in Australia. From the tracks the trail ran across a soft sand beach and then we were walking on the lake surface upon a hard layer of dried salt. The white lake surface was near blinding in the sunlight but allowed us to see the flies when we connected with one, so if it fell we could with great satisfaction stomp it. Amazingly, two trains passed by the line we had just transited, the first we have seen. We waved at the engine driver and he tooted the horn for us, well worth an extra point in Annette’s “wave” game.

The hike from the lake back to the bus was now uphill in the heat, about a mile in total round trip. Continuously hazed by flies, we debated whether it was our legs or our hands that got the most workout. We approached Woomera in now late afternoon and passed a score of live emus, on, about and crossing the highway. There were ample emu corpses on the pavement to indicate that this is not the safest environment for them. The Woomera campsite hosted us for another night and we vowed to make a second attempt at the museum on the morrow.

October 28, 2014

Our first stop of the day was to visit The Coober Pedy Catholic church, a small and intimate church built underground, as are most homes here with some 60-70 % of the local population living “underground”. The surface rock is sandstone, easy to cut and safely holds quite large spans without props or support beams. Opals were discovered here in 1915, and this was soon followed by an influx of WW 1 soldiers, returning from the trenches of the Western Front and upon arriving in Coober Pedy to mine opal, began to make “dugouts”. These “dugouts” were both cheap and practical with summer temperatures here exceeding 110 F combined with cold winters. The desert environment and deep water table means the “dugouts” remain dry and comfortable year round, without the need of additional heat or air-conditioning.

We wandered around town visiting the stores selling opals and gemstones but near 12 o’clock we arrived at “Josephine’s Gallery and Kangaroo Orphanage” to witness the noon feeding of several rescue / rehab kangaroos, plus the feeding of a six month old Joey. Kangaroos may not be the earth’s smartest creatures but in captivity they are docile and the Joey’s are captivating. We are biologically programmed to nurture babies anyway and this Joey was wrapped in towels inside a large diaper bag while being bottle fed. He was then gently ejected from this artificial pouch so that he could practice hopping, just as his mother would have done. When tired he dove head first into a pillow case, leaving his long hind legs sticking out. I might say that Annette wants one but you already knew that.

In early afternoon we were picked up by Ned, a former opal miner, in his Toyota Coaster bus for a four hour tour. It is always eerie to ride as a passenger in the same model vehicle we are driving and I searched carefully for parts I wanted off this one. We drove through the town with Ned providing a running commentary, a mix of history and current practice, passing the water desalination plant, and power generation plant. Power comes from diesel generators and the nearby, single, politically correct windmill, that is alleged to be capable of 4% of the town’s power needs, had it’s blades stilled in mocking salute.

We next toured the mine workings which were signposted everywhere with warnings of abandoned shafts, the entrances undercut by erosion. There are hundreds of thousands of these, as the prospecting method uses both the cheaper eight inch drill holes and holes wide enough for a man to descend to examine the opal bearing deposits directly. These holes were supposed to have been filled, or at least covered when discarded but as individuals, partnerships and companies went broke, they just walked away, even leaving heavy machinery behind. The opal extraction technique is completely different from Lightning Ridge with its “hobby” mines, “lean to” shacks and eccentric miners camping on their claims. This is more industrial scale mining with huge mechanical tunneling machines or open pit excavation. Big expensive machines with huge fuel bills. Ned told us that this mining approach produced huge mounds of excavated material and the machine operators could “miss” up to 30% of the opals. There is a company that is reworking these now abandoned claims and has been for the past eight years. They dig the “waste” and load it into a “rumbler” – basically a type of cement mixer with wire screen instead of the mixing drum. As the drum rotates, loose material is sifted out leaving the larger “stones” – recall the “waste” had already been drilled or blasted from a mine. A conveyor belt then carries these larger stones into a truck mounted cabin with the interior lit by UV light. Any opal present would fluoresce and is easily identified and removed.

When a miner wants to work an area he makes a claim at the government office and may lay claim to two 50 meter by 50 meter blocks. These become his when he “stakes a claim” – that is marks each corner of his claim with a labeled stake, bearing his registration number. When he is done with an area, he must “pull up his stakes” before he can stake another claim. The tailings reprocessing outfit can roam at will over the opal field as long as they are not operating on a “staked claim”, that is literally a claim with stakes present.

Australia produces the bulk of the world’s opal and nearly all Australian production comes from the Coober Pedy area. This is not the only local industry however and we were surprised to learn that more than a dozen movies have been made here in the opal fields. Such movies as “Priscilla Queen of the Desert”, “Mad Max” and “The Red Planet” – in fact, I noticed several scenes from the US Mars Landing program here and am pretty sure I spotted the flag from the Apollo 11 landing, looking a little bleached now from the harsh sun.

Our next destination was the “Breakaways”, a couple of low hills that have broken away from the Stuart Range and provide an amazing vista from an overlook. The desert colors run the entire spectrum from dark chocolate, through cream colored rocks, yellow and ochers. This place has been used in various movies and advertisements and is a popular destination for sunset viewing. The overlook we visited is adjacent to the “dog-proof fence”, whose construction was begun in 1880 and finished in 1885. It has near 6 feet high posts supporting what looks like chicken wire and its purpose is to separate dingoes from the sheep herds. So this is why we hadn’t seen the any sheep up north! They would have been on the dingo side! The fence is still in operation and the biggest maintenance problems are the herds of wild camels up north that are able to push it over. At 3,488 miles in length, the fence is longer than the Great Wall of China, although the latter has proven more effective at suppressing dingoes and is also camel proof.

Returning to Coober Pedy we visited an underground home that had been staged, showing the progression of room to room furnishings from early miner through modern times. When I asked about plumbing issues, Ned pointed out that the first rooms you pass through when entering are usually the bathrooms and kitchen. A large hole is dug for septic and if that fills up, you just drill another one. An interesting day and altogether a great tour.

October 27, 2014

This morning we drove back over to the rocketry museum to discover that it doesn’t open until 10:00 a.m. It was just after 9 so we drove around the town, good for maybe five minutes and then met Steve and Christine from last night, who were also leaving. We stopped and chatted for half an hour and after touring the grocery store - with lots of attention as we were the only customers, it was now past 10:00 a.m. We returned to the museum to find it still closed. We called the phone number listed next to the door and got a recorded message saying they didn’t open until after 8:30 a.m. Oh well, we saw the outside exhibits and saved the $4 entrance fee.

Onwards northbound to Coober Pedy with Annette playing a variant of her “wave at the oncoming vehicles” game. Her final score was 80 returned waves, typically celebrated by a victory dance, plus 48 no-waves, usually accompanied by an “asssshoooole” from the front seat passenger. The victory dance, a sort of muppet hula mix, is limited by the seat belt and depends on the number of people who wave back and their level of enthusiasm. Other statistics were 26 dead ‘roos, 3 dead emus, 6 dead cows and 4 dead sheep. Whoever thought that road trips were boring?

During this time we had passed between Lake Gairdner to the west and Lakes Hart and Hanson to the east. These bodies are dry salt beds but appear with such stark whiteness against the ochers and greens of the bush, they just don’t look real – more like heavy morning mist hiding dark water. In mid afternoon we arrived at our destination of the opal mining town of Coober Pedy. First stop however was the hardware store where I bought a 50 cent “O” ring so that I could install the new sink faucet that we had luckily found in Adelaide. The “old” faucet had been leaking badly and we were anxious to retire it to a dumpster. About an hour after we had moored for the night at a caravan park, we had our new faucet installed and fired up. Then a perambulate into town looking at jewelry stores selling opals before locating the underground restaurant. I should have ordered the lamb chops, which Annette judged as excellent, instead of the shoe leather tough barramundi that I finished up with. Fortunately I was able to make up for the imminent protein deficiency with sticky date pudding and ice cream.

October 26, 2014

We awoke to a cold, grey, rainy day. What a contrast from yesterday! While Annette was repairing her hair in the ladies facilities, I serviced the cassette toilet; that is, I emptied, flushed and reloaded it into it’s bus-side locker. The Coaster was parked across the road from the “Sullage Point” (the place where you dump stuff you don’t wish to sully your hands with) partially blocking passage and forcing the other campers to squeeze past me on their exit. I stepped back, knocked over the bottle of toilet chemical I was using and now have one white sock and one rather damp blue one. Following a brief change of footwear, we set off northbound from Adelaide for Port Augusta. This was a four lane divided highway for the first hour or so, before inevitably deteriorating into a two lane blacktop with occasional “passing lanes”. We drove between broad wheat fields that stretched to the horizon and caught occasional glimpses of the sea as we transited the east side of the Spencer Gulf. At Port Augusta we refueled and then with shopping list in hand, discovered we had forgotten it is Sunday in Australia and everything is closed. We found a small general store that was somehow open and paid a fortune for a few items, sorta like shopping at Quik-Trips. Although it was still raining half-heartedly, it was noticeably warmer when we turned north towards Alice Springs and headed up the Stuart Highway. John Stuart made his sixth attempt to cross the continent from south to north in 1861. His party that comprised 10 men and 71 horses, reportedly made its first camp while still within the city limits of Adelaide, about where we spent last night. As we headed north on the trail blazed through the wilderness by men like Stuart, I could not help but try to imagine what it must have felt like. The landscape is still barren and undeveloped and yet I am seeing it at 60 mph in an air conditioned cocoon. The road ran in a near straight line, mile after mile, with red sand seen briefly between heavy brush. A perfect place to be ambushed by suicidal kangaroos. Then the world opened out into a barren plain before again heading into brush.

We stopped for a break at a roadside parking area with a startling view of “Island Lagoon”. Here in the middle of the wilderness is a small island, seemingly planted in a white inland sea or salt flat. Island Lagoon was the location of a deep space tracking station that NASA established in the 1960’s as part of the Gemini program. Our interest was however distracted by our fellow traveller, Ruby, a girl from Northampton, England ( She was sitting eating a snack next to a bicycle, the latter loaded for self-contained touring. So as not to scare her, Annette asked her if she needed any water or food. In fact she was near out of water, following an earlier mistake of filling her water bottles with brine from an un-tasted and un-tested bore. Ruby is attempting to cycle solo around the world and had been fighting a vicious headwind since she had left Coober Pedy. We filled her up with drinking water, canned tuna, chicken and a little fruit and sent her on her way. She was a pleasure to chat to, friendly, outgoing and seemingly unaffected by the myriad flies who had joined us. A fellow adventurer.

Our goal for the night was the remote town of Woomera. This is the Australian ”Los Alamos”, the place that in the 60’s was second only to Cape Canaveral for the number of rocket launches. I had heard the exotic name “Woomera” many times as I was growing up in England. The movie Apollo 13 even has a clip where Tom Hanks looks out of his space capsule and sees what looks like sparks in the vacuum of space, passing the capsule window. The next clip shows aborigines sitting around a huge fire, with sparks flying up into the night and the unearthly sound of a didgeridoo to compound the mystery. Such are the images conjured up by the place we are heading for.

The reality of Woomera lacked the active aboriginal corroboree and was more like a deserted overseas airbase, everything laid out at military right angles. The manager of the caravan park had told us that the live weapons testing range, which is huge and occupies near one sixth of the State, is still active and they often hear explosions.

We walked into the town through empty streets, no traffic and no pedestrians, past near identical homes, some with cars parked outside but many looking unoccupied. We passed the community center, hospital, swimming pool and grocery stores, all shuttered and deserted. There was musak playing at both the swimming pool and the grocery store with its empty parking lot, the music accentuating the eerie, empty feeling, even allowing for Sunday afternoon in rural Australia. This reminded me of those cold war movies when you suddenly realize that you are in a test village with homes full of dummies and they are about to explode a nuclear device nearby, just to see the effects on suburbia. There were no nuclear explosions as we walked past the rocketry museum and headed over to only establishment that was open and might feed us.

At the hotel we met Steve and Christine from Keighley, Yorkshire. They had taken a cruise ship from San Francisco to Sydney and had then rented a car for a walkabout across Australia. Steve owns a taxi business in Skipton, Yorkshire and they were a fascinating couple to chat with, married a year longer than Annette and I, and providing us with an insight into the challenges of being self-employed in England. Together we “closed down” the bar and with Steve and Christine staying at the hotel, Annette and I walked back to the caravan park through the darkness, lit by the occasional street lamp and the flickering light of a huge electrical storm nearby. It was perhaps a fifteen minute walk through the town, undisturbed by the crash dummies, sitting in their identical boxes with their plastic, frozen smiles, forever watching their 60’s sitcoms.

October 25, 2014

We left our bus at the campground and headed for downtown Adelaide to see the sights. First challenge was an “on foot” crossing of a major highway with three lanes of high speed traffic in each direction. Remembering to look left, my jay-walking skills, learned as a child in inner-city Birmingham, kicked in and we survived the first obstacle. Naturally we had just missed the bus and had to wait a half hour or so. We spent the time chatting with a grandfather who was taking his one year old grandson for ride on an electric scooter, built for the “mobility impaired”. He wasn’t disabled, he said, just bought the scooter really cheaply. Annette held the baby who promptly went to sleep in her arms, whilst grandfather and I talked about his recent trip to the Philippines where he had bought a vacation home. When he is not vacationing, he cooks and sells doughnuts at the Sunday Adelaide farmers market. Annette returned the sleeping baby to his arms, right before the bus pulled up – just as well as the kid was getting heavy.

The bus ride to the railway station was a tedious affair as there were traffic circles or “safety” chicanes every 50 yards or so, just in case you thought of driving above jogging speed. There was ample evidence of frequent tire contact with the various curbs, indicating that not all drivers were as skillful as ours. The train for downtown was clean, modern and considerably more crowded than the near empty bus. We observed that the week-end travellers had very similar demographics as Toronto, Canada – probably the last time we took a train. These categories were the “young and broke”, students and drop-outs who can’t afford a car; the elderly, who except for us are traveling for free and immigrants from China, Philippines or the Middle East.

The train whisked us to the center of Adelaide where we visited the South Australia museum, war memorial, art museum and “Tandanya”. The latter is an aboriginal art gallery, featuring (amongst others) local aboriginal artist Bluey Roberts who was present in the gallery. Bluey brought up the subject of alien kidnappings and we thus began to compare Australian flying saucers to the ones we keep at Roswell in New Mexico. Unfortunately the aboriginal lady monitoring the gallery began to get upset at the conversation so we had to break off the discussion. It seems that in South Australia as well as New Mexico, you don’t kid around about such serious matters.

In late afternoon we began the reverse procedure to see if we could find our bus again. The bus we had used this morning runs every hour on a Saturday, so you don’t want to miss the connection. We indeed made it back to our camp-site safely and were left with the the thought, that public transportation is fun and everyone should try it every few years - just for the experience and to see where your tax money goes.

October 24, 2014

Today our destination was Adelaide and after leaving Bordertown, we drove on a good, fast highway with light traffic. The only wildlife excitement consisted of single live snake, sunning itself on the roadside. As we neared Adelaide we crossed the coastal “Mount Lotty” range of mountains. A long downhill in low gear with the exhaust brake engaged and the freeway dumped us unceremoniously into downtown Adelaide, with lots of stoplights, roundabouts and near incomprehensible lane changes. This reminded me of travelling through Houston, Texas in the early 70’s, before they hooked the freeways together. Our goal was to visit a consignment broker for the eventual sale of our motorhome. “Camperagent RV Center” offers “real” consignment services and is a family run operation that have been around for years. They seem genuine people and we left with a good feeling. We were directed to a nearby caravan park and although it was early afternoon, we grabbed one of the only two sites left due to the impending Rolling Stone’s concert at the Adelaide Oval.

We have now changed most of our clocks to account for the half hour time difference between Victoria and South Australia. Half an hour! Why bother to change times by half an hour and then change this by a full hour, twice a year for “daylight savings”! When we cross the state border into Western Australia, we will need to move the clocks back by two and a half hours.

October 23, 2014

We continued our drive through rolling green pastures, cutting north from Coleraine through the tiny hamlets of Pigeon Ponds, Harrow, Edenhope and Booroopki. The pastures contained some cattle but lots of sheep. On previous visits to Australia we had marveled at the near total absence of sheep, contradicting years of force fed, elementary school geography lessons. Now we see the answer – they keep them all down here in the south. We crossed into the state of South Australia at the town of Frances, approaching along an empty single lane road that made us wonder if we had somehow missed a turn. Our destination was “Bordertown” (Not “Bartertown” - that was the post apocalyptic community of “Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome” fame) home of the white kangaroo wildlife park. These animals are not albinos but a genetic strain of the Western Grey kangaroo and they are BIG. We stopped at the park fence while Annette took several thousand photographs through the chain link fence. They had several other species in the park, peacocks and other birds but we have seen these all before. We glanced at them so their feelings wouldn’t be hurt but we had come to see the white kangaroos.

Bordertown is a pretty little town and we stopped at the grocery store to replace our honey plus all the fruits and vegetables we had to dump on the Victoria side of the state line, in order to comply with the agricultural quarantine laws. We had gorged on our blueberries, mangoes and oranges with our lunch and are near bursting with vitamin C. Over at the information center, the lady warned us to avoid Adelaide this week-end, as everything was fully booked in anticipation of the Rolling Stones Concert. Even the concert is fully booked and tickets unavailable unless you know Mick Jagger personally. You cain’t always get what you want.

October 22, 2014

We continued our drive west along the Great Ocean Road. The road was built by returning servicemen from World War One, as it was a determined by the local pols to be a “shovel ready project”. Apparently there was little machinery available and much of the construction really was pick and shovel work. The scenery is truly spectacular, with clear blue ocean turning to white foam as the waves break upon a rocky foreshore. The rocks are then rimmed with a sandy beach, like a necklace on the cliffs of the Victoria land mass. Add to this today’s blue skies and sunshine and it was hard to concentrate on keeping the bus on the twisting and bucking road as it clung to the cliff-side. Unfortunately Annette was beginning to get motion sick, so turned inland at Skenes Creek to head through the Otway Range into the interior of Victoria. Now we were climbing through rainforest, with giant ferns tucked between dizzyingly tall gum trees. The road was sometimes shaded as we climbed a drainage and sometimes with speckled sunshine through the leaves. Steep drops and broad green vistas as we topped the crests. On one bend I simultaneously spotted an echidna walking up the roadside, right next to a place to pull over and park. We had seen one of these creatures yesterday but at the time there was no place to stop. Todays echidna had disappeared into the grass but obligingly wandered back into the road where it was petted and thoroughly photographed from all angles. The total absence of any traffic enabled both the photographer and her subject to survive. On the far side of the range we dropped down towards Colac, the road bordered by broad green pastures. There were now miles of dry stacked stone walls outlining the fields. This type of barrier is labor intensive, slow to construct and therefore quite expensive. They looked just like the walls in northern England built centuries ago. The English walls were supposedly built by POW’s from the Napoleonic Wars, right after the Inclosure Act of 1800. Who built the Australian walls and why? For the past two days we have seen plaques commemorating and referencing the “Discharged Soldiers Settlement Act”. After both WW1 and WW2, attempts were made to settle returned servicemen on grants of land, in order to encourage settlement in the more remote areas. The coast road construction was to improve access to these remote areas. Of course many soldiers had no expertise in farming and so their budding enterprises were abandoned, the project a “mixed success”. Were these ex-soldiers employed in building stone walls? Some references indicate that the fields themselves were rocky, needed to be cleared and so the use of stone for walls was logical, because it was readily available and cheap. But dry stone wall building is a skilled process and these wall have a neatness and “professional” look to them. The other quoted reason is that the walls were an attempt to make a rabbit proof barrier. I find this even less believable and the stone walls of Victoria remain an attractive and interesting puzzle.

We stopped for the night in Hamilton and at the town limits there was a traffic sign warning of bandicoots. Bandicoots? The lady at the information center said she had lived her whole life here and had never seen one, since they are both nocturnal and rare. She showed us a picture - basically a rat with stripes but the girlie bandicoots are alleged to have a pouch. We spent the night at a riverside caravan park and after dark went out with a flashlight to look up in the trees. We soon found a possum who growled at us. Do bandicoots live in trees?

October 21, 2014

Last year we had the bus serviced in Cairns and the mechanic had reported “exhaust system leaks”. We had finally arrived at the point of actually doing something about this and drove over to a specialist exhaust repair shop to have the system inspected and repaired. The mechanic searched underneath the bus for several minutes and then said, “That is nothing. I wouldn’t bother with it – take another look in six months”. OK then, we continued west, skirting Port Phillip Bay, the huge body of protected water that fronts the port of Melbourne and headed back south to the seaside resort town of Torquay, “surfing capital of Australia”. Certainly surfing is big business here and we stopped first at the “Surf Museum”. There were movies of idiots surfing 50 foot waves and what was as impressive as the fact that these fools deliberately put themselves under a moving, towering wall of water, was that they were towed into position by “dudes” riding jet skis and were being photographed from a small helicopter. The helicopter was so close to the surfer that the pilot had to lift each time a wave went by since he was filming from below the crest. Another film clip was an interview with an expert surfer who was describing rescuing a “wipe-out” victim when he noticed they were both being circled by a large shark. Great sport!

Annette searched the museum for her 1964 Hawaiian made board, a present from the creator, her older brother and last used in Talofofo Bay in Guam. She remembers the Guam waves as not as gnarly as the Torquay waves, dude. The museum was fun and we were obviously the most senior attendees.

We continued west along the Great Ocean Road that hugs Australia’s southern sea cliffs. The road twisted and turned, rose and fell steeply and to our left was white sand beaches with blue water. Lots of surfers but no 50 foot waves and no visible shark attacks. We arrived at a near empty caravan park at Kennett River, parked amongst the trees and were immediately surrounded by brightly colored parrots and ducks (plus ducklings). The parrots obviously expected to be fed and perched hopefully on head, shoulder or whatever. The parrots on the bus roof threatened to crap all over the solar panels and so we paid the necessary shakedown with handfuls of the wild bird seed that Annette carries for such emergencies.

Some ten paces from our site was a tree with a large male Koala asleep in the branches, perhaps 15 feet above us. He roused himself eventually, peed and then began making a loud barking and growling sound that we recognized from previous lectures to be the mating call. Sure enough there was another Koala a few trees away. How cool! This was like parking in a zoo!

October 20, 2014

This morning we met Ed’s first cousins Anne and Geraldine and walked the seafront, exploring the gift shops in the hamlet of Mornington. Cousin Una with her husband John joined us for brunch and that afternoon we briefly visited kids and grandkids. It was so exciting to meet the extended families of distant relatives that are distant only in miles.

We chatted with Geraldine’s husband Jerrod and he regaled us with tales of leaving a house and job in Ireland in the 1970’s and traveling to Australia with his wife and five children to start all over to make a new life in Melbourne. In my opinion, few people could give up their security blanket of an established family life to do that. Geraldine had lots of family pictures, including pictures of my father as a young man and Anne brought her family albums to the gathering. We sent out for “take-away” and naturally Annette and I leaned towards the “fish and chips” option, since we don’t get this at home. Another great visit.

October 19, 2014

It was late Sunday morning when we left eastern Melbourne to travel down the southern Mornington Peninsula to avoid the week day traffic. As it was, there was construction and road closings to contend with and at one point, the GPS had us on a gravel road. A cold, grey day with a spattering of rain and at the caravan park, we nested in our bus for the evening, watching movies and eating popcorn.

October 18, 2014

We headed south from Echuca and at a rest stop, remembered to fire up the computer to sign up for a Melbourne toll pass. We had to perform this task for Brisbane, Sydney and now Melbourne. Last year we were burned with a $140 fine for unpaid tolls in Melbourne, after I had been incorrectly assured that the Brisbane account would also include the Melbourne toll roads. Since we intended to return to Australia, I broke with tradition and paid the fine, grumbling as I did so. The authorities use video cameras to scan license plate numbers and this information is used to compute speeding offenses, toll usage and failure to pay for vehicle registration (the registration fee also includes liability vehicle insurance). The speeding is not much of an issue for us, since the Coaster doesn’t go that fast anyway. Just think, in another hundred years, the USA might use the same technology.

We stopped for the night at the home of my (Ed’s) cousin David and wife Kathie and enjoyed catching up with family stories and a fabulous meal at a nearby restaurant. This was one of those “menu fixee” deals where they keep bring courses until you are ready to explode. A great visit.

October 17, 2014

This morning I worked on our travel arrangements to Tasmania. When we tried to book passage on the car ferry boat, the “Spirit of Tasmania”, the internet informed us that they were fully booked throughout October AND November for vehicles over 2.1 meters height. Our bus is over a meter taller than this limit and so for us, this is not going to work. We telephoned the booking office and they confirmed what we had already observed but agreed to add us to a standby wait list in the event of cancellations. Grumpily we abandoned this effort and headed into town to check out the multitude of tourist gift shops and the soothing interior of the Shamrock Pub.

With ready access to both firewood and water, steam engines were commonly used in these parts and as we wandered through the old town section of Echuca, along the banks of the Murray river, perhaps a score of these old engines were on display, some working and some not. It seems like everyone in Australia must have had a rusting chunk of iron in the back paddock. An active and working boiler on the wharf-side provided steam for several engines demonstrating the functions of the lumber mill that had been located here in the 1800’s. Steam winches would drag the logs up the bank from the river, so that they could be cut into usable chunks by huge powered reciprocating saws before steam driven radial saws would produce the various needed sizes of cut lumber.

I was surprised at how quiet the whole operation was and the absence of clouds of polluting smoke. Admittedly the boiler was only running at 20 psi instead of the 100 psi that would probably have been used for real production and the saws weren’t actually cutting the logs. Where I grew up in Birmingham, England, the nearby steam locomotives at the freight marshaling yards were noisy and produced prodigious amounts of dirt in the form of soot and ash. As I compared the two, I realized that whereas the Echuca steam engine was fueled by fairly clean burning wood, the British steam locomotives of my youth were coal burning and the exhaust steam was vented into the chimney stack, thereby increasing the air draw on the firebox and creating the characteristic “puffing” sound of a steam locomotive. This process would near guarantee that they also vented lots of unburned carbon in the form of coal soot plus ash particles, both the bane of women like my mother, desperately trying to dry laundry on a clothes line in the few minutes between British rain showers and before it became dirtier than before it was washed.

We had booked a river trip on the P.S. Pevensey, a vessel built as a barge in 1910 and then converted to a side paddle steamer in 1911 at nearby Moama. She weighed in at 130 tons, length of 112 feet with a 32 foot beam. The 20 h.p. wood burning engine could propel her at 8 knots and her draft of two and a half feet ensured she could transit much of the Murray river system. We saw several other steam powered paddle wheelers on the river but most were of recent manufacture, some with modern engines but some using restored and antique steam engines. The Pevensey is one of only two authentic vessels still extant.

I was interested to see how she was turned in the river and watched as the master skillfully rang in the engine changes, turned the big spoked wheel and let river current do the rest. The side paddle wheels aren’t independently operated as I had imagined but turn on a single shaft. The paddle boat moved surprisingly swiftly and silently up and down the river and at 6 times heavier than our S/V DoodleBug with its 85 H.P. turbocharged diesel, has a similar top speed thanks to the low flat hull shape.

This was a very enjoyable way to travel and Annette and I sat on fake cotton bales on the bow, sipping cold beers and were quite ready to continue down the 1800 or so kilometers to the mouth of the Murray in Adelaide. Unfortunately our one hour passage was over and we were dumped back on the wharf where we met Brian Carter, a self styled “troubadour, spruiker, poet, bard, singer and juggler”. What attracted Annette’s attention was that he performed on demand, Kookaburra imitations, both the morning version and the more common territorial warning. Annette has been practicing her call and was an apt pupil for any hints from a master. I have tried but I can’t even come close. My efforts are more Orangutan than bird.

October 16, 2014

Blue skies and sunshine this morning as we continued our drive south on the Cobb highway, keeping an eye open for emus on the empty plains on either side of the road. We were rewarded with four sightings of a dozen or so birds and one that was close enough to the road, that Annette was able to get photographs.

The route along the Cobb highway followed portions of a stock route called the “Long Paddock” that was established around 1840. We stopped at the “Black Swamp” to view a roadside sculpture of the headless horseman. The “Black Swamp” was a watering hole for stock and a local butcher is said to have terrified the passing drovers by wearing a cloak and frame on his shoulders to appear that he was a headless man riding a horse. He would scare both cattle and drovers so that he could make off with a few. He supposedly was smart enough to limit his thefts to a lowish number so as not to attract law enforcement. The sculpture by Geoff Hocking depicts the resulting cattle stampede and fleeing drovers pursued by the headless specter.

The weather stayed fine as we passed through through the towns of Deniliquin and Moama, before crossing the Murray River into the State of Victoria and stopping for the night at Echuca. In 1853 Echuca was the largest inland port in Australia and the wharf brought a steady stream of steamships, carrying goods to be transferred by rail to the port of Melbourne. Several of these steamships have survived and we booked a passage for tomorrow on a side paddle steamship, the P.S. Pevensey, for a tour of the Murray river.

We are staying for the night at a riverside caravan park, close enough to walk into town and we walked along the bank of the Murray towards the old wharf. There were many house boats moored "stern to" the bank, as well as a couple of steamboats tied up. I noticed that the steamboat's smokestacks had heat and fumes rising and I asked a deckhand what kind of fuel was being used for the boilers. She indicate a pile of cut logs on the bank and noted that these ships are of the few that are authentic wood burners (just like the African Queen!) - not propane as I would have assumed.

It has been cold for the past few nights and Annette's day was truly made when for $8, she found a thick hooded dressing gown in the clearance rack at at "Big W" - sort of Australia's equivalent of Wal-mart. She will be a warm and happy camper tonight.

October 15, 2014

When we had arrived at the park last night, I had asked the proprietor if we could get the bus serviced in town. He promptly called the local Toyota dealer and they agreed to fit us in for an oil change at 4:00 p.m. tomorrow. Great! I had been dreading the usual, “Might fit you in next May” response. Since we were now staying two nights in Hay, we had a slow start to the day and then headed out to buy a computer mouse, mine having conveniently died a month out of warranty. While I tested the new mouse, Annette stocked up on groceries and then we headed over to the Shear Heritage Museum.

This place was a great stop and brought home to us the importance of wool in Australia’s past. The original settlers in 1788 brought sheep with them but within twelve months, all but one had been eaten by the hungry convicts and guards. In 1796 the Governor had sent a ship to Cape Town to buy cattle and the expedition returned with 26 sheep of Spanish Merino descent. From this beginning the huge Australian herds were derived, with the number of animals peaking in the 1970’s. Then followed the collapse of wool prices due to reduced world demand plus competition from cotton and synthetic fibers. The problem was that wool was three times the price of these alternatives and although wool was still preferred for high quality fabrics, the new technology synthetics were having a huge impact on textile production. The Australian government tried to prop up the wool price by buying the surplus production but eventually this became too expensive. Australian output dropped by 35% in the 1990’s and only stabilized somewhat when the Australian producers began to concentrate upon the finest merino wool.

The work of the shearer was much more physical than I had ever realized. They were (and are) traditionally paid per sheep shorn and it takes 2 to 3 minutes per animal. Before power shears were introduced, the men used “blades”, basically spring based scissors and so the effort to operate these required huge physical effort. The men worked in four two hour stints per day; a 30 minute "smoko" break in the morning, during which they would have followed their huge breakfast with tea and sandwiches; the next two hours session was followed by an hour break for lunch and an afternoon 30 minute break would include more snacks. While they were working, their heart rate would be steady at around 155 beats per minute and their calorie intake around 8,000 calories per day – very similar to Tour de France cycling competitors. Champion shearer Jackie Howe sheared 321 sheep in 7 hours 40 minutes in 1892 using hand shears. He is reported to have had hands like "small tennis rackets" and his biceps were so large, he supposedly cut the sleeves from his shirt in order to remove the constriction. The sleeveless shirts, since known as "Jackie Howe's" in Australia (and called "wife beaters" in the USA) are a de rigueur vestment for todays shearers. Howe was a trades unionist and active during the shearer strikes of 1891 and 1894 and of course we will remember that the song "Waltzing Matilda" concerned events at an 1894 shearer's strike at Dagworth station, Queensland.

It was an education to see and realize how many people were employed in a shearing operation, from the cooks who fed the workers to the "experts" who repaired and maintained powered equipment and cutting tools; then there were all of the workers to clean up the cut wool, sort and grade the wool as to quality, before it was packed and compressed into bales for shipment. We watched a live demonstration of a sheep being shorn in about 2 1/2 minutes (using power shears) and it was as well that the shearer was so swift, as we had our 4:00 pm appointment to get our Coaster oil change and we needed to scurry.

October 14, 2014

Early start for us. By 8:30 a.m. we were rolling, heading for “mother’s” mailbox to drop off our key and hopefully collect our deposit. Sure enough, we found the driveway marked by two stone lions and the mailbox containing an envelope enclosing our $10 refund. Our destination this morning was the Casella winery in Yenda and we followed the signs for “Staff Entrance”, parked and pressed a red button next to an impressive turnstile entrance. A disembodied voice enquired as to our business and apparently the security cameras were satisfied, as a loud click enabled the turnstile security gate to operate and we were admitted. It was still cold and rainy and we filled out a form with our details, so that we could be outfitted with security badges, day-glo safety vests, helmets and safety glasses. By this time our guide “Les”, the plant Public Relations, Education and Training manager had arrived to tour us through the sprawling facility. The winery is the largest family owned operation in Australia, exports more than 12 and 1/2 million cases of wine per year to 50 plus different countries, accounting for a third of Australia’s wine exports. They process almost 10 percent of Australia’s grape crush in this facility, seemingly in the “middle of nowhere” (each kilo of grapes produces a 750 ml. bottle of wine). For the next two hours Les took us on a bewildering tour through warehouses, fermentation vats, bottling plants, laboratories, packaging, shipping and crating operations. Although the period of grape harvest and wine-making is only for three months per year, the storage of product, packaging and distribution is a year around process. Some of the rooms we visited required us to sterilize hands and cover jewelry and hair with sterile surgical type caps before we entered. Les was a fountain of knowledge and we remain so very grateful that he took the time to take us on this memorable and amazing tour. We will likely never in conscience be able to drink anything other than Yellowtail wine ever again. The Casella family came to Queensland in 1957 from Sicily and worked as seasonal workers in the cane fields. In 1962 they moved to New South Wales and three years later purchased a small mixed horticultural farm in Yenda. Today the original family farmhouse stands in the middle of this industrial scale complex, dwarfed by million lire storage tanks as though in the middle of an oil refinery. An amazing story of business success.

As we drove south, the rain came down harder with a strong cross-wind tugging at the steering. At one intersection there was a barricade with police cars and we were waved off on a long diversion due to a traffic fatality that morning. The farm roads were almost empty but along the mowed verges were clusters of parrots, feeding upon grass seeds. Occasionally we would see the flash of iridescent green as they took to flight but mostly there were groups of a dozen or so pink, grey and white Galahs. These would launch airborne like a cloud of chrysanthemums but the magpies however, showed their equanimity by just walking a little closer to the road’s edge as though disdaining physical effort. Finally the bank of dark clouds were behind us, the windshield clean and unspotted with water droplets and the blue skies of a “screen-saver” sky ahead. We turned off the cab heater just before we stopped for the night at a caravan park on the outskirts of Hay, NSW.

October 13, 2014

Monday morning in Australia and Annette calls the Casella winery in Yenda, New South Wales to see if they do tours. Casella’s brand is “Yellow Tail” wines, found all over the USA and Yenda is a tiny hamlet lying at the southern end of the Lachlan Range in the middle of the State. The red lines indicating major highways thin out on this part of the road map. Annette spoke to Les Worland, who checked his schedule and set an appointment for the morrow. We left Canberra northwards on the Barton Highway towards Yass on a cold morning with overcast skies and rain showers. Beyond Yass, we left the motorways and drove northwest towards Harden along empty two-lane farm roads. We were now grateful that we had taken the time to repair the cab heater.

Afternoon found us in the delightful village of Ardlethan where we stopped at the tiny IGA grocery store. Ardlethan is the “home of the Australian Kelpie”, a working dog, famous for its prowess in herding cattle, sheep and goats. There was a plaque and bronze statue extolling the virtues of the Kelpie both as a working animal and as a pet, plus a warning that bored and idle Kelpies are famous for amusing themselves, in manners that their owners might not find so entertaining. There were other places we could have camped that were closer to our destination but Ardlethan was the only location that promised powered sites and we wanted to run our cabin heater for the anticipated cold night. Across from the IGA was “free” overnight camping, adjacent to the local bowling club which even offered four metered power outlets at the rate of $2 for 12 hours power. Unfortunately this great deal had already been taken by four fellow travellers. The next option was an in-town caravan park and our iPad based guide indicated that we should “pay and get the key” from the IGA. The IGA sent us next door to a “sundries” store selling local crafts, knitted goods, jewelry, crockery and the like and the proprietor said that her mother was now operating the caravan park. We paid her $20, $10 for the overnight plus a $10 deposit for the key to the toilet / showers / laundry. Since we were leaving relatively early in the morning, we would drop off the key at “mother’s” mailbox and she would similarly leave the $10 refund in the mailbox. This is so charming and a reminder of country values. The other occupants of the campsite were extended members of a large family, attending a reunion / birthday party a 100 attending the dinner and 300 attending the reception. They had travelled from all over Australia and New Zealand and although we chatted for a while, the cold soon drove every into their respective campers.

October 12, 2014

This morning we roused ourselves from our calorie induced torpor and set off to go sightseeing. Our first stop however was a level piece of empty parking lot where I swapped the “spare” tire on the front axle for the tire I had repaired a couple of days ago. This is the fifth time I have removed a wheel from the bus and now have the procedure down to around thirty minutes. Another six months of this and we will be ready for the pits at the Indy 500.

Our next destination was the Royal Australian Mint where Australia’s coinage is produced. They use German manufactured machines to strike the coins and these are fed and served by robots. The men who watch the robots weren’t working on a Sunday so the machines sat idle, surrounded by mountains of coin blanks and finished product. The building security seemed very light and I was reminded that the UK ships their coins to the various banks as rail freight and without any security whatsoever. The mint had exhibit examples of coin mis-strikes, made during the manufacturing process plus coin forgeries. I was puzzled as to why anyone would bother to forge a coin, considering the effort it would likely take. Then I saw the examples of forged 1930 pennies. Only about 1500 were actually minted because this was during the Depression and the coins were not distributed that year. Apparently someone decided to hand them out about a decade later. It is thought that perhaps they were exchanged with tourist’s coins during mint tours in the 1940’s. Nevertheless, they are extremely rare and we saw examples where forgers had glued a zero onto, say a 1936 penny, after grinding off the “6”. Other attempts had been to change the “8” to a “0” on a 1938 penny. Interesting place.

Annette had picked up a brochure for an Aboriginal Art Gallery on the north side of Canberra and we next drove out to take a look. The gallery was fairly small although the owner indicated that they carried more than a 1,000 pictures of Aboriginal art on their web-site – available for viewing “in the flesh” by appointment. They did have a painting hanging in the gallery by an artist (Ningura Napurrula) that Annette has already collected but the asking price was unattractive. They also had a decorated “burial log” that she has been lusting after but the proprietor indicated that they would not provide assistance with shipping, so we moved on.

We parked at the Australian War memorial and immediately heard the sound of bagpipes and drumming. Scattered across the grounds of the memorial, usually in the shade of one of the beautiful mature trees, was a man sitting at a portable table and nearby a solitary piper or solitary drummer. What we were watching was a solo performance competition for pipe or drum, for the Canberra Caledonian Society band members. Just about everyone was wearing a kilt and sporran – even the police officer on duty. I pointed out to Annette the near mandatory dirk tucked into the the right sock. When Annette asked a group of pipers if she could take their picture, I was amused when one of the pipers restored himself to full highland dress, by swapping the more practical Australian stockman’s hat he was wearing for a Tam O’ Shanter. The pipers were amazing and I could but think of when Alan Breck Stewart challenged Robin MacGregor to a battle of the pipes, rather than settle their quarrel with swords – OK, so it was fictional – “Kidnapped” by Robert Louis Stephenson but a great story.

There was a 17 year old girl (according to her grandfather we were chatting to at the time) who played a solo drum with the most amazing “flourishes” of the drumsticks. This is baton twirling on steroids but when you come down and bash the drum with the stick, you actually have to hit it in time with the rest of the music. Tricky.

Inside the memorial is a museum with all sorts of aircraft, guns, uniforms and weapons on display, covering the various conflicts that Australia has participated in from the Boer War, then nationhood and the blooding at Gallipoli in the First World War, before the slaughter of the Western Front; The desert war in North Africa and the amphibious jungle wars against the Japanese in the Second World War; Korea, Vietnam, East Timor, Iraq and Afghanistan in modern times. We had visited this museum and shrine before in 2006 but it remains a humbling reminder of the sacrifices that Australia has made in such a short period of history, on behalf of freedom and at what a cost.

It was now getting late and we headed towards the Exhibition Grounds and our campsite, looking out for a restaurant. There were busy shopping centers, likely crawling with restaurants but with multi-story car parks and nowhere we could fit a bus. As we left the downtown area we spotted an establishment promising “Turkish Pizza”. We parked in front, ordered our pizza from the Asian cook and walked next door to buy beer. We then sat drinking beer at a sidewalk table and the Asian Turkish cook brought out our pizza. I had ordered lamb pizza and it was very tasty. More of a “Calzone” than a pizza but excellent nonetheless. As we sat eating our supper, there was a group in the park opposite skipping ropes for exercise and several bicyclists rode past wearing helmets of course but with what looked like electrical nylon “zip” ties sticking out of the top of their helmets. We had similarly seen motorcycle riders with such appendages and had speculated as to what their conceivable purpose might be. Annette returned to the liquor store to ask and was told that they are used to dissuade magpie attacks. Before you laugh, we have been warned about magpie attacks in several parks and have even seen warning signs. Hitchcock, you were right!

October 11, 2014

Laundry day! It was more of a catch up on everything day and we “hung” at the Exhibition Park Campgrounds, reading, chatting to people, catching up on e-mails and the like. Last evening’s supper was grilled lamb chops, grilled marinated potatoes, grilled chipati (flat bread) plus Bok Choy salad with Ranch dressing. This however was just the warm up and today the fare escalated to grilled bacon wrapped shrimp, cashew pilaf, grilled zucchini, grilled pineapple and iceberg lettuce salad with tangerine segments in a dressing of balsamic vinegar and basil infused olive oil plus tangerine “zest” (that’s little bits of chopped up tangerine rind for the ignorant - like me). Yes, camping involves so many hardships.....

October 10, 2014

We visited the “Sydney RV Group” since they advertise themselves on the internet as “consignment brokers” and we had successfully sold our USA based motorhome through consignment broker PPL Motorhomes in Houston, Texas. We are not ready to sell yet but wanted to avoid surprises when we do come to sell our bus. The Sydney RV Group people were very friendly and helpful but it soon became apparent that “consignment broker” means something completely different in Australia. In the USA, you agree with the broker on a commission rate and thus the broker is incentivized to sell your vehicle for the maximum price possible - which is good for both parties. In Australia, you agree to a price with the broker, which is the price you "might" receive. If the broker sells the vehicle way above this price, he keeps the difference. If forced to take a lower price, the broker returns to the seller and they agree to lower the price the seller will receive, so that there is “sufficient” profit for the broker. It is like selling your car to a used car salesman but you don’t get paid until he resells your car and if he doesn’t get enough margin, he can come back to you and lowers your take. What a sweet deal for the broker! No inventory costs, no downside risk. Of course this is true of USA consignment brokers but in the latter case, the good fortune of a high sale price is shared between the parties.

Somewhat despondent, we left Sydney with its traffic and drove to Australia’s capital city of Canberra, camping at the spacious Exhibition Park campground.

October 9, 2014

We camped the night in Gloucester, adjacent to the Gloucester River and set off south again in the morning, along the “Thunderbolt’s Way” highway, to the coastal town of Newcastle. The highway was named for a local bushranger, Captain Thunderbolt. Captain Thunderbolt was a famous criminal who escaped from a work gang at Cockatoo Bay. I suppose that the USA has celebrated criminals such as Al Capone, Jesse James and Billy the Kid but we usually only name highways after successful criminals that have served in Congress.

We now seemed to enter a different Australia. Gone were the signs advertising brick throwing contests, the sleepy towns surrounded by fields that reminded us of Wales but without the stone walls. Now we were back in the realm of heavy traffic and urban sprawl. We wanted to visit a Sydney based RV consignment broker on Friday morning and headed for a nearby caravan park in the Sydney suburb of Emu Plains. However the park was renovating their power system and had no sites available for us to stay. Instead they kindly called around and found us a spot at Avina Village in the suburb of Vineyard, some 40 kms. back to the northeast where we had just driven from. The Avina Village campsite remains memorable in that it is the only place we have seen live “wild” bunnies on this trip.

October 8, 2014

This morning we visited “Manuel” the goat, the famous tire eater. Since our 2013 visit he has been relocated to the far end of the park to reduce the impact of his vehicle chewing habits. He had also had his horns trimmed, and owner Brigitte related the tale that when he was loaded into the back of the vet’s “ute” (pickup-truck), she realized that he had never been away from “home” before. He let out a single plaintiff “Maaa” as the truck drove off and she burst into tears. Sorta like the first time your kindergartner leaves on the school bus.

Our drive continued south through the towns of Armidale and Walcha towards Gloucester. A beautiful drive on near empty highways, between mountains, and blazing green pastures fed by spring rains.

October 7, 2014

First thing on the schedule after leaving the campsite this morning was to drive over to the local tire repair. The mechanic was obviously busy and made muttering noises about previous work commitments but I nevertheless unloaded the wheel from its stowage under the bus and rolled it to the door of his business. He continued to roll the wheel into the depths of his workshop and reappeared some twenty minutes later showing me that the inner tube had split along a seam. He had replaced the tube with a new one but because he was “rushed”, I didn’t ask him to remount the tire on the front and instead, stowed the now repaired tire back under bus. I do want to run my newest tire on a front wheel and will need to find the combination of level, hard ground for the jack, plus willing mechanic / operator.

(Note: "split rims" used to be common on heavy vehicles that might be used "in the bush". The split rim had some mechanism, circlip or whatever, so that the rim could be separated safely from the wheel as long as the tire was deflated. You could then slide the tire off the wheel without special tools and repair a "flat" by either patching or replacing an inner tube - just like a bicycle tire. Thus our Coaster uses tubes inside the tires. I am told that "for safety reasons", the modern buses uses tubeless tires like modern autos) 

We wanted to continue driving south on the Dividing Range but our proposed route through Baryulgil and Barretts Creek lay along unpaved roads. We have just paid to have the paint on the front of the bus restored from the ravages of stone chips and saw no point in repeating the procedure. Instead, we cut through on a minor road, little more than single lane width blacktop, to the tiny village of Tabulam, before heading west to Tenterfield and then south to Glen Innes. The mountain roads were near empty of traffic, winding with steep inclines followed by equally steep descents. We growled down these slopes in low gear with the diesel exhaust brake snarling. During our previous Australian visits I had remarked upon the near total absence of sheep. Now the passing fields were bursting with the creatures, if fields can burst that is. The spring lambs were gamboling and brought instant thoughts of mint sauce. The signs at the driveways to the various farms claimed Merino sheep; just wool then, no mint sauce?

That afternoon we passed through Glen Innes and pulled into the “Glen Rest” caravan park where we had stayed in March, 2013.

October 6, 2014

This morning marks the first time we have seen “live” kangaroos in Australia! A mother plus her “Joey” grazing on the opposite side of the road from our parked bus. Today is a national holiday throughout Australia and a “down” day for us. By 9:00 a.m. we were the only inhabitants of the caravan park other than the magpies, parrots, doves and the like. If the large black snake returned, we didn’t see him.

October 5, 2014

Since we no longer need the Tuesday service appointment, we pointed our bus to the south in the sparse traffic of a Brisbane Sunday morning, only this time, our route lay along the Lindesay Highway to Woodenbong in New South Wales and from thence to Bonalbo. We camped beside the river, amongst tall trees and birdsong. In the river below there was a turtle sunning itself on a log and a pair of large lizards doing whatever it is lizards do in springtime. A couple who had been camping nearby had stopped to chat when a four foot long black snake with red underside, slid by us some six feet away. The Australians jumped backwards with alacrity exclaiming that this was one of the deadliest snakes on the continent. They must have been city folks though, because our snake guide book states that there have been no known fatalities in adults from this specie. Nevertheless we were suitably impressed when we saw just how fast that sucker moved through the undergrowth when alarmed.

Annette planned to BBQ this evening and as I hauled the grill out from our stern locker, I was discomfited to see that our front left tire was near flat. I dragged out the 12 volt air compressor and plugged it in. After the tire was perhaps 80 percent re-inflated, the compressor quit and in the ensuing silence, I could hear air hissing from a leak. Not the valve stem - I was going to have to change this for the spare. The location for a jack was poor, hard dirt on a slight slope but it worked, we didn’t drop the bus off the jack and managed to get the spare tire installed. The air compressor did not reset itself after a temperature overload as I had hoped and a meter showed that the fuse in the 12 volt “cigarette” type plug had burned out. We have no replacement fuse but the spare tire itself has enough air in it to be drivable. Meanwhile, Annette had lost none of her cooking skills and our supper was grilled steak, green beans, marinated and grilled aubergine plus a huge Australian avocado. The adventure continues.

October 4, 2014

There seemed two possibilities concerning the recalcitrant heater. The first was that somehow there was too much air in the unused heater hoses, heater core and the like and there was some kind of air-lock. I topped up the radiator reservoir overflow in the hope that this might “bleed out” in the act of driving. The second option was that the repair shop had forgotten to connect the cable that operated the on / off valve. This would not be pretty but I determined to see if I could access this after we stopped for the evening.

To this end we bade Robert farewell and headed back along the highway towards Brisbane. After ten minutes or so, hot air was coming from the heater outlets, it was working! We exited the freeway and pulled into the parking lot of a large shopping mall in order to regroup. A check of the engine compartment and no coolant leaks - victory! Now we don’t have to hang around Brisbane until Tuesday.

It was still way too early for shopping and Annette fixed bacon, eggs and toast at our parking lot campsite as we waited for the mall to open. There was a movie theatre in the mall and after shopping for a few grocery items, we bought movie tickets for the 10:00 a.m. showing of “The Maze Runner” a similar theme as “The Hunger Games”, perhaps appealing more to teenagers or to the kind of people who watch movies at 10:00 a.m.

During Annette’s various shopping expeditions she had found gifts for Jodi’s family and now wanted the chance to deliver them, thus we fired up the bus and headed back to the north to Jodi and Ray’s place, camping out again in their driveway. As before, Ray overwhelmed us with the food he cooked on his backyard BBQ. He is a fine BBQ chef but by the time we had finished off the second round of appetizers, we were replete and there was no hope of cramming in dinner, at least not without resorting to Roman methods involving chicken feathers.

October 3, 2014

Last night was cold and since we were free camping in the pub parking lot, we had no electricity to run our heater. Breakfast consisted of several cups of coffee and tea and we decided to just hit the road early so that we could run our newly repaired in-cab heater. It didn’t work! Cold air poured through the floor vents as we drove. Eventually the temperature gauge had moved up to its normal position and so our hope evaporated. We pulled into a highway rest area and I removed the engine cover. This is inside the bus, between the front seats and the engine heat warmed the bus even though it was a little smelly. I gazed in horror at the heater hoses that were capped and not hooked up to the engine. I pulled the invoice from the dealership. The invoice read, “road tested, all OK”. Bullshit! It was still too early to call the dealership but we reversed direction in the hope that they might fix the problem on the spot. We were three hours drive from Brisbane and after an hour, we pulled over to call. The sales rep assured us that their first opening for service was a week from today. The manager was on holiday and there was no “Assistant Manager”. We asked to speak to the representative we had been dealing with but she was unavailable for another hour but would call us. Two hours later, we called again and were given the message that they would fit us in, first thing on Tuesday morning since Monday is a holiday in Queensland. By now we were back on the outskirts of Ipswich and we found a large auto-parts store. I bought hose clamps and anti-freeze and then tried to work out the heater hose combination. The bus originally had two heaters but the rear heater for the passenger compartment had been removed during conversion to a motor-home. There were three hose outlets from the engine. Each heater used two. Two outlets would work if the heaters were in series or four if not - but three? After an hour of puzzling through internet diagrams and crawling under the bus in the parts store parking lot, I found a “T” junction on the return pipes. Mystery solved!

While we had been occupying the parking spaces in the parts store parking lot, a couple had approached us to admire the Coaster bus. When I told “Robert” our plans, he invited us to park on his property where he could provide power and a water hook-up. The clincher was that he told Annette that he had “baby horses” on his three acres. Sold! Our GPS found its way to his property and while Annette explored the horse situation, I worked on reconnecting the heater hoses to the engine. This took me two hours of struggling as I hoped to retain most of my skin while struggling at odd angles to remove rubber hoses that had become welded to their various pipes. Finally it was done and I fired up the engine. The good news was that the system did not leak. The bad news was that the heater still did not work. Bugger! In times like this you do the obvious thing. Take a shower, drink a pre-dinner beer and then we headed out with Robert in his car to a nearby restaurant. Robert had served in the Vietnam War as a member of Australia’s 1st Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment, attached to the US 173rd. Airborne Division. He had recently returned from a reunion held in San Antonio, Texas, just north of our place on Padre Island. He was a charming host and fun companion.

Annette reports that Robert had purchased his two Shetland ponies to keep grass down on his property and thereby limit the number of snakes.

October 2, 2014

We left the Glass House Mountains campsite this morning and headed north towards Beerwah, skirting the peaks of the mountain range, before heading west towards Kilcoy. Banks of mist lay in the folds in the ground and the low cloud layer provided a subdued light as we glimpsed the individual peaks of the Glass House Mountains. Just beyond Kilcoy, we turned south towards the Somerset Dam with vistas of Lake Somerset on our port side. Once past the dam, the road switched sides of the valley and Lake Wivenhoe lay to starboard. A very pretty drive.

Our destination was the town of Ipswich where Brian, a local taxidermist, had promised Annette some Red Kangaroo skins. Brian’s house was on stilts and he had converted the entire area below into a workshop. He had a wild boar’s head that he had just completed mounting, plus several heads of African game that were under construction. Brian explained that Red Kangaroos were protected by government law but that he owned a recreational permit to shoot some number. He was not allowed to sell the skins, so he simply gave them to Annette. What a kind gesture! He was looking for a “good home” for his skins and Annette promised just that.

Leaving Ipswich, we headed south, crossing Australia’s Great Dividing Range through Cunningham’s Gap. Our goal was to reach the Old Maryvale Hotel for the night. This pub was built by an American survivor of the Great San Francisco earthquake of 1906. When he arrived in Maryvale he decided that the geology was similar to San Francisco so he built the hotel with a steel frame in order that it would be earthquake proof. The current owners are in the process of renovating this building and showed us the exposed steel beams and framing. We are not yet adjusted to this time zone so we had a couple of drinks in the bar, ordered our dinners for 1800 hours and took a nap in our bus, parked behind the hotel. In good time our alarm woke us so that we could stagger back to the pub for an excellent dinner of macadamia nut crusted barramundi. The landlord showed us the various treasures he had collected over the years and we admired his “moonstone”, one of the largest we had seen. He disappeared into the bowels of the pub and reappeared a few minutes later to give Annette a cut and polished half of a smaller moonstone.

October 1, 2014

Jodi and Ray are fantastic hosts and we reluctantly bade them farewell this morning and set off on the second stage of our walk-about. The Glass House mountains lie about an hour’s drive north of Brisbane and were so named by Captain Cook in 1770. I’m not sure how he spotted them from the coast but they reminded him of glass production in Yorkshire – presumably “slag heaps”. They are vertical volcanic plugs of hardened lava that stick up through the softer eroded material.

This is a beautiful and relatively undeveloped area lying in close proximity to a major city, traditional hunting grounds of the Gubbi Gubbi people (I’m not making this up!) and now home to Glasshouse Gourmet Snails, Queensland’s first commercial snail farm. Our Coaster ground its way up a very steep driveway and at the summit, we were met by the snail farmer Cliff and his trusty snail dog. Cliff was a fount of knowledge on all aspects of terrestrial pulmonate gastropod molluscs and began his tour with a pitch on the advantages of farm raised versus free range snails. Although snails have been part of the human diet for millennia, successful farming is a very recent development and very much a work in progress. There are three products, meat, serum and caviar. The snail meat we understand but the serum (basically snail slime used for cosmetics) and snail eggs are both labor intensive products to obtain and fetch a correspondingly high market price. The meat snails take some 9 months to grow to maturity, before being harvested and sold to a gourmet foods wholesaler for about 75 cents each. Cliff’s snail dog rooted around and behind the snail pens seeking mice and similar predators that might eat the livestock. Cliff spoke disparagingly of competition fuelled by the cheap labor costs of Yugoslavia, Columbia, the Philippines and beyond and seeing his tidy little farm in the Glass House Mountains, we were utterly convinced of the superiority of Queensland snails. Cliff offered Annette a snail to keep as a pet and I was astonished when she declined. She was concerned that the environment of the Coaster would be inadequate for such a charge.

September 30, 2014

While Ed checked all the tires – a tedious process using a 12 volt compressor, filled the water tank et cetera, Annette unloaded the bus contents onto the driveway, sorted and repacked all. I performed the same process with the various tools, plus the stern locker that carries our BBQ, power cords and plumbing pieces. We are ready to go! Annette has been researching snail farms, bat rehabilitation and red kangaroo skins, so our destination is set for tomorrow to visit a snail farm in the Glass Mountains north of Brisbane.

September 29, 2014

This morning we managed to sleep an extra hour until 0300 hours. We took a taxi to a nearby Toyota dealer and rescued our Coaster motor-home. Torque Toyota had replaced the heater core that failed during our trip last year and their body shop had similarly repaired the effects of our collision with a Wallaby. We set our next destination in our GPS and pulled out into traffic. The GPS that I had tested at the hotel yesterday, immediately died. Lost in Australia!Fortunately a nearby discount electronics store was able to remedy this defect with another GPS and we thus made our way to the driveway at Ray and Jodi’s house, plugged into their power and water before borrowing their car for an emergency beer run. What great hosts!

September 28, 2014

We awoke this morning in pitch blackness at 0200 hours, abandoning further futile attempts at sleep. It is 1100 hours yesterday in Texas but it is already 0200 hours here in tomorrow. We scoured our suitcases for chargers, Australian power adapters and the now mandatory accouterments of modern life in the form of cell phones, laptops, iPads, Kindles and Wi-Fi servers. Once everyone had been updated and fed electricity, we ascertained that the world hadn’t changed much since we moved to the Southern hemisphere and whiled away the hours until the hotel restaurant opened and we could treat ourselves to a “full” breakfast. The temperature was around 60F, our fellow travellers dressed in shorts while Annette and I wore long pants and sweaters.

In late morning Ray picked us up to visit his beautiful home for a BBQ lunch and when we arrived, his two children, Jesse and Dakota were playing in their unheated swimming pool. Brrrr!! Ray and Jodi fixed an incredible amount of food to eat but around 5 o’clock we were falling asleep again and probably poor company.

September 27, 2014

“UTC +10” That is what my computer tells me about our time zone and I believe it! We landed in Brisbane this morning, a few minutes before 5:00 a.m. and just before a glorious dawn. The sun had finally caught up with us. Our Qantas flight had taken off from Dallas Fort Worth airport in the darkness of 10:30 p.m. and we had followed the shadow of the earth around the planet, fleeing the sun for the next sixteen hours. A long night.

The Brisbane airport was empty, as you might expect at this time and as we emerged from the Customs area, we were hailed by our friend Ray Home, who works at this airport and who had arrived early at his workplace in order to meet our flight. We first met Ray with his wife on Easter Island a decade ago – they were on their honeymoon and we were taking a break from our circumnavigation, while our boat S/V DoodleBug was being hauled in Raiatea, French Polynesia to replace the propeller shaft oil seal. Small world! We sat with Ray at the terminal snack shop while we drank our first Australian beers and Ray, due to begin his shift, stuck with coffee. A short taxi ride to our hotel found it locked and barred with a sign indicating that they would not open the office for another thirty minutes at 7:00 a.m. The nearby coffee shop opened at the same hour, thus we sat at their outside table, drinking in the dawn, the scents of tropical flowers and the unfamiliar bird calls. Parrots flitted through the branches of the trees and we were amused by the strange laughing cry of a Raven.

Eventually the motel office opened and although we had requested an early check-in, this had been mistranslated as a “late check-in” and they were fully booked anyway, so no chance of an empty bed. They did find our reservation though, which always provides a good feeling. Okay, we had some hours to kill so we parked our suitcases and walked a half kilometer to a nearby shopping center, patiently awaiting the first batch of doughnuts to appear from the oven at the doughnut shop. Annette rarely buys doughnuts because she admits to zero self control when faced with collective pastries but this morning she was disappointed. They were not the hoped for Winchell’s clones but “yeast” or “cake” doughnuts. Shattered dreams – poor baby!

By 10:00 we were back at the motel with a room, shower and bed! A long trip but we are here, back in the Land of Oz! For those of you who are temporally challenged, the “UTC + 10” means that after correcting for “daylight savings”, we are now 15 hours ahead of Texas time.