THE ROAD HOME (15 - 21 OCTOBER)

As you may well imagine, after the wonderful time we had had in Gerringong, it was with very mixed feelings we hooked up and hauled out on the Monday morning.  In fact, we both agreed, the concept of actually being on the last leg of the trip back to Adelaide and our new temporary home was a little difficult to grasp after almost six months on the road. 

But needs must and off we went back north along the Pacific Highway towards Woolongong with the intention of retracing our steps across the escarpment along Picton Road.  We had taken this decision on the advice of HB who had, two days previously, traversed the towering edge of the Great Divide via the Macquarie Pass to Moss Vale and thence to the Hume Highway.  His report that the road was more challenging than the climbs through Kangaroo Valley (a trip with which we were familiar) prompted our decision (well, mine really!)

 

I had studied the maps and was concerned that we may not be able to access Picton Road from the expressway.  With the benefit of hindsight this was pretty dumb given we had come down that way, and more stupidly, it did not occur to me to go onto Google maps for a better look. From the information I had at hand, the road up Mount Kiera definitely connected with Picton Road and I decided that this was a better option than the possibility of being stuck north-bound on a freeway towards Sydney for miles.

 

Let me now tell you, the Kangaroo Vally Road is a doddle by comparison, and the Macquarie Pass would have seemed like Sunday drive I am sure.  Our problem was that once we were committed, we had to keep going.  The road was steep, narrow and winding, with, in many places, daunting precipitous drops on one side and sheer rocky walls on the other.  Any action other than slowly and cautiously forward with eyes peeled for other traffic on the hairpin bends was out of the question.  I can freely confess to a heart rate considerably greater than resting for the most part of the fifteen minute climb.  Fortunately we only came across one other vehicle coming down the mountain at a point were we were on a relatively wide corner.

 

But we did have a great reward for our travails, apart from the ultimate satisfaction of having passed a significant towing test.....a Lyre bird!  How many bird watchers have spent hours and hours in the dense forest trying to catch a glimpse of this extraordinarily elusive bird?  And the Marshies had one scurry across the road right in front of us!  What a buzz.  Thoughts of imminent death faded instantly for a few seconds of real delight.



Picton Road at last!  Geographically orientated again and now seriously on our way.  The expanses of the Hume Highway which we shortly entered seemed like another world compared to the track up Mount Kiera.  And indeed it did occur to us as we travelled down this broad bitumen ribbon just how different roads in Australia can be.


 

 

Compared to the developmental roads of outback north Queensland, where life is spent scurrying off the sealed surface out of the way of road trains and praying for an intact windscreen after each encounter,







this dual laned, smooth surfaced magic carpet, where B Doubles could pass with ease and cruise control became the order of the day, all seemed too easy.  I almost had the feeling that we were cheating.  Surely caravanning should be more difficult that this.  But let me say, when chewing up the kilometres is the main item on the agenda, give me the Hume any day!

Gundagai, where the famed dog sits on the equally famed tucker box, was our overnight destination.  For the many times we have both passed through Gundagai, we had never stopped, other than to ogle at the aforementioned canine, which is actually located in a delightful park some distance east of the township itself.

What a surprise was in store.  Our choice of park for the night presented us with a huge drive through site which was all grass. We were even offered a choice by the somewhat rambunctious but well meaning park proprietor...shade or sun.  Sun, obviously.  And although it was yet to open for the season, the 25 metre town swimming pool abuts the park boundary.  We are reliably informed that its use is free for the patrons of the park.
 


What an auspicious end to the day's travels, we thought.  But what of the town itself? Another real surprise.  Our visit to Gerringong stood us in good stead for Gundagai.  Billygoat country again. 

In our limited time wandering around Gundagai we did not extend ourselves with the camera, primarily because we had firmly decided that we needed at least two or three days in this fascinating town, preferably in the warmer weather when we could take advantage of the park and the pool whilst giving the town and its surrounds the attention they deserve.

Despite our photographic sloth, there were a couple of Gundagai features which we could not resist.  As mentioned previously, the Murrumbidgee flows (and it was flowing...at least two knots of current) through the town.  Large flood plains lie on either side of the main channel.   To traverse these in the days of yore, our forebears built two wooden bridges of some grandeur.

The railway bridge, which curves away to the left of this photo to the steel arch over the river channel (which can just be seen...this was really difficult to capture in its entirety) is just short of a kilometre long.  Built in 1903, and remaining in service until 1984, this remains the longest timber truss bridge ever built in Australia.

Immediately adjacent is another significant timber truss bridge, the road crossing.  The Prince Alfred Bridge comes in as the fourth longest in the country and carried the road traffic between Sydney and Melbourne until 1977.






The photo on a nearby plaque gives some idea the two bridges looked like in their heyday,













whilst this shot give some impression of just how massive these constructions were.






I mentioned earlier that Gundagai is now a town built on the steep slopes of the hills above the Murrumbidgee flood plain.  There is a very good reason for this.  The first settlers to the area built their township on the flat land right next to the river channel.  In their minds the convenience of this water source outweighed the warnings given by the local aboriginal tribes of the area that the river was prone to flooding, and in big way.



The inevitable happened in 1852.  The massive flood of that year wiped out the entire settlement with the exception of the old mill which is the only building to have survived this tragic event.  Of the population of 250 souls, 78 confirmed drownings made this the greatest natural disaster to have occurred in Australia until Cyclone Tracey hit Darwin so many years later.









A flood level marker shows the incredible heights to which the water has risen during the many floods in the area.  It is little wonder that the rebuild was on much higher ground.  Modern flood mitigation strategies have meant that the township has been able to again expand closer to the river, but  as we learnt, the embrace of the Murrumbidgee on Gundagai has not always been warm. 


 

 

 

 
Our camp site at the Hay Caravan Park, where we spent the next night, was far less green and lush than at Gundagai,

but at least our long site meant that we did not have to unhook, and the park staff were extremely pleasant and friendly.  I noted a set of Vietnam ribbons on the office window and discovered, when I asked about their significance, that this park discounts its site fees for all veterans.  Useful to know for the future.

Our next sector took us to Robinvale, a lovely little town on the River Murray some 80 kms west of Balranald.  The open bleakness of the Hay plains was now behind us although, unlike most, we quite enjoy driving through this area which is so flat and usually empty.

 

Interestingly we had noticed the white fluff on the sides of the highway for some distance which we both recognized as cotton scraps (from our experiences around Bourke)  Odd, we thought, until a couple of trucks passed us loaded to the hilt with cotton bales and we then came across this sight.  This shot captures only a fraction of the huge number of roll bales in one of the enormous Hay plains cotton fields.  Obviously the breaking of the drought has revitalised the industry through this district.  In all the times I have travelled this road, and they have been numerous, I have never seen this before.

Anyway, on to Robinvale.  We had overnighted here previously and vowed to come back. This park must be one of the loveliest on the River Murray. 

 

Absolute river frontage, large, beautifully grassed sites,

delightful gardens










and a nearby town centre which has all the shops needed for resupply.  And the pub has been re-opened!  More of this later.







Sunset drinks by the river at Robinvale is a must, either as a 'Nigel No-Friends'



 

  

or in the company of newly met fellow travellers.










Either way, constant companionship is always available, if one likes ducks that is!  We have never seen so many in a riverland town.....and it had obviously been a very good year for breeding.

These little chaps were at it all day, gobbling grass as if there were no tomorrow.....always under the most attentive eyes of mum and dad.  At the slightest hint of trouble (which included any sighting of the black panther on the prowl...he just ignored them), they were off.

The speed with which these tiny ducklings could cover the ground to make the river, and then the rate at which they could paddle once afloat, was staggering.  No wonder they needed to eat they way they did....all that energy....made us tired watching them.

One of the constant pleasures for us as we have travelled around Australia has been discovering the fascinating historical snippets associated with many of our small country towns.  Robinvale is no exception.

The original Post Office in the area was named Bumbang, a name associated with a local aboriginal tribe.  In 1924 this was changed to Robinvale, which is a juxtapositioning and joining of two words, 'Vale Robin'.  Lieutenant George Robin Cuttle, the son of a prominent local family, was killed in air combat  over France in 1918.  The town now bears his name in what I suspect is testament to the influence of the Cuttle family in the area.




The WW1 influence on Robinvale does not end there.  In 1985 the town was twinned with Villers-Bretonneux.  This is one of two plaques (the other espouses many lofty ideals associated with the act of twinning)



















attached to a bell tower in Caux Square in central Robinvale.








It is my understanding that the bell is a replica of that which was rung in Villers-Brettoneux to mark the end of WW1.  As I am sure many of you know, the French inhabitants of V-B have remained eternally grateful for the actions of the Australians of the 13th and 15th Brigades of the 4th and 5th Australian Infantry Divisions who, in a daring and bloody night attack on heavily fortified enemy positions, were responsible for ridding the town once and for all of the occupying German troops in WW1.

The twinning of this relatively insignificant small town in Victoria with V-B may seem odd, but apart from the association related to the death of Robin Cuttle, both towns are of similar sizes and economies and there is the added impetus of the fact that Robinvale is actually a WW2 'soldier settlement'. 

Enough history...what else has Rovbinvale to offer?  Believe it or not, a very large cinema and entertainment complex which is located within a minute walk of the caravan park.

   
This building seems almost incongruous in such a small, rural town on the Murray, but is sure to be a venue to which we wend our way on our next visit to enjoy one of the bi-weekly movie nights. 

The main street is more than adequate from shopping perspective,

and, as I mentioned previously the pub has been re-opened (as a place which provides meals and liquor, that is).

When we were last here our attempt to have a drink with the locals was stymied in a large way.  The local had been closed to all but resident guests.  It had become what was know in the days of old as 'private hotel'.  How odd we thought, but all was later revealed in a chat to a long time park resident. 

For some strange reason, Robinvale has become the home to a large Tongan population, many of whom, like our own indigenous brethren, are less than socially amenable when in their cups.  The problem had reached such proportions that the local publican issued an ultimatum to all and sundry....lift your game or I shall close the pub.  As you may have guessed, the game remained 'unlifted' and our man was as good as his word.  Obviously things have since improved.  A drink at the bar remains a goal for our next visit.

And indeed we shall return to Robinvale, next time for at least two weeks, but for now to road home continues to call.    Our push further west along the Sturt Highway through Mildura and on to the South Australian border was uneventful.  In fact we both find the trip from Mildura to Renmark somewhat boring, and our enforced stop at the Yamba fruit fly inspection station was almost a pleasant diversion.  Fortunately we were old hands in this regard having been caught before in various areas through the Riverina and Sunraysia districts where the rules about the carriage of fruit and vegetables seem to change with bewildering and illogical  regularity.  We had made sure that we cooked up all our remaining vegetables and ate every skerrick of fruit in the van before we had left Gundagai so we sailed through the Yamba inspection with flying colours.

Crossing into SA after almost six months in other states bordered (yes, pun intended) on the surreal.  Our feelings were definitely mixed.  On the one hand was the sense of ease which goes hand in hand with familiarity whilst on the other was that odd, somewhat empty feeling which accompanies the end of any wonderful adventure.



But it was good to be able to put our navigational aids and maps away and make our way along the very familiar tarmac of the Sturt Highway into Berri, for our penultimate overnight stop.  We had, in several previous visits to Berri, admired the caravan park and its amenities, and can now happily report that it did not disappoint. 











The Riverland rose festival was in full swing on the weekend of our arrival in Berri, and the caravan park certainly did its bit to contribute.

We had decided long before arriving in Berri that drinks on the Berri Hotel balcony followed by dinner in the bistro (which was an old stamping ground for us both) would be a most fitting way to celebrate our return to our home state.  And celebrate it we did, but with some unusual restraint borne of the knowledge that tomorrow was another travelling day. 




And indeed it was, albeit short.  Some years ago, when the Marshies were caravanning novices, we made the fatal mistake of traversing the suburbs of Adelaide from the north in peak hour traffic after having towed for some six hours previously.  Very bad idea!  Tired and grumpy is not the ideal state of mind to bring to bear on this challenge.  Never again.  A maximum of two hours from home on our last night is now the hard and fast rule.  Tanunda seemed a good spot,

and so it proved to be (after I had arranged to move sites....that on which we had been originally put was a shocker...narrow, uneven and overhung by low branches).  As luck would have it we arrived in town on the day of the annual marching bands competition.  Our necessary long walk was undertaken with a little more purpose than usual. 

Within two minutes or reaching the main part of the town, we certainly knew we were home.  In the space of the next ten minutes we had run into a Mess mate of mine and his wife, one of Liz's work colleagues and a very old SAPOL friend of mine, one with whom I shared the rigours of our three month Commissioned Officers' course.  Sadly Wes is now crippled with MS, but this has not deterred him from taking a very active part in Tanunda life, as President of the Band Society, a consultant on disabled access throughout the town and a local organiser for the Retired Police Association, to name but three of his interests.  It was marvellous to catch up with him and his good wife Norma, with whom we have previously spent many a convivial hour, as we stood and watched the bands march by.

We left Tanunda early the following morning.  The Adelaide Shores park at West Beach was to be our home for the next week whilst we arranged to move our goods and chattels out of storage and into our newly rented maisonette at Glengowrie.  What a boon the Internet can be.  Knowing that we had a place to live on arrival rather than sitting for an indeterminate time in the caravan park house hunting, was a matter of considerable relief for us both I can tell you.  Having said that, however, I have taken some time to come to grips with renting through an agent....what a rigmarole, especially when the agent clearly is not the sharpest tack in the box!  For example, we though it particularly odd that, knowing we were in Gerringong, we were invited to an open inspection of the property.   But that is another story.

Our arrival at West Beach coincided with the annual 'Leisurefest' when the greater part of the southern end of the park becomes a display area for caravans, campers and motor homes of all shapes, sizes and brands, together with stands and marquees in which every conceivable caravanning and camping requirement can be found.  This was a somewhat nostalgic return for us...it was here two years ago we first saw the Roma vans, and, here one year later that the van which has since served us so well was actually on display, a week before we took delivery.

It struck us that this was a most fitting way in which to end our first great adventure, something of a completion of the circle. 

And what an adventure it has been.  Despite our previous experiences, the size and complexities our our new rig rendered us relative novices when we set out.  And beyond Charleville, all we were to see and do was new.  Places which were previously merely spots on a map and which lived only in our imaginations became a reality.  Many more than met our expectations, some disappointed.  We survived the challenges of emu strike (don't let me get started on bloody emus again!), potentially significant van damage, the highs and lows of variable weather (I think there is another pun there) and the varying offerings of caravan parks all over the country.  Despite some moments of serious embarrassment, we have become adept at manoeuvring our rig through all sorts of traffic and onto challenging caravan park sites.  But most importantly of all, we have made some wonderful new friends and added extensively to our list of acquaintances. 

A great part of Australia now sits comfortably in our memories, with a familiarity which continues to amaze and delight us.  And there is so much more to see and do. 

The MobileMarshies are now grounded for the summer.  We shall be back on the road in six months or so.  Stay tuned!



 

SYDNEY - GERRINGONG (7 - 14 OCTOBER)

Our site in the Dural caravan park was the tightest we had yet to experience on our trip.  We have discovered that many caravan parks which were built years ago were designed to accommodate much smaller vans than is now the norm with the consequence that rigs of our size can present a problem, even when we are assigned "our biggest site".  In fact, when booking, we now make very sure that we let folk know that we are 29 feet overall.  And therein lies another interesting little quirk of this business....the vast majority of caravan and park owners still talk in feet rather than metres.  But we also know we are 8.8 metres just in case.  

 

The Dural park was a classic example of the problem presented by old park design.  Fortunately our neighbour, who had been there for four months, had become quite used to having to shift her car to allow egress to those next to her.  Even so, just as with getting onto the site, things were a little tricky, but we were soon on our way.  Mind you, I did feel a little under pressure.   This same lass had commented to Liz the previous afternoon that she couldn't believe we got onto the site in one movement...nothing like a precedent!

 

Like most cities, Sydney's Sunday traffic is a vastly more manageable proposition than during the week.  This, combined with the use of the M2, M5 and M7 respectively, made our journey to Picton one of comparative ease. 

 

 

         

 

As I have mentioned before, even the injustice (in our view) of having to pay a 'heavy vehicle'  toll fades into insignificance when balanced against the benefits of motorway travel around the outskirts of a metropolis like Sydney.  The concept of having to tow through the centre of town is the stuff of travelling nightmares.

 

Picton is a delight.  Whist we did not have the opportunity to take any photos, I could best describe it as a small hills town very similar in many respects to places like Stirling and Aldgate in the Adelaide Hills.  Historic buildings stand side by side with modern amenities.  The provision of goods and services is surprisingly broad.  I was surprised, I must admit, to find a largish building on which equally large advertising invited patrons to have their skin decorated with tattoos and other oddments.  This seemed more than a little incongruous in a town like Picton. 

 

All become clear later when I discovered that the historic King George 4th pub, directly opposite, is the regular weekend watering hole of many of Sydney's biker community.  Indeed, on this particular Sunday, the (very good) group playing on the pub's front porch had attracted a considerable patronage of a clearly biker persuasion, the bared arms of many testament to the skill of those working opposite.  Despite the antecedents of many who frequent this pub on the weekend, trouble is apparently infrequent.  When a pub has Coopers stout on tap and caters to the inner man with Villis pies, peace is assured!

 

Sue and Pete Tansell's 'house on the hill' in a vineyard estate just out of Picton is picturesque to say the least.  What a lovely place to overnight particularly when the driveway is of sufficient size to accommodate the van without the need to unhitch.

 

 

And don't be fooled as to the size of the Tansell mansion from this view.  Looking up from the back lawn provides a much more realistic perspective.

 

 

The outlook from the balcony is equally impressive.  Hills living at its best, and

 

 

 

despite the distance from Sydney, the freeway and motorway systems mean that a drive to the city centre can be achieved in an hour, and in much greater comfort that those who commute over the same time from many outer city suburbs.

 

We did enjoy catching up with the Tansells who just happened to be babysitting two grandchildren whilst one of their daughters and her husband made a day of it at the Bathurst motor races.  Our pre-departure breakfast on the balcony was a real family affair.

 

 

 

 

From Picton we made our way down Picton Road, over the escarpment of the Great Dividing range to join the Pacific Highway near Woolongong.  We had reached the Illawarra district, which, apart from Woolongong includes the major towns of Kiama and Nowra.  Gerringong, our destination for the next week, is a town of some 3,500 souls which lies some 10 kms south of Kiama.  Like most in this area, it is 'billygoat' country.  In fact, a level driveway in Gerringong is a real find.  But, of course, the upside of this is the fact that many of Gerringong's houses command wonderful views over the spectacular Werri Beach and its headlands, or, to the west, the green and rugged face of the nearby ranges.  But more of that later.

 

Our main purpose in visiting Gerringong was, of course, to spend some time with number two son Stu, who, for those not entirely familiar with my family, is a navy Seahawk helicopter pilot, currently based at HMAS Albatross in nearby Nowra.  Stu lives in Gerringong, quite close to the Werri Beach caravan park which we made our home for the week. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We had also arranged to catch up with our old and dear friends the Banninks during this week.  To our delight we were unexpectedly joined by Chris and Dick Hodder.  Dick is another of the group of Qantas pilots which whom I have been friends since 1974.  Party time!  Our single van soon became a real campsite.

 

 

 
 

Another wonderful surprise was in store.  As Stu pulled into the park to join us for tea shortly after our arrival, we saw that his charming girlfriend of some years, Briony, was with him.  How unlike Stu to have failed to let us know beforehand that she was staying with him and that there would be one more at the table!  As we all later agreed, Stu may be a brilliant pilot, but he really does need a social secretary.  I wonder where he gets that from? 

Fortunately our freezers were bulging at this stage.  One more to feed was not a problem.  The red Bri brought was a treat with our beef in red wine stew.

And the festivities continued the following day with the arrival of the Banninks.  After Hens and I engaged in a strenuous planning meeting



 

 

 

 

it was off to the camp kitchen where we cooked up a collective storm.



 

 

 

 

  

I had been planning for some time to use the Spanish mackerel backbone pieces we had been carrying with us since Kurrimine Beach as an entree to a meal.  Perfect opportunity.    Never having done these before, I was a touch nervous about the praises I had heaped on this fish.  I am pleased to report they were delicious...everyone had a great time picking the meat off the bones which left me free to occupy the BBQ plate cooking the main meal. (that's Dick with Bri and Stu)


As you may imagine, we did have a big night.  Stu had arranged a late start the following day which was probably just as well...he doesn't let his hair down too often, but when he does.....!

We were all still reasonably tidy at this stage (Troy, Hens, Hens' brother John, Stu and Bri and the camp clown in the background...Chris and Dick had wisely gone off to bed) but I must confess things went radically down hill when we repaired to the Bannink van for coffee, which would have been fine in itself but I should have remembered that Hens carries an extraordinary selection of liqueurs.  I mean, what reasonable person could possibly refuse the offer of a Drambuie with the brewed coffee? Or a second?  Needless to say our end of the park was not leaping about at dawn the next day!  The girls keep trying to impress on us that we are not the men we used to be....but one has to make the effort!

And just to complete the social whirl, we all toddled off later the following day to nearby Shellharbour where the Tansells were in camp in their van with a group of their friends.  At the Oceanview Hotel where we  had dinner, I came across the best trick I have ever found in a pub.  During happy hour, the prices of drinks are not reduced.  Rather, for all beers on tap which are ordered, one has the opportunity to toss a die with a call of odds or evens.  A correct call sees the drinks provided free!  Much better than winning a hand at poker.  Our luck held through our three pre-dinner rounds.  Best beer I have ever drunk.

We finally farewelled our friends and settled down to our last couple of days in Gerringong.  But not before we had all endured the worst weather Liz and I had experienced since taking to the road.  Thank goodness we had been forewarned by both the usual weather services, and, with more precise and expert predictions, the HMAS Albatross met men.  Annexes and awnings were all taken in and we hunkered down in the camp kitchen.  At 1830 hours it hit us.  We have never seen rain like it.  I am not sure how much dumped on Gerringong, but this same system drenched Ulladulla, some 80 kms south, with over 220 mils in less than six hours.  If ever we were looking to confirm that the van is well and truly waterproof, this was the acid test.  We passed with flying colours.  But more was to come.  By about 0500 hours the following morning the winds hit us.  Never had we been more pleased to now be living in a solid van rather than a pop top.  Forty knots gusting to sixty battered the camp for the next two hours before abating to a mere twenty which lasted for the rest of the morning.  Fortunately the severe low pressure system which had brought this misery moved off shore very rapidly.  The following day dawned warm and clear.  As they say, what a difference a day makes.  It was interesting to look around the park.....everyone was drying out and cleaning up.




Luckily, this same day was that on which Stu had invited me out to the base to look over 816 Squadron, his new home.

I was a real thrill to finally get to see where the young Lieutenant struts his stuff.

















Mind you, it is not all thrills and spills.  There is always the paperwork to be done.






But then there is the real thing!  Stu is currently flying the Sikorsky S-70B-2 Seahawk, a navy specific modified version of the Army's Blackhawk.  What a machine.  Its primary role is anti-submarine warfare but search and rescue and ship to ship and ship to shore transfers also fall within its role.  And I finally got to have a really good look at one!

I'll not bore you with all the details.  Suffice it to say that for an old stager like me who has been in and out of choppers of various sorts for the past thirty five years, this was a real highlight. And how nice it was, when chatting to Commander Grant O'Loughlan, Stu's CO, to be told that he is a real asset to the Squadron.  Navy chiefs are not known for false praise.

Back to Gerringong itself.  The whole Illawarra area, which stretches along the east coast from Woolongong in the north to well past Jarvis Bay in the south, is a real picture.  High mountain crests, green and wooded hills and valleys, rocky coastal headlands, rivers and creeks and sweeping white surf beaches, all complement each other to produce a scenic delight.



For us Geringong is a jewel in the area crown.  Mind you, as I mentioned previously, any walk around the town is not for the fainthearted.  The penalty paid for the magnificent views on offer in many areas of the town is the need to traverse the many hills on which the town is built. (this shot does not really do the slope of this road justice...it is steep)







For many, the main attraction of the town is Werri  Beach.  In summer, the caravan park, which has more on-site vans than we have ever seen anywhere else (over 200 of them!), is bedlam by all accounts.  As can be seen from this shot, the park is a mere hop step and jump from the beach.




Indisputably scenic as it is,  Werri Beach was, for me, somewhat one dimensional.  There is no doubt as to its attraction for surfers, but the steeply shelving nature of the beach itself, many rips and side sweeps in the surf which challenge all but the more competent swimmers, coupled with the fact that beach fishing is unrewarding, all serve to render Werri less than broadly user friendly.

 

Having said that, however, the local surf club is very active.  The nippers were hard at it on the day we were taking these shots.

The southern end of Werri Beach does provide a rock pool for those for whom the surf holds limited attraction

 

 

and a climb up the headland shows just how many of the houses in this part of Gerringong allow their occupants wonderful views over the beach and the Pacific beyond.






  


The top of the headland itself is given over to the local cemetery, as was often the case in towns settled at the time of Gerringong.  Imagine what this real estate would be worth today with its views south over the small boat harbour. 





 

 

Turning west from here, one looks down the eastern end of Belinda Street with its magnificent rows of pines

 

 

towards the intersection with Fern Street, the main drag.

 

 

 

 Like the rest of Gerringong, the main street climbs

 



 

and falls along its row of quite varied shops. 

 

As mentioned previously, we both love Gerringong and this part of the world generally, although our busy social calender did not allow for much local sightseeing on this trip apart from a quick look at Crookhaven Heads to the south.  Thanks Stu.

Now for those wondering about the adventures of the ship's cat and his impressions of Gerringong and the Werri Beach caravan park, let the pictures tell the story.









Max leave us in no doubt when he wants to attack the world at large.  He sits in the stair well and howls until he gets his way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was little doubt that Max was quite at home at Werri Beach.  He patrolled all over the park, on very rare occasions at the end of his lead held by your correspondent (there are just some things a man really shouldn't be seen doing!)





 
He spent hours lying in wait for the myriad of small lizards which made their home under the deck at the rear of our van.  They would pop out to sunbake throughout the day, and, much to the chagrin of the black panther, could retreat at twice the speed he could pounce.  Lizards 30 +, Max 0.  But then there were always trees to climb.

As you may have gathered, Gerringong was a highlight of our trip.  Marvellous surrounds, family and friends and, apart from the blow, delightful weather.  Even the storm was an adventure of sorts, a weather event to be worn as a badge of honour at subsequent happy hours!

And now the serious travelling starts.  Gundagai, Hay, Robinvale (from where this blog is coming), Berri, Tanunda and West Beach.  Our previous plans to take the van to Port Clinton for its 10,000 kms service (yes, we have travelled that far) en route to Adelaide have been altered for a number of reasons.  I shall complete the tale of our return trip once we have established ourselves at home.  Things are a touch too demanding during a series of one night stops to allow the time to blog.