And what a bumpy return it was. We had previously arrived in Winton (see blog 21 June 2012) after travelling north west from Longreach...on this occasion we were journeying in the opposite direction, south from Hughenden on a secondary road about which we had not been able to learn much at all. That's probably just as well.
It all started innocuously enough....just over 200 kms to run on a clear, sunny day with the wind at our stern. And the countryside, which we had specifically come to see after the recent rains, was already promising a green carpet such as we had never seen in this part of the world over the past four years.
And green it was, lush greens of all shades, as far as the eye could see. What an extraordinary change this was from the bare, barren, brown landscape of our past experiences, particularly last year.
Our delight at achieving what we had set out to do, that is see this country at its best, was short lived. The first hint of what lay ahead came in the form of an 80 kph speed restriction sign. This was soon further reduced to 60 kph, and these were not merely advisory, they were the usual red and white mandatory versions.
We soon discovered why. The road surface rapidly deteriorated into a continuing series of humps and dips, many so bad that they were marked as this one is, something we had never previously encountered anywhere in the country (and we have been on some of the most remote bitumen roads in Oz!).
When we weren't being tossed about by sharp rises in the road surface which would have served well as tank traps, we were swaying and rocking from side to side in lateral depressions and clattering over endless roughly laid patches of new bitumen. We had found 'the new Warrego Highway' and in many places our speed was reduced to sub-sixty kms out of a sense of sheer self- preservation and the need to protect the structural integrity of the van and its contents.
So on we crawled, for what seem to be an eternity, on the stretch towards Corfield. But there was a bonus. This reduced speed meant we had plenty of time to revel in what we were seeing around us. This may not look spectacular in itself, but believe me when I tell you out here this scene is rare indeed. There has not been a single blade of green grass painting these vistas for the past ten years at least.
And then, the icing on the scenery cake. We could hardly believe it.....wildflowers.
The initial isolated patches of these very pretty pink flowers
soon became veritable carpets of colour stretching over vast tracts of the grazing paddocks. This was better than anything we had seen in the west. Admittedly that state can boast a perennially predictable display and a reasonable right to the claim to being the 'Wildflower State', but here we were seeing its equal.
What a pleasure it was to have our minds taken off the discomfort of the road in such an unexpectedly picturesque manner. And, of course, all the while we were commenting on how we may never see this again for years.
Just over 100 kms into our journey for today, we crossed the regional boundary into the Shire of Winton, where, to our great relief,
the road improved dramatically. A wider, smoother surface was a great welcome to our return to this home of Australia's prehistoric past.
We soon reached the tiny outback town of Corfield where the sign at the entry to the 'township' boldly proclaims what we now believe to be the only reason for its continuing existence.....periodic outback race meetings.
There was certainly nothing open or happening here on our arrival. The doors of the Corfield Club were firmly shut and notices posted in the vicinity made it amply clear that nothing actually happens here other than during the race meetings.
We could have made use of the campground (such as it is) and the only piece of local infrastructure which was clearly still operational, the heads, but there was no incentive to tarry.
We later discovered that this place does come to life in a big way when the race meetings are being held, but for now the only thing missing in the main street were the tumbleweeds. We pushed on.
The road through Corfield was alarmingly rough, and I drove out of the town hoping against hope that this was a deliberate ploy to induce drivers to slow down when passing through.
As we again headed out into the wide open grazing plains, I muttered another brief prayer of thanks to the Winton Shire authorities. The good surface continued, with only a few odd rough spots to ensure I was paying attention from here on. And what about this grass?
Within the next hour we felt as though we were almost there.....our first glimpse of the iconic hills which are so indicative of the Winton area. The famous 'jump-ups' were rearing up in the distance from the flat plains which surround them,
The road through Corfield was alarmingly rough, and I drove out of the town hoping against hope that this was a deliberate ploy to induce drivers to slow down when passing through.
As we again headed out into the wide open grazing plains, I muttered another brief prayer of thanks to the Winton Shire authorities. The good surface continued, with only a few odd rough spots to ensure I was paying attention from here on. And what about this grass?
Within the next hour we felt as though we were almost there.....our first glimpse of the iconic hills which are so indicative of the Winton area. The famous 'jump-ups' were rearing up in the distance from the flat plains which surround them,
and within no time the town itself was within view.
The famous North Gregory Hotel advertises its attractions with this most unusual sign on this approach to the town (there may be one on the other side as well...but it was not there on our last visit). We did venture down to this very well known pub later on what was to be come quite a memorable night!
Five minutes later and we were once again making our way along Winton's main street towards the Tattersalls Hotel Caravan Park at the far end of the strip which is the Winton CBD.
This park was in its developmental stage during our last visit. We chose to stay here on this occasion simply because of its location, right in the heart of the town. For some reason which I cannot now fathom, I completely forgot to take a few snaps of what we found, so I've resorted to 'tripadvisor' with thanks for this shot of the entrance
and this of some of the sites. Whilst there is limited shade and the park roads do get dusty (as happened on our arrival), or muddy as later happened, each site does come with it own patch of lawn albeit in varying states of development and repair!
As we did expect at a park such as this, the ablution block houses 'functional' facilities. These do include free use of the washing machines which is a first in any park we've visited. This is an obvious marketing ploy. Many arrive in Winton after dirt bashing in the surrounding countryside....we have witnessed the rush for the laundry by new arrivals on several occasions previously.
When we set up camp, the weather was much as depicted in the above photos. Given that we could walk the main street with ease, a pub crawl was on the agenda for the late afternoon. It was then we discovered that one of the three in our sights, The Australian, had closed, so that left two, the North Gregory and the Tattersalls.
This became a very good night indeed. We met fellow travellers in the lounge of the North Gregory with whom we hit it off very well indeed (not least because one WA couple were stunned that we knew exactly where they lived....we were an apparent first in that regard). As we were about to leave, the recently arrived new owner invited all and sundry out the back.
Here we found that the normally open courtyard had been enclosed with a temporary fence, and we spent the next hilarious half an hour or so watching a trial run of what is hoped to be a feature of future events in Winton....chook races at the North Gregory! Now we knew why the chickens we had previously spotted in nearby cages were coloured pink, yellow and blue!
After that spot of enlightenment, we bade farewell to our new found friends (we were to catch up with them later) and wandered down to 'The Tats'. A pub meal and a few more drinks were in order. The evening was still fine and balmy, the sunset had been typically 'outback',there was one outside table vacant and there was lambs fry and bacon on the menu...yes!
Needless to say Liz did not share my enthusiasm for this prince of the offal dishes, and settled for a more than passable chicken parmy. With dinner done (to the accompaniment of the sounds of a very well played tenor saxophone) it was time to repair indoors to take a closer look at the source of our evening entertainment.
There, standing in front of a huge hoarding wittily proclaiming 'Sax and the Single Girl', was the most diminutive lass. There were times she almost disappeared behind the bulk of her instrument, but as we settled in for the next most rollicking hour, I soon developed the theory that she must have had a lung capacity out of all proportion to her overall size....this girl could make the sax talk, and she was giving it her all! She had a very good backing system, and every so often lowered her instrument and displayed the full range of her talents by regaling us with a vocal or two.
Well, that put paid to an immediate return to camp. We were part of such an enthusiastic audience that our 'Single Girl' played on well beyond stumps....how could we possibly leave in the face of this artistic generosity? We eventually swayed our way across the road, fell into bed hours later than originally planned waxing lyrical about what an evening this had been....and "isn't it good to be back in Winton!"
What a difference eight hours makes! By the time we struggled back to life on the morrow our world had deteriorated significantly. The heavens had opened overnight. It just rained and rained, all day. Notwithstanding the sheltering spread of our full awning overhead, our little patch of lawn became Marshies' Marsh, and a trip to the heads under the essential cover of our largest umbrella, became a slosh through grayish mud and/or ever spreading puddles. The morning reports blithely informed us that Winton had received over 40 mls during the night.....we knew!
We did our best to make the day productive with various indoor activities, and finally ventured out in the Cruiser for some essential grocery shopping during a rare break in the torrent, but it was just a most miserable day. Gone were my plans to revisit the jump-ups to take some comparative shots of what was now green but had been barren expanses on our last visit. Gone were our plans for a much needed head clearing gallop around town and gone was our erstwhile enthusiasm for our return to Winton. We were virtually house-bound, often mud-spattered, drowned and over it!
It was time to move on. Our next planned stop was to be Ilfracome, a tiny highway town just under 30 kms beyond Longreach.
This park was in its developmental stage during our last visit. We chose to stay here on this occasion simply because of its location, right in the heart of the town. For some reason which I cannot now fathom, I completely forgot to take a few snaps of what we found, so I've resorted to 'tripadvisor' with thanks for this shot of the entrance
and this of some of the sites. Whilst there is limited shade and the park roads do get dusty (as happened on our arrival), or muddy as later happened, each site does come with it own patch of lawn albeit in varying states of development and repair!
As we did expect at a park such as this, the ablution block houses 'functional' facilities. These do include free use of the washing machines which is a first in any park we've visited. This is an obvious marketing ploy. Many arrive in Winton after dirt bashing in the surrounding countryside....we have witnessed the rush for the laundry by new arrivals on several occasions previously.
When we set up camp, the weather was much as depicted in the above photos. Given that we could walk the main street with ease, a pub crawl was on the agenda for the late afternoon. It was then we discovered that one of the three in our sights, The Australian, had closed, so that left two, the North Gregory and the Tattersalls.
This became a very good night indeed. We met fellow travellers in the lounge of the North Gregory with whom we hit it off very well indeed (not least because one WA couple were stunned that we knew exactly where they lived....we were an apparent first in that regard). As we were about to leave, the recently arrived new owner invited all and sundry out the back.
Here we found that the normally open courtyard had been enclosed with a temporary fence, and we spent the next hilarious half an hour or so watching a trial run of what is hoped to be a feature of future events in Winton....chook races at the North Gregory! Now we knew why the chickens we had previously spotted in nearby cages were coloured pink, yellow and blue!
After that spot of enlightenment, we bade farewell to our new found friends (we were to catch up with them later) and wandered down to 'The Tats'. A pub meal and a few more drinks were in order. The evening was still fine and balmy, the sunset had been typically 'outback',there was one outside table vacant and there was lambs fry and bacon on the menu...yes!
Needless to say Liz did not share my enthusiasm for this prince of the offal dishes, and settled for a more than passable chicken parmy. With dinner done (to the accompaniment of the sounds of a very well played tenor saxophone) it was time to repair indoors to take a closer look at the source of our evening entertainment.
There, standing in front of a huge hoarding wittily proclaiming 'Sax and the Single Girl', was the most diminutive lass. There were times she almost disappeared behind the bulk of her instrument, but as we settled in for the next most rollicking hour, I soon developed the theory that she must have had a lung capacity out of all proportion to her overall size....this girl could make the sax talk, and she was giving it her all! She had a very good backing system, and every so often lowered her instrument and displayed the full range of her talents by regaling us with a vocal or two.
Well, that put paid to an immediate return to camp. We were part of such an enthusiastic audience that our 'Single Girl' played on well beyond stumps....how could we possibly leave in the face of this artistic generosity? We eventually swayed our way across the road, fell into bed hours later than originally planned waxing lyrical about what an evening this had been....and "isn't it good to be back in Winton!"
What a difference eight hours makes! By the time we struggled back to life on the morrow our world had deteriorated significantly. The heavens had opened overnight. It just rained and rained, all day. Notwithstanding the sheltering spread of our full awning overhead, our little patch of lawn became Marshies' Marsh, and a trip to the heads under the essential cover of our largest umbrella, became a slosh through grayish mud and/or ever spreading puddles. The morning reports blithely informed us that Winton had received over 40 mls during the night.....we knew!
We did our best to make the day productive with various indoor activities, and finally ventured out in the Cruiser for some essential grocery shopping during a rare break in the torrent, but it was just a most miserable day. Gone were my plans to revisit the jump-ups to take some comparative shots of what was now green but had been barren expanses on our last visit. Gone were our plans for a much needed head clearing gallop around town and gone was our erstwhile enthusiasm for our return to Winton. We were virtually house-bound, often mud-spattered, drowned and over it!
It was time to move on. Our next planned stop was to be Ilfracome, a tiny highway town just under 30 kms beyond Longreach.
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