The Biloela morning dawned chilly and damp. Tendrils of mist were writhing across the paddocks at the far end of the park, and, as I began to prepare for our departure, I saw movement in the distance.
A mob of kangaroos was out and about, no doubt seeking out a tasty green morsel or two for breakfast but as I watched it was clear that two had other things on their minds.
These big males were hard at it and this bout lasted for quite some time. I remain unsure as to whether or not this was merely a morning warm up exercise or the real thing, but which ever it was there was no doubt that neither of them would have been cold for long.
Whilst this boxing match was entertaining me (and a few others who joined me at the fence with camera in hand), Liz took the opportunity to entertain the Black Panther. We had another fairly long day ahead of us and Max is always a much more amenable travelling companion if he has had a morning stroll which includes a toilet break. I am sure any watching would be utterly confounded by the joy a peeing cat can evoke in two otherwise normal looking adults!
Hitched and ready to go, we again hove to as the massive park gates slowly and ponderously swung open as if reluctant to see the last of us.
But leave we must, and with one last look at the most impressive water tower, gleaming white above the office in the early morning light,
we took to the highway once again, this time on the Dawson which would carry us to the Bruce Highway just beyond Calliope.
I mentioned previously that hay production is big around Biloela, and this paddock of lush lucern which we passed just as we cleared the town outskirts was another fine example.
The irrigated paddocks soon gave way to the open grazing fields with yet another mountain ridge ahead of us. We were still making our way through various stretches of the Great Dividing Range and knew that the flat road on which we were now travelling would not last for too long.
Never a truer word spoken....the morning sun was still quite low as we headed into 'them thar hills',
bade farewell to the Banana Shire, and crossed the boundary into the Gladstone Region.
The highway continued to wind its way through cuttings and up and down some quite steep inclines,
from which, every so often, we were afforded spectacular views across the valleys to the next haze shrouded ridge beyond.
Hang on, what's this? We almost take extensive roadworks on the Bruce Highway for granted, but here on the Dawson? Get used to it folks......
.....this was but the first of series of major works we encountered over the next 30 kms or so, each involving the construction of new bridges. Fortunately every site came with a newly built sealed by-pass, so whilst speed reductions were necessarily in place, we were not plagued with endless red lights or lolly pop men waving a 'STOP' sign in our approaching faces.
With the first 100 kms under our travelling belts, we found ourselves on the approach into the town of Calliope, one we had previously passed many times on the nearby Bruce Highway, but not been through before. You may recall this name.....the nearby Calliope River flows through one of the best free camps we have ever used.
But there was to be no lounging around by the banks of a river today as we climbed up the by-pass ramp to make the right turn necessary to once again join 'The Bruce'. Miriam Vale was in our sights as the spot for a rest break,
where, on this occasion I pulled into the pretty little back street one off the highway
where at this time of the morning (it was still pretty early) we had the parking area to ourselves, which was just as well. We were occupying six spaces.
We have a penchant for taking a break here if practicable.....the nearby improbably named Crab Service Station (which has been the subject of previous photos) does the best toasted ham and cheese sandwiches we have found for many a highway mile. It was time for a munch as well as all the other things which go with a rest stop, so whilst I let the Cruiser warm down and chatted to one slightly fractious feline (Max can never understand why, when we come to a halt, his cage door sometimes does not open), Liz trotted off and was soon back with two paper bags and their hot contents. As the thick melted cheese and piping hot tomato presented a challenge for a quick bite, we knew that the Crab had done it again!
With internal rumbles silenced, legs stretched and bladders emptied (too much information?) we continued south through what is to us now quite familiar territory. Yet another regional boundary came and went.
Just shy of 100 kms south of Miriam Vale, the quaintly named highway town of Gin Gin loomed ahead of us.
There is a very large and quite good free camp just north of this town, and we have yet to travel through here without seeing a plethora of caravans. Today was no exception, but this was to be the last of the Bruce Highway for us
as we turned off to take secondary back road into Bundaberg through South Kolan.
In no time at all we could see that we had well and truly transitioned from coal country to cane country.
There were reminders on all fronts that the cut was in full swing. We shared the road with heavily laden cane trucks,
drove past innumerable cane trains
and, as we neared Bundaberg, could see the belching smoke stack of one of the smaller local sugar mills
This sight was soon repeated, but on a much larger scale as we made our way through the outskirts of 'Rum City'
to the town bridge which would take us over the Burnett River for the first time.
There is no direct route from the Gin Gin-Bundaberg Road to Burnett Heads, which lies about 10 kms north-east of Bundaberg at the mouth of the Burnett River, and is the location of 'The Port of Bundaberg'.
So to get there we had to make this first river crossing, then drive through the bottom end of the Bundaberg CBD
only to have the then cross the river again on a different bridge
before we were again right on track. We had actually spent a few nights in Bargara at about this time last year, so this road and the area in general was somewhat familiar to us.
But today we ignored the Bargara turn-off and continued into the back end of Burnett Heads
and on to what was to be our new home for three days, the front yard of the riverside house of Kay and Marcus, the couple who owned the Kurrimine Beach Caravan Park for many years and with whom we have become very good friends.
And when I say 'riverside house' I mean just that. The Burnett River is quite wide at this point, and more than navigable by quite large vessels. And for many who live here, a long pier and private pontoon dock is a must.
This is their 'backyard' with its long elevated walkway
leading, of course, to the (almost) obligatory motor cruiser, in this case a 60 ft three decker which, if it were a house, would undoubtedly be described by any land agent as providing 'commodious accommodation'.
These private piers are serious bits of work. The rise and fall of this tidal section of the river demands that they extend a significant distance out into the water from the muddy banks and the stands of mangroves which line them.
Many of the neighbours are in on the act as well,
and for those who have a boat but neither a riverside home or the wherewith all to include one of these jetties, one of the numerous river moorings will just have to do, as can be seen here looking upstream from the pontoon on which I was standing.
Looking the other way, the outlines of the local tug fleet are a reminder that this is indeed a working port where quite large ships pull alongside at the sugar loading facility (more of this later).
Our proposed agenda during our stay had included plans to spend a day out on the reef at Lady Musgrave Island (it and nearby Lady Elliot Island mark the southern end of the Great Barrier Reef) in Marcus' 'other boat', the 30ft sharkcat. This had been the Kurrimine Beach 'park boat' in years gone by, one from which I have hauled in some fine fish. But to my intense frustration, the weather gods turned surly. The three days of our visit were marked by hooting south-easterly winds and heavy off-shore seas.
But there is always a Plan 'B', which in this case included some fine meals indoors
and evenings spent on the lower rear porch where I felt that a contribution of a fine scotch was the only sociable thing to do as we attacked the pre-dinner cheese plate.
On this particular evening, as the ice was clinking in the glasses and the golden nectar of the Highlands was invoking a fine mellow glow in us all, the bank across the river lit up....literally!
It started with a flicker of flame and a pall of thick smoke drifting in the south-easterly evening zephyr.
During the cane cut in this part of the world the farmers still burn the fields before the harvesters move in. I was told that this is because here most of the crop is irrigated (and we saw plenty of that) and for some reason beyond my ken (well, we were sipping scotch after all) ridding the pre-cut cane of all the unwanted leaf and other litter improves the manner in which the soil takes up the water poured on the next crop.
Irrespective of the reason for them, these fires can produce some spectacular sights. This stuff burns ferociously. Soon great gouts of flame were shooting skywards as this fire took hold.
As dusk enveloped us the highlighted colour of the flames looked for all the world like that of the day's dying sun as it sinks below an outback horizon.
But in close up things look quite different. These cane fires, which tend to die almost as quickly as they take hold, can be spectacular events, and this was no exception. I just love them. Only in Queensland!
Before we moved on from Burnett Heads we took a look at the port area, visited a sensational seafood event and mastered a mechanical repair of significance.
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