NORMANTON - RICHMOND (29 JUNE - 3 JULY)

We spent our last day in Normanton indulging in more sun around the swimming pool (how we were to miss this in the days to come), packing and enjoying a fine meal of grilled barra at the Central Hotel.  This had been preceded by drinks at The Albion where the rear deck was crowded with cyclists engaged on a charity ride from Cairns to Karumba.  We were pretty impressed to learn that they had come from Croydon that same day, a mere 140 + kms.  The various bandages, grazes and bruises sported by many was testament to the state of some of the roads over which they had travelled thus far.  After a 'scrub and a scran' many later returned to be entertained by a local indigenous band.  We celebrated the excellent musical ability of this somewhat non-descript looking group until common sense (unusually) prevailed and we retired, relatively sober, in preparation for the next day's drive.

I must interrupt the travelogue at this point to include another in the series 'Pete knows everyone' which I had forgotten to mention earlier.  This is particularly for Winky and Mark D.  On our second day in Normanton I was hard at work on the blog when I glanced up at our newly arriving neighbours.  Liz walked in shorty thereafter with the comment that they were South Australians and, "I suppose you are going to tell me you know them."  (I'll leave you to judge the tone of voice!)  "As a matter of fact he does look familiar", was the brief reply from your correspondent.  This evoked what could only be described as a desultory snort.

Well, I hadn't been joking.  He really did look familiar, and indeed was.  Our brief chat the following morning established that he was none other than Peter Schultz, a recently retired staff member of the Adelaide and Mount Lofty Ranges NRM Board, a chap who had been involved in two training courses at which I had lectured over the past few years.  I must be fair....the 'indoors girl' did muster a modicum of grudging grace when conceding her previous scepticism had been unjustified.

Enough of this superiority....onwards, or should I more accurately say, back again to Burke and Wills roadhouse for the night.  We chose to leave and arrive early.  Good decision.  Our previous stopover confirmed advice that the place did not begin to fill until after 2.00pm, but because I was keen to grab one of the few sites which abut large verandahs, and it is very much a 'first in best dressed' system based on rules devised by Rafferty, I had targeted a pre-midday arrival.

We had no longer triumphantly asserted our rights over a prime spot when the invasion began.  Within thirty minutes all the plums sites had been occupied, and those of us so well ensconced then had a jolly time watching all our lesser mortals jockey and vie for their preferred patch of turf.  Our good timing was particularly rewarded with the later arrival of one of the biggest buses (towing an equally large 'runaround' vehicle) we have ever seen, the driver of which plonked himself and his more than commodious mobile shell right in the heart of a group already nicely corralled for the night.  'Not happy, Jan' politely (but inadequately) covers the comments I overheard the following morning, particularly when this scourge of park etiquette fired up the bus for over twenty minutes before leaving.  Even a road train can work up enough air for the brakes in ten!

This shot shows the sought after shady edifices on the left (just).  Of course, given that vans moor in opposite directions on the one central slab (which means doors face each other) social intercourse in almost inevitable (other than amongst the more taciturn or seclusive of travellers...not a common trait)  Just so with us...a great afternoon and evening at the roadhouse with Sally and Norman from Victoria.

Our journey down the Burke and Wills developmental road to reach our destination was conducted without incident.  This may sound a little trite, but on any of these roads where passing on the single strip of bitumen can be the subject of some significant bad manners on the part of some drivers (I really mean mind blowingly ignorant bloody stupidity/arrogance), an event free trip is always the subject of relief (and provides a very good excuse to celebrate in the usual manner on arrival!)

Here is my sort of fellow road user!

Unlike this paragon of highway courtesy (we are a pretty big rig) a clown in a Commodore towing an off-road camper van shortly thereafter barrelled off the hardtop a mere 100 metres or so before passing us, and did so at an estimated speed of no less than 100 kph.  Breathtaking stupidity and selfishness....stone shattered windscreens are enough of a hazard in these parts without actually trying to inflict one.  (as we later discovered..more to come)

Savannah grazing land and termite mounds are a feature of this part of the country

(apologies for the blurry shot)

as are the beasts which graze thereon, normally, but challengingly not always, within the fenced confines of the station paddocks.

From Burke and Wills, whence we departed in good order on Sunday morning, the topography changes quite dramatically with the approach to Cloncurry.  Now the open plains give way to a series of hills and mountain ranges and quite different scrub land.  We were to experience more of this on our trip to Mount Isa, but let us deal firstly with Cloncurry.

After settling into a lovely site in the Oasis Caravan Park where, despite the fact that they are quite narrow, privacy is assured on one side at least by a delightful bougainvillea hedge,

we set out on foot to discover the delights of a Cloncurry Sunday.  We were not away long. 

Cloncurry, we found, is an overtly unpretentious town of typically wide streets, an adequate main shopping area, local infrastructure and expected government services, and an highly active (24 hours) rail freight yards of some size.  On this particular Sunday  it was contentedly dozing.  It does sport a number of hotels of an outward appearance of substance, as the photos of two of them demonstrate.

Sadly, they, together with the 'Leichardt' and the 'Oasis', were all appearance and no substance, well at least not on a Sunday afternoon (which is probably not a good time to do a pub test).  My eagerness to engage with some locals was blunted in the Post Office by an overpowering smell of......better left unsaid, in the Central by a quartet of noisy middle aged yobs and in the Leichardt by an empty bar and a bored, ubiquitous English backpacker barmaid.  We did not venture into the Oasis!

A few town buildings display the charm of yesteryear.  The Post Office in an example,

and, of course, snippets of home interest can always be found by the observant wanderer,

as can examples of local ingenuity such as that to be seen in this offering outside the Department for Environment office.  The 'fossil' is made up entirely of disused metal implements and parts.  It really is cleverly done.

For one closely associated with the RSL, I am always interested to visit my interstate colleagues whenever possible for a chat and a refreshing ale.  This did not seem a likely proposition in Cloncurry!

If the modern township of Cloncurry appears somewhat mundane, its history is much more interesting, and indeed, in the Australian context, significant.  It was founded as a result of a copper discovery in 1867 and was once the largest copper producer in the then British Empire (all properly at attention, I trust).  Cloncurry was also the birthplace of the Royal Flying Doctor Service and the site of the touchdown of the first Qantas flight in 1922.  It is said that Qantas was "Conceived in Cloncurry, born in Winton and grew up in Longreach". 

Cloncurry is now the hub of thriving cattle and mining industries, both copper and gold, and of transport and mining services.  Its importance in the development of aerial services in outback Australia, both commercial and humanitarian, cannot be underestimated.  A town of parts! 

The nearby Cloncurry River is picturesque, even in the dry, as seen here from the original causeway crossing looking through the modern road bridge towards Mount Leviathan

and the dammed Chinamans Creek provides a wonderful aquatic recreation area for the locals with boating, water skiing and fishing all permitted.

We took ourselves off to Mount Isa the following day with a view to completing a recce for future reference and to do a much needed resupply. The blurb promised a spectacular 120 km trip through the Selwyn Ranges in the early morning light and we were not disappointed.

What an incredible change from the miles and miles of grazing land elsewhere in the area,. The country is, in many places, startlingly reminiscent of the Flinders Ranges we know so well, in colour and grandeur at least (if missing the tilted stratification which is unique to the Flinders).

The entire journey to 'The Isa' from The Curry' passes through country such as these selective shot depict, and as the brochure had advocated, the early morning departure was rewarding in the way the light played on the range tops and gullies.  We noted an entirely different vista on our return trip. 

What an extraordinarily place Mount Isa is.  The sprawling mine site, complete with its 270 metre high lead smelter exhaust stack, glowers over the township of some 23,000 souls huddled below.  It struck me as a modern day equivalent of the castle of a feudal lord, arrogantly dominant over the lives of the serfs clustered  in its shadow, leading a life of inescapable subservience. 

Unfortunately I was unable to gain a vantage point from which to really capture the layout of the town below the range on which the mine is located, but  hopefully these provide some feel for what I am trying to describe.  The approach to the town takes one past a particularly impressive house perched well above all around it.  My imagination dictated that this had to be the home of the mine CEO!

The central business district proved to be compact, cluttered with traffic and somewhat of a navigational challenge.  We finally found our way to the wonderfully stocked Woolies store where the deprivations of supply which are a part of real outback life (ie Normanton etc) were swept away in a frenzied attack on the bulging shelves. 

Apart from this resupply and a brief assessment of two of the town caravan parks, we did not tarry in Isa.  We had originally planned to see the sights of the town whilst on this day trip, but soon discovered, both from our reading and observations, that this would be to do ourselves a travelling disservice.  We have taken the MacArthur pledge (to return).

I mentioned earlier that travel through this part of the country brings with it the ever present danger of windscreen damage.  We have finally joined the masses!  Half way back to Cloncurry, our continuing enjoyment of the wonderful scenery was rudely interrupted by a passing road train similar to this.  As this monster thundered past with a familiar roar of defiant highway arrogance, a stone dislodged itself from one of the myriad of wheels and found its way unerringly to the bottom left corner of our windscreen...at light speed. 

Notwithstanding the 'crack' of the impact which sounded for all the world like that of a well wielded stock whip, no apparent damage was immediately evident.  A closer inspection however confirmed our worst fears and compounded my annoyance.  A centimetre to the left would have seen the screen surround take the impact rather than the glass and we would not have been left with this result.  We are hoping that the journey of the crack across the screen will not preclude our arrangements to have it replaced in Townsville but as can be seen from the lipstick markers, it is making glacial like progress on a daily basis. 

Lamenting our misfortune, we returned to Cloncurry to pack away our goodies and prepare to leave the next day for Richmond, one of the three outback Qld towns which, together with Winton and Hughenden, is closely associated with Australia's fossil discoveries.  It also happens to be on the route to Townsville!

We both decided that it was the night for pizza.  Of the several decisions in fitting out the van about which we have constantly congratulated ourselves, that to include an oven is foremost.   It has been in constant use.  From heating up the occasional pie (or pastie on those rarest of occasions when this southern delicacy can be found in the eastern states) to the production of Marshie's renown bacon savouries, which have been the toast (pun intended)  (thanks for the recipe Mum) of many a happy hour, the oven has come into its own.  Home made pizza has been a particular culinary triumph.  Here Chef Pierre's galley can be seen in all its Italian styled glory.

We cannot leave Cloncurry without yet another tale of the incredible meetings which we are now understanding typify caravan park life.  A chat with our neighbours on our last night revealed that not only were they from Minlaton on Yorke Peninsula (they had enquired about the 'YP Caravans' sign on our spare wheel covers) but that they had spent much of their youth in Peterborough where the Police Sergeant of the day was the father of our good friend Chris Kuchenmeister.  Moreover, Geoff and Elaine Frost went on to disclose that they both also knew Chris's wife, the then Julie Stapleton as a girl.  We are beyond surprise!

Our 300 kms journey east along the Flinders Highway to Richmond was uneventful in comparison with those of the previous few days.  Our enjoyment of the wonderful vista of the vast, open grazing plains through which we passed was tempered by the fact that they provided scant shelter against the strong headwinds which played havoc with our fuel consumption. 

The ever present road kill on these highways also presents a challenge, not so much in itself, although it is the act of a foolish driver to pass directly over the carcasses (sharp bones and tyres are not good companions), but more for the scavengers attracted to them. Fortunately crows and kites (and the occasional, magnificently spectacular wedge tailed eagle) are blessed with more intelligence than emus (still haven't forgiven that stupid bird) and fly off in good time, but one can never be too careful.

We made our way through the tiny town of Julia Creek (of local 'dunnart' fame) and duly arrived in Richmond were we had booked for five nights at what transpired to be a delightful park overlooking a man made lake purportedly stocked with all manner of fish and red claw (the piscatorial hunter had been aroused!).  My dreams of fish dinners have remained unrealised as shall be revealed in the next instalment.