I recall some time ago suggesting that caravan travel provided a mix of days, most good, but some eminently forgettable. Our trip south from Cardwell presented us with just such a day, but not until we were well into it.
Liz and I have agreed that, unless there is a pressing need to the contrary, a daily journey of about four hours maximum is our limit. At our usual towing speed of not more that 90 kph, and allowing for breaks, traffic problems and roadworks, this generally means around 250 kms under our wheels. And we plan accordingly. As they say, a plan is nothing more than a blueprint for change!
So it was as we made our way back past Townsville and into the unknown (for us as travellers) south towards Ayr, Bowen and the Whitsunday Coast. Home Hill, a little town some few kms south of Ayr, was our chosen destination for the day. As is our want when merely overnighting, we had booked a large, drive-through site which would preclude the need to unhitch. All sorted. A doddle. Until we arrived!
Our appointed site number obtained at the office, into the park we drove. And, five minutes later, out of the park we drove. It transpired that our originally booked site had remained occupied by someone who had chosen to stay on beyond their original booking date. We had been shunted. So what, one asks? Well as you know we are what is known in the trade as a 'big rig'. The alternative site offered us was so small that I initially drove right past it! After a somewhat terse discussion between him and herself, and confirmation that site 15 was indeed our intended home for the night, followed by an inspection on foot, I decided that the only way I could possibly squeeze us in would entail the complete destruction of our prospective neighbour's awning on the one side or significant collateral damage to a vehicle on the other. Fortunately common sense overcame a certain natural desire to rise to the challenge presented to us by the otherwise delightful, but seriously spatially challenged young girls running things, and off we went lamenting.
Home Hill does provide a huge free campsite adjacent to the main street, but our comfort stop there revealed that 'there was no room at the inn'. Bowen then became our alternative destination. A scurry through the caravan park book, some moments of indecision, a phoned booking, and we were off again.
Cane country still. In fact Ayr is reputed to be the centre of the largest of the cane growing areas around the Burdikin River and beyond. But I promised enough of cane. One highlight of this part of the trip, however, was the crossing of the Burdikin River itself just out of Home Hill. We had become used to the large rivers of the east coast on our previous travels, but this was right up there.
The approach was daunting enough, but then came the actual crossing, all at a posted speed of 50 kph (in large signs) which we assiduously obeyed,
over the barely running Burdikin River. We could but imagine what this must look like when in full spate.
The approach into Bowen along the Bruce Highway brings with it a real change in the topography. The endless cane fields (I know I promised no more about cane, but do you realise that Australia is the 3rd largest producer in the world and that over 4,000 cane farms ranging from 100 to 1,000 hectares and more each are spread right along the eastern coastal strip between Mossman in far north Queensland to Grafton in NSW...it is an enormous industry...and critically important to so many communities in this part of the world...that really is it!) give way to some quite spectacular market gardens which, along with fishing and mining, are a real feature of the local Bowen economy.
Bowen is located in what are know as the 'dry tropics'. The nearby Gloucester Island produces a rain shadow over the Don River valley, which combined with the rich alluvial soil of the area, make for ideal vegetable growing conditions. The reduced rainfall also results in grassy plains areas well suited for cattle grazing. It was fascinating to see just how much topographical change resulted from the presence of one island and the effects of the sea breezes which are a constant in this part of the world.
And of course, as we had read (and were later told), it really doesn't rain much in Bowen...not until the Marshies arrived that is! We had chosen a park on the Bruce Highway just out of the town itself as our overnight destination, as a matter of convenience more than anything else. Bad decision.
How the Bowen Caravan Park and Tourist Village can claim to be 'award winning' remains a complete mystery to us both, notwithstanding its expansive 'water feature playground'. The one thing which can be said about the rain is that at least our drive-through site was mud rather than dust (I'd rather dirty boots than asthma). What a wilderness greeted us as we made our way past some quite reasonable parts of the park to the drive-through section.
The area immediately behind our site was littered with what looked like building debris, the stand which carried our electrical plug was so rusted it almost fell over as I plugged in, and the site was so short that we could not remain hitched up without occupying a good half of the roadway (which is considered less than polite not to mention potentially damaging). And, as you can see, the weather was rotten, which in all fairness could not be blamed on the park owners, but what the heck, I was in no mood by now to be either logical or generous of spirit.
And to add insult to injury, the 'drinking water' was a muddy brown colour ("we just have to take what the council gives us", was the response to my enquiry at the office about its drinking safety) and the showers were timed! A five minute limit for hot water which, by the time it had run up and was flowing, was reduced to about three and a half minutes of practical scrubbing time before the whole thing shut down for a five minute reset period. Now we have no problem with the need for water conservation (there is no shortage in Bowen) and we understand that power generally is becoming more expensive, but this was ridiculous. And yes, there is more. Even this paltry hot water offering was closed down altogether between 2200 hours and 0600 hours the following morning. What nonsense!
We were both too tired to seriously contemplate changing parks so, after your correspondent indulged himself with a world class dummy spit (I am truly glad we had no neighbours on our arrival) we decided to make the most of the fact we had to unhitch and toddled off in the rain to have a cursory look around Bowen.
It was indeed unfortunate that the weather was so gloomy because we discovered a lookout from which the views to the north across the Don River valley and beyond to the Abbot Point coal loading facility and Gloucester Island and south over the town itself, were spectacular. (No photos...no point...apart from which I was not feeling at all creative at this stage!)
The Bowen beaches did present much promise, but the marina and sailing club area left us underwhelmed, as did the remainder of the town generally. I guess the only real point of interest was to have a look at the Grandveiw Hotel and its surrounds which formed the set for the movie 'Australia' which was shot entirely in the Bowen area.
And, as we discovered after pulling out rejoicing the following morning, Bowen does sport a 'big thing', the Big Mango.
With a renewed zest for travelling only a good night's sleep and bright skies can produce, we pushed on south on the relatively short hop to Proserpine and thence to Conway Beach where we had decided to spent a week (hopefully) fishing and exploring the Airlie Beach area. The Whitsundays. Another area, which for us until now, had been merely an exotic image producing name.
I had always previously associated Proserpine with its airport, the 'aerial gateway to the Whitsunday Islands', but in reality this facility has no direct connection with the town. It is almost 20 kms to the south. Proserpine itself reminded us both so much of Tully. Their omnipresent sugar mills are the main feature of both towns,
as can be seen here with the mill stacks looming over the far end of the main street, a street of 'tired' buildings, and again like Tully, where pubs (this is but one of the four in the relatively short main drag...note the quaint little building next to it) are a town feature.
Proserpine is well served with supermarkets, and we did make a couple of trips during our stay at Conway Beach to resupply. I have a theory that large shopping centres provide the ideal venue to observe (and make outrageous value judgements about ) the locals and Prosperpine proved no exception. Here again we noted a striking similarity to Tully, about which I make no further comment other than 'socio-economic'.
My constant quest for the unusual did produce one real find. I am sure you are aware by now that local RSL Clubs are a matter of interest to me, and in Proserpine we come across what, from the front, appeared to be a quite ordinary building.
But an examination of the side of the building revealed a set of the most beautifully crafted
stained glass windows, set as you can see in the blandest of walls. The club was not open at the time of our visit and we were unable to view them with the light shining through. I like to think they would be inspirational.
So, after a quick jaunt through Proserpine (it really doesn't take long to 'do' the town) we made our way down along the Proserpine River through yet more cane country to the little seaside town of Conway Beach, a destination I had first discovered when browsing the net some two years ago on a dreary Adelaide winter day whilst dreaming of adventures to come in the tropics.
And of course, as we had read (and were later told), it really doesn't rain much in Bowen...not until the Marshies arrived that is! We had chosen a park on the Bruce Highway just out of the town itself as our overnight destination, as a matter of convenience more than anything else. Bad decision.
How the Bowen Caravan Park and Tourist Village can claim to be 'award winning' remains a complete mystery to us both, notwithstanding its expansive 'water feature playground'. The one thing which can be said about the rain is that at least our drive-through site was mud rather than dust (I'd rather dirty boots than asthma). What a wilderness greeted us as we made our way past some quite reasonable parts of the park to the drive-through section. 
The area immediately behind our site was littered with what looked like building debris, the stand which carried our electrical plug was so rusted it almost fell over as I plugged in, and the site was so short that we could not remain hitched up without occupying a good half of the roadway (which is considered less than polite not to mention potentially damaging). And, as you can see, the weather was rotten, which in all fairness could not be blamed on the park owners, but what the heck, I was in no mood by now to be either logical or generous of spirit.And to add insult to injury, the 'drinking water' was a muddy brown colour ("we just have to take what the council gives us", was the response to my enquiry at the office about its drinking safety) and the showers were timed! A five minute limit for hot water which, by the time it had run up and was flowing, was reduced to about three and a half minutes of practical scrubbing time before the whole thing shut down for a five minute reset period. Now we have no problem with the need for water conservation (there is no shortage in Bowen) and we understand that power generally is becoming more expensive, but this was ridiculous. And yes, there is more. Even this paltry hot water offering was closed down altogether between 2200 hours and 0600 hours the following morning. What nonsense!
We were both too tired to seriously contemplate changing parks so, after your correspondent indulged himself with a world class dummy spit (I am truly glad we had no neighbours on our arrival) we decided to make the most of the fact we had to unhitch and toddled off in the rain to have a cursory look around Bowen.
It was indeed unfortunate that the weather was so gloomy because we discovered a lookout from which the views to the north across the Don River valley and beyond to the Abbot Point coal loading facility and Gloucester Island and south over the town itself, were spectacular. (No photos...no point...apart from which I was not feeling at all creative at this stage!)
The Bowen beaches did present much promise, but the marina and sailing club area left us underwhelmed, as did the remainder of the town generally. I guess the only real point of interest was to have a look at the Grandveiw Hotel and its surrounds which formed the set for the movie 'Australia' which was shot entirely in the Bowen area.
And, as we discovered after pulling out rejoicing the following morning, Bowen does sport a 'big thing', the Big Mango.
With a renewed zest for travelling only a good night's sleep and bright skies can produce, we pushed on south on the relatively short hop to Proserpine and thence to Conway Beach where we had decided to spent a week (hopefully) fishing and exploring the Airlie Beach area. The Whitsundays. Another area, which for us until now, had been merely an exotic image producing name.
I had always previously associated Proserpine with its airport, the 'aerial gateway to the Whitsunday Islands', but in reality this facility has no direct connection with the town. It is almost 20 kms to the south. Proserpine itself reminded us both so much of Tully. Their omnipresent sugar mills are the main feature of both towns,
as can be seen here with the mill stacks looming over the far end of the main street, a street of 'tired' buildings, and again like Tully, where pubs (this is but one of the four in the relatively short main drag...note the quaint little building next to it) are a town feature.
Proserpine is well served with supermarkets, and we did make a couple of trips during our stay at Conway Beach to resupply. I have a theory that large shopping centres provide the ideal venue to observe (and make outrageous value judgements about ) the locals and Prosperpine proved no exception. Here again we noted a striking similarity to Tully, about which I make no further comment other than 'socio-economic'.
My constant quest for the unusual did produce one real find. I am sure you are aware by now that local RSL Clubs are a matter of interest to me, and in Proserpine we come across what, from the front, appeared to be a quite ordinary building.
But an examination of the side of the building revealed a set of the most beautifully crafted
stained glass windows, set as you can see in the blandest of walls. The club was not open at the time of our visit and we were unable to view them with the light shining through. I like to think they would be inspirational.
So, after a quick jaunt through Proserpine (it really doesn't take long to 'do' the town) we made our way down along the Proserpine River through yet more cane country to the little seaside town of Conway Beach, a destination I had first discovered when browsing the net some two years ago on a dreary Adelaide winter day whilst dreaming of adventures to come in the tropics.
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