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!