As I mentioned briefly in my last, we overnighted in Croydon after leaving Mount Surprise before travelling the 135 kms further north-west along the Savannah to Normanton. And here things were just as dry,
as can be seen looking at our van site across the caravan park (look for the blue kayak!)
Interestingly, unlike last year, the trees in the community park which immediately abutted our site were alive with black kites, all scavenging on the food scraps left by those using the park. They seemed a little too much like vultures for my liking. It was a real surprise to find a dry chicken bone on the awning when we pulled down. At least one of our feathered friends had struck it rich.
But we expected this (the dry that is), and knew from our visit last year that the spa and pool would be most welcome irrespective of the surroundings.
And so they were. In fact the pool area had been tarted up with a fresh and very snappy paint job. And the temperature of the pool was significantly higher than last year, when it was absolutely freezing. We both made the most of it, although I have to say I didn't do my laps wearing a granny hat! Odd stoke, this breast stroke, but Liz hammers away for lap after lap.
Oh, yes, and we did manage a couple of beers at the Albion where we witnessed a very interesting scene. In the late afternoon a particularly large 'non-reflective' chap waltzed into the bar, extracting a wad of notes as he did so with the obvious intention of buying a drink or two. Well, he had no sooner breasted the threshold when the barman launched. He fronted this bloke and made it particularly clear that he was not welcome in the pub. And there was no argument about it.
In a later chat with the redoubtable barkeep, we learnt that the prospective drinker was a particularly nasty fellow, who, after being barred for his lack of decorum on a previous occasion, not only threatened the hotel staff in the street, but invoked the aboriginal legal aid service to mount a challenge to the ban in the Supreme Court of Queensland. Obviously this was of serious concern to all the publicans in Normanton who then had to band together and stump up the cash to pay for a legal defence to the challenge.
Fortunately the challenge failed, which was a victory for both common sense and good hotel governance in a town where maintaining a convivial atmosphere in the bar can be testing, but, of course, at a cost of many thousands of dollars to the publicans and nothing to his nibs. No wonder he was not popular.
And, sadly our last night in Normanton was to be one where the combination of the brothers on the turps and the somewhat laissez-faire attitude adopted by the management of the nearby Purple Pub resulted in an almost constant cacophony of abuse, fighting and squabbling, particularly in the park separated from our van by only a cyclone fence. I will give it to the boys and girls in blue...they maintained a constant round until after midnight, but it was a rolling maul and by the time everyone finally staggered off to whatever they called home and the pub doors closed, I was somewhat frazzled. A sad end to our stay in a town we still very much like, notwithstanding the occasional social drawback.
The Burke and Wills Roadhouse beckoned, and armed with the knowledge gained of previous experience, we knew we should get in early if we were to avail ourselves of one of the odd but highly functional verandah sites on offer. Notwithstanding the fact that we hauled into B&W at just after 0930 hours, there was only one left. We snapped it up! (again, look for the kayak)
What a change we found here from last year. As we drove in we could not believe the number of roadtrains which were assembled in the huge carparks which surround the roadhouse. We soon discovered the reason.
Century Mines had opened a new site at Dugald River, half way between B&W and Cloncurry. The ore was being transported by road train on a three month experimental basis to the other of the company's mine sites at Lawn Hill which is north-west of B&W. Here it is sent by pipeline to Karumba with the Lawn Hill product for shipment overseas. To our relief, the highway south of B&W is a full width road, so passing these behemoths did not present any undue problems.
And, by the way, have I mentioned that it was now getting damned hot? Not only is outback QLD in drought, it is experiencing unseasonably hot spring weather. We were on the cusp of what would stretch out into a fortnight of daytime temperatures in the very high 30's and low 40's.
This can generate some odd behaviour. We had previously noted (and looked down our noses at) the odd FNQ habit of adding ice cubes to glasses of white wine. No such snobbery now.
For drinks al fresco we decided that 'when in Rome' was the way to go, so in went the ice cubes. But it was only cheap fizz after all (does that sound suspiciously like rationalisation?)
Strangely, given the hectic vehicular activity which is a constant at B&W, and which is something he normally finds very off-putting, Max really likes the place. He patrolled the site with alacrity, probably on the trail of any one of the vast number of (huge) feral cats which make B&W their domain.
But after a hard afternoon's work (just staying awake can be hard work for Max), it is time to relax on the balcony with the folks!
No ice cubes in my glass, thanks!
We retired that evening in good spirits and looking forward to our visit to 'The Isa'. After the raucous night in Normanton, I was more than ready for a good night's sleep. Nice thought. At just before midnight we were awoken by a continuing series of female screams, interjected with expletives which indicated she was not a happy camper. Just the shot on a very still, warm outback night.
I put up with this for about 15 minutes before taking torch in hand and stalking off towards the scene of this nonsense. I had actually reached the stage where I feared she was being seriously hurt. To my relief and surprise I found the source of all this noise sitting on her bum in the dirt of the car park with a very harassed young man trying to comfort her. As I asked if there was anything I could do to help (shut her up for a start!) she lurched upright and bolted.
It transpired that she was suffering the less than happy effects of the ingestion of god knows what drugs and indeed the roadhouse manager had already been in contact with the flying doctor service. To cut a very long story short, an hour or so later we heard the unmistakable sound of a chopper on descent. The intrepid Mount Isa based Queensland rescue service was about to deliver a paramedic to assess the health of our young drugged missy.
And, as you can imagine, there was certainly not going to be a show of this nature without 'Punch', no matter what the hour.
I am particularly disappointed that I failed in all my attempts to capture the eerie sight of this BK as it hovered pre-landing, with its lights shining through the extraordinary clouds of dust kicked up by the rotor, for all the world looking like some alien visitor. It was really something.
But I did manage to have a good chat to the pilot as the medic tried to unscramble one very addled brain before it was decided that the source of all this disruption did not need anything other than a good lie down and everyone went home again! What fiasco! John (the pilot) told me that this little exercise would leave no change out of $15,000, all of which is paid for by the government in these circumstances. Ain't drugs grand! Oh, and as a postscript, by morning, which dawned but two hours later, the good Samaritan lad had left and Miss Muffet was still sound asleep in her car. How I was tempted!
So off we went bright and early that morning after a second night of less than adequate sleep, although I must say B&W had all been a bit of an adventure. Far more entertaining than squabbling non reflectives! And dare I say, who would not be happy to be on their way when camped in a patch with signs like these.
Our trip south to Cloncurry and west to Mount Isa was uneventful, but my lack of sleep was to have a costly ending.
No comments:
Post a Comment