When I referred to Max's sojourn at the local vet's in my last, I suddenly realised it has been quite some time since the ship's cat made it onto these pages (pages...oh, well, the electronic version at least) Let me dedicate the beginning of this, my last Carnarvon missive, to some of the recent activities of the Black Panther.
Max just loves it when we drop anchor for some time and he can get his bearings. He is particularly happy when the annex goes up....ah, security and a small patch I can prowl about with complete confidence!
Not that he really does too much prowling, other than his obligatory sniff about first thing each morning to re-mark his territory. His idea of being a guard cat is much more laid back, especially now that he has his own chair (the seat of this one is beginning to split with age and wear....we've invested in a new 'lounge' type chair so now Max has his own and doesn't pester us to make way)
Mind you he has been busy on occasions. After breakfast in bed
he will often line up for his turn on the computer. "Not this morning, Max, I'm busy."
"Oh well, if you don't want my able assistance, I'll retire hurt. Wake me when it's time for lunch!"
Max is definitely one very relaxed current Carnarvon cat. We'll see how things change once we are again on the road.
As we prepare to leave Carnarvon it has become time for a few reflective moments. I could not complete our report of our stay here without a parting shot at the town elders. Let me begin by quoting directly from the 'Catch You In Carnarvon' tourist booklet.
"HMAS Sydney II Memorial Drive was constructed at the south entrance to Carnarvon in 2001. This avenue of 645 plaques and palms along the road identifies the individual loss of life from this tragic battle."
Having had the privilege of visiting the splendid Sydney memorial in Geraldton, I foolishly assumed that this 'avenue' would be something to see. Indeed it was, for all the wrong reasons.
This is the 'avenue of palms'
and here are some of the memorial plaques.
I could not help but wonder, for example, what the relatives of Ordinary Seaman John Philip DeGracie would think of this (if they have seen it).
And this is one of the two main entrance roads into Carnarvon for goodness sake .......a main gateway to the town. When I quietly voiced my concerns amongst my friends at the local RSL with the comment that Liz and I both felt it would have been better to have done nothing than to have perpetrated this travesty, the table erupted in a babble of incensed agreement. I have no way of knowing whether or not it is true, but we were told that the now ragged and scrawny palms were planted contrary to expert advice. This would seem to be borne out by the fact that some smaller, more robust varieties have replaced a number of the originals, but only in patches.
I went on to ask why there had been no barrier erected along the length of this part of the entrance road to clearly define and separate this 'avenue of honour' from the bleak landscape to the north and south of it. I was told that the same question had been asked by many local residents who remain both equally baffled and severely embarrassed by the current state of affairs. This entire project seems to be one characterised by good intentions marred by poor execution.
The final insult from my (clearly outraged) perspective lay in the fact that the plaques stood in the bare red sand of the area. Look what we found further along this very same road as we neared the town. Someone at city hall has extraordinarily confused priorities.
Speaking of the RSL, one of the highlights of our stay in Carnarvon has been the welcoming manner in which Liz and I have been accepted by the local members. They are not large in number, but from what we have seen they are an active bunch indeed.
Friday evenings at the 'Rissle' have been a regular feature of my stay here. And why not? Good mates, lashings of nibbles, and cans of Kilkenny for $4.00, served in iced handle glasses direct from the freezer. The pool table has been the site of many close fought contests between Watto and your scribe (the current score shall remain unannounced!)
Foolishly I did not take the camera most evenings (and on the night I did it was exceptionally quiet), but have captured a couple of shots of one of our gatherings in the recently completed outdoor entertaining area.
As is the case with most clubs, there are one or two real live wires who keep things running. The fellow next to yours truly at the end of the table is just such a bloke.
Syd can turn his hand to anything (and often does for all and sundry) and is always on deck on Friday afternoons preparing the nibbles trays and more often than not, a light meal to follow. He is a real champion and someone for whom I have developed genuine respect. The only time Syd cannot be found around the town is when he is off on the station mail run, a round trip of over 700 kms on dirt tracks, some of which are seriously challenging. Syd is the 'real deal'.
Although this particular evening was not well attended, it was a different matter on Vietnam Veterans' Day when a modest but attentive crowd assembled at and near the War Memorial
to listen to the address delivered by the RSL President Sandy McGinn.
Wreaths were laid and heads were lowered as the Last Post sounded out over the gathering. The flags were raised to the mast heads as The Rouse then rang out through the speakers whilst the club chaplain and secretary looked on.
And then, of course, it was back to the clubhouse for a few thirst quenching ales and the traditional BBQ lunch.
I had volunteered to wield a pair of tongs, so off came the blazer and on went my trusty Harrods apron (that was the only thing I could afford in that emporium when I visited in 1972!) and away we went. "I'll see to the onions if you do the snags, Bruno."
This was thirsty work, or at least that was the view of 'The Pres.' Sandy kept appearing with Kilkenny refills. It would have been churlish to object.
The weather was ideal for al fresco dining, the company was lively, the snags were hot, the onions were perfect (of course), the bread was fresh, the salads crisp and the beer was ice cold....just the recipe for a jolly good afternoon. I have to make the frank admission that the insistant tug on my left earlobe by 'she who certainly must be obeyed in these circumstances' (it would have been a long walk home and I had no money left for a cab) came none too soon. A few of my fellow revellers of the day later confided that they had wished their departure had coincided with mine. "Thanks, Liz."
As a quick postscript, our travel plans for 2015 are such that we should be back in Carnarvon for Anzac Day. I certainly hope so. We would love to share it with this good bunch of blokes.
One of the inevitable outcomes of an extended stay in the one town, is that things become familiar. What else should I include here before we leave? A few final snippets, hopefully of interest.
We have not eaten out much in Carnarvon. Like everywhere else in WA dining out is an expensive exercise, particularly if a few beers are involved, and we have been tending to reserve these treats for special occasions. I have already included shots of a few of the local hotels and restaurants, save these two, which could not be more different.
The River Gums Cafe is a delight. Although the river is nothing but a dry bed, the cafe, which is actually located on a working plantation, serves very fairly priced meals of high quality in a leafy, colourful setting. But it can be tricky getting there the first time.
Never let it be said the locals are averse to recycling. How else would one use an old cement truck mixing barrel? If this appears quirky,
it is merely sets the scene for the entrance road which takes potential munchers across a dry river annabranch
with its cautionary navigation speed warning. Someone at the River Gums has a real sense of humour....
this is the 'channel'
The entrance track meanders through the working property in which the River Gums can be found
until one reaches the car park where there are bananas on one side and mangoes on the other.
Beyond the stand of mango trees lies a real oasis of green lawns,
brightly coloured flowering shrubs,
and, at the edge of the garden eating area, the oddly convoluted trunks of a couple of the many river gums which give this charming eatery its name.
Beyond the gums, the Gascoyne, of course, is nothing but a dry river bed
but that is of little consequence when there is so much more on offer.
The cafe itself is quite small, but provides a fine range of snacks and meals which can be eaten under cover
or at one of the many outdoor settings.
I was relieved (yes, pun intended) to discover that the outside 'dunny'
has been upgraded. As is probably obvious from the plethora of River Gums photos, this is one Carnarvon establishment which really appealed to us.
The nearby Sandhurst Hotel is the complete antithesis of the River Gums. This is the only Carnarvon pub situated well outside the precincts of the CBD, as you may well guess looking at its surrounds
the landscape across the road. As I have previously mentioned, the back blocks of Carnarvon are bleak indeed and becoming more so as the weather warms and the winds increase.
'The Sandy's' nondescript appearance, which is maintained to some degree inside, belies the fact that this hostelry serves nightly specials which are very good value for money and consistently tasty. We sampled the fare a few weeks and can confirm the advice we were given that this is very much a 'locals' pub.
And if the hotel looks somewhat down at heel, it fades into total insignificance when viewed against the residence next door.......yes, the publican still lives here! This is Carnarvon!
Before we leave the subject of Carnarvon hotels, The Port Hotel on Robinson Street was once owned and operated by none other than that prince of the redneck, racist pollies, Charles Wilson (Ironbar) Tuckey.
It was here in Carnarvon that he acquired the infamous nickname which I once, to my complete astonishment, heard him defend with something bordering on pride. The incident which gave rise to the nickname saw Tuckey later charged with assault after it was alleged he whacked an aboriginal man with a length of steel cable whilst he (the victim) was (allegedly) being pinned to the ground. No further comment necessary!
Despite this and other antics, Tuckey did certainly involve himself in public life. Before he was elected to the Federal Parliament as the member for O'Connor in 1980, a seat he held until 2010, Tuckey had been the Mayor of Carnarvon between May 1964 until March 1965, and indeed was its last. When the local authority then became The Shire of Carnarvon, Tuckey continued in his role, but now as the Shire President, until June 1971.
During his career in Federal politics he held several ministries under a number of Liberal leaders. His verbal parliamentary stouches with Paul Keating are a thing of legend and for Wilson Tuckey, ejection from the House of Reps for unparliamentary behaviour or language was a common occurrence. It was always something to watch when 'Ironbar' developed a head of steam. Unfortunately his ultra right-wing views resulted in some extraordinarily undignified behaviour for a man in his position, including, for example, walking out of the House as Kevin Rudd rose to deliver his 'apology to the Aboriginal people'. What an enigma!
Not far from the Port Hotel, at the Civic Centre complex, Carnarvon hosts a weekly farmers' market throughout 'the season', which in this case means the high tourist season.....from April to mid October.
Here locals and tourists (usually in the majority) can wander about the stalls at the front
through the internal alleyway
and out the back, which was always my destination. Here the local growers stand behind tables laden with fresh produce.....beans, tomatoes, sweet corn, bananas, chillies, and fruits in season.
It is wise to have breakfast before this foray.....one of the local church groups is always on hand conjuring up the (almost) irresistible early morning smells associated with bacon and eggs rolls and an array of different hamburgers.
For those with a sweeter tooth, the tiny doughnut like delights and aromatic coffee dispensed with gusto from this stall certainly fit the bill. (someone doesn't need any more pastry)
And, as with most markets, members of the idiot fringe are given space to peddle their non-scientific nonsense. I resisted having a crack at those self righteously promoting this board full of mumbo jumbo for all but one of my visits (when Liz wasn't with me!) Our exchange was short and sharp, centred on how grateful they should be that this wonderful country of ours allows even this sort of claptrap to be publicly peddled by those with limited scientific qualifications. (don't even think about getting me started on the non-immunisation for babies lot!)
With spleen vented, tasty tomatoes and brilliant beans tucked up in my rucksack, it was back to camp where it was my turn to be self righteous....the bacon and egg rolls had been eschewed in favour of my daily dose of far less appealing high fibre cereal.
Our last week here has been coloured by some local excitement of a less than positive nature.
The resident butcher birds were the first to spot it as it slithered its way stealthily through the somewhat lengthy lawn grasses at the rear of our van. They were dive bombing this unwelcome visitor with vigour, a fact that did not go unnoticed by two nearby permanent residents. Liz and Max were enjoying a leisurely patrol of the site when, from inside the van (yes I was blogging!) I heard, "Watch out Liz", followed almost instantly by a very rapid opening of the van door and the rocket like entrance of a sensibly retreating Liz, Max in arms.
A yellow-faced whip snake was on the prowl.....and it was almost impossible to spot in the grass. But it did not escape the attention of our neighbours and, in light of the fact it would not retreat and adopted an attack pose, it soon met a sticky end.
Curled up on the blade of the weapon of its demise, the reptile did not look too nasty, but these snakes could well put paid to Max, and if its attention was turned towards some unsuspecting human, inflict a very painful, worrying bite.
Historically, very few of these have been fatal, but this statistic was not one we were at all keen to test. I mowed the grass to bowling green height within the hour and our subsequent forays around the park became journeys on which it was very much 'eyes down'. I am pleased to report that this was an isolated incident, but for a few days after this event every fallen stick on the ground seemed to emulate the staff of Moses and come to life!
On a much lighter note I have another of those 'guess who we met on the road' stories. The fact that I've been silent on this topic for some time now does not mean we have not been continuing to have these encounters, but the tale I'm about to relate is, as they say, 'right up there'!
A few days ago my phone rang...it was the custodian of the park office. "Can you help put someone on site 80?" Shortly thereafter, Tim and Lorraine Young pulled up and I duly guided Tim onto the site behind us. Little more was said at that time other than to acknowledge that we were both South Australians.
As I was watering around our site the following evening we struck up a conversation as often happens between neighbours, particularly amongst those from the same city who are far from home. Again, nothing out of the ordinary....a short, shared synopsis of our lives including the reasons for being on the road.
And then, the next morning when I was offering some local advice, I heard Lorraine say,"Go on Tim, ask him." The question was duly put. "What is your son's name?" "Cameron, why do you ask?"
I'll cut the remainder of the tale short here other than to leave you to ponder the incredible odds against being the park neighbours of a woman who was, for quite some time, the head of the unit in the Education Department in which Cam worked for two years. Not only that, they had, as a couple, entertained Cam at dinner in their Gilles Street home on more that one occasion. This was mind numbing stuff. As you could expect I was on the phone in a flash to number one son who, as you would expect, shared my incredulity at such a quirk of fate. Needless to say we invited the Youngs in for happy hour on the eve of their departure and are very much hoping to again catch up with them in Albany over the summer.
So on that extraordinary note, we turn to our departure preparations. The list is lengthy. We are about to rejoin the gypsies. I have already astounded the Matron by re-attaching the brass water inlet pressure valve to the chassis with tech screws and replacing two of the attached water pipes.
The water heater anode, which, to my delight, demonstrated the fact that our newly acquired water filter is doing its job, has been replaced. The filter itself was previously attached to the rear bumper by a totally self-surprised, self-satisfied yours truly. And, to top it off, I also managed to locate, cut down and replace a tiny screw which had somehow dislodged itself from the small tap which changes the direction of the gas flow from one cylinder to the other.
All that now remains is to dismantle and stow all the fishing gear, wash, dismantle and pack the annex, take up and pack the floors and skirt, wash the van, the awning and the cruiser (since the winds have arrived we are inches thick with dust), dismantle and pack the solar night lights, detach and pack the annex LED light strip, check and inflate all tyres and the rear coil air bags, fill the water tanks, sort out stowage for a new water hose, repack and replace the Waco into the rear of the truck, clean the Weber and repack it under the bed, dismantle, clean and stow all three outdoor tables, clean the grit from the interior, re-affix the large ladder to the rear pole holder, check the battery in the break away system, test the water heater and fridge on gas operation, re-organise the boot space, attach the safety chain shackles, and grease the tow-ball and weight distribution hitch keeper sockets.
And that's only the 'Outside Boy's' stuff.....the 'Inside Girl' has her own task list of packing and strapping to make sure we are not opening cupboards of chaos at our next stop. But it is still such good fun!
The forecast winds for our departure day are solidly on the nose....20-35 kph. We plan to hitch and occupy a drive-through site on Monday night with a view to setting off at 0600 hours (first light) the following morning. Hopefully we'll be able to put a good 200 kms behind us before the wind stiffens as the day advances.
First night destination?.....unknown.....other than the fact that, at this stage, we have shelved our plan to spend it on Gladstone Hill gazing at the sunset over the plains to Shark Bay.....in these winds we would have to strap ourselves into our chairs and chain the van down with cables and star pickets just to stay put!
With three days now to go, and work to be done, this will be my last blog from Carnarvon. We are not indulging in a 'formal farewell'. This took place a week ago when we joined in the staff function at which we said goodbye to Tina and Ray. (Tina worked as the park cleaner for the past two months) Chef Pierre was O/C entrees. As you would have guessed, Mum's famous bacon savouries were on the menu.....and the recipe has now been passed on to yet more enthusiasts.
The park owner had left three more than average bottles of red for the occasion (all South Australian and one a seriously good Coonawarra Cab Sav no less). What a sensible chap Matt is!
It really was a good night and as you can see at least one of us took the dress standard seriously, much to the bewilderment of a number of park guests who were also using the camp kitchen.
As a matter of record the revellers are, from the left, Ali (who wielded the second whipper snipper with me at the settling ponds and has now taken over the cleaning role) Liz, your scribe, Tina and Ray and the park mangers Suzanne and Paul.
Liz and I got on famously with Tina and Ray. We hosted them to farewell drinks in our annex which was also an excuse to use up the last of the bacon savouries and clear some more freezer space. Ray was more than happy. Liz is convinced that these are a 'man thing'. She may be right.
We have been part of a great team, and we'll undoubtedly miss quite a bit of our life at The Plantation. But the winds of spring are well and truly here and if there was any doubt as to their impact, let me provide some of nature's proof.
The blossoms of early spring have dropped and fruit set has begun on the Carnarvon mango trees. Table grapes on vines spread out over Shaw trellises are filling out under their green leafy canopies.
Morel's pumpkin patch, just planted on our arrival, is now ready for harvest.
for the entire summer.
The Saturday markets are now a thing of the past for 2014. The junction of Robinson Street and the North-West Highway is no longer clogged with caravans streaming south to Perth and beyond like the returning swallows of spring.
The Plantation too has emptied. From being one of over twenty vans in the back two rows of the park, we are now on our own but for a huge Montana fifth wheeler and a long term resident opposite.
Many of the Carnarvon locals have begun their annual lamentation about the pending approach of the heat, dust, winds and flies of summer. The emotional shut down has begun. It is akin to a dry weather version of the 'build up' season in the tropics.
Liz and I almost feel like locals ourselves after spending 122 days here. We too are in the throes of a mood swing as the invisible Valkyries of spring, screaming in like banshees on the southern winds, relentlessly tear at the fabric of the awning and shake the van. The trees of the park are resolutely bending their backs against the onslaught with harsh rustles of leafy protest. Dust devils are beginning a constant march across the bare suburban paddocks. We are now fighting a daily battle inside the van against the dusty grime which is continually accumulating on every flat surface. Facing the wrong way during an outdoor conversation will reward the unwary talker with a gritty bite. The relative calm of winter has given way to the wild windy weather of spring.....WA!
We know we have left our run south a few weeks too late.....a fact about which we are now being constantly reminded by those hunkering down for the summer...the employment offer was too good to refuse and we felt some sense of obligation to stay until the end of the school holidays when asked to do so.
But it is now definitely time to go. Our minds are already elsewhere. The quiet thrill of anticipation of further adventures is beginning to creep over us. A wonderful and completely unexpected chapter of our life on the road is coming to a close. A new one is about to begin.
Farewell Carnarvon. We have enjoyed the ride!
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