With a clearing head, courtesy of the early morning jaunt around Dimboola, it was time to again hit the highway for the 230 kms to our next overnight destination....Ballarat.
We pulled out of Dimboola along the by-pass, to rejoin the Western Highway as it made its way east through the stubble fields of the Wimmera.
Horsham was the next major town through which we were to pass. Ballarat now less than 200 kms......we were beginning to make inroads into the distance ahead of us.
As we eased our way through the traffic of an increasingly busy Horsham CBD
and made our way back onto the highway towards Stawell, our furry travelling companion was beginning to enquire if we were there yet. "Back to sleep, Max. Another few hours to go."
With Stawell now well on the radar
the rocky ramparts of the Grampians began to fill the distant horizon.
By the time we had meandered through the little highway township of Dadswells Bridge, famed for its 'Big Koala' (and it is bloody big as you can see)
the mountains had come into much sharper focus.
As we reached Stawell we were on the hunt for a service station. The fuel gauge on the Cruiser was beginning to look disturbingly low. On the outskirts of the town we came across one which is just the ticket for those of us trying to manoeuvre a large van up to the pumps.....a rear diesel bowser set up for trucks. Joy!
Stawell holds a rather special place in the heart of The Navigator. It was here that, many, many years ago, her grandfather Fred Ralph won that prestigious foot race, the Stawell Gift. Fred was certainly no slouch....he later went on to win the race much more well know to those of us from Adelaide, the Bay Sheffield. In fact there is a footpath paver commemorating this feat near the rotunda adjacent to the Glenelg Surf Club.
But I digress....back to the road. Next on our travelling agenda was the leafy highway glade which traverses the famous winery hamlet of Great Western, renowned for years as the home of the widely enjoyed Seppelts white bubbles (know then as champagne.....in the days before the French became precious about these names)
Great Western has quite a history. Let me quote from the very well presented town website.
"The first vineyards
in the Great Western area were established by two Frenchmen who met at
the gold diggings at Daylesford. Following their example, Joseph Best
and his brother Henry established vineyards in 1865. Following Joseph's
death in 1888, the property was purchased by Hans Irvine. Irvine
imported staff from France and dedicated himself to establishing a
sparkling wine of comparable quality of French champagne. In 1918,
Irvine sold the winery to his friend and Australian wine pioneer, Benno Seppelt.
Today, Great Western is still producing quality sparkling wines
including Seppelt Salinger at the Seppelt winery, now owned by the Foster's Group. The Seppelt
cellars include over 3 kilometres of labyrinthine tunnels ("drives")
originally constructed by miners searching for gold and are now used to
allow the sparkling wine to rest and develop."
With our thoughts lingering on a long cold glass and a 'fine bead' we pushed on, past the grand old building which is the Ararat Town Hall
and along the town by-pass road with yet another mountain range, the Pyrenees, with its Mount Langi Ghiran dominating the distant skyline.
The pretty little town of Beaufort was soon in our rear vision mirrors. We harbour very fond memories of enjoying a delicious morning tea of scones and jam in this town on only the second day of our first major trip away in our original Coromal van some ten years ago. How times have changed for us ....but not Beaufort. It looked just as we had remembered.
By just after mid-day we reached the entrance to the Eureka Holiday Park, so named because it is situated south-east of the Ballarat CBD, immediately adjacent to the site of the historical battle between the miners and the authorities.
Here the office is nothing of not solidly built, and after duly presenting ourselves inside
we were directed down the narrow roadway towards our site at the back of the park.
Here we passed the playground and BBQ area
and the somewhat bland looking building which houses the park camp kitchen (the grey roof). What an example of 'books and covers' this is.
The facilities here for those who do not have a mobile kitchen in the form of a caravan are exemplary, and obviously brand new.
As if this sparkling kitchen is not enough, the adjoining games room has to be seen to be believed. We later found out that the location of this park (right next to the stockade area) attracts frequent school groups, the members of which take occupancy of the many park cabins and venture out on excursions of historical discovery. We were sure the facilities of this room do much to prevent noisy, bored youngsters racing about the park at the end of their educational days. What a very good idea that is!
As I mentioned previously, our drive-thu site was at the back of the park, and whilst narrow and only sparsely grassed, we did have some late afternoon shade, and, frankly, no desire to roll out the awning for this brief stay.
If we had had any doubt about the proximity of the stockade area, the sight of the back wall of the large 'Eurkea Centre' at the end of our park road soon put that right.
Not too much further away in the opposite direction, and of much greater importance, the brown brick building of the park ablution block provided adequate facilities without being anywhere near the class of the camp kitchen.
There is no doubting that this is a shady park, something which the permanent residents, of whom there are a few, relish. The fact that all these sites were relatively clean and tidy (unlike many we have seen...remember the Banksia Park in Perth?) speaks well for the park management.
Although we were really only on a whistle-stop here in Ballarat, we though that we should at least take a quick stroll through the stockade area and make a cursory investigation. To do so we walked past he second real attraction of this park......a site fee here includes free entry to the large and well maintained swimming centre right next door.
What a boon this would be on a hot summer's day.....or any hot day for that matter..... another drawcard for families with children.
For some reason or other I had visions that the site of the Eureka Stockade area would still contain vestiges of the old fortifications behind which Peter Lalor and his mightily miffed miners banged away at the advancing troops of the Crown, who were firing with equal verve and far greater effect (the 'battle' lasted only ten minutes before the troops and police over-ran the stockade and began a shameful massacre of many of the wounded miners...another story), but this is not the case.
As we wandered through the lovely garden surrounds, complete with cannon and stone memorials,
and looked out over the curving banks of the park ponds
towards the large building of the Eureka Centre (now known rather grandly as the 'Museum of Australian Democracy') with its huge flag pole (sorry about the intrusion of the late afternoon sun)
I soon realised that the only wooden structure to be now found here is this stylised fortification complete with mock soldiers.....
.........absolutely nothing like the original ramshackle and hastily erected palisade (as depicted in this painting of the event).
Before we left Liz did take advantage of one of the wooden horses to be found nearby.....to put her feet up for a minute or two.
Obviously a return trip to this town, of such immense economic and historical significance to both Victoria and Australia, is on our list. We calculate we need at least five days to 'do Ballarat' properly.
But for now, it was an early night and an equally early departure the following morning, a departure delayed somewhat by the antics of a fellow traveller who falls within a category best described as 'inconsiderate idiots'. This is the group of nincompoops who will insist on hitching up their vans, thereby blocking exit roads, before they even contemplate taking in their awnings and disconnecting their water and their power. The prince of these fools was one whom I actually saw then toddle off for a shower!
Fortunately we had an alternative escape route (albeit one of increased difficulty) from the Eureka Holiday Park. This came as a matter of great relief of the Co-Pilot who was dreading that I might have felt the need to engage in a 'departure etiquette' discussion with our neighbour. "Only when strictly necessary, Liz, you know that". Her immediately snorted reply, "hmmmph!" did not convince me I had made my case out well.
But on this occasion park peace prevailed and we were soon on the last leg of our journey to the Mornington Peninsula. All that stood between us and it was the small matter of the city of Melbourne.
The duel laned highway from Ballarat to Melbourne now by-passes the obviously rapidly expanding town of Baccus Marsh
and in no time at all the highway signs of the 'Big Smoke' were upon us. Decisions, decisions! Even with our electronic navigator quietly providing directions whilst Liz kept a wary eye on the accuracy of 'Ken's' instructions, towing at expressway speed though a city the size of Melbourne, rubbing vehicular shoulders with totally unsympathetic and busy local drivers, does nothing to lower one's heart rate.
We had deliberately chosen a Sunday morning for this venture. Even so, as the high rise buildings of the city loomed ahead in the gloom of this grey Melbourne morning (is there any other?....sorry, my Victorian friends....that was a bit snippy)
and the density of the traffic increased as we approached the huge sweep of the Westgate Bridge beneath incredibly dominant and ugly power line towers (these can never be called 'poles') I was rapidly reaching a state of very much heightened awareness.
And then a stroke of luck. Maintenance work on the massive supporting cables of the bridge meant that traffic was slowed to a crawl as we jostled our way into restricted lanes.
We actually had the chance to take a few furtive glances at the activity in the Port of Melbourne as we travelled high over the shipping channel (albeit through the intrusive screens necessarily erected after that moron threw his infant off the bridge some few years ago)
Now for the descent and the next challenge,
the tunnel under the city.
This is an extraordinary piece of civil engineering, and does make the circumnavigation of the Melbourne CBD so much easier and faster than it used to be, but with a large bus alongside us and one right behind, I didn't have the time to relish these advantages.
But indeed there is light at the end of this particular tunnel
and the welcomed paved expanses of the 'Eastlink' toll road beyond. We have learnt that the expense of the tolls charged to cross Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne is well worth both the payment and the time it later takes to see that our dues have been received by the authorities.
At last! Here we were officially on 'The Peninsula'. Our destination of Mount Martha is well this side of Dromana. Not far to go now, Max!
Whilst I was far from having reached the stage of needing a 'Bex and a lie down', the relative peace and quite of the Moorooduc Highway which took us past Frankston and Mount Eliza was a very pleasant change after the frantic fervour of the freeways.
"You have reached you destination" boomed out from the Tom Tom as we turned into Secrets Way, Mouth Martha
and made our way to number 28
where a special greeting had been arranged for us. Believe me, this bit of nonsense set the tone for the next two weeks during which laughter was a constant.
As I mentioned previously, our drive-thu site was at the back of the park, and whilst narrow and only sparsely grassed, we did have some late afternoon shade, and, frankly, no desire to roll out the awning for this brief stay.
If we had had any doubt about the proximity of the stockade area, the sight of the back wall of the large 'Eurkea Centre' at the end of our park road soon put that right.
Not too much further away in the opposite direction, and of much greater importance, the brown brick building of the park ablution block provided adequate facilities without being anywhere near the class of the camp kitchen.
There is no doubting that this is a shady park, something which the permanent residents, of whom there are a few, relish. The fact that all these sites were relatively clean and tidy (unlike many we have seen...remember the Banksia Park in Perth?) speaks well for the park management.
Although we were really only on a whistle-stop here in Ballarat, we though that we should at least take a quick stroll through the stockade area and make a cursory investigation. To do so we walked past he second real attraction of this park......a site fee here includes free entry to the large and well maintained swimming centre right next door.
What a boon this would be on a hot summer's day.....or any hot day for that matter..... another drawcard for families with children.
For some reason or other I had visions that the site of the Eureka Stockade area would still contain vestiges of the old fortifications behind which Peter Lalor and his mightily miffed miners banged away at the advancing troops of the Crown, who were firing with equal verve and far greater effect (the 'battle' lasted only ten minutes before the troops and police over-ran the stockade and began a shameful massacre of many of the wounded miners...another story), but this is not the case.
As we wandered through the lovely garden surrounds, complete with cannon and stone memorials,
and looked out over the curving banks of the park ponds
towards the large building of the Eureka Centre (now known rather grandly as the 'Museum of Australian Democracy') with its huge flag pole (sorry about the intrusion of the late afternoon sun)
I soon realised that the only wooden structure to be now found here is this stylised fortification complete with mock soldiers.....
.........absolutely nothing like the original ramshackle and hastily erected palisade (as depicted in this painting of the event).
Before we left Liz did take advantage of one of the wooden horses to be found nearby.....to put her feet up for a minute or two.
Obviously a return trip to this town, of such immense economic and historical significance to both Victoria and Australia, is on our list. We calculate we need at least five days to 'do Ballarat' properly.
But for now, it was an early night and an equally early departure the following morning, a departure delayed somewhat by the antics of a fellow traveller who falls within a category best described as 'inconsiderate idiots'. This is the group of nincompoops who will insist on hitching up their vans, thereby blocking exit roads, before they even contemplate taking in their awnings and disconnecting their water and their power. The prince of these fools was one whom I actually saw then toddle off for a shower!
Fortunately we had an alternative escape route (albeit one of increased difficulty) from the Eureka Holiday Park. This came as a matter of great relief of the Co-Pilot who was dreading that I might have felt the need to engage in a 'departure etiquette' discussion with our neighbour. "Only when strictly necessary, Liz, you know that". Her immediately snorted reply, "hmmmph!" did not convince me I had made my case out well.
But on this occasion park peace prevailed and we were soon on the last leg of our journey to the Mornington Peninsula. All that stood between us and it was the small matter of the city of Melbourne.
The duel laned highway from Ballarat to Melbourne now by-passes the obviously rapidly expanding town of Baccus Marsh
and in no time at all the highway signs of the 'Big Smoke' were upon us. Decisions, decisions! Even with our electronic navigator quietly providing directions whilst Liz kept a wary eye on the accuracy of 'Ken's' instructions, towing at expressway speed though a city the size of Melbourne, rubbing vehicular shoulders with totally unsympathetic and busy local drivers, does nothing to lower one's heart rate.
We had deliberately chosen a Sunday morning for this venture. Even so, as the high rise buildings of the city loomed ahead in the gloom of this grey Melbourne morning (is there any other?....sorry, my Victorian friends....that was a bit snippy)
and the density of the traffic increased as we approached the huge sweep of the Westgate Bridge beneath incredibly dominant and ugly power line towers (these can never be called 'poles') I was rapidly reaching a state of very much heightened awareness.
And then a stroke of luck. Maintenance work on the massive supporting cables of the bridge meant that traffic was slowed to a crawl as we jostled our way into restricted lanes.
We actually had the chance to take a few furtive glances at the activity in the Port of Melbourne as we travelled high over the shipping channel (albeit through the intrusive screens necessarily erected after that moron threw his infant off the bridge some few years ago)
Now for the descent and the next challenge,
the tunnel under the city.
This is an extraordinary piece of civil engineering, and does make the circumnavigation of the Melbourne CBD so much easier and faster than it used to be, but with a large bus alongside us and one right behind, I didn't have the time to relish these advantages.
But indeed there is light at the end of this particular tunnel
and the welcomed paved expanses of the 'Eastlink' toll road beyond. We have learnt that the expense of the tolls charged to cross Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne is well worth both the payment and the time it later takes to see that our dues have been received by the authorities.
At last! Here we were officially on 'The Peninsula'. Our destination of Mount Martha is well this side of Dromana. Not far to go now, Max!
Whilst I was far from having reached the stage of needing a 'Bex and a lie down', the relative peace and quite of the Moorooduc Highway which took us past Frankston and Mount Eliza was a very pleasant change after the frantic fervour of the freeways.
"You have reached you destination" boomed out from the Tom Tom as we turned into Secrets Way, Mouth Martha
and made our way to number 28
where a special greeting had been arranged for us. Believe me, this bit of nonsense set the tone for the next two weeks during which laughter was a constant.
Tenants we were, and park we did. With Rhonda and John's van behind ours in their spacious back yard (in which John has been on a campaign to kill off masses of inherited weeds before replanting law...hence the barren look) Chez Vogt began to resemble a caravan park.
But with the trusty Cruiser at rest in the driveway outside the entrance gates,
a modicum of awning out over our private garden and our small C-Gear floor down, we were soon completely set.
Our arrival heralded the beginning of what was to be a marvellous two weeks with our very good friends the Vogts and big 'Bob the Dog'.
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