OUR FORTNIGHT AT MOUNT MARTHA - PART FOUR - MORE REPAIRS, SIGHTSEEING AND FINE FOOD (28 FEBRUARY - 14 MARCH 2016)

I am scrambling to finish this section of our adventures.  This missive will be a very mixed bag, but indicative of our stay at Mount Martha.

As I mentioned at the beginning, I had planned to use this time (and John's undoubted expertise if necessary) to effect long overdue repairs to our van.  The tool box was now in place.  It was time to turn my attention to the mudflaps.  I won't repeat my previously posted saga of the time we had trying to get the genuine article from the Roma factory, other than to say I gave up in disgust at the lack of service provided and bought a generic set in Adelaide.

It was time to fit them, but as usual things were not all straight sailing.....the screws and nuts holding what remained of the originals had seized.  Out with the angle grinder, and, after a pretty impressive shower of sparks (with me watching like a hawk to ensure nothing under the van ignited), I was ready to fit the flaps. Success! To most folk fitting these these would have been a stroll in the park....for me it was a major triumph!

The next job was to replace a long length of external water pipe which brings this very necessary fluid into the van's various taps.  We had sprung a spectacular leak.  This is one task I do know a bit about from previous experience, but before I could complete the repairs we had to make another trip to Rosebud to source the necessary pipe from the very well stocked caravan shop there. With three metres of pipe in hand, this repair was soon accomplished.

The next challenge was considerably more tricky. It involved electricity, albeit only 12 volt, so the risk of death or serious injury was limited, but this is one area about which I know very, very little.

Our A frame 12 Volt plug, essential to provide power to the Waco portable freezer when we are free camping, had ceased to function.  I had mucked around with it at West Beach without success (other than to determine we needed a replacement). I was considerably nervous about what lay ahead, but my old mate JV soon appeared with his multimeter which confirmed that 'dead' was indeed the adjective applicable to this outlet.

Let me here cut to the chase.  After scrambling around on my back under the van (why do all these jobs demand getting under the damn thing?) I was able to confirm that the relevant electrical lead ran directly off the forward battery.  To check that it was properly connected, the battery had to come out. This is no small task. Our new 120 amp beauties (installed in Albany) only jut fit in their metal holders and they are wretchedly heavy and awkward to get out.

But out it came and sure enough the terminal connection was less than flash. I then discovered that the relevant fuse, fitted on the cable near the battery box, also had a fatal flaw....so in went a new one.

JV provided much valued assistance in restoring the battery connection to good health, so all that now remained on this side of the van was return all these wiry bits to their original position, make sure they were secure and return the battery to its box. "The bloody wiring is jammed behind the battery, John, I can't slide it home." "Well, keep fiddling" was the highly technical response. I did and eventually all was back firmly in place.

Now that we had ensured a good power supply, all that remained was to fit the new plug.....easy job Ha!

Suffice it to say, that we did manage this after several false starts with the most obstreperous pair of lead connectors ever devised, and very liberal daubs of silastic which I have since learnt not only provides a water tight seal, it also acts a surrogate glue. The final acid test with the magic multimeter (one of which I now have to buy)......joy....13.8 to 14.2 volts charging out of the plug, more than enough to keep the Waco happy. Job done (only four hours after commencement!)


I now felt happy that we were again ship-shape and ready for the road. Now all that remained for today (after my nap that is) was to honour an earlier promise to present our hosts with one of my old culinary specialities, Tourneados Chasseur.  We were carrying the fillet steak....it was only a matter of a quick trip to the shops and Dan Murphy (who carries Madeira as a matter of course, a vital ingredient) and I was set.


The van galley became a hive of concentration and activity. Very finely sliced shallots can be tricky, and it had been so long since I had made this dish I had to consult my eons old cookbook frequently.










But all was soon prepared and the various ingredients were transferred to the home kitchen where I was noted to be strangely silent as the base layer of crisp fried bread was cooked off, the steaks seared to medium rare and the sauce based on mushrooms, shallots, tomato paste and Madeira was mixed, cajoled into life and thickened.







The moment of truth had arrived as the sauce was spooned over the waiting steaks.

I was as nervous as a young bride as I tabled the plates.

No need.  Delicious (phew). And a bit of left over chook for Liz (who really doesn't know what she is missing with her red meat aversion!)

But now let's move on from the table and take in a bit more of the local scenery, this time at nearby Mornington, where Liz and I checked out the beachfront area and the marina. The beaches at this end of the peninsula tend to be a series of sandy coves between rocky headlands. Mornington beach is no exception, as you can see.

From the pathway above the beach we stopped to look out over the marina and the pier (remember, no jetties here) 

before making our way down to sea level and past the extensive refurbishment work which was being carried out at the shore end of the pier.

Nestled alongside was a lovely looking old wooden charter boat which was just gleaming in the sun with its obviously newly applied coat of paint.

As we walked further out along the pier we could see an array of that Victorian oddity, the beach hut, lining the beach. You may recall I had commented on the bland colours of those at Portsea.....well here is an example of the real thing.

It appears that all who spend the megabucks it takes (remember $2-300,000 each!) also feel that that they have to compete in the colouring competition which is an essential component of responsible ownership.

It seems that the one rule is 'the more garish the better', and we did have to admit there is a certain charm in the colour provided by these massed little shacks.

These are not the only expensive bits of kit here at the Mornington seafront. The same applies to the meals offered at this waterfront restaurant. We tarried just long enough as we walked past to see that an utterly standard and unremarkable plate of fish and chips carried a price tag of $33.00 (this is not a misprint!). And I won't even start in on the drinks prices. 

Needless to say, the Marshies wandered on by rejoicing in the recollection of our fine home seafood feasts and the fact that Chez Vogt was a BYO establishment with no corkage.

We did extend this day's wander to the main commercial street of Mornington where, apart from all the excellent shops, we fluked upon the weekly street market, where the stalls were of high quality as were most of the goods and produce on offer. Sadly, as I was about to record this jaunt with my trusty camera, it betrayed my trust.....the battery died and 'Mr Technology' had to weather the scornful comments about preparedness delivered by my travelling companion. Served me right.

I did not suffer the same fate a few days later when our ever accommodating hosts took us on a day trip to the famous Dandenongs, about an hour and a half drive (depending on the traffic) from Secrets Way.

It was not hard to see why these ranges, so close to the city of Melbourne, are as popular as they are.  Let me give you one brief example. After cruising through several charming little towns, John pulled off into the car park opposite the Alfred Nicholas gardens with the advocation that these were well worth seeing.

At the risk of being accused of literary sloth, I must acknowledge that the following comes the official Dandenong Ranges visitor website. "No point in having a dog and barking yourself", as the old saying goes.

"Situated on the gorgeous Sherbrooke Road in the Dandenong Ranges, the Burnham Beeches Estate is home to the stunning and highly regarded Alfred Nicholas Gardens.

Synonymous with the Dandenong Ranges, The Alfred Nicholas Gardens are known for their picturesque waterfalls, water features and its iconic ornamental lake and boathouse.

Alfred Nicholas and his brother George developed the Aspro painkiller formula, becoming the first person to officially patent the formula after it was lost from general use after the First World War. He purchased the land in 1929 and proceeded to purchase subsequent land around it, extending the size of the property to 13 acres. The Burnham Beeches Estate is an Art Deco masterpiece, designed for Nicholas in the early thirties, and is somewhat likened to the lines of an ocean liner.

[This photo, circa 1947, (courtesy of Wikipedia) shows just what they mean]

Nicholas traveled to many parts of Victoria and overseas to look for established trees to populate his gardens, designing it with a lake, rock pools, and ornamental designs. He hired an expert gardener to help with the creation of his prized garden.

The gardens were not finished before his death in 1937, although the majority of the planting had been finished. This then left his widow alone to look after the property, resulting in the garden falling into a state of deterioration.

The property has a long history of patronage and has gone through many phases and changes of ownership, including being a hotel, a Children’s Hospital in the early 1940s, a research facility in the 1950s, with new extensions added to it in both the 1950s and 1980s.

After the property fell into a state of disrepair and became unused from the early 1990s, the Estate was purchased in 2010 to be upgraded and refurbished to modern standards.

The gardens itself are now owned and operated by Parks Victoria. Significant restorations were undertaken in the late 1990s, transforming and recreating the spectacular location that has become the Alfred Nicholas gardens that we know today."

At the risk of being facetious, may I venture that there is a  moral to this tale.....there has always been money in drugs!  Joking aside, the use of the resources at his disposal to create this magnificent garden stands as a testament to the character, determination and foresight of our friend Alfred Nicholas. He leaves a fine legacy.

What a story and what a garden, the botanic delights of which opened up to us from the minute we walked through the large, ornate entrance gates.

There are myriads of different routes to be taken here, and many varied botanical outlooks. We were on a trek to the famous lake in the valley at the bottom of the garden, down a rather steep and challenging pathway (for those of advancing years!) which meandered past lush ferns,

and still blooming hydrangeas.

The ruler straight trunks of majestic Mountain Ash towered above us (apart from one which had come to grief) as can be seen here 

forming a backdrop to this quaint little rotunda with its attendant statues.

After many minutes of descent, we were finally rewarded. This is a place of utter charm and tranquillity.

The entirely engineered system feeds water from above the lake down the little waterfall which can be seen here behind one of the many small wooden bridges which span various arms of the lake.

This shot, looking across one of the ponds to the old boat house in the distance, is reputed to be the scene most photographed in the entire Dandenongs. It probably comes as no surprise to learn that this is the venue for many weddings and other very special celebrations.

That being the case, logistics demand that there has to be a more accessible route to the lakeside than the somewhat tortuous path we had followed to get here. Fortunately we found it....our hoof out of the gardens was much less arduous. "I'm right behind you, Rhonda!".

This had been an enchanting encounter, but it was now time for lunch. We pushed on from Sherbooke to the town of Olinda, where, eschewing the plethora of cafes, restaurants and pubs in the main street, we tucked in behind the local oval

and set up our lunch time camp under the shade of some of the massive trees which abound in this area (I know, you've sussed me out....the lack of description means I'm not exactly sure what these are, but I think they are giant Mountain Ash).  

When visiting the Valley of the Giants in southern WA, we had learnt to our surprise that the huge Karri trees of that area were not the largest trees on the continent. The Mountain Ash claims that title, and having now seen examples of them I need no further convincing.

With the picnic table laid we were hoeing into a fine scran of fresh rolls, chicken and Rhonda's (deservedly) renowned coleslaw,

when we were joined for luncheon by a couple of the locals. These cheeky Kookaburras were obviously used to sharing their patch with visitors. At one stage I had to shoo one of them off the table. 

If you look closely at the bird on the right of shot, you will see he has purloined a discarded drumstick bone. Believe it or not, after giving this a huge whacking on the plank on which he was squatting, and considerable juggling to get it straight, he swallowed it whole. No wonder mere bush reptiles doesn't stand a chance when the large and powerful beaks of these determined feathered carnivores are fastened onto them.

Before we left this delightful picnic spot (which we just happened upon), I had to record this sign I saw on the netball courts fence. Just how do the likely lads of the Olinda football team usually train, I wondered.....or is the charm and appeal of the local lasses hard at work on the courts just too much for some?  Or are they really thick? Who knows...but whatever the reason which prompted the need for this sign, I still chuckle when I look at it.

From Olinda we completed a circuit of some wonderful Dandenong scenery before again taking on the homeward challenge of mid afternoon Melbourne traffic.  It had been a wonderful day.  How would I describe the Dandenongs in a nutshell....like the Adelaide Hills on steroids!

Let me complete these few shared missives of our two weeks at Mount Martha with a return to that subject so dear to our collective hearts, food.

Apart from the more demanding culinary challenges on which we embarked, the good old BBQ featured frequently. Fillet steak kebabs one night,

chicken snags and BBQ corn another. Neither of these fine meals could have been cooked without the expert encouragement of the 'culinary unemployed', hanging off the patio post offering all sorts of encouragement to the 'tongsman'.

And then it was Rhonda's turn again. She turned out what Liz and I both agree is the best 'chicken parmy' we have ever eaten, and believe me that is a big number. Her secret.....superb, huge chicken thighs sourced from a distant supplier, crumbed, initially fried quickly, then baked in the oven. They were real winners....there was absolutely no need for the usual chips.

Liz pitched in with one of her stunningly good trifles, a dish from which just one serving is never enough,

and Chef Pierre's Italian cousin was brought out of retirement on one occasion to knock up a pizza or two (or four).

I could not believe just how much better a result emerges from a really good oven, as opposed to the functional, but oft struggling (for heat that is), equipment in the van. I was delighted with the outcome.

The piece de resistance of this festive food fair (fare?!) graced the dining table on the day before our departure. Rhonda served up an old fashioned Sunday roast.....pork and chicken roasted to perfection with all the trimmings. We were joined by their son Andrew and his family for what was a memorable finale to our stay. Liz and I had sourced a fine Coonawarra red for the occasion. Mr Riddoch played his part admirably.

And what do old men do after a fine, long Sunday lunch? Repair to the shed of course, for a few cleansing ales and a spot of 'ornament admiration', the down market version of retiring to the smoking room!

What a most marvellous fortnight we had enjoyed. But we cannot depart without sharing this with you (quirky to the end). The neighbours must be into 'oneupmanship'. An MGB on a trailer....that's nothing!

We can only assume that this helicopter was en route to the nearby Tyabb airshow which was due to commence the following day. If not, we are still guessing.

Well, dear readers, I did warn at the outset that the Mount Martha series would be somewhat self-indulgent.  As you may have gathered, we left Secrets Way to make our way up into the high country of north-east Victoria with heavy hearts and boundless thanks to the Vogts for their unstinting hospitality, coupled with a determination to begin work on some form of bodily restoration. Restraint and exercise became the catch cry.  We shall see!