ANOTHER RIVER RESTING SPOT - MARVELLOUS MOOROOK (8 OCTOBER 2016)

After our wonderful stay in Wentworth it was time to make our last state border crossing for some time. Today's 200 kilometre leg would finally take us back into South Australia and to an overnight stay at one of our favourite places on the River Murray......the river side camp site at Moorook.

Moorook.....where the hell is Moorook I hear you ask.....and more to the point, why there? Let me answer the second question first. Before we began our life on the road in our 'landship', Liz and I spent many weeks stooging up and down the River Murray in houseboats of varying types and sizes. Indeed, with the exception of a very short stretch, we have navigated the Murray from the NWS-Vic border to the lower lakes....the entire length of the river in SA. Of all the craft in which we have plied our way up and down stream, our favourite was 'Kloe', lovely little boat which was moored at Moorook. We have taken her out on three occasions, each of two weeks. I could now navigate the reaches and bends of the river between Waikerie and Loxton, in particular, in my sleep.  

So for us, a return to Moorook was something of a pilgrimage where old and extremely frond memories would be rekindled and we could again enjoy this section of the Murray, but this time from an entirely different perspective.

And now to answer the first part of the question....where on earth is this tiny river town? Let me once again rely on my old friend Google Earth for the answer. As you can see

Moorook lies between Waikerie and Loxton (the town of Kingston-on-Murray is actually between Moorook and Waikerie but does not show up on this photo) on a section of the river which sweeps south from Berri before looping back north again, and as you will soon see, there is not a lot to the town itself.

So, this is our destination for today. We hauled out of Wentworth at first light and made our way back onto the Sturt Highway, gratefully by-passing the traffic and congestion of Mildura. This section of the blacktop, across through the Yamba fruit-fly roadblock, and on into Paringa, Renmark and beyond is old hat.....so let's not dwell on that......

Fast forward to late morning, and here we are.  

Odd as it may sound given all we have since seen and done, as we made our way along the Kingston-Loxton Road 

towards the town's general store and the camp site entrance opposite, we were really quite excited....this really is a place of very fond memories.

The camp ground here is genuine river frontage. BBQ's, a kiddies playground, river side seating....it's all here.

Our only disappointment stemmed from the fact that the pristine grass and level sites of the far end of the park, which we had targeted in our minds' eyes, was out of bounds. Whilst those who had arrived a few days before us were happily ensconced, and permitted to remain, a pending event at this end of the park had seen the local authorities rope it off just prior to our arrival to ensure that there was no unnecessary wear and tear.

Bugger! Ah, well, as I have so often commented, caravan and compromise both start with the letter 'C'!  So it was the other end for us, but I did manage to find a spot where (with a bit of effort) I could level the van, we had a source of 240 volt power,

and good grass on at least one side. For the princely sum of $17 per night for a powered site (deposited in an envelope in the 'honesty' box at the park entrance) we had wonderful river views across to Moorook Island.

Let me again provide some perspective with grateful thanks to good old Google Earth. Our camp site here shows as the patch of green just north of the small strip of white on the bank almost opposite the bottom end of of Moorook Island. Just upstream of the end of the 

island (the bottom end in the photo), the water course on the left hand side of the protruding finger of land is a 'dead-end'. It feeds the nearby Yatco Lagoon (in good years!), whilst the main river channel is that which can be seen to the right of this point. This stretch can be a bit of a trap for young players in houseboats as they make their way upstream, but for us it was very familiar territory.

So after set-up and a spot of lunch, we spent a delightful hour or so in the afternoon sun basking in both its warmth and the views.

But it was not all sloth...we did later wander down the main street, past one of its old homes to the Moorook Club, which you can just see in the distance (about 400 metres in reality). After a chat with the locals and a couple of obligatory pints,

it was time to meander back to our little idyll, past the old Moorook Hall, a building typical of its era in both design and construction (the use of the local stone is a hallmark of many of these river town buildings).

Once 'home', 'Chef Pierre' put the local public BBQ to good use  

whilst herself was quick to occupy a riverside bench where I soon joined her for a late afternoon libation (or two).

As we happily gazed across the upstream end of Moorook Island and the fork in the main channel, we we in for another visual treat,

as the wonderfully restored and fully operational PS Marion ponderously paddled past to soon disappear down the channel behind the island.

With ducks winging their way across the calm waters of the late afternoon












and a couple of plodding pelicans poking around the BBQ area, all was at peace.








The silence was only shattered briefly by the cough and splutter of the small outboard motor propelling two local fishermen back to the Moorook boat ramp.  As they retrieved their small

craft, these two pelicans were quick to flap upstream to inspect the catch, ever hopeful as they are of a tasty morsel or two.

With the shadow line of the trees of Moorook Island quickly advancing across the mirror surface of the river, it was time to repair indoors for the evening meal and an early night.  What a delight it had been to be 'back on the river' again here at Moorook, even if our current mode of transport was landlocked.







Our return to Adelaide was imminent. In our house boating days our regular practice was to be away by first light if we were moving......old habits die hard. As the rising sun washed the eastern clouds with pink











and the resident pelicans began their morning river patrol













we were on our way. 







Our regret at having to leave was tempered to some degree by the forecast......very strong winds and storms were on the horizon.....it was time to get much nearer to Adelaide and tuck up. 

AN UPDATE AND THEN A WENTWORTH WADDLE AND AN OLD MATE (7 OCTOBER 2016)

For those of you who use this medium to keep up with our travels, let me post a quick update in real time (26 April 2017)

We are currently sitting in a rather wet Toowoomba having spent a marvellous Anzac Day here yesterday.  Tomorrow we shall be making our way down to southern end of the Gold Coast. This is something of a departure from our original plans, occasioned by the fact that I am keen to have the van assessed and possibly modified to allow us to update our compliance plate and legally carry what we must.

Initially we had planned to have this work done by a chappie in Gympie, but unfortunately, in its infinite wisdom, the Queensland Dept of Transport has just removed his accreditation on the basis of the fact that he does not hold a formal engineering degree (despite the fact he has been satisfactorily carrying out this work for the past twenty years)......and it gets better. When I asked if he has a list of those now approved, wait for it.......there isn't one!  The powers that be have not thought to provide this....don't you just love bureaucracies!!!! 

After a number of enquiries, we finally located a fellow at Currumbin Waters who does this sort of thing, hence the detour. At this stage we have booked for four nights at the nearby Kirra Beach park, with the possibility of extending if the work is delayed. Time will tell, as they say.

From there it will be post haste to Woodgate Beach for a couple weeks (between Hervey Bay and Bundaberg) and thence north via Gladstone (truck service), a few free camps and on to Bowen for at least a week (all things being equal....or more to the point providing the clean-up after cyclone Debbie has been done) before we scuttle north to Forrest Beach and thence on to Kurrimine Beach.

So with that out of the way, let's return to Wentworth and our town ramble. With the river junction visited we headed this time in the opposite direction out of our park, still on the same levee bank to start with.

The 'Port of Wentworth', or more to the point, the modern version of what was a huge river port, was in our sights.

Here a couple of very large houseboats (one of which is the local cruise boat)

are moored alongside a vessel of a very different style.....this delightful looking river cruiser proudly flying the unique 'inland rivers' flag from a short, upper stern mast.

The wharf here is also home to a real reminder of times gone by......the PS Ruby

a beautifully restored old paddle steamer, which we could see in all its glory as we later walked across the road bridge downstream of the port area.

It was whilst wandering around here that we came across this rather odd looking statue.

Now I use the term 'odd' in its kindest sense.....why on earth would the town fathers have erected this memorial to a chap of clearly oriental origin? For a very good reason.....and what a story. I'll let the 'Wentworth Murray River Region' website take up the story which I've reproduced in full. It is so interesting (author's comment!) that I just couldn't decide what to edit. Apart from anything else, this extraordinary man has a real connection with South Australia, so I've become just a little parochial!

"John Egge (c. 1830-1901), a Chinese riverboat captain was Born in Shanghai, China, and came to Australia in 1852 in the boat, Queen of Sheba, owned by Francis Cadell. When Cadell opened the Murray River trade with paddle steamers, John (on the books as “John Bull”), served as the cook in each new ship Cadell launched. In 1856 he assumed by deed poll his Scandinavian surname. Whilst establishing a piggery on Hindmarsh Island in Lake Alexandrina, South Australia, he met an English girl, Mary Perring, whom he courted by swimming the river to visit her, his clothes piled on his head.

John and Mary married on 8 April 1857 at St Jude’s Church of England, Port Elliott, and together had eleven children. [no tellie in those days!!] In 1859 the couple worked their passages up the Murray to Wentworth, where they set up a business hawking pies and pasties which they baked in camp ovens. By 1863 they owned a bakery and butchery, were general dealers and kept a boarding-house to cater for the many single men in the area. 

About 1867, Egge chartered the Teviot to trade on the river as a floating shop. Next he chartered the Moria to carry cargo and in 1868, he bought the Endeavour to ply the upper Murray between Echuca and Albury.

By the 1870’s, Egge was one of the biggest traders on the river, operating from his large store near the wharf at Wentworth. He was said to pay up to £1000 a month in customs duties. The Murrumbidgee was his most elaborate boat, fitted with polished counters and mahogany showcases. For years he advocated Federation, foreseeing that it would end the poll tax he repeatedly had to pay when he berthed his boat in the different colonies, through which the Darling and Murray rivers flowed. (Egge became a naturalised British subject in 1868). One flamboyant exhibition increased his reputation; during a particularly high flood, he brought the Prince Alfred out of the river and floated it down the main street of Wentworth.

Wentworth’s citizens presented Egge with a testimonial and a gold ring set with diamonds when the family left in 1888 to live in Adelaide for a time, where their children went to school. Often in court suing or being sued for non-payment of bills, Egge put a value on apologies: “I’m ten pounds sorry”, he would say. “How sorry are you?” 

He was generous to religious and social groups, making his boats freely available for dances and river picnics. Many a hard-up shed hand or station hand got a free ride. During the shearing strike of 1891, angry mobs held up riverboats that tried to carry strikebreakers, but picketing shearers cheered his boats from bend to bend.

The drought of the 1890’s forced him to cease operation on the river. Egge died at Wentworth on 11 September 1901 and was buried with Wesleyan rites in the local cemetery. Four sons and three daughters survived him. In the “White Australia” of the first half of the twentieth century, his family conveniently lost knowledge of him as a Chinese. That would not have upset him, as he always maintained that he was not an alien. In the 1970’s, however, his descendants rediscovered his true character.

To commemorate Australia’s bicentennial, a huge tapestry was presented to the Chinese people and now hangs in the Great Hall in Beijing. The only name and place mentioned on the huge tapestry is Captain John Egge at Wentworth New South Wales..........."

So now you know why the statue of an 'oriental gentleman' graces the wharf of the modern Port of Wentworth.

Still marvelling at this incredible story, we toddled off across the river bridge to take in the offerings at the nearby Fotherby Park. As we crossed the Darling, the phenomenon to which I briefly referred in my last became all too apparent.

You may recall I had noted that the waters of the Darling are a chocolate brown, whilst those of the Murray are (comparatively) much clearer. Here is a clear (forgive the pun....or not) example of both that and the relative powers of both watercourses.

This extraordinary photo, which includes the river frontage of the Wentworth Club (more shortly), shows the water of the River Murray forcing its way upstream from the junction, shouldering the muddier flow of the Darling to both sides of a central channel. We could hardly believe our eyes.....and at this point the cause was but a guess on my part. I was pleased to later learn at the Information Centre that my surmise had been correct, although I still marvel at the power required to make this happen.......The Mighty Murray indeed!  

In Fotherby Park on the far bank of the Darling,

we came across another local identity immortalised in bronze.

'Possum', aka David James Jones (1901 - 1982).....or should that really be the other way around......was described on the plaque accompanying his statue as "a will-o-the wisp nomadic recluse who lived for 54 years in the bushland downstream of Wentworth"

Unfortunately the hole you can see in the stump in front of Liz is where the device which would regale travellers with Possum's life story had been the subject of mindless vandalism. Again I must expressed my indebtedness to the Wentworth Murray River website, from which I shall again quote:

"Born David James Jones, (Jimmy), on April 19, 1901, in Ruapuna, New Zealand, he migrated to Australia in 1924 and worked as a shearer for the Stock Owners Association.

Possum became a recluse during the great depression, (1929), after having his money stolen from a boarding house he was staying in. He declared himself unfinancial when couldn’t pay his Australian Workers Union Ticket and therefore was retrenched as a shearer. Disillusioned and disappointed, he turned his back on society and relegated himself to the bush.

Possum was widely known around the Wentworth area. For over half a century he roamed the surrounding bush, having numerous camping spots along the Murray and Darling Rivers. He lived in isolation, preferring his beloved bush and the company of animals, to any human contact. He was renowned for his independence and the long distances he travelled by foot in relative short periods of times. He was often seen climbing trees in search of honey and sleeping in tree ‘hides’; these habits led locals to refer to him as “The Possum”.

Possum was a shy, gentle person who didn’t do any harm. He always kept himself clean and fit and his pride would not allow him to accept food or shelter. Station owners often found fences and gates mended, wood chopped, sheep crutched, weeds cleared and newspapers missing (although always put back a few days later!). The only payment he ever accepted was for salt and matches. He was well trusted, although if no-one was about, he also habitually released station dogs which were chained up.

Possum died at the age of 82. His body was found against a large gum tree on the Victorian side of the Murray River, just up from Lock 8, on August 4, 1982. It is believed that he had been dead for at least four weeks. A funeral was held, paid for by locals, and was attended by over 250 people, including local and national media. He lays at rest at the Wangumma Cemetery. His headstone simply reads: “David James Jones ‘Possum’ 1901-1982 – at rest where he roamed”.

A book titled “A Man Called Possum” was written by Max Jones of Renmark. Max Jones, an ex-detective, was one of the few people who spoke briefly with Possum from time to time. “A Man Called Possum” has had ten reprints but is currently out of print.'

And guess what, dear readers........I knew Max Jones personally....another SA connection with what we were seeing here in Wentworth!

Here at Fotherby Park we came across another example of the public recognition in Wentworth of the Ferguson Tractor. It was high time to find out exactly what this was all about. 

The plaque at the base of this 'monument' gave us the answer.  

So there you have it. The tractors which saved a town (with considerable human help!). Riddle solved.

This park is also the home of McClymont House, a fine example of the pine 'drop log' style of construction. This building housed the town's first Court House before it became the private residence of, believe it or not, one Andrew McClymont. No prizes for guessing that!










As you can see from this photo, the name 'drop log' is more than apt to describe the building method employed.

An almost obligatory display of old machinery can be found next to the house,












with more modern odds and ends associated with levee construction or water management dotted about the rest of the park.












On our return across the bridge, the view over the wharf area and the PS Ruby showed just how close our caravan park was to the town CBD and points of interest.















And one of these was the Wentworth Services Club the largest building by far in the town, and before the introduction of poker machines into South Australia, the destination for many a 'weekend pokie tour' when busloads would flock to Wentworth to try their luck on the 'one arm bandits' as they were then known.







The name and reputation of the Wentworth Club was known far and wide. It represented the epitome of a cheap holiday, cheap accommodation, cheap meals, cheap liquor......all subsidised by the profits from the poker machines. And then, of course, the bottom fell out of it all.





With the ability to pour money down the insatiable throats of poker machines at home, trips to the Wentworth Club lost all their appeal. The result was as sad as it was inevitable. Weeds in the courtyard










gave a poignancy to this posted notice.
















On another door we found this profit and loss statement. The figures speak for themselves, but at what cost to the community in jobs and prestige we wondered? A sad result of factors which could not be controlled....or could they? 





With the changes to poker machine legislation in South Australia inevitable, this outcome must surely have been forecast, so is the demise of this once vibrant club a result of poor business judgement, inept management, or merely the inevitable result of 'social progress' in another State? Whatever the answer, we were both disappointed that we would not have the opportunity to see just what those who thronged here in days past had enjoyed. It had been one of the reasons for our visit. 






On the opposite side of Darling Street the town memorial to the fallen stands next to the old Wentworth Post Office.










Beyond these are the red brick buildings of the imposing Court House














and the far more modest Police Station.













Nestled between these and the Post Office is the low building which is home to the town's Visitor Information Centre, not something which would normally find its way onto a blog, 











but here in Wentworth this precinct presents more than we would have expected. The central mall was home to an eclectic display of local art. 















Some displays were what might well have been expected













whilst others were far more unusual like these dresses crafted by local high school students from local wool.










A marvellous country style sense of humour prevailed throughout.













These two examples of signs affixed to the gates onto local properties are classics.











How could one possibly not do the right thing in the face of these creative but pointed pleas.  DJ Hayes, "we doff our hats"!













Creativity of a completely different kind is to be found on the other side of Darling Street, right next to the imposing spire of the Anglican Church,













one of the renowned chef Stephanie Alexander's series of 'Kitchen Gardens',














plots created and maintained in various places all over the country to encourage healthy living and to educate youngsters in particular about the sources of good food.

From old Post Office we then wandered south along this tree lined section of Darling Street through what is the main Wentworth CBD.

A short stroll had us looking along the divided carriageway of Adelaide Street















where a right turn and a quick detour along this leafy glade













took us to the Wentworth Town Hall which did not do much to inspire us, but as they say, "you never, never know if you never ever go!"




But Adelaide Street did throw up two spots of interest, for entirely different reasons. Apart from the Junction and Fotherby Parks, Wentworth houses a number of smaller green, open spaces throughout the township, all of which seemed in very good order. 




Here, however, on the corner of Adelaide and Darling Streets, the local authorities had clearly let the side down, to the obvious ire of at least one resident who had expressed his or her dismay in a very public and obvious manner by naming the area 'Prickle Park'.











Never let it be said that a touch of public ridicule does not achieve anything.....this is the same spot the very next day....mission accomplished!!




On a far more serious note it was also in this area that we came across yet another memorial to the Ferguson Tractor, but there is a little more to this cairn than first meets the eye. 

The height to which this stone base raises the model tractor is precisely that which it has been calculated the 1956 floodwaters would have reached if it had not been for the rapid emergency construction of the protective levee banks around the town. A very watery bullet dodged indeed!




Let me conclude this whistle stop tour of Wentworth with a snippet of local art and a pub crawl. As we made our way back along past the Darling Street business premises we were taken by a couple of the footpath seats, this one obviously representing the old wharf, complete with its backing of a Murray River freshwater crayfish,





and its counterpart a little further along on the other side with its backboard of a fine freshwater fish. Its shape is interesting.....from my perspective almost halfway between that of a Murray Cod or the more plentiful Golden Perch, aka Yellowbelly or Callop. The jury is still out!

Almost back at our starting point of this morning's jaunt, with the entrance road to our park rising over the levee bank in the distance, we came across another fine example of local initiative outside the Artback Gallery and coffee house.











What we had firstly mistaken to be merely an oddly positioned old tree stump revealed much more on closer inspection....the gaping mouths and bodies of two Murray cod carved into the timber.  











In complete contrast, this metal offering adorns the gravel surrounds of the levee bank at this end of town (complete with yet another reminder of the debt owed to the redoubtable Ferguson tractor).







After what had been seriously good leg stretch it was time to repair home for lunch and your scribe's annoyingly necessary 'nanna nap' before we again ventured forth, this time on a totally different mission. It was time to 'do the Wentworth pubs'.

Now this does not demand a great effort.....there are but three of them and, like everything here, they are not far apart nor hard to reach on foot. What a boon!





We began our quest at the two storey Captain Sturt Hotel in Adams Street












before making our way back to Darling Street and the less imposing but finely functional Royal Hotel, and it was here that, as we breasted the bar, we had another of those extraordinary encounters which have become a feature of our life on the road.





Sitting at the bar was none other than an old CIB colleague of mine, a chap with whom I had shared a Squad Room for four years in the early 1970's. Barry now lives in Wentworth, and it is probably no surprise for you to read that the next hour or so was one through which Liz sat with exceptional patience as two old warriors (old farts??) of the forces of justice reminisced about the glory days in our battles against the dark side! 


Hunger, and the sense that my trusty co-pilot was at last becoming somewhat more than merely politely restive, saw 'The Saddler' and 'Meaty Bites' (long stories, both) bid each other a fond farewell and we repaired to the third of our target watering holes, The Crown, a comparatively modest hostelry a little further along Darling Street.





The meals here had been recommended, and I can gladly report that they did not disappoint. We did have an added incentive....the prospect of live music....something which always sucks us in,









but in this case I regret to say the visiting troubadours did nothing to encourage us to linger well into the evening.






This was, nevertheless, a fine ending to a marvellous two day visit to a river town which now sits firmly with Robinvale on our 'return visit' list. In our view Wentworth presents a far more relaxed and comfortable stopover point than its far larger, busier and noisier neighbour, Mildura, and will always remain our destination of choice when traversing this part of the country.