Before we did so, however, a quick side trip to the nearby Tannum Sands was in order, primarily to check out a seaside destination about which we had heard many good things. Up until this year, the only caravan park in the area did not welcome our furry travelling companion, but this had now changed. It was time to check it out.
Our short trip of 15 kms or so took us over the wide reaches of the Boyne River and on through the Boyne Island suburbia
until we finally parked our loan ute on the Esplanade at Tannum Sands.
This was to be a short stroll only, along the Esplanade to fulfil the duel objectives of today's mission....check out the beach and the caravan park for future reference.
The linear park along the Tannum Sands esplanade was a delight and is a significant feature of this spot. Lawn, trees, shrubs, all well set out and maintained made a ramble along here a pleasure.
And there were to be two unexpected highlights, initially inanimate. The Queensland artist Christopher Potter specialises in transforming old pieces of machinery into extraordinary art works. This New Holland seahorse is a fine example of his craft. Every component part of this incredible 'mosaic'(?) was sourced from machinery used in local industry.
And for the technically minded, it even comes with a guide to the various parts and their source. What imagination and technical skill this chap has.
But for us at least, it soon got even better. Regular readers will know that whilst Liz and I are not what one would call dedicated 'twitchers', we are very fond of spying and identifying different birds, especially those which are not to be found in everyone's back garden.
We were initially alerted by a series of piercing 'peeping' calls. And there he was, a magnificent Red-tailed Black Cockatoo perched in all his glory astride a branch in one of the coastal trees. The calls suggested that he was not alone, and sure enough, his female companion was not too far away. (although not in a position for a photo)
As we stood staring in silent admiration, this cockatoo colossus put on a real show for us. A full helmet display no less. Well, just who is a pretty boy then?
This most unexpected encounter with one of Australia's most magnificent birds was the undoubted high point of our seaside stroll, but we still had a bit more to do as we continued further south along the waking path.
It was time to check out the beach. Now at this point I must explain that Tannum Sands does bear a real reputation amongst many in the grey nomad fraternity for the quality of its beach. We are dedicated sceptics when the sandy strips of North and Far North Queensland are concerned.
We took advantage of the boardwalk to the beach leading from the surprisingly large Tannum Sands Surf Lifesaving Clubhouse,
to see just what the 'sands of Tannum' had to offer. This is a shot looking north towards the port infrastructure of Gladstone
and here we have the view in the opposite direction. The sand here is course and quite yellow, a shifting bar not too far off shore is an obvious constant and rocky outcrops abound.
We took advantage of the boardwalk to the beach leading from the surprisingly large Tannum Sands Surf Lifesaving Clubhouse,
to see just what the 'sands of Tannum' had to offer. This is a shot looking north towards the port infrastructure of Gladstone
and here we have the view in the opposite direction. The sand here is course and quite yellow, a shifting bar not too far off shore is an obvious constant and rocky outcrops abound.
We were less than impressed, and as we walked even further through the park
past yet another interesting piece of public art
we eventually came to the mouth of what turned out to be a local tidal creek, one of many which snake their way through the seemingly endless mangrove flats of this part of the coast. This did appear to have quite some promise as a spot from which to cast a line, but we were also only too aware that this topography screamed 'midges'!
With all this under our exploratory belts we did continue on to the caravan park some few hundred metres distant where the most welcoming staff were more than happy to allow us an inspection. And yes, they are now pet friendly, but, consistent with the trends in many parks, only on certain sites, and frankly, whilst the park in general had real appeal, none of the pet friendly sites did the same.
So, with what we consider to be a marginal beach at best and a caravan park which did not suit our needs, Tannum Sands now lies firmly on our 'been there, won't be doing that' list.
With that adventure of mixed fortune out of the way and the Cruiser now at its operational best again, it was indeed time to hit the road again, back onto 'The Bruce' once more in the early morning light for the beginning of what was to be a long day (in more ways than one).
Just over 650 kms separate Gladstone from Bowen. This was clearly way too far for one day. We had originally planned a three night layover in the sugar town of Sarina, some 200 kms south of Bowen, but our schedule now demanded that this go by the wayside. Bookings in Bowen at this time of the year were becoming increasingly tight, and we did not want to chance our arm by delaying our pre-booked arrival by more than one day.
What to do became the question. Make the most of the situation was the response. Whilst spending time at Cape Palmerston last year, we had been alerted to the excellence of the 'baked dinners' (the Eastern States description of what we know as a roast) to be had at the pub in the tiny highway town of Koumala, some 25 kms south of Sarina.
We have driven through this town of many occasions and the quirky appearance of the pub, complete with croc, had been noted. We had also checked out the small but very adequate looking caravan park in the nearby backstreet. It was time to give Koumala a closer look and enjoy a fine meal (almost).
After nine days in the one spot (no matter how interesting it had been) we were more than happy to be punching north again, just as one of the huge coal trains from the Blackwater basin was tootling down the track in the opposite direction towards the port we had just left.
Today's haul was long by our standards, 400 kms, but the time did pass surprisingly quickly. This was all highway old hat to us. The commuter traffic of 'Rocky' was as frenetic as usual,
and we were pleased to see that large town behind us. Just over a hundred to run.
In no time at all we were back in cane country once more,
and passing the highway turn-off which we had taken this time last year to make our way out to the coast at Cape Palmerston.
Our destination was indeed nigh, or one aspect of it at least.
Our earlier telephone booking enquiry at the Koumala Caravan Park had been met with a slightly surprised response....."come on up , dear, you'll have no trouble getting in".
As we made our way along the Koumala backstreet
through the slightly challenging narrow park entrance
and came to a halt at the 'park office' our host's response took on more meaning.
With the exception of one other long term patron and the caravan of the park managers, we had the place to ourselves.
We thought this something of a shame. This is a lovely park, small, but accommodating. We were directed to a site almost on top of the heads, where we were soon settled, well almost.
Before I regale you with a traveller's tale which you may find hard to believe, a quick note about the park amenities here.....in a word 'excellent'. Functional, spotlessly clean and more than adequate.
You may have noticed that we had unhitched, something I avoid if possible when merely over-nighting. Indeed, on arrival here that had been the original plan until nature intervened in the most unexpected and unpleasant manner.
It came in the form of an insect which for some unknown reason decided to take up residence in my right ear......that's right folks, as far in as it could scurry, all the way down my outer ear canal until it could go no further.
And if that were not bad enough, the real fun was about to begin. Not content with its oringinal invasion of my very personal space, this wretched little beast decided to perform a tap dance hard against the sensitive surface of my tympanic membrane.
Now, for any of you who have suffered the discomfort of water lodged in an ear after a swim, with its all the associated crackling and sloshing magnified to the 'enth', I ask you to multiply that in spades. Discomfort and a dose of controlled concern (nup, let's be honest...mild panic) does not even begin to cover it!
No amount of emergency action would dislodge this lodger. Ear flushes, gentle manipulation of a cotton bud, sideways head shaking all amounted to nought. And the dance continued unabated. Wild, subjective and exaggerated visions of what might have been going on in this most sensitive part of my anatomy grew with each gyration. Could this invasive insect have decided that the warm, moist seclusion of Marshie's wax beds were just the thing to use as an incubator for its young? Memories of lurid invasive insect tales of the tabloids surfaced unannounced.....and lingered despite the rapid and vigorous application of the bright light of logic. What unspeakable bastardry could this little wretch be up to in there?
More drastic action was called for. "Are you familiar with the Sarina Hospital?", was the concerned question from mine host. "Indeed we are....Lizzie was admitted there about this time last year". It was time to unhitch and head off. Just what I needed after a very long day on the road.
Where are lights and sirens when they are required? Notwithstanding this lack of equipment on our trusty Cruiser, Liz did a fine job in covering the distance to the Emergency entrance of the Sarina Hospital in record time. Our local knowledge was more than handy. The staff on duty were equally quick to whip me onto a bed and get to work.....for all of ten seconds!
The bright investigative light of an auriscope had merely begun to illuminate the dark recesses of my ear canal when there was movement on the farm. The light of day was all too much for my unwelcome guest.....the damn thing scurried out as if stung in the bum.
As it emerged to a fate of immediate and gleeful destruction we did take the time for a species identification before it was squashed beyond all recognition.
And if I tell you that at this point we all lost it, the nursing staff, Liz, your long suffering scribe and the admitting clerical officer included, you may gain some inkling as to what my uninvited guest was.....AN EARWIG!! This was almost too much, even for us seasoned collectors of coincidences and the quirks of the road. And no wonder its dance steps in my inner ear had been so intrusive....these little buggers have sets of legs which go on forever.
The wielder of the light then told us that, despite the fact that we might have found this entire experience to be somewhat off the wall, presentations in Emergency such as mine had been were not altogether uncommon. More importantly, we learnt we could manage any future incidence (heaven forbid) in situ. These bugs will always make their way towards a light. A small torch will do the trick every time. Ah, the benefit of hindsight!
Our return to Koumala was a far happier affair. An evening in the pub was just what the doctor would have ordered, had we seen one!
Standing astride the highway,
together with the Community Hall and a general store which is the sum total of 'commercial Koumala',
this is a country pub of some character, both in style and decoration, inside and out.
The large reptile apparently hanging from the upper balcony balustrade, serves to remind all and sundry that in the streams and rivers of this part of the country the croc is king.
As we made our expectant approach to this seriously good outback Aussie pub, our hearts quailed a little.....this was not a good sign to see when our very presence here had been driven by the quest for the famous Koumala Pub Baked Dinner.
But after the afternoon I'd had, a pint or two was equally important. We pressed on to find that the interior of this highway hotel was all that we had expected. The bar was a clutter of local trophies ranging from pigs' heads to various creatures of the sea
and a clutch of locals was gathered in a cheerfully noisy congregation at the far end of the service area.
Koumala revolves around sugar. The majority of its residents are involved in the industry in one way or another. Many work at the large mill in Sarina. We were a little sorry that our schedule would not allow us to be part of this local knees up. From what we saw in the pub, this promised to be a real hoot, and we knew from previous experience that once the cut began, there would be precious little time for fun and games.
For us it was a case of make the most of it whilst we were here. After a couple of pre-dinner drinks with the troops we wandered through the rest of the pub, past the pool room
to check out our dining room options. These surprisingly ranged from faux formal
through slightly less formal
to al fresco. All was spotlessly clean and neat. So far so good.
On a balmy North Queensland evening outside dining is the only real option. We chose a table and sat down, menus in hand. And then the hammer blow......the baked dinners were off the menu. The harbinger which had been the 'cook wanted' sign at the front of the pub had proven to be true.
But all was not lost. I decided on a less than exotic, but very 'Queensland' crumbed steak......a beef schnitzel anywhere else in Australia, whilst Liz's eyes lit up when she saw the specials board advertising wild caught barramundi.
I nearly followed suit but remained true to my principle that I only ever order this delicacy once in Far North Queensland or the Northern Territory, where the claim 'wild caught' is far more likely to be true.
More fool me! Whilst I did enjoy my 'substitute roast'
I can only describe Liz's reaction to her generous serving of fine fish by emulating that prince of piscatorial presentations, Rick Steyn, when he finishes each cooking section with an shot of an empty plate as evidence of success.
Snap! Liz waxed lyrical (and smug) about her choice for days to come. For the first time in our entire lives together her plate was not surreptitiously thrust in my direction for a cleaning job. She did deign to present me with the tiniest morsel as evidence of her wisdom of choice....and she was right. This was the most succulent and perfectly cooked barra I had tasted since our night at the Daly Waters Pub.
After the application of a few more 'post operative anaesthetics' we wandered back to our park with my thoughts directed towards one question. Why was it so that the culinary champion responsible for such fabulous fish could not extend him or herself to a baked dinner? We shall never know, but a return visit to Koumala is most definitely now on the cards......wearing ear plugs!!!
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