Before I take a quick break back in almost real time, l must not let the opportunity pass to wish all who follow our adventures (out of general boredom, a break from the drudge of the working day, or for what ever other reason) the Compliments of the Season and our Best Wishes for a safe, prosperous and happy 2019.
My 2019 resolution is simple....get out of Tassie!
As you have read, we complained about the cold in Tasmania from time to time.....never again! Let me tell you why, and share a few moments of our recent road trip to the Riverina district of New South Wales (and return).
A group of our very good Sydney based friends gather annually in Junee to celebrate New Year (I won't bore you with the long story as to why). We have not seen many of them for some time, and decided that this year we would join the party.
This was not our best decision as it turned out, not from the aspect of the fun and games, but the weather! I have to say that had we known just what we were in for we would have reneged, but as it was, despite the forecasts of an extended sizzler, we took off out of Adelaide as planned.
We had allowed three days for the trip across and after looking at all our options we decided to spend the first two nights at our old stamping grounds in Balranald where we knew that a recovery day after a drive of nearly 550 kms would be a very sound plan. In fact this was also something of a 'sentimental'...it replicated the first day of our adventures in our new Roma van in April 2012, although that particular day was far less planned, as some of you may remember.
We hauled out of Adelaide at 0700 hours in an attempt to beat some of the heat, but this did us little good.
Our allocated site at the Balranald park gave us a modicum of shade, but frankly no amount of overhead cover would have made much difference....the weather was, in the old parlance, a stinker. The thermometer was still hovering around a cheery 45 degrees when we arrived in the mid afternoon and did not go below the mid 20's overnight.
But we did have some social fun at least in the form of an utterly coincidental meeting with two old and good friends from the Glenelg Surf Club who just happened to pull in some time after us and recognised our van. Why were we not surprised?
Although we did manage a quick gallop around the town early the following morning, we spent the remainder of the day keeping our heads down in the relative comfort of our air conditioned cube as the sun pelted the park (and most of the southern part of the country) to raise the temperature to a modest 44 C!
Now the problem we have in these conditions is that our cooling system is such that at best it will maintain a guaranteed temperature of 10 degrees below ambient, so despite the unit banging away constantly on our roof, we were pretty warm, with little relief overnight. Poor old Max was not a happy caravan cat I can tell you, and we did much to keep him as comfortable as possible.
Hay, our next stop and another familiar camp, where we had booked what we knew was a very shady site (this has to be one of the best sites in the country), was little better, and let's face it, if the weather is cooking the country anywhere, it would be bound to be doing so in Hay! Again, despite the lovely overhead leaves, we sweltered through another mid forties day and an overnight temperature which did not dip below 28 degrees (and that's the real killer).
This time we thought we would be a touch smarter than previously.
"Let's leave as late as possible, enjoy the cool of the Cruiser cabin through the heat of mid-day (and I have to say our truck performed brilliantly throughout in what was its greatest towing challenge to date) and hopefully not have too long to wait after arrival for the cool of the evening".
Great plan! The first bit worked, but that's as far as it went. At least on our third day we were seeing some new country.
The last leg took us further east on the Sturt Highway to Naranderra, where we turned off onto the Newell Highway for a brief stint before heading 'cross country' for the last 80 kms or so where we passed through a series of small country towns, the first of which was the most oddly named little hamlet of Grong Grong.
Odd its name might be, but the Royal Hotel in Grong Grong, which began life as a staging post for horse drawn coaches, now continues that tradition by offering free accommodation behind the pub for those with mechanical horses (and caravans behind them).
They wryly note on their website that due to the drought they cannot offer chaff. We plan to return one day and take up the offer. With a sense of humour like that we suspect an evening in the Grong Grong Royal could be fun!
Some 30 kms or so further on along the locally named 'Canola Way' the wide and leafy streets of Ganmain welcomed our arrival.
We were more than taken by the charm of this lovely looking country town,
where the intersection at which we had to make a left turn featured the grand verandahs
of the equally grand looking local hotel. The sign pointing to Coolamon verified we were still on the right track,
and that milestone was not too far distant (and neither was Junee).
Like Ganmain, Coolamon is a clearly well found town, where wide streets and plenty of trees were a feature, and similarly,
it boasts an imposing looking pub with a good reputation for food (as was confirmed by two couples in our Junee group who escaped the heat of one day by toddling over here for lunch).
Junee was coming ever closer, but first we had to transit Marrar, a tiny little town
with a far less imposing pub, but before we scoff, check out the pile of kegs under the verandah. In a blow up of this shot, I counted over fifty. Unless there was a very late delivery to this watering hole, they are clearly doing something right. Either that, or this is the centre of the thirstiest lot of 'cockies' in the country!
And although Marrar was much smaller than some of its nearby counterparts, this street facade suggested that it has been here for quite some time.
In quick time the low hills and grazing lands of the southern Riverina were in front of us,
and almost before we knew it our windscreen was filled with a familiar landmark, the large Junee grain silos,
This was another well recognised sight, the cabins of the Junee Caravan Park, our proposed home for the next week, something which did not happen as it eventuated.
We were the last of a group of over twenty to arrive at the 'Junee jamboree' which proved to be to our disadvantage in that we had to pitch our tent in the open
rather than under the shade of the trees which line the edge
of the lake on the park boundary. Our lot was occupying this entire area of the park.
Now in normal circumstances this would not have mattered a jot, but the weather was still bordering on the unbearable. From the day of our arrival until the day we left.....two days earlier than planned (read 'run away'), the maximum temperatures did not dip below the mid 40's, with little relief overnight. From memory the lowest it dropped was in the order of the mid 20's, and on two nights the mercury did not go below 30 degrees.
Needless to say, those with shade for part or most of the day fared much better than we did, but sadly for all of us the concept of sitting about during the day chatting and catching up with all the news of the past four years or so was but a dream.....even under the trees it was just too damned hot. We spent the better part of most days tucked up in our vans with the air conditioners cranking along at maximum.
To make matters far worse, we had no sooner set up on the day of our arrival when the hot winds from the west delivered another welcoming gift......a dust storm! This came completely out of the blue, and because I was still in the process of anchoring down our extended awning at the time I found myself hanging on to it for dear life for five minutes or so as the dust, twigs, leaves and small stones blasted us. Could this get any worse?
Yep, it did, but not before I was able to get out and about a bit to catch up with my mates in the comparative cool of the later afternoon, when a spot of climatic complacency was setting in.
This was the sight which greeted us mid morning the following day! Towering swirls of dust were bearing down from the west yet again.
By now we were tied down so firmly that I was not worried about losing the awning. Those of us in camp 'headed for the hills', in this case inside our vans with firmly shut doors as this maelstrom of dust and debris enveloped the entire town.
This second dust storm lasted much longer than the first, and to say we were fortunate sounds somewhat improbable, but I can tell you that later that same day, which was 31 January, the New Year fireworks in Dubbo to our north-west were cancelled because of the wind and dust.
We were not so badly afflicted (once this morning pall had passed). We had only the heat to deal with. Again, our luck held. New Year's Eve was the coolest of our stay, and by latish afternoon preparations were in full swing. Party lights were strung between the trees (under close supervision and direction of the senior members of the party!)
tables were set out and one of our group backed his Cruiser with the tray back into position to act as the 'serving table'.
Fortunately we had been warned that this was to be a 'curry night', when each couple prepared and presented a different offering for a shared feast. Yuk! As some of you may know, your scribe is allergic to curry of any kind, even the most mild, so the bowls of the Mobile Marshies were filled with good old 'spaghetti bog'. "Boring", the assembled crowd howled. "Safe", was my response!
Pre dinner drinks were a must
before the hungry horde descended on the makeshift serving table
and took their seats with laden plates and bowls.
The party lights were glowing overhead and along the tables,
and as the sun set over the lake
and the party lights shone ever more brightly, the festivities naturally gained momentum.
For the first time in many years, Liz and I actually saw in the New Year and as I mentioned earlier, at least the weather gods blessed us with an evening temperature which was just less that stifling.
Needless to say there was very little activity in the camp the following morning, but we did all muster yet again to gather at the Junee Services Club for another shared meal that night. This time it was Chinese, and there was no stopping us this time.....we were right in on the act.
I won't bother you with the details of the remainder of our stay, other than to comment that, after five days of this heat, we took the decision to bale out earlier than planned and head south to where we hoped the forecast cool change sweeping up from Port Phillip Bay would bring us some relief.
We chose to head for Seymour where I had estimated the cooler breezes would reach us by no later than 2000 hours. 'Clever dick' probably sums up the outcome.....I was spot on and for the first time in over a week all the van windows were opened and the blessed cool air refreshed an interior space which had become what a submerged submarine must feel like!
Again the Cruiser had done the job, as we scurried south along the Olympic and Hume Highways through another day of mid forties. We stopped briefly in Glenrowan for a quick lunch, which we scoffed in the cabin with the motor idling and the aircon blasting, before completing the run into Seymour, a town through which we had passed previously and had promised ourselves we would visit for longer.
Little had we realised it was to be on this trip and for this reason! More in my next.
with a far less imposing pub, but before we scoff, check out the pile of kegs under the verandah. In a blow up of this shot, I counted over fifty. Unless there was a very late delivery to this watering hole, they are clearly doing something right. Either that, or this is the centre of the thirstiest lot of 'cockies' in the country!
And although Marrar was much smaller than some of its nearby counterparts, this street facade suggested that it has been here for quite some time.
In quick time the low hills and grazing lands of the southern Riverina were in front of us,
and almost before we knew it our windscreen was filled with a familiar landmark, the large Junee grain silos,
This was another well recognised sight, the cabins of the Junee Caravan Park, our proposed home for the next week, something which did not happen as it eventuated.
We were the last of a group of over twenty to arrive at the 'Junee jamboree' which proved to be to our disadvantage in that we had to pitch our tent in the open
rather than under the shade of the trees which line the edge
of the lake on the park boundary. Our lot was occupying this entire area of the park.
Now in normal circumstances this would not have mattered a jot, but the weather was still bordering on the unbearable. From the day of our arrival until the day we left.....two days earlier than planned (read 'run away'), the maximum temperatures did not dip below the mid 40's, with little relief overnight. From memory the lowest it dropped was in the order of the mid 20's, and on two nights the mercury did not go below 30 degrees.
Needless to say, those with shade for part or most of the day fared much better than we did, but sadly for all of us the concept of sitting about during the day chatting and catching up with all the news of the past four years or so was but a dream.....even under the trees it was just too damned hot. We spent the better part of most days tucked up in our vans with the air conditioners cranking along at maximum.
To make matters far worse, we had no sooner set up on the day of our arrival when the hot winds from the west delivered another welcoming gift......a dust storm! This came completely out of the blue, and because I was still in the process of anchoring down our extended awning at the time I found myself hanging on to it for dear life for five minutes or so as the dust, twigs, leaves and small stones blasted us. Could this get any worse?
Yep, it did, but not before I was able to get out and about a bit to catch up with my mates in the comparative cool of the later afternoon, when a spot of climatic complacency was setting in.
This was the sight which greeted us mid morning the following day! Towering swirls of dust were bearing down from the west yet again.
By now we were tied down so firmly that I was not worried about losing the awning. Those of us in camp 'headed for the hills', in this case inside our vans with firmly shut doors as this maelstrom of dust and debris enveloped the entire town.
This second dust storm lasted much longer than the first, and to say we were fortunate sounds somewhat improbable, but I can tell you that later that same day, which was 31 January, the New Year fireworks in Dubbo to our north-west were cancelled because of the wind and dust.
We were not so badly afflicted (once this morning pall had passed). We had only the heat to deal with. Again, our luck held. New Year's Eve was the coolest of our stay, and by latish afternoon preparations were in full swing. Party lights were strung between the trees (under close supervision and direction of the senior members of the party!)
tables were set out and one of our group backed his Cruiser with the tray back into position to act as the 'serving table'.
Fortunately we had been warned that this was to be a 'curry night', when each couple prepared and presented a different offering for a shared feast. Yuk! As some of you may know, your scribe is allergic to curry of any kind, even the most mild, so the bowls of the Mobile Marshies were filled with good old 'spaghetti bog'. "Boring", the assembled crowd howled. "Safe", was my response!
Pre dinner drinks were a must
before the hungry horde descended on the makeshift serving table
and took their seats with laden plates and bowls.
The party lights were glowing overhead and along the tables,
and as the sun set over the lake
and the party lights shone ever more brightly, the festivities naturally gained momentum.
For the first time in many years, Liz and I actually saw in the New Year and as I mentioned earlier, at least the weather gods blessed us with an evening temperature which was just less that stifling.
Needless to say there was very little activity in the camp the following morning, but we did all muster yet again to gather at the Junee Services Club for another shared meal that night. This time it was Chinese, and there was no stopping us this time.....we were right in on the act.
I won't bother you with the details of the remainder of our stay, other than to comment that, after five days of this heat, we took the decision to bale out earlier than planned and head south to where we hoped the forecast cool change sweeping up from Port Phillip Bay would bring us some relief.
We chose to head for Seymour where I had estimated the cooler breezes would reach us by no later than 2000 hours. 'Clever dick' probably sums up the outcome.....I was spot on and for the first time in over a week all the van windows were opened and the blessed cool air refreshed an interior space which had become what a submerged submarine must feel like!
Again the Cruiser had done the job, as we scurried south along the Olympic and Hume Highways through another day of mid forties. We stopped briefly in Glenrowan for a quick lunch, which we scoffed in the cabin with the motor idling and the aircon blasting, before completing the run into Seymour, a town through which we had passed previously and had promised ourselves we would visit for longer.
Little had we realised it was to be on this trip and for this reason! More in my next.
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