We had never planned a return to Longreach on this trip north, but as I have already mentioned, the thought of a concert with Graham Rodger was too much to resist. Frankly, now that we have seen both the Qantas Founders Museum and the Stockman's Hall of Fame, Longreach has little appeal for either of us, and we had less than fond memories of the large park in which we had previously stayed. These recollections were to prove accurate.
But we were only here for one night, and we had been offered a drive-thu which was long enough to enable us to remain hitched (a surcharge applied I might add) so that fell well within the realms of 'do-able'.
We set off north out of Jundah, for what would be a moderate trip distance wise, under still leaden skies, but all real threats of rain had now passed.
We were leaving the Channel Country with decidedly mixed feelings. Seeing this country as it approached its best had been a real thrill, and for me in particular, the crossing of Cooper's Creek was the achievement of a long held dream. We were in complete accord with the concept that once we were 'off-road', a return to this part of Australia for some serious camping was high on the priority list, but for now it was time to move on.
Hauling out of Jundah, Mother Nature must have guessed our mood and softened the blow with kilometre after kilometre of wildflowers, covering the flat areas of the grazing plains
and in thick stands along the roadside verges.
And, as had been happening all the way through this country, our highway communion with more mobile nature continued, firstly in the form of a very large red kangaroo, which had the good sense to make a sharp right turn and bound over the rather high fence behind it, well almost.
In its panic it misjudged the height, clipped the top wire, and landed on the other side in what could best be described as a most undignified tangle of longs legs and tail, but at least it was safe (and we went on undamaged).
As we made our way further north into areas where the grass was thick and lush,
close encounters with mobs of grazing cattle were inevitable, and, as usual, our collective eyes remained peeled throughout.
Less than an hour out of Jundah, the road began to rise, and as we reached the crest, the cautionary signs to 'reduce speed' made complete sense.
We had reached the summit of the Swanvale Jump Up, the highest point in every direction for mile and miles. There is a very good campsite and lookout point atop this hill, but we chose not to turn off.
The views from here of the plains below are quite spectacular (on a clear day...which was obviously not today!), but frankly I was too busy behind the wheel to have time to ogle. This was one of those occasions when I have to wait to look at Liz's efforts with the camera to really appreciate what we were seeing.
This sign, which can be found at the lookout, provides a very good description of these features,
several of which we first encountered when roaming around the Winton area many years ago. 'Jump Up'.....what a wonderful name some wit of the past has given these features. We had remarked in the past how they really do seem to leap up out of an otherwise flat and featureless landscape.
A short, relatively level section of the Thomson Development Road gave me a chance for a quick glimpse of what was around us,
before we began our descent and pushed on towards the only town we were to pass today, Stonehenge.
This, the smallest of the Barcoo Shire towns, lies just off the 'highway'. We did detour in through the town. Here groups of folk wandering seemingly aimlessly about the front of the pub, and a crowd of vans and tents in the small caravan park, confirmed our intelligence about the wedding the previous evening which left us feeling more than a little smug about our decision to overnight in Jundah.
None of the photos of this flying visit did the place justice, so I've not bothered to include them here.....we shall be back.
As we pulled back onto the main road to turn left for Longreach, we did get a grand view of the lump of rock on the horizon which is the Swanvale Jump Up we had just crossed, also disappointing hazy in the distance.
Not far out of Stonehenge we left that last of a series of low hills behind us
when the road narrowed significantly again
and we found ourselves negotiating the last of the quite tricky channel crossings, where the call of 'dead centre' takes on real relevance.
As we reached the first of the open plains which surround Longreach, the skies were clearing and the day was becoming much brighter.
Not only was the weather changing, so were the animals we could see wandering through the thick grass.
We were now in sheep country.
Although the grey blanket of cloud had now lifted completely, tyre tracks in the black clay of the roadside edges told of traps for the unwary in the still wet and soft soil.
This stuff, which does literally 'stick like the proverbial to a blanket' can grasp wheels in an unrelenting grip if one strays off the bitumen. I was dreading the thought of meeting an oncoming road train on this stretch and beginning to wonder what was in store for us on the section of road works which we knew were yet to come.
We did not have long to find out,
and as we made our way very gingerly onto the first section of the detour road, I was relieved to find that the heavy traffic which had gone this way before us had left the clay soil smooth and well compacted. The damp surface was so firm it was gleaming in the sunlight.
But there was a hell of a lot of it to negotiate (some 12 kilometres from memory), and I needed no prompting to confine our speed to, and below, the imposed 40 kph limit.
The mud was still thick in the roadway depressions, and the tell tale rattle and thump made by congealed clods flinging themselves from the tyre treads against the underside of the Cruiser and decorating the front of the van with a chocolate coloured coating, was not a joyful sound,
but we finally reached the end of this highway challenge otherwise unscathed.
and were soon joining all who had preceded us through this section in shedding lumps of mud from our tyres onto the now firm surface beneath us.
The roadside verges now appeared to be much drier and quite well covered with grass, and for once it seemed that St Christopher was our travelling companion, not the dreaded Murphy.
About 30 kms or so out of Longreach we had to head for the hills, figuratively speaking, when not one,
but two of the dreaded road trains hurled themselves towards us unerringly occupying the entire bitumen surface with a disdain which can only come from the knowledge that out here they are all powerful in the face of opposition such as us. Despite our total combined weight, everything shakes when these monsters thunder by at such close quarters at a steady and unrelenting 100 kph!
"Rest And Stay Alive" cautioned the sign.......by now we were thinking this should read "Bugger Off Quickly To Your Left To Survive"!
Although we had not approached Longreach from this direction before, there could be no mistaking where we were. In how many other Australian outback towns does the enormous tail fin and humped fuselage of a Boeing 747 rise majestically through the haze over the distant tree line? .....answer.....None!
The roadside verges now appeared to be much drier and quite well covered with grass, and for once it seemed that St Christopher was our travelling companion, not the dreaded Murphy.
About 30 kms or so out of Longreach we had to head for the hills, figuratively speaking, when not one,
but two of the dreaded road trains hurled themselves towards us unerringly occupying the entire bitumen surface with a disdain which can only come from the knowledge that out here they are all powerful in the face of opposition such as us. Despite our total combined weight, everything shakes when these monsters thunder by at such close quarters at a steady and unrelenting 100 kph!
"Rest And Stay Alive" cautioned the sign.......by now we were thinking this should read "Bugger Off Quickly To Your Left To Survive"!
Although we had not approached Longreach from this direction before, there could be no mistaking where we were. In how many other Australian outback towns does the enormous tail fin and humped fuselage of a Boeing 747 rise majestically through the haze over the distant tree line? .....answer.....None!
Given that we have spent much time here before and I have told of it extensively I'll not bore you with a repeat trot through the town or our park other than to make brief mention of our arrival and the subsequent shenanigans which soon followed.
You will recall that we had booked a drive-thru/no need to unhitch site. After presenting as usual at the front office (which was as far from our allocated site as it possible to get in this huge park) we were told where we had been placed.
Off we went rejoicing, and as I eased the rig onto the area with our name on it and alighted on the muddy patch which was ours, two things became immediately apparent. One was annoying, the other unacceptable.
Despite the fact that I had been quite clear about our combined length, once our bum was off the roadway to our rear, the nose of the Cruiser was poking disturbingly out onto the roadway in front of us. To make matters worse, this was at a point on the end of a row of where those towing onto sites opposite would be turning.
I was livid. This was the second time we had been stuffed around in this park over our size. Fortunately there were a few unoccupied similar (but longer) sites nearby. I paced out two and stalked back to the office. In hindsight it may have been just as well this tramp took some time....I had cooled off a tad by the time I pleaded our case for a move with the lass behind the front desk.
Well, not so much 'pleaded'.......!!
Before grabbing a 'waterbag and a packet of dates' (oh, come on....who hasn't heard of that grand Aussie phrase....if not, don't admit it!) for the trek to the office and back, I had actually taken up the site I had chosen (where we fitted perfectly). So the real fact of the matter was that I had re-presented at the office to seek forgiveness rather than permission. Fortunately I left with no blood on the floor and an alteration on the park computer allocation map.
That fixed the major problem, but not the other, and for a park of the size and custom of the Longreach Tourist Park, it is quite disgraceful that all who take up occupancy of sites in the eastern drive-thru cluster have nowhere to discharge their sullage but directly onto the ground.
Given that these sites are angled, it is possible to direct discharging water to a point which will not impact directly on new arrivals, but guess how many either think of that or, if they do, could care less?
Anyhow, with that off my chest, the one positive was that for this brief overnight, where we planned to eat at Graham's performance venue, set up was utterly minimal.
As the appointed hour arrived, we hightailed it over to the large on site building in the park which houses 'The Woolshed Restuarant' (rather fuzzy photo courtesy of 'tripadvisor') where we had pre-booked a table and a meal.
Graham is a very popular fellow throughout the outback and it was not long before the tables were filled.
Before he went on stage I had a chat to him and told him of our first encounter in Blackall all those years ago. I asked if this afternoon's show would include two songs I remembered particularly well. His response...."no it doesn't, but it does now". How good was that?
He soon hit the stage with his good wife Deidre working the sound systems, and all thoughts of narrow development roads, muddy detours, road trains and site problems immediately vanished.
This fellow, who gave up his job as an ambo some time ago to perform full time, is a consummate entertainer. apart from his very good singing voice and guitar skills, he is also a gifted songwriter. He wrote many songs for Slim Dusty, the words of one of which Slim insisted were read out at his funeral.
I had asked for two songs, "A Hat Like That" (a yarn between a young stockman who wants to know how he could get a hat such as the one being worn by an old hand.....all the tales which went with the rips, sweat stains etc. etc.) and the other, a most moving ballad about the death of a young soldier in Vietnam.
Graham came up trumps, even donning 'The Hat' for that particular song.
But what's an concert in a wool shed in the outback without at least one character? The whole room, included Deidre in particular, could not believe it when this woman fronted the stage, in her dressing gown no less.
That didn't stay on for too long (we were all holding our collective breaths as she began to disrobe!) before she was off on her own giving us all an impromptu shoe shuffle as Graham pressed on regardless. It really does take all types!
She finally sat down to the bemused looks of almost all in the room (including from yours truly in the foreground!). Ever the professional, Graham did not miss a beat throughout.
He and his wife now conduct annual 'tag-along' outback tours through various parts of the country. As soon as our van is 'off-road' the Mobile Marshies will be part of this group. Graham knows the bush well, and as if to reinforce his credentials, has just bought a house in Innaminka (as you do!).
So with a completely unselfconscious 'groupie' shot in the can, I bade this excellent performer and his charming wife farewell and made my way to the bar to organise our dinner.
More bad news.....despite having checked with the staff as soon as we arrived (and we were amongst the first) I was told that there would be no need to rush an order......patently wrong! By the time I fronted they had run out of the promised meal (they had catered specifically for this show with minimal staff). It was probably just as well that I had been so wonderfully entertained. The alternative options offered were not for us, so it was back to the van for soup and a toasted sandwich.
Now admittedly the Woolshed business and that of the management of the park are separate, but I could not help thinking that this place just keeps underperfoming.
Ah well, tomorrow is another day and we had certainly had the time of our lives for a good two hours. We had no regrets about our decision to 'pop in' for the night but were more than pleased that the morrow would see us taking up residence in Bacaldine, a town through which we had passed on three (or is it four?) occasions but never tarried. It was time to fix that.
You will recall that we had booked a drive-thru/no need to unhitch site. After presenting as usual at the front office (which was as far from our allocated site as it possible to get in this huge park) we were told where we had been placed.
Off we went rejoicing, and as I eased the rig onto the area with our name on it and alighted on the muddy patch which was ours, two things became immediately apparent. One was annoying, the other unacceptable.
Despite the fact that I had been quite clear about our combined length, once our bum was off the roadway to our rear, the nose of the Cruiser was poking disturbingly out onto the roadway in front of us. To make matters worse, this was at a point on the end of a row of where those towing onto sites opposite would be turning.
I was livid. This was the second time we had been stuffed around in this park over our size. Fortunately there were a few unoccupied similar (but longer) sites nearby. I paced out two and stalked back to the office. In hindsight it may have been just as well this tramp took some time....I had cooled off a tad by the time I pleaded our case for a move with the lass behind the front desk.
Well, not so much 'pleaded'.......!!
Before grabbing a 'waterbag and a packet of dates' (oh, come on....who hasn't heard of that grand Aussie phrase....if not, don't admit it!) for the trek to the office and back, I had actually taken up the site I had chosen (where we fitted perfectly). So the real fact of the matter was that I had re-presented at the office to seek forgiveness rather than permission. Fortunately I left with no blood on the floor and an alteration on the park computer allocation map.
That fixed the major problem, but not the other, and for a park of the size and custom of the Longreach Tourist Park, it is quite disgraceful that all who take up occupancy of sites in the eastern drive-thru cluster have nowhere to discharge their sullage but directly onto the ground.
Given that these sites are angled, it is possible to direct discharging water to a point which will not impact directly on new arrivals, but guess how many either think of that or, if they do, could care less?
Anyhow, with that off my chest, the one positive was that for this brief overnight, where we planned to eat at Graham's performance venue, set up was utterly minimal.
As the appointed hour arrived, we hightailed it over to the large on site building in the park which houses 'The Woolshed Restuarant' (rather fuzzy photo courtesy of 'tripadvisor') where we had pre-booked a table and a meal.
Graham is a very popular fellow throughout the outback and it was not long before the tables were filled.
Before he went on stage I had a chat to him and told him of our first encounter in Blackall all those years ago. I asked if this afternoon's show would include two songs I remembered particularly well. His response...."no it doesn't, but it does now". How good was that?
He soon hit the stage with his good wife Deidre working the sound systems, and all thoughts of narrow development roads, muddy detours, road trains and site problems immediately vanished.
This fellow, who gave up his job as an ambo some time ago to perform full time, is a consummate entertainer. apart from his very good singing voice and guitar skills, he is also a gifted songwriter. He wrote many songs for Slim Dusty, the words of one of which Slim insisted were read out at his funeral.
I had asked for two songs, "A Hat Like That" (a yarn between a young stockman who wants to know how he could get a hat such as the one being worn by an old hand.....all the tales which went with the rips, sweat stains etc. etc.) and the other, a most moving ballad about the death of a young soldier in Vietnam.
Graham came up trumps, even donning 'The Hat' for that particular song.
But what's an concert in a wool shed in the outback without at least one character? The whole room, included Deidre in particular, could not believe it when this woman fronted the stage, in her dressing gown no less.
That didn't stay on for too long (we were all holding our collective breaths as she began to disrobe!) before she was off on her own giving us all an impromptu shoe shuffle as Graham pressed on regardless. It really does take all types!
She finally sat down to the bemused looks of almost all in the room (including from yours truly in the foreground!). Ever the professional, Graham did not miss a beat throughout.
He and his wife now conduct annual 'tag-along' outback tours through various parts of the country. As soon as our van is 'off-road' the Mobile Marshies will be part of this group. Graham knows the bush well, and as if to reinforce his credentials, has just bought a house in Innaminka (as you do!).
So with a completely unselfconscious 'groupie' shot in the can, I bade this excellent performer and his charming wife farewell and made my way to the bar to organise our dinner.
More bad news.....despite having checked with the staff as soon as we arrived (and we were amongst the first) I was told that there would be no need to rush an order......patently wrong! By the time I fronted they had run out of the promised meal (they had catered specifically for this show with minimal staff). It was probably just as well that I had been so wonderfully entertained. The alternative options offered were not for us, so it was back to the van for soup and a toasted sandwich.
Now admittedly the Woolshed business and that of the management of the park are separate, but I could not help thinking that this place just keeps underperfoming.
Ah well, tomorrow is another day and we had certainly had the time of our lives for a good two hours. We had no regrets about our decision to 'pop in' for the night but were more than pleased that the morrow would see us taking up residence in Bacaldine, a town through which we had passed on three (or is it four?) occasions but never tarried. It was time to fix that.
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