Following yesterdays early morning, it was decided that we would have a sleep in today. A sleep in that was disrupted somewhat by the ambient sounds and noises outside, as other campers made a din packing up. We still managed to remain cocooned under the covers until about 10:00AM, when the warmth pervading the walls of the van forced us up.

We then spent a while with our heads in some books, planning not only what we are going to be doing today, but also what we are going to be doing weeks from now. It was only recently that we found out that there is a public holiday coming up, so we wanted to ensure that we have our accommodation well and truly sorted for that weekend. As it turns out, the first caravan park we rang was unable to accommodate us, so we were lucky to be able to book a site at our second choice park in Robe. It probably didn’t help that our first choice has actually closed down for renovations though!

With a few other chores completed before we finally headed out, our plan was to partake in a little more shopping, both at the shopping centre and at the weekly market. The market was first on the agenda and we were lucky to even find it, after ‘Shazza’ again led us up the garden path. It really doesn’t pay to put all of your navigational faith in a computer I thought, as we did a long lap of the racecourse to finally come across a little open entry gate to the market grounds. Even luckier were we that we got to see anything, as the few stalls were in the process of packing up for the day. With only a dozen stalls to browse, we figured we would be done in minutes, but ended up stopping to chat to a bloke who makes handcrafted pens from timber. He even has some that use a mechanism that is designed to look like a bolt-action rifle. They were too cool for me pass up, although I probably should have tried a bit harder to remember what type of timber was used in the one that I ended up buying.

It was back to the shops from the market, only to make a final assessment that they were definitely not as exciting as we had hoped for. We trawled through a few of the bigger stores, but weren’t able to find anything that caught our eye. So just a note, if you were ever thinking of planning a trip over to Whyalla, just to go shopping like what we were, I’d give it a miss. Especially if you have to cover anything near the number of kilometres we have, to arrive here!

Before our sight seeing was able to proceed this afternoon, a stop was required at the van. There was a load of washing that had to be hung out, as well as a few other things that we needed to sort out. It didn’t take us too long though, before we were loading up ‘The Beast’ to tick off the last few must see attractions here in town.

The first was at the Flinders and Freycinet Lookout, which commemorates the charting of the coast in the vicinity of what is now known as Spencer Gulf by the two explorers Englishman, Matthew Flinders and Frenchman, Louis Claude de Saulces de Freycinet. The view across the gulf was lovely, but it also looked up towards the Hummock Hill Lookout, which promised even better views and was to be our next stop.

The view from the two explorers lookout.

‘Shazza’ had other ideas though as she again had a bit of a melt down on the short drive to the Hummock Hill Lookout, and we instead ended at the marina, looking longingly up at the hill, but with no idea how to ascend it. The road here ran out at a delightful looking, calm watered swimming beach, but there was certainly no path up to the lookout. Taking our cue from the weather, which had by this stage hit a high of a little over 30^oC, we parked ‘The Beast’ and wandered down to the small crescent of golden sand, where we paddled out into the cool water. With the hot sun on our backs, the rippled surface of the transparent water on our legs, the only detriment was the constant swarming of flies aggravating our senses as they buzzed busily about us, crawling ticklishly and annoyingly across our faces.

Not hard to see why we went for a paddle.

Coolly relieved from our paddle, another look at the map identified a road leading to the top of the hill. Ignoring the pleas from ‘Shazza’ to turn here, there and everywhere as she emphatically tried to ensure we were well and truly lost, the nose of ‘The Beast’ was soon pointing skyward as we climbed to well above sea level.

Selfie at Hummock Hill.

As we had envisioned, the view from the Hummock Hill Lookout was spectacular, the clear blue water of the Spencer Gulf extending out beneath us from the foreshore, where families were happily spending this unseasonably warm Saturday afternoon frolicking about on the sand or paddling, as we had done, in the water. Turning around by 90^o we found ourselves looking over the dirty, dusty environs of the steelworks, while another ¼ turn provided panoramic vistas of the Whyalla township. Flies again accompanied our every move however, so it was difficult to relax and enjoy the views for very long, as our arms and hands were busily employed as makeshift fly swatters.

The steelworks…

…and the township.

Our day was rounded out with a final stop at the shops, this time for a fresh load of groceries. We are on the move again tomorrow, planning on stopping at a campsite somewhere between here and Adelaide. I honestly don’t relish that thought though, as Adelaide sounds so very close to home, a destination I am yet to accept is only a few short weeks away. As for our planned roadside camp, we needed to make sure we have supplies to create an easy to prepare dinner. It also means that we might well be out of touch for a couple of days, until such time as we reach civilisation and regain access to phone and Internet signals.

Back at the van, while Bec handled the task of stowing our groceries, I went to retrieve our washing from the line. I was somewhat surprised to find a gap in the neatly pegged laundry, two empty pegs still dangling from the line. A search of the area beneath the wash line failed to locate the missing item, so I returned to the van, figuring that Bec had already picked it from the wire. As it turns out, she hadn’t and an audit of our clothing revealed that she now has one less pair of panties than she did this morning, and we are none the wiser as to whether they had been blown from the line by the wind or subject to a more sinister act of being nicked. I told her that she ought to feel flattered to have had her knickers nicked!

Until next time, stay safe, have fun and don’t forget to write.