Our Aussie Adventures

What a pleasant surprise it was to wake this morning to find it cold, but at least dry, giving us an opportunity to strip the canvas annex walls down and get them stowed safely away without the need to try and dehydrate them, an unimaginable feat we were hardly looking forward to. Thus, in a flurry of harried activity, we withdrew the canvas from the awning tracks, slathering it across the ground, before folding it into hefty parcels of heavy sheeting, all the while keeping our fingers crossed that we would complete the chore before the rain started again.

Thankfully, we did manage to stow the folded walls, keeping them dry, before we took the dogs for a walk about the park in an effort to wear them out. After their ordeal of being stuck in ‘The Beast’ all day yesterday, we had decided to leave them in the van today. We are not expecting to be out for as long today, so have decided that they will enjoy the freedom of being able to run about the van unhindered, although I highly suspect that they will still spend the bulk of the day sleeping anyway. With the walls away, the dogs worn out, we headed off for a day amongst the vineyards of the Barossa Valley.

It was only a couple of minutes down the road, when we stopped first in the main street of Tanunda to commence of exploration of the region, starting with a couple of antique shops and more in keeping with the gourmet theme, a couple of bakeries, shelves stacked high with crusty loaves of fresh handmade breads, pastries, tarts, cakes and all things sweet. The Tanundra Bakery in particular offered up some of its saccharine goodies, in the form of a couple of apple crumble doughnuts. Custard filled doughnut rings, frosted with a lemon glaze and topped with a chunky stewed apple sauce, it was all I could do not to go running back in to buy some more.

Mmmmmmmmmmmm…

…Doughnuts!

Local wineries, for which the area is well renown, were next on our jam-packed itinerary. With well over a hundred to choose from, we had succinctly whittled our list down to a much more manageable ½ a dozen venues, although even that number was being on the glass ¾ full side of optimistic. Thus, while we meandered about the countryside, taking the Barossa Scenic Drive for the most part, we passed a great number of pristine, orderly fields of barren looking, winterised grape vines, before stopping at our first cellar door of the day, at Rolf Binder Wines, where there was a $5.00 to taste, refundable if you chose to buy something, fee. I’m still not sure if we got ripped off or they got ripped off with that theory, because we ended up getting a ‘free’ tasting. They on the other hand, ended up selling nearly $100 worth of wine.

Next stop on the program was the huge Seppeltsfield operation, which as well as a cellar door that rivaled a fancy epicurean emporium, had on site a gallery and shed of artesian crafters. We got to see a glass blower, shoemaker and milliner in action, sadly however the knife maker was taking a break while we were there. Maybe lucky, as his fantastic creations of hand forged Damascus steel, of which I would love to call one my very own, were quite well and truly out of our (and by our, I mean Becs) price range.

Now, Where Was I Again?

With yet another couple of bottles of vino lunked out to ‘The Beast’ we were on our way once more only to get a bum steer from Shazza as to how to get to our next destination. Anyone would have thought it was little old Shazza that had been on the sauce, rather than ourselves. After a tipsy turvy drive up a rugged dirt track and across a rain swollen ford, we finally found the gate for Greenock Creek Wines. It was here that we were ushered into a miniscule, sub terrarium room that actually lived up to its description as being a cellar. The only wine I liked here was the flagship Shiraz (pronounced she-rar-ze again), but at near enough to $200 a bottle that the change hardly mattered, I sagaciously chose to savour the tasting, while leaving the bottle.

By now, I was beginning to surf a wave of red, so decided to put aside any further wine tasting for the time being, as we headed instead for the opportunity of a gourmand food tasting experience at the ‘you might know me from such shows  as…’ Maggie Beers Farm. Sadly for us, Maggie Beer was not in residence this afternoon, but we did arrive in just enough time for the daily 2:00PM cooking demonstration. We were ably shown by one of her minions how to use a range of Maggie Beer branded products to cook up the most delectable onions, pumpkin and mushrooms.

Maggie Beers’ Kitchen.

Following the demonstration, which concluded with a taste test, we were all ushered out to the show room, where further tastings were aplenty, with the majority of her products available to taste. It ended up being another case of who got ripped off, when we sucked, slurped and nibbled enough itty-bitty samples to see us forego lunch, but then left them a hefty sum of cash in exchange for several bottles and tubs of sauces, jams, preserves and bottles of semi-sweet pear cider.

We fondled our way across the vineyard ridden landscape to nearby Nuriootpa next, where there was the promise of award winning small goods from a proper, old fashioned butchery. The jolly, rotund butcher was quite happy to have a yak, as we pointed at a range of unusual hams, bacons and other cured meats, including a pressed concoction of beef and pork knuckle that looked disgusting, but tasted, well not quite so disgusting. Samples were liberally dispensed, while we picked out a few rations to last us the next few days.

Here A Vine, There A Vine, Everywhere A Vine.

Past more neat rows of vines, we motored onwards to the next small town, where a cheese factory awaited. Specialising in the softer cheeses that appeal to Bec, it was no surprise that we relieved them of a bag of goodies. Being the good, honest folk we are, we were quick to return however when we noticed an error on our bill. With that little matter sorted out, and the $15.00 we were overcharged refunded, we struck off of our list the next couple of planned stops, instead preferring just to strike out for Bethany Wines due to our rapidly diminishing time frame, where Bec hoped to replenish her dwindling stock of their sickly sweet late harvest Riesling. In luck, they had just what Bec was after, while I collected a final bottle of heavy weighted She-rar-ze, before we made our way back to the caravan.

The Dainty ‘Bethany Wines’ Cellar Door.

Looking at the back seat of ‘The Beast’, hidden almost in its entirety by our many slim bags of bottled nectar, I honestly don’t know where we are going to manage to find the room to store them, either in the van during the trip home or indeed actually at home. It is too late now though.

Back at the van, I opened the door to be greeted by the dogs and a smell like no other. They had obviously chosen to end their holiday like they began it, leaving us a nice present, thankfully piled up on a mat in the bathroom, for ease of cleaning. Bec had told me that Alvin needed more walking this morning, but did I listen? No. So guess who found themselves on their hands and knees mopping the floor? Thankfully, it was confined to the linoleum, and we quickly had the van in tiptop shape once more. In time at least, to leave them once more while we went out to have a meal in town.

The Tanundra Hotel was the venue of choice tonight, where I was drawn to the Fillet Mingon and the whimsical notion that you get the choice of either one or two of the 200gram fillets. Like there was a choice? Hello, but this is my main meal, not an entrée. More in a fit of excitement that it was better value to order two fillets than one, than out of actual hunger and desire to eat two generous fillets, Bec ordered the same deal.

They came out cooked to perfection, two thick rounds of beef, wrapped in a salty rasher of bacon and coated with a thick mushroom gravy, amidst a plate full of chips and vegetables. I swiftly ravished my plate, before moving, albeit a little slower, onto Becs half a left over fillet. Well, waste not want not and in hindsight, it only equates to a half a kilo of prime grilled cow.

Totally off topic and as an aside before I go tonight, I have found myself removing my watch each night, blaming its tautness against my wrist on swelling. Having just re-read my last couple of days worth of blog entries I have decided there might in fact be a rather more rational and sensible explanation to this sudden tensioning. It’s most obviously fluid retention from the quantity of wine I’ve been quaffing!

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

Let me tell you about the weather. It’s cold. Cold as can be. It dropped to a couple of degrees below zero last night, and I think I felt every last one of those degrees. Then when we awoke this morning, it was to find the surrounding blades of grass glossy wet with dew and melted frost. If it was any consolation, which I thought indeed it was, the sun was shining today, making for a most definite brighter outlook.

Once we had finally thawed out to the same extent as the layer of frost outside, we gathered up the dogs, bundling them into ‘The Beast’, for they will be accompanying us again to day on our adventures as we are planning to be out for much too long to leave them confined within the tin can on their lonesome. With them, and us settled in for the drive we took off, on our way via the scenic route to the tourist town of Hahndorf.

Along the way, as we navigated the typically poor sections of road that make up these so called ‘scenic’ routes, we passed through sleepy little hamlets, great forests of towering trees, wide open pastoral meadows and yards of cattle, sheep and deer, which I identified much to Becs amusement as beef, lamb and venison.

Before reaching Hahndorf, we stopped briefly at a fromagerie, chocolate and lolly factory as well as the factory outlet for the well known and very tasty Beerenberg range of preserves, jellies and relishes. Already, this was promising to be a day of decadent epicurean delights.

The Cheese And Chocolate Factories.

In Hahndorf itself, we parked ‘The Beast’ in a well hidden car park in the optimism that there would be only a minor amount of traffic to annoy the dogs, who would have to remain locked inside. If we knew that they would behave themselves, which they wouldn’t, we would have taken the chance to walk them along with us. Apart from their craving to bark at every other four legged creature and some two legged ones as well, the walk up and down the main street of Hahndorf would be well and truly too much for them. Alvin was obviously not happy with this whole idea however, letting out a few whimpering barks as we walked away, leaving them to their own devices while we went exploring.

ARCHITECTURE OF HAHNDORF.

Hahndorf is very much a tourist town now, featuring a distinct Germanic, Bavarian flavor that harks back to its early days. There is history here also though, with a great many of the properties having survived the ravages of time and redevelopment, to remain standing as a living museum today, tenanted by a range of stores from chic boutiques, giftware shops, stores bursting with antiquities and plain old rubbish and others selling all manner of handcrafted goodies. Mixed amongst these businesses is an over abundance of restaurants, cafes, hotels and other food retailers, all offering a mouth watering array of decidedly indulgent choices. We chose a café in which to partake in lunch, and despite the very European influence, dined once more on pies. Even better than yesterdays, Bec chose a potato pie once more, a 3 inch high work of pastry, meat and potato art. A similarly statuesque beef, bacon and cheese filled pastry was my choice of sustenance. The meat in both of the pies could well have been ripped from prime steak, such was the texture of the hunks of beef they contained, floating in a gravy that barely oozed, let alone being able to run down our chins.

Small Table, Big Lunch.

While the pies would well have been sufficient to tide us over, a huge selection of cakes and sweets had also caught our attention, so also delivered to our suddenly very small looking table was an apple strudel that was about the size of my outspread hand, which is by no means on the small size, and a slice of chocolate and nuts. Oh, and did I mention the chocolate milkshakes that came out in gigantic paper cups, to wash everything down with. We struggled through the bulk of the tucker, although the waitress was mortified when we approached the counter, plate in hand with the nut slice still atop it. I think she thought we were going to complain about something, so it was with a sigh of relief that she bagged it up for us to take away with us for later on.

With our tummies now bulging tightly against our belts, we continued our walking tour of Hahndorf, a good choice we decided in a mostly in vain attempt to unload some of the recently inducted calories from our bodies. It was an unquestionably slower amble post lunch, somewhat more akin to a waddle than a walk, as we popped in and out of the delicate little shops, admiring them as much for their old world architecture as for their wares. It was a good many hours later, armed with an assortment of fancy bags, that we finally made our way back to ‘The Beast’ and the dogs.

The German Pantry

Bec Makes Another Purchase.

So much for being happy to see us, it wasn’t until the doors unlocked with a clunk that either of them even woke up and acknowledged us. That said, as soon as the W, A, L, K word was uttered, their sleepiness dissolved into immediate excitement as we lifted them out of the back seat and wandered them around to the nearby park where they could run about and do their business on the lush grass.

Walking The Dogs.

With our time in Hahndorf at a conclusion, instead of returning by the scenic route to Tanunda, which in hindsight would have been simpler, quicker and cheaper, we strove to make our way through the Adelaide Hills to the city centre. There was a couple of things we, and by we I mean me, had decided that we needed and should have bought yesterday. It was decided that we would also therefore head for the giant white warehouse of Costco fame, where we saw extremely cheap fuel yesterday. After all of its hard work, ‘The Beast’ needs, and deserves, another sip of go, go juice.

Along the lengthy descent into Adelaide from the hills, I saw an ominous sign advising that the ‘toll gate’ was only a few minutes away. We had traveled this road a few short weeks ago, and not noticed a toll road. I, at the time was too busy if you recall, trying to figure out why our fuel economy was hovering at previously unseen astronomic levels, to notice a ‘toll gate’. This time, we began our look out early, in an effort to exit the road before hand, while ruminating about the possibility that there would be a nasty piece of mail awaiting us at home, advising us of how much we owed the South Australian Government for passing by said ‘toll gate’.

We burst out laughing as we squirreled our way out of the hills, to see a sign for the ‘toll gate’ an old and obviously no longer in use, stone booth in the centre median strip. No stopping, no tolls and thankfully, no fines when we return home.

At Costco, we topped up ‘The Beast’ at arate of about 14C per litre cheaper than anywhere else in Adelaide, which explained the protracted queues of vehicles at both Costco and the Adjacent Shell service station that had similarly low prices. The joys for the consumer, of competition.

I had then to make one last stop to purchase a new keyboard for the computer. All of this typing I have been doing recently has worn out the one attached to my laptop (no, really). A wrong turn saw us getting stuck in peak hour traffic, which oddly started at just after 4:00PM and looked to make for a later than expected return to the van. Our plans then, had to be altered to suit.

We had envisioned dropping the dogs off at the van, before going out for dinner, the thought of cooking imbuing the contemplation of hard work on us, to which we weren’t convivial. Instead, with the hour getting later, the dogs had to endure a further wait within the confines of ‘The Beast’. It was not before another W, A, L, K though. We couldn’t be that cruel to them. Thankfully, right across the road from where we had chosen to dine, there was a sprawling park, turfed in thick grass and resplendent with trees for them to scoot and sniff about. Much to our surprise, although maybe to be expected after being constricted all day, they were both energetic enough to enjoy a short gallop, pulling me comically along behind, leashes at full stretch.

With all of the great cellar doors, wineries and other restaurants around the Barossa we were spoilt for choice as to a kitchen to eat from. We decided on one of our favorites though, the highly unlikely ‘Fasta Pasta’. Cheap, fast(a), easy and filling. After a huge day, it was just the ticket, before we returned to the van, fed the dogs and sat down to finally relax some, with the promise of a share in a gooey, chocolaty, nutty slice for a late dessert. Yep, Fasta Pasta aside, it was indeed a day of delights of an epicurean nature.

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

The roof top mounted furnace gave us a sincere case of false security this morning, as we awoke, after falling asleep last night to the constant pitter patter of thick, heavy rain drops creating a never ending drumroll against the tin walls of the van.

Screen Shot Of The Bureau Of Meteorology Rain Radar For Last Night, With Our Location Right Near The Middle Of The Orange Patch Of Teeming, Never Ending Heavy Rain.

While by the time it came to be extricating ourselves from beneath piles of blankets, the rain had thankfully ceased, although there was still moisture in the air and we felt a cold like we haven’t felt for weeks. Even through the dark tint of the caravan windows, we could see that it was a miserable day that awaited us, with a thick pall of dark grey clouds pulled across the sky like a scratchy old woolen blanket, replete with only enough holes to allow the sun a very occasional glimpse of terra firma.

It was into this morning we dove, with a full day of activities lined up, which saw us first wending our way towards the centre of Adelaide. In a very un-tourist like adventure, we are going to do some shopping. As silly and as crazy as it sounds, even to Bec, I want to go to, among other places, Costco. So, in what was meant to be a very quick trip to the outer suburbs of Adelaide, off we went.

Before even reaching the shopping mecca, we came across Hazels, which according to the sign promised to have a range of new and antique giftware. The sign wasn’t deceiving, although old doesn’t necessarily translate to antique, as much of what we found within the cram packed tin shed showrooms could have been better described as junk than antique. Keeping this in mind, we were able to find a few genuine nuggets worthy of our attention, making a few small purchases, while leaving a rather largish sideboard behind. Although it was seriously considered, with only the small issue of how to get it home, short of strapping it uncomfortably to the bed in the van, preventing us from shelling out another wad of cash on something we hardly need.

We did eventually make it to Costco, after yet another cessation to our travels, when we stumbled upon the R.M. Williams Factory Outlet. A closely guarded secret, the small space alongside the factory at which the famous one piece of leather boots are still produced, sells a range of discontinued and seconds clothing, all at well below the retail cost. As hard as I tried to make a purchase, I went through a range of emotions when I couldn’t find anything that I liked, that was also in my size. Bec had a similar setback, thus we left empty handed.

Costco was the same sort of setup as what we have back home in Melbourne, so it was no surprise to us, although we spotted a few things in their range that differ from what we have seen back home. Nothing exciting enough to encourage us to buy, apart from a chunk of Lamb which we are planning on heaving into the oven at the caravan park camp kitchen, to enjoy a long yearned for roast for dinner.

We called in at a few more small shops on the way back to the valley, in search of a few bits and pieces I have decided we can’t do without until we get home. Then, at the grand insistence of Becs brother, we were forced to navigate our way back past Hazels rickety giftware shop. Bec had sent him a photo of a couple of ceramic pieces, which when he finally got back to her, he decided he would rather like to add to his collection. It mattered little to him that Hazels was well and truly out of our way by this time, or so we told him as we turned into the car park while Bec was still talking to him on the phone. He will be pleasantly surprised, just so long as nobody lets the cat out of the bag and fills him in on the secret of our return to Hazels, just for him!!!

That did mark our last stop in the suburbs though, after which we continued our drive in the general direction of Tanunda and the caravan park. The worms were biting quite savagely by this point in time however, so we made our first stop the little crossroads that calls itself the town of Lyndoch, where we’re hopeful that the bakery we remember fondly from our last visit, would have something left in its glass display cases with which we could satiate our ravenousness, with what could only be termed a late lunch. We were in luck, with the pie warmer still containing a generous selection of home made meat pies. Becs potato pie had a thin layer of creamy mash over chunky beef pieces swimming in a pond of thick gooey gravy, while the stringent aroma of curry clearly identified my equally yummy curried meat and gravy filled pastry dish. As a sweet, we tore chunks from a slab of Bienenstich a delicious creation of dense viscid custard filled cake, topped with a nut encrusted toffee praline. It was a day old, but was cheaper to buy the whole hunk than a single slice, let alone a slice each of todays fresh baked goodies. And as a bonus, guess what’s on the menu for dessert tonight?

Tucking In.

The Little Lyndoch Cafe

And Their Sign Which I Took To Mean Something To The Effect Of: “Eat Wonderfully And Fart Well”.

With the road from Lyndoch back to Tanunda home to some of the famous wineries of the Barossa Valley, who were we to stick our noses up at the chance to partake in a few tipples of the good stuff. We started out at a small family run viticulture cellar door, Kies Family Wines, where we were warmly greeted like one of the family. We were bid farewell with even more fondness after we stocked up on several more bottles than we had planned for. And this was but the first winery on our multi-day itinerary.

Winery #1.

Second up was the very elegant looking Chateau Barrosa. Elegant or not, someone really ought to tell them how to spell ‘Barossa’, although it wasn’t going to be me, because I might have followed up with what I thought of their wines. I’m sure someone would like them, but they weren’t to our taste, so we left here without another bottle or two to add to our collection.

Winery #2.

Never to mind, as there were yet more cellar doors, wineries and vineyards to visit, the next being Schild Estate Wines, where believe it or not, more tinkling glass vessels were purchased and carried out to ‘The Beast’. Hemara Estate and Kellermeister wines were the next two stops on our itinerary. They also both gave up some of their produce for us, in the form of a couple of bottles of excellent Hemara Estate Shiraz, even if the winemaker here insisted on pronouncing it as ‘she-rar-ze’, rather than my highly uneducated, but more common pronounciation of ‘shi-razz’.

Winery #3.

Winery #4.

At Kellermeister, as well as a sensational view across to the rolling hills, where the sun was now shining through a crowd of broken cloud, we were offered us a chance to taste a more than I could afford per bottle, nip of shiraz (or is that she-rar-ze), which I have to admit didn’t stand up on my palate as well as the much more reasonably priced, lower end of the scale tipple. Not that we got out of their cheaply, as Bec fell for a slender bottle of sugary sweet ‘ice wine’ and I hankered over a syrupy chocolate liqueur which has an undercurrent of coffee running through it. Delicious.

Winery #5.

With the alcoholic warmth already caressing my veins, it was time to turn tail and head for the van before I reached a licence jeopardizing level of intoxication. Apart from that daylight was already failing us and we are yet to prepare and cook up our roast dinner, a task that we were both melancholic of, as it meant waiting some two or more hours before we could eat. Our late lunch was suddenly looking like a prodigious concept however.

Thus, back at the van, we quickly got things ready before hauling the trays over to the camp kitchen. It was decided that Bec would set about tidying up the van, while I sat at the camp kitchen to keep an eye on our dinner, ostensibly to make sure it cooked, but more so to make sure no one pinched it on us. Hunger makes me do strange things, so I couldn’t say what would happen to anyone silly enough to even look at our dinner the wrong way!

And it is here in the camp kitchen I still sit as I write this, the alluring aroma of roast lamb and vegies ruminating through the room. Oops, gotta go, the timer just dinged and dinner is ready.

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

Awaking this morning, we were greeted by a panorama lit in the dim pastel watercolour hues of a grey cloud shrouded sky. It was if Mother Nature was reminding us that our travels through the outback had reached their crescendo. Even our view of the horizon was foreshortened by the black peaks of the Flinders Ranges spreading out broadly before us as we cruised through the outskirts of Port Augusta.

Turning to travel south from Port Augusta, Shazza decided to take us on a scenic touring route, enthralled no doubt at being asked to actually compute a route more challenging than what has become her usual instructions to drive without deviation for 300KM or more to reach our destination. I blindly followed the purple line inscribed upon her digital screen, swinging off of the highway onto a series of bone jarring secondary roads that bounced and wound their way tiringly, up, down, around and through the landscape. The rough and tumble plains of the outback were replaced today with bucolic pastoral fields, all neatly tilled and planted out with crops that were beyond our means to identify. Along the way, we passed through numerous quaint little villages, filled with even quainter little sandstone cottages, spirals of grey smoke gently wafting from their chimneys and main streets resplendent with charming stores sporting timbered window frames and wide verandahs in scenes reminiscent of a long forgotten yesteryear. The area we were travelling through was the Clare Valley Wine Region, and an unexpected route to our plotted destination nestled within the Barossa Valley. Had I have realised that we would be forging this path, I would have allotted some time to explore some of the many local wineries. Not stopping does however provide us with a liberal excuse to return some other time.

It was still only early in the afternoon when we rolled into the town of Tanunda, the home of the caravan park in which we have booked ourselves for a few nights stay. No thanks to Shazza, whose route calculating skills didn’t extend to finding the precise location of the caravan park, we finally found the driveway, checked in and spirited the rig around to our site. With well over a hundred sites here, I find it mind numbingly inane that they park everyone together in a small cluster of vans in such a way that the back bumper bar of our van now sits within inches of the rear of the van behind, while our drawbar threatens to impinge on the road way. That said, apart from the sites not being overly well designed for the lengthier vans such as our own, everything else appears quite suitable. We have enough room at least to unfurl our awning, to which we have attached the canvas walls of the annex to give us extra living space, as well as being able to park ‘The Beast’ alongside. Directly adjacent is the camping area, a wide expanse of lush grass, presently vastly unoccupied, which will provide a great place to give the dogs a run, while the other camp amenities are all within close proximity. In all, it’s not bad as far as caravan parks go.

We managed to get the van set up and sorted in record time, giving us enough time to take the very short drive back into the township, where we were able to collect armfuls of glossy brochures from the extremely knowledgeable and helpful staff at the information centre, on what to do around the area as well as further afield. Time also permitted having a quick look up and down the main street. While not a lot here, there is enough to suffice for the few nights we will be staying on.

While it had been rather cold all day, an icy chill quickly permeated the air as the sun descended, which saw us heading back to the comfort of the van, where we are plugged into a permanent supply of electricity (Although we have tripped the circuit twice already as we tried to run every high powered heat producing device we have with us, all at the one time. Lesson learned.), meaning that we can fire up the heater to give us the bit of overnight comfort that we’ve been yearning for. Also having returned to techno-lisation, I can once again provide you with the updates I am sure you all crave, although with nothing that gave us pause to photograph, there was only a single photograph to chart our progress (hence the word heavy, picture lite entry today). Even the sunset lost its photographic lustre today, surrounded as we are by hills rather than a photogenic tree lined, distant horizon.

Todays Only Pic.

Although, as I sit here now, in the closed in confines of the tin can, I am already missing the wide-open spaces, the nightly campfires and not feeling the constant apprehensive need to check my emails every few minutes. Bec on the other hand, not so much. She’s in bed as I write this, feeling rather worse for ware with some sort of savage tummy bug that has worn her our and already seen her dashing for the bathroom on several occasions. With luck it won’t hang around and we will be good to go once more in the morning, but I don’t think she is missing the prospect of camping out in the cold, in the middle of nowhere. Not tonight anyway.

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

Thankfully, last night was not as cold as the night before, and we awoke this morning to what seemed like a positively balmy morning in comparison. This was a good thing and we decided to make an easy start of it, cooking up a raft of pancakes as a hearty breakfast to keep the hunger pangs at bay, before hitting the road.

Then, for the remainder of the day, we had nothing more than a long drive ahead of us. A long, possibly boring drive, with nothing apart from the tiny township of Glendambo and the even smaller outpost of Pimba, of which we weren’t planning to stop at either, between us and our next destination, another roadside rest area, that is to be the basis of our accommodation for this evening. In fact, an excerpt of my travel log reads only:

10:20AM: Leave camp

1:45PM: Arrive at camp

At least I had managed to research the rest area we are planning on camping at this evening, finding that it ought to be a spacious, well off the road, camped beneath the bushes type of camping ground. It looked promising on the map at least.

On The Road Again.

As expected, as beautiful as the scenery was, a mixture of oil painting like vistas alternating from sweeping plains across which you could see the curvature of the earth at the horizon, to brush and weed infested scrubland through which visibility was well and truly hampered, it was with a grossly saddened disposition with which we travelled today. For today will essentially mark the end of our out back touring, with our planned stop well within cooee of Port Augusta. From there on down, it will be almost suburban, with much smaller distances to cover between much larger towns. I even noticed that the waves from oncoming vehicles were becoming less common, the further we went. We made the most of it though, reveling in the glimpsing of gracious pods of Emus, their tiny heads bobbing up and down on elongated necks as they pecked their way across the desert plains, their spindly legs defying gravity in keeping their bulbous bodies aloft.

Local Wildlife.

While I might have related that we had a long drive today, it was only moderately so, covering only a touch over 300KM, which saw us pulling into our nominated rest area at the early hour of 1:45PM. We pulled in, to find a lovely flat stretch of coarse asphalt, a couple of bins and a miniature shade canopy which given the mild temperature today was somewhat optimistic. What was missing was the access to the shady bush land beyond the rest area. We could see the tracks, leading off through the dirt, meandering between the trees towards wide open camp spots, rock encircled fire pits, all just waiting for us to camp. The problem was, a sturdy looking fence amply delineating the official rest area from the unofficial, but much better, camping areas beyond. Up and down the rest stop did we walk, in the vain hope that a car sized gap may magically appear in the fence, kind of like platform 9¾ in the Harry Potter stories, but regardless of how hard we tried, there just id not seem to be any way of gaining access to the promised land.

It was only by chance, that as we peered and searched, Bec noticed a ute tearing down one of the trails. Following the spreading cloud of dust, we noticed that just outside the rest area was an almost concealed path, just wide enough for a car, leading off into the bush. We were indeed in luck. We thrust ‘The Beast’ through the growth, circling around into a prime spot. Perfectly level, plenty of space, we parked up, unpacked what we needed and called it quits for the day. With a well used fire pit right by the van, we decided to go foraging for more wood, having incinerated our entire supply last night, in the belief that a fire tonight may have been out of the question. We were regretting our decision now, as the ground about here has been well picked over for anything of notable size. That said, we were able to scavenge up enough that we ought to be able to enjoy a small blaze later on. Worn out from bouncing about in ‘The Beast’ and sourcing fuel for a fire, we plonked ourselves in our camp chairs to enjoy the final remnants of the sunshine, whence Bec turned into the campground Nazi, urging under her breath to all and sundry that even dared slow down, to keep on moving.

The Campground Nazi And Her Wood Pile.

The Dogs Have A Breather In The Fresh Air.

Enjoying A Final Outback Sunset.

As we sat, another few vans did pull in, a couple managing to figure out the secret access, to make their way in to join us, nearby, but not so close as to be annoying. Bec was disheartened regardless of having to share the bush. As we sat however, a couple came over to say G’day. Striking up a conversation with them, we found that they had grown up not far from where we live in Melbourne. They seemed nice and in deference to the scarcity of firewood, at Becs insistence I might add despite her earlier desire to keep the whole camping area to ourselves, invited them to join us after dinner for a flare up. We also made a round of the camping area, extending the same invitation to the other campers who had pulled in for the night.

With the logistics sorted, and the promise that more wood would be sourced, we retreated to the van for dinner, during which I issued Bec a stern warning that she was to behave around the fire if we were to have guests over, like that was ever going to stop her. With a bulging gut load of food, we headed out, enjoying the last vestiges of a tree shrouded sunset, before tossing a lit firestarter in amongst the pile of long dried tinder and twigs we had built up, to get the fire started.

Let’s Get This Party Started.

With flames quickly flickering to a generous height like a beacon, we were soon joined by another three couples. The first lady over, immediately pegged Bec, who was already joyously pitching an over abundance of logs onto the now blazing inferno, as being the pyro amongst us, while admitting to similar tendencies herself.

It was a fantastic way to spend our final night in the out back, enjoying the easy conversation, banter and a belly full of laughs that come of having the shared interest of camping out under the stars and travelling this great land of ours.

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