Our Aussie Adventures

We had an early start this morning, running about like the proverbial headless chooks as we packed the van up and hit the open road again. As I jammed my hat on my head this morning, I was actually wishing I was headless. The pinkish tinge on my forehead has been replaced by a cooked lobster red, to which I could feel the soft leather band inside quickly melding with to become one with my head. A delicate process I am sure it will be this evening, to remove my hat, while leaving the skin north of my eye sockets intact. Well, I have always said that I am quite attached to my hat, I just never meant it so figuratively previously.

Derby has been good to us though, and it will be sad to leave. Although we were only here for a matter of a few days, it was a town that immediately grew on me. It didn’t matter where we went, but everyone we spoke to was really friendly and helpful. The town itself was clean, neat and tidy for the most part, while there was just enough to do here to keep us busy for while.

We must keep on travelling however, keeping to our schedule as we continue to head south. Talking of schedules, we made up another half an hour this morning, or 20 minutes if you take into account the quick stop we made at the Derby Saturday morning market, run by the Country Womens Association. I left Bec to wander around the six stalls on her own, while I cut laps of Derby, caravan and all, due to a distinct lack of 15 metre long parking spots.

Our time on the road today was to be barely a couple of hours, as we cruised towards Broome. It was actually a rather boring drive, exacerbated by a steady head wind for the most part that saw our fuel economy surge upwards a bit, while a slow moving van in front of us prevented us from putting the miles behind us as quickly as we would have liked.

Regardless, we pulled into the Roebuck Plains Roadhouse at about 11:30AM. The roadhouse has a quaint little caravan park attached, and while it is something like 35KM out of Broome, it was the only park within striking distance that will accept the dogs. Not only that, but it is almost half the price of any of the parks in town. It was worth the effort to make a booking the other day though, because the park is booked out, even though there seems to be quite a number of vacant sites.

Driving in, we were happy to see that our site is quite wide. Unfortunately it is almost as wide as it is long, with an awkwardly placed tree towards the rear. On first inspection, getting the van in, even while trying not to punch a new window through the back wall, courtesy of an errant tree limb, ought to be a relatively simple task. All we needed to do was drive onto the site across the road then with a slight tweak of the wheel, reverse straight back. Easy. Well, it should have been.

An hour later, we were still going. We did have it nice at one stage, but we would have been parked almost on top of the tent that is precariously close to the boundary of the neighbouring site. I seriously considered leaving it there, but thought better of it, so we were back to square one as we pulled the van out and started the show all over again from the first act. I even gave Bec a go at doing the steering, but that didn’t work either.

I at least figured out why today. I reverse by feel. Bec tells me where the back of the van needs to go, and I put it there. I don’t concentrate on what my hands are doing though. With Bec driving, telling her that the back of the van needs to go one way or the other means nothing to her, and I can never figure out what way she needs to steer, when I’m standing out the back. It’s like the blind leading the blind. We did eventually, after providing a park full of people plenty of entertainment, manage to put the van smack bang in the middle of the plot. Not exactly where we wanted it, but there was no way in hell we were pulling it out and trying again. Following todays efforts we both decided that an intensive reversing course, for both of us, might be in order. A reversing course has surely got to be cheaper than a divorce.

With the van finally parked, we spent the next couple of hours setting up camp. We are planning on being here for the next 5 nights, so we wanted to make sure that we are all set up nicely. A quick exploration of the amenities and pool area followed, and we declared the park to be almost perfectly suitable for our needs. The only thing missing, is television reception. If you’ve been following our travels, you would know by now that we ritually consume a number of hours of TV each day. It will be an interesting few nights, without the regular companionship of the glowing picture box on the wall, but we will make do. I’m sure there are plenty of other things that we can do with our time instead.

With everything set up, and nothing else to do, Bec declared that she was exhausted. That was the last I heard from her for a few hours, apart from the occasional grunting, snorting and snoring, as she took a leisurely afternoon siesta. It must have been all the stress of parking that wore her out, I’m sure of it.

It was already late in the day by the time she awoke, and we realised that our dinner plans had been scuttled by our neglecting to take anything out of the freezer this morning. It was lucky therefore that we are parked beside a roadhouse that serves meals at all times of the day and night.

Walking the dogs.

The dogs were treated to a quick walk along the soft sandy dog walking track out back of the van park then, before being given their own dinner to enjoy, while we strolled across the service station forecourt, dodging puddles of oily diesel, arm in arm for a romantic meal at the diner. Well, it was hardly romantic, with the constant hissing of truck air brakes drowned out only by the raucous bellowing coming from the vicinity of the pool table, although the food was infinitely better than what I had steeled myself for. Not quite five star dining, but certainly edible after another hard slog of a day.

Returning to the van after dinner, we realised that we had a serious problem. Really, what are we going to do without TV?

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

After talking to the caravan park manager yesterday about the best time to go fishing, we decided to ignore his advice. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, we’re not early morning people, so getting up in the dark to throw a line in as the sun crested the eastern horizon was out of the question. Instead, we timed our visit to the wharf for the rising high tide, which was still early enough, as we strolled along the jetty at just a bit before 9:00AM.

The contrast between high tide…

…and low tide is evident.

With a stiff breeze blowing in off of King Sound, the waters of which were fishing, it was actually quite chilly, a nice respite from the recent weather we’ve been experiencing, even if it did mean donning a fleecy pullover to keep the chill at bay. The wind also saw me having to un-customarily leave my beloved hat in ‘The Beast’. As such, there is no photographic evidence of me actually fishing this morning as I invoked the no hat, no photos rule.

As far as fishing goes, I’d rate myself as clueless, but having brought the fishing sticks along, we may as well give it a go. We were well armed with a pack of frozen bait, as recommended by everyone we had asked, but as for tackle, had no idea what we ought to be using. Considering I only had a couple of smaller rods, set up with pretty light line, we didn’t have much of a choice, but the line some of the guys were using looked more like rope compared to our fine silk like strand of nylon.

I’m sure two catch something.

Almost 2 hours we sat there, our bait being nibbled away by tiny little bug like looking things that would eat all the flesh out of out Mullet pieces, leaving the skin and bones, but not much else. A couple of decent nibbles were felt, but were unfruitful. We had almost given up, while the most exciting thing that had happened all morning was the sighting of a crocodile gliding through the muddy brown water, when my rod bent in half and the line started disappearing from the spool at an alarming rate. I had the drag set pretty lightly, but the reel was whizzing away, as what ever had ingested my lump of bait took off. There was no question of fighting it, as it didn’t seem to matter how tightly I wound the drag up, my mighty catch easily continued to strip my reel of line, until the inevitable happened. With an almost audible twang, the line went slack and the spool stopped spinning, and I wound in a cleanly snapped line bereft of any terminal tackle. Yep, it’s the classic one that got away tale of woe, but it’s the best I can do of our angling experience. I was at least exalted that I had nearly managed to pull something in. Bec walked away in dismay, having barely felt a bite for her efforts.

As a consolation prize, we bought a serve of fish and chips from the pier side diner. Including the $10.00 we had wasted on bait, our not so fresh fish of the day cost us a whopping $24.00 and was nothing to write home about.

Not quite the same (or as cheap) as catching it for yourself.

We ate that back at the van, at which time we noticed that not having worn our hats today has provided us with a lovely sun induced red hue to our faces. My forehead seems especially tender, being that it is an extreme rarity that my head is exposed to the burning rays of the sun.

After lunch, we did some packing and tidying in readiness to leave in the morning, before kicking back to watch a movie. The film was absolute rubbish, and before we knew it, we were both catching up on some much needed sleep that we had missed out on by getting up early this morning.

Since we had some bait left over from this mornings dismal effort at fishing, we decided to head down to the wharf to watch the sunset, and give us a chance to drown the remainder of the Mullet. We gave ourselves about an hour before the sun was due to set, agreeing that we would dip the lines in until dusk. Unlike this morning, we managed to get a few decent nibbles but nothing overly exciting, and certainly didn’t find ourselves reeling anything in.

Wetting a line.

It was just as the sun was nearing the lower reaches of the sky that Bec called out in glee as the thrilling sight of her bending rod got her excited. So excited, that we pretty much missed the sun disappearing, as Bec joyfully reeled in her catch, me watching on enthusiastically. I was already dreaming of ditching our planned dinner of leftovers from last night, and enjoying a fillet or two of fresher than fresh pan fried fish. I was almost drooling, I could almost taste it, as from over the edge of the jetty Bec hauled in her catch of Cat Fish. All 15 centimetres of it. Even as I consulted the fishing guide, I knew in my heart that it was too small. Almost 30CM too small.

Don’t let that slimy thing touch me!

As such, we unhooked it and returned it to the briny, still animatedly excited that we, well Bec, had at least caught something. Not only that, but it wasn’t to be the last catch of the night, although I can’t even lay claim to that one, as it was all Becs doing again.
Just like this morning, we were about to call it quits, when her rod formed that telling arc, as the line strained against the eyelets. She happily reeled in another Cat Fish, bigger than the last, but still undersized. So, tonight it was Bec who was able to walk, exaltedly back to the car, with a couple of tales to tell of her fishing prowess and how she had beat me 2 catches to none, while I was left to ruminate what could have been. At least I didn’t feel so ripped off at having dipped into my pocket to the tune of $10.00 for the bait. That is after all only $5.00 a fish, or $3.33 if I get to count the one that got away.

Catch number 2.

Back to the van, an early night is called for this evening, to prepare for a day upon the road again tomorrow. My only fear is, that my forehead has tightened to such an extent as a result of my exposure to the solar rays this morning, my ability to close my eyes might be slightly impaired. I’ll see how I go.

As for ‘The Kilometre Challenge’ the entries are slowly starting to roll in. Don’t forget, 2 guesses per day are allowed, by email to: marcus@myramblingtales.com. A quick hint, to try and avert any further attempts at bribery, of which there has been more than one, I’m guessing the total figure will be between 20,000 and 30,000. Good luck to all.

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

After stagnating in the van yesterday, we decided that we should make an effort to get out and about again today, taking in a couple of the sights around Derby that had eluded us the other day.

Our first stop was at the local museum, for which we first had to collect a key from the visitor information centre. A trusting lot they are around here. No thick glass cases around exhibits, or surly looking security guards in every room. Nope, just a dead latch on the front door, opened with a key you retrieve from the information centre, with no questions asked and a request that the key be returned before 5:30PM.

Letting ourselves in.

So we headed down the road to where the museum sits, contained within the relocated Wharfinger House. Unlocking the door to gain admission, we became well aware why security was not so much lacking, as just not required. Spread through the half a dozen rooms was an eclectic mixture of items from Derbys past. While some of the displays were well laid out and quite interesting, I had to wonder about some of the items. It almost seemed that some of the locals had borrowed the keys and unloaded their unwanted junk from home, passing it off as historically significant.

Checking out…

…the museum.

We still spent a good while wandering about the dusty displays, reading where we were able, the placards that had been carefully typed in an age before computers. Actually, the very typewriter upon which they were composed may have even been sitting proudly on display. The aviation gallery held an ancient looking air traffic control panel that had been removed from the Derby airport when Perth control took over the traffic control duties. In the communications gallery next door, an explanation of the Telstra microwave transmission system cleared up for me, the reason behind the many dish sprouting towers we have seen as we’ve been crossing the outback. They are used rather than over ground transmission wires, creating a network that is practically immune to adverse climatic events, providing outlying towns with a reliable landline telephone system.

From the museum, after ensuring that we returned the keys for the next visitors to take advantage of, we stopped at the old Derby gaol. I have a keen interest in old penal complexes, but this must go down as one of the most basic, and savage I’ve been to. Literally a big steel cage, divided into two cells, with corrugated tin on one side and for a roof to give a modicum of shelter from prevailing weather, the steel rings were still embedded within the concrete slab, to which the prisoners were chained by neck rings and hand cuffs overnight. Designed originally to cater for the needs of about thirty inmates, it was known to hold up to 60 at a time, and for up to six months as prisoners awaited sentencing or transport south to Broome. As primitive as it seemed, it was constructed in 1906 and even more worryingly, only closed its iron cell gates to prisoners in 1975.

Bec wanted to leave me here.

Further exploration of Derby was restricted to stopping by the camping store for information on nearby hotspots to wet a line and drown some otherwise innocent bait. We have brought a couple of rods along, which have thus far done nothing more than take up valuable space in the van. We figure that we don’t want to get home to find that we took them along for a holiday, so we are planning on giving them a flick off of the wharf tomorrow morning. Now, if I could just find the energy to go for a bike ride, there will be almost nothing that we have packed that we haven’t had cause to use.

With a firm angling plan in place for the morning, we returned to the van for a bite to eat. Following lunch, I stepped out to see if the caravan park office stocked bait, and finally returned over an hour later. I had stopped on the way to say G’day to the couple camped behind us, and what can I say, but time flies. I finally returned to a semi-irate Bec, who had been busy doing the lunch time washing and tidying up. I wasn’t a popular boy for having shirked my responsibilities, although I have noticed as we’ve been travelling around that the more traditional gender lines are well and truly alive in the caravanning fraternity.

It’s nothing for all the guys, beer close to hand, to be lounging about on sorry looking canvas camp chairs that are generally sagging and straining under the weight asked of them to carry, while the fragrant aromas of dinner being prepared emanate from within the van, where the lady folk are busy cooking. Barbeques on the other hand are the sole domain of a masculine chef, as is generally the setting up of and pulling down of anything on the outside of the van. Laundry day is the same, as a fellow here and there might put his beer down for long enough to string up a makeshift clothes line, but otherwise ‘washer woman’ would be the apt description. I really must wonder what other campers say snickeringly, out of my hearing as I peg out the laundry, or get espied through the kitchen window, redolent heaven forbid, in my apron cooking up a storm in the kitchen for dinner.

In any case, I got back to the van in just enough time to gather up Bec and the babies, for a drive down to the dinner tree, in time for the sunset. It has been a much recommended spot for us to catch the setting sun, a large Boab Tree creating a strikingly photogenic silhouette in the foreground. The recommendations weren’t wrong, although the sunset didn’t generate quite the colour we had hoped for. Regardless of the lack of fiery colour sweeping across the sky, we now have almost 60 photos of a Boab Tree, showing the sun at various acute angles above the edge of the earth as it slowly dipped wholly below the horizon.

Sunset at the ‘Dinner Tree’.

Marcus has finally gone mad.

It was back to the van then, where I bucked the gender trend again, as I withstood the heat of the kitchen, and the wrath of the gender divide traditionalists, to plate up a delicious feed for us all. Hey, I figure it’s the least I can do!

Before I go, I know I might be harping on about the ‘Kilometre Challenge’, but it won’t be much fun if no one enters. To that end, I did get an enquiry from a loyal reader to try and get some inside information today. Like I replied to him, the estimated number of kilometres we are expecting to cover are between the two guesses of ‘John Smith’. Check the current tally here, and get on to sending me them emails. Remember the address for entries is: marcus@myramblingtales.com

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

If you thought that we had a quiet day yesterday, then today will sound positively sedentary. So lazy were we, I’ve left myself with an extremely tough task this evening, being that I have nothing of substance to write about. Instead, I will just waffle and ramble along, hopefully stringing together enough words to create a blog post of satisfactory length. So a word of warning, don’t expect any nuggety gems of wisdom tonight, nor any recommendations of fantastic things to do in Derby. There will be none. I can’t even pad it out with photos, as the camera stayed resolutely in my pocket, especially when we went out, for reasons that will soon become all too obvious to one and all.

Our day started with a sleep in for all of us as we enjoyed the luxury of having nothing to do for the second day in a row. Although today, there were not even any plans to take in any further tourist attractions. Not that there are many attractions and features left, after we viewed the majority of them yesterday.

A walk about the park with the dogs was on the cards, but no sooner had we stepped out of the van, Bethany saw another couple of dogs being walked. While they paid her scant attention, Bethany decided to start barking and straining at her leash, which in turn got Alvin going as well. Before I knew it, I had two dogs trying their best to break from their tether. As I had warned them both that bad behavior would not be tolerated, I turned them on their heel and we returned forthwith to the van, where they skulked up onto the bed and began to sulk. Some people might think of dogs as dumb, but I truly believe that these two knew exactly what they had done wrong, and that it had cost them the chance of a walk.

We did get them up and head out shortly later though, for a visit to the local veterinarian clinic with Bethany. Not for anything serious thankfully, and the exact reason is bound to gross you out, so I will leave it at that. In any case she has been a little quiet over the last few weeks or so, but having had a little readjustment, she seems to be back to her usual self once more. Oh, okay then, if you really must know, her anal glands needed expressing, and that is one job I am more than happy to pay some other poor sucker for the privilege of carrying out.

I think it was more good luck than good judgment, that we were back at the van a mere 20 minutes after we had left. Given that the vet clinic is only open a couple of days a week, staffed by locums who travel up from the Broome Veterinarian Hospital, they don’t take appointments. Instead, you just turn up and wait your turn. We didn’t have to wait at all, and almost literally slid across the waiting room floor, into the consulting room, and with an expert grasp of what had to be done, Scott the vet had us in and out before we could blink.

That then, was the sole extent of our outing today, as we decided to beat a hasty retreat from the again extreme heat outside by cocooning ourselves inside to watch movies for the remainder of the afternoon.

Between watching a movie and leafing through the large pile of tourist brochures we have for the southern parts of Western Australia, where we will be touring about before we even know it, that was our day. The dogs were happy for the company, while we were just pleased to have the time to sit about and relax again.

Bec was on dinner duty tonight, as I reclined in front of the television again. With a tweak of the antenna to make sure I had a decent picture, I cracked a tinnie or two as Queensland tromped home over New South Wales in a must win rugby league state of origin decider. It was a heart stopping, breathless last few minutes as the blues threatened to make a comeback, but in what was a perfect end to the day and a perfect conclusion to the game, the maroons brought it home for an eighth straight year. Go Queensland.

As the broadcast went to the full time interviews, I grabbed my towel and headed for the showers. I should have guessed, and maybe waited for a while, but there was a cavalcade of blokes all making a bee line for the showers, all who had most likely been waiting like me, for the game to draw to an end. With a spring in my step, I managed to snag a stall and enjoyed a shower to the noise of all the latecomers turning away in dismay.

Lastly, another reminder today, that the Kilometre Challenge is up and running, with entry open to one and all. You can read the rules here: ‘Kilometre Challenge Rules (The Small Print)‘, or find them in the menu at the top of our home page, under ‘Kilometre Challenge’. And don’t forget you can submit a new entry every single day between now and the day we get home. So the sooner you begin sending me your entries, the more chances you’ll have of winning the grand, although yet to be determined prize.

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

Our day today was one of little note worthy activity. Following a great nights sleep, I spent the first couple of hours slowly roasting, as I sat ensconced beneath our awning in the early morning heat, tapping away at the computer while I waited patiently for Bec to awaken from her slumber. I managed to get a good number of chores done online, which I had been putting off for some time, although I feel like I am still behind on a few issues.

Most importantly though, I have launched a new venture on the website, which I will explain at the end of todays post. Suffice to say, this new addition will no doubt leave me with more work to do each evening, but I am sure it will be a big hit with all of our readers out there.

With Bec finally awake, we slowly decided what would be on our agenda for the remainder of the day. There is not a real lot to see and do here in Derby, a fact we were well aware of prior to lobbing here. We had planned it that way so that we could spend some time doing little else but lazing about.

Thus, it was almost 1:00PM by the time we got ourselves going, heading out to explore all that Derby has to offer. Our first stop being the Derby wharf, where we timed our arrival to coincide precisely with the low tide. The wharf is a horseshoe shaped timber jetty, built it appears, at low tide, over nothing but mud flats. There was barely any water beneath it, as the spindly pylons held it aloft nearly 10 metres above the surface of the ocean. It looked almost comedic, if it were not for the knowledge that at high tide, the water would be almost lapping at the underside of the boards upon which we were walking. There is a difference in sea level between low and high tide of between 7 and 9 metres, an influx that is difficult by any means for which to design a pier.

Like a pier out of water.

Whilst you are able to drive the circuit of the wharf, we opted for the more energetic option, leaving ‘The Beast’ safely parked ashore. On foot, we wandered out and around the jetty, looking nervously over the side at what was an almost vertigo inducing drop to the muddy shallow water so far below us. Peering down, we could see schools of small silvery fish, swimming around in the pools of water inside the horseshoe, trapped until such time as the tide has again risen, allowing them their release to the open waters of the sea.

In the heat of the day, the short walk around the jetty was enough, and it was a welcome respite to jump back into the comfort of ‘The Beast’ as we headed for our next attraction. A few kilometres out of town, we came to a short dirt track that led to the Derby Prison Boab Tree. Hollow in the centre, with a small slit for an entrance, in the early days of settlement, this particular Boab Tree was literally used as a prison. Police escorting indigenous ‘prisoners’ enroute to Derby, would imprison their charges within the hollow trunk of the tree overnight.

Bec considers how to intern me within the ‘prison tree’.

It is now a site of Aboriginal significance, and has a wire strand fence around it, with a sign explaining the not insignificant penalties for crossing the wire. The well worn path to the base of the tree would indicate that neither the sign or the fence are heeded too much attention however, a sad indictment on the many ignorant people that travel our country.

On the way back into town, we turned onto the Gibb River Road. A well known route in the four wheel driving fraternity, we only travelled a matter of 3KM along it, all of which was paved, to reach our next stop at the Mowanjum Community Cultural Centre. Less of a cultural centre than a place at which artworks by local Aboriginal artists can be purchased, we were disappointed that the artwork on offer was not as good as we have seen elsewhere. I realise that art is a subjective thing, so others may love it, but it didn’t seem to be as traditional as the works we saw in both Kakadu and Kununurra.

Back into town, we stopped in the main shopping area to collect a few more supplies. It was saddening to see that the sidewalk appeared to be a perfectly reasonable place for some to have an afternoon siesta, while we again noted that personal hygiene isn’t particularly high on the scale of daily activities. It’s an ominous sign when the supermarket must have notices pinned up, stating that you must be wearing a shirt to be served and there are signs in all of the public parks advising that drinking and gambling are prohibited.

For all its folly though, I have so far found Derby to be quite a nice little town. Assuredly, it’s an odd place, with a bit of a wild west feel about it, but it’s like a façade. Like a thin veneer of abnormality to keep strangers at bay, only lending itself to those that care to delve that little bit deeper.

Heading back to the van, the heat had us beat though, and it was a joy to be able to sprawl about in the cool comfort of home. So quickly and thoroughly does the incessant furnace like heat drain you of any trace of energy, we lay down to watch a movie, and I quickly found myself dozing off, periodically reawakening to the snorts of my own snoring. I think an early night will be in order this evening.

Lastly, I would like to officially launch my all new and exciting ‘Kilometre Challenge Competition’. I know a couple of readers have already stumbled upon the new pages, but I’ll give you a quick rundown here. Essentially, I will accept one entry per person, per day, submitted via email to: marcus@myramblingtales.com . Each entry can have 2 guesses at how many kilometres you think we will cover for the entire duration of our trip. Since the closest unique entry will win, you will be able to check up on a regular basis to see what other people have guessed and knock them out by submitting the same number. Full rules, regulations and guidelines can be viewed here at: ‘Kilometre Challenge Rules (The Small Print)‘, and I urge you to closely read them before sending your entries in. Any entries I deem to be in conflict with the rules will be uncerimoniously disqualified. The list of current guesses, which I will update as often as I am able can be seen here: ‘The Tally So Far‘.

So, get to submitting those entries and good luck.

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