Going bush and facebook shame

Those of you who see my facebook feed may have noticed a recent status update - about camping - with no punctuation and no capital letters. None, I tell you! How embarrassment.

This is because I committed the cardinal sin of fiddling around on my facebook page, getting distracted (I'd like to blame the toddler but it more likely was the fact that my coffee was ready, or the mail was delivered) and leaving it open without logging off. My husband (who never met a rule of the English language he couldn't disregard) came along, assumed it was his page, and posted the offending update.

Now, he never logs out of his facebook page, which has me constantly shaking my head. I've 'liked' any number of things - mummy blogs, nappy sites, feminist writers etc - on his behalf, thinking I was logged in. But this time it was the other way around. Thank god he put up something so innocuous - though omitting full stops remains a grave offence, in my book.

Typing and facebook felonies aside, we did indeed have a 'good camping trip out to the block'.

To clarify, 'the block' is a parcel of land less than an hour from home on which we have a prospecting lease. I don't go much for the prospecting, but I do appreciate having somewhere peaceful to escape to for short camping trips, or even shorter day visits. It's not an actual camping site, just a patch of bush, so we don't have to share it with anyone.

I've always loved camping. And since reading up on this primal lifestyle thing I'm an even bigger fan. Turns out being out in the fresh air, away from crowds, being in sync with the sun, getting a bit dirty, staring into a fire, all the usual camping business, is how we're designed to live.

While out there Paul, the prospector, obviously did some prospecting. In his slippers. Including a stint on the edge of a dam:

This is why, despite repeated requests to do so, I did not buy him a pair of uggs of pure wool and costing upwards of $150. I knew something like this would be their fate and the $12 Kmart jobs were the best option.

He also did a bit on dry land with his 'helper'.

Who also helped with the sieving of product.

We saw a rainbow. And an echidna, emus and a baby goanna that popped out of a log once it was on the fire. Luckily it didn't fall into the flames, and the Prospector got it to safety.
Then we came home and I revelled in my flushing toilet and comfy bed. This is the 21st century, after all.

Gateway

Taken at Twin Falls, Kakadu National Park, with a Pentax K20D
and edited with Photoshop CS5.

A very goldfields Christmas. Alternatively titled: holiday season wrap up

Hoping everyone had a lovely Christmas/New Year and 2013 is going well so far. Here's a wrap-up of our festive season, in point form and pics:

* Christmas Eve: proceedings started off a little bit glam, at least as far as my feet were concerned. I wore these pretty heels out to dinner with my sister and her work mates. We had a great time, save for one slightly embarrassing moment when Rosie swiped a piece of garlic bread out of a girl's hand and shoved it in her gob. By the end of the week my feet were much less glamorous thanks to the polish being chipped and the skin stained by sun, sand and dirt. 

* Christmas Day: Was a fantastic day. Was the first time I've had it with my family in several years, and of course was Rosie's first ever, so it was a special time. She especially liked the wrapping paper and ribbons. I especially liked the wine. Paul especially liked the dessert selection.

* The following week: Was beach time! We headed south with my parents to the Esperance region for a week of seaside camping. As did about half of the rest of WA - we picked one of the more remote sites (Seal Creek campsite in Cape Arid National Park) and even it was full for most of our stay. 

Highlights included the stunning beaches, hooking a tasty mulloway that fed us for two nights (Paul's efforts), a couple of hours all to myself one morning while the others went to the beach, a reprieve from the heat of the goldfields and the general lazing about one does while on holidays. Rosie took to camping quite well and was keen to sample the local fare: 

I think someone's been watching too many survival shows on the
Discovery Channel with daddy.

Lowlights included a) getting bogged in the sand and b) getting bogged in the sand. This was all Paul's fault of course - he was driving - but he felt so foolish I didn't even really have the option of properly berating him. He particularly felt like a grade A buffoon when we'd walked part of the way back to camp and upon leaving the soft sand part for the gravel road part he realised he'd left his shoes at the floundering ute. He soldiered on until he could go no further and dived off the road onto his back, his smoking feet waggling in the air like those of an upturned turtle. 
Lowlight #2 was finding a live ginormous biggish spider in our tent when we packed up. Not sure I'll ever feel secure in that tent again. 

Then we came home to 45+ degree weather and the cool sea breezes and frigid ocean (it was so bloody cold it took me to the last day to work up to having a swim) seemed like a distant memory. It was worth it though to be back to a sand-free bed in a spider-free room. 

How was your Christmas season? Do anything exciting? 

WA road trip 2011 - days 6 to 8

With the sun deigning to make a return, and the canvas sealant applied, we were able to pack up a dry tent on day 6. That day we went as far as a little seaside village called Cervantes.
We just overnighted there - and enjoyed a bargain seafood platter at the local bowling club thanks to a voucher from the caravan park. Honestly, where would this country be without its bowling clubs?
From there Paul and I made a quick trip into a mad little pocket of coastal land called The Pinnacles. It's a funny little mini-desert, virtually right on the coast, and completely dotted with small rock formations rising out of the ground. Quite intriguing. And as I was feeling very lazy-bonesy that morning, I was delighted to learn you could drive through it, instead of having to walk. Hurrah! (You can walk through it too, if you're feeling even remotely energetic.)

Various shots of the Pinnacles. See, I didn't just sit in the car the whole way.

At one point we advised a gent on his camera, who wanted to know whether megabytes or gigabytes were bigger.
The road from there took us north, toward Geraldton and through beautiful lush farmland. Until, just south of Geraldton, we found a gorgeous stretch of beach and decided to make it home for the following few days.
We were happy with it, anyway. I can't say the same for the fish that ended up in our bellies. Other campers who came along and discovered we'd nabbed the best spot may not have been quite as impressed, either.
We'd been on the move almost every day since leaving home and it was finally time to kick back in one spot for a while. And kick back we did. There were walks along the beach, a brief, ankle-deep paddle in the wintry Indian Ocean, drinks as the sun went down over the water, fishing expeditions and morning sleep-ins.
I made a dent in the stack of magazines that had been building up at home and I'd bought along. I baked a cake. And, with the smidge of network coverage available, I even caught up on a couple of emails.
The most arduous part was trudging through the thick sand to get anywhere. Well, it was until our final night there. Then circumstances became decidedly more arduous...

Beautiful Flat Rock beach. Photos courtesy of my mother. Thanks Mum.
The orange tent is ours. No idea who the surfer is - quite a few turned up during the weekend we were there.

To be continued...

WA road trip: days 4 and 5. Part II

Once back in New Norcia, where we spent our fifth night, Mum and I trotted off to photograph what has to be one of the country's most photogenic towns, and Paul and Dad got to it with applying the sealant to the roof of our tent. (I'll fill you in on the success, or otherwise, of the exercise later. Suffice to say, it was not the last damp night of the trip.)

Inside one of New Norcia's glorious
churches (above and below)

Photographing this amazing place wasn't enough, so the Thursday morning we joined a guided tour of the town.
As a fact generally only stays in my head for as long as it takes for another one to enter, I don't recall 100 per cent of the info our guide imparted. Some of the more interesting bits I do remember include:
* New Norcia is Australia's only monastic town. It was created by Spain's St Benedictine monks.
* currently eight monks live there. They employ about 70 people.
* miracles involving bush fires and an angry Aboriginal man come in handy when you're a band of pioneering, missionary monks working to convert the local indigenous population.
* the early monks didn't agree with the government-appointed term of 'orphanage' for their home for Aboriginal children, as many of the children did have families living in the area.
* the monks have to get up before 5am six days of the week (meaning I shouldn't complain about having to do it nine days of the fortnight).
* but they get to maintain the Spanish tradition of an afternoon siesta (which I do not).

I cannot express just how amazing this town is. If you ever go to Perth, make sure you get up there for a look.

Some more photos:

Coming up: we head to the beach!

WA road trip 2011 - days 4 and 5. Part 1

Right, so I managed a whopping one holiday post while on holidays. Whoops. Click here if you'd like to read it. This one follows on from it.

Have you ever been camping in a leaky tent? Yes? No?
Nor had I, until this road trip.
I had once spent a wet weekend camping when someone, who shall remain nameless but whose initials are Paul Mayall, decided we didn't need the tent. And subsequently got dripped on all night thanks to a leaky tarp hastily erected over our swag.
But I'd never had a tent leak on me. Not even when the most ferocious thunder and rain storm I've ever seen cracked open over us while in Kakadu late last year.
The same tent that survived the Kakadu downpour decided enough was enough this time, and began to leak on night three of the holiday. We were not impressed. Though there was a couple of saving graces - we noticed before we even got the swag unrolled (putting a tent up in the driving rain is handy that way), and we had just enough room in my parents' camper to sleep.
We were near a place called Bindoon that night, and were on our way to Perth for the Wicked musical/show.
So, luckily, we did sleep warm and dry, and were able to book into a cabin for our night in Perth. Where it continued to rain intermittently, I might add.
Mum and I saw the show and loved it. If you didn't get around to seeing it, give yourself a smack. It was worth it.
First port of call the following morning, on our way out of the city and back to the fascinating monastic town of New Norcia, was BCF (Paul's second favourite place ever, after Bunnings) for some canvas sealant.
Second port of call, and almost as important, was morning tea at the Margaret River Chocolate Factory near Midland. If you're ever in that area and are even a mild chocoholic (though I have my doubts that mild chocoholics actually exist), make sure you visit this place. Beautiful chocolate, a huge range, and the best hot mocha Paul says he's had in years. Dad gives the thumbs up to their ice cream, too.

The front of the boys school at the
monastic town of New Norcia.

Some more photos of New Norcia (exteriors. Stay tuned for pics of the insides of these beautiful buildings).

To be continued...

Road trip 2011 - Days one to three

Regular readers will know we are on long-awaited holidays. For this holiday we're on a road trip with my parents. Internet service has been patchy, so here is a brief rundown on days one to three.
We traveled from Coolgardie to Bindoon, just south of New Norcia.

Beringbooding Rock

Sights include Karalee Dam, Elachbutting Rock (any advice on how to pronounce it would be welcomed), Beringbooding Rock and a brief stop in New Norcia - we will return to explore it properly.
The landscape has morphed from scrubby red desert, to blackened burnt-out desert to languid, stretching farmland vivid with green and yellow crops.
Almost every mile features wildflowers in shades of pink, white, yellow and purple peeking out from the undergrowth, refusing to let the wattle steal the show.
We encountered one wildly windy, dark night with bursts of rain, and one frigid but peaceful, moonlit night.
We have also:
* had a minor mishap with our brakes (resolved).
* had a mishap with with Mum's SLR camera (not yet completely resolved)
* dined with 20 gazillion flies.
* developed a system where after each trip to the campground facilities you report on the state of the toilet paper roll, for the benefit of the next person paying it a visit
* retrieved the kettle from the fire. Twice.
* found a pocket of vegetation atop Elachbutting Rock that was like coming across a secret garden on the rooftop of the world.
* sat back and drunk the requisite number cups of coffee and glasses of wine stipulated in Holidays 101.

Happy hour. Paul gives it the double thumbs up,
so you know it has to be good.

Canola fields.

Elachbutting Rock.

We are actually on day four now, and are at Perth. Tonight we will be in the audience of Wicked the musical. Well, Mum and I will be; the guys don't really go for "that kind of dancey, la-la caper" quality entertainment.

Here is a quick slideshow of some photos taken so far:



And a couple of brief videos. Which aren't all that interesting and were only recorded because I wanted to play with my iPad.






Coming soon: Day four to whenever I get to do another update

< Previous post: Taking a break. But hopefully not a bloggy break

Taking a break. But hopefully not a bloggy break

Image from here

At long last, I'm about to go on holidays. OK, so I had a holiday last September-October. And it was a pretty big one. (You can read about it here, here, here and here.) Nor have I exactly been been worked to the bone since. But it sounds better saying it like that. Because after months of the blasted, blaring alarm blasting and blaring at 4.40am, it feels like this has been a long time coming.
So, the Desert Rambler will finally do some desert rambling. And a bit of beach rambling. Even a tiny slice of city rambling.
I'm not sure yet what it means for this blog for the following couple of weeks. We'll be traveling through the region between Perth and Kalgoorlie and I've no idea what internet service I'll have. So, while I hope to use my days away from this thing they call work to write some drafts, things might go a bit quiet around here in the interim.
There is one thing you can expect: lots of photos. I love taking photos. My parents are traveling with us and they also are fond of taking a snap or six thousand. So much so that Mum has joined a camera club - and I fully intend to appropriate borrow some of hers to pretty up my posts here.
So be prepared for many, many pics, uploaded either during the trip or once we're back in civilisation.
Which leaves me with just one more thing to say for now:

 - I'm. ON. HOLIDAAAAAYYYZZZ!! (Yes, mispelling this word goes against my grain, but what the hell, I'm on holidays. I don't care about mangled English).

< Previous post: Wordless Wednesday - I'm a wildflower

I'm not a female version of my husband. I am myself

My husband is a very interesting man.
Except when he's boring me to death.
Image source: www.zazzle.com

A few weeks ago I was delighted to wave my husband away on a weekend camping/prospecting trip. Delighted because I was staying at home, and it was the first time in months I had more than a couple of hours to myself.
(As it turned out I had a lot longer than a few hours because the weather turned wet and nasty but the group of hopeful prospectors decided to risk it. And got stranded. In a place adequately referred to as woop woop. For a week. But that is not the point of this post.)

Today I'm talking about the number of times fool old men people asked me why I didn't go with him. They were genuinely surprised I preferred a weekend of solitude (boring and lonely, and a bit aloof of me, according to them. Blissful, according to me) to traipsing athrough the never never in the cold with my husband and a metal detector. My very credentials as a wife seemed in question.
So, can I ask what is with this assumption wives are to toss away their own interests and trot around professing a fascination with anything their husbands deem halfway entertaining?
It certainly doesn't seem to work the other way. They wouldn't be surprised to hear Paul has no intention of accompanying me to the musical Wicked next month. And he won't be considered neglectful and a little too independent/selfish for his own good for not doing so. More eyebrows would be raised if he was actually coming.
(Come to think of it, these particular fellows would probably be surprised to hear even I'm going. 'Whadya doin' that shit on yer holidays for? Why don't you just go the beach and get pissed?' would more likely be their response.)
I've come up against this attitude this ever since we've been together. No matter his hobby, there's always someone - or several someones - who think I too should immediately take it up. But no such expectation is placed on him to, in return, share in my trips to art galleries, stage shows or concerts.
And while it shouldn't bug me - they're presumptuous old farts, after all - it does.

Have you experienced similar expectations? Can anyone tell me why on earth a couple would want to do every single thing together?

< Previous post: Wordless Wednesday - Beautiful bows
Next post: Blast from the past >

Go(ing) west. This is what we did. Part V

Just an average evening of Gunn Point glory.

So, where were we? That's right. In Darwin. After leaving Cairns about a fortnight earlier.
What we did next was probably the highlight of the entire trip.
Because we had five days at what can only be described as paradise. Well, a camping version of paradise. There were still pesky/carnivorous insects and no running water.
Paul's friend in Darwin, Ian, took us to this slice of paradise. It's called Gunn Point, and is about 40 minutes from Darwin. Think pristine beach, secluded camp spots, sea breezes, fresh-caught seafood and sunsets over the sea. And think all that, with no crowds.
We arrived early Friday afternoon, before anyone else, and claimed the best camping spot. Several other groups arrived later but by Monday morning they were gone again and there was not another living soul in sight.
Which did mean we couldn't share around the mutant-sized March flies that descended in hordes upon sunset, but that was a small price to pay for heaven.
What does one do in heaven, you may ask. Well, not much, as it turns out. Which is probably a big reason for its appeal.
My days looked something like this:
6am: Wake up. Peek out tent window and check our two dogs are still in the vicinity and also have not been gnawed to bones by ferocious March flies (I swear those things had teeth). Go back to sleep.
7am(ish): Wake up. Notice Paul is getting up. And that it's light outside. Go back to sleep.
8am(ish): Wake up. Get up. Walk along beach with dogs in tow.
9am: Breakfast on the beach.
10am: Paul, who has been out exploring/being a boy on his motorbike, returns. Knowing his activities hold infinitely more fascination for me than the bestselling book in my lap, kindly fills me in. Where he went. What he saw. The people he saw. What speed he got up to on the bike. Where he moved the crab pots to and the chances of us catching, and therefore eating, a mud crab or two that day (a matter that was, in fact, of great interest to me).
10.30am: We duck back into the tent for, ahem, married-people-on-holidays activities.
11am: We have coffee in the shade by the beach.
11.30am: We go for a drive to the mangrove area nearby so Paul can go 'crab-spearing'. I won't go into details, but suffice to say PETA will be knocking on my door any minute now (it is legal, though). Most days he snaffles a crab. Including the day he found one but failed to get a firm hold on it and flung it out of it's hole and almost onto my foot. My toes were lucky to survive that incident.
1pm: Return to camp. Have lunch. And another coffee. By the beach (of course).
2pm: Read. Talk to the dogs. Generally laze about.
3.30pm: Start cooking day's catch of mud crabs. Eat mud crabs.
5pm: Have happy hour (drinks, cheese etc). Followed by dinner.
6pm: Watch the sun set over the beach and marvel at how life can give you moments of absolute perfection. While wearing thick woolly socks to protect self from voracious March flies, which seem to attack only the lower leg area and can't get fangs through said socks.

The fishing crew.

Foiled! The monster March flies went hungry that night.

You can never do enough beach exploring.

Our Darwin friends, Ian and Cath, came out for the Saturday night so we had ourselves a bit of a party and feast. The guys wandered about doing guy stuff for the afternoon and Cath, also a book person, and I parked ourselves in the shade with our tomes (ok, they were chick-lit numbers, but give us a break - we were on holidays!).
After five nights we decided to return to civilisation. Which offered the benefits of bathrooms. And significantly fewer March flies and piles of sand, the presence of which admittedly had started to wear a bit thin. But it was a magical place, and we had a magical stay there. We couldn't believe our luck in finding such a wonderful spot, having it to ourselves, and being able to eat fresh (and free!) seafood virtually every afternoon.

More glorious-ness.

Best friends, watchin' the world go by. 

Low tide at sunset.

To be continued...


For other Going West chapters, see:
Go(ing west). This is what we did. Part I
Go(ing west). This is what we did. Part II
Go(ing west). This is what we did. Part III
Go(ing west). This is what we did. Part IV


I'd love to hear your thoughts on this post! You can leave a comment below or send me an email. Thanks!

Go(ing) west. This is what we did. Part IV

The Katherine River. Image source: http://www.worldisround.com/

We'd arrived in Katherine in the early afternoon. Quite a famous town, but once you're there kind of wonder why.
Now that I think of it, I hadn't heard a lot about Katherine. I'd just heard it mentioned a lot. This may be because it's an actual town, and you can pretty much count on one hand the number of actual towns in NT.
It was nice enough but there was nothing sensational about it. I suspect it's true attraction lays in the reportedly spectacular gorges, rivers and parks, surrounding it. Attractions we didn't make the time to see. (One day, and all that).
At this point I must tell you about our camping fridge. It was both a curse and a blessing. A deep, cavernous affair, it was designed by Paul and a refrigeration mechanic friend (who also built it) with chilling multiple slabs of beer in mind. It even has a generous freezer section.
All that space was handy. Especially after our possibly excessive first shop in Mareeba. But things that provide a lot of space tend to also take up a lot of space. And space is at a premium when camping.
It also meant it was gut-poppingly heavy. Even Paul struggles with it, and he lifts most items so easily I often wonder if he has a He-Man gene or two.
But once it's in place, and filled with tasty holiday food and drink, I find myself quite impressed with it.
Anyway, by the time we got to Katherine the fan on the fridge compressor which (without going into specifics) keeps the whole show running was well and truly cactus. So it was fortunate we arrived in an actual town, where there was a good chance of buying a replacement, when we did.
However the procuring of a replacement fan that fit and lasted more than six hours was a different story. A rather convoluted one I won't go into here other than to say it did eventually have a happy ending.
We had four days at Katherine and stayed a few minutes from town at a place called Manbulloo Station, right on the Katherine River.
B set up in the camping ground and we booked into a self-contained cabin that had a (functioning) fridge/freezer and - joy! - it's own little bathroom.
As well as fixing the fridge, we (by we, I mean Mr Fix-it/Paul) were also able to address some other mechanical concerns. Eg the slightly essential brakes and tyres.
And we got in some holiday-style relaxing by the river, accompanied by the dogs and a good book or seven.
The final morning was a bit sad as B and baby left for Kununurra.
We went on to Darwin that day and had a trailer tyre destroy itself on the way. It was rather dramatic in its demise and ended up in strips along a section of Stuart Highway. Didn't take Paul long to change it though, him being Mr Fix It and all.

A larger-than-life bronze statue of a drover at the Junction Hotel/Store & the Drovers Memorial, dedicated during the Last Great Cattle Drive in 1988. This is on Newcastle Waters Station, which is actually closer to Tennant Creek than Katherine, but I thought I'd include it here.

Paul replacing the decimated trailer tyre. Apologies for not Photoshopping out the plumber's crack.

We made it to Darwin in one piece otherwise, and were able to stay with an old workmate of Paul's who now lives there.
And I'm not sure I can adequately express just how pleased Paul was to have another bloke to talk to after a fortnight with two women and baby.
The first beer was cracked and it was on - fishing talk this, hunting talk that, fitting talk, blah blah blah (his friend, Ian, is also a fitter-machinist). He even got to go to the tip - the Darwin couple had been doing some yard work - so finally felt like a man again.

Lee Pt, Darwin. The first place we visited upon arrival. Was so nice to see the beach again.

* I think I've overdone it with the talking here (may be turning into my mother) - all these words and I've only taken us from Katherine to Darwin. Will continue later with our time in Darwin, which included Gunn Point. If I had to name one place along the entire journey as the most magical, it would be Gunn Point.

Go(ing west). This is what we did. Part I
Go(ing west). This is what we did. Part II
Go(ing west). This is what we did. Part III

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this post! You can leave a comment below:

Go(ing) west. This is what we did. Part III

The open road. Somewhere between
Normanton and Lawn Hill, QLD.

We decided on Gilbert River (our first stay for the trip) following a recommendation from a friend. Perhaps discovering it was a dud should have given us some warning about heeding people’s recommendations. Because our next destination was also suggested to us and once again turned out to be less than idyllic. This place was Leichhardt Falls. Upon arrival it was lovely.
For starters, there was water in the river. Quite a pretty river, even. But there was also sand. A LOT of sand. And thanks to the gale that started blowing approximately two minutes after we got ourselves set up much of that sand ended up in our eyes. And food. And underwear. And tents. And ... you get the picture.
“Maybe it will die down once it’s dark,” we told ourselves. And “It won't be such a problem when we’ve finished dinner”. “At least it’s not hot” (it was actually bloody freezing). “The trailer does block a bit of it, I think.” “I wish this fecking wind would just fecking well feck off!”
It didn't.
Under the sand was rock, so our tent pegs didn't hold well. And by breakfast the tent had virtually collapsed. Anything less than half a foot high was buried. Everything taller was supporting a wall of sand.
But the river was nice. I'd actually recommend this place too - just be at the ready to clear out if there’s so much as a hint of breeze.
Once you got yourself down the bank and at the water you were largely protected from the wind. And there were some beautiful little pools and falls to explore. From the edge of course - you never know when Mr Crocodile might make an appearance.
After our morning exploration we went on Burketown - only about an hour’s drive away. We booked into the town's only caravan park for a night so we could use the water to clear the approximately 20 ton of sand we’d accumulated.
From there we went to Gregory Downs aka oasis of bliss. Here we found the spring-fed Gregory River, with crystal-clear depths and lined with palms.
The (free!) camping area was packed, but we found an ideal little spot right down the end. We stayed for three nights and enjoyed every minute. Especially the gap between unpacking and packing everything. As I may have mentioned once or twice, this was starting to become as much fun as repeatedly smacking my head into the nearest tree trunk.

The Gregory River. Sparkling water. A fringe of palms. Beautiful.

Up the path at Gregory Downs.

The water looked inviting but was icy. Or nippy, depending on your tolerance for frostbite. The others went in a few times, but I was sensible chicken and stayed warm and dry on the bank.
From there we went to Adels Grove/Lawn Hill. (Adels Grove is a property and caravan park; Lawn Hill is a stunning national park.) We had to stay at Adels Grove as we couldn't take our dogs into the park. It didn't have much to recommend it but Lawn Hill was fantastic. With beautiful walks and the option to hire a canoe and paddle through a spectacular gorge. I definitely recommend visiting this one, if you're ever in the area.
Our next few days were spent primarily travelling. Along the way we called in for a look at a fossil site at Riversleigh. Impressive fossils, including one of a massive, vicious-sounding, meat-eating bird. Upon viewing ‘Big Bird’s’ remains, one senior-ish gent there at the same time as us remarked to his wife: “sounds a bit like you dear”. She did not clout him in response. Luckily for him, if she is in fact any way similar to the long-dead bird.

Lawn Hill Gorge. And Paul (below).

More spectacular-ness at Lawn Hill.

By now we were almost at the NT border, but had one more night in Queensland and camped at Camooweal.
We intended to spend the following night somewhere north of Three Ways (the Stuart Highway junction, now well into NT). But once again the weather failed to co-operate and a rain and wind storm cracked open right over our heads. B was feeding the baby, who was getting grouchy, while Paul and I tried to set up a tarp so we'd have somewhere to cook and eat without getting soaked.
Have you ever tried to set up a tarp in the midst of a gale and downpour? Or even just attempted to hang a sheet on the clothesline on a windy day? It flaps and flaps and flaps and refuses to be manipulated, doesn't it. DOESN'T IT?!
We’d just get a corner pegged down when the other one would work loose and go flying. We had a joint dummy spit and decided it would be a miserable night there, so we banged everything - which was only marginally drier than our dripping selves - back in the trailer and kept driving. We ended up at Renner Springs just on dark and were able to book into motel rooms for the night. Much drier. Much cleaner. Much better.
We arrived in Katherine early the following afternoon. Quite a famous town, but once you're there you kind of wonder why this is so.

To be continued…

We take a break just east of woop woop and west of nowheresville.

Razz and Chiko. Adventure dogs.

From the archives: I don't see my parents for a year. Or my husband for a month. Then they all arrive on the same weekend

* This post is one from my archives; I wrote it in June 2009 when I was contributing to a news website. It is another cheat post, I know, but I've put it up because I wanted to try a June-themed link-up thingie run by a fantastic blogger I discovered this week: www.lifeinapinkfibro.blogspot.com So here it is (originally posted at http://www.blog.emmamayalldesigns.com.au/ on Feb 18, 2011).


Yesterday morning a few workmates asked me, as polite people are wont to do on Mondays, how my weekend was. I gaped like a fool for some time while searching for an answer.
It had been the kind of weekend for which I’d switched off my brain and the question left me fumbling for the switch to start it again while simultaneously struggling to remember specifics of the preceeding two days.
It had, in fact, been a lovely weekend. Spent with my visiting parents, which allowed me to regress to the state of childhood. In other words, uselessness. I don’t normally do that. It’s more my sister’s role whenever the folks are about.
However I’ve never seen anyone quite so adept at it as my husband. It’s a sight to behold, this sudden transformation from perfectly capable grown man to helpless creature that must be waited upon for everything from a cup of coffee to his ice cream and sprinkles.
But back to the weekend. (During which I also welcomed the above-mentioned husband home after a month-long absence for work. I neglected to mention this during the Monday morning catch-up because anyone who had previously commented on it had done so with decidedly gutter-minded remarks, and I sensed it may not have been appropriate conversation in a professional setting.)
He’d returned just in time for the four of us to spend the weekend camping. But I’m afraid I’m still in lazy mode so won’t attempt to provide an entertaining recount. I’ll instead resort to providing photos (see below) and a plug for tropical Queensland tourism: we broke up the hours of lolling about by exploring, firstly, the amazing Paronella Park, and then the beautiful Hull Heads beach. If you ever get the chance to do either, I recommend you do.

Paronella Park building, by night

Mena Falls, Paronella Park

The main Paronella Park building

Water fountain at Paronella Park

Avenue of trees at Paronella Park

Mum and Paul take a walk along Hulls Head beach

Go(ing) west: This is what we did. Part II

First posted on Feb 23, 2011 on my original blog www.blog.emmamayalldesigns.com.au



Camping at Gilbert River, Qld. Please note the use of
the legendary trailer.


I don’t want to put you off the place, but there are not a lot of reasons to go to Mutchilba. We stopped in because my friend B lived there but was, coincidentally, also moving to WA about the same time as us.
Her husband had been working in WA for a few months and flying home for days off, but they were now ready to settle in the west.

The move incorporated a camping road trip and, in our collective wisdom, we thought it a fantastic idea for B to join us for some of the way. And it was a good idea. I, at least, had a great time.
She, however, may beg to differ. Because she had to travel with her eight-month-old baby. Though not just a baby - a little parcel of wonderful.

Well, I thought he was wonderful. I had previously believed, perhaps inaccurately, that babies spent about 80 per cent of their day squalling, about 15 per cent alternately poking food and sundry other items down their throats and sicking them back up, and squalled again for the remainder. While also needing changing countless times and occasionally (finally!) sleeping.
So when this little fellow, whom was also teething at the time, cried far less frequently than this and ate with gusto, I thought he was lovely.
Nonetheless, it turned out that road-trip camping and babies don't make for the most ideal mix, and there were certainly challenging moments for B.

Also along for the ride were our pets - two dogs of ours and two of hers, so we were quite a troupe once we got going. Last-minute preparations were made over a rather frantic couple of days at Mutchilba. Including a visit to the supermarket, where we may have slightly over-estimated our needs. Slightly, in that Paul and I still had a couple of boxes of that food when we arrived in Coolgardie 10 weeks later.

I would say that miraculously everything fit in the vehicles (two 4WDs and two trailers). Except that having unpacked (for making camp) and then repacked (breaking camp) every single day - for near on a fortnight - enough gear and supplies to equip an entire AFL team climbing Everest, I know there was nothing miraculous about it. It fit because we jammed and shoved and beat it into fitting. Paul came to believe that the more he swore at it, the better it co-operated.

I must point out here (or risk divorce) that our trailer was built by the very clever Paul. With his bare hands. (And a welder). It is quite the set-up, with a pull-out kitchen and everything. Well done and thank you Paul!
The plan was to take about two weeks for us, B and baby to get to Katherine, NT. She would then go to Kununurra (WA), where she'd meet her hubby and they'd manage the remainder of their trip themselves. And we would go on to Darwin and get in a bit more exploring/bludging before our funds dried up.
Our first night of the trip was at Gilbert River. Sounded nice. Until we arrived and discovered the river was missing. Instead there was an expanse of sand, then dust, and beyond that some dirt. On the whole a rather unappealing place.
The next day it was on to Normanton, where we checked out a statue of a monster crocodile. VERY cool. Its sheer size did nothing to diminish the width of my thighs when I posed next to it though, more's the pity.

To be continued…

Replica of monster crocodile.
Pictured with monster-thigh woman