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.

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

Going west: This is what we did. Part I

Image credit: http://www.startwelllivewell.com/

 For the past three months the husband, Paul, and I have been working and living in a town that I did not know even existed until about a fortnight before I arrived.
Our arrival was preceded by a bit of adventure involving the chucking in of old jobs, packing up our worldly possessions, and travelling across the country.
The plan behind this all began, in earnest anyway, when my grandmother died almost a year ago. An awful time, naturally, on which I won't dwell here. But it essentially made us decide that we would one day have to live closer to our families. Made me decide, that is. Paul was itching to leave Far North Queensland, sire a couple of sons and shack up down south.
To backtrack a little, we had been living in Cairns since 2005. As most of my family as well as his were still in central NSW, moving ourselves a few hours south, say to Mackay, wasn't going to cut it.
So, we moved to Western Australia.
From tropical paradise (effing humid, sticky, economic black hole toilet of a place – Paul’s input. Thank you, Paul) to woop-woop desert. And, yes, I am aware it is further from central NSW.
But there was method in our madness.
Our dream, as the Americans say, is to one day have a little patch of land in the NSW countryside. Where we can live among the birds and sit on the verandah and watch the rain come in. While drinking coffee from the whizz-bang espresso machine I'll have then, which also features heavily in this dream.
To fund all this we looked to the resources boom. Firstly, Queensland's mining industry. But it didn't want us - it kept demanding inconvenient things like 'experience' and a list of tickets as long as a Tony Abbott silence.
So we turned to WA, which was apparently a bit more desperate. But not fond of people who still wanted to live in Queensland. There was nothing for it but to move - much to my mother's "you're going to go and leave us!?" disappointment. A disappointment that allowed her to overlook the fact that our current home was 2200km away.
Subsequent research indicated that my best hope for employment in WA would be as a haul truck driver. For which you needed a HR (heavy rigid) licence. So I took myself off to truck school, which thankfully resulted in nil damage to persons or property, and one shiny new HR licence (bearing a photo of me with a crazed grin as I couldn't believe I'd passed the driving test at all, let alone on my first attempt and was hence maniacally relieved/overjoyed).
Paul only has an MR licence, so was a tad (a lot) smug at trumping him for once. The smile was quickly wiped off my face, however, when I learned how much the removalists were going to cost.
I'd warned myself it wasn't going to be cheap, but when the quotes arrived it was still a nasty surprise. "How freaking much!" echoed around my head for some time.
I felt like declaring "you know I could drive the bloody truck myself rather than paying you lot of extortionists". Well, I could. Because, if you didn’t know, I HAVE A HR LICENCE! But it transpired we needed a bigger truck than I could manage, and I wasn’t all that in love with the idea anyway, so had no choice but to hand over a soul-sucking amount of our savings to the extortionists lovely removalist company people.
To be honest, the entire removalist experience was not the best. Having only had two, that would be our 2005 move from Dubbo to Cairns. It could have been far worse, I am all too aware, but I will not easily forget the agent's numerous paperwork mix-ups, discovering that our TV was not even packed in box but just perched in the shipping container, and assorted other dramas.
Nevertheless, after much sorting, packing, fee-paying, organising and farewelling (sniff) it was our departure week - late August - and we drove off. And landed in Mutchilba (approximately 80km from Cairns).

To be continued...

Note: I realise I haven’t actually mentioned where this adventure took us. We are now in Coolgardie, Western Australia. Home to about 800. And, yes, it is every bit as sleepy as that figure makes it sound. Delightfully so. It is in the goldfields of WA. No surprise then that my new job is at a gold milling site. In what is called ‘the gold room’. And, no, that is not as glamorous as it sounds. Paul also works there; he is a fitter on the maintenance crew.

The good and the (very) ugly

The worst thing about living in Far North Queensland:

Killer (and cranky) reptiles

The best thing about living in Far North Queensland:

No explanation needed, really