Coming home seems to be taking longer than I imagined!
My last story was from Erldunda – famous for offering $10 an hour for dial-up internet. Our convoy set off for Port Augusta, a trip of about 300 kilometres across the slowly undulating plains of South Australia with saltbush, cassia and acacia in abundance. Occasionally there was nothing in any sort of abundance, so anything to break the monotony was of great interest. The first break was Lake Hart, a waterless salt bed that contrasted greatly with the red of the earth and the blues of saltbush. It seemed a significant expanse, but of course is dwarfed by the very large salt lakes of the state – such as lake Eyre.

We also called in to Woomera, long-abandoned as a rocket launch site, but still with a small community of military personnel.

Look Out! Near Arid Lands Gardens
We journeyed on to Port Augusta, contending with a fierce headwind, that certainly made the effort of driving quite hard, and tiring. So we were all quite glad to arrive in mid afternoon, have a rest and a quiet explore of the city. On Sunday we went off to the local Uniting Church which did not have an ordained minister but had a talented group leading the worship. We did not stay for the proffered morning tea but went to try the local eateries for brunch. We then went off to the local botanical gardens – the Arid Lands Botanical Gardens. This was really worth the effort, as it is a stunning presentation of the hugely diverse flora of the dry Inland. There were also some examples of local fauna, which gave Jenny a startle as she was bending over one of the bushes and a lizard was a bit too close for comfort, staring back with unblinking gaze!

We finished off the day with a barbeque and beer and a congenial chat over the days events with our travelling companions.

On Monday, we set off early for the long drive to Broken Hill, about 420 kilometres away. Initially it is a very pretty drive through the hills of the Southern Flinders Ranges, and for a while, with much more greenery. We stopped for morning tea at Peterborough, a town which at some point was a significant railway town. Rob priest remembered that the local picture theatre was now famous for its coffee and pies and pasties – as well as the proliferation of memorabilia and days long gone. Rob is in search of the perfect pastie, so we, and they, bought a couple to try for lunch later on. Apparently the best of them come from South Australia, so there is still plenty of opportunity.

On the other hand I have been on the quest for the perfect chocolate thickshake. I usually preface my request for a purchase with the information that I am a professional reviewer, but I don’t think it makes much difference. The champion so far is the product of Birdies Café at Bourke.

Our drive from Port Augusta had been with extremely high crosswinds, which buffeted our vehicles rather scarily, so we drove at a much more cautious pace. The caution is much needed, as the road is significantly narrower, but still with a large volume of caravans and road trains. There were also many cars and vans with enough courage to overtake us, which was alarming at times as many had scant regard for the conditions and the road rules. The truckies are invariably very good, and appreciative of our convoy’s efforts to help them.

As we approached Broken Hill the volume of road kill increased – usually kangaroos and emus. However the goat population also increased significantly. They are pretty skittish but we managed to avoid them.

Dad’s old home – somewhat renovated
We had an excellent time in Broken Hill, and we were all glad we made the choice to come home via The Hill. I was keen to come here as this was my father’s birthplace and where he spent his childhood before the family went off to become irrigation farmers in Leeton. Conveniently for us, our caravan park was only 300 metres from the cottage where the old fellow grew up, and his old school, just across the road.
Before investigating that, however, we all did a tour, organised by the caravan park. It was a 4-hour drive around the town, seeing the sites and identifying places needing a closer look in our own time. The tour guide was excellent – a retired local school principal with an expansive knowledge of the town and its history. He was also able to recommend a good restaurant for our group’s last meal together.

After the tour, Rob found a local bakery with recommended pasties which we bought to enjoy when we could find a comfortable and shady park. From there we went off to the Pro Hart gallery, which had a wonderful display of his art. From there it was a short drive to the Miners’ Memorial which sits atop a mountain of rubble, overlooking the city. The memorial recognises the 800 or so miners who have lost their lives in the mining operations of Broken Hill. It is a pretty grim edifice and reminder that in its early days, mining here was extremely dangerous.

We had dinner at the Astra Hotel whose restaurant had been recommended by our tour guide. It was a fitting place for our Last Supper – excellent bread and wine. It was a little surprising that such a really fine restaurant could be find in an isolated rural and mining place like Broken Hill. I would definitely rate this as good as any eatery in Canberra.

I am conscious as I write that I have covered only part of our journey – and still some places to recount. Wifi was non-existent in Port Augusta and Broken Hill, so chance to publish any posts.

From Broken Hill, we went South to Wentworth and Mildura, while Rob and Pauline headed East for Cobar and subsequently North and back home to the Sunshine Coast. John and Anne are staying on to visit Silverton, and then an easterly route home via Cobar, Dubbo and Cowra. We had a very easy drive down to Wentworth. There is very little along the way, and no towns or villages in the nearly 300 kilometres. Sharing the driving is good for us, though Jen ends up with less knitting time. We took great pleasure in visiting the junction of the Darling and Murray rivers before heading for Mildura for the night.

We had a night at Hay, on the banks of my beloved ‘Bidgee. The river, the red gums and the wide plains transport me to the days of my youth, a bit further upstream. But even here, at Hay, I think of times around here and further afield at Booligal and Hillston where I worked with dad who contracted to make roads, build fences, sink field tanks on some of the big stations in the area. I was only a kid, but the old man allowed me to help, driving the tractors and cars. My enduring memory is of the huge night-sky, star-filled and expansive out past Booligal on the One Tree Plain, with the land so flat it seemed to me that it was a giant basin, rising in every direction to meet the sky.

Well, we have two days to go. Friday we are at Whitton where we will stay with my cousin Iris and her husband Kevin. Then on Saturday we stayed at Cootamundra with Jen’s friend Janene on her beautiful little property set among rolling hills and a little flock of sheep.

Sunday gave us a shortish drive home via Jugiong where we had a splendid brunch with Janene and her sister. There was a delightful fuit and veggie stall, proudly boasting “local produce.” When I asked the proprietor where he got is produce, he replied: Sydney Markets, and he did not seem even a little bit embarrassed, As we drive on, Jenny is writing down a list of chores for us (i.e., me) and I am getting alarmed at the length of this document!

This brings our trip to a close. It has been immensely enjoyable and also a good shake-down of our new motorhome which behaved flawlessly.