Heavenly Beverley : Visiting The Queen...

We pulled out of Gascoyne River South at our usual early blastoff around eleven o'clock. Although the camp was in a lovely location, the rubbish strewn around was depressing and we managed to burn the most revolting smelling wood in the history of our outback treks. Ever inventive, I repeatedly tossed citronella oil candles into the blaze to lessen the truly awful stink.

The country had reverted to the fairly uniform scrub of the Gascoyne/Murchison. The day was becoming windier, so driving was challenging. We were quite surprised by the number of mobile towers we passed, so phone coverage was better than expected. However, the sight of rubbish along the verge was unpleasant and the Great Northern Highway was the first road on our trip we'd seen consistent litter. Come on, fellow travellers, we are better than this.

We pulled into Meekatharra after a couple of hours. What a relief to stretch our legs. I'd last visited Meeka twenty years ago and the hot chips in one of the pubs had been cooked in the oldest oil imaginable. Now the houses looked loved, the streets were neater than Newman and there was even a very pretty park. Adding to our surprise, an interesting enterprise loomed just up the main drag next to the Royal Mail Hotel.

Made in Meeka was the lovechild of Anna Johnson and her partner Gary Hammer. She had to be related to Brookton's Inez Northover. Both loopy Canadian Australians, who decided to take their small communities by the short and curlies and create Something Special.

Made in Meeka was a combination tourist information, accommodation, gift shop, dog rescue service, purveyor of some very good indigenous art and pure entertainment to boot. On a lazy afternoon, Anna was a blast of enthusiasm, history, joy and humour.

Apparently, in a past life, she was a director on an obscure television programme called "Neighbours". She gleefully admitted that she was responsible for killing Madge...I'd be wary of getting on Anna's Wrong Side. On the cover of her book "Don't Try This At Home", she was wielding a frypan in the general direction of either partner Gary or the resident bungarra (a large brown goanna).

She recommended the Royal Mail for lunch. We almost missed the lunch session as we spent so much time in Made in Meeka. The barmaid had been in Meekatharra for three days. Michael had some fairly standard pub fare, whereas I ordered bruschetta...in an 1899 hotel...in the Western Australian outback. And it was bloody tasty.

Meekatharra is definitely on our list for a Return Visit.

We moved on. About thirty kilometres further south, we were alerted to the remains of Nannine. From the highway, there appeared to be nothing of interest. We pulled Lily and Digger off the road and began walking. Hidden metal curios made their way into our bags. A fairly short, sharp and productive half hour of fossicking. We would have loved to stay longer.

Evidence of mining operations, current and abandoned, were all around us as we drove towards Cue. Some of the giant mullock heaps had been created so early that they were re-vegetating and looked like flat-topped low hills.

We arrived in Cue in the late afternoon. The Queen of the Murchison was cool and threatening rain. The caravan park was ominously full. Suddenly, we felt like Mary and Joseph trying to book into the inn in Bethlehem. The caravan park was chockers.

We pondered our next move. Then Michael remembered that the Bed and Breakfast we'd stayed at in 2014 had a large back area. Maybe we could park Digger there.

Joyce, the current owner of the guesthouse and cafe (a recent addition) could not have been more helpful. By sunset, Digger was parallel to their shed, connected to power, and we'd had use of their spare shower and toilet behind the main building. How lucky were we?

The next two days were our idea of heaven. We rose late, fluffed around inside Digger for a couple of hours and then proceeded to the old Cue rubbish tip. And then with hats and gloves on, water in our shoulder bags, we'd walk slowly, often in completely different directions from each other. With the sun low in the sky, we'd load our treasures into our empty water containers and return to Joyce and Darryl's establishment for dinner. We met the other guests and thoroughly enjoyed great food and excellent company, even during a blackout with only kerosene lamps for illumination.

The Queen of the Murchison lived up to our expectations. We found evidence of at least one bakery, blacksmithing, countless water barrels rings and even signs of furnaces. Cue could be bitterly cold in winter, blazing hot in summer and often windy. Conditions were frequently not conducive to create a tolerable work environment.

On our last morning, we made the short trip to Nallan Station, just north of Cue. Here in 2002, Michael and his son stumbled across QFest, a funded festival held each Easter for five years. There was music and art and performance. Michael created a metal collage along the outer wall of the loos during that very first QFest. And sixteen years later, his sculpture was still there for us to view. A goosebump moment.

We stopped to photograph the animal and bird residents at Nallan. Proceeding back to town, Michael hooked Digger up onto Lily's towbar, whilst I briefly joined the local ladies at the Christmas in July festivities at the CRC and met young Jessica Pearce - photographer, carpenter and tourism officer. We profusely thanked Joyce and waved goodbye...

Finally, the time had come to leave the Queen of the Murchison. Until our next visit.