MY BIG DAY in a small town!

Marble Bar is not known for an enormous populace. Current estimates would place residents at around six hundred and fifty. Just add tourists to inflate these numbers...Marble Bar is also located in the Shire of the East Pilbara, which is the largest local government area in Australia (three hundred and eighty thousand square kilometres - get your head around that!) and apparently,  third in the world after a couple of municipalities in Greenland...with a population of around six and a half thousand. That equates to one person every fifty-eight square kilometres. Need to practise social distancing? Then the East Pilbara is the place to be (rather than poor bloody Victoria!).

We arrived in Marble Bar on Tuesday evening. On Wednesday, I attended to four loads of dirty laundry in our marvellous van washing machine. I was most impressed as only Michael's filthy jeans required a repeat wash. Given our chronic money crisis and the probable debacle of having to drive four hundred kilometres in a round trip to Port Hedland to repair the flat tyre, our mood was rather gloomy. Walking from the Shire offices to the Community Resource Centre, I may not have been paying full attention to the path paving, which had been rendered uneven by tree roots. My left foot caught on a paver, my right leg shot as far outwards as able to prevent me from falling, which, alas, did not translate into keeping me upright. With skin off my left foot and my right leg still hyper-extended, I was going down. Chloe Egan, one of the Shire heroines, hurtled towards the scene of my collapse, which may have been ill-considered given the path had already claimed one victim. She was closely followed by Lisa George, who both looked after me quite expertly and called the ambos.

Nurses Adrienne and Brian came to our rescue and hauled my sorry and painful arse off the ground. Adrienne, with eagle-eyes, spotted Michael's dressing and added him to her list of patients for the next day. I was unable to weight-bear at that point which was very unsettling. Visions of having to be taken to Port Hedland and leaving Michael and the dogs in Marble Bar was definitely not on my agenda. Adrienne and Brian helped me into Lily to drive back to the caravan and once there, Adrienne spent a great deal of time coaxing and reassuring me. Whilst I was still vertical (ish), she slapped an ice pack on the intensively painful back of my right thigh. The instantaneous relief allowed me to lurch up the two steps into Digger and onto our bed.

As Adrienne had predicted, ice was my saviour that night. By morning I could walk, albeit in the fashion of an ancient and drunken sailor. However, I chose not to go anywhere early and we didn't set out for the Nursing Post until eleven-thirty.

We passed a couple of Shire staffers relaying the troublesome pavers which had been my downfall. We waved in appreciation at their speedy efforts.

The Marble Bar Nursing Post was new and modern with all comforts. The Flying Doctor was IN as well, so any treatment that couldn't be delivered by the able nurses could be by the Doctor in the House.

I was assured that I was recovering well from my unfortunate accident and Michael's arm was expertly washed and redressed by Adrienne. He felt like a new man and we thanked her profusely before making our way out into another stunning afternoon.

Next stop was to catch up with Volunteer Extraordinaire Margaret at the Marble Bar Visitors Centre. On a visit to Beverley last summer (!), Margaret had requested we bring her a few of Michael's redback fridge magnets - the Famous Magda. She was delighted to see us and promptly purchased three...She had heard on the grapevine that we were in town. As one does in Marble Bar.

After we'd farewelled Margaret, I stopped at the Police Station next door, housed in an original cool stone building. Head copper Nick and young offsider Rhys were both very welcoming and were able to direct us to Shaun, Nick's son-in-law, for the tyre repair. A very agreeable and modest young man, Shaun fixed the puncture and we settled for the cost of a couple of beers. Immediately afterwards, we set sail for Traveller's Rest, where we knew Shaun's wife Kara was working and could give us lunch.

A couple of toasties and chips were supplied by Kara cheerfully and briskly whilst we sat outside with the dogs. Travellers Rest was jumping at lunchtime and she and her kitchen assistant were very busy indeed.

We needed to attend the Shire offices to complete the incident report related to my spectacular tumble. Chloe and Lisa walked me through the paperwork and in between, I asked them about themselves. Both were Pilbara girls - Lisa from Marble Bar and Chloe from Newman. Either of these young women would have looked at home in corporate Perth, but neither had intentions of leaving the region just yet.

Following all this activity, we returned to the caravan for a lie-down, a Bex and a cup of tea. We ventured out in the evening to the pub for a drink and to buy Michael a bottle of red. We promptly sold two more spiders and promised two more to a visiting worker the next night!

We gratefully retired to the caravan for a quick dinner and soon afterwards, to nigh nighs. This day had rivalled the busiest of days in Heavenly Beverley and we were knackered. And delighted by this small community's care and support of us.

Michael with Marble Bar Nurse to the Stars, Adrienne...

Some battleaxe with Chloe (left) and Lisa at the Shire...

The Bar general store - freshly baked bread and pastries!

Local lad Isaiah with his big brother... 

Sheryl at the Bar General Store...

Travellers Rest fuel stop, cafe and shop...

The Ironclad Hotel in Marble Bar...

Well, don't just stand there - come and see Marble Bar!

Marble Bar Or Bust!

After another three days and over a thousand kilometres north from Mt Magnet, we are basking in the glorious warmth of a Marble Bar "winter" morning. We pulled into the caravan park just after five o'clock last evening. I was utterly spent, but we needed to undertake the usual rigmarole of parking Digger on his allotted site, connecting power and water, activating the stabilisers. I gratefully gave up reversing the caravan to Michael, which he managed, of course, in spite of the Steampunk Splint, with skill and alacrity. I let the Canine Clowns out for a wee break and introduction to Flip and Winston, our neighbour John and Heather's dogs.

Then we pondered some of our experiences over the previous seventy-two hours. As with Dalwallinu, the Mt Magnet Caravan Park was run with efficient humour and care by Kate and her team. The facilities were beautifully clean and tidy. I would highly recommend both Caravan Parks to all travellers.

First night out was at Gascoyne River South Branch, a free camp north of Meekatharra. We were surprised by its lack of overnight visitors, given that the sites are well away from the highway with plentiful firewood. We discovered that the dogs added entirely new dimensions, and not all facets were easy. We changed sites due to the presence of a nosy cow, Stella managed to collect a pad-full collection of prickles and I was concerned about letting them stray too far, due to the well-known possibility of baits. As a result, this free camp stop was not as much fun as I had anticipated.

Newman and a powered site - somewhere, anywhere - was the goal of our next day. This turned into a task of monumental proportions, given the current Coronavirus status. BHP employs an interstate fly-in fly-out (FIFO) workforce for its Newman mines, which has resulted in the annexation of both caravan parks and a number of accommodation hubs. Thus, workers are kept in quarantine on these sites and bussed to and fro. They may not leave their designated accommodation, which is designed to keep Newman free of COVID 19.  The downside is that Newman, which is four hundred and twenty kilometres north of Meekatharra and almost four hundred and fifty kilometres south of Port Hedland is seen as a natural stopover point by legions of Grey Nomads and their caravans.

Enter the heroines at the Newman Visitors' Centre. Already revered by me as one of the best tourism information services I have encountered, Lynne and her staff - Nadia, Amanda and Ash-Leigh - should be given gold stars for their ability to source one more spot At The Inn. Upon rocking up to the Visitors' Centre, we snared a position at the end of the building, running a power cord to their outside points. We also had use of the toilets, for which we paid a ten-dollar returnable bond for the precious key. Their carpark was packed with vans and RVs by late afternoon. We paid fifteen dollars for power. The overflow was directed to the town oval, also with toilet facilities. These staff are working seven days a week to assist tourists, as the full story of the lack of accommodation has not been revealed online. So far, they have found sites for every caravan and RV coming to Newman.

Then we made the Last Push to Marble Bar. An unpleasant reality began to rear its less than gorgeous head. We had assumed that we could use our Pensioner fuel card for fulling Lily with diesel. This was not proving to be the case, and the worst shock was at Auski Roadhouse, two hundred kilometres north of Newman. An absolute monopoly and charging premium prices for fuel, the smarmy "supervisor" and her sidekick on the till, Attila the Hen, smugly boasted that the fuel card operation had been out of action for a year and they had no plans to have this issue resolved for the pensioner public. Added to the equation were truly disgusting toilets and shower facilities. Michael photographed the Men's; I was so horrified by the disabled and unisex toilet that I didn't even think to snap some pictures. As for the small grassed "caravan Park" with limited shade, there were no directions or sites marked. The Grey Nomads staying were given no help whatsoever. We have already made the decision that we will not be stopping at Auski ever again and will carry fuel obtained from a proprietor not out to fleece their clientele.

Spending some of the last of our current funds at the revolting Auski, we fled onwards in the direction of Marble Bar. The excellent Hillside Road off the Great Northern Highway is bitumen except for the last eighty kilometres. When on the gravel, the views are so extraordinary that we wanted to savour every vista. Michael just about wore out his snapping finger on both of our cameras.

We were stopped to wait for an escort about fifteen kilometres out of town. Major road upgrades were underway and large vehicles were all over the place. This improvement will certainly aid tourists, however, cynical me wonders if the mining magnate responsible would have done so if she didn't have mines in the vicinity.

Marble Bar welcomed us with open arms. With not enough to fund our entire stay, I set to work promoting our fridge magnet spiders, Magda. An enthusiastic bunch of ladies in the caravan park - MAGS (Mad Avan Girls) snapped up three and the fabulous Cheryl at the Ironclad bought four. The MAGS group were en route to Carawine Gorge and we easily entered into the camaraderie of remote caravan park conversations.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we come to magical settings like Marble Bar.

Postscript - this afternoon I took a spectacular tumble, imitating Inspector Gadget with a huge overstretch of the back of my right thigh and bum. Eternal thanks to Lisa and the other staffer from the Shire offices (sorry, I forgot her name) and to Brian and Adrienne, the nurses who scraped me up off the pavement and helped me back into the caravan. Adrienne also spied Michael's dressings and is seeing him for a check-up in the morning, whether he wants to or not!

North of Mt Magnet -being passed by a triple trailer...again...

 

Ash-Leigh and Lynne in action at the Newman Visitors Centre. Vale to Lynne, Amanda, Nadia and Ash-Leigh! You are all legends...

Display of largish equipment at the Newman Visitors Centre...

Stain glass window inside the Newman Visitors Centre...

What a day of vistas! Enroute to Marble Bar -

The length of this roadtrain was a staggering sixty metres...

Are We Heading in the Right Direction? You Bet We Are!

Coronavirus has been responsible for many spanners in the works over the last six months. Initially, we were looking forward to an extended Northern Jaunt between May and mid-August, returning for the extravaganza of the Beverley Agricultural Show. Once COVID 19 began rampaging across the world, a May departure was becoming less and less likely. In a somewhat hysterical Anxiety Girl panic, I seriously toyed with the idea of leaving almost immediately in March and fleeing to what I hoped what be a virus-free sanctuary.

I was secretly and pathetically grateful when Western Australian Premier McGowan closed our state borders to just about everybody. The foolishly hasty decision of an early departure was taken out of my hands. The state borders remain shut and I wonder if the Premier ever has the urge to blow raspberries at the Eastern States, particularly due to the serious outbreak in Victoria, a smaller outbreak in NSW and nervousness in Queensland, whose Premier was calling us wimps for not letting all and sundry back into WA.

Anyway, I've digressed. Both an ill-considered and premature flight and our original May departure were both given the kibosh by COVID 19. Once intrastate borders were re-opened, we delightedly set another blast-off date for 19 July.

But fate intervened once more. Due to his high pain tolerance, Michael really didn't express the discomfort in his right wrist and hand until June. Four weeks before our latest  Dash for Winter Warmth, Michael underwent surgery to solve all the damage caused by arthritis and forty years of using his hands.

Which was a resounding almost success.  Three hand bones were successfully fused, however, the shortening of his ulna bone went utterly pear-shaped. The bone chose to split at the base of the plate, leading to four weeks of swelling and monstrous pain. Five days before we were due to leave, this catastrophe was discovered. Two days later, Michael was back in theatre.

We'd both come to the end of our tethers. Michael's post-operative recovery was a vast improvement on the previous episode. We decided to damn the torpedoes and leave on Friday 24 July, with me in the driver's seat.

Last week was a whirling dervish of post-op and splint appointments, squeezing in a frantic packing of the caravan. We gravitated between being quietly confident and totally disbelieving of leaving Heavenly Beverley. Red the Parrot was moved to Jan and Greg's house. Volunteers were locked in for the Gallery's continued operation, also led by my unsinkable offsider Jan. Madame Ruby the cat would enjoy a six-week respite from the Canine Clowns.

Having planned to leave Station House at High Noon, we eventually roared away at ten to two. I was nervous and apparently nearly came to grief on one of the first bends leading out of Beverley. That Michael was skilled at pulling Digger, and I was not, this led to some very cross words. We stopped in Northam to grab some quick takeaway and I nearly locked Lily's doors to leave him there.

I think my driving improved as we headed into the late afternoon. We eventually pulled into our first stop, Dalwallinu, just before six o'clock. I was exhausted. Fortunately, all we had to do was heat up Val Moad's pumpkin soup for dinner. Our first night in the caravan with the dogs was restless. And the morning was very brisk as I arose to toilet the dogs at seven-thirty.

Much to our relief, they had immediately reacted to caravanning with massive enthusiasm. I swear that Stella did not wee for about sixteen hours, given her joyful distractibility for any other odours. However, during the first two full days, we have not had any travel problems. Excellent.

We have continued to unwind gradually. I had not realised the strain of pulling the caravan. This new role has tested my endurance and concentration. I held my heart in my mouth as I passed two wide loads, praying we would not end up off the road. We have bickered due to our reversal of roles, but less often and with more humour. We have met Laurie and Merle from Albany on our first night, a couple from Busselton yesterday morning and a quartet of young people heading to and fro from Karijini.

The most glorious moment today was realising that I was sweating in my leggings and a long-sleeved tee-shirt. Tomorrow, I intend to don jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. And we are still three days from Marble Bar, our first lengthy stay.

A long shower is on my agenda this morning. Tonight we will be stopping for a free camp at Gascoyne River South. I am hatching a plan to introduce our World Famous fridge magnet, Magda to other unsuspecting campers...

Until next time!

Get your arm UP, Michael!

The cast going...

Going...

Gone.

The Steampunk Splint fitting...

Adding the hinge...

And the finished result, featuring Occupation Therapist to the Stars, Sandy Kevill.

First afternoon, enroute to Dalwallinu...

Good morning, Dalwallinu!

Last of the Wheatbelt...

Oncoming traffic!

Approaching Mt Gibson...

Murchison sky...

Being passed by a triple-trailer roadtrain...

Good morning Mt Magnet!

Lily and Digger in the well appointed and very clean Mt Magnet caravan park...

preparing for blast-off from Mt Magnet.