Heavenly Beverley : 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!