Heavenly Beverley : August 2020

Monday, 31 August 2020

Why Writing A Post When Tired (And Grumpy) Is Always A Bad Idea...

I actually started this post yesterday afternoon as we pulled into the Merredin Tourist Park. I had debated long and hard about continuing with a Final Push home and finish this extraordinary journey. That would have been a disaster - driving into the sun and then in darkness to arrive at Station House overtired and cross to face a cat hair infested bed. Why had I even contemplated that scenario?!

Instead, we wisely stopped in Merredin, which is a very attractive Eastern Wheatbelt town with Federation and Art Deco buildings and multiple attractions. The caravan park is excellent with plenty of mature trees, clean facilities and proximity to some off-lead antics for Stella and Pip. An evening romp was thoroughly enjoyed by all of us.

We had travelled from Kalgoorlie, via Southern Cross, on the very edge of the Wheatbelt before we reached Merredin. Southern Cross's claim to fame was a fenced dog park, tucked away from the highway, with water, shady picnic tables and benches, agility equipment and plentiful pooh bags. What a find!

The road between Kalgoorlie and Merredin is home to the magnificent Great Western Woodland. That section of the Great Eastern Highway is still to be upgraded, so the lumps in the road led to a rather bumpy ride. Michael drove between the Borrabin Memorial and Southern Cross, allowing me the luxury of a midday kip. Just outside Southern Cross, I woke, refreshed, and took over for the last hundred-odd kilometres to Merredin.

Caz, manager at Merredin Tourist Park, checked us in efficiently and cheerfully after we'd enjoyed a leisurely drive around the town on a sleepy Sunday afternoon. Just to keep us on our toes, the caravan door had spontaneously swung open in the middle of Merredin and upon hooking up to the caravan park's water, we were only able to turn on "hot"...

Being the penultimate day of this latest trip, I thought I'd dutifully record the events for posterity. What flowed from my fingers was boring and miserable and utterly lacking in humour. And so, this morning, after toileting the dogs at the very brisk hour of six-thirty, I decided to let Michael snore peacefully for another hour or so and edit this self-indulgent tripe into a piece hopefully worth reading.

To say this trip has been entirely different from our two previous expeditions away from the Wheatbelt winters would have to be the understatement of this century.

So, in no particular order, here are some truths we have learnt from five memorable weeks away -

travelling with dogs is an enormous challenge, particularly with a young, boisterous and joyous dog like Stella. Sometimes this is definitely not fun.
driving is tiring. I didn't realise just how much until I took over the majority of this task. Some evenings, I was just stunned by mental exhaustion.
we were particularly inept being ready for a ten o'clock departure from caravan parks.
that the next incumbent to our spot in the caravan park would often be lined up, almost revving their engines, as we were frantically throwing the last items around in order to leave.
we are not like most Grey Nomads. We don't eat, shower or rise at set times. We were endlessly amused by the rigid routines of some of our fellow campers.
coastal resort towns are not for us. They are full of riotous children, harassed parents and easily irritated seniors. Having said that, we did meet some fabulous travellers Just Like Us.
beach sand still permeates all nooks and crannies of the bedding.
drought-ravaged country is not pretty and can disappoint due to the memories of greener times.
some tips are more interesting than others...
never undertake a trip just after major surgery!
IBS did occasionally severely cramp my style.
Stella always found ghastly items to consume (mostly bones).
the spectre of the 1080 baiting programme was always in the backs of our heads.
most council-run caravan parks are cheap with clean ablutions and wonderful facilities, particularly in the Wheatbelt. Onslow's Ocean View was also council run in a beautiful location, though more expensive.
Onslow and Tom Price would have to be my favourite Pilbara towns.
having said that, the Newman Tourism Centre deserves a gold star for accommodating campers and caravanners without a functioning caravan park for visitors!
Yalgoo and Sandstone were unexpected gems and we will return to both towns.
sometimes information is totally incorrect. The Agnew pub is no more. The hotel has been completely erased and is not open for passing trade!
the Great Western Woodland is just beautiful and remains one of my favourite locations.
the caravan's air-conditioner for both heating and cooling was both reliable and welcome.

Would we travel with the dogs again? Absolutely. Particularly if the interstate borders ever open again and we can travel to Queensland for a reunion with family.

Would we take them on shorter winter breaks within Western Australia? Possibly. If we could procure the services of dog-loving house sitters, we might consider leaving them at home.

Would we take them on quick summer breaks down south if we can get away? Probably.

All is currently well in our world. Michael has risen and is waking up in front of his laptop. The dogs are snoozing on our bed. The caravan is snug in the morning sun.

Many thanks to caravan park manager Caz, who has kindly allowed us some leeway for the dreaded ten o'clock departure!

Time to tie that yellow ribbon around the old oak tree.

Previously, in Gwalia, where we stopped to change a slow puncture -

Gwalia's State Hotel -

The restored houses at Gwalia - the Pink House is in the foreground...

Michael least favourite spot...

Moving right along to the Southern Cross dog park -

Last night in Merredin -

Stunning trees just next to the caravan park -

Amazing mud patterns on a dirt road -

Some of the Goldfields Pipeline story and a section of the original wooden pipe -

Saturday, 29 August 2020

To Sandstone and Beyond! (Where...?)

We had four wonderful nights in Yalgoo. The town had undergone a topsy turvy change from Michael's recollections of thirty years ago. Somewhere he had not been keen to revisit was now squarely back on his radar as a Favourable Destination. The tip was a revelation - a joyous cornucopia of history served up in one expansive location. Helen and Ray had been the best of hosts. With a grassed and fenced verge within the confines of the caravan park, nobody seemed to mind me launching the tennis ball for Stella's off-lead entertainment and exercise.

And then we left for Sandstone. En route, we stopped for supplies in Mt Magnet and checked out the tourism information centre. With resident staffer Mary's help, we rang through to the caravan park in Sandstone for the night. Just as well, as Alice Atkinson Caravan Park was nearly chockers when we arrived.

Sandstone is one of those beautiful remote towns that is endlessly surprising. We didn't think a caravan park could top Yalgoo's, but Sandstone's Alice Atkinson Park is right up there. Plenty of shade, very pleasant surroundings, clean ablutions, memorabilia, a communal fire pit and grassy (!) tent area. Although slightly more expensive than Yalgoo, we were very happy to stop there for the night.

Run by Margaret (originally from Melbourne), she had a definite European accent; we couldn't think of anywhere else much in Western Australia more remote for her to live. Even so, she had an obvious distaste for crowds or noise or traffic - there was certainly none of that in Sandstone.

The town itself is a charming oasis in the Northern Goldfields. Neat homes and lovely parks and gardens. There appeared to be no vandalism at all. An art exhibition was running, which unfortunately I didn't see, however, there was an example hanging on the wall of Margaret's office -a stunning art quilt crafted by a South Australian artist. Sandstone also had a community newsletter that would put other towns to shame. Although tiny, there was a distinct resemblance to Tom Price, our favourite town in the Pilbara. A bus service was being offered for shopping in Mt Magnet, the fish van visited every couple of months and there were comprehensive health services in Wiluna, but those services were nearly four hundred kilometres away! The Sandstone nursing post was only open on Thursdays with the Flying Doctor visiting every fortnight. Sandstone is not the place to have major health problems or severe injury.

We headed further east the following morning. Michael was longing to return to Agnew. I was loving the journey. Peter Denny's lookout was a highlight. He had been a Yalgoo councillor who had passionately campaigned for the sealing of the road to Mount Magnet. Unfortunately, he had been killed in an accident on that road. The lookout in his honour was utterly jawdropping. Turning right off the flat Goldfields Highway, the landscape fell away to reveal some amazing breakaway country.

Another addition to our drive was the presence of the original railway line remains. Mostly, the bridges had gone and washaways were a frequent occurrence demonstrating the power of the rare desert deluges. One bridge was actually intact, complete with its wooden sleepers. I stopped to take photos.

Always interesting was the presence of the RFDS (Royal Flying Doctor Service) landing strip on the highway. An all-weather highway also doubles as a runway in the middle of nowhere.

We were also thrilled at the number of wedge-tailed eagles we passed. These imposing birds feed on roadkill of these animals not lucky enough to cross the road safely. Usually, animals are killed between dusk and dawn and then the wedgies come in to clean the scene. With intelligence and keen eyesight, they are adept at calculating the need for takeoff as a vehicle approaches. Weighing in at three and a half kilograms, an adult eagle can't just launch off the ground without a decent galloping in order to generate enough power and lift.

As we drove closer to the Agnew Loop, a wholly unexpected bunch of wind turbines appeared on the horizon. Which became more majestic as we approached. I seem to remember several political oafs bagging these awesome examples of clean energy generation in favour (!) of coal mines...Their glorious white outlines against a brilliant blue sky were just magnificent.

As we turned into the Old Agnew Road, we realised the turbines were part of the gigantic Wahroonga mine operations. Other highlights of Agnew were the remnants of early mining, automotive and agricultural equipment, including the huge stamp head battery. These relics of the past had been set in a pleasing arrangement with interesting interpretive panels. Significantly absent was the Agnew Hotel, which had been in ruins on our last visit. The entire site had been excised. That the Agnew pub was still being advertised as open in the Leonora Loops 2009 guidebook immensely tickled our funny bones.

We soon realised that Agnew, with all the mining activity, was not going to offer us somewhere to camp. We drove onto Lawlers cemetery and headed down a well-formed track to find a sheltered spot to set up camp, along with the numerous cowpats from the resident cattle which attract flies in their millions. Not ideal but we had shade and shelter and could escape the flying fiends inside Digger.

Lawlers tip was a sight to behold the following morning. The aged rubbish was visible as far as the eye could see. We found shade for the car and the dogs and proceeded to explore. We quickly became aware that there was an enormous legacy of cans and broken glass, with collectable titbits few and far between. At the end of a couple of hours, we were sweaty and tired. However, Stella was more than a little distressed with a touch of the sun. We retired back to the caravan after we'd driven around with the airconditioning at full blast to cool Stella down.

An obvious and prolonged dry spell dampened Lawlers' previous magic for me. We chose to leave after two nights as the unseasonal heat and wind were making conditions unpleasant. As we continued down the Agnew Loop after our second night at Lawlers, we became more and more acquainted with a devastating lack of rain that had been suffered by the country. Doyle's Well, last seen by us as a grassy and green oasis, was plainly dying. The bougainvillea that had been a riot of hot pink flowers had expired. The hardy climbing rose was barely alive. Only the sturdiest of trees was surviving the relentless drought. Every creek bed was bare with only dust and desolation apparent.

Leonora was a welcome distraction. Although only slightly greener, flowers in tubs on the main street cheered me up. However, the fine dust had permeated every nook and cranny inside the caravan. The caravan park (expensive) offered a chance to clean off the dust, shake out our pillows and bedding and wash and dry some clothes. We strung up a temporary line for this task and managed to complete a flurry of clean clothes. Then we pondered our feelings for the last days of this trip.

Away for five weeks and running out of money, we candidly discussed our options. Home was becoming an incredibly attractive proposition. I had hoped to stop and free camp at Karalee Dam but I couldn't face another ingress of dust. Instead, we decided to head to Kalgoorlie. We had run out of Michael's alkaline water and his reflux had rapidly worsened. Woolworths supermarket had suddenly become an urgent goal for the alkaline water that lessened his symptoms and relieved the miserable burning.

The final deciding factor was another slow puncture - our second for the trip. Leonora could not help us so Michael valiantly changed the wheel with a bit of help from me in the shade at Gwalia. A most amiable chap and photographer, Wade, arrived on the scene at the right moment to help Michael heave the damaged tyre back into Lily's boot. And so, we launched forward for Kalgoorlie.

The heat and wind continued. Driving was reasonably challenging. Arriving at our puncture repairer Tyreright in Boulder mid-afternoon, the temperature had risen to thirty-seven. By the time we checked into the Kalgoorlie Discovery Park just up the road on Burt Street, four o'clock had come and gone. More dust had been shaken out of Digger's interior and I needed to venture out to the supermarket and a vet for the dogs' meat log. So I left Michael with a cleaning task and set off. The Google Maps app on my aged phone chose that moment to malfunction so I became lost in both directions to and from shopping.

The evening improved as the temperature cooled. Hopkins Park, site of the original Boulder Racecourse, adjoined the back fence of the caravan park and was a combination of extensive native gardens, paths, hidden nooks, an excellent playground, shade and grass. The dogs thoroughly enjoyed romping about and we had some much-needed exercise in the form of a gentle stroll.

Today has brightened my mood. We have called in a rest day. Hopkins Park has been visited again and we had had a most leisurely and lowkey morning. Later this afternoon, we intend to go for a walk in downtown Boulder. Maybe coffee or a drink?

Why not...