BERMAGUI TO ULLADULLA TO GUNDAGAI TO ALBURY

Preoccupied  by domestic matters and the health of Mrs P, the Prop has not attended to the Blog as assiduously as some readers would, apparently, have liked.

The good news is that, Mrs P, true to her robust disposition and "never-say-fractured" ethos has insisted that the "Peregrination to the Centre of the Earth" (as the current expedition is now commonly called by the travel cognoscenti) should continue apace and unabated.

                                 Beer can be purchased at this place in Bermagui

The bad news is that "continentality" is an undoubted fact of meteorological life.  Put more simply, it is colder inland at night than it is on the coast. This accounts for the fact that the minimum temperatures experienced by Hobart are almost always higher than those experienced by Launceston - for although Hobart is not located on the coast as such, it does lie adjacent to a considerable body of water (i.e., the Derwent estuary) whereas Launceston is in a hole in the ground miles from anywhere and, more particularly, miles from any water (if you don,t count the so-called Tamar River which is, in truth, a water mudslide and not a river at all. This temperature differential is due to the fact that water both absorbs and retains heat from the sun more efficiently than does dry land - which also explains sea-breezes which are no more than giant convection currents.

But the Prop once again digresses.

The short point is that by staying on the coast we might have enjoyed the moderating influence of the maritime provinces.  We might have continued to enjoy the ample delights of Bermagui (despite the unpleasant memories) and of Ulladulla and Nowra and other coastal settlements too numerous to mention by name.

                 Tremendous Tuross Head - a very nice place for a swim in warm weather

                                    Unbelievable  Ulladulla - more than meets the eye!

                  Gracious Gundagai - the dog and tucker box are not shown

Instead, we are now in Albury. 

[TIP: Never call Albury "Albury-Wodonga" in the presence of a denizen of Albury.  Should you do so you may be the subject of a violent physical attack - if you are lucky! The people of Albury (NSW) do not, as a rule, like the people of Wodonga (Vic) and not just because they are Victorians.  There also other very good reasons)

Instead we now thrill to daytime maxima of 12 and sometimes 13 and overnight minima approaching 0 degrees Kelvin!! For the moment we have the benenft of mains electricity and an air conditioner and fan heater in the Spinnaker  - unlike in Campbell Town (q.v.)

"Why Albury?" the Prop hears his readers ask.  

Well, Albury happens to be the family seat and hometown of Mrs P - not that any of her relatives live here any longer and not that the place looks much like it did in the 1960's.  Nevertheless the family home is still standing (despite having been gentrified by some well-meaning but tasteless "Gardening Australia" viewer) and so is the primary school and the hated  Scottish "ladies college" that passed for a high school in those days.

Westward Ho!  And hope it doesn't get too much colder 

By the way, Germany won the FIFA World Cup.  Daft game soccer!  At least the final was decided by two teams playing soccer instead of by playing a completely different game (i.e., a penalty shootout)        

 .  

PAMBULA BEACH TO BERMAGUI TO BEGA TO BERMAGUI TO BEGA TO BERMAGUI TO BEGA TO

 

It all began well enough.....

The Rig rolled out of Pambula Beach on Saturday morning with a provisional destination of Bateman's Bay.  But as the ploughman said to the startled fieldmouse,
"The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglay"

The previous day the Prop and Mrs P had visited Mrs P's aged aunt who had recently removed from Albury to Pambula (as distinct from Pambula Beach).  At the suggestion of the aged aunt we travelled to Tathra to inspect the still vacant beachfront property newly-acquired by the aged aunt's daughter (Mrs P's cousin).  Not content with an external inspection of the messuage, the aged aunt insisted she knew the whereabouts of a hidden key so we could gain entry.

In fact it would have been more accurate for the aged aunt to have said that she was sure that there was a key somewhere but that she had forgotten just where it was.

In the event the enthusiastic (and noisy) efforts of the aged aunt to locate the alleged key attracted the attention of a burly neighbour who intercepted the Prop in the back yard of the premises and began making allegations which were inconsistent with him believing that the Prop's is an honest man!

It was not until the aged aunt (whom the burly neighbour recognised) emerged from a shed that the burly neighbour was prepared to accept that the Prop and Mrs P were not malefactors.

But back to Saturday.

Not far north of Bega, the Prop spotted a sign which invited him to take the "tourist drive" to Bateman's Bay via Bermagui.  The Prop had heard of Bermagui but had never been there.  Mrs P disclosed that as a child, she had been on many a day trip to Bermagui while holidaying at nearby Tuross Lake.  Enough said!  The Prop guided the Rig into Bermagui and, struck by its beauty, decided to head for the Bermagui "Zane Grey" Tourist Park. (Look up Zane Grey on the internet - American author and big game fisherman)

So pleasant was Bermagui that it was decided that we would spend a second night at the Zane Gray.

It was in this way that destiny bit the Prop on the buttocks - hard!

Up betimes on Sunday morning to explore more of the attractions of Bermagui and environs.  One such attraction is a man made ocean swimming pool known as the "Blue Pool".  As we approached the attraction, Mrs P, momentarily distracted by the breeching of a whale in the near distance, failed to notice a fairly well-concealed kerb in the pavement, stepped into mid air and fell fracturing BOTH wrists  and striking her head on a fence post in the process!

                             Bega District Hospital - a nice place for a holiday

Pain - ambulance - Bega Hospital - more pain - surgery - even more pain - morphine - a bit less pain - panadol - difficulty knitting and attending to personal hygeine - bummer!

   V.                      

So while Mrs P was detained in the Bega District Hospital adjacent to the Maternity Ward ("From Here to Maternity") the Prop has been doing the 60 k "commute" (as the Americans would have it)  from Bermagui to said Hospital for the past three days.

                 Beautiful Bermagui - the civil engineering leaves a lot to be desired!

Footnote:
In 1992 when the Prop passed through Bega for the first time, he stopped at an establishment called the "Toddle Inn".  There the Prop purchased the very best hamburger "with the lot" that he has ever eaten.  Indeed every hamburger that the Prop has ever eaten since has been quite deliberately compared to the legendary "Bega Burger of '92".  The Prop has to report that the "Toddle Inn" no longer exists.  In its place (well actually about two or three blocks away) there is now a "McDonalds Family Restaurant" where yesterday the Prop purchased a "Brazil Burger" for lunch.

It hardly needs to be said but the Bega Burger of '92 remains the standard by which all other burgers will continue to be judged.  Put another way, I'd rather have a Bega Burger than a Brazilian any day - so much more flavour!
   

MALLACOOTA TO PAMBULA BEACH

                DISASTER STRIKES!

        THE SPINNAKER EXPLODES?

This is the kind of overblown, misleading headline popularised by newspapers owned by Mr Rupert Murdoch. It contains a grain of truth but its primary purpose is not to inform the reader of the facts.  It is to sell newspapers thereby making money for Mr Murdoch. It is in this way (together with pictures of bare-breasted girls on page 3), that Rupert Murdoch has "commodified" the news.  (In fact, the term "commodified"is probably now passé, having been replaced by the less euphemistic "monetised".) 

The truth is that the Spinnaker developed an electrical fault - apparently as a result of poor workmanship in its construction (not of merchantable quality, the Prop hears you say) which resulted in the Prop and his wife being without electrical power in Mallacoota.  

An alternative explanation is that the patrons of the Mallacoota Hotel, incensed by the revelations contained in the Prop's previous article, pronounced some kind of hex or fatwa on the Prop and his possessions (windcheater excluded).

Whatever the true explanation may be, the Prop had to have both arms and a leg amputated in order to pay an electrical contractor to partially fix the problem.  The Prop should have realised there would be trouble when the sparky rolled up in a van with the name "Shylock & Sons - Electrical Contractors - Mastercard, Visa & Flesh acceped"

Lots of trees between Mallacotta and Pambula.  Also quite a lot of hills - both up and down.  Strange to see log trucks laden with logs, going back and forth - reminded the Prop of Tasmania a few years back.

          Pulchitudinous Pambula

Arrived at Pambula Beach at about 1430 hours.  Booked in to the "Pambula Beach Discovery Park" which, at the peak of the season, packs 'em in like sardines.  Today, in the middle of winter, there is a little more room but this is still high density living - complete with kangaroos (who apprently don't pay site fees).  The prop has been told not to feed or befriend the kangaroos as they may become aggressive.  Reminds me a bit of how things were in France with the locals! 

 

  A long time park resident. Tame but strangely aggressive if approached. 

Cheek by wizened jowl among the grey nomads at Pambula. It's just like Florida without the peninsula..... or the Jewish widows. 

 

LAKES ENTRANCE TO MALACOOTA

There are a great many trees between Lakes Entrance and Mallacoota.

Some of them have been cut down.  

Some of them have quite recently been burned in bushfires.  

Many many, many more remain standing and grow very tall.  

Nearly 30 years ago a man called Stevens, who cut down trees for a living, was injured and sued his employers....or were they his employers?  The Brodbbibb River Sawmilling Company Pty Ltd said that it was not the employer of Mr Stevens.  The High Court said that it was.  

And that was that.

(For full details see: http://www.austlii.edu.au/cgi-bin/sinodisp/au/cases/cth/HCA/1986/1.html?stem=0&synonyms=0&query=title(brodribb%20)

Quite apart from the many trees, the landscape is strikingly similar to that of western Tasmania, consisting as it does principally of wet sclerophyl forest dominated by ecucalypts and massive man ferns. Everyone but the driver enjoys the flickering dappled sunlight as it flutters in your eyes as you pass through these anceint forests.  

    Mallacoota Foreshore Caravan Park

The Rig rolled into Mallacoota Inlet at about 1330 hours. The Prop chose to revisit this delightful little estuarine village after leaving his favorite windcheater in the lounge bar of the local pub in 1986 after watching a doco on TV about the Galileo space probe.  At that same time, Halley's Comet was also passing close to Earth so, in retrospect, 1986 was something of a bumper year astronomically speaking.  However, from the keeping-possession-of-your-windcheater point of view it was, for me, (as you may have guessed) a bit of a bummer!  

One of the patrons at the Malacoota Hotel.  Looks familiar doesen't he?

So 28 years later, more in hope than expectation, the Prop strode confidently into that same lounge bar and asked 

"Has anyone seen a yellow windcheater with the letter "A" and a laurel wreath enbroidered on the left breast?  I left it here in 1986?" 

One man (who was probably not even born in 1986) repliied  

"No mate.  Was it valuable?" 

Before the Prop could reply, another man said 

"Fuck off!"  

Then the the barman told the Prop that he would have to leave as he (the Prop, not the barman) was upsetting the patrons!  

I think the bastards have still got my windcheater!  

The barman at the Mallacoota Hotel.  Well dressed for a barman? Perhaps.  Something to hide? Certainly!

They probably get it out whenever there is an unusual astronomical phenomenon and use it as the centrepiece in some ancient arcane Druidic ritual whose true meaning has been long lost in the mists of time.

Bastards!    

  An example of the kind of animal that the patrons of the Mallacoota Hotel probably like to sacrifice when performing ancient rituals involving the Prop's windcheater. 

TUESDAY 1 JULY 2014

SOMEWHERE IN BASS STRAIT TO LAKES ENTRANCE

The Prop awoke at about 0300 hrs to find water at every point of the compass. The boisterous seas encountered off Devonport had by now subsided and, as the Prop's wife sagely observed, "Its all plain sailing now."  

And indeed it was.

Disembaking at 0650 hours it was still completely dark.  As the Prop navigated "the Rig" through the darkened shiny-wet  streets of Melbourne he was reminded of his salad days when it was commonplace for him to find himself driving home in the early hours well and truly hammered after a long night on the fizz.  

Happily, the Prop took little or no fizz on board, so everyhtibng was OK.

The Prop dutifully obeyed the instructions barked at him by the brand new giant sized GPS machine on the dashboard and, at length, left the metropolis that is greater Melbourne.  Ass he did so, legion upon legion of commuting motorists poured into the city from the opposite direction, the seemiingly endless traiin of their glittereing headlights resembling some aimless giant serpent that had become lost in the dark.  Little pre-school aged children were dropped off at day-care in the dark, hours before they should even have been out of bed.  But for them, this is presumably everyday life.

Arrived at Lakes Entrance about 1300 hours and booked into the local footy oval which doubles as a rather Bohemian  camping facility.  One star facilities but with 5 star views.

Absolute waterfront address at Lakes Entrance

Resisting the urge to sleep, the Prop undertook some routine Rig maintenance and made some very welcome imrovements in the on-board karsi.  The Prop would have liked to have provided photographic evidence of said improvements but the Prop's wife says that she does not want pics of her thunderbox on the electric internet.  

Who am I to argue?

Ended the day having a few beers with a local Billy Connolly impersonator and his bald agent who revealed to his client that he has been taking an extra 7% for last 15 years.  The client took it suurprisingly well quipping that "17% of fuck all is still fuck all!"

"Billy Connolly" and his bald agent share a lighter moment.

30 JUNE 2014

Campbbell Town to Somewhere in Bass Strait

It turns out that there was a very good reason why no-one except the Prop and his wife camped out in Campbell Town on Sunday night!  Everyone else had evidently read the weather forecast and was aware that the temperature was due to fall to minus three degrees - which it duly did!  Curiously, it was not so much the cold as the persistent dripping of condensation from the roof of the Spinnaker that kept the Prop awake.

Up betimes to set off for Devonport.

Despite making every effort to turn what is, at worst, a 2 hour trip into an 7 hour epic, the Rig arrived at the banks of the Mersey not long after 1400 hours.  No boarding the SoT until well after 6.00pm so tthere was nothing else for it.  Siesta time!

The arrangements for loading the Sprit(s) of Tasnania are elaborate, laborious and pass all understanding.  Check in is said to close at 1815 hours but cars (which are loaded before large vehicles and cars towing caravans) were still arriving and being allowed to board at 1850 hours.  Not surprising then, that we did not sail at 1900 hours as scheduled.

      Spirit of Tasmania II being loaded

At length we were on board and under weigh. 

The Prop dined in the Spirt Rude Food Resaurant and enjoyed a dish the name of which he never learned to pronounce.

            An unnown rude meal

The Captain of the Spirit of Tasmania II is a remarkable lady who eschews traditional naval dress and drinks champagne (or is it Australian Sparkling Wine?) while on the bridge.

   The Capatain of the Spirit Tasmania II

 

THE JOURNEY BEGINS.....

CHAPTER THE THIRD

Being a more or less contemporaneous account of the Prop's perigrinations even unto the uttermost parts of the Great Southern Land.

PROLOGUE

Dolphin Sands to Campbell Town

     Nine Mile Beach - Dolphin Sands

Having blown some hot air on the sharp end of his trusty Biro and scribbled on a bit of scrap paper, the Prop was delighted to find that the ink was still running after nearly four years!

In what must have been a force 6 gale on the Beaufort scale the Prop and his wife spent the early part of the day loading the neccessaries (and, it has to be conceded, quite a few un-neccessaries (4 cameras , 3 computers, 2 short wave radios [who listens to short wave any more?] and a partridge in a pear tree) into the 'Trol and the Spinnaker.  The former being a 1990 Nissan Patrol which the Prop has owned almost since he was a boy, the latter being a rather commodious 16ft caravan complete with shower and karsi.

The 'Trol and the Spinnaker - a.k.a. "the Rig"

On departure, a rather portly gentleman appeared with a glass of champagne and a top hat and insisted on making a long, but well-intentioned farewell speech. Although it delayed our departure by some hours, it was much appreciated - and quite moving in an odd sort of way.

The aforesaid portly but genial gentleman

The journey from Dolphin Sands to Campbell Town was scenic but uneventful.  The Prop feared that "the Rig" might buffeted by high winds or that there may be ice on the Lake Leake Road (or even leak on the Lake Ice Road!) but none of these things came to pass.

After the rousing farewell from Dolphin Sands our arrival in Campbell Town was marked by....well, it was not marked at all.  The Prop wasn't expecting a ticker-tape parade but it would have been nice if the Mayor (or even an ordinary councillor) had turned out to greet us.  As it was we headed straight to the municipal "RV Friendly" reserve to find that we were the only happy campers taking advantage of generosity of the ratepayers of the Northern Midlands Council that night.

Beautiful Campbell Town and the Elizabeth River.