sabaroo
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Very enjoyable read, and look forward to one day exploring the areas you have travelled.
Melbourne to Esperance and return via Lake Eyre, 2011
- Thread starter Dulagarl
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Dulagarl
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Note to readers: I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to provide an instalment last week, as this section has been difficult to write. Indigenous readers should note that this instalment describes events surrounding the passing of two Ngarrindjeri men, and they may find it distressing to read on.
I am generally lousy at mornings. There are very few times in my years of travel that I have dragged myself out of the tent in near darkness just for the purpose to seeing the morning. Every time it is a rich experience, and I feel good about it, but it is a genuine struggle to raise myself from the comfort of the tent.
Immediately upon waking on this morning, I had a clear mental picture of exactly where I wanted to be on the higher ground of Parnka Point. The still crisp air caressed the senses as I made sure that I had in readiness all that I needed to take advantage of the early light. I was soon in the vehicle making my way to the exact point that I had in mind, with blue wing parrots darting off from either side of the track as I made my way.
The view rivalled that of the afternoon prior.
I was consumed by the light on the water, and the challenge of capturing the stillness and vibrancy of the scene as the birdlife slowly came to terms with the day. I watched a small flock of pelicans progress like scale model steamers across the lagoon, as if on a voyage to another distant land. By the time they had become specks in the water, the best of the morning light was gone.
It was still worthwhile taking in the scene, including the point at which a ferry used to cross the Coorong taking with it day trippers in the days when a trip to the countryside was a more shared and public affair than it is now. In the picture below you can see the wooden remains of each terminus, and beyond the dune lies the ocean.
Satisfied with an efficient pre-dawn photographic raid, I returned to camp, for the usual routine of packing, breakfast, coffee and exit. It was in this routine that I was saddened by the realisation that an old comrade was no longer with me.
My beloved black Swiss army knife had somehow been lost in the confusion of having my belongings scattered between the vehicle and the Royal Mail Hotel in Kingston. This was no ordinary Swiss army knife as far as I was concerned: it had been with me since 1987, and had been lost only once before in Mexico City, where it miraculously showed up at my hotel the day after it was lost. The story of this particular miracle is really the stuff of Latin magical realism, and needs to be told in its entirety for its magnitude to be fully understood. Trust me: it was a big deal, but this time I knew that the knife was gone.
As I was washing this realisation down with coffee, the Swiss couple came by to thank me for the information I had given them, and made a gift of some excellent looking Swiss chocolate. While not a substitute for the knife, it was, I as to later discover, bloody excellent.
I didn’t have time to get too upset about my loss, since I was keen to get to Camp Coorong as soon as I could.
https://peaceliberation.tripod.com/pages/nlpaWebPage/
It was a matter of only a few kilometres to Camp Coorong, and I arrived there as people were going about their start of day work routines. Small groups discussing things here and there, someone looking for someone else, someone else having a cigarette in the morning sun while reading over a document.
I noticed that the flag was flying at half mast. Not the traditional Australian flag or Koori flag, but a flag I had not seen before which I was to soon learn was the Ngarrindjeri flag.
(continues)
I am generally lousy at mornings. There are very few times in my years of travel that I have dragged myself out of the tent in near darkness just for the purpose to seeing the morning. Every time it is a rich experience, and I feel good about it, but it is a genuine struggle to raise myself from the comfort of the tent.
Immediately upon waking on this morning, I had a clear mental picture of exactly where I wanted to be on the higher ground of Parnka Point. The still crisp air caressed the senses as I made sure that I had in readiness all that I needed to take advantage of the early light. I was soon in the vehicle making my way to the exact point that I had in mind, with blue wing parrots darting off from either side of the track as I made my way.
The view rivalled that of the afternoon prior.
I was consumed by the light on the water, and the challenge of capturing the stillness and vibrancy of the scene as the birdlife slowly came to terms with the day. I watched a small flock of pelicans progress like scale model steamers across the lagoon, as if on a voyage to another distant land. By the time they had become specks in the water, the best of the morning light was gone.
It was still worthwhile taking in the scene, including the point at which a ferry used to cross the Coorong taking with it day trippers in the days when a trip to the countryside was a more shared and public affair than it is now. In the picture below you can see the wooden remains of each terminus, and beyond the dune lies the ocean.
Satisfied with an efficient pre-dawn photographic raid, I returned to camp, for the usual routine of packing, breakfast, coffee and exit. It was in this routine that I was saddened by the realisation that an old comrade was no longer with me.
My beloved black Swiss army knife had somehow been lost in the confusion of having my belongings scattered between the vehicle and the Royal Mail Hotel in Kingston. This was no ordinary Swiss army knife as far as I was concerned: it had been with me since 1987, and had been lost only once before in Mexico City, where it miraculously showed up at my hotel the day after it was lost. The story of this particular miracle is really the stuff of Latin magical realism, and needs to be told in its entirety for its magnitude to be fully understood. Trust me: it was a big deal, but this time I knew that the knife was gone.
As I was washing this realisation down with coffee, the Swiss couple came by to thank me for the information I had given them, and made a gift of some excellent looking Swiss chocolate. While not a substitute for the knife, it was, I as to later discover, bloody excellent.
I didn’t have time to get too upset about my loss, since I was keen to get to Camp Coorong as soon as I could.
https://peaceliberation.tripod.com/pages/nlpaWebPage/
It was a matter of only a few kilometres to Camp Coorong, and I arrived there as people were going about their start of day work routines. Small groups discussing things here and there, someone looking for someone else, someone else having a cigarette in the morning sun while reading over a document.
I noticed that the flag was flying at half mast. Not the traditional Australian flag or Koori flag, but a flag I had not seen before which I was to soon learn was the Ngarrindjeri flag.
Followers of current affairs will be familiar with Hindmarsh Island. To many it is synonymous with a controversy surrounding the building of a bridge, and assertions by Ngarrindjeri elders that the site of the bridge was a site of “secret women’s business”. The whole saga was quite divisive, and represented an important struggle for Ngarrindjeri people in the face of scepticism, cynicism and at times outright hostility about their cultural heritage. The Howard government legislated to allow the bridge to be built. Since then, the term “secret women’s business” has become a kind of mantra for some who remain unconvinced that indigenous people might have valid knowledge systems and traditions which differ from western ways. There is plenty of material about this on the internet, so you can form your own views.Ngarrindjeri Nation Flag
• This is the STORY of the Ngarrindjeri Flag, first flown on Sunday 21 November, 1999, on Kumarangk (Hindmarsh Island):
o The 18 dots represent the 18 tribes (Lakklinyeris) that make up the Ngarrindjeri Nation.
o The spears represent the traditional fishing spears of the Ngarrindjeri.
o The Boomerang is the Sacred Boomerang that when thrown, circles the Lakklinyeris informing their clan leaders to attend a National Meeting called Tendi (Tendi made and interpreted Ngarrindjeri Law).
o The Blue colour represents the waters which surround Ngarrindjeri country.
o The Sun is the giver of life.
o The Ochre colour of the Boomerang represents our Mother - Mother Earth.
Matt Rigney - Designer of the Ngarrindjeri Flag
(continues)
Last edited:
Dulagarl
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(Continued)
I slowly made my way into what appeared to be the main building, and it had more of the feel of an educational institution than a camp. A display of books and brochures caught my eye and I skimmed over the material, while remaining conscious of the quiet comings and going of people around me. I was soon welcomed by a gentleman not a great deal older than me, who pointed me in the direction of what he described as a “small museum”. I took this suggestion and made my way to that end of the building, which opened out into two largish rooms full of displays of various sorts.
Places like this captivate me, and despite the brilliant morning sunshine outside I was content to remain indoors and soak up as much information as I could. There were some remarkable examples of tools, weapons, weavings, fish traps, clothing and shelters, as well as images from early contact history. I’m really not sure how long I had spent browsing artefacts and images until a penny dropped, so to speak.
My unease and my transition to comfort were soon explained. A map depicting the creation journey of Nugurnderi showed me that I had picked up the songline in what might be seen as an inappropriate way. This is a notion that is difficult to describe in a few words, and for these purposes I would prefer that the more inquisitive reader seek out for themself information about songlines, creation journeys, and the notion of wrong way. Armed with that, the reader might understand that one doesn’t simply wander into country without introduction in the expectation that everything will be alright.
As it turns out, my ingress to the country of Ngurunderi’s creation journey was at a point of conflict where Ngurunderi fought Paramapari, at the southern end of the Coorong near Kingston. It is not surprising to feel uneasy in such a place without knowing and properly acknowledging the story.
The point at which I began to feel at ease, Parnka Point, overlooks an island which I was somehow drawn to. I learnt that this is an ancient burial ground, and that I had, as described in the initiation rituals documented by Unaipon, slept with the spirits of the old people, unknowingly. My jaw literally dropped at that realisation, and still somewhat stunned I made my way out of the museum having a better realisation of the cultural resonance of Kurangk (Coorong). The Milky Way, which I had felt similarly compelled to photograph the night before, to Ngarrindjeri represents the canoe that Ngurunderi placed in the night sky at the end of his creation journey. Many things were falling into place in ways stronger than the probabilities of coincidence would dictate.
Fitting Unaipon’s description of Ngarrindjeri initiation, I found myself in the company of an elder, Tom Trevorrow.
In generously giving his time to talk with me, Tom explained the reason for the flag being at half mast was the passing of his last remaining brother George, who had died a matter of a few days prior. George had been an important leader for Ngarrindjeri people, and had in recent years established an eco tourism venture near Parnka Point. Tom was still obviously grieving his brother, yet still gave generously of his time and energy to welcome me to his country.
In our discussions, Tom’s other deceased brother Bruce was mentioned, and Tom explained to me how it was that Bruce was the only Aboriginal person to be forcibly removed from his family by government who had subsequently successfully prosecuted over the removal. The Court, Tom explained, looked at him (Tom) and George as examples of successful Ngarrindjeri men, and Bruce as a victim who had an institutionalised and conflicted life. The Court concluded, in Tom’s words, that “Bruce just wanted to be Ngarrindjeri, but because he was taken away he didn’t know how”.
You can read more about Bruce’s case here:
https://www.stolengenerations.info/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=181&Itemid=162
Unfortunately, Bruce only lived a matter of a few months after the judgment, but at least, as Tom said, he got to enjoy that short time of being vindicated.
It’s not the first time I have heard stories of removal and the sadness that it has brought, and it won’t be the last. Each time the tears well up, but before any are shed I remind myself that I don’t have to live with the consequences myself, and I am able to regain my composure.
Tom Trevorrow provided me with some excellent material to help me understand Ngarrindjeri country a bit better, including a copy of a publication setting out their aspirations for their country. “Caring fro Ngarrindjeri Sea Country and Culture”. It can be accessed here: https://hurrysavethemurray.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/11/ngarrindjeri-sea-country-plan.pdf
It is an excellent resource.
In parting, Tom encouraged me to visit Raukkan, on the Narrung Peninsula, where “Uncle” David Unaipon had lived and was now at rest. I vowed to return again to visit, and was warmed by Tom Trevorrow’s parting words that mean so much from an Indigenous man in his own country:
“You are welcome”.
Having slept with the spirits, and having presented myself to an elder in loose keeping with Ngarrindjeri initiations of millennia past, how could I not feel that way?
I kicked the Dulagarl into life, and set off for Raukkan, every part of my being feeling alive, energised, contemplative and yes, welcome.
I slowly made my way into what appeared to be the main building, and it had more of the feel of an educational institution than a camp. A display of books and brochures caught my eye and I skimmed over the material, while remaining conscious of the quiet comings and going of people around me. I was soon welcomed by a gentleman not a great deal older than me, who pointed me in the direction of what he described as a “small museum”. I took this suggestion and made my way to that end of the building, which opened out into two largish rooms full of displays of various sorts.
Places like this captivate me, and despite the brilliant morning sunshine outside I was content to remain indoors and soak up as much information as I could. There were some remarkable examples of tools, weapons, weavings, fish traps, clothing and shelters, as well as images from early contact history. I’m really not sure how long I had spent browsing artefacts and images until a penny dropped, so to speak.
My unease and my transition to comfort were soon explained. A map depicting the creation journey of Nugurnderi showed me that I had picked up the songline in what might be seen as an inappropriate way. This is a notion that is difficult to describe in a few words, and for these purposes I would prefer that the more inquisitive reader seek out for themself information about songlines, creation journeys, and the notion of wrong way. Armed with that, the reader might understand that one doesn’t simply wander into country without introduction in the expectation that everything will be alright.
As it turns out, my ingress to the country of Ngurunderi’s creation journey was at a point of conflict where Ngurunderi fought Paramapari, at the southern end of the Coorong near Kingston. It is not surprising to feel uneasy in such a place without knowing and properly acknowledging the story.
The point at which I began to feel at ease, Parnka Point, overlooks an island which I was somehow drawn to. I learnt that this is an ancient burial ground, and that I had, as described in the initiation rituals documented by Unaipon, slept with the spirits of the old people, unknowingly. My jaw literally dropped at that realisation, and still somewhat stunned I made my way out of the museum having a better realisation of the cultural resonance of Kurangk (Coorong). The Milky Way, which I had felt similarly compelled to photograph the night before, to Ngarrindjeri represents the canoe that Ngurunderi placed in the night sky at the end of his creation journey. Many things were falling into place in ways stronger than the probabilities of coincidence would dictate.
Fitting Unaipon’s description of Ngarrindjeri initiation, I found myself in the company of an elder, Tom Trevorrow.
In generously giving his time to talk with me, Tom explained the reason for the flag being at half mast was the passing of his last remaining brother George, who had died a matter of a few days prior. George had been an important leader for Ngarrindjeri people, and had in recent years established an eco tourism venture near Parnka Point. Tom was still obviously grieving his brother, yet still gave generously of his time and energy to welcome me to his country.
In our discussions, Tom’s other deceased brother Bruce was mentioned, and Tom explained to me how it was that Bruce was the only Aboriginal person to be forcibly removed from his family by government who had subsequently successfully prosecuted over the removal. The Court, Tom explained, looked at him (Tom) and George as examples of successful Ngarrindjeri men, and Bruce as a victim who had an institutionalised and conflicted life. The Court concluded, in Tom’s words, that “Bruce just wanted to be Ngarrindjeri, but because he was taken away he didn’t know how”.
You can read more about Bruce’s case here:
https://www.stolengenerations.info/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=181&Itemid=162
Unfortunately, Bruce only lived a matter of a few months after the judgment, but at least, as Tom said, he got to enjoy that short time of being vindicated.
It’s not the first time I have heard stories of removal and the sadness that it has brought, and it won’t be the last. Each time the tears well up, but before any are shed I remind myself that I don’t have to live with the consequences myself, and I am able to regain my composure.
Tom Trevorrow provided me with some excellent material to help me understand Ngarrindjeri country a bit better, including a copy of a publication setting out their aspirations for their country. “Caring fro Ngarrindjeri Sea Country and Culture”. It can be accessed here: https://hurrysavethemurray.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/11/ngarrindjeri-sea-country-plan.pdf
It is an excellent resource.
In parting, Tom encouraged me to visit Raukkan, on the Narrung Peninsula, where “Uncle” David Unaipon had lived and was now at rest. I vowed to return again to visit, and was warmed by Tom Trevorrow’s parting words that mean so much from an Indigenous man in his own country:
“You are welcome”.
Having slept with the spirits, and having presented myself to an elder in loose keeping with Ngarrindjeri initiations of millennia past, how could I not feel that way?
I kicked the Dulagarl into life, and set off for Raukkan, every part of my being feeling alive, energised, contemplative and yes, welcome.
Kevin
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What a wonderful experience!
mr turbo
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MadScotsMan
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My friend, I have read many a travelogue, but never one so well written and so compelling. From the mundane to the sublime, I have enjoyed every word and hope someday I will be able to at least get a small "taste" of your beautiful country. Thank you for the journal and the experience.
Dulagarl
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I am pleased that you are enjoying this folks. Here's a further installment.
It was late morning by the time I left Camp Coorong, to make the short run into Meningie for fuel and to visit the post office to post some items back to Melbourne.
Among the items I posted were some delicately coloured flowers made of pelican feathers, and miniature reed baskets made by Ngarrindjeri women.
The making of these flowers is quite remarkable, and as far as I know is a unique tradition. You can read more about it at:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Ngarrindjeri-Eco-Art-Co-op-NEAC/162591080455465?sk=wall&filter=2
Meningie is on the shores of Lake Albert, one of the two major lakes near the Murray mouth.
I stopped for lunch at the Jetty, which until recent rains had been some distance from the waters’ edge. The air had a pleasant fresh humidity to it that was most agreeable. I was still energised from the whole experience at Camp Coorong, and too the opportunity to telephone some friends while I took in the view from the Meningie jetty.
From there it was on to the Narrung peninsula towards Raukkan, a small but vibrant community and as mentioned earlier the home of David Unaipon. First, after some messing around occasioned by someone changing the orientation of some directions signs, I made my way to Pelican Point to look across the Coorong at the massive dunes on the coast.
The salt water in the Coorong remains at a very high level of salinity, following recent years of drought. While it has recovered to some extent, there will need to be a lot more water coming down the Murray for it to be declared healthy again. At this end however, the Lakes are fresh water: the salt water contained by barrages close to the mouth of the river. The mouth itself closed during the drought, and the lake levels dropped to unhealthy levels.
It would have been possible to camp here, but I knew that I would have plenty of opportunities to camp in treeless environments in the weeks ahead of me. In fact, it was striking just how treeless the Narrung Peninsula is. It appears as though it was almost completely cleared by European settlers, and the only prominent trees are those that seem to have been planted around farm buildings, and along fence lines.
From what I could tell, the peninsula was fairly lucrative dairy cattle country, if the stately farmhouses I saw are any indication. They must have had a fairly difficult time of it through the drought, when at times there was little drinkable water available from the Murray. (Some who have tried Adelaide water would claim that the lack of drinkable water from the Murray is an enduring state of affairs!). At least one of the award winning diary farms had to relocate its stock. The following excerpt from a submission to a Senate Inquiry in 2008 describes the plight of the operators of Jolrae station:
https://www.aph.gov.au/senate/committee/rrat_ctte/lowerlakes_coorong/submissions/sub67.pdf
It must have been a confronting sight to see these magnificent lakes fringed by dry cracked mud and silt. The stench of acid sulphate soil would have been as confronting to the sense of smell.
I continued on to Raukkan, taking the Western Route along the Peninsula. I visited the cemetery first, overlooking the calm glistening waters of Lake Alexandrina, and contemplated the lives of those who rested there. Surely it must have seemed strange to the old Ngarrindjeri people who were interred here to see their land stripped of trees, and stranger still to be confined by the advance of agriculture to the environs of the community while their world changed around them.
The view over Lake Alexandrina was soothingly still and arresting. In itself it was sufficient to make on stop and reflect, and in context even more so.
One could also get a good view of the community of Raukkan from here, with its mixture of colonial and more modern architecture.
I could have gone and done the classic tourist thing at this point, and photographed some of the old colonial buildings such as the church at Raukkan, but I felt strongly disinclined. I have been to many Indigenous communities over the years, and have never wandered about with a camera. My reasons for doing so are mine, and a full explanation is beyond this piece, however it has a lot to do with my perception that much of Indigenous life is already under the lens of the microscope in Australia, and a camera with me on the other end of it really helps no-one. There is a fuller explanation, but now is not the time or the place.
I felt uneasy enough taking the odd photograph around the cemetery on the outskirts of Raukkan to know that I would not be comfortable in Raukkan itself doing much the same thing.
(continues...)
It was late morning by the time I left Camp Coorong, to make the short run into Meningie for fuel and to visit the post office to post some items back to Melbourne.
Among the items I posted were some delicately coloured flowers made of pelican feathers, and miniature reed baskets made by Ngarrindjeri women.
The making of these flowers is quite remarkable, and as far as I know is a unique tradition. You can read more about it at:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Ngarrindjeri-Eco-Art-Co-op-NEAC/162591080455465?sk=wall&filter=2
Meningie is on the shores of Lake Albert, one of the two major lakes near the Murray mouth.
I stopped for lunch at the Jetty, which until recent rains had been some distance from the waters’ edge. The air had a pleasant fresh humidity to it that was most agreeable. I was still energised from the whole experience at Camp Coorong, and too the opportunity to telephone some friends while I took in the view from the Meningie jetty.
From there it was on to the Narrung peninsula towards Raukkan, a small but vibrant community and as mentioned earlier the home of David Unaipon. First, after some messing around occasioned by someone changing the orientation of some directions signs, I made my way to Pelican Point to look across the Coorong at the massive dunes on the coast.
The salt water in the Coorong remains at a very high level of salinity, following recent years of drought. While it has recovered to some extent, there will need to be a lot more water coming down the Murray for it to be declared healthy again. At this end however, the Lakes are fresh water: the salt water contained by barrages close to the mouth of the river. The mouth itself closed during the drought, and the lake levels dropped to unhealthy levels.
It would have been possible to camp here, but I knew that I would have plenty of opportunities to camp in treeless environments in the weeks ahead of me. In fact, it was striking just how treeless the Narrung Peninsula is. It appears as though it was almost completely cleared by European settlers, and the only prominent trees are those that seem to have been planted around farm buildings, and along fence lines.
From what I could tell, the peninsula was fairly lucrative dairy cattle country, if the stately farmhouses I saw are any indication. They must have had a fairly difficult time of it through the drought, when at times there was little drinkable water available from the Murray. (Some who have tried Adelaide water would claim that the lack of drinkable water from the Murray is an enduring state of affairs!). At least one of the award winning diary farms had to relocate its stock. The following excerpt from a submission to a Senate Inquiry in 2008 describes the plight of the operators of Jolrae station:
https://www.aph.gov.au/senate/committee/rrat_ctte/lowerlakes_coorong/submissions/sub67.pdf
It must have been a confronting sight to see these magnificent lakes fringed by dry cracked mud and silt. The stench of acid sulphate soil would have been as confronting to the sense of smell.
I continued on to Raukkan, taking the Western Route along the Peninsula. I visited the cemetery first, overlooking the calm glistening waters of Lake Alexandrina, and contemplated the lives of those who rested there. Surely it must have seemed strange to the old Ngarrindjeri people who were interred here to see their land stripped of trees, and stranger still to be confined by the advance of agriculture to the environs of the community while their world changed around them.
The view over Lake Alexandrina was soothingly still and arresting. In itself it was sufficient to make on stop and reflect, and in context even more so.
One could also get a good view of the community of Raukkan from here, with its mixture of colonial and more modern architecture.
I could have gone and done the classic tourist thing at this point, and photographed some of the old colonial buildings such as the church at Raukkan, but I felt strongly disinclined. I have been to many Indigenous communities over the years, and have never wandered about with a camera. My reasons for doing so are mine, and a full explanation is beyond this piece, however it has a lot to do with my perception that much of Indigenous life is already under the lens of the microscope in Australia, and a camera with me on the other end of it really helps no-one. There is a fuller explanation, but now is not the time or the place.
I felt uneasy enough taking the odd photograph around the cemetery on the outskirts of Raukkan to know that I would not be comfortable in Raukkan itself doing much the same thing.
(continues...)
Last edited:
Dulagarl
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(continued)
So, from there, it was off to Narrung, a small town at the narrows between Lake Alexandrina and Lake Albert. I paused here for a late late lunch, in the camping area by the jetty.
The camping area itself was quite pleasant: grassy, a few trees, a jetty and close access to the ferry back to the mainland. A few people were already camped there, and I considered doing the same until I came a cross a handwritten note of “camping etiquette” fixed to the wall of the picnic shelter. The contents of said “etiquette” mean that it was either not a very peaceful place to camp, or there were control freaks camped there, or both.
Bit of a bugger really, because it was getting on and there was not much other camping in the immediate vicinity, or between here and Goolwa. This posed a dilemma: I did want to see Goolwa, but I wanted to be near Port Augusta the following night, and going to Goolwa the next day would probably prevent that happening.
I decided that Goolwa would have to wait for another trip, and that I would camp in bushland somewhere past Tailem Bend on the lower Murray.
Reading the map, the most sensible option seemed to be Lowan Conservation Park: a tiny conservation park that I found in Lewis and Savage’s book.
Lunch done and destination determined it was time to get on the ferry (which incidentally, is free).
The narrows are connected strongly to the rest of Ngurunderi’s creation journey, and also to that of his wives who crossed Lake Albert very close to here. Thousand of journey makers each year travel through this same place.
I had the ferry to myself, so why not a pic of the Dulagarl on a barge?
Off the barge / ferry, and to look for Lowan Conservation Park named after the Lowan or Mallee fowl. I fully expected it to be in well, mallee vegetation, and given its location to the west of both big desert and Ngarkat Conservation Park, I was soon to prove my expectation correct.
As the map shows, Lowan CP is north east of Tailem Bend and almost due north of Wynarka. Should have been straightforward to find, but the back blocks of the bush being as poorly signposted as they are it took me about half an hour longer than it should have to find the park, and then find a bush track into it.
I had lost the time that I had intended for a bit of exploration of the park itself, so I set up camp and saw out the last of the day with a beer or two. Here I was on the north east edge of Ngarrindjeri country, contemplating what I had travelled through in only a few days, firmly resolving to come back for at least two weeks on next visit. Next time however, I would know a better way to travel to the Coorong, effectively following the river from North West Victoria.
I couldn’t be too upset though: I love Mallee country and the surprises it holds, like this magnificent golden orb wheel weaving spider. (Which I think is Cyclona insulana for the scientifically minded)
The give-away in identifying this spider is the debris that she uses to camouflage her snare.
In a sense, I felt that Ngarrindjeri country had held me like a spider’s web, in that as I struggled to get through it quickly it entangled me. This is not a negative reflection rather that this country really requires time, and on my next visit I would do just that.
The plan for the coming day though had me heading for the southern end of the Flinders Ranges, just near Port Augusta, and entirely new dynamic on the edge of the outback.
Boobook Owls, Tawny Frogmouths and nightjars sang me to sleep.
So, from there, it was off to Narrung, a small town at the narrows between Lake Alexandrina and Lake Albert. I paused here for a late late lunch, in the camping area by the jetty.
The camping area itself was quite pleasant: grassy, a few trees, a jetty and close access to the ferry back to the mainland. A few people were already camped there, and I considered doing the same until I came a cross a handwritten note of “camping etiquette” fixed to the wall of the picnic shelter. The contents of said “etiquette” mean that it was either not a very peaceful place to camp, or there were control freaks camped there, or both.
Bit of a bugger really, because it was getting on and there was not much other camping in the immediate vicinity, or between here and Goolwa. This posed a dilemma: I did want to see Goolwa, but I wanted to be near Port Augusta the following night, and going to Goolwa the next day would probably prevent that happening.
I decided that Goolwa would have to wait for another trip, and that I would camp in bushland somewhere past Tailem Bend on the lower Murray.
Reading the map, the most sensible option seemed to be Lowan Conservation Park: a tiny conservation park that I found in Lewis and Savage’s book.
Lunch done and destination determined it was time to get on the ferry (which incidentally, is free).
The narrows are connected strongly to the rest of Ngurunderi’s creation journey, and also to that of his wives who crossed Lake Albert very close to here. Thousand of journey makers each year travel through this same place.
I had the ferry to myself, so why not a pic of the Dulagarl on a barge?
Off the barge / ferry, and to look for Lowan Conservation Park named after the Lowan or Mallee fowl. I fully expected it to be in well, mallee vegetation, and given its location to the west of both big desert and Ngarkat Conservation Park, I was soon to prove my expectation correct.
As the map shows, Lowan CP is north east of Tailem Bend and almost due north of Wynarka. Should have been straightforward to find, but the back blocks of the bush being as poorly signposted as they are it took me about half an hour longer than it should have to find the park, and then find a bush track into it.
I had lost the time that I had intended for a bit of exploration of the park itself, so I set up camp and saw out the last of the day with a beer or two. Here I was on the north east edge of Ngarrindjeri country, contemplating what I had travelled through in only a few days, firmly resolving to come back for at least two weeks on next visit. Next time however, I would know a better way to travel to the Coorong, effectively following the river from North West Victoria.
I couldn’t be too upset though: I love Mallee country and the surprises it holds, like this magnificent golden orb wheel weaving spider. (Which I think is Cyclona insulana for the scientifically minded)
The give-away in identifying this spider is the debris that she uses to camouflage her snare.
In a sense, I felt that Ngarrindjeri country had held me like a spider’s web, in that as I struggled to get through it quickly it entangled me. This is not a negative reflection rather that this country really requires time, and on my next visit I would do just that.
The plan for the coming day though had me heading for the southern end of the Flinders Ranges, just near Port Augusta, and entirely new dynamic on the edge of the outback.
Boobook Owls, Tawny Frogmouths and nightjars sang me to sleep.
Dulagarl
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OK, well keeping roughly to a post a week on this, we are now up to day 11, Friday April 1, which sees us heading for the country north of Adelaide. Enjoy the read...
April Fools Day. April 1 was day a Friday, and day 11 of the trip.
I had a few objectives for the day, but primary was getting past Adelaide.
Had I taken the direct route to Adelaide from Melbourne along the Western Hwy, it would have been a simple matter of 729 km on the bitumen from GPO to GPO, a doddle in two days and not much more difficult in one.
To be the wrong side of Adelaide on day 11 was slightly unnerving, but given the events of the journey thus far it was more than acceptable.
Just how can you put a price, either in time or money, on what I had been through thus far? Sure, I was keen to get some distance under my wheels that day, as if I had dwelled over the entrée and the waiter was nervously awaiting my signal to deliver the main course. But there was to be time for an aperitif and perhaps a reefer to build the appetite before the Nullarbor onslaught, and that was to come in the form of Mt Remarkable at the southern end of the Flinders Ranges.
I was determined to not buggerise around, and split camp as soon as I could to refule in Murray Bridge.
I soon found myself distracted….
You might ask what is unusual about that picture?
Mallee trees are associated with semi arid to arid zones, and are adapted to such. One does not associate them with surface water. Here, some Mallee were getting their feet wet in water still lying in depressions fro extraordinarily high January rains in eastern Australia. These rains washed away whole towns in Queensland, made rivers run to the outback, flooded massive areas in New South Wales, caused mudslides and rockslides that have kept most of Gariwerd (Grampians) in Victoria closed to this day, and flooded flat lands across Victoria and South Australia that are usually dustbowls. This water has nowhere to go: it is far from watercourses and still sits in large pools.
Dorothea Mackellar would have been impressed by this sight: “of droughts and flooding rains”.
A quick run into Murray Bridge for fuel and the familiar drive to Adelaide. I am pleased to say that I got through Adelaide without stopping, except for traffic lights what a cyclist might call a “nature stop” somewhere on the northern end of the city / town / hovel.
For comedic reasons associated with how Melbourne Victory Football Club supporters deride Adelaide United supporters, I took the minor detour off the highway 51 km north of Adelaide to Snowtown…
To understand the humour of this, you need to go through several perverted steps of logic involving mass murderers and bodies in barrels, and understand the sporting rivalry between Melbourne and Adelaide. I simply cannot explain it here….
Back to the highway and I soon found myself in Port Wakefield, at the top of St. Vincent Gulf. It was in my opinion depressingly un-spectacular, and devoid of anything but the most basic of services. Its most useful features were a hot bread shop and a fish and chip shop: even the greengrocer was truly crappy and there was no obvious sign of a supermarket..
Onwards to the north and Port Pirie, where I decided to stock up rather than risk shopping in Port Augusta on a Saturday afternoon. In comparison to Port Wakefield (and Port Augusta for that matter), Port Pirie was impressive, convenient and friendly. I even used the local carwash to clean up the vehicle for what might be its last wash for a while. I also hit the Bridgestone outlet to get a piece of exhaust pipe flanged so that it would tightly fit tightly inside the recessed rear pipe of the Dulagarl, and allow easier use of the bull bag if necessary. This last transaction demonstrated why medium sized towns are sometimes better than big cities: you can get sh&t done on a Friday arvo without fuss and for not much cash.
Stocked up, organised and for once not running late, I roared up the road past the Port Germein turnoff and was soon approaching my objective for the day: Mt Remarkable National Park. I had last camped here about seven years ago, and it lives up to its name.
(Continues…)
April Fools Day. April 1 was day a Friday, and day 11 of the trip.
I had a few objectives for the day, but primary was getting past Adelaide.
Had I taken the direct route to Adelaide from Melbourne along the Western Hwy, it would have been a simple matter of 729 km on the bitumen from GPO to GPO, a doddle in two days and not much more difficult in one.
To be the wrong side of Adelaide on day 11 was slightly unnerving, but given the events of the journey thus far it was more than acceptable.
Just how can you put a price, either in time or money, on what I had been through thus far? Sure, I was keen to get some distance under my wheels that day, as if I had dwelled over the entrée and the waiter was nervously awaiting my signal to deliver the main course. But there was to be time for an aperitif and perhaps a reefer to build the appetite before the Nullarbor onslaught, and that was to come in the form of Mt Remarkable at the southern end of the Flinders Ranges.
I was determined to not buggerise around, and split camp as soon as I could to refule in Murray Bridge.
I soon found myself distracted….
You might ask what is unusual about that picture?
Mallee trees are associated with semi arid to arid zones, and are adapted to such. One does not associate them with surface water. Here, some Mallee were getting their feet wet in water still lying in depressions fro extraordinarily high January rains in eastern Australia. These rains washed away whole towns in Queensland, made rivers run to the outback, flooded massive areas in New South Wales, caused mudslides and rockslides that have kept most of Gariwerd (Grampians) in Victoria closed to this day, and flooded flat lands across Victoria and South Australia that are usually dustbowls. This water has nowhere to go: it is far from watercourses and still sits in large pools.
Dorothea Mackellar would have been impressed by this sight: “of droughts and flooding rains”.
A quick run into Murray Bridge for fuel and the familiar drive to Adelaide. I am pleased to say that I got through Adelaide without stopping, except for traffic lights what a cyclist might call a “nature stop” somewhere on the northern end of the city / town / hovel.
For comedic reasons associated with how Melbourne Victory Football Club supporters deride Adelaide United supporters, I took the minor detour off the highway 51 km north of Adelaide to Snowtown…
To understand the humour of this, you need to go through several perverted steps of logic involving mass murderers and bodies in barrels, and understand the sporting rivalry between Melbourne and Adelaide. I simply cannot explain it here….
Back to the highway and I soon found myself in Port Wakefield, at the top of St. Vincent Gulf. It was in my opinion depressingly un-spectacular, and devoid of anything but the most basic of services. Its most useful features were a hot bread shop and a fish and chip shop: even the greengrocer was truly crappy and there was no obvious sign of a supermarket..
Onwards to the north and Port Pirie, where I decided to stock up rather than risk shopping in Port Augusta on a Saturday afternoon. In comparison to Port Wakefield (and Port Augusta for that matter), Port Pirie was impressive, convenient and friendly. I even used the local carwash to clean up the vehicle for what might be its last wash for a while. I also hit the Bridgestone outlet to get a piece of exhaust pipe flanged so that it would tightly fit tightly inside the recessed rear pipe of the Dulagarl, and allow easier use of the bull bag if necessary. This last transaction demonstrated why medium sized towns are sometimes better than big cities: you can get sh&t done on a Friday arvo without fuss and for not much cash.
Stocked up, organised and for once not running late, I roared up the road past the Port Germein turnoff and was soon approaching my objective for the day: Mt Remarkable National Park. I had last camped here about seven years ago, and it lives up to its name.
(Continues…)
Dulagarl
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(Continued)
Situated as it is at the southern end of the Flinders Ranges, and overlooking the waters of the upper parts of Spencer Gulf, Mt Remarkable is a mixture of diverse geology and vegetation that brings with it a rich colour scheme, diverse flora and fauna and a climate which varies between agreeable and volatile. These parts are warmed by northerly winds off the inner deserts of Australia which bring dry air masses that collide with the moisture of the Southern Ocean and the Gulf, resulting in at times violent thunderstorms and intense deluges.
This end of the Flinders is a portent of things to come in the Flinders and Gammon Ranges further north, yet is so accessible being less than 300 km from Adelaide.
The road into the Park gives a hint of the biodiversity that is a trademark of the Flinders ranges.
The campground itself is very well appointed these days, and includes such luxuries as BBQ’s, solar powered hot showers and flush toilets. Having bought the parks pass with camping rights back in Mt Gambier, access to these comparative luxuries was for me already paid for.
As I slowly coasted past the already taken campsites in search of a vacancy, not just a few heads lifted from their camp activities at the sound of the Dulagarl’s note. Even at idle this beast makes an impression. I soon settled on a site in the large but well laid out campground, and motivated by the imminence of cold beer I was quickly set up.
I enjoyed a short walk around the areas close to the campground, and the chorus of birds such as Adelaide Rosellas, Ringneck Parrots and Galahs late in the day. Having established camp I cooked up a magnificent Napoli sauce for pasta, with refrigeration of the leftovers in mind. A few beers and some wine made dinner a very pleasant experience as the bats and insects made the evening theirs.
Light could not be used for any great period of time, lest an inundation of moths occur. One particular moth was high in numbers, and was to be a companion for most of my trip across the Nullarbor. I haven’t indentified it, but it was almost an icon of the trip…
Another day - another great location. I was now in Adnyamathanha country: the land of the stone hill mob. Pleased to be past Adelaide, and with an excellent opening stanza to the trip behind me, I could not pause a little before the real deal. Tomorrow, I would be past Port Augusta and heading west. The main course was about to be served.
Situated as it is at the southern end of the Flinders Ranges, and overlooking the waters of the upper parts of Spencer Gulf, Mt Remarkable is a mixture of diverse geology and vegetation that brings with it a rich colour scheme, diverse flora and fauna and a climate which varies between agreeable and volatile. These parts are warmed by northerly winds off the inner deserts of Australia which bring dry air masses that collide with the moisture of the Southern Ocean and the Gulf, resulting in at times violent thunderstorms and intense deluges.
This end of the Flinders is a portent of things to come in the Flinders and Gammon Ranges further north, yet is so accessible being less than 300 km from Adelaide.
The road into the Park gives a hint of the biodiversity that is a trademark of the Flinders ranges.
The campground itself is very well appointed these days, and includes such luxuries as BBQ’s, solar powered hot showers and flush toilets. Having bought the parks pass with camping rights back in Mt Gambier, access to these comparative luxuries was for me already paid for.
As I slowly coasted past the already taken campsites in search of a vacancy, not just a few heads lifted from their camp activities at the sound of the Dulagarl’s note. Even at idle this beast makes an impression. I soon settled on a site in the large but well laid out campground, and motivated by the imminence of cold beer I was quickly set up.
I enjoyed a short walk around the areas close to the campground, and the chorus of birds such as Adelaide Rosellas, Ringneck Parrots and Galahs late in the day. Having established camp I cooked up a magnificent Napoli sauce for pasta, with refrigeration of the leftovers in mind. A few beers and some wine made dinner a very pleasant experience as the bats and insects made the evening theirs.
Light could not be used for any great period of time, lest an inundation of moths occur. One particular moth was high in numbers, and was to be a companion for most of my trip across the Nullarbor. I haven’t indentified it, but it was almost an icon of the trip…
Another day - another great location. I was now in Adnyamathanha country: the land of the stone hill mob. Pleased to be past Adelaide, and with an excellent opening stanza to the trip behind me, I could not pause a little before the real deal. Tomorrow, I would be past Port Augusta and heading west. The main course was about to be served.
lefty
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https://www.andydownunder.com/nature_profiles?id=2
https://lepidoptera.butterflyhouse.com.au/arct/pulch.html
Arctiidae
The Arctiids are typically boldly-marked moths, and include the well-known tiger moths. Many are active by day as well as night.
Utethesia pulchelloides
https://lepidoptera.butterflyhouse.com.au/arct/pulch.html
Arctiidae
The Arctiids are typically boldly-marked moths, and include the well-known tiger moths. Many are active by day as well as night.
Utethesia pulchelloides
dirtyRU
Forum Member
Some of those are some bada** looking moths! Some look like bats, others like wasps/hornets.
Dulagarl
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Thanks very much lefty. That's definitely the one. Common as muck but quite an interesting pattern. They'll show up again later in the blog.
my04tone
Forum Founder - RIP Tony
Great stuff Greg, gives me the travel bug, or was that moth?
mr turbo
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Just caught up & finished reading the latest installment 
& the more I read of your adventure's, the more I'm enjoying it 
It's fantastic
Regards
Mr Turbo
& the more I read of your adventure's, the more I'm enjoying it It's fantastic Regards
Mr Turbo
Dulagarl
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Ok, a little late, but here is a further installment. Day 12....
Mt Remarkable by accounts was named by Edward John Eyre when exploring Spencer Gulf in 1840. It is fitting that Eyre was so strongly associated with the place, given his role in the exploration of the Nullarbor Plain and hence so many of the places I was planning to visit.
I don’t know about you, but when I think of “explorers” in pre-federation Australia, I tend to start with the concepts I learned in childhood: for example that they were old blokes in suits who lived a long time ago and rode horses and stuff instead of driving cars, and in some cases died because they ran out of food. I then overlay that with later learnings about dispossession of aboriginal people and fights and poisonings and land grabs. I guess it is only as I advance in years that I am able to challenge some of the simplicity of some of these themes and build in their place a complexity that, while genuinely based on historical hindsight, may more closely approximate the subtlety of the truth of the time.
That might just be a simple way of saying that nuance is something that becomes clearer with age, knowledge and experience, but in the case of Edward John Eyre it is much more than that. Start with the fact that in 1840, only five years after John Batman “founded” the city of Melbourne, Eyre was but 24 years of age when he named Mt Remarkable, and immediately after that set off across the Nullarbor. In contrast, I hadn’t done a lot by the time I was 24, although I will admit that by then I had spent two stints in Central America in hotspots such as Nicaragua and El Salvador, but risky as that was it was hardly setting off into the wilds of outback Australia: at least I knew I’d be able to get a beer or some rum in most places, whereas Eyre was not even certain of water.
More about Eyre later….
Camping at the Mambray Ck campground at Mt Remarkable is in itself a very relaxing experience. While I was finalising breakfast and packing the odd camper came to discuss the Dulagarl, and their own positive experiences with Subarus. Both rally enthusiasts and off roaders alike were interested in my conveyance, and I was interested in talking to them to the extent that my tin mug contained coffee. I was both surprised and pleased at the interest in the vehicle, but more interested in getting out of camp and on the road.
There were two definites in my mind before departure: a reasonable walk around to survey the views over Spencer Gulf, and a shower in the rather flash solar heated facilities.
Fed and packed: priority number one was soon underway: The Daveys Gully hike which was described as being about an hour long walk with the requisite views.
In fact there is a wealth of walking possibilities in the park, which are all set out on the relevant webpage so there is no need for me to regurgitate that information here.
https://www.environment.sa.gov.au/p...Ranges_Outback/Mount_Remarkable_National_Park
A National Park wouldn’t be complete without an interpretive sign…
placed strategically in front of what it is seeking to interpret:
In this case geological features. If you’re into rocks, the Flinders Ranges are for you. When you start counting the thousands of millions you somehow feel your brain expanding and your sense of self significance imploding. The universe is big as they say, and the rocks here as old as the time that it takes for light emitted from some of the closest stars that we see at night to reach us.
The walk I chose had a stunning sample of the varieties of habitat, geology and aesthetics of the southern Flinders. The pictures speak for themselves:
The next couple of pics for me capture the essence of Mt Remarkable, and to an extent capture what Eyre would have seen when he gained elevation over Spencer Gulf. The contrast of red land and blue water is dramatic to the extent that one can understand the name that Eyre ascribed to the locale: Remarkable.
In the process of exploring I also stumbled on something I had not seen before: termites gathering saltbush berries. I suppose it makes sense, but hadn’t previously seen it happen.
Termites are pretty common in the Australian bush, and their mounds vary based on climate. Generally in the south, their mounds are small to gather sunlight to heat them up, while in the north they are oriented in such a way as to try and keep cool. It’s all about the optimum temperature for turning biomass into fungus, and hence food. Just how saltbush berries would go as fungus I have not a clue, but I could waste a lot of your time by making up a theory….
(continues...)
Mt Remarkable by accounts was named by Edward John Eyre when exploring Spencer Gulf in 1840. It is fitting that Eyre was so strongly associated with the place, given his role in the exploration of the Nullarbor Plain and hence so many of the places I was planning to visit.
I don’t know about you, but when I think of “explorers” in pre-federation Australia, I tend to start with the concepts I learned in childhood: for example that they were old blokes in suits who lived a long time ago and rode horses and stuff instead of driving cars, and in some cases died because they ran out of food. I then overlay that with later learnings about dispossession of aboriginal people and fights and poisonings and land grabs. I guess it is only as I advance in years that I am able to challenge some of the simplicity of some of these themes and build in their place a complexity that, while genuinely based on historical hindsight, may more closely approximate the subtlety of the truth of the time.
That might just be a simple way of saying that nuance is something that becomes clearer with age, knowledge and experience, but in the case of Edward John Eyre it is much more than that. Start with the fact that in 1840, only five years after John Batman “founded” the city of Melbourne, Eyre was but 24 years of age when he named Mt Remarkable, and immediately after that set off across the Nullarbor. In contrast, I hadn’t done a lot by the time I was 24, although I will admit that by then I had spent two stints in Central America in hotspots such as Nicaragua and El Salvador, but risky as that was it was hardly setting off into the wilds of outback Australia: at least I knew I’d be able to get a beer or some rum in most places, whereas Eyre was not even certain of water.
More about Eyre later….
Camping at the Mambray Ck campground at Mt Remarkable is in itself a very relaxing experience. While I was finalising breakfast and packing the odd camper came to discuss the Dulagarl, and their own positive experiences with Subarus. Both rally enthusiasts and off roaders alike were interested in my conveyance, and I was interested in talking to them to the extent that my tin mug contained coffee. I was both surprised and pleased at the interest in the vehicle, but more interested in getting out of camp and on the road.
There were two definites in my mind before departure: a reasonable walk around to survey the views over Spencer Gulf, and a shower in the rather flash solar heated facilities.
Fed and packed: priority number one was soon underway: The Daveys Gully hike which was described as being about an hour long walk with the requisite views.
In fact there is a wealth of walking possibilities in the park, which are all set out on the relevant webpage so there is no need for me to regurgitate that information here.
https://www.environment.sa.gov.au/p...Ranges_Outback/Mount_Remarkable_National_Park
A National Park wouldn’t be complete without an interpretive sign…
placed strategically in front of what it is seeking to interpret:
In this case geological features. If you’re into rocks, the Flinders Ranges are for you. When you start counting the thousands of millions you somehow feel your brain expanding and your sense of self significance imploding. The universe is big as they say, and the rocks here as old as the time that it takes for light emitted from some of the closest stars that we see at night to reach us.
The walk I chose had a stunning sample of the varieties of habitat, geology and aesthetics of the southern Flinders. The pictures speak for themselves:
The next couple of pics for me capture the essence of Mt Remarkable, and to an extent capture what Eyre would have seen when he gained elevation over Spencer Gulf. The contrast of red land and blue water is dramatic to the extent that one can understand the name that Eyre ascribed to the locale: Remarkable.
In the process of exploring I also stumbled on something I had not seen before: termites gathering saltbush berries. I suppose it makes sense, but hadn’t previously seen it happen.
Termites are pretty common in the Australian bush, and their mounds vary based on climate. Generally in the south, their mounds are small to gather sunlight to heat them up, while in the north they are oriented in such a way as to try and keep cool. It’s all about the optimum temperature for turning biomass into fungus, and hence food. Just how saltbush berries would go as fungus I have not a clue, but I could waste a lot of your time by making up a theory….
(continues...)
Dulagarl
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... continued
Instead of further contemplating the toxicological aspects of termite fungus manufacture, I went back to camp, had that shower, organised the vehicle and departed, with a short four wheel drive detour in mind. I had been told that just back towards Port Germein there was a turnoff to Murray Town, and along that a four wheel drive track on private land known as “Bridle 4x4 track”. There are a few such tracks on private land around the Flinders: some of them challenging and some not, some charge a fee while others don’t. This particular track was mentioned by a campground neighbour at Mt Remarkable, so I decided to give it a crack since it wasn’t far out of the way.
It’s pretty well signposted, and although this is the sign I noticed at the finish of the track, it’s the kind of thing that you should be looking for…
You should also pay attention to signs like this:
and this
Ok then, formalities out of the way, once you depart the bitumen you get onto this sort of going…
which soon becomes this…
and in no time at all you find yourself enjoying views over Spencer Gulf like this:
The rest of the range where there is a bit more vegetation is none too shabby either…
As you can see, the track is not particularly challenging, but nonetheless interesting.
Once off the track, it’s a very scenic slalom down the hill back towards the coast on the Port Germein Road. The winding road made it difficult to photograph the gorge, but it really is a nice sight.
From there, I rocketed up the highway to the familiarity of Port Augusta. I stopped for some lunch on the south side, and was soon making my way across the bridge to junction of the Stuart Hwy and the Eyre Hwy.
This afternoon I would be heading west. This afternoon’s destination was Lake Gilles, about 150 kms ahead. The adrenaline was pumping with anticipation as I put on some grungy dirty old Hunters and Collectors (“The Fireman’s Curse” to be precise), and pointed the Dulagarl into the afternoon sun.
Instead of further contemplating the toxicological aspects of termite fungus manufacture, I went back to camp, had that shower, organised the vehicle and departed, with a short four wheel drive detour in mind. I had been told that just back towards Port Germein there was a turnoff to Murray Town, and along that a four wheel drive track on private land known as “Bridle 4x4 track”. There are a few such tracks on private land around the Flinders: some of them challenging and some not, some charge a fee while others don’t. This particular track was mentioned by a campground neighbour at Mt Remarkable, so I decided to give it a crack since it wasn’t far out of the way.
It’s pretty well signposted, and although this is the sign I noticed at the finish of the track, it’s the kind of thing that you should be looking for…
You should also pay attention to signs like this:
and this
Ok then, formalities out of the way, once you depart the bitumen you get onto this sort of going…
which soon becomes this…
and in no time at all you find yourself enjoying views over Spencer Gulf like this:
The rest of the range where there is a bit more vegetation is none too shabby either…
As you can see, the track is not particularly challenging, but nonetheless interesting.
Once off the track, it’s a very scenic slalom down the hill back towards the coast on the Port Germein Road. The winding road made it difficult to photograph the gorge, but it really is a nice sight.
From there, I rocketed up the highway to the familiarity of Port Augusta. I stopped for some lunch on the south side, and was soon making my way across the bridge to junction of the Stuart Hwy and the Eyre Hwy.
This afternoon I would be heading west. This afternoon’s destination was Lake Gilles, about 150 kms ahead. The adrenaline was pumping with anticipation as I put on some grungy dirty old Hunters and Collectors (“The Fireman’s Curse” to be precise), and pointed the Dulagarl into the afternoon sun.
mr turbo
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All I can say is what a fantastic read & trip report.
The pics from the latest installment are amazing
Regards
Mr Turbo
The pics from the latest installment are amazing
Regards
Mr Turbo
carljwnc
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What are we going to do with ourselves when you finish this up???
Guess we'll have to shut the forum down.:iconwink:
Most excellent read and photos, thank you for taking the time to do this.
Guess we'll have to shut the forum down.:iconwink:
Most excellent read and photos, thank you for taking the time to do this.