tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22411132611650932792024-03-21T07:00:37.768-07:00Mike and Alana's big driveMike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-14783537960293911522012-11-25T15:48:00.000-08:002012-11-25T16:14:32.520-08:00Nostalgia<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-size: large;">nos·tal·gi·a (n</span><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f"><span style="font-size: large;"> <v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect" o:extrusionok="f"></v:path><o:lock aspectratio="t" v:ext="edit"></o:lock></span></v:shapetype><v:shape alt="http://img.tfd.com/hm/GIF/obreve.gif" id="Picture_x0020_1" o:spid="_x0000_i1029" style="height: 11.25pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 5.25pt;" type="#_x0000_t75"><v:imagedata o:title="obreve" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Michael\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.gif"></v:imagedata></v:shape></span><span style="font-size: large;">-st</span><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shape alt="http://img.tfd.com/hm/GIF/abreve.gif" id="Picture_x0020_2" o:spid="_x0000_i1028" style="height: 11.25pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 5.25pt;" type="#_x0000_t75"><span style="font-size: large;"> <v:imagedata o:title="abreve" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Michael\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image002.gif"></v:imagedata></span></v:shape></span><span style="font-size: large;">l</span><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shape alt="http://img.tfd.com/hm/GIF/prime.gif" id="Picture_x0020_3" o:spid="_x0000_i1027" style="height: 16.5pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 3pt;" type="#_x0000_t75"><span style="font-size: large;"> <v:imagedata o:title="prime" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Michael\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image003.gif"></v:imagedata></span></v:shape></span><span style="font-size: large;">j</span><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shape alt="http://img.tfd.com/hm/GIF/schwa.gif" id="Picture_x0020_4" o:spid="_x0000_i1026" style="height: 11.25pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 4.5pt;" type="#_x0000_t75"><span style="font-size: large;"> <v:imagedata o:title="schwa" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Michael\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image004.gif"></v:imagedata></span></v:shape></span><span style="font-size: large;">, n</span><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shape alt="http://img.tfd.com/hm/GIF/schwa.gif" id="Picture_x0020_5" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" style="height: 11.25pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 4.5pt;" type="#_x0000_t75"><span style="font-size: large;"> <v:imagedata o:title="schwa" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Michael\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image004.gif"></v:imagedata></span></v:shape></span><span style="font-size: large;">-) <i>n.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">1. </span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">A bittersweet longing for things, persons, or situations of the past.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">2. </span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">The condition of being homesick; homesickness.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p>If you look up nostalgia in a thesaurus you find words like <em>reminiscence, remembrance, wistfulness</em>, among others.</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p>Tewantin - Cooroy - Yandina - and then the nostalgia kicks in. Reminiscence floats up into consciousness and with it, memories of a distant past. We are heading toward Esk to stay overnight with my children's grandmother and auntie, and I want to stop at the Ginger Factory in Yandina because somewhere in my memory store I possess the knowledge that Ivy, my 90 year old ex-other-in-law absolutely loves ginger; crystalised, chocolate coated, marmalade, you name it, whatever I buy will put a smile on this remarkable woman's face.</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p>Yandina - Woodford - Kilcoy - then we skirt around the Somerset Dam and arrive at Esk mid-afternoon. And there are the smiles, the <em>'you remembered'</em>. Ivy welcomes us and makes us tea, then we walk around the property and 'Ivy's garden'. Always something we've had in common - as well as Jasmin, Carly, Jack and her son, who I shared a huge chunk of my life with, and much of it up here in Queensland. We talk about family and memories return with every moment : images, feelings, and thoughts of another time, another me - much younger and more willing to be shaped by the will of others.</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p>I catch up on the lives of her other children and their families. We talk of the sorrow of the passing of some and come full circle back to the present day.</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p>At 90, Ivy still takes the bus and train into Brisbane once a week to her art group (she paints) at the City Hall, and another day goes to Tai Chi and yet another day to Garden Club. Still sharp of mind while perhaps a little slower on her pins - she amazes everyone.</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p>From Esk we head to Myocum near Byron Bay, where we will catch up with my brother, Lance, his wife Vatika, and their children, Subhuti and Meira.</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p>I want to avoid Brisbane and the Gold Coast and show Michael the Numinbah Valley, a route that takes us over the border and into Murwillumbah. We travel through Jimboomba, Beaudesert, Canungra and Nerang and onto the Numinbah Road. We drive through beautiful farmland, wending out way down the valley, stopping off at Natural Bridge just before we hit the border.</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p>These places loom large in my experience; from Mt Tamborine through to Byron Bay and hinterland - these were our destinations of choice - for picnics, weekends and holidays, or even just for a drive. The South East landscape, bush and rainforest - the volcanic presence of the hills of Northern New South - the smell, the heat, the humidity - all evoking emotions which segway into hopes and dreams lost, and longings cut short by the cold hard truth of things - bittersweet memories. </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p>I find a large uncomfortable sensation settling in my throat which promises to spill out of the corner of my eyes. I swallow hard, breathe deeply and let it go, again. This happens each time I drive these country roads. And each time I think I let go a little more and learn to live with what remains. Some loss becomes part of us - marking us for life.</o:p></span></div>
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<strong>Unfortunately we have run out of picassa (photos) data storage on our blog account, and as we have also run out of funds we have decided that we won't be upgrading and posting any more pics until later. So for the rest of the images you guys will have to come around for dinner for some very inspiring (yawn) slide shows. </strong><br />
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Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-2438928860642875252012-11-09T19:15:00.001-08:002012-11-09T19:15:30.798-08:00Wasting away in Noosaville. 22-10-12<br />
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I'm having a coffee and reading the papers on Gympie Terrace in Noosaville. Unlike the Jimmy Buffett song "Wasting away in Margaritaville" I'm not "Looking for that log shaker of salt" and there is "No woman to blame". None the less there is a tap on my shoulder, a slow creeping certainty and the inevitable pull coming from my bank balance that is calling me back to Melbourne. But not just yet, with a flick forward of my shoulder I tell myself I'll have a few more margaritas first.<br />
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So Alana and I find ourselves parked and plugged in the backyard of my cousin Brendan and his lovely wife Joy in down town Tewantin. I have had some great holidays up this way. Alana and I always threaten to move up this way but never do.<br />
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My sister Cathie and brother in law Mike have a place up this way in Little Cove which they spend parts of the year in. It just happens that they are here at the same time.</div>
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Looking at Mt Cooroy from Mt Tinbeerwah <br />
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My cousin Brendan (Bern) pondering the unponderable. <br />
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At the bird hide, Lake McDonald</div>
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On the road to Bedrock Fred looked out the window and yelled "Jaba Jaba Roo" <br />
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The backwater of Lake McDonald <br />
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Mt Cooroy in the background, wetlands in the foreground.<br />
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The amphitheatre at Noosa Botanical Gardens in Cooroy.<br />
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Taking a pretend specky at the amphitheatre.</div>
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Some times you just gotta kiss your girl.<br />
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The Apollonian Hotel at Booreen Point.</div>
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"Haven't I seen you here before?!"<br />
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On a boat cruise up the Noosa river with Alana, Joy and Brendan.<br />
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Our hosts from "Agrippa Crescent Van Park".<br />
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The car ferry across to the north shore.<br />
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A Butcher bird getting some wind in his feathers</div>
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Sea Eagles coming in for a feed of chicken skins.<br />
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Sunset on the river cruise.<br />
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Mike and Cathie.<br />
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Coffee on Hastings St.<br />
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Sis and Me.<span id="goog_310128194"></span><span id="goog_310128195"></span></div>
Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-22083625633026373392012-10-25T00:45:00.000-07:002012-10-25T01:30:55.328-07:00Back on the rim. 15/10/2012<em>"It is a continent of dreams we inhabit, a waiting continent. All who have set foot in its bush, its lonely places, know that silence. The continent is dreaming. We have felt it and been afraid...and retired to the outer rim."</em><br />
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So wrote David Ireland in his 1979 novel <em>A Woman of the Future</em>. I came across this quote in an article by Geordie Williamson in the <a href="http://www.theaustralian.com.au/arts/review/museum-mentality-means-the-death-of-australian-literature/story-fn9n8gph-1226498416004">Review</a> section of the Weekend Australian last weekend, and while it was quoted in the context of an article about the death of Australian literature, it resonated quite strongly with me, having just returned to the east coast.<br />
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And if any of you has been watching the series on ABC called <em>Great Southern Land,</em>and in particular the <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/tv/greatsouthernland/">episode</a> <em>Living on the Edge</em>, you will immediately get the connection to the quote. <br />
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Population density at last census.</div>
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Most of our huge continent's people choose to live on the edge and in particular the east coast and south east. Having spent the last big chunk of our trip coming across the Top End, we had become used to the miles and miles of vast open space, dotted with civilization sporadically. And much of our trip has afforded us the pleasure of empty landscape, with echoes of the ancient and recent past. Just the opposite of what we know and how we live on the east. There is a different dreaming out there. We of the east have reinvented ourselves over and over again as we populate and creep out over old farmland and bushland to create new neighbourhoods and extend the boundaries of our sprawling cities. Ours is a newer dreaming. A different pace and mindset. (This is also happening in the west, we get the same feeling around Perth and much of the new, mining centred, communities that are changing the identity of many towns and regions.)<br />
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The photos above were retrieved from google images.</div>
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I've been trying to nut through just what it is I'm feeling about being back on the east coast. Conflicting feelings. At once the feeling of familiarity and the comfort that that brings, and then the feeling that we have left something behind; something ancient and connected to another time in our history. Being in those lonely places, that silence and that vastness brings a joyous freedom, a liberation from our suburban existence back home. Those sparsely populated square kilometres you cross fill you with something different. An elusive element. Something less weighty. You let go.<br />
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All of a sudden I'm struggling with proximity to so many bodies. More traffic, more speed (Bruce Highway I hate you!), more roads, more shops, more buildings, more telephone towers connecting more telephones. And more choices. More distractions that seem to me to lead us all into a more complacent way of thinking.<br />
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I guess it will take some time to adjust to it all. But I hope that this vast and dreaming continent has opened up a place inside me and sown some germ that can continue to grow in my imagination and effect my way of looking at the world.<br />
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Coming to Tin Can Bay to stay with Mum for a month was the perfect transition for Mike and I. Mum and Dad (Danny) bought this place many, many years ago as a winter retreat. Dad's love of fishing and the Bay's quiet no fuss community were what drew them to the area. <br />
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We unpacked the van and stored our gear in the boat-shed before sprawling ourselves in the luxurious and large space of Mum's place. We quickly adjusted to doing nothing. We gave the van a huge clean inside and out and then attacked doing nothing with a vengeance.<br />
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Tin Can Bay is a sleepy fishing town with long shallow sand flats that stretch way out into the bay at low tide. A terrific bike and walking track snakes along the foreshore making in a heaven for dog walkers and keep-fitters. Mike and I had been on a keep fit program walking up and down gorges, national parks and beaches for the past months so we felt no guilt in simply watching Tin Can Bay residents walking and cycling past our balcony each day. Mum's home is on the Esplanade with sweeping views of the bay - just magic. Our exercise consisted of walking from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen to the balcony where we worked our eye muscles watching either the sun or the moon rising over the bay. Queensland mornings begin early and bright so we found ourselves awake early, but always followed by breakfast in bed, reading until a more respectable hour of rising around nine or ten. We managed a couple of short walks to the post office and IGA, and spent a lovely few hours wandering around the stalls at the Seafood Festival one Saturday morning. We even drove the five ks to Woolies a couple of times for supplies.<br />
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A grey morning in Tin Can Bay.</div>
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Sunrise over the Bay.</div>
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Low tide.</div>
We really did unwind there and let ourselves come into the cave for a while. It felt good. We didn't realise how tired we were. That road is a relentless grind in many ways. A fantastic relentless grind.<br />
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While we were there Mum took a tour out west to Winton and Longreach with a bunch of travelling country musicians. She was away for eight days leaving the house to us. We spread out even more during those days and I read a huge science fiction novel called the Dreaming Void, book one of the Void Trilogy by Peter Harrison. I got lost in other galaxies until I surfaced to eat, shower or sleep and have the odd conversation with Mike. A timely book for me and fun to re-visit my first love ie the science fiction novel. I'm not sure what Mike was doing during those few days. I did notice him across the dinner table and oh! there he was beside me each night as I sat up with my head in my book. So I guess he was busy with his own wind-down process. Being in a 'house' was great as we didn't have to speak or be close to each other - it was nice to have a bit of space.<br />
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Three major highlights for us during the month were a visit to Noosa to have lunch and catch up with Cath and Mike, Mike's sister and brother-in-law, and a trip to Brisbane by Mum, Mike and I to see Bangarra perform the final leg of their national tour season. We stayed with Jas in her apartment and spent the day with my brother Lance, his wife Vatika and their daughter Meira (up for the day and the show from Byron Bay - an entry from our Byron sojourn to follow in due course). It has been a real treat to see our siblings and their families and so great to spend some time with Jasmin in her busy dancing schedule. The final highlight was a visit from my dear friend Christine and her husband Terry, who came up to spend the day with us from Brisbane. It happened to be the rugby grand final day, so, as Chris and Terry were barracking for the Melbourne Storm in the absence of their team playing (Broncos of course!) we settled into a full on grand final day with nibbles banquet, beer and good craic.<br />
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Mum and I with the Byron crew.</div>
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Mum, Jas and I.</div>
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Me with my dear friend Chris.</div>
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Chris and Terry,</div>
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There's my girl.</div>
I will conclude this entry by mentioning how amazing my Mum, Merle, is. She won't let me tell anyone how old she is, so I'll just say that she stopped counting her birthdays when she hit 75, and that was about five years ago. Mum arrived home from the tour totally exhausted but full of a great time had by all. My Mum is a constant inspiration to me. She is full of energy, vitality, laughter and generosity. She is also a great cook, looks amazing and runs rings around me in many ways. We had a great time with her and I'm glad that she and Mike are such good mates too. We left three days before she packed up her winter house and headed south once more.<br />
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Thanks Mum for a restful much needed break from the road. (Hope you're ready for another month of us when we get back to Melbourne - until our house is ready for us to go back to.)<br />
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Now it's off to Tewantin (near Noosa) to stay with Mike's cousin, Brendan, and his lovely wife, Joy. We love Noosa and the hinterland, so we are looking forward to trucking around some old familiar haunts and enjoying the area.<br />
Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-34459562187122809122012-10-14T23:58:00.002-07:002012-10-14T23:58:28.051-07:00Innisfail or deep in 'Katter Country' 2 to the 5- 9-12As we dipped down the Palmerston hwy towards Innisfail, we were met by Roz and her son in law Andy. They were waiting by the side of the road for us. Alana and I had been invited all the way back in Whalebone Bay on the other side of the country to spend a few days with Roz and Dale at their home a few kms out of Innisfail. So it was with much delight that we finally were catching up.<br />
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Just as a little precursor to the jam-packed next four days, Roz directed me over to the barrier railing to see way down below. Framed by trees and bushes was a spectacular view of the Johnson River. It looked like something out of Middle Earth from Lord of the Rings, seen through a vaselined lens of a movie camera.<br />
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We plugged in at Roz and Dales, a great spot in a little cul de sac with land sloping down to a creek and a little water fall called "Little Roz" at the bottom of the property. There were banana and paw paw trees with a lush expanse of green grass flowing its way down to the rain forest within and on the border of the property. Just over the high side of the property were cane fields and the neighbouring houses were spaced well apart.<br />
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Roz's family has been around these parts for a long long time and Dale moved up here when she was a girl. I found their sense of connection to this land very warming which gave me some insight into the history of Innisfail and surrounds. I loved Roz's Dad's stories about the tough days in the cane fields, working, drinking and fighting hard. Both the girls have done their time in the fields. Dale lived and worked on a cane farm in previous years. <br />
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Roz, as it turns out, is a bush poet and I especially loved her historical pieces and the one about having a wee on the side of the road. I've had writers bloc and performance anxiety for years and it seems she does too. So it was good that she brought out some of her old stuff to read and perform, breathing new life into them. Hopefully she feels encouraged enough to climb back up into the saddle of that performance stage.<br />
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During the next three days, we went to Milla Milla Falls, drove up to Misty Mountain on a twisty rocky road with Roz driving the trusty Toyota, Alana riding shot gun in the front passenger seat hanging on for dear life to what is affectionately known as "The Ah! Fuck Bar" (a steel rail that sticks out in front of the glove box) while Dale and myself were bouncing around in the back on the enclosed tray bed. Saw the magical Paronella Park, a fascinating place full of history, decay, trees and fish. A good drive down to Etty Bay (the locals beach of choice) for fish and chips at sunset. Garners Beach, named after one of Roz's ancestors where Alana was up to her usual trick of "Shell Pilfering". Checked out all the good fishing spots and Croc spots!. Was lucky enough to see cassowaries casually strolling along in peoples front yards. Enjoyed the art deco buildings in Innisfail including the fabulous town hall. Bought myself an Innisfail Brothers rugby league supporters shirt while we had lunch at the Club. Had a humongous feed of seafood one night with the whole family around, Dale finally got the guitar out, there was music, song and laughter.<br />
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Our last day with the Innisfail Sisters was a quiet one. Every one was at work except Roz as she still had some time off. Alana and I needed to draw our breath before we saddled up for the drive down to Tin Can Bay.<br />
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There are a lot of things in this world that can discourage you, that make you insular and closed down. While I truly have a lot to be thankful for, in the last few years I have felt the disappointment of endings or things that just don't work anymore. I have felt them very keenly and just wanted to withdraw right up my own arse. As we have hit the Pacific my thoughts as well as the Fiat are heading south. I head back full of uncertainty after a wonderful nine months so far on the road. The world for me seems a larger place once again after this year aside.<br />
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I saw a movie the other day called "The Way" it's roughly about a guy who takes six weeks to walk this pilgrimage called "The El Camino" somewhere in the north of Spain. He meets three people on the way who have a profound affect on him. Now I don't know if this story is true but I was thinking that would only happen in the movies. Still it's a nice thought to think that before hitherto complete strangers could become good friends and have such a positive effect on each other. <br />
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With in one hour of meeting Dale and Roz some seed of connection had been placed. I thank Highway Number 1 for that. Enough goodwill had been laid out and established for them to open up their lives and their home to Alana and myself for a jam packed enriching four days. We are looking forward to doing the same for them in the future.<br />
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The Johnson River <br />
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Plugged in at Roz and Dale's.</div>
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Can you feel the serenity<br />
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Milla Milla Falls.</div>
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The water was bloody freezing!, but we wern't going to tell the girls that.<br />
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Good a place as any to stop for a chat<br />
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One of my favourite shots. Chillin n Chatten.<br />
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Misty Mountain.</div>
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The fabulous Paronella Park.<br />
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Roz telling us the story.<br />
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Where's my rods!<br />
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One of the buildings<br />
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Brushing up on our rugby scrum technique.</div>
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Garners Beach.</div>
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Lani, at it again!<br />
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Traveling incognito deep in "Katter Country".<br />
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I wish.<br />
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Standing in front of the cane dude! (can't remember the statues name)</div>
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Looking back on the town.<br />
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The leaning water tower of Innisfail. <br />
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Who let the cassorwaries out?!</div>
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At 12 oclock Mike (Roz's dad), Alana, Andy, Nikita, Dale, Roz, and the sensational Savanah.</div>
Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-43384670218659038172012-10-09T01:54:00.002-07:002012-10-12T21:42:42.988-07:00Gulf Savannah - 1/9/12Is it an unconscious human need to quest for meaning? I've read somewhere that we take our cultural cues to draw together elements that give meaning to our lives. Culture is the pantry from which we draw the raw ingredients in making meaning and the end result is our identity. <br />
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A culture which draws its meaning from what is consumed will be a pantry full of products, lifestyles and ideas which can be purchased to create an identity. A culture which draws meaning from connection to the natural world, of sacred knowledge and complex family and kinship bonds, draws its meaning from deeper realities; a pantry full of soulful, earthy and spirit orientedd ingredients that are experienced to create an identity. All of these ingredients are elements of the imagination, how we picture ourselves in relation to others, family, community, society and planet earth.<br />
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These ideas drifted in and out of my thoughts as we left the oasis of Gregory River and headed north once more toward the Gulf Savannah. Like the towns we travelled through across the Kimberly and in the West, the towns of Normanton and Croydon have also taken on mythic status in my imagination, but for completely different reasons. <br />
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The ideas of identity and belonging, of origins and place began to excite my imagination as we neared Normanton and continued on to Croydon because for the past thirty years, I have heard stories of this part of the top end as this is Jasmin, Carly and Jack's grandmother's country. And these links stretch back to the ancestral homelands of her people, way before whitefellas changed their history for ever.<br />
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Family and historical connections still exist through distant cousins and through an amazing old man in Croydon whose enthusiasm for the history of his town and region has to be seen to be believed. <br />
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We'd spent an afternoon wandering around Normanton, doing all the usual touristy things - take photos and check out the places of interest, in particular the old train (the Gulflander) which has been in service since the 1800s. We'd heard about the train form Ivy, my ex-mother-in-law (now 90 years old) and were urged to take the trip to Croydon, but we decided to keep heading east. We stopped at Leichardt Lagoon for the night, doing battle with swarms of bugs and left early the next morning for Croydon.<br />
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The Purple Pub, Normanton.</div>
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Model of a famous salty in the area, Normanton.</div>
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A Variety bash outside the Purple Pub.</div>
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Normanton Railway Station - The Gulflander Train.</div>
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Leichhardt Lagoon x 3</div>
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Croydon is where Ivy was born and grew up, so as we drove into town I was all eyes, taking in the scope of the town and trying to imagine how it might have looked 90 years ago. We went into the Information Centre and to my surprise and delight I met with Chris, the historian Jasmin had told me she was in contact with. I sat for over an hour listening to his stories of the family and the town and as he spoke, a picture of what life may have been like began to take shape. We saw photos and a video display of the town and its people from days gone by, and I gleaned a little more insight into Ivy's life and subsequently my children's heritage.<br />
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Old house in Croydon.</div>
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Historic Court House, Croydon.</div>
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The old school house that Ivy attended.</div>
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Another historic building.</div>
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Me sitting with Chris as he took me through some family history documents.</div>
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Jack and Jasmin will be making the trip up here in October sometime and are meeting with family members and getting a feel for their ancestral country. For years now they have voiced their desire to return to their Nana's country and it is a strange coincidence that the three of us will have been here in just weeks of each other.<br />
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Connection to their indigenous roots has been paramount for my children in their search for identity. Each in their own way and own time has answered a deep yearning to understand and experience this connection through dance and literature and the arts. Through new connections they have forged links with both traditional and urban communities in both remote and urban settings. <br />
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Because I've had the children on my mind so much I thought I'd include some photos of them.</div>
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Jack, Carly and Asha.</div>
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Jasmin and Carly.</div>
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Jack and Asha.</div>
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Jas, Jack and Carly.</div>
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Carly Jane.</div>
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Jack in a performance of Lu'an (St Kilda Festival).</div>
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Jas, second from the left with Bangarra.</div>
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Jas and Jack.</div>
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Carly and Asha at the Rock.</div>
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Jas, front left, with Bangarra.</div>
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Jack Boy.</div>
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Asha and Uncle Jack.</div>
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From Croyon we hit the highway once again with Innisfail in our sights. We loved the Gulf Savannah that took us through Georgetown and Mt Surprise - driving through very similar country to the Kimberley.</div>
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As if someone drew a line in the landscape, one moment we were in savannah and the next we were winding our way through lush green paddocks and fat dairy cows into the pretty town of Ravenshoe. We collected supplies and then took a turn off toward Milla Milla through lush tropical rainforest and beautiful green rich pasture. We were headed for the Palmerston Highway which wends its way from the Atherton Tablelands down toward the coast and the town of Innisfail.<br />
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The sensory experience was overwhelming, and I went into a strange state, trying to take in the visual changes and trying to process them. I immediately felt as if I'd come home even though we were still well over three thousand kilometres from Melbourne. Being surrounded by tall trees and green pasture and rainforest, even though my childhood was spent in temperate rainforest, it made me realise how important connection to place really is - and how much landscape shapes our identity as much as any thing else.</div>
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View from the tablelands across to Bartle Frere.</div>
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Short cut from Ravenshoe to Milla Milla through rainforest and pasture.</div>
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Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-73063893555368622142012-09-22T02:44:00.003-07:002012-09-22T02:45:35.966-07:00Bulldust, Bulldust and more Bulldust, or to Lawn Hill Gorge and back. 3-9-12After a couple of sublime days of lazing on the banks of the Gregory River, Alana and I decided it was time to take a canoe trip at the Lawn Hill Gorge. Initially we were installed with a sense of adventure and wonderlust about the canoe trip by the 'Innisfail Girls' who we met way back at Whale Bone Bay on the Denham Peninsula. But bringing us back to this present point in time we have felt a certain apprehension along the way from all the advice we have been given on how best to tackle the 80kms or so of dirt road. Before this point, 10kms of dirt has been the longest stretch that we had driven on. One thing about driving a motor home on dirt roads is that you feel every vibration and rattle, no matter what speed or tyre pressure you are on. You come out the other side feeling quite shell shocked.<br />
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I've gotta get my eyes checked! <br />
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So with all this in mind we set off down the road to Lawn Hill Gorge. At the the start of the trip a fine carpet of bitumen has our Fiat's wheels humming along beautifully. At about the 10km mark the red dirt looms as a barrier right across the bitumen road's horizon. With bated breath Alana and I cross the threshold with a big thump. To our surprise our wheels are still humming beautifully. We drop the speed to 50kms and wonder what all the fuss was about. The dirt road seemed superbly graded. <br />
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This whole area leading up to the national park is one big cattle station. We saw Brahman cows everywhere, even on the side of the road in single file. Call me abstract or out there if you like but the sight of 4 cows crossing the road in single file looked as cool and as significant as the Beatles doing the same thing on the cover of the Abbey Road album. When we saw no cows we saw plenty of cow pats, flattened like pancakes in the middle of the road.<br />
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Cows re-enacting the Bealtes' Abbey Road album cover.</div>
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After about 40kms we noticed a turn off to the left heading for a zinc mine. Soon enough after that, our up to that point beautifully graded dirt road became a moto cross track, all be it in a straight line. We drove at speeds of 10 and 20kms, riding the ruts and bumps like we were overweight Titans, too heavy for our chariot.</div>
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At about 10kms to go we dropped in for a break at Adel's Grove. We went for a swim in the creek, floated around on rubber tubes, snorkeled the shallow banks looking for Archer Fish and Black Bream, rested and read our books on the shady banks and generally chilled most of the hot afternoon away. We were told that we should stay at Adel's Grove and go out to the gorge in the morning on account of the better camping facilities here. We decided to save a few dollars and after taking advantage of the amenities here, headed off late arvo to camp at the national park.<br />
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On arrival at Lawn Hill Gorge we quickly decamped and walked the 1km to Indarri Falls. Here we found a great swimming hole with two water falls. On top of the falls you could see the water level of the upper falls. I have to say that I didn't expect to see any bums hanging around here and I don't want you to think that I was too disappointed when I saw three bums belonging to women of various size, shape and dimension mooning, all bent over wiggling their cheeks, whooping and hollering from their vantage point on top of one of the falls to some lucky bastard or loved one on the other side taking a photo. I said to Alana who had the camera out "take a shot!, take a shot!".<br />
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Missed by that much! <br />
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Alana and I went to bed early that night, no cooked dinner, no watching the next instalment of Being Human (again!). I couldn't even get under the sheets, we were buggered. The heat, the vibration and dust of the road had all conspired to send me off to La La land. With the certainty of a submerging submarine I was going to have a deep sleep.<br />
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The new morning sees us in our tandem canoe paddling up the lower gorge. There is something very calming about being on the water early in the morning, watching the sun slowly reign its soft rays on the water, reflecting the gorge cliffs and vegetation, all muted through the flowing rippling water. The multitude of different bird noises, all rising to a glorious early morning symphony. You just have to take a deep breath and sigh, taking it all in.<br />
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Unlike the Katherine Gorge, when you take the next level of this gorge you need to drag your canoe a few metres or so to re-launch it. There is a bit of old green carpet strewn along the path to help facilitate this. After paddling around a bit at the next level we came back to where we re-launched the canoe and had a swim. Right at our feet where we lowered our bodies into the water fish came up to investigate. There were Archer fish, Sooty Grunters and other little tackers all having a ball as we fed them the crumbs from our nut bars.We paddled our way back to the start with the help of the water flowing the same way. Our arms were heavy but we enjoyed a feeling of satisfaction of a morning well spent.<br />
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So we headed back to the moto cross track all 80kms of it, contending with the red bull dust all the way back to the sancturary of the Gregory River. We had barely got back there to decamp when both of us plunged into that magical river.<br />
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We went for a final drink and hopefully a meal at the Gregory Downs pub which was a short stroll from the river but lucked out on the meal. After a few drinks we ambled back down to camp. Once again we were too stuffed to cook and just managed to turn the doona down before we both crashed. The nights are getting hotter but as if to calm us we had the running waters of the Gregory River flowing slowly away down stream, willing and lulling us to sleep, just 2 metres away.<br />
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Plenty of parking at the pub.</div>
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It's not all peace and beauty out here!</div>
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Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-9220188178538678452012-09-17T23:18:00.003-07:002012-09-17T23:51:41.812-07:00Cloncurry to Gregory Downs 31/8/12<em>The sun is pushing up past the pandanas and the paperbark trees, rising over Gregory Downs. Isolating sounds, I make out about a dozen or so different bird calls, the crow always the loudest and most dominating - early morning chorus with bass notes. But the sound under all other sounds is the river - about two metres from our camp. The Gregory River flows fast and constant - a lullaby for sleepers.</em><br />
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Willie Wagtail.</div>
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Double-barred finch</div>
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Restless flycatcher.</div>
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Peaceful dove.<br />
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<em>I've woken early this morning to sit alone with my cup of tea and thoughts right by the water's edge. Other campers are stirring and I can hear road trains already on the main road above us. A little black fish lives in the embankment beside us and darts back and forth in a loop, feeding I suspect, carried someway down stream by the strong current, then swims his way back into the same spot each time. </em><br />
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As Michael joined me and sat drinking his coffee he looked up and saw a wallaby on the opposite bank who had come down for a morning drink.<br />
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Yesterday some local indigenous people came down the river with a wallaby they'd caught and asked the campers here how they liked their country. They said the river contained healing waters and I doubt them not.<br />
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When we arrived yesterday we saw folk floating down stream at a steady pace and wasted no time donning our togs yo have a go. The water was not cold, and after a few floats down stream, we simply sat beside the river until it was time for dinner - just being beside the river is soothing in itself - so immersing ourselves in the water felt like a healing draft for the soul as well.<br />
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Healing waters.</div>
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Gregory River was to be an overnight stop on our way to Boodjamulla National Park (Lawn Hill Gorge) up here in north west Queensland, but we'll just sit here another day to float down stream and let the river work its magic on us.<br />
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We came up here from Cloncurry after spending two nights there where we caught up with my very dear friend Lee and her lovely fella Colin and their travelling mates, Chris and Rex. Colin and Lee live in a small town outside of Mackay called Nebo. Colin works in a local mine and is taking some long service leave to go gem fossicking for five months. They showed us handfuls of garnets, peridot and moonstones, and when they were leaving us were heading for the amethyst gem fields.<br />
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Seeing Leanne is always a blessing for me. You could say we are old campaigners. We've been true friends through some very dark days and have both inspired and counselled each other to look to our better selves as we've negotiated the rough passage of divorce and disappointment. When I speak of my woes, Leanne just knows, and has always had the right words to say when I've needed to hear them most.<br />
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We left the fellas and took off with water, fruit and our cameras. We had the most splificatious afternoon, laughing, talking, sitting, walking and taking photos. We waited for the shadows to lengthen and the sun to sink lower in the sky before we wandered back to camp. Then followed an evening with Col, Lee, Chris, Rex and Mike and I, sharing a few sherbs and conversation well into the night. I wish that they could have followed us here to this magic spot instead of digging in the dirt.<br />
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<em>The sun is higher now, and the early morning shadows have moved, replaced by shade from the awning. Breakfast well passed and yoga finished, we decided to fish out our snorkeling gear and have a look for life beneath the surface. In a previous blog we talked about drift snorkeling at Ningaloo Reef, well this is similar except the river's current is much swifter than that of Turquoise Bay. We let the river take us and off we went. I spotted four or five different species of fish, striped, spotted and fish the colour of the river rock bed, mostly small and feeding on the river bank, but others long and skinny with a snout or plump and dark swimming against the current in the centre of the river...</em><br />
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<em>...mid afternoon and a beer at the Gregory Downs Hotel later, we are in that beautiful river again and feeling pretty bloody terrific, let me tell you. This stopover has rejuvenated our bodies and spirits and just as well as tomorrow we head across 80ks of dirt road to Lawn Hill and a rigorous canoe up and down the Gorge.</em><br />
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Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-40906715636097764902012-08-26T03:17:00.000-07:002012-08-26T03:17:09.527-07:00The road traveled thus far 26-8-12After a false alarm that had us delayed at the Katherine hospital for a day, and a trip back up to Darwin to get the windshield on the Fiat replaced, we headed back on Highway 1 pointing due south towards Tennant Creek.<br />
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I thought I'd seen the last of straight unrelenting roads for awhile but I was wrong. But unrelenting straight roads can still offer up some gems: Talking to our mad Collingwood supporting host at Mataranka, bemoaning the tyranny of distance in regards to lack of decent AFL coverage on the TV. "All you get up here" she says," is Gold Coast and Greater Western Sydney games, maybe the odd Crows game but there is no joy in that either"; sucking on frozen mango that has been peeled for you was a real treat in the hot nights; Bitter Springs, how sweet it was to let the current drift you gently down the stream in the warm mineral waters; meeting a man with a troubled soul at the spring who was trying to sort himself out, his story although sad was a real gem; the Daly Waters hotel, you could be forgiven if you thought you had walked into an Opp Shop; Chilli and his wife, talk about true entrepreneurs out here in the back of beyond; paying $24.00 for a six pack of XXXX Gold at Elliot, well that was a gem I could do without; the Renner Springs Desert Hotel and Caravan Park, possibly the most rustic in Australia (Lyndhurst in SA would give it a good run for it's money); Tennant Creek where I'm lazily scribbling a few notes as we speak, in Jacksons Bar at the Tennant Creek Hotel, a real gem of a pub!<br />
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So while I'm champing at the bit for the smell of sea air and friendly waves along the East Coast, I'm mindful of more gems coming our way before we hit the Pacific.<br />
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Alana floating on by</div>
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Bitter Springs, how sweet it is.</div>
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the Daly Waters Hotel</div>
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Cold beer and easy conversation </div>
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Now what size bra was that?<br />
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a lot to see in here<br />
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Where Chilli hangs out when he is not performing at the pub<br />
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Southwards <br />
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The Renner Springs Desert Motel and Caravan Park<br />
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Pretty rustic Huh!<br />
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Alana taking advantage of the magnificent facilities here!<br />
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Jacksons bar Tennant Creek <br />
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This hotel looked like it really pumped! in years gone by.<br />
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The Classy Shaft Night Club (which has long seen a customer)</div>
Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-36519095456314005362012-08-25T04:57:00.003-07:002012-08-25T04:57:28.942-07:00A smile, a handshake and a nod.The towns slip by us one by one, each home to its own, and only a blink to travellers like us. In some we stop for coffee and supplies or petrol, smile and nod to the locals and take in the localities uniqueness - whether waterhole, chasm, gorge or museum. We take them in with our eyes and some of them remain: a memory of wading a crisp pool at the base of a dry season waterfall, still leeching out the wet season's gift, and greening small tracts of monsoon forest amidst this dry and yellowing landscape. <br />
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Michael cooling his feet at Florence Falls, Litchfield NP</div>
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Swimming at Wangi Falls, Litchfield NP.</div>
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Walking through the remnant monsoon rainforest at Florence Falls.</div>
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Having fun at Buley Rock Pool, Litchfield NP.</div>
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On a walk around Wangi Falls.</div>
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Other memories linger too; a conversation with Barb, a non-conformist seventy year old ukulele player from Narooma in NSW, who wears her bluebird tattoo proudly along with her eastern turquoise pendant and Turkish earrings; splashing and playing like kids in the wave pool at Darwin waterfront; camping alongside the eccentric Mike from Russell Island in Morton Bay via New Zealand and the Kiwi defence establishment; eating the best ever dark chocolate and mango sorbet in the world; learning for the first time the reality of the bombing of Darwin during WWII at the military museum; and catching a sunset at Mindil Beach with my old mate, Liz, after exploring the market.<br />
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Mike from Russell Island in Morton Bay.</div>
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Mike and Mike playing F n C, G again.</div>
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Having dinner at Mindil Beach Market in Darwin.</div>
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At Mindil Beach the locals and tourists alike come down from the market to watch the sun setting.</div>
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Mindil Beach sunset.</div>
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A happy coincidence catching up with my old mate Liz in Darwin.</div>
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Michael soaking up our military history at the War Museum.</div>
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A new purpose for the old WWII search lights.</div>
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Mindil Beach.</div>
And other impressions, deeper and more elusive, play upon the mind. The unspoken line drawn between blacks and whites in towns like Darwin and Katherine, and the rare, but welcome, moments when a smile, a handshake, a nod, or a friendly conversation reaches across the gulf and reminds us that we are fellow countrymen after all, and help to push past these deep and painful rifts between us.<br />
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We southern city folk hold easy opinions, informed by commentary that fits our ideology and political persuasion, left or right, yet have no real experience or understanding of the realities - we think we 'know' the answers and offer them glibly - yet we do not know.<br />
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I look up at the stars and moon at night and send my hopes beyond the opinions and answers and it seems all I can do is wish.<br />
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I will listen to opinions, but I will not offer my own. They have been pummelled to red dust and left behind on the black tar of highway number one.<br />
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Being out here for us was never about seeing every great sight or visiting every place the travellers talk about around the fire or camp kitchen. We get tired of hearing "you should see this or that". We are happy to nod and ooh and ahh and thank them kindly, and sometimes we take their advice and are glad we did, but now after seven months of our journey there is a certain travel weary rhythm that we dance to. It is slower, more measured and as we set our sights toward the east once more we're looking forward to the fellowship of friends and family right down the east coast. We look forward to seeing their faces and being in their easy company once more. Talking and laughing and exchanging the mere joy of each others lives.<br />
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Someone asked recently, "are you still excited to walk those beaches and hike those trails and see those wonders as when you first began, or have you become desensitised to them?" I think it is partly true, however, something else kicks in when you're setting your sails for home and that is 'I must take all this in yet, I must still be present while I canoe Katherine Gorge and be in awe as I let the cool waters of the Wangi Creek wash over me. <br />
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Nitmiluk NP (Katherine Gorge)</div>
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Early morning cruise on the gorge at Nitmiluk.</div>
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Mike dreaming of canoeing down the gorge.</div>
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Early morning on the gorge.</div>
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Canoeing the Gorge.</div>
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We leave our canoe and take our paddles to the next leg of the gorge.</div>
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Just awesome!</div>
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I won't let my weariness rob me of these times that may never come again, on the contrary, I will savour them even more, slowly and gratefully.<br />
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Wangi Falls reflections.</div>
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Wangi Falls.</div>
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Florence Falls.</div>
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Wangi Falls, which we loved so much.</div>
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Mike and Alana suffering sensory overload - 'should we have another swim dear?'</div>
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Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-91237918131530603412012-08-05T16:08:00.000-07:002012-08-05T16:36:05.383-07:00Another Pub entry, or talking football, hunting and never straying too far away from home. 23-7-12.Alana and I weren't planning to spend an overnight at Fitzroy Crossing but we read about this "Crossing Inn" which is the oldest continuous licenced pub in the Kimberly. It has a caravan park attached to it and is on the banks of the mighty Fitzroy River. So we said "may as well" and stayed a couple of nights, making sure we visited the Geiki Gorge while we were staying there.<br />
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Looks kind of non descript </div>
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The opening hours of the pub were between 1.00pm and 7.00pm and pretty much at about 1.15pm Alana and I could hear the sound of the juke box wafting across the van park. At about 2.00pm we decided to go over and have a drink or two.<br />
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I found this pub to be interesting to say the least and as such deserves a mention. It caters to the locals. The opening hours, the restrictions on what take aways you can have, where and when you can get a drink is all about harm minimisation. The pub employs this security guy and his job is to check everyone's ID as they come in through the wire grilled sliding door. On the surface this may look a bit confronting but I can see why it's done this way. Inside and outside the pub there are all these signs that spell out the rules including one that I found amusing which lists a banning time of 1 to 7 weeks depending on the offence committed.This pub being off the main road, the community built a foot path along the way with solar panelled street lights and signs painted in red, black and yellow, saying "Walk safe!", or this classic, "Turn on your lights or you might bump into someone."<br />
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note the paintings on the outside walls </div>
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The point of entry for some</div>
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'sign, sign, everywhere a sign' </div>
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Anyway back to the pub, Alana and I, rather than find a quiet corner of the pub to go by unobserved while we engage in our favourite past time of people watching, decided to sit on the bench next to one of the pool tables where all the action was taking place. </div>
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A guy in a cheque shirt, dusty jeans and thongs, wearing one of those 10 gallon cowboy hats with a smile nearly as broad came over and said, "Hello!, you are welcome, welcome to my country." He snaps out a few words to the fellow sitting beside us saying. "Move across a bit Bro, make some room for these people, say hello, make them welcome." He shook our hands and went back to playing pool. He seemed to have some clout around here, with the authority of an Elder or a pit boss, I couldn't quite tell.<br />
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Alana and I had a game of pool each and were approached each in kind by a few of the locals, all wanting to know who we were and where we were from. While having a slash in the pub's urinal, I was standing elbow to elbow with a fellow, we were encased in this concrete block and there was no standing apart from each other with legs splayed out in that unique male way, no we had to get cosy and be comfortable about it. I noticed him in the pub, I found him to be a unique sort of dude! He had this American style baseball cap pitched low over his forehead, black wrap around sunnies, chain flashing in the light draped around his neck and a colourful hoodie on. He looked like a cross between Ali G and Snoop doggy dog. I looked up to him when I heard him mumble something.<br />
"What was that" I said<br />
He replied with, "You know the big fellow upstairs," and proceeded to tilt his head skywards in conformation in case I still didn't get it. I've got to say that this pub is special because no one in any other pub I've been to has ever wished me a blessing from God above, "Hallelujah", especially in the toilets.<br />
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The take away bottle shop<br />
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The next day I went back to the pub by myself to catch a little footy on the big screen. This part of the pub had an airy feel to it. There was this big tree growing in the middle off to one side and a mixture of sack cloth sails, corrugated tin and wire completing the interior and structure of the place.<br />
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Where it all happens </div>
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No chopping trees down around here </div>
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I walked up to the bar and the Irish barmaid (they are everywhere up here) got me a can from what seemed like a 200ltr ice box. The only beer on tap here was light beer and you payed a premium for the canned heavy and midstrength stuff. To my left facing the bar was the big plasma TV. Two fellows were casually talking to each other and watching the game. I took my beer and sat down at a table back a bit so I could get a good view of the game without getting square eyed. One of the fellows from the bar came up to me and asked if I minded if he sat with me. I said I didn't, so he sat opposite me with his 2 cans of beer. <br />
"You follow the Eagles mate?" he said.<br />
"Nah! I don't." I replied. There was a bit of silence as we both gazed semi interested at the game on the TV.<br />
He was a big fellow and the first thing I noticed about him, apart from the smell of old sweat affronting my nostrils, was him wearing this kind of heavy wool type coat, the kind that looks like a lumber jacket. It must have been 28 degrees in the shade of this pub. He had this beanie pulled down low on his head and sounded very congested and didn't look particularly well. The whites of his eyes were yellow and his teeth crooked and rotten disrupting an otherwise easy and gentle smile.<br />
I said, "Are the Eagles your team?"<br />
He shakes his head and says, "Nah! mate, my team is the Bullaba Bulldogs."<br />
I had to have a second take on that. "What was that!?" I said.<br />
" The Bullaba Bulldogs, them my team," he reiterated.<br />
I worked out that The Bullaba Bulldogs must have been the local club. He proceeded to tell me that a footy carnival was coming up soon and all the local competition were included. He then asked what my team was and I said that my team is the Frankston Dolphins, he gave me the same confused look that I had given him and I continued with saying that I follow Essendon. He broke out into one of those easy smiles of his.<br />
" I follow the Western Bulldogs," he says. <br />
I came back with, "Is that because they wear the same colours as your Bullaba Bulldogs?" <br />
He continued with that easy smile. "And the West Coast Eagles," he added. <br />
I replied with, "You strike me more as a Dockers man." <br />
"Nah! them bloody hopeless." he clarifies.<br />
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He asked me for a spare cigarette, I told him that I don't have any on me as I don't smoke anymore and if I did, that I would bot off someone else these days if I felt inclined to have one. He got up from the table and told me to mind his can of beer while he went to the toilet. He came back with a cigarette in hand and after a couple of draws offered me a puff, I declined.<br />
"Have you ever been to Darwin?" I enquired. He told me that he hasn't, that in fact he has been living around this area for his whole life. He told me that his Papa and Dad used to bring him here to this very pub when he was a kid. He mentioned that there are a lot of different communities living in and around Fitzroy Crossing, and that work over the years has been a fairly random thing. <br />
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I went and got myself another beer and he told me more about the history of Fitzroy Crossing in between bringing up phlegm and spitting it into an empty can of tinned fruit, which has its new use as an ash tray. We talked about my trip to Geiki Gorge and how he knows every part of it and some of the cultural stories that go along with it. He told me about this part of the gorge that's kind of out of bounds for fellows as it's a 'womans secret business area'. It's where this little stream finds its way out on a narrow opening into the gorge, he told me, apparently freshies (fresh water crocs) line up at the entrance with their mouths wide open, (there is room for only three) and wait for all the little bait fish to slip on into their mouths as they flow into the gorge entrance. The crocs munch them up but don't swallow on account that it makes good burlie, which attracts far bigger fish from the gorge proper and then those crocs have a real good time of it.<br />
"Smart buggers," I say.<br />
"Yeh! them buggers smart alright," he affirms.<br />
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We continued to talk about what brought me here and what places I would be going to before I returned home, when he suddenly said that he was a hunter. I looked at him for a second like I was looking at a drunk in a pub reliving former glories long gone.<br />
I said, "pardon?'<br />
He reiterated, "Yeh!, I'm a hunter. That gorge you went to, I take my kids there sometimes, and I hunt, show them a thing or two, you know! One day I saw this roo kicking at this big, fat snake."<br />
As he told me this I changed my posture from sitting upright, leaning backwards and doubtful, to forwards, leaning in and interested. He picked up on this and his eyes livened up, his posture straightened up proud and continued with, "Yeh! I got close and this big snake is strangling this roo. I kill them both, wrap this big snake (he emphasises how big with hand gestures) around my shoulders and carry the roo in one hand and hold my kid with the other hand as we walk home." <br />
He told me that he hunts sometimes, to supplement his income, that he needs to do this and I can see a little sadness in his demeanour.<br />
"Any ways" he said, "it's good to show the kids how to do things, as one day they will be looking after me."<br />
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He mentioned, as I got up and shook his hand in readiness to leave, that he was now staying at a community out of town on the way to Halls Creek. He told me that I won't miss it, that I will notice a big hill on the right hand side of the road.<br />
"That's where I live, that's my home," he said.<br />
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The Crossing Inn <br />
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The next day as I drove by that part of the road with the big hill on the right, I was thinking of that fellow I met yesterday. I was thinking about this place of his, and of his part in it, and whether or not that hunting story was true or not. Despite any doubts I may have had about it, the telling of it nourished my soul as much as the snake and roo would have nourished his kids.<br />
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P.S. A little foot note for you; The Pigram brothers are a family of very talented musicians and songwriters. I've been listening to them ever since they did a sound track with Alex Lloyd called 'Mad Bastards'. a recent CD I bought when I was in Broome (they hail from around those parts) is called 'Under the Mango Tree'. Listen to 'Thirsty People'.<br />
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I couldn't get 'Thirsty People' on you tube, but Alana and I have had this Pigram Brothers song on high rotation, especially while driving across the Kimberley. Hope you like it.<br />
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<br /></div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-86689490973020493342012-07-29T17:44:00.001-07:002012-08-07T04:53:25.768-07:00Broome to the borderTravelling east from Broome, we made tracks for Fitzroy Crossing along the Savannah Way. Another place made famous in song and legend, and home to the Geiki Gorge (Darngu is the aboriginal name). We spent two nights in a park on the banks of the mighty <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fitzroy_River_(Western_Australia)">Fitzroy River</a> and used up half a day taking a boat trip up the gorge with a guide from National Parks. Here we sighted our first freshwater crocs <a href="http://www.learningspark.com.au/shop/nt/fwcroc/index.html">(Johnston River Crocodile)</a> in the wild.<br />
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Freshies catching some rays</div>
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Geiki Gorge Fitzroy River<br />
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The Fitzroy during the dry is a gentle flowing stream.<br />
In the wet this river swells up this bank and across to the far shore.<br />
In one hour as much water courses between these banks as fills the Sydney Harbour.</div>
Mike will follow up with some interesting anecdotes on our stay at the Crossing Inn, in one of his unique pub entries in an upcoming blog.<br />
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From the Crossing we drove through Hall's Creek, stopping for a coffee and a look around before reaching a farm stay in a park situated on the Mabel Cattle Station, a few ks outside of the Purnululu National Park and the awesome Bungle Bungle Range. We took a 4WD day trip into the <a href="http://www.dec.wa.gov.au/component/option,com_hotproperty/task,view/id,39/Itemid,755/">NP </a>and drove along and within the Range. It just happened to be my birthday which was pretty special and a birthday I won't forget. We did the southern Cathedral Gorge walk which took us through striped domes, towering cliffs and honeycomb rocks that lead to an amphitheatre. Then we drove to the north of the range to narrow and rocky Echidna Chasm walk. All in all a great day, but we were a bit foot sore by the end of it.<br />
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The track to Cathedral Gorge</div>
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Cathedral Gorge</div>
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The Cathedral.</div>
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Echidna Chasm.</div>
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Echidna Chasm - a tiny Mike!</div>
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The cool upper reaches of the Echidna Chasm.</div>
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We continued east towards Kununurra, driving through some great countryside, with many ranges in the distance and to our left and right. Kununurra lies only about 36 or so km from the border with NT. We stayed there for four nights in a great park in the Hidden Valley, surrounded by large, red, rocky hills. We caught up on washing, cleaning, blogging and reading (and a bit of sleeping in too). It was great just to relax and do nothing much around camp for a few days.</div>
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From there we visited the Ord River Dam and Lake Argyle, famous for its diamond mine. My uncle Barry Gale was the resident engineer on the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ord_River">Ord River Dam</a> when it was first built, so I had to go and check it out.<br />
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The wall my uncle built!</div>
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You can't see it very well, but Uncle Barry's name is at the bottom on the right.</div>
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A few kms into the Territory, we turned south to an operating zebra stone mine, which had camping facilities and operated tours on the upper reaches of Lake Argyle through some very beautiful wetlands accessed through a cattle station on private land. These tours have only been going for a short while, and it was amazing to go to a place that very few have seen. It was pretty special.<br />
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Upper reaches of Lake Argyle - NT side.</div>
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Lots of fresh water crocs in the Lake.</div>
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My first Jabaru in the wild.</div>
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As the sun begins to set we wend our way out of the wetlands. </div>
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A divine sunset ends a magical afternoon on the Lake. Now home for dinner.</div>
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Mike and I have loved our time spent in the Kimberley. I will never forget the landscape as we drove through it in its dry season. The colours of the wattles, grevilleas and other flowering trees and shrubs abloom in bright yellows, oranges and reds, the washed out yellow of the dry grass, and patches of green where <a href="http://www.dec.wa.gov.au/content/view/3480/1869/">systematic burning</a> of spinifex and savannah grasses makes way for new growth for cattle feed. The smell of smoke pervades the landscape right across the Kimberley. <br />
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Here is a taste of the Kimberley in song by the Pigram Brothers from Broome.</div>
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And what can be said about the boabs that line the highway and evoke images of wizened crones and aged wizards, always watching the way - keeping an eye on us people relentlessly coming and going from year to year. I found them enchanting.<br />
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They say that this tree is over 2000 years old.<br />
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Be careful young lad!<br />
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Goodbye WA. NT here we come!!</div>
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Victoria River! Matter of fact I've got here now!</div>
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While on the road through the Pilbara and the Kimberley we jotted down the odd poem. We haven't had much time to refine them, but we thought we'd pop them in anyway.<br />
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PILBARA/KIMBERLEY POEMS</div>
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Alana:<br />
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<em><strong>Arm's Length</strong></em><br />
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<em>So many miles as the crow flies</em><br />
<em>much further than the arm's length</em><br />
<em>the distance yawning wider</em><br />
<em>than my grief would wish</em><br />
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<em>You over there in a sphere</em><br />
<em>too small to cross by borders</em><br />
<em>me over here, in a place unfamiliar</em><br />
<em>changed by time and wisdom</em><br />
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<em>Our history laid down in tenderness</em><br />
<em>set and shaped by happenstance</em><br />
<em>still bound by a stronger cord</em><br />
<em>stretching way beyond this passing sorrow</em><br />
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<em><strong>Haiku</strong> (with apologies to the masters)</em><br />
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<em>Bloated bovine corpse</em><br />
<em>Big yellow signs warn of strays</em><br />
<em>pity cows can't read</em><br />
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<em>From West Kimberley</em><br />
<em>Along the Savannah Way</em><br />
<em>Boab, she watches</em><br />
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<em>Bungle Bungle hike</em><br />
<em>On the day that I was born</em><br />
<em>Was it a mistake?</em><br />
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<em>Roadside sentinels</em><br />
<em>Over ancient Pilbara tracks</em><br />
<em>Eagles on their watch</em><br />
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Mike:<br />
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<em>Stopping at rail line</em><br />
<em>The two speed economy</em><br />
<em>Ore cars are endless</em><br />
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Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-2483557251846242102012-07-19T00:43:00.001-07:002012-07-19T08:34:25.589-07:00Capricornia, camels and (getting) crabs.We crossed the imaginary line 23 degrees 2' 16" south of the equator, the tropic of Capricorn: the dividing line between the southern temperate zone to the south and the tropics to the north. <br />
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Driving through the red dirt of the Pilbara, the temperature began to creep up during the day but remained cool at night, perfect for sleeping.<br />
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Pilbara red dirt.</div>
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Stark beauty.</div>
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The dry season in the Pilbara was evident in the many wide, sandy, dry river beds we crossed as we pushed our way toward Broome - town of legends and rich with history.</div>
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One of the many dry river beds we crossed.</div>
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We spent two nights at a spot between Port Hedland and Broome called Eighty Mile Beach. A great caravan part nestled behind the dunes and bustling with school holiday makers. Kids riding their bikes around the park and over-heard conversations between grey nomads on tips for fishing or how to fix this thing or another - these greeted us as we opted for an unpowered site and settled in. The park was located on a point somewhere along an eighty mile stretch of wide, white sand, and a beach graced with beautiful and unusual shells, and sunsets that drew the campers onto the beach for happy hour.</div>
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Sunset at Eighty Mile Beach.</div>
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Eighty Mile Beach.</div>
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We came into Broome hoping for a site in a park at Cable Beach. Everyone we had spoken to said all the parks were booked full for the school holidays, and that the most we could hope for was an overflow park at the PCYC or the pistol club. But we decided to front up and try our luck. Sometimes having a motor camper is in our favour, as we can fit into smaller sites. The Cable Beach gods shone on us and we managed six nights. It was a short walk to the beach, pub on one corner and a coffee shop on the other. We couldn't believe our luck.</div>
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By now the days were reaching 30 degrees and higher, and that Beach made famous in song and story became our preferred destination each day. I'd often leave Mike still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in the mornings while I ventured onto the rock pools at low tide; the beach already littered with joggers and dog walkers, and families getting some sun on their white bodies before it got too hot. I caught the early morning camel safari as it made its way along the beach. During the day we took our towels, drink bottles and boogie board (Mike calls it his shark biscuit) and spent some lovely time in the water and on the beach. And then just before sunset we made our way to Zanders cafe on the cliff overlooking Cable Beach; we spread our picnic rug on the grass, poured a shandy for me, a beer for Mike and some chicken salad to nibble, while all around us French, German, Irish and Pommy accents mingled with other nomads of various persuasions to watch the sun go down over the Indian Ocean for another day.</div>
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Cable Beach sunset.</div>
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View of Cable Beach from the Cliff.</div>
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Rock pools at sunset.</div>
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Camel safari.</div>
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Crusty old lead camel.</div>
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July on Cable Beach.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODThi-WgjV-7xz-E6B43FXc6pcy1186Xb8QzkZ_aCDottygzD6MRqFn9GkQyfObHmFz2wZHyBskFveXQVAtr-rk8NAa7WqjCwBUTDec0Cpg3zftUBJ3YQtje6NwjZRWcdhao6pgyS4M4/s1600/80+mile+beach+to+broome+361.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODThi-WgjV-7xz-E6B43FXc6pcy1186Xb8QzkZ_aCDottygzD6MRqFn9GkQyfObHmFz2wZHyBskFveXQVAtr-rk8NAa7WqjCwBUTDec0Cpg3zftUBJ3YQtje6NwjZRWcdhao6pgyS4M4/s320/80+mile+beach+to+broome+361.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Cable Beach shells.</div>
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<a href="http://www.broomevisitorcentre.com.au/pages/history/">Broome</a> town was chockas with tourists, this being the busiest time of year. But instead of bemoaning this state of affairs, Mike and I entered fully into the holiday vibe of the town and mixed it up with all and sundry as we wore our thongs thin on the retail strip pavements of Chinatown and eyed the South Sea Island pearls gracing many a shop window and side-walk stall. We visited the Sun Picture theatre, the world's oldest operating open-air picture gardens.</div>
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Sun Picture theatre.</div>
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Taking some therapeutic moments out of our retail therapy in town.</div>
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We found an Egyptian kebab joint that made the best kebab wraps, and I quietly forgot my gluten free diet so I could salivate alongside Mike and enter into the spirit of the kebab. </div>
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Saturday morning found us rubbling shoulders with the holiday mob again as we wandered around the market in the courthouse grounds (remember the series 'The Circuit' with Gary Sweet - it was set here in and around Broome).</div>
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I have fallen in love with the boab trees. They are so quirky and have such character.<br />
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Boab in the courthouse grounds.</div>
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After leaving the park at Cable Beach, we re-located to the PCYC (police and citizens youth club) to spend our few remaining days relaxing, reading and preparing for our exit, when we leave the Indian Ocean (forever? Who knows) and head east toward Fitzroy Crossing, Kununurra and toward the NT.</div>
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One last adventure we took before leaving Broome was a four wheel drive trip up the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dampier_Peninsula#Aboriginal_heritage">Dampier</a> Peninsula to <a href="http://www.outbacktraveller.com.au/Western-Australia/Dampier-Peninsula.html">Cape Le Veque.</a></div>
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AFTER MY SCABIES EPISODE I'M GLAD TO SAY THAT I DIDN'T CATCH ANY CRABS! </div>
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The photo above was taken pretty much at the end of our day trip to Cape Le Veque, which started at 6.45am when Adam from Chomley's Tours picked Alana and myself up in a Toyota Troopie that was probably on its last trip before being pensioned off to the old Troopie home (or the scrap yard). </div>
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After picking up some more people we made our way out of town up towards the Cape. Leaving the bitumen behind we drove on red pindan sand, it was a dusty rutted road which we drove on for 2 hours or so. Alana and I were sitting right over the rear wheel and as such we were feeling every bump and constantly bumping and pushing our arm and elbow against each other just like a full forward and full back waiting for that high ball to come on down from the sky.<br />
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Adam our fearless, young, confident driver pointed out some red tailed cockatoos on our left and proceeded to take the Troopie in off the dusty red road to a track (barely a track!) that ran along side. As we came to a stop the cockies flew off laughing and screeching all the way at our expense as we ended up being bogged. The three grey nomad guys sprang into action with advice on how to get the Troopie out and how they wouldn't have come in or what gear he should have used. Adam the driver took all this in his stride and wasn't fazed in the slightest about all that older experience and wisdom coming his way. After a bit of digging and pushing and a little walking we were all back in the Troopie and on our way. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfQM8ah4nMZkmSnwjMrDdGVjL0ba8Wp6tvCws3YlEZQ35eHu-MlnRLzbCfZsTPiiZr2GqGGp2SQIhenHddWMnzA29_IGqmA-Rd2KSTM27Em5OQAI4_RGBdZXDknolUQk3UqXSaaVwrIFs/s1600/80+mile+beach+to+broome+261.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfQM8ah4nMZkmSnwjMrDdGVjL0ba8Wp6tvCws3YlEZQ35eHu-MlnRLzbCfZsTPiiZr2GqGGp2SQIhenHddWMnzA29_IGqmA-Rd2KSTM27Em5OQAI4_RGBdZXDknolUQk3UqXSaaVwrIFs/s320/80+mile+beach+to+broome+261.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Cockies, waiting to hit and run.</div>
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The first official stop was at Beagle Bay <a href="http://www.creativespirits.info/ozwest/broome/communities.html">Aboriginal Community</a>. We saw this amazing old church famous for its alter made from and decorated with shells.<br />
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Now Alana! don't you be getting any ideas about decorating the house when we get back home with all those bloody shells you have been collecting!.</div>
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" To the Lord that praises be, it's time for dinner now let's go eat!"</div>
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After that we continued on our way down to East Beach, passing another Aboriginal community called Lombardina. This place also had a church that was quite special in its own way. It looked like a big square colonial verandahed building with a high pitched corrugated tin roof. On the inside the roof ceiling was lined with stripped bark and the trusses looked like they were made from axed branches coming off the surrounding trees. There were no windows on the side of the church just open frames for windows allowing for a refreshing breeze to keep the congregation cool and calm. All in all the community at Lombardina looked very tidy.</div>
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Hows the roof line!</div>
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Soon enough our little expedition found its way down to East Beach past some really special camping spots on the beach bluff. We all stripped off and cooled down in the refreshing waters of East Beach. Adam was preparing lunch under the canopy of the 4 wheel drive's trailer, which to our fellow grey nomie men's minds was parked a little too much in a precarious position. Alana went and, you guessed it, fossicked for more shells while I mused on the splendid serenity of my immediate surroundings. Actually that's a lie! I've been reading this 1000 page novel, and I just couldn't put it down.<br />
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Where do you want to sit.</div>
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Hey Adam, do you have a contigiousy plan.</div>
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After we had lunch, we packed up, getting ready for our next leg of the day. We got bogged again. So with some unhitching, some pushing, some digging, we got going again back up the beach. We came to a bit of a sweeping incline, Adam went to slow down and change gears, the grey nomie men collectively groaned and said, "don't slow down" yep, we got bogged again.</div>
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After passing an army camp, an air strip, we came to our turn off for Mudnunn, a perfect name really for a place to catch mud crabs. When we arrived we meet our man sitting there nonchalantly, waiting for us. His name was Vincent Angus and a more expert mud crabber you could not hope to find.</div>
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It was about 4.00pm and the tide hadn't completely ebbed out to sea. So armed with our steel wire hooked poles we waded out into the out going tide that at places was still up to your knees. Looking back over my shoulder after 20 minutes you could see almost all the water drained out to the sea leaving nothing but the bare carpet of sand. We started looking for crabs in earnest as we neared the other side of the mud flats close to the mangrove edge. A few crabs were being caught, Alana caught one but had to let it go on account of its size. None of us were catching too many so it's as if Vince called in the Calvary and his grandson and nephews came bounding in across the mud flats laughing and carrying on to help us get some more crabs.</div>
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I didn't care so much about not catching any crabs but enjoyed immensely the calmness and stillness of nature doing its thing. I found the experience of trawling through the mud flats and watching the sun sinking into the horizon very meditative.</div>
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Back to where the Troopie was parked a fire was being prepared to cook the crabs. We all stood around the fire watching the sun go down feeling pretty good and in awe of our surroundings. One of the guys that came on the tour with us said "Did anyone think about crocodiles while we were out there near the mangroves?" I said "No, and I'm glad I didn't" then he said "Vince, any crocs around here?" to which Vince replied very casually, "Crocs! oh yeah, they're around here." </div>
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The crabs were cooked and we all hooked in for a feed, feeling really satisfied with our day.</div>
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After good byes to Vince and his boys we headed back, this time Alana sat on the back seat away from being over the rear wheel and I settled in with the help of a head lamp to getting stuck back into that 1000 page novel that I couldn't put down, bumping along like a marionette as we drove back down that<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pindan"> pindan</a> sandy rutted road to Broome. Alana and I got dropped off at 9.30pm, an end to a grand day.</div>
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Vincent and his boys.</div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-32533298766052481142012-07-13T10:11:00.002-07:002012-07-13T10:11:28.311-07:00Shells, snorkeling and scabies 20.6.12 - 5.7.2012If you were a mad dog surfer travelling Oz in search of waves, you would have heard of the large surf break off Jacques Point in Kalbarri. Those huge waves were pumping the afternoon we set off to explore the coastal sights in and around the National Park and town of Kalbarri (including Eagle Gorge and Red Bluff), approximately 150 kms north of Geraldton. <br />
Too big for Mike to tackle, we just watched as seasoned board riders made those waves their own, doing re-entry after re-entry and taking those huge waves in their stride. And while Mike stood watching, at low tide with the sun hanging low in the sky, I found some great shells in and around the rock pools.<br />
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Eagle Gorge</div>
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Eagle Gorge (pity we didn't get a pic of the big waves at Jacques Point)</div>
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Next day found us walking the trail at Ross Graham that winds its way down to the Murchison River, and out to the lookout at Hawks Head, which offers great views of the Murchison River Gorge.<br />
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Murchison River Gorge</div>
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From Kalbarri we hit highway one again, turning off at the Overlander Roadhouse toward Shark Bay, famous for the Hamelon Pool stromatolites and the Monkey Mia dolphins. We loved the whole <a href="http://www.sharkbay.wa.gov.au/visitors/places-to-go/shark-bay-marine-park.html">Shark Bay</a> <a href="http://sharkbay.org/">Marine Park World Heritage Area</a>, including various marine nature reserves around its shores.<br />
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Shells at Shark Bay</div>
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Stromatolites - Hamelon Pool</div>
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The links I've included of Shark Bay are worth the time to check them out. This area supports some amazing diverse flora and fauna, with an estimated population of 10,000 dugongs alone in its waters. If we had of had more pennies and more time we would have loved to explore more of the park by boat. People say that Monkey Mia is ho hum, but I didn't find it that way at all. We loved interacting with the dolphins that come in daily to check us humans out. There is no shortage of food in the Bay for them to eat and it seems they love to come in to interact with us. They were very special.<br />
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The dolphins watch us on shore as they swim by.</div>
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Mike walking on a large sand bar, somewhere near Whalebone Bay.</div>
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A very tame pelican on the beach at Monkey Mia</div>
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Mike has mentioned briefly our overnight camp at Whalebone Bay where we met Roz and Dale, the Innisfail girls. What great girls they are. We hope to catch up with them again when we get around to the east coast, and visit their fair town. They told us of a great camp spot at a place called Point Quobba and recommended it. So after stocking up at Carnarvan, and making our calls home to family, we set off in that direction. Our friends Glendon and Rachael had discovered it as well and were already set up there the day before we arrived. Mike took off for the Ranger's station and parted with a whole $16.50 for three nights stay.<br />
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Wow! What a great spot. We had three full and fun days. Rachael drove me further up the dirt track out of the marine reserve (no fishing, no shell collecting) to a great spot called Two Mile, where we found the most cowrie shells I have ever seen in one place at one time. It was shell heaven for Rachael and I and we spent lovely meditative hours walking and collecting.<br />
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Glendon and Rachael are two avid, passionate even, snorkelers. Before we left home they convinced us to buy snorkeling gear for the trip. We are so glad that we did. While at Point Quobba they coaxed us into the beach just down from our camp site where a shallow reef runs along a small bay which is enclosed on one side by a small island. This area, they assured us, was a wonderland. From the shore you would never know what was below. I buddied up with Rach and Mike with Glendon and in we went. I have never seen so many different species of fish together in my life - all colours, shapes and sizes, and lots of them. We would just drift through whole schools of bright blue, yellow, green, striped black and white and any number of colour combinations you can think of - simply breathtaking. Mike and I will never be as passionate about mucking about in water the way our friends are, but they have opened our eyes to a great wonder and we are very grateful for that.<br />
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Point Quobba.</div>
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Who would have thought that beneath the surface of this there would be such a wonderland.</div>
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Mike and Glendon at Point Quobba.</div>
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From Quobba we headed to Coral Bay, the most southerly point of the Ningaloo Reef (famous for swimming with the whale sharks). By the day the weather was improving, and once we'd settled into the Caravan Park we went snorkeling straight off the main beach. A lovely town, if a bit too touristy, Coral Bay afforded us great snorkeling, coffee and cake, dinner and beer at the pub, hot showers (bore water though) and some sweet, delectable sunshine and beach time.<br />
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From there we went to Exmouth and the Cape Range National Park. All the sites in the Park were full (school holidays and nomadic southerners from Perth) so we decided to make do with two nights in town (Exmouth) and two nights at the Yardie Creek Homestead Caravan Park, which was just before the NP. We were able to take off for the day and call in to all the spots along the Ningaloo Marine Park and explore. A great spot for snorkeling was at Turquoise Bay where you hop in at one end of the beach and snorkel out a short distance to the reef and let the current take you to a point further down where you get out and walk back up the beach and do it all again. They call this drift snorkeling. Mike and I had lots of fun.<br />
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Turquoise Bay - Ningaloo Reef.</div>
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I had to leave the shells on the beach at Ningaloo.</div>
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Mike paddling, me reclining.</div>
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Build up of coral and shells.</div>
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Turquoise Bay</div>
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Yardie Creek.</div>
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We lost contact with Glendon and Rachael for the moment (no phone range) but no doubt we will catch up with them again down the track, which seems to be what happens with us. They do their thing and we do ours and somehow we meet up again to share some of our journey together.<br />
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One last word. Scabies! The less said about this the better. Mike looked like one of those kid's pictures where you join the dots. I was luckier. By the time he had passed them to me we had fronted up to the chemist in Exmouth and got insecticide ointment. I had only a couple of dozen itchy spots to Mikes 200 or so. It was horrible, but as the pharmacist told us, there's a lot of it going around these parts at present. Just our luck. <br />
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Ooooooh! Coodies!</div>
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Mike and I think it was Anton the Swede from Ellandale Pool who he played uke with, but we will never really know how we got them.<br />
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Meet Anton the busking Swede. (I'm sure he's scratching)</div>
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Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-11481963057018789762012-06-25T15:18:00.000-07:002012-06-25T17:51:01.503-07:00Just like in the RV magazines 22-6-12<div align="center">
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This way please!</div>
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Way back before Alana and I started this trip we used to lay in bed at night all tucked up and cozy, musing on our upcoming adventures. So many of the places we thought about were just dots on the map to us, full of mystery and myth. <br />
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I would be leafing through my RV magazines (which Alana calls my caravan porn) and I would allways be stopped by any full page ad advertising the latest van pulled up at some secluded or unspoilt beach front, or even articles showing glossy pictures of the same thing. I would lay back and go to sleep wondering if those places were out there and could I reach them in my bitumen anchored Fiat Ducato. May be all those tanterlising full page glossy spreads are just set up for the magazines, just to keep my heart rate up!.<br />
Well I'm pleased to say that we did find one of these picture perfect locations.<br />
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It's called Whalebone Bay, which is on the way up to Denham and Monkey Mia on one side of Shark Bay. We pulled in off the side of the road at about 4.00pm not knowing what to expect as we have had some pretty non descript free camps on our travels so far. As we wound our way down to the bay a little ways we were greeted with a magical view, "just like in the RV magazines" ads. There were only a couple of campers here, both of them lined up in a prime position just a few steps away from the sand. Alana and I set up a few meters back and went for a stroll on the beach.<br />
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A couple of girls who were traveling together sitting outside their van taking in the setting sun gave us a smile. Alana said something like "This is a horrible spot hey!" to which the girls replied "Yeh! it's shocking". We joined them for a chat after the stroll along the beach and found that they have been traveling fom Innisfail in QLD all the way accross the north now traveling due south.<br />
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Meet Dale and Roz, the Leyland Brothers have got nothing on these two.</div>
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They had a lot of tips for us on where to stay and some great stories from the road. Alana and I had a good laugh along with them. I lked the way they described themselves as one being the minister for finance while the other said she was the minister for Transport n Housing and Communication. Seriously these two girls looked like a good team and you couldn't help but be swept along with their warm and cheeky humour.</div>
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</div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-22752434263067226382012-06-25T00:33:00.000-07:002012-06-25T01:37:11.015-07:00Recall 25-5-07<div style="text-align: center;">
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Recall is a funny thing, by it's nature it just sneaks up on you, taps you on the shoulder. I love it when my thoughts randomly split off into other thoughts that randomly split off again. A lot of these thoughts are memories of past events. I play them lovingly, like an old movie buff watching his favourite films. </div>
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Sometimes objects are the tools for recall. They can pop that reel in the slot and let the movie flash up in front of your eyes.</div>
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Recently one of these objects for me was a tube of palmolive shaving soap that you squeeze out like tooth paste. I don't use this stuff as a rule, it just ended up in my toiletry bag as a spare. Alana keeps it in the guest bathroom and I thought I may as well use it when my "boutique foaming, moistrising, sensative environmentally friendly gel type" ran out. I was lathering up while gazing into the mirror. The soapy smell started my recall of this movie.</div>
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I recall the time when I was 5 or 6, standing toe to toe with Dad at the bathroom basin. I recall the heady smells of "Old Spice" and soapy palmolve shaving foam or soap. Dad would be shaving, working up quite a lather. He would use these time outs with me to ever so gently take the piss. I even knew back then that there was something not right with what he would say, but at the same time I took so much joy from his sillieness. Like when he used to tell me to flex my biceps, he would then grab one of them with his huge ape like hands and say "Ah! they're like chicken insteps". The way he used to say it, made me want to believe that my biceps were exact replicas of Hercules. Another one he used to pull on me was when he would roll and clack his false teeth around in his mouth, look down on me and without saying a word would know that I would try and ape his action. I would open my mouth wide and try to pull them out so I could rattle them around like him. He would say "This is how you do it son". Take his falsies out of his mouth, pop them back in and clack them around again. I never learnt how to do that trick despite all of his encouragement.</div>
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It's been six years since Dad died. But I can still smell him.</div>
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<br /></div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-67030732869296040492012-06-18T17:33:00.000-07:002012-06-18T17:33:09.086-07:00Myth and imaginationAs I sit here over another breakfast of toast and tea, I am aware that we have entered a new chapter in our journey. The 'holiday' has been entering its final phase of entropy for a couple of weeks now. After packing up our camp at Burns Beach, a northern beach suburb of Perth, we moved into a new gear. <br />
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We left the city at last and were now facing the next couple of months in a part of our country that covers vast stretches of bitumen that join mythological towns that we've read and heard about all our lives.<br />
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Right now we are in the mid-west at Geraldton. We're here to wash, clean, cook and rest after free camping for over a week and to prepare our (my) faint hearts for the next leg of our adventure. This lifestyle has become the normal way of being now - setting up camp, taking in what the area gives us, packing up again and moving on to the next dot on the map.<br />
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As I sit here jotting down my thoughts I am visited by four different types of birds; honeyeaters, wagtails (always wagtails - little darlings), small iridescent doves, and the silvereye, and I realise I am no longer reaching for my camera to capture yet another close up of one of these lovely creatures. They are just part of camp life - a little more intimate than the grey nomads or the Euros out to see the world - part of this new kind of community to which we belong.<br />
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We still ooh and aah at the new sights and experiences we see and live, but take it all so much more in our stride.<br />
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You could be forgiven for thinking that this type of travel is relaxing and all you do all day is stroll along beaches and read books. But that is far from the real picture which has us keeping a steady travel pace, knowing we need to get up north and across the top end during the height of the dry. Each time we stop and sit a spell and think about chilling a bit longer, we get the maps out and see all those mythic towns and seaside must-sees, and are compelled to follow our imaginations up the North West Highway to feast on the next experience. It can be taxing and requires a bit of stamina - but so far we've managed to make it this far in good health and good spirits - and with Shark Bay <a href="http://www.sharkbay.org/stromatolites.aspx">(think stromatolites)</a> almost in sight, and with it Monkey Mia, the most westerly part of our country, we are once again ready to pack up and do the ks to enter the North West's history and mythology.<br />
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<span id="goog_1686166401"></span><span id="goog_1686166402"></span></div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-50087934296590244602012-06-17T22:17:00.001-07:002012-06-17T22:17:15.513-07:00New Norcia Pub 8-6-12This is probably going to be one of the more unique pubs I'm ever likely to come across on our trip around Australia. So I think it deserves a mention as "What makes a pub a good one" or at least, Gee! that's different!.<br />
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Before I get started I better fill you in as to how we got here. Alana and I were told about this place called New Norcia which was founded by the Benedictine Monks in the early 1800's. I can imagine the Pope at the time saying to Fr Salvado "Hey Bro, have I got an opportunity of a lifetime for you to get in on the ground floor to save a whole lot of souls in this far flung place called Australia". Here's the link to it's <a href="http://www.newnorcia.wa.edu.au/">history</a>. Being a lapsed catholic and Alana having done her fair share of time in a christian cult, sorry I meant community church, we were both drawn to have a look. On a personal note I spent seven years in a boarding school in the mid sixties. I could see some parallels and the nature of most institutions is very much the same or at least they have a lot in common, anyway back to the Pub. <br />
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Yes that is a pub</div>
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This establishment started off its life as a hostel and guest house. Walking up the muddy circular driveway I can imagine the owners and builders of this place (the Monks) having a vision of those stately old European mansions, with columns spanning the two levels and solid wide steps leading to the Italian tiled patio chess- boarding it's way through to the statement-like front double doors. Once inside there was an enclosed reception office to the right, an informal sitting area to the left with a cavernous foyer in the middle. All leading up to a grand stair case. Jarrah everywhere!. Upstairs, laid out on one side of the corridor were all the bedrooms each with their own entrance to the outside shared balcony.</div>
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The actual pub part of this old hostel was down the far right of the building, past the hallway, off the reception office. I was somewhat taken aback by the lack of pub-like paraphernalia and advertising slogans that you would normally see. Don't get me wrong, there were stools at the bar, the pouring taps were there, bottles of spirits lined up behind the bar, even the pool table and TV on the wall in the adjacent area. I just couldn't see any of the usual accessories, like runners along the top of the bar with Carlton Draught logos, no pub tab, no races on the TV, no clocks with Jim Beam written on its face, no tradie type "parma n pot" Tuesday night special scrawled on the black board, there was none of it. <br />
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However, I did see out of the corner of my eye, a picture hanging unobtrusively, abandoned like an orphaned child, on one of the walls. It had a religious theme to it but I don't think it was hung there with any sense of purpose, probably more the fact that it was hung there so no one would trip over it. Still, like I was saying, I didn't see an advertising poster with "five Cougars thanks" and the accompanying busty blond barmaid next to it.</div>
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pretty spartan huh!</div>
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it's easy to get a drink in here</div>
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anyone home?</div>
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Imagine!, a nice cold bevy on a sunny afternoon right here.</div>
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</div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-21419668283724987732012-05-28T07:58:00.001-07:002012-05-28T07:58:32.182-07:00To Melbourne and back.I was on the Peninsula airport bus making my way to Tulla to catch my flight 'home' to Michael and the van waiting for me in Perth. Mum had dropped me off early at the bus stop and after making our loving, but hasty goodbyes standing in the rain, Mum left me alone. Being buffeted by the wind with sprays of horizontal falling rain reminded me of the joys of Melbourne's weather. I pulled my rain coat around me and stamped my feet to warm them while I waited for the bus. <br />
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Driving along Nepean Hwy Gold 104.3 informed me it was 9 degrees. As we approached Elwood we wound our way along tree lined streets, whose trees were stranded somewhere between a waning Autumn and an approaching Winter. As we made our way into St Kilda the rain became heavier and heavier, drenching the streets and those crazy enough to be on them. <br />
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I smiled inwardly knowing that in a few hours I would be watching the sun go down over the Indian ocean after a sunny Perth day of 21. <br />
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We drove along the Esplanade and stopped at the lights as we turned into Fitzroy Street. I glanced across at the St Kilda Pier deserted and standing alone in the rain. I looked down at the water gushing into the gutters and as I raised my head I locked eyes with a man all bundled up in his rain coat, holding a take-away coffee and he flashed me a knowing smile - seeing the airport bus sign displayed along the bus - knowing I was leaving a wet and soggy Melbourne and he remaining behind. Perhaps he was thinking that anywhere has gotta be better than this. I returned his smile and felt so warm inside. His smile stayed with me for ages and I thought that it doesn't matter where you are, if you can smile at a stranger and make their day, then life is pretty bloody good.<br />
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Mum and I had a great catch up together and made good use of our time. We did: coffee, op-shopping, lunch, a visit to historical Beleura House and lots of keeping warm in front of our favourite shows on TV - not to mention all that great home cooking - gotta love that lamb shank soup of Mum's.<br />
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Mum and I.</div>
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Mum, June and I at June's place after her birthday lunch.</div>
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Beleura House Mornington.</div>
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My lemon tree that Mum is sitting for me.</div>
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Some of my growing shell collection.</div>
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Our current front yard - Burns Beach sunset. <br />
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Out and about with cousin Di at Hilarys. <br /> </div>
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</div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-91602326427141027662012-05-20T00:05:00.000-07:002012-05-20T00:05:14.874-07:00The first time in 28 years<div style="text-align: center;">
The first time in 28 years that I have given my feet a drink in the Indian Ocean</div>
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The first time in 28 years that I've downed a can of the local brew</div>
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The first time in 28 years that I've looked out my window to see gorgeous sunsets every night.</div>
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The first time in 28 years that I didn't know what I would be doing when I eventually came home.</div>
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</div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-2237630535978434312012-05-19T22:54:00.000-07:002012-05-19T22:54:58.138-07:00Backing up a minute!Well we are in Perth, Alana has gone home for a week, and I'm just laying back in this little caravan park with only about 15 powered sites and about 100 permanent units. Bill the unofficial concierge of the camp kitchen says "you can fly under the radar here". He is right, it's a perfect spot right on the beach (not many left around these days) to wait for Alana to get back and to spend some quiet time.<br />
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But backing up a bit, I haven't told you about The Gloucester Tree when we were in Pemberton. It stands just out of town a ways and draws a few people to climb up it's trunk to a spotting platform way up high. There is a couple of these trees around that are or were used for fire spotting. They are impressive to say the least.<br />
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Hello down there!</div>
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At the start of this trip if you mentioned the bird life. I would have taken it with a grain of salt. Feeding off Alana's enthusiasm for the feathered creatures, I'm finding myself enjoying them to.</div>
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I just love seeing that look on Alana's face.</div>
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Meet Sid Vicious</div>
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and Molly</div>
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don't know this ones name</div>
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the prolific 28parret taking a bow</div>
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the Texas apple core massacre</div>
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I'll finish off this blog with a couple of forest shots, as they certainly were the dominating feature of this area.</div>
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I always said that Alana was one of those bloody tree huggers!</div>
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a more contemplative, introspective shot of myself.</div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-90961968265072073992012-05-13T04:09:00.001-07:002012-05-13T04:09:05.410-07:00Mothers Day musings<em>On our journey we are exploring many different landscapes. Time and distance do their work on the inner terrain of our minds and hearts, and this gives way to deep reflection. Recently I wrote the following piece, a snapshot of the bittersweet musings of my life as a mother. It seems fitting that I post this entry today, Mothers Day.</em><br />
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How deeply does the imprint of DNA embed within our psyche unalterable motivations? Murmurs and shadows of predestined factors that conform us to a portrait of who we are, despite all our painful quests to contradict them.<br />
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Retrospect is both a gift and a curse, and coming at mid-life when honest reflection and realistic self analysis can serve in transforming us into the wizened crone - or so we hope. <br />
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Looking back we see the landscape for what it is, not what we hoped it was or wanted it to be. We can't fool ourselves anymore. Mid-life is a time to be both brutal and gracious to our ageing self - honest and forgiving.<br />
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Motherhood. An institution with as many faces as there are mothers. Womanhood. A multi-prisimed wonder embodying motherhood as a dazzling centrepiece, a pivotal expression of worth and value - its failures and successes are the very children of life. <br />
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Yet we do fail. And our successes are often discovered only when our beloved children become aware that they, like their mothers, are also victims of victims, and each of us in turn must own our own lives and become adults, facing the realities of life as we emerge from the bubble of childhood, realising that life is difficult.<br />
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How easy it all sounds. Accepting, accepting, accepting. But it is not easy. We long for our children to forgive us, as we struggle to forgive ourselves. Forgiving our self over and over again as we muse on how different we would do it if we had the chance to do it all again. It takes time to acknowledge the debris, and then to realise that that debris has become our children's pain.<br />
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We hold fast to the mother mantra - 'I did the best I could', which paradoxically is more often than not, the truth.<br />
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<em>"...I am large, I contain multitudes." Walt Whitman</em></div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-84768482912649204302012-05-11T10:00:00.002-07:002012-05-11T10:00:47.199-07:00From the sandy shore to the forest floorAutumn finally caught up with us. Out came the warmer PJs and runners replaced thongs - raincoats replaced sun hats. Overhead huge banks of cumuli nimbus moved across the sky, dropping upon us as we ventured further into the south west of WA and into a low pressure system.<br />
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But what the heck, a bit of wind and rain has never stopped me beach combing and exploring natures moods before - I'm not about to let it now.<br />
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After leaving Experance we hop-skipped along, free camping, for a few days, stopping in at different spots until we came into Albany. As we came into the Albany region the landscape changed from dry scrubby bushland to rich lush green pasture spotted heavily with fat and happy cows. In Albany we caught up with Rachael and Glendon once again and spent a couple of days exploring the local environs together before we set off toward the southern forests of WA.<br />
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The only landscape that can equal the joy of the coast for me is that of the forest. I had read about the tall timbers of the south west, including some amazing old growth forests, and I have not been disappointed.<br />
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After three days of solid rain we left the coast in search of the giant Tingle trees that mark the beginning of some magnificent forest touring, travelling west from the beautiful town of Denmark along the South Coast Highway. We enjoyed the tree top walk <a href="http://www.valleyofthegiants.com.au/">(Valley of the Giants)</a> and the forest floor walk. We loved to be immersed in the presence of these ancient giants.<br />
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Valley of the Giants tree top walk</div>
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Giant Tingle tree</div>
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Life on the forest floor</div>
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We free camped in <a href="http://www.dec.wa.gov.au/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=392&Itemid=1558">Karri</a> forest rest areas for three nights until we came into a lovely town called Pemberton. We are set up here for a few days, doing day trips into forest walks and waterfalls and generally soaking up the lush Karri forest surrounds.</div>
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Forest floor walk (Valley of the Giants)</div>
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Finally the clouds have cleared and with them the rain. </div>
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Big Brook Dam</div>
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Karri tree</div>
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When we leave here we head to Perth to have the van serviced and a few issues seen to. From there I head home to Melbourne for a week (found some cheap flights) to catch up with Mum for a belated birthday and Mother's Day. Mike will hang about Perth while Winnebago sort out the van.<br />
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</div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-83219495062159700562012-05-10T06:31:00.000-07:002012-05-10T06:31:20.321-07:00The Next WaveIt's good to catch up with a good mate on the road. I've caught up with him again in Albany and once again Alana and myself are in the easy company of Glendon and Rachael.<br />
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Whilst corralled in by our respective motorcamperhome and caravan we have been having one of our late afternoon get togethers, chatting about the day and revisiting our journey so far. Glendon and I were musing on the subject of waving at passerbys from the opposite direction and came to the conclusion that mainly caravaners wave at fellow vaners while motor homers wave at mainly motor homers. Heavily laden bicycle tourists don't wave at anybody (fair enough). Euros in hired Camper vans are still trying to work out what side of the road they are driving on, so they don't wave at anyone. Truck drivers, well I can't tell you who and what they wave to on account of me hanging on white knuckled to the steering wheel while coming within a bees dick of being blown off the road by the passing speed and spacial awareness precision of the monstrous B-Doubles thundering by.<br />
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A slight variation to this waving etiquette is a game called Chicken. Which is when you see who sticks their hands up first, trying not to be the first to do it. <br />
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Glendon has a very funny piece in his blog on this phenomena of waving while travelling out on the road. Read it and weep, with absolute hilarity. Here is the<a href="http://murphandcrowey.blogspot.com.au/2012/05/handwave.html"> link</a>. I will provide below the images of what the waves are.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dQ3WDwgPnP3WtASyvznEwb05ZqiL14uEqrz9trt1QYxYDh-84zt4ZAyIFNrygJMrepUZPIGkxcdlbPrK8zoEP1g1haVOvyhos2B6Z7GT7Vx22P6wk35QJcT9_og9UCRqqg7WOBEPR1s/s1600/Esperance+to+Albany+to+Pemberton+088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dQ3WDwgPnP3WtASyvznEwb05ZqiL14uEqrz9trt1QYxYDh-84zt4ZAyIFNrygJMrepUZPIGkxcdlbPrK8zoEP1g1haVOvyhos2B6Z7GT7Vx22P6wk35QJcT9_og9UCRqqg7WOBEPR1s/s320/Esperance+to+Albany+to+Pemberton+088.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The one finger pointed with hands remaining on the steering wheel wave</div>
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: Couldn't really give a hoot about you, just feels that he should acknowledge your wave with the barest effort. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8yvdCMs_bF4HXMOvsZPJtjSUs30eMWUucJKwhyA2APuOV8CzulXoBuzMvAbnzVlVYy8XxXnNDUJLQQ9zYZmeJ6ovWOOqxHSHODD_aoyeAf43XcMF2aG1Jzj-d1GZOYZvyebOJTELF7o/s1600/Esperance+to+Albany+to+Pemberton+091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8yvdCMs_bF4HXMOvsZPJtjSUs30eMWUucJKwhyA2APuOV8CzulXoBuzMvAbnzVlVYy8XxXnNDUJLQQ9zYZmeJ6ovWOOqxHSHODD_aoyeAf43XcMF2aG1Jzj-d1GZOYZvyebOJTELF7o/s320/Esperance+to+Albany+to+Pemberton+091.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The two finger pointed with both hands on the steering wheel wave.</div>
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: A retired ex goal umpire.</div>
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The one finger pointed followed by the rest of his fingers with hands remaining on the steering wheel wave.<br />
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: He is a little slow in the reflex department.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9j9JBFWqRrGC08COaUsQuhqo38xpPFsIrykvc8LBw_NJWbG7Nku9mY8jD3QlInqzxH_M-xFuweGeBjnBXN22YWwJWdqf4GEd19yGD-O5j_DuBaRG5p5HgWAKUWZYm9jDeV9mr91HKoKs/s1600/Esperance+to+Albany+to+Pemberton+092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9j9JBFWqRrGC08COaUsQuhqo38xpPFsIrykvc8LBw_NJWbG7Nku9mY8jD3QlInqzxH_M-xFuweGeBjnBXN22YWwJWdqf4GEd19yGD-O5j_DuBaRG5p5HgWAKUWZYm9jDeV9mr91HKoKs/s320/Esperance+to+Albany+to+Pemberton+092.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The full hand off the steering wheel wave.</div>
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: A good bloke!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkQioB-Vzaf2g4fLGqCfF-JqVR2REau9HFJnzhdyw_AS5FEvk-qQNXQrG_5elbF-DQQpa8TUNOvdao3ICWF5XzdKbQjSpHLulTFVVaRw-P1Ywvk0XuVwWlFYecEOIBRMNq7-PAD3j27c/s1600/Esperance+to+Albany+to+Pemberton+093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkQioB-Vzaf2g4fLGqCfF-JqVR2REau9HFJnzhdyw_AS5FEvk-qQNXQrG_5elbF-DQQpa8TUNOvdao3ICWF5XzdKbQjSpHLulTFVVaRw-P1Ywvk0XuVwWlFYecEOIBRMNq7-PAD3j27c/s320/Esperance+to+Albany+to+Pemberton+093.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Royal wave</div>
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: Usually given by gigantic $250,000+ motor homers to smaller insignificant little pleb like motor campers like mine.</div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-91310880557089032912012-05-06T05:11:00.000-07:002012-05-11T05:27:50.660-07:00Sea Urchins and Cowrie ShellsFor a long time I have loved them. Not from a distance, but in my hand to touch and for my eye to marvel at. It borders obsession, but I like to think of my tenderness toward these natural wonders as a joyous connection. They connect me to the miracle of nature's design. Their shape, markings and texture simply arouse a childlike glee inside me.<br />
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These vacated homes of deceased sea creatures are lovingly preserved in my ever growing collection. I've never really spoken of my 'habit' to many people. Not that I'm embarrassed to have such capacity for childlike joy, it just never comes up in conversation. But if you come walk with me on Point Leo beach (Westernport Bay, Vic.) at low tide, you will find I lose interest in your company instantly and head off on my own to seek out the objects of my desire. I don't mean to be rude, I just can't not put my head down and scour the shoreline. I've tied to not look, but it just doesn't work. <br />
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It is not just urchins and cowries that find their way into my collection, I love all shells and sponges and other unusual things that the deep is done with, but urchins and cowries are my favourite.<br />
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You can imagine my happy state when I found pink, orange and red urchins on the beach at Robe in SA. Point Leo offers me grey, darkgreen, off white and the odd purple, but never red, orange or pink. And my beloved cowries where there too.<br />
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I have spent many a meditative walk along the tide line on many of the beaches of SA and now WA. I am lucky to have the great opportunity of experiencing many moments of joy, searching the beaches of the whole country. So I guess there will be lots of posting boxes of my treasures home to Mum's place. Leaving them on the beach is not an option.<br />
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<em>"It is the child that sees the primordial secret in Nature and it is the child of ourselves we return to. The child within us is simple and daring enough to live the Secret..."</em> LAO-TZU</div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2241113261165093279.post-70335284285609310192012-04-30T08:09:00.000-07:002012-04-30T08:11:47.790-07:00Comparisons are OnerousI've often said, if you could pick Hobart up and put it somewhere down on the Mornington peninsula, that I would happily live there. I'm tempted to make the same comparison with Esperance but have stopped a little short of following through with that thought..<br />
The thing is Esperance wouldn't be itself if it was anywhere else. I can imagine all the development, high rises sprouting up like dandelions on a spring lawn. There would be more people for a start, more traffic, more McDonalds, less parking, more meters.<br />
There is plenty of room in Esperance, the beaches go on for ever. The most popular beach with the locals is not the town foreshore one, but one that is about six kms away called Twilight beach. See what I mean, plenty of room. Esperance also has one of the most scenic bike/walk paths in the world. (rated in the top ten) It has an impossibly long and curved jetty that couldn't possibly be filled by the town's people and tourists.A fat Sea Lion hangs around (always there) the fish cleaning station, there's plenty of room for him there too. The main shopping precinct languishes over two or three criss crossed streets, with no sense of purpose of flow or planning for neatness and conformity, once again plenty of room. There is a curious lack of urgency around the place, maybe because in essence it is a country town, it's just a weird feeling having it on the beach. There's a rail line and a road that brings train and b double loads of minerals down to the port, which is on the main fore shore beach. I was struck by how clean and clear the water was around this port. Thereis this swimming area with one of those floating pontoons that the kids use which is close to the port, yet again plenty of room for every one and every thing. I like the fact that Esperance is a long drive away from Perth, other wise it would turn into a Lorne or a Torquay.<br />
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Alana and Glendon on a photo shoot!</div>
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What! You still here.</div>
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what are you looking at</div>
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Glendon n Rachel <br />
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My good friends Glendon and Rachel have caught up with us at long last. Alana and I have had the pleasure of their company for the last week or so. We went back to Cape Le Grand, rode our bikes around town, did a bit of frolicking in the sea and shared some meals together at night. The ukuleles have been out, we've been going over some old tunes and playing a new one by Amos Lee (check him out on you tube) called "Sweet Pea". We all have been humming and singing it during the day. It's really catchy and gets under your skin.<br />
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The famous Tuesday night bike rides are still on, only it's been every night with Glendon and the uke.</div>
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So while I've come to the conclusion that Esperance should stay exactly where it is, I've been able to have a bit of home over here with me. May the Tuesday night bike ride sessions continue.</div>
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PS. Back home on a Tuesday night I would go with Glendon on a bike ride as a regular thing, over the last few years there has been hardly any riding. We mainly catch up and play our guitars and ukes, but we still call Tuesday night, Bike Ride Night.</div>
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Alana ripping out some nice chords! <br />
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Good Company, Good</div>
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food and a cheerful Red!</div>
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"And that's my b(p)osition on the matter"</div>Mike and Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570004635550526502noreply@blogger.com0