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This Article was written by Ilona Booth some years back |
BY AUSTIN 7 TO INNAMINCKA Page 4 Back to page3 Pressed on to Whitecliffs, over, I suspect, more time zones. Our plan to stay in an underground motel was foiled by economics, and the possibility of putting up our tents in the bare hard dirt in the top of the hill was foiled by a force 9 wind, so we retired to the local pub which had a huge fire in the taproom. Best thing we could have done to catch the local color, especially when they found we were going to spend another night there instead of blowing in and out. There are some characters here. Explored the place, both above and below, including a now obsolete solar power generating field of parabolic dishes. The wind progressed to a gale which blew dust under the doors and windows. WHITECLIFFS to MENINDIE. Camping at the lake, respoking wheels. Left next morning into the teeth of the gale and gathering storm clouds threatening rain, out onto one of the worst roads we'd been on. We were not due at the station at which we were to stay til the next day, and it would have been totally impossible to put up a tent in this wind, so called in to a place called Copi Hollow, a water ski place, where for the princely sum of $28 we were able to negotiate an off season 6 berth caravan with gas BBQ supplied, plus all the usual facilities. Much birdlife on the water. Explored the area and lunched next day at the historic Maiden's Pub, ( silver service, 2 courses for $6). This beaut old place dates back to Burke and Wills time - one of their stopping off places. They are currently refurbishing, tastefully, in keeping with its historic value, and have found thatch held by leather straps under the old roofing iron. After leaving the park we drove the 16 bone shattering miles to the Haythorpe Station. On the way Peter had the interesting experience of having one of his wheels pass him. Changed to Dennis' spare. Finally it was all worth while. The owners of the station - Margaret and Colin Bornholme made us very welcome. They even brought over a huge tarp to rig up to shelter us from the wind. Unfortunately none of us was strong enough to lift it, but luckily the wind dropped out that night and the next day was fine and warm. Lit the usual big fire and listened to the lake water lapping a few feet away from our tents. Woken by flocks of birds next morning, some pelicans sailed majestically over to check us out, and Colin drove over with a big bag of freshly picked oranges. Life was all right after all. Mixed some bread dough and left it to rise while we walked around the shores of the lake, baked it in the camp oven in the coals of the fire and ate it hot for lunch. There was a frenzied respoking of wheels continuing in the background for much of the day, but after lunch we walked over to the homestead for a guided tour of the workshops. The shearing sheds were 5 kms away so we gave that a miss, but the rest was most interesting and very efficiently run. They are almost self suffficient, growing their own fruit, vegetables and meat. Margaret offered us meat to barbeque, but we had already provisioned and had to eat it, Actually we pigged out, with three coks in the camp. Those of the non-culinary type skills occupied themselves in the respoking saga, the swapping of wheels from front to back or vice versa and generally tarting up in the wheels department. Bob has the last spare, though they can run on the respoked ones at a pinch. All the spare spokes they carried plus those remaining on Peter's broken wheel were used. The vintage wheels proved a little delicate for the roads which were a tad rougher than anticipated. After another day of blissful camping and more bread making (this time with sultanas) we called in to the homestead to pay our respects on the way out and headed off. MENINDIE to WENTWORTH On the way to Broken Hill Peter developed ignition problems which were solved by swapping batteries with Bob. Lunched hurriedly fueled up and lit out for Wentworth. Drove for hours, til after dark, which was totally nervewracking, given our lights and the constant fear of wildlife. Set up camp in the dark, made a meal and hit the sack. Did the tourist thing next day while we recovered - junk shops, museums, the scenic tour taking in the junction of the Darling and the Murray, the weir. Too cold to cook outdoors, so we walked down to the local club soon after dark to keep warm, a wise move. After a slap up meal, coffee and cake we didn't need, we went down to the desk to pick up our coats. The desk man could hardly bring himself to touch them, they were stiff with three weeks of campfire smoke and dust - we'd all but slept in them, and he'd put them separately from the others. On the way out we found a billiard table lurking wantonly, so Dennis gave us a lesson on hitting little balls before we left for our cold camp. Overnight Bob lay awake computing mileages, and at 5am got up and started packing. This was not Well Received. There was even a little mutinous grumbling to be heard, particularly since there was a frost and things were decidedly hard to pack. Got away about dawn with an estimated 10 hour drive ahead. Dennis had been having a little fuel problem, took off his clogged oil filter and all was well. Made excellent time on the bitumen, keeping down to 40/43mph for an average 45mpg arriving at Kyneton just on dark. Were treated to an excellent meal, a hot shower and a soft bed. Woke next morning to the sound of Jenny playing the host's grand piano. The camping bit was over. Things one remembers - the strolling emus in the main streets of Whitecliffs, wild horses sheltering from the wind under a clump of trees at Menindie, and the stillness of the desert. END Ilona Booth |
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