BURRA, CLARE & YORKE PENINSULA

If you've got to get stuck somewhere Burra is a pretty good option. It's an historical old town in the east of the Clare Valley (one of Australia's renown wine regions) and many of the buildings date back to the mid 1800's when copper mining began. While waiting from Saturday until Tuesday for RACV to arrange transport of my broken Jeep, caravan, James and myself to Clare where it could be fixed, I had plenty of time to look around. There were some great photo opportunities and, of course, pubs to visit.

Sunday afternoon after the music festival at the showground had ended, I walked a couple of hundred meters up the road to The Royal Exchange Hotel. A bloke on a guitar and harmonica was doing bush music. It was a good chance for a sing along.

That evening one of the festival performers, Cactus, did a little show beside his van for the campers who were still left. James used the opportunity to work the crowd. He has become quite adept at it.

After too and froing with RACV for the better part of Monday to arrange my shift to Clare, it became apparent by 6pm that it wasn't going to happen that day, so I took a short stroll to another nearby pub Bon Accord. I enjoyed the chat with the publican's wife and daughter, and the bubbles took the edge off my frustrations. 

Tuesday the truck arrived with my car already tied down on the tray. The young driver hitched the van behind, James and I climbed up into the cabin and we drove through the rolling hills to Clare, some 50 km away. As we approached the gold was replaced with green as agriculture made a shift from wheat to grapes. I could definitely feel a few wine tastings coming on.

The truck driver deposited the van on it's prepaid site (courtesy of RACV) at Clare Caravan Park, then gave me a lift to the repair shop where RACV had also arranged a hire car. After signing paperwork for the hire car, the lady in the office said that due to the late booking the only car left was a Mercedes. Wow, how did I mange to score that? I grabbed the keys with enthusiasm, but it was short lived as I laid eyes on the vehicle. It was a very OLD Mercedes!

The weather was heating up. It was well into the 30's on Tuesday and Wednesday had been classified a catastrophic fire warning day with temperatures of 42 degrees and 60 kmph winds expected. I ventured down the road in the old Merc to check out one of the closest wineries, Kirrihill. It was delightfully cool in the airconditioned tasting room and as the only person there I relaxed with a four glass wine tasting rack accompanied by some local produce for $5. The sales lady was chatty so I took my time and savored the conversation and wine. The Clare is renown for its it's fabulous Riesling, not a style I usually gravitate to, but I must say, the Kirrihill ones were yummy. Another winery would have been nice, but I figured I had already consumed enough to push me toward .05. However when I got back to the van and took James for a walk I discovered the Tourist Information Centre, which was adjacent to the caravan park, also did wine tastings. You beauty, I could have another round. Once again the Riesling was very good.

As expected, Wednesday was scary. I had been told at the Tourist Information Centre that they, most wineries, all schools and lots of businesses would close. Early afternoon I left James in the comfort of the airconditioned van to check the Clare Valley out before doing some shopping. It's a pretty place and does have a nice, fairly affluent feel about it. While at Flinders Ranges Sue and Gordon had spoken about Clare and a winery called Mad Bastard. Apparently the wine maker, Mark Barry, one of the many family members in the local wine industry, enjoyed being as rude as he could to stir up customers. I thought that could be fun so long as I was prepared. The sign at the start of the long, overgrown driveway said Open, so I ventured in. Unfortunately the Mad Bastard wasn't around, but his lovely partner was happy to show off his wines to myself and a young couple who arrived shortly after me. I must say I did enjoy his Pinot Gris/Riesling blend and the company.

Wednesday night was Roast, Roll & Gravy night at the camp kitchen for $7. I joined 20 or so others on long tables swapping tales over dinner, then one of the park staff put on a bush poetry session, some of which was funny. There was a young guy, Laurie, sitting beside me. He was traveling around Australia in a double decker bus, the lower half of which was a coffee shop. After the poetry Laurie entertained everyone with an amazing instrument I have never heard of called a Handpan. It's a sort of metal drum with holes in it that emits beautiful notes when struck with thumbs and fingers. It's really calming meditation type music. Next morning before I left, I took James over to the bus and bought a cappy. We sat in the bus with Laurie and he played with James and talked about his fundraising for charity through his coffee sales. I reckon I will come across him again in my travels and I will make sure I get a photo of him playing his Handpan.

We left Clare and headed northwest to Port Germein, a little town with a very long jetty not far from Port Pirie on the Spencer Gulf. My plan was to explore the Yorke Peninsula so I figured I'd start close to the top of the gulf and work my way south along the coastline then come back up up the eastern side of the peninsula. I'd booked at Baroota Campground through Youcamp paying $10 online before the Jeep broke down. I had already let Matt, the owner know of my delayed arrival. It was a strange place. The sites were scattered through the bush and as the only one there it felt a bit isolated, a feeling exacerbated by a sence of abandonment about the place. The only hint that the owners were actually around somewhere was the arrival at the van of a couple of friendly dogs. One night would be enough!

Next morning I drove the few kilometers into the township of Port Germein and James and I walked the jetty. It was a three km walk. A bloody long jetty! Two old blokes were out there having some luck catching Blue Swimmer Crabs. 

From there it was south through Port Pirie, Port Broughton, and the lovely town of Walleroo. It's a place that is clearly growing with lots of new, fairly upmarket housing but still retains that small seaside holiday village feel. The countryside as far as the eye can see is wheat crops and as I continued south through Moonta to The Gap Camping Ground which is where I planned to stay, harvesting was in full swing on many of the farms. 

The Gap is one of nineteen Yorke Peninsula Bush Camping Sites located at regular intervals along the entire coastline of the peninsula. They are all dog friendly, you can have campfires and some have a drop dunny. The council sells permits to use the sites for $10 per night or $50 per week. The permit is transferable between all sites.I bought a week's worth online and as The Gap was the first of the nineteen traveling anticlockwise around the peninsula it seemed the logical place to check out to start with. It was great. Nestled between a huge wheat paddock and sand dunes there was space for maybe a dozen camps at most. The only one there, I set up on an elevated spot that allowed me to view the coastline and sea above the dunes. The sunset was fantastic.

Over the course of the next few days James and I had a fantastic time doing lovely long beach walks and generally relaxing and enjoying the space. A few more campers moved in during the weekend and I noticed many drove past, continuing along the track that ran behind the dunes and formed part of the Walk The Yorke trail. The map showed two other camping areas a little further along so Saturday we went for a drive to see what they were like. The Bamboos was a couple of kilometres away but not as nice, in my opinion, as my spot. Another five kilometers along the narrow, corrugated track was Tiparra Rocks. That is lovely. There's very limited space along a wide ledge overlooking the sea and its very exposed to the elements, but stunning views.  A short distance further down the coast is the little seaside community of Balgowan. That would be a better option to access Tiparra Rocks, and while I was very tempted to relocate, the forecast of 60 km southwesterly winds over the coming days put me off. 

I decided Monday I would hitch up the van and check out the other sites, propping once again when I found one I liked - and maybe with a little more shelter from the wind.

MANNA HILL, FLINDERS RANGES & BURRA

After leaving Copi Hollow Monday I arrived at Broken Hill Caravan Repairs late morning expecting a costly fix for my water system. A malfunctioning mains water connection point on the side of the van fortunately the culprit, and I was able to replace it for next to nothing. I even fitted it myself! I refilled the empty water tanks, topped up on fuel and did a big grocery shop before jumping on the Barrier Hwy to cross into South Australia. As I hit the border a sign reminded me that I had to go through the quarantine station. Shit, shit, shit....I had just spent a small fortune on fruit and vegetables.

Manna Hill pub seemed like a good spot to overnight. It was only 153 km west and it was getting late in the day. I pulled up at the free camp beside the hotel, pleased to see another camper in. It was basically a ghost town. The pub was open but completely empty when I walked in and it looked pretty bloody grotty. Eventually a rather rude woman strolled in from across the road and gave me a mouthful for having James at her front door. So much for having a drink and a bar photo! The upshot, however, was that I did wander around and get some great pics.

MANNA HILL PUB gets a 2 rating from me. I didn't like the pub or publican, the grubby looking camping area is right on the Barrier Highway and very noisy, and it's a kinda spooky, desolate place. It does have bins and a toilet.

After a shitful night's sleep (mostly due to trucks thundering past) I made a coffee just after 5am, opened my big road atlas and looked at my options. I had it in mind to do the Country Music Festival at Burra in the Clare Valley on the weekend, but that was only a day's drive away. Where to go in the meantime? The Flinders Ranges, I discovered, were only a few hours away. Great idea...but it's a national park....no dogs. Out with WikiCamps and viola, Rawnsley Park Station to the rescue. We would continue on to Peterborough then head northwest to Orroro, then north to Hawker and on to the Flinders. A distance of 260km.

Between Manna Hill and Peterborough is a little place with the strange name of Oodla Wirra. There ain't much there bar a pub and a quarantine station. The inspector was a nice man. Very sympathetic as he rifled through my fridge and relieved me of six beautiful truss tomatoes, two avocados, cucumber, lemons, apples and three unopened packets of lovely plump blueberries. Bugger! I really wanted them. He did allow me to eat as many as I could on the spot (even though it was against the rules), and I was allowed to keep the leaves, beans, onions, spuds and pumpkin. Not as disastrous as it could have been, eh?

At Peterborough we stopped for a walk, a wee, a cappy and a chicken schnitzel wrap, then popped into the information centre to pick up some stuff on the Flinders Ranges. The lady applauded my choice of accommodation. Excellent! We had to stop again at Cradock cos there was a lonely country pub that clearly needed some love. It had the best dunny hand basin that I had ever seen (apparently made with a chainsaw from the old bar top) and of course, it's unaustralian not to have a drink!

Then another mandatory stop at Hawker to pay $18 for a two day pass into the national park, from where it was 35 km to Rawnsley Park Station. The drive towards the Flinders Ranges was an amazing visual spectacle. The jagged mountain range with its layers of color and texture in the mid afternoon light was awesome.

Narelle, the receptionist at the camping area was warm and welcoming, insisting, after collecting $45 for three nights on a bush site, on coming to the car to greet James and give him a treat. Most caravans in were on the flat powered sites, so I picked an elevated location facing Rawnsley Bluff that provided me with stunning views, an easterly perspective and was away from other campers so James could have some freedom. He was one happy puppy judging by his body language - legs stretched out in front and behind.

After getting myself sorted and unhitching, I took a drive through the massive unpowered camping area, coming across a lovely pile of firewood left behind especially for me by some thoughtful person. Thanks whoever you are! As the sun set I made a fire and watched the scenery change color, then, to my delight and awe, a full moon arose. Just beautiful!

Next day I began my exploration of the Ranges. First up Moralana Scenic Drive, one of the more spectacular drives that is best done east to west in the morning. It didn't disappoint, even though the track was very rough, often narrow, and windy. It also had some steep sections, which made for fun driving.

At the western end of the track I turned right onto the bitumen towards Parachilna, then left onto the rough Brachina Gorge track which mostly runs along the actual empty river bed of the gorge. The gorges of the Flinders Ranges display the 630 million year old geology of the area and have a very rich Aboriginal history (I got that from the brochure).

After an hour or so I arrived at the road back on the eastern side of the range, and headed north to the little town of Blinman. It's a quaint old copper mining town dating back to the 1860's, and, it has a pub. Yay! I ordered the famous Blinman Pie and washed it down with bubbles.

At Blinman I did a u turn toward home, stopping on the way at Hucks Lookout, one of the few places in the Flinders where phone reception is available. From there it was a short drive into Wilpena Pound. While it's a great camping area it doesn't take dogs, nor does it have the spectacular outlook of Rawnsley.

Back at camp I wandered over to the camp kitchen, the only place where I could use my phone and get internet. There I got into conversation with a couple, Gordon and Sue. We were all really concerned about the terrible fires that were out of control in multiple locations on the eastern seaboard, so we turned on the TV. Lots of properties and some lives had been lost. In my travels I'm a bit isolated from life's realities. I must say I do like that but feel very selfish. We agreed to meet at the Woolshed Restaurant (on Rawnsley Park Station) for happy hour at 5pm, which we did. It was fantastic. Delicious SA Pinot Gris, normally $12 a glass, only $5.50.

My plan for Thursday was to do a couple of lookouts, take the 26 km round trip drive into Sacred Gorge, then up to Blinman and across the Parachilna Gorge track to the Prairie Hotel, renown for its 'feral food' or 'roadkill' menu. The first part of the drive was great, and Sacred Gorge so interesting, especially the aboriginal art, though the track in was fucking horrendous.

It was early afternoon when I started the drive up Stokes Hill Lookout and I was really looking forward to my feral lunch, but bugger me if a tyre pressure warning light didn't come on. I checked the tyres and they seemed ok. When I got to the top and hopped out of the car to take photos, well, I had one very flat tyre. Shit, shit and more shit! So, in the back of the Jeep, on top of the spare tyre, I carry: a full 40 litre water container, a 130 litre box of firewood, a double solar panel, all my tools, the caravan jack and multiple bits and pieces. First, plug the pump from the water into the cigarette lighter and dump the water. Second, unload most of the wood and lift out the box, then pull everything else out. Half an hour later I get to the spare tyre, jack and other stuff you need to change a tyre. I know how to do this. Another half hour and despite my best efforts I could not get the nuts off the flat tyre. Thankfully I was high enough to have mobile connectivity, so called my top of the wozza roadside assist. It seemed I would have quite a wait. Next call to my personal survival advisor, Brian. "You need to put the wheelbrace on each nut at right angles to the ground and jump on it". Cool, I'm a 68 year old woman and I'm gunna break a leg. But...I did give it a go and bugger me if it didn't work! So to cut the story short, I changed the tyre, missed out on going to the Prairie pub, and spent another delightful happy hour at the Woolshed Pub from 5 till 6 with Sue and Gordon.

No spare meant no more unnecessary driving, particularly on rough tracks. Friday I packed up camp and set sail for Burra, some 260 km south. It was a lovely drive through rolling hills gold with, I'm guessing, some sort of fodder crops. I was amazed at how many wind farms there were. They towered over the minor country roads I was driving on, seemingly spooking James out a little.

At Burra I found a tyre dealer, Dan, who had a look at my flat tyre. It was rooted. Bugger! The only suitable new replacement he had in stock was a top of the range Bridgestone at $450. Fuck me! I asked if he had a second hand one that would fit, and after a bit of a search through his stock he found one that would. $45 balanced and fitted. You beauty. I left my wheel with him and said I'd be back in the morning minus the caravan.

The showground was just around the corner. I paid my $60 entry to the Burra Country Music Festival, along with $30 for three nights on an unpowered site and found a flat clearing beside the oval to set up on. There were lots of other vans already there, and stacks of really old farts, many with walkers and stuff like that. The Friday show started at 6 pm. The Twilight Zone played old style rock and roll music till 11. I only lasted an hour or so. It was not my cup of tea and it was freezing cold, so I listened from the van.

Saturday morning presented another little disaster. On the way to get the tyre the battery light came on in the Jeep, then the engine started racing, then a heap of warning lights all lit up. Bloody hell. I pulled up and turned the ignition off. When I tried a restart it failed. Shit! I called RACV (at least an hour's wait), then Dan who said he would come and fit the tyre where I was stranded. Next, I desperately needed a loo. I took off down the road where a lady was backing out of her driveway. "Are you ok?" she asked. "I'm looking for a toilet" said me. To my profound relief, she very kindly led me into her house and dunny. Another potential disaster avoided!

While waiting by the car with bonnet up and hazard lights on a local bloke pulled up. We discussed the problem and he reckoned it was a flat battery. I had a jump start pack, so after reading instructions in the Jeep manual (for the second time in the space of 48 hours) we tried a restart - but to no avail. George stayed with me until the rescue truck arrived from Clare with Steve. He checked the battery and sure enough it was dead as. Using jumper leads it eventually started, and between us (them really) the decision was made to get it around the corner to the local mechanical workshop. That required two lots of jump starting cos it konked out after a minute or two. Between starts Dan arrived with my new tyre and did a wheel change. Handy. I managed to make it to the mechanic only to find out he was so busy he couldn't even look at the problem for at least two weeks. He agreed it could stay in his yard until I worked out where to send it for repair. Back on the phone to RACV (Total Care) where they suggested I decide on a repairer within 100 km Monday and they would transport the Jeep, caravan, James and myself there, hopefully that same day.

James and I walked back to the showgrounds and enjoyed non-stop entertainment all afternoon and evening. Some of the performers were terrific, especially Drew McAlister, winner of four Golden Guitar awards, and Allan Caswell. He sounds (and looks) like Willy Nelson and is one of Australia's most recorded songwriters with the release of over 600 of his songs world wide. He also has won heaps of awards. Early evening I met another Roller, Claudine, and we spent the evening in each other's company.