I was still at Red Rock Estate Vineyard come Sunday. I found it, and Dubbo a really top spot to prop. James loved that he was free to roam and interact with patrons in for tastings and meals. I reckon he would be the perfect pub dog. He clearly adores being the centre of attention.
The golf club, I had discovered, was running a 4 man Ambrose charity comp commencing at eleven. I had dropped in the previous day and, given I didn't have a team of my own, put myself down as an emergency. I rocked up with my clubs and waited, but bugger me if there was not a single drop-out of the full field. Not to worry, I would have a hit on the 9 hole course by myself. I arrived at the 19th. hole where two guys had just teed off. Would I like to go ahead or join them? That's a no-brainer - I'm going with them! Scott and Andrew were not locals. From Melbourne and the Gold Coast, they were working on a construction project for a few months. We got on really well and while my golf was predominantly shit, I had a really enjoyable time. At the end we had a few drinks and shared a late lunch.
Monday morning I felt rather industrious, so spent a couple of hours checking the eight tyre pressures, significantly increasing KPI in seven of them. My compact portable air compressor works surprisingly well, albeit slowly. I also fixed the upholstered board at the head of the bed. It had shaken loose. With water tanks refilled and windows washed James and I were given a very warm farewell from our hosts, Lin and Hilary, late morning. It was really sweet.
Our destination for the day was Mulga Creek Hotel, aka Byrock Pub. Northwest of Dubbo by 388 km, I had read good reviews. On arrival I popped into the bar and introduced myself to Rebecca. She had been in Australia since June and was working her 88 days in the outback to qualify for a visa extension. It was certainly a different space to her mother country, England. She was warm, bubbly and vivacious. She told me to drive around to the large area behind and park wherever, which I did before taking James back to the bar for some mandatory bubbles and photo.
It was a very quiet night at the pub, the previous evening having apparently been huge. Most likely the 14 strong town population were all nursing hangovers! As we departed next morning I made a short detour down the road beside the pub to visit the Byrock Rock Holes. A place of significance to the Ngemba Aboriginal people, the permanent water holes are worth seeing and there is lots of information at the site about the history surrounding them.
Bourke was just under an hour's drive north. I'd heard it was a bit of a rough place with little going for it so planned to spend a few hours there before going down to Cobar. I was surprised when I arrived to find it quite appealing, and after a walk along the very low though still picturesque Darling River followed by coffee and cake at the excellent restaurant by the historic wharf, I decided a stopover for the night was the way to go. Rebecca from the pub had suggested nearby Mt Oxley was worth a look, so I popped into the Information Centre to buy a $9 permit and get the gate code to enter the private property on which it sat. Apparently sunset was the best time to go, but I was warned the road in was pretty bad. l parked the van at the Mitchell Caravan Park in town and unhitched it. A few sites along, Chris and Anne-Marie were doing the same and we got chatting. That resulted in me inviting them to join me on the 65 km round trip. We agreed it would be best to get back before dark to avoid the dusk kangaroo danger.
With a couple of hours up my sleeve I did a tour of the town taking in the cemetery where the famous eye doctor, Fred Hollows was buried, the very dry golf course, the historic old bridge across the river and some of the beautifully preserved buildings.
At 4pm Chris and Anne-Marie jumped in my Jeep and we drove up the highway to pick up the dirt road into My Oxley. To say the road in was rough was an understatement! At times I was crawling along at little better than walking pace. We eventually arrived at the base of the mountain to find a steep, single car width of bitumen with a sheer drop off one side to get us to the top. I took it very slowly! When we got to the top it was stunning.
Mount Oxley (aboriginal name Oombi Oombi) is a tableland that dominates the surrounding flat plains. It seems to be covered in pieces of rock that have broken off from larger ones. We were able to reconstruct a boulder by slotting in surrounding chips. There is a strange phenomenon associated with My Oxley that was originally reported by early explorer Charles Sturt in 1829. Apparently around sunset after a very hot day you can sometimes hear booming sounds emanating from it. I wondered if it might be caused by exploding rocks. There are also some unexplained rock craters - maybe also from some sort of explosions. It was certainly an interesting place and had great views. I had taken a bottle of champagne to drink up top but decided to uncork it for the three of us to share once I had navigated my way back down the narrow road. It was almost dark by the time we got back to town where Chris and Anne-Marie cooked a great dinner for us and pulled out another bottle of bubbles.
Next morning I bid farewell to my new found friends and headed south to Cobar just 160 km away. I arrived before lunch and parked the car and van in a great free camp area adjacent to parkland right behind the main street and Cobar Memorial Services Club. It was very convenient. James and I wandered over to the shops where I was able to book a haircut in the afternoon. There were a few things to see around Cobar but given Brian was arriving the following day from Yarrawonga, I stayed put for the arvo so we could sightsee together in his car. He arrived mid morning Thursday having overnighted at Griffith, and we spent the afternoon visiting the Fort Bourke Lookout above the open cut gold mine, the Great Cobar Heritage Centre, the monument paying tribute to the copper miners, the airport and the Newey dam.
COBAR MEMORIAL SERVICES CLUB FREECAMP gets a 4. It is large enough to take maybe 16 vans all standing on bitumen. It's quiet, has toilets, parkland and kids playground. It's walking distance to shops and clubs.
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Wilcannia was our next stopover. It was 261 km west. We traveled in convoy, me leading and Brian behind in his BT 50. It was blowing a crosswind gale so I kept my speed well down. The Victory caravan park was just before town, and while a bit on the shabby side was cheap at $25 for a powered site and had new industrial washing machines that were free. Excellent. I threw in two loads which nearly blew off the clothes line in the wind. We went for a drive around the tiny township which, to be blunt, is largely a dump despite there being a couple of nice old buildings. We did have a lovely fire by the river when the wind eventually died down, however, so enjoyed our evening.
While my direction of travel was generally west, there was another little place I wanted to investigate. It was an hour north of Wilcania and, similar to Lightning Ridge, an opal mining town, albeit a far smaller place. Set amid piles of mullock heaps, the locality's most upmarket establishment by a long shot was the Underground Motel, Restaurant & Bar. After depositing my wheels at the only caravan park, we took the rutted track through the opal fields to check it out. We arrived at the same time as a lady traveling solo in a motorhome did, got chatting, and all three of us were invited to do a tour of the motel. It was nice, clean, well appointed and very different - but not a place I would like to stay. No phone coverage, no ensuite facilities (and a bloody long and windy walk to the bathrooms), no tv and obviously no natural light. It wasn't claustrophobic - just unappealing.
Kaye, the motorhome lady and I shared some information about where we'd been, where we were going to and good places to stay. As it turned out we were both planning to head across the Nullarbor to WA early in 2020. We friended each other on Facebook and agreed to stay in touch. Perhaps we would end up doing some travel together. Brian and I continued our tour of White Cliffs for the next couple of hours - the general store, golf course, fossicking areas, mining leases and locals.
Later that afternoon a dust storm rolled in followed by thunderstorms which confined us to the van for a few hours. It was fantastic for the countryside to get some rain at last. Fingers crossed the coming months bring more to the parched land. When the rain stopped we headed to the town pub just down the street. Saturday evening would no doubt bring a few of the locals out, most likely making for an interesting evening. Brian and I were not disappointed. By 6pm the bar had filled up and we were well entertained for a couple of hours.
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