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.
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