Covid-19 (aka Corona Virus) now rules the world - for the time being at least. So much is changing so fast! Every day the global panic is accelerating and the Australian government has now placed certain bans on non-essential gatherings among other things. Countries across around the world are closing their borders and confining their citizens to their homes. Global share markets are crashing. The RBA have cut interest rates and economic stimulus/survival packages have been announced by leaders all round the world to try and prop up economies, businesses and individuals. It's all so surreal....and scary.
I'm thinking I'm in a better position than most. I operate pretty much solo anyway, so placing myself in virtual self isolation is relatively easy. I have stocked the van with non-perishable essentials, lots of dog food, enough toilet paper and sufficient cask wine. As I sit in my van on a beautiful, fairly remote beach on the Eyre Peninsula in South Australia, I feel safe.
When I left Whyalla l made sure to top up my fuel tank (95 litres), my water (200 litres) and my gas (18 kg). The beaches on the Eyre Peninsula are renown for their beauty, so I made my way south along the coast to check them out. Cowell, just 106 km down the Lincoln Highway was my first stop. Arriving early afternoon I pulled over to photograph the local silo art, then did a brief recce of the town in the car before settling into a posse at the local RV Park. I left the van hitched as I was only overnighting to sit out forecast gale force winds. I figured it would be more sheltered on Franklin Harbour, which is where Cowell is located, than right on the open beach front a little further south. There were quite a lot of vans already in the park - mostly fishermen as there were lots of tinnies too!
With antibiotics kicking in and James well on the way to recovery from his bout of gastro, we headed back into town on foot to explore more thoroughly. Not surprisingly we came across the pub. Ah well....guess we have to follow protocol!
The main street of the popular fishing village is rather pretty with magnificent old buildings dating back to the 1800's. At the end of the street is a long jetty and boat ramp that services the needs of the many keen fishermen who travel from far and wide. Apparently it's one of the best fishing and crabbing spots in SA.
The surrounding area, however, is pretty bland and flat, the RV Park included. The view across the stubbly, low vegetation to the bay was less than spectacular. And the March flies are the size of bombers!
By early evening the wind was howling so I hunkered down in the van and cooked myself a yummy dinner.
COWELL RV PARK doesn't offer much. There's space for maybe 30 vans closely spaced on flat gravel. The only amenities are a tap for drinking water, a fire pit, a book swap cabinet and an undercover seating area. You need to put $5 per day in an envelope in a box nearby. You wouldn't stay more than one night unless you fished. My rating - 2.5.
About 20km south of Cowell there are multiple small beachfront camps that can be accessed from a gravel track that runs along the coastline, ending at Port Gibbon. I drove slowly, checking out a couple of options before deciding on Port Gibbon Beach Camp 2. As the only camper there, l positioned the van in the best spot right on the edge of the beach. OMG - it was stunning! The views, the water, sand, sunshine and privacy were perfect. As soon as l was set up James and I hit the beach and had a swim. It was perfect!
Next afternoon we went exploring the tiny settlement of Port Gibbon and some of the nearby coastal attractions.
By late Tuesday, however, I was starting to realize there were imperfections in my utopia. Four in fact. Wind, flies, sandflies and March flies. Bugger! Late each day and sometimes night l thought the van was going to blow over, and going onto the beach was not an option due to the sandblasting effect. It was an ongoing job keeping surfaces inside the van free of airborne grit and there was no way I could be outside without a fly net. The attack from flies and March flies was relentless. But the real joy killer was that when I woke up Wednesday, I was going insane with dozens and dozens of midge bites on every piece of flesh, exposed or not!
My plan had been to continue south along the coastline slowly while I waited for Karen from Melbourne to join me. From the Eyre Peninsula we were heading to WA in convoy, with another Roller, Anna, coming along in her motorhome. Given, however, Karen wanted to meet at Port Lincoln just 145 km away and wasn't due to catch up with me for a week, l decided to head a little inland to the township of Cleve, not only to claim respite from the deadly four but also get to a chemist for some midge bite relief beyond a dab of boiling water on each bite.
By the time I had hooked up Wednesday afternoon in 40 degree heat, buzzing flies and a howling gale, I was possibly suffering from a bit of heat exhaustion and more than a little over it! My online research that morning had been somewhat disturbing. Covid-19 was starting to get VFR (very fucking real). There were rapidly increasing infection and death rates globally and in Australian resulting in even tougher restrictions on travel, panic buying from supermarkets (particularly toilet paper of all things!) and the likelihood of recession not far away. It was all starting to make me feel more than a tad uncomfortable about heading in the opposite direction to home by a further 2300 kilometers. I needed to do some thinking and perhaps 'phone a friend' or two to bounce some ideas around.
It was an easy drive to Cleve RV Park taking less than an hour. It's a typical little country town - friendly people, clean, all the services you need - and a pub! In normal circumstances I would have been in like Flynn, but the growing advice from health authorities to keep away from others, particularly for oldies like me, had me spooked. A trip to the chemist yielded a tube of cortisone cream which I slathered all over myself before settling down with a glass of wine in the van to explore my travel options.
CLEVE RV PARK scores a 4. It's right in town so has all the services as well as water hook up, toilets, showers and bins. Sites are flat offering shade and plenty of space. It's quiet. I didn't bother to tether James so he was very relaxed. I would happily stay there for a few days and explore the area. Cost is a $10 donation into the box on the amenities wall.
By Thursday morning following updated Covid-19 advice along with multiple conversations with family and friends, I decided to do an about face. I came to the conclusion that my best option was to head northeast some 2200 km to Canungra in southern Queensland where my daughter lives on acreage. My rationale was that in the event of internal border closures l would be in a warm climate for the winter, still in my van with the option to travel around Queensland and, in worse case scenario, close to family in the event of a lockdown (as was happening globally), or illness.
So that morning I headed west, stopping at Kimba to get some more silo art photos before pulling into the Peterborough RV Park to overnight.
PETERBOROUGH RV PARK is a safe, quiet, flat, expansive, free overnighter. It's close to town so has mobile and TV reception. There is shade around the outside perimeter of the disused sports field. There are no amenities bar bins. I give it a 3.
I continued west Friday, crossing the border into NSW late afternoon and arriving at Broken Hill Racecourse RV Park around 5pm. I wanted to stay hitched and was fortunate enough to snag the last site, albeit unpowered and on dirt. Fine by me!
The sunrise next morning was stunning!
After a restless night (the norm for me since Pete's death a month before), filling up with diesel ($129.9 ltr - bargain), and a $120 grocery shop, it was 10.30 before I was heading along the flat, rather barren Barrier Hwy. With weariness kicking in some 230 km later when approaching Wilcannia, l decided to see if the caravan park by the Darling river held any appeal....and indeed it did! Wilcannia is not the nicest or safest place in the world (all the buildings are shuttered), but the tiny, basic park looked lovely after a recent drop of rain and there were several other vans already in, so it felt safe. I backed onto a site (quite expertly now I must say!) and had a relaxing glass of wine followed by a much needed nanna nap. Nice!
I'm thinking I'm in a better position than most. I operate pretty much solo anyway, so placing myself in virtual self isolation is relatively easy. I have stocked the van with non-perishable essentials, lots of dog food, enough toilet paper and sufficient cask wine. As I sit in my van on a beautiful, fairly remote beach on the Eyre Peninsula in South Australia, I feel safe.
When I left Whyalla l made sure to top up my fuel tank (95 litres), my water (200 litres) and my gas (18 kg). The beaches on the Eyre Peninsula are renown for their beauty, so I made my way south along the coast to check them out. Cowell, just 106 km down the Lincoln Highway was my first stop. Arriving early afternoon I pulled over to photograph the local silo art, then did a brief recce of the town in the car before settling into a posse at the local RV Park. I left the van hitched as I was only overnighting to sit out forecast gale force winds. I figured it would be more sheltered on Franklin Harbour, which is where Cowell is located, than right on the open beach front a little further south. There were quite a lot of vans already in the park - mostly fishermen as there were lots of tinnies too!
With antibiotics kicking in and James well on the way to recovery from his bout of gastro, we headed back into town on foot to explore more thoroughly. Not surprisingly we came across the pub. Ah well....guess we have to follow protocol!
The main street of the popular fishing village is rather pretty with magnificent old buildings dating back to the 1800's. At the end of the street is a long jetty and boat ramp that services the needs of the many keen fishermen who travel from far and wide. Apparently it's one of the best fishing and crabbing spots in SA.
The surrounding area, however, is pretty bland and flat, the RV Park included. The view across the stubbly, low vegetation to the bay was less than spectacular. And the March flies are the size of bombers!
By early evening the wind was howling so I hunkered down in the van and cooked myself a yummy dinner.
COWELL RV PARK doesn't offer much. There's space for maybe 30 vans closely spaced on flat gravel. The only amenities are a tap for drinking water, a fire pit, a book swap cabinet and an undercover seating area. You need to put $5 per day in an envelope in a box nearby. You wouldn't stay more than one night unless you fished. My rating - 2.5.
Next afternoon we went exploring the tiny settlement of Port Gibbon and some of the nearby coastal attractions.
By late Tuesday, however, I was starting to realize there were imperfections in my utopia. Four in fact. Wind, flies, sandflies and March flies. Bugger! Late each day and sometimes night l thought the van was going to blow over, and going onto the beach was not an option due to the sandblasting effect. It was an ongoing job keeping surfaces inside the van free of airborne grit and there was no way I could be outside without a fly net. The attack from flies and March flies was relentless. But the real joy killer was that when I woke up Wednesday, I was going insane with dozens and dozens of midge bites on every piece of flesh, exposed or not!
My plan had been to continue south along the coastline slowly while I waited for Karen from Melbourne to join me. From the Eyre Peninsula we were heading to WA in convoy, with another Roller, Anna, coming along in her motorhome. Given, however, Karen wanted to meet at Port Lincoln just 145 km away and wasn't due to catch up with me for a week, l decided to head a little inland to the township of Cleve, not only to claim respite from the deadly four but also get to a chemist for some midge bite relief beyond a dab of boiling water on each bite.
By the time I had hooked up Wednesday afternoon in 40 degree heat, buzzing flies and a howling gale, I was possibly suffering from a bit of heat exhaustion and more than a little over it! My online research that morning had been somewhat disturbing. Covid-19 was starting to get VFR (very fucking real). There were rapidly increasing infection and death rates globally and in Australian resulting in even tougher restrictions on travel, panic buying from supermarkets (particularly toilet paper of all things!) and the likelihood of recession not far away. It was all starting to make me feel more than a tad uncomfortable about heading in the opposite direction to home by a further 2300 kilometers. I needed to do some thinking and perhaps 'phone a friend' or two to bounce some ideas around.
It was an easy drive to Cleve RV Park taking less than an hour. It's a typical little country town - friendly people, clean, all the services you need - and a pub! In normal circumstances I would have been in like Flynn, but the growing advice from health authorities to keep away from others, particularly for oldies like me, had me spooked. A trip to the chemist yielded a tube of cortisone cream which I slathered all over myself before settling down with a glass of wine in the van to explore my travel options.
CLEVE RV PARK scores a 4. It's right in town so has all the services as well as water hook up, toilets, showers and bins. Sites are flat offering shade and plenty of space. It's quiet. I didn't bother to tether James so he was very relaxed. I would happily stay there for a few days and explore the area. Cost is a $10 donation into the box on the amenities wall.
By Thursday morning following updated Covid-19 advice along with multiple conversations with family and friends, I decided to do an about face. I came to the conclusion that my best option was to head northeast some 2200 km to Canungra in southern Queensland where my daughter lives on acreage. My rationale was that in the event of internal border closures l would be in a warm climate for the winter, still in my van with the option to travel around Queensland and, in worse case scenario, close to family in the event of a lockdown (as was happening globally), or illness.
So that morning I headed west, stopping at Kimba to get some more silo art photos before pulling into the Peterborough RV Park to overnight.
PETERBOROUGH RV PARK is a safe, quiet, flat, expansive, free overnighter. It's close to town so has mobile and TV reception. There is shade around the outside perimeter of the disused sports field. There are no amenities bar bins. I give it a 3.
I continued west Friday, crossing the border into NSW late afternoon and arriving at Broken Hill Racecourse RV Park around 5pm. I wanted to stay hitched and was fortunate enough to snag the last site, albeit unpowered and on dirt. Fine by me!
The sunrise next morning was stunning!
After a restless night (the norm for me since Pete's death a month before), filling up with diesel ($129.9 ltr - bargain), and a $120 grocery shop, it was 10.30 before I was heading along the flat, rather barren Barrier Hwy. With weariness kicking in some 230 km later when approaching Wilcannia, l decided to see if the caravan park by the Darling river held any appeal....and indeed it did! Wilcannia is not the nicest or safest place in the world (all the buildings are shuttered), but the tiny, basic park looked lovely after a recent drop of rain and there were several other vans already in, so it felt safe. I backed onto a site (quite expertly now I must say!) and had a relaxing glass of wine followed by a much needed nanna nap. Nice!
