Forsayth to Normanton

Forsayth to Normanton
Here we are another Sunday and time to report in. When we last spoke we were at Forsayth staying in a little caravan park with plenty of other grey nomads (GN’s). We did a day run out to Cobold Gorge across what is gazetted as a main road, but as everyone finds out up here, that doesn’t mean you should take a car on it. Jules thought she was back at the gulf (bloody corrugations). After an hour over a forty km stretch of road we pulled into Cobold Gorge which is a couple of buildings built on a cattle station. They load you into what is know as ugly (an old Toyota converted into an off-road bus) and drive you down over their croc infested river and into an amazing landscape. We climbed a range, past old aboriginal camps and the occasional snake, to pear over an edge into a hundred foot drop to the bottom of the gorge, where you see the inviting water with a stinking big croc sitting in the middle of the waterway. So it’s back over the range and into a flat bottom boat with an electric motor on both ends so we can take a tour up the gorge we were just looking in. That’s right, the one with the croc in the middle of it. Jules is real impressed about the thought of this. Still we toured through the gorge which shrinks back to about the width of the boat in places, but is well worth the trip for the quietness and serenity (believe it or not Tayla & Jack never made a noise that’s right they were silent, wonders will never cease). Plus the shear cliffs and nature swimming through the waters are a must see. Back to the lodge for a steak burger and a trip back to the park.
The following day we packed up (as Harry was taking a spot and didn’t want to cause any troubles with the GN’s) and pulled into Georgetown. We had no sooner pulled up when we were called up by the Highway Hilton (Alan and Linda from Ravenshoe) time for a cupper. They moved on and we went for a fossick around town to see if we could scratch up a fortune (gold). We found plenty of cans, bullets, nails and five cents, but no fortune, Bugger. Did a day’s work for Ergon then it was off to Croydon. Dad had to work, so we spent the day out at the Dam, fishing, swimming and killing time. Seem to be doing plenty of this lately. Killing time waiting that is. We moved up the road to a freebie for the night outside an old train station with plenty of toilets, that didn’t work, which doesn’t seem to have stopped people in the past from filling them to the brim. Shortly after a car pulls up with a 6’ foot Dutch girl and weedy little pom. Jack decided to saddle himself up with her and teach her how to use her newly acquired whip (smooth operator my son).
Next day we pulled into Normanton and found ourselves parking in the caravan park opposite the infamous Purple Pub. Changed a bit from the last time I was here. It now has full height walls and the local (indigenous people) don’t pee where they are standing anymore. A little decorum has come to town. We’ve come here at a busy time, there is a Rodeo on, plus a Jimkana and the Normanton Show, which means the town, has swelled with outsiders. First night found the local tribe finish up about four a.m. in the park which just happens to be directly behind where we are staying. Thank god for air con to drum out the noise a little. The show took about half an hour to go around, so we moved onto the rodeo which chewed up a bit of time while we waited for dad to work for Ergon again. See a pattern yet.
Anyway the next day we toured out to Karumba for a look around and to check out the accommodation. Banana prawns for $10/kg meant the guys had plenty for lunch and I had some bait. Seems unless you are Victorian you aren’t welcome in any of the parks so basically the people skills came into use and we made our way back to Normanton. We took Jack back to the rodeo to see the broncs, bulls and the drunken skanks that seem to inhabit every town you visit. Jules had a chat to a teacher from Brisbane who has been teaching here for 18 months (is she nuts?) And mum was found sitting in the grandstand chatting up a young cowboy that called himself chook.
Tomorrow, depending on the weather we are going on a charter 12 miles out into the ocean to get amongst some Gulf monster fish. Here’s hoping the wind dies down.
Sorry there wasn’t a lot of laughs in this weeks story but it just wasn’t one of those weeks. More accidents then funny anecdotes. I’m scratching the crap out myself at the moment thanks to the infestation of ?&%^$$# meat ants that seem to have taken a liking to my feet alone, plus I got some bulldust in one eye yesterday and it feels like there is sandpaper rubbing over the front of it. Dad decided he would try amputating a finger while sharpening knives again, and then today while showing Jack how not to handle a catfish he of course ended up doing what he was showing Jack not to do “those spines really are sharp aren’t they poppy. Does it really hurt poppy?” A couple of hours later the throbbing has stopped but now he has no feeling in one hand. It seems Jack can escape the occasional week without injury, amazing.
Still that’s camping.
Cya
The Wattevas