Normanton to Cloncurry

It’s Sunday again (I think). Funny how everyday on the road sort of becomes just another 24 hours. To the point where, my beloved, who as most will no, fairly well organised, in that she knew what was happening from day to day and hour to hour, weeks in advance, now when you ask what day is it? “I don’t know”, comes the reply. Where is your phone? “I don’t know”. That’s right the woman who had to have the phone and diary prised from her hip in years gone by has turned into the not so typical trailer bum. Not so typical because we aren’t as before stated, A Grey Nomad. We don’t have to be in bed by 7pm and on the road by 6am to make it to that all important next camp spot 100km up the road. We don’t have a battery drill to wind our caravan legs down of a night time (still do it by hand, unlike another traveller who won’t be named but is travelling with us for the next 6 months or so). We don’t have the smoke alarm (which they have owned for the past six years), going off in the wee hours of the morning as you make toast. Or have to pee in a bucket because heaven’s above you should actually use the toilet that you paid money to have installed in your van in the first place. And don’t use the gas for the fridge, just run your batteries to the bottom then whinge that they don’t last long enough. Not to mention the parking of our dwellings on wheels when they actually arrive at the free camps. This has become known as the park by touch derby, where we pull in and are unpacked having a beer about five minutes after stopping. Not to get setup, but to pull out the chairs and watch the procession of G.N’s trying to reverse their vans into a space the Queen Mary could fit into while yelling out the window “ Which do I go Marge, my left or your left?” Followed by the inevitable ding dong because, “You silly old bastard why don’t you listen to me?” Just know a G.N with a 14ft caravan has taken eight attempts to put his van in beside us. I don’t want to get old!!!!!
Anyway, we went back to Karumba on Monday to take a charter to catch some of these great Gulf pelagic (look it up) we’ve heard about. First mistake - believing the brochure. Second mistake - believing the locals. Hopped onto the boat and set out about 7am. Travelled half an hour, which is basically 2km’s out of the harbour and up the coast, where the anchor was dropped and “this is it!” we were told. Okay, maybe we have to catch bait first. Nope! So we all drop our lines a total of six feet into what was supposed to be deep water for the area. “If we catch a bream someone is going to get gutted”, was the general opinion. Luckily for the skipper he put us on a school of salmon, so all had a good time and came away with a considerable feed of fish. Of course they decided to spend ¾ hour, of our time, pulling up half a dozen crab pots and then didn’t offer anyone, any of the catch. Oh yeah I forgot, the dust I thought I had in my eye turned out to be a bit of steel that had lodged itself in my iris and been slowly pushed further in with the rubbing over the past 24 hours, after Jules assured me “There is nothing in it, you are just being paranoid”. It’s a sort of love, hate relationship we have at times. So off to the local hospital in Normanton, but its me this time not Jack. (haha)
The next day we made our way down the Burke Development Road to the Burke and Wills roadhouse then into Gregory. A town consisting of a pub, Caravan Park, council depot and a school. And of course a free camp. You use to camp beside the river, but now there are signs up everywhere not to this or face a fine. Of course as most of G.N’s think they own everywhere they pull in, several said “Get Stuffed, we will park wherever we feel like!” The next morning, a huge outcry could be heard coming from the creek as seven southerners opened there van doors to find taped to them a fine for infringement of camping signs, $200. Suck @#%$, ar@#&*%$! We dumped the vans at the caravan park for the royal sum of $5 and made our way out to Lawn Hill which Jules has been talking about for ages. More single lane highways and mining road trains, the occasional pothole and kangaroo as we pulled into Adel’s’ Grove. What a let down. $16 per person per night on an unpowered, camp site. Bite your bum! $ 8.00 for a hamburger, $30.00 for a two course meal of salad and lamb shanks, $5.50/loaf of bread and $1.80/lt for fuel. So we didn’t stay and instead made our way out the Lawn Hill National Park. Pull in, set up the tent, “Let’s go pay the ranger”. Ranger’s office shut. They don’t except money anymore, you have to pay at Adel’s Grove. “Nice if some #@$%#^&* had a put up a sign or changed the brochures we picked up at the information centre last week. So dad does the journey back to pay our $30 for six and get our permit to display on the tent. Let’s find some firewood while he is away. “Look there’s a sign. NO FIRES ALLOWED”. “See they do have some signs dad, and look no generators either”. At this point I can understand why Homer Simpson strangles his son so much. “At least his reading has improved”. A sandwich and a beer later and all are feeling on a calmer plain again. Time for a bushwalk. Head down what Used to be a path until we reach what Used to be a bridge. Some passer bys say, “Keeping heading down the path and there is a couple of logs across the creek that you can cross”. So we walk down the path and come to a washout with a jumble of logs going in various directions in a roundabout fashion over the creek. “This should be good!” I walk over the logs and wait on the other side with camera in hand, you know, just in case. After much scrambling and cursing all made it to the other side and carried on with the walk with the knowledge they would have to do it all over again on the way back. Still it was worth the walk as the swim in the gorge when we got back was great. Freshwater crocs and all. Twenty degree water and not a care in the world. After a cool night (5 degrees) we went down to the river and hired canoes for the hour paddle up to the falls and back. We hired two, three man canoes and made our way up the gorge almost like professionals. Well almost. Imagine a canoe with Dad, Mum and Tayla all paddling in different directions and constantly trying not to overturn what was really very stable vessels. Basically, not a lot of wildlife was spotted on our way up the passage, what with the occasional “Bloody hell Tayla”, “Don’t rock the boat David”, and “Bite your bum Narelle”. Still we made it up and on the way back they actually left us for dead. This may be because I spotted two crocs in amongst the reeds and wasn’t believed until photos were shown. Amazing what some people use as an incentive.
We left Lawn Hill via what I like to call a slight detour. Down to Riversleigh (a fossil site) and out onto the Camooweal road back to Gregory. Not that bad except for the river crossings and dirt track. All in good fun. Next we headed back out to Burke and Wills where we got to try out our brakes for the first time. Passing a herd a Brahmans, one little poddy calf decided he wanted to change direction and missed becoming a hood ornament by about three inches. Brakes do work, as Mum called up a few minutes later (following a couple of kilometres behind) asking if we had seen the big skid marks on the road back there. “No, we didn’t see them”, stutters a white faced Jules.
Pulled into Cloncurry yesterday and did some work for Ergon so we could stay beside their depot for free. The people here still have the largest frowns and death looks on their faces, then anywhere we have been thus far. Tomorrow we head for Mt Isa for about a week, to do repairs to our vehicles before heading into the Northern Territory at last. YEAHHHHH.
Hope all are going well and are thinking of those that are struggling at the moment. Love hearing from those that write on email or the blog. The map and photos are working through the link now. Talk to you when we are in service next
Love
The Wattevas