Apart from an unfortunate fish
and chip shop closure it was a rather perfect day to leave the comforts of
Canberra and return to this strangely tiring yet invigorating life on the road.
There was one final Manuka coffee to help cover off some familiar ground down
to the South Coast of NSW, and an obligatory stop at Batemans Bay before a far
better stop at Broulee. Ah, my first
ever South Coast beach and what a beauty on a day like this, a day Dad will
know all too well, when the sea is calm and clear and worthy of a dip. I
suspect it will only get colder from here.
Narooma was the first night stop and what a place to return to the
swag, the setting overlooking Surf Beach making the thought of sleeping in a
glorified (but very cosy) body bag all the more appealing. And while the fish
and chip shop by Wagonga Inlet decided its only period to close in the week is
a Wednesday evening, a consolation pizza and smoky red sun made amends.
The next few days retained mostly
fine weather and a slow meander down the coast, stopping at and passing through
both familiar and unfamiliar spots. There was the always very cute Central Tilba with its fine cheese and
delicious bakery. Mimosa Rocks National
Park offered a night stop by the water and Tathra Wharf a perky
coffee and cake the morning after. At Bournda
National Park there were lagoon crossings and sand hikes, a camp stop with
showers, followed by coffee beside the inlet down at Merimbula the next morning and long-awaited fish and chips and
other deep fried bits in Eden for
lunch. Road tripping is hungry work.
Things changed a little in Ben Boyd National Park, where there
were no conveniently close coffee shops, just blanket clouds and rugged,
windswept wilderness. A fine place to blow away cobwebs, cook on a campfire,
and wallow in the mint and lemony aromas of the trees. It is a far less fine
place when aforementioned blanket clouds turn to stormy squalls which soak the
night and persist into the next morning. Coastal walks become squelchy bogs,
silken swags become heavy sponges and dirt roads become mud baths.
Fortunately, the Subaru made it
through one particularly Glastonbury-like stretch of road (ironically the bit
that was being ‘worked on’) with just a few wobbles and moments of stickiness.
But it got through where a fair few hadn’t, with just a serious amount of mud
splattered to its name. It was pleasing to see tarmac back on the Princes
Highway and leave New South Wales.
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A new dawn, a new day, a new
state, and what a difference a day makes. Mallacoota
in sunshine is just the perfect antidote to muddy roads and soaked swags, with
a couple of nights in a cabin providing restitution and relief. Mallacoota
Inlet offered a fine morning in which to hire a bike and cycle just a little
part of its perimeter, soaking up the scene and ambience of a return to summer.
The other end of the day served up ocean waves and golden sands. Before, in
between and after the two there was probably some food and a nap. And that
would just about make for a great day.
Mallacoota is on the fringe of Croajingalong National Park, a still
rather wild and remote section of southeast Australia retaining a landscape and
environment untainted by everyone who visited since Captain Cook. Well, there
are a few man-made intrusions, such as a pleasingly good unsealed road to Wingan
Inlet, but much, such as dodgy track signage from Parks Victoria, is left
undisturbed.
Now firmly in Gippsland, it was a
case of zigzagging from coast to country in a gradual westerly direction
towards Melbourne. At Orbost the
famous Snowy River meanders ever closer to the sea and tourist information
provides a wealth of leaflets and maps of impending adventures. So much in fact
that you need to sit down and take stock of everything with a cup of coffee and
cream cake.
Victoria seems to be bathed in a
wealth of cosy towns with scrumptious bakeries, all potentially fatal to your
health and adding to the attraction of milling around in the country. Gradually
the towns and surrounding farmland give way to higher ridges and wild ranges to
the north, as they morph into the High Country. A stop at the very pleasant Buchan Caves teased at this prospect,
but we headed back south to the bustle of Bairnsdale
on a cloudy, slightly oppressive day, and a stop in a country cabin to see out
the promised overnight storm.
South of Bairnsdale the landscape
becomes flat and wet, with huge inlets and bodies of water making this the
lakes capital of Australia with the largest lake in the southern hemisphere or
some such. Between the lakes and sea a long narrow spit acts as barrier upon
which the endless sands of Ninety Mile
Beach nestle. As with all these things it probably isn’t ninety miles but
it is very, very long, and offers numerous free camping sites among its dunes
and scrub. So, being especially keen on free accommodation we stayed for two
nights, enjoyed countless ambles on the sand and footsteps into the water and
visited all three small and slightly bleak towns along the way. A final sunrise
was a splendid way to say goodbye and farewell the coast once more.
It felt like a significant
proportion of Ninety Mile Beach came along for the ride in the swag and shoes
and car. This made it all the more worthwhile to change again and head into the
High Country, swapping sticky sand and pesky flying bugs for the refreshing
surroundings of fern gullies and mountain ash. Heading up to Mount Baw Baw National Park, we embraced
a couple of high country walks which were pleasant enough if not anywhere near
the spectacular we had been spoilt with in New Zealand. I mean, there was a
giant mushroom-shaped rock, and misty forests and hazy views, but it was no Rob
Roy or Key Summit.
Still, the vastness of the high
country is always impressive, the way its ranges rise in endless folds to the
horizon and beyond. It’s a long walk to cross them and it is at the very
charming old gold rush village of Walhalla,
nestled in a hidden valley, where you can commence the Australian Alps Walking
Track. Six hundred and eighty kilometres all the way back to Canberra. If you
want to make this a loop trip, better start walking now. If you don’t, an
alternative is to head into the village and buy a generously proportioned ice
cream to enjoy on a Sunday afternoon.
The final corner of Gippsland
involved an appropriate combination of coast and high country, meandering down
towards Wilsons Promontory National Park. I say meandering in the sense of
heading in that general direction and getting slightly lost on the maze of
roads threading their way along and over the Strzelecki Ranges. It wasn’t such
a bad place to experience several unplanned detours, traversing part of the
Grand Ridge Road and entering a paradise of ferns and forest in Tarra Bulga National Park. Here too a rather charming campground by the
tinkling Tarra River and a chance to enjoy the cool freshness of the valley.
And so the next day we made it to
Wilsons Promontory National Park.
Here it is like a piece of east coast Tasmania reluctantly clings to the
mainland via a narrow arm of land, replete with rugged hills and rocky outcrops,
white sands and smooth granite boulders.
Being just a few hours from
Melbourne the park is well-equipped and accessible, offering a large campground
at Tidal River and many walking tracks along the coast and around the rugged
hinterland. There is a touch of civilisation amongst the wilderness, with
electric barbecues to enliven sausages and a shop in which to buy ice cream,
and hot showers to wash off the sand and dust and sweat of some good walks. It’s
a spot that would get busy at Easter, but just a few days before, Tidal River
retained a healthy dose of natural beauty and some peaceful serenity.
The final day here was a hot one,
with gusty, dry northerly winds to contend with, transporting smoky air
particles in the atmosphere and making shady walking tracks, such as the Lilly
Pilly Gully, of huge appeal. The coastal tracks and beaches also proved of some
relief, from squeaking the sand at Squeaky Beach to paddling through the
currents of Tidal River and out into the long, shallow stretch of Norman Bay.
By time the cool change kicked in
at around eight thirty in the evening, the light had faded and the wombats had
come out to play, rather amiably sharing the grass with the scattered tents and
trailers of the campsite. I’m sure they were as relieved as I, now comfortably sitting
in my folding camp chair and trying to pick out some photos to insert into some
obscure blog or something.
Leaving the wombats to munch it
was off to bed and a sealing off of Gippsland and, before that, the South Coast
of New South Wales. Closing the lid on my swag, a few drops of rain started to
hit, making for a squidgy rolling and packing up in the morning. But the timing
was good, for we were back off to civilisation, where there are roofs over
heads and normal beds. Showers and running water. Televisions and electric
kettles. Good coffee and more good coffee. The grand southern city of Melbourne
appearing for Easter weekend like a giant chocolate bunny of urbane cool and
sophistication, interspersed with mindless suburbia. Time to eat it up.
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