Fit for Princes: Canberra to Melbourne

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.

A good Australian century

Initially it was somewhat disorientating to return to a home and a room and an en suite bathroom and have lots of belongings and camp components scattered about the place. Where did I put my pants? Where’s my toothbrush? Where’s the bag with the flammable gas? But, in four very beautiful and captivating days it did not take so long to feel at home. There were chores – such as fixing the car windscreen, laundry and more laundry, shopping and banking. But then there were some others, such as visiting Brodburger, Koko Black, Mee’s Sushi, Ona Coffee, walking up Red Hill, dipping in the pool, picnicking in the park and celebrating the 100^th birthday of Canberra. All of which were very much less annoying.

I arrived back on Saturday and the last night of Enlighten, where some of the capital’s landmarks turn projector screen and receive various illuminations of light and pattern. Proving everyone in Canberra likes a freebie, the place was busy, but as is the way with Canberra there is always enough space for everybody. And it was satisfying to see so many people out, on a pleasingly warm night, to support the event.

 

The weekend continued apace with a barbecue and pool party in Forrest before a lovely Canberra birthday bash. A sedate, lazy public holiday Monday afternoon picnic with friends under one of the many leafy trees in one of the many leafy parks suggested little of the bustle and buzz further around Lake Burley Griffin. Here, most of Canberra and many visitors were in harmony, soaking up the sun, the music, the art, the ice cream, the games, the alcohol, the humanity and the heart and soul of the nation. Surely what has been built, designed and evolved from a dusty sheep paddock into a place where people live and mostly thrive is a fine cause for celebration, something of which all Australians can be proud? And if not, well I think that says more for the inherent unsophisticated whininess of some Australians rather than the actual state of the capital city. And, with plenty of BYO fun and partying on the inside, it’s getting better every day.

 

One thing that all Australians can agree on is a common obsession with fireworks. In Sydney they have fireworks for the drawing of a meat raffle, or to celebrate the purchase of a fifth Range Rover in which to transport Felicity and Barrington the five hundred metres it takes to get to their expensive private school. In Canberra it’s a bit more refined, and a rather arty (some would say slow) build up, was swept away in an all out explosion on the senses. I wasn’t so sure there would be much of Canberra left after the finale, but the bridges held and thousands of people dutifully filed across them to sit and wait in their cars in a very orderly and civilised fashion.

 

Forgetting the bombast of a centenary, beneath it all was a beautiful amphitheatre surrounding a sculpted lake that is there every day of the week. For me what makes Canberra is its environment, sitting amongst, rather than against the landscape, living and breathing and thriving in the bush. I am in love with it every time I park off Mugga Way and push steadily upwards, disturbing Eastern Rosellas from the grass and generating a dart of colour; raising the heads of the kangaroos grazing in the hollows as I tread; listening to a pair of Crimson Rosellas chirruping across majestic white gum trees; marvelling at the punky yellow hair of the Cockatoos as they mess around; passing others who smile and always say hello; and gazing at the vista from the top of the amphitheatre. I leave a little of my heart on Red Hill, and will just have to make sure I go visit it again someday.

 

Bourke and back

It was hardly an auspicious start to a meander through inland New South Wales: a cloak of incessant rainfall that so often forms across the coast, penetrating into the inland hills and tablelands, and turning the state into one soggy mattress. Loading up the Subaru in Sydney would have been a challenge without the addition of squally downpours, but swags were packed along with other necessary and probably actually not that really necessary in the end bits and pieces, and the car was pointed west and accelerator floored; briefly, before braking and creeping and braking and gradually leaving Sydney and its traffic behind in a fuzz of drizzle.

The first stop was hardly auspicious either, but a Big Mac and Honeycomb milkshake was welcoming and comforting and ideal to see us through the laborious grind across the Blue Mountains and, eventually, onto Dubbo. Where the rain had mostly abated but a night in a cabin was sensible and comfortable and essential to break us in gently.

The next day promised more, seemingly escaping the moisture with each mile further inland, the farmland and wheat fields diminishing as red earth and scrub takes over. At Cobar an opportune stop for some lunch and a view over the flat expanse, pitted only with low shrubs and deep mines. Then, finally, a foray into outback proper...Back O’Bourke, and the road into Gundabooka National Park.

 

This was a fit and proper place to break out the swags and pitch them in their natural habitat, down on the red earth, avoiding the traps of ants, and other potential night life. A time to enjoy chilli tacos and the swaying breeze on the trees; a wind that gathers pace overnight and scatters a peppering of rain. It turns out even here we are not protected. But the swags hold up and pass their first test with very little discomfort.

It also turns out that Sunday is not the liveliest of days to pass through outback towns. The major centre, the town of any note – Bourke – was shuttered and forlorn, a long way from the bustling metropolis I was naively expecting. Still, at least the local IGA was open and provided a chance to make some home-sizzled bacon sandwiches. This was a highlight as we clocked up the miles heading back east, where the weather was improving but towns remained shut. The landscape softened too, through river plains and wheat fields and, upon approaching the relative bustle of Narrabri, lush green grass and verdant trees sitting in the waters of recent rains.

Narrabri was base camp for a change of mood and scene the next day heading into Mount Kaputar National Park. We probably wouldn’t have come to this place if the Warrumbungles had not been devastated by a large bushfire this summer. And that would have been a shame, for Mount Kaputar possesses plenty of volcanic mountainous terrain and pristine bushland. It has lookouts and walks, both of which I like very much. There was warm sunshine, which I also like. And the bonus came from national park campgrounds with shower facilities, flush toilets and barbeques all for $5 each a night.

 

And I can confirm the barbeques worked a treat, the flush toilets flushed, and the showers stayed hot. One minor downside was large ants milling around here and there, one of whom decided to hang around my sandals as I put them on and cause me a fleeting minute of pain and a tirade of profanities. Alas, the socks and sandals look might have to become a necessary feature as I approach middle age.

After another night where the wind sounds stronger from the inside of a swag than it probably actually is, it was time to head back down the mountain and south through the sunny green world of New England.  It was a pleasant if unspectacular day through agreeable towns such as Gunnedah and Tamworth and Nundle, taking in stops for coffee, pub lunch, ice cream and giant golden guitars.

At day’s end we had made it down to the Upper Hunter valley and a stop for the night at Murrurundi, where the less glamorous on-the-road chore of laundry was available to entertain us. At least the washing machine was quick and there was plenty of line to hang clothes in the beautiful late afternoon sun. And the campground was pleasant too, set in the valley with cows for company and the New England Highway companionship during the night.

The next morning the town of Scone provided good coffee but very little in the way of scone eating opportunities, making me think there is a clear gap in the market here; construction of a giant fibre glass scone perched atop a cafe that serves world famous scones, with local jam and special clotted cream from Tasmania. You heard it here first.

Scone provides a jumping off point from the drag of the highway up into Barrington Tops National Park. This offers a quite incredible drive and climb to a plateau of 1400 metres, with changes in vegetation accompanied with every climbing metre. Up here is a land of boggy button grass and snow gums, Antarctic Beech forests, mosses and fungi. And more of those very nice lookouts again.

 

And while the campground is not quite of Mount Kaputar standard, it’s grassy and spacious, nestled among towering white gum trees with the requisite wallabies and kangaroos for company. The onsite shelter with wood fire and electric barbeque provided a perfect base from which to conjure up a big curry cook up, while the mesmerising flame and hot coals of the fire are infinitely more entertaining than many programs that we could be watching on TV right now.

Twenty four hours later many a grey nomad was found to be watching mindless piffle on their TVs hooked up to their solar panels and satellite dishes dotted around their $80,000 coaches in the middle of Mudgee. There’s a definite preference for national park campgrounds emerging, but the showers in Mudgee were especially noteworthy and necessary. The day had been another of clear blue skies and meandering around Goulburn River National Park. Here, on the edge of the Greater Blue Mountains, a more familiar landscape of sandstone gorges and bush, creeks and cliffs. Tucked away, hidden, a walk through a gorge at The Drip, so innovatively named because water drips off the cliffs into the creek below.

 

Mudgee itself was rather charming and had a relaxed, well-to-do air about its Victorian streetscape and verandas. It’s a gourmet centre and has plenty of wineries to keep Sydney Weekenders more than happy. We opted for beer and steak; sampling some fine ales at the Mudgee Brewing Company and feasting on meat at The Woolpack. A blip in the budget, but well worth it.

Coming towards the end of this little trip and a milestone was reached in Lithgow. I imagine not many things of note happen in Lithgow, but for the Subaru it signified a loop had been joined, as its wheels revisited the Great Western Highway. Thankfully they were not on there for too long, veering off before the rise of the Blue Mountains and heading to Jenolan Caves. Jenolan is in such a lovely setting that even if you didn’t visit any caves you would be content with the bush and valley and little blue lake. The cave system is massive and complex and the showier caves are perfect tourist fodder. Being tourists, we went into the Orient Cave, full of chasms and crystals, curtains and cathedrals.

The recent rain that blighted the start of the trip had now provided some return, as a small pool at the bottom of the Orient Cave was replenished for only the third time in thirteen years. Outside, the small dam at the end of the Blue Lake was overflowing, water streaming down among the ferns and rocks and trees. The area was very clearly alive.

 

More life was around on our last night, bouncing around and being curious at Boyds Camp, another fine national park camping experience in Kanangra-Boyd National Park. It was fitting that the final night should be in such a place, with gum trees and wood fires, leftover curry and hot chocolate. The car loving a coating of sandy dust and mud, the smell of smoke permeating pretty much everything, and all three of us looking like true hardcore adventurous explorers. It was the best state to return back to Canberra, to affront the residents of Forrest and to truly benefit from showers, proper beds and carwashes. Recuperation, restitution and reflection, the final home comforts for a while in which to cherish and celebrate my beloved home city.