Van Dieman’s Land, Tasweigia, Trouwerner, The Apple Isle, The Holiday Isle, The Island of Inspiration, Treasure Island, Your Natural State, Tassie.

An island that has it’s own Bagdad, Hell’s Gates, and Paradise.  Where ouse, snug, nook, and break-me-neck are places to go rather than things to do.  It’s a funny litta place.  Always has been.  A colourful history that is both amazing and devastating, this is my home.

I love to travel.  I could live anywhere if I had to.  But there is something about this dorky, unpredictable-weathered, backward thinking dot on the map that is in my blood.  The fact that I have a birth mark in the shape of Tasmania branded on my arm must have something to do with it.

It’s the crumb off the bottom of the mainland.  That was confirmed to me by an article in the paper on the day of our arrival.  Some big complaint to Arnott’s Biscuits because the novelty Australia-shaped biscuits (in time for Australia Day) had failed to include Tasmania.  People?  Seriously.  It was on the packet.  It’s a biscuit.  The Arnott’s spokesperson made it sound like a cost decision, being able to get the most out of that dough with such an awkward cookie cutter.  I would have told the silly Tasmanians (of which I am one) that they were the crumbs at the bottom of the box.

Anyhoo, I digress.  We made it.

Driving onto the Spirit of Tasmania

After spending time with our gorgeous and exceptionally generous friends Jasper and Beenu in Melbourne, we boarded the closest thing we’ve ever got to a cruise ship in the Spirit of Tasmania.  The captain’s deep tones warned of a rough night with a welcoming 5 metre swell expected at dawn.  His “not ideal for sailing” remark wasn’t that reassuring.  However, his friends at the weather bureau couldn’t have been more wrong; after a fairly rocky trip out the heads of Port Melbourne, the notorious Bass Strait was a calm little puddle.

"Where Are We Going, Sara?"

Driving off the boat the next morning, we were confronted with the parched and beautiful rolling hills that I have come to miss. The dry, dry yellow plains indicative of a proper rain-starved season, and the blue mountains in the distance, ah, lovely.

So now, it’s reunion after reunion, back with family and friends.  Showing off our baby girl and meeting other’s recent additions.  This last week, with the most amazing summer weather on the beautiful east coast (which for our WA readers is so much like the coast around Albany it’s uncanny) we’ve been treated to play time with some of our favourites, realising that the reason we’re so happy to be here is because of the people we love here.  Friendships that have not changed a bit and will to get stronger and stronger.  And there are still more people we can’t wait to see.

And so to finish off, here are some random stats from our 2 month journey:

Total kilometres: 13,345

Most expensive petrol: 196.5 cents (Barkly Homestead, NT)

Windscreens: 1

Tyres: 2 (replaced cause they didn’t have much tread left!)

Longest driving day: 960kms

Hottest temperature: 43 degrees (Tennant Creek, NT)

Coldest day time temperature: 7 degrees (Devonport, Tas.  Admittedly it was 6:30am, but it still counts)

Road kill: 2 birds

Crocodiles eaten: none

Items left behind:  1 wallet – whoops – now back safe and sound

Number of ‘big things’ passed (eg Big Banana, Big Pineapple):  Stacks

And now onto the next adventure….

Let me bring you up to speed….

After spending some very relaxing weeks in Mooloolaba which included Christmas and catch ups with my lovely extended family (I know you’re reading this Nat, that’s why I said lovely) and lots of reading, cricket watching, puzzles, card games and walks (all in the name of letting Sara have lots of ‘proper’ sleeps in a ‘real’ bed), we resumed our migration south.

What a cute family.

One stark contrast between travelling the West and East coasts is the obvious population difference.  Traffic.  Urgh.  No more wide open road on our journey. Off the motorways the scenery is still stunning and different yet again,but having to share the jourmey with so many others is simply not what we’re used to.  We were also acutely aware that we were travelling during the Christmas/New Year period when these notorious stretches of highway feature heavily in the ‘sport’ of holiday road toll reporting.

Our itinerary included a stop in both Port Macquarie and Newcastle to see more family and show off our ever growing and increasingly mobile offspring.  We must look like little kids bringing home our most proudest creation from school to show off with heads held high; “look what we’ve made!”  Only this creation is truly beautiful and our families don’t have to pretend that she’s the bestest thing ever made and then wonder how long they’re going to have to keep it.  Most special was being able to take Sara to spend time with the only Great-Grandparents that she will meet, Matt’s Grandma and Pa.  Matt’s mum and dad flew up and were able to spend this time with us also.

Into a new year, we had the opportunity in Wollangong to spend time with Matt’s friend from his early years in growing up in Gundagai before Matt took his girls to Milton on the Southern NSW coast to show us where he and his family used to camp over the summer holidays.  It’s really scary for us as parents now, as we visit old places that we as children used to go.  We’re always a little disappointed when they’re not exactly as we remember and then we’re horrified when we realise that we’re talking a time lapse in excess of 20 years!  When did we get so big?  Darn it!  All those things my parents used to say about it ‘only being yesterday’ (and I would roll my eyes) are now my reality.  Oh dear.

We camped in the Garden of Eden, in Eden, and had a rest day camping in Traralgan in the Gippsland area of Victoria.  This particular park was ideally suited to the SKI (Spending the Kids Inheritance) grey nomad population, with predominate plots for excessive-sized caravans that would rival the likes of on set movie star trailers.  A disturbing poster tainting my washing time in the park’s laundry touted the phrase ‘we feel so at home in a Top Tourist Park’.  Now, I love old advertising posters, particularly from the 1920′s and 30′s, but give me a bucket, this particular 1990′s piece of propaganda depicted a grey nomad couple in an ordinary scene of tea time; he at the BBQ turning some snags, and she at the picnic table laying out the utensils on a chequered table cloth.  They were both wearing aprons.  And nothing else.  Feeling right at home.  Yikes!

We took a quick trip across to Philip Island where were were unable to do a lap on the GP track as our car was not a pre ’66 model, and where the scenery is certainly beginning to resemble our final island destination.  More visits with our lovely family, but an obvious tiredness of our little girl for life on the road and a new location nearly every day.  She has been an incredible trouper and only has a few more days of her parent’s wanderings to endure.

It’s incredible to think that we’re almost there.  And the excitement is building.  We have adored out time in Perth and will miss it incredibly, but as Bass Strait comes into view, and the knowledge that our little home is just over the horizon, there is an incredible peace that we’re doing the right thing.

But the journey isn’t over just yet….

Like slipping into my own little film clip, I love being in this part of the country, watching the cane fields passing by.  I don’t know what it is about the spindly stalks of sugar but it makes me dream about living  in a big fat old Queenslander, with verandahs all around, smack bang in the middle of a cane field or a pineapple plantation.  Maybe it’s because as kids we used to visit some friends on the sunshine coast who lived on a pineapple farm in an old, but graceful wooden vernacular set high off the ground.  I remember running around the plantation in complete freedom, being chased by their dog, then coming up onto the covered verandah to drink cold cordial and eat the most delicious home made cakes and biscuits in an enormous spread.  Idyllic.

All these lovely memories came flooding back as we hit the farming cities of Rockhampton and Bundaberg, and subsequently the East coast.  We did it.  We’ve crossed this sunburnt land from West to East.  And we’re not done yet.  We didn’t do too much once we hit these places as the rain dampened our desire to go out and explore too much.  And for the first time in a long time we had to dig into the denseness that is our car boot to get our jumpers!

Keeping dry in our cabin in Rockhampton. Pappa Bear, Mamma Bear and Baby Bear style!

And so we find ourselves now in Mooloolaba, an hour north of Brisbane.  This is one of my favourite places on earth.  Big call I know, but it’s where my family have holidayed since I was 4 and it has always been a very special place.  My grandparents lived here for the colder 6 months of the year and the rest in Hobart.  We got to come and spend a lot of time with them here.  My Nanna passed away in January this year, and though it is hard to be here without her, it is incredibly special to now bring my baby here.  Another generation to enjoy this place.  And the weather has been super good (compared to the flooding when we we here last).  We’re only a few blocks from the beach and since the sun gets up at 4:46am, then a swim at 7am isn’t really that early and then you have to rest of the day to enjoy.  So this is where we stop for a bit, let Sara have a break from touring and to get to sleep in a real bed for a change (well, a portacot at least).  My parents are coming up from Tassie next week to join us for Sara’s first Christmas which is shaping up to be stinking hot and tremendous!  There is cricket to watch, books to read, sun to soak up and waves to ride.  Growing up I wanted to live here permanently but as my mum most wisely suggested, it wouldn’t be special anymore cause it would be the everyday.  Very true.

Sunshine State?  Sunshine State?  We’ve managed to traverse the tropics during the beginning of the wet season without getting wet, and yet the state that proudly declares ‘beautiful one day, perfect the next’ has left us wondering if it actually stopped raining since we were here in the floods of January.  Our gorgeous red, bug encrusted Subi is now back to it’s gleaming white; all our proof of having travelled through some of the remotest parts of this country all washed off.

Leaving Winton, I had the pleasure of driving our heavy laden all wheel drive through flooded sections of Australia’s Route 66.  Described again by the Rough Guide as an exceptionally boring stretch of road, there was no danger of nodding off on this stint as oncoming road trains, heavy rain, flooded plains and titillating conversation kept me wired.  It was another day, as really all have been, where we were exceptionally aware of the protective hand of God upon us and our car.  Which reminds me; I must thank a rowdy, silly, bunch of gorgeousness that is the Kids Church at Airport City Church in Perth.  Before leaving I was given the most beautiful book of the kids’ drawings and letters wishing us a safe journey.  The drawings by the girls are of flowers, rainbows and princesses.  The boys, crocodiles, cars and dinosaurs.  Love, love!  I am so grateful as the letters are actually prayers, little kids’ honest and beautifully simple prayers for our safe travels, and that Sara wouldn’t get eaten by crocodiles (because she is the size of an exceptionally delicious chicken).  And those prayers have been answered.

To shelter from the rain in Longreach, we headed straight to the Stockman’s Hall of Fame, a fabulous tribute to the outback families that really grew this country with their exploration, farming and mining exploits.  I’m no feminist but I did truly appreciate great acknowledgement made there of the contribution the pioneer women from our country’s early era.  Ordinary women, doing amazing and ordinary things under exceptional conditions.  I had some anxieties prior to taking this trip about how a 5 month old baby (and her parents) would cope with the heat, sleeping in a tent in the heat, the mosquitoes, the wildlife (everyone knows about dingoes and babies).  Display after display at Stockmans showed photos of pioneer families, dad, mum and a cricket team of kiddies living in timber hovels in the harsh outback environment, no air conditioning, no fresh water, no insect repellent, no sensible family vehicle, no car fridge, no disposable nappies, and definitely no mobile phone.  What on earth was I worried about?  One particular photo showed a mother and a baby, having travelled by camel no less, a similar route to us but in reverse, to get to their new station home.  Where did she put her car fridge?  Where did she plug in her i-pod?  Did she have a sheepskin seat cover for her bot bot?  How do you put sun shades on a camel to keep sun out of the baby’s eyes?

Being history buffs, we really enjoyed this place and it really struck me how much of our own national history we really don’t, or didn’t get at school.  To further our tour of national pride, we scooted over the road to the Longreach Airport, the birth place of Qantas.  Now I know Qantas is a bit of a dirty word at the moment, but under the timber beams of the original Qantas Empire hangar is the fantastic Qantas Founders Museum.  Connected to, but by no means funded by the now giant and controversial national company, the museum is a fascinating and very well put together collection of memorabilia and multimedia displays celebrating the people that literally put their lives on the line in the early days of aviation.  Having a great interest in flying, we were enthralled for hours here.  We had a tour of the 747 sitting proudly on the museum’s tarmac, alongside a very sexy Qantas Empire Airways DC-3 and the fully restored Boeing 707, the very first passenger jet registered in Australia.  If you’re ever in Longreach and have even just a tincy wincy interest in flying, you really should check this place out.  It made me sad though too, about the way terrorism and just big business has taken the romance out of flying.  And some of the simple pleasures.  I remember as a kid being taken up on several occasions to visit the captain in the cockpit mid-flight.  I even remember eating some of his grapes.  My children will never get that experience now.  Sara did get to sit in the cockpit of a jumbo though.  Ooooo, so many buttons!

Inside the engine of Qantas 747

From Longreach, we tracked along to Emerald, named not for the stunning gemstones like it’s neighbours Sapphire and Rubyvale, but for the colour of the surrounding rolling hills, something we have not seen for some time.  A cute little stop-over, highly cultured with a gigantic Van Gough on a 6-storey easel in the middle of town.  We have been amazed at the number of European travelers we have shared campsites with across this country, and not just young backpacker types, but the grey nomad sort.  It appears that while their home countries are grappling to stay afloat financially, they are just as crackers as a little family from the burbs of Perth, trekking across the expanse of the continent country at this time of year.  And that brings me to the dilemma that we face every day when asked ‘where are you from’.  Originally?  Today?  For the last few years?  Um?  Do you want the short answer or the long one?  And when caravan parks need an address, ‘no fixed abode’ raises eyebrows.  A WA address of a home owned by strangers doesn’t work.  A Tassie address when we have WA number plates is also questioned.  We know where our home is.

Something guaranteed to make you laugh out loud is watching lizards run on their hind feet. Perched in what Matt and I now understand as the ‘tummy time’ position (one of Sara’s favourites), the lizards lie in the middle of the road and wait until the very last second to get out of your way by running completely upright on their little back tootsies. Chest out, front legs all floppy, they seriously run like a girl. And I am a girl. They run like the girliest girl. And it’s a crack up.

Without seeing one real croc, whether beside a babbling waterhole or on our plate, we left the Territory via Tennant Creek, which was 43 degrees when we arrived, and chugged on in to Queensland and the serious mining city of Mt Isa. Not having been able to get close to the mines in WA, we have no idea what they look like but in Mt Isa, you can’t help but see it. The Mount Isa Mine is the crazy-big backdrop to the city, the smoke-stack puffing, industrial monstrosity sits like Mt Wellington does in Hobart; reaching it’s arms around the city and can be seen from every vantage point. Mt Isa can claim being the largest city in the world, having a ‘city’ area that stretches for over 100kms. A technicality but remember that for your next quiz night.

More ever-changing scenery, tumbleweed outback towns, and even the Walkabout Creek Hotel from the Crocodile Dundee movies, were part of our continued journey east. Our overnight stop was in Winton, famous for Banjo the bush bard Patterson’s first public rendition of Waltzing Matilda. A difference of opinion on the second and third verses was shut down with the words of the classic Australian, contentious, and clearly not suited for our national anthem, poem, slapped in fancy font on a piece of corrugated iron wrapped around a bronze representation of the Banjster himself.

Winton is also home to a wall made from stone cleared from surrounding mines, as well as rusting junk from around town. Wheels, typewriters, engines, complete motorcycles, cash registers, tools, mowers, sewing machines, a toilet, and yes, even a kitchen sink, as well as a bathroom one too, make for one entertaining piece of masonry. Keep the kids busy for hours, with over 70 metres of ‘can you find the….?’. I appreciate it as a demonstration of up-cycling but am awfully glad it aint in my backyard.

In keeping with the recycling of junk is the musical fence, on the edge of town, with permanent oversized percussion instruments constructed beside a ‘playable’ wire fence. The drum kit looked pretty cool, made out of all kinds of old rusted metal containers and drums (well, der! Hey, that’s clever; that’s who would have put it together!) but I was exceptionally hesitant to touch the fence – sure acoustic fences are sweet but an electric can make better effects.

Perhaps the strangest feature of Winton is the town’s rubbish bins. Bright green and yellow dinosaur feet, complete with claws, house wheelie bins the town over. Nothing else, just the feet. It’s an advertisement for the town’s most recent lure for the tourist – massive amounts of fossils and bones found on a farming property east of the town. Not being Jurassic Park enthusiasts, we decided to give the Australian Age of Dinosaurs a miss. If we weren’t able to get a croc burger in the Territory then I doubt we’d be able to get our chops around a dinoburg here.

Pulling in to our caravan park home for the night, I did the most spastic double take when the driver of a ute stopping opposite jumped out of the car. A freckly-faced 10 year old wandered in and out of the reception and then popped back into the driver’s seat and carried on his merry way. He could reach the pedals but I’m not too sure how much he could see over the dash. Sara got excited that she only has to wait 10 years before she can drive. Oh dear.

A spectacular thunderstorm completely circled us at dusk and our little tent keep us dry and cosy, listening to the light rain we did get, and the complaining mooing of cattle being loaded into olympic swimming pool-sized road trains for a nice late night drive.

I am no longer reading the guest information section on the back of the maps of caravan parks that they give their patrons.  From our overnight stay in Mataranka the following made me awfully glad we’re staying in a tent with an infant: “Please be aware that the park is quite dark at night.  Ensure you take a torch with you when walking around the park at night to avoid tripping hazards and nocturnal snakes”.

Having survived seeing none , my confidence was restored, especially as the next night we got ourselves a little motelish-type room.  However, a conversation by the pool that went a little like this reassured me that round these parts, there’s always something alive to appreciate (hear my sarcasm);

Bloke emptying the bin by the pool: “got a bag full – a – blowies right ‘ere”

Me: smiling politely from the pool, having already noticed the dead frog that the bloke is now picking up and chucking over the fence.

Bloke: “Got sick of swimming.  Don’t mind frogs, they get into the house though.  Don’t mind ‘em in me bed but if there’s too many that’s when the pythons come”.

Me in my head:  Cheers for that mate.  Really comforting.

Bloke “Is he orright or what?”  He motions his head toward Matt who is presently lying face down on the bottom of the pool.  He does this to impress me with his breath holding skills and to freak me out at the same time.  After 5+ years I am still slightly impressed and still freak out a little bit when the bubbles stop coming up, but don’t tell him that. I’d prefer it if he would impress me by bombing right in front of me.  Oh, wait, he does that too.  Though I didn’t know him in grade 5, I think I know exactly what he was like.

The Northern Territory is the Capital of Quirk.  And only NT could get away with it.  There is something about the ‘outback’ that can turn tacky junk into quirkiness.  A rusting crashed plane at the entrance to a property in Katherine, a pink panther in a helicopter in Larrimah, a replica castle on the side of the road in Batchelor, and the, apparently, world famous Daly Waters Pub.  The place is tacky to the max – a cliché outback pub, stinking hot with fans going like the clappers, covered literally from floor to ceiling and beyond with outback memorabilia and tokens left behind by passing travellers.  By tokens I mean business cards, drivers licences, number plates, shirts, hats, thongs, even undies, all stuck to any surface in the pub that doesn’t move.  It’s junky and ridiculous, but you can’t help but find it fascinating.

Fascinating also was the demonstration we received in the morning in Mataranka, the start of the ‘Never Never’.  The caravan park owner keeps barramundi in a billabong on the property, of which he feeds twice a day by hand.  And when I say by hand, I mean the 90cm-odd fishies jump out to grab the morsel of fish in his fingers by sucking onto his whole fist with a suction action that would impress Mr Dyson.  And what else was impressive was the barra that made it to our very big dinner plates – with a friend.  Beef ‘n Barra they call it in these parts, as there’s no ocean to claim a Surf ‘n Turf or a Reef ‘n Beef.  “Best meal I’ve had in a long time” says Matt to the guy clearing the plates, confirming that my camp-cooking is nothing to write home about.  But in a way, I kinda just have!

If you visit the White House any time soon, let me know if Mr Obama has a little souvenir spoon from Darwin in his cabinet.  Missing the Big Cheese by a week, we have been taking it easy in Australia’s most northerly and unassuming capital city.  And I really like it.

Trying not to jump on the Lonely Planet bandwagon, having named Darwin on their top 10 places  in the world to visit in 2012, I can see the appeal.  It’s offbeat, it’s chilled (in the relaxed sense, not the temperature), it’s not like a capital city at all.  It’s been bombed, more than I ever realised, and completely slammed by not just the famous cyclone, and it has stood to tell the tale.  Well, the bits that didn’t get flattened anyway.  It’s a mishmash of old and new, cyclone-proofing trendy and cyclone proofing not.  It’s awash with colour at the moment; the brilliant red/orange flowers of the Poinciana trees, the tropical greens, the beautiful water and the amazing big sunsets.

But where are the people?  I know Darwin has a very transient population but it seems once the wet begins, people leave.  Businesses shut for the tourist low season.  We went out for dinner last night, determined to find a restaurant that would cook us up a juicy steak of croc, but all but a handful of restaurants in the dining district were lights off and no action.  The elusive croc steak has narrowly avoided our stomachs this time, but we’re sure the Territory will not disappoint somewhere down the track.  We did, however enjoy a waterside dinner in a lovely Thai-run joint where the owner’s 7 year old son taught us about the all the fish that were hunkering down on the bread that he was selling the patrons to keep the ‘entertainment’ swimming around their restaurant.

I feel like we’re on an island.  The architecture of some of the older buildings around town are almost Polynesian; beautiful stone, with white french doors, shutters and balustrades.  Yet this island aint so great for swimming – not the ocean anyway.  Massive tides, jelly fish, crocs and mangroves make the beaches a little unfriendly.  Darwin Harbour has a wave pool and man made beach area that are pretty cool, surrounded by funky cafes and pubs.

We went to one of the most laid back churches we’ve ever been to at Charles Darwin University tonight.  Great church.  Tomorrow it’s back in the car again, heading back down south, after hitting the most northern part of our journey, and from our understanding (we’re willing to be corrected) the furthest north you can go in Australia on a sealed road at Lee Point.

One of  my favourite things about road-trippin is the people that you meet.  At home in your ordinary every day life you go about your business with little thought to those around you.  Without all the nonsense of doing stuff and being busy, you have the time to chat and, for a moment connect in a very real way.  There is a real openness to people when they’re traveling, conversation is never forced, rarely awkward and talk turns to a whole lot more than the weather.  We’ve met European fruit pickers, self-proclaimed grumpy old men, short-term contractors, grey-ing nomads, kiwi pilots, families, singles, couples, friends, wanderers, oldies, youngies, truckies, chippies,  holidayers, and workers, each with their own story to tell, each with their own route to travel and way of getting about.

What makes conversations generally start is a smiling 5-month old, generous with her big cheeky grin and eager to meet and greet.  It has been very obvious for some time that this girl is a ‘people person’ and Matt and I have realised that people don’t actually come to talk to us most of the time.

The last few days we’ve been checking out the surprisingly green patch of the northwest corner of the Northern Territory.  I say surprising as my memories of Northern Territory, way back in 1997 on a school trip, were of endless views of red dust and nothing else.  We only travelled as high as Alice Springs back then so I don’t know why I assumed the north would be the same.  A big hi to any one reading this who was on that very memorable trip – the grassy sounds of Sweet Home Alabama (which bears absolutely no comparison to the Red Centre)  always takes me back to that coach full of funbags!

The tropical north is so lovely, lush, green, hot, and stunning, but it does have a few draw backs; fuzzy humid hair, frogs watching you in the ablutions, insects on steroids, and cicadas on-mass constant humming that rivals the ear-pollution that was the vuvuzelas at the world cup.  I love their sound when there are just a few, but when seriously gazillions of them get together, there’s a little centre in your brain that shatters at that pitch.

Yesterday we had the opportunity to explore Litchfield National Park, our preference over Kakadu at this time of year due to accessibility and a touted ‘crocodile-free’ status.  The latter not particularly true.  I remember seeing photos of my Nanna’s trip there and I was keen to check it out.  And it did not disappoint; wild rocky terrain with absolute oasis rock pools and picture-perfect waterfalls.  It’s mirage kinda stuff.  Palm trees the height of tall city buildings and crystal clear water.  After descending in to one gorge, we were able to swim in the cool waters of the plunge pool under the twin Florence Falls.  A certain little baby enjoyed a little skinny dip before the cooing of an adoring grey-haired entourage of an AAT Kings tour.

And what is with the termite mounds?  They’re dotted throughout Northern WA like a dog owner forgetting to take their pooper scooper on walkies.  In  NT, they’re giant sandcastle-like structures trying to take off the Pinnacles.  I think NT termites take a bit more pride in their dwellings than their Western counterparts.

And for the record, I don’t hate all birds.  Penguins, good.  Emus, bad.  Little finches and the like, good.  Magpies and plovers, bad.  Pelicans, swans, ok if they’re not coming to peck at me (I’ve seen Australia’s Funniest Home Video Show).  Seagulls, whatever.  Ibises, stay away.  Lorikeets, gallahs, kookaburras, iconic.  Birds of prey, nervousness.  Ducks?  They bite, but gee they taste good!

Family Photo at Katherine Gorge

The Top End, Australia’s final frontier, where the distance between towns is a full days drive (especially with a baby), where the weather is hot, and where every animal, no matter how big, thinks it’s tough.  Whether a roo (kangaroo for you foreigners who might be reading), a cow, an eagle, a lizard or even a pesky cane toad, they’re all wild out these parts, they all think they’re tough.  It is quite obvious that their Aussie attitude of “give it a crack” doesn’t pay off as well as they think, and the evidence of this is plastered on all parts of the road.  That’s right, road kill.  These animals, and I have only named a small number of the multitude, continue to think, even after all it’s family, and it’s mates have come off second best, they can take on our man made vehicles.  I’m sure they’ve seen the size of our road trains.

We had our own experience, and thankfully we only had the one thus far, of taking down one of our Australian wildlife friends.  On the road just after crossing the border into Northern Territory we were kindly welcomed by a swooping eagle, who obviously had bad eye sight and couldn’t see what make of car we were driving and decided to take a closer look, a really close look.  Unfortunately for the eagle, and Amber in the passenger seat (Amber really hates birds, I mean really hates), our feathery friend got its head stuck in the front of our nudge bar.  And even more unfortunately, with the rain they have had up these parts, there were no real spots to pull off to get the thing out as the shoulder of the road drops off quite dramatically and was quite soft.  After a couple of KM he decided to fall out and my rear tyres decided to make sure he was in no more pain.

The drive from Kununurra (45km from border) to Katherine was a very picturesque one with beautiful red-rock features, soggy swamps, thick scrub and some beautiful river crossings.  November in this part of the world there is one thing that really sticks out, more than the Europeans working in all the outback roadhouses along the way, the humidity.  You could use a knife and fork to breathe the air is so thick.  Another thing about this time of year is Caravan Parks are ghost towns.  Everywhere we go we can literally choose from any site in the park except about 6 that have already been taken.

After waking up with a lovely refreshing drizzle in the morning we headed out to the biggest attraction in Katherine, the Gorge.  Unfortunately once again, this time of year the rain has already arrived and the gorge was closed in some areas due to high river levels.  We took the short walk to the lookout looking over the first section of the 12km Katherine Gorge.  Once again we marvel at our creator and his diverse masterpiece.

Off to Lietchfield.

Sierra Alpha Sierra Alpha, you are clear for take off

Lake Argyle

Only a tiny portion of the Bungle Bungles

In a land of crocodiles, both freshies and salties, of pythons, dragon lizards, dingoes, scary looking spiders, and feral donkeys (so I learnt today), nothing is more deadly than the tropical coconut.

A few days ago, I sniggered at a sign nailed to a palm tree that read “beware falling coconuts”.  I found it so amusing that I got Matt to take a photo of it so I could snigger at it at a later date.  Little did I know then that I was going to be just one metre away from being desiccated by a massive piece of fruit falling from the sky.  So how did I retaliate?  Our ‘neighbours’ in the caravan park wrestled it, split it open and we munched on it.  Who’s desiccated now huh?

Today we had the incredible opportunity to take to the skies on an early morning flight over Lake Argyle and the incredible (so named twice) Bungle Bungles.  Given the time of year making it exceptionally difficult for us to get close to the beehive domes on the ground, the air seemed the best way to truly appreciate the land of the Kimberly.  Exceptional Lake Argyle looked stunning in the morning light, a vast body of water classified as an inland sea, able to hold 23 times the volume of Sydney Harbour.  The Bungle Bungles amaze  me in that ‘Europeans’ didn’t really know they existed until the 1980s!  That’s in our lifetime!  Such stunning and magnificently coloured towers and deep gorges.  Another example of God’s awesome craftsmanship.  We also flew over cattle stations, so ridiculously large they’re bigger than many countries!  Nuts!  Imagine mowing that backyard!  Or playing hide and seek.  You’d be at it for months!  The Argyle Diamond mine was fascinating and surprising in that it supplies approximately twenty-five percent of the world’s diamonds.  From above, it looked like those little Doozers from Fraggle Rock were at work in the massive open-cut Rio Tinto-owned mine, which is actually the largest diamond mine in the world.  What with the gorgeous pearls of Broome and the rare pink diamonds of Argyle, this very big tom boy suddenly finds herself like a kid in a candy shop – for five minutes any way.

The real kid in a candy shop is Miss Sarabelle.  What a life?!  She’s seeing parts of this country many people have only dreamed of, she’s swimming every day, getting all meals provided, and took the first flight of her life in an 8 seater propeller GA8 airvan (seriously a Tarago of the skies) over the exceptional and contrasting landscapes of the Kimberly.  Admittedly she didn’t see much of it as she fell asleep, but when your life is so exciting you’ve just gotta catch the z’s when you can!  Gorgeous girl!

As I write this, an incredible lightening display is happening all around us.  The whole sky is lighting up.  It’s so beautiful as it silhouettes the palm trees and those darn coconuts!  Yet another example of God’s creativity.  So impressive.

Tomorrow, sadly, we cross over the border into Northern Territory.  I’m expecting to feel a bit emotional.  I love WA.  It is an incredible, massive state which we are proud to have called home for the last 3 years.

Speaking of crossing the border, those darn cane toads are definitely making themselves at home here.  I nearly stepped on one the other night (ewww!) and there’s a dead one out by the pool.  Talk about consequences of a selfish and stupid decision made many years ago – they didn’t even work on the cane beetle.  Whoops.  I hear they’re good at golf though; on the end of a 7 iron.