Home to Emu Park

Leaving home was a little daunting. Not that we weren't excited, just that we were worried the experience would not be as wonderful as we had remembered, and, yes, maybe fantasised over; but we needn't have worried.

We only got the van back from the repairer the afternoon of the day before we were due to leave so it was a bit of a rush getting everything sorted for the trip. No longer did things come as second nature to us as we have been living in a house for over three years (I find it hard to believe myself) and for the three years before that we had been living in The Cat – which was a little like living in a one bedroom apartment.

Anyway, it only took about 10k's of driving before we were back to singing “We're On the Road Again”.

Because we didn't get away until after lunch, our first night was only a couple of hundred K's from home at Macksville, a little town on the banks of the Nambucca River. We drove off the highway for for almost a kilometre to the entrance of the park and, after checking in, settled ourselves down for a nice quiet first night. It was a lovely park, not at all as we expected for a small, non tourist type town. Straight across the quiet country road out front was the river where the park had its own pontoon jetty and where one can hire kayaks for a peaceful afternoon fishing or exploring.

One thing that immediately struck us was the friendliness of our fellow travellers. This was something we had not experienced for some time whilst travelling in The Cat. Because it was so big and imposing, many people seemed to assume we were above talking to the common man and would therefore avoid contact. Now, however, we were one of them and striking up conversations came as the natural course.

One of the people I spoke to was a lady of a fair age who, with a walking stick in one hand and a lead in the other, was walking her little dog. She had lived in the park for over 30 years and was very keen for us to enjoy our stay and come back again. She mentioned the traffic noise but assured me we would get used to it. It was only then that I started to realise there was a fair level of noise from behind a row of trees along the back boundary.

We realised then that the Pacific Highway took a bit of a bend after we had turned off and although we had driven close to a kilometre, the the highway was actually directly behind the trees. It turned out to be quite a noisy night with the sound of many, many big trucks going past. However, we have made the decision to return there again and enjoy the attractions the area and park have to offer.

We did try to get away before the required departure time of 10.00am but failed miserably; mainly because we were not in any hurry but also because a few more neighbours happened along as we were making ready, just for a chat. It didn't take us long to remember why we love the life on the road so much.

On our second night, we stayed at a very large park in Casino. It was built by a public company formed by members of the Campervan and Motorhome Club which we belong to. Although we have been members for over 12 years we unexpectedly received 10 year medallions only days before we left home.

The company bought the Casino airfield from the local council after flights by commercial operators ceased and the many hangers and other structures have been converted for club activities. The concept was to build a retirement home, come home base, for campervaner and motorhomers (certainly not caravaners) as well as being a motorhome park. It really seems to have taken off. Many of the around 200 + homes have adjoining buildings to garage the owners' massive motorhomes – certainly not your normal retirement village or caravan park.

The only concept change since the park opened for business around 10 years ago has been that caravans and caravaners are now welcome to live or visit there. There were too many dollars being missed out on by banning them.

The old runway has been shortened and what remains is used by privately owned light planes and ultralights. We had great enjoyment watching some silly buggers with motors/propellers strapped to their backs and using parachutes to get themselves off the ground and way up into the sky. It was fun watching them negotiate the flocks of Ibises who were also enjoying an evening flutter. There were literally thousands of them living in the billabong next door.

The RSL Club puts on a great meal in town. Next time you are there, try one of their mixed grills. Highly recommended.

We then had four nights on the Gold Coast at Miami Caravan Park. Brother Dave and Carol's daughter Diana was celebrating her thirtieth birthday and Dave and Carol their thirty fifth wedding anniversary. Our three daughters, Lisa (and her two girls), Toni (and her family) and Kylie all flew up from Sydney to give Di a surprise. A great time was had by all.

From Miami it was off to the Chandler Caravan Park. We call it that but really it is the home of good friends, Bruce and Lorraine whose house sits on a 2.5 acre block of land at Chandler in Brisbane. They have a two street frontage and have put in wide gates from the back street to allow us free access. With power and water available, it is our home away from home in Brisbane.

There has been a lot of rain up here over the past months so we needed to get going fairly quickly. We also wanted to see Ken and Di along the way. Ken and I have been friends since primary school and he was best man at our wedding. Both of us have known and loved Di since our teens. As usually happens with them too, we parked in their yard at Burrum Heads for a couple of nights.

Burrum is a very small town right on the coast just north of Hervey Bay. They were just so lucky as not long ago the place was hit by a tornado that caused a tremendous amount of damage to selected houses in its path. Theirs was spared. On reflection it would not have been luck. Di is known (to Ken at least) as the Bishop of Burrum so she probably had a friend in a higher place looking after them!!!

From Burrum we went to Bundaberg. Initially it was only going to be for one night. Bundy is the last town going north in Queensland where there is an Aldi store and, as I had seen them advertise a Smartphone that looked the goods to me, we had to get there on the Friday to try to buy it on Saturday morning when it would be placed on the market. We were fortunate enough to get one so now we have now entered the 21^st century with a phone that gives us unlimited calls (mobile and landline) within Australia, unlimited SMS and MMS calls and 5 gig of data – all for $35 a month. Pretty unbelievable to us. We were so happy that we decided to stay a second night.

Next stop was Gladstone. Brian & Rob Clark who bought Boris and the Cat from us had mentioned they would probably park the rig in the town's Showgrounds. He has been working on Curtis Island just off the coast of Gladstone where they are developing a gas exploration site. It must be a huge project as we counted five high speed catamarans in the Gladstone marina that were obviously commuter ferries for the islands workers.

Because caravan accommodation is at a premium along the Queensland coast at the present time and more so in places like Gladstone that is a major centre for servicing the mining industry, Rob rang the Showgrounds people and pre booked a site. We were a bit surprised when the lady said she would leave the top gate open for us.

When we arrived we saw a “No Vacancies” sign on the gate which, as promised, was open for us. As we drove towards the office we noticed there were only about a dozen fellow campers, obviously all permanent residents, who were parked around the perimeter of a very large grassed area. Upon checking in, we were directed to a site in the very centre of the area which made us feel that we were the centre of attraction.

We had only just settled in when Anne from the closest caravan to us came down to say hello. It turned out that she (a nurse) and her husband Ken (a coach driver), had decided to rent out their home and go travelling, just as we had done 12 years ago. They had not long left home which was in Lismore NSW and wanted to know all about how we had fared during our nine years on the road. As this could best covered with a drink in hand Rob invited them both down for Happy Hour.

During our discussions, Anne, and later the lady at the Information Centre, mentioned that we were very lucky to have gotten into the Showgrounds as the president of the controlling committee was not accepting new residents, particularly short termers like us. Must have been Rob's telephone manner when she called up to book.

Our encounter was most enjoyable and the next morning we met their daughter who was spending some time with them whilst on holidays from her university studies in USA. She had been at a tournament in Canberra playing hockey for the NSW Under 21 team when she was spotted by a talent scout. After the tournament he approached her and offered her a fully paid scholarship to study and, of course play hockey, in America. She is now in her second year.

Gladstone is not a particularly attractive town, suffering from all the industry, particularly the huge aluminium refinery, that is at its doorstep. However, they are going all out to attract the tourists. We went on a bus excursion and tour of the local electricity generating station, the biggest in Queensland. The tour guide was a retired supervisor at the plant so we got a tremendous amount of information and were driven through the centre of the plant to see all the parts that are required to generate the huge amounts of electricity required to keep much of central Queensland running. One of the great things about the tour was it was completely free of charge.

The town runs two other such tours, one over the alumina plant which was booked out, so we missed out, and the other, a harbour cruise which happened three times a week. We missed out on it as well because we were leaving before the next excursion. It would have been great as the last time I was on Gladstone harbour I was about 20 and had to go there for a three week relief in the bank.

I was actually relieving Bruce who, as I mentioned earlier, with Lorraine, are our regular hosts in Brisbane while he took his annual leave. The runway of the local airport was being extended or repaired or something, so the town was being serviced by a Sunderland flying boat that had been commandeered from the flying boat base in Sydney. I and my fellow passengers were bussed from Brisbane to Moreton Bay where we were placed on a boat and taken out to the plane moored offshore. We clambered aboard with suitcases in hand and were flown to Gladstone.

For the whole journey we hugged the coast, chugging along at a fairly low altitude. As I had practically the whole of the top deck of the plane to myself I had wonderful attention from the hosties and a magic view of the scenery below. Certainly one of my more memorable and enjoyable experiences.

From Gladstone we made our way here to Bell Park at Emu Park on the coast east of Rockhampton. We have been here and stayed at the caravan park a couple of times before; once when our kids were very young and another about 5 years ago. The park hasn't changed in all those years but the town, which has only about a dozen shops, has been considerably updated. The thing I miss most from our first visit was the early morning excursion to the local bakery to buy bread cooked in a wood fired oven. A sad loss to the town.

Here we finally caught up with Rob's sister Sherry and husband Brian who were making their way towards home on the Sunshine Coast after a leisurely visit to Atherton in north Queensland and many places in between. We had a great couple of days with them before they headed off again.

In the days leading up to their arrival, we took the opportunity of doing a bit of sightseeing.   Rocky is only half an hour away so we did a couple of trips over there.  On one of them we went to a cattle sale at Gracemere, on the Capricorn Highway leading to the central west of Queensland.  The area is known as the beef cattle capital of the country and we could certainly see why.

We followed the group of buyers as they moved from pen to pen of all manner of cattle, mainly Brahmans.  The auctioneer was standing on a raised runway on the other side of the pen and he really sounded like when you see them in a video.  He had three or four spotters on either side of him who kept an eagle eye on the crowd.

 Photo by Rob
The Auctioneer (third from right) and his entourage in action.

One of the spotters,a man in his late 50's early 60's, had the squeakiest voice I have ever heard from a big man.  Before I spotted him I thought it was a lady as he screamed out "YES" and pointed to the bidder who only seemed to move his finger on the rail to indicate a bid.

Some buyers bought the whole pen but others would buy only a selected few.  In these instances, a lady with a can of paint and a paint roller on a very long handle would lean over and paint a strip on the chosen ones. All bids were on a per kilo basis.

As soon as the crowd had moved along, riders on horseback would  move the sold cattle along a runway beneath the auctioneer's stand to another part of the giant complex.  Here they were weighed to determine the final price and moved to a holding yard in preparation for transport to wherever the buyer came from.  It really was a well run operation and something that happens every Friday.

Photo by Rob
Off to be weighed and sent to a new home.

After that excitement we drove about 10kms to a cattle station, Paradise Lagoons where a camp draft event was being held.  It too was a massive event.

There were three camp draft ovals in operation, together with a cutting yard oval.  We arrived first at the cutting yard where we settled ourselves down to watch the action.  It was very difficult for us to work out exactly what the cowboy was doing.  There were lots of men and women on horseback just standing there watching while others took the opportunity of practising manoeuvres with their horses.  What magnificent animals they were and so attuned to what was expected of them when herding large groups of skittish cattle.

All the while, what we thought was the cowboy contestant who was not making much of a fist of whatever he was doing, moved slowly back an forth among a herd of about 20 brahmans.

This happened for the whole of the 20 minutes we sat there.  Eventually, as there was a young cowgirl sitting in front of us, Rob went down to ask her what was happening.  Very sheepishly she admitted she had no idea.

We then moved over to watch one of the camp draft events.  Did I say it was a big event?  They were up to contestants numbered in their 600s.  With three ovals in operation and another day of contests before the the finals, there must have been around 1000 taking part from throughout Queensland and New South Wales.  The finals incorporated a State of Origin comp which, of course, Queensland won.

There were long lines of cowboys and girls waiting to have a go.  Come their turn, they would enter into a smaller holding yard where there would be around 15 to 20 steers.  The idea was to cut one of the animals from the herd and keep it separated for half a minute or so when two attendants would fling open a couple of gates to allow the steer to escape, followed at great speed by the contestant on horseback.

Some contestants failed to separate the steer in the holding yard in the allocated time and were therefore disqualified.

Those who were successful had to use their very talented horses to manoeuvre the flying steer around a figure of eight course set out in the large oval.  After completing that exercise they had to get it to pass between a couple of pegs in the ground that represented gates into a holding yard.  One slight error in completing this course meant immediate disqualification. Disqualification also occurred if they exceeded the short time allocated.

Disqualification was signified by the crack of a stock-whip wheeled by an attendant on horseback keeping an eye on proceedings in the oval.  With him were a few more attendants ready to take control in the event of any mishap or to move the steer from the arena as soon as the contestant was finished.  It was a wonderful show of talent.

 Photo by Rob
Rounding the first peg in the figure of eight course - now for the next in the distance then through the two peg gate top right.  One of the talented camp draft contestants and a cowgirl awaiting her turn.

We saw a few disqualifications before we saw our first successful attempt.  The contestant was a pretty young cowgirl whose horse knew exactly what was required.  Her score was in the eighties.

Not long later, a cowboy came into the arena.  He and his horse were poetry to watch.  They did everything just right in getting the steer separated and into the oval.  If you have ever seen a wild brahman steer in full flight you will know what I mean when I say it was fairly motoring along.  I could not take my eyes off the man on horseback as he moved the steer exactly where he wanted it to go.  They moved so fast the horse's feet barely seemed to touch the ground and he sat in the saddle as if glued to it.  It was breathtaking stuff that attracted a score of 92.  I would have given him 100 for the entertainment value.

After having our fill of excitement we went back to the cutting oval where yet another cowboy was failing miserably in whatever he was supposed to be doing whilst other riders milled around.

Not able to contain her curiosity, Rob went up to another likely spectator to find out just what the purpose of the contest was.  He was able to tell her that they were about to commence a four hand cut.  The person we thought was the contestant was actually calming the herd of about 20 steers that would be very frisky when they were first released into the oval.

Eventually, when the herd was relaxed, four contestants would approach it, drive into it, select one and manoeuvre it away from the rest.  This, of course, would upset the calm and all hell would break loose. The concept was not only to separate the chosen animal, but also to get it to stand motionless in the centre of the arena for a period of time and not try to rejoin his buddies milling around the edge of the oval.

Photo by Rob
Making ready for the four hand team cut.  In the background, a small number of the hundreds of massive horse trailers come travelling homes of the contestants and horse handlers.

What a fantastic experience but the excitement was not finished - even though we were heading back to the car-park to go home.

As we walked along we saw two young kids on ponies, one holding a halter attached to a much larger horse.  The younger child would have been no more than five and his sister a couple of years older.  Unfortunately she dropped the halter and was having difficulty retrieving it.  The kids couldn't get off their ponies to get it as they were too small to get back on unaided.  One of the parking attendants went over to them, got hold of the halter, and handed it back to the little girl.  They then slowly moved off.

No sooner had they cleared the pathway we were walking along than we heard the crash of hooves and the cry, "Get out of the way!"  We looked around to see a steer that had escaped captivity fairly racing towards us and a few other pedestrians with four or five cowboys on horseback flying like the wind and skilfully heading it off the pathway, through the car-park, and back to a gate into an adjoining paddock. Unbelievably they managed this manoeuvre without injury to any of the many people there or damage to the parked vehicles.

The exercise really brought home to us just why the men and women of the bush train themselves and their horses to the degree they do.  It can so often be life saving.

On driving out of Paradise Lagoons we were sorely tempted to turn right towards Emerald, Barcy, Longreach and beyond.  It was hard not being able to get back out back; but, dutifully, we headed back to Emu Park.

Back at the caravan park, one of the things we have discovered about travellers during this current visit to Emu Park is that there are two distinct types - the fair dinkum travellers that we like to class ourselves as, and the squatters. We never realised this during our nine years on the road as we always avoided the coastal resorts during peak periods.

Bell Park is filled to overflowing with the squatters, mainly Victorians and Tasmanians, who have parked their vans here for winter. A recent TV news item mentioned there are an estimated 30,000 caravans on the move around Queensland at the present time.

Unfortunately, the fair dinkums and the squatters do not seem to mix. A few people came over to welcome us when we arrived. They had been here for over a month and would be going home late August, early September. When we told them we were only staying for a week, they lost all interest in us.

Our idea of happy hour is where a small group of people get together and swap yarns about their travelling experiences. Here, however, there are two distinct groups. The largest, the Vics and Tassies that engulf us, gather just up the road every afternoon. There are approximately 50 of them (maybe more) and they sit in a big circle that overflows onto the roadway. If you are unlucky enough to be driving out of the park at the time you have to negotiate them as they will not move.

The gathering sounds more like a club meeting with people taking centre stage from time to time and there are regular rounds of clapping and cheering. It seems to be a closed shop. We were invited to join the alternative group, a slightly smaller mob from the other nondescript states, but because they too were mostly all squatters, we decided to let them be.

We leave Emu Park tomorrow, 24 July with the intention of overnighting in Sarina before making our way to Queen Beach Caravan Park in Bowen where we have booked for a few nights.