The vegetable tour – Quorn to Berri

A recurring town on our travels - Orooroo!

Time is running out for us to see stuff and still be in Melbourne before Easter so we hitch up and make for Berri in the Riverland area of South Australia. In the last couple of years we have traipsed over these roads quite a few times and despite the fact that there are a number of roads that will get you through this country we always end up going through the little town with the intriguing name of Orooroo. It reminds me of the old Australian word for good-bye (Hooroo) so it says good-bye to me even as we’re driving in. Maybe that’s why we have never stopped there. It’s always a great drive through that area however as there are lots of old farm ruins of great character strewn along the roads as a testament to the tough life in this marginal farming country.

The Murray River at Berri

 

 

Maurs zeroing in on a pigeon or something

 

 The area around Berri is another iconic part of Australia with the Murray River looking magnificent, and plenty of interesting birds (as I‘m continually reminded). We were recommended to try a caravan park very close to the river. The present inhabitants appear to be obsessed with the ritual of caravan and vehicle cleaning. There is row after row of pristine gleaming rigs and then there is our poor old thing, covered in dust and dried-on mud from country roads and tracks (and will be staying that way for a while yet). Consequently we didn’t get invited to five o’clock drinks while we were there. The caravan park is a bit Stalag-esque with boom gates and high wire fences and an entry code to get through the gates. I suppose this is a plus for those people who need that feeling of extra security but for us who have just come from camping areas in the bush with nothing adverse happening to us, it felt more like an impost. There is also an entry code required for the ablution block overnight that would guarantee anyone with mild dementia and a pressing bladder an unhappy experience at 2 am.

It must be good golfing in the area as there was a large group of enthusiasts who opted to tow their golf buggies behind them rather than a caravan and then stay at the cabins in the caravan park. Now that’s different. No sooner had they left than they were replaced by another group of golfers.

                              Golf buggies a-go go

We had arranged for a guy to come and fix our gas leak. I was given the choice of two names – Perry Casey and Greg Brown. Which to choose. Here’s how my logic ran. I used to work with a colleague, Kerry Casey, whose father was a POW on the Burma Railway. I am currently reading Richard Flanagan’s The Narrow Road to the Deep North which is centred on Aussie prisoners working on the Burma Railway. Greg Brown never stood a chance. Perry was great actually and turned out to be an old blues player (drummer) so we chatted on about playing in bands and, oh yes, he fixed the leak.

We took advantage of being in fruit and vegetable growing country and went out to a roadside stall for some fresh food. We encountered a lady who was very helpful but who also went to pains to tell us how honest she was (just ask anybody) – usually a sign of just the opposite! The produce that we got was excellent and the prices not too bad but really, I would pay anything for peaches that taste like peach instead of the bland excuses that are offered up at supermarkets these days.

 

       Floods we have had  - Lock No 4 at Berri

The healthy look of the Murray River here comes in part as a result of the system of locks that keep water levels stable and it’s always worth a look-around how a lock works etc. There was a nice record of floods they have known as well which appealed, to me anyway (for Maurs, not so much). It was a coolish day so I took a slightly shivering wife to a local restaurant (The Berri Lavender Farm – Italian family concern) for lunch. The mezzo plate was good fare washed down with a local drop of red. Time to leave the Murray. We’ve got friends to visit in Mildura and family waiting in Melbourne.

Lunch (and Table 19 - that's prime!!)

Quorn, Trains and Kangaroos

The Talcum Powder Conundrum has raised its head yet again. On our previous meanderings I mused whether the large signs in ablution blocks banning he use of talcum powder were from fear of inhalation or slipping on the stuff.  Well the last couple of shower blocks haven’t clarified the situation, even though explanations are now being provided rather than the usual plain “Verboten”. As I suspected, different caravan park owners warn for one or the other; I’m waiting for the sign that warns about inhaling the talcum and then collapsing and slipping onto the tiles to await certain death.

Home among the Gum Trees - Quorn

I find it fascinating that just about every cubicle around the country has a sign that you must read. All different, and all I suspect to do with some past “incident”. We’re in the “Three minute shower” zone at the moment. I think it’s a trust system but I‘m unwilling to shower more than 3 minutes lest the Shower Police break down the cubicle door and frog-march me out into the middle of the camping area, leaving one dripping and naked as a sorry lesson to the other campers.

Outside the Railway Station

The Barwell Bull - "All Aboard"

We were lucky enough to be in Quorn on a day they run the Pichi Richi Railway, which is a vestige of the old railway system now long gone. Sometimes they run steam engines but it’s fire season and it’s hot so we had to settle for a diesel job known as the Barwell Bull (after a politician naturally). The volunteers who run the show dress in authentic costume and assume roles of Conductor, Guard and Driver, and generally take things pretty seriously (as they must do to make everything work I guess). There’s whistles being blown and tickets being clipped and coloured flags to wave as well. We had a great time travelling the 20 or so kilometres to Woolshed Flat and then back again, although it might have been a little more comfortable if we had the train with round wheels rather than the elliptical ones we seemed to have fitted. Whether it was the wheels or the track, the effect was such that ladies with ill-fitting bras were having a lot of trouble remaining intact and gentlemen needed a minute or so to “compose” themselves before alighting (took me back to being a 13-year old on the rickety buses that we caught to school).

"Mo'im Back!" - shunting manoeuvre underway

Enjoying the view from the Barwell Bull

Fossils in the cutting! (we went back the next day for a closer look)

End of the line - Woolshed Flat

 

The change in the weather that I mentioned would have blown us off the beach at Baird Bay came through Quorn and dropped the temperatures from 35C to 22C the next day. That made it a good day to visit Warren Gorge about 20 km out of town. There was just no one around at all and we followed a trail that took us past big old River Gums, through Cypress Pines and into Yakka country (native grass trees, or as some old recidivists call them, blackboys). We were looking for a colony of rock wallabies but they proved elusive; however there were quite a few big red kangaroos hopping around us, plus a few birds although none to get excited about. There are lots of great walks in the Quorn area. We were told about Dutchman’s Stern Conservation Park close by and then told it was closed for ‘goat eradication’, which explains why we saw heaps of goats at Warren Gorge (asylum seekers of a sort I suppose). I was interested to see whether there was a rock formation there resembling the rear of a Dutch sailing ship or less kindly, just the back end of a Dutchman! But now I may never know.

River Gums at Warren Gorge and a roo in the right hand corner of frame

Back in town that afternoon, we went to the local Rural Traders store and asked the lady there if there was someone in town who could look at our gas leak problem. She pointed and said “The guy in line behind you!” There was nowhere for the local plumber to hide. Actually he was very obliging and came around to the camper. It took a while but he finally identified the source of the leak – the regulator – of which he didn’t have a replacement part, but at least now we knew. With the help of Uncle Google we located a guy in the next town to which we were heading – Berri – and placed him in our cross-hairs. We slept well that night (actually we sleep well every night – out here on the Returd Highway).

The Mother-in-Law house (farmer built it for his MiL a good mile from the farmhouse) - just sayin'