Venturing Into The Bush

You may have noticed fewer posts from me over the last few days. That is because I was away with my husband on a trip to Western Australia's Southwest region. We drove 353 km from our house in Mullaloo to the little town of Pemberton. We left on Friday afternoon. I was very excited, as it felt like an adventure. Graham seemed happy too.

We drove for several hours. Well, Graham did. I can't drive. It was dark before we reached the caravan park where we had booked a small cabin. Even in the dark we could tell it was clean and tidy, and we appreciatively gloated over our good fortune before making the double bed and falling asleep.

Poor Graham. I was so excited about exploring that I woke up early on Saturday morning. To be fair, when I woke him, I did sweeten the blow with pancakes, but I think he was still sleepy! At my insistence, we ate quickly and got ready to drive out in search of adventure. We decided we would travel to the Valley of the Giants, which we were assured was only an hour and a half drive away. The sun was shining, the air was beautiful and clean, and we were ready to take on the bush!

Our GPS system has always irritated me. It is old and sometimes erratic. However, we've never had too much trouble with it. So I plugged it in and tried to get direction to the Valley of the Giants. The GPS came up with a route - only to inform us that it would include unsealed roads. But we were optimistic. Surely we could make it? So we drove along winding roads, and eventually came upon the warned unsealed road. It looked fine:

So it was a surprise when a sign declared the road closed due to flooding of a river. Oh well, never mind. Surely there is an alternate route? The GPS declared there was... one that would take us several hours to traverse. Undeterred, we decided to keep going.

The southwestern area of Western Australia is stunning. Tall karri trees are skirted by lush scrub and ferns. Graham and I sat back and drank in the breathtaking views. We got ever closer to our goal, until the GPS turned us down one last road. 70 kilometres and we were there! The road had no lines, but it was wide and sealed, so we started driving.

Then the road turned into an unsealed road. No worries; it was still wide and graded.


Then it got narrower.


Then it got bumpier.


Until finally we were driving along a sandy death-trap suitable only for tractors. Graham suddenly spoke up. "How long is it until we get to the end of this road?"


Surprised, I asked why. 


"Because we are close to running out of fuel. We need to get off this track and find a petrol station."


"Should we turn back?"


"We actually don't have enough petrol left to do that."


We started to get nervous. Then the GPS went silent - it had no idea where we were any more. Visions of being stranded in the bush, with no petrol and no phone reception began to flash before my mind's eye. Graham looked just as scared.


And then, oh joy of joys! We got to the end of that horrific road! And only a couple of hundred metres away there was the most welcome sight - a roadhouse and petrol station. We filled the car and bought a map. As we relaxed outside the roadhouse we realised just what had happened. The GPS had sent us on a huge 500 km trip, when there was a highway that would have gotten us there in half the time. 

The orange arrows are the way we came. The purple marks the easy way the GPS inexplicably missed. Perplexed and frustrated, we checked our map again. We were only 13 km away from our original destination - the Valley of the Giants. We decided to go and visit it, as we had come so far to do so.

The Valley of the Giants is an untouched part of a National Park, famous for its forest of tingle trees. These trees are over 40 metres tall, and more than 400 years old. The rangers have built a huge and very high walkway among the ancient trees. We climbed up the walkway and found ourselves walking through the treetops, 40 metres above the ground. It was beautiful, and all our worries melted away as we explored the forest.

It was beautiful and majestic.

Eventually, refreshed and happy, we set off back to the caravan park. I packed away the offending GPS and we navigated the old-fashioned way... by map. And it was easy, and took less than half the time to get back than we had spent trying to get there!


We had a lovely trip away. But I now hate that GPS, and have sworn to destroy it in some way. Any suggestions on methods welcomed! 

Identifying Australian Country; A Beginner's Guide

Graham and I went for a weekend trip in the country a couple of days ago. I was quite excited. I'd lived for most of my life in rural areas, and had friends who lived in the country, but it had been a long time since I had really ventured out into the country areas of Australia. 

We left on Friday afternoon, in our trusty stationwagon.  As Graham drove, and I cooed at the sight of cows and snakes and rednecks, I began to wonder - where does the city end and the country begin? While you might think it's just a case of wide-open spaces and grass indicating the country, that's not always true. There are parts of the city that are beautiful and rustic, and there are parts of the country that bustle. So I began compiling a list of signs which one should look out for when trying to determine whether one is in the country.

Traffic Lights

Have you been through a set of traffic lights recently? Do you know if there is another set within a 1,000 km distance? If the answer is no, you are entering country. Traffic lights are unneeded in the country, a place where if you are in a traffic jam, you have inadvertently stumbled into the yearly agricultural Show on the day the Slim Dusty tribute band is playing.

Roadkill

Check the roads. Are there dead animals? In posher, "rural" areas, most roadkill is quickly swept away. Not in the country. There are simply too many roads and not enough cars to make it worthwhile clearing away the unfortunate furry victims. The most work put into clearing these carcasses is hauling away particularly large kangaroos and rolling wombats off the tarmac before decomposition causes them to explode. Because that would be messy.

I was going to put up a picture of roadkill, but the photos made me sad. Here instead is a photo of a happy baby wombat.

Utes

Count the cars passing you (and in the country, they will pass you, as they consider speed limits to be merely guidelines). If 8 out of 10 vehicles are utes (pick-up trucks, as the Americans term them) or four-wheeled drive vehicles, you have made it to the country. Look out for R.M. Williams stickers, red dust or clay, and sheepdogs in the back. If the driver is trying to impress a girl, he may have washed it. But probably not, as that wastes water.

Tyres

There are farms, and there are farms. Or to be more precise, there are hobby farms run by enthusiasts, and then there are real farms, inhabited by farmers. One is built, the other accumulates and grows. One thing that always seems to turn up on real country farms are discarded tyres. Watch for drifts and piles of tyres in various desolated paddocks - the higher the pile, the longer that family has been there. One would think that they would haul them away and dispose of them, but that would only be feasible if one could find a functioning vehicle. And that's not easy because...

Country Farms Double As Auto Wreck Yards

For every fully functional, well-running car on a country farm, there is likely to be 10 more, ranging from fully rusted, disembowelled wrecks, to clunky bombs kept "for the kids to learn to drive in". It seems to be a point of honour not to get rid of them, perhaps because of a fear that, should they dispose of a vehicle, the very next day they will find that they needed a part from it. Or that they have broken their children's hearts by hauling away their playground and cubbyhouses.

A Sign Isn't A Sign Without A Bullethole

Many country people own guns. Many country roads have signs. How a respectable farmer's rifle ends up putting rounds into the local speed limit sign seems to be a mystery though. However, the fact remains that a true country sign is battered, riddled with bullets, and probably singed from recent bushfires. Legibility is for city slickers.

The Pub

If the settlement has a pub, it is a town. If it does not, then it is only a tiny village undeserving of mention. It may have churches, cafes, a garage, a general store and a doctors - but it is only when it acquires a pub that it truly becomes a town. The bigger towns may have two or more pubs. While it may seem that there just isn't enough people to meet the supply, these pubs usually have a strict clientele that they cater for. There are the rough pubs, where all the farmers and workers go to drink; there are the posh pubs meant for families, where one can get a meal; and there are the tourist pubs. If it has a title such as "Ye Olde Tavern", it is for tourists. Go to the tourist pub if you get a choice. The drinks are more expensive, but there will be more choice, rather than the three beers on draft in the local pub.

Isolation

Depending on when you recognise these signs of impending country, you may be quite a way into real country Australia. If you have any sense at all, you will make sure that you know where the next petrol station is, and how far you can drive without your petrol running out. The reason why?

Get out your mobile phone. Look, no reception bars! Check the roads. Look, no bus signs! Taxis? Even if you could call one, how far do you think they are prepared to travel to find you? So, when next you go to the country, be prepared. Watch the signs. And if you feel faint of heart, make sure you have enough fuel to get back to civilisation. 

The Australian country is a foreign land, and no one has yet tamed it.