For our second shakedown trip, we had the perfect excuse to hit the road: a reunion with the crew we used to spend school holidays with. The kind of people who helped shape our kids into the legends they are today. Four couples planned a quiet week in Agnes Waters… which instantly snowballed into eight couples and a full-blown retirement‑strategy summit. First one in three years — overdue and guaranteed chaos.
The plan was simple: leave Brisbane at the end of the Easter school holidays, drive three hours, stay somewhere easy, then another three hours the next day to spend a few nights with one couple before the big shindig.
Simple… until packing happened.
The week before departure, we packed, repacked, and then repacked the Wiz and the Trailblazer so many times the tension was thick enough to butter on toast. One of my many faults: I can overthink things. Shelly would say many faults. I’ll stick with “some”.
Day 1 – Saturday 18 April
We cruised up to Glastonbury Creek State Park — a relaxed 2.5‑hour drive. The last 10 km were dirt, including a decent stretch of corrugations, but Wiz handled it like a champ.
Then the signs started appearing.
“Rally Spectator Parking →”
What the…?
We followed the road to the campground, half expecting to be swallowed by a crowd of Subaru WRXs and dust clouds. Thankfully, the signs kept pointing further down the track — bullet dodged.
The campground was only a third full. Perfect. Time to set up.
Or so we thought.
The Actuator Incident (aka: The Gremlin Awakens)
Feet down. Door open. Latches undone. Time to hit the magic button and let the electric actuator lift the roof.
Click.
Nothing.
Cue internal screaming.
I turned the power on and off. Pulled every fuse I could find. Stared at things like a man hoping wires would confess their sins. This had happened once at home but fixed itself — so naturally, now that we were heading off‑grid for four days, the gremlin decided to make a comeback.
With one bar of reception (thank you, Telstra gods), I called Stuart from Ultimate. It was Saturday morning, but he answered straight away. His first words: “We don’t really have issues with these actuators.”
Of course not. Why would they? Why would ours be special.
He tried to get his sparkie — no luck. So we went through more troubleshooting. Eventually, we found four extra fuses hidden behind the Portaloo storage. Checked them all. Tried the button again.
YES! The roof lifted like nothing had ever happened.
Still something to sort out later — I suspect dodgy fuse contacts — but crisis averted.
The Walk of Questionable Decisions
After setup and hiding from the midday sun, we decided to explore. Found a 2.2 km walking track and off we went.
With:
- no water
- sandals
- no snakebite kit
- no walking sticks
Basically, we packed the exact gear you’d take for a casual stroll to the café, not a bush track that looked like it had been maintained last century.
Grade 3, overgrown, perfect for a twisted ankle or stepping on a brown snake. Anyone watching would assume this was our first ever bush camping trip.
We survived, returned to camp, and immediately packed a proper daypack with essentials. Lesson learned. Probably.
The Milk Mystery
While prepping dinner, Shelly noticed fluid leaking from the food storage compartment near the door. Pulled everything out and discovered the culprit: the screws holding the fire extinguisher housing had poked through the internal wall, rubbing against the long‑life milk cartons.
Another job for home: file the screw heads and maybe add carpet. Let’s call it a “build opportunity” rather than a “design flaw”.
Spot the Problem
As we sat down for dinner, I glanced at our neighbours and something felt… off.
Can you spot it?
If you noticed the 8‑metre dead branch balanced above their setup like nature’s version of a guillotine — you win. Their van and annex were right underneath it.
I wandered over, gave them the heads‑up, and they moved immediately. As soon as they left, another camper pulled into the exact same spot. Another warning, another move. My good deed quota for the day was well and truly met.
The Rally Escape
The campground was decent, though one of the drop toilets was… character‑building. And the walking track needed some TLC. But overall, not a bad first stop.
All night I kept thinking about the rally. Race day was Sunday, and I had no idea how many spectators would be rolling in. At sunrise, Shelly and I agreed: skip breakfast and get out before the traffic.
Great call. We only passed half a dozen cars on the single‑lane dirt road. The moral? Trust your gut. Or maybe: don’t camp near a rally track the night before race day.
We grabbed breakfast at a BP roadhouse. Let’s just say… another learning. There seem to be many.
This post is already getting long in the tooth, so I’ll save our Deepwater National Park adventures for the next chapter.
Oh — and I’m already getting tired of the standard traveller farewell: “Safe travels!” Might start using “Catch ya!” instead. Feels more us 😊
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