We rolled into Halls Gap and booked into the NRMA caravan park just outside town — great vibe, great people, and instantly felt like the right base for a proper stay. First mission: head up the main road to Reids Lookout. One walk in and we were hooked. The Grampians are something else.
That night the winds came off the ranges like a freight train. Huge gusts hammering the Ultimate, rocking us around, another night of barely any sleep and getting up to tie on extra ropes. By morning we’d had enough — rang Darren and ordered a storm pole set, express courier straight to the park. Booked five nights and settled in to wait it out.
We hit the National Parks Info Centre — brilliant place, full of history and local knowledge — then wandered the dam wall at Lake Bellfield.
Gave us a whole new perspective of the ranges and definitely whet the whistle for what was coming.
A quieter day followed: Silverband Falls, Venus Baths, and two tired humans after the previous night’s chaos.
Next day was better. Back up to the northern end for more waterfalls and wildflowers everywhere — the place was exploding with colour.
Saturday, we ducked into Stawell for a bit of shopping… dreaming. Everything closed. WT. So we looped back via Bunjil’s Shelter, one of Victoria’s most significant First Nations sites. Bunjil the creator, his two dingoes — powerful, thought‑provoking stuff.
More walks the next day: Clematis Falls, emus on the track, and our first dinner out — the local pizza joint. Yummy. (Still miss my weekly homemade pizzas though.)
Then we got serious. Grand Canyon
and The Pinnacle. What a day. One of those walks that stays with you — raw beauty, big climbs, big views. Huge morning, so we took the arvo off.
Next day: Boroka Lookout, Wartook Lookout, part of the track toward Werdug Camp, and yes… another pizza. Big day. We thought the storm poles weren’t going to arrive, but they rocked up that arvo — which meant our time in the Grampians was suddenly up.
This place was a highlight of the whole journey. Longest stay in one spot, and it left us refreshed, grounded, and a bit awestruck. Our phones recorded over 43 km of walks, but I reckon we did more. So much fun. Short post because the photos really do the talking.
Next morning we headed south. Cold start, rolled through Lake Learmonth on the way to Ballarat. Thought about staying on the lake but it was too open and windy. Maybe I was on a bit of a downer after the Grampians — Ballarat felt too big, too busy — so we only stayed the one night
Mentioned in the previous post that we stayed at Balranald — turns out my memory was doing its own thing. It was actually Hay, and then we camped at Balranald for a couple of days. Right on the Murray, peaceful as anything, and I even started wondering whether I should finally buy a fishing rod. Had a wander along the riverbank inside the caravan park, picturing myself catching absolutely nothing but enjoying the attempt.
Then at around 2am, out of nowhere, we hear this massive crack followed by a bang. Proper heart‑starter. Should I be worried? Next morning we find a huge gum tree had split and dropped straight into the river — right where I’d been walking the day before. No wind, no storm, no warning. Just Aussie Red Gums doing what Aussie Red Gums do: randomly deciding it’s time to fall over.
After Balranald we found ourselves asking the familiar question — where to now? Turns out the answer was south, to a little border town called Tooleybuc. We ducked down for a day drive and looped back via the Yanga Woolsheds — an incredible slice of history that’s teaching us more about Australia than school ever did. Hard to imagine 3,000 sheep packed in for shearing by 40 shearers. Now it’s a quiet national park: https://www.nationalparks.nsw.gov.au/things-to-do/historic-buildings-places/yanga-woolshed
From there we rolled into Mildura, camping just outside town on the Murray again.
Biggish place, easy to settle into. Next day we did a day drive and headed to Wentworth (this is where the Murray meets the Darling), and then out to Perry Sandhills — a taste of desert country. I got the drone up for a couple of quick shots between sightseeing planes doing laps overhead. Up, down, no stupidity… but gee I wanted more time up there over those 400 acres.
Back in Mildura we spent a day learning how the weirs and locks work. Suddenly the whole “houseboat holiday on the Murray” thing made sense. Arts centre the next day, more exploring, more wandering.
Eventually our minds were made up — heading west was still on hold — so we aimed for the pink lakes in Murray‑Sunset National Park.
We set up at the southern campground –
then went looking for a remote site the ranger recommended (“if you want no neighbours, head here”). We assumed half an hour. Nope. Over an hour of single‑lane tracks through mallee country. Found the site… but it was literally just a clearing in the scrub. So we turned back and tried a shortcut to another lake. Road got smaller, wetter, muddier. After a couple of sticky holes we hit a 100‑metre stretch of water. No mates, no reception, no idea where we really were — so a careful 180 and back we went. A half‑hour recon turned into a three‑hour adventure. Saw our first herd of emus though.
Learnt a heap about salt mining and how the pink lakes came to be.
Got the drone up that evening for some magic shots.
Next day we moved to Hopetoun / Lake Lascelles, another spot the local council has developed to bring in tourist dollars.
Honesty box camping around the lake. We parked next to campers we’d met the day before — good people. But when we arrived someone asked, “You here for the muster?”
What muster?
Turns out we’d walked into the 832 Muster — a gathering of “like‑minded people” who reckon most others (including the government) don’t know what they’re doing. Eureka flags, slogans, bonfire, music… and a T‑shirt Shell spotted that read Good people break bad laws. Long night. Still going at 2am with strong opinions and plenty of F‑bombs drifting across the lake.
Next day we drove through Yaapeet, Rainbow and Beulah, getting deeper into the silo art precinct. The Rainbow silo is a must‑see — stairs and a lift up the outside, two internal viewing platforms, and the acoustics inside were unreal. Shell even gave me a little singing performance. Magic.
The muster crew kept mostly to themselves. Not often I don’t stop for a chat, but I was happy to give this lot a wide berth. Couldn’t help thinking Richard Butz would have love the challenge and had a bit of fun in a mischievous way.
Foggy morning departure to Horsham, where we found the showgrounds were too wet and boggy, so we camped in a lovely park by the river. Day trip to Natimuk, Mount Arapiles and Dimboola — and wow. Views from Arapiles were excellent, but Dimboola was next level. The town’s being revitalised by quirky newcomers from Melbourne, and the standout was The Imaginarium — a wild, creative little gem that feels like stepping into someone’s imagination: https://dimboolaimaginarium.com/
Back in Horsham we ordered our first pizza… went to pick it up… shop closed. WT? They refunded us the next day and the replacement pizza was actually OK.
Next morning we explored the northern end of the Grampians — Ngamadjidj Shelter, Mt Zero and Gulgurn Manja — and the vibe was strong. The Grampians were calling.
So we set the plan: head to Halls Gap for a proper stay. Travel day through Murtoa, Rupanyup and Stawell. The Stick Shed at Murtoa was another slice of history we’re never taught — a massive grain shed built at the end of WWII. Absolutely worth a visit: https://www.thestickshed.com.au/
In Stawell we visited the track where the Stawell Gift is held. Shell was like a kid in a candy store and the staff member was brilliant.
Finally we rolled into Halls Gap, a town with the vibe of a ski resort — and we knew instantly we’d enjoy it. All that in the next post.
This trip — actually, let’s call it what it is now: a journey — has been smashing my usual PPP mode (plan, plan, plan) into tiny little pieces. This adventure needs some structure, sure, but it definitely doesn’t need to be over‑thought.
Going north to Birdsville and back down? That door slammed shut. So… options. Our mate Gary threw a few ideas at us, including heading via Broken Hill. Plenty of magic south and west of us, so why not.
Cue our first of what I suspect will be many sharp turns — this one was left.
Cunning Plan #?? — The Broken Hill Gambit
The new plan was simple: head towards Broken Hill and attack Lake Eyre from that side. On 12 August we left Nyngan and rolled into Condobolin — our first “donation camp” in a while. The drive took us through the irrigation plains of the Murray–Darling, with yellow canola fields glowing between grain crops.
We camped at Gum Bend Lake and instantly loved it. Great facilities, a 3km concrete loop around the lake, a bit boggy at first… but absolute drone heaven at sunset. Stayed a couple of days.
Whilst we were staying at this lake, this bus turned up – apparently was one of the buses used by Bob Ansett to take passengers from the airport in the 1960’s. Guy who owned it had driven this bus everywhere and even through the Aussie desert – amazing bus and man.
Forbes, Sculptures, and the First Taste of Dirt
Day trip to Forbes via the Lachlan Sculpture Trail — about a dozen large sculptures spaced every few kilometres. Thoughtful, inspiring, and proof that remote councils sometimes have more vision than the big cities.
Quick wander around Forbes, then back to camp via the opposite river road — our first taste of the dirt roads we’ll be tackling in the coming months.
Next day: Mt Tilga lookout. 360° views, dead quiet, could hear sheep bleating below. Magic.
We were hooked on lake camping by now. Shelly even did her own park run around the lake.
Lake Cargelligo — and the First Alarm Bells
Next stop: Lake Cargelligo. Deadmans Point was a great choice. Dust off the back door, start setup, and meet Kelsey and her dog Ziggy — a solo traveller in a Coaster with instant kindred‑spirit vibes.
Went looking for a walk, ended up at the visitor centre… and that’s when we first heard about the Mundy Mundy Bash happening the following Saturday. Around 1500 campers heading 50km north of Broken Hill for a big party.
Didn’t think much of it at first — but the alarm bells started quietly ringing.
Met Nik and her dog Albert (blue heeler cross, Insta-famous: AlbertAntics007). More chats, more road condition updates, more Bash info… and suddenly those bells were louder.
Most Bash‑goers would be heading the same direction we were. Northern roads were closed. Another weather front was coming from the west. Dirt roads were sounding less appetising by the day.
Plans not changed yet… but the universe was definitely clearing its throat.
South‑West Drift — Griffith, Hillston, and Farm Life
We kept drifting southwest and headed to Griffith via Hillston. Tried a second farm stay — vineyard/orchard run by Joe and Sharyn. Campsite was beside the tractor shed, but we decided to base ourselves there for three days.
Into Griffith for supplies, info centre, and the Hermit’s Cave — interesting but not well maintained. Back to Joe’s farm for his bus tour: four couples, an old Nissan bus, flat battery, still fun. They gifted us eggs, fruit, veggies, and a bottle of Joe’s red… let’s call it “characterful”.
Leeton Hipcamp — Cats, Dogs, Horses, Chaos
Next stop: a Hipcamp at an equestrian centre outside Leeton. The owner had 20 cats, 4 dogs, and horses. Facilities overpriced but the chaos was entertaining. Had to keep the camper door shut — one cat once snuck into a van and ended up in Griffith.
Quick drive to Narrandera for the skywalk over the weir — realised we’d been there on the Melbourne trip for Kirsty’s birthday. Small country? Nope. Massive. We just get around.
Whitton, Hay, Balranald — and the Final Nail in Lake Eyre
Headed to Hay via Whitton. Considered staying at the Whitton Malt House — very fancy — but expected winds made the open area risky. Coffee and brunch instead.
Drove through the approaching front — looked worse than it was, but the car got a free wash. Hay was peaceful, just a stopover before Balranald.
Balranald info centre was impressive… but the news wasn’t. Mungo National Park closed. Roads too wet. Another front coming.
Danger Will Robinson. Those alarm bells weren’t bells anymore — they were sirens.
Park was beside the main road, trucks all night, so we bailed the next morning and headed south to Tooleybuc on the NSW border.
By now we’d officially given up on reaching Lake Eyre anytime soon. The west had shut its gates.
So… where next?
Shelly had never seen the Great Ocean Road. Neither of us had seen the Grampians. The west was a mud pit.
We finally rolled out of Port Macquarie on the 2nd of August — four days later than planned. Nice town, but we never want to walk that Mid Coast road again. Ever.
The plan was simple enough: Head west → St George → Birdsville → Lake Eyre. Let’s go.
The night before leaving, a fellow camper told us to check out Middle Mountain Lookout. Wish we’d known earlier — the views were insane. Coastline north and south, lakes everywhere, and skies that would’ve been magic three days before. Still worth it.
Gloucester: Base Camp & Barrington Calling
Shelly had mentioned Barrington Tops more than a few times, and slow travelling means you can finally say: “Stuff it — let’s go.”
Side stops on the way:
We rolled into Gloucester and set up at the showgrounds — absolute 5/5 spot. Terraced camping platforms looking over a valley that made you stop and stare. Facilities were fine, but the location was the winner.
We wandered into town and found a gallery mid‑setup. They let us in anyway, and we met a sculptor who was one of those rare humans you could talk to for hours. Genuine, talented, and generous with his time. A great surprise.
A drive out to Copeland ATF gave us a taste of what Barrington Tops might offer — lush, green, and a hint of adventure.
Next day, the info centre gave us the goss: gold mine tours closed, but Gloucester Tops was open. So we did a warm‑up loop around Buccan Buccan Range — creek crossings, mountain water, curvy roads, and our first Antarctic Beech forest. Walking through remnants of Gondwana felt pretty special.
Back to camp for another sunset drone session and a moonrise — I’m really enjoying those golden‑hour flights.
The Town was nice with an excellent creek walk – think we will see many of this in the future.
Dungog & The Big Call
Next day: Dungog. Small historic town, easy drive, a few skinny dirt rat‑runs on the way back just to keep things interesting.
Then came the decision: Let’s actually camp in Barrington Tops.
Polblue Campground was stunning. The drive up had multiple lookouts, two lyrebirds, and a swamp that looked like a movie set — crystal‑clear water weaving through grasslands.
Peaceful walking tracks and a night sky full of satellites and one shooting star.
Woke to frost. Beautiful, but brisk. We re-walked the swamp walk and understood the ‘Slippery when frosty’ signs – bloody beautiful.
Westward: Scone → Coolah → Gilgandra
We kept heading west through Scone and on to Coolah via Meerah — saw our first water rat.
Next morning: Gilgandra Showgrounds. Old mate caretaker greeted us with: “Keep moving — big party tonight. Set up down the back.” Good call. The 20th + 50th birthday bash went until 2am but wasn’t too wild.
Rain arrived, so we did domestic duties — food shop, defrosted the Ulti fridge (10 weeks of ice buildup), and washed the car and camper in the drizzle. Felt good to reset.
The Night the Ulti Tried to Fly
We were expecting 20km winds. We got… something else.
By 10pm the gusts were hammering us. One hit so hard it popped a support pole out of the annex. Out of bed, headlamp on, and suddenly I’m in a midnight episode of Survivor: Ultimate Edition. I threw out seven extra guy ropes, tying the awning to anything that looked vaguely solid.
We lay in bed listening to the canvas flex like it wanted to escape. Later we learned gusts were hitting 75km/h. No wonder it felt like the Ulti was trying to take up flying.
Thankfully, I’d pointed the nose into the wind — deliberate move — which saved us from a full disaster.
Next day I rang Darren for storm‑prep advice. Turns out my midnight MacGyvering was pretty close, but he gave me extra tips to make the setup more bulletproof. Looking forward to testing them… maybe.
The Near Miss
Pack‑up was another challenge. Gusts still over 35km/h. We had a plan — well, I had a plan — but I didn’t fully brief Shelly. Mistake.
She was holding the middle pole on the windward side when a monster gust hit. A side pole lifted, she instinctively grabbed it, and it bent, unhooked, and launched straight at her. Missed her face by centimetres. Whacked her pinky hard — we thought it might be broken.
Could’ve been so much worse. Lesson learned: storm pack‑ups need proper communication.
We eventually folded the roof between gusts, using spare rope to hold it down. Many lessons learned that day.
Nyngan: Regroup & Reality Check
Places and shops that you visit – love this travelling – so many things to see.
We rolled into Nyngan and paid extra for an ensuite — wind protection and a bit of luxury. Repacked everything, slept well, and Shell even did a run around the Weir.
Start of the serious Silo Art -.
Then we rang our mate Outdoor Gaz for advice on the route. His first question: “Have you checked the road conditions?” Us: “Yeah yeah, of course.” (We had not.)
Gaz called back with the truth bomb:
Birdsville Track: closed until end of August
Strzelecki Track: flooded
Lake Eyre via Cameron Corner: forget it
Our cunning plan… wasn’t so cunning.
So… what now?
You’ll have to wait for Cunning Plan #2 in the next post
PS have I mentioned that Shelly is doing a daily Zen Tangle – will post examples.
The Scott’s Head Loggerhead Malibu Comp finally rolled around and I was fizzing. Good swell all week, big easterly lines rolling in, and the bay looking as friendly as a labrador. Scott’s had a mountain of sand in it and was handling the swell like it had been training for the Olympics.
Rocked up a couple of days early and the crowd was already thick — every mug punter within 300km had decided this was the weekend to become a longboard hero. Still scored a few fun sessions before the comp kicked off.
Friday morning delivered a clean 3‑footer for the first heats. Over‑65s had 18 competitors, so three heats, only the winner straight into the final, second and third into the semis. My heat was stacked with blokes who surf like they were born on a log. Had a cracking heat, couldn’t snag first, but stoked to grab second and move into the semi.
The Semi — AKA “Follow Merc” Strategy
The semi was loaded with talent, including local club legend Merc. I figured I’d watch what he was doing — local knowledge is worth more than wax.
Just before the hooter, Merc casually paddles past everyone and parks himself 20 metres further out than the entire field. So I follow him like a lost duckling.
Hooter goes. Big set arrives. Merc gets the first wave. Second wave stands up beautifully — mine.
141 metres. Top speed 22 km/h. Yah bloody who.
Six waves in twenty minutes. Couldn’t have surfed better if you paid me. Came in grinning like a kid who’d found the Easter stash early.
Only controversy? Merc got a cheeky tow from the jet ski back to the point. Not illegal… but definitely “helpful”.
Results go up. Top three into the final. I thought I was a chance. Fourth. Bugger.
To get big points you’ve gotta be able to hang 5 or 10 — proper nose‑riding. The top three could do it all day. I’m still more of a “back half of the board” specialist. Still, seventh out of eighteen in that company? Happy days. And Merc won the final, which was brilliant for him and the club.
Six days at Scott’s flew by — surf, laughs, mates, and a perfect send‑off before pointing the nose west.
We had an added bonus of being able to catch up with Shell’s mum and sister Marie at Macksville as they were heading back to Evans after catching up with Tova – priceless.
The Port Macquarie Wheel‑Bearing Saga
One last hurdle before heading west: the 150k service in Port Macquarie. It was Shelly’s birthday, so the plan was simple — quick two‑hour service, nice dinner in town, easy.
Walked into Mid Coast 4WD and the place looked chaotic. Two mechanics had called in sick. The workshop is 5km from the CBD, so we decided to walk in, grab lunch, wander back — 10km round trip along the Kooloonbung Creek walk.
Dropped the car at 11:30, returned around 2pm, sat in the showroom expecting the car any minute.
Half an hour later the floor manager wanders past: “Can I help you?” Explained we were waiting. “Oh yep — was going to call you. The boys found your rear wheel bearings have 5mm of play. Strongly recommend replacing them. Car may not be safe to drive. What would you like to do?”
HUH?
We had no car. Camper still hooked up outside. Nothing set up. Shelly’s birthday dinner evaporating before our eyes.
Darren (the owner) was dealing with bigger issues, so we asked them to finish the service and rebook us for the next day. Got the car back around 4ish, dragged the Ulti to the campground, set up, collapsed. “Sorry Shelly… birthday dinner is now ‘whatever’s in the fridge’.”
Rebooked for another night — the park was packed, so I tried the old “Got a bit of an Apollo challenge” instead of using the “Houston, we have a problem” line. Unfortunately, they thought I meant Apollo caravans, not Apollo spacecraft. Took a minute, then we all had a good laugh.
Next morning: dropped the car off, walked back, feet getting sore, considered an Uber. No call. Rang at 2pm — bearings hadn’t arrived. Later we get the update: our 2019 Trailblazer apparently has a 2017 rear axle. Bearings delivered didn’t fit. New ones sourced from the next town. Double the price. Do we want to proceed? At this point… yes. Please. Just fix the bloody thing.
Booked another couple of nights.
Friday: decided to tackle the coastal walk — CBD to lighthouse, then through the burbs to the workshop. Eight kilometres of coves, then suburban wandering.
Car had all our clothes and a freezer full of food, so we needed it back.
Got to the lighthouse around 1pm, called them — bearings still not there. WT.
Started walking toward the workshop. Found a “shortcut” up a steep hill to the water tank… only to discover the track was closed. Back down. Onto main roads. Ended up walking on an 80km/h highway with no footpath. Sometimes my ideas are… ambitious.
Finally reached the workshop around 3pm. No guarantee it’d be done before the weekend. Sat in the showroom for another 2.5 hours. At 5:30pm they finally said, “All good to go.” To their credit, they stayed open until it was finished.
Price hurt. Feet hurt. Patience hurt. But better than losing wheel bearings halfway across the Nullarbor.
We clocked 16km walking that day.
And guess what – Shelly did a Park Run the next day – what a champion.
And with that… we were FINALLY ready to start our adventure around Australia.
Hang on — we’ve already been at it for six weeks.
I think I’m starting to understand the term ADVENTURE.
Leaving Cooma felt a bit like leaving a fridge with scenery. We pointed the Trailblazer toward Bega via the Snowy Mountain Highway and, surprise surprise, found ourselves on another foggy, freezing mountain. Honestly, NSW should just hand out “I survived the fog” stickers. But wow — the drive was magic. Cold, moody, dramatic… and occasionally “is this how it ends?” scary.
Everything was great until Brown Mountain decided to audition for Fast & Furious: Alpine Edition. I swear that descent had more tight turns than the previous week combined. One corner in particular — sharp right, already crawling at 30 km/h — suddenly got steeper. I tapped the brakes… and we sped up. Not ideal. Hit them harder, slowed down, but my heart rate didn’t. Could not wait to get off that mountain and back onto flat, sensible earth.
At the Princes Highway we had the classic traveller’s dilemma: right to Bega or left back up the coast? Bega Cheese won the toss. Coffee, sandwiches, cheese tasting — simple, interesting, and exactly the kind of stop that makes you feel like you’re doing “proper touring”.
From there we spun around and headed for Potato Point — our beloved eco‑park in the national park. Two years later and it was exactly as we remembered: quiet, beautiful, and good for the soul. I even attempted my first surf in six weeks. Westerly blowing like it wanted to send me to New Zealand, water freezing, waves flat… I lasted a couple of waves before admitting defeat. Still good to get wet again.
Next stop: Moruya, where the Ultimate team patched up a torn mozzie screen and fixed two items I’d broken. One of those was the door ring‑pull opener, which I snapped during a 2am half‑asleep bathroom mission. Door was shut, brain was offline, and I tugged the ring‑pull like it was the secret exit lever. It isn’t. It only releases the door when it’s locked open. I pulled harder… and harder… until the cable snapped, I fell backwards, and realised I was a complete wally. Red wine may have been involved.
Leaving Moruya, we headed north and found a quirky little spot at Burrill Lake — right on the highway, stretching all the way to the beach. Booking by phone was… atmospheric. “We don’t accept people who party all night. Are you one of those?” No, ma’am, we are
not. The beach and headland rocks were the real surprise — absolutely stunning.
Next day we ducked into Sussex Inlet to see Jelly, who was mid‑reno on his new boat. Great mate, great chat, solid hour of laughs.
Then we wound our way through Kangaroo Valley toward Mittagong — lush, green, and full of backroads that screamed old money and colonial land history. At the caravan park we bumped into friends travelling in an old coaster that looked exactly like Mum and Dad’s old rig. Nostalgia hit hard.
From there we drove to Morisset to see Michelle’s sister Marie and her partner Mark. First time seeing the work they’d done on their old Olympic — and OMG. When that thing is reassembled it’ll be a showpiece. Mark’s fibreglass work on the body, hatch, and door is next‑level.
Then came the main attraction: meeting Tova. A gorgeous new human crafted by Dom and Emma. The new mums were sleep‑deprived but glowing with pride. I even scored a sleepy smile during my cuddle — once Shell’s arms finally gave out. Visited again the next day for more cuddles and more smiles.
We stayed at Paradise Palms Caravan Park on Lake Macquarie — tight little park with a previously dodgy reputation, but honestly it was fine. Only downside: men’s toilets mid‑reno and not cleaned for two days. Also witnessed what I’m convinced will be a recurring theme on this trip — people who should not be allowed to tow caravans. One bloke reversed into a rock wall and a parked car. Some people should be restricted to tents.
Next stop: Treachery Beach. Two days camped beside a lagoon covered in bright green — surreal, almost alien. Shelly spotted a dingo while we were setting up. Massive caravan park, would be an absolute hoot in summer.
We decided to take the beach dirt road to Diamond Beach — a place we’d visited but never stayed. It reminded both of us of Potato Point: relaxed people, wildlife everywhere, that easy coastal vibe.
Stayed one night before heading to Port Macquarie for Trailblazer diagnostics. The old P040201 code — the eco‑friendly “let’s feed exhaust gas back into the engine” idea that sounds great until it clogs your motor with carbon and halves the life of a diesel. Needed Mid Coast 4WD to tell us whether the EGR valve was cactus. Camped in Port while waiting for the verdict.
From there we rolled through Crescent Head, which felt like Noosa — half the roads closed, more cabins going in, and about 60 blokes fighting for waves. We kept moving and landed at Hat Head. Second visit, booked in, and scored a clean little 3‑foot wave. Just me and one other surfer for 90 minutes. Bliss.
Next day: Scotts Head for the Loggerheads Longboard Contest.
We left the mist and cold… to chase more mist and cold. Brilliant strategy, right? Woke up to yet another foggy morning (NSW weather really said: “Surprise! It’s fog again!”) and rolled down the Great Western Highway toward Camden. Pleasant drive, but I’m officially over wavy mountain roads. My stomach is starting to negotiate a union agreement.
Skirted around Penrith, cruised into Camden, realised it still felt like Big Town Energy, so we bailed and ducked down the back roads to Moss Vale. I’m really loving being off the main highways — fewer trucks, fewer brake‑check moments, more “ahhh this is nice” vibes.
Found a showground. Found mud. Found more mud. Decided we didn’t need that much nature. So we did an avero drive and ended up in Berrima — gorgeous little historic town — where Shelly sniffed out a riverside heritage walk. Two hours later we’d learned all about the WW1 internment camp for German nationals. Honestly, we should’ve been taught more at school… or I should’ve listened instead of drawing cars in the margins. The tenacity of those people was wild — they dammed the creek, held regattas, built clubs… basically turned confinement into a community festival.
Back at camp, launched the drone (still loving the new perspective), and watched a certain Maroon team get absolutely belted. Next year… maybe.
We pointed the Trailblazer toward Goulburn but somehow ended up in Cooma. Somewhere along the line we decided that 38 years between snow sightings was unacceptable. Last time was Queenstown — the place I proposed to my beautiful wife — so the nostalgia was already bubbling. A big dump of snow had hit a week earlier, so fingers crossed.
Cooma Tourist Park had a bit of road noise and YES, it was cold again. But bring it on. We ducked up to Gladstone Lookout to scope the area and — in the distance — SNOW. Actual snow. Excitement levels rising.
Back at camp we planned the next day, helped along by fellow campers who warned us it’d be freezing in the morning. So we cooked up a cunning plan: head to Jindabyne, then Thredbo, then maybe loop around Mt Kosciuszko. Easy.
Driving into Thredbo triggered a flood of memories from my last visit 40‑odd years ago with Peter Slater. Young blokes, too much testosterone, chalet parties, people skiing down internal stairs… absolute chaos. I skied too hard on day one, wrecked my ankle, and stayed five more days anyway. Pete stayed on to “handle the locals”. I also remember a bloke named Richard who randomly dropped in, gave me his leather jacket (since returned), and then disappeared off to WA. Wild times.
Best part of that whole trip? My last night in Brisbane — out on the town with my future wife and another lady friend. We were all Telecom work buddies (and no, not FWB). Still makes me smile. Anyway… I digress.
Next morning: below zero, foggy, perfect. We hit the Jindabyne Info Centre, got the plan sorted, and headed up the mountain. Thredbo was packed — no parking — so we kept going another 20 km until we found a spot for a walk.
Sandshoes. Denim jeans. A 30‑minute walk down a fire trail… in snow. Not our smartest moment, but we had an absolute blast. Snow squeaking underfoot, cheeks frozen, Shell and I had the biggest smiles, tried the old snowball fight and generally just loved being there.
Stopped at Khancoban for lunch and chatted to the locals — thank goodness — because the road we were planning to take home is CLOSED in winter. Black ice. Lots of it. That would’ve been… memorable, but not in a good way.
The loop around the mountain was unreal — every 20 minutes the world changed. One moment we were in high alpine country, then suddenly rolling through eerie dead snow‑gum forests from the 2019 fires, then back into pockets of living snow gums, then lush green farmland, lakes, and even stretches of hydro‑country. It felt like someone kept switching the scenery channel — so many inputs, so much contrast, all in one drive.
Six hours of exploring later, we were both happy to get off those windy mountain roads. The Trailblazer got a workout in 4WD — some sections were definitely “hairy”, or should I say slippery — but she handled it like a champ.
Next day’s plan: get off the mountain and head back to the coast. Bega was the target. And if I thought I was done with scary mountain roads… absolutely not. But that’s for the next post
From our extremely rustic frost‑bite farm stay, we pointed the Trailblazer toward Lithgow. On the map we’d picked what looked like a cute little national‑park stroll… which turned out to be Secret Creek Sanctuary — a private setup breeding endangered critters. Semi‑interesting, slightly backyard, and featuring two emus who were far too friendly with each other. We gave them space. A bloke moved in immediately to film the action. Takes all sorts.
From there we kicked off our Blue Mountains run.
Caravan park: $95 a night for a powered ensuite site. After the minus‑7.8 icebox experience, we weren’t arguing. Booked two nights, then hit the National Park info centre.
Holy moly — 100+ walks. No chance of doing them all, so we picked a couple of the big names. Warm‑up was a short lookout walk near the centre. Appetite officially whetted.
Next morning: cold, misty, almost raining. Perfect weather to question our life choices… but we went for the Grand Canyon Walk anyway. Supposedly 2.8 km. Reality: closer to 8 km once you add the in‑and‑out, the creek sections, and the “ooh look at that” detours.
The track drops you down into a lush canyon, following a creek under towering cliffs and dripping ferns. Calling it spectacular is an understatement. It’s one of those places where you keep saying “wow” until you run out of adjectives.
We met two young ladies from Canberra and ended up playing tag with them the whole way. They were convinced we’d be slow — but the old tortoises became the young hares on the climb out. Great canyon mates, great reminder not to assume anything.
Next day: worse weather. Foggy rain, visibility about three metres. Decided to drive to Katoomba anyway to see if we could glimpse the Three Sisters.
Even in pea‑soup fog, the place was pumping. Parked 2 km away and walked along another cracking ridge track. Couldn’t see down — which actually helped with my new height phobia. Ever since the cataract surgery (one long‑distance eye, one close‑up eye), my brain’s depth perception has gone rogue. Dr Google/AI says it’s a known side effect. My brain now screams: RUN AWAY FROM THE EDGE. Makes sense to me.
When we reached the Sisters, we could just make out their shapes. Then — magic — the clouds parted for about 15 minutes. Enough time to get a proper view and understand why they’re so famous.
Walked back in improving conditions… until the fog swallowed us again.
Back to the park, warmed up, and got ready for the drive off the range
From the Warrumbungles we rolled into Dubbo right as the Sunday markets were firing. Main street absolutely going off. Grabbed lunch, soaked up the vibe, then cruised on to Wellington.
Wellington turned out to be one of those unexpectedly pleasant campgrounds — right on the river, tidy, cared for, even a washing basket and pegs to borrow. The caretakers were travellers doing a six‑month stint; might even bump into them again somewhere in SA. Stayed two days.
We wandered up the local hill which… let’s just say… may need a bit of TLC. Shelly reckoned she felt like she was on a boat. What the. (Photo will explain everything.)
Next stop: Orange. Caravan park didn’t excite — muddy site, cold weather, general “meh”. But Shelly was keen to see Orange properly, so we did the town tour. We spent a bit of money , admired the architecture, and Shelly decided she could happily live in a little red brick house. Next morning, on Emma and Dom’s recommendation, we hit Byng Street Local for breakfast. Best avo on toast and coffee. Thanks legends.
Now… as someone who has watched a particular race for 50 years (thanks Dad), and as someone whose wife leaves the house for the day when that race is on, we had to go to Bathurst.
Found a caravan park just outside town — a few challenges with poles and water runoff, but the hot showers were sensational. Makes a massive difference when you’re playing in damp, cold conditions.
Bathurst surprised us. A local at a 4WD shop gave us a couple of spots to check out — Sofala and Turondale. Another time we listened to the locals and OMG.
On the way back to camp I had to do a lap or two. Ended up doing two. Shelly said I had a smile like a kid in a candy store. Amazing how a “must do” can actually be as good as you imagine. Again — thanks Dad for the love of this event.
Dave intensely doing the first corner at under 60 km before heading up to Skyline – this is the one they do at over 200. 😊
Next day: Sofala. About 40 minutes. WOW. The drive was magic. The town was quirky and arty.
Then the next 20 km along the river… pfhewwww. Imagine a gravel road winding through a valley where people still pan for gold, with hundreds of free camps scattered along crystal‑clear water and rock pools. We were dazzled — the beauty, the serenity, the lack of people. Special place. Stopped in town on the way back and met the locals — they lived up to expectations.
Took the suggested road home and again, amazing country. Another one of those special days.
We stayed another day or two. Drove south to visit the local caves — all closed due to extreme flooding in April 2024 — but the drive was still brilliant. Back in town we visited the Fossil, Mineral & Dino Museum. These places blow my mind. If you slow down and actually read things, your brain gets absolutely fried. And yes, T‑Rex was pretty big. Airlie and Harrison – how big is that Dino, and that Saber Tooth Tiger.
Time to move on. Headed for a free camp at Lake Wallace via Oberon (day markets AOK). The lake facilities… not great. So we decided to try our first farm stay (my idea). Looked interesting. Rang the owner — “Yep, come on down, we only take one group at a time.” Ten minutes later we were there.
Location: amazing. Facilities: described as “rustic”. Reality: rustic meant…
Doggy 12‑volt wiring everywhere
A dongle built for people 5ft tall that leaked
A kitchen with last month’s dishes still in it
A shower made from an old worksite toilet with a dodgy gas hot‑water setup
An old camper’s chemical toilet
Should I continue? Built for the boys. Murray would’ve said, “Great mate, woof.” Us soft Brisso Northsiders… he could’ve at least cleaned the sink. Apparently ten minutes’ warning wasn’t enough.
Before we had dinner – took a drive Hassans Walls Lookout – another OMG – look across the valley to the Blue Mountains and gave us a want to travel further. The lookout was a wonderful surprise.
Back to camp and we had the whole place to ourselves. Big campfire. Stars were incredible. And yes, I broke his 30‑year‑old axe (handle was only 20mm round at the head — another story). It was bloody cold though. And the heater wouldn’t work on gas. Worked fine on power… but we had none. Shit it was cold.
Went to bed thinking it’d get close to zero. We wished. It hit minus 5.4 but felt like minus 7.8. We haven’t cuddled that much in a long, long time.
Next morning, once we finally clawed ourselves out from under the doona and extra blanket, we saw frost everywhere. Then we noticed ice on the inside of the roof lining. Grabbed our cups (inside the camper) for a sip of water — 5mm of ice on top. Frozen drips everywhere.
When we jumped out of the camper the whole place was white — frost across the paddocks, frost on the camper, frost on the Trailblazer. I even wandered over to see if the creek had frozen. It hadn’t, but every puddle on the walk had a sheet of ice on top. The taps had frozen drips, and anything “rustic” involving water… forget it. Solid.
I made the rookie mistake of starting to clean the ice off the camper and car without gloves. Still below zero. Within seconds my fingers started absolutely caning. “Darling, where are my gloves? Quick — my gloves!” By the time she handed them over I swear my fingers were falling off. Sometimes I can be a bit of a softy.
Needless to say, we decided to move on to a less rustic location.
We met a fellow camper a couple of days before arriving at the Warrumbungles. First encounter: brickworks, friendly smile, “hello neighbour”. Second encounter: me strolling back from the showers, chatting about sunsets and jet trails.
That’s when the conversation took a hard left turn into “weather manipulation” and “jet ice trails that don’t disappear”. Then a story about Taree flooding. I still thought she was joking, so I mentioned my QLD Government disaster‑funding role… which earned me a look that said you’re clearly part of the problem.
I made a polite escape. Moral of the story: campgrounds are full of characters, and sometimes the plot twist arrives mid‑conversation.
Leaving Uralla we drove around Tamworth to get to Willow Tree – showground and a place to start my training with the DJI Mini Pro 5. Campground was 500 metres off the main road on the other side of the railway track, looking at some silos, and a very reasonable $15 a night including hot showers.
Drones are easy to launch, but like all new smart gear they come with 1000 options. Always check with the local Info Centre before launching to avoid any local bad vibes. Had fun and got Shelly learning as well. Photos tell the story.
Day trips around the local area were nice, but no 100‑metre gorges to amaze us – just country towns doing it tough with tourism. Amazing how 100km down the road everything changes: no national parks, no gorges, just country 😊. And it shows how hard you sometimes have to dig to find those secret spots. I reckon the locals keep a few hidden, and fair enough — places can get overloved fast.
The morning we left was a bit chilly.
We decided to head further west so we could get to Orange, so backtracked north to Gunnedah and stayed at another showground. Needed gear to fix the Ultimate — the pop rivets holding the gas strut on the back steps were way too short and two had popped out. Photos sent back to the company. Bought longer rivets, drilled out the old ones, added some T‑Rex silicone glue and fixed the issue. Better than driving 14 hours for the same result.
Gunnedah also gave us a bit of luxury: both Shelly and I got a half‑hour back, neck and head massage. Therese was amazing. Nice spot for an overnight stay.
On the way we passed this:
Seven or so years ago we stayed at Warrumbungle National Park and loved it, so we wanted a revisit. Also wanted to see if the locals knew about John and his rescue. The NPWS staff at the desk were very aware — their version matched John’s and it sounds like he was lucky it wasn’t worse.
We headed through Coonabarabran and arrived after lunch, doing a short 3km walk to warm up. Last time Shelly had just come out of a moon boot from a stress fracture, so we didn’t tackle many of the harder walks.
Did a short walk (Wambelong walk) to get our feet back into it again and straight away the views started popping up.
Next day we started with the easiest walk: Fans Horizon, 3.6km return… but with 1000 steps. Yep, they were there. Only a Class 3, but plenty of vertical. Did you hear the word steps? There were a lot of them. But we made it to the top and the view of the Breadknife and the Spire was worth every one. Three hours later we were back at camp, quick food, 15‑minute nap — slightly exhausted but amazed.
In the arvo we left Camp Blackman No. 3 and walked the Greenslopes fire trail. Tara Caves is closed at the moment, so hardly anyone uses it. Another easy, beautiful walk. When we turned back, the views of the main spire features had me thinking I needed my mate the drone to capture it. Came back.
Next day we couldn’t bring ourselves to do the Grand High Tops (over 6 hours), so we chose the shorter Spireview walk. Another Class 3, minimal steps (or so we thought). Great view, minimal steps — my type of walk. At the top of the lookout we meet another couple (Mark and Karen) who had done the laps a number of times – as I had doubts about doing the Gibb River Road, Mark quickly set me straight – a must.
On the way back we tried a side trail while still fresh. Could have been a mistake. We got close to the top of Macha Tor, which required scrambling up loose rocks. I got a totally unreasonable sense of dread and couldn’t continue. Shelly, who’s usually more fearful of heights than me, said “I’ll give it a go” and went straight past me like a mountain goat.
I tried again — dread came back in force. “See you soon dear, I’m going nowhere.” Fifteen minutes later my amazing wife reappeared after reaching the top of the bluff. So proud of her.
Next day the weather changed so we slept in a bit and then went for a drive to Coona in light rain.
On the way back we went up to Sliding Springs Observatory and was blown away by the science – views through the clouds were also amazing.
Next morning we moved on again. Love the Warrumbungle’s — the place gets a 10 out of 10 from us, including the facilities and hot showers
