The 7.00 O'clock Report

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DAY 264


We started out early this morning, our plan was working, Andy got up at 6.30 for his shower, I got up at 7.00, Andy had brought back two mugs of tea from the camp kitchen. As we had packed everything away last night, it was no effort this morning, we just needed to unpeg and fold the tent up.

After my shower I wandered over to the Fig Tree Bistro and rustled up two bacon and Egg rolls for our breakfast.

I wandered back and Andy asked, “Do you have the car keys?” “Uh, no,” was my reply. Oh dear I suddenly feel very reminisce of when we were in Blackheath on blog day 81, A Blue Hue. There is the trailer tent and everything packed away, there are no car keys on the ground. I checked with Andy if he had them in the camp kitchen. “No, I left them on the fridge in the back of the Patrol, but I checked and they are not there and have not fallen down the back.” The only place they could be is in the tent or in the trailer. Once again out comes the spare set (thank goodness for spare keys), we were happy that they had not fallen out on the ground, we checked all around, so to avoid any delay we set off.

First stop fuel, we go to Woolworths Caltex in Katherine $1.28 per litre which I got down by 8cents per litre using advantage points etc. We fill the sub tank and the jerry can as we are now going to be more remote and the extra fuel will be needed.

We are heading toward Mataranka, they have Hot Springs there, it will be nice to have a quick dip, the original plan was to overnight there, however with our early start to the day we make it in such good time, it would be silly to stop too early as there is so much left to the day.

We go to Mataranka Homestead and wander through to the Hot Springs, they should be about 34 degrees, it is a cool morning, the breeze has some chill in it, but the sun is warm. The springs are crystal clear, there is a set of steps down into the spring, it is very well shaded. I must just say that this place is flooded with German tourists there are two coaches in the car park.

As I get ready to get into the springs I see a beautiful little wallaby sunning itself in the only patch of sun on the dirt under the canopy of the palm trees. It is not long before tourists surround it, so it hops off into the distance. Poor thing was just enjoying itself there and we disturbed its solitude.

Andy and I loiter in the Springs for about half an hour, one part of it is so deep I cannot even tiptoe, Andy was capable of standing normally and the water was up to his chin.

It was 10.30 we were both dried and dressed, however Andy swam in the shorts he was wearing so he hung those out of the window to dry and sat driving in his under crackers, which does not phase him at all, perhaps just the road train drivers as they pass and look down.

So we press on to Daly Waters, we have been told that we must stop at the famous Daly Waters Pub. Daly Waters is actually a fairly remote outback area, however on our arrival at about midday this place is heaving, there is a queue of caravans waiting to get into the caravan park and there are two coaches in the car park.

Andy drops me off and goes to turn around while I squeeze my way into the pub, to the bar and await service. I finally get served and ask for a campsite for the night, I pay $20 dollars for the both of us for a powered shady site.

How do I explain what Daly Waters is like, you perhaps should just look at the photos, there is a crashed helicopter on the top of a building out there offering helicopter rides, perhaps not, maybe another day. There are a few outbuildings, some cabins and a building of motel rooms, there is a swimming pool somewhere but we did not go and find it.

After about 5 minutes in the queue, we gradually see people parking up, discussing with their new potential neighbours who is going where which end of the caravan points in what direction, who’s awning is going out what way etc. We are told to drive round the track and wait for someone else, who then finds us and points us to a possible spot, it is not what I would call a slick operation, but it is an operation and it seems to work well.

We park, but before we can even open the trailer to pitch up, someone stops for a chat, we chat for a few minutes then he lets get on. We start to unpack and pull the ropes up for the tent when someone else stops for a chat, Molly from Tasmania. Again she lets us carry on.

Before we are pitched in full a few other people catch us for a chat, but eventually we are all set for a cup of tea and some lunch, our bed for the night is made so we are happy.

The afternoon is spent having a wander around, we look at the inside of the pub, there is a huge amount of memorabilia here, by way of money, football shirts, cards, hats, car registration plates, even underwear, they have messages on them from travellers long since passed through. It is not a classy joint, but you would not expect it to be out here, it is what it is, you are made to feel welcome, it is popular and it feels comfortable here.

Throughout the afternoon, we speak to people who wander past our site, we start asking questions of people who have come via the Savannah Way, we are trying to establish the road conditions before we get there. Again information is so varied from good to bad one guy tells us there is a 4 foot deep water crossing, we measure that against the Patrol, it would come up past the window line, hmm. We wish that people would give good advice rather than the dramatic stuff, just tell us what the road condition is really like, if we have good advice then we can make a sensible judgement.

While I sit outside the tent people keep asking me about the drill for the toilets, well there are a load of corrugated shacks at the back of the site, they each contain a toilet, washbasin and shower. It looks like there are no locks on the doors as people knock before entering, I think a few people have had a bit of a shock while sat on the loo!

I actually do find that they have not quite a lock but there is a drop down hook that stops people opening the door while you are in there, either people don’t like using it or they have not seen it. All I know is that I could have made a nice little fortune while sitting there answering peoples questions.

We make some repairs to the zipper on the tent door; Andy gets out a needle and thread and sews at a high point in the zipper to stop the zipper going too far, the zipper pull had to be taken right out to start the zip from scratch, if you get my drift. It works to a degree but we still have problems, it will need replacing.

Molly from Tasmania stops by, we find out that she lives in Coles Bay and has written a book “Memoires of Freycinet” it contains colour pictures current and past, poems and information about the area. Sadly it looks as if the tranquil Coles Bay is succumbing to developers and will no doubt become a bustling tourist resort in the not too distant future.

Molly Greaves is on her way to sit outside the pub with a little stand of books for sale, she funded the printing herself and has sold over a 1000 copies already. She invites us to sit with her and her husband Barry this evening in the pub while we all have dinner.

At 6.30 we go and join Molly and Barry, they are having the Beef and Barra BBQ, Andy and I choose a meal from the menu. We find an entertainer called Frank Turton is sat with his guitar on the stage. It looks like an evenings entertainment is ahead of us.

Frank is a comedian and Bush Singer, he does a bit of Johnny Cash and some of his own songs. He comes from South Australia and seemingly has done some weird things like floating down the Murray River on two 12 foot long and 4 foot wide guitars, that he made himself, strapped together, with a chicken called Mr Pickles.

This evening he keeps referring to Baby Wedge Tailed Eagles and says there will be a show later, he also announces that Molly will be up on the stage reading some of her bush poetry.

The Beef and Barra BBQ is done to order for a specific time, i.e. they do half hourly cooking sessions, so when you order you specify 6.30, 7.00 or 7.30, I think they have limited space on the BBQ so the bookings fill up quickly. As Frank Turton is doing his show he breaks on the half hour to do the report, i.e. 7.00 report when the waitress announces names of people who have ordered and then off they go to collect.

Frank interacts with the audience exceptionally well, every now and again he finds an excuse to get someone up on the stage. He is a very funny man. It turns out the Baby Wedge Tailed Eagles he is referring to are in fact two very fluffy white chickens, who at the end of the evening sit on a specially made hat on his head.

Molly finally takes the stage for her poetry reading, one of them being about a Wombat with a secret, as Wombats have square poo nuggets, another is about the Australian language being Americanised i.e. Blokes and Sheila’s are now called guys, G’Day is lost to Hi, and Stations are being lost to ranching land and Stockmen are being called Cowboys. The message is to vehemently fight back and not allow the Australian language to disappear.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that he gets back on stage for one last song, Waltzing Matilda, for which he asks for ladies of the audience to get up on stage and sing with him. I remain in the audience along with many other women. However he got the better of me, he caught me laughing and said, “I don’t know why you are laughing, you can get up on the stage where you should be!” Oops so off I go and take my place on the stage but I have to stand at the front. Frank explains that we have to howl like a dingo when he talks of the ghost of the Swagman that rise from the Billabong.

All in all it was a bit of laugh, we both enjoyed our evening of entertainment, but it was 9.30 and the pub was emptying, although it would stay open until the last person finished their drink. So that could be late.

It was a chilly night so in was on with the fleecy pyjamas and the inner flaps done up just enough to reveal a bit of outside light for when the morning comes. It was 10.10 when I looked at my watch I just closed my eyes and snuggled into the sleeping bag under the blankets and to sleep.

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Photos

Busy Pub
Honestly this pub is in the middle of Know where and is so busy

Frank Turton
And a young fella from the audience

Frank Turton
And his Chicken Hat

Frank Turton
Complete with Chickens

Molly Greaves
Bush Poet

Singing Stars
Or Howlin like Dingo's

Molly & Caroline
Molly Greaves bush Poet and Caroline