North by West/North, Or On The Road Again With An Old Fart.

Brisbane to Gin Gin.

We departed our home in Brisbane’s west, with the Jayco Penguin loaded up and a meticulous itinerary which would no doubt change like the weather, leaving our eldest at home in the care of our two dogs (no, that’s not a typo).

The dogs, Lily and Zoe taking their duty of care very seriously.

The night before departure, as Murphy’s law dictates, the itinerary changed. We hadn’t even left home. Instead of the usual coastal route, up the Bruce Highway, I decided to take the inland. It would add about a half an hour to the trip, but avoid a outbreak of the plague potentially brewing on the Sunshine Coast (some thoughtless people decided that a lockdown in Victoria didn’t apply to them. Edit: luckily it was contained, but at the time, it seemed the safer option to avoid the area).

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  #$$%#@ Scribble scribble scribble

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  #$$%#@ Scribble #$$%#@ scribble #$$%#@ scribble

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  Oh well, guess we’ll go this way

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  Let’s go this way

Our car, a Mazda CX5, was packed with all the essentials, clothes, fishing gear, beer and for me at least, a childish sense of giddy excitement (unlike me, the wife prefers to act like a grown up). Our bags were packed with clothing reflective of a Southeast Queensland winter, perfectly suited for this first leg (this would prove to be a mistake, but the details of that admission is for a future post).

The route took us west and then north, past Fernvale Pies and despite my best efforts I couldn’t justify taking a snack break 50 minutes into a 4 week journey (maybe on the way home). Now I’ve done the drive to Wivenhoe Dam on numerous occasions, and even as far as Esk once or twice, but beyond that is terra incognita to me.

This is all semi-rural, halfway between town and country, paddocks and properties measured in hectares, separating the rustic townships along the single lane highway. Places like Toogoolawah, Yimbun and Blackbutt. Blink and you’d miss them, but they all have tales and mini adventures to be found within their nebulous boundaries.

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  Wivenhoe Dam

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  A very happy Old Fart

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  Uh oh a truck

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  Up the hill at a crawling pace

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  Any slower and you’d be going backwards

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  Bunya Pine country

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  It’s a jungle out there, you know I wonder how I keep from going under.

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  Blackbutt has a bloomin’ great café apparently

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  Clear road ahead at last.

One of these places is the township of Yarraman, nestled between two state forests, boasting a couple of pubs and cafes, a bakery and a public toilet (yes, I should have gone before we left, thanks for asking, Honey). There was also this to greet you upon arrival.

This head sits next to a pub. Imagine facing that after a few too many beverages.

As luck would have it, it also had a little Saturday market with a half a dozen stalls. This provided us with a chance to peruse some local crafts, get some fresh locally grown produce and meet a couple of locals, including Baz, a weathered old bloke with a charm worth bottling, if that were possible.

Now Baz sold preloved jeans, folded neatly in piles on trestle tables, each pile roughly the same size and all at very reasonable prices. Coincidently, I was in the market for another pair of jeans. I spied a couple of pairs about my size but with no changeroom I expressed my uncertainty to Baz. “No worries,” he said, and taking a pair he did something that, to myself and an untrained observer, could easily be misinterpreted as an attempt to strangle me with the waist of the jeans. They were a little loose. The second pair’s waist fitted neatly around the base of my neck and he assured me they would fit. I can now confirm he was right. Who knew the neck was basically half the circumference of the waist?  I now have a $10 pair of Levi’s that fit perfectly and a way of measuring the waist of a pair of pants without having the embarrassment of stripping in public.

This sculpture is across the road from the aforementioned pub. I wonder how many inebriated people have tried to ride it home.

(Side note: Baz also highly recommended a morning tea stop at a place called @81 Café, in Nanango. “Tell Taylor I sent you.” Unfortunately, it was only 20 minutes away and we really couldn’t afford another stop so soon. So, if you’re passing through Nanango and can pop in, please leave a comment below, because if the place is half as good at food as Baz is at fitting jeans, it’s probably brilliant.)

We continued on our way, following the Burnett Hwy to a little place called Ban Ban Springs, where we stopped for lunch. Now a word to those coming the same direction we did; the signs here are a little confusing (well, they confused this Old Fart, anyway).  Don’t turn into the truck stopping bay immediately before the actual rest stop. If you do, it’ll be a bit of a walk to the loo and the historical information that explains the cultural significance of the springs.

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  The barren truck stop

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  Though it does have a picnic table

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  Wait, what’s over there. Ooooh, the actual rest area. Oops

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  Not much of a view from the truck stop

After eating lunch, we took a quick stop at the actual rest area, which had the aforementioned springs, though they seemed quite dry at the time. This is Australia, after all, land of droughts along with the flooding rains.

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  The right place to stop.

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  Plenty of room

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  Art and indigenous history

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  Spring is dry

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  Very very dry

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  The correct entrance

Ban Ban Springs marked the turn off for the last stretch of the days journey. Next stop, Gin Gin.

The plan was to spend the night at a free camp, just outside the main town. It’s not a bad place to stop and get a night’s sleep, but it might be an idea to set up at the back of the park, further away from the main road. If you don’t, the sound of trucks may keep someone awake who sleeps lightly, like my wife for example. I on the other hand have been known to literally sleep through an earthquake, so…

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  A local checking us out

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  “Got any food,” the Kookaburra asked. Oh how we laughed.

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  A distant black cockatoo making it’s presence know with a screech to wake the dead. Pretty though.

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  The obligatory free coffee stop. Thanks Lions Club.

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  The old map wasn’t much chop

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  A much better updated map on the toilet block.

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  This tree is all tied up (keep your groans to yourself, I thought it was funny).

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  The main highway is very close, be warned.

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  And here comes another truck, rumble rumble roar.

It was a long day and that night the temperature plummeted to around 4 degrees Celsius. Luckily we’d prepared for cold weather. Pity it was the last time we’d need multiple layers of clothing for a while, but more on that to come. Next post our plans change again, of course. We head to Rockhampton and then decide to keep going.

Time for a cold beer after a long day.

Addendum: The park also contained some monuments which elicited some serious contemplation in me, unsuitable for the light tales of this blog. If you want to read those thoughts you can click on this link. Be warned though, the tone is very different; Darker. Heavier. It may be confronting.