Category: Trials and tribulations

Our first overnight stop was at the Border Village Caravan Park only meters the from intimidating WA quarantine & biosecurity checkpoint. Overworked staff; stressed out truckies; crazy crows. The road leading up to the border had lots of garbage strewn both sides. But once we were settled in our site, we were surrounded by friendly fellow nomads and all was good. You could take 10-min hot showers for a $2 coin. Luxury!

Next morning it was drizzling and we drove into WA after a minimal quarantine inspection. Everything looked a lot cleaner on the other side: well-kept rest stops with big yellow trashbins and signs against littering. Something funny happens with time, though: The 1.5 hour time difference is reduced to 45 minutes. It’s a 150 km long mini time zone called Central Western Time (CWT).

It is an epic drive over the endless plain – sometimes monotonous, sometimes mindblowing with tantalising views across the wilderness, cliffs, and ocean. Between Caiguna and Balladonia, the road is an unbroken straight line for 140 km. Our second overnight stop was on a free RV bush camping rest area close to the end of this stretch.

A handful of other rigs was already parked there. Lots of space, red dirt, fragrant gumtrees (yes, there were trees – maybe the end of the Nullarbor). No internet and no phone connection. 34 degrees.

We can’t say we didn’t see it coming. All too familiar cloud formations (for Queenslanders like us) gathered on the horizon. We were in the middle of collecting our things when the storm hit. The wind blasted us with dust and almost tore off the awning. We hung on to it for dear life. Then a sudden gap – and we managed to pack it away. Seconds before the rain started pelting. And then the dust turned into mud… and became a mud slide. The storm continued into the night with full force, thunder and lightning.

The morning after was peaceful and very, very muddy. Everything left outside was covered in it: shoes, chairs, buckets. The kitchen was a mess. We had bags full of rags and clothes soaked in it. A lot of dust had gotten inside the Scout as well. There was no escaping. We drove on to Norseman.

Imagine it’s early in the morning, you try to leave your caravan but the wind outside is so strong that you can barely open the door. Yes, we had glorious weather at Stanley. Every other day, though, we had gales, low grey clouds, and intermittent rain. So we spent our time either inside the caravan (and enjoyed ourselves in a confined space) or took the car to the next coffee shop to hang out there (and wondered about our budget).

The next day, however, it was even more glorious. We really fell in love with the place.

One day later, it was gales and clouds again. And a severe weather warning. We thought that this applied to what was happening today. But we were wrong. A cold front was about to hit the entire west coast bringing 60 km winds with gusts up to 110 km. Maybe also a thunderstorm and possibly hail. Temperatures would drop. Then we noticed that quite a lot of rigs were leaving the RV park.

We had already experienced several nights where our caravan was rocking and shaking in the wind. Maybe we could move to a cabin in the local caravan park? Unfortunately, everything was booked out. But we were lucky: The friendly receptionist offered us a wind-protected spot right next to the office building. And there we weathered the storm. The caravan didn’t shake. We listened to the wind and the pounding rain. We ate instant noodles and bananas and muesli bars. And when the skies cleared, we saw a couple of fantastic rainbows.

Hot days do occur in Tasmania – and we had a particularly nasty one when we stayed at Richmond, a touristy historic town close to Hobart. It was 33 degrees combined with gale-force winds. Unbearable inside the caravan and only mildly better outside. So what’d you do? You search for the air conditioning remote, push the button – and nothing happens. After doing this a few times, you give up and go for an icecream in town while trying to work out the logistics of the repair and your travel itinerary in your heat-challenged mind.

A few days later, we had a very cold morning.  Mike turned on the diesel heater. (Ours is a cheap Chinese version.) It had been acting strangely lately but now it produced a thick stream of white smoke (coming out of the exhaust pipe outside) while blowing cold air inside the caravan. Then it stopped working and displayed a new, unknown red symbol on the screen of its monitor. Equipment number 2 down.

Let’s add something else to the stew: Australia Day. We hadn’t thought about reserving a site at a caravan park. Everything was booked out and free camps were packed to capacity. [Quick explanation for non-Australians: Australia Day on 26 January is a major holiday in Australia and marks the end of the long summer holidays.]

Mike sorted through warranties, insurances, and consumer-protection laws, and called up repair shops that refused to touch cheap Chinese diesel heaters. A new AC unit would have to be shipped from the mainland – but to where? Where would we be, when? We decided to go back to the friendly farmstay in Hagley close to Launceston and wait for things to take shape.

Mike even had a nightmare about the diesel heater. On that day, we went for a hike to Westmorland Falls: a 2-hour walk through temperate rainforest to a waterfall. On the way back quite close to the carpark, Mike (who was in front of me) suddenly turned around and came rushing towards me, his face pale. Half a metre in front of him, a thick black snake was slithering across the path. A tiger snake, one of the deadliest snakes on the planet.

Suddenly everything stopped. We had to cross the area to reach to the car. After waiting for a while to give the snake time to move, we first walked, then ran along the path. I thought I heard the snake moving in the high grass, probably as afraid as we were. Panting for air standing next to the car, we looked back. All was peaceful. A cow mooing across the road, crows in the trees, a leaf rustling, a tractor in the distance… And us in present time.

After that, everything fell into place: the replacement of the AC, booking the heater repair, and finding the next place to stay. Close to the Bay of Fires.

We were coming back from a walk to the Alum Cliffs close to the Western Tiers. In the forest we were protected from the winds. It was beautiful, warm almost; there were wallabies in the bush, and jaw-dropping views down into the Mersey valley. Back at the carpark, the wind blew so hard that it was difficult to open the car door. We wanted to try another walk but the wind had us hurry back into the car. At that stage of our time in Tasmania, we still thought that this would be an exception.

We arrived in the middle of November with summer supposed to start in December. Instead we had the coldest days in 50 years. Snow on Mt Wellington, snow on Cradle Mountain, and on the Western Tiers. Even locals were shaking their heads. Last December, they were walking around in shorts and t-shirts we were told.

Rugged up with thermals and rain jackets, we spent quite a lot of time in coffee shops just to escape the dark rain clouds, the sudden hail, the driving wind. In Ulverstone we ended up at Crusty’s Bakery where we had pies. See the Christmas decorations in the window? In Queensland where we used to live, Christmas was in the middle of the never-ending summer.

In Penguin on a particularly dark and wet day, we found a whole market under cover in halls, similar to the Fremantle Market. It was great fun exploring the stalls and listening to the live music.

Even Harry Manx mentioned the weather in his concert in Ulverstone. Tasmania was a really nice place. Maybe he would come back in summer.

What’s good about Tasmanian weather, though, it’s changing constantly. It can be sunny, hot, cold, windy, and rainy all in one day. And when the punishing wind stops, it is such a relief. You welcome any little bit of warm and/or sunny weather as if it is your long lost friend. You are in heaven.

[Ulladulla, 3 November]

It was at the end of the day. I was washing the dishes inside while Mike packed up car and caravan on the outside. This includes packing away the slide-out kitchen. It is like a long drawer tucked inside the body of the caravan under the bed. And it comes with a gas line that connects the gas cylinders at the front of the caravan.

A sudden jerk. Something wasn’t quite right. The caravan shook. Instead of being coiled up in its usual place, the gas line got jammed under the drawer making it impossible to slide the entire kitchen in. And with the kitchen sticking out at the side we wouldn’t be able to leave in the morning.

Mike, who felt responsible for it, tried for hours to find a solution, but to no avail. All sorts of scenarios went through our heads. How difficult would it be to get the gas line dislodged? How long would it take to find a mechanic who could fix it? Would we be stuck in Ulladulla for days, weeks, or even longer? And how much would it cost?

We went to bed churning with the unknown. In the morning Mike called a local gas plumber. Grumpy on the phone at first, he appeared at 7 am and besides being able to help us, he also was a great guy. When Mike explained the issue to him, he grunted, “Haven’t we all done something like that?” He went straight ahead, pushed and pulled, got Mike to hand him tools, and finally cut the line with a hacksaw. Once in two parts, it could be pulled out okay. All we had to do was go to the Ulladulla hardware store and buy a replacement and attach it.

The whole saga ended on an cold morning at 8 am in Devonport at the gas fitters to give the kitchen a final check. Again we had a great old guy assessing and fixing it in no time. On the picture you can see Mike kneeling in front of the pulled-out kitchen and the plumber. The wind was icy.

Glad that we had made it safely around Sydney, we left the friendly Poplar Tourist Park in the Camden area on a frigid morning. It was the first of November and unseasonably cold for the end of spring. It had been the first time that we pulled out jackets and long underwear. We also had decided to finally give up on our original itinerary which would have meant crossing into the flooded areas in the Albury/Wondonga region and beyond in Victoria. Flooding had been the underlying worry since we left Brisbane. Even our stopover southwest of Sydney was overshadowed by it. Poplar Tourist Park had only recently been opened after enduring extensive flood damage in March 2022. Half of the park was still under construction or roped off.

Ulladulla on the glorious South-East coast down the Princes Highway was to be our next destination and as usual we relied on Google. We had to cut across the Hume Highway to Wollongong. Led by Google’s friendly but firm female voice, we found ourselves on the shortest route… and suddenly (“Turn right onto Douglas Park Drive.”) down a narrow one-lane road toward the bridge crossing the Nepean river below the Hume Highway. (Here is the location.) Serpentines, overhanging rocks, no more bitumen, a steep drop on the left down to the river, and oncoming traffic! WHERE THE HELL WERE WE?! 

Going back with a caravan in tow was impossible. But what lay ahead? Mike stopped a tradie in a ute and asked for advice. A quick glance at our rig, then he nodded. “You going Wollongong? Should be fine.” Then he stepped on the gas and was gone. With baited breath we went further down the gorge, more oncoming traffic, crossed the Nepean River on a muddy-looking one-lane bridge deep below the towering pillars propping up Hume Highway. Then the road continued again in serpentines upwards. I caught the shocked expression of a driver in a 4WD coming toward us. And then it was over. A boring straight road through non-descript fields. Our blood still pumping with adrenalin.