With a planned early start to ensure we make our sunset destination of Karumba, we somewhat gingerly set about the day, reeling from last night’s frivolities! I tentatively check my bank balance to ensure adequate funds remain and to assess the damage!

We take to the road, which yet again provides an abundance of wildlife, station stock and an array of native flora to pass the time. We’re bewildered at the sheer number of termite nests that appear as morbid cemeteries along deserted roads!

The journey is long, dusty and the roads reflect the many road trains that have travelled carrying livestock to ports, sale yards or slaughterhouses. The roads bear witness to the harshness of this country and road kill is littered throughout.

The half way point is the Burke and Wills Roadhouse, more famous by name than by reputation, it’s a sparse oasis for travellers, the apostle birds take refuge in the sprinkler that is attempting to maintain a patch of greenery. We take the mandatory loo break, refuel, grab a coffee and hit the tarmac again.

Further along the track, we come across the Hotel in Quamby (pop. 0), which sits vacant and decaying and is now in the throes of be engulfed by tumbleweeds. The roof has fallen, the floorboards rotted through – a quick google search indicates a pub which was in its finery in 1860 although long since abandoned.

We arrive in to Normanton (pop.1210) mid-afternoon and track down the historic trail, this small northern town made famous by a local call out for a mechanic (watch the video, it’s worth it, though mind the language), this town is a time capsule of the past. The original jail across from the relic police station and remains as a reminder of what’s in store for delinquents. There’s a monument to the 8.63m crocodile that was located and killed just downstream. The thought of this beast being in any stream, river or ocean is horrifying!

The absolute jewel in this town without a doubt, is the railway station – home of the Gulflander. From the gardens which reflect memorabilia, to the restored station buildings, to the surrounds which host a plethora of relics from railways past, this is an outstanding museum captivated in time. I commend the custodians for their dedication and care. Should you find yourself this way, I would time your visit to take a journey on the Gulflander which travels to Croydon one day, and returns the next.

Our time is precious, there’s a sunset to get to. It’s popular with travellers from the East as the sun sets over the ocean! Karumba is our destination, home to Les Wilson Barramundi Discovery Centre, it’s a sleepy fishing village that once housed mining FIFO workers whose departure has returned the village to a place where people can get lost. Our hosts at Savannah Shores, who hail from Geelong some 6 years ago, provide a casual, relaxed welcome. We find ourselves wandering along a deserted shoreline, collecting shells immediately settle in to the laziness of village life.

Guided by locals, we make our way to The Sunset Tavern, aptly named as you’re able to sit amongst the trees with a cold bevvy and watch the sun as it melts into the ocean for sunset. A sensational afternoon, with idle chatter watching the world go by.

Tomorrow the trek to Cobbold Gorge…

I arrive in to Cunnamulla and park up near the Shire Council which boasts the Cunnamulla Fella, an iconic Australian character made famous in a song by Slim Dusty. I’m struck by the beauty of this small country haven, it’s neat as a pin and the is literally a place to stop and smell the roses.

I’ve been recommended the Cunnamulla Cafe by fellow travellers. It doesn’t disappoint. I’m greeted by Charmaine and Vicki — I’m after breakfast, a big breaky, they suggest – sure I say…

There wasn’t a smashed avo in sight, this was all country, down to every piece of meat laid out. It was enough to feed a family of four! Including my coffee – breakfast set me back less than $20 – true good old fashioned country service and food. If you pop by Cunnamulla, this is a definite must! You’ll be welcomed with a smile, you know it must be good, whilst I was there, the place was a constant flow of locals calling in for morning rituals.

After packing up my leftovers, no I could not eat it all… I hit the road again headed for Charleville. The birthplace of my mother and sister and where I lived for a while as a toddler – history from both sides of the family.

I’ve checked in to my home for the next three nights – the Charleville Bush Cottage and Caravan Park – a big sign at the entrance warn you “Non-Smokers only welcome here”, as an anti-smoker from way back, I love it…

I’ve set up camp under the shade of a tree and popped a bottle of bubbles to sit back and enjoy! As I sit here, campers pull up to say hi, I camped with them at Charlotte Plains two nights ago – we’ll meet by the fire for a drink later.

The “Champcorka” (thanks Janine) is growing with memories of my travels. I did wear the hat during the sheep station tour much to the amusement of others! It’s a talking piece, I’ll wear it to the fireside tonight, it’s sure to spark a laugh or two. I’m thinking I need to balance it more – I had this thought of working my way around but it’s a bit lopsided, I’ll keep you posted.

I hit the road out of Goondiwindi after a somewhat disrupted sleep – nothing too serious just the difference between a bed with a luxurious lambswool under blanket to the harsh reality of a camp bed in the back of the car! It’s different, this princess definitely felt the pea.

My trek today – Goondiwindi to Charlotte Plains, a sheep station about 40km short of Cunnamulla with an Artesian Bore and baths by the bore!

There’s a pioneer cemetery by the side of the road, so I stopped to pay my respects to these pioneering families whose hardships would exceed what is known in this world today.

I make my way to St George who’s riverside is hard to pass. I pause to take my lunch by the side of the river next to the Jack Taylor Weir that has been in action since 1953.

I encounter many travellers doing the same and conversations flow with ease. It’s heartwarming to know that during this time of COVID, Queenslanders are still travelling and making the most of seeing their own State.

As I hit the road again, I’m mindful of the road trains and large vehicles transporting farming equipment, these beasts take over the roads and I’m still cringing as I pass them by.

The further west I travel you see the changes in the flora and the colours by the side of the road. It some areas, it’s barren they haven’t seen rain in a long time. Some have been fortunate, so there’s greenery and trees with leaves.

Upon arrival at Charlotte Plains, I’m immediately hesitant as I leave the main road, I’m aware I don’t have phone coverage, I wonder will my emergency sos on my phone work out here? I forge ahead, I take note of the kms on the car, mindful that I can walk back to the main road if need be.

I continue to drive some 12km on this property and still the homestead is not in sight. I query whether I’ve taken the wrong turn and then I remember, these stations are bigger than some countries! I finally come upon the homestead and know instinctively this farm has seen brighter days.

Upon arrival at the bore site, it’s a popular place, there must be 20 campsites popped up with everyone enjoying the spoils of the bathtubs by the bore! I set up camp and popped the champers and take my place along the bore’s edge to raise a glass to the sunset!

Day 2 at Charlotte Plains, sees me jumping in with property owner, formidable woman and one of the most inspiring women I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Robyn collects myself and a couple of other campers for a Station tour, she’s tiring in her later 70’s, she stopped doing tours every day but I’m sure the additional $$ from the tour help meet the crushing blows of a long drought!

Charlotte Plains is steeped in history, from the original McDonald brothers who made their way from Scotland in 1860’s to take hold of 385,000 acres. They gave their lives to this property, their graves in the property’s cemetery – one passing at age 46 the other at 48! By 1914, the property ran up to 67,000 sheep! Robyn’s family have had the property for 98 years, when her father passed, her mother took the reigns, upon her mother’s passing, Robyn returned to take her place as the next matriarch, who I’m sure will be interred in the cemetery beside her beloved husband Reid and her mother.

I can only imagine the harshness of living on a Station – the very brief look in to this life, leaves me with absolutely no doubt, it’s not a life I would choose. Robyn and one employee, now tend to some 1,800 sheep – the flock which has been reduced over the years due to the hardship of drought. They’re in a good place at the moment, they don’t have to feed them. I’m staggered at what the sheep might eat, the grounds seem dry and infested with burr!

Robyn shares the tales of the annual shearing plan, there’s a hierarchy of shearers and this impacts where they take their place in the shed. Robyn fondly retells the story of a female shearer from South Australia, who was quite, unassuming, took her place down the line. She out-sheared the blokes and racked up 299 sheep in one day. Each sheep can weigh somewhere between 40 to 50kg. Imagine lugging 299 of them in one day and then shear the wool from them! This is a woman, I would definitely be in awe of!

I depart early from Charlotte Plains, after a storm blew through last night, I had to frantically pack my campsite before it was blown to the fields! Early morning visitors kept me grounded to country.

I promise an update of the corked hat is on the way…

The day starts later than I had planned, the issue – I was unable to find ice! It seems the long weekend of near perfect weather on the Gold Coast had everyone in the outdoors, at the beaches and of course, in need of ice to keep their summer beverages ice cold!

I take the route I’ve travelled many times before heading towards the Toowoomba ranges. I have the option to take the new bypass road, I recall Denis Wagner talking through the steps to get this road built and what it meant for people of the West. It is a remarkable road – a cliché, although when you drive across the expanse of the viaduct, an engineering phenomenon, an 800m long bridge that removes the need for vehicles to navigate the deep terrain, it’s hard not to be impressed by a stretch of road.

I’ve downloaded an audiobook to keep me company – a Nicholas Sparks, nothing too heavy for my first day on the road – if I inadvertently miss a page or two, I’ll fill in the lost paragraphs relatively easy. You’ll know Sparks’ work – “The Notebook”, “Dear John” etc.

I settle in to the drive ahead, some 400km to the west. I’m absentmindedly taking in the sights whilst listening to Sparks navigate his way through his latest romantic tale when the story takes a turn – it’s getting somewhat hot and heavy, am I reliving the nightmare of “50 Shades”? At one point, laughing so much, that I nearly veered off the edge of the road, I fear a bathroom break is in store! I calm myself and get back into concentrating on the road ahead, I then start wondering what the country folk must have thought about this lunatic in the car veering off the verge – if only they knew!

I pass through many small towns along the way, taking in Milmerran, a place my sister considers retiring to. A small sleepy town whose painted water tank greets you as you cross the town border. A piece of the Australian Silo Art Trail.

As I continue on the long stretch between Milmerran and Goodiwindi, I note the remnants of bush fire season. The twisted branch with whispers of new growth forging from the charred remains. It reminds me of the perils of country life. A bush fire destroys everything in its path, the flora and fauna, the crops, the homes, the people. As City folk, it’s hard for me to comprehend how lives and livelihoods can be changed by a flash of lightning, a careless discard of a cigarette butt or a thrown bottle that becomes a flint for the suns rays.

I arrive at my destination the Goondiwindi Holiday Park where I’ll test out my new camping set up. I’ve camp before although not using my car as a bed! The park is clean and tidy, well cared for. There’s a pool and spa – I’m going to give that a test drive as well. First I set up my camp – I think about which way I should park – east/west, north/south? I’m thinking about the sun coming through the car windows tomorrow morning!! It’s an hour before I settle into my camp chair, feet up on the stool with a glass of bubbles in hand. There’s not a lot of people around, the park is quite. A scattering of grey nomads.

After enjoying the peace and tranquility of my campsite and a glass of bubbles, I decide to head for a swim and spa. With Goondiwindi getting down to 13c overnight, the pool was like a dip in arctic waters. As I stepped into the warm waters of the spa and took my place in front of the jets, the stress of city life was pummelled out of me. I succumbed to the sounds of galahs in the surrounding trees, the road trains in the distance and the hum of the spa.

If you’re heading west and would like a break for a day or two – I can definitely recommend the park – the facilities were spotlessly clean and well maintained!

I wake this morning to the sound of birds in the trees, I’ve missed this since moving to my beachside apartment, I pack up, rearing to go as I head towards my next destination – a Sheep Station…

One of the things I love about blogging my journeys, is the excitement, interaction and suggestions I gather before I embark upon my intrepid journey. During a conversation with friends over the impending outback adventure, the subject of the almighty Australian fly settles into the conversation. How will I cope? What actions will I take? I’ll need spray, a swat, a twig of eucalyptus, a netted hat – ah, I quell the chatter – I’m more of a cork kind of gal…

Fortunately for me, I have friends and colleagues who hold me to my word. I arrive at the desk on Monday morning to find I’m the new owner of swankiest wide brim hat that both Steve ‘Crikey’ Irwin and the Leyland Brothers would be proud of.

There is much ado as to the best way to secure the corks – where will I gather the corks from? Alas, the solution is immediately upon me. The hat will be become my journey, it will develop over time – the corks, will come from the champagne I drink along the way…

So here’s my commitment to you – for each blog post, I’ll give you an update of the hat – I believe it will be a personality all of its own, so a name is appropriate – thoughts?