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Day 4 Flinders Ranges
This is the follow up of Day 3 Flinders Ranges
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Yet another gorgeous day. I start it with my favorite brew of lovely strong coffee, pack up my camp and head up to a historical village called Blinman. Packing up takes a while (with the tent), but I’ve got plenty of time and in this sunny morning I enjoy it, mucking around lazily with another cup of strong coffee. The plan is to see Blinman, as well as to drive through a couple of scenic gorges.
I say goodbye to Rawnsley Park Station and respectfully “drive with walking paste” to the sealed road. It has been a great place for the last couple of nights (with the cleanest toilets and the warmest showers).
The road to Blinman snakes its way through grassy hills and pine forests. I drive to a spectacular scenic lookout, called Stokes Hill. The chilly wind on the top friezes my ears and water my eyes, but there is so much space here, you feel like flying. I see mountains all around, and far down I see a few 4WD, like tiny ants, driving somewhere on a dirt road… I also see a few clouds forming on the East (which I don’t like). On the map I find that the road with the ants 4WD’s leads to Willow Springs and the Skytrek. For a moment I am tempted, but I would not have time.
I start driving to the historical village called Blinman.
Soon I climb a very high place called Stokes Hill.
Some ants 4WD are driving to Willow Springs and the Skytrek. Down there.
Lots of mountains all around.
… and lots of air – you feel like flying 🙂
Instead of driving to Willow Springs and the Skytrek, I drive a few more kilometers north and turn into a gravel road to Appealinna ruins, where I learn the story of Joseph Wills. He was one of the tough first settlers, a self-made man, not much liked by the colonial authorities. He fought a battle with the miners, who came to dig for copper and needed the water spring on his property. Lacking political connections Joseph didn’t stand a chance (the authorities rezoned his lease and cut the spring out of his lands), but not before he put on a good fight. The story is very interesting (and I am a sucker for such stories of old times).
Some kangaroos on the way to the Appealinna ruins.
Not much is left of Joseph Wills’ house.
But, there is a well preserved ruin, they claim to be Joseph Wills’ toilet, ha.
The house of a wealthy Joseph Wills’ neighbor.
It has an impressive chimney.
Not far away I find a small strange ruin with scattered white bones in it.
After Appealinna, I drive back to enter the scenic drive along Bunyeroo Valley, which continues into Brachina Gorge. I am stunned! I’ve seen a lot of mountains around Europe (and they are all beautiful), but the Flinders Ranges are unique. You cannot have this experience anywhere else. I wish it was later in the day to set up my camp somewhere along the beautiful gorges. But there is still time and I want to see everything.
Bunyeroo Valley.
Bunyeroo Valley closer.
Coming out of Brachina Gorge, I see a sign “Aroona ruins” with a tempting dirt road. Why not, I tell myself and drive into it to discover another beautiful valley. Apparently this used to be the property of certain John Frederick Hayward who had a cattle run here. Lucky John sold it for substantial amount of money in1862, just before the whole region was hit by a long, devastating drought. John Hayward returned to England a rich and respectful man, while the poor buyer watched the cattle die and the house turning into a ruin. John Frederick Hayward is one of the very few people (probably the only one), who made their fortune in the Flinders. Aroona is also known for the South Australian artist, Sir Hans Heysen who stayed and worked here on numerous occasions, enchanted by the eerie landscape. Driving back I see the three hills, featuring in his classic work “The Three Sisters of Aroona”.
Aroona ruins. Not much, but I climb a small hill to see the beautiful valley. There are some people, organized tour or something.
My “Three Sisters of Aroona” look nothing like the classic work of Sir Hans Heysen.
I don’t want the Flinders Ranges’ part of my trip to finish. Heading to the sealed road for Blinman, I have a fleeting thought, that Lake Eyre might be some kind of a lesser experience in comparison to the wanders I’ve seen here. I try to avoid this thought. My attention is attracted by a strange place on the map, called Emma Smith’s Grave. Hoping to learn another interesting story, I drive the short detour.
At first I approach Emma Smith’s Grave like a tourist visiting a tourist attraction, but when I see it, something stops me in my tracks. Emma Smith is only two years old, she dies around 1860 and her grave back then and now continues to be lonely and isolated. Perhaps her parents were transporting copper. That’s all I learn from the laconic text, supplied by the National Parks and Wildlife Service. Somehow the lack of information affects me most. I can vividly imagine the little girl, who lost her chances so long ago. Why is her grave so isolated?
Emma Smith’s Grave affecs me in more ways, than I could ever expect.
Back in Sydney I do a quick Google search, but nothing more comes out, Some guy in his blog suggests that Emma was accidently crashed under the heavy ox carts driven by her father. I don’t think so; I believe Emma has succumbed to one of the many illnesses that were killing children like flies a hundred and fifty years ago (that would make it easier for me).
I continue to Blinman, but after Emma Smith’s grave I don’t have the exploration vibe any more. Blinman is not inviting, although I try hard to wake up my curiosity. It’s cold, I am hungry and in the pub the cook refuses to warm any meal for me (too late for lunch, too early for dinner). At the café I buy a small microwaved industrial pie, which tastes like s**t and while I eat it on the veranda, I see some people in front of an art gallery across the road, who watch me with hope that I might visit and buy something. I don’t waste any more time here.
On the way to Blinman.
I pass the Great Wall of China, but hardly see it, thinking about Emma Smith.
But it’s getting late now, some clouds are piling up in the sky and the gravel road to Parachilna doesn’t have any good places to stop for a camp. There are fences on both sides of the road. I pass Angorichina Village wandering if I should stop, but continue undecided. Immediately after Angorichina Village, I find a wide dry river bed with massive river gum trees and no fences. This is the Angorichina gorge. I don’t wait for another invitation – I drive along the river to find my perfect camping spot, avoiding the heavy branches of the river gums, which are known to crush down without reason or warning.
The camping spot is perfect, but I am a bit stiff to occupy this isolated place. I feel all alone in the world. To fortify my courage, I pull out the bottle with the strong 45º liquor and start with a few small shots, while opening the deck umbrella to experiment with an idea I had in Sydney for a quick shelter behind the car. It works brilliantly with minimum time to set up.
My camp fire at Angorichina gorge.
At first I am a bit stiff to occupy all this space.
A bit stiff.
Next (continuing with the small shots), I collect enough dead wood for tonight’s fire and after lightening it I start to cook a stew, which I learned from my mother in law. By now my camp fire is burning, I am warmed by the small shots and not afraid any more of the enveloping darkness. I see the stars and admire them. Cooking the stew, I think of my mother in law – hm, m, yes… she is a lovely woman… especially when she is some 15 000 km away from me. I chuckle to myself and at this very moment I see a space ship appearing from nowhere. The numerous 45º shots make me feel sufficiently numb to be curious instead of terrified. It’s actually a bus, full of lights, shaking like a drunken sailor along the uneven river bed.
Bunch of European backpackers are exploring Australia. They are mostly from Holland and Norway. Finding the leveled grassy place next to me, they spill out of the bus and start to fuss around with a few funny small tents. Naturally, the lazy backpackers are attracted by my fire and the irresistible smell of my mother in law’s stew. I don’t mind to have such a cheerful company. We share stories, drinks, food (the stew) and there is a guitar, on which I try my rusty fingers. I still remember some old Celentano hits, my Italian is good. The magic from not so long ago returns – I feel how the girls watch me with owe and some kind of intense interest …
Friends, it is getting too long now and I should not waste your time with details of what happens next. I will only confirm that the back of the Landie is wide enough for two people and it is VERY comfortable to share.
pp. Please, don’t tell my mother in law.