The day started early with another cold night and early visit from Nossi. We decided that three nights of Amamoor was enough and that we challenged luck long enough. During our stay there was no visit from the ranger and we saved ourselves the camping fee. After having seen the Muster fees, I’m sure they won’t miss our contribution. At least there are fewer wood fire size pieces of dry timber for the ranger to worry about.
While packing up we spoke to the owners of Rosa, Nossi’s friend. They were trialling out their new Winnebago Escape, a nice compact Campervan costing a small fortune and were not very happy. Lots of things that sounded great in the showroom worked out to be not very functional, defunct or plainly annoying. They were planning many changes before going on a trip around Australia later this year. Perhaps my mirror construction is not so bad after all……
Now pretty efficient in packing up, we left the camp ground at around 9.30 am, tried to remember the way back, which gave some “yes, I remember this” and “hmm, doesn’t look familiar”. When you’re over 50 those memories don’t come automatically.
We made it back over the creek crossing, the hilly road and passed through Amamoor where we saw a post office on the way to the camping. Marjo went there twice, once without wallet and once with dog and wallet (I don’t dare to let her go without someone to guard her wallet anymore) while I exchanged black water (the yuck stuff) for fresh water at the local public toilet.
When I drove back to the post office annex general store annex only shop in Amamoor someone shouted. That appeared to be the sign for the train and soon we saw the train pass….a small locomotive with only one carriage. I hope that this is not the typical public transport around here and that it is a rehearsal for the Muster or something.
While waiting for Marjo who had to hear the complete life story of one of the store’s customers, I rang the kids to catch up after three days of no communication and we saw Rosa’s owners drive past. Then we gave the GPS instructions to find us the way to Log Dump camping ground with a stop in between at a Woollies. Instead of making that simple, the devious piece of software guided us around and through Gympie. If anything is fun with a heavy bus and trailer then it is up and down the hilly and narrow roads of Gympie. Not. At least it appears to be a nice place when you’re not driving, Marjo says.
We stocked up on food and booze and Marjo got Joran’s favorite Pecan Pie. I got the honour to precut it for easier travel and managed to get it on my face, my pants, the steering wheel and Marjo’s pants (only because it ended up on the outside of the plastic box). Yummie but sticky custard.
Then we drove to Log Dump. The GPS did alright this time, but now the camping guide misled us. Without exact locations such as useful coordinates it described a route with a wrong road. The turn off onto Tinnenbar road seemed to have been permanently closed. Ringing he Queensland Government resulted in a “We’ll call you back’. Used to the inefficiency of the NSW government we took control and decided to continue along the Permanently Closed road. After 50 meters, the phone rang and Bruce, the local ranger explained that we had the wrong road. No way to turn around of course. So, like a drunken monkey, I reversed the bus and trailer. This is extra difficult because the bus is wider than the trailer and as long as there is no trailer visible you’re going straight. As soon as you see the trailer (through my newly constructed mirror) it was too late and only sharp correcting could somehow fix it. This all meant that it took ages to drive the 50 meters back in reverse. Then we understood that the correct road was further down. When you ever bring up this story with Marjo don’t believe her when she says that I misunderstood. It was Bruce who couldn’t explain it. Another interesting turn later we finally got onto the right road. A road that doesn’t even exist on Google Maps or our beloved GPS. Before heading down this road, we asked a couple of guys towing a tinnie and they confirmed. Seven kilometers of dirt road later we found the Log Dump camping.
The camping is on a river that connects to water where dugongs, turtles and dolphins live. Marjo had the thought of checking it out in her kayak, until she heard that only 2 kilometers from here signs are put up to warn for crocodiles. She believes they can swim these two kilometers without any problem. I think it’s too cold for them but then again, I’m not a kayaker……
After a lovely meal (compliments to the lovely chef) and a fire that was determined to make me smell of smoke (again) it is time to layer up and get under the doona. Sweet dreams.
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