14/08/17 The drive up through the heavily wooded hills of the Warro Forest Reserve was a slow haul, along a snaking gravel road and across a narrow wooden bridge that I thought best to walk over first before clunking across the rattly wooden bridge deck with the rig. Shortly after descending the far side of Mt Warro, we came to the small village of Lowmead, and over the level rail crossing of the main north-south line to set up in the large shady backyard of the pub.
Over a drink in the pub a little later, Di asked the publican and two guys sitting at the bar how many people lived in Lowmead.
“Six” they all agreed after counting it up.
“No, six people.”
With the two guys at the bar, the publican, two others sitting across the room, and both of us, it was pretty much full house for Sunday lunch.
We unhitched the van and took an afternoon drive to nearby Agnes Waters and the Town of 1770. Di loved the long curving white beach at Agnes Waters, but 1770 didn’t appeal to us much at all – too hilly, too isolated and too many backpacker whiz bangs everywhere. Bustard Bay, dotted with many boats and yachts moored offshore, was certainly scenic and would be a great place to stay if you were a boatie. But we weren’t.
With the shadows lengthening in the late afternoon, we enjoyed a drink beside the van looking across the paddocks to Baffle Creek at the far tree line. An impressive Spotted Harrier on the hunt, skimming above the tops of the tall grass seed heads, proved faster than Di could locate her camera. She settled for just a distant hazy image of this new bird to her list. We had a very quiet and peaceful camp site, tucked away in the back corner behind the pub, despite the occasional horn toots of trains approaching the nearby level rail crossing. Thankfully, they didn’t blow their horn at night.
The next morning, we packed up and headed north through Miriam Vale and Calliope to a camp at Futter Creek. The days are becoming steadily warmer as we travel further north. The nights are still cold and we’re hitting the sack much earlier, our sleep patterns very much dictated by sunset and sunrise.
“Knock Knock! Who’s there? Tibet! Tibet who? Early Tibet and early to rise!”