5/6/2023 On A Rainy Day: Broken Hill to Mount Barker

I'm very glad to report that nobody fell through the bathroom floor during our stay in the daggy donga, and we stayed warm and dry despite the rain clattering on the roof all night long. I went to bed with grand plans to wake up early and take photos of the sunrise from the nearby hill.

Alas, sunrise did not comply.  I stayed in bed, wandering up later to take rain photos instead.

 

The town of Broken Hill owes its existence to the silver, lead, and zinc mine that dominates the town skyline and causes the inhabitants of Broken Hill to take for granted the behaviours required to prevent lead poisoning. This minor risk didn't stop Broken Hill from building a cafe and lookout on top of the massive old slag heap in the centre of town and encouraging all and sundry to wander up to take a look, lead dust be damned. The rain having laid any dust to rest for a day or two, we had no qualms about making our own expedition to the top of the slag heap.

Up to the lookout we went, keeping a wary eye out for Orcs on the way.

The view was somewhat limited by the low cloud and rain.  Down below us Broken Hill's streets were jammed up with learner drivers busy clocking up their mandatory rainy driving hours.  It doesn't rain often in Broken Hill.

Getting to the lookout required walking through the miner's memorial past the names, etched in perspex and accompanied by a rose, of all who had died at the Broken Hill mine. 

Quite a sobering number, each rose a life lost.

Topside; Old shaft head; heavy machinery taking a day off in the rain.

The wet weather followed us as we left Broken Hill.  Clouds dragged streamers of rain across the sky and sunlight and shadows raced across the plains and faraway hills.  

 

 Quarantine signs accosted us just before the border, reminding us that we couldn't bring fruit or vegetables into the fruit-fly-free zone.  Of course, having crossed in and out of South Australia like yo-yos over the past two years we would have remembered this, right?  Nope.  We stopped just east of the border and indulged in some last-minute tomato-eating before jettisoning a few lonely carrots in the bin, congratulating ourselves on not having repeated our past sins of buying up big on fruit and veg just before the border.

 

Last tomato eaten?  Right, into South Australia we go!

The quarantine man didn't take us at our fruit-and-vegetable-free word.  He made us open our esky and picnic basket so that he could check for himself.

The railway joined us and kept company for hundreds of kilometers, marking distance with defunct railway towns.

I'll have a doughnut please.

Manna Hill Railway Station.

 

We stopped in Burra for lunch and chatted to a young man who was riding his bicycle from Sydney to take up employment in Alice Springs. Bicycle touring chat ensued until, with a spasm or two of envy, we watched him pedal happily off into the wilderness or at least as far as the local Burra coffee shop, anyway.

One of Burra's many beautiful old buildings.

We were treated to a beautiful sunset as we wandered up hill and down dale, following Gladys Google on a convoluted path through the Adelaide Hills to Mount Barker.

 

And then we were there, and just like that the road trip was over.

Despite the disconcerting presence of two police cars at the gate, the Mount Barker Caravan Park was quiet and all inhabitants appeared to be either law-abiding or at least discreet in any activities that might require police visitation.  I pulled the curtains and we settled in before going off for a cup of tea with the Mount Barker family branch.

Work tomorrow.  What a thrill.