14/05/26 Louth to Rose Isle Station

 I thought my caravanning neighbours would keep me up all night. They crashed and bashed around in the manner of the inebriated trying to be silent, stage-whispering "Be quiet! There's a tent just there!"

Next minute it was morning so I must have been tireder than I'd thought. And I wouldn't have indulged myself in a little petty crashing and bashing over breakfast would I? That would be mean.

Di at the pub filled my water bottles for free, so I ordered a coffee as quasi payment and then realised I hadn't paid as I sat outside sipping coffee and charging my phone. "It's on me!" said Di, and wouldn't change her mind, not that I tried too hard. I think I'll start donating to the RFDS on behalf of all the freebies I'm getting.

Coffee in the morning sun, looking back toward the levee bank with the river beyond.

"Port of Louth"??  I don't think it's been that for a long time.

Double Louth.

Long stretches of the road were lined with cluster fencing, impervious to wildlife and stock, even goats. The road kill count went up where roos and emus, running along the fence in panic, did their usual 90deg turn and blasted out in front of traffic. Goats must be smarter: they didn't feature high in any tally of roadkill.

Panicking in one direction.

Dithering...

...and panicking in the other direction.

All that rain that fell months ago didn't quite get to here, and was now draining into Lake Eyre. Here the Darling was low and sluggish and the ground was bright red and bereft of cover. Mulga danced beside the road and Apostle birds chattered in cypress pines. I was filled with nostalgia when I saw broad leafed box in a watercourse, leaves glittering in the sun. These were the trees of both my childhood and my working life north of the NSW-Qld border. I felt like I was coming home.

All the nostalgic daydreaming came to a crashing halt when I came to the roadworks.

 I had to bring my head out of the clouds and start concentrating in order not to come afoul of big yellow machinery or, horror of horrors, fall off in front of them. The 10km went by in a flash and after that I was regularly overtaken or passed by the water trucks as they completed loops up and down or went for refills.  The drivers were very courteous and we quickly got to the cheery-wave stage of driver intimacy.

Back on the bitumen and before I knew it there was the turn off to Rose Isle Station and Samantha was there to show me around. "Camp anywhere you like," she said. "Just watch out for roo poo on the grass. There's kayaks down at the river and if you light the donkey in time you'll get hot water for a bath overlooking the river."

Bottle wall, bathroom feature.

No sooner had I pitched my tent than I was down at the bath spot firing up the donkey and hopping around in a sweaty mess of anticipation. As soon as the water approached acceptable bathing temperature in I went and spent a happy hour doing my best hippopotamus impression while the setting sun pulled long shadows across the water and welcome shallows swooped exuberantly across the river.

When bathing in river water one must be ready to accept the colour that comes out of the tap.

Sadly, every bathtub eventually cools down and I had to face the fresh evening breeze which ensured I didn't linger on the drying and dressing part of the operation.

Up in the camp kitchen I shared a pleasant evening with my fellow campers around the fire. Steve was about to set off on his own ride down the Darling, supported by his wife Lindy towing a caravan. I was in paroxysms of envy thinking of all the things Steve could carry (cameras, lenses, fresh food, cameras...). Ah well.

I could have sworn I was sleeping on clouds, so thick was the grass that Samantha had lovingly cultivated and on which she encouraged me to camp. If any roos came past to poo in the night, I didn't hear them.