There was no fanfare. There was no marching band to lead us down the main street lined with our soon-to-be new friends and neighbours. There were no town fathers mounted on the podium, ready to offer us the keys to the city. We were to be the next big thing; didn’t they know that? Never mind. We installed ourselves in the caravan park and resolved to set things straight the following day. 

Track around Lake Daylesford

Daylesford and the adjoining town of Hepburn Springs are billed as the Spa Capital of Australia and promoted as Victoria’s premier short-stay holiday destination. For almost two years now, Pam and I have had a working plan to secure a small acreage in or around Daylesford on which we could build a home for ourselves and several units which could be let on the short-stay market.

Viewed from a distance, and with only cursory research, this plan seemed to be perfectly workable. But after just one day of walking the boards and talking to real estate agents, we knew our plan was up for review.

Apparently, making a development application to the Hepburn Shire Council is a fraught process, often ending in disappointment, if not despair. Feedback from several agents suggested that developing the type of property we had in mind could take as long as two years to achieve.

That sort of time is a luxury we don’t have, so Plan A has been scrapped in favour of the more expeditious, two-phase Plan B, the first part of which is already in train. We have signed a contract to purchase an existing house on the outskirts of Daylesford. The property needs some work but has tons of potential and we are confident we can make something very special out of it. Settlement should be towards the end of October.

The accommodation industry here is not what we were counting on either, typically showing lower than expected returns for investment. A rental property is still on the table as part of phase two (if the right property can be found) but, now the pressure to find somewhere to live is off, we are taking our time to look more closely at other investment options.

Okay, so we’re not the next big thing to hit town; and the streets aren’t paved with gold, after all. But Daylesford appears to be a nice little town and the people are friendly enough. Pam and I both feel a good vibe here. Daylesford is somewhere we could belong and somewhere we are going to call home.  

Stayed tuned for further developments.

Daylesford nestling into Wombat Hill

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On the very eve of our departure, circumstances arose necessitating drastic modification of our plans and we decided to end our holiday and come directly to Daylesford, in country Victoria. It was always our intention to end up here, we’ve just arrived earlier than expected. 

The next big thing has already begun, so I won’t spend much time on this post. Suffice it to say we had a terrific time over the past seven months and, while we were disappointed to end our travels early, we did so with a sense of anticipation of the next exciting chapter in our lives together.

I hope you enjoyed receiving posts from Travelling Downunder, the blog of our journey around Australia. You can follow what we are up to in Daylesford through a new blog I am calling the Daylesford Project. Keep an eye out for it.

Cheers

Peter

The Territory was very different; subdued, so I thought at first; uninteresting and without the grandeur of its neighbour to the west. But if someone had said to me then, you ain’t seen nothing yet, I soon would have agreed. Different it is, without doubt, and to its credit for it is like no where else; vast, spectacular, diverse, colourful, exciting, unforgettable. And hot! Oh boy, is it hot.

When it comes to the marvellously unique, Kakadu takes line honours. It is the living, breathing essence of the Top End, wild and beautiful. It is an extraordinary place stiff with wildlife, billabongs covered with water lilies and giant lotuses, magnificent waterfalls, ancient Aboriginal rock art and crocodile infested rivers.

And on the subject of crocodiles, the Territorians, unlike their neighbours, take their man- eating reptiles seriously. Ubiquitous warning signs advise of the presence of saltwater crocodiles and tell the intending swimmer, verbatim, Don’t risk your life! Even when warning signs aren’t posted, there are other signs advising that the absence of any warning signs should, in itself, be taken as a warning. To swim or not to swim? We joke about the crocodile situation but, really, it becomes a little nerve racking after a while.

But Kakadu is not the end of it; there’s plenty more to see and do. Litchfield, just south of Darwin, is a another great National Park. We went there, planning to escape the heat by camping at Wangi Falls, only to find those ubiquitous signs standing between ourselves and the cool water of the pool beneath the falls. It was closed to swimming! We were not long in the Top End then, and still not acclimatised to the enveloping heat, so this was a fairly desperate turn of events. As it turned out though, Litchfield has plenty of other waterfalls and swimming holes, too high for the crocs to reach, so we found relief in the end. 

Nitmiluk, too, is a NP well worth a visit with two attractions of particular note: Edith Falls and Katherine Gorge, both mandatory stops on the Grand Tour. And the town of Katherine itself, not far from the gorge of the same name, is an interesting place with a pioneering history as rich and animated as any Wild Western town you can think of.

On the map of this part of the world, the dots are small, few and far apart. South of Katherine is a dot called Mataranka, the Top End’s farthest-flung outpost. Jeannie Gunn, in a passage from We of the Never-Never, describes …a chain of clear crystal pools…[with] emerald-green mossy banks…and everywhere sunflecked, warm, dry shade… She is talking about Bitter Springs, a series of thermal pools just out of Mataranka. The year is 1902.

Pam and I stayed around Mataranka for several days, camping in nearby Elsey NP. We swam in those very pools and the water is still crystal clear, and warm as a bath. The pools are garlanded with giant water–lilies and bathers are carried along on the gentle current, from one limpid pool to the next, through the shade of the monsoon palm forest. Definitely one of the more unique participant-friendly experiences in the Top End; and safe for the kiddies, too.

Throughout the Top End, everywhere we went during the Dry, there was an abiding impression of the Wet, that other half of the year when the rains come and the land is covered with water. We saw it on the banks of rivers, on the trunks of trees, on the rock walls of gorges, in the architecture of the buildings, in stories of past floods.

But all that changed when we left the Top End behind and went south, past Tennant Creek, to where the seasons, Summer and Winter, hold more sway and the land becomes arid. Now, it is the absence of water, rather than its abundance, that is evidenced. This is the Red Centre. 

Here, the sun throws its palette – rich reds, pastel pinks and vibrant purples – across the landscape to announce the end of another day in the desert. Travellers come in off the highway and the Grand Tour winds-down for the night.

We came in last night and sit back comfortably now, watching the newbies circle their wagons. How long have you been here? they ask.

Second night, we answer, old hands already.

They’re excited. They want to know what we’ve seen. What’s it like?

We tell them the Red Centre is not so red at the moment. It’s more your green centre, really. The last two summers brought higher than average rainfall and the land has burst forth with flora and fauna unseen for 40 years.

We tell them the days are lovely but the nights are cold, so cold the waterline in our caravan freezes.

We tell them about the mountains around the Alice – the East MacDonnells and the              West MacDonnells – and the places we stayed there: Trephina Gorge, Ormiston Gorge. Absolutely beautiful, we say, and, Yes, you can get a caravan in there.

We tell them Uluru and Kata Tjuta are farther from the Alice than they might think. 500 ks ‘round about. Some already know this; some are surprised. We tell them we left our van behind and went down there on a camping trip; that a dingo tore its way into our tent looking for food. At Kings Canyon, not Uluru! we add quickly, feeling empathy with the Chamberlains. Seven days we were away.

We tell them there’s a lot to see down there; that we didn’t see it all. We were forced back early with mechanical damage, and the tent that was rent. Heads nod, knowingly. Everyone on the Grand Tour understands the perils that wait in remote areas. It’s generally agreed that our luck was, A bit off, and a round of sympathy is tendered.

What’s the Grand Tour? they ask.

It’s us, we tell them. The grey nomads, and the not-so-grey, young and old, in our tents and vans and campers; the multitude of Europeans in their hired motorhomes; the Wicked ones in their whizz-bangs; thousands of us. We  travel the same routes, arrive at the same destinations, tell the same stories. We’re all on the Grand Tour.

You make it sound crowded, they say.

It is, we tell them. But it’s a big country. There’s still room to be alone in the solitude of the bush. 

Where to next? is a question we on the Tour like to ask each other.

Pam and I are off to Queensland after this, we tell them, and up to the Cape.

We wish each other a safe journey. We wave goodbye. We go on our way.

And that’s that; goodbye to the Outback State. Seven weeks ago, I came into the Northern Territory wishing I didn’t have to and now, as I leave, I find myself wishing I could stay. But all things come to an end, and so on and so forth. It is some consolation that I take with me memories of the exciting times we’ve had here and the astounding sights we’ve seen, memories that will remain, possibly, as the most enduring of the entire trip and carry me into the next chapter of our adventure.

So, until then…

Top End images from top: Darwin sunset; Wangi Falls; Yellow Water billabong in Kakadu; saltwater crocodile on the Adelaide River; Aboriginal rock art in Kakadu

Red Centre images from left and top: the Ghan enroute from Adelaide to Darwin; desert moon at Chamber’s Pillar; Uluru at sunset; Perentie goanna; Whistling Kite

Back in March, after travelling 10,000 kms, Pam and I put together a photoblog of our travels up to that point. We also promised to do the same after the next 10,000. Well, on June 25, we clocked our 20,000th kilometre on the Gibb River Road, heading out into the East Kimberley. And as promised, here is a collection of images and notes from some of the places we visited on the way that point.

The 20,000th kilometre and the Kimberley stretching out into the distance.

Salmon Holes. We have both been to Albany prior to this trip and weren’t expecting much this time but a closer inspection of the city’s surroundings revealed some unexpected surprises. We left Albany with a better impression than the one we arrived with.

 This wind turbine is one of 12 on the wind farm at Albany. The combined output of the turbines can provide up to 75% of the city’s power needs. Each blade is as long as the wing of a 747 jet airliner and when rotating at maximum speed, the blade-tip travels at around 220 kph.

Parry Beach is about two hours drive west of Albany. We spent a relaxing week here in the shade of the Peppermint Gums.

 Green’s Pool. This natural swimming pool is not far from Parry Beach and we swam there most days.

 The mighty Karri and Tingle trees that were once prolific in the south-west are now confined to remnant forests, the result of environmental changes as much as logging. We found the old giant in this image in one such forest near Walpole.

This scene is typical of the forests around Pemberton.

Yeagerup Dunes. These extensive sand dunes south of Pemberton are mobile, burying lakes and forests in their slow march north. The only land access to the coast in this area is across the dunes and they provided the first opportunity on our trip to get into 4WD.

 An unusual perspective on Margaret River.

The pier in Busselton reaches out into Geographe Bay almost two kilometres and back in history more than 100 years. It has recently been restored and is now a major tourist attraction for the town. Pam caught these fish swimming passed a window in the underwater observatory out on the end of the pier.

The Bell Tower on the north bank of the Swan River in Perth.

Kings Park in Perth.

The Pinnacles near Cervantes, north of Perth. The exact origin of these stone outcrops is a matter of conjecture but one popular theory identifies them as the fossilised tree trunks of an ancient forest.

Waves crash below Kalbarri’s version of the Natural Bridge.

The Rainbow Jungle in Kalbarri touts itself as a parrot breeding centre. Pam & I spent an afternoon there in the walk-through aviary, getting up close to some fantastically plumaged exotic and native parrots.

Kalbarri lies at the mouth of the Murchison River which has carved a deep gorge in the land on its way to the sea. The Murchison is seen here through Nature’s Window, a natural rock formation in the Murchison Gorge.

The Rainbow Jungle again, this time a female Red-tailed Black Cockatoo.

A swimming hole in the the Murchison Gorge.

It’s official then! We passed this sign on the way out to Monkey Mia in Shark Bay.

Monkey Mia was a disappointment. Pam went there on the legendary expedition of ‘84, before the curse of fame was visited on this tiny outpost in the wilderness. In those days, she took her own fish to the water’s edge and talked to the animals. Now, feeding times are specified and strictly controlled. National Park staff, wading up to their knees, keep the crowd back on the beach. If you’re lucky, they give you a fish from the stainless steel bucket and allow you to come forward to feed a dolphin. There’s an informed expert with a megaphone, an interpretive centre, merchandise. Such is the way of the world.

Exmouth sits at the feet of the Cape Range and is the gateway to Ningaloo Reef.

Charles Knife Canyon in the Cape Range, near Exmouth.

Yardie Gorge. We camped near the mouth of Yardie Creek (far right of image) during our stay at Ningaloo.

Sandy Bay is not far from Yardie and its clear, turquoise water is perfect for snorkelling on the coral reef just off shore.

Sunset at Sandy Bay.

Kalamina Gorge might be the easiest to negotiate but it is by no means the least of Karijini’s jewels. (I should point out here that while the Pilbara is, in itself, a wonder to behold, the gorges of Karijini National Park are the region’s big tourist draw card.)

Knox Gorge is one of the most difficult and dangerous gorges in Karijini NP to get into and out of. Pam took this photograph from the look-out and we left it at that.

Weano Gorge is the fun gorge in Karijini – difficult enough to be exciting without threat to life or limb. In this image, Pam is climbing out of Handrail Pool. To get to this pool, we inched our way through a dark, narrow fissure with cold fast flowing water up to our knees, then descended into the pool chamber clinging to the handrail. The wet rock underfoot was worn smooth and extremely slippery and the sound of cascading water reverberated around us. It was very exhilarating.

An ore train, 2.4 kilometres long, moving iron ore from Rio Tinto’s mines in the Pilbara to port in Dampier – three locomotives, 230 wagons, 26000 tonnes of ore, A$5 million per load, four loads per day, seven days a week (average figures for RT’s Pilbara operation). The Pilbara is wealthy in many ways.

Paperbarks at Millstream National Park, 180kms west of Tom Price.

Lunch stop at Hearson’s Cove in Dampier after coming out of the Pilbara.

End of the line – an ore train from the Pilbara waiting to off load at Dampier.

Rio Tinto’s salt works at Port Hedland.

Broome here we come!

Sunset watching – a tradition in Broome.

This is what it’s all about – sunset at Cable Beach.

Moonrise watching – watching from Town Beach as the full moon comes up is just as popular.

A Pied Oyster Catcher on Eco Beach, near Broome.

Signs like this are commonplace in the north west. This one was prominently placed at the beginning of the Cape Leveque Road. It was larger than life, obviously important and its message (I thought) was clear: There are crocodiles here! DO NOT go swimming! Okay. No need to say it twice. But we arrive at Cape Leveque and the receptionist at the resort there blithely provides directions to… the swimming beach? Are you serious? In the Kimberley, people just smile and shrug their shoulders when the conversation turns to crocodiles. I don’t get it. And for the record, we did go swimming but I personally stayed very close to shore, made it very snappy and didn’t have a jot of fun.

Cape Leveque sunset.

Late afternoon light on the cliffs at Western Beach, Cape Leveque.

The Boab tree is an icon in the Kimberley. Determining the age of a Boab is difficult because, unlike other trees, Boabs have no growth rings, in fact becoming hollow with age. This particular tree near Derby is famous as a prison tree, inside which Aborigines kidnapped for the blackbirding trade were held enroute to port. It is estimated to be over 1000 years old.

The Gibb River Road – welcome to the East Kimberley. This road goes all the way from Derby to Wyndham, 600 kilometres more or less, and provides access to Windjana Gorge and other splendours along the way.

Cattle stations in the Kimberley cover vast tracts of largely unfenced land, leaving livestock free to wander at will. Motor accidents involving cattle are not uncommon. We came across this big Brahman bull on the Gibb River Road. He stood two metres at the business end of his horns.

Boabs in a creek near Windjana Gorge. They lose their leaves in the Dry.

There are two types of crocodile in Australia – Freshwater and Saltwater. The Johnston River Freshwater Crocodile, like this one in Windjana Gorge, is happy to mind its own business if left alone. The larger and aggressive Saltwater or Estuarine Crocodile, on the other hand, weighs-in as Australia’s most dangerous predator and is a reptile of a very different colour. 

Not far from Windjana, Tunnel Creek cascades through a crevice in the Napier Range and disappears into the darkness. If I remember nothing else of this trip (as if that’s likely!) I will always remember climbing into that crevice and following the creek, in the dark and up to my waist in icy water, as it wound its way underground for two kilometres to finally reappear in the sunlight on the far side of the range. Pam took this shot halfway along where the rock above has collapsed, allowing sunlight to flood that part of the tunnel.

After a two kilometre journey underground, Tunnel Creek emerges from beneath the Napier Range through this huge cavern, to splash into a plunge pool before flowing on its way.

A Jabiru fishing in Windjana Gorge.

Galvan’s Gorge, about 300 kms along the Gibb River Road.

Lennard Gorge on the Gibb River Road.

A giant Boab in the firelight at Manning Gorge camp ground.

So that’s it – the last 10,000 kms and all of them in Western Australia. This is a huge state, in every way, and we have seen and done so much, it’s impossible to be anything here but brief. Nevertheless, I hope you get an accurate impression of our experiences and believe me when I say we are having the time of our lives.

It is the story of creation spirits that travelled across the land when the earth was soft, making the mountains, the rivers, the gorges, the animals and plants. The spirits named all these things and gave the people language.  This song has been sung since the first people walked on the Pilbara. It is an old song.

There is another song about the Pilbara, a new song, a white fella song. It too is the story of creation. It tells of tectonic collisions, uplifting, folding, tilting, molten rock oozing from the primordial fires of a new world, the Pilbara 3500 million years ago.

I walk through Karijini and I hear that song and I know this is an old place, old as time itself. I hear it in the weathered scarps of the mountains rising out of the plain. I hear it in the deep-carved gorges, their rocks worn smooth through countless ages by ancient rivers. And I hear it  on the wind, whispers from long ago when the first people walked on the Pilbara.

Where is Karijini? It’s a long way away, where the ground is stained with the lifeblood of the Pilbara – iron. To get here requires determination, a sense of purpose. To arrive here is to come home, to connect with that essential part of ourselves, to realise our insignificance in the immensity of time.    

Karijini is too old, too profound, too beautiful to be explained in a few hundred words and a couple of images. You need to stand with its rust-red earth beneath your feet even to pretend, like me, to know this country. Nevertheless, I have tried to convey my impressions of its magic. If ever you stand in Karijini where I am now, or some place nearby, you will know what I mean.

This is my song.

The Pilbara

Kalamina Gorge

Joffre Falls - Joffre Gorge

Kermits Pool - Hancock Gorge

Kalamina Gorge

Mineral patterns in river rock - Kalamina Gorge

Kalamina Gorge

Handrail Pool - Weano Gorge

North West Cape is a wide peninsula divided in two by a spine of low, rugged limestone plateaux and gorges called the Cape Range. The Exmouth Gulf lays on its eastern shore and on the west, the Indian Ocean and Ningaloo Reef. To get to Ningaloo, we had go around the range by driving out along the gulf to Exmouth and following the cape around to the western side.

Ningaloo is the longest fringing-reef in Australia. It runs south from North West Cape for some 260 kilometres to just below the Tropic of Capricorn. At one point it comes as close as 300 metres to shore. At its outermost it is, perhaps, no more than a kilometre from land.

Shothole Canyon, Eastern Cape Range

The entire reef is designated the Ningaloo Marine Park and is teeming with marine life – turtles, whales, whale sharks, dugongs, manta rays, brightly coloured tropical fish of all shapes and sizes and, of course, corals. On shore, the Cape Range National Park is the perfect complement, populated by a commensurately diverse and abundant horde of terrestrial wildlife. Together, they have been an unforgettable experience. 

Osprey on the beach

But if you are thinking of the tropics, of lush vegetation and cascading waterfalls, prepare to be disabused. Here, the arid interior comes down to meet the sea with all its enmity. This is no easy place to live.

Picture for a moment a narrow, coastal plain where clumps of spinifex grow on the stony ground, prickling your ankles as you brush past. Scattered amongst the spinifex are small bushes, bent low and twisted by the battering winds. Here and there, stunted eucalypts hold on to life, somehow; there is no water but the sea. Now, imagine there is no shelter from the scorching sun or the violent thunderstorms that sweep in over the reef during the night. This is the face of Ningaloo.

But Ningaloo is also a place of shallow, sandy lagoons and tranquil, turquoise waters; an unspoilt wilderness whose unique and pristine character is only rarefied by its own harshness. Paradise has more than one face.

A storm looms over the reef at Yardie Creek

Our slice of paradise was Yardie Creek, 70 kms down the coast where the road turns to sand. It wasn’t our first choice but campsites in the Cape Range NP are limited and highly sought, so we were lucky to get in at all. And in the end, despite its isolation, Yardie had some special features and was probably the best place to be.

The creek there is contained by the sheer walls of Yardie Gorge which provided some add-on activities at no extra cost and, while the beach offers nothing special to the snorkeler, it is good for swimming and only metres from camp. There is also a tree at Yardie Creek, which added to its appeal.

Yardie Gorge

In all, we spent six full and fabulous days at Ningaloo. For me, the snorkelling was great but the high point was the opportunity to observe and photograph some very uncommon birdlife. Pam topped-off her own experience of Ningaloo diving with the whale sharks, something she says she will never forget.

Not Whale Sharks

It is 1200 kms from Perth to Exmouth and more than that again to Broome where we wanted to be by the end of April. We didn’t make it – too much to see. Now, we must be there by the end of May. There’s still a lot to see, but I think we can do it – just!

Author’s note: In keeping with Mark Twain’s well-worn maxim never let the facts get in the way of a good story, I didn’t. But in truth, there is more than one tree at Yardie Creek.

I’ve been a bad boy

The south west corner – what to say then that doesn’t have the sound of a litany? How about: The region has been named by Lonely Planet as one of the top 10 places in the world to visit. That’s true. And a reasonable start, wouldn’t you say? 

Greens Pool near Denmark

Then I could add: It is also one of the top 25 hotspots for biological diversity on Earth. And that’s a fact. Then, just to impress you (as if you’re not impressed already! right?) I could throw in: Of the 11,000 plant species in Western Australia, 75% can be found in this region. Another fact, but now I’m dancing with platitude, dicing with literary death, so I’ll get going before I lose you. 

The highlights? Okay, but only because you asked. 

Giant tree near Walpole

Pemberton, a quaint little town in the heart of the tall timber country, was one of them. The place has a nice feel and we came away with fond memories of our stay. Karri is the predominant eucalypt there and these trees are huge. I don’t mean just one or two of them. They’re all big, really big. Words pay poor homage to the majesty of these giants and you need to stand beneath them to properly appreciate their size. They redefined my concept of what a forest is.  

Underwater observatory on Busselton Pier

The Margaret River area was also very interesting and we spent a week or so exploring the coastal strip from Cape Leeuwin – where the Indian Ocean meets the Southern Ocean – north to Cape Naturaliste and Geographe Bay. I lived in this area, once upon a time, and there is little that hasn’t changed beyond recognition in the 30 years since. 

Easter was upon us by the time we moved on from MR and we needed somewhere to hunker down. We concealed ourselves in bushland on the Leschenault Peninsula, just north of Bunbury, hoping to escape  the holiday madness (follow this link to see the Easter post A Queer Creature) but we knew we had been found out when campers arrived in droves to shatter the tranquillity of an otherwise peaceful place. Nevertheless, we survived all that and moved on to Perth. 

Reunion in Perth - Pam & Nell

Perth was fantastic and is now one of my favourite cities. We used the public transport system while there and agreed it is the equal of any we’ve seen, both in China and Europe. Our best outing in Perth: A ferry ride to Fremantle, with fish and chips on the waterfront then home on the train. It mightn’t sound like much, but it was a very full day and we had a ball. Fremantle is a very lively place. In all, we spent four days there (Perth) and left feeling like we had made contact in a very real way. 

Ningaloo Reef, Geikie Gorge, Purnululu; names I’ve heard, places I’m yet to see. Around the campfire I hear their stories and their mystique grows. They wait for me up the road. I’m on my way. 

While not generally regarded as harmful to humans, its bite can be infectious, typically resulting in short-term madness. Bite victims display several easily identifiable symptoms which disappear, more or less, after five days or so. 

The more common of these is an irrational fear of starvation. Sufferers are drawn out of their homes and work places and, on the Thursday afternoon before the long weekend, descend in droves upon their nearest supermarket, often bringing traffic to a standstill and causing widespread chaos. In a frenzy of shopping that can last into the night, they fill trolleys and baskets with every imaginable consumable. Checkouts are dangerously overloaded and queues build and snake down adjacent aisles, adding to the mayhem.

This behaviour has been linked to the universal closure of shops the following day, although why these demented shoppers apparently feel the need to do a week’s shopping to get through that one day remains a mystery.

Anxiety is also seen as a symptom in bite victims. This is generally attributed to a sense of confinement and the associated escape reflex will often develop into a more complex condition known as the Camping Trip.

This commonly affects males between 20 and 40 years of age, although there are documented cases of women exhibiting the same, almost ritualised behaviour. Once infected, sufferers band together, often in large groups, in secluded bushland settings to get away from it all.

The condition is characterised by loud vocalisations and frequent utterance of obscenities.  Attempts by outsiders seeking moderation of this behaviour are generally met with vehement hostility. This seems to be the case particularly where muscle contraction (see below) is obvious and it is considered unwise to approach these campers with petitions of social decency and consideration for others.

Contraction of the forearm muscles, usually those of the right arm, is also common. This contraction causes the hand to close tightly and there are authenticated sightings of sufferers, unable to release their grip, carrying cans or bottles of beer for hours, and sometimes days, at a time without respite.

Furthermore, campers at these gatherings appear completely unaware of the nature of their surroundings. They also demonstrate a predilection for disturbingly loud and awful music. This suggests temporary blindness, deafness and abominable taste are also factors. However, conclusive evaluation of this has been hampered by a generally tribal attitude amongst the campers. 

A typical Easter produces millions upon millions of eggs (see image at left) in a single season, so extinction is a long way off. And with no known cure for its bite, one thinks the best treatment for its victims is confinement to bed for the duration of the holiday.

To briefly reiterate the content of said letter, I suggested it was time we buried the heroes of a war almost 100 years past, and moved on. (The ANZAC ceremony pays tribute to the men and women who served this country in all armed conflicts since the landing at Gallipoli in 1915 and not just WWI and, to be fair, I didn’t acknowledge this point.) I went on to say the essence of ANZAC is insignificant to today’s younger generation and will only become more so to the generations that follow. No disrespect to our fighting men and women was intended, nor did I think to devalue the great sacrifices they made but, apparently, that’s just what I did.

So what should I have learned from that little exercise? To express myself more succinctly – possibly. To keep my big trap shut – probably. Never to denigrate a National tradition – certainly. But here I am once more, speaking my mind about that most revered chapter of Australian folk lore. I must be a slow learner.

Don’t get me wrong. I am as patriotic as the next guy. I grew up with the ANZAC tradition. In school I learned about Gallipoli and other chapters in our Nation’s military history and, as a young boy, marched proudly beside my father, standing at dawn with head bowed before the cenotaph. But that was a long time ago and in the dawn of the new millennium, I hoped we could leave our old ways behind and learn to resolve our differences peacefully.

Yet even before this post is finished, another barrage is aimed in my direction. My own wife has railed against what she calls un-Australian. She tells me a nation needs its heroes and asks why I would want to express such an antagonistic view.

Perhaps the best answer to that question can be found in what wasn’t said in the original letter. War is devastating. It is a waste of potential. No one could disagree with that. In any war, subsequent generations are diminished by the tragedy of lost sons and daughters, fathers and mothers. And economies, too, are devastated. Privation and hardship accompany the decades of recovery for a war torn nation. Yet paradoxically, by idolising our military enterprises we glorify the war machine that makes all this happen.

History shows us that since the first man found another with whom he could fight, we have been at each others’ throats. Are we, then, doomed to go on like those before us, fighting the good fight until there is, again, only one man left? Why not take a course that will write a different history?

Call me a dreamer but I want to believe in a humanity that has moved beyond violent conflict, that has evolved into something higher than those first two men beating each other with clubs. Honour the past if you must but I’m looking forward to a better world. 

Is there anyone out there who agrees with me?