Cania Gorge to Rockhampton - Bush to the Smoke

Cania Gorge

Queensland with a Greenie Flavour

           Well, the road here was simple enough, with Ken Navman leading the way. He's been in the dog-box a bit because of the Brisbane Toll Road Affair, and we have had misgivings about his Highway recognition skills after discovering that he tried to divert us off the Bruce Highway when we were actually travelling serenely, comfortably, toll-freely along a new, smooth and safe two-lane highway signposted 'The Bruce Highway'. Then we saw some whitefaced, blue-knuckled Grey Nomads emerging (or is that E-merging) from the wild Qld rural under-storey on our lower left, faces brightening visibly as they left the gloom of the undergrowth and the Road Works. Some may have limped into the Pub pictured below, in Gayndah, Queensland's oldest town. Brisbane is older, you say?  Well, no; poor old Brisbane had something of a shaky start, and almost any town built near good, friendly  water that didn't take off with all your worldly goods and half your family every so often would have done better than Brisbane.  Gayndah has had its share of floods and, no doubt, famine, but it still has a great bakery and a clothing store with an overhead slingshot accounts retrievable section.

  

Gayndah's Other Pub

We made it to Cania Gorge, revelling in the drive through pastoral beauty and wandering Brahmin cross cattle (they may be called that because they cross the road, gently, unmolestable) that wandered across the landscape. Firewood was clearly going to be a problem because every fallen tree showed chainsaw trauma and nothing small enough for me to  pick up was available.
Booked in, getting a great site, as usual. Wandered about, seeing new birds and beasties aplenty. Bought the wood and burnt it nightly - and daily, enjoying walking around and exploring mines, dams and sub-tropical hikes to Rocky Pools.

A Bettong - charming but  delicious looking inhabitant of Cania Gorge

King Parrots, as beautiful as they are, became insistent visitors whch we did NOT feed. See later.

Feeding the parrots is a hectic session.

We walked this trail for two Km perhaps, and she (note tail dangling from pouch)  saw
everybody else pass unknowingly about a metre and a half away.

It was like visiting a National Park, but with privileges; unlike SA where the Rangers actively prevent one from visiting  (in case we damage the fragile Environment by Looking At It or Photographing It) here, one may stay all day and night and enjoy the place. Yes, one takes everything IN and everything OUT.  But there are no barriers across the trails, no roads with pole-barriers locked across them so that only the Rangers can get in.

The flood damage from the latest deluge was evident, as was the simple expedient treatment of letting things grow again.  
      The Park is run by a mob of Greys, a syndicate of eight semi-retired people. It's for sale and they gently make it clear that it's a great life-style for the classic volunteer caste of the Australian rural community. I can imagine, with some barely suppressed hilarity, how eight Young Greenies might do it. Feeding the parrots would be replaced by Hydroponics and The Bush seminars; wine tastings would be supplanted (!) by joint testing sessions, and souvenirs would include organic hardwood bongs. The wood smoke that currently drifts across the park would be even more relaxing.  Ah, but I digress.
From here, we slipped through the bush and rejoined the transport corridor loosely termed the Bruce Highway. Another day of Road Works, leading to Mt Morgan. The mines dominate the landscape, and the historical pollution of the creeks was seen in the translucent sky blue of several.

Mt Mogan's Pub is being restored but Lunch was just too hard.


Dire warnings about the road from Dululu to Rochhampton came to nothing, as our driveway is steeper, narrower and more fun. Finally, we reached Rocky and the fun with our cousins could begin.