We follow the river inland to Dartmoor to a camp that we’ve heard a lot about. The town’s avenue of cypress trees are sculpted into a memorial drive to the fallen of World War One. The Fort O’Hare camp ground is huge, grassy and treed. The birdsong is a chorus. We are spoilt for choice of where to set up and find ourselves driving in circles a few too many times. Giving the other campers a spot of free entertainment, “Hey look, there they go again”.
The name Fort O’Hare is unusual but it was named by Major Mitchell and his party when they camped here in 1836. This is where they launched their boats to follow the Glenelg River down to the sea. I doubt it has changed much since then. There is a small wooden landing overlooking the river and a jetty for jumping in. It is hot and there is a steady procession of locals popping down for a quick dip.
We walk up to town to buy ice and find out that the lady publican is in hospital so there won’t be any pub meals tonight. Bugger.
Don’t forget to put a donation in the box in town to keep this piece of heaven pristine.
