Day 8 Monday 23/11/20 Port Fairy to Cavendish, cloudy 20
It’s a pleasant winding drive up the hills to Hamilton past a volcanic crater or two, large grazier’s homesteads and sheep, plenty of sheep. We stock up in the busy regional centre of Hamilton. It’s funny how you come to know country towns in this caravanning life, we each know where the supermarkets are and where we can get decent length van parking.
Around 26Kms north at the hamlet of Cavendish, we find VeeWee looking perplexed. The camp appears to be closed as there is a chain across the entry but a sign on the gatepost gives us a phone number to ring and a caretaker soon arrives. He reduces our cost to $15 per night as the brand-new toilet block is currently closed due to Covid. Having visitors ring first means that those responsible can keep a track of numbers.
We park behind the currently out of bounds camp kitchen for access to power and have the place to ourselves. There’s water on tap and a view. Our view is of grey and green tree trunks and the slow flowing Wannon River below. There is a campsite below us on the riverbank but too many overhead trees would not allow us to get our four vans in there safely. I find tiny greenish yellow wildflowers, no bigger than my smallest fingernail and prehistoric looking weevils no larger either. Sometimes there is so much to be found at our feet.
Forever calling Woody and El Prado Tweedledum and Tweedledee, Toothless tries to replace a headlight globe in the Landcruiser, complains that he’s been sold the wrong globe and then realises that he, has removed the wrong globe.
Things plop in the river, reeds sway with the flow and a flock of newly shorn sheep mull about and stare bewildered at little Nic the poodle. We light a fire, cook burgers on the electric griddle and eat by the fire. We talk about nothing in particular just soaking up the peace.
23 Victorian double donut days (no Covid cases, no deaths). The Vic / NSW border opens.
Travelling Kms: 110Kms
3 thoughts on “The Western Districts, Day 8 – North to Cavendish”
It always pays to look at the ground beneath your feet. In our very hot summer of 1976 I went around barefoot. A newsagent asked me what I did about dog shit. “I look out for it” said I. Quick as a flash he replied: “I try to avoid it myself”.
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