Our first destination according to the navigator (that’s me!) was Horsham. Although the driver did casually suggest that Bendigo would have been a more appropriate stopover. It must be said that there still remains some doubt as to exactly why this particular route was chosen and to date no effective conclusion has been reached by either party. And so, the first truce was reached by the time we left the city limits.
Ah, the serenity..
A few hours later after an unscheduled stop to inspect a nasty tear in the boat cover including the utterance of some crude words by a certain person (not me!), we were approaching the planned roadside stopover point. Alas, they all seemed far too open and much too close to the noisy truck filled road for a certain fussy miss. A quick squiz at the map revealed a likely looking public reserve. We trundled down through open farmland on a single lane of bitumen to the idyllic campsite of Taylor’s Lake. It was approaching dusk as we walked along the cracked red-clay shoreline of this man-made pond filled with blue green algae and blackened shadow trees decorated in flocks of sulphur-crested cockatoos. Ah, the serenity!
After setting up on the bank, we ate dinner in the warm twilight watching the clouds move slowly across the last embers of a picture perfect sunset. We decided that it’d be worth getting up early to check out the sunrise edition of this show. However, the next morning we woke to the melodic thrum of rain on the satellite dish. Peeping out the window confirmed we were surrounded in a thick grey fog. The only view being a lone pelican perched in one of those eerie shadow trees on the edge of the choppy lake.
To cut a very long story short, we were well and truly bogged.
It took several hours of shoving, pushing, sliding, digging and muttering for the driver to get bounceRV free from that boggy mess. All without any useful assistance from his trusty navigator, unless you would call offering untimely advice out the window and spinning the wheels so hard that red blobs of mud spat out all over the already drowned driver helpful? No, I didn’t think so!
However, our boat was still firmly stuck in the mud. We headed back to a nearby farm to ask for help. When the soaking wet, mud-caked driver was nearly mauled to death by a big black guard dog it became clear there were no farmers in coo-eee.
The RACV guy kindly referred us to the local 4WD club. While we waited for the trusty Toyota, the driver happily got us bogged again. Safe to say, steam was now being produced from said ears. Eventually, our 4WD hero arrived and managed to pull us out of the roadside hole and after dangerously sliding sideways himself eventually pulled the boat up too.
Needless to say, we are safely ensconced in a caravan park tonight just past Mildura and have called a rest day tomorrow. The incessant rain has followed us all day and the driver didn’t fancy going through all that rigmarole again. Plus, the navigator does appear to have quite a bit of washing to get done…