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Today is our last day in this region of Victoria that so far has added a great deal to our store of knowledge of Australian history. While at the same time opening our eyes to the charm of this central Victorian district. That is so close to Melbourne, but a world away. Once again the weather is fine and warm, with some humidity creeping in after last nights rainfall, the first we have seen in many weeks now. Our road trip, today takes us to Kyneton, 16 kilometres northwest of Woodend a region on the border of the Djadjawurrung and Taungurong indigenous peoples country. We now know this as in recent times a great deal of research has gone into mapping the hundreds of aboriginal tribes that once inhabited Australia. Before British colonisation these people resided mostly along the Coliban and Campaspe Rivers. Not long ago we understood Australian aborigines to be nomadic peoples but this has turned out not to be totally true for all of the continent. Here village like communities existed in particular in the area around the junction of these rivers. We know now that large in-ground stone ovens used to cook meat and tubers  were commonly found in the region.

Major Thomas Mitchell, the New South Wales Surveyor-General crossed and named the Campaspe River near present day Kyneton on his 1836 expedition to this region. The Major also leant his name to a distinctive white and pink parrot/cockatoo that sports a pink and salmon coloured crest.

The first British colonist Charles Ebden, established a sheep station here in 1837. In June 1838 the Waterloo Plains massacre of Djadjawurrung people took place on the newly established Barfold sheep run north of Kyneton. Kyneton until 1851 remained part of NSW with the Victorian state boundaries not drawn up until after the gold rush ad begun.

Construction of Kyneton’s oldest surviving stone building, the Church of England Rectory, located at 61 Ebden Street, commenced in 1850 and is a rare surviving example of a pre-gold rush buildings. Made entirely from locally quarried bluestone that is plentiful in the area. At this time, Kyneton had become a growing rural centre, serving as a major stop for those heading to the gold rushes at Mount Alexander and Bendigo. The post office had opened in 1843 with the town named Mount Macedon but would be renamed Kyneton in 1854.

The town has three main streets, with Piper street being the most preserved with many of the original buildings untouched, the flagstone pavements untouched show the wear of ages. These buildings are once again occupied by antique shops, home decor, clothing boutiques, restaurants and cafes, a beautiful old Hotel has a cocktail bar on the top floor while the ground floor is totally occupied by antiques.

At lunch time we try a number of cafes but they are packed with long waiting times for meals. We eventually spot a cafe called “Major Tom’s” a nod to David Bowie and or Major Mitchell, that advertises burgers, music and beer, not exactly our preference but hunger beckons. Inside the decor is dubious indeed, a mixture of country, sci-fi and glam, the kind of dive we might of thought cool back in our twenties. There is a bar to our left as we enter and to the back a stage for live music. Country music is playing through the sound system and the stage is lit but vacant. There are plenty of empty seats, so we take a booth with cracked vinyl bench seats and a table littered with the last patrons detritus. The dour faced barman saunters over to clear the table with barely a flicker of recognition that we are even here. Clears off the table but leaving a slightly sticky film. There is no table service, we order our meals at the bar from a long list of burgers that don’t seem to be much different, just the ingredients arranged in a different order. The burgers arrive quickly accompanied by shoestring fries and are delicious washed down with some good old cold H2O.

Whoever it is back in the kitchen knows their burgers. Satisfied with our meals and after previously perusing the shops, we return to an antique shop with superb pieces of furniture, decor items and bric a brac from Europe. Pieces with prices that make your eyes water, Amanda had purchased a nice set of salad servers before lunch and now having previously spotted a set of butter knives we return to give them a closer look. Butter knives have gone out of fashion, you can buy a pate knife or a steak knife but a butter knife with just the right size blade to reach into that jar of jam for the last bit of sticky fruit is believe it or not almost impossible to find. Deciding that these mother of pearl handle silver knives C1900 in a velvet lined case will be robust enough to weather everyday use and that they really are no more expensive than a new set, if we could fund them, we make our purchase and depart. While we had made our purchases Allan had engaged the proprietor in a discussion about a large bronze casting of a red setter dog that he had first seen a few weeks ago, the price is high and he is trying to bargain him down but the proprietor won’t budge enough to entice Allan to purchase. Maybe another day he exclaims, he has fallen in love with this item that reminds him of a dog he once owned, but the price is just not right.

We travel back home to start our packing for the last leg of our journey to Robe back in our home state tomorrow morning. To be continued…..

A mild change in the weather has swept through overnight bringing cooler conditions to Woodend. After the humidity of the last days we wake to a refreshingly cool morning. After breakfast we say our goodbyes to Allan and leave Woodend behind as we travel south west retracing the steps of yesterday but with a goal much further away. Woodend to Robe on the South Australian coast is about 500 kilometres (310 miles) about five hours driving on narrow country roads, with no freeways. If we don’t stop, but there is no chance of that. Our bladders are very determined to keep us from travelling too far without a break.

We are hoping for an uneventful day of driving, watching the landscape change as we pass through various micro climates is fascinating in itself. Immediately west is forested as we skirt the Macedon ranges that quickly change to the vast golden plains of now harvested grain stubble. Just as quickly we pass through the Cabbage Tree range and we are back in eucalypt forest. Here we start to see some wildlife with small wallabies occasionally making an appearance. On this trip we have hardly seen any native animals, the dry and hot conditions keeping them to the cool of the forest depths. We skirt around another of Victoria’s successful inland cities Ballarat, a city like Bendigo that grew rich in sheep then gold mining and continued to reinvent itself down the timeline. Currently very much a service economy with tourism, hospitality, retail and professional services the main stays. In Australian terms a big city of over 110,000 people, the third largest inland city on the continent. Ballarat lies at the foothills of the Great Dividing Range, a range that stretches 3,500 kilometres (2175 miles) from northeastern Queensland to Victoria. Rich alluvial soils make the surrounding land agriculturally extremely productive.

We make a stop at Streatham about 80 kilometres west of Ballarat, a complete opposite of that city with a population of just 158. Still very much an agricultural centre with surrounding farms growing canola, lupines, wheat, oats, and barley are among today’s crops. The town boasts an example of the blue stone quarried near Kyneton used in the construction of beautiful St John’s Uniting Church.

A further 58 kilometres west takes us to Dunkeld in the foothills of the southern Grampian Ranges. As we travel parallel to this mountain group that stretches for 93 kilometres (58 miles) with its highest peak Mount William at 1167 metres (3829 feet) the range grows ever closer, silhouetted against the cloudless blue sky, the nearer Dunkeld we are. Cattle country makes up the foreground to this scenic backdrop boasting some of the most magnificent river red gums we have seen, their twisted trunks and gnarled branches can reach up to 45 metres (150 feet) into the sky and can be as nearly as wide with trunk diameters of up to 3 meters (10 feet). We stop off at Dunkeld for an overdue picnic lunch. This is a pretty town with a mountain backdrop and a gateway to the Grampians tourist area. Most towns have an information centre and community park where travellers can stop, take a rest, picnic or even walk their dog. It is still summer and the Grampians attract hikers and nature lovers to this area that can be extremely cold in winter, but intense bush fires this season have kept travellers away. Thankfully the fires are all under control now and not a sign of smoke haze stains the picture perfect blue skies above us.

From here we travel to Hamilton, then Coleraine and Casterton at one point travelling along a high ridge road that provides views of the plains below us for kilometres to our north and south. Driving these roads brings back memories for me of my monthly visits to these towns during my businesses early period. These country towns, medical practitioners and hospitals close to Adelaide, ignored by population dense suburban Melbourne would form the backbone of the business in those early days.

From Casterton we cut across country into South Australia, gaining 30 minutes as we cross time zones to Central Australian time. Skipping South Australia’s largest country town Mt Gambier by heading northwest for the town of Penola, the birth place of Australia’s only Catholic saint Mary McKillop. We are now firmly in wine country, this area known generally as the Coonawarra. The name derived from the aboriginal word for honeysuckle. Extensive vineyards stretch out in all directions in this area punctuated by some cattle grazing. We continue on to towards the limestone coast, yet another wine district before turning north bypassing the coastal town of Beachport to our final destination Robe. We arrive around 4.00pm local time tired but glad to be here, we settle into or accomodation for the next few days. Monday nights are not the best nights to eat out in South Australia, after a busy weekend trade, most of the eating places are closed, leaving us few options, we decide on the local fish and chip shop for a takeaway meal. Once we have the wrapped and boxed steaming hot parcel of seafood in our hands, we hurriedly walk back, now joined by a cool sea breeze to our accommodation to devour the meal with a glass of refreshingly chilled Prosecco from our King Valley purchases.

Allan has a bottle of French Champagne chilled and ready for our arrival, an hour passes before we stop talking and Allan gives us a tour of his newly acquired home in Woodend. Allan moved here from Stirling just 6 months ago after spending 9 years in the Adelaide Hills, where we would catch up frequently. His home is beautifully set up for a single person but has the added bonus of a seperate self contained guest suite. We are fortunate enough to be his guest for the next two days. Woodend is one of a number of Victorian towns that have had a renaissance over the past 20 years. Melbournites looking for a tree change flocked to country towns, where the pace of life is more relaxed and housing less expensive. A great place to bring up your kids without the social pressures of the big cities. The desire to follow this path has only grown since the Covid pandemic, and the resulting ability to work from home that modern technology brought during that period. These towns had blossomed bringing more services, facilities and transport options, essentially causing a population shift back to the country a reversal of the last 100 years where country people have slowly moved to the cities seeking further education and or employment opportunities. Woodend is now a popular tourist spot for Melbourne day trippers, sporting cafes, restaurants, boutique shops and even wine bars. Living in a wine state as we do the tendency is to forget that Victoria also has a serious number of wineries. Allan is keen to show us the cosmopolitan High Street, in particular the wine bars so we are soon off to discover their secrets. The concept of a wine bar is that one can sit and sip a glass of wine with a plate of small food without having to buy a whole bottle or a three course meal. The first wine bar the Woodend Cellar and Wine Bar is situated in a small older shop bringing to mind a combination of pokey little bottle shop and restaurant combined. With bottles stacked on shelves seemingly randomly and a small number of wooden tables set for meals. The afternoon is warm allowing us to sit outside in a beer garden type atmosphere where we can enjoy the fresh air, wine food and conversation. The latter keeps us there for another hour before we move onto “600 Above” the other wine bar in town. Aptly named after the towns altitude in the Macedon ranges. This is a modern, brightly lit environment with wine bottles stored upright on metal shelves along the rooms walls that surround the open space that is filled with tables and chairs restaurant style. On one wall a huge wine fridge stretches for metres keeping your choices cool. A Bubbly waitress attends us as we order a glass each of local wine and a platter of cheeses for two, there are three of us but Allan suggests the serving might be large. He is right the platter would feed 6, more a meal than a snack. The rest of the afternoon soon passes as our conversations continue until the last drop wine is gone from our glasses and at least half the platter. Back home we stay up late into the wee hours of the night catching up with events since our last meeting, only stopping for a pizza & salad dinner.

The next day we are off for some sightseeing and local knowledge, our first stop is Trentham a quaint village 22 kilometres west of Woodend along tree lined roads and rolling farm lands beyond. A feature of these towns is the neat weather board houses that have seen generations of families lives pass through them. Now they have become chic, fashionable renovation projects for another generation of homemakers. The towns main streets have become vibrant tourist shopping districts a world away from online shopping, they offer relaxing browsing in a charmingly historic environment that harks back to those imaginary romantic times. An example is Marcelle and Mr John’s antique store, the proprietor’s a couple of gay male entrepreneurs that have moved lock stock and barrel from Melbourne to open this tiny store filled with exquisite items from the past or with at least a hint of the past. They are both quite characters, Mr John sports a wide pointed greying handlebar moustache, while the clean shaven Marcelle speaks excellent English with a slight Dutch accent. They hold court amongst very fine small furniture pieces and objects d’art while customers squeeze around each other trying to ensure no breakages occur. Allan has his eye on a Lladro fine porcelain figurine from the 50’s or 60’s. A young elegant male hunter relaxing on a tree stump with rifle resting in his hands. Apparently male orientated figurines are rare, with most of a more feminine nature. They have some beautifully hand painted lamp shades with orientalist scenes that attract our attention but with our imminent move and new build we are not ready to add to our decor just yet. The couple are engaging and spend a good deal of time talking about themselves and their pieces for sale as if they are their own precious pieces, that I suppose they are in one sense.

With more than a few customers milling around, I am feeling a little claustrophobic and step outside leaving Amanda and Allan to continue their treasure hunt. Outside I notice a curious cast concrete trough by the roadside. On further inspection it is filled with water and water Lillie’s. The trough it turns out is one of 700 hundred manufactured in the 1930’s and donated by will by an English entrepreneurial couple, who in passing left instructions that these troughs should be donated to country towns in Victoria and NSW, for the purpose of ensuring that working horses would have somewhere to drink when ridden or driven to town by their owners. George and Annis Bills had a particular connection with the RSPCA and a passion for horses. Some of these troughs made it to England and even South Africa. A few still exist today and right here is one of them.

Allan eventually emerges with his purchases, accompanied by restrained Amanda although sorely tempted. They fill the back of the Mercedes estate wagon and we are off to the next town, Daylesford.

On the way we stop of at a winery with the rather attractive name of Passing Clouds, one of those wineries that had broken through the grape wall that divides South Australia and Victoria in the 90’s to achieve some recognition. Unfortunately they have a wine tasting policy that states one has to pay to taste wines, $15 for 4 wines $20 for 6 wines, redeemable if one purchases 4 or more bottles. We convince the server that we only wanted to try and buy one wine, their Chardonnay. He reluctantly agrees and we quickly taste the wine buy a bottle and depart.

Daylesford is a much bigger town, more a town than a mere village, about another 23 kilometres further west. With more facilities than Trentham the district has attracted more tree changers. It also attracts day trippers from Melbourne, with its relaxed shopping, many cafes and restaurants. Lunch time is upon us and Allan suggests the Boathouse at the Lake. The lake is set in a parkland setting and the carpark is full of visitors, picnicking by the lake or strolling around it. The Boathouse is an elegant picturesque lakeside restaurant, serving A la carte meals of a more substantial nature than we anticipated, a coffee and a sandwich is more our need at the moment. We leave the lake and drive into town to the main street to find a more suitable cafe.

Lunch over, one of the town’s attractions is a Woollen Mill. The Creswick Woollen Mill offers tours with a shop on site but is a little out of town, no problems, they have a substantial shop in town. As with Bendigo this area, as is true of most of southern Australia really has its economic history seated in the sheep industry. All that Australia could grow in terms of fleece would be shipped back to England by the tonnes. Until synthetic fibres came into being wool provided the mainstay of fabric production in the 19th century.

The Creswick Woollen mills shop is everything the Bendigo one should have been. While the factory gave Amanda a delightful experience among the many yarns it offered little else. This modern bright and airy shop filled to the brim with stock. Woollen blankets, sweaters of many different styles to suit male or female, in a myriad of colours are piled upon the many counters or hung from racks around the walls. Wool features as the predominant fabric but there are blends with cashmere, alpaca and even possum fur. They also have a sale on, there is that dreaded word “Sale” more common in these times than ever before but bound to excite dread or delight depending on one’s proclivities. The service in shop is outstanding, the once again gay male manager delights in attending to our needs and is proud of his domain offering ready answers to our plentiful questions. An hour passes like a minute and hands laden with woollen goods we depart to browse the remaining street with many other shoppers who had made the trip to Daylesford for the sales. Our hands full of parcels meticulously wrapped, like in the old days when service by the large department stores attendants had the time and budget to make shopping a pleasant experience, we head back to the car for our trip home. Another warm memorable day in central Victoria over we are looking forward to tomorrow as our time to depart draws nearer.

With our stay in Whitfield at an end it is time to move on to our next destination. The day is a carbon copy of the last three, starting cool but with the promise of warmth in the air. Once packed we say fair well to the King Valley and travel south west taking a scenic route that takes us into the mountains. Almost immediately the landscape changes as we rise in elevation. Eucalyptus forest appears on either side of the road becoming denser and taller the higher we go. We are soon travelling through a thick grey green tunnel of foliage that blocks out the sunlight above. The tunnel twists and turns taking us higher and for the first time we see some wildlife. Small agile kangaroos with dark fur hop through the undergrowth as we briefly inhabit their territory. This is snow country, the lower reaches of Victoria’s snow fields of Mt Buller and Falls Creek, the Victorian Alps that attract skiers from Victoria and South Australia during our winter ski season in July – August. This long hot dry Summer is taking its toll, ground vegetation is straw brown while even the eucalypt leaves are leaking colour, the greens and blues fading to a dusty grey as they hang bedraggled from their tinder dry branches.

There are a few homesteads just visible through the forest, one wonders about their existence in such an environment. This doesn’t seem to be good cropping, sheep or cattle country. We have seen logging trucks loaded with native timber but no sign of any mills. In this high country this would be a contentious industry. Research confirms our suspicions that yes this is a logging district. Nearing the peak of our scenic drive the forest gives way to open ground that previous generations had cleared. We pass through a tiny settlement called Tolmie, at 782 metres (2566 ft), consisting of a Hotel/Pub festooned with Australian flags surrounded by a field of rusted out vehicles. No doubt left over from the recent Australia Day festivities. Opposite sits a general store that is slowly giving way to gravity and the elements. There is no sign of life. This town suffered from the severe bushfires of the summer of 2006/7 and by the looks never recovered. With an average of 8.7 snowy days per year and with the honor of being the second wettest and chilliest district in Australia’s temperate zone, settlers would have not imagined they could be touched by the bushfire scourge.

Descending down through the western slopes the country once again opens up with magnificent views over golden brown farm lands.

We are now on the Maroondah Highway 168 kilometres northwest of Melbourne when we come across Bonnie Doon. With such a strong (to my mind) Scottish name there has to be story behind this town of a mere 666 people. The town originally named Doon took its name from an Irish town when named in 1866. As is common in this area gold discoveries seeded many towns. When the Post office and railway came to town in 1891 the addition of “Bonnie” put the town firmly on the map. In the 1915 the construction of a lake by damming the Goulburn river had the township literally picked up and moved, that is apart from the stone buildings that the lake skirted around. Enlarged in 1955 and now covering 3885 sq kilometres, today Lake Eildon as it is known is a minor tourist attraction, with weekend holiday makers using the lake for water sports of all kinds. The popularity of the lake caused the destination to be satirised in a Australian iconic film of 1997 called “The Castle” worth a watch if one wants a humorous snapshot of the now fast fading Australian lifestyle of this time. We pass over the bridge that spans the lake and stop for a closer look.

As we near our final destination of Woodend we pass through another tiny town known as Strath Creek. The area first opened up by squatters in 1840. Known then as Flowerdale. These squatters had pushed beyond the original boundaries designated by the British for sheep farming beyond New South Wales far south into Victoria, this is well before federation. Governors of the day turned a blind eye as the demand for Australian wool exceeded all expectations. This in turn forced the local nomadic indigenous people off their land. The discovery of Gold changed everything between 1859 and 1866 with permanent towns springing up out of tent communities. Following this came the selectors, in 1870, who recently arrived immigrants or ex convicts were able to license up to 320acres of land for framing at little cost. By 1888 township blocks became available for sale. By 1909 the town has become a small farming community changing its name to Strath Creek, a name the townspeople and locals had historically referred the settlement as. Here in this tiny town we can see and feel the heritage of Australia from its very beginnings to the current day.

From here it’s a relatively short drive to our destination, Woodend where we are greeted by our long time friend Allan who will be graciously hosting us for the next three nights.

The skies are clear blue this morning with not a cloud in sight from horizon to horizon. A slight cooling breeze from the south south east is keeping the temperature down to a modest 19c (68f) but one can feel the suns sting when the breeze falters promising another warm to hot day here in the King Valley (28c-86f ). The grape harvest is in full swing here with the berries ripening quickly as a result of the long hot dry summer. Mechanically harvested at night when the temperature is lower. We could hear the sounds of the picking machines as we fell into our slumber as they in turn trundled up and down the trellised rows of vines. This then accounts for the lack of local people during the daytime hours in this sleepy little town. While they catchup on sleep we enjoy their country.

Our reason for visiting Whitfield and ultimately the Pizzini winery stems from our enjoyment of their wine over many years. Living in a wine producing state as we do the local industry dominates the market. Adding to that Pizzini is located in this tiny out of the way location in central Victoria. We first came across this wine brand in an Italian restaurant in Melbourne in 2009 when there to see the “The Jersey Boys” (a musical play about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, that incidentally took me back to my first record ever purchased when only 13, “Sherry”) from our first taste of their clean crisp tangy Pinot Grigio we became hooked. In 2009 this variety had yet to be popular but we had known about the variety from our visits to the US where it had gained wide acceptance. We went onto order the wine by mail from the cellar door. Since those days the winery has developed many more Italian varieties. Previously only imported Italian wines would seen in Adelaide’s Italian restaurants as they so perfectly matched Italian cuisine. In Australia we often talk about the Mediterranean diet with Italian wine playing a part. Saving the best for last this is our first stop for the day.

We are greeted by a young Italian gentleman who runs us through the long list of wine for tasting. He knows his wine and with his Italian knowledge is very informative, we settle on just a few wines to try staying away from old favourites to enable us to try a few new tastes. Like most enjoyable things in life too much is usually not good for you. During our tasting we are joined by the obligatory winery pup, in this case a thirteen year old Labrador named Norbert with a greying muzzle that waddles in to greet us with a wagging tail. Tasting over we make our purchases and waddle off our selves to our country cottage.

Lunch is at the Dal Zotto winery trattoria just a 30 metre walk from the cottage. The entire complex is situated in a park like setting, consisting of magnificent old gum trees, deciduous ornamentals, fruit trees, a kitchen garden as well as the trellised vines and distant views to the mountains. All very idyllic. As expected the meals have a distinctive Italian flavour, we both settle on hand made gnocchi, Amanda’s in a lamb ragout and my gnocchi made from pumpkin in a slightly spicy pumpkin purée. I finished off with a tiramisu, served like a piece of lasagne with coffee cream between layers of soft sponge accompanied by a coffee meringue. Simply superb. Amanda not a desert person, sweet enough she says gives dessert a miss.

Otto Dal Zotto the founder grew up in Valdobbiadene, north eastern Italy. But moved to Australia and took up to tobacco farming. When the tobacco industry started to go into decline he switched to the only other agricultural pursuit he new, grape growing, familiar with Prosecco from childhood, first tasting the wine at age 4, he imported vine cuttings and began the first commercial plantings of the grape variety in Australia. He had met and married Elena Pizzini and so two great to be Italian wine producing families began a new industry in the King Valley.

As the day draws to an end we sit enjoying the shade under a Ginkgo tree, crickets chirp in the background as fairy wrens hop to and fro. A flock of white cockatoo’s have awakened from their midday siesta to nosily wheel around the clear blue sky, stretching their wings one last time before they must settle for the coming nightfall. This mornings breezes have returned to cool the heat of the day. These identical three days will go on indelibly etched into our memories. Tomorrow we travel to Woodend southeast of our current location where we will catch up with an old friend I have known since I was nineteen.

Our accommodation in Whitfield situated in the grounds of the Dal Zotto winery is a lovingly restored weatherboard farmhouse. With high ceilings and polished timber floors, the rooms are spacious, a complete opposite to the small Bendigo city apartment we occupied on our first night away. Views through the timber and glass French doors from our bedroom, that lead out to the timber clad verandah show rows of grape vines just starting to show some autumn colour. No doubt brought on by the heat of this years hot and dry summer. Dinner last night took place at the only pub in this tiny town called the Mountain View Hotel. Since 1886 the hotel has only had three owners, the current owners are the largest producing vignerons in the King Valley. The story goes that Ned Kelly once rode his horse through the hotel corridor right up to the bar. The gardens are beautifully kept, amongst the trees is a 100 hundred year old magnolia that a Chinese gold rush immigrant planted to remind him of home. As we arrive we pass under a weeping maple, movement in the canopy alerts us to flashes of green and orange, the plumage of several local King parrots as they hop from branch to branch above us. We quickly move on, not wanting to be toilet bombed. We had booked a table inside but the warmth of the day has lingered on making outside dining an option. Settling into our garden seating we are brought a glass of sparking Prosecco that has just a dash of Pinot noir to give the drink a rose blush. The wine list is 95% Pizzini, not surprisingly as they own the pub but the owners of our accommodation Dal Zotto are attributed to planting the first Glera grapes that go into making this style of wine now popular in Australia. We learn that the scenic King Valley has hosted tourists since 1911 when the towns population would have been a mere 100 souls. Even now the population would only be around 400.

Whitfield is known for its wine, heavily influenced by Italians. Who have over the years built up a little Italy of grape varieties in the valley. What is wine without food? We feel this is still in a development stage, but last nights fare we considered adventurous for country Australia. A nearby store “ The King Valley Fine Foods” sign we think may hold the answers. Unfortunately it is closed today, but across the road is Hobbledehoy a cafe and distillery, a curious blend of businesses. Nevertheless they make a descent cappuccino, although the brownie we ordered to share needed a chainsaw to break open. We never did find out the resulting product from the distillery, maybe it was time into money.

The nearby mountains provide water from snow melt that feeds the King River, more of a creek really but creeks can swell quickly and expand over the plains if the weather is unkind. Most of these plains are given over to trellised grape vines at least 2 metres high (6ft +) mostly Prosecco but other Italian varieties too. These trellised vines can be mechanically harvested, a good thing if you’re short on labour. Nearby, just a short drive through the valley is a body of water known as William Hovell Lake. Actually a man made reservoir created by damming the King River with a rock and soil filled embankment to irrigate 24 sq kilometres of vines. On our way to take a look we stop off to taste some wine at Chrismont winery, set half way up a hillside with magnificent views of the vineyards below.

Australian Italians are the most welcoming and gracious people I have met, this visit is no different. This a charming stop off, with the owners keen to show off their new accommodation pods, that are set apart from the winery on the hillside. The three pods enjoy the same magnificent views over the valley and vines. After a little instructive wine tasting and a purchase we move on.

Remnants of the old tobacco industry links are still here, with tall corrugated iron clad structures that once dried tobacco after harvesting still evident. The valley is dotted with these curious looking sheds slowly falling into disrepair. A few landowners though have turned them into luxury two storey short stay accommodation, an innovative use for these unusually shaped buildings that give a nod to the regions heritage.

Below, note the rusty steel fireplace chimney’s that replaced historically earlier brick ones on the outside of the building to prevent internal fires.

Eventually we arrive at the lake and pumping station that is feeding the babbling creek we passed on our way.

We are enticed back to the Mountain View Hotel for dinner as it is steak night, on offer a good size steak with a glass of Australian grown and made, Italian Sangiovese thrown in. We are hooked, as we have seen many a head of cattle over the past days and have licked our lips in anticipation of some good country grown beef. Which of course must be good out here in the bush. Sorry vegetarians but we are feeling a little protein deficient.

The sun is shining this morning in Bendigo, promising to be a warm summers day. We are heading further west on our journey to the King Valley wine district today. But first a yarn, Bendigo become the centre of the Victorian gold rush in 1852 when tens of thousands of people descended on the area in search of riches. The town originally a tent city grew out of land that formerly ran Sheep, grown for wool that had very much put Australia on the map as far as mother “England” was concerned. Before the gold rush, after and even now the area would be known for the quality of wool raised here. Therefore It wouldn’t come as a surprise to know that Bendigo has a woollen mill. This is Amanda’s first order of business for the day. Check out the famous Woollen Mill that crochet and knitting enthusiasts of Australia have made a household name.

After our visit to the mill and Amanda has a car full of yarn we venture back into the city to checkout the Victorian architecture that all that gold paid for back in the day. The town is surely something special with its trams that trundle around town electrified by overhead cables, its cute weatherboard cottages, magnificent Cathedral, fountains and buildings from yesteryear.

Once on the road our first stop takes us to the little town of Colbinabbin, where once again we stumble on Silo Art. We are still in grain country, so an abundance of blank canvas Silos to paint. this whole set is the most ambitious we have seen yet, telling the story of this tiny grain growing town.

We cross the Goulburn river as we travel northwest, a rickety old bridge takes us over the flowing waters where a heritage listed travellers inn dating from 1871 still stands.

When I think of these times it reminds me that we are also in Ned Kelly country, the infamous bush ranger that met a sticky end in Glenrowan. A town we will shortly be driving through, the statue of Ned in full armour still remains from our last visit but now there is a large information centre, that features key elements in Ned’s story.

As we leave Glenrowan the vista opens up revealing a wide open plain with the Barry Mountains as a backdrop. Whitfield in the King Valley sits in a plain created by volcanic uplift at the foot of mountains that host ski resorts at Mt Bulla, Mt Hotham and Falls Creek. The King Valley started off its agricultural life as a testing area for tobacco and hops, but Italian migrants by the 1980’s started growing grape vines. One of those vineyards is credited with bringing Prosecco to Australia. Now the area is pretty much dominated by a small number of high quality wineries.

Time for a break, we’ve spent the last month packing for a life changing change. The old homestead is sold and new residence is in the planning time to take a breather. Nothing like that bitumen black top to get the wheels spinning along under that vast bubble we call sky. Driving towards the ever retreating horizon in search of the unknown. For everyday is an unknown and that big country is waiting for us. Morning comes and we are up before the morning light. As we have breakfast the suns blush reflects off the clouds as they appear out of the darkness.

The car packed we make our way towards the nearby southeastern freeway that links Adelaide with Melbourne. Within minutes we are heading eastward into the rising sun towards the Victorian border. The green Adelaide hills disappear behind us opening up to the dry brown plains ahead only punctuated by the mighty Murray river as it snakes its way towards the coast. Crossing the river we see house boats plying the silvery waters, as holiday makers float their way down stream making the most of the last of these summer days. After crossing we follow the river around to Tailem Bend, now the site of a world class motor sport circuit. These old towns are living museums, where one can still see the remnants of an old Australia and a lifestyle that has gone the way of the pioneers.

From here we turn northeast leaving the river behind and entering the Mallee grain growing district that spreads from South Australia’s mid north (over 20,000 sq kilometres/ 7,700 sq miles) to the Victorian border where the same agricultural features and climate conditions continue over another 39,300 sq kilometres/15,200 sq miles. The area is vast, semi arid with low rainfall 250 -300mm/10-12 inches annually. Yet grows some of the best wheat, barley and legumes in the world. The endless fields on either side of the road have given up their bounty to the export market leaving dusty looking sheep to graze on any new shoots that make their way through the remnants of the brown stubble.

Mallee trees and various other eucalyptus in places form green hedgerows along the road, lending a lie to the arid landscape. Mallee is a small hardwood tree that has curved and twisted boughs that the indigenous people prized for boomerang making along with other weapons. The hardwood is virtually indestructible and can be hardened even further in hot coals.

At Lameroo, a neat country town of wide parallel streets that cross each other grid fashion we spot our first painted grain silo artwork. This art form has taken root in country Australia and has flourished, bringing a crop of tourists like us to town, with the hope we will spend a dollar or two on lunch or coffee or maybe even stay a night. This first sighting shows a farmer praying as the sunsets over his land, for rain.

At the border between South Australia and Victoria we stop to take a photo of the crossing.

Then onto Murrayville where examples that time travel is possible are clearly visible in a row of shops and the local hotel.

Further along the town of Walpeup adds another Silo artwork to our collection. This one reminds us that these once thriving country towns lost a generation of young men in the Great War (WW 1) in particular this Light Horseman Harold Thomas Bell a Walpeup resident painted by Julian Clavijo in 2023. We leave debating the pronunciation of this curiously named town.

Dry salt lakes are common out here, left over from a time a millennium ago when an inland sea filled vast low lying depressions. We stop by one that some imaginative person has decorated with a person hopping away from sharks, having lost one foot as the sharks with their dorsal fins showing above the salt bed circle in pursuit.

At Sea Lake we head south again heading for Bendigo where we will spend our first night. Sea Lake is well known for Lake Tyrell, the largest inland salt lake in Victoria. It also does have silo art, a work by artists with the strange names of Zookeeper and Drapl. The work spans a collection of Silo’s and tanks.

Our final stop is at Nullawil where yet another Silo artwork is revealed to us, this time a farmer with his black and tan Australian Kelpie working dog.

A long day on the road finally brings us to Bendigo, gold fever country. History tells us that during the gold rush period in the 1880’s Bendigo laid claim to being the richest city in the world. Our stopover will have us content with a golden sleepover ready and refreshed for the next leg of our journey to the King Valley.

We rise a little later after a long day yesterday, having the rental car is a boon. After a leisurely breakfast it’s time to enact our plan to travel out to the other monolithic rock structure on the horizon Kata Tjuṯa. The 36 domes that make up this collection of islands in a red desert sea are composed of Conglomerate (sedimentary rock rounded to gravel sized pieces-clasts ranging from a micron to the size of an apartment block). A conglomerate typically contains a mixture of finer-grained particles like sand, silt or clay that fills the air spaces between the clasts. These then are cemented by other minerals like calcium carbonate, iron oxide and silica all hardened by the clay. At Kata Tjuṯa the sedimentary rock consists of cobbles and boulders of varying rock types including granite and basalt bound by coarse sandstone. Kata Tjuṯa, that includes Mount Olga covers an area of 21.68 km² (8.37 sq mi). The highest dome, Mount Olga, is 1,066 m (3,497 ft) above sea level, or approximately 546 m (1,791 ft) above the surrounding plain 198 m (650 ft) higher than Uluṟu. Geology lesson over it is interesting to note there the indigenous people of this area recognise three distinct rock formations not two. The other being Mt Connor or as the aboriginals call it Artilla. Mt Connor remains in private hands so is not accessible to the traditional owners or the general public.

Our drive to Kata Tjuṯa takes 38 minutes, but by no means boring after recent rains the desert is alive with wild flowers. Low scrubby bushes look exceedingly healthy with new growth, flowers, seed pods and fruits. One particular bush the honey grevillea has a yellow wiry flower that oozes with nectar a favourite with aboriginal children who suck the flowers dry right from the bush. Sturt’s desert pea, although a South Australian state emblem also grows well in this arid environment.

On the way we stop off at a lookout that gives us a great panoramic view of the Kata Tjuṯa domes and surrounding landscape

Our walk today takes us into Waḻpa Gorge where two of the giant domes that make up Kata Tjuṯa come together at one end. The walk takes about an hour covering 2.6 kilometres. On our approach we spot zebra tailed finches flitting from one tree to another in a frenzy of chatter. We continue on an upward path, a gentle slope but a rocky one. You can clearly see rounded cobbled basalt stones embedded by clay along the red tinted pathway. There is loose gravel in places so one has to be careful not to slip as we progress along the entry. Either side the walls of these two red domes climb upwards to a brilliant blue sky. Some areas are sheer others have pockets in them like footholds that a climbing giant would need to make it to the top. Man made bridges allow easy crossing of gorges that would be hard to negotiate if they weren’t there. Watching where we put our feet and stopping frequently to take photos makes this slow warm work, the sun is still rising to its zenith with the temperature a tolerable 26c. As the temperature rises we contend with an increasing number of flies, other more prepared hikers have nets that sit over their head ware but we missed the memo on this useful tip. The great Aussie wave comes into play as we bat away the pesky critters while try not to breath in too hard for fear of sucking in some unwanted flying protein.

The gorge gradually narrows until we can go no further. We have reached a refreshingly cool shaded place where a viewing platform with benches allows us to take a break and take in the majesty of this place. In front of us the “V” that forms the point at which the domes meet opens from a narrow base high into the sky. The sheer walls of the gorge now a shady ochre against the brightest of blue skies. When we we turn around the whole gorge opens up before us.

The cool break from the sun is a pleasant reprieve and a chance to restore some energy for the walk back to the car park. Now down hill most of the way the going is a little easier.

The time comes to drive back to the resort where we have booked in for a dot painting course. Dot paintings tell a story from an aerial point of view using symbols to represent people, places and animals as well as Dreamtime spirits. The Dreamtime spirits are inevitably represented by giant versions of animals, like the Rainbow Serpent, tell the story of the creation of Australia, coming down the centuries through storytelling and song lines. After we arrive back at the resort we gather at the meeting point where Evelyn our aboriginal teacher tells us about the basic symbols that she uses in her paintings. As previously mentioned the locals are extremely shy and Michael a white assistant interprets her softly spoken words into clearer English. Evelyn paints in the red sand with her finger the symbols for Artilla, Uluṟu and Kata Tjuṯa with her house there to give us an idea of where she comes from in relation to these rock formations. Our mission is to create our own story using the same symbols of wavy lines, dots and concentric circles. I draw an aerial view of our house and garden but I think I miss the mark. I should have drawn the city of Adelaide, Mt Lofty and our houses relation to those with symbols for water and forested areas etc. My painting is far too ambitious and I can’t control the dot size but I do end up with something fairly identifiable, at least by me. Barbie’s effort is much better with dot structure and a neat layout I couldn’t quite manage. Once completed we are called upon to tell our stories with a story telling stick, pointing at the symbols and explaining how they relate to our story. All good fun, glad I didn’t take it too seriously! We are able to take our artwork with us but mine is no masterpiece, I’ll stick to painting the walls thank you!

Our last event of the day is an exciting one indeed and a first for Mandy. We have booked a sunset helicopter flight that will take us around Uluṟu and Kata Tjuṯa as the sun descends on another day in the red centre. At the appointed time we walk the now well worn track to the Desert Gardens Hotel to wait for our shuttle to the Yulara airport. We are picked up by a young lady bus driver who looks like she just left high school. We soon find out that she is one of the helicopter pilots filling in as a bus driver after a day in the air with other like minded tourists. There is a shiny looking unmarked jet parked nearby when we arrive through the gates, the federal government’s conveyance for Mr. Anthony Albanese our prime minister who has arrived to give a speech in support of the referendum yes vote, the speech due to happen at sunrise tomorrow morning. We wait while our pilot driver closes the gates, she explains “to keep the camels out”. There are reportedly over 1 million camels roaming the desert out here, out numbering many of the indigenous animals, in fact out competing them for food and water. Our Helicopter pilots are waiting for us alongside their rides, Mandy, Barbie and I are greeted by Jake who tells all about the Bell 207 Jet-Ranger Helicopter we are about to ride in. It’s not long before we lift off in the direction of Kata Tjuṯa.

The 38 minute aerial tour of Kata Tjuṯa and Uluṟu is a stunning finale to our visit to the red centre of Australia. We have added greatly to our knowledge of aboriginal history and culture as well as the geography of the landscape that the Aṉangu consider a sacred place.

We are soon back at the Desert Gardens hotel and our room at the Emu Apartments before enjoying our last meal at the Mangata restaurant. Tomorrow we fly out via Sydney to Adelaide.

It’s 3.00am when the radio comes alive with the local news, this is our alarm to get moving. It’s pitch black outside and 4c. This will be our first flight since Covid hit three years ago so we are somewhat apprehensive. Qantas haven’t enjoyed the same level of popularity since virtually closing down the airline and sacking 17000 employees soon after Covid became a worldwide problem and Australia locked its doors. Not to mention that they continue to be embroiled in controversy over their CEO’s dubious business practices. Though within the law seemed morally corrupt given the high regard the flying kangaroo enjoyed here.

Amanda’s cousin Barbie arrived from Hurricane, Utah last Monday awaking us from our winter slumber, giving us the impetus for this trip to the red centre. After a week of city sightseeing dotted with the occasional wine tasting in the newest of south Australia’s wine districts the cool climate Adelaide Hill’s we ready ourselves for a visit to the monolithic natural rock formation that once known as Ayres Rock is now renamed Uluru. Indigenous Australians took control in 1985 signing a 99 year lease, declaring the area a sacred place, eventually ceasing the practice of climbing the rock that had proven dangerous and in this day and age certainly outside health and safety guidelines. Uluṟu doesn’t sit alone out there in the red desert just a few kilometres away is Kata Tjuṯa once known as the Olga’s a collection of rock formations that form islands amongst the red sandy sea. One of the most visited and remote places in Australia, Uluṟu and Kata Tjuṯa sit in the Ayres Rock National Park some 400 kilometres from Alice Springs.

By 4.15 am we have loaded our bags into the car and are on the road to the airport. A drive made easy by the lack of traffic at this hour, by 5.00am we are through security and looking for breakfast. We spot a coffee and muffin outlet with everything from savoury to sweet and settle in to assuage our hunger. Our flight time soon arrives and we are on our way through the night sky. Dawn greets us as we make our way east towards Sydney on the first leg of our journey with a gradual emerging stratified display of pink, grey and blue.

Crazy as this seems currently there are no direct flights to the airport that services the Yulara resort. The Yulara Resort sits just 1580 kilometres north of Adelaide while Sydney is 1375 kilometres east and Yulara 2838 kilometres west from Sydney. We long for the pre Covid days when life seemed now in retrospect so much less complicated.

Our stopover in Sydney is brief, we have moved forward by 30 minutes and have a 60 minute wait for our flight to Uluṟu. Flying west again we will loose the 30 minutes gained on our flight from Adelaide plus another 60 minutes, the Northern Territory doesn’t do daylight saving time, something to do with upsetting the cows. This time we have a three hour flight into the red heart of the continent.

Onboard wifi allows us to track our path, as we cross the border back into the far north of South Australia the vast ground beneath us is a hazy ochre that fades into distant grey cloud cover topped with white before reaching a pale blue sky. The three hours passes by, passengers to the left off us have an aerial view of Uluṟu and glimpse of Kata Tjuta as we descend. The landscape is a canvas of bluey green low scrubby bushes, yellow spinifex grasses that form tufts that sprout from the red soil and blue grey spindly desert oaks. Once landed we take the shuttle the short distance to the resort and the Emu Walk Apartments hotel that we have booked for our 3 night stay. On our way we have our fist glimpses of the rock formations we are here to see. The day is pleasantly warm with a light breeze. After check in we walk into the town square to check out the restaurants, organise our rental car as well as browse the shops and the indigenous art gallery. A crowd gathers in an amphitheatre where a didgeridoo player is holding a lesson on the basics of playing this ancient instrument. Originating in the north of Australia around Arnhem Land and The Kimberley’s in Western Australia the wind instrument is now associated with Aboriginals all around the nation.

Our energy fading we find a restaurant and settle down to an early meal and a glass of wine. The sky turns a rosy hue as the sunsets while we stroll back to our room for an early night after an early start and a long day. Tomorrow we will travel into the Ayres Rock National Park for a close up encounter with these two giants of the landscape, Uluṟu and Kata Tjuṯa.