Sydney to Melbourne Overland - Cliff's Farewell Tour

G'day

So we're into the final stretch and I needed one last victory lap before I leave Australia. Idea was to fly to Sydney, spend a few days there, and then do an overland trip back to Melbourne, stopping off at a few places on the way. Everything went to plan (except the weather - Spring is just as unreliable here as back in the UK apparently) but a good time was had by all - and here are the photos to prove it!

Sydney (see the Harbour Bridge on the left?) in the rain. Not so nice.

First photo from my day-trip to the Blue Mountains, west of the city and part of the Great Dividing Range of mountains that run the length of the country. The town above is Leura - very pretty, even in the rain.

One of Leura's interesting buildings!

And one of it's more interesting signs (outside a women's clothes shop)

The Three Sisters rocks - in the rain. Legend is that to stop a monster grabbing his daughters, a father turned them into these three rocks. He then turned himself into a lyre bird and hasn't been able to turn himself or his daughters back since.

Rain starting to clear over the Jamison Valley (where the Three Sisters are).

Scenic railway. Built for miners digging for coal in the Jamison Valley, it's now for tourists. And is pretty steep.

A lyre bird - or the three sisters' father?

Katoomba Falls in the Jamison Valley.

The Three Sisters with better weather.

On the way back to Sydney we stopped at a wildlife sanctuary and saw some cute wombats. Though this one looks a bit like a hairy pig though.

Aww, look at de liddle wombat/hairy pig.

Cassuary (not sure about the spelling). The third largest bird on the planet and native to Australia.

Echidna - along with the platypus this is the only mammal in the world that lays eggs. It also has a disturbing little tongue (not shown).

Proof that money doesn't buy taste. Taking the boat along the harbour in Sydney shows that even people who can afford to live on the water don't realise that lots of cheap statues in their garden isn't a good look.

Sydney from the harbour.

The Harbour Bridge in evening sunlight.

One of Sydney's oldest buildings, the Old Mint. It dates from around 1816.

Good Aussie attitude to lawns in the Domain park in central Sydney.

Swimming pool with a view. I did a few lengths while enjoying looking at the surroundings (well, once the pool's salt water had cleared from my eyes).

To the left, Sydney Harbour (aka Port Jackson); ahead, North Head and Manly; to the right the Pacific Ocean. All seen from South Head, as the southern tip of the entrance to the harbour is known.

The lighthouse at South Head with North Head in the distance. The weather had got better!

The city from South Head.

So the first day of the overland trip, and the first stop was Canberra, capital of Australia. It's a middle-of-nowhere place chosen specifically because Melbourne and Sydney couldn't decide which city should be capital after the country came into being in 1901 so they went with somewhere half-way betweeb the two of them. It's about 3 hours drive from Sydney. At the bottom of what looks like an airport runway is the war memorial. Across the lake in the centre of the photo is parliament.

Cliff, Canberra. Canberra, Cliff.

Inside the War Memorial, with parliament in the background.

One of the boats used to carry Australian soldiers ashore in Gallipoli in Turkey during World War I. The battle was ultimately a waste of money and lives, but it created a national identity for Australia that people still talk about today (the number of Australians who died was far smaller than the British death total, and only 10% of the Turkish fatalities, but it became a defining moment for the new country).

The War Memorial garden.

Parliament - very modern, not that attractive.

The lower house of parliament.

No sack, but still funny.

After Canberra we headed to Thredbo in Australia's highest mountain range, where we did a morning hike through the snow. I know, snow in Australia!

Note the fetching snow boats. Kosciusko was (I think) an Hungarian hero and the walk was named after him by a Polish explorer who was the first to explore the area.

That bump in the middle-left of the photo is Mount Kosciusko, around 2300 metres high and the tallest peak in Australia (the UK's Ben Nevis is a measly 1350m or so - rubbish!).

Lake Jindabyne. Created by the damming of the Snowy River which flows through the area.

Heading south from the mountains, following the course of the Snowy River, with some fantastic views.

The Snowy River. Damming has caused the river to flow at a much reduced rate.

Leaving the state of New South Wales and heading back into Victoria.

The Man from Snowy River! The 'real' Man from Snowy River is actually an incredibly famous Aussie poem and film (full version at the bottom of this post)

See that blob in the tree? That's a wild koala!

The third day started with cloud and rain but by the time we'd reach Wilson's Promontory, the southernmost tip of mainland Australia, the sun was out and so were the kangaroos (no Skippy jokes this time).

More roos (but no Skippy jokes)

That red thing (sorry about the poor quality photo but you'll soon see why I didn't want to get too close!) is the Redback Spider, one of the deadliest spiders in the world (the black thing to the left is a beetle it's caught).

Wild emus (no Rod Hull jokes).

Squeaky Beach, Wilson's Prom.

Here come the Men in Black. With Norman Beach behind him, still at Wilson's Prom.

Some Wilson's Prom wild flowers.

We were all disappointed not to see kangaroos and koalas jumping over wombats, despite what the sign had promised.

And that was it, except the three hour drive to Melbourne, but, as promised, here's one of Australia's most famous poems:

THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses - he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stockhorse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up -
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony - three parts thoroughbred at least -
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry - just the sort that won't say die -
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, "That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop - lad, you'd better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you."
So he waited sad and wistful - only Clancy stood his friend -
"I think we ought to let him come," he said;
"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

"He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."

So he went - they found the horses by the big mimosa clump -
They raced away towards the mountain's brow, 
And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump, 
No use to try for fancy riding now. 
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right. 
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills, 
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight, 
If once they gain the shelter of those hills."

So Clancy rode to wheel them - he was racing on the wing 
Where the best and boldest riders take their place, 
And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring 
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face. 
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash, 
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view, 
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash, 
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black 
Resounded to the thunder of their tread, 
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back 
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead. 
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way, 
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide; 
And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day, 
No man can hold them down the other side."

When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull, 
It well might make the boldest hold their breath, 
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full 
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death. 
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head, 
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer, 
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed, 
While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet, 
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride, 
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat - 
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride. 
Through the stringybarks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground, 
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went; 
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound, 
At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill, 
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute, 
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit. 
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met 
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals 
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet, 
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam. 
He followed like a bloodhound on their track, 
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home, 
And alone and unassisted brought them back. 
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot, 
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur; 
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot, 
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise 
Their torn and rugged battlements on high, 
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze 
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky, 
And where around The Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway 
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide, 
The man from Snowy River is a household word today, 
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

Good poem eh (if you bothered reading it all)?

Next post will probably be the last from Down Under (sad face), but
g'bye for now.

Cliff