Today was going to be a scorcher along the western coast of
South Australia, and it was heralded by a midnight change in temperature that
made the caravan creak and groan as it expanded. However, morning found the
temperature to be reasonable, and as the day progressed it appeared that the
southerly change had set in sooner than expected – at least in our parts. It
was just very windy, and the Ranger fuel consumption reflected that. Even though
you would think that a wind from anywhere behind at 3 or 9 o’clock would be of
benefit, the 8 o’clock wind behind us up the highway to Port Augusta actually
caused us the highest fuel consumption to date: 17.1 litres per 100 kms. But it
is an ill wind etc….. at least it was cool.
Port Augusta needed some sorting in my mind. The first time
I went there, on my way to W.A. with Niels and Miriam, I gained a very negative
impression, partly because of Miriam’s reaction to the scenes in the
supermarket carpark – drunken behaviour, etc. We scooted off up the road and
left the impression where it was. Next time I came through was on the 2012 Big
Trip, when we came beetling down the highway from Alice Springs, having been in
the serious outback at least from Mt Isa, if not before. That time Port Augusta
was the gateway to civilisation, it looked clean and tidy and green and
civilized. This time around, the impression came down on the side of the second
visit. It is indeed a tidy town and quite pleasant to be in.
We chose to stay at the Top Tourist Caravan Park, which was
on the foreshore of the Spencer Gulf where it narrows right down to broad river
width above the main bridge connecting the east and west parts of the town. It
offered a more pleasant experience than the Big 4 park a few blocks away (which
we also drove through later). We set up beachside, albeit behind a wide and
impregnable fence designed to keep non-paying guests out.
While setting up we discovered why we had so many little
black visitors scampering round the inside of the van whenever it got warm:
there was an ants nest in the front boot – thousands of the little beggars,
eggs and all. Frantic measures were taken and harsh words were spoken and
senses of perspective were lost. Luckily, one of us is extremely level-headed
and talked the other of us down out of the tree and the problem was solved with
the help of Mr Mortein.
One of us could also indulge in a bit of
train-spotting as the caravan park lay directly opposite the Port Augusta rail
hub and marshalling yards. I put on my anorak and skulked around noting down
locomotive numbers and bogie configurations until the level-headed one yanked
me into the caravan and made me swallow my pills. Nahh, I’m kidding, although I
will admit to looking up the rail activities on the Internet and finding that
the maximum length per train was 1800 metres. There was activity 24/7 with
trains going north, west, and south and to and from Whyalla.
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