Trip 45, post #13 – Flinders Ranges 


Saltbush plains give way to rolling farmland gradually increasing in texture and depth. Verdant green fields shot with new seed contrast against the heavily clouded blue and grey sky.

Breathe

The rolling farmland builds in stature to low hills with a promise of what is to come, but they pale in comparison to the expanding range that consumes the horizon.

Breathe

Abandoned and ruined stone buildings stand silent testament to the toil and memories of the generations of farmers before them. And the increasingly distanced country towns lay decaying or flourishing, seemingly dependent on the strength and ingenuity of their local communities.

Breathe

So quickly it appears to be instant, you’re in the ranges. Driving through an expansive landscape of valleys bounded by ever-increasing dramatic ridgelines, many carved or capped in stone.

Breathe

Sunlight breaks through gaps in the clouds, throwing random spotlights of yellow light across the ranges. Showcasing and highlighting a ridge here, whilst its neighbouring ridge languishes in shadow. Rain showers drift across the skyline, hanging like grey curtains in the sky.

Breathe

Turning away from the comfort of the bitumen road, we head toward the ridge line and slow to navigate, and appreciate the ranges, as they continue to morph and expand in grandeur, complexity, colour, and form.

Breathe

Suddenly we’re thrust onto a track established by millennia of floods as we follow the creek bed of the Brachina Gorge into the heart of the ranges. Navigating river-worn rocks, creek crossings and pools bounded by near vertical mountainous slopes to either side.

Breathe

The terrain is severe now. Sheer-sided cliffs of torn and tormented rock cast hundreds of millions of years ago, but which are now ever and slowly decaying through the combined elements of wind, rain, sun, and frost.

Breathe

Parrots, galahs, and smaller birds flit through the canopy of the solid and stately river gums. Rarely still for more than a few seconds and hard to see, but making their presence known through the constant and ofttimes raucous chatter and calls.

Breathe

On a bend, a small roadside sign proclaims that this is a locality where you can sometimes spot the rare and endangered Yellow-Footed Rock Wallaby. And you notice one, then two and you realise that they’re all around you, hidden in their natural camouflaged colours, perfectly matched to their environ. And they no longer feel as rare as they did just minutes before.

Breathe

We continue following the track, still a creek bed as it now turns and tracks alongside a range, the ABC Range so named as it has twenty-six named peaks. God bolts of sun rays burst again through the clouds to illuminate random peaks or crags in the increasingly yellowing afternoon sunlight.

Breathe

The air feels heavier here, richer, more nourishing. In the warmth of the day, the air wisps around, teasing leaves on the tips of branches or occasionally escalating into small tornados of dust devils as opposing breezes clash in gullies. By night, the air coalesces and presses down like a heavy blanket across the valleys.

Breathe deeply

The track turns and runs out, terminating alongside another creek bed, this one dry, and nestled aside a smaller ridge. This is our campsite and home for the next few days.

Breathe

Heart rates increase and breathing quickens as we fall into our routine of establishing camp. But this is fleeting and soon we’re aside a small campfire, drink in hand as we warm, gaze out and appreciate the circus of riotous colours, shapes and silhouettes caused by the setting sun and clouds.

Breathe

With sated bellies, we rest once again by the campfire as our environment is ever so slowly relit by the light of a million stars.

Breathe

The air is so still, and the bush is so quiet that the silence is deafening and falls like a weight against our sense of hearing. Every sound is exaggerated tenfold. The snap and crackle of a sparking log in the campfire, or the swish and swirl of wine in our glasses as we unconsciously twirl them in our hands.

Breathe

Time runs away and the campfire burns lower and lower, no longer sharing of its warmth as it once did. We retire to the relative comfort of the caravan, now warmed by the mechanical efforts of our heater. And whilst we’re no longer cold, we already miss the mesmerizing dance of orange flame across glowing coals.

Breathe

The day is slowing now. Bed and rest are nigh, but a sudden spurt of inspiration and gratitude for the day that was bursts forth from a pen. This pen.

Breathe

Welcome to the Flinders Ranges friend. All are welcome if you respect and learn from what you experience. Sleep now, a new adventure awaits tomorrow.

Breathing slows



The road into Worlds End on a stormy day
The Worlds End Methodists Church, opened in 1889 and closed in 1975
The iconic house from the Midnight Oil “Diesel and Dust” album cover, in Burra SA
The iconic house from the Midnight Oil “Diesel and Dust” album cover, in Burra SA
Beautiful old Red Gum, aged at greater than 500 years old. Whilst travelling I’m always on the lookout for old ruins, but when admiring this tree we realised the ruins I’m looking at (in Australia anyway) are typically less than 150 years old, this old tree has seen them all come and go in its time.
Beautiful old Red Gum in Orrorro, and my beautiful wifey!
Photo credit Jules – Beautiful old Red Gum in Orroroo
Saint Cecilia Catholic Church, Craddock
On the road into the Flinders Ranges
On the road into the Flinders Ranges
On the road into the Flinders Ranges
On the road into the Flinders Ranges
Photo credit Jules – Me trying to find some height to shoot the ruins with the range in the background so I stood on the bullbar
On the road into the Flinders Ranges
Beautiful gold bolts of sunlight light up the range
Yellow-Footed Rock Wallaby in Brachina Gorge
Yellow-Footed Rock Wallaby in Brachina Gorge
Yellow-Footed Rock Wallaby in Brachina Gorge
Photo credit Jules – Setup at our Koolamon Campground
Photo credit Jules – Setup at our Koolamon Campground
Photo credit Jules – Sunset at our camp
A couple of Euros try to work out what’s going on
The ABC Range from our campsite
Shooting with the long lens from Stokes Hill Lookout
A Flinders Ranges view
The Cazneaux Tree, Flinders Ranges
The flower-like opened seed pod of the native Northern Cyprus Pine which grows throughout the Flinders Ranges
A Flinders Ranges view
View from Razorback Lookout on the Bunyeroo Track
A Flinders Ranges view
A Flinders Ranges view, this one along a creek bed
Emus
Emus
Photo credit Jules – Lunch served atop our slab-o-rock table
From Heysons Lookout
Looking down into a creek along one of our hikes
Red-capped Robin
Red Hill Lookout – an 11km round trip hike
Red Hill Lookout
Red Hill Lookout – shot with the drone to get a selfie
Red Hill Lookout – shot with my telephoto lens, 17 photos stitched together
Red Hill Lookout
River gums are processed to look like a painting as they’re lit up in the afternoon sun
A Flinders Ranges view
A Flinders Ranges view
Photo credit Jules – Descending into the Blinman Copper Mine on a tour. Copper was discovered at Blinman in 1859 by a one-legged shepherd, Robert ‘Peg Leg’ Blinman, who, unsurprisingly, gave his name to the township that grew up around the mine.
Mike, our tour guide advised that Robert bought a ten-pound mining license, having to rope in two of his mates as 10 pounds back then was worth a year’s wages for a shepherd. They then sat on the mining rights for a couple of years, never lifting a shovel, until they sold the mining rights to an English company just two years later for 70,000 pounds. Instant millionaires in today’s money terms!!
Looking into one of the shafts neat the surface of the mine
A small seam of Malachite in the Blinman mine. The Cornish miners were chasing large seams of this for the copper.
Can you see Old Jack’s eyes looking back at you from the shadows on the far wall?
Beautiful dendrite mineral stains on rock faces within the Blinman mine
The old slag heaps from processing the copper ore
A sparrow awaits us as we finish our Cornish Pastie morning tea, hoping for crumbs
Photo credit Jules – Traditional Cornish Pasties for morning tea. About 80% vege pastie with one end, the remaining 20%, filled with apple pie. Dinner and dessert in one pastie!
A male sparrow up close whilst chasing crumbs in front of my camera
On the drive out through the Parachilna Gorge
On the old railway siding at Parachilna
Photo credit Jules – Our beer paddle from the Prarie Hotel and the Parachilna Brewing Project (PBP) micro-brewery. They were all good beers – our best beer paddle yet!
Our feral antipasto plate consists of Emu pate, Goats milk cheese, Camel salami and Kangaroo mettwurst.
Pic of millions of year-old early bacteria-like fossils in the rocks in Brachina Gorge
Variegated Fairy Wren
Euro with Joey

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