For kilometre after kilometre the wildflowers were a profusion of colour; first seas of white, then blue, then yellow and then red disappearing into the scrub as far as the eye could see.

 

Probably the most exciting part of what was essentially a non-eventful trip out to Zanthus was the washaways on the road - sometimes deep; sometimes non-existent.  Whoever signposted these depressions certainly was no judge of distance.  The Caution Washaway 200 metres warning signs were sometimes followed by the washaway within 50 metres.  Tony had The Bus airborne on more than one occasion, a fact that made him, not inexplicably, proud of his driving prowess.

 

105 kilometres past Karonie is Zanthus.  A bit of literary licence was used for this name as it is derived from the Latin genus name for Western Australiaís floral emblem, the Kangaroo Paw (Anigozanthus/Anigosanthus). The siding was named in 1917 when the railway was first built.

 

At Zanthus the track detoured to the north of the railway line.  Tony turned The Bus to follow the diversion.  Adrian and Mike in the Landcruiser continued on along the road to see what had caused the need for a detour.  It was this section of railway line that had been washed out in March after Cyclone Bobby's rains.

 

Click on the photos to enlarge a read the captions

Bogged at Zanthus

 

The radio blared, Four wheel drive to bus.  Four wheel drive to bus.  Weíre bogged.  We need help.

 

Tony backed The Bus (with trailer attached) from the diversion road onto the main road.

Another traveller was encountered at the intersection.  He was geographically embarrassed.  David and Kim gave him a bit of assistance with the maps and showed him how he had arrived at Zanthus when he had wanted to be heading for Rawlinna, after leaving Balladonia the previous day.

The old (antique) bicycle on the back of his van drew some attention.  After photographs were taken of his rig it was off to rescue the hapless 4WD and its crew.

In attempting to turn the Landcruiser around the rear wheels had sunk to the axle in the soft mud at the edge of the track.

Although the front wheels were not bogged they were unable to get sufficient traction to extricate the vehicle.

Half a dozen strong bodies pushing from the rear solved the problem.

The next problem was to return The Bus to the diversion turn-off a kilometre to the west.  It had the trailer attached and there was insufficient room to turn it around (it would have suffered the same fate as the 4WD and a lot more than half a dozen strong bodies would be required to push it out).  The trailer was removed and re-attached to the 4WD.  Tony then reversed The Bus the kilometre or so to the intersection.

 

Ponton Creek

 

Sixteen kilometres after Zanthus the shallow waters of Ponton Creek blocked the road.  For those that had seen it before this was an amazing sight.  For those who hadnít seen it before it was an amazing sight.  This creek is normally dry and merely a depression in the road.

 

The warm afternoon tempted some to wade in to the water for a dip.  It was cold - and very salty.

 

It was the middle of the afternoon before the boats were unloaded and rigged ready for a run.  The process took a lot longer than expected.  Perhaps everyone was 'bus lagged'.

 

Into It

 

Kim's briefing was short; the time taken for the requisite group photo wasn't.

 

With no further ceremony the boat crews headed up the Creek.  Paddles were packed and, as events unfolded, they were needed.

 

Ponton Pool is formed by the road damming the Creek and backing up the waters to where the railway bridge crosses the watercourse.  The first 100 metres in the Pool gave a false hope as to conditions farther up the Creek.

 

Kim's instructions that the boat crews were to travel upstream as far as they could but no longer than one hour turned out to be wishful thinking.  They returned after less than fifteen minutes.

 

After regrouping, the boat crews took off downstream with the instructions being similar to those for the upstream trip (this time not to proceed longer than one and half hours) sounding very hopeful.

 

Just like upstream, downstream of the road the Creek was shallow.  The channel crossed from side to side and the boats were soon spread out and looked as if they would have trouble keeping together.  It looked as if they would have trouble keeping on the plane!

Mike and David in the lead boat had travelled the most distance by the time it was obvious that Ponton Creek had an insufficient depth of water in it to provide a passage to Lake Boonderoo and, as a consequence, they had the hardest slog on the return to the causeway.

Planing with two people going upstream was out of the question.  Dragging the boat upstream over the deep, loose, coarse sandy bottom was harder than just walking back so David insisted that Mike drive back alone while he walked along the bank

 

For an activity that is supposedly water-based, power dinghy expeditions have, over the years, included a lot of walking.

 

Skurfing Ponton

 

After the boaters returned from their foray there was still nearly half an afternoon's boating to be had.  Phil's Malibu surfboard was brought out, a rope was found, a handle was fashioned from a conveniently-shaped length of salmon gum and it was time to skurf Ponton Pool!

 

There was an appreciative audience sitting in the shade of the camp watching the action.

 

Greg's lightweight boat powered by a Suzuki 8hp motor had no trouble pulling Phil up on the board.  Kim Thorson made it look easy and Bocky also tried his hand. As Phil saw it:

 

Those guys driving the train must have wondered what in the hell they had come upon.  Bit like a scene from Apocalypse Now except most of the time we were our own worst enemy.

 

After the skurfers had had their fill the boats were loaded onto the roof rack to ensure a reasonably-timed departure the next day.

 

Camp Ponton

 

As the sun receded towards the horizon the temperature dropped.  By nightfall it was quite cool.

 

Past experience had the 'old hands' waiting expectantly for Phil and Kim's culinary masterpiece.  The plastic plates detracted not at all from the magic meal.  For the first timers, the chefs' reputations had preceded them.

 

Kim Thorson recounts his version of the first evening meal:

 

The persons who packed the food away werenít the ones cooking or finding the food and the cooks couldnít find a thing and spent more time looking than cooking.
 

Having an assistant/dish dog and frustrated cook in Mr Adrian Bock was a Godsend.
 

He peeled/scraped/grated/stirred/boiled/cooked and most important of all he got Bourbons and Cokes for the cooks.  He was the only one who did! - and his efforts did not go unnoticed by Phil and myself.

 

So that's the secret of the kitchen.  Menu and Menu Planning.

 

To "To Lake Boonderoo"

 

Return to "Departure"