writing – All in a Day Adventures

Failing to retrieve the past; or retrieving the failed past

A tale of pawn shops, antique cameras and regret

Pawn shop blues

I had an antique German camera circa 1956. My dad gave it to me when I was 13; it was beautiful. It had a brown leather case scuffed at the corners, and a short handstrap; the aluminium body shell was cool to the touch, it was in perfect nick. I treasured that camera because it had been Dad’s and then it was mine.

Over the years I have amassed a small arsenal of cameras; always within reach, always ready for a quick draw. Each one poised to capture fleeting moments, little tableau vivants frozen in time, saved for later.

I hoard these fragments like a clever corvid, stashing them away in digital caches, waiting to be rediscovered. But sometimes, the sheer volume of stored memories overwhelms me. So many moments scattered across virtual vaults, buried in folders, clouds, drives.

There was simplicity in the old ways; sliding prints into a drawer, arranging them in photo albums behind plastic that held your memories behind static and photo mounts, or clicking through dusty slides in a carousel at family gatherings, onto a white bedsheet.

Honestly? Screw the cloud.

Tell those friends with cameras for eyes
That their hands don’t make me hang
They only make me feel like breathing
In an unguarded moment.

Michelle Parker / Stephen Kilbey

Photography was once all about fitting a black and white Kodak film into the back of a camera and slotting it into place, carefully lining up the film onto the sprockets and slowly closing the back with a satisfying click. I loved winding the film on to the first frame; it filled me with delicious anticipation every time. What could I capture on this fine roll of cellulose acetate?

My first film installed in my German camera when I was 13, took an age to reach the final frame. Only 12 exposures, but each one was carefully considered. Composition, light, F stops just right. Press my finger down on the shutter button, click! Wind on.

My first reel was shot on a holiday camp for children who did remote correspondence schooling. A bunch of teens from farflung outposts, lighthouses, and remote locations throughout Tasmania. It was a strange and isolating experience for me which was odd because for the first time in years I was with children my age. The photos are of the girls who I made friends with, posing awkwardly on the beach.

I loved photography. I took the elective twice in high school and later when I was in my final year at Nightcliff High in Darwin I completed a week’s work experience at the male dominated bastion that was the NT News. It was a newspaper worthy only of lining a birdcage, but I was given free rein with all their camera equipment and the dark room. They sent me out on ‘assignment’ and I spent the week roaming the streets of Darwin photographing visiting sailors and points of interest. One of the best weeks of my life. Although looking back I think they just wanted me out of their hair. Pesky work experience kid, and a GIRL at that.

Pesky Work experience kid – yes, that is a bullet around my neck!

I was lucky growing up because I also had the means to process my own film. For a time, my arty creative family had a dark room that doubled as a laundry ; knock before you enter. The smell of developing fluid, the sticky photographic paper immersed in solution as you push it back and forth to get maximum coverage. Pegs to pin the drying photos. The red light.

I carried that German camera everywhere. When I fled Darwin to check out the ‘big ol’ city’ of Perth I was 20 years old. All I had was my pale green Toyota Corolla, some jewellery that belonged to my dead mother, a couple of suit cases of clothes, my dog ‘Odie’, and my camera with the brown leather case.

I had no feelings for the jewellery and pawned it within a week of arriving in Perth. I never retrieved it, I should have. There’s a whole lot of unresolved trauma behind this that I won’t go into here and now.

I had already secured a fulltime job with a West Perth accountant but had four long weeks before the job started. I was living on the bones of my bum, in a share house with three of the strangest men I’d ever met. The home owner, an alcoholic bank manager who tried to get me into bed every weekend, a wheatbelt butcher named Brad, as country as they come, and a batshit crazy skydiver who jumped out of planes every weekend, as warped as they come. We all had dogs. It was ridiculous. I got out of there not long after I started my fulltime job.

Anyway, I was skint and the only things I had of any value were my car which I needed to get to work, eventually, and my brown case camera. I was not one to ask my family for money; I was fiercely independent. So I took that heirloom to a pawn shop with the intention of lending against it and retrieving it later. I think anyone who has ever pawned anything has the same intention. It was the first of many interactions I would have with the shady world of pawn shops over my lifetime.

Before Cash Converters went chainstore slick, pawn shops of the ’80s were shady backstreet dens, usually run by middle-aged men with foggy glasses and halitosis. Cash Converters started in Perth in 1984 as just one grimy shop, not the franchise juggernaut it later became. By 1990, its expansion across Australia somehow turned the once shameful act of pawning Gran’s wedding ring into something you could do between grocery runs. Respectable seeming ads helped remove the shame of being broke, until ID checks were insisted on, revealing most of the goods were stolen. Who’d have guessed?

I think I got a miniscule $50 for it. $50 was enough to keep me going until I received my first ever dole cheque. Yes, in those days it was a dole cheque, you cashed them at the bank. I was on the dole for four weeks and in that time I did what every other person on the dole was doing in Perth and hung out at Scarborough Beach. Sun, sand and salt were my regular companions.

But, I never did go back to pick up my camera, not even after I started work. I was playing catch up with rent, new work clothes and food, and with the interest mounting on my pawned items, suddenly it was too late. The brown case camera from Germany, that belonged to my Dad was gone. The jewellery that belonged to my mum was gone. I have regretted losing that camera ever since.

So over the years I’ve kept an eye on camera sales websites, Facebook pages and Marketplace. They come up but they have all looked worst for wear. One Sunday I was browsing Marketplace and I saw one for sale in a suburb close to mine. It had been sitting in the owners’ storage for decades. The lense unscratched, if a bit dirty. But Zeiss lenses are the best and if they have not been scratched they will come up fine with a clean.

I jumped in my car and drove like a mad person through an electrical storm, torrential rain and hail. The camera was perfect and appeared to be in excellent condition; the model was not the same as my old one. It’s a Zeiss Ikon Contessa with a quality Tessar lens. So I handed over my cash and spirited it home for cleaning and love. I know it doesnt go anywhere near replacing the one I pawned but it looks and feels the same; a satisfying weight, the aluminium cool to the touch and the brown leather case is scuffed in all the right places.

*EDIT

Here are the first photos from my new camera. I am beyond pleased!

All in A Day #11 – Dwelling on Dwellingup – a ‘cusp of Spring’ Break

All in A Day takes a break from camping to enjoy the luxury of a winter cottage.

Crisp mornings with a dash of sunlight , steam rising from rooftops. Quick – light the fire! Walks through the forest across the road and relaxing on the verandah. Pretty nice way to spend a weekend!

A box fire warms the front room, providing a glow to the cheeks and the cockles of our hearts. What actually is a cockle? Note to self – find out the origins of cockle.

The bush beckons from the front verandah. Glimpses of ravens hopping across the road, glossy wings half extended. Always up to something – no good? Smaller offerings – Flaming Robins, Blue Wrens and New Holland Honeyeaters flit about proving hard to capture (in my lens).

The drive to Dwellingup is delicious – green pastures, random cows and copses of bush. Some flooding from all the recent rain. I stopped in Pinjarra for groceries and lunch. Whisky to make hot toddies as I have lost my voice – three days and counting.

I always feel like I have forgotten something when I am not camping. Camping is simple – grab that box, that crate, that bundle. Airbnb is just throw more and more stuff into the car and slam the door. More than I need and not everything that I need. Unfortunately one of things I grab is a bundle of keys – story about that later.

About my voice, or lack therof. I have been whispering like a creeper for a couple of days. No other symptoms, just no voice. So I sit and listen mostly. Hot toddies with whisky, honey and lemon do nothing but warm those cockles. Oh well, not all bad.

Then, lazy afternoon sun, birds a cacophony (there is no better word) of sound. A stroll to the railway station where historic carriages and diesel engines languish. The Hotham Valley Steam Train must be out steaming up the tracks. High vis enthusiasts tend to the aging trucks and engines. Visions of Sodor.

Backyard hounds strain on chains, their voices harsh with barking. Poor creatures lack stimulation. Pampered city pooches with little room to move are treated like kings and queens compared to these country dogs.

Meals appear at intervals. First breakfast, second breakfast, brunch, snacks, dinner – punctuated with drinks (and cheese).

Then, woken (or shaken awake) at 5:30 am by an earthquake – 5.2 on the scale. My bed felt like someone was trying to get me out of bed. I leapt up to check that everyone had felt the same thing. Some thought vertigo.

Last morning – ice on the car windows. Memories of childhood when ice was a daily occurence, kickstarting the Peugot 404 and casting a bucket of warm water on the windscreen only to have if freeze again as we trundled down the drive heads out of windows like dogs catching the breeze.

A drive down to Lane Poole Reserve to catch the flowing river and go for a final walk through the forest. The river flowing and frothing like a milkshake and the steam still rising from the ground as the sun thaws the ice.

Then, home to unpack and relax. Another superb weekend.

What’s the skinny?

Dwellingup is around 1 hour and 15 minutes from Perth
We stayed in an AirBnb on the edge of the forest
Pinjarra is about 20 minutes away for any major shopping and Dwellingup has a well-stocked IGA, some lovely cafes and a restaurant or two.
Lane Poole Reserve is a National Park 20 minutes out of Dwellingup and you can camp there – Bookings essential for most sites.
Water sports including kayaking and paddle boarding are popular in this region
Mountain Bike trails are everywhere – in the parks and around the town
The Dwellingup Hotel (Dwelly Pub) is perfect for a pub meal!
Cockles of your heart –dates back to the mid-1600s, a time when scientific texts were often written in Latin. The Latin term cochleae cordis means ventricles of the heart, and most probably, the word cochleae was corrupted as cockles.

All in a Day #9 Hot Air Ballooning in Northam

A hot air balloon flight over Northam in the Western Australian wheatbelt has me hooked. Ballooning is like flying in a dream.

Hooked on a Feeling (or the most fun you can have while being dangled beneath a sheet of nylon and a roaring flame – 4000ft in the air)

May 2023

“We’ll be landing next to the cemetary, but hopefully not as a convenience!” Pilot Nick quipped as we ascended to 4000 ft.

Pilot Nick wasn’t flying a plane but the biggest hotair balloon I have ever seen. To be honest it was the only hot air balloon I have ever encountered, up close. We were here because I had purchased balloon flights for Anthony’s birthday. A great gift for someone who has professed to a fear of heights!

We were up at 4:30am to meet our pilots (yes they are actually called pilots) Dan and Nick. It was pitch black outside and just a bit chilly. After our brief we were piled onto a bus and a troop carrier, towing a massive wicker basket, to go find our take-off destination.

Not your usual trip to the airport. We headed out of the town of Northam towards open fields. Much chatter over the two way radio and we found a barely concealed entrance and a gate (the first of many). Riding rough shod over fields and a small creek, pausing to ensure the basket was going to fit under low hanging trees, we finally reached our destination – the top paddock. Sorry sheep.

Liberty Balloons has two massive balloons and they quickly set about unfurling the nylon ‘envelope’ (that’s the official term for a balloon) and unloading the massive baskets. I noted with relief that the baskets were divided into four sections to prevent an imbalance.

We had been informed during our briefing that ballooning is a hands-on experience and it would be all hands on deck to get everyone up in the air. Volunteers from our party helped unfold the nylon fabric and get it ready for inflation. While this was happening another balloon company arrived with two big balloons and a private ballooner with a single basket.

Top paddock was beginning to look very surreal. The sheep were nowhere to be seen and mushrooms of intense colour slowly emerged from the golden grass and inflated around us. The first part of the inflation process involves fans of incredible power. Once there is enough air, heat is introduced – horizontal flames powered by liquid propane shoot into the opening of the envelope.

As the balloon lifted and became vertical it was time for us to clamber into the basket. Twenty people in each – five in each section and the pilot in the middle. The basket feels very substantial and nicely padded. “Practice your landing position!” shouts Nick. Landing position entails bending your knees to absorb any impact on landing and bracing yourself against the back of the basket. While Anthony was worried about being up in the sky, landing was probably my worst fear, to be honest.

The sun appeared, glowing orange highliting the wet grass. We can see where we are now. A padock not far from the main road, surrounded by trees. Smoke from nearby burn-offs hangs in the air, mixing with early morning mist.

Finally it is time and Nick sends a blast of flame into our envelope. The basket shifts slightly before the tethering rope is released and we lift off and move across the field, narrowly avoiding trees. It is now that I have a flash of memory – Ian MacEwan’s “Enduring Love” where a man is caught by his leg to the rope secured to the balloon as it takes to the air. I hazzard a peek over the side, no one dangling from the rope. I shake that memory loose as we lift higher under the power of propane and barely perceptible wind currents.

Ears pop as we reach 4000 ft and the gas is switched off. So silent, so still – no one says a word. As we peer over the edge and gaze down on Ballardong Noongar booja at the natural and person made lines, Aboriginal paintings come to mind.

I feel the same as I do when I fly in a dream – sublime! The current changes as we rise to catch it and we are now above the other balloons. That’s a photo I never thought I would take! A balloon from above.

We take a right turn and cruise down the mighty Avon River following its path into town. The CBH silos look like Lego land from afar and parts of the low lying land are swathed in mist. Tiny houses and even smaller cars. I count swimming pools in back yards and feel like I am in a dream.

Before we know it, its time to find somewhere to land. The ballooners have an agreement with local land owners about landing and taking off from their paddocks. One never lands in the spot where you take off and one also never really knows where one is going to land! Consequently there is communication happening the whole time between balloons and the ground crew who are ready to drive to where ever we land and pick us up.

The cemetary was to our right and so too was a vast paddock inhabitated by sheep. That was our final destination. “We will land somewhere here” claims our intrepid pilot before reminding us of our landing stance. The ground was suddenly moving very fast below us, “Brace yourself!” The basket caught the earth and dragged across the ground, almost tipping over. Collective “oohs” and nervous laughter as we ground to a halt.

It’s hard not to jump out but we all remembered the warning “You are all ballast! If you jump out everyone else floats away!” so we wait as the ground crew secure the balloon. The second balloon hot on our tails swoops into the paddock herding a flock of sheep before it and disappears over the rise and lands not unlike our balloon. We laugh at their plight, not unkindly, but knowingly.

Now its time to earn our breakfast. The balloon has to be folded and put back into the box it arrived in. As a seasoned camper I know how these things go. When does any piece of camping equipment ever fit back in its bag?

The crew rally us to complete this final chore before we can get on the bus and head back to breakfast. Lift, push, fold, carry and repeat – suddenly its gone. The object of such incredible joy is a damp piece of nylon stuffed into a crate. I wouldnt fancy the job of taking it out and airing it . Does that happen? I wonder.

The life of a balloon pilot sure would keep you on your toes. Thanks for putting me back down safely on my toes. In the words of our pilot Nick “A balloon flight one walks away from is, indeed, a good one!”

What’s the skinny?

Northam is one hour + 20 mins (96 km) from Perth City
If you are hot air ballooning you must book in advance
Ballooning only takes place from April – October
Stay overnight at one of the hotels or camp grounds as you must be up at 4:30 am to go ballooning!
The Farmers Home Hotel does a banging pub meal and breakfast
There are two balloon companies operating from Northam – Liberty Balloon Flights and Windward Balloon Adventures
A two hour balloon flight will cost you around $350
While in Northam visit the Bilya Koort Boodja Museum – indigenous centre for cultural and environmental knowledge
Check out the silo murals on the outskirts of town

All in A Day #6 Lane Pool Reserve Camping

When bookclub decided to go bush we didn’t expect to be treated to Mother Nature at her most rock n roll.

March 2023

All in a Day #6 could be more aptly titled “All in a Night” but to maintain continuity the title remains!

“It’s not going to rain much,” – were the words I heard just before I rolled over to go to sleep on night two of our bookclub camping trip.

The day had been idyllic. We woke that morning to the sounds of Currawongs, Ravens, Kookaburras and black cockatoos, while the soft rays of sunshine filtered through the Jarrah forest onto our tents at Charlies Flat in Lane Pool Reserve. After a hearty cooked breakfast of scrambled eggs (the best Doci had ever had!) mushrooms and tomatoes washed down with lashings of coffee and tea, we decided on a walk and a swim.

Doci and I set off to walk to Island Pool while the others opted to drive. Island Pool, about 1.5 km from our camp spot at Charlies Flat, is the widest expanse of water in the currently still Murray River. It is a popular swimming spot with deep clear water and rocks for basking upon. There is a small island of rocks in the centre, hence the name.

Doci and I first heard the rumbles of far-off thunder while walking and decided that it didn’t seem close enough to be of concern. The clouds had cleared and there seemed to enough blue sky for us to assume that all was going to be well weather-wise, that and Doci’s bones said it was not going to rain. Little did we know that Mother Nature was merely sound-checking for the main event!

We floated in the not too cold waters of Island Pool for about half an hour – waiting for our fingers and toes to take on wrinkled “granny hands” and for the peaceful surroundings to sooth our bones and minds. Water is certainly the great healer.

The remainder of the day was punctuated by rumblings and we had the occasional discussion that rain might ensue, but not enough to stop us from heading for another welcome dip closer to camp after lunch and a small glass of bubbly! The five of us set off for the river with pool toys and a blow up mattress and slipped into the cool waters for a second swim. Our swimming souls sated we headed back for more snacks and further alcoholic offerings – after all being outdoors makes you ravenous (and thirsty)!

Snack time merged into dinner time where we all ate our body weight in cheese and nibblies and enjoyed the sounds of the evening. The sounds we had heard the night before and thought to be recalitrant birds was actually microbats – so we recorded their high pitched sounds for future reference.

It was starting to get dark when we decided the rumblings were closer and the sky looked slightly more ominous than before. We had a discussion about whether or not we should batten down the hatches or not worry too much. It was Elaine who said “Imagine how we would feel if we did nothing and the storms took us by surprise” .” So we sprang into action. It should be mentioned at this point that we had no phone coverage so we were very much relying on Doci’s bones and the general vibe of the atmosphere to accurately predict the weather.

Doci’s bones were still communicating with her and she assured us that she didn’t think anything major was going to occur weather-wise. We decided to err on the side of caution and scurried about putting things away and making sure that everything was out of the weather.

The thunder and now lightning was circling ever closer as we played a game of Bananagrams and had final drinks before bed. A spot and then another spot gave us reason to congratulate ourselves on our timely battening down of hatches. I was the first to go and tuck myself into my tent and I listened to the drops increase to a pattering and the voices of the others still discussing the likelihood of us being washed away.

Doci’s words “It’s not going to rain much” were still ringing in my ears when I woke to what can only be described as a surround sound vortex of continuous rumbling circling above our camp site punctuated by lightning flashes and, by this stage, torrential rain.

To say I felt vulnerable is an understatement – protected by a couple of millimetres of tent fabric and the massive trees looming above me, I asked that Mother Nature at least be kind and if I were to be struck by lightning, make it fast and painless. Needing to pee added to the anxiety – nothing like the sound of flowing water to make that thought never leave your head!

I hoped everyone else was faring ok – Jill in her swag, Nat in her newly purchased Aldi tent, Doci snug in her Getz and Lainey up in her roof top tent (closer than all of us to the elements). I lay there watching the lightning and made up my mind that it was sheet lightning and not the dangerous forked variety. I am not sure if that made me feel better, or if sheet lightning is indeed the safer version of its cousin, forked but I did eventually drift off to sleep only to start dreaming about forked lightning, and once again woke with a start!

I don’t think I have ever experienced such a storm like that before. The rumbling didn’t stop. I can only liken it to a surround sound speaker system where the sound moved from left to right. Nature at its finest and most awesome (in the true sense of the word).

Needless to say we all survived the night – everyone emerged from their respective accomodations with wonder and awe in their voices and a different perspective and personal experience. Everyone’s tents held up under the heavy rain and our battening down of hatches was welcomed as most of our belonging were dry and protected during the night.

We returned to the city where it still appeared to be dry and storms had not happened with the same magnitude that we we expereinced. When describing the night to my family that night I realised that you really had to be there to even fathom what it felt like to be an insignificant dot in the universe while nature raged and rumbled above.

The five of us will never forget the night nature turned it on.

What’s the skinny?

Lane Poole Reserve is in Dwellingup – One hour + 20 minutes (114 Km) from Perth.
Camping must be booked ahead of time for most camp areas.
There are 50 000 acres to explore – for hiking, mountain biking, horse riding or kayaking.
Take everything you need including potable water.
Always check before lighting a fire – fire restrictions apply.
Mobile coverage is hit and miss. Download maps before leaving Perth.
The closest town is Dwellingup

Vale Muesli Aristotle the axolotl

Muesli the axolotl is survived by Napolean (her daughter) and hundreds of babies (location unknown)

“Hello, do you have any axolotls?” It was my fifth phone call to one of many petshops in Perth and this one bore fruit!

“Yes, we have an albino and she has only just come in” replied the petshop attendant.

“I will take her!” I screamed, “Can I pay by credit card?”

Muesli Aristotl the albino axolotl moved into the Year 5 classroom at Quintilian Primary school on the 23 February, 2015. Her pink fins and translucent flesh endeared her to most and disgusted some. She was named by the children – a double barrel name because we couldn’t just settle on one! We were not sure of her age or origin but guessed that she could have been anywhere from 3- 5 years old.

Over the years Muesli followed me from class to class. In each class the children would learn how to clean the tank and take turns to feed her. We would produce axolotl fact sheets in writing and kids would draw pictures of her for art classes. Every school holidays she would come home with me to dwell in peace for a few weeks. Occasionally she would go to someone’s house when I went away.

One school holidays in 2017 I decided she needed a friend and Hahn the male axolotl arrived to wreak havoc – babies were produced in their hundreds – You can read the story of Hahn and Muesli in Readers Digest “A Whole Lotl Love” – published in 2022. The axolotl story was also told at Barefaced Stories in Perth a couple of years before (see link on my website).

When I left the primary school there was no option but to take her with me – no one was keen to take on axolotl parenting. Muesli and Napolean (Muesli’s daughter who was taken on by another teacher before she left to sail around Australia) have spent the last couple of years living in luxury – befitting of a grand dame of the axolotl family. A massive tank and all the frozen shrimp she wanted.

I noted that she hadn’t been eating very well over the past few weeks and her previously beautiful fins had become short and stumpy. I figured she is probably eleven plus years old and was drawing to the end of her days. This morning I scooped her from the tank and I swear she had a smile on her face!

Napoleon now has full range of the huge tank and will probably go on to live a ripe old age. Thanks Muesli Aristotle the Albino Axolotl for all the stories you spawned (and the babies!) and for the joy you brought to many!

All in a Day #5 Nannup Music Festival

When festivals all but ground to a halt in 2021 and 2022 there was a part of me that wondered if we would ever return to normal. 2023 has rolled around and festivals are back!

Nannup Music Festival 2023 – Festivals are back! March 2023

Festival companions: Anthony, Elaine, Leanne & Helen

Nannup Music Festival is an annual tradition – the music festival falls on the long weekend in March at the start of Autumn. It’s that time of the year when the sun keeps shining, and the humidity is hanging around, making everything and every one slightly sweaty.

I have been going to Nannup Music Festival for many years with a group of friends who camp together on the banks of the basking Blackwood River, just a short walk to the heart of the festival. We usually volunteer (well, some of us do) and get free entry to the festival. The last time I volunteered it was as the bus driver – I circled Nannup in a mini bus until the late night hours!

This year was the first festival to be held in two years. Last year the festival was cancelled due to Covid restrictions, but we went and camped sans music. But in 2023, it was back on, and we were pretty excited to be there!

Nannup is a beautiful town set in the forest about 3.5 hours from Perth. The town hosts the music festival like a well-oiled machine. The pub is open to everyone, even if you don’t have a ticket. The other venues require you to have a festival ticket.

You can wander at will and enter any venue with the volunteer or ticket wristband. The locals turn it on for the 4000 festival goers as they churn out marron pies from the bakery, beers, and counter meals at the pub, and even hold a Saturday morning market at the local chapel.

This year we volunteered behind the bar. We had applied for our RSAs (Responsible Serving of Alcohol) online the year before, so we were ready to pour beer and make idle conversation with punters. The bars are situated in most venues inside a gated area. The drinks selection is simple and easy to serve – no fancy cocktails or difficult requests.

So, let’s start at the beginning… Saturday

We had arrived the evening before (some of us a night before that) and set up tents, pop-top sleepers, chairs, and camping paraphernalia. The banks of the Blackwood in March are still lush, and the water throws up reflections of trees.

One tree, in particular, sits opposite our site – its roots cling tenuously to the bank. Every year there seems to be more soil washed out. The teens love to swing from the rope attached to a high branch. The more daring climb to the top and bommie down into the water – depth unknown. While we sit on the bank, peering through fingers not wanting to watch.

We awoke to the sound of cackling Kookaburras at dawn. So first up, put on the coffee pot and the kettle for tea. We slowly rose, groaned, and stretched as we waited for coffee or toast to cook. It was Leanne’s 60th birthday, so we had planned to give her a surprise lunch at midday.

We checked our programs for the music we would like to see/hear, and Anthony, Leanne and I set out for an early show while others lingered to set up the table with tasty treats and cake. We started our Saturday music feast with a band at the Amphitheater – a lovely way to ease ourselves into the festival.

Coffees in hand, we sat in the shade close to the stage. Once the band finished, we meandered back to the camp browsing the stalls for trinkets and clothing we didn’t require. I stopped and booked a reflexology session with a good friend set up in the trees. Sunday 10:00 am for a relaxing foot massage –I will need one by then!

Back at camp, the others have put out boards with a delicious selection of cheeses and dips, fresh tomatoes from the markets, and a cake purchased in Perth. We popped a Prosecco and settled in for a feast, conscious that we had a bar shift looming at 2:30 pm. Birthday gifts were exchanged, and birthday songs were sung before we decided to rest briefly before our shift started. Chairs, akimbo, and mattresses aloft, we surrendered to the location.

Much discussion was generated around the colour of this year’s volunteer attire. The shirt was an insipid cream colour that we decided was oatmeal (after photographing it and using Google Lens). The last time we volunteered, the shirts were black – way more rock and roll!

2:15 rolled around quicker than we expected, so we quickly donned our oatmeal and set off for volunteer central to sign on for our shifts and pick up our lanyards. I had never volunteered behind the bar – despite being a bar chick in my 20s for many years. Just like riding a bike, I decided. I had a shift at the Tigerville bar while Leanne and Elaine headed for the Amphitheater.

The shift was fun, with some great bands backgrounding the session. Taking money, popping cans, and chatting to happy festivalgoers was easy. Most people came and thanked us for volunteering, and the locals were very appreciative. Before I knew it, my first shift was over, and we headed back to camp for a cold beer and feet up before dinner.

Everyone converged on camp simultaneously, where we shared our various afternoon experiences. Those who didn’t volunteer had been out seeing bands, while the bar tenders had tales of beer cans and bluster. Everyone was hungry and ready for dinner from the food trucks on the festival grounds. We ripped off the oatmeal shirts and dressed in warmer clothing as the weather had cooled considerably since the afternoon.

We had dinner of Nasi Goreng from the Indonesian truck and consulted our band schedules as we made plans to enjoy a couple of hours of music and entertainment. Most of us were tired, but we stayed up until 10:00 pm (not a bad effort!)

Helen wanted to linger and see Liz Stringer at 10:30, but we decided it was too late, so we left her to see Liz alone and made our way back under the bridge to our campsite. There was laughter and banter as we slipped and tripped on the gravel path, trudged through the clean river sand, and tramped across the boardwalk.

A final glass of wine back at camp, as a nightcap, had us falling into our tents. As I jammed my earplugs in and drifted off to the muted sounds of music and laughing campmates, I was filled with anticipation for the following day. Nannup never disappoints.

and a poem to end…

Raising the Bar – a bar vollies lot.

JUICY is my pale ale
can I have two on card please?
I bought some Harry Angus merch
Can you help me find my CD s?
Sparkling wine and bundy rum
Can I have a stubby holder for free ?
Give me a can of your crappiest beer
It’s for my mate, not me!
SSB by the bottle and keep cups filmed with dust
I want some bottled water please
Security guards look nonplussed
Managers are AWOL
Can i take your all your fifties?
Open the till hand over cash
Just press down one of the shift keys
Before we know it the bar is closed
Wine and beer to pack and stack
Off with the oatmeal vollie shirt
Next year we’ll be back!

What’s the skinny?

Nannup is about 3.5 hours from Perth
The town of Nannup hosts the Nannup Music Festival every year in March 1 – 4
The camping grounds for the festival are situated on the town golf course
Riverbend Caravan Park (where we camp) requires a booking 12 months ahead
The Blackwood River is usually very still at this time of the year.
The nearby Barrabup pool is a forest pool not far from Nannup and the perfect place to cool down in Summer.
Volunteers can register interest from October each year. There are many roles you can apply for including bar work, set up, rubbish collection and ticketing.

All in a Day #4 A Day in The Life of a Freelancer

Finding time to blog in 2023 is not proving as easy as I thought! This is a day in the life…

February 2023

Making time to journal or document your life is tricky when life gets busy. Unfortunately, I was lulled into the post-summer holiday’s false sense of “I have all the time in the world” earlier this month, and now I don’t have time to scratch myself.

So here goes #4 – A typical freelance writing work day.

6:00 am – up with the birds

I wake with the sun and the sound of chattering lorikeets in the trees outside my bedroom window – it’s usually 6:00 am (or earlier). As I drag myself from bed I grab some items off the bedside table – phone, glasses, and watch, always with good intentions of going for a brisk walk, a paddle, or a pilates class. Sometimes not one of those options occurs. Scooping a pair of lycra leggings from the floordrobe, I hop across to the bathroom battling gravity and the slight vertigo of getting up too quickly.

A quick check of my notifications, hoping to intercept a fantastic job offer where I can write for an hour and get paid enough to get me through to next month. No, just the usual Substack updates from writers like me who write for money but like to write for no other reason than they like to write.

There is the occasional LinkedIn notification pleading with me to go “pro” again, teasing me with “someone has viewed your profile.” I know from past experience that the only people who view my profile are writers like myself who are curious about what I do. Don’t get me wrong, I have great connections through LinkedIn, and most of them bear fruit. Not this morning, however.

Somewhere between pulling on my Asics and reaching for a water bottle, my notifications ping. Once again, I am swept up in checking the latest headlines and finishing the Wordle for the day. Today is going to be the day I get it in two! Yeah right. What sort of a word is “usage”?

6:15 am – bothering the wildlife

Out the front door and down the path to the park for exercise, deep thinking, and communing with nature. I also check on the wildlife around the lake. Unfortunately, botulism has reared its ugly head, and water birds are prone to this paralysing disease during the Summer months – fortunately, fluids and a stopover in the wildlife hospital can have them back on their feet. So I am now the weirdo walking up to ducks and asking, “are you ok?’ before scaring them into entering the water. (If they can get up, they are usually fine).

After three laps of the lake and much scrutiny of feathered friends, I am ready to return for coffee, breakfast, and work. I always set myself a time to start and get ready for work like I would if I went to an office, without the crazy peak hour traffic, school drop-offs and corporate clothing (shorts and tshirt do perfectly thank you!) I do miss my morning drive with a podcast, though, so sometimes I put one while eating breakfast, for old-time’s sake.

8:30 am – work meeting (with myself)

If it’s Monday, I start with a work meeting – me, myself, and I. We draw up a list of outstanding things from the previous week and list all those items we need to do this week. I make sure we all get to have our say, and then we delegate tasks. My blog is an item that gets carried over and over until now! Chasing up accounts is another – why can’t people pay their bills?

8:45 am I open my computer, log in to Google and check my emails. I have requests for social media posts, a start-up’s web content, and a Capability Statement brief. Once I have worked out my priorities, I get started. Social media posts are usually pretty quick; I have those finished in an hour. Then, I put them aside for a final read later in the day. A bunch of web content for a start-up – 50% of my time is spent researching and working out what I am supposed to be writing about.

12:00 – 1:30 – break time

Lunchtime arrives (anytime between 11:30 and 1:30), and I stop. Sometimes I will get in the car, drive to the beach, and float in the ocean for 30 minutes (yes, I time myself); it’s cheaper than paying $150 to float in a tank with woo-woo music filling my ears. Sometimes I jump on my ebike and go for a spin – cool breeze in my hair and all that. Sometimes I turn on the TV and watch a doco to switch off my writing brain. Nothing like the dulcet tones of David Attenborough to soothe the thought process. Of course, I also eat during this time!

1:30 pm – more work

Back to work – I always feel refreshed after my lunch break and I am ready to tackle the Capability Statement (yeah, I had to ask what one of those was, too!); it’s a trumped-up version of a profile. I sweat my way through the statement and then have a reread of any work I have completed during the day. I send any finished work to clients with an internal sigh of relief and then commence to second guess my writing ability – imposter syndrome is real.

4:00 pm – imposter syndrome kicks in

4:00pm rolls around, and I start thinking about finishing up. I go back and check what I have already sent once more and cringe inwardly as I pick up sentences that could sound better – or could they? Finally, I let it go and leave the computer for another day. I check the pilates app to see if I can squeeze in a class – BINGO; there is a space.

5:00 pilates and chill

Heading back from pilates feeling stretched and aligned on my ebike, I do another lap of Hyde Park Lake and bother the ducks again. If I have my camera, I will stop and take some snaps. Like, I need any more bird photos on my computer! Sometimes I chance bumping into my family and stop for granddaughter cuddles and family gossip.

Home for chores – taking in the washing, emptying the dishwasher, feeding the bird, and checking on the axolotls’ tank. If my partner is home, he will probably cook dinner; if he is away, I have eggs on toast. Time for some TV and then bed, where I attempt to read another two pages of my current novel. It’s two steps forward, one step back, I’m afraid. I feel my new year’s resolution to read more books slipping through my fingers like sand at the beach at lunchtime.

Most workdays go like this – except when I am teaching small people, but that’s a whole other story!!

What’s the skinny?

Freelance writing can be very rewarding.
Australian Writers Centre hold courses for freelance copywriters, feature writers and travel writing – I did my courses with AWC but I am not affiliated with them or being paid to promote their courses.
If you like the idea of being your own boss and working from home this could be the career for you.
There is a lot of self-motivation required and some days are slow.
People will pay you to write for them because not everyone can write.

All in a day #3 Hobart, Tasmania

Part 3 of “All in a day” takes me and two good friends to see the highs and more highs of Hobart town!

Hobart – the highs and the higher

January 2023

Travel companions: three enthusiastic Australians from the west

Our first morning in Hobart, Tasmania started like most days during our Tassie travels. Coffee and breakfast were on the agenda. We arrived in Hobart the previous day – all of us had met at MoMA (Museum of Modern Art) and ended our day with drinks at the Shamrock before sending Elaine on her way to help prepare for a wedding.

The previous morning, Leanne had enjoyed a delicious breakfast at the café down the road from our digs, Straight up. A vegetarian café with a delightful selection of vegetarian and vegan options and great coffee.

We were heading up the mountain that looms over Hobart town, kunanyi (Mt Wellington), that morning, so we headed to Straight Up for breakfast which was incredible. Some takeaway donuts were purchased for snacks should we get hungry during our mountain adventure!

Kunanyi and its foothills are the traditional lands of the Muwinina people. It is situated on an 18,011-ha reserve on the doorstep of nipaluna, lutruwita. The mountain is 1270m high and features some fantastic dolerite rock formations and a range of alpine vegetation. Kunanyi has a range of walks and hikes suited to climbers of all experience levels. The truly fit (or truly crazy) cycle to the top and enjoy a downhill run.

We drove our car up. The mountain is very close to Hobart city centre, and it took us about 45 minutes to reach the top. We were treated with a clear view and completely still conditions. The last time I had summited Wellington, I was making snow angels, and it was the middle of winter. The locals say it is a mountain of many moods.

The infamous Tasman Bridge from the mountain

We took advantage of the ideal conditions, explored the boardwalks, and ventured part-way down the zig-zag trail to get some photos. Tourists in their droves took selfies and group photos from every vantage point. The quiet side of the mountain where the Zig Zag trail starts was the most peaceful part.

Photos snapped and views admired; we decided that a swim was in order (as you do when in Tassie and the temperature is over 23 degrees). We chose the shores of Sandy Bay under the shadow of Wrest Point Casino, Australia’s first casino. Sandy Bay is a well-to-do suburb in Hobart, not far from the city centre, with beautiful beaches on the banks of the Derwent River.

Hardly the spot for nasty rips or dumpers but it was nice to know we were safe!

The surf lifesavers were set up on the beach, and the sun was shining, so we changed and plunged into the cool waters of the bay. Nice once you were in! The water was clear, and the bottom sandy like its namesake.

We devoured the delicious donuts from Straight Up. They were amazing, filled with chocolate, jam, and custard, and coated in sugar. Then, sand and sugar-coated, we showered in the freshwater showers, got dressed, and went to find a supermarket for our supplies back at the hostel were running low.

It’s a good time to talk about our digs. We decided to stay at the Pickled Frog, a backpackers in Liverpool Street. Leanne had booked the deluxe apartment, “Frog Apartment,” with her own kitchen, bathroom, and a chandelier! Wendy and I went for the shared room with the general hoi polloi. I am no stranger to backpacker accommodation, so I expected lots of young people and possible loud noise, which is pretty much what it was. However, it was okay for a few days and had us situated in the middle of Hobart, close to the restaurants and a walk from Salamanca Place.

Sleep was broken with comings and goings all hours of the night and day and alarms going off super early for those who lived and worked in Hobart. However, it was reasonably priced, and the people running the hostel were super friendly and helpful. I will also say, I am no stranger to broken sleep and noisy nights being a frequenter of music festivals – but maybe my youth hostel days are over?

We returned to the hostel for a rest before the evening plans for eating oysters and taking in the docks commenced. The previous night had been spent at a delicious Greek Restaurant, Mezethes Greek Taverna, in Salamanca Place. The staff really went out of their way to make us comfortable and welcome. The food was deluxe, and we started with a small portion of oysters.

So we decided that more oysters were in order – Mures on the docks was my choice for a seafood feast. The multi-award-winning Mures is a Tasmanian institution. The Mures have served quality fish for over 45 years from various locations around Hobart.

The seafood did not disappoint. We washed down fresh oysters with Tasmanian beer and feasted on a shared seafood basket. The downstairs part of Mures, where we dined, is very casual, and the food is more suited to families and big gatherings. Whereas upstairs, the posh part of Mures serves seafood but in a more refined manner. We finished our massive meal with huge scoops of ice cream from the ice creamery inside the restaurant.

With hunger sated (or over-sated), we started our stroll back to the hostel, only to discover a shindig in progress in the local park. An Irish-style folk band had the crowd dancing and clapping – Craicpot was their name, and Irish jigs were their game. After eating and drinking so much, a wee dance was just what we needed, so we stayed and jigged and clapped until the band finished their set.

The park was crowded with locals and visitors eating food from food trucks and enjoying a family picnic on the lawn. It was the perfect ending to a day with us up mountains, swimming in the waters, and eating ourselves silly. Finally, we headed for bed (and hopefully sleep!) to ready ourselves for a visit to Salamanca Markets in the morning. Goodnight Hobart!

What’s the skinny?

Hobart is the capital city of Tasmania
Hobart is a port City with a rich maritime history.
Salamanca Market is held every Saturday morning on the docks – well worth a visit.
Mures Seafood are stalwarts of the Hobart restaurant scene – fish, chips and oysters washed down with a cold beer is a must! Or you can go fancy and dine in the upper deck section (same fish but fancier)
Mt Wellington/ kunanyi looms over Hobart (1270 m) and is worth a visit any time of the year. Snow in winter if the road is open, and amazing vistas in Summer.
The Tasman Bridge is a magnificent bridge – cross it at least once!
MoMA is a must – you can catch a ferry across from the docks or drive and Park. David Walsh’s collection is ever changing and will have you questioning everything.

All in a day # 2 Myrtle Bank to Ansons Bay, Tasmania

Week 2 – All in a day 2023 – a roadtrip to the east coast of Tasmania

Tassie Roadtrip – Northeast to Ansons Bay January 2023

Travel companions: two enthusiastic travellers from the West

With Mt Barrow looming, we left Myrtle Bank in the Northeast of Tasmania/lutruwita for the East Coast – Tasmania’s Bay of Fires. A convoy of two. Three adventurous women from Western Australia!

Ansons Bay, remote paradise (as the entrance sign declares) is on the Northeast coast of Tasmania. The Bay of Fires, situated on the land of the Palawa people, was described as such by the early explorers when they arrived on Tasmania’s shores to see fires burning. The eye-catching orange lichen that covers the coastal rocks in this part of the world contrasts directly with the wild blue seas and green coastal scrub.

Eddystone Point Lighthouse/lutruwita is the closest sentinel that keeps ships from the treacherous rocks of the area. The lighthouse is just inside Mt. William National Park and is accessible by a gravel road.

Our first stop was Scottsdale – around 40 kilometres from Myrtle Bank. Scottsdale is the small town where I went to high school, spent weekends with my best mate, and got up to all sorts of mischief—being an “out of towner,” I more often than not spent entire weekends in Scottsdale.

A stop in Scottsdale always entails a curly pasty at the Scottsdale Bakery, a browse in the op shops, and shopping for stores at Woollies. So, our op shop haul packed in the back, ice in the esky, food shopping done, and wine and beer purchased, we set off towards Derby, the mountain bike capital of Tasmania.

Derby was an ex-tin mining town with no future and cheap real estate before it became the darling of the Mountain Bike scene. Tasmania now boasts world-class mountain bike tracks, and people come from all over the world to travel the trails. It was here we used to go in the 80s to watch or compete in the Derby River derby – homemade craft set sail in the freezing waters over a weekend where Derby came to life for a moment only to go back into hibernation for the remaining 360 days of the year.

We stopped here for firewood and to call the Tasmanian Fire Department to get permission to light a fire on the block. The town of Derby was buzzing with bikes and people. A block in Derby that could be bought for next to nothing a decade or more ago now sells for six figures.

Gladstone, the last petrol station/shop/hotel before Ansons, was advertising a music festival that looked like it was heavy metal inclined for the coming Saturday night. A mutual agreement to bypass this particular musical offering was made without any discussion required.

The drive from Gladstone to Ansons Bay is via a gravel road and passes through some lush farming country where fresh-cut hay assaults the senses. The occasional copse of bush punctuates the trip. We had our eyes peeled for wombats and echidnas and were sad to observe roadkill that included wombats and Tasmanian Devils.

After around 30 minutes, we crested the hill and entered Ansons Bay. The view of the inlet and ocean beyond always takes my breath away. The inlet on this day was dark blue, and the ocean aqua – remote paradise indeed!

My block is a bush block sitting on the hill overlooking the bay, a mere 100 metres from the bay. Once the gate had been wrestled with, and we had given the caravan and shed annex a quick once over with the broom, we unpacked food, clothing, knitting, notebooks, novels, cameras, and games.

The beds could wait; it was time to go and check out the bay, where the local fishermen, pelicans, and dogs greeted us like long-lost friends. The water felt warm and was relatively clear, and the locals were curious.

“Where you from?”It seems everyone has a link to Western Australia, knows someone, or has lived there at some stage.

Our stroll took us past shacks and caravans of varying sizes – little, it seemed, had changed since my visit eight months earlier. Ansons Bay is like the holiday destination that time forgot. Electricity is available, but some properties, including mine, are not hooked to the grid. There is no petrol station, no shop and very little mobile coverage. The telephone tower was placed tantalisingly close but not close enough.

The locals have signposted an area just before you head down the hill into the town named “connection cove,” where you can pull in to answer emails and messages and update your socials. So close yet so far, and dare I say it – One Job!

We were feeling a bit warm, so we decided a swim was in order, and the nearby Policeman’s point was beckoning. The road out to Policeman’s Point is gravel and takes you to the inlet, where the brackish waters of the bay meet the pounding waves of the Tasman Sea. The tide was on its way out when we arrived at the popular camping site, exposing the vast sand flats, a popular fishing spot for campers and locals alike.

We immersed ourselves in the clear blue water, dodging blue bottles and rushing seaweed. The water was deliciously cooling without being too cold. It massaged our skin and washed away a week of business and travel. All that fresh air and salt water excited our senses, and suddenly all we could think of was nibbles and drinks. So we started back for camp only to discover Elaine had lost her phone. A trip back to the beach and the phone was right where she had dropped it!

The sun was still beating down at 5:00 pm, so we found some shade and set ourselves up with beers in hand and a tray full of delicious morsels. Never had anything tasted so good.

Even though it is nowhere near cool enough for a fire, we thought we should light one as we had permission to do so. The fire crackled at a distance, and our senses were loaded with everything that is good and fine in a remote paradise.

A day to remember and one of many to come.

What’s the skinny?

Ansons Bay is situated on the “remote beaches” region of Tasmania in the North East.
If travelling from Launceston allow a good two hours and a couple of stops – 165 km.
One of those stops has to be the Scottsdale Bakery for curly pasties and scones. Supermarket shopping can also be done here.
Derby (Mountain bike capital of Tassie) is worth a stop to soak up the mountain biking vibe. The Blue Derby Mountain Bike Trail is world class.
Gladstone is the last petrol/booze stop before Ansons Bay where this are no shops and the Gladstone Hotel does a super counter meal.
Camping is only available in the designated camping area of Policeman’s Point (15 minutes drive from Ansons Bay) or further towards St Helens.
Check with the Fire Department before lighting fires.
Mt William National Park is accessible from Ansons Bay.
When driving at night slow down so as not to run over any wildlife.
Mobile coverage is sketchy – download any maps you might need.
You can use the telephone box situated next to the fire station to make free calls within Australia.

Women go solo on the highway

Australians hit the road in droves when they could no longer travel overseas. Women travelling solo continue to make up a significant number of adventurers to call the road their home.

On any given day, there are thousands of people road-tripping around Australia. The numbers increased over the 2020 – 2022 period, with caravan and motorhome sales going through the roof. Many of these thousands of people travelling around this vast country are women travelling solo. This is their story.

Queenslander Lynda Greening, 66, recently drove her Windsor Daintree motor home from Brisbane to Perth to visit her grand children. She travels alone because she loves road-tripping and camping, while her partner of 30 years prefers not to.

Melbourne local Ashleigh Hobson – 28, road-tripped solo for 18 months through 2021 and 2022. Ashleigh is a freelance writer who quit her “perfect job” and hit the road in her decked-out Rav4 for a trip of a lifetime!

Elaine Dowd, 57, is a public servant from WA. She enjoys camping in her HiAce Van or Subaru with a pop-top tent. She regularly camps on her own throughout WA and has plans to drive solo from Perth, WA to Tasmania, with a few stops along the way.

Visiting the grandkids

Lynda is a marketing consultant who is able to take her work on the road. She works 20 hours a week – pulling into caravan parks and connecting to the internet to service her clients. When in Perth, she stays in caravan parks close to her family and takes short trips away.

Lynda is part of the Facebook group Women Caravanning, Camping And Travelling Solo Australia. She found the page helpful in garnering travel tips and support while preparing for her trip. The page has 22K members and caters to women who “must be travelling solo”. According to the group admin Carlea Visco, the page is “a safe place for women to have a laugh, inspire and encourage each other when travelling solo.”

Lynda also joined the Windsor Daintree Facebook group (not a women’s only group), which helped her with advice and information specific to her motor home.

The trip of a lifetime

Ashleigh drove her Rav4 from Melbourne to South Australia, through the centre to Darwin, across to Western Australia, where she took the Gibb River Road, visited the Kimberley, and then travelled down to Margaret River. She stopped for six months in Margaret River and worked in a winery. From Margaret River, she headed back up to Exmouth and then Bali for a change of scenery. She has recently arrived back in Melbourne after crossing the Nullarbor.

This adventurous young woman is no stranger to solo travel. She has previously travelled overseas on her own, but she said that didn’t really prepare her for life on the road in Australia, especially during the Covid lockdowns.

When Ashleigh stopped on her first night on the road, she arrived in a dark, deserted park and questioned her decision. The Facebook Group Women Caravanning, Camping And Travelling Solo Australia were there for her when she posted her thoughts, and the feedback she got from the group helped her pass her first lonely night.

Ashleigh consulted the group while she prepared for her trip. She loved that she could post any questions without fearing ridicule for asking “stupid questions”. Ashleigh also used the Facebook group Planning a Lap of Australia to help with her planning.

Ashleigh was two weeks into her trip before she started to see that she had made the right decision. Darwin and the Northern Territory gave her hope as she met and made like-minded friends and spent time with her fellow travellers.

Setting out from WA

Elaine started as a member of the Rolling Solo Australia group, “an online, offline and real-time community that provides support, friendships, information and connections for independent female road-trippers interested in camping, outdoor adventure and travel in Australia.” The group operates on a subscription-based membership.

Elaine no longer subscribes to Rolling Solo as she found the mass gatherings (of 500 upwards) not her thing. However, she has used the same Facebook site as Lynda and Ashleigh and found the advice and support invaluable as a solo woman traveller. The fact that there are never any “stupid questions” when it comes to solo travel or camping in a group is one of the reasons Elaine uses the page.

Meeting up with other women campers and travellers

Elaine has found that members of Facebook groups expressly set up for solo women campers have been willing to meet up for coffee and chat about their travel experiences. Members will post on the page that they are planning to arrive in a town or city at a certain time and if there are members in the area, they arrange to meet for coffee or a meal. Sometimes a friendly face or company on a solo trip is most welcomed.

Camping Stories

The groups provide a place for women to check in with others before travelling. Elaine and Lynda agree that there is never a shortage of topics to chat about in the groups and at caravan parks. Travellers have many things in common, even if they have had different experiences and come from all walks of life. And who doesn’t love to talk about their setup?

All three agree that there is a higher percentage of solo women travellers on the road in Australia, than men. There are women on the road for many reasons and who have differing circumstances, from the recently widowed to those on a working holiday. Or, as in Lynda’s case, they have a partner who prefers not to camp or travel.

Age is no barrier

While there is no age limit for those who join the Facebook page – Women Caravanning, Camping And Travelling Solo Australia, the group tends towards retired or semi-retired women in their 50s and 60s. Elaine says she has come across women in their late 70s and even 80s who are camping and road-tripping on their own, sometimes for the first time.

Some of the other groups, such as Solo Camping Ladies Australia and Ladies Camping Group Perth WA, attract younger women with and without children, and their meetups tend to be on weekends. There are even groups for women who travel with dogs – such as Ladies camping with puppies in WA.

Staying safe

Many women travel with dogs for company and security. Security is always forefront of everyone’s mind. It is high on the list of topics discussed in the Facebook groups and the caravan park chats or meetups. While women do occasionally report negative experiences on the road, the women I spoke to were not overly fearful of travelling alone.

The Facebook groups are all closed groups, meaning that women must answer a series of questions before being allowed into a group. While this gives some peace of mind to solo women travellers it is important to practice cybersafe habits when posting to any social media platform.

Lynda says that she had security concerns when she first set off on her trip and initially felt nervous. However, in 2.5 months of travel, she hasn’t had any negative experiences and finds that she can talk to anyone while travelling. The Facebook group helped her to realise that their other women out there travelling solo. Her only fears now are breaking down or getting a flat tyre on her big van in a remote location.

Ashleigh said had no security concerns and has always felt safe on the road. She thanks her Mum for doing the worrying for her!

Elaine says she very rarely feels unsafe, apart from the occasional incident where she errs on the side of caution. There is truth in the adage “safety in numbers.” The Facebook groups’ sheer size is a testament to the many women taking to the road to see this amazing country.

With so many other women hitting the road there’s no need to feel alone. If you are considering a solo trip, get in touch with a group today and start planning your getaway!

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