The Coorong and Cudlee Creek

We have arrived in the Adelaide Hills to a simple and muddy little caravan park  with clumps of tent campers round fires wearing lots of jumpers and clutching beverages.  I think how much nicer they look than us in our hulking great van.   We got in late last  night and caused a disturbance because the publican who runs this place said site eleven and he meant seven.  I flitted about with a torch and Grant lumbered menacingly after me in the van and all the little camp circles went quiet.

We had a humble spag bollo for dinner – a comedown after last night’s lobster I have to say but it was good to be still at last.  It was a long day’s drive but oh so beautiful.  Grey green stretches of water and white salt pans and hardly any other cars passing.  Eagles and pelicans in the sky.  We stopped for lunch at Salt Creek in the very middle of the Coorong and I went for a walk in the bush. I have never been alone in a place that was so full of living things.  An echidna strolled by rolling its prickles.  There were black swans with signets in the creek .  The plants were strange with fleshy pink stems topped with white flowers.  They sprang out of the salty ground in little crowds and looked like aliens.  Then I got a bit lost and one bit of mallee scrub began to look exactly like another.  I sensibly took note of a weird tree with bleached bark dripping off its branches and rang Grant on my mobile phone.  “I’m just a bit lost” I said.  “Have you got water?” he said. “No, but I just need some advice.  Could you ask the man in the café?”  His offsider came to the phone but just then I caught a glimpse of the creek and was oriented again.  I thought what a shame it was that Burke and Wills didn’t have a mobile.   

The lone café where Grant was waiting was  called Dove’s place.  It had stuffed deers’ heads with antlers on the walls and a rack of the longest fishing rods in the world.  I had a Coorong mullet burger and very good it was too.  There were provisions for sale including packets of jerky called Road Kill.  Apparently this particular spot is famous for two things – the discovery of oil and a murderer called Malachi Martin who got away with his first murder but was caught the second time.  A certain Washpool Creek commemorates him because he allegedly rinsed his blood soaked self there.

The afternoon drive was a bit tense because of my getting lost and making us late..  We needed to get to Adelaide before dark so we could visit Ruth’s parents, the Kilpatricks, on Sunday and we also had to find a caravan site. Then I was amazed at Grant speaking into his mobile phone to Siri the robot  helper “Find a caravan park near here” A little squeak and a list sprang on to the screen.

 And so we found our way here to Cudlee Creek Caravan Park over hilly hairbendy roads.  It is a place full of surprises.  Just now I went to the rather grotty Ladies and there were three magnificent costumed women there dominating the mirrors, tweaking their wigs and adjusting their lovely gowns.  They are on their way to the Medieval Fair in Gumeracha  ten minutes down the road.  I asked if scruffy campers could go and they said ” Yes you can be peasants, not meaning to be insulting.” I think we will.