Heartbreak in

Its earliest settlers may have come and gone, but their indomitable spirit still lives on in this magnificent range of hills

handling and shipping grain in its hey-day.

By AVI CHANDIoK

Ihad lived in Adelaide for over two decades and had still not visited the Flinders Ranges. It was one of those sights that always gets overlooked and postponed simply because it is always there. But one sometimes needs an incentive to act, so when we unexpectedly received an invitation to visit Port Augusta at more or less the southern tip of the Flinders Ranges, we couldn’t say no. One crisply cool, sunny morning we began the 4-hour drive heading north from Adelaide, on our long-awaited visit to the Flinders Ranges. We had already decided on a few places and sights, but confined ourselves to the southern ranges. (Which meant more to see on future trips!)

The first stop we made a couple of hours into our drive was at a prettily-named town called Crystal Brook. The main street appeared very wide but for a central garden area adorned with trees, bushes and picnic tables. It looked inviting and a special bonus was the giant iguana perched high on a stand. You either love that sort of feature or hate it, but some sort of coloured and pretend flame spewing out of its mouth would have added further amusement to the attraction.

We drove through many little towns after lunch, at which time they appeared to be fairly quiet. Our next stop was at Port Germein which boasts a jetty 1.5kms long that seems to keep going forever out to the sea. A lighthouse and a pub by the jetty testify to a town which would have had a bit of bustle about it,

By now the ranges had been visible for a while as small hills in the distance. At this point we cut inland to take the route via Melrose and Wilmington, driving through a corner of the ranges.

The road entered and wound along a gorge, with craggy clifffaces and vegetation, and areas where rock falls had occurred. The road twisted and turned, making for an exhilarating drive.

All the while, slanting rays of the sun picked out a kaleidoscope of colour and sparkle on rock faces as they whizzed past.

Crossing the hill through the gorge led us to a gently undulating valley at a very slightly higher elevation where a couple of wineries flourish on the way to Melrose. This town sits at the foot of the Mt Remarkable hills and nestles in a wood and forest setting, adding to its charm. As we still had some way to go, we decided not to climb to the summit but carry on to our destination.

In the glow of the late afternoon winter light, the road started its descent in gentle sweeping hillside curves. The view opened out to magnificent occasional vistas of the plains and sea, then hills beyond the gulf.

In addition, the dense vegetation on either side made this an unexpectedly pleasurable part of our drive for the day.

I lay in bed that night feeling genuinely pleased that we had finally made it to the Flinders Ranges. We had seen the fabled red earth of the country’s interior. The day had not just been a drive from A to B, but we had actually enjoyed it and taken great pleasure from the events and sights on the way.

It was chilly as we set off to visit Quorn, heading in the direction of the hills just visible in the distance. The drive was pleasant and soon we entered the Pichi Richi Pass that cuts across small hills. The road runs parallel to the tracks of the Pichi Richi Railway, a narrow gauge rail line that now operates during school holidays and on weekends. Quorn has wide streets, a few buildings that have seen better days and a general impression of needing more people to give it vibrancy. This impression is replicated in other towns as well.

The drive from Quorn to Hawker is across a scrubby landscape of small groundhugging bushes in a vast amphitheatre surrounded in the distance by low hills.

Early settlers came in groups of families and friends setting out in wagons and carts, some walking, others on horseback. They drove a few livestock behind them and carried bags of seed which they hoped to plant in the red earth and to reap the rewards of a rich and bountiful harvest.

These adventurers had a lot to look forward to and their spirit, tenacity and hard work gave steel to their hopes and dreams. Some aimed for the hills and beyond, others chose to stop sooner. They cleared sites, built homes and carried on with their customs and beliefs. But none of this was enough. The dry hinterland just beyond the ranges can spread its tentacles far and wide. Had these souls decided to ignore the advice of George Goyder who, as early as 1865, had warned of an imaginary line which delineates cropping land from that which is unsustainable? Many would have returned broken in spirit and weakened in body, waiting for the rain to fall and restore the poor, exhausted soil. They went in hope, only to have their dreams end in tears. Is this why this stretch is called Heartbreak Plain? A most apt name!

We stopped to look at the Kanyaka ruins - a testament to those shattered dreams. The wellordered settlement had everything - an overseer, stores, blacksmith, offices, a medical facility and living areas with welcoming wood fires that would have cloaked the residents in its warming light. Many such ruins dot the landscape.

An interesting site is the Yourambulla caves, which house Aboriginal rock paintings in typical black and red ochre colours. Three caves on a hilly outcrop are connected by a welltrodden path, close to the main highway. When visiting sites off the main road, the need for a 4WD vehicle becomes evident as apart from driving being easier, there are many places that cater to off-road thrill-seekers.

Castle Rock lookout is a small outcrop of rocks near Hawker, which itself is around 300m above sea level. The 360 degree panoramic view is stunning from the top of the lookout. The next trick is to actually get down without being blown off by gale force winds that lash at you. But a cup of hot chocolate and toasted sandwich in Hawker soon got the body back to normal again.

On the day that a drizzle fell from cloudy skies, we drove to Port Augusta to explore its environs. After the plains and hills of the ranges, any city would seem rather tame. As if there is not enough water around, we drive to look at a lake. It was raining and misty, the dirt track we are crawling along had puddles, but just round a bend we saw a group of wet, bedraggled emus facing us. We stopped and they stopped. They looked at our red car, squinted at each other and came towards us, dripping water. Then slowly in a stately fashion, they veered off into the bushes, no doubt quite annoyed with us for blocking their path and spoiling their afternoon walk. It was time to leave the Flinders Ranges. If you visit them, you will probably see much more than us. But there is one thing I can promise – you will look with your eyes, but feel the shadowy dreams of

A lighthouse and a pub by the jetty testify to a town which would have had a bit of bustle about it, handling and shipping grain in its hey-day