The only real con at Streaky bay was the complete lack of people running around without clothing. When we arrived there the weather was amazing. The whole bay was like a sheet of glass glowing in the afternoon light with boats gently reflected in the water like a still life. Ahh. Of course that evening an ill wind came down on us big time and with it we got more rain than South Australia has seen in months.

We managed to go for a drive the next morning before it really set in. It was along the coast nearby and called ‘The Westall Loop.’ It is unique looking scenery and was looking very dry (but not anymore).

We spent a bit of time bunkered in the van or hiding out at a cool café in town, which we all appreciated. The biggest white pointer shark ever was caught here in the eighties so they have a fibreglass replica of it in a special room that’s apart of the servo.

I managed to throw in a line at the jetty but only caught one little Tommy Rough. They’re a popular fish here. I caught one at Cowell and ate it, but they are a fair amount of work for a tiny result.

Because I know everyone loves to hear my opinions I have some observations I would like to share about South Australia. The first item pertains to flies. As far as numbers go, South Australia, as we have experienced it, is hardly in the race. That trophy has to go to our bush camp stop at Native Dog Creek on the way to Tamworth. The flies there seemed starved of human company and rushed over to stick to you like flies to the proverbial. They sheathed you in a new, black, crawling uniform. It was hard to do anything and now that I remember it clearly, I think overall, they were much more annoying than their South Australian brethren.  But they were good honest flies and easy to whack. The flies here are much more sneakier. They are slippery, fast flying, little buggers and seem to have a sixth sense concerning you intentions. All you have to do is think about grabbing something to thwack them with and they’re gone. And where do they go? What are their favourite places? They find their nirvana in your exposed orifices. They direct their attack with unerring aim at your ear holes, nostrils and eyes. They don’t even land somewhere else and then nonchalantly wander in the direction of those most annoying spots. You wave a hand at them and they just laugh, do a barrel roll and return to their target. I have one of those nets that put over your head, but the numbers aren’t large enough to push you into looking like Jacqui Kennedy in mourning. What they lose in numbers they make up for in sheer annoying determination. I salute you flies of South Australia, I know it’s pointless and you don’t care, but I salute you.

My next musing is not South Aussie specific, and I’m sure I have mentioned it before. It is the name by which you should call the residents of different areas. For instance we are in Streaky Bay; should the locals be called Streakers? Or Freaky Streakies? Our last stop was Coffin Bay, was that full of undertakers? Cowell before that is fairly easy, as surely they would be Cowellians. Whyalla presents a problem. Whyall-airians, Whyall-otions, Why all the fuss ians? We are off to Ceduna next. Are they Ceduna-ites, Cedunations? I will keep contemplating these mysteries as we pass by all the Nullabourarians on the road west. 

P.S. As I post this “I am here,” said Una.