With a caravan pre-inspection booked in over a week, I had plenty of time to wend my way back to Melbourne, The alps had been the high point of this little odyssey and now a stint of rolling country side would be a relaxing treat. There was no hurry to check out as Jingellic, my next destination, was a mere 70 klms along the road. It wasn’t long before I was joined by the Murray River and we both meandered past farmland and pasture, crossing back into Victoria and then again into NSW as I crossed the bridge across the Murray to the campground, literally a stones throw from the Jingellic Pub.
There’s a beautiful window between 10am and 2pm where campgrounds are in-between visitors and the best spots are tempting you like the girls in Pattaya. It was a very warm midday and a park under the shade of a tree seemed the logical choice. I was content to type up recent events in between cooling dips in the river as the afternoon wore on. Now, I’m not sure what the difference is between an omen and a portent, but during the second dip I noticed a large tree on the bank of the campground had fallen into the Murray, apparently voluntarily. There had been a swing attached to it and, in a moment of consternation, I contemplated some poor wretch trapped in the foiliage, but no-one else nearby seemed concerned or had even noticed.
Everyone knew a storm front was forecast to pass through Victoria later in the afternoon but we weren’t in the line of direct fire. In the late afternoon, clouds ballooned over the high country to the south and by early evening, lightening and distant thunder rolls dragged campers out to admire the display. Out of nowhere, the winds quickly picked up and for a good hour, branches bent and leaves swirled as the front skirted our little refuge. Then, nothing but stillness and the night sky. Two hours later found me tucked in and just about asleep, when a loud crack, ominously close, ruptured the night air. “Oh, just great” I thought and braced myself for the seemingly inevitable thud of tree on roof. Another curse of misfortune was surely falling my way.
But then, silence. No thud, no branch spearing through the roof. Just for once, the fickle finger of fate must have been pointing elsewhere. I could have just lain there in my relief, but curiosity and the sound of voices pulled the covers back.
The van next to mine, a mere five metres away was the unwitting victim of a tree ‘cleaved in twain’, again for no obvious reason. This poor couple were four days into a three week holiday staring ruefully at the scene. Thankfully it looked worse than it was. Most of the tree had fallen straight to the ground and not from a great height. I talked to the guy and we decided best to inch the van forward, free the van from its woody fingers and inspect the damage. The van was a pop-top, and the inspection showed the automatic lift mechanism was definitely damaged, but apart from that, a lucky escape it seems. They moved their van closer to mine as what was left of the upright tree looked perilously sus. It was definitely an insurance job and they were preparing to double back to the Central Coast for repairs. Suddenly every tree was an potential assassin, and they were everywhere, watching, waiting.
The next morning it was clear that another tree had come down during the night. I decided an early exit was a safe bet. Who knows who’d be next? Embracing the wide open spaces more enthusiastically than usual I drifted towards Tallangatta, a largish country town, just to pick up a few essentials for the run up to Omeo in the Victorian high country. I was hoping for an easier climb this time.