To say Swan Reach is a tiny town is an understatement. One of our team lost her camera here the day before so a few of us set out to search the park and ask around the town.
Our first stop was the Police Station. The station was a little old cottage dating back to the late 1800's and it included the policeman's residence. The notice on the outside of the entrance told us we had to disassemble any firearms we might be carrying. Good reminder to us! We rang the bell, and rapped on the door. We could hear the police radio but there was no reply. Finally I banged on the door as if I was trying to break it down and a young woman, dressed in track pants trailing a little girl answered the door. Her deep nasal voice suggested she had a cold and we had probably disturbed her, so I graciously forgave her inattention to our knocking.
Ben, her husband, was the local policeman but he was out. She did phone him to ask if anything had been handed in and sadly it hadn't. She suggested we try the General Store. At the General Store we had the same response, so up the hill to the pub. The pub was an old building with dark panelling and a large wooden staircase. The front reception was enclosed behind metal bars that were bolted to the counter. After calling out "hello, hello, anyone there?" and seeing a woman walk by ignoring us, our chances of a positive response here, were slipping by. When we finally got her attention her granite expression matched her response. Perhaps she was sick of tourists.
With Swan Reach done we were back to the boat and onto our next destination. We had to stop at the 229 mark, our collection point for tonight where we were travelling to a local farm for an 'Ozzy Bush Dinner.'
After a very chilly start to the day, the wind settled to a warm zephyr and the temperature rose rapidly. Moored at the 229 with some time on our hands, we all chose to do different things. Some slept, or read books, some chucked a line overboard and some went for a paddle in the canoe. I read, slept and went for a paddle. Up river there was a small estuary which I paddled down. I felt like Crocodile Dundee. Green and pink leafed weed tentacled out from the river banks. Old dilapidated wooden landings clung to the edges and a heavy silence was broken only by the cries of the cockatoo. I was waiting to spot a crocodile's nostrils surfacing like a submarine periscope. However, with no crocodiles in the Murray this was ulikely.
Back on the boat we packed the liquid refreshments for dinner and waited for our transport. Mardy (yes that was her name) arrived in a jeep towing an open wagon like the19th century Wild West wagons.We piled in and bounced our way over rutted dirt roads to the farm. Dinner was in a farm shed complete with moths, spiderwebs and a dirt floor. Out the back, pens housed a fat, black wombat, some Kangaroos, and an Emu.
Maddie, short for Mad Dog and Jack were the farm dogs. Their kennel was a pipe about 30 metres long and a metre in diametre. In the top of the pipe were two holes where the dogs popped out their heads, keenly waiting for a pat from the visitors.
Two of the male kangaroos were up on their back legs fighting. According to Mardy it was just playful. After a while one of them coughed and backed off. Apparently a cough is their way of signalling defeat.
Following a dinner of either fish or steak prepared by Mardy's Mum, we got back into the wagon and Mardy's Dad took us spotlighting. The farm was a refuge for animals that had been rescued. They reintegrated them back into the wild, acting as a halfway house. Apparently young women raise Kangaroos in the city but when they get too big they are abandoned.
They had a little Joey rescued from a road kill and it was in a padded fabric pouch made for him. It hangs up in their back porch when the family is at home. If no one was at home the Joey went with one of the family members for the day. This meant it might go to school, or on a day tour to the Barossa Valley, or around the farm.
Kangaroos at this age don't toilet themselves. They are stimulated by the mother licking them, so this little one had to be stimulated by it's caregiver. Whoever fed it had this job. Pretty gross if you ask me!
We saw the wild albino Kangaroo that lived close by, rabbits that the farm dogs loved to chase, the eyes of the trapdoor spiders that lit up when the light shone on them and the Emus. Apparently Emus have brains the size of peanuts and a three second attention span. My husband, bless him, quipped that there were six like that on the boat. Heather quickly responded with a thump and strangle hold. Well done Heather. I can't believe they allowed him back on the boat.
