We had a choice to stay but the scourge of the gypsy, the weekend was looming and we wanted to get into another campground before the rush. We refueled, re-watered and checked the tyre pressures in Lithgow and headed for Ryleston and the Dunn Swamp. Then we saw another little sign, pointing into Wollemi NP for a different campground, what the heck, a "screaming Uie" and we were gliding along a bitumen road. Tall spires of weathered sandstone taunt our imaginations, ancient Cambodian temples, religious rites, dreamtime gods carving out the landforms and relationships between the animals and birds.

A single sign informs heavy vehicles to select low gear - we grind to a halt, our breaths halted by the majesty of the valley crashed away below us. Huge sandstone gateposts lead to a hidden world. We crawl down, it is awe-inspiring. The road at the bottom curves and snakes it's way further and further into a far off time. Cliffs maybe millions of years in the making hold our attention. The bitumen runs out right at the gate to the Emirates gate - a coincident??? I doubt it and so do you.

Nine ks of corrugated road follow to a small town of Newnes - an old mining town. It has a pub and maybe two houses. It is buried inside the arms of the National Park.

The campground is empty, it is just beautiful. Those cliffs look down indifferently, clouds smoke their flanks, they sit and just are.

The thunder warns, the rain comes and we get about two inches of rain in the billy sitting outside over night.

Friday 6th November

We wake to the sound of a million flies buzzing outside Vicki - is the Alfred Hitchcock's new thriller, "The Flies". These are larger blowflies and they are giving Vicki the once over, then as the rain dries from off her roof they disperse,

The rain comes in for another lashing, determined to chase us from Eden. We dig in my moving to higher ground. Here Sue is closer to the birds and Mal can still see his beloved hills, or at least some of them.

A caravan and a camper trailer arrive and camp about 200 meters away. Later a family with two small children camp where we had stopped and put up their tent. Mal watches the body language as the man waves and pints while the woman stands hands on her hips. Then after a bit she waves and points, then after several iterations he unrolls the tent and they start the laborious task of erecting the tent.

We went for a walk, over the creek into part of the old Newnes. Some old chimneys, doorsteps and some foundations. This was not the mine site, which was for shale oil back just before the first war. Eventually it all failed and now is not much more than rubbish and memories. The mining industry even when it cleans up leaves the country forever changed. Well that is how it is and it won't be any different on Mars. Well probably worse if private enterprise is involved.

A shower passed over and we took shelter before walking back to camp. We had more light showers through the day and also some sunshine. So all in all a good day. Some birds, some drawing for Mal and beautiful rock faces to reflect on.

Saturday 7th November

What is that bright thing up in the sky? Somewhere there is a dim memory of such a beast. Sue wakes and bang it is washing day, the sun is out, there is no time to loose. WE slip and slide our way down to the creek to get water.

Then Sue fills the mighty "Scrubber Bag" with clothes, detergent and water, primes the green slug and gets all the air out. Then she is scrubbing away, singing a little washing day song, with a tra la la la at the end of each verse. There lies the picture of happiness, a woman and her scrubber bag.

Mal erects the clothesline and as an apprentice washer boy, he is allowed to hang up some clothes. He pinches his fingers several times with the spring-loaded thingies just to prove he could never do this unsupervised. Then all there is to do is keep a weather eye on the sky till the crop of clean clothes is harvested.

We boot up and walk up to the old ruins a couple of ks from our camp.

On the way we saw a wombat that was out for a snack before retiring for a sleep. The wombat was very placid and maybe was old because he had some battle scars to show for a full life. Unfortunately he also had a plague of flies hanging around him and Mal would have got the fly spray but thought he was used to the flies but the fly spay might have been too much of a strange experience.

We now discovered the extended campground on the other side of the river. Folk are camped between the road and the river. Some good spots to camp in the future maybe however the views of the mountains were not as good from Mal's point of view.

The old mine site is extensive and overgrown. There is much to see and wonder about and we could easily return to spend more time except it won't be this time as Sue took a tumble and hurt her leg - so she will have to rest up a bit so she is fit to carry Mal's big camera pack around Tasmania.

It was 2pm by the time we limped back into camp. Sue sat under the shade of some trees and recovered while Nurse McIlwraith rustled up lunch for her. Mal tried bossing her around so she would take it easy BUT she is determined so hard to help.

Mal did knock up a fire later in the day and bake some tatties in their jackets. Then the last rays of afternoon sun warmed the mountain and then it was time to retire to Vicki.

Sunday 8th November

No rain over night but it has clouded over and while the mountain tops are still unencumbered the prospect of rain is in the air. The flies are back buzzing on the roof and the campers are probably feeling a bit nervous.

Sue recovers from her fall and takes it easy. Mal has a painting day outside at his little table. The weather is cool and damp.

We have soup for lunch and in the afternoon stroll up the pipeline track a way. Old steps run up a bank to a home that is no longer more than a series of bricks and odd foundations and paths. The people have gone and probably most of their memories have been eroded with the passing of days.