Days 34-38
We left Wallaroo
with the small but satisfying win of finding diesel still under $3.20 per litre,
passed through Port Pirie, and rolled into Port Augusta for lunch and a
proper Woolworths shop before turning south‑west and beginning our journey down
the east coast of the Eyre Peninsula.
Port Augusta
also triggered a nostalgic detour. On a four‑month service leave trip way back
in 2001, we’d stopped at a bakery here and declared their pies the best we’d
ever had. Since then, every pie has been compared to those legendary Port
Augusta pies. Finding ourselves back in town, we had to test the memory. The
bakery was still there, so Stephen went for a beef and mushroom and I chose
seafood. Verdict: flavour a solid 10/10, pastry a 7/10. Either time has
embellished the memory, or we’ve raised our pie standards considerably over the
years. Possibly both.
The Eyre
Peninsula is the traditional land of the Barngarla (east), Nauo (south), and
Wirangu (west) peoples, and the history between Aboriginal people and European
settlers is complex and often difficult. Agriculture and mining shaped much of
the peninsula’s development, and today it’s also a major tourism destination,
particularly renowned for aquaculture. Affectionately known as the ‘Seafood
Frontier’, we’re very much looking forward to indulging.
Our first
stop on Eyre was Fitzgerald Bay, camping right on the coast of the Upper
Spencer Gulf. It’s a beautiful bay, with views across the water to the
southern Flinders Ranges. The shoreline here is mostly pebble beach with sparse
grey mangroves, and once again - very windy. We’re starting to accept that wind
is simply part and parcel of life on the Eyre Peninsula.
Fitzgerald Bay is also home to a remarkable geological feature: stranded shingle beach ridges dating back to the late Pleistocene period. These ridges - made up of coarse, rounded, water‑worn gravel - stretch for around 50 kilometres along the Upper Spencer Gulf and have been nominated for South Australian State Heritage listing. There are only two other known places in the world with similar formations: Egypt and Scotland. It was extraordinary to be camping beside something so rare and ancient.
Swimming
wasn’t appealing here, but we enjoyed some long, wind‑swept walks.
On Friday morning we headed south toward Whyalla, detouring via Point Lowly and its lighthouse (lighthouses and jetties in South Australia are starting to feel like European cathedrals - there’s always another one). We also passed Port Bonython, where Santos operates a huge hydrocarbon processing and export hub with a 2.4km jetty stretching into the gulf.
Before reaching Whyalla, we made a necessary stop at BCF to buy some anti‑flappers for Izzy’s awning. The ever‑present wind that is part and parcel of life on the peninsula had turned the awing into something that sounds like it is preparing for take‑off. Mission accomplished, we settled into the campground just 500 metres from the start of Whyalla Foreshore parkrun, perfectly placed for Saturday morning.
We spent the
afternoon wandering the foreshore and town. While the foreshore area is lovely,
the town centre itself felt quite sad - many shops closed, buildings in
disrepair, and trade clearly drawn out to a large shopping complex on the
outskirts. Unfortunately, a familiar story for many regional towns.
That evening, our campground neighbour told us about Friday night counter meals at the South Whyalla Demons Football Club, complete with salad bar and chips thrown in. Why wouldn’t you support the local club? This also aligned nicely with our newly added Guideline #6: Eat out at least once a week. The club was friendly, the volunteers cooking the meals were lovely, the food was excellent and cheap - and it was only about 30 metres from our campsite – bonus!
Saturday morning brought Whyalla Foreshore parkrun - windy, cold, and larger than many I’ve done recently. The course is unique, taking runners out onto Whyalla’s famous circular jetty for two laps. Very cool.
We also ran past Cuttlefish Craig, a reminder that Whyalla is famous for the annual migration of giant Australian cuttlefish – an incredible natural phenomenon. Sadly, that happens between May and August, so I had to make do with the mosaic version.
Our mission
for the day was to head inland to Kimba, officially halfway between
Sydney and Perth - a milestone worthy of photos. We chose a dirt road that
turned out to be bone‑shatteringly corrugated, possibly the worst we’ve driven
so far, despite being labelled a main road. Interestingly, the moment we
crossed from Whyalla Shire into Kimba Shire, the road quality improved
dramatically. Just saying Whyalla Council!
Kimba on a Sunday was a ghost town - the only people around were other travellers doing exactly what we were doing. It’s a lovely, well‑kept town with great public spaces, trees, silo and street art. We ate lunch in a community area with piped music… still no people. Job done - photos taken with the halfway across Australia sign and the giant Galah (of course there is a giant galah – it’s Australia).
From there we
continued on to Yeldulknie Weir near Cleve, staying at a fantastic
campsite maintained by the local Lions Club (donation requested). Clean
facilities, interpretive signs, free BBQs, a weir walk, and even a book‑swap
fridge. Absolute kudos to the Lions Club. There’s also a bike trail from Cleve
to the weir, which doubles as the Yeldulknie Weir parkrun course.
The following
day was an easy bitumen drive back to the coast. We stopped at Arno Bay
to walk the Mangrove and Estuary Trail (thanks for the tip, John and Robyn
Clear). A peaceful wander and a chance to see native apricots — not for eating.
Next was Tumby Bay, another sleepy seaside town with a jetty, street paintings and impressive silo art. We’d heard glowing reviews of the bakery, but true to recent form, it was closed on the weekend.
By late
afternoon we arrived in Port Lincoln, checking into the Port Lincoln
Tourist Park (thanks for the recommendation, Sips). A great spot with sweeping
water views. We unpacked the bikes - the new cover had done a solid job despite
a bit of dust sneaking in - and rode along the Parnkalla Trail into
town. These coastal towns really do bike paths well.
We enjoyed a beer and a cider at the Hotel Boston, sitting in the sunshine overlooking Boston Bay, one of the world’s largest protected natural harbours — three times the size of Sydney Harbour. Not a bad way to end the day.
The next morning began with a run along the Parnkalla Trail in the opposite direction, followed by a swim - and then it was time to head off to Lincoln National Park.
