Peacocks, smoko and scrubbers at Mount Elizabeth

Leaving Manning Gorge (rather reluctantly) we headed on to Mt Elizabeth Station - a large working cattle station which, like many Kimberly stations, now relies heavily on the tourist trade to supplement dwindling income from cattle exports. Mt Elizabeth was started by a Frank Lacy in the 1940s and is still owned by his son and daughter-in-law. We set up camp under a couple of shady mango trees and were surprised to spot a very elegant peacock in the tree above our heads. In the afternoon we drove out to a sandy river on the property to swim and play in the shade on the river beach.

Next morning we got ready to visit the gorge that draws many tourists to Mount Elizabeth. However we were told that the road was closed due to an out-of-control 'controlled' burn lit by the people on the neighbouring station and allowed to cross into the Mount Elizabeth property. The Mt Eliz folk were understandably NOT impressed and we were a bit bummed because we had been looking forward to seeing the gorge. Pat Lacy, however, gave us permission to drive to the old homestead and feed the peacocks and so we set off with our container of wheat. We had a fair bit of trouble finding the right road and passed some trucks and tough blokes out working in the heat who looked at us suspiciously even when we told them Pat had given us permission and directions. We got the impression that although tourists were so important to the running of the station, they find us generally pretty annoying and don't appreciate us getting in the way of running their cattle business. The old homestead was pretty run down and fun to explore. Peacocks came running at us in a gang demanding loudly that we feed them our wheat - which we did. Then we wandered over and checked out some sad new graves of a couple of people who were too young to die. We guessed they must have been station hands or people who's lives had been spent working at Mount Elizabeth.

In the evening we went and had dinner at the homestead. We were sat on a table with a couple who were staying at the homestead. Turns out they are helicoptering around Australia - covering vast distances and enjoying all the amazing scenery from the air! They were a bit stiff and difficult to talk to - but nice enough and it was certainly interesting to hear about their travels. The dinner was what we assume to be a typical station meal. A big chef came and banged a heap of overflowing dishes of country fare on a wooden table and then told us what was on offer. We stacked out plates high and tucked in while the rest of the station staff came and helped themselves. Kate and Zara's request for vegetarian meals had been met with polite disbelief (bit embarrassing to be a vegetarian on a cattle station) but the chef had come through with the goods - quiche and pasta with veggie sauce.

Next morning we rallied early for a tour of the station. A number of other visitors chose to tag along and listen to the commentary through the CB radio but we decided to ride in the front vehicle so we could ask questions and not have to concentrate on driving. Phil was our guide - a tough bloke who worked with the cattle on the station - sometimes staying with his wife as the only two people on the station during the rainy season - watching amazing storms and suffering the humidity. We got the impression the Phil didn't suffer fools gladly but he gave an informative and interesting commentary - and lots of insights into life on a cattle station - and working on the cattle mustering in particular. The kids were excited at the prospect of stopping for 'smoko' and we were all thrilled to have juice and a sweet biscuit whilst watching a couple of graceful brolgas by a stream. Phil showed us some amazing rock art and talked about it in a manner that was sort of in contrast to his tough-guy drover persona. We ate lunch and swam at a lovely waterhole, which Phil informed us was an ancient Aboriginal burial site and indeed we could see a skull and some pretty amazing art. It made us feel slightly uncomfortable because we probably shouldn't have been at such an obviously sacred site. Phil assured us that he had sought permission from local people, but we were not so sure... During the trip we spotted heaps of 'bully boys' - or so Phil called them - in other words huge angry looking bulls that had never been rounded up in the muster. Some of them had escaped year after year and so remained unbranded and untouched by human hand. These are the bulls to be scared of and Phil entertained us with a tale of a drover who only a few months earlier had been gored by one such bull on the station. A horn had gone in his stomach and up. Amazingly they managed to fly him out quick smart and he lived. However these stories made us city folk feel a bit nervous and pathetic and we huddled close to Phil on our numerous stops on the station. And the snorting and puffing made by a rogue bull who found his way into our campsite that night was enough to have us shaking at the bottom of our sleeping bags until he stomped angrily away.

The beautiful Kimberly Rose

Feral campers - time for a haircut?