Camping in (on? at?) The Coorong

The Coorong is a giant spit of pristine sand dunes formed by the mouth of the Murray River that serves as an important stop over for myriad species of migratory birds...but that is irrelevant to this story.  What's important is that it is a short 2.5 hour drive from my house and it was the first time I have been camping in about 7 years - 7 years?  How did that happen?  How is it that I have neglected to do something that I so love for so long??  It can be quite annoying, how life gets in the way of itself sometimes!

Special thanks to Joan and Gordon for instigating the event and supplying the top end gear we were lacking.  Kevin imported our basic necessities from the US - tent, sleeping bags, and camp mattresses - which looked mighty puny next to their palatial canvas accommodations, but we were cozy enough.  Well, I was anyway...for some silly reason, Kevin thought he would be more comfortable sleeping in the car...or maybe thought didn't really play a part in that decision.

I awoke to a symphony of birdsong.  Following a delicious artery-clogging breakfast (washed down with ice cold beer), we went on a lovely morning hike around some purple salty lakes.  My inadequate photographic skills failed to capture the breadth of joyous emotions I felt as we trekked through subtly distinct micro-environs.  But here is the best of the worst:

At 42 Mile Crossing (I was assured the name was for the distance of the locale from town, and not from the length of the walk), we traversed the dunes to have lunch on a desolate stretch of beach bordering a gorgeous aquamarine sea.  My lovely hosts then indulged me with a scenic drive in search of exotic roadkill, whereupon I added my first emu picture to my collection, but was too tired to get out to snap the golden wombat. 

After a brief stop at the local store for ice-cold Coke and Cookies, we retired to the campsite for refreshing bevvies and a scrumptious dinner of fried garlic sprinkled with prawns.  The evening was punctuated with praline cheesecake, and I soon drifted away into a blissful drunken slumber which prevented me from worrying about large hairy spiders and highly venomous snakes.

A pleasant consequence of life in South Australia is that wherever we travel, there is generally a wine region between us and home.  We took a ferry across the river into Wellington and tasted our way through the Langhorne Creek region across rolling hills under big fluffy clouds, stopping in the German Village/Tourist Trap of Hahndorf for lunch and home made ice cream. 

Despite my delight with wilderness living, it felt mighty good to come home to a blissful nap on a proper bed and a proper shower!  Perhaps that is what I love most about 'roughing it' - sometimes it is necessary to adjust the contrast levels of ones life manually, in order to bring out the highlights and lessen the shadows...and sometimes a change of scenery helps add frivolity, or at least an element of quirkiness:

Just think what I could do if I actually collected my roadkill...