Day 9: Omeo to Orbost
21 March 2017
Click on the image for a detailed map
To no-one’s surprise, the day dawned overcast with rain threatened. The room tariff included a cooked breakfast, so we all tucked in before a conference with Pterodactyl who was scheduled for further X-rays and a yak with the quack later in the morning. He expected to be in Bairnsdale for the day so we set about planning a ride that would get us there at day’s end.
We accepted noroomtomove’s suggestion of a leisurely ride to Marlo where the Snowy River makes its way into the sea.
Leaving Omeo
It’s a country road after all
On those days when you get to ride the 203 kilometres of the Omeo Highway from Mitta Mitta to Bruthen, there’s a bit near Omeo where you think the best is over. But it isn’t. As you make your way south through some pleasant countryside and sweeping corners, the road gently passes into riparian bushland and a bit more concentration is required. It’s a lovely finish to a great road and we were lucky to enjoy it on a dry day.
At Bruthen we paused for fuel and coffee before making our way to Marlo via Buchan where there’s a wildlife park. Noroomtomove hoped we might see some native wildlife up close and personal, but it must all have heard us coming and checked out.
Lulled into a false sense of security, Inhouse Bob abandoned his wet weather gear
There’s a pretty road from Buchan back to the main road at Orbost, although we did see a wallaby hop across in front of us and the surface left a little to be desired. I recall Tezza was less impressed with it than me.
Just after we crossed the main road and started in to Marlo, it started to spit and we stopped to put on our wets. Just as well. Once again we rode through a serious downpour. However, by the time we reached the waterfront, it had stopped again.
noroomtomove led us to a car park near a jetty where fisherman come ashore. We saw this bloke cruising the waterway.
There’s a fish-cleaning table on the jetty and Tezza, with considerable cunning, banged on it gently. The seal immediately surfaced under us looking expectantly upwards. It was not long before he was rewarded by a fisherman who fed him a reasonable meal of the bits the fisherman didn’t want.
I’m not sure which law of the universe it is that says things only go really wrong when there’s an audience. There was a young lady in what Australians call a tinny: an aluminium dinghy, usually with outboard. She’d been out fishing and was trying to put the tinny on its trailer and, of course it got stuck.
After a while, it became clear she needed help, so risking life and limb, I climbed over the back of her ute to give her a hand. I felt a clown standing poised over the water wearing everything but my helmet and gloves. I was pretty sure I’d fall in.
Fortunately, I didn’t and, with her agreement, I backed the trailer a foot or so further into the water and the boat floated free. It increased the challenge of getting back out to the back of the ute and I was conscious of my colleagues with cameras poised in the hope I’d take a bath.
The boat came ashore and we adjourned to the local shop for lunch.
There was a woman taking a very long time to get served and a clearly irritated sales representative waiting to talk to the proprietor. He was even more irritated when he then had to wait for us as well.
A text exchange with Pterodactyl revealed he’d escaped Bairnsdale and ridden straight past us to inspect Cape Conran. He’d then ridden past us again on his way back to Bairnsdale. I managed to catch him at a service station not far from us and asked him to wait there for us as I could see little point in going back to Bairnsdale.
It goes without saying that the rain started again the minute we got back on the bikes and continued pretty much all the way to Newmeralla (where we found Pterodactyl) and Orbost where we checked into the Commonwealth Hotel for what was to be the final night we were all together.
After dinner, Inhouse Bob and I wandered into the bar to get another round of drinks. As we were being served a dishevelled looking chap carrying a few bags and bleeding a little from injuries to his face came into the bar and asked for a drink. The young barman refused him service because the hotel’s licence meant he was closed to outside customers. The man became belligerent and was run out of the place by the barman and the manager.
Most old fashioned Australian pubs have a balcony upstairs on to which the rooms open. The Commonwealth was no exception and we took our night caps up there. Over the road we could see our belligerent friend standing in a shop doorway. He was soon visited by the police, with whom he had a chat, and then another, younger man turned up. The older bloke took one look at him and bolted. There was a merry chase which ended when the police came back and took the older bloke away.
Other residents in the pub told us old mate was the town’s major ice dealer and could muster little sympathy for his plight. Orbost, like many Australian country towns, is apparently suffering from a decline in economic activity with a resulting increase in unemployment and the social consequences that go with it. The local ice dealer, while a pariah, is increasingly popular. This one, it appeared, had a problem or two. Long may they continue.
