To Cobbolt Gorge and Gilberton Station

From Mt Isa, we took the Flinders Highway until Richmond, where we camped besides the lake. A guitarist and violinist playedfolk music in the rotunda. They were practising, so we had a rare treat of live music. They were going back to Atherton to play at some gigs.
From Richmond we headed up the dirt roads to reach the Gulf Developmental Road just east of Croydon.
At Georgetown we headed for Cobbolt Gorge, where we stayed two nights.
Bookings are essential as this resort is very much sought after by travellers. We chose to go on the gorge tour, which entails a one hour walk to view the gorge from the entrance and from above, before taking a purpose-built boat for the water cruise.

We thoroughly enjoyed our two days. Both days we had the luxury of swimming in the "endless" boomerang pool. Very cool, but very refreshing. The resort has been made into a nture reserve area ater the Terry family divided the Robinhoid Station into four. One is still called Robinhood, Cobbolt Gorge is the 5,000acre section, Old Robinhood and one other cattle station. It seems the Terry family are the great dynasty of the area as they own huge parcels of land in the area and most of the closest small town, Forsayth.
Cobbolt Gorge was created by fissures in the limestone and then erosion by water. The area is criss crossed with cracks.
We had heard that you could prospect for gold on some of the local stations We had also been told that the camp site near Agate Creek Mineral Reserve was really lovely too.
There was only one other camper when we arrived at the camp, which surprisingly had flushing toilets and showers with a hit water donkey that required a fire for hot water. All very clean and beautiful.
We stayed for two nights and went fossicking for agates. It was fun, albeit hot and dusty. In one of the cattle trails, I found a really good agate which will need to be cut to see what is inside. Hopefully it will have beautiful colours.

From Agate Creek we went to Gilberton Station. We were dismayed to find noone at home in the campers' caretaker's home. The sign at the gate read, "Drive slowly. If you hit my kids or my dogs, you won't need a lawyer"; implying that murder would ensue!
The caretaker's house was not inviting, being surrounded by litter and filth. We proceeded onto the main homestead, having not found a sole in the next house along the track. At the homestead we met the station owner's wife, who booked us in for one night and advised us where to camp. It turned out that the caretaker was her son and his wife.
It transpired that they needed a teacher. Would I do it? No pay, an expectation that Peter would work around the farm and that I would work in the hours not teaching. And all for free accommodation at the caretaker's house. No wonder the last teacher left!!
We did try fossicking here for gold, but it was very hot and fly ridden, so we didn't reall enjoy the experience. All we found were rusty pieces of wire, bullet casings and old tins!