Ditching the Hume Highway and taking a scenic route from Melbourne to Sydney has definite advantages – like sketchy mobile phone service. Mark Elder wended his way north

It was warmer than I thought it would be. Dark clouds had hung around Melbourne like bullies with bad intent. Likewise, up the coast around Sydney, it was teeming with rain. But half an hour along the A1 it was nothing but blue sky.

I was travelling with an old school friend, who had acquired the unfortunate nickname of Monkey Boy due to his prominent ears and endless chatter. The road ahead of us unspooled like ribbon across the gentle hills, following nature’s lead rather than cutting through it.

When I told my editor I would be forsaking the Hume Highway for the more genteel experience of the A1, he didn’t sound impressed.

“But I need you in Sydney,” he sputtered. “That will take you days.”

“Not at all,” I cooed. “Two days at the most. After all, I’ve done enough breathless streaks up the Hume – arriving in Sydney with eyes like headlights and a head full of mush. It’s all about the journey...” Mercifully, the signal dropped out.

The countryside here was softer and greener than Melbourne. The highway skirted around the Strzelecki Ranges, which seem to catch whatever rain comes their way.

An hour out of Melbourne, we motored through the Gourmet Deli Region. This area is bursting with cheeses, fruit, smoked meats, fish and wines. The words ‘fresh’ and ‘organic’ seem to be everywhere.

But there is more here than food – there’s loads of history too. Walhalla was once one of Australia’s richest towns. Following the discovery of gold in 1863, more than 3500 people poured in seeking their fortune. The lovingly restored buildings hug the curly road and river that run along the valley. A cemetery tumbles down the hill, headstones spilling clues to lives long gone.

We embarked on a guided tour of the Long Tunnel Mine. Our guide was Rae-anne, an earthy blonde armed with an abundance of local knowledge and a penchant for Aussie vernacular.

“It was as dark as a cow’s guts in there, so working conditions wouldn’t have been too crash-hot,” she said as a posse of small children stared, mouths agape. As we went ever deeper, Rae-anne described the horrors of working underground in Victoria’s most profitable single mine in the years between 1865 and 1914. If the miners made it to their 30s, they looked like old men.

The scenery gradually flattened out as we moved toward Traralgon and into cattle country. A huge windstorm had swept across Victoria the week before and evidence of its scale could still be seen. Tufts of grass were snagged on every fence post like afro wigs on a washing line.

The Cowwarr Art Space looked more like a Spanish villa than a reconstituted butter factory. Cool and welcoming, it sat contentedly among huge trees and sculptures. Purchased in 1992, it was restored and has built up a reputation for exhibiting high-quality contemporary art. Inside we were plied with award-winning local cheeses and wines (just a sip for me!) while we wandered around.

It was getting dark when we pulled into Metung, a small village set in the heart of the Gippsland Lakes.

Pelicans and swans played around the boats tied up along the jetty. With over 400 square kilometres of lakes and river systems, Gippsland Lakes is Australia’s largest inland waterway. Only three and a half hours from Melbourne, it’s a boating, fishing and relaxation paradise.

We woke the next morning to a spectacular view of the sun glistening on the water and headed out for a brisk walk. Chatting with a local fisherman, I commented on the place’s beauty.

“People are giving the Hume the flick and using the coast road,” he drawled. “They see this place and say, ‘What an undiscovered gem.’ They always stay a few days extra.”

Heading out of town, we drove past our first hitchhiker. He was dressed in a white suit, with big red glasses and a red, white and blue trucker’s cap. He cut a tragically comical figure standing there with his thumb out. Looking at him as he got smaller in the rear-view mirror, I felt pangs of guilt but I kept on going.

Nearly two hours later we pulled into Cape Conran National Park near Marlo. We met Ranger Mike at French’s Narrows, where he kite surfs after work and fishes for bream, flathead and salmon. When he’s not helping rescue whales from man-made detritus, he’s driving around the bush or swimming with dolphins.

“Whales head up and down the coast here most of the year,” he said as we followed him along a path. “We see seal pups and penguins as well. The seals love to hang out on Beware Reef.”

The Cape Conran National Park covers nearly 12,000 hectares of pristine beaches, rock pools, bushwalks and lookouts. You can stay at the Cape Conran Wilderness Retreat with its collection of cabins, lodges and campsites. Featuring sweeping views of the sea, it’s a great place to relax with friends, food and migrating marine life.

We drove into Mallacoota with ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ pulsing through the car. This small fishing village is nestled in the Croajingolong National Park, which has a massive inland lake system.

For a couple of serene hours we explored the waterways aboard Porky Bess, an old restored wooden boat. Our guide Simon pointed out sea eagles, black swans, king parrots and crimson rosellas looping through the clusters of melaleuca, teatree and gums. We saw an eagle’s nest as big as a car, a sleepy koala, and pelicans gliding over the empty water as we putt-putted along. “I’ve seen kangaroos crash down through the bush and then swim across to the other bank,” Simon said.

Croajingolong’s landscapes and ecosystems are so valuable that the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) nominated it a World Biosphere Reserve. It’s a spectacular spot.

That night we stayed at the delightful Karbeethong Lodge. Dating back to 1903, it is a rambling guesthouse with spectacular views of the Mallacoota coastal inlet. Tastefully redecorated in ironic, playful colours, Leunig had stayed there the week before us and one of his drawings hung in the kitchen.

After a huge dinner made from local produce, we sunk into deep chairs arranged around a roaring fireplace, drinks in hand. Slightly stonkered, we swapped stories like protagonists in an Agatha Christie murder mystery.

Several hours on we’d worked our way through a regiment of wine, many hands of Texas hold ’em, and a pantomime involving a fireproof glove.

Our hosts Lisa and Patrick kept us entertained with local stories, such as the one about the naked guy who lives in a caravan in a field and collects pushbikes.

The next morning we crossed the border and scooted up to Eden, the old whaling town. I walked out onto a jetty trying to find a phone signal.

As I watched the seagulls wheeling over Twofold Bay, time seemed to stand still. I had never seen such blue water. A breeze blew in the cleansing smell of salt-encrusted holidays and summers that went on forever. I turned my phone off.

We sat in the warm sun and tucked into plates of the freshest oysters I’d ever tasted. In fact, everything seemed fresh and unspoilt down there.

The afternoon sun dappled the road as we wound through the Mimosa Rocks National Park. As we neared Bermagui, the views alternated from rolling green hills to rugged coastline.

It was late afternoon when we pulled into Central Tilba. A working National Trust Craft Village, it is like time has frozen there. Pretty, colourful cottages are dotted through the green hills like a Hobbit’s village.

You could spend days there exploring the local cheese factory and the myriad antique shops, delis, craft shops and galleries. In the distance the vaguely camel-esque Mount Dromedary overlooks the town.

Down the road in the equally picturesque Tilba Tilba we wandered through the glorious Foxglove Spires Open Gardens. Voted one of Australia’s best gardens by Burke’s Backyard, it is pretty, whimsical and romantic.

Back in Tilba we dumped our bags at the Two Storey Bed and Breakfast, a higgledy-piggledy building that seemed to defy gravity as it hugged the hillside.

Surprisingly, Tilba is also a popular spot on the international rock circuit. Over a few beers at the Dromedary Hotel, a local told me about the last big gig they’d had.

“The Healers were on a world tour an’ they were doin’ Melbourne an’ Sydney. Somehow they heard of us an’ wanted to do a gig on the way through. So their posters had New York, London, Melbourne and bloody Tilba. We were stoked!” he laughed.

The phone rang and I heard my editor’s anxious tones. I was grateful when the line dropped out. It was day four and I really needed to make up some time. Which was a pity, as I drove through so many enticing spots – Narooma, Deua National Park, the Moruya River, Broulee Island, Mogo, Pebbly Beach, the list goes on.

Camping for me has usually involved a leaky two-man tent and a hard night’s sleep. Paperbark Camp on the banks of Currambene Creek in Jervis Bay was something else. The 12 safari-style tents feature solar powered lights, a queen bed with private en suite and a wrap-around verandah in an unspoiled bush setting.

Next morning we scooted to Point Perpendicular for a last look at Jervis Bay before we left. We passed the pretty town of Berry and motored on towards Sydney with a stop in Wollongong.

As the traffic started to build, the phone rang. It showed a full signal and was set to hands free, so I reluctantly answered it...

Open Road July/August 2008