A smoky barbecue smell wafts through the eucalyptus trees, calling me away from the river and back to the picnic table. Noel, my tour guide, is putting the finishing touches to lunch. He arranges the onions carefully and squirts a squiggle of t-sauce, presenting the white-bread package with a grin.

“You can’t beat a sausage in the bush,” he says.

The two of us have stopped for a barbecue in the Grampians – a set of vast sandstone mountains which rise like waves from Australia’s Western Victoria plains. All morning we have been exploring their craggy vistas: clambering over rocks to stand on the edge of yawning valleys, admiring the overhanging rock formation they call the Jaws of Death, and watching water cascade over the cliffs of MacKenzie Falls.

I’m hungry – ravenous even – for what will probably be the last time in days. It’s the weekend of the region’s annual food and wine festival, the Grampians Grape Escape, and I plan to spend the next two days acquainting myself with the local fare.

That night I practise for the festival by eating five courses. Around 100 of us are seated at the historic Mountain Grand, and Frank Camorra of Melbourne’s famous tapas restaurant, MoVida, is in the kitchen. Somewhere between the salty sliver of anchovy topped with smoked-tomato sorbet, and sheep’s milk ice cream with chestnuts and pedro ximenez, I declare that a sausage in the bush
can in fact be beaten.

With food like that you’d think we were in Melbourne, but ‘roos bounding across the road on the drive home remind us we’re not. We go slow, braking twice as the headlights illuminate startled black eyes, and I, having never ventured beyond Australia’s metropolitan centres
before, squeal with delight at the furry brown hazards.

Tucker page

The kangaroos are undeniably cute, but that doesn’t stop me from tasting one the next day. At the Brambuk Aboriginal Cultural Centre I order a ‘bush tucker’ sampler, which includes emu sausages, kangaroo, crocodile and wild duck. Do people eat smoked duck sausages and wild fruit chutney in the bush, I wonder? Because, if so, I reckon I could cope.

Back in Halls Gap, a distinctive aroma of pork crackling greets me at the gates of the Grape Escape Festival, and I briefly regret eating such a large lunch. Determined, I amble across the sunlit grass, making dedicated stops at stalls to try local cheeses, olive oils, and sip spicy shiraz. Every vendor I meet has got something I must try and, in defiance of my waistband, I oblige.

As the sun starts to sink I take the orange dirt road back to Boroka Downs – a secluded eco-resort on the edge of Grampians National Park. The sky is blushing a delicate pink, the sandstone ridges of the mountains are fire-red, and the tussocky field outside my room is crowded with kangaroos. The view through my windows seems almost unreal, like I’ve wandered on to the set of an ad for Australia.
That night there is another festival dinner, this time with an emphasis on wine matching. I’m not in the least bit hungry, but celebrity chef Adrian Richardson is cooking and so I manage four courses. Somewhere between the slow-roasted duck and the salted caramel brownie I decide that I’m moving to the Grampians.

In the morning I visit the historic Seppelt Winery, which is famed for its hand-dug labyrinth of underground drives. Excavated by gold miners, the three kilometres of tunnels have been storing Seppelt’s sparkling wines since 1861.

We take a tour of the dark, sprawling tunnels, past row upon row of champagne bottles covered in thick grey dust. At one point we come across an old bathtub, and our guide recounts the story of the time renowned Australian opera singer, Dame Nellie Melba, visited the winery.

Legend has it that Nellie wanted to bathe in sparkling wine and, so, 152 bottles later a bath was filled. After hesitating at first because of the cold, she got in for a quick, but luxurious dip. When the bath was over, the thrifty cellar hands decided to refill the bottles, but found that 153 came out. After that, everyone drinking Seppelt’s sparkling wine joked they were drinking a little bit of Nellie Melba. Nellie’s story confirmed my suspicion that there’s something mysterious about the Grampians. After all, I weighed more when I went out than when I came in, and how else can you explain that?

Reported by Alice Galletly for our AA Directions Autumn 2013 issue

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