Beach at Nanga bay
A long white beach on the doorstep, palm trees, masses of bougainvilleas, tables outside, the steady beat of a diesel generator running, shady tamarisk trees, even a spa with hot water drawn from an artesian bore. The water at Nanga, being drawn from deep underground, tasted dreadful so we have resorted to drinking the freshwater we are carrying in our containers. With an expanse of beautifully clear seawater stretching out beyond the horizon it has come as a surprise to rarely see any life within it - seemingly sterile! Thus, we look with envy upon most of our neighbours with boats. If it is not a “tinny” on car roofs, it is serious sea going craft on trailers bristling with rods.
Next day, to our dismay we discovered that in this part of the world an Optus connection simply does not work! The only service available was through Telstra – they have a virtual monopoly in the rural areas. In the likelihood that internet access is to become increasingly difficult due to the big towns becoming few and far between we have taken the precaution of preparing a CD to post to Saxon. SMS messages are impossible as we are out of signal range for days on end.
Two days later we moved on to Hamelin Pool (50km) and booked into the caravan park there. A quaint spot set in a time warp amongst somewhat desolate surrounds. The attractions of great historic interest – an old telegraph station, the coquina (shell) quarries and the stromatolites. That night, so cold (dropping to 5°C) that George had to wrap himself up in a “sarong” made from a ‘Skehel’ blanket!
The stromatolites were intriguing! A boardwalk took us out over the colony, the water crystal clear, and we gazed down onto a truly remarkable set of living fossils.
Stromatolite colony at Hamelin Pool
Thinking how extraordinary it was, that our very existence today depended on the microscopic cyanobacteria that built the stromatolites 3.5 billion years ago. Quite amazing to realise that bacteria built this stromatolite empire which dominated the earth for more than 2 billion years and that without the oxygen they produced air breathing life forms would never have evolved.
Since then we have been slowly mooching along towards Carnarvon enjoying the eastern shores of Shark Bay. Each time we cut back onto the main highway we are again struck by the number of dead kangaroos in various stages of decomposition. Each corpse with a number of Australian “vultures”, the black ravens, in attendance with the occasional wedge tailed eagle.
We enjoy making use of informal camping grounds, arriving mid-morning to select our pitch before other like-minded nomads roll in during the afternoon. It never ceases to amaze us just how many there are out on the road! Gladstone Beach run by the Shire of Carnarvon with a charge of 1$ per adult painted on a rusty pole and an “honesty box”. The price hasn’t changed in almost ten years!
Gladstone Beach entrance
Twelve other rigs were already there, all well strung out giving plenty of space for privacy. After settling in we walked to an old causeway and jetty that we could see sticking out into the sea, learning that almost 100 years before (c. 1910) they had hoped to establish a port there to facilitate the export of wool and sandalwood being brought from the interior on camel trains. George walked out onto the tumbled down remains of the old jetty to see whether it was worth fishing from, but there was not a sign of life. The water cold, so cold that it makes one’s feet ache whilst standing in it!
We returned to read our books, basking in the warm sun outside Getaway. George delighted to finally fire up our new generator for the first time so that we could make a lunch of toasted sandwiches with our stale bread! There is nothing like a few home comforts while out in the bush! At evening time we took a walk along the barren flats that extend for miles along the coast, the surface crusty, the tide silently creeping in, not a wave in sight.
125km further north we ducked westwards to investigate another authorised free camping spot at Bush Bay. First impression lead us to believe there must be a caravan rally as such was the number of grey nomads sitting outside their vans, giving us a friendly wave, Aussie flags fluttering from the bull-bars of their 4x4s. The only remaining sites were damp and we were advised that by lunch time we would be inundated by the high tide!
We left, following a sandy track that led us away from the “madding crowd” to the edge of a tidal creek, the shore mangrove-lined, where we found ourselves a patch of high ground covered in salt marsh type vegetation. We have it all to ourselves so it was a good time to have a shower behind the caravan and relax for the rest of the day again…
Drat paparazzi !
Another week comes to a close. Tomorrow we will go in search of an internet café in Canarvon for our blogs. Hold thumbs! Carnarvon is the base of a thriving agricultural industry beside the Gascoyne River. We are told fruit is available direct from the local plantations so we hope to indulge! Our plans are to spend the weekend upstream before returning to Carnarvon to collect our friend Paula Baxter off the Greyhound on Monday night.
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