The Arrows, Isongerup peak & Bluff knoll - part of Stirling Range
With cloud draped peaks rising to over 1 000m above sea level that regularly receive a light dusting of snow each year these mountains support one of the most unusual and richest plant communities in the country. The Stirling Range National Park, a paradise for botanists and bush walkers, has no counterpart in Western Australia and yet, in spite of its accessibility, has retained a relatively pristine condition. We were lured to Trio Park by its description as a base camp for the mountains that had been voted the best camp in WA. This turned out to be an unexpected treasure – well travelled John Byrne settled below Mount Trio to farm sheep and in 2003 created a natural bush camp on his boundary with the Stirling Range National Park. His self check in operation, the informality that prevailed and the excellent facilities provided all made for the perfect bush camp.
Consternation arose some time after midnight when Lea’s foot felt a very soggy patch at the end of our bed. Thinking rain was coming through the hatch she got up to close the flaps only to find water dripping from elsewhere, turned on the light to investigate and found it coming from a speaker in the ceiling. All kinds of explicative from a sleep-dazed George followed as we taped a plastic container to the ceiling to capture the water. For the rest of the night we had to empty it every half hour such was the rate of flow and our minds churned over possible reasons for this unexpected turn of events. At daybreak, with no let up in the weather we spread our wet duvet over the metal clothes rack in the caravan aisle. We were somewhat daunted when a fellow camper came over to ask what we intended to do about the weather. On drawing a blank look from us he told of a severe weather warning being issued over the radio. Not the best news! We taped a big ice cream container to the ceiling and, rather than head back to the coast, stayed inland and went westwards. Listening for weather updates on the radio and stopping often to check our leak we made our way to Lake Poorrarecup, located through our camping bible as a free site. It turned out to be a short and narrow stretch along the lake shore populated by family groups who had come well equipped with big generators, speed boats and quads. One lot even had a large drop sided truck with steps leading up to a big water tank and portaloo. Definitely, a palatial loo with a view! We squeezed in near the boat ramp. Regardless of notices warning of the danger of amoebic meningitis all the folk there love their water skiing. Wet suits lined from tree to tree give evidence they are ready whatever the weather and throughout the afternoon we’d hear and see the powerful boats coming and going.
During a dry spell late afternoon if it wasn’t boats doing dough-nuts on the water we had quads revving it up and doing the same on the little beach in front of us. One quad came down the road with four huge dogs rampaging alongside. We looked at each other in horror but it actually became quite entertaining as we took the opportunity to investigate Getaway’s roof. With much grunting and groaning George hoisted Lea onto the spare wheel of the caravan to peer around and see if she could spot any problems. Yup! One of the solar panels had sheered a bracket leaving two holes in the roof. George did what we could to sort the problem so we could rest easy in the face of the scheduled storm.
After dinner that night reading in the grey gloom the interior of Getaway unexpectedly began to glow and looking out across the lake we had another scene from “On Golden Pond” as the sun appeared for the first time in two days, minutes before it set at 8.30pm. So beautiful we decided we couldn’t hole up in a better place to ride the storm.
Campsite on Golden Pond - Lake Poorrarecup sunset
A dry night prevented us from testing out our repairs and each time the wind rose we thought “here comes the storm” – but nothing! Next morning the radio continued with its warnings of the storm reaching the coast in the afternoon. After breakfast we took a long walk through the woodlands surrounding the lake to Evans grave with no idea of the person. It turned out to be the resting place of Will and Rose Evans, two hospitable shepherds from the 1860’s. Grey, chilly weather continued and by lunch time three heavily laden vehicles pulled out with their boats and quads. Probably the mad dogs too as we never saw them again. The total lack of activity compared to yesterday was quite disconcerting. With the next weather warning we realised the storm had centred on Esperance, well east of us. At least we were safe and not sorry.
On Friday we returned to the coast and after four days of minimal incoming solar power booked in at Denmark River Mouth Caravan Park to recharge our deep cycle batteries. Denmark has a reputation of being a delightful boutique village with masses of fine B & B’s in the area. The first time we came this way with Jamie and Emma we passed through it in a blink of an eye. Lea was so fed up to miss it that George offered to turn back, slowed down on the hill rising out of Denmark - only to hooted at by Jamie, for being a slow coach, as they were forced to lose speed following behind. This naturally became the “squib” to madden George so we never did get to see Denmark! Finally, here was Lea’s chance to explore the town. Once we had set up and had a blissful shower we followed the Mokare Heritage Trail along the river into the village. Wandering around, we came across lots of New Age people amongst the holiday makers, spotted adverts for live music at different wineries and tried a “gold medal” winning meat pie from the local bakery.
We spent Saturday morning at the market on the edge of the Denmark River enjoying the mixed aromas of food, herbal soaps and candles; the sounds of live music and the different sights people present - many barefoot! When we’d had enough we wandered on along the coast popping in at Parry Beach and Peaceful Bay, both lovely settings only the campgrounds were too set back to have views of the ocean. Fussy we are! After lunch we continued on to Walpole via the scenic route through the Valley of the Giants which first passes through farmland and vineyards where karri trees crown the hilltops and seemingly stretch for ever. Nevertheless, entering the Walpole- Nornalup National Park known world wide for its Tree-Top and Ancient Empire Walks which we have done on previous occasions, we were struck yet again by the sheer immensity of these giant karri trees. There and then we decided we had to have a night in these southern forests and made our way inland steadily climbing higher and higher up to Mt Frankland National Park, one of seven parks in the region that have been amalgamated into the vast Walpole Wilderness Area – by definition an area that has remained “substantially unchanged by technological intervention”.
Shortly after finding ourselves a campsite in the depths of the forest we made tracks for the summit of Mt Frankland, a massive granite dome that we could see looming through the trees. With Lea beginning to hyperventilate at the mere sight of the steepness of the route by the time we had got to the top of the first 170 concrete steps and were faced with an almost vertical metal ladder, she began to weigh up the words of Muizenberg’s dear Dr Shapiro admonishing her father for climbing the Cape mountains “that after a certain age more than four steps can be lethal”. However, with George disappearing out of sight like a springhare, she kept putting one foot in front of the other despite the deafening pounding of her heart in her ears… Worthwhile – You bet! From the summit our eyes fell upon a most splendid 360 degree outlook over the southern forests to the ocean. On our return to “ground level” we took the base walk around Mt Frankland’s mighty granite dome and came across the voices that we’d heard murmuring from the summit. Two rock climbers were in the slow process of delicately inching their way up the sheerest face of Mt Frankland.
Campsite in Mt Frankland and base walk around Mt Frankland
We took a short cut back to the SW highway. Yes, on 20km of dirt road which we found in good condition all the way and it proved to be a most beautiful route through old growth forests of karri, marri and jarrah with an impenetrable under-storey in some places. The coalescing canopies of the massive karri trees creating a cathedral like atmosphere for us lesser mortals below, the deep blue sky coming through as stained glass windows while ring necked parrots darted back and forth dicing with death. Just as well we were going slowly and could enjoy their flashes of colour without any destruction.
Once in the adjoining Shannon National Park we pulled into their campground which until 1970 had been a timber mill town. We parked on a remnant floor slab, one of the few reminders of the old town. Although we’d had experienced a good many excellent forest drives we couldn’t resist taking Shannon’s The Great Forest Trees Drive for the intriguing difference that this one had us tune into our car radio to 100FM for a self guided tour. Being novices we didn’t fully understand how it worked so when we arrived at the start of the drive we were amazed that the radio “knew” we were there! As we steadily moved through we couldn’t understand why there was so much interference making it difficult to hear about the vegetation and animals that inhabit the area before we’d lose the last part. At the fourth point it dawned on us that we had to STOP and listen. Thereafter, we gained maximum enjoyment listening to delightful anecdotal accounts from a cattle drover, a treetop fire guard and a railway logger “running guard” from these pioneering times. One of them mentioned that “it rains here for nine months and the trees drip for another three”! If this was the case, we could consider ourselves fortunate to be having clear skies, unless global warming has since changed that.
We returned to the beginning just to hear what we’d missed due to rolling wheels and came to the conclusion with an ecologist on board we hadn’t missed much. Instead we parked at Shannon dam and took the walking trail to Mokare’s Rock – a granite outcrop with a view nowhere near as grand as Mt Frankland. Here’s Mokare again, the Aboriginal guide / tracker who aided many early Australian explorers and surveyors to success, his name given to this Rock and the Heritage Trail in Denmark.
Waking to another perfect day we returned to the coast driving through D’Entrecasteaux National Park to the little settlement of Windy Harbour. A collection of fisherman’s shacks and holiday cottages, probably from way back when eventually being formalised by the Shire of Manjimup, and excised from the Park. The Shire’s Caravan Park in a prime position tucked in just behind the dunes with a naturally landscaped well grassed area free of any site demarcations and sporting a brand new ablution block with hot showers. Cheap as chips for paradise - we booked in as pensioners for two nights. Beach weather it was and we revelled in it until well after sunset. During the night Windy Harbour ensured it lived up to its name as wind gusts buffeted Getaway, rattling and flapping anything it could and foul weather moved in.
We were confined to quarters, with no let up in the wind, as rain squalls and brief minutes of sun alternated between the grey clouds that blew overhead throughout the next day.
Windy Harbour (sunset)
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