Monday, June 29, 2020

Tramping tales for second quarter 2020 (April – June)






Epitaph to Covid19

And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive.         
 You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over.                                                                                         
 But one thing is certain.                                                                                                                                                
 When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in.                                                            That’s what this storm’s all about.”

From Kafka on the Shore (2002) by Haruki Murakami

Surviving the Covid19 pandemic (April / May 2020)

Arriving back from our trip along the lower Mekong River in Vietnam and Cambodia, we walked straight into the Covid19 crisis which took the world by storm.  We self-isolated for the first two weeks to ensure we were not harbouring the virus only to have lock down follow for the next month. Transfixed by news each day of the continued spread of Covid19 throughout the world and the steadily rising number of people dying from it, we considered ourselves lucky to be resident in a country where outbreaks of the disease (the Ruby Princess debacle excluded) had been rapidly brought under control. However, ‘’flattening the curve’’ came at a staggering cost in economic and societal terms, so much so, some say the effects of clawing our way out of the recession precipitated by Covid19, could quite easily prove to be worse than virus itself?  Only time will tell.
         
As for ourselves, perfectly accustomed to spending time isolated from other people during our travels, we weathered the seclusion without difficulty. The spacious caravan park we’d settled within, back in January, closed a month after we returned from Vietnam/Cambodia. Together with a handful of other ‘’semi-permanents’’, all well removed from one another we settled for the prospective six months, our Prime Minister spoke of.


     
 
Advent Park: five minutes from our daughter Saxon’s home, close to the shops and a fine fish and chips outlet for the occasional take-away. Freedom to walk the suburbs around the park, we came across places we never knew existed! Playing fields, tennis courts, archery range and nature reserves One favourite walk took us past the ’Ibis Lady’. We’d noticed a large flock of white ibis in a little garden one evening and soon discovered between 10 and 20 congregated for a feed each evening not to mention other hangers-on like kookaburra and wattle birds, A costly business for the Ibis Lady.

 In our park we were adopted by a tribe of five persistent magpies. One, would sing and warble on the doorstep even ‘knock’ the broom with a rat-a-tat-tat if required! A bandicoot (quenda) habitually ferreted about at night, outside the caravan.
   


George had a daily routine furthering his interest in clouds, courtesy of the Cloud Appreciation Society; made short films (iMovies) and practised his art, producing a one-a-day ‘’Covid19 series’’ of small sketches and watercolours.

 

  

Time lost real meaning and Lea picked up on the delightfully slovenly habit of checking emails from her bed. It was even easier to reply from her warm, comfortable ‘office desk’ for anything up to 3 hours. The butler saw to her breakfast and sometimes elevenses!  By midday the cleaners had finished the ablution block and she’d take off for her shower followed by the minimum amount of housework a caravan requires, before she’d retired to the couch to work on her father’s life story.

George’s ISO-Birthday was celebrated with a visit from Saxon and the three of us sat suitably distanced outside on the open field until rain chased her home.  Lea, inspired to treat her husband to his favourite foods, carefully reduced recipe ingredients to fit our small glass convection oven. First up were his niece Talya’s famous chocolate brownies!  Covid cooking was a popular pastime around the world and in the caravan too.


Granddaughters Talia & Erin sent Grandad a birthday card they had made of carefully picked leaves. Lock-Down stimulated their creative talents too.

May brought the first easing of ‘’stay at home’’ restrictions and our empty calendar immediately had three dates fill the first week! An opportunity to socialise in very small gatherings.Fridays rapidly became Family night with the Gees for fish and chip takeaways.  A glorious Saturday followed with all the WA family - eight of us gathered together at Tom for the day to meet Max the rescued Shetland pony who’d come to join Paddy.



Mother’s Day brought a wonderful surprise of High Tea, beautifully laid on by Saxon under a tree in our park.

  
More dates were quick to follow … lunch with our friends Pete and Di Ryan; a picnic with Lat and Cynthia Fuller in Whitman’s Park.  Always a favourite, was lunch for the descendants of a friendship that began with Lea’s grandfather Edward Howman and Staley Jackson that dated back to 1904. We gathered with sisters Jenna, Meg and Adie on back lawn of their cousin, Ros’s home in Nedlands; Lunch with Jean & Mike Rogers also dates back to a friendship between our parents. These little events added a frisson of delight to the weeks. Especially as we thought we were going to be allowed to escape the winter chills and head into the regional North midway through May.  

Once clarified, our freedom wasn’t to be and we found ourselves hunkering down for the once-in-a-decade, super storm’ on 23rd May - the remnants of a tropical cyclone merging with a powerful cold front. We took down our newly repaired awning – checked the overhead tree-lines and remained safely tucked up in the caravan, hopefully out of harm’s way. The storm brought little rain, the gale force winds of over 100 km/h left over 50 000 homes in Perth without power, and the massive waves generated offshore. created severe damage along a large section of the coastline.  We suffered little discomfort bar the cold.  We had an old bit of carpeting on the floor and Saxon had provided us with warm sheets and an electric blanket yet all we wanted to do was move away from the cold wet winter weather of Perth! 
  
A few days later the news came, as of Friday 29 May, the start of a long weekend in WA, the regional boundaries North were to be lifted. All except biosecurity surrounding the Kimberley region.  Preparations began in earnest – visits to doctor and dentist made possible, deep freeze refilled for the road; Rusks and crunchies baked in big batches up in Saxon’s oven; a service for SKV all followed in rapid succession.  Finally, a restaurant meal with Di and Peter, a lunch with Di Godson and, a farewell dinner with our Gee family. In our favour was the low cost of diesel (thanks to a slump in the price of crude) and the continued closure of the interstate borders. All the grey nomads normally intent on ‘wintering’ in the highly favoured North of Western Australia were excluded! Camping spots should be ours for the choosing…
   
On the road again

By 4th June we were on the move to wander out yonder! We didn’t travel far though. We’d booked into Yanchep National Park for two nights in Henry White Oval campground. A large flock of black cockatoos wheeled and screamed overhead in greeting - added to our elation.  National Parks required bookings on-line, a troublesome procedure more often, than not.  Plus, we loathe booking a site at any place, as generally we don’t like the ones we are allocated! Luckily, George managed to persuade the campground host to give us a more secluded site than the one we’d been allocated. Upon opening the caravan door, we discovered an overhead cupboard inadvertently left open, had spewed its contents of plates and bowls all over the floor. A year of being static reminded us to improve our pre-check procedures!

A great start to our travels; we had beautiful surrounds - immaculate ablutions nearby, families of western grey kangaroos lounging around in the shade and a host of memories tied into coming to Yanchep especially as new immigrants and in time, with much loved family.

Come evening, we walked through the park taking the sunlit tracks to see the koalas, one of Yanchep’s main draw-cards.


 

The water level in the lake, Loch McNess, very low; the resulting encroachment of wetland vegetation having greatly reduced the amount of open water. The swamp hens (gallinules) were not as numerous as before. We could see where the 2019 December bush fires had been - walking trails around the lake were still closed. Nonetheless, with the peace and quiet and a near full moon rising overhead, we felt deep pleasure.

The next morning, Lea prepared for our lunch guests while George disappeared along a track that led to the Crystal Caves and came back via Boomerang Gorge, a collapsed cave system now filled with large trees and flanked by limestone cliffs. The area said to be ‘’one of the world’s few aeolean landscapes’’, meaning they began as windblown dunes (beach sand and shell fragments) before becoming cemented together as limestone after all the calcium carbonate in the dunes had been dissolved by rainfall.
 
In due course our special visitors arrived. Tom Rutter first, after letting his flock of pigeons loose to fly home, followed by his daughter, our niece Carmen, then Lat & Cynthia Fuller.
 


It was a beautiful day- surprisingly warm especially for soup! We all sat back in the little shade to be found and chatted away happily. Carmen had prepared most tasty smoked salmon snacks; Lea’s potato and leek soup followed and then the most succulent tipsy tart pudding made by Cynthia.  Once again, the black cockatoos took turns in a fly past much to our delight but more especially Carmen.  Before we knew time had flown and Tom needed to get home to his feathered friends and the ponies for feeding time. While the Fuller’s had Holli the staffie waiting at home. Carmen joined us on our evening walk with George leading us through the lovely Boomerang Gorge and out onto the sandy plains. Further on, an unexpected visitor for winter, lay very sluggishly across the pathway.



A young dugite reluctant to move into the undergrowth, despite our heavy-footed vibrations, caused some consternation amongst Lea and Carmen.  Both took a decidedly long jump past the tussock of grass the snake finally bothered to slither into. The sun slipped away as Carmen left for home – lovely having rare quality time with her.
   
Our prospective stop next to the bridge over the Moore River, failed to impress next day. It was far too small and close to the road. One glance was enough to put us off.  The steady traffic streaming north made us nervous despite knowing it was probably just weekend traffic with people, understandably like lemmings, keen to get out of the city for a beach break along the north coast with newly eased covid19 restrictions. Further along the Indian Ocean Drive we drove into Lancelin. Twenty-two years since we had camped on the beach here with Justy, Dan and Saxon. As we looked around recalling memories, the weather closed in on us and we decided to spend the night in the original old caravan park to the north of town. Rather rundown, but near empty and set behind a large dune with a look-out on top, to protect us from incoming weather. With no solar energy, it suited us to recharge all batteries. Thunder and rain that night further persuaded us to stay on another two nights while lousy weather persisted. The promenade and beach provided us with all the exercise we required and the boardwalk to the dune lookout gave us good views of the town and the mobile dunes that lay just inland. It is here, droves of city slickers come to catch cheap thrills churning up the sand in their 4x4s, dune buggies, trail and quad bikes.  A persistent whine emanated from there over the weekend to become blissfully silent for our last day.

 

 

Next door to the caravan park was one of Rob Taylor’s favourite haunts - The Lancelin Beach Hotel providing a perfect view of the ocean from its restaurant The Dunes. Additions were underway otherwise we’d have happily partaken of a beer in sunny circumstances.  On the low tide, we walked along the beach as far as the jetty where a small dredger was pumping sand southwards along the shore, and fishermen were trying their luck before sun set. Extraordinary to think that over 20 years have passed since we last stayed here in our Toyota Hilux with Saxon, Justy and Dan, in days long gone when it was permissible to sleep on the beach.

     
  
 9th June, a perfect blue-sky day; we continued northwards towards Cervantes. Stopped for a tea break down by a wild beach. A powerful black vehicle drew in and three inmates took the short walk to the beach for a look before striking up a conversation with George. One of our rare delightful interludes took place with the trio joining us for tea beside our caravan. They were out for the day from Two Rocks (close to Yanchep).
   
Sandy Cape Recreational Area located on the edge of the Jurien Bay Marine Park was not much further on and by lunch time we’d settled into our site.  We last camped here with the Ramsden family in December 2015 when we’d all come out to have Christmas with Saxon. Possibly Justy’s last Christmas, she’d been keen to visit her brother and sister, have time with her nieces and nephew and see their homes over the English winter. 


 Justy and her children at Sandy Cape (2015) 

We’d all arrived in Australia mid-December and made a little camping adventure as far as Geraldton for the family to go wind surfing. Now here we were, wandering the west coast places we’d shared with Justine and it was timely to be here for our third year of life without her.  On a beautiful calm evening we walked through the campground, noting all the improvements (surfaced roads, neatly demarcated campsites, toilets and barbeques) since we’d last been here; before we walked the length of the beach and climbed up the ancient limestone headland covered in more recent windblown thick sand. On the top, a boardwalk with seating to enjoy the sunset yet no provision for reaching the boardwalk without clambering through steep dunes.  Our eyes always seeking a suitable memorial site for the morrow.



The high-level alto-cumulus clouds streaming overhead next day, were confirmation of a predicted change in the weather; strong onshore wind made for unpleasant beach walking and George took great interest in the continually changing nature of the cloud formations above us for the rest of the day.



Towards evening, the cloud cover had thickened to such an extent we came to accept there would be no sunset to mark the time Justy left our world. Nevertheless, we walked to our chosen site on the coast and Lea precariously clambered around on the rocks trying to find a sheltered position to light Justy’s candle in the stiff breeze …  eventually we were able to light her candle and the bougainvillea blossoms were taken by the wind and waves in every direction. Almost simultaneously, Lea’s phone vibrated with messages from friends around the world. Unifying love and remembrance surrounded us in an unanticipated moment of time, considering the ‘no signal’ sign on our phones.

 
Just gather some flowers and remember the people and places I loved best
And come in the evening when the sun paints the sky in the West
Stand for a few moments and remember me

We were grateful rain held off until nightfall and it came as no surprise to wake to low clouds, sodden with moisture streaming overhead as we continued northwards once more.  Green Head Caravan Park had no appeal to us and on arriving at Milligan Island campground, a few kms further on along a puddle filled dirt road, what looked a very good camp-spot was soon awash as black clouds rolled in from offshore and rain bucketed. Large muddy puddles decided the best thing we could do was move on to   Leeman (10 km away) as this weather was too unsettled.  The caravan park there was empty other than permanents in some of the many fishing shacks.  We were given a nice, grassed drive-through site with a small ablution block immediately behind us. Suddenly the prospect of a hot shower and power in all this wet, was most appealing.

The office told George that Leeman was renowned for its fish and chips. Consequently, towards evening, immediately after another short-lived downpour of rain, we walked into the town. Nervously eyeing the dark clouds looming offshore, to buy our supper! Then scurried back, like two anxious rabbits, before dark fell and our dinner grew cold. The constant sound of rain falling during the night and the cold, gusty weather that greeted us in the morning, was enough to make us to stay right where we were.  While paying for another night George asked about the history of the town.   We learnt the town was named after first officer and navigator Abraham Leeman van Santwits who, in 1658, had come ashore with thirteen others in the vicinity of Wanneroo beach in search for survivors of the Dutch East India Company’s ship the Vergulde Draeck that had been wrecked two years previously.  Unable to return to their ship, the Waeckende Boey, because of foul weather they were abandoned by the skipper and left to sail to Batavia (now Jakarta) by themselves! Only four of them survived. 
 
In a stiff and chilly breeze, later that morning we walked the length of town along the beach front’s  well laid out pathways through carefully preserved coastal vegetation and park-lands as well as   Leeman’s Tea Tree lookout, where a gnarled old tee tree once stood as a landmark to fisherman for almost 50 years (1957 -2002).


A view of Leeman from TeaTree Lookout.


Gulls and terns hunkered down on the jetty, all facing into the wind.

Blue sky! The sun brought joy to our hearts and had us out of bed and on our way relatively early for Begg’s these winter mornings. Albeit for only 40 km to Freshwater Point. We’d camped here in SKV 4½ years ago and found the place much changed. Most of what we remembered had been eaten away by coastal erosion, some very recently.

 
 Getaway on the remaining slabs of deserted fisheries buildings.

The remnants of which lay scattered around on the beach just below us. With the waves lapping 10m away it was a prime beachfront site … all for free and no-one else around! 


From the Lighthouse Bluff at Freshwater point.

The original little beach cove tucked to the side of the headland and lighthouse had become a decent length of beach.  We ‘wombled’ it many times collecting up plastic - scourge of our oceans; along with a variety of discarded rope that lay strewn along the beach. The source of which appeared to be commercial fishermen as there were a good few red plastic baskets George suspected were used for bait attraction!

Another day was to pass peacefully enough although we were alerted to a strange humming that burst over the top of the bluff one at a time, to reveal 4 yellow and one red - tiny home-built helicopters. In turn, they flew over our heads following the coastline to who knows where. Out at sea, a small fixed wing aircraft appeared to be staying with them as observation pilot.   Late afternoon brought quite a few people looking for somewhere to camp. By nightfall we had a bus to the back of us and a motor home to the front of SKV. All were taking no notice of the Closed for covid19 sign down at the toilet block.  Had the region opened before the sign had been taken down or had the Shire decided Caravan Parks must be used to help the broken economy. It was confusing.

We were soon to know! Just as we were preparing to leave Freshwater Point, a Ranger from the Shire of Irwin arrived to advise each camper most pleasantly; the place was officially closed and would remain so for another month! It was of no consequence to us and minutes later we were on our way heading north towards Dongara. We took a loop road to Port Denison, home to a large fleet of rock lobster fishermen. Liked the look of the place and chose to spend a night there enjoying the day while seeing to our laundry and charging all our devices in a nearby caravan park. Later, we walked along the foreshore of the harbour / marina. Obviously, a popular place for picnics and fishing in peak season but not this this time round!  Signs of the recent Super Storm were discernible here too despite the breakwaters and defences built from huge rocks along its length. We climbed up to the Port Denison lighthouse and looked out over the Leander reef lying just offshore. It accounted for many a ship being damaged or wrecked in days gone by. 
    
 16th June marked as a memorable day!  The last decent day before a forecast of wet weather we drove to Geraldton (65 km) and immediately called in at the Visitor Centre, to enquire about trips to the Abrolhos Islands. Within the hour we were making tracks to the airport! Time for a quick bite of lunch before checking into Shine Aviation. Thanks to Tom, our pilot and, money the government had given pensioners at the end of April to help stimulate the economy!  A superb day with clear visibility- timing brought everything together for us to visit the Houtman-Abrolhos Islands for afternoon tea!

Ever since reading Peter Fitzsimon’s enthralling book, Batavia – we have wanted to see the scenes of drama and crime that unfolded in 1629.  The Abrolhos, comprising of 122 tiny islands set in three distinct clusters, lay 70 km offshore from Geraldton. Many ships have come unstuck here but we particularly wanted to follow the historic story of the Dutch East India Company’s ship the Batavia that ran aground when the look-out mistook the waves breaking as moonlight across the water.
   
We took off at 1.00 pm, with friendly young pilot Tom, in a Cessna 172 – the sea beautifully calm and visibility good (10 km). Within half an hour we were over the Pelsaert group, where in the 1940s extensive guano mining had once been conducted. The turquoise colour of the water, the pock marked nature of the reefs and shallow platforms an astounding sight … George soon became aware of the interference caused by reflections inside our tiny four-seater cabin, as he frustratingly tried to get photos of  “Half Moon reef’’ at the southern end of the Pelsaert group, another spectacular sight with  what little remained of the wreck of the Windsor, the biggest ship ever  to ‘break her back’ here with the cargo of sandalwood being taken to Hong Kong from Fremantle, in  1908.  All a timely reminder why the word Abrolhos is derived from a Portuguese expression meaning ‘’open your eyes’’. Sailors needed to watch out for all these dangers!
   

Historical guano collection site in Pelsaert Group                                              

 
Half Moon Reef

 A little further north lay the Easter Group of islands – Big Rat Island is the base for the Department of Fisheries and scientists conducting research in the area. Much like Rottnest Island off Fremantle, the Dutch thought the wallabies looked like big rats! Around One hundred and fifty licenced fishermen live across 21 islands with their families and deckhands in this remote, wind-swept and relatively flat looking areas in the middle of the Indian ocean.  A strictly maintained quota system of approximately fifteen hundred tons of Abrolhos rock lobster is in place. This year, their season 15 March to 30 June was slap bang in the pandemic declared shut down for Covid19.


Big Rat and Little Rat islands

Houtman Abrolhos Islands Map 

The islands we’d been waiting for, the Wallabi Group came into view. It was here, the ‘Batavia’ – finest ship the Dutch had ever constructed and the Dutch East India (VOC) Company’s flag ship on her maiden voyage, carrying the richest cargo ever assembled; came to grief on Morning Reef, in 1629. Running aground on the expansive flat rock platforms to be found in areas surrounding the different groups of islands. From the air, it really seemed possible to walk across these platforms to other islands. Perhaps at belly height in the water, while keeping a wary eye out for deep indented pools of water. The only warning something was amiss out in these calm seas was a long white line of waves gently breaking!

Not having found fresh water, the Captain of the ship, Francisco Pelsaert, realised the sooner he set off in one of the long boats for Batavia (now Jakarta) the sooner he’d be able to bring help. Left behind was his third in command, Jeronimus Cornelisz, guarding the VOC (Dutch East Indian) valuables.

As we flew over West Wallabi, Tom told us to keep our eyes peeled for the remnants of the fort where the group of soldiers had been dropped off to search for water. Supposedly a fool’s errand as wicked Jeronimus Cornelisz had ulterior motives.  The soldiers, endowed by chance, with a natural leader of men in Wiebbe Hayes survived because they found two soaks able to provide them with fresh water; and food in the form of wallabies, mutton birds and hopefully fish. They built stone forts for protection against the hostile environment.


We required two fly overs before we spotted the fort!

A dreadful story of mutiny and betrayal took place around this Wallabi group of islands and the ‘Batavia’. The murder of approximately one hundred and twenty-five desperate men, women and children by Jeronimus Cornelisz and his henchmen came to light some three hundred and fifty years later when fishermen restlessly sleeping on an island discovered a skull. They soon  realised their shack was over the graves of murdered men. 
  

Landing on East Wallabi island we walked down to the jetty for our cup of tea.

A fisherman arrived at the jetty, to meet a passenger on an incoming plane twenty minutes off. We began chatting and we quickly learned that all the fishermen had returned to the mainland that day. He’d remained to collect the man who was coming to mend their jetties.  The live crayfish industry was presently in crisis not only because flights to China had been cancelled (due to coronavirus). News had just come in of another outbreak in a fresh food market in China. Net result, the rock lobster holding facilities in Geraldton were full, and until the market / transportation problem was resolved, there was no-one catching rock lobsters in the Abrolhos. Remarkably, the tons of rock lobsters being held in the Geraldton Co-op Facility are not fed, as this would amount to it being an aqua-culture venture. Nevertheless, they are expected to survive for over two months. Normally they would be trucked to Welshpool in Perth, chilled, packed with sawdust into polystyrene boxes and air-freighted predominantly to China.  The Abrolhos provides a quarter of the 6 000 tons of rock lobsters removed from WA waters each year.

After taking off from East Wallabi we flew over the Long Island, aka the Batavia graveyard – It was here, the mutineer Cornelisz and seven of his accomplices were sentenced and executed.


Long Island where the gallows were erected. Before being hanged the hands of the condemned men were cut off with chisel using a mallet!  All in all, a gruesome and sorry saga. 

Before heading back to Geraldton, Tom twice flew us over Morning Reef where Batavia floundered and broke up.  In 1963, a Geraldton Cray fisherman took 3 local divers out to what he thought could be an unmarked wreck site.  Soon after diving, the VOC emblem was distinctly seen and from items collected historians confirmed it to be the Batavia.  From the air, our eyes could not detect anything.  
It was an exhilarating trip and we were delighted it had all come together so easily in difficult times. Once back at the airport we set off to find somewhere to stay … and after a bit of a run around we landed up in a quiet and almost empty Geraldton Caravan Park, north of the Chapman River.               
We unhitched for the first time in two weeks and went into Geraldton, one of the five big towns of Western Australia for the day. The day forecast a strong cold front expected to bring rain and we were keen to get to the places of interest before bad weather hit us. Our first port of call a supplier of caravan parts as the plastic lower vent allowing air circulation for the fridge had fallen off somewhere. Next, while the sky still had some blue, we went to visit the beautiful memorial to the warship HMAS Sydney which sank at sea in November 1941 with all 645 men on board, after a running battle with a German raider, the HSK Kormoran. It’s whereabouts unknown until discovered in 2008. It was one of the most thoughtfully conceived, moving memorials we have ever seen, what with its pool symbolising where the ship now lies, black granite walls of remembrance, ‘’dome of souls’’ with 644 silver gulls flying overhead. The 645th gull swoops over the memorial pool…  The poignancy of a windswept and anxious ‘’waiting woman’’ is captured in a sculpture.




We  made our way down to the beach and followed the Geraldton shoreline to the lookout over Separation Point and  the lighthouse at Point Moore before heading into the  port area for an early fish and chip lunch at much vaunted Barnacles – suitably distanced covid19 tables had us outside in the wind, watching the cold front circulating out at sea and fast approaching.
 
We made haste to the Geraldton Museum, and from the Coles supermarket parking lot we were blown down to the Museum to see their Batavia exhibition on display. An additional treat was a superb three dimensional movie, using sub-sea imaging technology, shot in 2015 by the WA Museum and Curtin University, of what remains of the two ships, the Sydney and the Kormoran,  both lying on the sea floor at a depth of 2 500 m below the waves within a short distance of each other - their guns quietly rusting away, covered by colonies of iron bacteria and large orange coloured anemones.  An incredible and mystical sighing. We hadn’t realised both ships had been mortally wounded.  Well spent hours learning more the Batavia and the Sydney and seeing relics.

   
Blocks found on the Batavia to be used as a gateway had it reached its destination.  

We were most surprised to see no rain had fallen and the wind had dropped despite dark clouds overhead. We slipped into Coles to stock up with a much-needed fresh supplies and arrived home as the skies opened and the weather turned foul.

By morning, conditions began to improve. After filling up with diesel we spent the rest of the morning walking the trails through Chapman River Regional Park recommended by Jenna Brooker



The first track took us to the upper section of the river with a crossing enabling us to return down the other side. We were amazed at the density and expanse of sorrel growing beside the river-track! The other path was along the lower reaches or estuary section, that led down to the beach. Jenna had mentioned a clean-up day about to happen on the 20 June - two days later, we found the Park surprising free of litter.

The weather cleared nicely for the next leg of our trip into the outback. On an impulse we decided to take the Chapman Valley Road rather than the Geraldton/ Mullewa road inland.  George was keen to travel the Murchison region which stretched east of Geraldton, to Wooleen Station  described as "one of the last fading vestiges of yesteryear, where time slows, nature sings, and where mythical and majestic landscapes invoke a sense of openness” .... words enough to draw us in. 

Our route, eastwards initially took us through the catchment of the Chapman River – a wheat farming area looking brilliantly green and sheep, some with young lambs on the gently rolling hills. After passing through a number of small towns - Nanson; Nabawa and Yuna , we unexpectedly came across a gravel road we could not resist;  sign-posted as the Northern Loop of the Mullewa Drive Trail.

Not knowing where it was going, the road wound through parts of the catchment of the Greenough River. At intervals were information panels – we missed the first two with their metal silhouettes not fully realising what they were.


 However, at this silhouette we stopped and found it was about carbon capture.

This was of interest, since it drew attention to the replanting of 1 000 ha of land with oil mallee (Eucalyptus kochii).  Quite something to think of this land once laboriously cleared by back-breaking efforts for cultivation, for generations later to discover the folly of this action!  Farmers, land managers and scientists began to develop ways of integrating commercial tree growing onto farms at the southern end of West Australia - almost thirty years ago to help restore damaged ecosystems and restore balance. In 2011, in excess of a million seedlings were planted here in a significant carbon sequestration project established by Carbon Conscious Ltd.  The oil mallee, ideally suited to this fragile arid region altered by intensive broad acre farming.  Apart from producing oil for a commercial product used by the pharmaceutical industry; when tree crops are integrated into farming systems there are several other benefits. These include lowering the water table thereby, a reduction of the amount of salt accumulating in the soil. Providing shelter belts for livestock and controlling run-off and soil erosion. The idea of carbon sequestration is certainly another potential benefit. However, George is of the opinion - It is a little too late!  Yes, a step in the right direction but, being realistic, a drop into an ocean in which the tide has already turned. Climate change will continue bedevilling mankind, with or without the trading of carbon credits, for a long, long time into the future. 

In due course we reached the Mullewa-Carnarvon road and realised we had by-passed Mullewa where we’d intended to spend the night. Since this was the very road we’d intended taking into the Murchison region we promptly turned northwards on the Wool Wagon Pathway.  Not another car or truck to be seen for well over 100 kms we kept going through dry mulga plains, wondering how on earth people managed to farm such a water-less, rain shy country – not a blade of grass to be seen, the stony soils sparsely covered by half dead scrub. And yet farm it they do – as we passed through one cattle station after another with names such as Wandinga; Pinegrove; Woolgorang and Billabong.  The route we followed had once been used by wool wagons, drawn by teams of bullocks; and as a stock route along which thousands of cattle and sheep had once passed.


The hostility of ''mulga country''.

The road turned to gravel about 70 km north of Mullewa it was in very good condition, but once across the Ballinyoo bridge, having travelled over 250 km by then, we were only too glad to pull off and camp beside the Murchison River with a large pool directly below us,  a splendid array of white gums adding to its attraction. Two Major Mitchell’s cockatoos (pink cockatoos) nearby told us we were in a most perfect spot.

   

Our view from the caravan and its setting on the Murchison river.


It was such a good camp site we were very reluctant to leave.  Having taken a longer than normal drive to get here yesterday, we decided to stay another day and have a braai lunch… So took out lamb chops and left them to thaw  while taking a walk upstream noting the extent and scoured nature of the floodplain, identifying tracks in the sand (emu included) , looking at the thick growths of filamentous algae lying on the floor of the clear water pools in the river. It reminded Lea of swimming in farm reservoirs in her youth! We came across a campsite where a couple of kangaroos lay rotting, one suspended by the back leg from the branch of a tree. George thought it could be an old Aborigine camp. Lea disagreed… Although the suspended kangaroo appeared at first sight to have been butchered up there, on closer inspection it still had its tail and back legs with visible pelvis bone. These were the meatiest part of a ‘roo - everything else missing. The one on the ground untouched and simply rotting. Lea walked away gagging!

The call of whistling kites helped put this disagreeable sight out of mind.  Back in our camp we watched swifts swooping over the river and obviously nesting in the rocky overhang just below us.  Further away, half a dozen nests belonging to white faced heron ensured we’d hear their gravelly croak as they squabbled down on the water’s edge. Time on the blog ate into the day and our lunch became a mid-afternoon meal as George lit a small fire on the riverbank in the beautiful warm sunshine. No longer near the coast means evenings, once the sun has gone, get very chilly. Last night’s temperature dropped to 8°C while day temperatures easily rise to 26°C.

We had come this way for a reason. George wished to visit Wooleen Station, about 60km on. Ken Tinley had advised us to visit the station as David and Frances Pollock are dedicated to rehabilitating a severely degraded sheep / cattle station challenging a hundred years or more of European orthodoxy. Ken had their book and George had been much taken by their intentions and having been involved in ecosystem restoration, looked forward to seeing more of this approach to rangeland management and sustainability himself.  After a second night on the Murchison, we left for Wooleen Station. As soon as we crossed the cattle grid delineating its boundary on the access road, George began looking for changes in land use practices implemented by the Pollocks over the past 25 years, reflected in the landscape. In certain areas there were sparse covering of stubble-like grasses beneath the mulga bushes. Up until then we hadn’t seen a blade of grass. Recovery in such harsh country would be a slow process and we recognised that. Aerial photography covering historic and recent, would reveal a more accurate assessment.
  
George checked-in with Frances Pollock at the Wooleen homestead – built in 1918, this National Trust listed home was built by the Sharpe family. Francis advised the campground, located on the edge of the Murchison river, lay 16 kms away and George was given professionally printed Information sheets and a map to assist us in finding the place.

The campground was divided into four well separated clearings three of which overlooked a beautiful tract of water, that stretched as far as the eye could see.  Our camp – ‘Bagaa’ was set well- back behind the river’s rocky bank. It suited us fine, yet we could not help thinking of our free camp view. The other annoyance- showers were only available up near the homestead, 16 kms away. It seemed a bit unfair to expect people to travel 32 kms to have a shower at the end of the day. Even the two walking trails began at the old steam engine parked up at the homestead.    A dunny shared between two camps, was set well back in the bush. They didn’t look too appealing from a distance. Very rustic looking, they were not too bad inside and there were no red back spiders waiting to bite you on the bum!  The camping side is obviously not a priority. The clients that fly in and stay at the homestead or in rammed earth, self-contained guest houses are probably the station‘s focus.
  
There was no direct interaction with visitors or sharing of their aspirations, which we found most disappointing. We were left to glean our own information and draw our own conclusions. We suspect David Pollock; second generation took over the running of this 150 000-ha station from his father. A station that had been grazed since 1886, suffering historic degradation and widespread erosion in a region known for its low rainfall.  Once the Pollock family took over the station, they must have reached the decision to de-stock cattle, sheep and eradicate the feral goats that ran rampant up until 2009. To counteract the loss of income derived from livestock, David and Francis created an outback eco-tourism venture in 1993.


Higher up the Murchison River, on Wooleen station 

During the afternoon Lea continued to write the blog and George took a long walk upstream where the tortured shapes of the white-stemmed coolibah trees on the floodplain and the many tracks of animals were a continued source of fascination. 

We left ‘Bagaa’ which means white necked heron in the local Aboriginal dialect next day, to see more of Wooleen Station before we departed. Followed the signs to take us further upstream to find the Envirolls, heavy 30 m long wire mesh structures, the Pollocks had installed on the floodplain of the Murchison “to act as a filter, slow the floodwaters and force them back onto the floodplain’’!  On close examination they appeared not only ineffective but also obtrusive.


  
 George could not understand their value or see how they could, according to information we’d been given, ''facilitate the spread of floodwaters over the degraded Murchison catchment’’ when the station lies in the centre of the catchment and the slowing of floodwaters would only have a localised effect. The idea of filtering floodwater also seemed absurd. Perhaps the terminology used confused the issue. It needs clarification and rewording.

We walked to see the Gradagullya Pool which lies on the river a little further upstream from the Envirolls site and came across a whole lot of black swans perhaps feeding on the growths of filamentous algae, still evident on the riverbed.

On our way back towards the homestead we stopped to see the Bowerbird Museum, hoping to find historic photos of the Station and the trials of transformation - only to find it was a  literal  meaning – a collection of old items scattered about like a bower bird is wont to do! We admired the workshops built in 1922 by Alf Couch, the ‘’hanger workshop’’ built by Brett Pollock in 1997 for the station aircraft.

Leaving the homestead, we continued to Wooleen Station’s historic old barrel-vaulted shearing shed, also constructed by Alf Couch, renowned in the area for this feature of his.


 Only the remains of Wooleen Sheep Shearing Shed to be seen!

Blown down in a violent storm or ‘’cockeyed Bob’’ in December 2004, twenty minutes of 150 km/hr winds and hail took the old shed out; stripped vegetation of its foliage, uprooted trees and caused many plants to die. Events of this nature may account for the extraordinary amounts of dead shrubs we’d noticed on this journey across the Murchison region.
 
We stopped for our morning tea/coffee in the adjoining Sheep Shearer’s yard. Looked over the quarters for 12 men. Visualized their exhaustion at the end of each day to face the very basic comforts provided after shearing over a million sheep estimated to have been shorn in this shed.  The yield of  30 000 bales of wool for export taken on the Wool Wagon pathway we’d been following.  A silent history before us, as we peeped into the barrel-vaulted cookhouse and refectory room with its wooden tables and benches. Old refrigerators up against the wall hopefully provided chilled refreshment in the high temperature that come with life out here.

We were soon headed northwards aiming to get to the Murchison Settlement by lunchtime when we came across an interesting outcrop of large granite boulders, on one side, a wide plain covered by quartz rocks – we were still on Wooleen Station land.



Once on Meeberrie Station, we crossed the Murchison River for the third time on our journey – noting with interest the height to which the floodwaters had risen in March 2006. Ten clicks away, out of harm’s way was the Murchison Settlement. We were desperate for a shower and some ‘’home comforts’’ and happily stayed in the small, nicely grassed caravan park run by the Roadhouse.  Four other vans were parked together - members of a Perth caravan club returning from an outing to the Kennedy Ranges. Licking their ‘wounds’ after damage inflicted on vans from the Kennedy Range road- where we are headed!

Upon leaving the Murchison settlement we turned west towards Shark Bay following Butchers Track, a 140 km long, well maintained dirt road through the Toolonga Nature Reserve, to the North West Coastal Highway. Unexpected rain had fallen during the night saving us from having to contend with any dust!  A most interesting drive and most importantly it showed us how mulga country should look in the prolonged absence of sheep and cattle!  Must add, we had switched catchments during the drive, from the Murchison to the Wooramel River. The soil type had changed to a red sandy loam and the difference in vegetation density and composition was remarkable.  From the time we left the outskirts of Geraldton until we were back on the Coastal Highway, we hadn’t passed a single vehicle. In camp sites we’d hear or see the odd vehicle passing by but never on the road – quite something!

On the highway it seemed like peak traffic time in comparison. We refuelled at the Overlander Roadhouse and immediately made tracks for Shark Bay, as the coastal skies were heavy with rain and shifting clouds. Again, there was a specific destination in our heads, and we did not need poor weather conditions to steal this adventure from us.  Often a rite of passage for young explorer – we grey nomads also feel the compulsion to visit the extreme cardinal points of Australia and needed to tick off Bucket listed Steep Point, the westernmost point of the Australian mainland.

We based up at Hamelin Pool Caravan Park where we could leave the caravan and proceed in SKV alone. Word was a long, rough and arduous track through sand dunes to access Steep Point. After backing into our chosen site, George went to pay leaving Lea to prepare lunch. On remembering her phone was still in the truck, she popped out momentarily. Towards the back of the van came an odd sound and Lea shot round in fright trying to decipher the noise and found a chicken!


Not a stowaway, just a hen having a ‘sticky-beak’ as Australian lingo picturesquely says for a nosey parker!

We soon discovered potable water was a major issue, not just here, but throughout the region. The owners of the caravan park have to truck-in water from Carnarvon at a landed price of 79c/litre! We bought a ten litre canister for a tenner! Towards evening we took our walk along the Boolagoorda Trail.



It took us through the historic quarry where crosscut saws once removed shell blocks for distinctive buildings in the Shark Bay area.

Further down, we came to the boardwalk from which to view the stromatolites of Hamelin Pool. Isolated from the rest of Shark Bay by the Faure Sill, this shallow, 132 000ha ‘’pool’’ (part of the Shark Bay Marine Park) is hypersaline (i.e. with salinities of 55-70 ppt is twice as salty as the sea) and accounts for why the stromatolites, colonies of cyanobacteria that have been around for 3 billion years or more  thrive here.  Apparently, summer water temperature in the "pool’’ can rise to 45°C.
 
  
Stromatolite viewing at Hamelin Pool …


We write a blog to remind ourselves of where we have been!  We have seen more than we can remember and remember more than we have seen! Fifteen years later we discovered the tricks memory plays and how each of us recalled different mirror images of places. Our June 2006 Blog, same time of the year reminded us of a drop-in temperature to 5°C - we rely on our blog all these years later. Drizzly rain and dissenting reports for the weather next day added to our qualms. Our neighbour returned from his pilgrimage to the ‘West’ and like Tom, our Abrolhos pilot both mentioned the terrible corrugations and the slow going of the road…

We were up at first light after a restless night of nervous energy and expectations thanks to alarming stories about the shocking condition of the 120 km long Useless Loop road. We expected the worst and were gratified to see clear weather ahead as we excitedly set off West. Consequently, our first surprise of the day was to find the first 25 km sealed and the gravel road thereafter was so good we could travel at 70 km/hr with ease! Two hours later we were at the entrance to the proposed Edel Land National Park, dropped the tyre pressures to 20 psi as advised…


 From there, came the bone-shaking severe corrugations that everyone spoke about.

They were not endless - they came in bouts! Then came the mobile dune field, a high dune cordon of thick sand, endlessly churned up by 4WD vehicles, as we bucked our way along the narrow track with horrendous blind rises and steep descents that momentarily took Lea’s breath away. George more intent on hanging on to the steering wheel and getting us through the next obstacle. In retrospect we’d suffered far worse roads in Mozambique – When it comes to the unknown; imagination and words easily create mountains out of molehills! 
                  
It was fascinating to watch the terrain unfold as we covered over 40 km to reach Steep Point. Fields of mobile dunes; some covered in a low, wind-clipped dry scrub; the thicker cover in dune swales; samphire in the small clay-floored pans (a type of wetland known as birridas), and ever-increasing views of the blue waters of the Shark Bay Marine Park.  In one section, we had to drive along a narrow strip of beach with waves almost lapping at our tyres with colourful Templetonia, past their prime, on the immediate high ground.  A picturesque scene. We returned later for our lunch.

Originally, we had planned to spend a night or two out here- only inclement coastal weather on arrival put us off and then we heard a permit was required. Nowhere in our bible, Camps Australia, are any campsites mentioned – yet to our surprise after passing the Ranger Office we came across dozens of people, many with big boats, camping trailers and tents camping along the demarcated shoreline of Shelter Bay. As we neared Steep Point the bare, brown expanses of Tamala limestone became apparent. So too, the outline of WA’s largest island - Dirk Hartog Island throwing plumes of spray into the air as the mighty swells of the Indian Ocean broke at Surf Point.  We had arrived at the westernmost point of Australia. Another long-held ambition accomplished. We were thrilled to bits as we enjoyed our celebration cuppa with a rusk.


HMAS Sydney went down 120 km off shore from Steep Point

The view of the Zuytdorf Cliffs rising to 200m above the Indian Ocean; extend over 200 km is not just spectacular, it is positively breath taking, with the sound and sight of the ocean pounding against them. We’ve stood on the edge of the Bunda Cliffs of the Great Australian Bight on numerous occasions and watched the Southern Ocean do the same thing, yet compared to the Zuytdorf Cliffs, it was an experience nowhere nearly as awe inspiring! At the height of a storm this scene must be even more amazing or terrifying for that matter. Like the cliffs of the Great Bight or the coastline of the twelve Apostles – dashed against steep rock with no chance of reaching land as was the case of many ships. 



Dutch ship, the Zuytdorf, gave its name to these awe-inspiring cliffs after being wrecked here in 1712, during a storm.  We’d hear an incredible shrill whistle precede the plume of spray that erupted from an ocean battered cavern before a bigger than normal wave hammered against the Zuytdorp cliffs, here. Good warning device for photographers!

From Steep Point we drove just inland of the cliffs along a rough, rocky track in search of the monument (erected in 2007) to the prawn trawler, the Nor 6, which smashed into the cliffs in in 1963  The following is a brief summary of the inconceivable story  that  gripped our heads!

After crashing into the cliffs on ANZAC Day, April 25th, 1963 the Nor 6, was immediately overwhelmed by the surf, rolled over and sank in less than a minute. Her crew were all drowned in the accident except for the skipper, Jack Drinad (age 38), miraculously flung clear by the first wave. He clung to the brine tank or icebox that floated clear and drifted out to sea for the next 14 days. He was able to carve a hole into the icebox and survived on the crew food in the icebox and water from melted ice. In due course he was blown back to the coast having now carved a surf ski and a paddle from the lid in readiness for any chance of escape. He paddled into the South Passage of Shark Bay and there, picked up by a fishing boat – The news of his survival radioed to the world.
    
From there we crossed back to the northern shore of the park and began to return the way we’d come, stopping for our picnic lunch. On entering the Park, Lea had noticed a road to the left signed False Entrance - 7 km. We seemed to have accomplished the trip in surprisingly good time that she suggested we go look see… the only beach along that cliff stretch and, as the name suggests, early mariners had mistaken it for South Passage. Just as we approached the beach with its rollers thundering up another road to the False Entrance Blowholes 2 km on enticed us that way.  Grave disappointment to see nothing, Lea was sure we had stopped too soon. Meanwhile, George was totally focussed on his truck door.  During the trip he kept thinking his door wasn’t shut – now, as he’d opened it, the screws of the latch attachment tumbled to his feet, vibrated out once too many times. No normal screwdriver required he was forced to use a chisel to fix his door.  Lea huffed and puffed near the cliff edge looking for a blow hole – nothing anywhere in sight.  George pointed to the front of SKV saying it was over there as he could see wet!  We had parked on top of a plateau of limestone rock with no obvious marked position or signs to say where a blow hole was.

 Lea began walking and was within a metre of an innocuous looking hole when a horrifying breathy roar erupted, frightening Lea out of her wits and sending her skittering away.



No plumes of ‘steam’ arose, instead a throat hole at the base, emitted the most extraordinary, unexpected sound in a very sinister manner that had us leap away in horror - not knowing whether to run for our lives or collapse in nervous mirth, time and time again.



The False Entrance blowholes were two sinkholes set well back from the cliff edge.

George peering into the larger hole which had a more geyser-like appearance with slimy walls. Nothing like its noisy neighbour’s dry trumpet hole, roaring like a ferocious man-eating dragon.  When we had fully recovered from the shock and delight and about to get in the truck – a sudden gust of spray flew into the air.  The blow holes had not completed their show!


We dashed back for ringside seats as the waves crashing below the cliffs resulted in columns of spray gushing into the air.

These were quite the best blowholes we have ever seen or heard.  Their deceptive nature provided us with a marvellously dramatic and memorable end to our Steep Point adventure. 
                                     
On returning to the False Entrance beach from the south, we had a perfect view of the significant sand feed at the far end of the beach. Absolutely amazing to think the ocean is transporting sand by littoral drift and depositing it in the first sheltered bay, False Entrance (a little further on is smaller, Crayfish Bay).  Only to have the fierce southerly winds lift sand off the beach and drive it through the relatively narrow gap we could see to create the 25 km north directed spine of the Bellefin Prong. The prominent dune cordon we’d had to get through to reach Steep Point.

  

The map above shows the crescent shaped form of the barchan dunes produced by the strong unidirectional southerly winds, the Bellefin Prong being the only place in Australia where they occur.


Barchan dunes en route back from Steep Point.

Tyres had to be inflated back at the entrance, ready for the two-hour drive back to Hamelin Pool, before the sun set.   George had been driving, on and off, for 8 hours.
 
We planned to go to Nanga, 40 km further in the Shark Bay Marine Park, on leaving Hamelin Pool next day.  However, on arrival, we found it closed, possibly due to covid19 – just like Hamelin Bay Station.  Rather than go on to Denham, which we knew would busy – we decided to drive back to the NW coastal highway and go to Gladstone Beach, another old favourite of ours on the eastern edge of the Shark Bay Marine Reserves.  We’d first camped here in 2006 when the price was $1 per person per night; by August 2014, we found the price had risen to $5.50 pp/p n; it was now $8 pp/p n!

SHARK BAY MAP

This very large (Shire run) campground, well spread out along the coast was surprisingly busy. We managed to find ourselves a spot at the southern end. With a beautiful view over the sea, a dugong protection zone we happily settled. Water still a possible problem, particularly as one of our external jerry cans had been holed by a stone.  Brilliant sunny weather with solar panels delivering plenty of power.  The most significant event of the day was to discover the remains of a dead dugong lying on the high-water mark. It was obviously a baby dugong that had lain there long enough to become mummified within its skin. The regular inundation by seawater had preserved it

  
No smell at all and no sign of maggots or other agents of decomposition.  The extraordinary shape of the skull and neck vertebrae so interesting George sorely tempted to remove it and clean it up … old habits never fade! 
 
There was no good reason to leave next day and we happily wrote emails and blogged, George make a fire for another of our late lunch/dinner meals. This time he cooked up boerewors and sadza while Lea made the relish.  The tide seeped out the tide seeped in, barely a ripple in this protected breeding zone for approximately 10,000 dugongs. The second largest population in the world and we are yet to see one during three visits!  (Discovered later that Gladstone is set aside for summer breeding) 


 Evening light on Gladstone Beach foreshore

The patter of seagull feet on the roof of the caravan was a nice way of waking up. The Strandlopers took a last walk along the northern edge of Gladstone Beach before departure. The number of fish carcasses / skeletons lying discarded on the shore made us question the habits of the many fisherfolk occupying the campground. They possibly hope the outgoing tide would dispose of the carcasses for them. However, a bay where tidal exchange is so passive, wastes of this nature simply remain where they lie.  We noted with interest, the variety of rigs present; most with satellite dishes for TV reception. A large bus with wind generator outside, piles of firewood brought in from elsewhere  and screens  to move about for wind protection; a camper with ear-muffs was busy cutting firewood with a portable chain saw (thankfully well away from us!); another doing weight lifting exercise outside his rig;  a woman doing Tai Chi outside hers. Vehicles loaded with canoes, sand tracks, bike racks and "tinnies’’ (aluminium boats) on the roof. The toys required for recreating in WA’s coastal zone. It’s a way of life not commonly reflected in other parts of the world. Put the kettle on for a cuppa before hitting the road, only to change our minds yet again… How could we leave this tranquil place, overlooking the placid waters on the eastern shoreline of Shark Bay on a beautiful day. We stayed- a last day!

Outside the caravan door, a little trio of white-winged fairy wren the brilliant blue male and two drab females continued to keep us entertained with their behaviours. The females haring across the sand at such speed, it was easy to think they were brown mice. 

Rain fell steadily through the night. Consequently, we both had the same thought in mind. The access road would be a problem. IT proved to be just that. At the first serious muddy patch bearing the tyre marks of others that had somehow slithered through, we noticed what appeared to be a detour around it.  The decision to take the detour was a mistake, as it proved to be in far worse condition. Rapidly changing into 4WD George decided the traction afforded by the bushes on the side of the track would give him the best chance of not getting bogged. Without explanation to Lea, he reversed, then charged through the bush like a rhino in a frantic attempt to reach solid ground, then slid across the middle of the bad patch on the road … hearts pounding we both sighed with relief to be through.  The rest of the road seemed tame in comparison, our hearts in our mouths all the way back to the highway. Reach it we did, leaving the caravan with thick wads of red mud at the front sides and under the chassis.  



Back on the NW Coastal Highway it became clear the whole region had been thoroughly soaked. There were large sheets of water lying everywhere, water flooding over the road at one point. The herring bone drains had turned into ponds. 

Large sheets of water lying over the Wooramel plains

We scraped off as much mud as we could before having our elevenses in a lay by as the mud was fast drying hard. On arrival in Carnarvon, a car wash facility with a high-pressure hose was top priority for Skiv and Getaway.

We based up in Norwesta Caravan Park and began to see to the build-up of dirty laundry and enjoy a good shower after days of frugal water use. The second quarter of 2020 is at an end…  

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