Thursday, July 30, 2020

Tramping tales for July 2020



Last day of June was spent exploring the coastal area of Carnarvon, most of it spent at the Heritage Precinct on Babbage Island (part of the Gascoyne floodplain with boardwalk overlooking the delta) taking in stories of the Gascoyne region and learning the history of Carnarvon at One Mile Jetty Museum
Our interest in the battle between the HMAS Sydney and HSK Kormoran deepened immeasurably! Six days after sinking the Sydney, 103 survivors of the Kormoran (in lifeboats) were spotted 130km north of Carnarvon) and picked up, brought to Carnarvon before being taken to Fremantle. An hour long film on the Hunt for the Sydney (and the Kormoran) was truly moving seeing the excitement and tears that flowed as David Mearns, the shipwreck hunter, using side-scan sonar first discovered both wrecks lying at a depth 2 500m on the floor of the Indian Ocean, in March 2008.   It was fascinating research that revealed the captain of the Kormoran, while a POW, had gone to great lengths to record the battle. Concealing where the battle had taken place with a series of miniscule dots under letters in a German-English dictionary.
        
Another focus of interest was the ‘’Path of Pain’’ and the Lock Hospital tragedy. We had no idea that One Mile jetty, the longest in WA, held significant value to many Aboriginal people, as this was the last view of mainland Australia many of them would have. It transpired that in 1908 the WA government had opened a conveniently called “lock hospital’’ on the Bernier and Dorre Islands that lay 58 miles off shore, and for the next 11 years almost 700 Aboriginal men, women and children (some chained together and marched hundreds of kilometres) suspected of having syphilis were transported there from One Mile Jetty and whilst incarcerated there, lived in makeshift canvas and tin shelters. Over 200 of them died. 


This appalling injustice is embodied in a sculpture of a young girl blocking her eyes as she points to the ‘’islands of tears’’, with her little brother clinging to her skirt. In Jan 2019, a traditional Aboriginal ceremony was held on One Mile jetty to release the souls of all those that died.  
  
The One Mile jetty was a mine of information about all sorts of other things – including the amount of wool and livestock once exported from the jetty ; the devastating drought of 1935 that killed most of the 1.5 million sheep in the region; the meat-works that were established in 1920s, but never used until turned into a shark processing factory; the camels used for the transportation of wool; the whaling station established on Babbage Island in the 1950s; and the significance of the Gascoyne river in providing water for the horticultural industry that developed around Carnarvon.

Our visit to the Lighthouse keeper’s cottage opposite One-mile museum provided us with a lovely conversation with the lady volunteer, on duty. She’d lived in Carnarvon all her life and had much to tell us about the problems that banana and vegetable growers in the area experience, not just with the  floods, cyclones and dust storms that bedevil the area, but also the competition arising from crops being imported from over east and overseas. Since we were here in 2006 the local economy has suffered enormously and, the population of Carnarvon more than halved. The fruit Loop drive apparently has only a handful of growers selling from their gates.  We planned to do the Fruit Loop on our return from the Kennedy Range, before going through to Quobba. We lost out as plans changed down the line.

 We were exhausted, hungry and thirsty  by the time we finished at the Heritage Precinct yet we just had to visit the ‘’fascine’’ to walk the beginning of the ‘Path of Pain’ and see the memorials to both the Sydney and the Kormoran on the esplanade.
 

Ahead of us, the 8 million ha catchment of the Upside- Down River – the Gascoyne. It rises 700 km inland near Meekatharra. Why ‘’upside down’’ … because most of the year it flows underground. Beneath, the river sands act as important aquifers, ranging in thickness of up to 30m and consist of coarse alluvium between layers of clay that run along and adjacent to the riverbed. The ground water is generally within 5-10m of the surface.  The river flows only once or twice a year after winter rains or, in summer, after cyclonic downpours of rain. In full flood the upside-down river can reverse itself and swell to become more than a kilometre wide, as in 1961 when it caused millions of dollars of damage.  The levee banks were built around Carnarvon to protect it from the periodic floodwaters of the Gascoyne.

 We stopped for our tea break at Rocky Pool on the Gascoyne River

The further we drove inland towards Gascoyne Junction, the more desert like the country became; encountering row after row of red coloured linear dunes;  masses of dead trees amongst the scrub (fire?); clay pans, some still holding a little water after the recent rains; wedge tailed eagles, kites and ravens feeding on road kill at several places; and scrawny Brahman cattle, either nibbling at the meagre scraps of green grass growing beside the road, or browsing (like goats) on the leaves of scrubby bushes.

At Gascoyne Junction we refuelled and booked into the local caravan park for the night – a surprisingly neat, well run place albeit surrounded by arid plains. In days to come we heard Gascoyne Junction had been wiped out by a cyclone and the outcry over closing the settlement was enough to rebuild – thus we had a delightful campground. Towards evening we walked down to the bridges over the Gascoyne River, before coming back through the settlement itself (originally called Killili – Aboriginal for rush-like plants found growing there).

 The War Memorial at Gascoyne Junction.

Our destination travelling through new ground, was to visit the Kennedy Ranges National Park before backtracking to the coast.  School holidays played on George’s mind and he began toying with continuing the route northwards, along more of the Wool Wagon Pathway towards Exmouth.  Since we’d be travelling 50km of the route out to the Kennedy Ranges, we agreed we’d be in a better position to gauge the road conditions before deciding.


The following morning, we set off for Mundatharrda, the Aboriginal name for the Kennedy Range. The Ullawarra gravel road in perfectly good condition. After crossing the Lyons river (a major tributary of the Gascoyne) we could see the plateau-like form of the Ranges ahead. We stopped at regular intervals to take photos especially with the escarpment being so well lit by morning sun. We approached from the eastern side of the Ranges, which extend for 75 kms. Over millennia, they have eroded to form spectacular cliffs that rise 100m above the surrounding plains. The cliffs are dissected by a maze of steep sided canyons which carry short lived streams after rain, and it is on the floor of these, a number of walking trails are located.

  
Upon arriving at the one and only campground in the park at Temple Gorge, we were lucky to find an empty campsite that we could back into with ease, and it was away from the busy centre.  Lea deemed it too hot to walk. George, however, could not wait to have a look around and took a short walk up the Escarpment Trail – fascinated by the geology especially the hollowed out black (lava like) rocks that lay around on the foot-slopes of the escarpment.



Later, George’s sister-in-law Judy Maguire, a palaeontologist, identified his photos as a concretion in which ferruginous minerals have migrated outwards, leaving hollow, de-mineralised centre.

  

In the afternoon we walked into Temple Gorge, most of it in the welcome shadow of the steep bluffs on either side. A picturesque, boulder- hopping walk that took us into all sorts of nooks and crannies with the walls of the Temple, looming above us.

With a picnic table on our site and a magnificent balmy winter’s night. We ate dinner under the stars. A rare occurrence as we do not enjoy flies or the noise of people.  With an almost full moon overhead, perfect weather conditions and a site looking towards the mountain ridges silhouetted by last light of a setting sun we were to enjoy dinner out twice!  The Kennedy Ranges had been waiting many years to be ticked off on our map. 


Next morning, we drove to Sunrise View, not at sunrise I may add – just at a more suitable hour when the morning light across the plains was enough for us.
A walk-up Honeycomb Gorge to enjoy a spectacular array of pock marks, pits, and cavities in the cliff face of a large sheer faced amphitheatre.  At the back of which, a waterfall obviously trickles or floods dramatically at time. Although the cavities are described as having been water-eroded George wondered how they assumed such strange form on a vertical rock face unless the cavities once contained harder rocks that have since fallen out. Understanding geology, when visiting a place such as the Kennedy Ranges so important.

These markings, created by ‘snuffbox’ or honeycomb weathering,  appeared like massive stone tablets of ancient hieroglyphics to Lea.

Before the day grew too warm, we undertook another boulder hopping exercise (Lea managed with the aid of her stick), up a good part of Drapers Gorge. In a pothole scoured gully on the floor of the gorge we came across a small pool that clearly served as the water supply for a good number of wallabies (euros) – a glimpse of which, one rarely sees… Where they hole up for the day in such rocky, inhospitable terrain is anyone’s guess. The shaded overhangs below large rocks, and the foot-slopes of escarpment were empty.

Drapers Gorge - Lea began to overheat with the energy expended and we decided to return. Just as well as temperature had reached 34’C rising.

A Decision! We would travel a new route north, through the outback. First thought to be 500 km until George realised that was the full length of the Wool Wagon Pathway. We’d do 250 km northwards on dirt until we re-joined the NW coastal highway.  Uncharted territory has an underlying sense of excitement mixed with anxiety for us, especially travelling the lonely road. As it turned out, the route kept us driving solidly for the next five hours through some remarkably remote country.  Remarkable because of the sheer nothingness – not a sign of life; not another vehicle to be seen.

Empty stony plains through which we could see narrow cattle paths disappearing into the distance…

The occasional granite outcrop and bone-dry creeks.  Not a blade of grass anywhere. Not even a termite heap as there was nothing even for them to survive on. This was “cattle country’’ and we could not understand why.  What was the carrying capacity in this type of country - 100 ha per head, or even less?

     
When we finally came across cattle congregated around a windmill, they looked in surprisingly good condition

At Booroothunty Creek we came across a story, extracted from the book Winning the Gascoyne by Ronda McDonald, about the ‘mystery of the missing man’. Nearby was a memorial to Patrick Bohan (aka Patsy), who disappeared on Mangaroon Station in 1982.  Patsy was never to be found, even after extensive aerial and ground searches. His Holden packed with water and stores found abandoned in a creek bed with no sign of his motorbike, used in the prospecting terrain, he knew like the back of his hand. He simply disappeared.  George thought it was reasons best known to Patsy and he simply intended to disappear. Lea, of course differs as Patsy promised his family to be back for Christmas!


As we neared the last 50km of the legendary Wool Wagon Pathway we came across road works suggesting a long section of the road (now called the Lyndon-Minnie Creek road) was being upgraded.  The country also began to change – the soils became sandy; clumps of spinifex and casuarina trees began to appear. Nothing appealed for a night stop. Eventually the Wool Wagon Pathway was ‘’done and dusted’’, with dust being the operative word although not as bad as we have known. 

Back on the highway, we soon pulled into the Barradale Rest Area. George said we’d stayed there at least a couple of times. Lea was steadfast in believing it was once, in 2006 with Paula. We’d eaten fresh Exmouth prawns for dinner; noticed a man sleeping in his vehicle 100 metres away, too exhausted to unpack his camper trailer.  Later that night, Lea and Paula had paid a visit to the toilet in the light of Paula’s headlamp. On returning to Getaway, Lea saw George had gone to bed leaving the generator cord lying out. She wound it up when suddenly the silent night was broken by angry cussing and swearing.  In stunned amazement we realised it was directed at us and we hot footed it into the caravan before breaking into nervous giggles. George too, disturbed by the hullaballoo. We decided the bright headlamp had ‘upset’ the man.  Short time later he drove off in first gear across the bridge. We calmed down and slept peacefully. Next morning a pile of beer cans marked where the man had parked!  Given the fine details in Lea’s head – the only thing she couldn’t reconcile with - was the rearrangement of toilets in the newly formed 24 hour Stop-over.  Once again, our blog proved the defining reference.  We had stayed here in July 2006, July 2014 and now July 2020!  The only time we’d had a ‘disturbing’ encounter actually happened at the West Peawah River.  Just goes to show how easily our brains confuse the essence of   detail especially when there are many similarities.  (Just recalled Bang! Bang! She shot me dead blasting forth at 2 a.m. as hoons zig-zagged through Frank Potts Reserve, S.A, creating merry havoc!)

Plenty of campers and caravans were scattered about, particularly on the sealed area. We found ourselves a nice spot, further down the Yannari River away from everyone else.  Upon opening the caravan, we found the shake-up received today had caused a cupboard door to come apart. George was quick to repair it with a good dose of the adhesive ‘’No More Nails’’!  A welcome bucket bath before the sun went down, a pat on the bonnet for Skiv after another fine performance, and even better a wee bit of signal to advise we were virtually back in civilisation! 
  
The temperature of 26.6°C registered in our ‘van that night, further confirmed we were sufficiently north to have finally escaped the southern winter!  Thank goodness we removed winter sheets in Carnarvon!
     
             
 

The pleasure of birds - two crested pigeons came for breakfast. To hear their soft hoots and the melodious call of a butcherbird in the background served to illustrate we were in a good spot. The gleaming white trunks of the coolibah trees gracing the Yannarie floodplain had us decide to stay another night and just relax.  Lea intent on doing more work on piecing together her Dad’s life story.

Another day later, we elected to go no further than the next roadhouse, Nanutarra - 70km north of the Barradale rest area. Not the most pleasant of places as remarkably busy with road works that held us up for a good 30 minutes occurring our side of the Ashburton River (south) with plenty of activity around the Roadhouse. We had no choice of site in the odd layout as almost all were pre-booked. We needed a shower, so we stayed. By evening, caravans were packed all around us … our worst nightmare, and consequently, the worst on our journey thus far.


The only highlight, was a walk along the old road bridge across the Ashburton River, built in 1966.  It now serves as a pedestrian bridge with seating to enjoy the beautiful lighting at sunset.

From Nanutarra, we swung eastwards, along Marlu Way, on the Nanutarra – Munjina road towards Karijini National Park travelling through more limitlessly barren landscape. Hilly country covered in spinifex and sharp ridges strewn with red (iron rich) rocks. By midday, we pulled into the Beasley River 24hour rest area. Not far off was Cheela Plains Station, which we’d intended to try. However, finding a choice site at the Beasley River that suited us perfectly we decided Cheela Plains (at a price) would not offer us much more, so we gave it a miss.  The difference in our surrounds from a botanical point of view was very noticeable. Purple and green mulla-mulla (or pussy tail flowers) and a wide variety of other plants kept George’s camera in overdrive.  A different biome in which George felt like a newcomer. Most remarkable was the display of a bush with fluffy flower heads spilling beside the road leading down to the campsites.  Days later, once in signal, George was to identify it as ‘’kapok bush’’, now regarded as a serious environmental weed. Introduced by Afghan cameleers these plants were historically used in the Middle East for cushion and saddle padding. 

Kapok bush – a serious environmental weed looking at its best

After crossing the Beasley Bridge next day, we saw the WELCOME sign at the entrance to the Cheela Plains campground, even with a café available for traveller breakfast or coffees – quite a different story to the norm for station stays - Wooleen being an example.  This left such a favourable impression, we began to regret not going in for a look-see, at the very least. The further east we drove the more mountainous it became. The land thickly wooded and the grass cover noticeably better than what we’d been driving past over the last week or so. 

Neither of us could recall Paraburdoo, even though the route taken on our map, 14 years ago showed otherwise. This goes to show how important it is to retain a record and reinforces our opinions of memory and its failings. Paraburdoo proved to be an easily forgettable and typical mining town. We were back in the land of huge yellow machines, men in high-vis yellow jackets wearing helmets; utes covered in red dust with flags waving from above the bull bar. The change in land use from pastoral to mining was not too apparent apart from power lines and railway lines out in the landscape. We topped up with fuel, before taking the long, slow haul up through the mountains to Tom Price, 60km away, the highest town in WA (altitude 747m asl) and nearest town to the Karijini National Park. We spotted Coles supermarket in the town centre and stopped to get fresh provisions. George went off to find a toilet.  Well! Tom Price toilets beside the main car park  proved to be a most extraordinary facility, constructed out of stainless steel,  with red and green flashing lights depending on whether the male of female toilet was in use, with push-button to open the door; a loud voice told you the door was closing and advised you had ten minutes to complete business in there,  followed by piped music; a push-button discharged rationed toilet paper. ‘The voice’ returned to advise the toilet would flush once you washed your hands at the basin!  George was overly impressed by this highly sophisticated amenity in a little town tucked away in the back of the Hamersley Ranges. Once our shop was done, he insisted Lea go and see the fancy Loo.    We stopped at the Visitors Centre for maps and information about caravan parks, Karijini NP and the condition of the rail access road, privately run by Rio Tinto / Hamersley Iron to maintain their rail-line to Karratha.  We wished to take this as it’s a convenient short-cut. It does require watching a 20 minute video advising all the possible hazards to be encountered along their road. before a permit is granted.

Alarm bells began ringing when the ladies on the desk advised the caravan park and all the campsites in the National Park were fully booked until the end of July. Furthermore, several of the gorges and pools were closed due to damage and could only be seen from the lookouts. We’d probably find sites in Auski Roadhouse.  We asked about Wittenoom (where we’d camped once before) only to be told it was permanently closed to public. We asked about the former residents. Three now remained out of the seven diehards, the government had been unable to budge fifteen years ago when the lethal town was deemed unsafe and bulldozed away, as a severe asbestos risk.

Outside Tom Price, we gobbled a late lunch beside an enormous dump truck which, over the period of its working life 1980- 1992, had moved an estimated 23 million tons of ore.

We had come a long way, 354 km in all… for nothing!  Although we’d enjoyed the drive, refreshing our fast-fading memory of the route, our immediate problem was to find a camp. George recalled the Albert Tognolini Rest Area above Munjina Gorge, 120km away!  There was no option other than to ‘’put foot’’ and make a run for it, hoping that every other nomad / camper in the same predicament did not have the same idea.  It was one of those drives we don’t enjoy … rushing through the Karijini NP with the Hamersley Ranges lying immediately to the north of us. No time to enjoy the scenery, while driver made a beeline for the Great Northern Highway.

As we climbed up towards the Albert Tognolini Lookout and beyond to the bush camp area, one of our long- time favourites, came the disheartening sight of caravans and campers in 4x4s with roof tents all over the place. Having thought closure of the WA border would relieve normal mid-winter pressure on campsites in WA, little did we realise what an impact school holidays was going to have. After covid19 lockdown, it seemed as if the entire citizenry of WA, unable to leave the state or country, had decided to get out and see what was on their doorstep!

  
We still managed to find ourselves a nice spot looking out over a spinifex covered valley, studded with ‘’ snappy gums’’, the white stemmed eucalypts that are so very characteristic of the Hamersley Ranges. Not far off to the south of us, on Juna Downs Station, lies Mt Meharry – the highest peak in WA, rising to 1 249m asl. 
 
Virtually every site was vacated next morning, and we decided to stay on after yesterday’s long haul (300km).  Took a walk before morning tea to investigate the full extent of this rest area before settling down to our computers for the rest of the day. Generator running for a while to keep computers charged.   We decided there was no justification to head all the way back to Karratha and the Dampier peninsula with the unavoidable school holiday problem.  Best to continue along the Great Northern Highway to Port Hedland.

 Although little of botanical interest around, George came across some interesting ant trails – thin tubular tunnels across the soil surface in which hundreds of tiny black ants were determinedly moving in one direction. 
  
A plan of action arose to check out the Auski Roadhouse for a night, hopefully allowing us to do our laundry and refill water tanks. We moved on through the scenic Munjina Gorge, beautifully illuminated at that time of the morning,

Western flank of the East Munjina Gorge

We arrived to a hub-bub of activity around Auski – clouds of dust billowing about – kicked up by high road-train traffic coming and going. We contemplated this hideous scene for at least twenty minutes. During this time, George made two ‘recces’ of the area, trying to make up his mind before a grassed site about to be vacated decided the issue! We moved in.  The Auski ‘’tourist village’’ seemed a misnomer. It appears to offer accommodation, not so much for tourists, rather mine workers (fly-in: fly-out perhaps) and road workers  in barrack style rows  or small cabins, all constructed of sheet metal (stiflingly hot in summer) and everyone, miners, road workers and tourists alike share the same ablutions and laundry. Other than day and night noise, Auski was not a bad stop-over for us as we had a spacious green lawn on which to park our rig; potable ground water and power laid on, even soap powder included in the $4 cost of washing machines. Free tea & coffee in the camp kitchen!

Next morning it was time to face the Great Northern Highway with all its road trains and trucks carrying abnormally wide loads. We had decided for our own stress levels to take short hops and check out three possible nights stops. Almost immediately came the reason for construction noise and frequent high pitch warning peeps that bothered Lea during the night. A massive road-over-rail project was under construction not 5 kms away.  The increase of heavy vehicles at night takes a heavy toll on livestock.  Lea counted 13 cattle carcasses within the first fifty kilometres. Unfenced roads are a terrible traffic hazard and the pain of an animal dying doesn’t  bare thinking ; nor do we hear folk  speak of it.  After travelling for an hour or more, with a strong tail wind blowing us along, we stopped for coffee/tea dismayed by the first two rest areas and only one remaining at the Marble Bar turn off. A bleak option!  Soon after we pulled back onto the busy road came a most unexpected 24 hour rest area sign. We promptly pulled in, travelled the lengthy sealed access road to Two Camel Creek roadside camp (all fully sealed and serviced). So new it was unmarked in our Camps Australia 9 book – A name far too attractive not to take advantage of.  The joy of travelling the way we do … with no fixed plans, able to make quick decisions and no reason to go anywhere in a hurry… We had the place to ourselves – carefully chose our site and happily settled down for the rest of the day blogging!  The odd traveller stopped for the loo and only late afternoon did we have two caravans draw in and stay. The night was rent by three trains passing to the back of us and the ubiquitous road-trains to the front – their comings could be heard from afar, such was the discordantly shrill sound of wheels contacting with road or rail.  

We’d planned to make our last night stop on this road at Indi Station. We’d stayed there two years ago and so enjoyed the history and hospitality of this station. However, we were closer to the station than expected and we knew it didn’t provide power or water. We decided the money for camping there would best go towards paying for a caravan site in Port Hedland, enabling us to prepared for the next big leg towards Broome. And, after almost two weeks give us TV for the night! 

As vital as the Great Northern Highway obviously is to the mining industry, there is little doubt the heavily laden road trains travelling day and night, take a severe toll.  It is not an easy road to drive, as the blast of wind from each oncoming road train jars against our rig or contending with the furrowed nature of the road itself. Rutted by the many tyres of road trains causing a subsidence of the road surface or, the hot bitumen softening to create groves. Reminds us of our skiing days when the wake of other boats caused an instability to our lane - the sway of our road was more nerve racking.  Give the roads department or local shire their due .. they do try to keep up with the worst patches. 


Abnormal loads approaching on Great Northern Highway – Escorts give plenty of warning and you creep along the road verge in anticipation.
The tribulations of the road behind us we took refuge in South Hedland’s Black Rock Tourist Park. Never the nicest place to stay; purely convenient – nevertheless it was a shock to pay fifty dollars for the privilege of parking one’s van on thick dusty red sand alongside a wobbly metal pole holding power points. Everything looking very run-down. The water full of lime, the shower nozzles were clogged. Warning us to use our hose-filter on filling our tanks. There, back pressure blew the hose off the tap causing a sea of red mud and, we found ourselves tripping on the substantial tie down points concealed in the dirt - provided for cyclone events. Two years ago we paid $35 for same site – this time, a camper had dishonestly thought he could nip into this far edged site without anyone knowing; forcing us to move up two sites.
TV at last gave us some new of the world … You have got to be joking - Donald Trump wearing a face mask! A shocking resurgence of Covid19 in Melbourne, Victoria. No doubt thanks to none believers flouting every social constraint – insisting this ‘flu’ should be allowed ‘to run and be done’ or thoughtlessly bored with confinement!  As with Science and politics – two very divergent views…  Lea raised our moods, cooking up blueberry flapjacks for afternoon tea!   A third night of consistent road and rail noise penetrated Lea’s head – the hard of hearing slept deeply.   Eager to leave Port Hedland trucks and trains behind, we did a quick shop and hit the road…
Stopped for morning tea soon after departing the northern edge of town where the emptiness of flat, spinifex covered plains comes up so fast. 

We headed for De Grey River; a favourite hang-out for grey nomads, and where we have camped several times amongst the paper barks on the floodplain. As we crossed the bridge we naturally peered across to the campground to see how full it was.  EMPTY!  We were in for a surprise the old campsites had been fenced off and huge immovable rocks lined the fence as an added deterrent to the determined.

 
Noogoora Burr, a weed toxic to cattle, imported in by campers, closed down a well-loved camping area!

Closure of the old campsites was not the end of the world.  We have always felt the forests were over-utilised by people placing huge pressure on that environment. Recognising its popularity, Main Roads had gone to considerable trouble and converted the area above the floodplain into a very nice, large campground, using road-making gravel to level out and define the old eroded tracks we once used to access the riverine forest.  By chance, stopped on the northern edge beside a small parrot tree – Schotia, casting shade for Lea while George set off on a site inspection. He returned to say we couldn’t do better when it came to privacy and view. Towards nightfall we took a walk around the perimeter and counted at least twenty caravan arrivals after us.  The peace of night allowed for the gentle lowing of brahman cattle to reach us as they moved along the De Grey Station fence line, in close proximity to us. Later the call of a Boo Book owl lulled Lea to sleep.

Content to remain camped right where we were in the de Grey rest area, we stayed on. George squeezed through one of a number of locked pedestrian gates; accesses awaiting better days ahead and walked down to the floodplain to have a look around. From the amount of regrowth over the tracks and camp spots we’d known, he ascertained the rest area must have been closed for well over a year, possibly shorter as we last camped here in May 2018.  Despite signs saying a ‘surveillance and eradication programme was underway’ George was dismayed to find Noogoora Burr alive and well. Some plants two metres high and in seed. All showed indications of having been nibbled by cattle. Had the summer rains that flood this river followed by Covid19 restrictions, allowed these plants to get out of hand? Would they grown to this height in the interim?



5.00am, it had been a very warm night, and a gut feel told George the battery supplying the deep freeze in the truck may be taking strain. Sure enough the temperature was down from minus 10°C to minus 3°C. He ran the truck engine for a while to recharge the battery and although the deep freeze was back to minus 10°C within half an hour. All the early morning disturbance had us sleep through until 9.00!  Solar was doing its work and George was keen to see whether ‘Noogoora Burr’ was downstream of the bridge and spent an hour or more searching for any sign of the plant along some of the back channels and flood terraces. No sign of the plant and George was struck by a completely different condition to the area compared to the disturbed state of the old campground zone. Full of birdlife, groups of ‘’happy family’’ birds (babblers), bee-eaters, black swans and corellas – even butterflies (monarchs) flitting around. All biological indicators of a healthier habitat regardless of obvious presence of cattle.  George popped off an email to WA government’s Pest and Disease Information Service with photos to advise of the Noogoora Burr and heard back saying although very similar, the photos sent of the plants at de Grey were not Noogoora Burr but Castor Oil!  What a laugh. Lea, had said it looked just like castor oil when taken to see the plants, on our first evening walk.
 
   

Three days later we reluctantly left de Greys for Cape Keraudren -  one of our “top ten’’ coastal locations in Australia. Perfectly timed - without any rush or eye on the clock, we were enjoying elevenses while feasting our eyes on our new view over the brilliant blue waters of the inlet, in perfect weather, as the tide slowly receded. The campground fairly full, the fees unchanged, good phone signal an added benefit in a time of family anxiety.

With the tide going out George was off to get amongst the mangroves. Drawn by the sculptured nature of their ancient stems, the size of which are the largest he’s seen, with their carpet of aerial roots (pneumatophores) crackling underfoot.  Lea views this embayment like a huge bowl of water that empties and fills with the tides revealing beautiful rock formations.



Inevitably, more campers arrived as the day wore on, and the ‘’space’’ we had around us became increasingly invaded. Another caravan parked his ‘van on the rocky water’s edge directly below us, spoiling the view! However, by evening, after a walk to the campsites overlooking the open ocean, the deep orange glow of the sunset gave us no further reason to complain.  We are downright lucky to be in such a beautiful spot. 
 
 Our view as night falls

Another warm night and a predawn check on the condition of the freezer battery in the truck revealed another poor temperature.  We could hardly disturb our neighbours running SKV’s engine!  George had to wait until 7.00 before giving the battery a boost and the solar panels took over with the rising sun.  With all our meat in this freezer, it was not good having a battery unable to hold its charge.  George noticed a camper preparing to leave his prime position at the end of the campground, we were quick to take his place.  Above the mangrove lined shore of the inlet, no one close by, and facing south took the intense glare of the sea in the late afternoon.  Most importantly, we’d be able to run the truck engine at dawn.  Perfect. 
  
After lunch, with the sight of people, as well as Jabiru (black headed stork) wandering about on the floor of the inlet, exposed at low tide – we went on recce of our own. After a perilous climb down the wave eroded rocks  above the mangroves – Lea no sooner stepped onto  the rocky platform than she went for a loop – her feet slipping and sliding as she tried to get up from the fine layer of mud that covered the hard platform stretching across the bay. Her navy shorts left with a very wet bum and white with silt.



We stuck to the sandy margins thereafter  and much enjoyed looking into the rock indentations occupied by sausage-like sea cucumbers as we wended our way out through the striking oyster clad rocks – usually well under water in the bay.

Rising from a strip of sand below the near impenetrable, jagged limestone cliffs that fringe the bay, these rocks resembled sculptured animals – walruses, turtles  ready to rush headlong into the sea. 

At dusk, the wind that generally blows keeping everyone cool across the wide open empty plains of our campground, dropped. An unseen enemy hiding in the mangroves, Culicoides ornatus, the dreaded no-see-ums or blood sucking midges (incorrectly called ‘’sand flies’’) launched their attack while we were engrossed in a phone conversation with our daughter.  Lea was soon to go crazy with their itchy bites,  that soon developed into a mass of small angry red bumps on her arms and legs. So much for gin and tonic or vitamin B!  It was  George who remained untouched…

Before bed, he made his usual night time check to find the problematic fridge battery had already dropped. He gave it a boost  to see it through the night. However, at dawn  it had dropped so low,  the deep freeze had cut out. A worrying situation, which together with the no-see-um problem, had us decided to make a dash for Broome (460km away) and by-pass Eighty Mile beach and Barn Hill Station.  Priority was a new battery.
  
When we stopped our morning break a couple of hours later, no-see-ums stowaways attacked Lea again! Consequently, we gave the caravan a good spraying of insecticide before continuing on journey.  Late lunch time we pulled into the Stanley 24 hour Rest Area and decided that was enough for Saturday. Best rest up and do the remaining 200 km to Broome on the Sunday. Before going to bed  that night same story- the battery was too sick! We brought our portable deepfreeze into the caravan and ran it off Getaway’s deep cycle battery.  A good idea until …. 2.00 am, when George got up to see how the ‘van, was coping with two fridges to run.  Battery levels were down to 12.2v and falling, the warning light in amber.  With fellow campers to consider George wanted to move on down the road to the first lay-by allowing us to run the generator without disturbing anyone … After much discussion we opted to switch off the portable freezer and do nothing until sunrise.  It took the generator 20 minutes to remedy the crisis and by 8.00 we were on our way to Broome.

We decided to return to Broome caravan park, 5km north of the town, although we had to swallow twice at the thought of again paying $50 per night. At least this was a far better park than Port Hedland and who knew what more central Parks were charging.  We were only to glad to have electricity solve our immediate worries and enjoy a very good shower.   Monday’s priority – battery!  George made a beeline for ALL VOLTS, POWER SOLUTIONS. They had come to our aid a couple of years ago.  Dodger, the most helpful and knowledgeable owner of the business not only replaced both starter and fridge batteries he also sorted out a couple of other things that came to his attention – blown fuses, slack in the hand throttle cable and testing of the Andersen plug. Lea sorted out two loads of washing and began baking flat out in small proportions to refill our tea-break containers, while we had electricity.  All the Perth bakes in a large oven at Saxon’s house had come to an end.  Meanwhile, George after his chat with Dodger… had gone in search of 4x4 mechanical workshop to replace the timing chain and investigate why SKV was using more fuel / km travelled than ever before.  Dodger had suggested a possible reason for increased consumption could be air flow obstructed by soot accumulation in the muffler.  No one could  help until Thursday at the earliest. George took that booking before finishing off at Mitre 10 Hardware store.  On his return , as Lea was still busy in her kitchen George decided to clean out the ‘boot’ of the caravan. In taking out our little dome tent he discovered a large nest of black ants camping within the bag. How often we have mused at how quick ants travel up the stair well into our caravan and begin foraging around the sink or cupboards. Over the colder months some didn’t return home – simply huddled together in a corner for the night.  No matter how fast we got rid of them there were still more at the next stop.  We realised the blighters had been in residence in our tent for at least ten months! 
 
With another three days in Broome we began making new travel plans. A lady in the CP, just back from Cape Leveque told us that most of the campgrounds and places of interest we’d visited six years ago (July 2014) were closed due to covid19 concerns amongst the Aboriginal communities living up there and without a booking – no one could travel up the Dampier Peninsular. With Tuesday a ‘free’ day we popped along to the Broome Visitors Centre to double check on the Dampier Peninsular. Sure enough being a bio-security area there were only two places open and to get there required pre-bookings.  Thankfully Cygnet Bay Pearl Farm, was one. On our first visit up the peninsular Cygnet Bay boat trips had been fully booked out and we had  pledged to return one day and do a boat experience!   With the help of Broome Visitors Centre we were able to  check out the next extreme tide  and make a confirmed booking for Waterfall Reef, 19th August, in King Sound and two nights camping utilising the time consuming service of the Visitor Centre.  We may feel life has returned to normality but we are pulled up when we discovered we were unable to book a seat on  the hovercraft taking people out on an extreme low tide to see the remains of the Catalina and Dornier flying boats, shot down by Japanese fighter planes in March 1942.  It is not operating due to Covid19 safety.

An hour before sundown we took a drive to Cable Beach and walked the expanse of the northern end with the tide right out, we happily walked for an hour or so, admiring the intricate patterns on the surface of the beach created by sand pebble crabs; checking out the mass of people contentedly sitting beside their vehicles enjoying their sun-downers; dogs having a run and watching the trains of camels plodding past burdened with happy tourists. A twilight ritual so normal and typical of Broome, it was hard to believe the threat posed by covid19 existed. 


On our last free day here, we took a drive out on the red sandy track that runs along the edge of Roebuck Bay to the Broome Bird Observatory.  We stopped to walk the shoreline and enjoy the extraordinarily blue colour of the sea, the layered nature of the sandstone rocks, the rust coloured beaches lying below sheer pindan cliffs, and the shoreline birds encountered. Amongst them was the dark form of the eastern reef egret, a species we’d not seen before.

 
 
George was up early to have SKV front of the queue at opening time 7.00 to have the timing belt replaced by Minshull Mechanical – and establish why the fuel consumption has increased. It turned out that the tappets were sticking, and the valves would need to be adjusted … a long (4.5hr job) that had to be done while the engine was cold.  The net result a seven hour wait and a hefty bill to settle.

Nothing goes according to plan and George had to kill time walking about! Fortunately he came across the  Japanese Cemetery – the highlight of the day for him thanks to its interesting history. There are 707 graves (919 Japanese people) in the cemetery with most of them having tall headstones of coloured beach rocks. During the years when Japanese men were employed in the pearling industry many lost their lives due to drowning or diver’s paralysis (bends?). In 1944 for example, diver’s paralysis claimed the lives of 30 men. Many others were lost in the 1908 cyclone. Cyclones in 1887 and 1936 each caused the death of 140 men.


When the heat became too much he was able head for the Woolworths shopping centre and sit patiently on a bench. 

With problems sorted after 5 days in Broome, we decided to return south as far as Barn Hill Cattle Station, 130km away. By lunch time we had a front ridge un-powered site overlooking the ocean with a light breeze blowing from behind us to help cool things down. Temperature 30°C. This popular Station was busy but nothing like normal peak season.


Saturday Night Session  with dinner under a night sky and singer /guitarist Terry Bennetts

Like teenagers, we set off armed with our camp table, chairs, cutlery and juice for the 5.30 start under a hot evening sky. Everyone suitably scattered Covid style. As the sun set and the horizons changed to the softer colours of afterglow Terry, kept our toes tapping and happily entertained.   Young hands working on the station, quietly moved around pouring out portions of soup. How well, we fall into safe new ways! Bit later, they quietly asked a table near us to go up and collect their main course and requested the next table to be ready to approach... Obviously someone at the opposite end of the field noticed the movement to the open verandah and next minute a stampede of feet to queue up with no regard to distancing occurred alongside us. Fear of food running out?  We take back what we said earlier…  Line-up, line-up is a habit so steeply engrained that all thought of safety flies off the radar... Reality – a lot of people are fickle when it comes to their personal well-being. Soon after 7.30 pm a northern winter cool began to infiltrate the grounds and jumpers were pulled on. George returned to the caravan to collect our fleeces. Ice-cream in cones were served up and we noticed those first served, on finishing their cone, immediately packed up and left the grounds. By the time we had eaten our ice-cream we were uncontrollably shivering and giggling at this ridiculous situation… Days without any cloud cover results in rapid heat loss and the temperatures plummet from 30° to 15°C within a couple of hours of the sunset.  By 8 p.m. we are usually inside our insulated caravan unaware of this temperature change.  We forced ourselves to delight in live entertainment on a Saturday night suffering the longest half-hour of chills before calling it a day.  


 

Rustic it may be… but hell’s teeth it is a divine shower to take in the middle of the day under sapphire skies. The spiralling black hose solar heats the water! 

We say it every time we come here, it’s an extraordinary beach-scape … 





We love our evening walks along the beach with the glow of the jagged rocks on shoreline becoming ever more colourful as the sun slowly sinks below the horizon and reinforces why we come back here, time and time again.  As a traveller’s venue, Barn Hill’s beach-side station stay, is a spot that takes a lot to beat it. 



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