THE RETURN...
After three months in the
Broome region there was a certain unwillingness to leave our beautiful site at
a good price and hit the road in high northern heat. We stopped for our
compulsive salted caramel ice cream in China Town. Lea rushed into the
supermarket to get a supply for the road, leaving George with the rig. Just as
she paid, she was surprised to see George, with a ‘hunted’ expression on his
face. He briefly told her he had been forced to escape! On arrival back at the caravan there was an
elderly woman out for the count on the pavement beside Lea’s door. Turned out
she had approached George waiting in the shade, asked his name and then slumped
down at his feet. He tried to help her up, realising her inebriated state made
her a dead weight! Men, further along
the pavement certainly made no attempt to come to her aid. And as soon as
George could, he made a dash for the supermarket. She was fast asleep as Lea
stepped round her legs and climbed into the truck.
Out at Roebuck Plains Roadhouse
we filled the tanks and checked tyres before swinging south onto the all too
familiar stretch of the Great Northern highway. Travelling at the hottest time
of the day, is never the best idea and our first day required 180km of travel through
very monotonous plains as far as the Stanley rest area. We’d stopped here, on
our way north three months ago. A big empty space without another ‘van compared
to last time, when easily fifteen or more. A hot evening required cool food!
Lea created a version of Cambodian Green Mango Salad using green mangoes her
granddaughters had found. It went down very well.
The highway remained semi-deserted. One caravan passed us. Over the past three months travelling between Broome and Barn Hill there had been over fifty going in each direction. All we had to cope with were a couple of abnormal loads taking advantage of the open road. And, as a cattle train passed us, our windscreen was splattered in excrement! Approaching Sand-fire roadhouse, the enormous plain, inland of Eighty Mile beach and extending eastwards into the Great Sandy Desert was the only remarkable component of the landscape. At Eighty Mile Beach caravan park we found the reception office closed until 4.00pm with advice that the only block of powered sites available were on the northern end of the park. We’d never been down that way during past visits over the years (July 2007; Dec 2009 (after a cyclone), May 2018). It was strange to drive through an empty park and see just how far it extended. Barely a handful of sites had been taken up which suited us perfectly. We carefully picked a site and remain unhitched as our rig crossed over onto another. A light sea breeze kept us cool for the rest of the afternoon. However, come 4.00pm – our hopes of a quiet stay were shattered with the arrival of people and camping vehicles. We realised it was Friday! George’s scowl further deepened when a slammer and slider arrived and parked behind us. Worse still, three camper trailers – all with kids, travelling together, set up a lager right beside us. Thankfully, we hadn’t paid for our stay as yet. We were OUT of there the very next day, especially after discovering the $45 charge per night.
We took off for a good walk on
the beach to renew our mood.
New to us, was a look-out
platform at the top of the primary dune with very informative boards.
Down on a beach that appeared
limitless – This was roughly, the middle of Ramsar’s Eighty Mile Site. Being
low-tide, we enjoyed small flocks of godwits and sand-plovers scurrying around
in the shallow intertidal zone. There are similarities to Anna Plains (northern
end of Eighty Mile Beach) with flat, wide, and wild open beach with little to
no distinguishing rock or beach formations as far as the eye could see. In days
to come we will reach the southern end of Eighty Mile Beach at Cape Keraudren
where rocks become plentiful. On our December 2009 stay we’d come down to this
beach and found it riddled with what we thought, were quad bike tracks and we
were desperately hoping we’d find more of the same!
WE DID! The recent tracks of a
flatback turtle leading towards the foredunes.
Up in the dunes we came across
several large excavations. Presumably, turtles had laid their eggs around there
over previous nights. The tracks of a marauding goanna were also evident at a
nest site. No sign that it had tampered with the nest - merely had a site
inspection. As dust fell, we realised we
were not to strike lucky a second time. There was not a sign of any dark,
lumbering reptile emerging from the sea.
Next day, a strong 30km/hr
headwind made for a slow, fuel consuming pull to Cape Keraudren – a favourite spot
of ours and we could not resist another visit especially when we knew there was
a good chance of it being empty. And so, it proved to be. On arrival we had the
whole campground to ourselves, and after making sure the sea breeze would flow
through the caravan, we positioned ourselves in a prime spot overlooking the
huge, gradually filling inlet. From there, the
Keraudrenn Hot-spot was good enough to repost our October blog.
Just as we began to relish the idea of spending a couple of nights here, things turned sour. The dreaded flat battery problem reared its head again. George had run the generator to charge Lea’s phone. Shortly thereafter, a rapid decline in battery power from 13.7v to 12.0v took place on the indicator. The solar charge controller dropped into amber. Not wanting to run the risk of the fridge shutting down when it turned to red – George started the truck to charge the caravan batteries using the alternator, in the forlorn hope the load would drop once the cooler night air allowed the fridge thermostat to switch off. SKV’s engine ran for over two hours. Despite cooling winds, the fridge did not turn off. Eventually, in sheer desperation we switched everything off, the fridge included, and spent a sleepless night worrying about what to do next. The noisy, foolish antics of a hoon doing ‘’donuts’’ in a truck at the far end of the campground certainly didn’t help. (Glad to say he was frogmarched out by a ranger early next day!)
Early next
morning with thick cloud cover overhead,
George switched on the fridge and ran the generator until the batteries were
back to full strength. Not keen to endure another night of drama the decision
was made to forfeit our next night and make a run for Port Hedland, 150 km away.
There, we reluctantly set ourselves up in Black Rock Caravan Park since it
was the closest to the light industrial
area of Wedgefield, with a caravan service business we’d used in the past ( May
2018) and a battery supplier. With a
stroke of luck – one or other may be able to help us first thing Monday morning.
Until then, we were on power, could run
the air conditioner and had TV to watch.
8.30 found us
outside the premises of HAE (Hedland Auto Electrics) where the owner Brendon had
undertaken to load test our batteries. The moment he set eys on our three deep
cycle batteries in the caravan, he declared they were cheap and nasty
batteries, bearing the name ‘’Total’’ which he’d never heard of, from
China! He checked each battery, found
one in dire need of replacement, the other two not as bad as they’d been wired
up incorretly. George immediately phoned
Perth Caravan Repair Centre who had fitted the batteries in February, (still
under guarantee) to request they authorise their replacement. Confirmation came through 10 minutes later and
Bredon was given the go ahead to replace all three under the guarantee with far
better quality. We breathed huge sighs of relief (cost $1200).All this time,
we’d put trust in the brand new batteries and chosen to suspect the three 15
year old solar panels incapable of solid work. We’d tried a good many times to
have them replaced with updated, lighter versions. No one had the time let alone the correct
panels to do the job. Soon we were back
on the busy Great Northern Highway as we made tracks for Roeburne (200 km away)
along Warlu Way.
It was too
hot and dry to spend the night at Peawah River – lunch with the flies there
proved bad enough. We pushed on to Port
Samson, a picturesque little town on the coast, often referred to as the
‘’Jewel of the Pilbara’’ because of its beaches, coral reefs and fishing spots.
We’d last come here in 2006 which made it interesting to notice the development
and changes that had taken place.
We checked into the newer and spacious Cove holiday village and, in late afternoon, accompanied by a high number of pestilential flies, began to explore our surrounds – taking a beautifully laid out cement walkway to Honeymoon Cove and back in the opposite direction, to the site of the historical jetty, along Town Beach. In the distance we could see ships waiting to pick up iron ore from the Cape Lambert loading facility.
From Port Samson it was only a ‘’hop and a skip’’ to Cleaverville Beach, a Shire-run nature based camping ground where, at this time of the year, no fees apply. Unsurprisingly, we found we had the whole place to ourselves, picked a spot right on the edge of the ocean overlooking Nickol Bay with the Burrup Peninsula visible on the horizon. Here, we enjoyed a couple of nights of quiet free-camping and settled back into our normal daily routines. In the middle of the day, George saw an osprey fly past, and decided to climb to the top of the headland that lay at the end of our beach in case it had a nest there. Instead he came across a pair of rock kestrels. Throughout his walk he was tormented by flies and had to resort to wearing a fly net over his face.
Our Cleaverville site looking towards the head where George had climbed.
From the headland looking back
to our rig.
Come evening, we walked a coastal track and discovered a very hardy plant with beautiful creamy rosebud like flowers. Yet to be identified.
With a high tide lapping at
the rocks just below our caravan we were drawn to walking the rocky beach after
breakfast.
This decided George to dig out
his snorkelling gear and have a look around the small embayment directly
opposite our camp. It proved to be a rather colourless, uninteresting
experience, with no sign of any marine life - nothing but round black boulders
down below,
We walked the beach again at
low tide in order to examine the rock pools exposed out of the rocky platforms.
These too were surprisingly lifeless. Birds of interest included a Brahminy
kite and Stone (beach) curlews.
Ambling on southwards, our
next port of call was Dampier with its salt evaporation ponds and Hamersley
Iron’s colossal iron ore export facilities. The town’s tiny caravan park was
closed. We immediately decided to go out on the Burrup Peninsular and see the
very recently opened viewing platforms to the ancient petroglyphs (rock art)
we’d specially come to see and then move on to Gnoorea Point. We’d visited the rock art site in July 2006 –
stumbling about in the heat, as we searched for the etchings that had been
scratched or scraped upon amongst the numerous tumbling rock hills. This time, we expected to find them easily
with a big sign drawing attention to the upgraded site. Nothing! We missed the
barely noticeable turn off and found ourselves at a most stunning beach.
Such a stunning scene stopped
us in our tracks; the water so inviting that we were to spend hours wallowing
in such a beautiful and very unexpected place.
George was first in and was absolutely delighted he could FLOAT! Something
he finds impossible to do but here, thanks to the higher than normal salinity
in the back of Nickol Bay, he was able to float to his heart’s content. In the far background, we could see the
Woodside LNG plant with an orange coloured flame burning above one of the
stacks somewhat concealed by a rocky ridge.
While in the near vicinity to us, the hills covered from top to bottom
in rusty-red dolerite boulders that comprise the world’s oldest open-air
gallery of rock art, the Murujuga National Park, added yet another dimension to
the place.
We could not tear ourselves away from this idyllic setting and since the rig was parked beside an airy sun shelter, we stayed for lunch planning another dip in the briny before we departed. Instead, an email brought in the awful news of our dear friend Andy Tribe’s passing in Durban, the previous day. We could barely believe our worst nightmare for the past year since our visit with Lorraine and Andy in June 2019, had come to be! Deep concern for our dearly loved Lorraine grew with the minutes. Lea replied to Richard and wrote Heather. And in a sombre state, we noticed Hearson’s Cove had simply emptied. With that we pulled out and shortly after, spotted the National Parks sign we’d missed. Finally, we could see the newly laid out and much-acclaimed upgraded rock art site we’d come to see. Easily accessible with proper parking, pathways, raised walkways and excellent signage. Researchers claim there may be more than a million individual engravings in the area produced over a period from 150 – 40 000 years ago. The techniques employed involved chipping (or pecking), abrading (scratching) and pounding with stone tools to expose the lighter coloured rock underneath.
Thereafter, we hit the road for Gnoorea Point (aka 40 Mile beach), another large Shire run campground, we’d stayed in July 2014, lying about 50 kms away. We arrived there in good time, around 4.00pm, and found it almost empty too. Picked a site with views encompassing over 180° of open ocean. At nightfall, what we presumed were the lights of the rigs servicing Chevron’s gas project off Onslow were apparent, the pipelines for which we’d seen being laid last time we visited Onslow. George derives much enjoyment looking through our archive of photos taken on such occasions, as they not only serve as reminders of when and where we’ve camped, but also the changes that have taken place.
Without all the scores of
caravans and tents that usually frequent these massive campgrounds over winter
- Gnoorea Point becomes a rather bleak, desert-like place. The shire has gone
to great effort to plant shrubs and trees encapsulated in protective plastic to
cope with the relentless windswept plains. We found ourselves collecting our
wastewater to help the strugglers stay alive. Over the two nights and days we
walked the deeply eroded limestone platforms that stretched out at the front of
our unremarkable site, until we’d spy visitations of gulls, terns and even a
couple of pelicans to enliven the barren colourless rock front. A little further north of us, fishermen came
to the slipway with their boats and took to the sea while Forty-mile Beach at
low tide, added a longer walk at sunset for us. That too, was pretty devoid of
interest. Constant sea breezes kept us
relatively cool and comfortable with all windows of ‘Getaway’ open.
The next section of the NW coastal highway swung inland, well away from the coast, with a fearsome heat until we reached Exmouth, our next coastal destination over 500kms away. Longing for a shower we decided a night at the next roadhouse even if it was only around 50km away would be worth its weight in gold! Fortesque River Roadhouse was probably the worst looking caravan park George had ever set eyes upon … We had no option and pushed on in conditions so hot, windy and dry that we landed up doing over 200kms until even Nanutarra Roadhouse, where we’d stayed over three months ago, and hated, thanks to its lay-out and all the people booked in there at the time. Compared to Fortesque Roadhouse, Nanutarra seemed paradise and we drew in there on the last day of October, in a temperature 37°C, to enjoy a much needed shower in spite of a cramped little cubicle, ran the air con and refilled our water tanks … Better still, enjoyed Roadhouse fish and chips take-away for dinner.
November 2020
From Nanutarra roadhouse, we
travelled beneath a surprisingly thick cover of cloud and a pleasant drop in
temperature taking us the best part of three hours to reach Bullara Station,
lying 85km south of Exmouth and 20km south of the Exmouth Gulf. The campground
contained well over 100 sites set amongst the station’s cattle yards, woolshed
and shearers quarters was a pleasant surprise. Six other caravans spread out
well; we were met by the camp host, John, who’s been working ‘’on the road’’
for 16 years and directed to our allocated site. Placed strategically in the campground were
rusted remains of old cars, they included a couple of Holdens from the 1960s
and old farm trucks. At the far end of the grounds we came across broken bottles
and glass, scattered out in the bush amidst discarded old machinery (which did
not say much for the station’s otherwise neat image), a kangaroo fast asleep under
a shady bush. Closer to the homestead, a small flock of large Damara sheep wandered
about. Two goats reminded Lea of Chamois. Brown bottles had been recycled and
marked the ‘Brown Bottle walk out to a sand dune – ideal for sunset! By
nightfall, a measure of disbelief as we heard a handful of raindrops fall on
our roof. ‘Build up’ to the WET?
We had made Bullara Station by the skin of our teeth – this was the last night of their season. Bullara’s Campground closed for the summer season next day! Their last batch of freshly baked scones served up the following morning. We decided a late ‘breakfast’ of scones in the Bullara Homestead garden would make a delightful change and considered ourselves fortunate to have made it in time to enjoy Bullara Station as a fine stopover.
Arriving in Exmouth, we
stopped to replenish with fresh fruit and vegetables only to notice the
Anderson plug had pulled out and for the
past 86km it had danced and bashed itself over the ground, shorting out fuses
in the process, on both truck and van. Fortunately, we were able to buy a new
plug at the local caravan service centre, and rather than pay the $70 plus
service George took the best part of half an hour to rewire, crimp and fit the
connections himself. Our friends the
Ryan’s had warned of the costly Exmouth Parks, so we continued to the Cape Range National Park, offshore of
which, lies the much-acclaimed Ningaloo Marine Park, another of Australia’s
listed World Heritage sites running for 260km along the continent’s west coast.
We found the Lighthouse Caravan Park closed and recalled Mining Magnate, Twiggy
Forrest, was scheduled to change the face of this area with a new resort. We
continued to Yardie Creek and at the turnoff found a miserable, painfully thin
dingo.
Little appealed at Yardie
Homestead with limited power and far removed from the beaches and we pulled out of there and immediately attempted to book on line for a
National Park site – for once we were successful with on-line booking securing a site in Osprey Bay., still some
way down the coast. We stopped for lunch at Tantabiddi before continuing to the
Jurabi Coastal Park Entrance with another 60 km to go. We were interested to
see pratincoles standing beside the road (migratory birds that arrive from Asia
at this time of the year). Soon after
arrival, a walk along the shore to enjoy the sight of waves breaking on the
outer reef with tranquil lagoon of turquoise blue colour lying within. The wind
blowing from the south grew steadily stronger and by evening had become
unpleasant and chilly.
Next morning with the tide rising we went down to the beach to allow George to do a bit of snorkelling over the beds of seaweed that form the dark patches we could see on the floor of the lagoon. He found the water beautifully clear, small electric blue damsel fish swimming around as well as a couple of handsomely striped triggerfish which came up to have a look at him … and he was reminded of a painting he’d done (reproduced below) of a barred triggerfish. Sea cucumbers were plentiful but otherwise there was not a large variety of marine life in the nearshore region. The reality is that for most visitors, like us, the real wonders of Ningaloo Reef, albeit lying only 200 – 300m offshore, are simply out of reach. Consequently, we have to be content either reading about the life associated with the reef or reverting to a visit to the aquarium in Exmouth.
On our return, we noticed the front tyre of the truck was flat (a slow leak) George immediately set about the process of changing it, thwarted however by one of the welds on the adaptor used to jack up the wheel with a high lift jack, breaking! Adding to woes, out in direct sun - neither the high lift jack nor the hydraulic jack worked properly. Nor was it all that easy for an elderly man to simultaneously lift and position a Land Cruiser wheel onto the wheel studs. Lea was called to help! Using our shovel as a lever, we eventually managed to get it sorted. Considered ourselves lucky to do the job at our own pace on nice firm, level ground instead of on the side of a road somewhere. However, equipment needed for these eventualities – are constantly knocked about and, when suddenly found not to work is no fun. We replaced, on our return to Exmouth.
Dusty looking corellas hung around
in the shade of the van. Periodically one would let out an ear-splitting
shriek, severely jolting George’s system to have him jump out of his skin and
follow up with curses! Low flight level screams of jets from the RAAF base at
Learmonth also upset his equilibrium. These strident noises transcend his
normally shelter deaf ears! Further to grumpy old man syndrome was the
ever-increasing strength of the wind as each day wore on. Lea felt blessed we
were not subjected to draining heat and sleepless nights. Certainly, happy kite
surfers raced across Sandy Bay waters demonstrating acrobatic skills - for our
evening entertainment as we walked the well-formed coastal walkways.
We returned to Exmouth, had
our punctured tyre repaired, bought a new hydraulic jack decided to try Ningaloo
Caravan and Holiday Resort as George was keen to visit the Aquarium across the
road. Lea less interested in seeing fish preferred to sort out laundry and
have a shower. Even better, see what was happening in the American Elections
silently praying Donald Trump would come undone! The pixilated channels bothered for an hour
or two before frustratingly, we lost TV reception all together. George disappeared over the road and spent
wonderful hours in the Exmouth Aquarium and Discovery Centre and came away very
impressed.
Apart from being an aquarium focused on the marine life associated with Ningaloo reef, it had a wealth of exhibits about the geology, fauna, and flora of the Cape Range National Park. Cages contained live snakes and lizards; information about the cave dwelling stygofauna and troglofauna in the karst systems beneath the Range; insights into the story behind the wreck of the Stephano in 1875 ; information on the town’s cyclone prone setting, even a cyclone room in which to experience the sound they make, and stories from World War 2 was added to our knowledge of Darwin and Broome when with Exmouth too, fell under threat of attack by the Japanese. The Americans established a radar station, a submarine base and fighter squadron on the coast of the NW Cape or Exmouth Peninsula, changing the face of Exmouth.
We hadn’t gone into the Cape
Range having walked many of the gorges in 2006. After his visit to the Discovery
Centre, George couldn’t help stressing how impressed he was by what there was to
be learnt about the Cape Range NP. Heed the old saying – “Don’t judge a book by
its cover’’! We are the first to admit
that in passing the Range we pay it very little attention. It looks
extraordinarily uninteresting! Yet despite outward appearances it is home to a
tremendous diversity of life: over 650 plants, 7 amphibians, 22 mammals, 100
reptiles and 200 bird species - all thanks to the wealth of microhabitats and
microclimates formed within, beneath and around the layered limestone bedrock
from which it is made. The cliffs, gorges, canyons, sinkholes, aquifers, caves,
fissures, coastal terraces, ancient fossilized reefs, creeks, and waterholes
are all a reflection of the powerful tectonic forces that uplifted the area
millions of years ago. In essence, the
global significance of the Cape Range should not be underestimated. Lea felt
very guilty; as not only did she fob off a visit to the Aquarium she has never really
seen what makes this World Heritage Site, just that!
As we departed Exmouth, we
kept an eye out for the Pot-Shot Memorial overlooking Exmouth Gulf. Wonderful history to ‘’Operation Pot-shot’’ and Krait, a
Japanese fishing boat used to conduct ‘’Operation Jaywick’ took place here in
1943 when the place was alive with
frenetically busy American and Australian armed forces, not to mention military
equipment being loaded and unloaded from ships in the gulf. In brief, ‘’Operation
Pot-shot’’ arose when US submarines were called over from the South Pacific to
counter the threat of seaborne invasion by the Japanese, based in Java. The
Exmouth Gulf was chosen as a refuelling base. The US Commander declared, once
established, they would be in a good position to have a ‘’pot shot’’ at the
enemy – hence the name ‘’Operation Pot-shot’’!
Barely four months after the base was established, the Japanese attacked
on 20 May 1943. They were spotted on radar an hour beforehand and put under
fire from anti-aircraft guns. One Japanese bomb fell harmlessly into the Gulf.
They attacked again, the next night, dropping six bombs on this occasion. Again,
without hitting anything. Realising
their submarines were vulnerable, the US pulled them back to Fremantle. The
Australians radarmen maintained their vigil at Vlamingh Head (high ground
overlooking the Cape) until the station was destroyed by a cyclone in 1945.
‘’Operation Jaywick’’ was a
very different story conducted by a small, special operations unit, in September
1943. Aboard a Japanese slow moving, wooden hulled boat given the name ‘Krait’
(for a dangerous little Asian snake) the Unit made their way to
Subor island, 11km from Singapore. From there, three two-man collapsible canoes
paddled silently into Singapore harbour, overnight and attached limpet mines to
enemy ships. Successfully sinking seven Japanese ships totalling 35 000
tons. Sometime later, a similar
operation took place ‘Operation Rimau’, using the same modus operandi, conducted
by the same team using a Malay junk this time for disguise. The submersible
canoes, better known as ‘’sleeping beauties’’ were again used. However, their
cover was blown, and all were killed or executed as spies - the operation a
failure.
The drive from Exmouth to Coral Bay (150km) through some of the most barren, desolate landscapes on the coast of Western Australia – desert, flat sparely vegetated sandy plains seemingly devoid of life other than termites. Their large rounded mounds imaginatively appearing like hay bales, as an interesting feature apart from occasional long linear dunes. Once in Coral Bay, we were taken aback at the number of people holidaying there. The caravan park was full of them, parked cheek by jowl. Against our better judgment we opted to stay for a couple of days. No choice in site, we curled nervously through the narrow roadways to find it was impossible to reverse into our site due to campers with their tents and vehicles spilling so close to the roadway. We found another empty site and reversed in after sorting out sprinklers and bins. Notified the office only to be told we couldn’t have that. In the midst of reversing our 13m rig in the Office advised we could stay in the second site. Too late, in a state, far from calm – George unhitched for the first time in two weeks and set about putting on power and water. Alarmingly, advice on the site map was not to connect caravans to the onsite water. It was artesian water drawn from a depth of 830m and very hot as well as undrinkable. Further, a request not to allow the tap water run as it burns the grass. The many sprinklers run day and night with a fine spray to help cool the water down and maintain green sites in an arid land. Nonetheless, it proved to be a very fine source of hot water from tap to our bucket, for washing up purposes. - unbelievably hot!
Reception told George there
was fish feeding down on the beach – Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We were in
luck and duly wandered down to witness the spectacle, in plenty of time for
3.30. Searched up and down the length of the beach; asked a local and he
pointed out the usual place. We waited but nothing happened. Finally gave up
and walked to the new look-out (half smothered in drift sand coming off the
dune on which it has been built), before wandering along the beach paddling in
the shallows before taking a swim in the sea green waters at the back of the
bay.
We awoke to a remarkably cool day (21°C) and decided to go see the new boat launching facility, established at Monck’s Head since this was where, George, as part of the DAL (Des Lord & Assoc.) team had undertaken the impact assessment over twenty years ago!
A large parking area, impressive slipway, and jetty along with public toilets; a very welcome asset to the boating community. Removing the danger that launching and operation of boats had posed in the past, on the Coral Bay Beach.
We also woke up to the fact
that today, was FRIDAY! The correct afternoon to see the fish feeding event. Down we trooped to the bay. Spot on time, a man
arrived and attracted a shoal of medium sized Spangled Emperor fish for a meal
of dehydrated fish pellets, which looked like seeds of watermelon. The tide was
going out and the fish a tad nervous to enter well into the shallows in case
they were stranded. Opportunist Silver Gulls were quick to take advantage of a
free feed, regardless of the people gathered together in a horseshoe. More fish swirled about in the deeper zone
and as they shot up to take in a black ‘seed’, they seemed large and
threatening as they flashed towards your legs, mouths agape before swiftly
turning away. Also known as Yellow Sweetlips – these yellow accentuated mouths
appearing ready to gobble you up in an instance, proved terrifying to little
children!
We filled up with fuel at the Minilya roadhouse, hoping to replenish our water tanks before heading to Red Bluff. Apart from bottled water – nothing. Our low supply was going to have to keep us going until we reached Carnarvon! Strong headwinds had us fight all the way to Quobba station. Arriving at the Quobba Blowholes, we stopped for lunch. Despite the wind and high tide, they were not erupting in the manner we expected. They were very subdued and just didn’t match the ‘terror’ evoked by the False Entrance Blowholes out in the Edel Land National Park.
At $34 per night, it seemed
over the top for out of season. Unpowered sites on the dune crest, with ocean
views (in the full force of the wind) were available at $44 per night! These
Homestead campgrounds draw fishers to this renowned area; one of Australia’s
longest stretch of coastline for land-based game fishing. Earlier that morning, 1300 of the station’s Damara
sheep had been trucked out to a neighbouring station so we weren’t to enjoy
their presence this time round. No signal, we were still on edge as to the
America Election results. Towards evening we walked over the dunes onto the
beach where, despite nearly being blown away, we enjoyed the waves crashing
against the headland at the far end of the steeply sloping, shell covered beach,
where lea could hear the rattle as the
waves retreated.. For much of the night we heard the waves pounding the shore.
We proceeded on along the rather rough, corrugated road that runs northwards through Quobba Station (also known as the Gnarloo road) next morning. We stopped at a couple of points to take photos of the sea colliding into the cliffs. Along this section of coastline in the winter months, fishermen come from far and wide to catch Spanish mackerel, Longtail tuna, Yellowfin and sharks using a technique called ballooning. They tie bait to a balloon, using offshore winds to carry it out to sea and drop in deep water. These are dangerous waters with King waves slamming the cliffs and sweeping across rocky platforms. How fishermen retrieve their fish in these conditions remains a mystery!
50km more and we arrived at
Red Bluff. A remote surf spot, that drew ‘our family’ of Justy, Daniel and
adopted Jamie and Emma back here time and again from 1997. Memories of their
stores filled our hearts as we snaked our way along the narrow-corrugated track
leading to the ‘’office’’, paid our fees ($36 per night). After some messing
around and indecision, we eventually selected a level campsite with an
unobstructed view of the Bluff from the caravan door, waves breaking against
low cliffs (ancient coral reefs) below us, 50m away.
Nineteen years almost to the
day - 3 November 2001, Jamie was tragically killed in his hometown in North
East Lincolnshire. A year later, his wife Emma and his parents, Rob and Fi
brought Jamie’s ashes out to Australia and onto Red Bluff, escorted by close
friends which included Justy and Daniel. We came to Red Bluff to honour his
memory in 2006 and here we were, to do just that again. Since 2 November
was All Souls Day it seemed apt, we assemble another four precious souls, which
included Jamie’s mother: in this commemoration. All had been interlinked in
life.
So many emotions and memories were wrapped up in our planned couple of days at Red Bluff … provided we did not run out of water or get blown away by the wind. So, with wind whistling outside, we started the generator to charge up our computers and batteries and began doing some work on our November blog. A walk along the beach that lay perched above the rocks below us contained a number of wallaby tracks, suggesting they regularly came down to the water’s edge from the arid ridge behind us. For every 100m walked, there must have been at least a dozen separate tracks. What attracted them? Possibly the salt deposited / splashed on the rocks.
White breasted Cormorants
Taking advantage of the rather overcast, cool, less windy morning, we took a long walk through the little settlement of wooden shacks (pondockies) that have grown up at Red Bluff over past years. Across the beach, we took the rocky pathway out to the head of the bluff passing the point where most of the surfing takes place. Some of the gullies and caves beneath the cliffs are used for the storage of ‘’tinnies’’ and surfboards. We know a rock with Jamie’s name was placed off the rocky platform below the cliff with his ashes. Our memories fade… Although we looked for any sign of his resting place, we saw nothing. Instead we found a new memorial to Kyli Manchester. presumably, a young surfer who lost his life here in 2008.
GOATS! Why would goats make a habit of coming down to the sea? For salt licks?
A sign indicating turtles
frequented the beach ahead, lured George further in the hopes of finding signs
of nesting. Instead, he came across an osprey nest built (rather precariously?)
on the top of a hummock dune in amongst a large mobile dune field … with three
ospreys, calling to each other, circling in the sky above him.
Osprey nest on dune hummock
Next to catch the eye of the
wildlife detective, were fresh tracks of a small goanna. He followed its trail
for a long way convinced he’d catch up at some stage. Instead, the heat, age,
and thirst began to take its toll and he turned for home. Stubbed his toe on a
concealed rock and limped to the caravan, staggered in the door, alarming his
wife with his ‘bushed’ appearance as he collapsed exhausted in his seat with
bleeding toe. Happy to have had a most interesting outing!
Although we had the option to
stay on at Red Bluff for another day (free of charge) A stormy night with, perhaps six
drops of rain, along with incredible pounding of waves sounding like
bombers drawing in to drop their load and disappear into the night. All had made
for a very restless sleep. Flies clustered in mobs at our fly screens and
slipped into the caravan at any given moment to drive us demented and, no let
up in wind, decided! We had done all we had wanted. Best make tracks for Carnarvon.
Out on the road, a high rise
had the phone ting madly for a brief moment of signal. Amongst messages was our
American friend Michelle’s – Biden Won!!!
Relief was enormous. Who would ever believe that an interest in American
politics would, after all these years of many presidents beginning with JFK,
affect us so deeply? The ‘Demagoguery’
of Trump’s political activity and practices to seek support by appealing to the
desires and prejudices of ordinary people has flabbergasted us. He has opened a
Pandora Box enabling a cult of followers in ‘Trumpisms’ that won’t disappear
easily or peacefully.
Approaching the Blowholes, we
saw a few dramatic sprays… We stopped to attempt a perfect capture on camera as
set after set of large swells broke against the cliffs throwing some spectacular
plumes of water into the air – never where our cameras were aimed though!
By midmorning, we were in Carnarvon. First up give our rig a good wash down, after weeks of salty sea air. The Capricorn Car Wash was unexpectedly closed and rather than head into town we decided to try Capricorn Holiday Park next to the car wash facility. It turned out to be very reasonably priced ($25 per night) with delightful touches – site roads named after iconic Australian road tracks. The rest of the day followed in hectic fashion as we brought our wash basket up to date, supermarket resupplied our fridge and cupboards and SKV refuelled. Television… Although others further over in the park had reception, we could get nothing. It had to be another scrabble night wondering if our TV had suffered one too many shake ups.
Car Wash was open for business
and rig had a high pressure wash down before we hit the road next morning. Our
destination, 120km away at Wooramel Station; a 356 000 acre (1 430 sq. km)
working cattle, sheep and goat outback station stay which fronts onto Shark
Bay. The Wooramel river, another sand floored ‘’upside-down river’’, briefly
flows 2-3 times a year, cuts through the property. The Station owners - Steadman
family provide lovely campsites and facilities, strung along the edge of the
river amongst large river gums, each with character.
Another drawcard is warm (33°C) artesian baths they have established overlooking the sandy river and set within attractive garden surrounds. Each ‘well’ is fed with water coming up under natural pressure from a depth of 240m. Its high mineral content (primarily magnesium and iron) reputed to have soothing effects on tired muscles. Consequently, we speedily submerged ourselves in one of four. Happily, wallowed for 20 minutes before the heat began to drain us. By late afternoon, the campground had a good number of occupants – we could well imagine how popular this place would be over the winter months. The circular seats within each tub, make for perfect conversational pits!
As the sun lowered, we took the Wooramel River Walk that took us past it’s ‘Historical Tip’. A junk yard across the eras from wooden wagons toppled about to a selection of motorbikes used on the station over the years. Lots of old washing machines. Recognised my Granny’s wash tub; a machine my mother owned; even the first machine we bought to wash nappies! wagons lying around, Some scraps had been turned to artwork and placed about the campground.
Following the route back along the riverbed we managed get pictures of a large flock of corellas in flight. We’d heard their screeching and seen them rise like a mass of white butterflies from our campsite. They had been attracted to water emerging from a leaking pipe on the opposite bank. Flocks of corellas are a sight and sound that typifies the Australian outback, for us. We never fail to get a thrill as these white birds take to the wing against blue skies.
The following morning, we
couldn’t resist popping up to the hot tub for a last dip! A very pleasant young
Israeli man was busy cleaning three empty wells before refilling them. The
fourth was left for us! This job is done every day and as we soaked, he
entertained us as he worked. He has been in Australia a year – arrived in
Melbourne and fortunately came over to Western Australia in January before
Covid lock down and has happily been employed up in the north. every day.
Thirty kms on was Gladstone
Beach, where we had stayed on the way north and nearly come unstuck in mud, on
our departure! There were only two other
travellers in the campground and signs of improvements since our last stay in
form of flushing toilets, this served as justification for the slight increase
in camping fees.
As usual, we chose to park as close as possible to the beach with an uninterrupted view over the shallow, dugong rich waters of Shark Bay (a special protection zone). However, even then the water’s edge was over 100m away. Ran the generator for a couple of hours to charge up all our gadgets and settled down yet another lazy, carefree day in the sun … and the wind, the strength of which, steadily increased and grew colder, until by nightfall it felt like a gale!
Nonetheless,
braving the wind we walked out along the remains of the hundred year old 287m
long stone causeway built in 1910 when consideration was being given to
establishing a town, to be called Port Gladstone. It was from this jetty, all
the wool and sandalwood was brought in from the Murchison region by
camels, loaded onto lighters and shipped
to Fremantle.
The wind attempting to remove Lea’s wig and the shirt off her back!
The 77m end
bit of wooden jetty, considered unsafe, still attracts the occasional angler
wishing to fish from there,. Using it as a roost, are numerous fish eating
birds like pelicans and white breasted cormorants.
Once back on the Great Northern highway we drove up to the lookout providing a commanding view over the flat, barren region from whence we’d come.
Over years, Gladstone Lookout
developed memorials to loved ones lost; stones piled up with written messages
some just marked a visit to say who had been and when; with quirky additions
such as a gnome collection.
Gnomes all gone!
This time, we found a dreary change.
We could not understand why these fancy posts had been inserted only to demarcate a veritable ‘tip’. More rubbish than meaning, lowered the tone.
Our next stop, Nerren Nerren Rest Area lay 150km away. Soon after we passed the Billabong Roadhouse the landscape changed. The countryside gradually became more wooded and the last of the spring flowers - bundles of round, white fluffy flowers, lined the road, growing in profusion in certain places.
Cotton bush galore, we saw!
Not only the vegetation
changed - since coming south, the weather too! Rain in the early hours of the
morning revealed a roof leak. The cloth over stove was wet. Time to apply a
coat of sealant after the heat and vibration of the past six months. From the
flat lands, the countryside assumed a rolling form and the first signs of wheat
field. We camped at Galena Bridge the large 24-hour rest area on either side of
the Murchison River. Usually very popular but today we had full choice as the wind
continued to blow strongly and thick cloud cover led us to expect more rain. Main
Roads WA service these rest areas, doing a fine job. This time, we noticed the
addition of defibrillator at the toilet block. That is service.
Our view across the Murchison River.
The cold blustery day kept us indoors until the wind dropped enough to allow us a walk upstream for a couple of kms where we found a point enabling us to cross over the river and walk back along the opposite bank and across the old low-level Galena bridge. While we’d been out walking. fellow campers drawn in for the night on both sides. In 2007, floodwater almost reached the underside of the new bridge (built in 1983) that stands 12m above the riverbed, just downstream.
We picked up on a new
historical story here. Reminding us of Anthony Bourdain’s words with a slightly
different aspect than he intended … Travel is not a reward …. It is
education for living” and we find this learning so fulfilling… The bridge named Galena, goes back to 1848
when the surveyor Augustus Gregory discovered a ‘’vein of lead’’ (galena) in
the bed of the Murchison river close to where the old and new bridges stand.
Further investigation revealed the lead existed in abundant quantities; enough to
develop Geraldine lead mine, with the aid of miners from Cornwall, England. Up
to 130 tons of lead a year, exported. Initially the product was transported by
wagon and bullocks and shipped from Port Gregory on the coast. In time a
tramway was developed to facilitate the process. Intrigued by the history of
Geraldine Mine we tried to find the signed ‘Warribanno Chimney’ on the site of
the original lead smelter. No further signposts eventually had us turn back to
the highway and head to Kalbarri. However, we found ourselves adding to this
story on the road ahead.
The extensive heathlands of
Kalbarri NP produced unexpected bursts of colour.
Glorious bright pink feather flowers (Verticordia) popped up here and there. Or produced a carpet of shocking pink stretching away from the road.
Numerous Grevilleas grew
beside the road displaying their beautiful candelabra-like blooms.
Another species of Grevillea caught
our eye. Long stalks stretched out of their shrub like shape. George stopped to
take a photo and returned saying they were just the seed – we’d missed the
flowers…. In time, we were to learn that from these ‘sticks’ dangled the Smelly
Socks! Within the National Park itself,
most ‘sticks’ only carried seed and if there was a blossom or two, they were
well past their prime. Luckily, we were to come across good display’s further
south of Kalbarri. Lovely white flowers grew at the end of long stalks, well
above the crown and surrounding heath.
Since we visited in 2006,
Kalbarri National Park has undergone a $25 million upgrade: very recently
opening a ‘Sky Walk’ overlooking the Murchison Gorge. This served as a stimulus
to see return to the National Park once we’d found somewhere to leave the
caravan. Accordingly, albeit full of
holidaymakers - we took a site in the Anchorage Caravan park in Kalbarri. and
as soon as we’d had lunch returned to the park, making our way directly to the
sky walk. Kaju Yatcha in the
language of the local Nanda people is clearly a major attraction. Well designed
and constructed to slip seamlessly into the environment - we were more than
impressed. Cantilevered in mid-air 100m above the gorge, the viewing platforms
provide visitors with an unsurpassed outlook over the 400-million-year-old rock
formations the Murchison river has cut through the surrounding countryside.
Nature’s Window is a landmark not just for Kalbarri, but Western Australia; we couldn’t resist another visit to this feature. NEW, a well formed, paved path and many steps took us down to the window in its glorious position.
With time in hand, we took a turn off to another well known area in the Park. Another set of confronting steps of differing heights led to a lookout providing another spectacular view of the Murchison River, known as the Z-bends.
Discussion of the Murchison River and the many places we have camped alongside the river on this 2020 trip had us decide to nip down to the mouth of the Murchison estuary, unencumbered by ‘Getaway’. The incoming waves advanced from all directions to create turmoil for exiting and entering the estuary, by boat. Definitely a hazardous business!
THE MURCHISON CATCHMENT
The Anchorage Caravan Park overlooks a peaceful section of the estuary mouth – with all the front camp sites taken up with caravans and tents we were glad to have a quieter site much further back for the night. Next morning, as we pulled out south of Kalbarri we stopped at the ‘Blue Holes’. A very popular swimming and snorkelling spot that looked so inviting we’d happily have stayed IF there weren’t so many people for that time on a Monday morning. Our next stop took us into the southern reaches of Kalbarri National Park where we drove down to the enormous limestone capped sandstone cliffs that make for another spectacular sight in the area – another feature being Natural Bridge, an archway formed by wave erosion beneath part of the cliffs connecting it to the mainland.
Sixty kilometres on, lay Port
Gregory for our next night stop. A big
attraction backed onto Port Gregory - the highly saline Pink Lake, or Hutt
Lagoon. The pink colour of the water due
to the presence of an algae Dunaliella salina; a source of beta-carotene
farmed by a chemical plant (BASF). They harvested the beta- carotene for a wide
variety of uses - food colouring agent, beverages, health supplements and baby
formula!
Settling down in the Port Gregory caravan park provided George a good opportunity to take out the collapsible ladder and secure the solar panels which regularly shake loose; before resealing the joints and solar panel supports on the roof of the caravan with Hydro-seal. A good job accomplished! The main reason for visiting Port Gregory, we hoped to continue the Geraldine Lead mining story… we could not understand why a port so far from the mine site had been selected. The immediate Murchison River obviously too hazardous. This became obvious the moment we walked down to the site of the jetty and could see waves breaking on the reef well offshore. Here, a natural breakwater, provided the shelter ships required. Sixty km as the crow flies, direct from Geraldine Mine didn’t seem too bad. Nonetheless, the narrow gaps in the reef still required a very cautious approach to enter the port. We were also interested to read Port Gregory had been bombarded by a submarine during WW2. No further information was to be found. We looked up the internet and found shelling took place on the 28 January 1943 by a Japanese submarine I-165; supposedly to draw attention away from the fierce battle taking place at Guadalcanal, 3,250 km away. So many questions and no answers…
Next morning, on the other
side of the Pink Lake; further along the road south, two old buildings -
picture postcard perfect reminded us of the record cover used by Australian
Band Midnight Oil. We didn’t dare stop on the main road for a photo. However,
unbeknown to us, they were the next bit of the Geraldine Mine story! The
remains of a Convict Hiring Depot beside the Hutt river, on the grounds of the
historic property / farm Lynton. We drew
into Lynton…
The shortage of labour in WA
led to the introduction of convicts in 1850. Convicts were sent up to Port
Gregory in 1853 to construct a road linking the Geraldine Mine to the coast.
Despite the lack of water, there was an abundance of limestone along with rushes
for thatching in the area. Lynton was chosen as the site for the Port Gregory
convict hiring depot to begin developing the region. Many convicts were chosen
for their mining and construction skills. Building both the Convict Camp and the
road to Geraldine Mine became a very slow process. Reliant on bullocks, the
journey took several days, added considerably to the cost of production. By the
time of the camp’s completion, around 1856, a mine near Northampton began
producing copper and Geraldton began to emerge as the major port.
Consequently, just as the convicts moved out of their tented accommodation into this new limestone building with 80 hammocks slung from beams. They were transported off to the new port and the fate of both Port Gregory and the convict depot fell into steep decline. A steam traction engine brought in to carry lead from the mine arrived in Port Gregory in 1859 only to become hopelessly bogged in sand! Another twist of fate to be found here. A delightful one at that, for Lea; she discovered the wife of the Storekeeper in Lynton was Anna Leonowens. None other than the former governess to the King of Siam’s children. Anna apparently wrote two books about her time in Siam; although wider fame came through Margaret Landon’s retelling of her story “Anna and the King of Siam” which was a much loved, favourite book in Lea’s teenage years. Although, it was Yul Brynner’s iconic portrayal as the King in the Rogers and Hammerstein film ‘The King and I’ that brought schoolteacher Anna to her attention in 1956, as an ardent ‘musical’ lover. Having watched the film countless times, Lea is still moved to tears on every occasion.
Northampton took us on a ‘Ewe Turn’! A town project we were keen to see by walking the main street. The community arts project had over 50 colourful sheep (and kelpies) dotted around town. Lea’s friend Viki had mentioned that the Sheep Shearer’s Café was renowned for its vanilla slices and Lea quickly took up George’s offer to find the café for iced coffee and slice!
For old time’s sake we dropped down the steep hill to Coronation Beach, north of Geraldton. Eighteen years ago, we’d proudly taken responsibility of looking after Otto, our first grandson, while his parents went up to Red Bluff with the Taylor family to mark a resting place for Jamie’s ashes. The wind was blowing and the scene there barely recognisable to us. We decided not to stop for the night. Rather take a walk along the beach and have lunch before moving on. Well, that was the plan until George locked the truck with keys still in the ignition. left the keys in the ignition, Fortunately, neither of us felt like lunch after a big morning tea and George sorted the situation and serviced the rusted space hidden away. No windsurfers to watch we continued on our way. Our next site on our itinerary, was behind the Geraldton travelling up the Chapman River Valley to a very rural setting in the wheat belt. Fig Tree Crossing rest area. A quiet spot with only one other caravan there occupied by a lady on her own. Much to our surprise we had TV reception.
Figtree Sunset.
No one else came to camp alongside us and we stayed two days before moving on to Milligan’s Island. This was an eco tourism campground in natural surroundings behind the sand dunes. We’d come here in June soon after a downpour and while deciding which of 36 camps was the most suitable - looking at all the puddles. Another black cloud dropped its load upon us and made up our minds - move on to Leeman. This time, weather was lovely; a site easy to reverse in at an angle allowed us bush scenery with the beach path not far off. Straight after tea George was off to explore. He returned delighted and we donned our bathers and headed down to the beach. Considering how many people have taken up sites, we had the long beaches to ourselves. A crested Tern entertained us with its hover, dive and retrieve antics reminding us of Lil Holly’s asplasing in February.
A picturesque island with “The Window” provided a lovely vision to the sunset. Access to offshore islands here, prohibited as they are bird breeding sites.
George
has hankered to return to Beringbooding for over a year. With November proving
surprisingly cool for this time of year, we decided now was the time. We turned
inland into the Wheatbelt. Our route took us through to the Brand Highway,
past Emu Downs Wind farm ( 50 wind
turbines) and its Solar Farm, through the Badgingarra
National Park before taking the road to the little country town of Dandaragan
where we made ourselves at home in their transit park – with power, water,
spotless bathrooms and a washing machine all
laid on for the price of $20. Located in the grounds of the Dandaragan
Community Recreation Centre with sports fields, bowling greens, tennis courts
and golf course we enjoyed a walk around the property, late afternoon.
We
continued eastwards, stopping in Moora for a few supplies and by midday having passed
numerous salt encrusted water courses and wetlands permanently damaged by wheat
farming, reached Ballidu. With temperature at 36°C and climbing, we
reluctantly took refuge in the town’s unappealing caravan park. Power to run the air conditioner the draw
card even though there was little else to recommend it. We’d last passed through Ballidu in October
2017 while doing the ‘’Granite Loop Trail’’ with our daughter, granddaughters,
and long dog Harley. Stopped to enjoy
the row off bikes at the entrance to the town and realised ‘biking to
Ballidu’ was a big thing! However, despite a bright blue and white Greek
influence adding excitement to the town’s Tavern, everything was closed and
there wasn’t a sign of life anywhere, as we walked town. A ‘’classic country town’’ a sign on the
access road had read, but a town so forlorn and so utterly different to
Dandaragan,
Sheer
heat woke us early morning and by 8.00am the temperature had reached 31.7°C and
expected to rise to 43°C. This dry air
was dehydrating Lea’s skin by the minute and she kept smothering it in Emu Oil! We also received messages that much-loved
Tatty Cat in England had been killed. In a sad frame of mind we set off far
earlier than usual to make the long 170km drive via Beacon and Bonnie
Rock along ‘’Wheatbelt Way’’ with a
vicious crosswind blowing all the way not helped by the odd wheat truck busy
with harvesting on the gravel roads. We reached Beringbooding Rock at midday,
very aware our timing with this painfully high temperature hadn’t been a good
idea after all! No power for air
conditioning Our temperature recorder no longer worked and without phone signal
we had no idea of the exact temperature at the Rock. It was scorching
outside. The fridge struggled, the flies were a menace and worse, corrugations
have taken a toll on two windows and they had to be propped open with sticks!
We sat sweltering, maintaining fluids to the detriment of the fridge …
patiently waiting for evening to go up the Rock to the ‘’kangaroo watering
hole’’ where Justy’s cairn lies. Around
5.00 George could wait no longer. Put on his fly mask and off he went. He
returned, upset looking like a red beetroot glazed in sweat.
He
had found no sign of the little cairn constructed in October 2017 to our
daughter. The mound of rocks with one bearing the letter ‘’J’’ had
disappeared. Could children have simply enjoyed throwing them into the pool. We
discussed options and finally decided to bury a small object with
Justy’s name at the base of the old tree at the water’s edge. Fortunately, Lea
had kept a flat piece of white rock from Barn Hill; its small, plaque like
quality made it an ideal stone to write Justine’s name.
Half an hour before sunset, we walked back to the pool and buried it, placed two tiny posies of rounded, fluffy flowers from the cotton bush to the memory of Justy and Tatty Cat , who’d been such a comfort to her during the worst of chemo. We retired to the natural seat of contemplation that overlooked the pool and found a small measure of relief in a cold beer (definitely not as frosty as usual) in the radiating heat from this mountain of granite. And, in the quiet of evening we reflected within this beautiful amphitheatre with its sacred atmosphere.
It
had been a long, hot drive to get out here. Lea suffers badly from heat stress
in very high temperatures yet, as we made our way down the granite dome on our
way back to the caravan, the final moment of sunset made up for what had been an
incredibly demanding day.
In the early hours of next morning the temperature dropped and the shocking discomforts of yesterday seemed like a bad dream. Exactly how we got to Mukinbudin is anyone’s guess. A wrong turn as we left Beringbooding Rock took us through a veritable maze of un-signposted gravel roads through wheat fields stretching limitlessly. Yet, most enjoyable as we turned this way and that, slowing to avoid blue-tongue lizards (‘’road slugs’’) as they crept across the dirt roads. Red-tailed black cockatoos lined a branch displaying their tail feathers and flocks of pink galahs swooped dangerously in front of the truck before twisting away into the bush. We decided not to stay in Mukinbudin despite its lovely name and very pleasant caravan park, and continued on to try another small wheatbelt town, Nungarin.
Stopped en route by this sign with metal sheep and dog!
They
marked the remains of the Mangowine Community Sheep Dip. One of the earliest
examples of dips constructed 90 years ago for the treatment of ‘’scab’’
(psoroptic mange). Sheep had to be immersed three times. The shepherd used his
crook to push and pull them through. Lea recalled the noise and splashing of
black headed Persian sheep on dipping days, on her Great Uncle Seymour’s farm in
Rhodesia.
In
Nungarin, we landed up camped beside the recreation grounds, well out of town
(approx. 2 km) that one scarcely felt part of it. A very formal arrangement of 6 sites on a
macadamised area with payment due at the Shire Office. George made the long,
hot walk clad in his indispensable face mask to ward off the flies. It took the
best part of an hour to get there and back in the middle of a not so hot 34’C
day. George is a lizard – his wife content to ‘stay put’ after yesterday, with
good access phone signal, power, and air-conditioning. Two caravans came in – took one look and
departed. So, we had the Sport changing room and showers to ourselves.
Before
leaving Nungarin we found the Army Museum – ‘housed in the original Army
Workshop of No 5 Base Ordinance Depot’ built in 1942. We were expecting an 80-year-old rather
dilapidated building and very nearly didn’t give this modern take a second
glance…
Amazing what a new roof and modern coat of paint can do!
The
town of Nungarin originated as an enormous military base, deliberately
established far enough from Fremantle to be well out of the range of Japanese
planes in the event of the Port being attacked. The beautifully restored old workshop is said
to be the largest timber framed, weatherboard clad building remaining in the
Southern Hemisphere! Hard to believe
with such a fine exterior. Inside the building was not just an army man’s
treasure trove of memorabilia in the form of old trucks, tanks, anti-aircraft
guns, searchlights, jeeps, and trucks.
Within such a huge space a large number of old agricultural machinery used
by returning soldiers given land allotments within this region, had been
donated for posterity. Outside were numerous spare parts and stacks of rusty
old relics, waiting to be renovated and maintained by a handful of enthusiastic
volunteers.
With
the day becoming steadily hotter (38°C by midday) we were glad to reach Goomalling
after 130km of driving straight into the teeth of a 40kph headwind and relax
for the rest of the day under air con.
Our last destination before
home base had arrived. We were through to Toodyay in good time to meet Guy
Boggs over his lunch time break at the delightful Toodyay Bakery. Pulling out
of this beautiful little town alongside the Avon River we looked at each other
and simultaneously felt a sadness that this adventure was at an end. Further
along the road a caravan park sign beckoned us, and we drove up a hilly road in
an effort to delay ending life on the road…
If we had remembered that it was a Friday, we probably wouldn’t have
ventured in. Camper families were out in force as they set up for the weekend.
Other than a forest setting and a little dam there was little to appeal for us.
Fortunately, we requested a drive-through site and they were able to make do, well
away from the ‘busy’. Next morning, we
were back where we started on the outskirts of Perth.
After leaving Kalbarri, Lea
thought she caught glimpses of the Western Australian Christmas tree’s
unmistakable colour, mere fragments out in the heath, that she questioned
herself. Too early? This hemiparasite
tree dramatically described by Tim Low (May 2017) as “a tree whose greedy roots
stab victims up to 110m away, slicing into the roots of plants to steal their
sap. They cause power failures when the tree attacks buried cables by
mistake. It is indiscriminate, stealing
juices from almost anything green – grasses, sedges, weeds, vines eucalypts.
Each tree attaches to hordes of victims.”
Leaving Northampton, our first
early bloomer stood proud out in the middle of a wheat field. This is an icon in Western Australia; often
left standing out in wide-open cleared fields due to their striking beauty in
Summer, even likened to a bushfire without smoke! They are a very significant
tree to the Noongar people and considered sacred around the Perth region.
Driving through the Badgingarra National Park towards
the wheatbelt we were stunned by the array of Nuytsia
floribunda – a veritable advent calendar of shapes and
state of early blooming …
