Week 44 (22nd - 28th January)

After four days of bush camping we needed to refill our water tanks and have a decent shower. Mandurah provided us with a site in a very pleasant, informally laid out caravan park set amongst big trees and an easy five minute walk into the town centre. The last place you’d think the Beggs would choose. However, with Mandurah situated alongside the Peel Inlet the town is a most attractive place. Actually it is hardly a town any longer, more like a mini-city. We were amazed at the development that has occurred over the last ten years and still ongoing around Mandurah. When we first arrived in Australia there had been a job prospect for George here, with Water & Rivers Commission. How tempted we had been to buy land overlooking the Peel-Harvey estuary. Not much point in thinking about “what could have been” … but it may have been a smart move.
Zigzagging again we left the coastal plains and headed inland into the Darling Range. Noticing a turn off to Waroona Dam we pulled in there, liked what we saw of the bush camp in the forest and stayed. The dam is very popular for water skiing and a large gang of teenagers under the supervision of adults arrived at the same time as us and for the rest of the day the sound of motorboats towing kids around on tubes and aquaplanes, together with their laughter, filled the campground.
Close to our campsite was a tiny memorial garden to a little boy, Taylor Jamie Price, “tragically taken at this site” in 2005. Most poignant, were his soft toys, pistol and swords and a message reading “Campers, if you have the time, please water this garden of mine”.

Watering Pricey's garden - Waroona dam

With first names to match the Jamie Taylor we’d had in our lives we felt an affinity for the four year old and gladly watered his garden. On leaving Waroona Dam Lea popped into the office and asked about “Pricey”. This small boy had died at that spot in a freak accident when a branch had crashed down on him. In Africa we’d have considered it a freak accident but here, in Australia we are not so sure. Here, trees regularly shed their branches and you may recall while we were in Darwin a nine year old school boy eating his lunch in the playground died as a result of a branch falling on him. With night falling late due to daylight saving in WA, the mob of youngsters only stopped their water activities at last light. When we went to bed they were only preparing their swags and eating dinner. Later bloodcurdling screams rent the air, followed by nervous girlish giggles. A girl obviously liked the sound of her own scream and kept interspersing the first part of the night with it.

We moved on to Lane Poole Reserve, also in the Darling Range, to check out Nanga Mill camp where we had intended spending last night. We arrived in “Murray Country WA” and discovered a suite of six campgrounds spread along the course of the Murray River. George had no idea the upper reaches of the Murray River were so inviting with huge pools, rocky water slides and stretches of ideal canoeing country not to mention white water rafting come winter, otherwise we’d have come here during our Perth years. We earmarked a future stay at this outward bound haven, two hours from Perth. Fate was on our side, next day bush fires swept through this area.

Murray River

It was too early in the morning to stay plus we were keen to see things around Dwellingup. Our first stop was right up George’s street. The Forest Heritage Centre built of rammed earth in a three gum-leaf design. One leaf housed a Gallery of fine wood pieces. The middle leaf is the Australian School of Fine Wood, WA’s only training facility. Sadly no students or artisans were at work when we visited. The third leaf was the Interpretive Centre with the most interesting information on the history of the timber industry within these jarrah forests. Following on from the railway logger’s “running guard” we learnt about in Shannon National Park we were no less intrigued by the “sleeper getters” of Dwellingup. In rough and difficult living conditions these men were skilled elite craftsmen responsible for cutting railway sleepers in the jarrah forests each providing seven sleepers a day. These became WA’s earliest export (1836) supplying India, South Africa and the London Underground! When a Royal Commission recommended hewing of timber cease in 1903 the sleeper getters took matters into their own hands, and calling themselves “Teddy Bears”, formed the first “socialist” (worker-owned) mill operators in the world! When WW1 broke out the sleeper getters were among the first to enlist. Of the seven Western Australians to receive a Victoria Cross, two were sleeper getters. Outside we took the Timber Getters Trail to a reconstructed camp which gave us a good idea of their bush life (circa 1910) and later a Jarrah Forest Foray included a short canopy walk with a good view of the Centre’s unique leaf form.

We lunched in a park proclaiming Dwellingup as the “heart of steam engine country” before moving a few kilometres down the road to the Marrinup POW Camp. Who and why did the Australians need to incarcerate was our query and interest in coming here. Following a dirt road into forest and then a pathway, we found the “Cage in the Bush” which during 1943-1946 held 1 200 Italian and German soldiers captured in the Middle East. In response to a severe labour shortage in WA they were brought here to assist in rural primary industries. Most of the prisoners worked as woodcutters supplying 2 500 tons of firewood each week to Perth. The Italians arrived first and had to build their place of incarceration. With the intense love Italians have for their trades, they readily produced buildings of a high standard. Other than a few foundations, a sawn off tree used as a watch tower and a little stonemasonry work are all that remain as testament to those times. Unfortunately what were clear explanatory boards have faded, warped and cracked with exposure to the elements, a pity on a site of such historical significance. We gained much from our visit and sixty years down the line understood how isolated and foreign this environment must have been in comparison to the wet, fertile lands of Europe for these blokes. Most of the escapees were recaptured having a beer in the Dwellingup Hotel! Although one soldier succeeded in returning to Italy, obtained his discharge papers and immediately migrated back to Australia only to apprehended working in a Perth night club in 1951.

Marrinup POW camp - Dwellingup

Late that afternoon we pulled into a rest area opposite the cemetery in Pinjarra for our last night on the road. In his book “Outback on a Budget” Brian Sheedy (1987) wrote “reaching the end of a long journey is like finishing a good book. It is a relief to be there, but it hurts to let go”. After eight months on the road we will miss the constantly changing landscapes and campsites we’ve been accustomed to yet, at the same time, welcome the luxuries of life in Saxon and Paul’s modern home.

We drove through to Perth the next day, unpacked Getaway, now in need of a major service, and with the weather having turned unpleasantly hot again, were easily persuaded to christen the spa pool on S & P’s patio. With the residents of Perth all running air conditioners the local demand for electricity rose to the extent that the wiring in a box on one of electricity poles near the house burst into flame. The falling sparks generated a grass fire on the street verge that Paul and George had to put out and during the black out that followed we sat on the balcony watching the Western Power team swing into action and fix the problem. The fire brigade arrived the next day …. for what purpose we still don’t know!

In the spa pool

The scorching hot weather (42°C) persisted all weekend. Australia Day – 26th was far too hot to consider joining the throngs alongside the Swan River for the day. Instead, we drove to a nearby vantage point to watch the fireworks at 9 o’clock that night. A combination of lightning strikes and thunder behind the city added to the spectacle. We are taking a “holiday” for family business now. It began with a weekend of birthday celebrations for Saxon and Lea and the countdown to the arrival of Baby Gee follows.

Week 43 (15th - 21st January)

After temperatures soared on Sunday afternoon a cold front came through that night and we awoke to a wet, windy day. When we read Busselton being described as the “State’s premier seaside resort town” because it is sheltered from most prevailing winds and has 30km of white sandy beaches providing an aquatic playground in the tranquil waters of Geographe Bay, we smiled as we thought is was all hype. However, having been enamoured by Dunsborough over the week-end Lea persuaded George to go into the town and see for ourselves rather than by-pass it. The Busselton Jetty, a Western Australian land mark was another good reason to go there. Supposedly the longest wooden piled jetty in the southern hemisphere… What is it with this need to lay claim to being biggest, longest or tallest to capture attention? We immediately thought of the other boasts we’d seen on our travels. We checked back on our records:


Port Germein, South Australia – the longest wooden jetty in Australia! 1532m.

Carnarvon, Western Australia - the famous 100 year old “Mile Long” timber Jetty. 1760m.

Busselton, Western Australia – timber jetty. 1841m.

Off we went. Busselton Jetty is a wonderful asset with a history that reads well. Built 141 years ago for the export of timber, through the ages of sail, steam and diesel thousands of ships from all over the world called in at this jetty before it closed in 1974. It was saved from being demolished by the local community who wouldn’t let their much loved landmark just disappear. A large section was destroyed by Cyclone Alby in 1978. A fire thought to have been started by a cigarette butt in 1998 could easily have consumed the entire structure had chain saws not been used to isolate it. Described as Australia’s “greatest artificial reef” under the jetty’s 12m wide seaward end an underwater observatory was completed in 2003. On reaching the boat shed style Interpretative Centre we sadly decided the dull weather, choppy water and cost wouldn’t do justice to descending 8 metres below the water to view the marine life attached to the pylons. We were impressed to see two big groups of hardy beginners having their swimming lesson in the surf in the protection of the jetty. This “premier seaside resort town” reminded us of English seaside resorts with amusement parks and fun-fares, only more spacious.

There was no point hanging around on a wet day and we moved inland to Nannup in the catchment of the mighty Blackwood River, the longest in the South West and the same river we’d camped along near Augusta. We followed the river valley up through picturesque farmland and timber plantations as far as Powlalup National Park and camped in the jarrah forests at Wright’s Bridge. We shared the place with no-one except the birds - large flocks of black cockatoos circling overhead emitting their weird squealing cries; ring-necked parrots; magpies and resident kookaburras – altogether another peaceful and perfect site to “chill out” in.

Continuing on next day we were eager to explore Bridgetown. In 1999 job desperation drove us through Bridgetown with Lea’s parents in tow to look at a backpacker’s lodge that was for sale near Manjimup. Having left Perth at an early hour we stopped in Bridgetown for breakfast overlooking the Blackwood River (yes, again!) and had been so taken by this attractive little town we wished to return one day. Another reason was to find a kangaroo sanctuary that we had chanced to see on TV earlier this year and heard was in the Bridgetown area. We were back. During our explorations we discovered the Brierley Jigsaw Gallery. Time flew in our fascination of finding puzzles from the world’s smallest wooden jigsaw, the size of a postage stamp with 99 pieces, to a gigantic 9000 piece ancient map of the world. Three dimensional and “double sided quarter turned” puzzles had us mind boggled with their complexities. We gained an insight into the history of jigsaws and the values ascribed to subject matter and condition. At all costs look after the box and don’t lose any pieces!

Brierley Jigsaw Puzzle Gallery, Bridgetown

The information Centre told us Roo Gully was actually in Boyup Brook (30kms away) and in giving us directions told us not to by pass The Cidery. As lovers of Pink Lady apples we only too happy to oblige and had no sooner walked through the door than a very welcoming girl talked us through a tasting session of their various wares - Scrumpy to Spider Cider and preservative free apple juice. The factory was more like a restaurant overlooking a beautiful garden and often used for special functions and a music venue.
Travelling through timber plantations to Boyup Brook colourfully painted wooden toadstools suddenly appeared at a road junction. Curiosity got the better of us and we walked back to investigate and there, lo and behold, was Frog Fantasy land! Sitting amongst the toadstools were a wonderful collection of ornamental frogs of all shapes, sizes, colours and materials. A bench had been provided and a message invited people to increase the population of frogs. How easily these little peculiarities add fun to the journey.

Frog Fantasy land

Funny how one thing can lead to another, setting in motion events that leave a lasting value within oneself. We’d never heard of Boyup Brook yet our first impressions as we entered were immediately favourable. Wide quiet streets, caringly landscaped surrounds and a hidden charm we couldn’t quite determine. Despite being well into the lunch hour we called in at the Visitors Centre where a most helpful volunteer gave us directions to Roo Gully, established feeding time was at 2.00pm and having observed our caravan advised us against taking it. She suggested we park it in the Shire’s Flax Mill Caravan Park situated on the banks of the Blackwood River (yet again), where we could make ourselves at home and the caretaker would find us later.
As we came to leave the Visitors Centre George realised that Keith Carnaby’s insect collection of butterflies and Jewel beetles was housed there. Outside that of the British Museum of Natural History it is one of the most important collections in the world. It is an impressive display of a life time fascination with Jewel beetles. When next we looked at the clock we were horrified at the time, dashed off to the caravan park and while George un-hitched Lea grabbed a bite for us before making for Roo Gully. Little did we realise in our haste to get going that we were bound on an extra ordinary Boyup Brook experience. Afterwards we decided it warranted a special edition and have added it at the end of this week’s blog.

Before pulling out of Boyup Brook on Thursday we stopped alongside Sandakan Park to see the War Memorial as we couldn’t place the name Sandakan in any context. We were staggered to find this special memorial stood for 2 500 British and Australian soldiers, held by the Japanese as prisoners of war, who died at Sandakan Camp and on the death march to Ranau in North Borneo. Only six were to survive.

On this haunting note we moved on to Collie, a far bigger town than we expected. Our intention was to camp in the nearby Wellington National Park. On arrival at Potter’s Gorge campground we found the best sites had all been taken by large groups and what remained were not suitably level for Getaway. We moved on to try the camp at Honeymoon Pool only to be stumped by the NO CARAVANS sign. We returned to the highway and with tummies grumbling by now, stopped for lunch at this junction. Searching our “bible” for the next alternative we ended up spending the night in the Coalfields Road rest area, a short distance further down the road.

George’s natural reluctance to get snarled up in the traffic of Bunbury, regional capital and the gateway to the South West, had him persuading Lea to camp in Australind on the eastern shore of the Leschenault Inlet. Perfect weather forecast for the week-end further agitated us to get into a place early before the city folk poured onto the coast. A lot of development seems to have occurred at Australind since we were last there (1999) and Lea felt sure George was recollecting the bad times he, in particular, had with flies in the area … so we kept moving ever northwards calling in at various places like Biningup and Myalup. Their caravan parks were chockers!

On reaching Yalgorup National Park we were delighted to find a sublime spot on edge of Martins Tank Lake – one of a chain of 10 coastal lakes that lie in the dune fields of the Swan coastal Plain south of Mandurah. All far more saline than seawater the Yalgorup Lake System is a Ramsar site significant for its waterfowl and thrombolites. Remember the famous stromatolites of Hamelin Pool up at Shark Bay? Well, here the same microbial mounds are called thrombolites because of their different external clot –like appearance.
An empty campground dominated by shady peppermint trees that also create a barrier with paper-barks that fringe the lake, screening off views of the water. The remnants of huge tuart trees add natural sculptures to the scene and outside our door we’ve had little Scarlet Robins and Sittellas (often known as tree-runners or bark peckers) to amuse us and during lunch on the Saturday a strident territorial dispute broke out amongst the kookaburra clans. Our hearts sank on our first evening when three cars roared up beside us with testosterone loaded youths on board. One had just damaged his car after hitting a kangaroo and phoned home to report the incident while the others set up tent, opened cans of beer, turned up the volume of a car radio and in their exuberance raised the level of their voices. George’s eyes rolled and began to glitter and all we could hope was that the ranger would arrive and restore a fair degree of noise. No ranger came, another mate arrived to join the throng and a game of backyard cricket ensued until dark. Happily for us, from then on a state of relative peace descended and they all moved on the next morning.
After breakfast Saturday we took the 8km walking trail to Lake Pollard where Black Swans are a feature of the lake from October and March. Although renowned for its high numbers of Black Swans we could only spot a few through binoculars. As we reached the hide a cloud of Shelduck, by far the dominant species, took off and landed on the opposite shore. On our way back we came upon a stubby, slow moving Bobtail (or Shingleback) sunning itself on the road. George crouched down to photograph it when the camera strap accidentally swung towards it and in defence it hissed with mouth agape and stuck out its blue tongue. That its scary tactic! After many attempts to capture the action we could hear a car coming and chivvied it off to safety.

Bobtail or Shingleback

In the quiet of dusk Saturday night another group of P-plated youths arrived in two cars and yet again our heart sank. The first thing one did was reverse into a tree, or so we thought. All tumbled out of the cars, black Labrador included, and to our confusion began laughing and grabbing beers. It turned out they were deliberately knocking a barrier post to loosen, before removing by hand, just so they could park a metre or two inside which totally flummoxed us. Despite another rough beginning to the night they eventually calmed down. As for the dog, it had run of the park regardless of all National Parks having a ban on dogs and cats and they all escaped paying fees as the ranger never arrived!

Back to ourselves on Sunday we spent a relaxed day. Later, walking along a firebreak we were startled by an emu jumping the fence ahead of us and we found the kangaroo that was probably hit on Friday evening by the young chap. As it was a female George checked the pouch – empty, but at least we’ve learnt what to do.

SPECIAL BOYUP BROOK EDITION: 16th - 18th January 2007

It was the first of the TV series The Roo Gully Diaries that captured our hearts and made us want to find this place. Entering the rough hewn wooden gates into the picture book characterisation of an Australian homestead amongst the gum trees, we were immediately struck by the barren and uneven condition of what should have been the front lawn before it dropped away towards a creek bed – the dry Boyup Brook.
Two dogs warned of our approach before we were met by the first of three volunteer students from UK universities on practical course work experience. Once inside the house two bassinettes were brought out containing pillow cases out of which peeped, five orphan joeys. We were introduced to four western greys - Oscar (a road victim busy sucking one of his fingers!), Tommy and Bindy (victims of kangaroo hunters) and Pippit, born on the property to Tina, a western brush tail wallaby who had stressed out and abandoned her.

Oscar sucking his finger; Feeding Pippit and taking the orphaned roos for a post-prandial walk!

In the middle of enthusing over these contented little creatures Carol Lander, the dedicated and inspiring prime mover of Roo Gully who had turned her home and property into a wildlife sanctuary, arrived for feeding time. Ringo, the baby ring-tailed possum arrived too. George was frantically trying to photograph all the action of these babies each being fed and cuddled. Bottles of special roo formula were slugged down in double quick time with the same glazed relaxed look in the eye as a human baby. Quantities are strictly measured. By day pillow cases are used as pouches and by night the joeys tuck up in their own sleeping bags which look rather like large padded peg bags which hang the length of Carol’s built-in cupboards. What with two dogs and the possum in there too, her sleep can’t be that restful!
“Potty time” on the bare front terrace follows after their feed. We were assured the lawn comes back in the winter. The best way of “winding” the joeys and prevent sore tummies is to take them for a walk and that afternoon we all set off across the creek into a paddock where the Roo Gully mob of Western Greys hang out. Being a different species Pippit had to be carried in her pillowcase otherwise she’d be attacked and killed.

We had many flash-backs of our stay with the orphan chimpanzees at Chimfunshi on the border between Zambia and the Congo as we took this walk with the four orphan roos. They would follow in stages, watching upright, a bit like a meercat, with their ears twitching, before bounding after us. We found the mob lying up in the shade and were introduced to the many personalities within and given histories on the lineage of certain individuals. A wild male outside the fence line, who’d been trying to get in, took off on our arrival. These walks create ideal opportunity for the joeys to interact with the mob and learn “kangaroo etiquette” with the females doing most of the warning and disciplining whereas the males are more accepting and protective. The afternoon sun had our shadows fall behind us and the joeys were quick to seek this shade and sense of security beside us. Very easy to step back onto them!
As we circled back up to the homestead we came upon the “Garden of Remembrance” with tombstones to the memories of little creatures who stole hearts during their often fleeting time on earth. What appealed most to George was Carol’s final wish to be buried in the centre of her wildlife cemetery, amongst the loves of her life, eternal flame and all.

Roo cemetery at Roo Gully - Carol Lander intended resting place

We didn’t disturb the western brush tail wallabies as not only are they quite highly strung their numbers in the wild are low and warrant a captive breeding programme. Unlike those in Perth Zoo Carol’s group has successfully bred, with the result that she is now involved in a breeding programme and other research with the Zoo and Curtin University.
As in the case of Jenny Maclean’s Tolga Bat Hospital that we visited in Queensland it came as no surprise to discover that Carol’s labours of love are beset first and foremost with the general welfare of her charges, with time still having to be found to seek funding and deal with the never ending bureaucratic shuffling of paperwork, red tape and applications. Perhaps Carol has it easier than Jenny because bats have a poor public image whereas kangaroos are world icons for Australia and when you are close up and personal to these trusting, yet fascinating, marsupials you quickly lose your heart to them.
As the afternoon drew to a close members of the mob began arriving for a drink from the house supply as there is no water at this time of year in the creek (a sheep farmer can apply for a bore, not a roo sanctuary!), others wanted a feed – seeds are scattered on the terrace and troughs of pellets are provided on the verandah. Swapping yarns with Carol, dogs dozing amongst the joeys on the verandah, the chomping sound of a kangaroo enjoying his pellets and the indentations in the “lawn” steadily being filled with lethargic roos, we felt quite heart sore to drag ourselves away from this wonderful encounter with the inmates of Roo Gully.

It seemed far too late to continue on down the road to Harvey Dickson’s Country Music Centre. However, George had seen photos in the Visitors Centre of three enormous sculptures that started out as trees growing in the wild to become a 46 ft “guitar man” with his two friends, a banjo girl and lead guitar player and he was keen to at least get a glimpse of them. Approaching the farm, 5km from Boyup Brook, a rusty old car with PARKING written across its length was our first indication that we had arrived at a massive collection depot belonging to Harvey and Rose Dickson. The road had been realigned just outside their farm gate and they had made good use of the old road for an assortment of vintage vehicles and by-gone tractors. Once George spotted the OPEN sign he was quick to park outside a huge barn with Lea protesting that probably a sign to the contrary was never used.
Nevertheless George hot-footed it through an enormous wooden archway sporting a cunningly chosen branch resembling horns, past stacked boulders and car door signage into the farmyard to be assailed by the sound of chickens. After a good five minutes of being unable to locate anybody he beckoned Lea to help look around. We found a sign that said KNOCK ON BACK DOOR and tried many with no result until finding another saying TO BACK DOOR , eventually finding Harvey and Rose relaxing in a veritable green paradise with their parrots. These strangers greeted us as friends and were only too delighted to reopen his Country Music Centre for us.
We had no idea of what was involved until all was revealed. Unlocking a colossal machinery shed we were ushered into its spell-binding interior. This was the Bunyip Shed that has been turned into a magnificent country music entertainment venue. From the ceiling was a hanging museum. The more you looked the more you saw. Harvey, filled us in on the history - since the first signs of life in Boyup Brook the farm had been in the Dickson family but things began to change when a 14 year old Harvey began a passionate obsession with records, particularly those of Elvis and Johnny Cash. When his mates were buying cars, his every cent went on records.

Inside the Bunyip Shed and Elvis sand sculpture

Around 1979 country music crept into the activities of farming life when a few farmers would gather around the farmhouse and sing bush ballads, and so evolved Harvey Dickson’s Country Music Centre. In time the group grew to a crowd and the crowd grew into a big audience of music lovers. When the garden was crushed after a show Rose took a stand and in 1985 a massive upgrading process was undertaken as the shed was emptied of three generations of machinery and Bunyip Shed came into existence for the first show to celebrate the Dickson family’s 100 years in Boyup Brook. With the passing years the Shed had to be extended to cope with the ever increasing numbers and included the Bushman’s Bar, kitchens, barbeque area, stage and change rooms. It reeks from memorabilia of every kind. Two cubicles contained life sized sculptures of Elvis and Johnny Cash and we were amazed to hear they had been carved out of sand.
We returned to the main house to be shown the Record Room – a room that hasn’t changed in over 20 years and continues to gather Elvis memorabilia. Amongst the thousands of 33 & 45 rpm vinyls in their carefully preserved sleeves are recordings by a whole host of other artists from the 50’s onwards. We walked own memory lane while Harvey sat at the controls of his record player giving us a selection of rarities from the past. We were chuffed beyond words!

Harvey Dickson in the Record Room

Somehow we’d missed the music men sculptures we’d actually come to see but apparently there was still more to be seen … It was now coming up for 7.00pm as Harvey pointed us in the direction of his rodeo arena and camping ground on the opposite side of the main road. This was yet another remarkable array of venues brought about by the most utilitarian and artistic use of gigantic logs and boulders all dominated by Harvey’s trade mark sculpted music makers. Another addition to all the unusual things around this place was a boot cemetery, “Boot Hill” topped with the Aussie flag and headstones for some boots dating back to 1912. Of course the toilet block had to be for Bulls and Heifers, “Dead Horse Saloon” was another essential and an outdoor music venue with bandstand. This amazing infrastructure clearly indicating the vast number of people that seasonally converge here and even in its emptiness the atmosphere was palpable.

The Guitar Man and his two friends

Returning late to the Flax Mill campsite we noticed an arrow pointing to SAND SCULPTURES and knew we’d have to take a look at those before we left in the morning. But by morning we knew we couldn’t leave Boyup just yet! Having been over stimulated and highly charged by all we’d seen and done we found it difficult to sleep that night as thoughts tumbled one after each other through our heads. George scheming on how to return for Harvey’s three day Country Music Show over the Queen’s Birthday week-end in September. The occasion, the music and the setting would make for a unique experience that we’d love to share with our family.

While paying Gyula, the Hungarian caretaker, for another day George learnt more about Boyup Brook, the Country Music Capital of WA! The caravan park is already booked out for September ’07 and February is even worse due to the Boyup Brook Hot Country Music Festival which incorporates the WA Country Music Awards, at which John Williamson will be appearing! (Eat your heart out Daniel!) A Truck and Ute Muster is incorporated into this massive town occasion and what we thought was a new toilet block being built turned out to be the new bandstand for this annual event which centres across the Flax Mill Recreation Park.

Tucked away in one of the old Flax Mill’s outbuildings we found the sand sculptures. Just beautiful – we immediately recognised Pinnochio, then Snow White and a dwarf, Babe the pig in the arms of the farmer and his wife and Sing a song of Sixpence’s king with his dainty dish before him. The detail amazing and we wondered how the sand maintained its shape – glue added? Sadly, pigeons have taken up residence in the rafters and the inevitable white washing is evident.

With no mobile signal in Boyup Brook to arrange a stay at Perup Ecology Centre to do the night stalk on the Thursday we hoped the lady at the Visitors Centre would phone for us. George popped in there while Lea shot into the supermarket. Volunteer Jaqui was on duty and very obligingly called Perup and ascertained the caretaker was in hospital. No point in a trip there this time round. In extolling the attributes of Boyup George mentioned the sand sculptures at the Flax Mill and Harvey Dickson’s. In turn a new sequence of events opened ….

Jaqui’s husband, Sandy Chambers, is Boyup Brook’s Artist in Residence and the creator of the sand sculptures we’d seen. She took George out to see the hologram outside the Visitors Centre and told him where to find more - extending an invitation to visit Sandy in his home studio.
That afternoon up at the swimming pool, where the Shire had commissioned a sand sculpture by Sandy, Dave the superintendent showed us Noah’s Lark. Under Dave’s encouragement the Artist’s sense of humour shone through and we knew we had to meet This MAN. Concealed within the spectrum of animals displayed were subtle cues to other words and objects. “Where’s Willy?” Lea knew what to look for and found him. A little fox holding a real glove in his mouth made foxglove and so it went on. A most delightful thinking activity for children (And adults!). With the artist’s penchant for nudes the Shire had requested a family orientated subject! Sandy with tongue in cheek determined not to be restricted by adding a box with a large nut (from a bolt) on the lid and big boobs on the side – all sculpted out of wet sand. The net result? Chestnut, horse chestnut and treasure chest.
Further, when Sandy was completing this commission he couldn’t resist creating a reclining nude in the rear base of this monolithic sculpture of animals. 9/11 happened, the world was hunting down Bin Laden, and Sandy marked the horrific event by adding Bin Laden’s head to the “secret place”. George was allowed to climb over the security barrier to view these two artworks well hidden behind the scenes.

Noah’s Lark - Sandy Chambers' sand sculptures at swimming pool

Leaving the public pool we drove up the hill overlooking Boyup and easily found the Chambers home. Jaqui came to the door, only just back form work and yet the amazingly warm welcome we received was in keeping with our overall impressions of Boyup residents. So too, when Jackie introduced us to her husband, busy cutting out metal animals - it was put aside immediately. Sandy, eighty years young, with the most mischievous twinkles in both eyes bubbled over with an enthusiasm not often seen and in next to no time we became very aware of his prodigious talents in all directions. Their sitting room hummed with George and Sandy talking nineteen to the dozen in the one corner and Lea and Jackie in the other. Strangers really are friends you did not know!

Sandy and Jaqui Chambers

On an easel work in progress, a commission being undertaken from a photograph of someone’s home, and on all the walls sensitively painted water colours of historic Australiana. As for the sand sculptures we discovered he uses wet pindan sand, the red talc-like soils we encountered in the Pilbara, NO glue! ABC TV came and did a programme on Sandy making a sand sculpture of the lady as she interviewed him over three hours. They put on the video to demonstrate some of his technique. We will forever remember the classic remark made by this young lady dressed in her professional gear with blazer and scarf around her neck coming to view the finished product and her gasp “Sandy! Where’re my clothes?” - This wicked imp of a fellow had quietly disrobed her!
Outside, in their extensive gardens, Jaqui introduced Lea to their talking mixed breed galah and fed biscuits to a sulphur crested cockatoo before taking her to see their aviaries of Australian and exotic birds. Next to a water-feature was a pelican Sandy had created out of high density Styrofoam and dotted throughout the garden were holograms of faces and, inevitably, a nude. Meanwhile, George was simultaneously confounded and intrigued to be shown Sandy’s headstone, a hologram of himself set in concrete, ready for his grave in time. His hand made and decorated coffin ready too, something which he does on request for other people as well!
We all went down to meet Sara the camel – the last of many the Chambers have bred, including two white camels that went to reside with the Sultan of Brunei! Even the camel gave us a warm welcome and Lea was smothered in kisses.

Lea sharing a kiss with Sara

Just after 5.00 Jackie was collected for her “swim to Bunbury”! The ladies do lengths down at the pool. We had a hard time tearing ourselves away to leave this dear old gentleman to get on with his many projects. All the way out to Skiv Sandy continued to point out things or explain things we’d noticed like his lookout tree (with its peg ladder spiralling upwards) and a waterwheel he has under construction. He is making it out of recycled road signs and powering it with a windmill! Oh dear – we could go on and on. It was a most scintillating visit.

Feeling so euphoric for a second day in row we couldn’t just return to Getaway and with long sunny evenings we drove into town to find the holograms at the museum and fire station. Like the old masters the eyes of all Sandy’s holograms follow you round. Barley Bogar, the fireman, lives in Boyup and the hologram outside the fire station, in his likeness, is dedicated to him and his family for their long and continuing service to the community. It was the only one we saw using true colours.

Barley Bogar the Boyup Brook fireman

P. S.
The colourfully rich tapestries of their lives touched and enriched ours.

If anything we have written here has sparked your interest you may wish to look at the following websites:

· www.geocities.com/harveydickson
· http://www.roogully.com/

Week 42 (10th - 14th January)

Yesterday, after we had “put the blog to bed”, we began reading our books until cabin fever sent us over the edge so we braced ourselves and took off into the wind to walk on the beach. On spotting a track into the dunes we took that thinking it would give us slightly more protection from the elements. A little fresh air became all the more intoxicating as we followed a wonderful trail that lured us further and further into the D’Entrecasteaux National Park past Cathedral Rock up to the lighthouse and the Point. We’d take cover under peppermint bushes (somewhat like a weeping willow) as each rain squall swept past, giggling helplessly over what would have been a ridiculous sight had anybody come across us. Damp and bedraggled we’d crawl out from the bushes and soon dry in the wind or sun as we were driven upwards and onwards in this wild and woolly weather. Wonderfully dense and protected thickets on either side of us and from within we could hear little birds creating merry hell with their twittering in the brief times of sun; boardwalks up to dune crests would give us lookouts across the rugged coastline and heaving Southern Ocean. Nearing the top of the headland the well made gravel track we’d been following became a tarred pathway to enable wheel chair access around D’Entrecasteaux Point. From below the modern lighthouse we cast our eyes around the Point only to be overwhelmed by the spirit and magnificence of this place and fully understood why CALM had made it accessible to all.

View from Point D'Entrecasteaux

Retracing the four kilometres we had come back to Windy Harbour we realised how enamoured we had become with the area. Definitely on our short list of favourites with its traditional sea-side village where holiday shacks are just that set amongst beautiful scenery.
Wind and rain continued to lash us as we pulled out of Windy Harbour on Wednesday making our way to Pemberton, a picturesque little timber town with the Gloucester Tree, the highest fire look-out tree in the world on its outskirts. We’d climbed it on our first visit and gave it a miss this time round. A backpacker’s lodge provided us with an internet connection for the blog, once on its way we decided to keep going and reached Alexandra Bridge campground by lunchtime. We were amazed to find just how popular and busy it was with campers in every nook and cranny on the banks of the beautiful Blackwood River. We took one of the last sites available and despite the informality and numbers were pleasantly surprised as 9.30pm approached how music and generators were steadily switched off. Half an hour later silence reigned until well after 8.00 the next morning.

We didn’t hang around and moved onto Augusta an attractive town with wide vistas across the Hardy Inlet (receiving the waters of the big Blackwood River) and Flinders Bay. Peering in at the different caravan parks we realised peak season was here. The “Cape to Cape” region has so much to offer holiday makers. When the weather is good - superb beaches; when the weather is bad – masses of wineries & gourmet restaurants, galleries and limestone caves; national parks line the coast while forests and farmlands continue to unfold around every other corner.
We couldn’t quite face trying to squeeze into a caravan park and drove through Augusta on its scenic drive to the first of the Capes. Picturesque Cape Leeuwin lighthouse, dating from 1895, stands on the most south westerly point of Australia and provides a vital link to the navigational and meteorological network of the country. Rather like South Africa’s Cape Point, where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet, here it is the Southern and Indian. Of course, there are tales of shipping tragedies from a freak king wave sweeping 10 naval seaman off to a watery grave, to the surprise of a very experienced ship’s Captain hitting a rock on a calm day!

Cape Leeuwin lighthouse

The most photographed tourist attraction is the old water wheel originally built from timber to supply water for the construction of the lighthouse and its cottages. Over the ensuing years the timber wheel has completely calcified giving the appearance of ancient stone work.
We returned to Augusta along the waterfront and checked out the Crafter’s Croft before moving on to Hamelin Bay in time for a late lunch. We barely recognised the place, with people camping cheek by jowl amongst the peppermint trees. As new immigrants we had spent a couple of nights in a static van here with Justine and Daniel (who’d just arrived from England to visit us) while George helped undertake a sediment survey in the Hardy Inlet. No room for us so we lunched in the boat trailer parking lot before moving on to check out the Leeuwin- Naturaliste National Park’s Conto’s Field campground. Quite the opposite story met us here – a widely spread out campsite on gently undulating ground dominated by the very pretty peppermint trees that combining to give a feeling of privacy along, plus very few people made it perfect for us. The grey skies had finally moved off by evening and in beautiful light we walked across the expansive campground towards the coast where we intercepted the Cape to Cape hiking trail. We couldn’t resist following it for a couple of kilometres. We met an orange hooded Japanese man with two ski poles plodding along the track having done 28km that day and heading for Conto’s Field. Later, two Spanish woman appeared who didn’t want to talk much as they were exhausted and couldn’t wait to get to the campground. What we saw of this trail’s seascape tempted us but we’d want someone to be waiting with our camping gear and dinner at the overnight stops!

Seascape on Cape to Cape hiking trail

Steeped in wineries, breweries, art galleries, boutiques and retreats Margaret River is the heart of the Cape to Cape region and to arrive on a Friday was courting refusal. No-one could give us a night or two until we reached Gracetown and even they could only squeeze us in for a night. At least we could have a good scrub up and get the laundry done. We popped down to the beach, a few kms away, to look around. The name Gracetown triggered a memory of a tragedy involving school children killed after a limestone cliff collapsed on them around the time we first arrived in Australia, sending coastal Shires into a fear of litigation frenzy. Lea empathised for the teachers in charge having to deal with this horrific incident. Above the surfing beach we came across the simple memorial, a beautiful sandstone slab with a wrought iron wave breaking above it able to hold nine candles to the memory of the four children and five adults lost in September 1996. We arrived in April 1997 so our impression of a school outing with lots of children being involved was incorrect.
That afternoon we set off to see some of the attractions of Margaret River. MR Chocolate Company where we could barely move for the crowd; MR Nuts and Cereal, a newly opened venture by South Africans (her Pretoria accent gave it away); MR Venison, where George’s accent gave him away resulting in us being offered some biltong! It appears there are many Southern African people in this neck of the woods that he has a butcher making deer biltong and boerewors for him and the taste for it is rapidly spreading amongst Australians. The little village of Cowaramup is committed to maintaining its character. Many of the shops had a cow theme with an assortment of cow ornaments even the sweet shop was called “Candy Cow”. On the outskirts plenty of Frieslands grazing with bags of cow manure for sale alongside the road!

No cancellations, so we had to move on. The owners had kindly located a farm caravan park with a space for us mid way between the Capes. Shortly after moving in we left for Cape Naturaliste and Geographe Bay. En route we stopped in at Yallingup. Throughout our journey along the south coast Lea had been trying to recall a place Daniel and Justine had once taken us to breakfast (Daniel always knows where to find the best breakfast). On arrival at Yallingup recognition was instant although the breakfast barn has gone. With such magnificent weather surfers were out in full force and the beaches were crowded. Parking at a premium, not helped by construction going on, we continued to the Lighthouse on the second of the two Capes.
The Cape Naturaliste Lighthouse, built of limestone quarried from nearby Bunker Bay, opened in 1904. In spite of the lighthouse being set on a high promontory at the southern end of Geographe Bay, we could see very little of it from the vantage points available due to screening by vegetation and local topography. We took one of the sandy walking trails that led to a whale lookout on the edge of the Bay and there found a young couple from Europe (a French man and German girl) who were peering through a pair of horrible cheap binoculars at what they were convinced was a dolphin just offshore. It turned out to be a large seal, periodically surfacing and shaking its head. Once again, we had missed the chance of seeing the whales that visit the Bay whilst moving south in September to November … one these days we’ll be in the right spot at the right time!
Out of the wind and overlooking the azure blue waters of Bunker Bay we set up our picnic table and chairs in the shade of a gnarled old cypress tree and spent a leisurely few hours reading. While we were there the couple we’d run into at the whale lookout pitched up and we learnt that while up north they had rolled their campervan (near Exmouth) and written it off. Now reduced to travelling, and sleeping, in a tiny car we couldn’t help admiring their pluck in continuing their trip.

Picnic at Bunker Bay

The spectacular beaches and clear, aquamarine waters of Eagle Bay and Meelup, just around the corner from Bunker Bay, must be one Geogaphe’s Bay’s best kept secrets. Having never been there before we came away astounded by their appeal and the provision made by the Shire to open up numerous small picnic spots for the general public. We were similarly impressed by the tranquil seas on the Dunsborough beachfront and feeling pretty warm by then, simply couldn’t resist wading into the shallows before heading for ‘home’.

Cooling off on Dunsborough beach

The Sunday markets that are held in the Town Square of Margaret River kept us entertained on our last day in this truly picturesque region. Tomorrow we move on and hope to send this from Busselton.

Week 41 (2nd - 9th January 2007)

Gone was our good weather. “Guti” (a fine drizzle) had moved in during the night, re-hydrating our skins as we drove towards the Stirling Ranges through the gentle rolling hills of the Mt Barker region – the pale yellow stubble of the wheat-fields and clumps of tall gums giving it a park like quality. “The Stirling Range burst on our view in great magnificence as we rounded the crest … the whole extent of the conical summits were spread before us”. As we approached these mountains we readily identified with this apt description, given in 1835 by the surveyor John Septimus Roe.

The Arrows, Isongerup peak & Bluff knoll - part of Stirling Range

With cloud draped peaks rising to over 1 000m above sea level that regularly receive a light dusting of snow each year these mountains support one of the most unusual and richest plant communities in the country. The Stirling Range National Park, a paradise for botanists and bush walkers, has no counterpart in Western Australia and yet, in spite of its accessibility, has retained a relatively pristine condition. We were lured to Trio Park by its description as a base camp for the mountains that had been voted the best camp in WA. This turned out to be an unexpected treasure – well travelled John Byrne settled below Mount Trio to farm sheep and in 2003 created a natural bush camp on his boundary with the Stirling Range National Park. His self check in operation, the informality that prevailed and the excellent facilities provided all made for the perfect bush camp.

Consternation arose some time after midnight when Lea’s foot felt a very soggy patch at the end of our bed. Thinking rain was coming through the hatch she got up to close the flaps only to find water dripping from elsewhere, turned on the light to investigate and found it coming from a speaker in the ceiling. All kinds of explicative from a sleep-dazed George followed as we taped a plastic container to the ceiling to capture the water. For the rest of the night we had to empty it every half hour such was the rate of flow and our minds churned over possible reasons for this unexpected turn of events. At daybreak, with no let up in the weather we spread our wet duvet over the metal clothes rack in the caravan aisle. We were somewhat daunted when a fellow camper came over to ask what we intended to do about the weather. On drawing a blank look from us he told of a severe weather warning being issued over the radio. Not the best news! We taped a big ice cream container to the ceiling and, rather than head back to the coast, stayed inland and went westwards. Listening for weather updates on the radio and stopping often to check our leak we made our way to Lake Poorrarecup, located through our camping bible as a free site. It turned out to be a short and narrow stretch along the lake shore populated by family groups who had come well equipped with big generators, speed boats and quads. One lot even had a large drop sided truck with steps leading up to a big water tank and portaloo. Definitely, a palatial loo with a view! We squeezed in near the boat ramp. Regardless of notices warning of the danger of amoebic meningitis all the folk there love their water skiing. Wet suits lined from tree to tree give evidence they are ready whatever the weather and throughout the afternoon we’d hear and see the powerful boats coming and going.

During a dry spell late afternoon if it wasn’t boats doing dough-nuts on the water we had quads revving it up and doing the same on the little beach in front of us. One quad came down the road with four huge dogs rampaging alongside. We looked at each other in horror but it actually became quite entertaining as we took the opportunity to investigate Getaway’s roof. With much grunting and groaning George hoisted Lea onto the spare wheel of the caravan to peer around and see if she could spot any problems. Yup! One of the solar panels had sheered a bracket leaving two holes in the roof. George did what we could to sort the problem so we could rest easy in the face of the scheduled storm.
After dinner that night reading in the grey gloom the interior of Getaway unexpectedly began to glow and looking out across the lake we had another scene from “On Golden Pond” as the sun appeared for the first time in two days, minutes before it set at 8.30pm. So beautiful we decided we couldn’t hole up in a better place to ride the storm.

Campsite on Golden Pond - Lake Poorrarecup sunset

A dry night prevented us from testing out our repairs and each time the wind rose we thought “here comes the storm” – but nothing! Next morning the radio continued with its warnings of the storm reaching the coast in the afternoon. After breakfast we took a long walk through the woodlands surrounding the lake to Evans grave with no idea of the person. It turned out to be the resting place of Will and Rose Evans, two hospitable shepherds from the 1860’s. Grey, chilly weather continued and by lunch time three heavily laden vehicles pulled out with their boats and quads. Probably the mad dogs too as we never saw them again. The total lack of activity compared to yesterday was quite disconcerting. With the next weather warning we realised the storm had centred on Esperance, well east of us. At least we were safe and not sorry.

On Friday we returned to the coast and after four days of minimal incoming solar power booked in at Denmark River Mouth Caravan Park to recharge our deep cycle batteries. Denmark has a reputation of being a delightful boutique village with masses of fine B & B’s in the area. The first time we came this way with Jamie and Emma we passed through it in a blink of an eye. Lea was so fed up to miss it that George offered to turn back, slowed down on the hill rising out of Denmark - only to hooted at by Jamie, for being a slow coach, as they were forced to lose speed following behind. This naturally became the “squib” to madden George so we never did get to see Denmark! Finally, here was Lea’s chance to explore the town. Once we had set up and had a blissful shower we followed the Mokare Heritage Trail along the river into the village. Wandering around, we came across lots of New Age people amongst the holiday makers, spotted adverts for live music at different wineries and tried a “gold medal” winning meat pie from the local bakery.

We spent Saturday morning at the market on the edge of the Denmark River enjoying the mixed aromas of food, herbal soaps and candles; the sounds of live music and the different sights people present - many barefoot! When we’d had enough we wandered on along the coast popping in at Parry Beach and Peaceful Bay, both lovely settings only the campgrounds were too set back to have views of the ocean. Fussy we are! After lunch we continued on to Walpole via the scenic route through the Valley of the Giants which first passes through farmland and vineyards where karri trees crown the hilltops and seemingly stretch for ever. Nevertheless, entering the Walpole- Nornalup National Park known world wide for its Tree-Top and Ancient Empire Walks which we have done on previous occasions, we were struck yet again by the sheer immensity of these giant karri trees. There and then we decided we had to have a night in these southern forests and made our way inland steadily climbing higher and higher up to Mt Frankland National Park, one of seven parks in the region that have been amalgamated into the vast Walpole Wilderness Area – by definition an area that has remained “substantially unchanged by technological intervention”.
Shortly after finding ourselves a campsite in the depths of the forest we made tracks for the summit of Mt Frankland, a massive granite dome that we could see looming through the trees. With Lea beginning to hyperventilate at the mere sight of the steepness of the route by the time we had got to the top of the first 170 concrete steps and were faced with an almost vertical metal ladder, she began to weigh up the words of Muizenberg’s dear Dr Shapiro admonishing her father for climbing the Cape mountains “that after a certain age more than four steps can be lethal”. However, with George disappearing out of sight like a springhare, she kept putting one foot in front of the other despite the deafening pounding of her heart in her ears… Worthwhile – You bet! From the summit our eyes fell upon a most splendid 360 degree outlook over the southern forests to the ocean. On our return to “ground level” we took the base walk around Mt Frankland’s mighty granite dome and came across the voices that we’d heard murmuring from the summit. Two rock climbers were in the slow process of delicately inching their way up the sheerest face of Mt Frankland.

Campsite in Mt Frankland and base walk around Mt Frankland

We took a short cut back to the SW highway. Yes, on 20km of dirt road which we found in good condition all the way and it proved to be a most beautiful route through old growth forests of karri, marri and jarrah with an impenetrable under-storey in some places. The coalescing canopies of the massive karri trees creating a cathedral like atmosphere for us lesser mortals below, the deep blue sky coming through as stained glass windows while ring necked parrots darted back and forth dicing with death. Just as well we were going slowly and could enjoy their flashes of colour without any destruction.
Once in the adjoining Shannon National Park we pulled into their campground which until 1970 had been a timber mill town. We parked on a remnant floor slab, one of the few reminders of the old town. Although we’d had experienced a good many excellent forest drives we couldn’t resist taking Shannon’s The Great Forest Trees Drive for the intriguing difference that this one had us tune into our car radio to 100FM for a self guided tour. Being novices we didn’t fully understand how it worked so when we arrived at the start of the drive we were amazed that the radio “knew” we were there! As we steadily moved through we couldn’t understand why there was so much interference making it difficult to hear about the vegetation and animals that inhabit the area before we’d lose the last part. At the fourth point it dawned on us that we had to STOP and listen. Thereafter, we gained maximum enjoyment listening to delightful anecdotal accounts from a cattle drover, a treetop fire guard and a railway logger “running guard” from these pioneering times. One of them mentioned that “it rains here for nine months and the trees drip for another three”! If this was the case, we could consider ourselves fortunate to be having clear skies, unless global warming has since changed that.
We returned to the beginning just to hear what we’d missed due to rolling wheels and came to the conclusion with an ecologist on board we hadn’t missed much. Instead we parked at Shannon dam and took the walking trail to Mokare’s Rock – a granite outcrop with a view nowhere near as grand as Mt Frankland. Here’s Mokare again, the Aboriginal guide / tracker who aided many early Australian explorers and surveyors to success, his name given to this Rock and the Heritage Trail in Denmark.

Waking to another perfect day we returned to the coast driving through D’Entrecasteaux National Park to the little settlement of Windy Harbour. A collection of fisherman’s shacks and holiday cottages, probably from way back when eventually being formalised by the Shire of Manjimup, and excised from the Park. The Shire’s Caravan Park in a prime position tucked in just behind the dunes with a naturally landscaped well grassed area free of any site demarcations and sporting a brand new ablution block with hot showers. Cheap as chips for paradise - we booked in as pensioners for two nights. Beach weather it was and we revelled in it until well after sunset. During the night Windy Harbour ensured it lived up to its name as wind gusts buffeted Getaway, rattling and flapping anything it could and foul weather moved in.
We were confined to quarters, with no let up in the wind, as rain squalls and brief minutes of sun alternated between the grey clouds that blew overhead throughout the next day.

Windy Harbour (sunset)

Week 40 (25th December 2006 - 1st January 2007)

We awoke with sunlight flooding our caravans and apart from a niggly wind it was perfect weather for Christmas Day. Saxon, Paul and Harley, all wearing jelly-bean Christmas hats, came to rout us from our bed for present opening and breakfast in the annexe of their caravan. So began a time of feasting and family togetherness that rolled on for the rest of the week – walking and driving some of the length of Cheyne’s Beach (which we discovered originally housed a whaling station here financed by George Cheyne, hence given his name), fishing in the Waychinicup Inlet (unsuccessfully as usual) and exercising Harley in our new surrounds. Strangely, during our Christmas day walk on the beach we found many sea and wind crafted balls made from detritus and since we weren’t in England with snow balls we dubbed these sun-balls. Naturally, a good fight ensued on the beach with Harley well in the fray.

Sun-ball fight

Doctor Ferret earned an awesome reputation for sweet talking pregnant ladies into prostrating themselves on the floor for the “ring test” diagnosis of the baby’s sex during his Kariba days. Saxon and Paul were keen to maintain this history and made an appointment for Christmas day. Verdict: the consistent pendulum swing back and forth suggested a boy. Time will tell. Another of Doc Ferret’s star turns from the annals of family history is HIS CAKE! Saxon had brought all the ingredients from the South African shop in Perth, Cape to Cairo, and her Dad was on orders to make it on Christmas Day. For nightly entertainment a mighty Scrabble tournament, interspersed by “Balderdash”, took place over the week with Paul becoming the overall Scrabble champion and Saxon the best bull-duster. The heat of Boxing Day brought the locust plague to the campground and provided many children stroke practise with their tennis racquets and cricket bats.

Chicken Land! In the lead up to moving to Mt Barker Paul led us to believe that this was the heart of chicken land as a result of adverts on TV pushing free range chickens that roam the village and have to be sent home at pub closing time. No sooner had we set up in our new park, where sites were well spaced in a large circle around a grassed area with an ablution block in the centre, than a group of chickens arrived scratching away amongst the leaf litter. Turned out they were the owner’s chickens and we have yet to spot a free range farm. No prize for guessing who is a sucker for TV adverts!

Paul and Lea popped in to the Mt Barker History Museum next door to the caravan park. “Popped in” did we say … they were there for hours and returned quite weak with heat fatigue. But who were they to complain when their guide, well into her eighties, was on her third non-stop round with the next set of visitors when they left. Paul had brought his guitar and bongos and the two “musos” had a “jam session” as the spaciousness of this campsite allowed for a degree of caterwauling to go un-noticed.

The Heritage Trail took us to the summit of Mt Barker Hill affording views north to the Stirling Range, an area that we will be visiting next week, and south to Albany with a patchwork of tree farms, vineyards and wheat fields in between. St Werburgh’s Chapel built in 1872 on a private estate to serve the pioneers in the district interested us as it is one of 32 religious buildings dedicated to Saint Werburgh around the world, one of which is in Zimbabwe. Vineyards equal at least one visit to a winery and we chose Duke’s vineyard with his “Blue Shed” cellar outlet and his wife’s studio gallery with Gibraltar Rock in the Porongurup National Park as a backdrop. Saxon, outside with Harley, was visibly daunted by a flock of guinea fowl. Observing from the “Blue Shed” Duke explained the guinea fowl formation ominously advancing upon Harley was due to mistaken identity as a fox.

After bidding farewell to Saxon and Paul, returning to spend New Year in Perth, we found the emptiness unbearable and “took to the hills” that afternoon. Harley dog had prevented us from visiting Porongurup National Park a nearby, fairly small reserve where the brochure we had us believe that “easy walking tracks lead to most of the peaks”. Far from it! The five km long Nancy Peak circuit that took us through tall karri forests to a couple of the granite peaks that dominate the park had Lea’s heart thumping far too fast for her liking on the steep inclines. How many Christmas pounds she’d lose was the saving grace!

Porongurup National Park

In the pleasant setting of Mt Barker Caravan Park with its strong essence of Australia, large native trees and abundance of magpies, parrots and kookaburras, we have been glued to the TV watching the Hopman Cup tennis. It was a good excuse to keep out of the hot sun. As the Old Year departed we enjoyed a quiet dinner together until the kookaburras gave us the finest rendition of hoots, cackles, chuckles and giggles that we have ever heard. As Helen Keller said “the best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart”. How lucky are we? In reality it isn’t luck, it’s just being brave enough to take a chance and what we achieved this year reinforces this all the more.

We can but hope that 2007 unfolds with as many blessings as the last.

Happy New Year!