Epitaph to Covid19
“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember
how you made it through, how you managed to survive.
You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is
really over.
But one thing is certain.
When
you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in.
That’s what this storm’s all
about.”
From Kafka on the Shore (2002) by Haruki Murakami
From Kafka on the Shore (2002) by Haruki Murakami
Surviving the Covid19 pandemic (April / May 2020)
Arriving back from our trip along
the lower Mekong River in Vietnam and Cambodia, we walked straight into the
Covid19 crisis which took the world by storm. We self-isolated for the first two weeks to
ensure we were not harbouring the virus only to have lock down follow for the
next month. Transfixed by news each day of the continued spread of Covid19 throughout
the world and the steadily rising number of people dying from it, we considered
ourselves lucky to be resident in a country where outbreaks of the disease (the
Ruby Princess debacle excluded) had been rapidly brought under control. However,
‘’flattening the curve’’ came at a staggering cost in economic and societal terms,
so much so, some say the effects of clawing our way out of the recession precipitated
by Covid19, could quite easily prove to be worse than virus itself? Only time will tell.
As for ourselves, perfectly
accustomed to spending time isolated from other people during our travels, we weathered
the seclusion without difficulty. The spacious caravan park we’d settled within,
back in January, closed a month after we returned from Vietnam/Cambodia. Together
with a handful of other ‘’semi-permanents’’, all well removed from one another
we settled for the prospective six months, our Prime Minister spoke of.
Advent Park: five minutes from
our daughter Saxon’s home, close to the shops and a fine fish and chips outlet
for the occasional take-away. Freedom to walk the suburbs around the park, we came
across places we never knew existed! Playing fields, tennis courts, archery
range and nature reserves One favourite walk took us past the ’Ibis Lady’. We’d
noticed a large flock of white ibis in a little garden one evening and soon
discovered between 10 and 20 congregated for a feed each evening not to mention
other hangers-on like kookaburra and wattle birds, A costly business for the
Ibis Lady.
In our park we were adopted by a tribe of five
persistent magpies. One, would sing and warble on the doorstep even ‘knock’ the
broom with a rat-a-tat-tat if required! A bandicoot (quenda) habitually ferreted
about at night, outside the caravan.
George had a daily routine furthering his
interest in clouds, courtesy of the Cloud Appreciation Society; made short
films (iMovies) and practised his art, producing a one-a-day ‘’Covid19 series’’
of small sketches and watercolours.
Time lost real meaning and Lea picked up on the delightfully slovenly habit of
checking emails from her bed. It was even easier to reply from her warm,
comfortable ‘office desk’ for anything up to 3 hours. The butler saw to her
breakfast and sometimes elevenses! By midday
the cleaners had finished the ablution block and she’d take off for her shower followed
by the minimum amount of housework a caravan requires, before she’d retired to
the couch to work on her father’s life story.
George’s ISO-Birthday was celebrated with a visit from Saxon
and the three of us sat suitably distanced outside on the open field until rain
chased her home. Lea, inspired to treat
her husband to his favourite foods, carefully reduced recipe ingredients to fit
our small glass convection oven. First up were his niece Talya’s famous
chocolate brownies! Covid cooking was a
popular pastime around the world and in the caravan too.
Granddaughters Talia & Erin sent Grandad a birthday card
they had made of carefully picked leaves. Lock-Down stimulated their creative
talents too.
May brought the first easing of ‘’stay
at home’’ restrictions and our empty calendar immediately had three dates fill
the first week! An opportunity to socialise in very small gatherings.Fridays rapidly became Family
night with the Gees for fish and chip takeaways. A glorious Saturday followed with all the WA
family - eight of us gathered together at Tom for the day to meet Max the
rescued Shetland pony who’d come to join Paddy.
Mother’s Day brought a wonderful
surprise of High Tea, beautifully laid on by Saxon under a tree in our park.
More dates were quick to follow … lunch with our friends Pete and Di Ryan; a picnic with Lat and Cynthia Fuller in Whitman’s Park. Always a favourite, was lunch for the descendants
of a friendship that began with Lea’s grandfather Edward Howman and Staley
Jackson that dated back to 1904. We gathered with sisters
Jenna, Meg and Adie on back lawn of their cousin, Ros’s home in Nedlands; Lunch
with Jean & Mike Rogers also dates back to a friendship between our parents.
These little events added a frisson of delight to the weeks. Especially as we
thought we were going to be allowed to escape the winter chills and head into
the regional North midway through May.
Once clarified, our freedom wasn’t to be and we found ourselves hunkering down
for the ’once-in-a-decade, super storm’ on 23rd May - the
remnants of a tropical cyclone merging with a powerful cold front. We took down
our newly repaired awning – checked the overhead tree-lines and remained safely
tucked up in the caravan, hopefully out of harm’s way. The storm brought little
rain, the gale force winds of over 100 km/h left over 50 000 homes in Perth
without power, and the massive waves generated offshore. created severe damage along
a large section of the coastline. We
suffered little discomfort bar the cold.
We had an old bit of carpeting on the floor and Saxon had provided us
with warm sheets and an electric blanket yet all we wanted to do was move away
from the cold wet winter weather of Perth!
A few days later the news came, as
of Friday 29 May, the start of a long weekend in WA, the regional boundaries North
were to be lifted. All except biosecurity surrounding the Kimberley region. Preparations began in earnest – visits to
doctor and dentist made possible, deep freeze refilled for the road; Rusks and
crunchies baked in big batches up in Saxon’s oven; a service for SKV all followed
in rapid succession. Finally, a
restaurant meal with Di and Peter, a lunch with Di Godson and, a farewell
dinner with our Gee family. In our favour was the low cost of diesel (thanks to
a slump in the price of crude) and the continued closure of the interstate
borders. All the grey nomads normally intent on ‘wintering’ in the highly
favoured North of Western Australia were excluded! Camping spots should be ours
for the choosing…
On the road again
By 4th June we were on
the move to wander out yonder! We didn’t travel far though. We’d booked into Yanchep
National Park for two nights in Henry White Oval campground. A large flock of
black cockatoos wheeled and screamed overhead in greeting - added to our
elation. National Parks required
bookings on-line, a troublesome procedure more often, than not. Plus, we loathe booking a site at any place,
as generally we don’t like the ones we are allocated! Luckily, George managed
to persuade the campground host to give us a more secluded site than the one we’d
been allocated. Upon opening the caravan door, we discovered an overhead cupboard
inadvertently left open, had spewed its contents of plates and bowls all over
the floor. A year of being static reminded us to improve our pre-check
procedures!
A great start to our travels; we
had beautiful surrounds - immaculate ablutions nearby, families of western grey
kangaroos lounging around in the shade and a host of memories tied into coming
to Yanchep especially as new immigrants and in time, with much loved family.
Come evening, we walked through
the park taking the sunlit tracks to see the koalas, one of Yanchep’s main
draw-cards.
The water level in the lake, Loch
McNess, very low; the resulting encroachment of wetland vegetation having
greatly reduced the amount of open water. The swamp hens (gallinules) were not
as numerous as before. We could see where the 2019 December bush fires had been
- walking trails around the lake were still closed. Nonetheless, with the peace
and quiet and a near full moon rising overhead, we felt deep pleasure.
The next morning, Lea prepared
for our lunch guests while George disappeared along a track that led to the
Crystal Caves and came back via Boomerang Gorge, a collapsed cave system now
filled with large trees and flanked by limestone cliffs. The area said to be
‘’one of the world’s few aeolean landscapes’’, meaning they began as windblown
dunes (beach sand and shell fragments) before becoming cemented together as
limestone after all the calcium carbonate in the dunes had been dissolved by
rainfall.
In due course our special
visitors arrived. Tom Rutter first, after letting his flock of pigeons loose to
fly home, followed by his daughter, our niece Carmen, then Lat & Cynthia
Fuller.
It was a beautiful day-
surprisingly warm especially for soup! We all sat back in the little shade to
be found and chatted away happily. Carmen had prepared most tasty smoked salmon
snacks; Lea’s potato and leek soup followed and then the most succulent tipsy
tart pudding made by Cynthia. Once
again, the black cockatoos took turns in a fly past much to our delight but
more especially Carmen. Before we knew
time had flown and Tom needed to get home to his feathered friends and the
ponies for feeding time. While the Fuller’s had Holli the staffie waiting at
home. Carmen joined us on our evening walk with George leading us through the
lovely Boomerang Gorge and out onto the sandy plains. Further on, an unexpected
visitor for winter, lay very sluggishly across the pathway.
A young dugite reluctant to move
into the undergrowth, despite our heavy-footed vibrations, caused some
consternation amongst Lea and Carmen. Both took a decidedly long jump past the
tussock of grass the snake finally bothered to slither into. The sun slipped away as Carmen left for home –
lovely having rare quality time with her.
Our prospective stop next to the
bridge over the Moore River, failed to impress next day. It was far too small
and close to the road. One glance was enough to put us off. The steady traffic streaming north made us
nervous despite knowing it was probably just weekend traffic with people,
understandably like lemmings, keen to get out of the city for a beach break
along the north coast with newly eased covid19 restrictions. Further along the
Indian Ocean Drive we drove into Lancelin. Twenty-two years since we had camped
on the beach here with Justy, Dan and Saxon. As we looked around recalling
memories, the weather closed in on us and we decided to spend the night in the
original old caravan park to the north of town. Rather rundown, but near empty
and set behind a large dune with a look-out on top, to protect us from incoming
weather. With no solar energy, it suited us to recharge all batteries. Thunder
and rain that night further persuaded us to stay on another two nights while
lousy weather persisted. The promenade and beach provided us with all the
exercise we required and the boardwalk to the dune lookout gave us good views
of the town and the mobile dunes that lay just inland. It is here, droves of city
slickers come to catch cheap thrills churning up the sand in their 4x4s, dune
buggies, trail and quad bikes. A
persistent whine emanated from there over the weekend to become blissfully
silent for our last day.
Next door to the caravan park was
one of Rob Taylor’s favourite haunts - The Lancelin Beach Hotel providing a
perfect view of the ocean from its restaurant The Dunes. Additions were
underway otherwise we’d have happily partaken of a beer in sunny
circumstances. On the low tide, we
walked along the beach as far as the jetty where a small dredger was pumping
sand southwards along the shore, and fishermen were trying their luck before
sun set. Extraordinary to think that over 20 years have passed since we last
stayed here in our Toyota Hilux with Saxon, Justy and Dan, in days long gone
when it was permissible to sleep on the beach.
9th June, a perfect blue-sky day; we
continued northwards towards Cervantes. Stopped for a tea break down by a wild beach.
A powerful black vehicle drew in and three inmates took the short walk to the
beach for a look before striking up a conversation with George. One of our rare
delightful interludes took place with the trio joining us for tea beside our
caravan. They were out for the day from Two Rocks (close to Yanchep).
Sandy Cape Recreational Area located on the
edge of the Jurien Bay Marine Park was not much further on and by lunch time we’d
settled into our site. We last camped
here with the Ramsden family in December 2015 when we’d all come out to have
Christmas with Saxon. Possibly Justy’s last Christmas, she’d been keen to visit
her brother and sister, have time with her nieces and nephew and see their
homes over the English winter.
We’d all arrived in Australia
mid-December and made a little camping adventure as far as Geraldton for the
family to go wind surfing. Now here we were, wandering the west coast places
we’d shared with Justine and it was timely to be here for our third year of life
without her. On a beautiful calm evening
we walked through the campground, noting all the improvements (surfaced roads,
neatly demarcated campsites, toilets and barbeques) since we’d last been here; before
we walked the length of the beach and climbed up the ancient limestone headland
covered in more recent windblown thick sand. On the top, a boardwalk with
seating to enjoy the sunset yet no provision for reaching the boardwalk without
clambering through steep dunes. Our eyes
always seeking a suitable memorial site for the morrow.
The high-level alto-cumulus clouds
streaming overhead next day, were confirmation of a predicted change in the
weather; strong onshore wind made for unpleasant beach walking and George took
great interest in the continually changing nature of the cloud formations above
us for the rest of the day.
Towards evening, the cloud cover had thickened
to such an extent we came to accept there would be no sunset to mark the time
Justy left our world. Nevertheless, we walked to our chosen site on the coast
and Lea precariously clambered around on the rocks trying to find a sheltered
position to light Justy’s candle in the stiff breeze … eventually we were able to light her candle
and the bougainvillea blossoms were taken by the wind and waves in every
direction. Almost simultaneously, Lea’s phone vibrated with messages from
friends around the world. Unifying love and remembrance surrounded us in an
unanticipated moment of time, considering the ‘no signal’ sign on our phones.
Just
gather some flowers and remember the people and places I loved best
And
come in the evening when the sun paints the sky in the West
Stand
for a few moments and remember me
We were grateful rain held off
until nightfall and it came as no surprise to wake to low clouds, sodden with moisture
streaming overhead as we continued northwards once more. Green Head Caravan Park had no appeal to us
and on arriving at Milligan Island campground, a few kms further on along a
puddle filled dirt road, what looked a very good camp-spot was soon awash as
black clouds rolled in from offshore and rain bucketed. Large muddy puddles
decided the best thing we could do was move on to Leeman
(10 km away) as this weather was too unsettled.
The caravan park there was empty other than permanents in some of the
many fishing shacks. We were given a
nice, grassed drive-through site with a small ablution block immediately behind
us. Suddenly the prospect of a hot shower and power in all this wet, was most appealing.
The office told George that Leeman
was renowned for its fish and chips. Consequently, towards evening, immediately
after another short-lived downpour of rain, we walked into the town. Nervously
eyeing the dark clouds looming offshore, to buy our supper! Then scurried back,
like two anxious rabbits, before dark fell and our dinner grew cold. The constant
sound of rain falling during the night and the cold, gusty weather that greeted
us in the morning, was enough to make us to stay right where we were. While paying for another night George asked
about the history of the town. We learnt the town was named after first
officer and navigator Abraham Leeman van Santwits who, in 1658, had come
ashore with thirteen others in the vicinity of Wanneroo beach in search for
survivors of the Dutch East India Company’s ship the Vergulde Draeck that
had been wrecked two years previously.
Unable to return to their ship, the Waeckende Boey, because of
foul weather they were abandoned by the skipper and left to sail to Batavia
(now Jakarta) by themselves! Only four of them survived.
In a stiff and chilly breeze,
later that morning we walked the length of town along the beach front’s well laid out pathways through carefully
preserved coastal vegetation and park-lands as well as Leeman’s
Tea Tree lookout, where a gnarled old tee tree once stood as a landmark to fisherman
for almost 50 years (1957 -2002).
A view of Leeman from TeaTree
Lookout.
Gulls and terns hunkered
down on the jetty, all facing into the wind.
Blue sky! The sun brought joy to our
hearts and had us out of bed and on our way relatively early for Begg’s these
winter mornings. Albeit for only 40 km to Freshwater Point. We’d camped here in
SKV 4½
years ago and found the place much changed. Most of what we remembered had been
eaten away by coastal erosion, some very recently.
The remnants of which lay
scattered around on the beach just below us. With the waves lapping 10m away it
was a prime beachfront site … all for free and no-one else around!
From the Lighthouse Bluff at
Freshwater point.
The original little beach cove
tucked to the side of the headland and lighthouse had become a decent length of
beach. We ‘wombled’ it many times
collecting up plastic - scourge of our oceans; along with a variety of
discarded rope that lay strewn along the beach. The source of which appeared to
be commercial fishermen as there were a good few red plastic baskets George
suspected were used for bait attraction!
Another day was to pass peacefully
enough although we were alerted to a strange humming that burst over the top of
the bluff one at a time, to reveal 4 yellow and one red - tiny home-built
helicopters. In turn, they flew over our heads following the coastline to who
knows where. Out at sea, a small fixed wing aircraft appeared to be staying
with them as observation pilot. Late afternoon
brought quite a few people looking for somewhere to camp. By nightfall we had a
bus to the back of us and a motor home to the front of SKV. All were taking no
notice of the Closed for covid19 sign down at the toilet block. Had the region opened before the sign had
been taken down or had the Shire decided Caravan Parks must be used to help the
broken economy. It was confusing.
We were soon to know! Just as we
were preparing to leave Freshwater Point, a Ranger from the Shire of Irwin
arrived to advise each camper most pleasantly; the place was officially closed
and would remain so for another month! It was of no consequence to us and
minutes later we were on our way heading north towards Dongara. We took a loop
road to Port Denison, home to a large fleet of rock lobster fishermen. Liked
the look of the place and chose to spend a night there enjoying the day while
seeing to our laundry and charging all our devices in a nearby caravan park. Later,
we walked along the foreshore of the harbour / marina. Obviously, a popular
place for picnics and fishing in peak season but not this this time round! Signs of the recent Super Storm were
discernible here too despite the breakwaters and defences built from huge rocks
along its length. We climbed up to the Port Denison lighthouse and looked out
over the Leander reef lying just offshore. It accounted for many a ship being
damaged or wrecked in days gone by.
16th June marked as a memorable
day! The last decent day before a
forecast of wet weather we drove to Geraldton (65 km) and immediately called in
at the Visitor Centre, to enquire about trips to the Abrolhos Islands. Within
the hour we were making tracks to the airport! Time for a quick bite of lunch
before checking into Shine Aviation. Thanks to Tom, our pilot and, money the
government had given pensioners at the end of April to help stimulate the
economy! A superb day with clear
visibility- timing brought everything together for us to visit the
Houtman-Abrolhos Islands for afternoon tea!
Ever since reading Peter
Fitzsimon’s enthralling book, Batavia – we have wanted to see the scenes
of drama and crime that unfolded in 1629. The Abrolhos, comprising of 122 tiny islands
set in three distinct clusters, lay 70 km offshore from Geraldton. Many ships
have come unstuck here but we particularly wanted to follow the historic story
of the Dutch East India Company’s ship the Batavia that ran aground when
the look-out mistook the waves breaking as moonlight across the water.
We took off at 1.00 pm, with
friendly young pilot Tom, in a Cessna 172 – the sea beautifully calm and
visibility good (10 km). Within half an hour we were over the Pelsaert group,
where in the 1940s extensive guano mining had once been conducted. The
turquoise colour of the water, the pock marked nature of the reefs and shallow
platforms an astounding sight … George soon became aware of the interference
caused by reflections inside our tiny four-seater cabin, as he frustratingly
tried to get photos of “Half Moon reef’’
at the southern end of the Pelsaert group, another spectacular sight with what little remained of the wreck of the Windsor,
the biggest ship ever to ‘break her
back’ here with the cargo of sandalwood being taken to Hong Kong from Fremantle,
in 1908.
All a timely reminder why the word Abrolhos is derived from a Portuguese
expression meaning ‘’open your eyes’’. Sailors needed to watch out for
all these dangers!
Historical guano collection site in Pelsaert Group
Half Moon Reef
A little further north lay the Easter Group of
islands – Big Rat Island is the base for the Department of Fisheries and
scientists conducting research in the area. Much like Rottnest Island off
Fremantle, the Dutch thought the wallabies looked like big rats! Around One
hundred and fifty licenced fishermen live across 21 islands with their families
and deckhands in this remote, wind-swept and relatively flat looking areas in
the middle of the Indian ocean. A
strictly maintained quota system of approximately fifteen hundred tons of
Abrolhos rock lobster is in place. This year, their season 15 March to 30 June was
slap bang in the pandemic declared shut down for Covid19.
Big Rat and Little Rat islands
Houtman Abrolhos Islands Map
The islands we’d been waiting
for, the Wallabi Group came into view. It was here, the ‘Batavia’ – finest ship
the Dutch had ever constructed and the Dutch East India (VOC) Company’s flag
ship on her maiden voyage, carrying the richest cargo ever assembled; came to
grief on Morning Reef, in 1629. Running aground on the expansive flat rock
platforms to be found in areas surrounding the different groups of islands.
From the air, it really seemed possible to walk across these platforms to other
islands. Perhaps at belly height in the water, while keeping a wary eye out for
deep indented pools of water. The only warning something was amiss out in these
calm seas was a long white line of waves gently breaking!
Not having found fresh water, the
Captain of the ship, Francisco Pelsaert, realised the sooner he set off in one
of the long boats for Batavia (now Jakarta) the sooner he’d be able to bring
help. Left behind was his third in command, Jeronimus Cornelisz, guarding the
VOC (Dutch East Indian) valuables.
As we flew over West Wallabi, Tom
told us to keep our eyes peeled for the remnants of the fort where the group of
soldiers had been dropped off to search for water. Supposedly a fool’s errand
as wicked Jeronimus Cornelisz had ulterior motives. The soldiers, endowed by chance, with a
natural leader of men in Wiebbe Hayes survived because they found two soaks
able to provide them with fresh water; and food in the form of wallabies, mutton
birds and hopefully fish. They built stone forts for protection against the hostile
environment.
We required two fly overs before
we spotted the fort!
A dreadful story of mutiny and
betrayal took place around this Wallabi group of islands and the ‘Batavia’. The
murder of approximately one hundred and twenty-five desperate men, women and
children by Jeronimus Cornelisz and his henchmen came to light some three
hundred and fifty years later when fishermen restlessly sleeping on an island
discovered a skull. They soon realised
their shack was over the graves of murdered men.
Landing on East Wallabi island we
walked down to the jetty for our cup of tea.
A fisherman arrived at the jetty,
to meet a passenger on an incoming plane twenty minutes off. We began chatting
and we quickly learned that all the fishermen had returned to the mainland that
day. He’d remained to collect the man who was coming to mend their
jetties. The live crayfish industry was
presently in crisis not only because flights to China had been cancelled (due
to coronavirus). News had just come in of another outbreak in a fresh food
market in China. Net result, the rock lobster holding facilities in Geraldton were
full, and until the market / transportation problem was resolved, there was
no-one catching rock lobsters in the Abrolhos. Remarkably, the tons of rock
lobsters being held in the Geraldton Co-op Facility are not fed, as this would
amount to it being an aqua-culture venture. Nevertheless, they are expected to
survive for over two months. Normally they would be trucked to Welshpool in
Perth, chilled, packed with sawdust into polystyrene boxes and air-freighted
predominantly to China. The Abrolhos
provides a quarter of the 6 000 tons of rock lobsters removed from WA waters
each year.
After taking off from East
Wallabi we flew over the Long Island, aka the Batavia graveyard – It was here,
the mutineer Cornelisz and seven of his accomplices were sentenced and executed.
Long Island where the gallows were erected. Before being
hanged the hands of the condemned men were cut off with chisel using a mallet! All in all, a gruesome and sorry saga.
Before heading back to Geraldton,
Tom twice flew us over Morning Reef where Batavia floundered and broke up. In 1963, a Geraldton Cray fisherman took 3
local divers out to what he thought could be an unmarked wreck site. Soon after diving, the VOC emblem was
distinctly seen and from items collected historians confirmed it to be the
Batavia. From the air, our eyes could
not detect anything.
It was an exhilarating trip and we
were delighted it had all come together so easily in difficult times. Once back
at the airport we set off to find somewhere to stay … and after a bit of a run
around we landed up in a quiet and almost empty Geraldton Caravan Park, north
of the Chapman River.
We unhitched for the first time
in two weeks and went into Geraldton, one of the five big towns of Western
Australia for the day. The day forecast a strong cold front expected to bring
rain and we were keen to get to the places of interest before bad weather hit
us. Our first port of call a supplier of caravan parts as the plastic lower
vent allowing air circulation for the fridge had fallen off somewhere. Next,
while the sky still had some blue, we went to visit the beautiful memorial to
the warship HMAS Sydney which sank at sea in November 1941 with all 645
men on board, after a running battle with a German raider, the HSK Kormoran.
It’s whereabouts unknown until discovered in 2008. It was one of the most
thoughtfully conceived, moving memorials we have ever seen, what with its pool
symbolising where the ship now lies, black granite walls of remembrance, ‘’dome
of souls’’ with 644 silver gulls flying overhead. The 645th gull
swoops over the memorial pool… The
poignancy of a windswept and anxious ‘’waiting woman’’ is captured in a
sculpture.
We made our way down to the beach and followed
the Geraldton shoreline to the lookout over Separation Point and the lighthouse at Point Moore before heading
into the port area for an early fish and
chip lunch at much vaunted Barnacles – suitably distanced covid19 tables
had us outside in the wind, watching the cold front circulating out at sea and
fast approaching.
We made haste to the Geraldton Museum,
and from the Coles supermarket parking lot we were blown down to the Museum to
see their Batavia exhibition on display. An additional treat was a superb three
dimensional movie, using sub-sea imaging technology, shot in 2015 by the WA
Museum and Curtin University, of what remains of the two ships, the Sydney
and the Kormoran, both lying on
the sea floor at a depth of 2 500 m below the waves within a short distance of
each other - their guns quietly rusting away, covered by colonies of iron
bacteria and large orange coloured anemones. An incredible and mystical sighing. We hadn’t
realised both ships had been mortally wounded.
Well spent hours learning more the Batavia and the Sydney and seeing
relics.
Blocks found on the Batavia to be used as a gateway had it reached its destination.
We were most surprised to see no
rain had fallen and the wind had dropped despite dark clouds overhead. We
slipped into Coles to stock up with a much-needed fresh supplies and arrived
home as the skies opened and the weather turned foul.
By morning, conditions began to
improve. After filling up with diesel we spent the rest of the morning walking
the trails through Chapman River Regional Park recommended by Jenna Brooker
The first track took us to the
upper section of the river with a crossing enabling us to return down the other
side. We were amazed at the density and expanse of sorrel growing beside the
river-track! The other path was along the lower reaches or estuary section,
that led down to the beach. Jenna had mentioned a clean-up day about to happen
on the 20 June - two days later, we found the Park surprising free of litter.
The weather cleared nicely for
the next leg of our trip into the outback. On an impulse we decided to take the
Chapman Valley Road rather than the Geraldton/ Mullewa road inland. George was keen to travel the Murchison region
which stretched east of Geraldton, to Wooleen Station described as "one of the last fading
vestiges of yesteryear, where time slows, nature sings, and where mythical and
majestic landscapes invoke a sense of openness” .... words enough to draw us in.
Our route, eastwards initially
took us through the catchment of the Chapman River – a wheat farming area
looking brilliantly green and sheep, some with young lambs on the gently
rolling hills. After passing through a number of small towns - Nanson; Nabawa
and Yuna , we unexpectedly came across a gravel road we could not resist; sign-posted as the Northern Loop of the
Mullewa Drive Trail.
Not knowing where it was going,
the road wound through parts of the catchment of the Greenough River. At
intervals were information panels – we missed the first two with their metal
silhouettes not fully realising what they were.
This was of interest, since it
drew attention to the replanting of 1 000 ha of land with oil mallee (Eucalyptus
kochii). Quite something to think of
this land once laboriously cleared by back-breaking efforts for cultivation, for
generations later to discover the folly of this action! Farmers, land managers and scientists began to
develop ways of integrating commercial tree growing onto farms at the southern
end of West Australia - almost thirty years ago to help restore damaged
ecosystems and restore balance. In 2011, in excess of a million seedlings were
planted here in a significant carbon sequestration project established by
Carbon Conscious Ltd. The oil mallee,
ideally suited to this fragile arid region altered by intensive broad acre
farming. Apart from producing oil for a
commercial product used by the pharmaceutical industry; when tree crops are
integrated into farming systems there are several other benefits. These include
lowering the water table thereby, a reduction of the amount of salt
accumulating in the soil. Providing shelter belts for livestock and controlling
run-off and soil erosion. The idea of carbon sequestration is certainly another
potential benefit. However, George is of the opinion - It is a little too late!
Yes, a step in the right direction but,
being realistic, a drop into an ocean in which the tide has already turned. Climate
change will continue bedevilling mankind, with or without the trading of carbon
credits, for a long, long time into the future.
In due course we reached the
Mullewa-Carnarvon road and realised we had by-passed Mullewa where we’d
intended to spend the night. Since this was the very road we’d intended taking
into the Murchison region we promptly turned northwards on the Wool Wagon
Pathway. Not another car or truck to
be seen for well over 100 kms we kept going through dry mulga plains, wondering
how on earth people managed to farm such a water-less, rain shy country – not a
blade of grass to be seen, the stony soils sparsely covered by half dead scrub.
And yet farm it they do – as we passed through one cattle station after another
with names such as Wandinga; Pinegrove; Woolgorang and Billabong. The route we followed had once been used by
wool wagons, drawn by teams of bullocks; and as a stock route along which
thousands of cattle and sheep had once passed.
The hostility of ''mulga country''.
The road turned to gravel about
70 km north of Mullewa it was in very good condition, but once across the Ballinyoo
bridge, having travelled over 250 km by then, we were only too glad to pull off
and camp beside the Murchison River with a large pool directly below us, a splendid array of white gums adding to its
attraction. Two Major Mitchell’s cockatoos (pink cockatoos) nearby told us we
were in a most perfect spot.
Our view from the caravan and its setting on the Murchison river.
It was such a good camp site we
were very reluctant to leave. Having
taken a longer than normal drive to get here yesterday, we decided to stay
another day and have a braai lunch… So took out lamb chops and left them to
thaw while taking a walk upstream noting
the extent and scoured nature of the floodplain, identifying tracks in the sand
(emu included) , looking at the thick growths of filamentous algae lying on the
floor of the clear water pools in the river. It reminded Lea of swimming in
farm reservoirs in her youth! We came across a campsite where a couple of kangaroos
lay rotting, one suspended by the back leg from the branch of a tree. George
thought it could be an old Aborigine camp. Lea disagreed… Although the
suspended kangaroo appeared at first sight to have been butchered up there, on
closer inspection it still had its tail and back legs with visible pelvis bone.
These were the meatiest part of a ‘roo - everything else missing. The one on
the ground untouched and simply rotting. Lea walked away gagging!
The call of whistling kites helped
put this disagreeable sight out of mind.
Back in our camp we watched swifts swooping over the river and obviously
nesting in the rocky overhang just below us.
Further away, half a dozen nests belonging to white faced heron ensured
we’d hear their gravelly croak as they squabbled down on the water’s edge. Time
on the blog ate into the day and our lunch became a mid-afternoon meal as
George lit a small fire on the riverbank in the beautiful warm sunshine. No
longer near the coast means evenings, once the sun has gone, get very chilly. Last
night’s temperature dropped to 8°C while day temperatures easily rise to 26°C.
We had come this way for a reason.
George wished to visit Wooleen Station, about 60km on. Ken Tinley had advised
us to visit the station as David and Frances Pollock are dedicated to
rehabilitating a severely degraded sheep / cattle station challenging a hundred
years or more of European orthodoxy. Ken had their book and George had been
much taken by their intentions and having been involved in ecosystem restoration,
looked forward to seeing more of this approach to rangeland management and sustainability himself. After a second night on
the Murchison, we left for Wooleen Station. As soon as we crossed the cattle
grid delineating its boundary on the access road, George began looking for changes
in land use practices implemented by the Pollocks over the past 25 years, reflected
in the landscape. In certain areas there were sparse covering of stubble-like grasses
beneath the mulga bushes. Up until then we hadn’t seen a blade of grass. Recovery
in such harsh country would be a slow process and we recognised that. Aerial
photography covering historic and recent, would reveal a more accurate
assessment.
George checked-in with Frances Pollock
at the Wooleen homestead – built in 1918, this National Trust listed home was
built by the Sharpe family. Francis advised the campground, located on the edge
of the Murchison river, lay 16 kms away and George was given professionally
printed Information sheets and a map to assist us in finding the place.
The campground was divided into
four well separated clearings three of which overlooked a beautiful tract of
water, that stretched as far as the eye could see. Our camp – ‘Bagaa’ was set well- back behind
the river’s rocky bank. It suited us fine, yet we could not help thinking of
our free camp view. The other annoyance- showers were only available up near
the homestead, 16 kms away. It seemed a bit unfair to expect people to travel
32 kms to have a shower at the end of the day. Even the two walking trails began
at the old steam engine parked up at the homestead. A dunny shared between two camps, was set
well back in the bush. They didn’t look too appealing from a distance. Very rustic
looking, they were not too bad inside and there were no red back spiders
waiting to bite you on the bum! The
camping side is obviously not a priority. The clients that fly in and stay at
the homestead or in rammed earth, self-contained guest houses are probably the
station‘s focus.
There was no direct interaction
with visitors or sharing of their aspirations, which we found most
disappointing. We were left to glean our own information and draw our own
conclusions. We suspect David Pollock; second generation took over the running of
this 150 000-ha station from his father. A station that had been grazed since
1886, suffering historic degradation and widespread erosion in a region known
for its low rainfall. Once the Pollock
family took over the station, they must have reached the decision to de-stock
cattle, sheep and eradicate the feral goats that ran rampant up until 2009. To
counteract the loss of income derived from livestock, David and Francis created
an outback eco-tourism venture in 1993.
Higher up the Murchison River, on Wooleen station
During the afternoon Lea continued to write the blog and
George took a long walk upstream where the tortured shapes of the white-stemmed
coolibah trees on the floodplain and the many tracks of animals were a continued
source of fascination.
We left ‘Bagaa’ which means white
necked heron in the local Aboriginal dialect next day, to see more of Wooleen
Station before we departed. Followed the signs to take us further upstream to find
the Envirolls, heavy 30 m long wire mesh structures, the Pollocks had
installed on the floodplain of the Murchison “to act as a filter, slow the
floodwaters and force them back onto the floodplain’’! On close examination they appeared not only
ineffective but also obtrusive.
George could not understand their value or see
how they could, according to information we’d been given, ''facilitate the spread of floodwaters over the
degraded Murchison catchment’’ when the station lies in the centre of the
catchment and the slowing of floodwaters would only have a localised effect.
The idea of filtering floodwater also seemed absurd. Perhaps the terminology
used confused the issue. It needs clarification and rewording.
We walked to see the Gradagullya
Pool which lies on the river a little further upstream from the Envirolls site and
came across a whole lot of black swans perhaps feeding on the growths of
filamentous algae, still evident on the riverbed.
On our way back towards the
homestead we stopped to see the Bowerbird Museum, hoping to find historic
photos of the Station and the trials of transformation - only to find it was a literal meaning – a collection of old items scattered
about like a bower bird is wont to do! We admired the workshops built in 1922
by Alf Couch, the ‘’hanger workshop’’ built by Brett Pollock in 1997 for the
station aircraft.
Leaving the homestead, we continued
to Wooleen Station’s historic old barrel-vaulted shearing shed, also
constructed by Alf Couch, renowned in the area for this feature of his.
Blown down in a violent storm or ‘’cockeyed
Bob’’ in December 2004, twenty minutes of 150 km/hr winds and hail took the old
shed out; stripped vegetation of its foliage, uprooted trees and caused many
plants to die. Events of this nature may account for the extraordinary amounts
of dead shrubs we’d noticed on this journey across the Murchison region.
We stopped for our morning
tea/coffee in the adjoining Sheep Shearer’s yard. Looked over the quarters for
12 men. Visualized their exhaustion at the end of each day to face the very
basic comforts provided after shearing over a million sheep estimated to have
been shorn in this shed. The yield of 30 000 bales of wool for export taken on the
Wool Wagon pathway we’d been following. A silent history before us, as we peeped into
the barrel-vaulted cookhouse and refectory room with its wooden tables and
benches. Old refrigerators up against the wall hopefully provided chilled
refreshment in the high temperature that come with life out here.
We were soon headed northwards
aiming to get to the Murchison Settlement by lunchtime when we came across an
interesting outcrop of large granite boulders, on one side, a wide plain
covered by quartz rocks – we were still on Wooleen Station land.
Once on Meeberrie Station, we
crossed the Murchison River for the third time on our journey – noting with
interest the height to which the floodwaters had risen in March 2006. Ten
clicks away, out of harm’s way was the Murchison Settlement. We were desperate
for a shower and some ‘’home comforts’’ and happily stayed in the small, nicely
grassed caravan park run by the Roadhouse. Four other vans were parked together - members
of a Perth caravan club returning from an outing to the Kennedy Ranges. Licking
their ‘wounds’ after damage inflicted on vans from the Kennedy Range road-
where we are headed!
Upon leaving the Murchison
settlement we turned west towards Shark Bay following Butchers Track, a
140 km long, well maintained dirt road through the Toolonga Nature Reserve, to
the North West Coastal Highway. Unexpected rain had fallen during the night
saving us from having to contend with any dust! A most interesting drive and most importantly
it showed us how mulga country should look in the prolonged absence of sheep
and cattle! Must add, we had switched
catchments during the drive, from the Murchison to the Wooramel River. The soil
type had changed to a red sandy loam and the difference in vegetation density
and composition was remarkable. From the
time we left the outskirts of Geraldton until we were back on the Coastal
Highway, we hadn’t passed a single vehicle. In camp sites we’d hear or see the
odd vehicle passing by but never on the road – quite something!
On the highway it seemed like
peak traffic time in comparison. We refuelled at the Overlander Roadhouse and
immediately made tracks for Shark Bay, as the coastal skies were heavy with
rain and shifting clouds. Again, there was a specific destination in our heads,
and we did not need poor weather conditions to steal this adventure from
us. Often a rite of passage for young
explorer – we grey nomads also feel the compulsion to visit the extreme
cardinal points of Australia and needed to tick off Bucket listed Steep
Point, the westernmost point of the Australian mainland.
We based up at Hamelin Pool
Caravan Park where we could leave the caravan and proceed in SKV alone. Word
was a long, rough and arduous track through sand dunes to access Steep Point.
After backing into our chosen site, George went to pay leaving Lea to prepare
lunch. On remembering her phone was still in the truck, she popped out
momentarily. Towards the back of the van came an odd sound and Lea shot round
in fright trying to decipher the noise and found a chicken!
Not a stowaway, just a hen having
a ‘sticky-beak’ as Australian lingo picturesquely says for a nosey parker!
We soon discovered potable water
was a major issue, not just here, but throughout the region. The owners of the
caravan park have to truck-in water from Carnarvon at a landed price of
79c/litre! We bought a ten litre canister for a tenner! Towards evening we took
our walk along the Boolagoorda Trail.
It took us through the historic quarry
where crosscut saws once removed shell blocks for distinctive buildings in the Shark
Bay area.
Further down, we came to the boardwalk
from which to view the stromatolites of Hamelin Pool. Isolated from the rest of
Shark Bay by the Faure Sill, this shallow, 132 000ha ‘’pool’’ (part of the
Shark Bay Marine Park) is hypersaline (i.e. with salinities of 55-70 ppt is
twice as salty as the sea) and accounts for why the stromatolites, colonies of
cyanobacteria that have been around for 3 billion years or more thrive here.
Apparently, summer water temperature in the "pool’’ can rise to 45°C.
Stromatolite viewing at Hamelin Pool …
We write a blog to remind
ourselves of where we have been! We have
seen more than we can remember and remember more than we have seen! Fifteen
years later we discovered the tricks memory plays and how each of us recalled different
mirror images of places. Our June 2006 Blog, same time of the year reminded us
of a drop-in temperature to 5°C - we rely on our blog all these years later.
Drizzly rain and dissenting reports for the weather next day added to our
qualms. Our neighbour returned from his pilgrimage to the ‘West’ and like Tom,
our Abrolhos pilot both mentioned the terrible corrugations and the slow going
of the road…
We were up at first light after a
restless night of nervous energy and expectations thanks to alarming stories
about the shocking condition of the 120 km long Useless Loop road. We expected
the worst and were gratified to see clear weather ahead as we excitedly set off
West. Consequently, our first surprise of the day was to find the first 25 km
sealed and the gravel road thereafter was so good we could travel at 70 km/hr with
ease! Two hours later we were at the entrance to the proposed Edel Land
National Park, dropped the tyre pressures to 20 psi as advised…
They were not endless - they came
in bouts! Then came the mobile dune field, a high dune cordon of thick sand, endlessly
churned up by 4WD vehicles, as we bucked our way along the narrow track with
horrendous blind rises and steep descents that momentarily took Lea’s breath
away. George more intent on hanging on to the steering wheel and getting us
through the next obstacle. In retrospect we’d suffered far worse roads in
Mozambique – When it comes to the unknown; imagination and words easily create mountains
out of molehills!
It was fascinating to watch the
terrain unfold as we covered over 40 km to reach Steep Point. Fields of mobile
dunes; some covered in a low, wind-clipped dry scrub; the thicker cover in dune
swales; samphire in the small clay-floored pans (a type of wetland known as birridas),
and ever-increasing views of the blue waters of the Shark Bay Marine Park. In one section, we had to drive along a
narrow strip of beach with waves almost lapping at our tyres with colourful
Templetonia, past their prime, on the immediate high ground. A picturesque scene. We returned later for our
lunch.
Originally, we had planned to
spend a night or two out here- only inclement coastal weather on arrival put us
off and then we heard a permit was required. Nowhere in our bible, Camps
Australia, are any campsites mentioned – yet to our surprise after passing the
Ranger Office we came across dozens of people, many with big boats,
camping trailers and tents camping along the demarcated shoreline of Shelter
Bay. As we neared Steep Point the bare, brown expanses of Tamala limestone
became apparent. So too, the outline of WA’s largest island - Dirk Hartog
Island throwing plumes of spray into the air as the mighty swells of the Indian
Ocean broke at Surf Point. We had
arrived at the westernmost point of Australia. Another long-held ambition
accomplished. We were thrilled to bits as we enjoyed our celebration cuppa with
a rusk.
HMAS Sydney went down 120 km off
shore from Steep Point
The view of the Zuytdorf Cliffs
rising to 200m above the Indian Ocean; extend over 200 km is not just
spectacular, it is positively breath taking, with the sound and sight of the
ocean pounding against them. We’ve stood on the edge of the Bunda Cliffs of the
Great Australian Bight on numerous occasions and watched the Southern Ocean do
the same thing, yet compared to the Zuytdorf Cliffs, it was an experience
nowhere nearly as awe inspiring! At the height of a storm this scene must be
even more amazing or terrifying for that matter. Like the cliffs of the Great
Bight or the coastline of the twelve Apostles – dashed against steep rock with
no chance of reaching land as was the case of many ships.
Dutch ship, the Zuytdorf, gave
its name to these awe-inspiring cliffs after being wrecked here in 1712, during
a storm. We’d hear an incredible shrill
whistle precede the plume of spray that erupted from an ocean battered cavern
before a bigger than normal wave hammered against the Zuytdorp cliffs, here.
Good warning device for photographers!
From Steep Point we drove just
inland of the cliffs along a rough, rocky track in search of the monument
(erected in 2007) to the prawn trawler, the Nor 6, which smashed into
the cliffs in in 1963 The following is a
brief summary of the inconceivable story
that gripped our heads!
After crashing into the cliffs on ANZAC Day, April 25th,
1963 the Nor 6, was immediately overwhelmed by the surf, rolled over and sank
in less than a minute. Her crew were all drowned in the accident except for the
skipper, Jack Drinad (age 38), miraculously flung clear by the first wave. He
clung to the brine tank or icebox that floated clear and drifted out to sea for
the next 14 days. He was able to carve a hole into the icebox and survived on the
crew food in the icebox and water from melted ice. In due course he was blown
back to the coast having now carved a surf ski and a paddle from the lid in
readiness for any chance of escape. He paddled into the South Passage of Shark
Bay and there, picked up by a fishing boat – The news of his survival radioed
to the world.
From there we crossed back to the
northern shore of the park and began to return the way we’d come, stopping for
our picnic lunch. On entering the Park, Lea had noticed a road to the left
signed False Entrance - 7 km. We seemed to have accomplished the
trip in surprisingly good time that she suggested we go look see… the only
beach along that cliff stretch and, as the name suggests, early mariners had
mistaken it for South Passage. Just as we approached the beach with its rollers
thundering up another road to the False Entrance Blowholes 2 km on enticed us
that way. Grave disappointment to see
nothing, Lea was sure we had stopped too soon. Meanwhile, George was totally
focussed on his truck door. During the
trip he kept thinking his door wasn’t shut – now, as he’d opened it, the screws
of the latch attachment tumbled to his feet, vibrated out once too many times.
No normal screwdriver required he was forced to use a chisel to fix his door. Lea huffed and puffed near the cliff edge
looking for a blow hole – nothing anywhere in sight. George pointed to the front of SKV saying it
was over there as he could see wet! We
had parked on top of a plateau of limestone rock with no obvious marked
position or signs to say where a blow hole was.
Lea began walking and was within a metre of an
innocuous looking hole when a horrifying breathy roar erupted, frightening Lea
out of her wits and sending her skittering away.
No plumes of ‘steam’ arose,
instead a throat hole at the base, emitted the most extraordinary, unexpected
sound in a very sinister manner that had us leap away in horror - not knowing
whether to run for our lives or collapse in nervous mirth, time and time again.
The False Entrance blowholes were
two sinkholes set well back from the cliff edge.
George peering into the larger hole which had a
more geyser-like appearance with slimy walls. Nothing like its noisy
neighbour’s dry trumpet hole, roaring like a ferocious man-eating dragon. When we had fully recovered from the shock
and delight and about to get in the truck – a sudden gust of spray flew into
the air. The blow holes had not
completed their show!
We dashed back for ringside seats
as the waves crashing below the cliffs resulted in columns of spray gushing
into the air.
These were quite the best
blowholes we have ever seen or heard. Their
deceptive nature provided us with a marvellously dramatic and memorable end to
our Steep Point adventure.
On returning to the False Entrance beach from
the south, we had a perfect view of the significant sand feed at the far
end of the beach. Absolutely amazing to think the ocean is transporting sand by
littoral drift and depositing it in the first sheltered bay, False
Entrance (a little further on is smaller, Crayfish Bay). Only to have the fierce southerly winds lift
sand off the beach and drive it through the relatively narrow gap we could see
to create the 25 km north directed spine of the Bellefin Prong. The prominent
dune cordon we’d had to get through to reach Steep Point.
The map above shows the crescent shaped
form of the barchan dunes produced by the strong unidirectional southerly winds, the Bellefin
Prong being the only place in Australia where they occur.
Barchan dunes en route back from Steep Point.
Tyres had to be inflated back at the
entrance, ready for the two-hour drive back to Hamelin Pool, before the sun
set. George had been driving, on and off, for 8
hours.
We planned to go to Nanga, 40 km
further in the Shark Bay Marine Park, on leaving Hamelin Pool next day. However, on arrival, we found it closed,
possibly due to covid19 – just like Hamelin Bay Station. Rather than go on to Denham, which we knew
would busy – we decided to drive back to the NW coastal highway and go to Gladstone
Beach, another old favourite of ours on the eastern edge of the Shark Bay Marine
Reserves. We’d first camped here in 2006
when the price was $1 per person per night; by August 2014, we found the price
had risen to $5.50 pp/p n; it was now $8 pp/p n!
SHARK BAY MAP
This very large (Shire run)
campground, well spread out along the coast was surprisingly busy. We managed
to find ourselves a spot at the southern end. With a beautiful view over the
sea, a dugong protection zone we happily settled. Water still a possible
problem, particularly as one of our external jerry cans had been holed by a
stone. Brilliant sunny weather with solar
panels delivering plenty of power. The
most significant event of the day was to discover the remains of a dead dugong
lying on the high-water mark. It was obviously a baby dugong that had lain
there long enough to become mummified within its skin. The regular inundation
by seawater had preserved it
No smell at all and no sign of
maggots or other agents of decomposition.
The extraordinary shape of the skull and neck vertebrae so interesting
George sorely tempted to remove it and clean it up … old habits never
fade!
There was no good reason to leave
next day and we happily wrote emails and blogged, George make a fire for
another of our late lunch/dinner meals. This time he cooked up boerewors and
sadza while Lea made the relish. The
tide seeped out the tide seeped in, barely a ripple in this protected breeding
zone for approximately 10,000 dugongs. The second largest population in the
world and we are yet to see one during three visits! (Discovered later that Gladstone is set aside
for summer breeding)
Evening
light on Gladstone Beach foreshore
The patter of seagull feet on the
roof of the caravan was a nice way of waking up. The Strandlopers took a last
walk along the northern edge of Gladstone Beach before departure. The number of
fish carcasses / skeletons lying discarded on the shore made us question the
habits of the many fisherfolk occupying the campground. They possibly hope the
outgoing tide would dispose of the carcasses for them. However, a bay where
tidal exchange is so passive, wastes of this nature simply remain where they
lie. We noted with interest, the variety
of rigs present; most with satellite dishes for TV reception. A large bus with
wind generator outside, piles of firewood brought in from elsewhere and screens
to move about for wind protection; a camper with ear-muffs was busy
cutting firewood with a portable chain saw (thankfully well away from us!);
another doing weight lifting exercise outside his rig; a woman doing Tai Chi outside hers. Vehicles
loaded with canoes, sand tracks, bike racks and "tinnies’’ (aluminium boats)
on the roof. The toys required for recreating in WA’s coastal zone. It’s a way
of life not commonly reflected in other parts of the world. Put the kettle on
for a cuppa before hitting the road, only to change our minds yet again… How
could we leave this tranquil place, overlooking the placid waters on the
eastern shoreline of Shark Bay on a beautiful day. We stayed- a last day!
Outside the caravan door, a
little trio of white-winged fairy wren the brilliant blue male and two drab females
continued to keep us entertained with their behaviours. The females haring
across the sand at such speed, it was easy to think they were brown mice.
Rain fell steadily through the
night. Consequently, we both had the same thought in mind. The access road
would be a problem. IT proved to be just that. At the first serious muddy patch
bearing the tyre marks of others that had somehow slithered through, we noticed
what appeared to be a detour around it. The decision to take the detour was a mistake,
as it proved to be in far worse condition. Rapidly changing into 4WD George decided the traction afforded by the bushes on the side of the track would give him the
best chance of not getting bogged. Without explanation to Lea, he reversed, then charged through the bush like a rhino in a frantic attempt to reach solid
ground, then slid across the middle of the bad patch on the road … hearts
pounding we both sighed with relief to be through. The rest of the road seemed tame in
comparison, our hearts in our mouths all the way back to the highway. Reach it
we did, leaving the caravan with thick wads of red mud at the front sides and
under the chassis.
Back on the NW Coastal Highway it
became clear the whole region had been thoroughly soaked. There were large
sheets of water lying everywhere, water flooding over the road at one point. The
herring bone drains had turned into ponds.
Large sheets of water lying over the Wooramel plains
We scraped off as much mud as we could before having our elevenses in a lay by as the mud was fast drying hard. On arrival in Carnarvon, a car wash facility with a high-pressure hose was top priority for Skiv and Getaway.
We based up in Norwesta Caravan
Park and began to see to the build-up of dirty laundry and enjoy a good shower
after days of frugal water use. The
second quarter of 2020 is at an end…
