Nights 218 - 235; The Coral Coast part 2.

NIGHT  218  -  WHALEBONE BAY CAMPGROUND, DENHAM

I could be having writer’s déjà vu.

I want to start this section exactly the same way as I started the first section of the last blog entry.

Then I was referring to Exmouth, saying how you couldn’t go there by mistake as it was nowhere near anything else.  Well ditto for Denham.  Both towns exist at the end of an archipelago that juts out from the mainland into the Indian Ocean.  To get to both towns you have to go around a gulf and head north again, towards nothing other than a single town and its attractions.  The main attraction to head north to Exmouth was Ningaloo Reef.  It was worth the drive.  The main attraction to head towards Denham is Monkey Mia.  It could go either way.

On the way we stopped at Shell Beach.  Shell Beach doesn’t have sand.  Instead, where you’d expect sand to be, there are billions of tiny shells.  It’s bizarre and very cool.  Naturally Shana loved it.  She loves shells and she loves beaches.  Combining them as occurs at Shell Beach was almost more than she could process.  She laid in it and made shell angels with her arms and legs like people sometimes do in the snow.

 

Whalebone Bay is a National Parks campground just south of Denham.  You have to ring National Parks and book a site, there only being six available.  We were excited that we got one.  It’s rare that we can camp right on the beach owing to Morrissey being a dog and dogs being interpreted as the modern equivalent of the black plague. (The mindset is that he will somehow decimate the native wildlife just by his presence). 

We were the first people there and had our choice of the spots.  The first spot we parked in was perfect, but while walking around we found a better perfect spot soon after.   Then, just as we found it, we could see a car and caravan approaching in the distance.

Heading directly toward us.

We were afraid they’d try to gazump our more perfect perfect spot. 

A plan was quickly enacted.

Putting their bodies on the line, Shan and Moz occupied the space while I urged my middle-aged man legs to more rapidly negotiate the sand. It looked like being a race to the spot.  Once in the ‘bago I careened forward, recklessly disregarding sand humps and pot-holes, the other vehicle seemingly speeding up as if becoming aware it was in a race.   Calculating trajectories and distances I was confident of getting there first.  Probably.  It’d be close because the path I was taking was winding and the road went straight on.

Sometimes you have to fight for what you want.

But not this time.

 Luckily (for them) they chickened out, slowed down, and turned off up to the lookout. After giving the place a quick once-over, they drove sedately back out (retreated!).

The perfect spot was ours.

We were 5 mtrs from the water along two sides, with hard sand, flat, and tucked behind a headland away from the southerlies that hadn’t stopped blowing for the last two weeks.

 

We spent a fantastic day not catching fish and playing in the water.  Several cars appeared throughout the day but only one other camped for the night – a hired backpacker van that set up in our rejected second-to-perfect spot.  We waved across the distance, they waved back, and no other communication was needed. 

Nightfall came gently, the sun setting into the ocean.  A meal was prepared, bevvies consumed. 

Then the wind picked up and we thought we were going to die.

It was the strongest wind we’d encountered and it bludgeoned the van like a giant’s fist, over and over and over.  The van weighs almost 5 tonne and, while lying awake at 2am, it was continually hurled from side to side, rocking wildly on the suspension.  It sounds like overkill in the light of the day but we thought it was about to be over-turned.  The windows were rattling furiously, the hatches kept creeping opened so that wind whistled through and something was banging furiously somewhere outside. 

We’re thinking about having T-shirts printed saying ‘We survived a night at Whalebone Bay’.

We give The Whalebone Bay Campground 5 stars out of 5.  Maybe that will appease the wind gods.

NIGHTS  219, 220, 221 – MONKEY MIA RESORT.

What can I say?  Could anybody really travel around Australia without going to Monkey Mia?

 A few people had suggested to us that we needn’t go.  They said it was a long way out of the way and was over-hyped.  “Yeah” we said, “but…”  It’s a bit like Disneyland really.  Maybe the reality can never match the hype but the place has a quasi-mythical status.  I’ve harboured a desire to go there since I first heard about it and Shana was the same.

So we went and IT WAS BLOODY FANTASTIC!

Do believe the hype.

Firstly, and importantly given that the constant wind is driving me batty, Monkey Mia is on the east coast of the archipelago.  The howling onshores of the west coast were a lot less blustery at Monkey Mia.  It was windy still – the archipelago is only 25km wide - but way more tolerable.  So I was a lot happier in general.

Secondly, Monkey Mia is a good blend of wilderness and resort.  This is perhaps best summed up by discussing fish and chips. 

We had a brilliant meal of fish and chips on our last night.  We’d caught the fish ourselves – whiting.  It was easy to catch because the resort only takes up about 300mts of beach front.  Either side of it reverts back to wilderness.  So, 200mtrs past the end of the resort we discovered a sandflat where the biggest whiting I’ve ever seen lined up to strike at our bait – pippies we’d dug up earlier from the same beach.  We caught 14 whiting in two sessions on two afternoons.  Fresh and filleted and rolled in flour they tasted amazing.

But we didn’t have any spuds.  It didn’t matter.  A two minute walk to the bar and bistro and you could order a box of hot chips.  Shan took the walk and (after sneaking a quick pear cider as well) arrived with chips hot and crispy.  The wilderness fish and the resort chips complimented each other perfectly on the plate. 

What more could you want?

Except…maybe…

DOLPHINS.

 

You’d have to be a hard-hearted person to remain unmoved during dolphin feeding.  If you harbour ecological concerns about the welfare of the dolphins and the effects of the feedings then the pre-feeding talk soon allays those concerns.  These people care about and care for these dolphins.  And the dolphins cruise before you, less than a metre from your shins.  If you’re lucky there’ll be mothers with their babies.  If you’re lucky you’ll watch dolphins as they sleep before you, chase fish before you, play with each other before you and harass the human rangers.  Some people are chosen to feed them – we went a few times and never got chosen – but nobody is allowed to touch them, not even the rangers.  They have discovered that human diseases can be transferred to dolphins through touch.   The rangers keep a very vigilant eye on people going for a sneaky grapple.

And while the dolphins capture most of your heart, the pelicans capture the rest.   They waddle, old men with big bellies and stiffened legs, and complain until they receive a share of the feeding.  They strut the foreshore and weave in the water among the dolphins.  Meal over, they collapse onto the sand in a feathered white ball.  With eyes closed they then completely ignore the goings on around them.  They truly are the grandfathers of the beach.

 

We stayed for three days.  We’d have happily stayed many days longer. 

We give the Monkey Mia Resort 4 7/8 stars out of 5.  They lose 1/8 owing to the massive emu that wanders the place without fear.  It starts off being an eye-popping experience and you rush for the camera as it sticks its head into somebodies tent.  After half an hour though you see it more as the world’s biggest seagull, constantly scavenging through peoples things and having to be shooed away.

NIGHT  222  -  GALLENA BRIDGE REST AREA, NORTH WEST COASTAL HIGHWAY.

 The scenery changed today.  Since we first ventured into Exmouth we’ve seen nothing other than low coastal scrub.  It becomes monotonous.  As we drove further south wildflowers started to appear again alongside the road.  Eucalypts also re-appeared, adding an upper story to the view.  Then, through what was becoming a thickening eucalypt forest, there were flashes of something light yellow that we couldn’t fully discern. We wondered what it was for a kilometre or two then, as we came over a rise, it revealed itself to us - wheat fields stretching before us, over the hills and into the distance.  Coastal scrub had given way to eucalypt forest which had then given way to pastures full of honey coloured wheat.

 We didn’t expect it, and it saddened us a little.

It symbolises that the tropical part of our trip is over.

We give the Gallena Bridge Rest Area 2 stars out of five.  People who knew more than us sat outside wearing beekeeper type veiled hats to keep the flies at bay.  We got bits of leafy branch that we continually swatted in front of our faces.  Eventually we gave up, going inside watching black swans through the windows.

 

NIGHTS  223 – 225  -  MURCHESON RIVER CARAVAN PARK, KALBARRI.

We’d been told several times that we must go to Kalbarri.  We’d been told we must go to Kalbarri while watching crocodiles fight for food at Cahill’s Crossing; while discussing motorhome etiquette in a supermarket carpark at Kununnurra; while swimming in the ‘infinity pool’ at Lake Argyle; and while ignoring a yappy little Jack Russell in Exmouth.  In fact, just about everybody who’d already been up along the Western Australia coast recommended Kalbarri as a must see.  All I knew is that, according to the Surfing Western Australia website, it had ‘one of Australia’s heaviest left-hand point breaks’.  I wanted to see that.

But, for us, as much as anything, Kalbarri is the place where we nearly got fined $500.

You see, even though the wildflower season is almost over, the road into Kalbarri still put on quite a wildflower show.  On seeing a patch of several different flowers alongside the road Shana asked me to stop.  She got out and spent ten or so minutes collecting specimens.  She loves flowers and we often have a posy in the van somewhere.  We are respectful types and so she only gathered the flowers directly from the side of the road.  We think it discourteous to collect them from people’s private property or from national parks.  So, apart from now transporting hundreds of tiny black ants in the cabin with us, we drove away content (and naïve).

We found the caravan park we wanted, booked in, backed in, and set out our things.  Shan arranged the flowers in a vase (coffee cup) and then wanted to take a picture.  She tried several places outside the van, carrying the flowers around, trying to find a sunny place with a nice background.  That was when a grumpy voiced man approached her and said “You shouldn’t have those”.

At first he sounded like he was going to bawl her out.

“You’re not allowed to pick wildflowers” he continued, sounding authoritarian and offended.

“They were on the side of the road” Shan answered.

“Doesn’t matter.  (He almost spat that bit out).  There’s a five hundred dollar fine if you get caught”.

I was inside wondering who he was.  Shana later told me she was doing the same.  She didn’t know whether to be nice to him – maybe he was the guy who did the fining – or to tell him to mind his own business.  Of course she was nice to him.  That’s who Shan is.

“I didn’t know” she said, which was true.  We’d collected and read many information brochures on wildflowers and hadn’t once read that they couldn’t be picked.  He believed in what he was saying though.  He stood staunch and resolute.

“Well, you’ve done it now. (pause)  Not much you can do about it I guess. (pause)  I suggest you keep them out of sight.  (pause)  Unless you want to get fined that is”.

And then he was gone, his grumpy warning left hanging in the air. 

We couldn’t work out where he came from and didn’t know where he went.   Neither of us could really remember what he looked like.  We think that maybe he was the guy across the road and down one from us, but we couldn’t be sure.  We smiled at that guy anyway, but stayed well away.

 

Jaques Point (Jakes) was the left hand break I’d read about.  It was about 5 minutes away by Vespa. I know that because I rode there several times.  It was working though wind affected on the first day we got there – a large wave that hugged the rocks and required speed to avoid the close out sections.  I thought I’d give it a miss. I reasoned it would be better in the morning, when the wind would be less fierce.

It wasn’t.

Nor did it break again for the three days I was there.

I sat on the Vespa, quietly dejected.  It wasn’t all bad though.  I enjoyed zipping about town on the Vespa.  Motor scooters have the ability to make 60kph feel like 160 and, in my mind, I was topping 100mph as I rode along past the Kalbarri cliffs.

That’s a buzz in itself.

We give the Murcheson River Caravan Park 2 ½ stars out of 5.  Technological advancement seems low in the park. Pen and paper still rule here and wireless internet is the stuff of science fiction.  But Kalbarri is beautiful.  We’ve now been there and, like most people, recommend it (although Shana remains less convinced. She does rate the Gorges Café very highly though).

NIGHT  226  -  BATAVIA COAST CARAVAN PARK, GERALDTON

We drove by The Pink Lake between Kalbarri and Geraldton.  The place is visually disturbing – seeing it conjured up possible Beatles lyrics from their psychedelic period i.e. ‘imagine a lake like a strawberry milkshake, with water the colour of little girl’s rooms’ (to the tune of ‘Lucy in the Sky”).

The water really is pink.  It confuses the senses, especially when set against the blue sky.  Of course there’s a scientific reason why the water is pink.  It’s a chemical thing, and natural (if not normal). But I didn’t want to know the exact reason why really.  I just like to know that in Western Australia there’s a weird arsed lake with pink water.  And that I’ve seen it for myself.

 

It was then on to Geraldton, Western Australia’s equivalent of Coffs Harbour.

Or so we reckon.

I’ve said it before that there’s something about Coffs that I’ve never taken to.  Although I should like  Coffs because it has all the things I normally like – surf beaches and salt water and sunshine -  the place has a sprawling great ugliness. I want quaint seaside shanties and casual head-nods but at Coff’s I’m instead confronted with a procession of servos, shopping centres and double-story blond brick boxes.  

Anyway, Geraldton’s much like that also – it is heralded as the largest town between Perth and Darwin.

 I must admit this excited us a little.  Contradicting what I’ve just said (what else is new?) we’d anticipated a little shopping time.  There are things we want to get that have been unavailable to us since Darwin.  A service for the ‘bago is one of them.  Geraldton houses the first VW dealership this side of Darwin.  Camera gear is another.  I’m looking for a specialist camera shop.  There’s a certain lens I want to check out.  So, even though Geraldton has nowhere within a 15km radius that will accept dogs, we drove into town with high expectations – quickly shattered.

We arrived on a Sunday and Geraladton is completely closed on Sundays.  We passed three large shopping centres all of which were closed.  Even the supermarkets, which was a bummer as we’d purposely waited until Geraldton to restock, never in our wildest imaginations thinking that nothing would be open.  We’d just come from Kalbarri, Carnarvon, Exmouth and Denham, all towns vastly smaller than Geraldton, yet all of them having at least one supermarket open 7 days a week.  We made do, resourceful types that we are, because, like the continual existence of gravity, fast food places never falter.  I had a dodgy burger, Shan bought some dodgy pad thai and, shopping now done, we drove the 15kms back out of town to the Batavia Coast Caravan Park , which was at least 12km from the Batavia Coast.

I’m not going to say anything about the Batavia Coast Caravan Park.  As the old adage goes, if you’ve got nothing nice to say, then say nothing.

The Batavia Coast caravan park – nothing.

NIGHTS  227 & 228  -  DOUBLE BEACH CARAVAN PARK, CAPE BURNEY.

Cape Burney is about 15km south of Geraldton.  We’d booked the ‘bago in for a service but had to wait a couple of days.  I chose The Double Beach Caravan Park as the place wait in.  It was close to town and, theoretically, had some of the best surf in Geraldton. 

It’s a pretty name I reckon – ‘Double Beach’.  We love a beach so having two beaches must surely be a good thing.  The caravan park sits alongside the Greenough River and behind the ocean sand dunes.  The river doesn’t flow into the ocean anymore, instead a sandbar has formed which retards the water’s flow.  So, when walking the sandbar, there is the ocean beach on one side, and what is now like a lakeside beach on the other.  Hence double beach.

The ocean beach was nice.  There was no rideable surf (the wind continues to howl from about 10am every day) but, as I’ve now said about a few places, the potential was there.  But on the riverside beach there was a big sign warning against any contact with the water at all – no swimming, skiing or fishing.  It sounded pretty toxic to us and the water had a funny yellow look about it.  It was a good place to walk Moz though.

So we waited in the wind, neither fishing nor surfing, until our trusty vee dub received the attention it deserved.  Then back to the Double Beach for another night.

 

I give the Double Beach Caravan Park a different score than does Shana.  I didn’t mind it and give it 2 ½ stars.  Shana, on the other hand, really didn’t like it.  She thought it was seedy and grotty, with trapped birds in cages and a distinct lack of friendliness.  She gave it 1 star for the brightly coloured bathroom doors. 

 

 

NIGHT  229  -  FLAT ROCK BEACH, BETWEEN GERALTON & DONGARA

This was a dodgy free camp, and a fantastic one at that.  We are back on the surf trail and my internet research keeps taking us to out of the way places.  There’s great surfing footage of Flat Rock on YouTube.  It’s a rock shelf that throws out A frames that hollow out as they run across the reef.  It’s also a lovely beachside spot, with rock pools and sand dunes and a decked area to sit on and watch the sunset. (It also has  lots of flies).

 

I met some locals and, as the wind had died down briefly, went with them for a surf.  Shana and Moz went for a swim and walked the beach. Moz, however, ate something off the beach that disagreed with him.  As dogs then do, he went off seeking grass to help him to throw up.  All the grass he found had seed heads on it, being spring and all (this will be important later).  When I came back in - all chat and exuberance from a morning surf - Moz was retching in the carpark, a very concerned Shana watching over him.

He seemed to get better as the afternoon progressed.

The next morning the wind was howling and the surf was flat.

Absolutely lying through my teeth I give Flat Rock ½ star out of 5.  You’re not supposed to camp there so I don’t want to encourage anybody.

CLIFF HEAD NORTH REST AREA, INDIAN OCEAN HIGHWAY.

Don’t worry about the Cliff Head rest area.  It’s a place to park.  Some people may love it because, being a series of inter-connected dirt roads running alongside the beach, there are many places to camp.  The beach is all seaweed though, and smells terrible.  We stopped there, we camped, we kept our windows closed.

 

Of more interest is the town of Dongara, which we stopped in at on the way.  It has a gorgeous main street, lined by hundred year old figs that overhang the road and footpath.  We did more shopping here than in bloody Geraldton.  It had a large and well-stocked op shop and a surf shop with discounted winter gear, which suited me perfectly as I hadn’t packed well for warmth.

 A half-price hoodie later and we were headed for a coffee shop that Shan had read about – Starfish at South Beach.  The beach was (again…still…for fuck’s sake…) like a wind tunnel but the food, coffee and service were all good.

In fact, Dongara has been out favourite little place since Agnes Waters in Queensland.  That probably says as much about what we are used to as it does about what we enjoy.  Still, we recommend you go there.  It’ll make you smile.

We give Cliff Head Rest Area 1 ½ stars out of 5.  It’s free and legal and has a toilet.

NIGHTS  231 & 232  -  UN-NAMED BAY, GREEN HEAD.

My desire to check out recommended surf spots lead us along another dirt road, and into another beautiful piece of WA coastline that we would have missed otherwise.  We were looking for Point Louise, a surf break near Green Head.  Again when we found it the wind was playing chaos with the tiny waves but, by following a few more dirt roads, we came across a bay sheltered from the wind.  We don’t know its name but as we pulled up a dolphin was catching fish 2 mtrs from the shore.

There were no ‘no camping’ signs to be seen.  We interpreted this to mean ‘enjoy camping here – go play with the dolphin’. 

Occasionally people drove past – utes mostly with long fishing rods tied like trophies across the cabin – but nobody else stopped.  That suited us.  The wind died down and, glory be, stayed away all day.  It felt like we’d won the lottery.  We walked around the rocks during low tide and found oysters clinging in clumps.  We got our oyster knife and pried them loose, taking turns at throwing them down our throats while we stood knee deep in the ocean. 

The sun shone and we read and swam and felt like we were on a deserted island (until the next ute went past anyway).  It was truly idyllic.

 

Except that Morrissey wasn’t well.  He seemed to have something caught in his throat.  All afternoon and into the night he sought grass to eat to make himself throw up, which he did several times.  Eventually he went to sleep but we could hear him breathing.  It wasn’t him snoring – he’s a terrible snorer – but there was a rasp present in every breath he took.

We hadn’t intended camping in Un-named Bay another night.  We thought we were going to head further down the coast, towards Perth.  Instead, the next morning, we drove 100 kms back in the direction we’d just come; back to Dongara to take Moz to the vet.

Moz had grass seeds caught in his tonsils.  The vet said that he could have eaten grass for ever without the seeds becoming dislodged.  They would then have become infected, causing major problems.  Moz needed to be sedated and the vet extracted the seeds out through his throat.  All this was before lunch.

After lunch, with a drowsy puppy confused in his kennel, we drove south again, past the stinking Cliff Head Rest Area and back to Un-named Bay.  The sun was back out and the wind was gentle and the next morning two dolphins came back to play. 

 

We loved Un-named Bay.  It was another unplanned and unexpected highlight on what has so far been a wind spoiled West Coast.

 

We give Un-named Bay 5 stars out of 5.  It was our own deserted island in the sunshine.

NIGHTS  233  - 235  -  JURIEN BAY CARAVAN PARK.

After 4 nights free camping we needed a shower. 

Jurien Bay is only 2 or so hours north of Perth, and was thirty minutes south of us.  It’s a popular holiday destination.  It’s only a small town but it has all the trappings.  It has a jetty that has nothing to do with boats or shipping.  It’s a new looking jetty and its sole purpose is to provide entertainment to holiday makers.  People gather in clusters to fish off the end and the more adventurous tourist jumps from the jetty into the water, climbing back up one of the several ladders to do it over again.  Parents and grandparents push the kids in one of the many brightly coloured ‘rides’ in the foreshore playground alongside the jetty.  Further along the foreshore there’s an adult playground; an outdoor gym with eight different apparatus to tone the muscles and get the heart pumping.  There’s a bike/ walking track that goes for 5 kilometers running parallel to the shore.  There’s water bubblers and garbage bins wherever you look and free dog-poo bags hanging off posts positioned every 500 mtrs or so.

 

 

It’s pretty flash.

And the caravan park is right there, in the centre of everything.  AND IT ACCEPTS DOGS.

Book us in baby. 

We paid for three days and then went to the café next door where the curly fries taste like dessert.  The wind is back though, and the fishing sucks, little puffer fish attacking the bait before anything more desirable has a chance to realise it’s there.  I caught 8 puffer fish in half an hour before I threw them the bait and gave up.  Other than that, though, Jurien Bay is a pretty swanky town for thirty bucks a night.

 

We give the Jurien Bay Caravan Park 4 ½ stars out of 5.  Having a dog friendly park in the centre of town is rare; having one that sells curly fries even rarer.  It is a thing to be cherished.  

 

Nights 200 - 217 - The Coral Coast part 1

NIGHT  200  -  NINGALOO CARAVAN PARK, EXMOUTH.

You don’t go to Exmouth by happenstance.  Exmouth is not somewhere you go as a quick diversion on the way to somewhere else.  If you end up at Exmouth it’s because you intended going to Exmouth.  It’s a 170km diversion off the North West Coastal Highway.  That’s 170km of nothing – coastal scrub, coastal scrub and more coastal scrub.  Each way.  The town is now built around an armed forces communication centre but its once secret history was that it housed an American submarine base during World War 2.  The communication centre was built in the ‘60s.  A RAAF base was built nearby after that.  So why would you go there?  Unless you were a trainspotter of remote military outposts, why would you venture so far off the main road to travel through so much coastal scrub?

The answer is ‘Ningaloo Reef’. 

Ningaloo Reef is a coral shelf that starts at Exmouth and runs for 300km down the coast and, unlike the Great Barrier Reef, Ningaloo can be easily accessed from the beach.  In some places the reef is only 2 mtrs off the shore.  This makes for free, easy and spectacular snorkelling.  Furthermore, Cape Range National Park has been created around the reef so that the sites are protected and generally pristine.

But we were to do the reef tomorrow.  Today we had shopping to do and we also had to organise  where the Mozza-dog would be going for the day.   There were 3 options – a vet, the pound, or a caravan park near the national park that offered dog minding at fifty bucks a day.  We also had to book in with National Parks to sort out a camp within Cape Range. 

With so much to organise we went surfing instead.  Exmouth has a reef/ beach called Dunes that opens out onto the Indian Ocean and funnels in quality surf with regularity.  Or at least the books told us it did.  It wasn’t great when we arrived but that was due to the wind, which had turned onshore.  I paddled out and gumbied around, having not surfed for 4 months or so.  I caught a couple of choppy foamballs and came in after half an hour.  It wasn’t much, but Dunes whispered promise.

 

We give Ningaloo Van Park 2 ½ stars out of five.  There was nothing great about it, nor nothing terrible. It was an easy walk to the shops but Exmouth isn’t large.  Everywhere in town is an easy walk to the shops.

NIGHT  201  -  YARDIE HOMESTEAD CARAVAN PARK, EXMOUTH.

It wasn’t the perfect day but it was pretty close.  The perfect day would have delivered less wind and a great camping site in Cape Range National Park.  But the National Park was full and the wind was gusty all day.  So, if it wasn’t the perfect day, it was none-the-less great.  Morrissey had been boarded at the local vet and we had no restrictions.

If you only go to one place along Ningaloo Reef, so all the brochures say, then make sure it is Turquoise Bay.  Who are we to argue?  Turquoise Bay is spectacular.  I never realised there were so many colour variations between blue and green, but there are least 20, and all of them separate and combine and merge and swirl in the water at Turquoise Bay.  I’ve seen lots of oceans but I’d never seen water so spectacularly coloured.

Turquoise Bay has a snorkelling drift.  That is, you enter the water at one end and the current pulls you along above the coral.  When you reach the sand spit at the other end you get out and do it again.  Unfortunately the wind had turned the current into a torrent that swept you along so fast you continually worried about missing the sand spit. Or at least I did.  If you missed the sand spit there was a strong possibility of being swept out over the reef to the surf breaking beyond it.  Or at least I thought there was.  As such, instead of enjoying the coral beneath you, you continually lifted your head out of the water to check exactly where you were in relation to the shore and the sand spit.  Or at least I had to.  It was exhilarating …and stressful.

But around the point was a quiet and sunny bay out of the wind.   Here you could stretch out on the towel and let the sun caress your skin.  No stress involved.

We then went to another snorkelling place called Oyster Stacks.  Oyster Stacks gave us a better snorkelling experience.  There was still a strong drift but it didn’t threaten to drag you anywhere except further along the beach.  Here we could relax more and watch the underwater-world sweep by below us.  We watched as outrageously coloured fish paraded their stripes of green and yellow and orange and vivid blue; some as tiny as a tadpole and others large and meaty. 

At Oyster Stacks we saw a guy we’d already seen three times.  When we first saw him we couldn’t really believe it was true.  He’s a young Japanese guy with long hair and little grasp of English (we know because he was with us in the National Parks office while we all waited to see what campsites were available that day).  What made us look twice (and eventually caused me to take a photo) was his mode of transport – A POSTIE BIKE!  A bloody postie bike!  He had the thing kitted out like it was some thousand cc road touring machine – like something Ewan McGregor would be riding across Siberia.  But, and I say it again, it was a postie bike - 110cc of lacklustre letter-delivering whimper.  When fully loaded I doubt he’d go much faster than 80kph, and they have a fuel tank the size of a lawn mower’s.  But he’d somehow managed to get to Exmouth travelling all those kilometres through the scrub.  We dearly wanted to talk to him.  I had so many questions to ask.  But we already knew he spoke little English so we nodded as we passed by and admired him from afar.  

 

The last place we went was a bird hide in amongst the mangroves.  There were already a couple of American twitchers holding binoculars to their eyes when we got there.  They were friendly and knowledgeable and with Shana discussed various Australian wading birds and the likelihood of spotting them.  I played with the camera.  Shana didn’t spot any she hadn’t seen before.  

The Yardie Homestead Caravan Park was just outside the boundary of the National Park.  It looked tired and old, with a clientele of old-school caravans that looked like they hadn’t moved in years. Shana and I felt tired and old, both falling asleep soon after arrival.  We woke up, ate something lacking nutrition, then crashed out again ‘til morning. 

 

We give the Yardie Homestead Caravan Park a hearty thumbs up.  We were tired little munchkins and can’t remember much about it.

NIGHT  202  -  SOME PARKING BAY BETWEEN EXMOUTH AND CORAL BAY, EXMOUTH RD.

Another fairly big day in Exmouth.  We left Yardie Homestead early, me seeking surf.  Dunes beach was nearby.

But I was a wuss.

The surf was clean, but big, bordering on massive.  There was a nice rip running which would provide an easy ride out the back.   I watched several sets thunder through and made the decision to stay on the beach.   Some people caught screamers, grabbing the rail and leaning into the wave as it reared over the reef.  Others got thrown over the falls and had to fight their way back out.  I decided to go fishing instead.    

Learmount Jetty is on the way out of Exmouth.  It has been written up as a fishing mecca.  If you don’t catch fish at Learmount Jetty then, sorry my friend, you have no business baiting hooks.

 If you’re expecting me to say I didn’t catch any then you are wrong.  I caught 4.  They were all babies though.  I couldn’t keep any of them.  The point remains, however, that I caught them, and in the doing so have restored my outdoorsman credentials.  It only took 2 hours.  Shana and Moz walked the shoreline waiting and, having returned, smiled encouragingly at my empty catch bucket.  “Next time huh.”  

The wind as we drove out of town was ferocious, the worst I‘ve ever encountered, and we were driving directly into it.  What appeared as red smoke hazed the horizon ahead.  It was dust – blown up off the ground and held suspended by the wind.  Advice I’d read came back to me - don’t drive directly into the wind as it doubles fuel consumption; don’t drive through dust as it clogs the air filter and affects engine performance.  We saw a siding off to our left.  It wasn’t a recognised rest stop, although there was a yellow garbage drum halfway along.  It was nothing more than a track off the road.   But it became our track off the road. 

We pulled into the middle of nowhere and braced ourselves against the wind.

 

I give the track alongside the road 1 ½ stars out of 5.  Why not? Perhaps it has aspirations toward something grander.  Maybe all it needs is encouragement.

NIGHTS  203 - 208 -  WAROORA STATION

We first went to Coral Bay, a place that literally exists as just one street, ½ kilometre long, with nothing but coastal scrub around it for hundreds of kilometres in three directions.  Along this street there are two shopping strips, two caravan parks and a swanky resort.  At the end of this street is one of the most beautiful bays you will ever see.

 

Coral Bay has clean white sand and shimmering water of blue and green and turquoise.  It’s breathtaking.  The water is clear and large fish swim close to shore.  There’s no fishing in the bay so these fish swim next to you without concern.  You can lie in the water or sit on the sand in the shallows and watch them swim around you. 

 

Ningaloo Reef runs just off the shore with large patches of lavender coral protecting hundreds of tiny iridescent fish.  There’s a hard coral bulb as big as a small house – they call it ‘The Brain’ – that is almost like a small island in low tide.  You can sit on it if you want and it attracts bigger fish as it offers them a place to hide. 

We spotted a turtle swimming below us and we swam with it for a few minutes, enchanted.  How can something that is so cumbersome on land be so graceful through water?

But school holidays had started and Coral Bay is an understandably popular destination.  Both caravan parks were fully booked so we were only here for the day.  We didn’t really want to leave and would have stayed if we could organise it but, instead, we headed for Warroora Station, a place that had been recommended to us as a beautiful destination unaffected by school holidays.

Warroora Station was initially disappointing.  After clunking along 12kms of the worst dirt road we’d yet negotiated, we arrived to see a long, open beach and howling onshore winds.  The reef looked beautiful, having similar turquoise coloured water as Coral Bay, but it seemed as open and inhospitable as Coral Bay had seemed sheltered and welcoming.  There were 4WD only camping areas along the sand but we 2WDs were restricted to a small section on a bluff overlooking the beach.  We found a spot and parked, sitting in the back and feeling slightly grumpy.

We soon realised Warra (as it is known) had a distinct weather pattern.  It was moderately windy in the mornings until about 10am then a much welcomed calm descended, lasting until the early afternoon.  After that strong onshore winds developed again, buffeting everything all afternoon and through the night.  This continual buffeting caused us to build a windbreak to try and gain some shelter and allow us time outside the ‘bago box.  It worked to a degree, keeping our top halves comfortable while our legs continued to be sand-blasted by the wind coming under the van.

 

 During the calm, however, the water at Warra was even more startling than at Coral Bay.  The reef was further out and we didn’t see many fish but the colour of the water as it dazzles calm and green in the sunlight is etched into our minds.  I can’t explain it and the pictures we’ve taken don’t do it justice.

We stayed for 6 days.  We had initially intended staying seven but the wind wore us down.  The calm spell each day was magical but all the fine particles of sand blowing through the air rubbed away our patience and our resolve. 

Quote of the stay comes from old Barry, camped nearby, a long-termer who was going fishing to his ‘special’ spot.  

“If I have a lucky night you might get some neighbour fish.”

“What’s neighbour fish Barry?”

“The edible fish that I don’t want.  They’ll taste alright, but not as good as the ones I’ll be keeping for myself”.

(We didn’t get any fish, and didn’t see Barry again before we left.  Our guess is that it was an unsuccessful night).

I give Warroora Station 2 stars out of 5.  At $15 per night with no amenities provided it’s expensive for what it is.  And the sewerage dump point was so far away old Barry gave me a lift there.  Apparently the fishing was good along the shore but I only went once, tossing the bait out toward the ocean using all my might, only to watch the wind arc it back to within 2 mtrs from where I stood.  If the fish were that close I could simply wade out and kick them onto the shore. 

NIGHTS  209 – 212 -  CORAL COAST CARAVAN PARK, CARNARVON.

Sand seemed to be embedded in every crevice and hole in my body.  I won’t go into graphic details but we were over bush camping for the moment.  Time to lay out some serious cash and take advantage of the trappings of Western civilisation.

Carnarvon is noted as being the fresh food capital of Western Australia.  It grows much of the fruit and vegies for the state and provides over 70% of the seafood.  For us, however, Carnarvon turned out to be the junk food capital of the trip so far.  You can keep your fresh bananas, I’m up for pizza and burgers and fried chicken and fish and chips (not all on one night – spread across our stay there).  We chose the caravan park closest to town and took advantage of the easy walking distances.  There wasn’t that much else to do there really.  Apart from the town centre, Carnarvon is laid out so that any natural landscapes are a drive away and, once parked, the ‘bago stayed put (which was next to the large LPG tank, quite a contrast from the wilderness of Warra).

Carnarvon was a town-in-progress while we were there.  There are all sorts of beautification works being completed along the river front (The Fascine) that will make it a pretty place one day, if ever the wind stops howling.  All we saw was construction areas and chainwire fencing and signs telling us how much Rio Tinto are proud to be involved.  Mining money to the rescue again.

 

We also timed our Carnarvon stay to coincide with the NRL Grand Final.  I didn’t really care about either side in the contest but I love watching the Grand Final.  Shana offered to stay back with Morrissey while I watched the game at a pub.  I accepted and, after spending the first half hour alone, met a guy called Stan and we watched the game together, two rugby league buffs in a state devoted to Aussie Rules.  Jim Beam sat with us a while as well.  A take-away pizza on the way home rounded off a good afternoon - ½ chicken for Shana, ½ any and all meat for me.

We give the Coral Coast Caravan Park 4 stars out of 5.  It had new shower rooms, which I never wanted to leave.  It was very dog friendly, with an (unofficial) off lead area behind.  And junk food was within easy reach.  They even gave us a ‘four nights for the price of three’ deal even though the special commenced after we’d already booked in.  It was a pleasant place to kill more of the school holidays.

NIGHTS  213 – 215  -  POINT QUOBBA CAMPGROUND, POINT QUOBBA

If, for whatever reason, you’ve felt like feeling sorry for me, then now is the time to do it.  I must admit to feeling a little sorry for myself.  It’s because I’m within 100km of camping at a surfing icon.  I’m within 100km of visiting a surf break and surf camp that I doubt I’ll ever get to again, at least not while I’m capable of actually surfing it.

The place is Gnaraloo and it has featured at least once I reckon in every surf magazine in the world.  It’s a heavy wave by all accounts, made heavier by rogue waves that frequent the area, marching through fatter and taller and more malignant than your regular set wave.  It’s a place to be wary and a place to test yourself out and a place that, possibly, had I managed to get there, I’d have sat on the surrounding cliffs and watched, scared shitless as others paddled past the point of no return.  Who knows? and that’s my point.  Lots of people know but I don’t.  I only got to within 100km of the place.

Okay, to be totally honest, if it had been an all-consuming passion of mine to get there, then I could have done so.  Sure, the road in is supposed to be terrible.  It’s for 4WDs only.  I’d been told that on a number of occasions.  But I’ve also read stories of people getting there in conventional 2WD cars.  I don’t know how – maybe luck, maybe desire, maybe both.  Really, we could have ‘thrown caution to the wind’ and, while ever forward progress was maintained, kept the ‘bago charging ahead.  After all, it’s built on a truck chassis.  We might have broken a diff or rattled the cupboards off the walls or broken an engine mount but these things can be repaired.  It’s only money after all, and what’s money when compared to a possibly life-changing experience?

Or, and Shana bless her suggested this, I could perhaps hitch in.  I could buy a little tent and a sleeping bag and stand on the side of the road at Quobba blowholes, waiting beneath the ‘King Waves Kill’ sign with my thumb out and an expectant face.  Surely I’d have gotten a lift.  Shana and Moz could have stayed at Point Quobba and I’d have had my Gnaraloo experience.

 

 

I’m not totally sure why I didn’t.  Honesty is rarely exciting and, being honest, I think I wanted Shana beside me.  That’s part of the beauty of a relationship – having someone help you confront your fears or help salve your failures. 

Or share in your joy.

 I didn’t want to go alone, and I didn’t want to jeopardise the whole trip by breaking the ‘bago.

Therefore I’ve changed my mind about you feeling sorry for me.  I’d rather you didn’t.  I made the decision and missed one place I’d have loved to have gone.  Boo Hoo.  I need to suck it up. I need to embrace the hundreds of places we have been to.  I need to enjoy the experiences we’ve had.

Like Point Quobba.

So…how can I describe Point Quobba?

Point Quobba is violently beautiful and charmingly ugly.  Simultaneously. 

It has a lagoon full of Ningaloo Reef coral and content and fat protected fish.  This lagoon beckons the snorkeler with its relative calm – a peaceful flatwater tucked behind a tiny island.  The sun reflects and dances across the surface and the wind draws playful ripples that leap onto the shore.

 

But large swells build in the sea beyond and the larger waves form into groups and explode at the mouth of the lagoon, one, two, three in a row, sending an angry surge fizzing and charging and swelling the lagoon with froth and turbulence.  The snorkeler, head down, unsuspecting, becomes captive to the sudden current, swept across the reef like a paddle pop stick in a storm drain.  The fish take refuge amongst the coral.  You see them staunch against the current as you flail past, your flippers flapping urgently as you kick pointlessly towards the shore, your breath quickening and rasping in the snorkel tube as you seek air.

 Then the current stops and snorkelling becomes a gentle pursuit again.  You look up and see a calm lagoon, now in the distance.  You are 300mtr along the beach and not totally sure how you got there.

Point Quobba campground has a style all of its own.  If Max was a beach fisherman in Mad Max 2 then Point Quobba would be tailor made for him.  It looks a lot like an encampment that could exist  near the end of civilisation with old caravans and corrugated iron shacks cobbled together amongst the sand dunes; a place for outlaws and ne’er-do-wells.  The dominant colour is rust and everywhere loose sheets of iron rattle and clang depending on the speed of the wind.  Amongst these streets of decaying fishing shacks park us modern types, our Winnebagos or Jaycos or house-sized tents on trailers echoing that civilisation hasn’t ended yet, and that modern relaxation can often come with a hefty price tag.   

 

Point Quobba blowholes are within walking distance of the campground.  There are several plumes that become visible as the ocean is spit into the sky through the cliff face.  It’s a great sight and a little scary - the ferocity of the Indian Ocean seemingly more violent and malicious than my friend the Pacific.

 

We give the Point Quobba Campground 3 ½ stars out of five.  It has fresh new toilets at the entrance to the grounds which, while a walk away, does encourage regularity of bowel movements and forethought regarding torch placement.

NIGHT  216  -  WINTERSUN CARAVAN PARK, CARNARVON.

Leaving Point Quobba had a touch of déjà vu about it.  We’d planned to stay longer but the wind continued to howl and gust and, well, piss me off really.  We’d get the occasional day of calm sunshine but ever since we hit Exmouth the wind has remained strong and constant.  The Wintersun Caravan Park is set back off the coast in Carnarvon, more out near the farms and orchards.  Hopefully we could have a day or so without becoming wind-addled.

But first we had a score to settle.

When previously in Carnarvon we’d neglected to buy any fresh fish.  We’d walked out to the small boat harbour to the fresh fish retail outlet but it was closed.  We vowed that this time in Carnarvon there’d be no junk food.  Fresh fish was our desire.  We walked happily into the shop, laughing and full of expectation.   We snuck out soon after, disappointed and aggrieved.

The fish was $50 per kilo.

We’d agreed it was too expensive without uttering a word.  Our faces communicated our disbelief perfectly.  

My alternate plan was terrible, but we followed it none-the-less.

My alternate plan was this – I was going to catch us some fish.  It’s a simple plan, and brilliant, if you completely disregard history.

We pulled into a little car-park on the river that had two jetties leading from it.  Around a fish cleaning table two men were scaling and filleting fish, which I took to be a good sign.  Once parked I walked briskly to the jetties, checking, as if I knew what I was doing, what sort of rig I’d require.  I took a wide berth of the fish table.  Talking could only reveal me as a fraud.

Shana, conversely, with Morrissey shaking his tail and leading the way, walked straight up to the fish cleaning table and asked the logical questions.  The fish being cleaned HAD NOT been caught where we were.  It was UNLIKELY I’d catch much from the jetties.  The fish shop was ALWAYS too expensive.  The BEST PLACE to get fish in town would be out of the esky the guys were slowly filling.

I walked over and joined in the conversation.  The two guys were local larrikins who, judging by their stories, didn’t worry much about the law - larrikins, but nice guys who asked questions about us and answered our questions about Carnarvon.  We chatted for over an hour and, when we left, we did so with a plate of mullet fillets they’d given us.  Maybe this was in part because I’d channelled my Dad when I said that mullet wasn’t a nice fish to eat.  

“This is Western Australian mullet” they told us “best eating fish you can get”.

They gave us the fish and challenged us that, if we didn’t enjoy it, to find them the next day and let them know.  They also gave us two crabs – a blue manna and a mud crab.

It was a successful afternoons fishing then.  We drove out of that carpark with fish in the fridge, just like my plan proposed.  The mullet was tasty and the blue manna crab succulent but the mud crab was manky looking and tasted like mud.

 

 

We give the Wintersun Caravan Park 2 stars out of 5.  It was big and almost empty and the showers, although hot, had a pathetic little flow.  They also ‘asked’ that you mop the shower after each use – “as a kindness to the other residents”.  Bugger that.  I’ve never had to mop out a shower cubicle in the 216 nights so far and, for the prices the Wintersun charges, they can hire a local cleaner rather than ‘suggest’ I do it. 

NIGHT  217  - ROADSIDE REST STOP 80KM WEST OF DENHAM.

We thought we might stop the night at Gladstone Lookout which, as you can imagine, is built on top of a hill.  The wind screamed through though, so we didn’t stay.  We had lunch and then sat with the gnomes, all of us looking out across the landscape.

Now gnomes are curious creatures and who really knows what drives their actions.  I’m not here to psychoanalyse garden gnomes.  We sat beside them and shared the view.  They said nothing to me and I said nothing to them.

Sometimes silence is best.

 

We ended up on the side of the road again.

 Still buffeted by wind.

Aaarrrgghh!