And so it came to pass that, with heavy hearts and sore heads (mine at least....The Navigator was bright eyed and bushy tailed and did not fail to mention the fact more than once!), we farewelled the Cook Company as they left Denmark for their return to Perth. I have previously waxed lyrical on the subject, but it bears repeating.....what a wonderful few days it had been.
My head was not the only sore part of this ageing body on this fine Sunday morning. My legs felt as though someone had whacked them with sticks from calves to thighs. I vowed on the spot that there would be no more climbing up and down the slopes of Albany today....it didn't work.
We had decided to make one last trip to see the fleet alongside in the Port of Albany, to try and acquire a couple of practical souvenirs (T shirts, caps of stubbie holders) from a shop in York Street which had been recommended to us, and to treat ourselves to a quiet luncheon.
As we were wandering along York Street we spied evidence of the fact that we were not the only visitors from South Australia in town. This was one of a number of these vintage Bentleys we had seen during the weekend. Wouldn't this be something to see coming across the vast open expanses of the Nullarbor....we assumed it had made the crossing on the Indian-Pacific.
One thing which did strike us this morning was fact that many of the store owners had embraced this weekend with verve. Shop after shop featured an Anzac themed display of some kind. Some had gone to considerable trouble,
Not to be outdone by any means, the local authorities had also been busy. Aside from all the redevelopment work done on Mounts Adelaide and Clarence, and the building of a brand new Anzac Centre overlooking King George Sound, this patch of land right next to the Town Hall in York Street had been nothing more than bare earth on our last visit.
It now presented as a paved and terraced open space in which another set of 'big screens' allowed those in this part of York Street to watch the major events.
As I mentioned earlier, my vow to avoid physical activity was knocked into a cocked hat....we were off to see the docked fleet which meant only one thing....another plod down York Street with the inevitable later return. I rationalised that it would do me good to work off the stiffness.....you're right...it didn't work!
Each of these many statues came with an explanatory plaque. Some were somewhat esoteric in nature, and the odour from the bank of seaweed along the water's edge did not add anything positive to the viewing experience, but despite these minor setbacks it was an eye-catching display.
As I had been from time to time over this entire weekend, I was again a man on a mission. I had declined the invitation to all members of the public to take part in the Navy Open Day and take a tour of one of the visiting warships.
All potential visitors had to acquire a ticket well before the event. Whilst there was no charge for this, it allowed the organisers to roster and schedule the timing of the visits to preclude a mad rush at anyone time.
Given that I had previously had the privilege of a personal guided tour from one end of HMAS Melbourne to the other at Fleet Base East just prior to Stu's departure last year, I had chosen not to go through all the rigmarole associated with obtaining a ticket for what I suspected would ultimately be a 'conga line' though only limited parts of the ship. I later heard that I had been right in my surmise.
In what proved to be a misguided venture, we first walked along Princess Royal Drive to the wharf area in the hope that we could at least wander along the docks. No such luck. And as could be expected given the current state of world events, security was pretty tight. To my disappointment, but not surprise, we found that the wharf was closed to the non-ticketed public. All those wishing to go beyond the checkpoint had to firstly present their tickets and then themselves for photo ID.
But this small setback did not mean I was not still keenly interested to see the vessels alongside. We trudged our way back to the small boat harbour where I knew that, short of being at sea in the harbour, the end of the breakwater wall would provide as good a vantage point as was possible.
It was worth the effort. What a sight this was. Here, where one normally finds the ungainly but practical bulk of the huge grain and woodchip carriers as their cavernous bellies are filled through the proboscis like gantries of the silos,
were instead the sleek grey hulls of warships. Arunta and Te Kaha were rafted up to make inspection easier. Another of the FFH's was alongside (I think it was Anzac looking at the radar head) just astern Kirisame, and, tucked in between them, almost invisible against the bulk of the dock, was the low black hull of Rankin.
Beyond this area alongside the grain loading dock, the stern of Sirius could be seen where she was moored at the woodchip dock.
It may come as no surprise to you to find that my scamper along the marina wall to take in this view was of no interest to Liz, despite the fact that she had been, at one time in the past, involved in the activities of the Naval Cadet training establishment TS Noarlunga where she actually held the rank of Sub-Lieutenant. Rather than brave the breakwater breezes, she took an elevated view at the shore end of the wall instead where she did at least strike an appropriate pose!
After all this reluctant plodding to and fro along the waterfront on decidedly protesting legs, it was definitely time for lunch. The Venice pizza parlour and cafe in York Street was our destination.
As we approached the Boatshed Market building our ears were assailed by the unmistakable sound of blues music. Whoever was performing was very good. This warranted further investigation. 'Moondog J' was centre stage. I then remembered that he was to feature significantly in the upcoming Bridgetown Blues festival, and having heard this small sample of his skills, I could understand why.
Despite her odd, colourful dress, the lass on the dance floor was adding nothing of value to Moondog's performance, I can assure you.
Despite her odd, colourful dress, the lass on the dance floor was adding nothing of value to Moondog's performance, I can assure you.
The same could be said for another equally garishly garbed girl, but at least she was not pretending to have any talent beyond an obvious penchant for dress up. We could not quite fathom the connection between the appearance of these two and the Albany celebration, and had never seen anything like this before in our Sunday morning Boatshed visits. We moved on, slightly bewildered and none the wiser.
Beyond the Boatshed, our return to York Street took us across the overpass which connects the marina precinct to Stirling Terrace. From here we were able to see the many wreaths which had been laid during yesterday's service.
This lofty vantage point also afforded a great view of a function commemorating the significant wartime service of Australian and New Zealand nursing staff.
This impressive looking gathering, which we saw included a 'who's who' of visiting and local dignitaries, was one of a number of secondary events being held in association with the principal activities of the weekend. In addition to a major community concert on the Saturday evening, the stage on Stirling Terrace was the venue for a series of constantly changing and varied presentations. Here, by way of example, is a copy of the programme for the Sunday taken from one of the e-mails we received.
| 0900-2200 | STIRLING TERRACE MESS HALL OPEN | Stirling Terrace, Albany | |
| 0900-1500 | Naval Ship Open Day | Albany Port | |
| 1030 – 1050 | Circa Southern Edge Arts Pierrot Act | Acrobatic Circus | STMH Stage |
| 1050 – 1110 | The Albany Caledonian Pipe Band | Pipe Band | STMH Entrance |
| 1110 – 1150 | About Face | Choir | STMH Stage |
| 1210- 1250 | Albany Wind Ensemble | Music | STMH Stage |
| 1310 – 1330 | Circa Southern Edge Arts Pierrot Act | Acrobatic Circus | STMH Stage |
| 1630 – 1715 | Pepperjacks | Music | |
| 1730 – 1815 | Pepperjacks | Music | |
| 1645 – 1730 | Adam Morris | Music | |
| From Sunset | Projections & Story telling | Various | |
| 1745 – 1830 | Adam Morris |
Music | |
For any staying in the town over the weekend, the opportunities to be entertained in many different and interesting ways were endless.
But for us, it was lunch at the Venice which was as good as we had been told (thanks MD) and the return to Denmark.
And here the vagaries of the south coast weather tried to bite us. We had spent the morning wandering about the town in still, warm and overcast conditions. We emerged from the Venice into the teeth of a gale, blasting its determined way up York Street from the harbour.
"Time to move quickly, Lizzie. This wind will be belting the hell out of our awning and we are only pegged into sand." I could only but contemplate the reaction of the Insurance Company if we lodged a second claim for a new awning within three weeks!
To make matter worse, I had not taken the kayak off the roof. At 110 kms into the maw of winds gusting to at least 35 knots, I estimated that on a couple of occasions we had over 150 kph windspeed across the roof of the cruiser. There were a few moments, when the wind was abeam and unimpeded by any roadside trees, when I actually had to slow rapidly and hang on to the steering wheel for grim death to avoid being literally blown onto the opposite side of the carriageway. Remember, we weight in at over three tonnes!
And wouldn't you bloody well know it.....our site at the Denmark Rivermouth was being assailed by nothing more than a puffy breeze. The surrounding hills and huge karri trees were acting as a very effective wind break. It had been a very tense twenty minutes or so, but we were in one piece, and, fortunately so was the kayak and the rack in which it sits. The 'Hullivator' had undergone a real baptism of fire and had proved its worth.
I have to admit things seemed oddly quiet now that we were on our own again, and I probably have little difficulty convincing you that this particular Sunday came and went as an AFD (alcohol free day) and ended with your battered scribe out for the count at a very early hour. What a weekend it had been.
Next on our agenda.....a tour of the beaches of the Denmark area, the Valley of the Giants and some local wineries. Our life on the road is never boring.
But for us, it was lunch at the Venice which was as good as we had been told (thanks MD) and the return to Denmark.
And here the vagaries of the south coast weather tried to bite us. We had spent the morning wandering about the town in still, warm and overcast conditions. We emerged from the Venice into the teeth of a gale, blasting its determined way up York Street from the harbour.
"Time to move quickly, Lizzie. This wind will be belting the hell out of our awning and we are only pegged into sand." I could only but contemplate the reaction of the Insurance Company if we lodged a second claim for a new awning within three weeks!
To make matter worse, I had not taken the kayak off the roof. At 110 kms into the maw of winds gusting to at least 35 knots, I estimated that on a couple of occasions we had over 150 kph windspeed across the roof of the cruiser. There were a few moments, when the wind was abeam and unimpeded by any roadside trees, when I actually had to slow rapidly and hang on to the steering wheel for grim death to avoid being literally blown onto the opposite side of the carriageway. Remember, we weight in at over three tonnes!
And wouldn't you bloody well know it.....our site at the Denmark Rivermouth was being assailed by nothing more than a puffy breeze. The surrounding hills and huge karri trees were acting as a very effective wind break. It had been a very tense twenty minutes or so, but we were in one piece, and, fortunately so was the kayak and the rack in which it sits. The 'Hullivator' had undergone a real baptism of fire and had proved its worth.
I have to admit things seemed oddly quiet now that we were on our own again, and I probably have little difficulty convincing you that this particular Sunday came and went as an AFD (alcohol free day) and ended with your battered scribe out for the count at a very early hour. What a weekend it had been.
Next on our agenda.....a tour of the beaches of the Denmark area, the Valley of the Giants and some local wineries. Our life on the road is never boring.
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