We had really enjoyed our brief sojourn in Bridgetown, a tourist mecca in the south-west of the state, where the sights and sounds actually do justice to its reputation....no hyperbole in the tourist brochures here.
A smoky, misty departure seemed appropriate as we hauled out early from 'The Winter Capital of WA', somewhat lamenting the fact we had not allowed more time here. A confirmed schedule can sometimes be a double edged sword.
But, as I have said before, Albany 100 and all that will be on offer during that celebration awaits. The popularity of this event was such that our attempts in February to book into the Rose Gardens or any other park in Albany were futile. In consultation with Ann-Marie and Jim Cook, our very good Perth friends who planned to join us for this weekend, we decided on Denmark as the most suitable of the few alternatives. What's a mere 50 km commute between friends, especially when the redoubtable Mr Cook arrived at the wheel of a minibus. More of that later.
Our road south took us out of the lush pastures and rolling hills of the Bridgetown area and on into the tall timber country of the 'Southern Forests' and the 'Great Southern' (I have given up attempting to specifically separate these areas...rough enough is good enough).
We were still struggling to acclimatise to the change in temperatures we were experiencing after our four months in Carnarvon, where the overnight minima were usually warmer than the daytime maxima in this area, but it was really good to again be able to marvel at the size of these grand trees and the density of the undergrowth...a different world altogether.
There was really only one small problem impinging on our travelling pleasure and it came in the form of the black furry creature in the cage in the rear. For some reason we cannot yet fathom, the Black Panther is no longer his previous completely continent travelling self. Liz (who is very much Max's sole owner on these occasions) suspects it may have something to do with his increasing age. In any event, we have learnt that if Max has not made a trip overnight to the kitty litter and has not had a good pre-departure morning walk, trouble can result.
We can now pick his quite distinctive growling meow which is the harbinger of a social indiscretion. As soon as the first is uttered we are on instant 'layover' alert, the plan being to whip him indoors to take advantage of his travelling toilet.
And so it was that, 65 kms south of Manjimup, we came to a rapid emergency halt at the Mount Burnside rest stop.
I think it is fair to say, if one has to have an emergency, there are far worse places in which it could happen. Although it is close to the highway, this is a designated overnight free camp. It is hard to imagine anything more picturesque in this part of the world.
Whilst the co-pilot (and cat's owner) took Max indoors, I took a wander.....I had smelt smoke. This was my first hint as to what was going on.
These clever souls had taken full advantage of the short roadway into the forest at the departure end of the layover and were beautifully tucked away from the world....well almost so. Out of respect for the obvious efforts they had taken to acquire some privacy (backing down this narrow track would have been challenging) I did not toddle closer, but I could see that the source of the smoke was their campfire. Mind you, when the smell of frying bacon wafted along the track, my good companion ethics were severely challenged.
But of course the other burning question (it has been a while) was, did Max contribute to our future travelling peace on this leg of the trip.....no such luck. According to his owner, he sniffed around, and then sat expectantly (and firmly unrequited) at his dinner bowl, before trying to settle on the bed for a nap. Bloody cat!
Oh, well, fingers crossed. The journey continued, but only as far as the rest stop some 15 kms short of Walpole. Max had not seen the distance. Whilst she tended to the necessary clean up of her cat's cage and accouterments, I left Liz to her work whilst I took an obligatory 'calm down' stroll.
of all sorts of colours and sizes,
some exquisitely delicate
others more robust and massed.
Sadly, the grey sky and cheap camera combined to wash out the colours in these resultant shots, but believe me to see these blooms in their bush setting was just the thing to take my mind of a crappy cat.
Max's owner claimed that he was shrewd enough to have picked his spot. Talk about justification and excuses! Mind you, having settled somewhat under the calming influence of a floral display, I had to concede that banging along in a cage with a less than empty system and limited options could not be pleasant. You are forgiven, Max, this time...just!
Walpole came and went (we had been here on our last foray into the deep south) and we had soon rolled on down the main street of Denmark. Hollings Road took us south along the western bank of the Denmark River for a kilometre or so and
here we are, the turn off to the Denmark Rivermouth Caravan park, our home for the next seven nights (stays are always talked of in terms of nights not days in 'caravanspeak')
We turned off the main road and drove past a row of the most well kept and attractive permanent park houses we have ever seen.
A couple were on the market. Out of sheer curiosity (and to the obvious excitement of the rather different real estate agent to whom I spoke...I mean what mid forty plus man wears a diamond ear stud if he wants to be taken seriously?) I later enquired as to the price. "A steal at $239,000," I was told. "Ah yes, but is there also a weekly park rental charge?" The agent's face dropped a little....here was a bloke who asked all the right questions. A mere bagatelle, he argued....."how much?", tone slightly sharper. And herein lies the trap with these places. On top of the purchase price the lucky new owner will have to shell out nearly $150 per week for the privilege of occupying the park land on which this Denmark getaway sits. Time to do more sums!
But back to reality. The park office lies behind racks of rental canoes and advertising screens which line the front fence.
Here the managers of this park take full advantage of their location, right on the mouth of the Denmark River. Opposite the office, the river bank is lined with paddle boats and wet suits of all colours and the enclosed park cruise boat lies alongside at its moorings.
For us, however, it was book in then on into the entrance driveway under these two enormous shade trees (ficus of some sort),
left past a row of high class dongas,
right into what was to be our row for the week,
and onto our site which backed directly onto the expansive waters of the Wilson Inlet.
This was not the choice of site I would have made, having checked out this park in March. I would have preferred some shelter, but this was very much a case of beggars cannot be choosers. Denmark, like every other town within fifty kilometres of Albany, was very busy.
So up went the shade cloth walls post haste whilst the wind was but a welcoming zephyr. I knew from experience that this was too good to last.
From the back of our site we looked out directly across a narrow bitumen pathway over the, for now, still waters of the inlet.
We certainly had 'a room with the view', but this always come at a cost here in the windy west. With nothing between us and the far side of this remarkably large body of water (Wilson Inlet is over 20 kms long and quite wide as you can see) the southerlies and south-westerlies literally had open slather. We did spend a few anxious moments, but survived the couple on onslaughts to which we were subjected.
Apart from this, our site was ideal. One of the two amenities blocks in this large, grassy park was a mere hop, step and jump away along this pathway (the red brick building)
whilst the cabin occupied by Cooky and Co was the third in from the far end (abutting the path) of this row. Less than staggering distance!
The amenities building also housed the large camp kitchen
with its very large TV screen mounted high on one wall. In Denmark this is significant....there is no TV reception anywhere in the park unless one has a very high, special aerial. My enquiries revealed that since going digital, Denmark has become a TV dead spot....the locals are not happy, Jan! So we had seven TV free days, which was not a huge burden with the exception I do like watching the ABC news. We are just thankful that the cricket had not started!
If nothing else, the Denmark Rivermouth Caravan park can be characterised by three things......
.....grass,
very large trees
and permanent park houses,
all over the park.
This is indeed a picturesque and well managed park with many large sites and adequate facilities. Apart from the wind off the Inlet, something about which we could do nothing except peg down hard, we were more than happy with this as our base for the Albany 100.
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