HORROCKS BEACH 1 - THE CARAVAN PARK, A LESSON LEARNT AND A LAMB ROAST (16 - 17 MAY 2014)

It did look promising. As we drove down the escarpment road into the village of Horrocks Beach it had a 'good feel' about it. Time will tell. But for now we had to set up camp.

We turned off the main entry road and made our way past the southern side of the caravan park

to the park office and entry point where the redoubtable Cassandra provided us with a park site map and directions as to the best way to access our site.

Seemed simple enough, but, as is my habit, I walked the park to see at first hand what we would be dealing with. I was not entirely convinced that her directions were the most appropriate, but decided a park manager should have some idea. So it was off through the very tight entrance roadway...our first challenge for the morning. With our combined length we just squeaked through.

On past the camp kitchen

and the green surrounds of the ablution block I drove. All was well so far.

Cassandra had mentioned that the roadway in front of our allotted site was tight. My inspection had confirmed that, but, taking her at her word, we attempted to back on in the direction she had advised. Now I have to say with all due modesty that with Liz behind the wheel following my directions, we have berthed the lump we call home on some pretty challenging sites with a minimum of fuss, but from the word go I knew that this one would not be easy. Apart from the limited turning room, we had to negotiate the corner of the cabin which was immediately next to our patch, a large tree and a series of roadway light posts which restricted our turning range even more....a perfect storm of hazards.

After three false starts I put Liz in on the tightest angle we could manage. And then it happened. I have never before taken off our long weight distribution bars prior to backing. I have always been concerned about dragging the A frame.  But that was before the rear coil air bags! As the van almost jack-knifed in our attempts to get on site, I heard an ominous crunch and creak. All engines stop....immediately. Bugger, bugger, bugger!  With the added lift now provided to the cruiser's tail, the mounting bracket of the right side hitch had fouled the underside of the rear right bumper panel on the cruiser. This was not good. "Come forward very, very slowly, Lizzy". With another pulse rate accelerating crunch we were extricated. 

My tenuous inspection, with all fingers tightly crossed, showed that we had sustained minimal damage..a tiny tear to the bottom of the panel which had dislodged from its holding brackets, but not to the extent I could not successfully clip it back on properly with no resultant ill effects. 

As you may have guessed, all this took place in front of a watching local audience of at least ten fellow campers, two of whom had the good grace to later tell me that they did not think we had any chance of getting on from either direction, and were more than impressed with our final efforts. A slight salve to my wounded ego.

"This is no good, Liz.  Bloody Cassandra and her directions. Hop out. I'm going to take it right around the park and bring us in the other way."  Which I did, and, with a welcome return to our normal skills, and some amelioration of my previous embarrassment and ire, we were finally on site, but strangely enough not before the weight distribution hitches had been removed pre-manoeuvres.

As you can see from this shot, the corner of the cabin and the tree on the right of our site are in very close attendance, and we only just fitted lengthwise, with the end of the A frame but a foot off the roadway.

But once we were anchored, this did prove to be a good spot. The pine needles underfoot made a soft base for our annex floor matting, and once I had trimmed the tree under which I had to park the cruiser, and with the Vogts tucked in next to us, we were all set.

Despite the initial difficulties, we did have plenty of room on our annex side, and a fair degree of shade and shelter.

And our view from the front across the adjacent sports complex (bowls and tennis) and along the green fairways of the local nine hole golf links to the escarpment beyond, did provide a fair degree of compensation for our initial trials and tribulations.

Like most parks in this part of the world, Horrocks Beach houses a number of semi-permanent cabins as well as tourist sites.

Some cabins provide modest accommodation with owners who have an obvious sense of humour

whilst others have created their own 'Taj Mahals'. This one, tantalizing located at the end of our street, was complete with a large boat and 4WD which remain on site. I must confess to serious pangs of envy when eyeing off 'Big Boy's' set up. 

But what about the 'world's best fish and chips' as advocated by our Moora friend? After all the excitement of our arrival, we had decided that a visit to the General Store and an evening meal cooked by someone else was just the shot. Another disappointment on the road. Passable fish in acceptable batter, tasty salt and pepper squid pieces, but woeful chips.

The Horrocks Beach general store is on the market, and it shows.  How the owner can expect to attract a buyer, let alone realise a good price, when he has allowed the exterior to deteriorate as it has and oversees a store in which the stock depletion has reached the point of being a joke, is beyond me. When all this is compounded by a staff of dubious humour and appearance, it is far from a good look and does nothing at all to promote the town.

We are nothing if not quick learners. Let's make up for this culinary disappointment with a meal of substance tomorrow night...a fine roasted leg of lamb with all the trimmings. Vote taken, approval unanimous . 

Up went our bed, out came the Baby Q, and on went the joint to crackle, sizzle and smoke with delicious promise 

whilst we blunted our impatience with a few happy hour aperitifs

and a yarn or two, when the truth is completely optional as long as the tales are entertaining. 

Finally, finally, after the allotted 30 minutes per 500 grammes and a confirmatory prod with my trusty meat thermometer, the lamb and roast veggies were plated, a McLaren Vale D'Arenberg Footbolt shiraz (which Liz had uncovered at Dongera at a commendably reasonable price) made its way into our best wine glasses, and all was well at site 27, Horrocks Beach (for some considerable hours!)

Next, we explore Horrocks Beach township, the nearby Bowes River mouth and the camp of the notorious Coffin Cheaters bikie gang, and try our hands with the fishing rods.

  

GERALDTON - HORROCKS BEACH (16 MAY 2014)

Tasks done, we were off again.  With 25 psi in the rear suspension air bags, the cruiser took the weight of the van with ease. We were perfectly level again. Whilst this had not been a real issue at this point, I had been concerned to ensure that once we filed our water tanks for places much further north, we would not be dragging our tail like a duck with the extra 180 kilos on board.

The countryside north of Geraldton is good agricultural country and it was blossoming as a result of the recent rains. It was lovely to be driving through verdant rolling hills again with the occasional 'breakout', the local name for what would be called a 'jump up' in outback QLD, rearing up on the distant horizon.

Horrocks Beach, our destination for the next week, had come with high recommendations, as had another smaller spot en route, Coronation Beach. As is our want, we decided to check it on the way for future reference. 

We were relieved that we had not made Coronation Beach our target for our next stop-over. As we turned left off the highway towards the coast, a sign at the junction proclaimed the park to be full. We had heard that folk have been known to just sit and wait for a spot....surely it can't be that good. We shall see.

The local cockies had obviously been busy in their cropping paddocks either side of the road into Coronation Beach. Everywhere we looked we were greeted with the sight of huge expanses of freshly seeded fields. This whole area is so 'mid-north SA' as to be a little eerie.

And then came the descent to the coast which did not seem quite as challenging as the warning sign predicted, but an extra level of concentration was warranted nevertheless.

The reward for the driving demands of these slopes is always the view, and here we had a bonus. 

This magnificent wedge tail eagle fixed us with its steely gaze as we slid by. Its presence really took us by surprise. A 'wedgie' was the last bird of prey we expected to find here. I was really annoyed traffic did not allow us to stop and make more of this opportunity, but am grateful that my 'shoot and hope' photo actually recorded this imperious raptor, and mid shot at that.

Onwards down the slope we went and suddenly the Coronation Beach campsite lay before us.

And it is a campsite as opposed to a caravan park, albeit a pretty sophisticated one in the general scheme of things. The caravan and hut mid shot is actually that of the resident caretaker who keeps an eye on things 'during the season' and collects the $15 per night fees when the grey nomad tsunami floods northwards 

Once parked, I clambered up to the lookout on the top of the overlooking ridge in the hope I would be able to gain a good overview.

I was not disappointed. The jumble of the Coronation Beach campsites opened out to the south

and to the north as I panned right, where our rig can be seen in the entry parking area slightly to the right of mid-shot.

The roads throughout Coronation Beach are delightfully haphazard. They were dry on the day of our visit. We did wonder just how the ambiance of this place would alter in the wet. All the sites were numbered, and it appears that this place is now much better organised than has been the case in the past. Showers and toilets are on site, but no water or power...semi-basic!

An inspection of the beach was obviously in order. That's the only reason folk come here year after year and take up occupation for their full 30 day limit. Off down the track I went

to discover that Coronation Beach is a passable plage indeed,

sheltered as it is from the rollers of the Indian Ocean by a reef beyond the inshore channel. This is a fine beach for swimming, kayaking and fishing. Another time perhaps, but only in good weather, and only if a large site becomes available. I had determined during my wander around that we would only fit on about 10% of them.

Out of Coronation Beach we drove, north through the small farming town of Northampton where we again turned our heads west and again rolled through a patchwork scene of the reddish brown of the newly seeded paddocks and the green pastures of the grazing uplands.

Our arrival at Horrocks was nigh. The large houses on the hill overlook the hamlet. Another descent off the limestone escarpment was obviously in store,

as we soon discovered. And here our sense of expectation was heightened as we made our way down to the seaside flats. Would this place be the fishing idyll we had been promised or have we been led into a week of disappointment? And, does the local general store really serve the "best fish and chips on the coast"? (as we had been assured by a fellow camper in Moora).

More on Horrocks, the park, the town, the fishing and the chippo in the next exciting instalment of the MobileMarshies!

GERALDTON (AGAIN) - BATAVIA COAST PARK (14 -15 MAY 2014)

Yes, here we are back in Geraldton again. Not by choice. We were keen to be further north, but the demands of our mechanical draught horse and the need for supplies took priority. On this occasion we decided to try the Batavia Coast Caravan Park rather than Drummond Cove. Not only is it somewhat closer to the heart of Geraldton, but it had to be more sheltered and hopefully a touch more salubrious.

Batavia Coast promised trees, birds and a country atmosphere. The approach road certainly fitted that bill as it took us past open grazing fields

to the somewhat imposing  park entrance.

Here, galahs feature prominently in a mural across the gateway wall in what was a portent of what is obviously a regular evening invasion. Bloody noisy things they are, but, in their defence, I have to say they are not as bad as a flock of corellas.

We had been allocated a 'big rig' site (and paid a $4.00 per night surcharge for the privilege....that really did annoy me....a classic rip off)  I decided that I would let Liz deal with the payment on her own on the basis that if we come back to Geraldton for any reason this will be our park of choice. I was so outraged by this impost that I may well have worn out our welcome before we had even settled if I had joined her in the office. I have no objection whatsoever to paying a fair price, even an inflated one further north, but I hate being exploited.

With your correspondent muttering to himself, off we went past the office,

the pool and camp kitchen, which are both more than adequate,

and past a row of 'regular' sites

to our little patch of heaven. At least we got what we paid for. Our site was enormous. No need to back and fill here. One sweeping turn and we were on.

There was no doubt that our atmosphere was 'rural' as this back shot of the van across the paddock behind us shows. We did have more than adequate elbow room. My ire about the surcharge was tempered slightly. And the other great advantage of this park over Drummond Cove was a complete lack of heavy traffic noise....that really is worth something.

Whilst they advertise the bird life and country feel, there is one inhabitant of Batavia Coast which does not get a mention in the promos, and I have to say they are 'up there' with some of the funniest things we have come across.

Notices nailed to a number of the park trees both proclaim and warn of their presence. That mercilessly malicious marauding marsupial of the eucalypts, that fearlessly ferocious furry felon of the forest, that capable, calculating carnivore, that terrible tourist terrifier, the very though of which can bring burly and buxom backpackers to their knees and fill their long and sleepless nights with breathless anxiety, the dreaded Australian Drop Bear.

I just had to share this notice with you, hence the extra large presentation. I would love to have met its author. I am more than certain we could have spent a very convivial time together. The only small print is the disclaimer "This safety notice is not endorsed by any Aust. Government or agency". What a hoot.

And these warnings are not idle.....look up and there it is, ready to pounce. These rare examples of carnivorous koalas were dotted throughout the park.  I had now forgiven the management the surcharge!  

  

I have previously described how, in the two days we spent in Geraldton, we splashed money throughout the community in a grand show of largesse, so I'll not bore you, dear reader, with a repetition and keep this blog to possibly the shortest on record. This one is just for you, Neil J!

PORT DENISON 3 - GREENOUGH HISTORICAL VILLAGE, WIND FARMS AND FLOODED CROSSINGS (12 MAY 2014)

After all the partying and fishing at Port Denison it was time for a spot of local history. The nearby Geeenough historical village beckoned. Now under the control of the National Trust, this did prove to be a place of considerable interest.

En route, we took the road past the famous Hampton Arms Inn. This watering hole was built in 1863 to cater for both travellers through the then expanding region and for the needs of the settlers who had moved to the area to take up the 20 - 30 acre farming lots on offer on the Greenough Flats.

In more modern times, this establishment has become a destination for gastronomes keen to indulge in the fare on offer, which by all account, is more than passable. According to our park neighbours, who did 'do lunch' at the Hampton Arms, the curry and steak and the Guinness pie were first class, but sadly the state of the premises themselves did not match the quality of the produce of the kitchen. It would seem that the owner is past it as far as maintenance goes. We decided a quick look in passing would suffice.

The Greenough historical village is a completely different matter. Here the good folk of the National Trust have done a wonderful job in preventing the surviving buildings of the township from quietly sliding into irreparable decay. They now maintain this important piece of WA history for posterity.

The Greenough Flats area was first explored by George Grey in 1839.  He named the district after then then President of the London Royal Geographical Society, one Sir George Bellas Geenough, and commented in his journal that this area had the potential to become "the granary of Western Australia".

There is no doubt that the surrounding countryside is ideally suited for cropping and grazing, as we discovered in our travels through this area and further north. Greenough itself, however, did not fare so well.

A formal survey of the area in 1857 resulted in lots of 20 -30 acres being laid out and offered to settlers to the district. This was typical of the English thinking of the time in terms of the requisite size of a sustainable farm, something we now recognise as impractical in the Australian climate.

But come they did, with hope and a willingness for hard work.  Between 1863 and the end of the century a small township sprang up on the the 'Flats' to provide the necessary infrastructure for the burgeoning community.

As this overview photo shows, little now remains of what was once a flourishing small town. No amount of hard work and spirit can overcome the forces of nature. The area was first ravaged by a cyclone in 1872, and, given that it was built on the low lying plains between the coastal sand hills to the west and the rocky escarpment to the east, the inevitable happened in 1888 when the township was devastated by a massive flood. Many died and a great number of the township buildings were relocated to higher ground.

As if this was not enough, further floods, and paradoxically, the effect of drought and fire, together with the irresistible pull created by the discoveries of gold, meant that by the early 1900's most of the original population had left Greenough Flats. The township survived for some years beyond that, but the inevitable pressures of large scale farming and improved transport and machinery meant that the town was abandoned and was sliding into oblivion until the National Trust stepped forward.

Visitors enter the village though the restored building which now serves as the interpretive centre and, of course, cafe and souvenir shop, where for a very moderate fee of $5.00 the obliging staff provide an informative map and copious advice.

In the front room of the visitor centre we found one of the most unusual presentations ever....a map of the district superimposed on the walls and floor. Very clever.

Fees duly paid and map in hand, we wandered out beyond the outdoor cafe area

and past the outdoor dunny with its attendant peppercorn tree, a combination which, for some reason I have never been able to fathom, can be found all over country Australia. What a reminder of the home of my youth in Port Lincoln.

Nearby we came across one of the unofficial symbols of this district, a 'leaning tree'. This part of the WA is not known as the 'windy coast' for nothing.

In fact, in one of the village buildings is a photo of a prime example of a leaning tree. We had

previously driven past this arboreal oddity which stands/lies in a field just off the Brand Highway. Apparently it is one of the most photographed natural objects in the West....we were prevented from stopping and joining the throng by the press of traffic at the time.

And then, before we even began to peer into the buildings of Greenough, another surprise. Alpacas and llamas.....of course....what else would you expect to find in an historical village? They were hard at it. The recent rains had done wonders in greening the countryside and our four legged locals were well into their breakfasts. We had previously been less than enamoured by the downpours of Anzac Day and beyond, but were now thankful that we were not tramping across dry and dusty expanses between the buildings of Greenough. 




Every community needs a school.  In fact, we have noticed in our travels that the development of a local school is a real sign of community permanence, irrespective of the modest buildings in which many were housed. This was one of six similar schools which existed in the region during its heyday.

The equally modest interior was obviously fit for purpose














as this photo of the school community shows. I do shudder a little when we visit these old schools....I can clearly remember sitting at the type of desk now considered antique!







Despite the happy faces of this period shot, a wall sign in the classroom did hint of varied enthusiasm amongst those who should have been engaged in the quest for knowledge.

Or perhaps it is merely a reflection of sloppy record keeping....I suspect the former rather than the latter.

Interestingly the community did not sprout its own pub. The Hampton Arms Inn was obviously sufficient to cater for the local need. But in 1870 work did begin on the Geeenough Police Station, Gaol and Courthouse. This is a substantial building and at first blush one would think that the folk of the Greenough Flats were a particularly unruly lot. Not so. With an uncommon application of common sense, the building was designed to be multi-purpose.







There were only five cells, and all of them for for short term use only until prisoners could be transferred to the Geraldton Gaol. Of these, four were used for white prisoners and the fifth for aboriginal miscreants (who were actually chained to the walls unlike their white counterparts). 











The building complex served a variety of purposes, all associated with government services. The Courtroom also provided a venue for meetings of the original Greenough Road Board (the equivalent in those days of a local shire council)















whilst other rooms were used as the police station/charge room, a retiring room for both the Magistrate and visiting doctor















and quarters for the police sergeant, constables and teachers, which from what we could see, were basic to say the least.















Meals for both the staff and the prisoners were all prepared in the kitchen located next to the sleeping quarters 











whilst the police horses were housed in fine style in the stables at the rear of the building.
















Water was drawn from the 22 metre deep well dug in the rear exercise yard by 'ticket of leave' men, former convicts who had been granted parole.

This is an impressive building by any standards. Its thick walls and extraordinarily high ceilings were designed to counter the heat of the summer. Heavens knows how the occupants managed to keep the place warm in winter.

The spiritual needs of the inhabitants of the Flats were more than adequately catered for. St Catherine's Church opened it doors to those of the Anglican persuasion when, in 1913, it replaced the original iron and timber building used for services. It continues as a place of worship to this day,

as does the Catholic Church, St Peter's, although we are not sure if the resident llama attends the services, or merely greets the arriving faithful at the door.

This remains a charming church and provides a fine venue for those who chose to worship here. Use of the building for weddings is apparently still popular. With a location like this and the ability to hold the reception in the nearby restaurant complex, we could understand why.








 

Unsurprisingly, the building adjacent to the Catholic Church was used as a convent.










As we wandered through this building I was taken by some of the photos on display. This one in particular caught my eye.

They may be a touch difficult to read in this shot, so let me list the last names of the sisters...Grogan, Ryan, Corcoran, Cody and Hanrahan. An Irish connection here somewhere perhaps?





The inhabitants of the Greenough Flats were a social lot by all accounts as we discovered when we took a look inside St Catherine's Hall which lies just to the north of the church of the same name and the very unpretentious Road Board building.

The social reputation of the farming population and others who lived in the area is proclaimed loudly on this hoarding, which is a direct quote from the Geraldton Express, 25 November 1898. Good on them I say. Nothing like a good knees-up to put aside the aches and pains of the very hard work in which they were all engaged and the worry of making ends meet.



There are a number of other surviving buildings in the Geenough historical village, but enough history is enough. It was time to embark on our second planned venture for the day, a visit to Ellendale Pool. This, we had been told, was the location of a particularly pleasant free camp site at a rock pool on the Greenough River under some cliffs. We were keen to check it out for future reference.




So off we went through the tiny township of Walkaway and on up the rise of the hills to the east. Another surprise was in store....the Mumbida wind farm.  When one thinks about it however, it is no real surprise to find these rows and rows of wind turbines on the ridges east of the coast. This is windy country almost all year round.



Alinta Energy is keen to show off its venture and have provided a large car park and viewing area 

from which we could see west across the Greenough Flats to the coast some 20 kms distant. 

Mumbida is a wind farm of substance. It was annoyingly impossible to capture any more than small sections of the ranks upon ranks of turbine towers which marched off along the crest of the hill both north and south from the roadway.










Its stats are equally impressive. The 54 turbine towers of this wind farm stand 80 metres above the ground to the hub of the massive 40 metre blades (each of which weighs in at 7.5 tonnes). As they serenely rotate with the eerie 'swoosh' of each passing blade tip, they produce a total of 89 megawatts of electricity, enough to power 64,000 homes. 

And as if the ability to cuddle up to one of the towers is not enough to impress the visitor,

Alinta have bordered the car park with a disused turbine blade, and believe me, they are 40 metres long!








Irrespective of Alinta's undoubted expertise in the production of wind created electrical energy, we did wish that they had employed a sign writer with a better command of spelling, or at least had his or her handiwork checked before the sign went in place. I know, picky tourists...but let's face it...this is not a good look for a company so publicly flogging its wares.








Feeling just a little superior we continued to wend our way eastward through the low scrub country 












until we finally reached our destination.....almost!







The recent rains were making their presence felt here at the road ford leading into Ellendale Pool where the waters of the Greenough River were flooding across the pavement.

To say we were somewhat frustrated is an understatement...we were but one kilometre short of our target. Our sense of annoyance was compounded by the fact that there were oodles of spots along the 30 kms or so we had already travelled to get here at which signs advising of the road closure could have been readily erected.  

I did actually venture into the water to test the depth with a faint thought of undertaking a crossing. It was quite shallow, as the height marker indicated, but flowing swiftly. Any (stupid) thoughts of testing the capacity of the cruiser to complete a river crossing were very rapidly vetoed in no uncertain terms by the navigator. It think it fair to say she was terse in her rhetorical questions related to just how old I am and the associated comments about what I had or had not learnt in the length time which had passed since I was a silly teenager!

So back we went, only to pass on the bad news to three or four couples towing vans towards what had been their planned overnight stop as we made our way home. They were equally unhappy with both the situation and the lack of pre-warning, but at least we could tell them that there was sufficient room at the ford for vans to be turned about, a fact they were relieved to hear.



Our wonderful stay at Port Denison was almost at an end. But before we go, let's just take in a few final snippets.  If the marina and its cosseted fleet of cray boats were not enough to convince a visitor of the importance of this industry to the town, a quick tour of the light industrial area will do the trick. Here, under the shadow of the encroaching sand hills, shed after shed










and boat 












after boat line the back streets, all in the embrace of the huge mobile stands on which they are towed from the waterfront.










And here one can also find evidence of the infrastructure needed to support the off shore oil rig, which can been seen on the horizon from the obelisk on a clear day.






The rig is serviced by this tender which moored opposite the fish cleaning station. We had been interested to watch a large crane loading the spool of flexible piping onto the deck of this solid craft the previous evening and equally impressed by the fact that this vessel went to sea irrespective of conditions. 

  






There is money in cray fishing, believe me, if the houses in which many of the local fishermen live are a guide. This edifice stood directly opposite our park







as did this somewhat more modest abode sandwiched between its two storey neighbours. But what the owners of this home lacked in clout they certainly made up for with humour. Where ever have you previously seen sets of stuffed jeans used as front wall pot plant holders?  The owners could often be found relaxing with a beer or two on a warm afternoon in the two chairs at the edge of the wall.....they were genuine characters and every passer-by would stop for a chat.


But for us it was off to Geraldton again, this time to have more equipment fitted the cruiser, a wheel alignment, and to launch a major assault on Woollies, IGA and various bottle stores to replenish the larder and the grog cupboard. We knew that our next planned destination of Horrocks Beach is seriously challenged in the logistics department, and as it transpired, it was even more so than we had expected.






Let's leave Port Denison with a golden sunset, one of many we had enjoyed. 








Warmer climes continue to beckon. Horrocks, Kalbarri, Shark Bay, Carnarvon, Coral Bay, Exmount, Onslow, Karratha, Port Headland etc etc. We are still heading north to goodness knows where.