Well here we are, in Port Denison and back at the keyboard once again. As you are no doubt aware, the scribe of the MobileMarshies has taken something of a 'blog break' over the past week or so. I have to admit that the preparation of the Sydney Memorial blog (which took over 14 hours to research and present) left me a little jaded. Add to this the twin lures of fishing and social activities with our Victorian friends Rhonda and John Vogt, and I'm afraid the computer did not get a look in.
So just what have we been up to recently? The short answer is 'having a seriously good time'...almost like being on holidays!
We left Geraldton a fortnight ago as planned and made our way south over the 65 kms or so to our next coastal destination, Port Denison, where things can become a little confusing for the unwary. Port Denison is actually the southern portion of what could be best described as the twin towns of Dongara/Port Denison. Whilst Dongara houses the areas major CBD (small as it is), the Port Denison area is just that, the port.
But more of that later. Let's begin as usual with our digs. And here again, there are traps for the unwary in this region. This is a very popular holiday region, which helps to explain why there are four caravan parks within just over one kilometre of each other. On the basis of strong recommendations from several folk we have met on the road, we chose the Dongara Denison Beach Holiday Park (not to be confused with the Dongara Tourist Park) as our place of residence for a couple of weeks.
We had driven through here en route to Geraldton from Moora, and knew exactly where we were going, which was a pleasant change from most of our arrivals.
And here we were, after the short jaunt from Geraldton..the front corner of our chosen destination.
A right turn down the roadway past the eastern row of park cabins,
and we were there.
and pulled up at the very well appointed office. From what we had seen to date we knew we had made a good decision, although we did have a moment or two of panic on arrival. "Marshman, no we don't seem to have you on our arrivals list. Are you sure you have the right park?" "Positive...and what's more I spoke to you on the phone." (Her name badge was 'Kay'...I always record the names of those with whom I book). The co-pilot did shoot me one of 'those looks', but after a bit more fiddling on the booking computer we were found....under a slightly different version of our name. Whew!
Off down the one way road (sealed...yes!) past the rows of excellent cabins
around the corner at the top end of the park
and onto our large and shady site.
Within a couple of days our good Victorian friends (no that's not an oxymoron) the Vogts arrived and, as we had arranged for them, took up occupation of the site next to us. The social scene was set. When Bobby, their large black Samoyed/Labrador cross, and Max squared off across the grass we knew old memories had been revived (who says animals forget) and all was right with the world.
Our site was but one away from the excellent camp kitchen facility.
It is one of the best we have ever come across and we did make use of it on more than one occasion.
Not the least of these was our BBQ night, when we took full advantage of the large gas plate at the front door. A butterflied, marinated leg of lamb was soon smoking away at one end of the BBQ whilst the veggies were doing their thing at the other....and not a man in sight! "We did the fish", was our excuse (more of that later).
We sat down in real caravan park style to a wonderful munch. Even Liz was happy... a huge plate of mixed roast veggies. We had lashed out on a fine bottle of Coonawarra red (a Brands Laira Cabernet Merlot) and even broke out our large wine glasses.
And to finish....blueberry pie and ice cream. Rhonda and John do not have the ability to carry ice cream on the road, so this was a real treat for them. And to top it all off....a bottle of the good monks' finest....a New Norcia Abbey liqueur muscat, saved for just such an occasion.....pure liquid raisins. What a meal.
But of course, the inescapable, the dishes. It's at moments like these our non-breakable plates come into their own. This had been a highlight evening...one of the the reasons one travels for periods with good friends.
Mind you, Dongara Denison Beach is a very social park. The resident managers, Pam and Johnno Lee (we forgave him his West Coast Eagles apron), bung on a huge pancake breakfast each Sunday morning, and, weather permitting, a 'nibbles happy hour' every Thursday (we missed out on this due to a storm, but that's a story for later).
The second park camp kitchen is quickly converted into a pancake parlour. Pancakes, and more pancakes, mountains of them...and they are good. These two have this down to a fine art.
And this is a 'bring nothing' morning. Every topping imaginable is supplied. All the old favourites are on the table.
Strawberry jam and cream, maple syrup, lemon and sugar, it is all there, as well as tea and coffee. One soon learns here not to even think about having breakfast on Sunday morning.
Whether sitting at the long bench tables or
One piece of advice John and I received related to the fishing scene. We were given a tip by a local as to the spot to catch herring, far removed from the local small wharf where results were mixed to say the least.
We were men on a mission......it was time to organise the necessary rigs
and head out to the 'promised land' which is actually a rocky shelf on the coast just to south of the town's fishermen's memorial obelisk. From here it is merely a matter of casting into the channel between the coast and the inner reef and 'Bob's you uncle'...so we were told.
And for once a piece of fishing advice was right. As they say in fishing circles, "we brained 'em". I had hooked up within two casts, and it went on like that for over an hour. I only stopped to ring Liz and suggest she might like to put the thawing chops back in the freezer...we'll be eating fish tonight!
John joined me later, and we really did have a fine time. It is these types of fishing experiences which make up for all those (about which we never speak) when hours of effort and patience go unrewarded.
But, as with everything, after the fun comes the work. We called a halt at three dozen and headed back to the local fish cleaning table near the marina where bragging rights were established with a number of curious onlookers (including one cheeky bugger who was quite miffed that we wouldn't tell him exactly where we caught them. I eventually pointed out to him that I give that sort of information to my mates or someone who is buying me beer....he was neither my mate nor buying....go away!)
We were more liberal with the local feral cats who live in the marina breakwall rocks. I could not believe how quickly these quite small furry bundles of feline aggression could demolish an entire herring head and be back for more.
We really did have a fine feed of fresh fish, far more than we could eat....and herring must be eaten fresh, so we became particularly popular with a couple of our neighbours who were the surprised benefactors of our piscatorial largess. There is something immensely satisfying about dolling out freshly caught fish...almost like showing off without actually doing so!
As for us, we decided grilled on John's hotplate was the plan. Again, there was work to be done, this time filleting. This always presents a challenge. Liz hates fish bones with a passion which borders on paranoia.....I fillet with the care of a surgeon when she is to be munching on the end result later.
What fine plate resulted.
And then it was off next door and onto the grill with them whilst Liz scooted off to the local chippy for a parcel of hot chips.
What a feast we had. If fish is one's fancy, it is hard to beat a feed of really fresh, grilled tommies.
This was not our only success. Several more sorties to 'the spot' produced catches of equal numbers. Fillets in egg and breadcrumbs were interspersed with another meal of grilled beauties. But I was not done yet! Ever since we left home I have been carrying a small bucket of special redgum sawdust.....all I needed was a smoker and a new challenge awaited. Could I replicate my Kangaroo Island efforts where I would smoke a batch of tommy and mullet fillet most mornings? (with good results)
Off to the local fishing tackle shop. "Yes, we do have one smoker left, but it's a fold down sort". "Just the shot"...my storage problem was solved. Assembly complete, fillets salted overnight, sugar added in the morning, and it was into the smoker with them. Did it work? To a degree....they were a touch too salty, but I know just how to remedy that production defect. Let's hope we catch herring at Horrocks Beach so I can redeem myself! Oh, and yes, I do have other thick over-shirts!!You may have gathered by now that Port Denison had fast become a place in which we were very much in our element and where we were indeed having great fun. Correct. Local sightseeing comes next.
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