PERTH - PARTY TIME AND A REAL SURPRISE (18 - 22 OCTOBER 2014)

After our very wet and nasty welcome to Perth, it was time to get on with the main purpose of our five night stay.....catching up with old and dear friends and getting wet on the inside! After the relative social isolation of Carnarvon, our schedule seemed a little daunting. We were somewhat out of practice.

The first of this rather dizzy round of engagements was in the leafy streets of Dalkeith, one of Perth's decidedly better suburbs on the Swan River, where the Finlay-Jones' residence stands proudly in Waratah Street. John is seriously skilled in the kitchen and a wine connoisseur of deservedly fine repute.  He, his charming wife Prue, and their two delightful daughters Sarah and Alex, are consummate hosts. 

This was a Sunday lunch to which we were really looking forward. A bonus, for me in particular, was the fact that another of the long term members of the redoubtable and invincible (notorious?) Brighton B2 mens' hockey team, which was part of my life for so many years in Adelaide, was also on the invitation list. John Cowden now lives in WA and it was a real bonus to catch up with him and to meet his partner Margo. 

And therein lies another of the 'less than six points of separation' tales. Margo's son, who now flies Army Chinook helicopters, undertook his advanced flying training at RAAF Pearce at the same time as Stu was doing his. They were on different courses, but know each other well. I have long since stopped being amazed by these encounters.




What a day it was. JFJ had decided that the weather gods were continuing to frown down on any potential outdoor feasting, so our 'BBQ' lunch became an indoor affair. Whilst the girls chatted and nibbled on pre-lunch bubbles, the boys busied themselves in the kitchen.....well we kept JFJ well watered whilst he busied himself in the kitchen!



Yet another culinary triumph emerged as the result of his efforts. We feasted on an entree of seared scallops and pan tossed red and green peppers followed by oven roasted lamb racks and fillet, potatoes au gratin and salad with, some considerable time later, a desert of fruit tart. Some BBQ!

It will probably come as no surprise to learn that all this was more than adequately washed down with a very parochial selection of bubbles, reds and whites, all but one from various SA wine regions. 





JFJ did interpose a more than acceptable Margaret River red, just to remind us where we were, and was understandably pleased with the end result of all his endeavours.





And of course, what's a reunion of any sort without the obligatory group shot?  Days of past glories were recalled with verve (and a possible touch of exaggeration) as the old warriors posed with a photo of the team gathering held many years ago in Adelaide at JFJ'S farewell from Unley Park.

That had been a day to remember and so was this. Our schedule does not include a return to Perth in the foreseeable future, which gave this wonderful day a flavour of another farewell, one we shall never forget. 

It was probably just as well that Monday was a 'lay day'. A long walk through the expansive and marvellously maintained Wanaroo sporting complex with its acres and acres of green turf, sporting club houses and playgrounds, began the healing process. And then the phone rang. To my real surprise it was our caravan insurance company....things were well and truly under way as promised and I was very keen to try to organize the replacement awning whilst we were in Busselton rather than have to return once we had established in Albany.

I subsequently rang the excellent folk at the Busselton 'Caravan Doctor', took a series of requested photos and sent those and other information off to them. Linda Bird, the most obliging and knowledgeable proprietress of this august establishment, assured me that she would take the matter from here and provide a quote to CIL.  True enough.  Within 24 hours the quote had been accepted, CIL had approved the replacement of the damaged awning, this had been sourced in Perth, and we had arranged to have it fitted in Busselton the following week. What a pleasure it is to deal with competent and sensible people.  Again I happily sing the praises of The Busselton Caravan Doctor (they replaced our hot water service almost a year ago) and give a positive nod to CIL Insurance.

The socialising began again on Tuesday evening. The nearby northern beach suburb of Mullaloo was our destination on this occasion. After a fifteen minute drive, in the words of our trusty electronic navigator, "we had reached our destination", the beautiful home of Linda Bates, a close friend of the past 40 years. Linda, and her sadly departed husband Mike, were an integral part of the 'Sydney scene' of my younger days. 

My very close friend Hens Bannink, whom I met when he came across to Adelaide in 1974 to maintain our first Surf Rescue helicopter (can you believe we patrolled and jumped out of a Bell 47g...exactly like this one minus the  'Police' signage....how things have changed) shared a house in Sydney with Linda and Mike and a couple of young Qantas pilots. I visited the house in Caringbah on many occasions and all its occupants have remained firm friends ever since.

Mike left Qantas (he had been an international steward) many years ago and he and Linda moved to Perth. Liz and I stayed with them a few years ago when we came west for Stu's flight training graduation and presentation of his wings. Catching up with Linda during our various sojourns in the capital of the west has been one of the highlights of our trip. 

This latest was no exception when we had the additional pleasure of the company of Linda's elder daughter and her husband who now cohabit with the lady of the house. Christie cooked up a storm. 




Richard, who is wickedly Irish, and I felt obliged to quaff a few preparatory ales as we nibbled on the cheese platter before we all sat down to a great meal, joined by one of the two canine guardians of the house.












It was a fun night indeed, as we have come to expect at Westview Boulevard, Mullaloo, a 'must do' whenever we are in Perth.




But there was no rest for the wicked. Wednesday evening saw us being picked up by Jan and Geoff Day. 'G'Day', as he is universally known, lives but a stone's throw from the Kingsway park. He and Jan had occupied a site at The Plantation some weeks earlier and left insisting that we make contact when in Perth, for a night out.  We did so with gusto and enjoyed a most pleasant evening at the nearby Greenwood pub where we not only had a good 'catch up' but celebrated Geoff's recent birthday in style as well.

Before we had sortied out on this, the last of our pre-arranged Perth social engagements, I had a real surprise. A close colleague of mine from SAPOL days was in town. Pete Magerl and I were course mates through our three years of training, we have both served with the UN Forces in Cyprus, and have shared the pain and toil of the SAPOL Commissioned officers' course together. 

Damn, we are leaving in the morning for Busselton....."mate, can you make it over for a morning coffee?"  Fortunately Pete's daughter, whom he was visiting, lives quite close by. A morning coffee was do-able. So Liz and I hopped to early, packed up and hitched the van and pushed back on our site, which gave us an hour and a half of free time before we had to leave.

Pete is the President of our SA UN group which is in a state of some turmoil at the moment. Quite coincidentally I had sent him a lengthy e-mail about the matter only a day previously.  Now we were able to chew the fat in person....and indeed we did over a couple of coffees in the nearby Kingsway shopping centre mall.







What a pleasant surprise this had been, and what a great way to spend our last few hours in Perth.








The two 'PM's' go back just over 50 years and we are very good mates indeed. And the last time we had caught up was also here in Perth, just over a year ago at our Fremantle UN Forces reunion.....don't you just love what life throws up from time to time?




But for now, and probably some time, farewell Perth. Busselton awaits our return visit. Looking at the forecasts I might at last be forced to finally don long trousers and warm tops....we shall see. I have vowed to resist till the last but the writing is on the wall.

Given that I blogged Busso to death just under twelve months ago, I'll desist from a repeat performance. We are both looking forward to a return visit to the Busso RSL and to wandering around some very familiar and pleasant old stamping grounds but I'll not bore you all with detail.

All is on track to have the awning replaced on Tuesday 28 October and then it will be off to the Great Southern, a reunion with the Cooks in Denmark, and the buzz of the Albany celebrations, the plans and publicity for which have gained some serious recent momentum. It is anticipated that we shall be part of a visiting throng some 60,000 strong. Stay tuned!

THE BLOWHOLES - CARNARVON - PERTH - AND A NASTY STORM (13 -18 OCTOBER 2014)

We were determined. Our Carnarvon 'must do' list was still incomplete, despite a late flurry of activity. We had still to see the Quobba Point blowholes in action. Our initial venture out there when we had first arrived in the area had proved disappointing....wonderful ocean scenes but no wave action.

But by now, after our Carnarvon residency, we were much wiser.  An incoming tide, 2 - 3 metre off shore swells and a decent wind with some west in it does the trick every time.  We had one last opportunity, the day before our departure.  The gods of nature had aligned and at last, I thought, the grit laden gusts we had been enduring might produce something positive.

We set off with the heady optimism of the born traveller. Surely this time! And then rationalism kicked in.....oh, well, it is only a 120 kms round trip if King Neptune is still dozing.

As we turned left at the end of the Quobba Point road and made our way towards the flat rock shelf of the Quobba cliffs, an excited squawk from the navigator alerted your scribe to the fact that this trip had not been in vain.  I do love it when a plan works!

The heaving swells of the Indian Ocean were surging under the rock ledges of the cliff face to then jet into the air through a series of (quite small.....a metre in diameter at most) holes which provide the only avenue of escape for the compressed mass of water and the air which precedes each salty assault.

Whoooosh.......whuuump......and up they go.

This is seriously spectacular stuff.  We had both seen the Kiama blowholes in action, and agreed these were on a par.

The real challenge was to capture them on film, well whatever a digital camera does these days!  After a few minutes' observation, I was able to reasonably predict which incoming swells would provide a good display. "This should be a good one, Lizzie."  






Liz, who was 'snapping blind' with an instrument with a frustratingly slow shutter speed (her challenge for our next quiet day is to try and alter this) did an admirable job capturing these various jets of upwardly flung water. 

The brisk south-westerly wind did its best to whip the tops off each geyser, but fortunately there was sufficient power in the incoming sea to produce some awe-inspiring results. And if this were not enough, as the waves hurled themselves against the cliff face at various spots, mother nature, using almost the same ingredients,  produced another display, different, but impressive nonetheless.

As I watched the seemingly casual might of each surge of swell, and the foaming maelstrom at the base of the rocks, I could not help but ponder the fate of those who have been dragged into this cauldron by the king waves of the area, the terror they must have experienced as they realised the helplessness of their plight, and the utter inadequacy of the floatation rings which have been provided by the authorities as a 'lifesaving device' when the sea is in this mood.








It was with some real reluctance we left Quobba Point. What if we just missed the 'really big one'?  We can't let this group of back-packers have all the luck!

Then again the rational brain kicked in......there was still much work to be done back at camp to hitch and move the van onto a drive-thru' site for our planned early departure the following morning. We drove back to Carnarvon on a real high. We had seen 'The Blowholes' at their best. At last.....scenery every bit as good as promised in the tourist brochure.

0600 hours....the sun was up in this State which eschews daylight saving. We were packed. The cruiser was fully fuelled, the van was hitched and we crept as quietly as we could out of our home for the past four months (which is not easy when eight large diesel burning cylinders are straining at the leash). 





We left with a real mixture of emotions but with the slanting shadows and dark red soil of the Carnarvon plains at first light streaming by as our rig settled into stride, we were soon rejoicing in the fact that we were again back on the road. Gypsies can only stay put for just so long!



The main reason for our 'sparrow's fart' departure lay in our attempt to place as much distance as we could between Carnarvon and our overnight destination before the forecast southerly winds played havoc with our fuel consumption.  And at this point your scribe and the driver of the day has to make a rare confession....I made a bad mistake.  

Whenever I speak of determination, Liz will instantly be heard to snort, "determination my foot, pigheaded stubbornness."  Today she was right, although I have to plead in my own defence I did not at any stage, apart from the last few kilometres into Northampton where we had a lunch break, feel at all challenged behind the wheel. And I was 'determined' to get as far as we could in the surprisingly mild wind conditions.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, on this occasion I drove too far....over 500 kms in fact. By the time we pulled into the quaint little park at S Bend, some 25 kms south of Geraldton I thought I was still operating on all cylinders, but within fifteen minutes of dropping anchor the real world and I parted company for some hours. I was buggered....dizzy with weariness and even too tired to eat tea (and that probably says it all!) 

I will now happily confess to having (again) learnt the lesson that I am no longer the youth I once was. With but three weeks to go to my 69th birthday, this experience has finally taught me that I have to make a genuine effort to grow older gracefully, in some matters at least. The co-pilot has made it very clear that, unless we are confronted with a real emergency dash, I have a daily travel limit of no more than 250 -300 kms. And, finally, I am convinced of that wisdom.

We had previously driven past S Bend on a number of occasions coming to and from Port Denison and whilst en route to Geraldton from the south. On the basis of varying reports, we decided that a personal inspection was warranted given that it was for only one night.

"What do you reckon, Liz.....more dust I'll bet."  Wrong, wrong, wrong. 






Once we had pulled in past the front of house service station which (correctly) boasts the cheapest diesel prices in the area, 

and the well shaded manager's house next door,




we found ourselves directed to, and parked on, one of the lushest lawned sites we have ever encountered.

We had asked for a drive-thru' and that's exactly what we got, although we did discover when a park gardener asked that we pull in as closely as possible to the taps and sullage sink, that when busy, there would be no room to extend an awning on these long, but very narrow sites.

Things obviously get very cosy when it is busy here, but as it was, we were the only clients for the night. Apart from the traffic noise from the nearby highway (and we were used to that after Carnarvon) we had real peace and quiet.



We had heard from several sources that S Bend (so named because it nestles just off the Brand Highway at a prominent 'S' shaped bend) is a mecca for those who chase mulloway and other large fish off the nearby beaches. A wander around the park soon established the truth of that advice. A long row of semi-permanent sites ran down the roadway opposite our patch and beyond.

Nearly all housed a quad bike of some sort or other, an essential piece of kit for roaming along the sands seeking the inshore gutters and holes in which the mulloway range seeking prey.





I was a little sorry we didn't have the chance to meet the folk directly opposite us.

They clearly have a sense of humour judging by the sign on the rear of their gear trailer.





Some of the permanents inhabit edifices which have grown to swamp the original van. This, at the rear of the park, is a prime example.











Apart from the drive-thru' area on which we were put, other areas towards the rear of the park cater for longer term visitors.










Here we found a perfectly adequate camp kitchen









and a large recreation room behind the wonderfully grassed camping ground. One of the permanents to whom we got chatting told us that during the high season this becomes the venue for varied social gatherings, including dances. 










The setting for this interesting park is charmingly rural despite its proximity to the Brand. Beyond its western boundary this old farm house stands in the lee of the sand hills as a reminder of the past,

whilst the paddocks at the front of the park between the long row of sand hills and the highway were almost ready to be harvested.





  

S Bend proved to be one of those parks which offered a real surprise with its lush green lawns and reasonable facilities....in the main, that is. Unfortunately the ablutions left much to be desired.They could best be described as 'tired' and only marginally functional. Apart from a very poor water flow, the shower cubicles are cramped and dated with few hooks and a tiny bench. These facilities cater for not only the park residents but also for those calling in to the roadhouse for fuel and/or food and I am afraid, from what we saw, the general state of cleanliness suffers badly as the day wears on.  But apart from that, we had a very good stay and the fact that the attached roadhouse provided hot meals until the early evening would indeed be a boon for those less inclined to self cater.

My previous day's marathon behind the wheel prompted something of a planning re-think as we left S Bend. A three night stopover in Cervantes (and a crayfish meal courtesy of an unexpected tax windfall) was now on the agenda. 





Our trip to Cervantes now took us along a hitherto untraveled stretch of the Indian Ocean Drive. We had previously visited Green Head and Jurien Bay, but had not made it to Leeman, a town about which we had heard good reports.

It was good to again be travelling through the low coastal heath and sand hill country of this part of the coast on a good road which offered constant glimpses of the blue waters of the Indian Ocean.






And today's was a much more measured jaunt. After a cruise around Leeman, which indeed looked as promising a place to stay for a while as we had been told, we were soon in familiar territory again as we cantered through Jurien Bay and off the highway into Cervantes where we duly took up residence for three nights.

Given the degree to which I rattled on about Cervantes and its surrounds, including of course the famous nearby Pinnacles National Park and the Stromatolites of the even closer Lake Thetis, I'll not challenge your reading patience with a repeat performance.

We did indeed just put our feet up during this stay apart from a resumption of the increasingly necessary daily long walks which had fallen by the wayside for obvious reasons during our Carnarvon stay.  Before the weather turned on us somewhat we did wander down to the front of the park for sunset drinks, where despite the lack of cloud to provide a palette of pinks and reds, we were treated to a real golden glory.

With a few of the local cray fleet in silhouette in the foreground, this was indeed a real Cervantes sunset. We felt very much at home.

Our immediate park neighbours were a charming and entertaining couple from Busselton. When I mentioned during the course of one happy hour that we had planned to indulge in the local speciality, a lobster meal, they joined us eagerly. After careful consideration of the various options, we chose the local roadhouse where a post 1700 hours BYO was available to complement the various seafood dishes on offer.






We had the place to ourselves.....this is decidedly the quiet time of the tourist year.











So, armed on arrival with cold bags, bottles and glasses, we settled in for a feast....well at least your correspondent went for 'the works'. The whole cray, seafood platter was definitely on my agenda. Sadly the cray itself had been too long in the freezer and was somewhat dry, but the hot offerings of fish and other briny delicacies were first class. I refused to let the small setback of a less than succulent cray detract from the enjoyment of what was the biggest seafood feast I had enjoyed for ages. $58 very well spent!



And so we departed Cervantes the following morning, probably for the last time, replete in several ways. The break had been just the shot.....to Liz's extraordinary surprise, I had even managed to sit reading for more than ten minutes!

The less than 200 kms hop to the Kingsway park in northern suburbs of Perth was a doddle, apart from the unplanned, enforced stop to replace the bedding the Max's cage. He had been unsettled from the very outset of this leg of our trip. I had a sinking feeling that there was a very good and unpleasant reason for this. By the time I had come across a parking bay where we could pull off the highway and offer Max his kitty litter it was five minutes too late.....it is at times like this he is very much Liz's cat.  I stretched my legs with an air of contrived stoicism whilst she ministered appropriately to our now very much relieved feline companion.  At least he slept for the remainder of the trip and I do have to concede his toiletry blemishes have been rare indeed.

But this was just the beginning of a troublesome day indeed.  All went well on our arrival back in Kingsway where we had been allocated the site we had last occupied. We had heard that the park ferals had been cleaned out, and, to our relief and delight this indeed appeared to be the case.  

We were set up in no time. Our few days back in Perth were to be taken up in the main with visits to friends, old and new. All that remained to be done now was a trip to the nearby Dan Murphy's to obtain the necessary supplies for the planned festivities of the morrow with Prue and John Finlay-Jones.

We left the park under increasingly glowering skies in the north. A storm had been forecast and it appeared imminent. After checking the radar, I decided we had at least half an hour in which to complete our mission. This was a sad misjudgement.

As we left Dan's and turned north onto Wanaroo Road, I had a feeling of real foreboding....the sky in front of us was inky.  Low, ragged edged cloud masses were hurtling southwards driven by the ever increasing northerly wind squalls as an eerie calm descended on us......but not for long. My hopes of making it back to the park before the storm hit us were dashed.  Within the next minute we heard a loud bang on the roof of the cruiser. I thought at first we had been hit by a tree branch, but only for a second as we found ourselves driving head on into lashing winds, teeming rain and the largest hailstorm I have ever seen.

The noise was horrendous and we had absolutely nowhere to go for shelter. All we could do was to crawl forward with the other traffic in almost zero visibility, hoping against hope that no one would hit us from behind and that the noise on the roof and the kayak was not being accompanied by serious hail damage.

As we edged back to the park, every spot of available shelter under the shrubs of the median strip had been taken up by vehicles slotted in on all angles. We pressed on. When will this end, and what will we find when we get back?  Have the awning straps held?  Will the solar panels on the van roof survive this onslaught of ice? 

By the time we finally limped onto our site, the worst was over. We had been the victims of one of those ferocious, highly localised thunder cells which pass quickly but leave a trail of destruction behind them. 

As we expected, based on previous experience on this site, we were flooded. Torrents of water were streaming down the park roadway, across the adjoining slab and under our van. We sploshed our way from the cruiser, literally ankle deep in icy water, onto the sodden mat on our slab. Ah well, at least I'll not now have to wash all the Carnarvon dust off it.

I had set up shade cloth protection on the southern end of the van on the strength of the forecast. As this photo shows, the storm hit from the north.

You can see the residual hailstones and leaf debris which had been driven right though the annex area. We now saw just how strong the winds had been.






Ice was banked along the nearby garden beds. The park roadways were utterly littered with leaves and small branches smashed and whipped off by the lashing hail. Surely we must have sustained damage.




Ignoring the continuing heavy rain, I made a nervous inspection of the truck. The skin could not have possibly survived unscathed. But to my enormous relief it had, and as a bonus, I discovered that a good dose of hail does wonders for the removal of accumulated road grime and the sticky bodies of squashed highway bugs.  The cruiser was glisteningly clean and intact.




So far so good. Now for the van, which as you can see was surrounded by flood water, hailstones and assorted tree debris. Apart from the flooded floor mats and the silt which had inundated the annex area we seemed to have survived.....until I looked up that is!







Where did that water dribbling down the inside of the awning come from? Through tear holes in the fabric was the answer.They were not easy to spot at first, but on closer examination there was no doubt...the hail had done a job on us. This is just one of the total of 19 such impact tears we found and marked.




Bugger!  But that's what insurance is for. Mind you, it was beginning to seem as though every time we came to Perth we would end up in contact with one insurance company or another.

CIL were great. I contacted the 24 hour hot line immediately and within no time things were under way. To cut another longish story short, we are hopeful that, after a number of phone calls, measurements, photos and e-mails completed today (Monday 20 Oct), that the replacement awning will be ready for installation at the same time as the new roof tension rafter which we have already arranged to have fitted in Busselton next week. A brand new awning fitted for an excess of $200....that works for us. This storm cloud did indeed have a sliver lining.

So much for an uneventful arrival back in Perth. Things had to get better from here....and indeed they did as shall be revealed in the next missive from the MobileMarshies.

PS Yes, after Carnarvon, we are freezing!

CARNARVON - THE SHIP'S CAT, A LOCAL DISGRACE, THE RSL, THE MARKET AND MORE (OCTOBER 2014)

When I referred to Max's sojourn at the local vet's in my last, I suddenly realised it has been quite some time since the ship's cat made it onto these pages (pages...oh, well, the electronic version at least) Let me dedicate the beginning of this, my last Carnarvon missive, to some of the recent activities of the Black Panther.

Max just loves it when we drop anchor for some time and he can get his bearings. He is particularly happy when the annex goes up....ah, security and a small patch I can prowl about with complete confidence!

Not that he really does too much prowling, other than his obligatory sniff about first thing each morning to re-mark his territory. His idea of being a guard cat is much more laid back, especially now that he has his own chair (the seat of this one is beginning to split with age and wear....we've invested in a new 'lounge' type chair so now Max has his own and doesn't pester us to make way)

Mind you he has been busy on occasions. After breakfast in bed

he will often line up for his turn on the computer. "Not this morning, Max, I'm busy."

"Oh well, if you don't want my able assistance, I'll retire hurt. Wake me when it's time for lunch!"

Max is definitely one very relaxed current Carnarvon cat. We'll see how things change once we are again on the road.

As we prepare to leave Carnarvon it has become time for a few reflective moments. I could not complete our report of our stay here without a parting shot at the town elders. Let me begin by quoting directly from the 'Catch You In Carnarvon' tourist booklet.

"HMAS Sydney II Memorial Drive was constructed at the south entrance to Carnarvon in 2001. This avenue of 645 plaques and palms along the road identifies the individual loss of life from this tragic battle."

Having had the privilege of visiting the splendid Sydney memorial in Geraldton, I foolishly assumed that this 'avenue' would be something to see. Indeed it was, for all the wrong reasons.  








This is the 'avenue of palms'













and here are some of the memorial plaques.













I could not help but wonder, for example, what the relatives of Ordinary Seaman John Philip DeGracie would think of this (if they have seen it).




And this is one of the two main entrance roads into Carnarvon for goodness sake .......a main gateway to the town. When I quietly voiced my concerns amongst my friends at the local RSL with the comment that Liz and I both felt it would have been better to have done nothing than to have perpetrated this travesty, the table erupted in a babble of incensed agreement. I have no way of knowing whether or not it is true, but we were told that the now ragged and scrawny palms were planted contrary to expert advice. This would seem to be borne out by the fact that some smaller, more robust varieties have replaced a number of the originals, but only in patches.  

I went on to ask why there had been no barrier erected along the length of this part of the entrance road to clearly define and separate this 'avenue of honour' from the bleak landscape to the north and south of it. I was told that the same question had been asked by many local residents who remain both equally baffled and severely embarrassed by the current state of affairs. This entire project seems to be one characterised by good intentions marred by poor execution.





The final insult from my (clearly outraged) perspective lay in the fact that the plaques stood in the bare red sand of the area.  Look what we found further along this very same road as we neared the town. Someone at city hall has extraordinarily confused priorities.




Speaking of the RSL, one of the highlights of our stay in Carnarvon has been the welcoming manner in which Liz and I have been accepted by the local members. They are not large in number, but from what we have seen they are an active bunch indeed.

Friday evenings at the 'Rissle' have been a regular feature of my stay here. And why not? Good mates, lashings of nibbles, and cans of Kilkenny for $4.00, served in iced handle glasses direct from the freezer.  The pool table has been the site of many close fought contests between Watto and your scribe (the current score shall remain unannounced!)  

Foolishly I did not take the camera most evenings (and on the night I did it was exceptionally quiet), but have captured a couple of shots of one of our gatherings in the recently completed outdoor entertaining area.






As is the case with most clubs, there are one or two real live wires who keep things running. The fellow next to yours truly at the end of the table is just such a bloke. 





Syd can turn his hand to anything (and often does for all and sundry) and is always on deck on Friday afternoons preparing the nibbles trays and more often than not, a light meal to follow. He is a real champion and someone for whom I have developed genuine respect. The only time Syd cannot be found around the town is when he is off on the station mail run, a round trip of over 700 kms on dirt tracks, some of which are seriously challenging. Syd is the 'real deal'.





Although this particular evening was not well attended, it was a different matter on Vietnam Veterans' Day when a modest but attentive crowd assembled at and near the War Memorial










to listen to the address delivered by the RSL President Sandy McGinn. 











Wreaths were laid and heads were lowered as the Last Post sounded out over the gathering. The flags were raised to the mast heads as The Rouse then rang out through the speakers whilst the club chaplain and secretary looked on.









And then, of course, it was back to the clubhouse for a few thirst quenching ales and the traditional BBQ lunch.  









I had volunteered to wield a pair of tongs, so off came the blazer and on went my trusty Harrods apron (that was the only thing I could afford in that emporium when I visited in 1972!) and away we went. "I'll see to the onions if you do the snags, Bruno."










This was thirsty work, or at least that was the view of 'The Pres.' Sandy kept appearing with Kilkenny refills. It would have been churlish to object.






The weather was ideal for al fresco dining, the company was lively, the snags were hot, the onions were perfect (of course), the bread was fresh, the salads crisp and the beer was ice cold....just the recipe for a jolly good afternoon. I have to make the frank admission that the insistant tug on my left earlobe by 'she who certainly must be obeyed in these circumstances' (it would have been a long walk home and I had no money left for a cab) came none too soon.  A few of my fellow revellers of the day later confided that they had wished their departure had coincided with mine.  "Thanks, Liz."

As a quick postscript, our travel plans for 2015 are such that we should be back in Carnarvon for Anzac Day.  I certainly hope so. We would love to share it with this good bunch of blokes.

One of the inevitable outcomes of an extended stay in the one town, is that things become familiar. What else should I include here before we leave? A few final snippets, hopefully of interest.

We have not eaten out much in Carnarvon. Like everywhere else in WA dining out is an expensive exercise, particularly if a few beers are involved, and we have been tending to reserve these treats for special occasions. I have already included shots of a few of the local hotels and restaurants, save these two, which could not be more different.

The River Gums Cafe is a delight.  Although the river is nothing but a dry bed, the cafe, which is actually located on a working plantation, serves very fairly priced meals of high quality in a leafy, colourful setting. But it can be tricky getting there the first time. 




Never let it be said the locals are averse to recycling. How else would one use an old cement truck mixing barrel? If this appears quirky, 

it is merely sets the scene for the entrance road which takes potential munchers across a dry river annabranch 

with its cautionary navigation speed warning. Someone at the River Gums has a real sense of humour....











this is the 'channel'

The entrance track meanders through the working property in which the River Gums can be found

until one reaches the car park where there are bananas on one side and mangoes on the other.

Beyond the stand of mango trees lies a real oasis of green lawns,

brightly coloured flowering shrubs,

and, at the edge of the garden eating area, the oddly convoluted trunks of a couple of the many river gums which give this charming eatery its name.













Beyond the gums, the Gascoyne, of course, is nothing but a dry river bed










but that is of little consequence when there is so much more on offer.














The cafe itself is quite small, but provides a fine range of snacks and meals which can be eaten under cover 














or at one of the many outdoor settings.













I was relieved (yes, pun intended) to discover that the outside 'dunny'











has been upgraded. As is probably obvious from the plethora of River Gums photos, this is one Carnarvon establishment which really appealed to us. 









The nearby Sandhurst Hotel is the complete antithesis of the River Gums. This is the only Carnarvon pub situated well outside the precincts of the CBD, as you may well guess looking at its surrounds 









the landscape across the road.  As I have previously mentioned, the back blocks of Carnarvon are bleak indeed and becoming more so as the weather warms and the winds increase.





'The Sandy's' nondescript appearance, which is maintained to some degree inside, belies the fact that this hostelry serves nightly specials which are very good value for money and consistently tasty. We sampled the fare a few weeks and can confirm the advice we were given that this is very much a 'locals' pub.

And if the hotel looks somewhat down at heel, it fades into total insignificance when viewed against the residence next door.......yes, the publican still lives here! This is Carnarvon!








Before we leave the subject of Carnarvon hotels, The Port Hotel on Robinson Street was once owned and operated by none other than that prince of the redneck, racist pollies, Charles Wilson (Ironbar) Tuckey. 

It was here in Carnarvon that he acquired the infamous nickname which I once, to my complete astonishment, heard him defend with something bordering on pride. The incident which gave rise to the nickname saw Tuckey later charged with assault after it was alleged he whacked an aboriginal man with a length of steel cable whilst he (the victim) was (allegedly) being pinned to the ground. No further comment necessary!

Despite this and other antics, Tuckey did certainly involve himself in public life. Before he was elected to the Federal Parliament as the member for O'Connor in 1980, a seat he held until 2010, Tuckey had been the Mayor of Carnarvon between May 1964 until March 1965, and indeed was its last.  When the local authority then became The Shire of Carnarvon, Tuckey continued in his role, but now as the Shire President, until June 1971. 

During his career in Federal politics he held several ministries under a number of Liberal leaders. His verbal parliamentary stouches with Paul Keating are a thing of legend and for Wilson Tuckey, ejection from the House of Reps for unparliamentary behaviour or language was a common occurrence. It was always something to watch when 'Ironbar' developed a head of steam. Unfortunately his ultra right-wing views resulted in some extraordinarily undignified behaviour for a man in his position, including, for example, walking out of the House as Kevin Rudd rose to deliver his 'apology to the Aboriginal people'. What an enigma!


Not far from the Port Hotel, at the Civic Centre complex, Carnarvon hosts a weekly farmers' market throughout 'the season', which in this case means the high tourist season.....from April to mid October. 

Here locals and tourists (usually in the majority) can wander about the stalls at the front

through the internal alleyway











and out the back, which was always my destination. Here the local growers stand behind tables laden with fresh produce.....beans, tomatoes, sweet corn, bananas, chillies, and fruits in season.











It is wise to have breakfast before this foray.....one of the local church groups is always on hand conjuring up the (almost) irresistible early morning smells associated with bacon and eggs rolls and an array of different hamburgers.  









For those with a sweeter tooth, the tiny doughnut like delights and aromatic coffee dispensed with gusto from this stall certainly fit the bill. (someone doesn't need any more pastry)





And, as with most markets, members of the idiot fringe are given space to peddle their non-scientific nonsense. I resisted having a crack at those self righteously promoting this board full of mumbo jumbo for all but one of my visits (when Liz wasn't with me!) Our exchange was short and sharp, centred on how grateful they should be that this wonderful country of ours allows even this sort of claptrap to be publicly peddled by those with limited scientific qualifications. (don't even think about getting me started on the non-immunisation for babies lot!)

With spleen vented, tasty tomatoes and brilliant beans tucked up in my rucksack, it was back to camp where it was my turn to be self righteous....the bacon and egg rolls had been eschewed in favour of my daily dose of far less appealing high fibre cereal. 

Our last week here has been coloured by some local excitement of a less than positive nature.

The resident butcher birds were the first to spot it as it slithered its way stealthily through the somewhat lengthy lawn grasses at the rear of our van. They were dive bombing this unwelcome visitor with vigour, a fact that did not go unnoticed by two nearby permanent residents. Liz and Max were enjoying a leisurely patrol of the site when, from inside the van (yes I was blogging!) I heard, "Watch out Liz", followed almost instantly by a very rapid opening of the van door and the rocket like entrance of a sensibly retreating Liz, Max in arms.








A yellow-faced whip snake was on the prowl.....and it was almost impossible to spot in the grass. But it did not escape the attention of our neighbours and, in light of the fact it would not retreat and adopted an attack pose, it soon met a sticky end.










Curled up on the blade of the weapon of its demise, the reptile did not look too nasty, but these snakes could well put paid to Max, and if its attention was turned towards some unsuspecting human, inflict a very painful, worrying bite. 





Historically, very few of these have been fatal, but this statistic was not one we were at all keen to test. I mowed the grass to bowling green height within the hour and our subsequent forays around the park became journeys on which it was very much 'eyes down'.  I am pleased to report that this was an isolated incident, but for a few days after this event every fallen stick on the ground seemed to emulate the staff of Moses and come to life!

On a much lighter note I have another of those 'guess who we met on the road' stories. The fact that I've been silent on this topic for some time now does not mean we have not been continuing to have these encounters, but the tale I'm about to relate is, as they say, 'right up there'!

A few days ago my phone rang...it was the custodian of the park office. "Can you help put someone on site 80?"  Shortly thereafter, Tim and Lorraine Young pulled up and I duly guided Tim onto the site behind us. Little more was said at that time other than to acknowledge that we were both South Australians.

As I was watering around our site the following evening we struck up a conversation as often happens between neighbours, particularly amongst those from the same city who are far from home. Again, nothing out of the ordinary....a short, shared synopsis of our lives including the reasons for being on the road. 

And then, the next morning when I was offering some local advice, I heard Lorraine say,"Go on Tim, ask him." The question was duly put. "What is your son's name?"  "Cameron, why do you ask?"

I'll cut the remainder of the tale short here other than to leave you to ponder the incredible odds against being the park neighbours of a woman who was, for quite some time, the head of the unit in the Education Department in which Cam worked for two years. Not only that, they had, as a couple, entertained Cam at dinner in their Gilles Street home on more that one occasion.  This was mind numbing stuff.  As you could expect I was on the phone in a flash to number one son who, as you would expect, shared my incredulity at such a quirk of fate. Needless to say we invited the Youngs in for happy hour on the eve of their departure and are very much hoping to again catch up with them in Albany over the summer.


So on that extraordinary note, we turn to our departure preparations. The list is lengthy. We are about to rejoin the gypsies. I have already astounded the Matron by re-attaching the brass water inlet pressure valve to the chassis with tech screws and replacing two of the attached water pipes. 







The water heater anode, which, to my delight, demonstrated the fact that our newly acquired water filter is doing its job, has been replaced. The filter itself was previously attached to the rear bumper by a totally self-surprised, self-satisfied yours truly. And, to top it off, I also managed to locate, cut down and replace a tiny screw which had somehow dislodged itself from the small tap which changes the direction of the gas flow from one cylinder to the other. 

All that now remains is to dismantle and stow all the fishing gear, wash, dismantle and pack the annex, take up and pack the floors and skirt, wash the van, the awning and the cruiser (since the winds have arrived we are inches thick with dust), dismantle and pack the solar night lights, detach and pack the annex LED light strip, check and inflate all tyres and the rear coil air bags, fill the water tanks, sort out stowage for a new water hose, repack and replace the Waco into the rear of the truck, clean the Weber and repack it under the bed, dismantle, clean and stow all three outdoor tables, clean the grit from the interior, re-affix the large ladder to the rear pole holder, check the battery in the break away system, test the water heater and fridge on gas operation, re-organise the boot space, attach the safety chain shackles, and grease the tow-ball and weight distribution hitch keeper sockets. 

And that's only the 'Outside Boy's' stuff.....the 'Inside Girl' has her own task list of packing and strapping to make sure we are not opening cupboards of chaos at our next stop. But it is still such good fun!

The forecast winds for our departure day are solidly on the nose....20-35 kph. We plan to hitch and occupy a drive-through site on Monday night with a view to setting off at 0600 hours (first light) the following morning. Hopefully we'll be able to put a good 200 kms behind us before the wind stiffens as the day advances. 

First night destination?.....unknown.....other than the fact that, at this stage, we have shelved our plan to spend it on Gladstone Hill gazing at the sunset over the plains to Shark Bay.....in these winds we would have to strap ourselves into our chairs and chain the van down with cables and star pickets just to stay put!


With three days now to go, and work to be done, this will be my last blog from Carnarvon. We are not indulging in a 'formal farewell'.  This took place a week ago when we joined in the staff function at which we said goodbye to Tina and Ray. (Tina worked as the park cleaner for the past two months) Chef Pierre was O/C entrees.  As you would have guessed, Mum's famous bacon savouries were on the menu.....and the recipe has now been passed on to yet more enthusiasts.

The park owner had left three more than average bottles of red for the occasion (all South Australian and one a seriously good Coonawarra Cab Sav no less). What a sensible chap Matt is!

It really was a good night and as you can see at least one of us took the dress standard seriously, much to the bewilderment of a number of park guests who were also using the camp kitchen.

As a matter of record the revellers are, from the left, Ali (who wielded the second whipper snipper with me at the settling ponds and has now taken over the cleaning role) Liz, your scribe, Tina and Ray and the park mangers Suzanne and Paul. 


Liz and I got on famously with Tina and Ray. We hosted them to farewell drinks in our annex which was also an excuse to use up the last of the bacon savouries and clear some more freezer space. Ray was more than happy. Liz is convinced that these are a 'man thing'. She may be right. 









We have been part of a great team, and we'll undoubtedly miss quite a bit of our life at The Plantation. But the winds of spring are well and truly here and if there was any doubt as to their impact, let me provide some of nature's proof.

The blossoms of early spring have dropped and fruit set has begun on the Carnarvon mango trees. Table grapes on vines spread out over Shaw trellises are filling out under their green leafy canopies.
















Morel's pumpkin patch, just planted on our arrival, is now ready for harvest.

Carnarvon is on the cusp of summer shut-down. Morel's, that marvellous mecca of fresh fruit and varied veggies just down the road has shut its gates......












for the entire summer.











The Saturday markets are now a thing of the past for 2014. The junction of Robinson Street and the North-West Highway is no longer clogged with caravans streaming south to Perth and beyond like the returning swallows of spring.

The Plantation too has emptied. From being one of over twenty vans in the back two rows of the park, we are now on our own but for a huge Montana fifth wheeler and a long term resident opposite.

Many of the Carnarvon locals have begun their annual lamentation about the pending approach of the heat, dust, winds and flies of summer. The emotional shut down has begun. It is akin to a dry weather version of the 'build up' season in the tropics.

Liz and I almost feel like locals ourselves after spending 122 days here. We too are in the throes of a mood swing as the invisible Valkyries of spring, screaming in like banshees on the southern winds, relentlessly tear at the fabric of the awning and shake the van. The trees of the park are resolutely bending their backs against the onslaught with harsh rustles of leafy protest. Dust devils are beginning a constant march across the bare suburban paddocks. We are now fighting a daily battle inside the van against the dusty grime which is continually accumulating on every flat surface. Facing the wrong way during an outdoor conversation will reward the unwary talker with a gritty bite. The relative calm of winter has given way to the wild windy weather of spring.....WA! 

We know we have left our run south a few weeks too late.....a fact about which we are now being constantly reminded by those hunkering down for the summer...the employment offer was too good to refuse and we felt some sense of obligation to stay until the end of the school holidays when asked to do so. 

But it is now definitely time to go. Our minds are already elsewhere. The quiet thrill of anticipation of further adventures is beginning to creep over us. A wonderful and completely unexpected chapter of our life on the road is coming to a close.  A new one is about to begin.

Farewell Carnarvon. We have enjoyed the ride!