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.
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!
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