Christmas Day at Ned's Camp

Previously I made mention of the German tourists whom decided that a cigarette paper thickness was all the room required between adjacent campsites, and how I had warned them of my loud snoring. - well, the first thing that I noticed upon the rising of the Sun on Christmas Day, was that they had moved during the night. Neither Sue nor I heard the vehicle start, so we can only assume that they pushed the car out and across the car park to the far side - very considerate of them. So began Christmas on the beach at Ned's Camp.

Pancakes with strawberries and cream, freshly brewed coffee, beautiful views and one again, no sea breeze, started the day off perfectly. There was no exchange of gifts - what could people that have everything they need in life possibly give each other for Christmas? Instead we sat and enjoyed the murmuring banter of the other campers as we discussed our plans for when we moved on. We had decided to give Warroora (pronounced "Worra") a second chance.

The only time we had visited Warroora previously, the wind howled so strongly that I had to tie the camper top (we had a Kimberley Kamper in those days) to the car to stop it from closing itself! Our dinghy, which used to lay over on its side so that the Kamper could open, was half filled with windswept sand - requiring me to shovel it out before we could swing it back over onto the roof. We spent a terrible night cooped up inside the Kamper, sheltering from the wind, eating cold baked beans out of the can because it was too windy to use the stove outside. That is why I say that we were giving Warroora a second chance. We were right in the middle of the west coast sea breeze season, which did not fill us with a great deal of confidence, but the lack of sea breeze at Ned's camp was promising.

We determined to head off on Boxing Day, meaning that we will have spent five days at Ned's Camp. This would leave us with about three days of water left in the tanks, so we planned on a three day stay at Warroora before heading into Carnarvon to top up the tanks. Planning done, we made our way to the beach for an early morning swim.

The water was chrystal clear and comfortably cool, with groups of like-minded people dotted along the shoreline in both directions also enjoying a tranquil Christmas swim. My sore back enjoyed the weightlessness of being immersed up to my neck in the briny. I was still taking an anti-inflammatory pill after breakfast each day and it was effective in reducing the pain but was clearly not fixing the problem. I had no thoughts of casting a fishing line because of the pain it caused.

After the swim Sue grabbed her electronic book and I did some more housekeeping on the van. The lack of sea breeze was accompanied by constantly overcast conditions, when combined with the fact that two of the four solar panels were constantly shaded by the trees, meant that we were going further into deficit with our power usage each day. I read the meter and we we down to 53% capacity, something that would have had me well and truly rationing power with the old batteries, but now had me only mildly concerned. If we could see out one more day we could charge the batteries with the car while travelling to Warroora.

The overcast skies also keep the temperature down, albeit at the expense of increased humidity. These unusual conditions (for this time of the year) seemed to be taking there toll on the wildlife and we were blessed with the company of a Nankeen Kestrel whom decided to have a siesta on the roof of our car. The seemingly distressed bird allowed me to approach within a metre to take photographs, before eventually flying off after an hour of cooling down.

This was one of the few times that the Kestrel opened its eyes.



You can see how closely I was able to approach this bird.

 Lunch was the Spangled Emperor that we had thawed out previously. Again, lightly dusted in seasoned flour and fried on the BBQ was the order of the day. The last of our fresh salad was used as a side-dish and the champagne (Bella) came out to wash it down. Delicious! One cannot eat and drink fine food and beverages such as this without taking a Nanna Nap to aid digestion and this was made all the more easy by the moderate weather conditions.

I was awoken from my slumber by the arrival of my new friend Paul. He and Trevor were back to murder some more fish, even on Christmas day! I helped them launch the dinghy and wished them well as they set off to Paul's secret spot to use his secret technique to bring in more Emperor. Secretly I was actually wishing that they weren't too successful, my reasoning being that they had already pulled their fair share of fish from the sea. As it transpired they only got a single fish on the day, which then made me feel guilty for putting the "mockers" on them.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent chatting with other campers, swimming and doing nothing (something that I am becoming increasingly adept at doing.) We were both suffering from the normal Christmas Day problem of having eaten excessively and so it was that a light snack was all that we were able to partake of for supper.

The "black hole" effect of having no mobile phone reception meant no communication with family or friends and this was probably the only negative for the day. As the Sun approached the horizon I began to pack things away in preparation for our move further south to Warroora. All that was left to do in the morning was to hook up the van and head off.

Ned's Camp and the Mysterious Missing Sea-breeze

Day three of our new adventure started with a walk along the beach from Ned's Camp to the "Mesa", a rock formation that briefly interrupts the white, sandy, beach that runs much of the length of the Cape. The sand was very soft and had quite a slope to the water's edge. We just couldn't find a place between the high and low watermarks where the sand was firmer under foot than the rest of the beach, so we trudged along.




The view along the beach from Ned's camp to the Mesa. Note the deep footprints in the soft sand.

  We both enjoy walking but this was just plain hard work. By the time we had reached the Mesa I knew that something wasn't right as I experienced twinges in my back. By the time we had made the return journey I was in trouble. Yep, my back was done-in. This was a sorry state of affairs - how was I going to catch any fish if I couldn't even cast my line into the briny?

We had breakfast and when I attempted to get up from my chair, I couldn't. I necked down an anti-inflammatory tablet, knowing that it would only mask the pain and not fix the problem. None-the-less, it gave me enough freedom to indulge in my favourite pastime, fishing. I toddled back down to the beach with my 4 lb outfit and a soft-plastic lure and was rewarded with a nice Giant Trevally after just a few casts. The fish wasn't huge but was a lot of fun on light gear. It was handled gently and returned to the water to fight another day.

Minutes later I was on again, this time it was easy to tell that the fish was bigger. More than ten minutes elapsed before I was able to land another GT, about 50 cm in length. Again the fish was returned to the water. Trevally are fun to catch but are Neighbour Fish. That  is, you catch them and give them to your neighbour, or you let them go.

I'd had enough fun for the time-being and wandered back to the camp where Sue was reading and enjoying the peaceful surroundings. The weather was quite hot, with an offshore breeze that we found out later was baking the poor buggers on the other side of the Cape, at Exmouth. I sat down and busied myself doing bugger all - and lots of it, I might add. One of my pastimes, at places like this, is to watch the endless parade of European tourists as they drive in and out of each place on the map, taking in the scenery or looking for a place to camp for the night. I try and figure out just what it is that is keeping their vehicle from expiring and what it is that they will use for an excuse to come over and talk to us, before asking for something.

Sometimes they'll bring a map over and ask about different places, before then asking if we can spare any water, or detergent, or fuel, or whatever. I know it sounds harsh, but I give them nothing. We planned properly for our trip. By giving them some of our stuff it just makes our plans go awry. I honestly don't understand what the appeal is of living like grubs while travelling around Oz at breakneck pace in beaten up jalopies?

As it happens, we were only accosted by two different groups on this particular day. One used the map excuse and the other asked about the camping fees (a subject he would have known about as he had to drive past the same National Park entrance as we did and all the information was there.) I guess they sussed out that we weren't too forthcoming with info and neither tried to bot anything from us (although the first guy did manage to beg some fish from a couple of blokes who arrived at the beach in a dinghy.)

As the day unfolded we were forced to plunge ourselves bodily into the briny to cool off. There was still no sign of the expected sea-breeze. The water was cool and refreshing (unlike the water at Cossack, where the river and nearby beach were both 34 degrees!) Remembering my experience at Ningaloo Station the year before, where I would no sooner take the plunge and sharks would appear out of nowhere, I constantly scanned the area around me until I was convinced that the waters here seemed to be free of nasties.

After the dip I busied myself with some housekeeping duties as Sue went back to her book (well back to the words on her iPad actually - not the same as real books IMHO, but a necessity if you wish to cut down on weight when travelling.) I had installed a new set of Lithium batteries in the van and I was keen to keep an eye on their performance. I recorded the readings and was pleased to see that they were back to full charge by 11:00 AM. Not bad considering that we are running two compressor fridges and a fan almost constantly, not to mention the transient load from lights and so on.

We snacked on fresh fruit and cheeses for lunch, following which I gingerly wandered around the campsite to see if I knew anyone there. I didn't, but as usual I found myself fascinated by the many and varied "rigs" that people choose for their travels. Around mid afternoon the wind did change to a pitiful excuse for a sea breeze, but it was enough to knock a couple of degrees off of the temperature. Definitely an occasion worth celebrating with a nice, cool bevvy.

Although the breeze did drop away to nothing before we retired for the night, the Fantastic Hatch in the van was able to supply a cooling draught, enabling us to sleep well. For those whom don't know, a Fantastic Hatch is simply a wind-up hatch in the van roof, in our case over the bed, in which is mounted a 12 Volt fan. The fan has three speeds and has a thermostat that will turn the fan off once the air temperature gets to whatever you set it up at. Ours was working perfectly and sometime during the night it dutifully shut itself off.

We woke up just after dawn and I was curious to see what condition the batteries were in after a full night's work without the benefit of any charge going into them. They still had 73% capacity available (53% technically, as they should not be discharged more than 80% of their total capacity. meaning that 20% is basically unusable.) Anyway, enough of the techo BS, I was happy with what I saw and I knew that a cloudy day was forecast, so this would be a good test for them.

Because the campsite is fringed by tamarisk trees and we had no choice but to park the van under them, two of our four solar panels would be permanently shaded, so I unpacked the portable, 5th,  panel and set it up in the open. With the cloudy day imminent, it would be good to have everything working in our favour. I set off to the beach, hoping to catch a fish for brecky.

After just a couple of minutes I was on....and on in a big way. I could see flashes of silver 40 metres, then 50, then 60 metres off shore as the unknown fish peeled line off of my screaming fishing reel. I pretty much knew that this was another Trevally. After losing about 80 metres of line to the fish I finally managed to stop it, only to witness my line turn and travel parallel with the shoreline. Try as I might, I couldn't get any line back for about 10 minutes.

Finally the fish gave in and made a fast run straight at me. I wound line in frantically, trying to keep tension on it so that the fish couldn't throw the hook. The fish got to within 30 metres of the shore before coming to its senses and turning away again, but it was tiring and I was able to keep the next run to a minimum. By now a crowd was gathering, including the ubiquitous backpackers (no doubt sensing a feed in the offing) and I was praying that I didn't lose the fish before we all got a look at it. My fears now turned to sharks.

Many a fisho will have had the heartbreaking experience of hooking a decent sized fish, only to have a shark nip it off neatly behind the gills and leaving the poor angler with just the head. I scanned the waters and, sure enough, there was a four-foot shape hanging back about 30 metres off my fish. I tightened the drag on my reel as much as I dared and leaned into the fish some more, silently cursing my decision to use my light tackle again.

I was puzzled that this fish appeared to be quite long - too long for an inshore Trevally, but eventually realised that the hooked fish was being tailed by another Trevally of equal size, thus giving the appearance of one long fish. The second fish did not peel-off until the hooked fish was only a couple of metres from the shore. The final five minutes of the fight were just a long grind. I'd win some line back and the fish would take most of it again. My arms were aching and I was getting chaffed where the butt of the rod was digging into my stomach. Eventually the fish was spent and could offer little more resistance than to turn itself side-on to my line and force me to drag it in.

As I pulled the flagging fish up the shore, aided my the small waves at the shoreline, the crowd milled around to have a look. The fish wasn't huge, possibly 65cm, but was very thick-set. Being a Trevally, a fish known for their fighting qualities, this majestic piscean had proven to be a real test on 4 lb gear and was my personal best for this species on the 4 lb line class.

A spectator kindly filmed me holding the fish up, then continued to film as I released it. The poor fish was buggered and took an unusually long time to get its wind back, before swimming off very slowly. The dark shape further out to sea had disappeared after I landed the fish and hopefully would not be around to take advantage of the Trevally's weakened state. This was to be the last filming done with my little GoPro camera. I didn't know it then, but it was to succumb to my stupidity just a few days hence. (That's another story to come soon.)


Trevally Caught at Ned's Camp - Last Ever Clips from GoPro Hero 2 from russell heaton on Vimeo.

It was only after all the action had quelled that I realised how hot it had gotten - so early in the morning as well. The forecast overcast conditions had not yet eventuated and it felt as though we were in for an uncomfortable day.

Breakfast was consumed with gusto, having worked up an appetite fighting the Trevally. Then it was a case of "What to do? What to do?" I decided to do pretty much "bugger all" and it was working quite well until I started to get bored sand o it was decided that we would reorganise the car and van. Other travellers will know that the item that you need the most is always packed underneath everything else, so having already decided that I got it all wrong when I packed things at Cossack, we set about taking everything out and reorganise it - so that the thing we need the most would be under a different pile of everything.

We killed a few hours doing the reorganisation and before we knew it, it was lunchtime. The reliable West Coast sea Breeze had still not made an appearance and the cloud cover was finally thickening, making conditions pretty sultry. I could see that we weren't going to make enough electricity from the little bit of sunshine that we were getting, meaning that we would go into deficit at the end of the day. This was not a major issue as my early calculations indicated that we would be able to go for another two days without sunshine before we would have to shut down any of the fridges.

The afternoon was spent cleaning fishing gear, dozing and enjoying the cool water of the Indian Ocean every time we got a bit overheated. Around mid afternoon the guy who was at the beach in the dinghy the first day we were here, made a reappearance. I had talked to both of the occupants of the dinghy on that first occasion and went over to have another chat with them. I was delighted when they asked me if I wanted to go out fishing with them. I raced back to our camp and grabbed my best ever Barra rod and tackle bag, blurted out to Sue that I was going fishing and then bolted back to the beach.

The gentlemen were Trevor and his Son, Paul. They were former residents of Exmouth, now living in the Southwest. They were on a mission to catch Spangled Emperor and nothing else. They certainly didn't get any argument from me and we set off over the calm waters inside the Ningaloo Reef, heading for Paul's secret spot. On the way, Paul explained his secret technique and it was unlike anything I had ever heard of before. Frankly, I wasn't sure that it was the best way to catch Emperor, going on the methods that I had used in the past, but I said nothing and went along with the plan.

The first place that we tried produced nothing. Paul wasn't filling me with confidence, but then he did come in the previous day with three nice sized fish, so I was prepared to wait it out. The second spot produced results within minutes, with Paul landing a nice fish more than 60 cm long. Trevor and I got simultaneous hook-ups that both turned out to be Trevally. These fish were a little smaller than the one I had caught earlier that day and, on heavier tackle, were landed much quicker (although they criss-crossed out lines several times, making a big tangle that had to be sorted out.).

Soon Paul had another Emperor aboard and I was getting worried that I might go home empty handed. Those fears were exacerbated when my next fish turned out to be a monstrous Northwest Blowfish. Trevor wasn't having much luck, losing the next two fish that he hooked, both times due to the knot at his hook failing. Paul got the shits on after the second time it happened and tied the hook on for his Dad. It was while he was doing this that I hooked and landed an Emperor, again over 60 cm in length.

Paul got the next fish, leaving only poor Trevor scoreless. Trevor had also made a misguided oath to himself that he would not crack open a beer until he had caught a fish that he could eat. As you can imagine, much good-natured jibing was directed at him as he suffered (not in silence, I might add), the torture of drinking water. Finally, Trevor was on and as the fish came to the surface it was clear that it was an Emperor. Some tense moments ensued as the fish was carefully brought aboard, breaking Trevor's drought (in both meanings of the word.) We had a nice feed on board and it was time to head back to shore.

Every fish caught was over 60 cm in length, more than 20 cm larger than the legal minimum size for this species. We had caught almost half of the allowable boat limit, but with fish this big, there was no need to carry on angling. Now, you may wonder why I haven't described where we went, or what the "secret" technique is? Well, it's like this. Paul made me swear that I would not divulge this information to anyone and I am bound by that promise. When a fisherman let's you in on a secret place/technique, it is very poor form to abuse that privilege. Suffice to say that the secret spot is accessible by kayak, but as for the technique, you would not guess it in a million years.

Back at shore we attracted a crowd of onlookers, including the ubiquitous back-packers (whom seem to materialise out of nowhere). Paul has a policy of not giving fish away if people ask for some, but he will give some to people whom are hanging around, asking questions, but not begging for some fish. On this occasion he gave some Trevally to a German family (who turned up earlier in the day and set up net to us.)

l-r Gordon, Kerry, Linda, Me (Russ), Paul, Trevor. Sue took the picture.

All of the fish were cleaned and filleted at the beach. Normally Paul would take his fish back to the "Table of Glory" (the fish cleaning table at the caravan park where he was staying) where he could boast to anyone who would listen, but as I had a fish to clean and he wanted to continue nattering, he decided to do it at the shore. Paul's Sister, Mother and Brother-in-Law were at the beach when we arrived and with this many people working, the filleting was done and dusted in no time.

The catch. The two fish on the left are Trevally, the remainder are Spangled Emeror.

Sue and I had now a dilemma. We had already taken a previously caught Emperor out of the freezer and had thawed it for that  night's meal. What to do? In the end it was decided to eat the fresh fish because the thawed one was cryo-packed and would be fine the next day. So it was that the fresh Emperor was lightly dusted in seasoned flour and fried on the BBQ, to be served with fresh salad. We made a valiant effort, but even with us both trying very hard, we couldn't eat all of that fish in one meal. The left overs were placed in the fridge for another time. It goes without saying that the fish was sensational.

It was Christmas Eve and the camps around us were filled with cheery holiday makers chatting and laughing into the evening. We were quite surprised at just how many people were away from their homes for Christmas. The Germans next door to us had parked their Campervan so close to our caravan that they couldn't fully open the bedside window adjacent to us. I went over to see them and politely pointed out that the window on our caravan, which was right next to the window of their campervan, was our bedroom window. I also made an exaggerated snoring noise before pointing at their window and saying "You sleep there." Then I pointed to the window on our van and said "I sleep there....and I snore very loudly."

They didn't move their vehicle, so we turned in and had a good night's sleep, thanks to our Fantastic Hatch and its effective fan. When I awoke the next morning I noticed that they had moved their vehicle at some stage during the night. I asked whether my snoring forced their move and I'm still not sure whether they were being diplomatic when they said that our caravan was blocking what little breeze there was, making it too hot to sleep, or whether I had kept them awake half the night. (Sue sleeps with earplugs.)

Next Post: Christmas at Ned's Camp.

Escape from Alcatraz and the Screams in the Night

Many of you reading this blog now will think that Sue and I have the best job in the World. In some respects this is probably true, but in others it is certainly not the case.

The upside is the great place to live, with the abundant natural beauty, the river teeming with life and the great weather during the cooler months. We also have a fair degree of autonomy to "run" Cossack the way that we feel is best.

The downside is the nature of the job: being on-duty around the clock -seven days a week, for nine months straight; being a virtual prisoner of the very place that we have grown to love - our contracts stipulate that at least one of us must be present at Cossack at all times, or at least make arrangements for someone to be present and finally, I regret to say, having to put up with decrees from "above" made by people whom have never taken the trouble to find out what it is that we really do.

Some would think that having a three month paid-break each year is something that you could only dream of - and it is - but working continuously for nine months wears one down. By the end of the nine months we are at the end of our tether. The three months off cannot come soon enough.

And so it was that this year, we made our preparations to travel with great anticipation. We had to get out of that place! We started preparing much earlier than we usually do. There was much to be done to get the caravan in working order, the most important item being to fix a leak in the roof. All preparations went as planned and we could see that we weren't going to be rushing around like mad things at the last minute - what a change that is!

With a couple of days to go before we were due to leave, it was time to empty out our house and pack our worldly possessions away. (Most of you will not know that we have to vacate the house that we live in so that the Relief Caretaker has a place to live. It's like moving house once a year, every year.) This is the trickiest time for us as we have to juggle packing the van with clothes and food, emptying the house but keeping enough "stuff" out to carry on our daily tasks and then at the last minute, make the transition to caravan and escape.

Along with this we have to do a handover with the Relief Caretaker. All the while, all that we want to do is get the Hell out of there. I thought that we would be ready by midday on the 21st December 2012 and Sue guestimated about two-thirty. Sue was closest, and at about three o'clock we finally rolled out of Cossack.

Much of the caravan preparation before leaving was directed at getting our vehicle and van weight legal. We have always travelled (unintentionally) overweight and it is a testament to the quality of the Land Rover that it was able to cope with the towball weight being almost double what it should have been and the van being more than 330 Kg too heavy! As we trundled off down the road it was immediately evident that the effort put into fixing this issue had made a difference. The Land Rover (albeit a new one) skipped off down the road without effort, with the the newly reconfigured, lighter, van following obediently behind.

Our faithful pooch, Jazz, was left behind to keep the relief Caretaker, Mark, company and to keep guard over Cossack. We will both miss her but simply cannot fit her in the car when we are packed to travel.

First stop was Karratha (45 Kms), where we took on some fuel and purchased some last-minute provisions (including the all-important booze.) While stopped I performed what was to become a ritual at each stop until we had traveled our first 1000 Km. I had to tighten the nut on a bolt that holds the new tow-hitch to the vehicle. This hitch replaces the Land Rover hitch, which is an abomination and does not allow the caravan to ride level. I had to buy two 24mm spanners just for this job.

Our intention was to get down the road to anywhere and stop for the night. Anywhere except Cossack was the imperative! We called in at Miaree Pool, just 25 Km south of Karratha, but found that camping was no longer permitted there. We checked out a couple of other minor stopping places but they were too close to the main highway and the noise that would be generated by the many trucks that trundle up and down it, day and night.

We do not have a kangaroo bar on the new vehicle, so driving after dark is strictly off the agenda. We were running out of options before finally deciding on stopping at "Rugged's Pub". Rugged is a friend from way back. He works on the Dampier to Bunbury Natural Gas Pipeline, which follows the main highway reasonably closely. Rugged doesn't mind a beer on a hot day and when the management of the Pipeline decreed that alcohol could no longer be consumed at the accommodation sites along the way, Rugged had to come up with an alternative. The alternative was a small cleared area on the McKay Creek, about 130 Km southwest of Karratha.

There was room enough to turn the van and enough level ground to be able to park such that we wouldn't roll out of the bed that night. We got there right on dusk. Fortunately, food preparation was unnecessary as Sue, always anticipating some sort of hiccup in our plans, had the forethought to buy us some "Macca's" while we were at Karratha. It would be the last time that we ate junk food for the foreseeable future.




First night campsite at "Rugged's Pub"


Typically for the inland Pilbara, the temperature was a balmy 34 degrees C when we arrived and there was little prospect of it cooling much before we tried to get some sleep. Part of the weight saving measures that we implemented was to leave our generator out. No generator means no air conditioning, so we were just going to have to tough it out.

Good fortune smiled upon us as we sat down to enjoy the light-show put on by a thunderstorm some 100 Km inland from us. That same storm, which initially did not appear likely to reach us and cool us down with some welcome rain, did in fact mange to do just that. It wasn't much rain but it managed to knock a few degrees off of the temperature, allowing us to get to sleep quite easily with just the hatch-mounted fan blowing air over us.

There is something about birds that call out in the middle of the night, especially birds like the Bush Stone Curlew. Click on the coloured link to listen to this guy in action, and imagine what this sounds like when it wakes you up in the middle of the night. Turn your speakers up loud - 'cause the birds sure are! Those screams are absolutely blood curdling and made twice as eerie by the fact that there were two of them, each calling to the other for most of the night.

While the birds did disrupt my sleep, they are kind of cool and I did enjoy listening to them. Needless to say, I wasn't really at the top of my game in the morning.

We were up with the chooks and headed off with just a coffee in us, planning to have breakfast somewhere along the way to our planned destination - Onslow. Neither of us had been to Onslow for many years and we had heard that the town had grown with the influx of workers from the oil and gas industry. The couple of hundred kilometres slipped by without incident and we rolled into town a about eight in the morning.

Yes, Onslow had grown but, sadly, was still as dishevelled as I remembered it from my previous visits. While there were signs that the Council had tried to beautify the place, the token efforts were not enough to lift the town to new heights making you want to stay there. We ate breakfast on the foreshore and then scarpered out of there, making for Old Onslow. As place to visit, I rate Onslow a 3 out of 10.

Old Onslow is essentially the scattered remains of the original Onslow. The original site for the town was almost at the mouth of the Ashburton River, one of the many huge Pilbara rivers that burst their banks when cyclones dump massive rains on their catchments. As a consequence, cyclones repeatedly either blew the town away or washed it away until the townsfolk gave up and relocated some 25 Km away.

Not much remains to show the existence of the old town, save a couple of Government buildings built with stone which, while clearly have been subjected to some restoration, are in need of some TLC. Elsewhere you can see small deposits of rubble, some footings that were evidence of structures in days gone by and some old cast-iron telegraph poles. I would give Old Onslow an "place of interest" rating of 4 out of 10.




What is left of the Gaol at Old Onslow


Right from the get-go we had decided that we did not want to do entire days of just driving and with that in mind we had been looking out for places to camp. There were some nice waterholes along the Ashburton (which was actually flowing - running a rich, almost blood-red colour), but the preponderance of cattle in the area meant that the ground was almost completely covered by land-mines. We drove on.

Along the west side of the Exmouth Cape is the Cape Range National Park and within it are numerous beach side camping places. Although it would mean a long day of driving, we determined to make for one of those campgrounds as there was little else in between.

Before we had even completed the eighty kilometres back to the Northwest Coastal Highway, the outside temperature had climbed to 39 degrees. By the time we reached the Burkett Road (which cuts across from the Highway to the Miniliya-Exmouth Road), it was 42 degrees. Halfway across the Burkett Road, the temperature reached a searing 46 degrees and I had slowed our speed down as a precaution. Hot engines pulling very heavy caravans, along with very hot tyres on very hot roads, is not a great combination.

As the thermometer ticked over to that 46 degrees, we ran into a full-on, screaming, hot headwind. The only good thing about it was that I knew that this was the sea-breeze and it would eventually begin to cool things down. It took a while, but by the time we completed the crossing of the Burkett Road the temperature had dropped to a bearable 36 degrees. We turned north and drove by Learmonth, Exmouth, rounded the tip of the Cape, drove back south again to the entrance to the park and paid two days admission fee and then made our way about eight kilometres to Ned's Camp. It was four thirty in the afternoon and it had been a very long day.





I was standing at our van when I took this shot. Great views eh?

 
We set up camp and enjoyed a light meal as the Sun set over the Indian Ocean. Uncharacteristically, the West Coast sea breeze, which would normally blow for most of the night, ebbed away to a pleasant zephyr before we retired to bed for the night.

That covers the first two days of our latest adventure. So.....why the reference to Alcatraz? Well, most of you would know that Alcatraz is a former prison on an island off San Francisco in the US. Well, Cossack is on an island as well. Twice a month during the spring tides, Cossack is completely surrounded by water. It is only in fairly recent times that a bitumen causeway was laid that enables access all-year-round. Although Cossack is not really a prison, by the end of our nine months, we start to feel like it is. Next post coming soon.