The Nullarbor: Twice in Twelve Months

Just the thought of doing a Nullarbor crossing makes me shudder at the prospect, but there we were, facing up to yet another one. During our annual leave we had decided that we had had enough of living and working at Cossack and had been successful in getting work at the iconic "Birdsville Pub". All plans to tour the Southwest of WA were shelved and we spent our remaining three days at Perth busying ourselves for the crossing.

Changes to the itinerary would include: a couple of days at Ceduna to catch up with the managers of the caravan park at which we stayed last year; a few days at Venus Bay on the Eyre Peninsula for no other reason than we like it there and a whole new plan to start exploring the Yorke Peninsula. We had not been to the Yorke and our timetable would give us at least ten days to at least start taking in the attractions, even though we knew that we would have to return to see the rest at a later date. We would also visit Adelaide for a few days so that we could get the car serviced, as it would be due by the time we had crossed half of Australia.

Gibson Views had been our home for all-but a month (if you don't count the time spent on the ship) and it was not without some sadness that we bade farewell to our most gracious host and friend and set off for the East, some four days after arriving back at Perth. Gibson Views is just a minute or so from the Brookton Highway and it made much more sense to start our journey by heading east from there. Otherwise, it would be a long, windy, trip down to the "flats" of outer Perth, through a great deal of traffic and then back up the long, windy, Greenmount Hill on the Great Eastern Highway.

Tree-lined, well-made, bitumen road with gentle undulations was the reward for taking the decision to go this way and before long we peeled off to the left and headed for Beverley. At this point we could have gone on to Brookton, made for Hyden and then crossed the couple of hundred kilometres of gravel road that goes directly to Norseman, but we chose to go via Beverley, Mawson, Quairading and finally intercept the Great Eastern Highway at Merredin. From there we would head to Coolgardie, Norseman and finally start the east-west crossing once more.

Considering that we left Roleystone about mid-morning, we were quite happy to reach the spacious 24 hour campsite near Yellowdine on the first day. We had an hour or so of daylight left and set up a simple camp well back from the main highway. Three or four other vehicles were also there but were all spread well apart from one another. Readers whom have followed us regularly will know that we refer to ourselves as the "Rain Gods" due to our ability to make it precipitate no matter where we are in Australia. Yellowdine was no different and a spectacular storm set in a couple of hours after we had turned in for the night.

Lightning seemed to be flashing from all points of the compass, while the thunder occasionally shook the van unnervingly. The rain, thankfully, was not as heavy as a storm of these proportions would usually dump - which is a very good thing given that the soil that we were parked on had the propensity to turn to slush with a thimble full of water added to it. I was most surprised to find that the soil was dry when I alighted from the van the next morning.

Coffee was brewed and consumed with gusto, before we continued east to Coolgardie. Knowing that the fuel prices at Norseman (and all points east, right through to Ceduna) would be nothing short of robbery without violence, we topped up at Coolgardie in order to limit how much diesel we would need at Norseman. From there we ventured about an hour down the road before stopping for breakfast. We couldn't avoid travelling on roads upon which we had been before, but we did at least manage to eat at a different roadside bay than the we did the last time, thereby "mixing it up a bit."

Last time we were at Norseman we discovered that the little servo in the centre of town, near the Visitor Centre, was the cheapest place to buy fuel. It isn't any more. It has closed down, giving us no option but to pay what they were asking at the big roadhouse on the corner (I won't mention a brand-name as I dislike giving free advertising to places that I believe do not represent fair value for money.) The decision to top up at Coolgardie had turned out to be a wise one.

Steering out of the service station driveway onto the main Highway starts the "crossing". There is no way to delay or avoid it, you are on your way. Our trusty Disco 4 surged ahead, almost effortlessly dragging our 3.5 tonne Kedron caravan out onto the long black ribbon of road that would not pass through another town until we were well inside South Australia. We were hoping to make for a 24 Hour stop-over between Mundrabilla and Madura and that's just what transpired. It was a long day though, watching that endless ribbon of bitumen roll under our wheels, with little change to the scenery and seemingly countless kilometres left to travel. We had just a few minutes of Sun left when we finally stopped for the night.

Driving for too long is possibly one of our failings. If it is hotter than 35C outside, we see no real benefit in stopping, getting out of a perfectly comfortable, air-conditioned, environment and sweating it out for a few hours while waiting for the Sun to set. We have done this countless times before and this occasion was no different. Naturally, this methodology has its problems and cramped legs are often a side-effect that we have to endure. Nothing that can't be cured by a nice bevvy at the close of the day!

Once again, we didn't bother rolling out the awning, preferring to keep the camp simple so that we could make a clean getaway in the morning. The evening cooled nicely and neither of us took any rocking to get to sleep. Before retiring we had decided to have a "make or break" day the following day, setting a goal to be at Ceduna by nightfall.

We were on the road by 6:00 AM WA time, knowing that we would lose two and one half hours with the time-zone change as we approached Ceduna. Unlike our last trip, where I discovered (to my dismay) that fuel was much dearer at Border Village, we stopped further into South Australia at the Nullarbor Roadhouse which was not quite as expensive. When paying for the fuel our sense of smell was assaulted by the aroma of hot chips being cooked. We weakened for just the first time since leaving Perth and purchased an expensive, but yummy, box-full and ate them in the car as we drove on.

The rolling hills around Yalata were much easier in the new, more powerful vehicle, not to mention that it was about twenty degrees cooler than the last time we headed through these parts as we closed the gap on Ceduna. With each passing kilometre it was evident that we would be arriving at about 7:00 PM but still with plenty of light due to daylight saving in South Australia. We hadn't bothered to book ahead for a caravan park because, in all honesty, the original plan was to camp out for three nights, not two, and we hadn't anticipated arriving a day early. This was to be an issue, as it happened.

The rolling hills near Yalata were not the best place to come across this....

Arriving at Ceduna pretty close to the time I had calculated, we turfed out the remnants of our fruit and veg at the Quarantine Station, before making our way to our favourite caravan park - the Ceduna Foreshore Caravan Park. Jodie was surprised to see us and gave us her customary, very friendly, welcome. Then she got a glum look on her face as she told us that they didn't have a space left anywhere in the park until the next night. Graciously, she phoned the Big 4 park around the corner and was able to secure a spot for us there.

We spent the night at the Big 4, using their BBQ to fry up some eye fillet steak, some eggs and some baked beans. Not exactly the health-food of a Nation, but what were we to do? We had to throw out our veg at the Quarantine Station. We had a pleasant conversation with the couple parked next to us, before retiring for the night. I wasn't all that tired, due to the time-zone change and amused myself by laying awake in bed calculating how many different timezones we had been in since we left Perth to go on the cruise. It turned out to be seven. No wonder my body-clock was all messed up!

Next morning we packed up and drove the three minutes around to the Foreshore Caravan Park, where, quite by chance, we ended up in the same bay as we had the first time we were there in 2011/2012. This time I had the benefit of prior knowledge and was able to back the van onto the site in a single attempt, avoiding the large tree on one side and stopping short of a tree at the rear (that had stopped us winding up our TV antenna last time we were there.) We planned on staying three nights, giving us time to get some stores to take with us to Venus Bay, time to refill our water tanks, time to write a chapter of the sadly neglected blog and time to recharge our "human" batteries after our marathon drive. We had travelled from Perth to Ceduna in a little over two and a half days of driving time, averaging 86 Km/hour and using 16.1L of diesel fuel per 100Km. Now it was time to rest.

The days slipped by quickly and before we knew it, it was time  to move on. Everything on the van was in tip-tip order and we had re provisioned. All that remained to do was to cruise down the west coast of the Eyre Peninsula for a little over three hours and we would be at one of our favourite places in Australia - Venus Bay.

Familiar sights and places went by and I was sorely tempted to stop at Smoky Bay, but we were on a Mission. Port Kenny came into view and we knew that we were less than 20 minutes from our next "home". Once again we had not phoned ahead to book a site at Venus Bay and this almost came back to bite us on the bum. They had just two bays left, neither of which was close to the water. At least it was a drive-through bay. We set up camp, including erecting our new annex, which proved to be a great decision as it sheltered us from some cool evening breezes on a couple of occasions while we were there.

Although I'm a fishing tragic, the prospect of fishing from the shore and catching only Snook, very small Herring or Trevally left me cold. I was regretting leaving the kayak at Geraldton. Never mind, the King George Whiting could wait for another occasion and the fishing gear stayed stowed snugly in the van. Instead, we spent our time wandering around or having coffee on the balcony at the caravan park, or lunch on the veranda at the tavern/cafe/general store, or walking along the jetty, or chatting with the people whom we'd met the year before and whom were clearly "regulars" at Venus Bay. Relaxation 101!

Evenings were spent mulling over maps, the Internet and brochures, planning the trip to the Yorke Peninsula a few days hence. Justice could not be done to the place in the short time that we had available, so we committed ourselves to completing the job after working at Birdsville. With that in mind, we narrowed the scope of our visit to include just the west side of the Peninsula during this visit. Before heading off we confirmed a booking for Venus Bay for next year and also booked a cabin for our Daughter and two eldest Grandies to stay in when they come over to visit us for a while during our next stay.

Formalities completed, we set off after five days of blissful relaxation and made our way back to Port Kenny, where we turned right and cut across to Wudinna, on the main East-West highway. Wudinna does not hold many fond memories for us. Eons ago, as we returned from a National sailing championship held at Botany Bay, we broke down just outside Wudinna and had to have a new engine fitted to our vehicle. The entire process took about a week and we stuck in an un-aircondtioned, on-site, caravan in mid-January heat. Worse still, the only beer in the place was this truly dreadful drop called Southwark (pronounce Suthick). I got so desperate that I actually stood on the highway, flagging down vehicles coming from the west and asking if they had any Western Australian beer on board. One guy actually did and he felt so sorry for me that he wouldn't take any money for the carton that he gave me!

We were equally as happy to see the back-end of Wudinna on this trip as we were on the previous one almost forty years earlier. From there we made our way eastward toward "Port Agutta" (as the locals call it.) Time passed quickly, as did the kilometres and soon we could see the disused workings of the iron-ore mine at Iron Knob, which stand as a reminder of days gone by. The scarred hill is clearly visible from the highway, with little evidence of any rehabilitation having taken place at the mine site. There is nothing attractive about an iron-ore mine.

Glimpses of the Spencer Gulf come into view just before the outskirts of Port Augusta are reached. Before long we would be back in traffic for the first time since leaving Perth. With van in tow, unfamiliar towns can be a little daunting and Port Augusta was no exception. I found myself going down a narrow little street that had thoughtfully been landscaped by the Council so that the trees became obstacles in themselves, threatening to scrape the sides of the van as we slalomed our way along the brick paving. All I knew was that we were heading roughly in the direction of the Woollies Supermarket where we would once more stock up on the things that we would need over the next ten days or so. Fortunately, we were able to locate Woollies and find a convenient parking bay at the rear of the store and had soon topped up the larder and the bar. From there it was around to the Woollies Servo to top up the car and we were on our way once more. We had no hard and fast plan, but the plan was to stay at a roadside stopover, or at Port Germein.

Port Germain was small, neat and a long way from the water when we got there! The tide was right out and it would have been at least 1500 metres from the water's edge to the foreshore beachfront. Mudflats are mudflats and they look much the same wherever they are. Sadly, it wasn't a good look and the vista, combined with what outwardly looked to be a very ordinary caravan park, saw us drive on.

Even the next few roadside stops weren't all that appealing, even if they did have great views of Mount Remarkable National park in the distance. All were too close to the road and would have made for very noisy nights. We soldiered on, eventually stopping at an equally unappealing caravan park (called the Rangeview Caravan Park if my memory serves me correctly) and spending the night there. Seriously folks, it should have been called the "March Fly View" caravan park. No sooner had we gotten out of the car than we were beset upon by entire squadrons of Marchies. I had three land on on a patch of skin with an area no larger than a 20 cent piece! I sent Sue into the van with instructions to stay inside. She reacts badly to Marchies and I didn't want her exposed to them.

Setting up for a short stay at March Fly Views Caravan Park

Darkness enveloped us soon enough, providing a respite from the swarms of blood sucking pests and enabling us to prepare and eat a meal before turning in with the air conditioner on - not because it was hot, but because we have worked out that it is very effective at drowning out road noise from nearby highways. We had a surprisingly good night's sleep and were wending our way to Port Pirie quite early the next morning.

Port Pirie came as a bit of a surprise, For an industrial town it is surprisingly clean, neat and tidy. We availed ourselves of the dump-point which, for those of you whom need to know these things, is at a sports ground on the northern outskirts of town. From there we drove through town, not stopping and taking a proper look (this could wait for another day.) We made for Port Broughton and were quite enamoured with this quaint little place. Parking on the foreshore was easy and we found a terrific little coffee shop just opposite the town jetty. The new owner was lovely and her coffee and cake were excellent. As tempting as it was to stay a night at Port Broughton, we had a plan, and the plan was to camp on the coast at one of three camps north of  Balgowan.

Port Broughton and yet another jetty...

From Port Broughton it was a short drive to Wallaroo, a coastal town that is the home port of the ferry that runs from there to Cowle on the Eyre Peninsula. The ferry carries vehicles and cuts off a lot of the not-inconsiderable distance from Cowle to Port Augusta to Adelaide. I struggle a bit with this concept because the prices that they charge for a crossing are so expensive (in my opinion) that the only saving is in time. Paying for fuel and driving around would still be cheaper than the fare across on the ferry. The service is still running, so it obviously is filling a need, but I doubt that many travelling nomads would avail themselves of the floating crossing.

We had chosen to drive directly to Wallaroo, approaching it from the North, rather than travelling via the equally large, inland, town of Kadina. Kadina will be saved for another trip.Wallaroo, itself, is a nice, not overly large, port-town whose skyline is dominated by the ever-present grain storage silos that seem to be located in every town on the Peninsula. The town is split pretty much in two by the railway line that carries the grain to the Port and this presents some interesting challenges when navigating one's way around the place. Once again we had a plan to stick to and our visit to Wallaroo would have to be categorised as a "reconnaissance mission", in preparation for a visit at another time.

Next stop would be Moonta and I had heard that the bakery there had won awards for the "Best Cornish Pastie in Australia". I wasn't going to miss that so, on arrival, we parked on the outskirts of town and wandered around, without the benefit of a map, until we found the shop. What can I say? The pasties were scrumptious!  I liked Moonta. Many of the historic buildings have been faithfully restored and better still, were in use today as small retail shops, offices for professional services, arts and crafts shops and many other uses.  This was a pleasant change after having spent three years in n historic town where the buildings were largely unused. Moonta is not on the coast but is a short drive from nearby Port Hughes. Crikey! Every second town in this part of South Oz is named "Port Something."

Reluctantly, we drove on, heading for Balgowan. We would  head south to with a few kilometres of Maitland before turning West to the coast. Without realising it we had, at some stage, gained quite a bit of altitude and this enable us to coast downhill for at least the last five kilometres into Balgowan. You would think that this would make me happy, what with the fuel savings and all, but all I could think about was that it was going to be a bugger to pull the van back up on the way out. The track to the campsites was just short of Balgowan, so we didn't get a proper look at the place. Instead we turned north on a gravel road that had just be graded and followed it for a kilometre or so.

The side track off of the gravel road was pretty smooth and soon we were at the shoreline. No beaches were visible in either direction. Instead, the shore was a pinkish-red sandstone line of cliffs which was smooth enough to tow the van onto. We headed north for many kilometres, eventually spotting a beach in the distance. Several quite suitable campsites were already behind us but the lure of a sandy beach was too much and we continued on. Before we got to the beach we had no choice but to head inland a bit and we found ourselves on a very narrow track where the trees were overgrown and began to rub along the sides of the van.

There was nowhere to turn around, forcing us to continue onward. After possibly two or three kilometres of this (although it seemed like a lot further), we finally reached a place where we could turn around but, thinking that we would have to go back three kilometres and scratch the van some more, we decided to forge onward - in the vain hope that the track would get better. It didn't. By the time we reached the second camping area, which was too sandy to take the van into, we had less distance to go forward to the next site than we did to go back through all that scrub. Guess what? That bloody scrub lined the track all the way to the final campground. I even had to stop and take the towing mirrors off of the car so that they didn't get smashed.

Here's the rub....when we finally got to the place called "The Gap", there was a perfectly good, normal width, gravel road into it! We could have come directly to this spot without getting a single scratch on anything. Lesson learnt! Anyway, the Gap was pleasant enough and our campsite was just metres from the water's edge. We were the first to get there on that day and were able to park on the only level ground there. As usual we set up the van and then explored the area before sipping a couple of bevvies and watching the Sun set over the Spencer Gulf. Another group of campers, who were well down the beach from us, partied into the night but didn't trouble us as they were too far away for us to hear their festivities.

The Gap. An OK spot, but was it worth scratching every window in the van?

After a leisurely breakfast the next morning we packed the van up and headed further south.We stopped and had a look around at Maitland, before heading even further south. We were looking at our "bible", the "Camps Australia Wide No. 5" and determined that rather than head too far south, we would swing back to the north-west and stay the night at a caravan park at Port Victoria so that we could replenish our water supplies.

Port Victoria is a very small town that has a small fishing industry and not much else. The week before we got there two of the shops had closed their doors. The limited tourism and small population were obviously insufficient to sustain a viable business. The caravan park was set on the side of a hill, affording almost every site excellent views over the "harbour". It wasn't cheap and the amenities weren't the best, but the water pressure was superb, allowing us to filter the water into our tanks in no time at all. So good was the water pressure that the next-door neighbour's hose split and was drenching their pop-top van for hours. In the end I turned it off, as they were obviously away for the day, and the water was clearly going in through the canvas window of their van. If you are a TV addict, Port Victoria is probably not the place for you unless you have a satellite dish or at the very least, a cable to connect to the "piped" service that the caravan park offers. Port Victoria is in a TV "black hole".

The foreshore at Port Victoria, viewed from the caravan park.

We enjoyed a meal of fillet steak cooked on the rather dubious hotplate of the Park's BBQ. We opted to use baking paper between our food and the hotplate to avoid getting food poisoning. There were no implements to clean the hotplate with. It was a quite warm night and we spoilt ourselves by running the air conditioner to ensure a good night's sleep. Breakfast was rather hurried as the Sun was streaming in under the awning and was quite intense, right from the get-go. Before long we were on our way, once again heading roughly southward.

Soon we reached Minlaton, a typical grain-belt town. The Yorke Peninsula, like the Eyre Peninsula is dominated by grain growing and fishing industries. The landscape is predominately cleared paddocks with some still holding the stubble remaining from the most recent crop. Barley for brewing is one of the principle crops grown here. The towns are geared toward the industries that surround them, so you will always have the mandatory grain silos, rural suppliers, marine merchants and so on. It sometimes feels a little bit like "Groundhog Day" as these towns are so similar in make-up. Minlaton was no different. It was a pleasant, smallish town with a wide main street that was lined with many small shops as well as the aforementioned businesses.

We simply passed through Minlaton on our way further south. The Yorke Highway (they have a cheek calling it a highway - it was as rough as any bitumen road we've ever been on) took us through Brentwood (about three houses) and on to the turn-off into Hardwicke Bay. We popped in to have a look and found ourselves in a small, neat little seaside village that appeared to be a favourite retirement place for farmers, fishos and the like. It was nice but there was nowhere to camp so, after exploring for a bit, we continued further south.

Within just a few minutes we were turning off the Yorke Highway and heading into Point Turton. This town was obviously one of those "places to be". The plethora of new, not-so-modest dwellings made it clear that if you had money, Point Turton was the place to build. The caravan park was at the base of a substantial limestone hill and was small, neat and full - not that we had any intention of staying there. After looking around, we referred to our Camps book and decide to head about twenty minutes to the west, to Point Souttar.

From Point Turton to Point Souttar you travel along a limestone road in reasonable condition. Dotted along its length are many homes ranging from little more than a shack to quite substantial houses. All are positioned to have uninterrupted views over the water. The campsite at Point Souttar is at the base of the limestone cliff face and can only be approached by going down a single-lane, quite steep, track. I was less worried about going down than I was about going back up later, skull-dragging three and a half tonnes of caravan. Once at the base you follow the track along the seashore to the west, passing craggy reef type beach on one side and the cliff on the other, before rounding a bend and reaching a flat, open area that has been set up as a comfortable camp area.

Facilities were limited but there were rubbish bins and toilets and some of the ground was covered with a hardy grass. All of the grassy sites were already taken, not that this really bothered us, but the beach was choked with a fresh deposit of seaweed, so we decide to go further afield in search of another place to stay. In the meantime we had spoken to some of the established campers at the site and found out that we needed a permit to camp at all of the campsites on this part of the Yorke Peninsula, so we decided to back-track a little to the town of Warooka, where we could obtain the said permits.

Warooka was like most of the other towns that we had been through. It was small, tidy and had the usual complement of shops and businesses. We found the Shire office and the very helpful lady there pointed out several camping grounds and even recommended a few of them. The permit cost $35.00 for seven days and allowed us to stay at any of the Shire controlled campgrounds. On the way back to the car we were hit with the urge to have a "pub meal" at the Warooka Hotel. Big mistake! The meal was absolutely dreadful, I am sorry to report. I rarely tell people outright to avoid a place, but folks, avoid that hotel at all costs.

Feeling quite shithouse after struggling to eat just a little of the meal, we headed back to the car and made our way due west to Gleeson's Landing. This is a very large campsite spread along several kilometres of coastline. It has long-drop dunnies, rubbish collection points, a boat ramp and several hundred sites ranging from very sheltered sites in amongst the trees to very exposed sites with unfettered views, situated right on the cliff faces. We chose one of the latter, at the southern end of the campground and were, initially, the only campers there. With a long-weekend coming up we were sure that our serenity would not last forever.

Gleesons Landing from our campsite.

As it turned out, only one other lot of campers turned up and they were a lovely couple anyway, so we had a great stay for six days. We spent our time walking, fishing, photographing and videoing, relaxing and unwinding. The wind (which apparently normally blows all the time) was completely absent for the first five of the six days. Our awning finished about four steps from the five metre sheer drop to the water. To our left was a beach and further still was a rocky point. Around from that rocky point was one of the nicest beaches that we have seen anywhere in Australia. This place must surely be paradise.

Our neighbours were We and Shelley Can (yes, that's right, his name really is We Can) and they and their two children had been coming to this place for many years. They were very helpful with information about what to see and do in the area. We even told me where his fishing spots are. Although armed with the information about the fishing spots, none of us (We included) did any good with the fishing but this didn't spoil our stay. We would happily go back to this place again, but in the meantime we were running out of time and had to move on. Getting the job at Birdsville meant that a trip to Adelaide to have the car serviced was now imperative, as was a shopping mission. So it was that we reluctantly packed up and moved on.

We determined that it would be best to return to complete our exploration of the Yorke Peninsula at a more leisurely pace after we had done our time at Birdsville and, instead, headed for Clare. Clare is inland from the Yorke Peninsula and our path to there took us through Port Wakefield, a busy junction-town on the east-west highway. We found a nice bakery and had lunch, before getting some fuel, assisting another Kedron owner with an electrical problem and making our way to Clare.

Being a long weekend, Clare was bursting at the seams with holiday makers (including about half a million kids.) We couldn't get a powered site at the caravan park, not that it bothered us, and we were to meet another couple of Kedron owners there. Chris and Val were at the MacDonnell Range Caravan park when we were staying there some years earlier and we have kept aqainted in the meantime. It was nice to see them in person again and we had a lovely "sundowner" with bevvies and nibblies as we chatted into the evening. It is always nice to listen to other people's travel stories, hints and tips and so on, and this was no exception. On hearing of our plans to stay near Adelaide while shopping and getting our car service, Chris and Val generously offered for us to park the caravan on their property at Springton in the Barrossa Valley.

Springton became our destination and after bidding Chris and Val goodbye, we made our way there under the guidance of the very expensive GPS in the car. Well, the GPS had a sense of humour, taking us on some pretty dodgy "short cuts" on what passed for roads (at a pinch) before trying to take us right through the real Springton to a phantom Springton at some place known only to itself. Luckilly, Chris and Val had given us a very detailed description of where their property was and I was able to spot it before the vehicle navigation system took us off into the boonies somewhere. For the record, Springton has a general store, a smattering of houses and a pub/tavern. It is a quite small town, but that's just how we like them.

We set up on Chris and Val's vacant block and left for Adelaide with plenty of time to get to our destination before sundown. We were bound for a Big 4 Caravan park at Marion, about a half hour drive (depending on the traffic) from the centre of the city. We stayed there once before and knew that there were some nice cabins there. Staying in the cabins would have been more expensive than staying in the van but by the time we towed the van into the city and back out again (up the steep Adelaide Hills), not to mention negotiating the manic Adelaide traffic, it was just so much easier to pay for the cabin.

We settled in and made ourselves comfortable, researching where we needed to go over the next two days and what would be the most logical order in which to do things. Essentially, we had to: get parts for the van; get the car serviced; buy some clothes for our new job and winter warmth; stock up on food and essentials and importantly, spend up on grog (we were going to buy our full quota for our seven-month stay at Birdsville, because we knew that the prices there would be horrendous - even though we would be working at the Pub.)

Everything went smoothly, except (as we were to discover later) the car service and we were back at Springton on the third day. We overnighted in our van before attempting to set off the next day. That's when we found out about the car service going wrong. Before starting the car in the morning I checked the engine oil level, which is now done with a display on the instrument panel (there is no dipstick on the engine of the car.) The oil level was over the maximum mark and the display was quite clear stating "Engine overfilled - DO NOT START VEHICLE"

Thinking that the car might be just full and perhaps parked on slightly uneven ground, I checked the position of the vehicle and found that it was as near as dammit to being level. Bugger! I decide to phone the dealer but we found ourselves in a "mobile phone black hole." Our external aerial on the van was able to get a signal for the Internet, but it was patchy at best. Thankfully, Chris and Val had given us the passcode to their Internet connection and from outside their house I was able to get enough signal from their wireless network to send an email.

Nearly an hour later we got a reply which basically denied responsibility but asked for us to take a photograph of the display and send it to them, because they had never heard of the warning message that we described. This I did and it eventually went through on the Internet connection. While waiting for a reply I busied myself under the bonnet, checking that the over-filled engine had not blown oil out through the breather. It had not done this, but whilst checking I noticed that the cover of the air box was still liberally coated in Pilbara dust, with no finger prints in it to show that the air filter had been changed. I had explicity instructed the dealer to change this filter, along with another filter. That hadn't been done either.

Eventually we got a reply to the second message that we sent, saying that the mechanic that did the job was absolutely positive that he put the exact amount of oil in the engine and that the oil level reading may not have reset itself properly. They advised me to disconnect the vehicle's battery for a few minutes, before reconnecting it again and looking at the oil level once more. This I did and happily, the problem seemed to be rectified. I still gave them a written spray about the filters in my next message to them. The last reply from them was most contrite and apologetic, with them owning up to a "communication breakdown" in the workshop.

In our last vehicle I always carried spares of everything. We had decided not to in this vehicle, in part because we never had to use the spares in the past, and also to save weight and space. So here I was without a clean air filter, about to set off into the desert. I sure as Hell wasn't going to waste another three to four hours by driving back to Adelaide to get one, so we reluctantly headed off to Birdsville about four hours later than we would have wanted.

So commenced the journey into the next phase of our lives and the subject of our next blog......

"Gibson Views", Perth and the South Pacific

Our time at Sandy Cape was shorter than we would have wished, but we had a lot to get done in Perth and it was time to move on. This time I was smart enough to reduce the pressure in the tyres, reasoning that I could drive slowly down to Jurien Bay and use the air-hose at one of the service stations to re inflate them. It was a good plan and while the Shire of Dandaragan should be ashamed of themselves for having such a bloody awful "track" into a venue that they charge money for you to use, the ride out was a lot softer with the tyres aired-down.

Pumping the tyres up at the servo was all about saving time. Our dear old ARB pump will get all of the tyres pumped but boy, it is so slow! Even driving more slowly than usual for the 16Km to Jurien would still be quicker.....well it was supposed to be - if it wasn't for the line-up of vehicles waiting to do the same thing, not to mention the moron who parked so that access to the air hose was restricted, while he sat in the roadhouse having a coffee.

It took the best part of an hour to get the tyres back to road pressures and I daresay it would have taken about the same amount of time with the ARB pump. Never mind, it wasn't like we were in a hurry or anything. Finally, we were able to rejoin the Indian Ocean Drive for the remaining three hour drive to Perth.

From Jurien Bay you follow the coast at a distance of about three kilometres inland, allowing for fleeting glimpses of the sea. The first town you come across (although bypassed) is Cervantes. Like all of the other towns that we had passed since leaving Geraldton, Cervantes also owed its existence to the Rock Lobster industry. It has suffered, just as the other towns have as the restrictions on Crayfishers forced people to abandon the industry. One saving grace for Cervantes is that many farmers in the inland areas have chosen to retire to the town.

Passing by, but not visiting, many small towns is one of the problems with the Indian Ocean Drive. From Jurien Bay, all the way to the northern suburbs of the city, you do not drive through a single town, yet you drive by many. This is a boon to those residents whom would prefer not to put up with the traffic, but it surely cannot be good for the businesses in town. Sue and I stopped at a roadside parking bay with magnificent views and had our morning tea, whereas we would probably purchased a coffee and cake if we were passing through a town.

As just mentioned, there are occasions on this section of the road where you do get took take in the magnificent turquoise water of the sea, lined by fabulously white beaches. There are also islands, not that far offshore, that can be seen as you drive along. Many of these islands are home to seal colonies which, in turn, mean that the odd White Pointer can be found cruising the waters. I have been diving with seals on the west coast and they are great fun, emulating the moves that you make while underwater. I also know that you grow a third eye, located in your posterior, as you are always on the lookout for seal-hunting Noahs.

Once you pass south of Lancelin (about 100 Km north of Perth) you rejoin the old road which, sadly, is in nowhere near as good condition as the recently completed section to the north. The road narrows, is a little windy and has much more traffic. I was almost glad to get into the really heavy traffic at Wanneroo - at least there was dual lanes for the quicker vehicles to pass us. This brings us to our little bit of excitement for the trip.....

We were approaching a set of traffic lights. They changed to amber and immediately I knew we were in trouble. It was a wide intersection, meaning that I would never get through before the lights changed to red, but I also knew that at 60 KPH, I wasn't going to stop real quick either. The caravan brakes had been adjusted when we had it serviced at Geraldton and I was told that it would take a while for them to self-adjust to optimum. Along the way I had been adjusting the brake controller in the car because it felt like the caravan brakes had not been doing their share of the work.

Modern vehicles, such as ours, have anti-lock braking systems, meaning that as soon as a wheel locks up and starts to skid across the tarmac, the brakes momentarily release, to allow the wheel/s to rotate again, and then the brakes are reapplied. Thus we careened toward the intersection, tyres screeching, brakes coming off, brakes back on, tyres screeching, over and over - all the while the white line where we should stop was getting closer and closer. We stopped with about a metre of the vehicle over that line and our hearts thumping in our chests. Yep, caravan brakes needed more adjustment!

Needless to say, we approached all subsequent intersections a lot more slowly as we made our way to our destination - "Gibson Views" caravan park. There is no real caravan park there. The place we stay at is the residence of a very good friend and former work colleague who has six acres of land up in the Darling Ranges to the southeast of the city centre. He has plenty of room for our van and us and we have wonderful afternoons (perhaps too many) having a quiet shandy on his veranda. Our host lets us tap into his water and power and even helped me with a couple of projects that I undertook on the van whilst at Perth. He has a swimming pool, a well equipped shed and, as you can probably tell from the name we gave his place, excellent views of native bushland. We are incredibly grateful to him for his hospitality.

Unfortunately, the place is on the market, although our friend doesn't really wish to sell it, and sadly it may be the last time that we stay there. On the agenda while at Perth were: having an annex made for the van; fitting our spare 123 Watt solar panel to the roof of the van, making a total of five panels now; purchasing "flat" water and sullage hoses that can roll up onto reels; buying the last few LED replacement globes to replace the fluoro globes in the van; catch up with my Parents at Madora Bay (near Mandurah) and Sue's Parents at Busselton; catch up with our Daughter and her children, whom had not long moved to Perth from Karratha; catch up with many friends living in Perth and whom we don't get to see too often; get ready to fly out to Brisbane to join our 11 day Pacific cruise and spend lots of money on stuff we probably didn't need but would buy anyway (including a new GoPro camera to replace the one that had the untimely demise at Warra.)

All of the above took about a week and a half and soon we were at Perth Airport waiting to board our plane to Brisbane. For possibly the first time ever, Qantas managed to get us off the ground on time and soon we were winging our way across this broad, brown, land. Imagine our surprise, after taking off in brilliant, sunny, conditions at Perth, to find ourselves landing in the rain in Brissie - NOT! I cannot ever remember visiting Brisbane when it has done anything other than rain there. Not to worry, it was only for one night as we would be boarding the ship the next day.

Our taxi driver, whom, oddly enough wasn't from Australia, managed to drop us off at the wrong motel. Thankfully, the correct motel was only another couple of hundred metres up the road. We had chosen the motel from Internet searches for places that were within walking distance of the berth where we would board the ship. The lovely lady at reception could not have been more helpful and informed us that they had a courtesy bus that would take us to the ship in the morning - free of charge. Fabulous!

Our buoyant mood started to change almost immediately when it dawned on us that our room was right next to the lift-well. After entering the room we were even more enthused when we discovered that the bed in the room was right up against the wall that adjoined the lift-well. Things only got better when I sat on the bed and discovered that I would need a mining permit to dig down far enough to see how low my butt had sunken into the very soft mattress. Thank goodness it was only a one night stay! We ate at a nearby restaurant and then turned in for the night (having lost 2 hours of our lives due to time zone changes.)

What a night! Neither of us was able to get much sleep because the bed was so crap and I managed to aggravate the back injury I received at Ned's Camp some weeks earlier. By morning I was almost a cripple again and had to reach for the Panadol bottle. We had both worn ear plugs to stop the noise from the lift and thankfully they worked, otherwise I am sure that we would have got no sleep at all. That morning we ate breakfast at the same restaurant, after which Sue made for the motel while I went up the road on a mission to buy a few toiletries to take aboard the ship. Sometimes it doesn't pay to be an early riser/diner. I got to the supermarket only to discover that it wasn't going to be open for another 40 minutes. Unwilling to walk back to the motel, only to walk back to the supermarket almost as soon as I would have arrived, I decided to buy a newspaper at the local newsagent shop and pass the time catching up on the news.

All plans are subject to flaws and the flaw in my plan was that the Queensland newspaper was full of Queensland news. Apparently the remainder of Australia, and the World for that matter, does not exist....or simply didn't have any news worth writing about. So I was stuck reading about stuff I knew nothing of and cared even less of. None-the-less, it did kill off the forty minutes and finally the doors of the supermarket swung open. I was in and out in a flash and soon on my way back to the motel. Those who have followed our blogs over the years will know that Sue and I are the Rain Gods, being able to make it rain everywhere we go. Nothing has changed and on the walk back to the motel it rained. I just shrugged my shoulders and soldiered on.

Within minutes of arriving back at the motel we were down in the forecourt, waiting for the arrival of the Transit Bus. All around us stood other people, obviously booked on to the same cruise, and in the driveway was a single, six-seater Toyota Tarago. It didn't take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out that we weren't all going to fit into this little vehicle and after some confusion it took off with just one couple and their luggage. The lovely Reception lady was buzzing around with a clipboard, assuring us that arrangements had been made for the remaining customers to get to the ship terminal.

Soon enough a small car (not a taxi) turned up. Out popped a young Vietnamese fellow and he whisked the bags of one couple into his boot, ushered them into his car and took off. Within minutes another vehicle appeared, belching smoke and this time being driven by a very old Vietnamese gent. We were shoved into this car and with a crunch of gears, followed by a frantically slipping clutch and a screaming engine, we were off at a snail's pace. The driver lurched us onto the main, very busy, road without any regard for oncoming traffic and proceeded to go through the gears - all being changed too early and with the same slipping clutch and screaming engine.

I have to say that I was truly frightened and didn't think that he would get us to the wharf alive. Sue told me that she was similarly scared witless. This was to be the second last drama of the day as the ship's crew and Custom's Officers efficiently and promptly processed our boarding formalities and got us onto the ship. Immediately upon boarding the ship you are ushered into the forward lift area. As the lifts arrive, having just taken a group of passengers to their deck, you are literally shoved into them until you cannot fit a cigarette paper between the passengers crammed in there. We were even luckier, as they also tied to jam a couple of wheelchair-bound passengers in with us. That was it for Sue....she doesn't do confined spaces and she pushed her way out of the lift just as the doors slammed shut behind her.

There we were, only on board for two minutes and we had already been separated. I waited outside the lifts at our deck for what seemed like hours, but was probably about 10 minutes, before Sue arrived in a lift with just three other people in it. She had told the crew, in no uncertain terms, that she was not up for being jammed in with a crowd of people and they finally acceded to her wishes. That was the last real drama for the day and for the rest of the trip really.

OK, the brief details of the trip, so that I don't bore you to death (with a written version of the old "slide night".) We sailed at 4:00PM and took over an hour and a half just to get out of the Brisbane River. We then did some quite tricky manoeuvring just off Stradbroke Island before finally reaching open seas about five hours after departure. Next we had two "sea days" (days where you don't call into any port), followed by a stop at Noumea (New Caledonia). Here were did an excursion, kayaking up a river (and it rained.....naturally.) Next we cruised all night and berthed offshore of Mare Island (pronounced Mar-ay) early the next morning. Mare is also a part of New Caledonia. Our excursion took us to a lovely beach but there was little else to do. Mare is totally devoid of tourism infrastructure and was selected as an alternative port of call after the Isle of Pines had to be taken from the schedule (for reasons that were never explained to us.)

 

Going under the Gateway Bridge on the Brisbane River

One thing about the Pacific Ocean - there's a lot of it

Most ports that we visited feature some sort of welcoming dance by the Locals

The ship was too big to park at the wharf at Mare

At the beach at Mare. The skies looked threatening, enhancing the beauty of the place.

Next was a sea day as we sailed to the Fijian capitol of Suva. We spent a day on shore at Suva, where we took an excursion up a river in long boats, to a scenic waterfall. Also included in the excursion was a meal at a traditional Fijian village. That night we were back on the ship and cruised to Port Denarau, which is on the other side of the Island from Suva. This is the "touristy" side of the island, where the luxury resorts are. Our excursion there was totally forgettable and I won't go into it here, lest I start to sound like a serial whinger.

Fijiians love their brass bands and being a member of one carries great prestige

Cop a look at the crack in the windscreen of this bus!

This photo is for Karen, whom regularly posts pics of buff blokes to Facebook. Check out these Fijiians Karen - they're all trim like this! (Ignore the silly caucasion buffooon, though.)

From Port Denarau we had another sea day, before arriving at Vanuatu. Vanuatu was, for us, the highlight of the trip and we plan on going back there (by aeroplane) for a holiday at some time in the future. From Vanuatu we had two sea days getting back to Brisbane. During all of this time Sue, whom does not do boats well, managed to avoid getting seasick - although she was feeling a little off on the second and third days and wisely elected to take some pills.

Sunset at sea

These Vanuatuans give a welcoming dance that is predominately very forceful foot-stomping. Now take a close look and see what it has done to their feet. They are huge!

Our thoughts on cruising: For us, the sea days were boring. To their credit, the staff run lots of activities but the activities were not for us. Bingo, carpet bowls, quoits, shuffleboard and so on, are for another generation - just not ours. This is explains the patronage on these cruises. I actually joked to Sue that if the ship were to start sinking, then all we would have to do would be to chuck all of the Zimmer Frames overboard and we'd be out of trouble. As far as the destinations go, we weren't taken by New Caledonia at all and Fiji was passable. Vanuatu was lovely.

These are just our views. People do these cruises time and again. One couple on the ship were on their 149th cruise! Obviously these holidays are a matter of taste. Give me a caravanning holiday in Oz any time. We did, however, have plenty of opportunity to relax (to the point of boredom) and the ship's staff, facilities and food were first-class. You are not allowed to take your own alcohol aboard and drink prices are just slightly higher than pub prices in Australia (with the exception of the Birdsville Pub!)

We flew back to Perth the same day as the ship arrived in Brisbane and our fabulous friend picked us up from the airport and drove us back to our van. We had changed timezones eight times in 12 days and were quite out of sorts, so it was a great surprise to find that dinner was awaiting us when we arrived back at "camp".

Just prior to leaving on our cruise we found out that we had been successful in our application to work at the Birdsville Pub, so we planned to spend three days doing final preparations at Perth, before heading off to our new life. Our first act on the morning after arriving back in Perth was to forward our resignations as Cossack caretakers.

A new chapter in our lives had opened.......

Next issue: Bound for South Australia

Sandy Cape and Another Terrible Road

Driving from Geraldton to Sandy Cape, just north of Jurien Bay, allows one to catch fleeting glimpses of the bountiful waters of the Batavia Coast. Western Rock Lobster congregate in large numbers along this stretch of coastline, especially from about mid November 'til late December. It can be a bonanza time for the rock lobster fishers, whom call this time of the tear "the Whites", a reference to the colour of the lobster's shell. Later in the season their shells turn to the darker red/brown colour that most would be familiar with.

Port Denison, just south of Dongara, is a favourite stop for us and we availed ourselves of the little bakery located on the foreshore. They do a very nice coffee and we purchased some frosted buns with a jam twist to round off the snack. The marina was the scene of quiet activity as fishers checked their boats while folks walked, jogged, paddled or swam in the tranquil surroundings. It was a real effort to drag ourselves away.

Heading south, we took the bypass road through the coastal dunes and rejoined the Brand Highway near the gas fields at Pye Rd. Dongara has been the home of a small-scale gas industry for many decades, with the gas from there being the first to be piped to Perth back in the 60's. Although there are many production wells in the area, none can be seen from the main highway - which is probably a good thing.

Not so long ago, Jurien Bay and Sandy Cape required a two hour drive along the Brand Highway, many kilometres from the coast, followed by another thirty minute deviation back to the coast. The drive took in the rolling hills of the sheep grazing country between Eneabba and Dandaragan, but wasn't particularly inspiring. Alternatively, there was a pretty scrappy coastal drive, linking numerous small towns and unofficial fishing villages that all owed their existence to the rock lobster industry. In recent years a reasonable bitumen road has replaced the old track and has been named the "Indian Ocean Drive".

Stretching from just south of Dongara, right through to the northern suburbs of Perth, the recently completed Indian Ocean Drive is a more scenic route between the State Capitol and Geraldton. It is a Tourist Way, with the only trucks allowed to use it being those re-supplying the towns along the drive. Caravanners now have the exclusive rights to holding up kilometres of vehicle traffic! This is the road onto which we turned as we made our way further south.

Within minutes you find yourself back on the coast, catching glimpses and, sometimes, full-on views of the blue waters and white sandy beaches as you wind your way along the bitumen. There are few opportunities to overtake along the first fifty or so kilometres of this, sometimes narrow, stretch of road and this means that slower vehicles can, and do, hold up long lines of vehicles all the way to Leeman.

Leeman is the first official town that you come to, although you will see many small clusters of shacks, once home to the fishers whom plied the waters to make a living from the succulent lobsters. Local Government Authorities along this stretch of coast have banned the use of these shacks as none were built with planning permission and few would come close to the building codes in construction quality. It goes without saying that none of the shack-holders was paying rates, which irked the Shires somewhat. Most shacks have been removed but a smattering remain as reminders of a bygone era, some even occupied during the lobster season by defiant fisho's whom argue that they have a historical right live in the area while earning their living.

Leeman has suffered through the State Fisheries Department's efforts to ensure that the Western Rock Lobster fishery remains sustainable. This has resulted, as it did in Geraldton, in many boats coming out of the industry, leaving their skippers and crew to find work elsewhere. The Fisheries Dept. cannot be blamed for this - it is necessary to preserve fish stocks for the future and most in the industry knew that the shake-up was coming. Unfortunately, knowing about it did not lessen the impact that it was to have on these small coastal towns.

From Leeman it is a short drive to the turn-off into Green Head. Now bypassed by the main road, Green Head is named after the headland upon which it has been built. Again, fishing has been the dominant industry in the past and it too has suffered for the same reasons as Leeman, Geraldton and Dongara. Bypassing the town has not helped businesses there either.

After Green Head you will not pass another town before reaching the turn-off into Sandy Cape, requiring you to keep an eye out for the sign, which is not overly prominent. The road into Sandy Cape is just 13 kilometres of gravel but I'm sure that the Shire of Dandaragan does not even own a grader because the surface is always corrugated, exacerbated by the trucks that haul Gypsum from a nearby mine. On this occasion, the road was probably at its worst (in my experience of visiting many times) and again I made things worse by not letting our tyres down, thinking that the short drive in must have at least a few patches that would not shake the bejesus out of the car and van. Wrong!

Normally I prefer to drive slowly and steadily on corrugations like these, but on this occasion I threw caution to the wind and wound up the revs until we were "skipping" over the corro's. (Theory number: 2, on how to drive corrugated roads.) This worked after a fashion and saw us arrive at the Cape on the same day, rather than set up camp half-way in due to not being able to reach speeds greater than five kilometres per hour.

Imagine how surprised we were to find numerous available places to set up camp, given that it was during the middle of the school holidays. We chose a site that had a modicum of grass cover and importantly, was tucked in close to some of the coastal vegetation that could afford us some protection from the west-coast sea-breeze, should it blow. Just as well we did - it blew pretty much the entire time we were there, but, thanks to the vegetation we felt no discomfort.

A little bit of grass and plenty of shelter at our chosen site.

We had company, after all, it was school holidays.

Herring, also known as Tommy Roughs or Tommies in South Australia, were in abundance when I fished here about a year prior. Even though I laid out a berley trail from Sandy Cape to Green Head, not a single fish bothered my bait. This was to be the story of the stay and I later found out that an unusually warm Leeuwin Current, in the months prior, had done enormous harm to the fish in the area, with estimated losses of up to 90% of stocks of some fish. One wonders what effect this may have on the already suffering Rock Lobster industry?

Sue loves Herring and my inability to catch a fish did untold damage to my Brownie Point count, which had been momentarily looking good after fixing the caravan window issue. Thankfully, Sandy Cape compensated for this lack of fish by providing us with a splendid, tranquil, scenic venue for our short stay.

For those not familiar with Sandy Cape, it is located 16 Km north of the growing township of Jurien Bay (about 32 Km by road.) There are about fifty campsites, spread along the coast, just in behind the first line of fringing dunes. Sites vary from being suitable for tents only, right through to several that would easily accommodate a large Winnebago or bus, even with a trailer attached. Payment of $7.50 per person per night (or a minimum of $15.00 per night if you travel solo) can be made at an honour box about a kilometre short of the camp area, or will be collected by the on-site Caretaker.

Looking down from the fringing dune. Most sites have plenty of shelter from the sea-breeze.

For those "personal needs", there are reasonable hybrid toilets that are a sort of flushing long-drop and for those with their own amenities, there is a dump point at the honour box. Water is available in very limited quantities and is rainwater collected from the roof of the dunny block. With the large number of seabirds in the area, drinking that water would be at your own risk and, at the very least, it should be boiled vigorously if you do plan to ingest it. There is no power available.

The beach that runs along the majority of campsites is very safe for swimming, with the exception of some very small stinging jelly fish that are present at certain times of the year. These have a mildly irritating sting that does not bother you for long and can be treated with vinegar in the same manner as more serious jellyfish stings. The rocky headland that is the Sandy Cape, shelters the bay surrounding the aforementioned beach, providing a safe haven for boating and kayaking. Atop the headland is a walk-trail and a lookout that offers excellent views along the coast in both directions. Walking is a great activity in this area, with many beaches, trails and tracks to be explored and, if you are reasonably fit, there is a stark, extremely white and bright dune system that can be climbed.

Looking north along the sheltered beach.

Facing south offers splendid views of the sandy Cape.

School holidays and long weekends are popular, so avoid these times if you can. Bookings are not taken for sites, but you can contact the Shire of Dandaragan if you require any information about the facilities. The Shire has posted warning signs at the Cape. Some derelict fishing shacks, partially made from asbestos, were knocked down and buried there in the past. It is recommended that you do not disturb the soil in any way.

Sue and I spent most of our time "chillaxing" (a nice word I stole from our Daughter, whom is an expert at "chilling and relaxing" ), steeling ourselves for the chaos of the big city - our next destination.

Modifying those pesky caravan windows

Geraldton was reached without drama and soon I was performing the tricky manoeuvre of reversing the van up the driveway at our Son's house. On one side, the fence has a gate-post and the remains of a gate that had clearly been hit many times in the past and on the other side is the gutter of the house, which sticks out about 700mm. The result is that the clearance is about 60mm on each side of the van. Thankfully, Sue is excellent at giving directions and we completed the job without mishap or frayed tempers.

Our Son was at work and we were keen to get to the shops and start purchasing the things that we would need to replace the inner windows of the caravan. As mentioned in the previous blog, these windows are a right-royal pain in the rear end. The concept, where the insect screen rolls down and/or the block-out blind rolls up, is clever and would be a joy to have - if only they worked! Unfortunately, the insects were able to skittle around the edges of the screen, or the blind, for that matter, meaning that we spent many a night huddled in the van with all of the interior lights switched off, trying desperately not to attract the little blighters.

We attempted to do the recommended modification but this had the effect of putting too much pressure on the rollers, making it difficult to retract either the insect screen or the blind - and it didn't completely fix the insect issue. The solution came to me one night and after a quick discussion with Sue, it was decided to give it a go.

All of the windows were measured and we set off to buy the materials. The plan was to make wooden window frames with a recess rebated into them to accommodate a standard sized aluminium flyscreen frame. Once made, the aluminium frame would fit flush with the wooden frame and seal out the critters. Now, when measuring windows to make frames, always remember that it is length x width x 2. The times 2 bit is very important or you will end up only buying half of the material that you need, like I did.

We were able to get some Tasmanian Oak timber with a rounded, or as it is correctly described, bull-nose edge. This is the stuff that you will commonly see being used as skirting boards in houses. I purchased half as much as I would eventually need and we set off to see about getting the flyscreens made up.

The first glazier who we visited had just returned to work after the extended Christmas break. He had a backlog of work as long as your arm and declared that all of the other glaziers in Gero would be in the same position. He wouldn't be able to make the screens for a couple of weeks - much longer than we could hang around as we had booked a Pacific cruise for just a few weeks from then and had to get to Brisbane to join it. So we decided to purchase the aluminium frame material, the corner joiners and the spline and make the screens ourselves.

The glazier said that it would even take a day or two to have the aluminium frame lengths cut into two so that we could fit them on the car! What to do? Naturally, I ordered half as much stuff as we needed and settled for waiting a day or two because I could be getting on with the wooden frames while we waited. Because we were going to make the frames ourselves, I would need to purchase a saw blade specifically for cutting aluminium - $153.00 that I wasn't planning on spending. Never mind, our Son would probably be able to use it sometime in the future.

We purchased a couple of rolls of insect mesh, not even thinking that we would be able to re-use the mesh in the existing windows, which we later did. We spent just under $400.00 for everything, including the blade and a couple of other tools that we would need. Of course, this was for only half of the wood and aluminium that we needed and we spent another $120.00 when I realised my mistake and got the remainder. Still, if things went to plan, this would be money well spent.

Things did, indeed, go to plan. Routing the rebates for the screen frames was easy, cutting the 45 degree mitres on the corners was a breeze, joining the frames was a little tricky because the cheap, Chinese, corner clamps flexed as they were tightened but, all in all, they looked a million bucks when finished. All that remained was to coat them with some sort of finish. Sue was given the task of applying outdoor furniture oil to them and I busied myself making the aluminium insect screen frames. These were even easier and by the time I made the last one I had got it down to about 5 minutes per frame, including fitting the mesh.

Once the frames had dried I laid the old, plastic frames over each one in turn, using them as templates to drill the mounting holes in the wood. Next, it was time to fit the screens to to the wooden frames using piano hinge. I guess that I could have used ordinary hinges but I was wary of the amount of flex the frames would experience as the caravan trundled along and elected to go for the stronger option. Finally, I fitted good, old fashioned, butterfly clips to keep the screens closed and a small cabinet knob as a grip to open and close the screens with. Job done! Now it was time to fit the new windows. Using the old screens as a template was the best part of the design, allowing me to fit each window in minutes, without so much a a single hole being drilled in the wrong place.

Hooray, nice looking windows that actually work!

A close-up, showing the fiddly bits.

From start to finish the entire job took about ten days, although actual working time was much, much less. We had also built a 3m x 3m shed in our Son's back yard as his shed was bulging at the seams, mostly with our stuff. While at Geraldton we also had the caravan serviced. This included bearings, brakes, hatch cover replacement and all of the outside light covers being replaced as they had all gone brittle over the years. Mission accomplished, it was time to think about heading to Perth, via a stopover at Sandy Cape for a few days. We had much to get organised in Perth and could delay our departure no longer.

For those whom have not been to Geraldton, it is located about 400 Km north of Perth and has a population of around 30,000. The beaches are a feature, with stunning white sand and clean water. Geraldton is very windy during the summer months but much less so during autumn, winter and spring, when winds are usually accompanying the frontal systems as they pass through (less and less often these days, unfortunately.)

Geraldton was once the home port of a thriving crayfishing industry, but as the fishery came under pressure, the WA Fisheries were forced to implement some harsh conditions to ensure that crayfishing was sustainable into the future. This has resulted in a dramatic reduction in the size of the fleet, with many former skippers and deckhands turning to the mining industry for employment. Mining and farming are major employers, both directly and indirectly, of people living in Geraldton these days.

For the traveller, there are many caravan parks, hotels and motels. Geraldton could do with a few more restaurants but for those preferring simpler fare, there are plenty of pubs, cafes and takeaway places. If you need something, you will most likely be able to get it at Geraldton and the retail sector is strong in the town.

Visitors to Geraldton usually take time to look at the HMAS Sydney Memorial and the Foreshore and Marina developments, including the Geraldton Museum, which is located right on the waterfront. Geraldton is a logical starting place for touring the wildflowers destinations further inland, which have become almost legendary in status. Spend a day or two at Geraldton, you won't be disappointed if you do.

Part of the HMAS Sydney Memorial. The dome is made up of one stylised seagull for each of the crewmen who went down with the Sydney. The statue is of a lady gazing out to sea, trying to spot her loved one returning. As it happens, the direction that the lady is facing turned out, quite by chance, to be aligned pretty closely with where the Sydney was eventually found. 

Next issue....Sandy Cape and Another Crappy Gravel Road

There are two Gladstones?

Leaving Carnarvon in our wake (some would say that this is the best thing that you can do to Carnarvon) we set a steady pace of 86KPH. The car's cruise control only works in 2 KPH increments, so 85 KPH wasn't an option. We had a pretty ferocious headwind and going any faster would a pure waste of fuel. Gladstone (Western Australia) was just three hours to the south of us and we had plenty of time to get there.

The North West Coastal Highway leading south is a fine piece of road, although just a bit boring. It is another of those trips where, for many kilometres, most of Australia looks like the rest of Australia. Worse still, we had covered this particular piece of road countless times as a couple and even more times by me as a solo traveller back in the days when I worked up and down the Dampier to Bunbury Natural Gas Pipeline. There would be no surprises on this leg of the journey.

Oddly, although I had travelled this stretch of highway so many times, I had never taken the time or trouble to drive the six kilometres into Gladstone, even though the turnoff is well signposted. Six kilometres is all that it may be, but when we turned off the nice, smooth, bitumen road onto the rusty, red, gravel road it was clear that it was going to take a while to do the distance - the road was extremely corrugated!

This was one of those times where I had to weigh up the benefit of letting the tyres down against the fact that we didn't have far to go and that it would take about an hour to re- inflate the tyres again when we came back out. Even more frustrating was that we only intended staying the one night and letting the tyres down for such a short run into a place for such a short stay didn't seem worthwhile. We didn't.....we should have.....

This is perhaps the only road/track I have ever been on where there was no respite from the corrugations anywhere. Every millimetre of the six kilometres was corrugated, badly. We took well over half an hour to get to Gladstone from the highway. On arrival,, the first thing that you notice is how flat the area is. The campsites are distributed along a stretch of shore front tracks, some with views of Shark Bay, others have their view obscured by saltbush, and all not more than 500mm above the high water mark.

There is a single toilet block comprising of two flushing toilets (that were solar powered and stopped flushing after dark - if they were battery powered, then the battery was clearly knackered.) Next to the toilet block is a dump point for those, like us, whom are self-contained that way.

On the other side of the main entry track from where the toilets are located is the caravan belonging to the "caretaker", a rotunda and the remains of the old Gladstone Jetty (which was used to send out the wool clip from nearby sheep Stations.) There is a rock groin that goes out to the start of the jetty but the wooden jetty itself is in a state of complete disrepair and has been secured to prevent access.

Gladstone: The Rotunda, the beach, the rock groin and what's left of the jetty

While we were travelling to Gladstone the screaming breeze had ebbed away to almost nothing and the sheltered waters of the eastern side of Shark Bay had barely a ripple on them. It was easy to tell from the slope of the sandy/muddy beaches that the water was very shallow and that one would have to go out a long way to get into any reasonable depth. The water was not clear, but not too silted either, considering the make-up of the beaches.

The tide is about halfway in. That is the Caretaker's dinghy. He leaves it there with all of his fishing gear in it.

We wandered over to the rotunda and were immediately beset upon by the "caretaker". This guy was a picture! He was rakish in build, save for the beer-gut from Hell, about 5' 6'' tall, clearly hadn't seen a razor in a very long while, had the hugest "grog nose" that I had ever seen, was as brown as a berry from prolonged exposure to the elements, had a can of grog in one hand and smelled as though he'd been on the grog for several days.

He pointed over to his caravan, which was an old Windsor or similar, about 22' in length and sagging down at both ends, was surrounded by all manner of junk and rubbish, had a little generator screaming its lungs out and had no shelter such as an awning or annex. "I'm the Caretaker" he pronounced, before adding "but not at the moment. I only work during the tourist season. The rest of the time I just live here." He then proceeded to give us the full "caretaker spiel" as though he was, in fact, on duty.

By the time our new friend had finished talking we knew everything we needed to know about the place (except that the dunnies would stop working after dark), including where the only place was that I would be likely to catch fish. He later went out to that spot in his dinghy, bobbed around for a couple of hours and then came back empty handed, so I'm glad I didn't go to the trouble of taking the kayak off the roof and going fishing.

We walked back to the vehicle and van and parked at the original site that we had thought might be OK. It wasn't long before the awning was rolled out and the bar was open. We had a lovely, peaceful, evening watching the Sun set as the tide marched in and a thunderstorm rolled overhead, dropping a few minutes of welcome rain on us. I was almost tempted to stay another day but Sue wasn't keen and we resolved to move on the next morning.

The thunderstorm was brewing, making for an excellent sunset to view while enjoying a couple of bevvies

As a short-stay or overnighter, Gladstone is worth considering. It is fairly basic, but it is cheap at $6.00 per head per night. I wouldn't recommend swimming there, unless at high tide, when the water does come up over the sandier part of the beach. We watched people launch boats there (in fact we witnessed something that neither of us had ever seen before - a car jump-starting a boat) and netting is allowed at one section of the beach. The road in and out is definitely an issue and, once again, is in the Shire of Carnarvon, so it probably only gets a cursory scrape over with a grader once in a blue moon, just like the road from the Blowholes to Gnaraloo.

You don't see this every day. A boat being jump-started by a car!

The rain that we got had completely dried by the morning, which is just as well because signs in the area clearly indicate that if the road is wet it's closed, and, if it's closed it is an offence to drive on it. The penalties are $400.00 per wheel of your car or rig that is on the road. (That would be $3200.00 if we were to drive over a closed road with the van hooked up!) Never ignore road closed signs in WA.

We set off early, knowing that we had a slow haul ahead of us, getting over the same corrugations that thumped the bejesus out of us the previous day. Never before did the North West Coastal Highway look so good. We turned south, our destination being Geraldton, where we would stay at our Son's place for a while and do some work on the van. We had discussed the interior windows in the van which, quite frankly, had pee'd us off from the day that we took delivery of her, and had decided that they had to go. this would be one of the projects to get done during our stay, but we'll leave that for the next issue.....