The morning began with darkened skies. Black clouds filled all but a small corner of what was above. Our thoughts of going to see seals at Baird Bay dwindled quickly. The wind was up, and the day had little going for it.
Within half an hour the skies had cleared, the wind dropped, and the seals were odds on to get some visitors today. Within another 20 minutes the skies had changed to ink black. The wind made an instant return. The rain began to lash our vans and our hopes of seeing slippery little sea creatures vanished for the duration.
Peter and G braved the elements to head into town to pick up a few essentials and check out the bakery. The IGA was on par, the chemist just cleared the hurdle, the jetty was a cracker. A call to Trevor and Sue saw them join us in quick time for a pie and coffee at the bakery. The pie was a Broncos brand (you know, the one that tries hard but just isn’t up to first grade) washed down by some pretty decent coffee. Maybe a cake was in there somewhere as well given G was present.
G and Peter decided that no matter the weather they were seeing Streaky Bay. They headed off on one of two touristy loops. Puma hummed along, loving not having a Gstring attached, leading us to the whistling rocks and blow holes. The whistling rocks……no words! Given the weather, the sea was pounding the coastline. Tons of water smashed into small holes in the cliff face forcing air under extreme pressure up through cracks in the shelf above, causing a whistling sound, hence the name. We noted that the sound was particularly eerie. It was not a whistle as we know it, but rather that pshheeeewwtt sound a drunken aunty makes when she puts two fingers on her mouth to try to whistle at a wedding reception and the gathered crowd isn’t sure which end the noise emanated from.
We walked against gale force winds across the headland to the blow holes. We thought that today these attractions would be working some magic. Alas they would simply be known just as holes. There was no blow to be seen or heard.
On we choofed, dropping into every little track that led towards the sea. One such track took us to Cape Bauer. The bar jumped a notch or two here. We had seen heaps of high jagged cliffs by now, however this one was more stunning. With views of the violent ocean we chatted about the chances of survival if the cliff top was to collapse. None was the going bet for the day.
The Granites caught our eye. We wish they hadn’t. By the time we got out of the car, dropped down 20 odd stairs, asked ourselves ‘is that them,’ and returned, we were wet. Cold and wet. The remainder of the drive demonstrated that the countryside on the peninsular is quite stunning. Green pastures roll down steep inclines to meet the sea. At times there is no beach or sand dunes. Even the massive radio towers contrasting against the sky provided a quality backdrop to our adventures.
We arrived back late afternoon to endure an horrific night. The wind was howling all night. It rocked the van continuously only eclipsed by the rain seemingly stripping paint off Gstring.
Peter studied till stupid o’clock further convincing himself that full time behavioural science academics need a good camping holiday in the Simpson desert to grasp reality. There really is no good reason to create a theory for why some people are stupid. They just are!! We hope that tomorrow is fine and lovely. The weather radar would have us believe otherwise with the entire country clear except for Streaky Bay.