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Point Drummond to Walkers Conservation Park

A sort of a sleep in was the order of the day. It really should not have been, as the skies were clear blue, the ocean billiard table flat and the temperature just on ‘will I wear long sleeves or short’.

Peter got up, habitually made G her cup of tea in bed and began uni study whilst he had internet coverage. The Abalone fishermen turned up again and went through their ritual. They drove to the top of the car park, sat and watched for a few minutes, then choofed carefully down the incredibly steep ramp to the waters edge and launched their boats. Noticeably, today they did not venture very far off the coast before anchoring and beginning their work below the surface.

At about 9.30am we moved out, taking our time to admire the incredible coastline from the opposite direction. We ventured to the Flinders Highway and headed northwest. After a little bit, we hooked left onto a dirt road to visit Cummings Lookout. So named, the lookout is about a bloke who toppled off a whaling boat, calling it a day back when Adam was a boy. Interestingly his mate who saved about three hapless souls that night barely got a mention, let alone a lookout.

The lookout itself was gob smacking. Being the first real cliffs we had seen, it boggled the mind as to their height, ruggedness, and sheer magnitude. Venturing to the edge was for fools as there was no coming back if you dropped over and met the same fate as Mr Cummings. Just to make sure we were on our toes, we saw one large part of the cliff had given way recently, reminding us that we were standing upon a largely undercut rock made of loosely held together sandstone perched 200m above a foreboding sea.

Onward we marched to Sharinga Beach. Well if Cummings was claiming plaudits for scenery, he was a fraud. Dwarfed by towering sand dunes the first cove blew our minds. The second, third, fourth and a few more added to the mouth wide open experience. Following the well-made dirt track we came out at a convenient turn-a-round point just as the owner of another Defender returned from fishing.  Within 193 seconds he had engaged Peter, G, Trevor and Sue at separate times and told each of his Defender’s gear box woes, his pending hip replacement and his hernia issues. All the while he sprayed us with fast but accurate droplets of spital from between teeth that had not seen a toothbrush since Cummings fell off the perch. We figured he needed company. Today it was not to be ours.

Next stop was in Elliston where we had initially planned to spend the night. Wow, wow and more wows. This little hamlet is beautiful. A fantastic jetty, massive seagulls on roids, magnificent homes overlooking a stunning bay, and a bakery. What more could we ask for? Clean toilets. Got them as well.

The bakery served great pies, awesome coffee, a pretty decent apricot cake, and a sticky date cake without the sticky. We called it a date cake.

A short drive later we ventured into our overnight stop at Walkers Conversation Park. A scout round identified a neat little spot for both our vans, not too close to grumble bum parked nearby, who clearly had visions of the entire Eyre Peninsular being his for the winter.

The beaches were long, spectacular and chopped up by a group of ferals on a quad bike. They continued their feralness well into the night. We began to wonder where the flying doctor would land, as a betting man would have laid a few thousand on one of them coming off and ending up enduring a life less able to go to the toilet by themselves.

In the latish afternoon Peter fixed a few electrical gremlins in Puma before going on safari to find some photo opportunities whilst the remaining three travellers drank wine and chatted. Dinner was enjoyed outside by candlelight (thanks for the candles Sue). As usual we were tuckered out by 7pm but stayed wake till at least 8 so as not to be thought of as oldies with no life.

Port Lincoln to Drummond Point.

Today we rose late. We were in no hurry, having just to meet Trevor and Sue at 10am at the fish market in Port Lincoln. Peter did the good husband thing and made his beautiful G a cup of tea before sitting down to do a bit of uni study with the same enthusiasm as a Christian going to lion den.

We packed slowly, took some happy snaps, chatted to a couple of randoms and finally made our way out of Port Lincoln. At the fish market we were greeted by the most magnificent display of fresh fish you could imagine. The whiting were actual fish, not like the sardine sized things we get at home. The flat head was huge, not to mention the other fish with the funny name ending in ‘gai’. We grabbed some flathead before toddling southish towards Coles Point.

At the point we chuckled as we had both missed the turn off. It was a pretty fancy place. An extremely well-made gravel road led north along the coastline with stunning views the entire way. It terminated at the bottom of a short steep hill with a turn-around area about half the size needed for Puma and a caravan. One beautifully executed 63 point turn later and we were on our way back to the highway.

Just as our tummies started to growl we turned eastish towards Drummond Point. Ten minutes later we were greeted with views over a couple of the most stunning bays one could imagine. To the north, a beach of pristine white sand lapped by a gentle surf, almost devoid of people. To the south, a menacing rock ridden bay lined with huge boulders covered in vivid orange lichen, pounded by the ocean. We walked the beach and rocks. We marvelled at the beauty of this place. We quipped that the two boaties with the Ford F250s parked in soft sand with huge trailers behind, would have a bit of a time hauling them up the incredibly steep hill leading to the parking area above.

Nibblies were the afternoon order of the day before watching two Abalone fisherman make an absolute balls up of landing their craft onto the back of their trailer. The ended up being nice blokes. Peter had a yarn, learned everything about Abalone fishing you can learn in five minutes, and was gifted three Abalone shells for his trouble.

The flathead went down a treat for dinner, as did Sue and Trevor’s fresh Calamari they had been given by a fisherman the day before.

Tomorrow looks to be another slow day with not far to travel. The weather is scheduled to come in with high winds followed by a cold front from Western Australia. For now we are comfortable in one of the best camping spots in the country. Hard not to feel blessed in times like these.

Today started with a bit of a rush. We had to have Puma to the Landrover guru in town by 8am so he could sort out what the whistling noise was from the engine bay when the pride and joy was under load. With the baby at the doctors, we headed off for a walk on the spectacular foreshore to find a bite to eat.

A bit of time spent on town jetty revealed the water in Port Lincoln is crystal clear with just a hint of stunning emerald green, thrown in. It seemed no matter how deep it was, we could still see the ocean floor in detail. We watched a few young kids fishing for squid with better than average success, before settling in at the coffee shop across from the big tree.

G ordered poached eggs on toast, whilst Peter opted for bacon and eggs. When the food came out it seemed Peter’s plate contained at least half a good-sized pig. As he battled through it with all his might, he came to the realisation that it was in fact a full pig he had been delivered. Neither Peter nor G had ever seen some much bacon on one plate at one time. Peter swore never to eat ever again.

A phone call from the guru had us eagerly striding towards Landrover HQ to learn that an in-depth inspection had revealed nothing. The guru could not find a thing wrong with Puma. Peter acknowledged the wisdom of the guru but inside was dancing a jig as he had just been given assurance Puma was indeed a good truck. The noise, if it remained, would be simply put down to a communication between the marque and its owner. The guru refused any payment. He contended that he did not fix anything so he should not be paid. Did we mention we love Port Lincoln?

A bit later we met up with Trevor and Sue for a ride down to Coffin Bay in their Discovery. And what a ride it was. The car was so quiet, we did not have to yell at another, there were no rattles. Acceleration was instant and so so strong. Oh poor Puma!

The road led pretty much down the coastline before a turn off, not far past the lookout we missed, led us to Coffin Bay. We visited the National Park, stopped for a picture, and wondered what the black spot like thing was out in the water.

Sue was desperate to take in some genuine Coffin Bay oysters for lunch. She eyed off Oyster Central and got super excited at the site of a mob of people sitting out in the bay under a tin roof shacking oysters. Apparently the oyster thing is a tour you can take. We discussed the merits of wading out into unknown waters on a freezing day to gulp down what is commonly known as sea snot. Sue was undeterred.

A lap of the township coincided with not more than 30 seconds passing before we pulled up at the café across the road from the caravan park. Run by an Indian man who was an absolute gentleman, accompanied by his heavily tattooed assistant who was a lovely heavily tattooed assistant , the place was quaint and very well patronised. Sue got her oysters. They delivered all she could have asked. Perhaps ‘The Coffin’ as us locals call it, was indeed Oyster Central. Trevor scoffed a magnificent burger.G delighted in whiting and chips. Peter looked at food and felt ill, but managed to eat some of G’s anyway.

The trip home was one of great conversation, a few sightings of parrots, Lama’s or their cousins that look alike and a couple of dark coloured roos. Trevor loved Coffin Bay so much he had decided to leave his phone at the café so that we would have good reason to return. Return we did. Again the conversation flowed, and the afternoon continued to be great fun.

Back in Port Lincoln we went our separate ways till dinner time. We noticed that being the Friday afternoon of an SA long week-end, the van park was filling quickly with families. With families came those pesky things often referred to as children. We thanked our God we had a dog.

A quick trip to the other side of the bay had us enjoying a lamb roast at Sue and Trevor’s van. Being able to eat again without feeling sick, Peter loved every morsel. G equally. We sat talking about all manner of things. We solved the world’s problems, covering COVID, broken stoves, induction cooking, Roothy and Milo, Landrovers generally and Defenders particularly. We played with Henry the travelling dog till he decided bed was a better option. We ate ice-cream. What a beautiful way to end the day.

After a night of being blown from one side of the Eyre Peninsular to the other, we rose to a bleak morning that was bitterly cold. It’s hard not to like Wyalla, yet it seemed it was doing everything it could to make us hate it with a passion.

We headed out, got fuel in a servo that tested all of Peter’s caravan driving skills and settled in a park opposite a big shopping centre. Peter sat intently participating in a university lecture on human behaviour and the drivers that cause us beings to do what we do. As Peter desperately thought of nice ways to tell the on-line audience that some people are just born dickheads and we did not need a degree to understand that, G went shopping.

After an hour and a half, G returned as the human behaviour lecture wound to a mind-numbing halt. We saddled up, kicked Puma over and headed south along the coast to Port Lincoln.

On the way we encountered lots of lovely little villages by the sea. Cowell caught our eye as its entrance was dominated by some cracking silo art depicting a local bloke, his camel and parrot. Long story apparently; no doubt with many versions.

On we toddled, dropping into Forgottenitsname Bay for a look left and right before heading further south. After about three hours Port Lincoln came into sight. There is clearly money in this town. Striking motels, hotels, apartments, and seaside mansions were common. We located the van park, set up with uninterrupted views of the bay and dropped by the Landrover guru as Puma had developed a niggling noise.

The late afternoon found us locating good friends Sue and Trevor, set up across the from the bay from us. The girls drank wine, the boys listened to the girls talk and drink wine. Henry the dog sat lapping up pats and scratches.

From a holiday of 2021 perspective today was a bit uneventful. We like days like today.