Category: Western Australia 2021

Twenty to eight was the eyes open mark today after a long night of Peter being as sick as rabid dog and G trying her darndest to find a way to rid her life of rabid dogs.

Th weather was streaky as it appears to always be in Streaky Bay. One-minute lovely warmth filled sunshine, the next, Artic winds accompanied by pelting rain and misery. Off we headed about that o’clock towards Ceduna. The countryside was green, the sheep fat and the progress on par.

We dropped in to Perlubi Bay. It tried to live up to its incredible reputation for stunning beaches and quaint village feel but failed spectacularly. Reality was a small gathering of houses, with cranky locals (well they didn’t wave back did they) and scrubby beaches Qld would call Bribie Island.

Ceduna came into site. We all needed fuel so started on the lookout for a service station selling at a reasonable price. There were four such outlets. We noted three we completely unmanned, unwomaned, and unpersoned. We had to wonder what sort of town we had come to when even the servos aren’t game to open and say gidday.

Into town we went in search of cake. G found it in a bakery that had good reviews. Reality hit us in that the cake was awful. The quiche Lorraine and coffee were next level though. Served by fantastic staff, who only spilt one coffee, the service and food were all one could ask for in a town with no servos game to open!

We had a bit of a wander around, picked up some groceries at the very well stocked Foodland, dropped into the information centre for some local knowledge then wandered some more. We noticed that a long-abandoned car dealer still had a sign for GM being the long since buried original Holden business in Australia. General Motors Holden it appears is still part of our history even if it is in a town where its servos aren’t game to open.

Soon Trever and Sue headed west towards Cactus Beach where it was planned the evening would be spent. Peter and G lodged themselves on the foreshore as Peter endured yet another 90-minute mind drain doing human behaviour study online. The phone message from one of his fellow students depicting him holding a pair of scissors to his eye, said it all.

About 4pm we hit the road headed for Cactus Beach. We received a message from Sue to say Cactus Beach had lived up to its name and they were continuing on to a camp spot another 25 ks or so west. We plugged on limited to 80km/h, not by Puma’s immense power, but rather the longest roadworks we had ever seen.

We were blessed to see Koalas, Snakes and Windmills on this section. The windmills were part of the town of Panong’s tourist attraction leaving Ceduna and all it offered for dead. At about duskish we saw the camp spot a bit later than anticipated, however managed to exist stage right into the parking area in fourth gear at about 60km/h before finding a great camp just in front of Trever and Sue.

Wine, Milo and good company ensued as we discussed a revised trip plan that would see us having more time around the Great Central Road over the next couple of weeks as opposed to visiting the Margaret River area.

We look forward to tomorrow entering the Nullarbor proper.

The night was horrific. Rain belted Gstring from all angles, threatening to rip the paint off her sides. Wind was relentless, shaking the van worse than the keynote act at a Parkinsons convention.

For a brief period the day looked like it had promise. Then it rained again. About very late o’clock, we decided that come hell or high water we were going to see some seals and sea lions today. Soon we headed off to Point Labatt.

Upon arrival we were greeted with a short few moments of sunshine, a colony of sea lion and a few seals thrown in for effect. Not that any of them turned on a circus act or anything. Still, looking at an overgrown slug lie about almost motionless on the beach in the freezing wind has its alure. We were stunned by the magic of these creatures. Once they realised we were from Queensland, they began to interact. The big one taught a young one a few lessons in ‘don’t piss the old fella off’, whilst the seals went fishing all within 50 metres of our elevated position. This was special.

With seal and sea lion still pulsing through our veins we were attracted to Barid Bay where you are guaranteed to see seals. Baird Bay is a fraud. We got there, realised it was but a broken-down fishing village and saw the sign, ‘for seal tours drive up the beach 50 metres’. You heard it here first, Barid Bay has never seen a seal in its poor pathetic life. It is but a boat launching ramp to go around the headland to where we had seen them before! There was nothing left for us in Barid Bay save a visit to the toilet.

The afternoon was spent late lunching at Drift restaurant in Streaky Bay. Fantastic fish and calamari were the order of the day. A quick trip home to do some car and washing chores and that day was done.

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.

Peter was up early today for a bit of exercise on the gymnastic rings. As he began he managed to wake almost everyone in the conservation park as well. Noticeably no one raced out of their slumber to join him in an uplifting start to the morning.

Just before breakfast (about 9am) G and Peter went for a bit of a beach walk. They were gifted one of natures’ true joys. A pod of about 12 dolphins of all sizes swam the shoreline feeding on small fish. They danced, they surfed, they sped like lightning; entertaining us for about 20 minutes. We walked away a bit empty for they had filled those precious moments with incredible joy.

Back at camp, Henry was up and looking for a pat. He filled us with joy in his own way and is turning out to be the best little travelling companion.

We head out late morning to enjoy a few chosen stops on the coastline. First off was Woolshed Cave. Holy spectacular ocean cave Batman! Hidden underneath the car park, perched on the cliffs edge, was a massive cave. From within the world was framed by its roof line allowing a focused view of the stunning ocean beyond.

We roamed the cave, marvelled at the rock formations along the coast bringing brilliant colour to our day and wondered the powered of the ocean as it relentlessly pounded the cliffs.

We plugged on at Puma speed. We floated over corrugations with Gstring clinging on gamely. Port Kenny came into view. Within 3.61 seconds our assessment had Port Kenny leaving our view. We continued on.

A call on the radio from Sue, at a seemingly innocuous driveway on a backroad, had us turning into Murphy’s Haystacks.  Another wow moment. In the middle of a mundane paddock on a mundane hill in the middle of nowhere was a group of rocks. These were not your average ricks though. They were big buggers. Standing 10 or so metres above the earth they took on a multitude of colours, shapes and sizes. The story goes that a truck driver called Murphy saw them, so they became Murphy’s rocks. We reckon they were shrapnel from the Maralinga atomic bomb testings a few hundred k’s north in the 50s. Either way the area is now maintained by the property owners for the enjoyment of the public.

Late afternoon we rolled into the Islands Caravan Park 6ks north of Streaky Bay. Well my goodness. Imagine a van park with the toilets having your own little ensuite for each cubicle. That’s right, shower, toilet and basin in the one room. This place was next level. We spent the afternoon sitting in our chairs watching the sun set over a perfectly still ocean before enjoying a pretty fantastic apricot chicken for dinner.

Peter completed a uni assignment before falling sound asleep……….or was that the other way around?

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.