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.
