Despite the stagnant, uncirculating hot air causing an oppressive clime within the van, I had finally drifted off to sleep. A sleep that no doubt soon became a deep trance. Then, BANG, BANG, BANG. I woke with a start, my heart racing and my eyes stinging like I’d run face first into a bush of nettles. BANG, BANG, BANG. There it went again. We were under attack, under siege. BANG, BANG, WHIZZ. Bec was quivering as I shoved her to the safety of the floor, amongst the explosions and flashes, while I inexplicably ran up and down inside the van, end to end. What I had hoped to achieve, scrambling about in the dark, profoundly and suddenly self consciously naked, too disorientated to even find a light switch, I don’t know.

The clamor had faded by the time I finally found that light switch, allowing me to check that Bec and the dogs were safe. I was breathing in quick ragged rasps, my heart feeling like it was about to beat straight through the wall of my chest, while I forced open, my still sleep deprived, stinging eyes just enough to check my watch. 4:30AM. I slowly came to enough to realise that someone had just put on an impromptu display of fireworks for the benefit of all of us sleeping campers, causing Bethany to fly into a fever pitch disposition of sheer panic. There is but one adjective I can think of to describe those whose Saturday night entertainment consists of driving out to the middle of nowhere to lay terror on a group of unsuspecting caravanners and campers. The word however, is an unpublishable, vulgar portrayal of a females reproductive organs, but I am sure you get the picture.

I had to spend the next ¾ of an hour sitting up, eventually getting Bethany settled down from her dread, while Bec precisely laid out her plans for exactly what she would like to do to those who had so callously interrupted our slumber and caused us such angst.

Sleep didn’t come easily after our ‘attack’, and when the alarm sounded at 8:30AM, it felt as if I hadn’t slept at all. A knock on the door got me out of bed though, as John from the van next door wished us well for the remainder of our trip and kindly passed on their details, with an even kinder invite to join them at home for dinner when we pass through their home town of Geraldton. I might just have to take them up on the offer, as any dinner we don’t have to cook or wash up after is a good dinner in my book.

And off we go again.

Boab Trees are becoming a regular sight.

We weren’t too far behind them, gaining another five minutes as we rolled out of the campground at 8:55AM. It was only half an hour later that we were approaching the border between the Northern Territory and Western Australia. Having spent nearly 6 weeks touring through the Territory, it is time to say goodbye, and head for the wilds of the northern reaches of Western Australia. Not though, before negotiating the border crossing, about which I had heard and read so much, and yet still had little idea of what to expect. Western Australia has particularly onerous quarantine laws, which prevent the passage west ward of fruit, vegetables, honey and a range of other products and implements. To ensure that these laws are submitted to by all and sundry, there is an inspection station at the border.

Approaching the border.

Thankfully, as we rolled towards the crossing, there were only a couple of cars queued before us, so it was only a short wait for a gruff looking quarantine officer to make her way over to us. Small talk, I don’t think was her strong point, although in hindsight, she may just have been bored. I wouldn’t say the inspection was thorough, although I was required to allow her entry to the van to check the contents of the fridge and our pantry, as well as the caravan boot and a quick look into the back of ‘The Beast’. I wasn’t concerned, as I knew we had nothing to hide, having rid ourselves of any contraband way back in Katherine. Had we wanted to sneak an apple or potato across the border however, I don’t think it would have been a terribly difficult task.

Farewell to the Northern Territory, and the 130Km/h speed limits.

Crossing the border, also caused us some delight of a different kind, as we also crossed into another time zone. So, even though we had left the rest area at 8:55AM and been travelling for about a half an hour already, as we adjusted our watches, we actually went back in time. It was now only 8:10AM again! In fact, it was only 8:50AM when we rolled into the caravan park in Kununurra. It makes it all a little confusing, but the best I can figure is that we therefore made up a total of 1 hour and 35 minutes today, although we lost 5 minutes to the border crossing inspection, so I’ll adjust our ETA to 6:55PM on the 11^th of October.

The early arrival at the caravan park was another blessing, as we had rested our hopes on being able to get a site here. It’s another one of those places that don’t take bookings, but will allow us to leave the dogs in the comfort of the van while we go off exploring. Thankfully, we managed to be allotted the second last powered site in the park. Being that a choice of sites was out of the question, we were just happy that we were able to get the van onto the plot. It’s a cramped little park, with only just enough space on the site for our van to fit lengthwise, while had we not parked on the extreme border of the site, even splaying out our awning may have been out of the question. Parking ‘The Beast’ on site involves Bec guiding me in with the back end hanging out very close to the throughway.

Apart from the tiny proportions, it’s the pick of the sites however, with grand shade bearing trees above, and a walk so short to the ablutions block that we could almost call them an ensuite.

With the van set up, we took the dogs for a short stroll about the park to check out our surroundings. Perched on the shores of Lake Kununurra, there is a pleasant patch of lawn on which to exercise the dogs, with views across to the township. A restaurant, where we have already booked in for dinner, and a pool complete the picture.

A drive in to the township was next, for a visit to the information centre and supermarket to replenish our supply of fruit and vegetables. Being a Sunday, not much else was open, so we completed our chores and beat a hasty retreat for the van. Combined with a few days on the road, the heat and predominantly the lack of sleep, I was fading fast in the energy department.

A quick lunch was had upon our return, before we relaxed with the hefty weekend paper. I don’t recall much else of the afternoon, as my eyeballs soon begun to project my vivid thoughts upon the insides of my eyelids like a widescreen movie as I fell into a fitful torpor. I awoke an hour or so later, feeling much worse for ware rather than better for my rest.

It was even a struggle just to make it to dinner, even though the restaurant was barely a 50 yard walk from the van. I needed to eat though, so off we went. In an outdoor, shade sail canopied dining room, by the light of a candle and citronella burning torches, we dined beneath the stars, serenaded by a solo singer perched on a little rostrum in the corner. For a mere $15.00 each, for a steak and chips or fish and chips, accompanied by copious amounts of salad, we couldn’t go wrong.

Until next time, stay safe, have fun and don’t forget to write.