The question was asked of me the other day, querying what our latest estimated time of arrival back in Melbourne is? Well, accounting for this mornings saving of fifteen minutes, we are now looking at 5:00PM on the 11^th of October. I sincerely believe that the weather was to thank for our earlier than expected start to the morning, as I seem to run about just that bit quicker, picking up hoses and hitching the van up, when I am getting drenched by the monotonous sheath of rain that was falling upon me.

Not that our fifteen minutes got us very far, as we stopped for morning tea at the little café attached to the caravan park reception office. I had sent Bec in to settle our bill, or in our case retrieve our $100.00 dog bond, which they were overly apologetic for requiring of us. Apparently I was served by a new employee who took the instruction to obtain a $50.00 bond for dogs a little too literally. Not that it concerned us, although it was lucky we had the cash at the time of checking in to cover it. Anyway, Bec came back out of the office, all smiles, clutching the $100.00 in such a way that I just knew it was never going to again see the inside of my wallet again, while asking if I wanted a coffee.

With a fresh brewed coffee on offer, with which to start the day, I replied in the affirmative, parked the van out on the street and wandered back to the café, to find Bec ordering a piece of vanilla slice. So, there was an ulterior motive to me getting a brew after all, although at least I got to enjoy a half of the slice as well, before we mounted up and moved off again.

Although, we still hadn’t ventured further than walking distance from the caravan park when I found myself pulling to the side of the road yet again, this time to allow Bec to run into the ‘Lobster Shack’, where she was able to get herself a fresh off the boat and cooked this morning lobster for lunch.

It was somewhat past 10:00AM when we finally rolled out of Cervantes, hitting the open road to continue southward towards Perth. We are actually less than a days drive away from Perth, the capital city of Western Australia, yet in no great hurry to arrive in the urban landscape that has eluded us for so long. Not so much because we are trying to avoid the city, we’re not. We had originally planned to give Perth a wide berth, since we were here a couple of times only last year, but a yearning to be able to watch TV anywhere we want has seen us massage our itinerary to be able to stop in for a few days to hopefully source a satellite TV system.

Arriving on a Saturday seemed fruitless however, as all of the stores we want to visit are open strictly Monday to Friday. Therefore, we saw no sense in spending extra dollars on caravan park accommodation, when we would most likely sit in the van and do nothing for the majority of the day anyway. This was also the reason we decided against remaining camped up in the caravan park in Cervantes. Instead, we decided to drive just a little over a hundred kilometres to a pretty little rest area on the banks of the Moore River, where we can camp and do nothing, for nothing.

The drive was as scenic as we have enjoyed for some time, through an undulating landscape that alternated between vibrant green fields, stark white sand dunes and interestingly, forests of stubby, rotund Grass Trees or black boys as Bec likes to call them. I had never seen such a thing as a forest of these trees, so it was quite amazing and picturesque, even though the few photos we took do them no justice at all.

One of many.

It was only 11:30AM when we pulled into the tiny little rest area that we had chosen to be our camp for the night. Even at this early hour, when even the most ardent, early rising caravanners are barely done with their morning tea, we weren’t the first to be setting up shop for the night. Another couple had just pipped us to the post for first place, although we pulled up alongside them, almost like standing in second place on a medal podium. We actually ended up parked a wee bit closer to them that what was ideal, but due to the sloping ground, we found it difficult to get the van to stand on a relatively level keel.

The only benefit of our narrow parking is that it hasn’t left any room for anyone else to park either side of us. Of course, if I had pulled in later and found some other van situated as haphazardly as we appear to be, I would have been disgusted at their sheer and utter arrogance.

By the time we had managed to level the van up, Bec had decided that it must be close enough to lunchtime, breaking out a range of tools with which to attack her lobster with. As the dogs looked on in the vain hope of a stray morsel falling their way, I watched in amusement, the camera ever at the ready, as the lobster was transformed from a red picture of delicateness, to a mass of broken shell grit and grimy looking entrails. The soft white tail meat was made short work of, before scissors and pliers were put to work honing in on the robust legs.

Bethany licks her lips hopefully, but ultimately in vain.

It’s a good old fashioned lobster hoedown.

With the rest of the day to sit around and do nothing, we decided to take advantage of a rare break in the weather, during which the gloriously warm sun made a welcome appearance, to sit at the picnic table right outside our door, to read the paper. We hadn’t even opened the front page when the third place getters in the stopping for the evening race, an elderly couple from Busselton who are slowly making their own way home, came over to introduce themselves and have a chat. They are travelling with a little Poodle that Bec took an immediate fancy too. By the time the weather closed in again, the sun ducking behind a bank of rapidly congealing dark clouds, we had spent a good while sitting about doing nothing more than idly chatting. A perfectly fantastic way to spend the day we decided.

As the cold again descended on us though, we took refuge in the warmth of the van, pulling out the reams of collected brochures we have for upcoming destinations, as well as a few that had slipped through the cracks, for places we’ve already seen. A little bit more planning was then undertaken and plenty of notes were compiled, for the next stage of our trip, which will see us travel from Perth to Busselton and the Margaret River wine region, before beginning the east bound and most likely saddest segment of our journey.

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