We managed to organise our day around a much needed sleep in today, having planned to meet up with David and Heather at about 10:30AM. The extra sleep was indeed welcomed after our early morning and subsequent late night yesterday.

I had also decided against making meticulous plans for todays activities and instead picked out a few activities which we might all enjoy so that we could do as little or as much as we had the energy for.

Once David and Heather arrived, I was eager to get everyone into their respective pews in ‘The Beast’ and be underway. While my plans may have had a distinct air of fluidity to them today, I was adamant that our first stop for the morning would be at a local coffee merchant whose advertising indicated that their coffee was the best in town. This would be a little slice of heaven for coffee drinking Heather and myself, while the non-coffee drinking Bec and David would have to sit and look on aridly.

Heather was as enthusiastic as I to be moving when I mentioned the coffee shop. We were therefore quick to get moving, finding the café in the same neck of the woods as the fish shop from yesterday, in a similarly plain tin shed that had it not been for us taking a closer look appeared to be closed. The intoxicating aroma of freshly roasted beans assailed our nostrils well before we even reached the door, intensifying ten fold as we strolled into the little shop that specialised in all things coffee. Fresh beans could be purchased, either whole or ground to your liking, while the walls were adorned with shelves crammed with all manner of coffee preparation apparatuses. From simple French Presses to extravagant espresso machines and everything in between were all available for the java connoisseur.

It was the brewed coffee that had brought us here though, which we ordered before enjoying while sitting at a table in the sunshine filled courtyard. The pervasive aromatics of the beans still enlivening our olfactory sense, Heather and I savoured the syrupy smooth texture and delicate flavor of our beverages. It was a cathartic endeavor, the warm liquid flowing tastily past our lips as we tucked into a slice of homemade cake, the sweetness of which was perfectly balanced with the coffee. All the while, David and Bec watched on, no doubt hoping that our cups would soon enough be emptied, so that a move could be made towards something more suited to their span of attention.

The final drops of our Lattes sucked from our cups, the final crumbs of the cake mopped up, we allowed ourselves to be ushered out by the coffee tyrants, before making our way towards the marina. It was here we had been told that 12:00PM saw the arrival of the fishing fleet, where in a flurry of activity the boats would be unloaded of their mornings catch of lobster.

The first trawler docks at the marina.

It was closer to 12:30PM that the first trawler glided in, quickly followed by a few other boats. While not quite the flurry of activity that I had expected, it was a sight to behold as crates of live crayfish were landed on the dock, before they were weighed and loaded into waiting trucks. Heather batted her eyelids at a couple of the burly crew members, asking sweetly if a lobster or two could be liberated from its prison like crate, but was sternly rebuffed. As a tightly regulated industry, the crates are all secured with tamper proof seals, while at the scales a docket is issued for forwarding to the fisheries officials. This is all to prevent over fishing and ensure ongoing stocks of lobster for the future.

Only a few minutes down the road from the marina, we came across the ruins of the old Robe Gaol. Erected originally in 1860, the final remaining evidence of the structure is limited to the waist high wrecks of the walls, about which you can wander unfettered. Interpretive signs indicate different points of interest and areas within the gaol, but it was still difficult to imagine what the actual building might have been like when in its prime.

Past the gaol site, situated on a decaying spit of limestone stands the Robe Obelisk. This 40 feet tall, red and white striped structure stands a total of 100 feet above sea level like a giant party hat. It provides a navigational marker to mariners that can be seen from a distance of 20km on a clear day, somewhat like a lightless lighthouse.

The Obelisk stands like a sentinel looking out to sea.

The area in the vicinity of the obelisk captured our imaginations for more than just the poor mans lighthouse though, as the cliffs dropped jaggedly to the raging ocean someway below us, the clear water smashing against the rocks. It was mesmerising, standing atop the cliff watching as random patterns of waves rushed to crash against the rugged shoreline. To one side, we spotted a lone seal that lolled playfully on a rock, sliding into the green water each time receding waves exposed its rocky resting place. Most excitingly though was the lucky sighting of a vast pod of frolicking dolphins.

Bec enjoys the view.

We had all just reached the pinnacle of a lookout when David called our attention to the sleek figures, which must have numbered in the dozens, sashaying in unison through the water. I was disappointed that I had neglected to bring my good camera, fitted with a telephoto lens, along today, but it will be a memory that we won’t soon forget, as we stood transfixed, watching the graceful animals glide about beneath us, entirely unaware of the excited commotion which they were responsible for ashore.

All this exhilaration had the side effect of making us hungry, so a lunch of meat pies was taken at the Robe Bakery. There are essentially two types of meat pies. Good ones and bad ones. If you get a bad one, you know about it, as the juicy, gloopy filling runs thinly out of soggy pastry cases. Good ones on the other hand are like what we enjoyed this afternoon, with crispy pastry cases filled with tender chunks of meat suspended in thick, full flavoured gravy. Equally good vanilla slices followed the pies, after which we declared that full was an understatement of how we were feeling.

Overstuffed from lunch, we boarded ‘The Beast’ for the short drive to the nearby Beacon Hill Lookout. Situated at the top of a small rise, a squat concrete tower climbs above the foliage to provide a sensational 360^o view of Robe as well as the surrounding national park and ocean.

At the base of the lookout

Bec looks down from the top.

Since the 10 or 12 steps that led to the upper reaches of the lookout failed to see us working up a sweat, in an effort to work off the extra calories lunch had provided us with, we headed to the Town Beach. It’s only a relatively short span of soft sand that snakes along behind the main street, but it provided us the opportunity of a lovely, leisurely stroll before we returned to the caravan.

Bec and Heather take the opportunity of a rest.

Following last nights epic dinner saga, and not wanting a repeat, Bec and I had offered to cook this evening. A roast lamb, with all the trimmings was on the menu.

Imagine our distress however, when the vegetables were removed from the oven in the camp kitchen, cooked to perfection, while the joints of meat still had the pasty white appearance of rawness to them. Ravernous was a feeling we all had in common by the time dinner was eventually served, a good hour or more later than originally expected. It was worth the wait though, even if I do say so myself.

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