Our Aussie Adventures

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.

I was happy that after everyone had gone back to their own accommodations last night, that I sat down to plot out an exciting itinerary for todays activities. I found it a little difficult, as the information available online for things to do and see in Robe is limited to say the least, but I was able to glean enough information to set a plan in place that would see the four of us enjoying a day out in the surrounding hills, sucking in the sweet aromas as we wound our way from vineyard to vineyard, before returning to take in the epicurean delights of the main street, coupled with a visit to some of Robes more unusual tourist draw cards.

Before any of this could occur, and well before David and Heather were meant to join us at the caravan park, the back seat of ‘The Beast’ needed to be converted from doggy transport configuration to human conveyance. A task that involved giving the interior of ‘The Beast’ a good once over with the vacuum and chamois to rid it of as much evidence of the canines as possible. With both Bec and I toiling away in the early morning sun, we quickly had the back seat looking presentable again. And not a moment too soon, as David and Heather pulled up, looking somewhat more rested than either Bec or myself did in our harried state.

We at least had a few moments to sit down and relax, coffees and energy drinks flowing freely, as I discussed with everyone my carefully constructed plan for the day. With happy nods all round, we loaded up ‘The Beast’, the dogs riding for a change out the back and headed off. My plan called for a quick stop to refuel ‘The Beast’, before dropping in on the visitor information centre, to ensure that there was nothing that I had missed.

While Heather kept the dogs company, David, Bec and I went to scour the brochures at the information centre, never knowing what nugget of information might be uncovered in an elsewise unseen leaflet. Before we left, I queried the girl behind the counter as to the exact addresses for the cellar doors we planned to spend our day knocking on, in the hope of finding a tipple or two of succulent alcoholic grape juice in varieties of red and white. As it turned out, only three of the five cellar doors in the Mount Benson wine region are currently open, so figuring that we were going to have a little extra time on our hands, I asked further of what else might be an entertaining way to spend the afternoon.

It was suggested that lunchtime at the wharf is a bustling time, as all the lobster boats start to unload the days catch. At the mention of lobsters and crayfish, I could feel an uneasy presence at each side, Bec and Davids ears pricking up at the mere reference to these sweet delicacies. I must admit, that it was my own fault, since I asked the next question, querying where we might hope to purchase a lobster or two. The local fishmonger is apparently the place to go, with him having first choice of the critters than hit the docks. With Bec and David now wide eyed and salivating on either side of me, my carefully laid out plans for the day went out the window.

An immediate change of plan saw us unanimously deciding to forgo a day frolicking amongst the vines, for a fresh seafood lunch back at the caravan, although tentative plans were made to head off to the wineries following a feed. So the fishmongers address was quickly fed into the electronic brain of ‘Shazza’, who directed us for a change, succinctly to the nondescript tin shed at the end of a residential road, well removed from the main tourist beaten path.

In the small sales area, in a corner of the main warehouse, we had a choice of giant succulent prawns, juicy oysters, a long list of fish species and of course the crème of the crop, the entire reason for our presence, the bright red shelled, juicy white fleshed critters of the deep, the fresh from the pot lobsters.

Between the four of us, we swaggered out with several bags full of prawns, a couple of lobsters and the entire days catch of fish, which in the interest of full disclosure I must admit consisted of only two medium sized snapper.

Clutching our sacks of lunchtime treats, we made a rapid return to the campsite, where I fired up the barbeque to bake the fish, while David and Bec tore into the lobsters, quickly shucking the tender flesh from the spiny shell. Prawns were distributed, as were glasses of chilled Chardonnay and by the time the shellfish had all been hungrily devoured, the delicious aroma of roasting snapper was wafting tantalizingly through the annex.

Your…

…lunch…

…is…

…served.

Rescued just in time from the grasp of the hotplate, the Snapper was cooked to perfection, needing nothing more for a garnish than a sliver of lemon and a cracking sprinkle of rock salt. Delicious.

With the sun shining and the goblets of wine starting to take effect, any suggestion of resuming our planned day out was put on hold indefinitely. Rather, Bec and Heather decided that the quaint little stores of the main street were calling, while David and I decided an afternoon of relaxing by the shores of the lake, within easy reach of another cold beverage or two was more akin to our wants.

So as the girls went shopping, David and I sat indolently behind the caravan, lunch slowly settling in the pits of our stomachs while enjoying the quite solitude and chance to catch up on all the gossip from home, as the lake water gently lapped the shore right at out feet.

What a perfect way to spend an afternoon.

Heather and Bec rejoined us a couple of hours later, thankfully returning with further liquid refreshments with which we were able to continue our idle leisure well into the afternoon. It came a time however, as the sun began to settle that a chill replaced the warmth of the afternoon and moves were made to retreat to the warmth of the annex where discussions were afoot as to what we should do for dinner.

A booking had been made for a well regarded seafood restaurant, but given the delicious fare we had enjoyed for lunch, it was decided to cancel the reservation in favour of ordering pizzas and eating at the hotel with David and Heather. With the decision confirmed, David and Heather headed back to their room, giving Bec and I a chance to clean up and feed the dogs quickly.

At the allotted time of 7:30PM, we joined the others at their room, where the menu for the pizza shop was handed around. With a number of delicious sounding slices available, it was a drawn out process for us all to pick our preferred pizza. With the selections finally decided upon, David was elected as the spokesperson, making the call to place our order. Disappointingly, the menu has recently changed, leaving us with yet another round of decisions, making a choice from the new menu.

With our new selections nutted out, David and I jumped into the car to go order the pizzas, only to arrive at the shop to be told that they were about to close for the night and that the pizza oven had already been switched off for the evening, although coffee and cake was still available. Flabbergasted, we despondently returned to the car, then toured the town to find that there appeared to be exactly zero places still open from which we might hope to get a meal. It was an awkward silence that greeted me, when I rang Bec to let her and Heather know that dinner might not be a plausible option tonight, while I was thinking that maybe we shouldn’t have cancelled our reservation at the restaurant earlier.

Back at the room, a few more phone calls were made which eventually led us to a café that was able to provide a few pizzas to tide us over for the night. Phew, and here we were thinking that we were going to go hungry tonight. The selection process was undertaken in double quick time and the order quickly placed, so as to ensure that we didn’t again miss the deadline, before David and I again braved the cold to venture out to collect our dinner.

As it turned out, the pizzas were entirely delectable, although that may have had something to do with the eagerness for which we received them, being something alike a condemned man receiving his final meal. The night overall though, can be declared a success as more wine was consumed as the laughs surged liberally.

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