Our Aussie Adventures

I didn’t say it yesterday, although it would have again been appropriate, but I feel today it must be uttered once more. What a difference a day makes. Save for a smattering of precipitation overnight, which made no difference to us at all, as we were well and truly snugged up, warm in bed, we got up this morning to find the sun shining warmly, as we congratulated ourselves on making the decision to move inland.

With no rush to get on the road, we dragged our feet a little before we saddled up in ‘The Beast’ and got under way. Our travels today will see us heading further north through the township of York, before turning east at Northam.

York Town Hall.

York is a little town that holds the honor of being the oldest inland town in Western Australia. As such, the main street is a cavalcade of dainty historic buildings. Having visited York previously, we made the time to drive up and down the main street quickly, stopping solely to allow Bec to have a look through the little antiques shop. I was going to join her, but got tied up chatting to a couple on the street about travelling with the dogs after they heard our two barking noisily from the back seat. They have been putting off travel, because of their own pooch. I told them what I would advise anyone with pets. Just get out there and do it. We put our own odyssey off for some time because of the animals and while we have been hampered in some places because of them they sure as hell have added to our adventures and there is no way we could have left them behind.

Architecture in…

…Northam

Our next stop was in Northam, a rather large town set along the banks of the Avon River. Also home to a range of historically significant buildings, we spent the bulk of our time wandering up and down the main street peering through the windows of the shops and stocking up on some groceries for dinner tonight. Set on the river as it is, there is also a pedestrian bridge that is regarded as the longest suspension bridge of its kind in Australia. Naturally, we took the time to walk across that, marveling at the bright colours of the ducks paddling about beneath us as we did.

On the suspension bridge.

Northam was essentially the end of our northern ventures, as we turned to head easterly and further inland after leaving the town centre. With the sun out today, and only a few puffy, cotton wool like clouds suspended in the azure hued sky, the fields we passed by today took on a vividness that was indescribable. I though the pastures we passed yesterday were green, even in the bleak grey, sodden light, but today they were almost glowing such was the vibrancy. All neatly tilled with various crops or grazed by sheep, farming is obviously the main industry in these parts. Comparing todays scenic outlook to yesterdays, I can now see how the path we wove yesterday could have been considered scenic in the right light.

The route we were travelling on this afternoon is designated as the golden pipeline heritage trail as it follows the route of an above ground water pipeline. While the pipeline isn’t golden as one might imagine given the title, nor does it really have anything to do with gold, apart from the gold rush being the impetus for its construction. A major feat of engineering when it was completed over a hundred years ago, it is said to be grander in scale than any of the hydro schemes that even the industrious Romans managed to construct. Not only that, but it is still in use to this day. Of course, if the whole business of fluid transfer fails to get your heart racing, the fact that you can stop at various waypoints along the way to peer at old pump stations, or marvel at the actual, genuine pipeline itself will mean absolutely nothing to you. As for us, the pipeline was a constant reminder of the scheme, laid out alongside the road, but we made no effort to stop and take in the associated sights.

For our final destination for the evening, we had picked out two possible roadside camps, separated by 100Km or so, on the road to Kalgoorlie. By 4:30PM, with another 10 minutes to go to reach camp site number one, we decided that we had covered enough miles for one day and would pull in for the evening. Another hour or more on the road would have seen us pulling into the next campsite too close to nightfall for comfort, as we endeavor to minimize the number of kilometres we drive after dark. The heft of the wandering wildlife is too great a peril to make the folly of night driving worth the effort.

So at just before 5:00PM we found ourselves pulling into the muddy lot behind a service station in Bodallin. The camping here is free, with access to toilets and a phone box. That should have spelled out a warning, as phone boxes are a distinct oddity in this day and age when almost everyone has access to a phone in their pocket. Naturally, when we checked, it turns out that having a phone in your pocket is of no consequence here, where there seems to be little to no signal anyway.

After pulling off of the main road and having an exploratory walk about the rest area, we picked out what at first glance appeared to be the prefect spot to spend the night. It was nestled amongst some trees and was a generous distance from the other little motor home that was already in residence. After an avid attempt to negotiate the rig into that site, we found it to be too short by several feet, not to mention being too tight into which to easily maneuver. Giving up on that plan, much to Becs malcontent, we ended up parked right next door to the other campers. Too close to feel comfortable starting up the generator in any case. So while Bec moaned about the cold, I set to work aiming the satellite dish at a little invisible spot in the north eastern sky, so at least we could snuggle beneath the duvet and watch TV. And apart from a short spell to eat dinner, that was pretty much our evening.

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

What a difference a day makes. After a fun and beautifully sunny day yesterday, we awoke this morning to the depressing grey dreariness of unrelenting rain. The ground underfoot was sodden from the persistent showering, making any outdoor activities an exercise in futility. Just getting the dogs out of the van to do their business was problematic, made all the more difficult due to a reoccurrence of Bethanys stomach upset. She had needed to go out a couple of times overnight, while this morning it seemed easier, if wetter, just to wander around behind her in the rain as she strained to do her thing, rather than rushing in and out at her whim.

The onset of the drenching downfall had also played havoc with our little window through the trees, towards the satellite providing us with our TV signal. So much for my bragging yesterday that it was so easy to set up. With our line of sight path now blocked by the water droplet heavy boughs, our satellite dish was relegated to a fancy birdbath. Short of sticking the dish in the middle of the road, we were left with no other option than to wind up the regular antenna and watch normal, everyday terrestrial TV.

With the rain still falling and showing no signs of letting up, we decided to venture out, heading for the Busselton township, which is about 15 minutes away from the caravan park. Ostensibly to fill ‘The Beast’ with fuel, we were surprised to find that the Sunday market was still in full swing, despite the inclement weather. Full swing might be a little bit of an overstatement though, as there were only a couple of dozen stalls. We waltzed along, clad in our Drizabone jackets, drawing a number of approving comments toward our pertinent dress code. It was as if a decent wet weather coat had never once been seen before within the town boundaries of Busselton. It’s not a long bow to draw, that if it is raining, surely a coat is an appropriate piece of attire to don.

Save for a bag of apples and a bunch of flowers to present to relatives of Becs, John and Brenda, who we were meeting up with later, we found nothing of interest at the market. Stripping off our saturated jackets, we climbed back into the warmth of ‘The Beast’, even going as far as to put the heated seats to good use, as we took a driving tour of the town.

As one would expect for a town of this size, it is mostly closed for the weekend, apart from the usual array of fast food joints, cafes and supermarkets. We saw nothing that excited us to the extent that we felt the need to leave the comfort of ‘The Beast’, except for filling up the tanks with a fresh load of diesel.

We were due to meet up with John and Brenda for lunch, so we made our way to their place next. With parking at a premium, we parked down the road from their house, left the dogs in the tray of ‘The Beast’, then skirted the lake like puddles on foot to our hosts home.

It has been a good many years since we last saw John and Brenda, so there was a good deal of catching up to be done, as morning tea spilled into lunch and then on to afternoon tea. It wasn’t until we made it back to ‘The Beast’ that we found that we ought to have relieved the dogs a little earlier. Bethany had been unable to hold on, leaving us a sloppy little present fair square in the middle of the bed that they have in the back. Luckily they hadn’t made too much of a mess in it, although the rain had obviously been striking the canopy at such an angle that water had sluiced in beneath the rear gate, leaving Alvin looking much like a drowned rat, much to his disgust.

In order of descending size, John, Brenda and Bec.

Such as it was, we bid farewell to our gracious hosts, who promised to pop down to the caravan park to take a look at our home away from home. Returning to the van then, we had but a short time to make the interior presentable to guests, as well as washing out ‘The Beast’, and all the while, the rain continued to descend in thick heavy droplets. By this stage, our site was taking on the appearance of a quagmire, water welling up on the surface in ever deepening muddy puddles.

Our guests arrived as promised, in perfect timing as we finished tidying up. We gave them the grand tour of the van, before kicking back to chat for just a little while longer. Waving them goodbye, all too soon, we were left wondering how to utilise the remainder of our afternoon and evening. For the most part, we reclined in bed, watching a rugby league game, before setting up for dinner. With us and the dogs fed, we were about to relax in front of the tele again, but Bethany had other ideas. Unfortunately for us, her ideas involved us scrubbing the floor as a direct result of us not getting her outside promptly enough to avoid her making a mess. Great fun was had by all.

Thankfully, she seems to have settled a little since then, as we scoured the Internet trying to figure out a way in which to massage our itinerary so as to allow us to get away from this incessant rain. It’s terribly depressing, as our main reasons for coming to Busselton was for the beautiful beaches and the famous jetty which stretches out to sea to the extent that it holds the record for being the longest wooden jetty in the southern hemisphere. Hardly exciting activities to undertake considering the current climate.

In fact, considering the weather today, the blue bathrooms that I mentioned in passing yesterday seemed more apt and in touch with my mood. So, as pledged I will explain our amusement in them. Bec was first to view them when we arrived, and as is my habit, I questioned her as to their suitability. The bathroom block can really make or break a caravan park for us, so I was interested to get her take on them. She assured me that they were okay, but wouldn’t elaborate. So I wandered over to see for myself. I found that opening the door to the ablutions area, leads into a parallel world in which everything is blue. From the almost iridescent blue floor tiles, to blue walls, blue benches and even a blue mop and bucket, it’s a case of sensory overload. While photos really don’t do it justice, it really does lend new meaning to ‘feeling blue’.

Blue Loo.

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