Our Aussie Adventures

I had grand plans today of plying all of my readers with tales of fun and excitement. Regaling you all with our yarns of adventurous exploration. Plenty of humorous anecdotes would have rounded out todays blog.

Our day was to start with another early morning, to allow us a visit to another weekend market, this time full of bric-a-brac. We would meander along the aisles, picking through the trash and treasure looking for that clandestine bargain. A few more books for the remainder of our travels wouldn’t go astray, and there is always someone selling fishing gear, of which I could always do with some more. Bec would look longingly at the plants, knowing full well the folly of buying anything here on the other side of Australia, or maybe she would find a few handmade birthday cards to add to our already substantial collection. Just the smell of freshly brewing coffee can get my heart racing, so a cup of java would be enjoyed, while Bec would ponder the sweetness of a hot chocolate.

From the market, ‘The Beast’ full of all our purchases, we were in for a 75Km drive north of Carnarvon then, to Point Quobba where the snorkeling is supposed to be excellent. With the temperature settling to a top in the mid to high twenties on the Celsius scale and only a light breath of a breeze, conditions promised to be sensational. Brightly coloured fish, swimming amongst the delicate branches of coral, all beneath the gleaming, shimmering waters would be cast an examining eye.

Snorkelling paradise.

Beneath the waves.

To warm ourselves after our snorkelling exploration of the little, weather protected coral cove, we would walk across the dunes and rocks to the ‘blowholes’ where wave action through fissures in the stony shoreline cause geysers of sea water to shoot spectacularly skyward in spurts reaching up to 20 meters high.

The blow holes.

On the way back to the van, there is that giant radar dish that dominates the skyline near the caravan park to check out. It has something to do with transmitting TV images of the first lunar landing back to the USA.

Earth station, Carnarvon.

Imagine the TV reception you could get with a dish like that.

None of these activities actually transpired however as our plans were transmogrified after a couple of unsettling incidents late last night. First of all, Karma is a bitch. For all my harping about following the rules and policies, we decided to put a load of washing through our own machine, waiting until after dark in a sneaky attempt to avoid detection. While we didn’t get caught out, we did find that as it drained, the back end of the van took on the appearance of a top end waterfall in full flow at the height of the wet season. Thankfully the cascade of soapy grey water was confined to the exterior of the van, but nonetheless it is of concern. I have been noticing it over the last couple of weeks, but last night was the worst I’ve seen it. From what I could tell, of the 44 litres of water the machine is meant to use during each cycle, about 40 litres ended up soaking slowly into the stony, arid earth directly beneath the van.

The second problem we had was in relation to the dogs. Both have seemed to be a little off coloured for the previous couple of days. There has been nothing specific, other than them both being relatively lethargic and quieter than their usual selves. All day yesterday though, they also suffered from rather loose bowels, which in itself wasn’t too much of an issue, but when Bethany added some bright red blood to her outgoings, we started to worry.

Of course, being a Sunday today, there are no vets open to consult with, so we decided that we would spend the day in the van allowing us to watch over her. That being the case, I in turn decided to spend the bulk of my day, flat on my back, underneath the caravan, peering perplexedly at the bottom of the floor, all the while scratching my head in consternation about the conundrum that was, from whence was that bloody river of water flowing from last night.

Before I knew it, the back end of the van was in pieces, bits of caravan scattered widely across our site, but I was still no closer to finding the source of the leak, nor a solution for preventing any further flooding cascades. The best I can figure is that back pressure in the washing machine outlet is causing water to flow back up towards the sinks, but where the actual leaks in the system are, well that is still an unsolved enigma. The best I can hope for is to make a temporary modification to the plumbing, so as we can continue using the washer without fear of flooding our site, creating a lake in which the caravan can become a sinking ship. This means that I now have another day of toil ahead of me tomorrow, as by the time I had ascertained what bits and bobs were required to have a go at reorganizing the maze of pipes anchored to the underside of the van, the hardware shops had closed their doors for today.

Suffice to say, after wasting all morning and a good part of the afternoon messing about beneath the van, all the while accomplishing exactly zilch for my efforts, I was not a happy chappy. I was at least buoyed by Alvin and Bethanys apparent recovery, although we maintained a close eye on them just in case. A trip to the vet tomorrow to put our minds at ease will still be arranged.

Feeling rather disheartened about the continued issues we have experienced with the van, we spent the afternoon trying to forget about it all, as we got stuck into some further planning. We are still after all, in the midst of our odyssey, and we’re not going to let a little thing like our van falling apart stop us from completing our trip. Sure, the van may well look like an oversized garden trailer by the time we get home, but by golly, we’re going to make it all the way round.

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

We had a relatively early start to the day today, getting up in enough time to go into town for the Saturday morning farmers and craft market. Carnarvon, and the surrounding Gascoyne area is well known for its fresh produce, which was what we hoped to purchase some of.

Awaiting us amongst a bevy of stalls selling handicrafts, homemade relishes and delightfully pungent Indian curry pastes, was also a dozen stalls all filled with freshly harvested fruit and vegetables. Filled might not actually be the correct term given our late attendance, although I am sure they would have been full before they were picked over by the early crowd of customers. We still managed to load our arms with a selection of vegies with which to fill our pantry.

A couple of jars of relish and jam also made their way into our satchel, all made with local fresh fruit. Tasting the mango jam, it is like eating pureed mango, while the pineapple and ginger relish is a divine mixture of sweet and spicy all in one mouthful.

A trip to the department store in which Bec had picked through the bargains yesterday was next, just incase she had missed anything. Our budget breathed a sigh of relief when she declared the shelves to have been picked clean, but then I found a few items to add to my already bulging wardrobe. If it’s not one of us, it’s the other, although my purchases didn’t quite fit into the same exemplary category of bargain as Becs did yesterday.

With no trip to Carnarvon complete without a visit to the ‘1 mile jetty’, this was our next stop. For the most part, the restoration and maintenance of the jetty is through public donations, which explains the minimal charge just to walk the almost mile length of it. Parking ‘The Beast’ ashore and looking down the length of the pier, as it juts out into the ocean like a slender wooden finger, Bec was adamant that she was not going to walk to the end of it and not solely due to the admission fee. Thankfully, walking isn’t required to reach the further reaches of the finger, as for a little extra donation, you can ride a cute little train that runs up and down at regular intervals. Fondly called the ‘Coffee Pot’, the little yellow and green engine, which looks like a character straight out of a ‘Thomas the Tank Engine’ story, pulls two open carriages along a worryingly narrow gauged line that runs the length of the jetty.

Bec and ‘Coffee Pot’.

To walk the same distance would have taken the same length of time, such is the speed of the train, but it was nice to be able to sit and make the journey with ease. Everyone disembarks at the end of the pier, where there is time to take in the sights of the locals trying their hand at catching some fish, while a large Pelican was making long slow orbiting circuits between waddling along the jetty’s end, hoping to be thrown a feed of fish and bait. A wish that came true for the pelican.

Waiting for a feed.

Enjoying the ride.

After 10 minutes or so the train whistle blew and all those who weren’t staying on or walking back, boarded the miniature carriages for the slow trundle back towards the distant shoreline.

The long ride back.

Back ashore, we were already on the way again when we noticed a couple of museums were in the same area. Tired from our early start, and still yet to do the grocery shopping, we decided that we would try and make it back another day to look at them. I am most interested in the lighthouse keepers museum, but the railway museum next door would also be worth a look.

After the shopping was completed, where I took the opportunity to load up on some fresh bait, with the intention of feeding the Carnarvon fish just like we have in Derby and Exmouth, we returned to the van for a late lunch.

It was after lunch, our hunger pangs fully slaked, Bec decided that an afternoon nap was infinitely more appealing than a most likely unsuccessful afternoon of fishing. So she carted the dogs off to bed while I spent my time outside in the warm sunshine, making a half hearted effort to clean the barbeque and setting up a couple of fishing rods, just in case we do decide to trial the fishing action here in Carnarvon.

With Bec still asleep, I ended up alternating between dozing in my camp chair and reading, while watching our new neighbours set up their camp. I was not overly impressed with them, given that their dog was running about free, and not listening to a word it was told. The kids weren’t much better. I gave them time to set up and then get it, the dog that is, under control, but it didn’t happen. Concerned about what it would do if we needed to take our two out, I’d finally had enough of it sticking its nose into our site, so I went over and let them know as much. I might even have been a bit abrupt, but I’m not going to allow our two dogs to get savaged because of someone elses incompetence and failure to abide by the rules that clearly state that dogs must be on a leash. I was just as abruptly told that they would be gone in the morning anyway. It was on the tip of my tongue to say: “Good, ‘cause we don’t want you, your dog or your kids.” but I thought better of it though, having already angered them sufficiently for one day, and achieved my objective of having the dog secured. In any case, I don’t think I made any friends out of them, as I had to listen to them whinging about the way they had been spoken to for the rest of the afternoon. For my part, while it had to be done, I still spent the rest of the evening feeling like the grumpy old man that lives in the house with the overgrown garden, which kids cross the road to avoid walking past for fear of upsetting the ogre within. The same ogre who refuses to return their balls to them, or complains bitterly about stray dogs roaming about the neighbourhood.

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