Beth and Mark's Gap Year 2014

Thursday 20 November 2014

Back to the beginning- 15 Nov to 22 Nov

The last time we were in Esperance was 15 years ago, and the time before that was 30 years ago. On each of these occasions I came away awestruck with the beauty of the place. Since then I have travelled the world, seen much more of Australia and am older and less impressionable. You know how you had a movie that you loved as a youngster, then you see it again in later years and it is not quite how you remembered it, in fact it is embarrassingly bad. Well I was half expecting that experience with Esperance, but no, the things which so enchanted me about Esperance way back then still do the same for me today. The coastline here is just magnificent, and certainly for me as nice as anything I have ever seen. What has changed about Esperance, and I am still undecided whether it is for the better or not, is that it has grown considerably and is no longer a little fishing town that just happens to have the nicest coastline in the world. Hyden I thought was struggling with its identity somewhat. Was it a farm town or a tourist town? No such struggle for Esperance, it is very clearly a tourist town, and there seems to be quite a bit of money being spent to ensure it maintains its tourist profile.

One of the areas benefittng from this largesse is a cycling trail along the coast, and Beth and I took full advantage of this for 10km (plus 10 coming back of course), only on two legs rather than two wheels. Mile after mile of stunningly beautiful beaches, so it really didn't feel like we had covered 20 km at the end of the day (the absence of significant hills possibly also helped). We also took a long walk through the Esperance wetlands which was quite interesting. The last two visits to Esperance we have taken a boat trip out to Woody Island, but this seems to have become quite popular, and this is reflected in the price tag, which even allowing for inflation seems to have risen sharply. We decided to give it a miss this time and rely on fond memories.

Beth was quite taken by a whale sculpture recently installed on the beautifully rejuvenated foreshore and decided to visit the gallery of the local artist who created the really interesting glass features for the sculpture. Needless to say she was also impressed with what was on offer at the gallery, but showed remarkable restraint by purchasing only a little. I asked the artist where the money was coming from to fund all the seemingly very expensive public works taking place in town. She answered "Royalties for Regions". To which I said "Ahh", and gave a knowing nod. Exactly why I did that I don't know, because I actually didn't have a clue what she was talking about, although I had seen that term used before in the context of regional investment. Clearly this meant public spending of some sort, so Beth's interest was piqued and out came the research tools (iPad and Google). It seems that through the Royalties for Regions program, 25% of WA mining royalties or $1b (whichever comes first) is allocated each year to fund regional improvement, essentially through grants. Since we have been in the west, we have heard the locals endlessly crying poor because only 40% of Western Australia's GST revenue is returned (this number varies depending upon who you speak to), while other states are receiving 100% or more, and this is seriously curtailing essential investment in infrastructure to cope with the growth of Perth. Sounds like the government propaganda machine has been very effective in duping its constituents. Make the Commonwealth the bad guy for the city votes, but keep spending big time in the regions (at the expense of city infrastructure investment) to ensure the country vote is secured. Methinks that the principles of an egalitarian tax system may have been misplaced in this neck of the woods. Oops!!! I am meant to stay away from politics and religion, aren't I?

After the luxury of tourist town Esperance, the wilderness again beckons and we head all of 60 km along the coast to Cape Le Grand NP for a couple of nights. But along the way we call into Stonehenge. Yes, you heard right, Stonehenge. But unlike the one in Amesbury, England, this one isn't tumbledown, missing bits and pieces and generally looking 5000 years old. It seems that a few years ago a Margaret River vintner decided that it would be a clever gimmick to set up an exact replica of Stonehenge (as it would have looked several thousand years ago) at his winery, so he engaged a granite quarry in Esperance to cut and supply the stones. All was going swimmingly until the winemaker realised that he really did not have the $500,000 required to transport these stones to Margaret River. Problem was that he didn't realise ths until after all the rocks had been quarried. I presume hat there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but at the end of the day a saviour came in the form of Farmer Brown (I can't remember his real name) across the road from the quarry. "Why don't we build Stonehenge here on my farm in Esperance?", said Farmer Brown, and that is what happened. So for the princely sum of $10 we got to see Stonehenge as it may have been many moons ago, including cows. Very weird.

The camp ground at Lucky Bay in Cape Le Grand NP was superb, with wonderful coastal views, shady sites, gas barbecues and even those most rare of commodities in national park campgrounds, flushing toilets and showers. But given that we had only 4 of each to share amongst about 80 people we weren't getting too excited. The showers were also solar heated, so tended to be coolish at best in the mornings. Oh well, still better than the flannel wash with a thimble full of water in the confines of our trailer which is our normal fare in NP campgrounds. The other wonderfully surprising treat at lucky bay was a trailer cafe (The Lucky Bean) parked on the beach serving quite acceptable coffee. Quite a concession by the National Parks folk I think to attract tourists who might not otherwise come to a National Park. Another less welcome concession is allowing vehicles onto the beach. The beauty of this gorgeous beach and the joy of a walk along it is diminished somewhat by the stream of traffic whizzing back and forth. Oh well, those folk are probably bemoaning the fact in their blogs that you cannot get away from coffee shops even out here.

Lucky Bay is situated almost in the middle of a coastal walk trail running from Rossiter Bay in the east to Le Grand Beach in the west and claimed by the NP folk to be 15km long. But mysteriously, the NP folk also suggested 10 hours be allowed to complete the walk one way (1.5 kph is pretty slow going). Our mission of course was to complete the walk both ways (ie 30k) in the two days at our disposal. Turns out this was a mission impossible. The walks were tough going, but the distances were also significantly understated. We think that the 15k distance quoted was as the crow flies, and there were very few straight lines on the tracks we took. Nonetheless we did our 30k of walking, which I think covered about 70% of the track. The trail took us along beautiful beaches and up and over ancient granite headlands and really did provide us with a new and sensational vista at every turn, and again we were treated to magnificent displays of wildflowers. We had a ball, the only downside was that Beth discovered that she is not quite as impervious to ticks as we thought. She is now sporting two bites from the nasty little critters, and there are two less ticks in the world after they were pulverised once found.

We continued our habit of coincidentally catching up with new friends we have met along the way. Our Swiss friends from Fitzgerald River were at Lucky Bay as were our Newcastle friends from Stirling Ranges, and a young English couple we befriended at Esperance were also there. It was a nice little international campers reunion.

Really on the homeward stretch now because we are about to head across the Nullarbor. We toyed with the idea of taking a 4wd "shortcut" from Esperance to Balladonia, but reports were that the road was pretty bad, and the weather looked a bit threatening so we chickened out and went the long way through Norseman. Nothing terribly interesting about Norseman, another WA gold mining town which has seen better days. I thought the story of how Norseman got its name was quaint though. Evidently back in the late 19th Century, a prospector was making his way through what is now Norseman when his horse pulled up lame. Upon inspection of the affected hoof, the prospector found that a lump of gold had become lodged behind the shoe (and there was plenty more where that came from). The horse's name was Hardy Norseman, and the rest is history. I often get stones in my shoes, perhaps I should check them before flinging them away.

Our first stop on the Nullarbor is Balladonia, which is not very exciting, just a roadhouse with space out the back to park your van, but it was comfortable enough and the showers were hot, so no complaints. Just as we were finishing our setting up for the night we heard a roar coming from the west which sounded a bit like a fighter plane. The black clouds in the distance indicated an approaching storm, but the roar sounded much closer. As I was pondering this irregularity, a huge dust storm, which was the source of the roar descended upon me and left behind a thick coating of fine dust on everything it passed over. As I shook off my dust blanket I could tell from the anguished noises coming from inside the trailer that Beth also had been caught unawares. The open mesh windows of our trailer did very little to hinder progress of the dust and in no time at all dunes were forming on the bed and kitchen benches (perhaps I exaggerate a little). Whilst I was pondering how to clean this all up the real storm snuck up on us, and in a trice the dust in the air was replaced with enormous rain drops driven almost sideways by the wind. Luckily Beth was less inclined to ponder and more inclined to act, so she had already put up the barricades against the storm when the rain hit, thereby preventing the conversion of sand hills to slurry heaps. Despite the storm persisting we managed to clean up and even prepare a hearty meal (barbecued vegetables peppered with grit). As we ate our dinner we marked Balladonia down in our little book of places that there is no real need to visit again.

At one stage we contemplated a leisurely week long crossing of the Nullarbor, but now that we are here we have abandoned that thought and determined to travel our agreed maximum 500km per day, which means that our next stop is Eucla, with a stopover at Cocklebiddy for coffee and a driver change. No real excitement to report regarding this trip. We saw people taking selfies at the sign indicating the start of the longest straight stretch of road in Australia (90 miles), which I guess makes sense because that sign is probably the most interesting thing to see on that stretch of road. Like most of the fuel stops on the Eyre Highway, Cocklebiddy doesn't really have a lot to recommend it. It is not the vision splendid, and the food will never win any awards, but it is lovely to have somewhere to stop and rest and enjoy a dreadful cup of coffee. A funny thing happened whilst we were sitting enjoying such a break. A lady came in and asked the attendant in a thick Germanic accent whether they sold hot dogs. Quite a reasonable question you may think, and the answer was yes. Good, I will have two please, they are for my dogs. Ok, now it is getting a bit weirder. The attendant then offers the suggestion that they also have beef sausages which may be more suitable, to which the German lady replied, "but are they good for dogs?". Why an attendant at a Cocklebiddy hamburger bar would know the relative health benefits of hot dogs vs beef sausages for dogs is beyond me, as is how anybody could think that there is anything less healthy than a hot dog. After a bemused look as response from the attendant, the German lady decided that hot dogs must be the answer. The attendant (I think in jest) asked if she would like sauce on the hot dogs. Oh goodness me no, scoffed the German in disgust at the very thought, but could I please have mustard and mayonnaise. She wasn't joking!!!! What a bizarre transaction, but splendid theatre for us, we almost stood and applauded.

Eucla gives us our first glimpse of the ocean for quite some time and is actually relatively picturesque. The caravan park is also very nicely appointed (certainly compared with other stops along the way), and our stay there is very pleasant. Not so pleasant though that we consider extending our stay. We were tempted to wander down and visit the old telegraph station half buried in the dunes, but we have seen this several times before, so chose instead to get on our way to Cedna. Along the way we made the obligatory stop to view the 100m high cliffs of the Great Australian Bight. We have seen these before as well, but I never cease to be amazed by these soaring cliffs which continue for as far as the eye can see. Beth seems to have taken the role of lead driver these days. She warms the tyres, sorts out any little niggles with the car and then works her way up to a steady pace. She then hands over to her co-driver (that would be me) who brings it home to the finish line. This generally works ok unless I am called upon for navigation, whereupon I sometimes get things wrong. Luckily we are crossing the Nullarbor which boasts just the one road, so even my navigational shortcomings are unlikely to cause us grief. Our only pit stop today is at Nullarbor, where we finish off the last of our fruit and vegetables before we get to the quarantine station at Ceduna. Carrots, tomatoes and oranges (I refused to even think about consuming six onions - which is lucky because they were allowed through quarantine) eaten on the side of the road before being washed down with Nullabor's finest coffee in their salubrious dining hall. It did the trick, but is likely one of those dining experiences which don't live long in the memory.

Ceduna, despite a not so nice reputation was a pleasant enough place to stay. Not particularly attractive, but very friendly people and a comfortable enough caravan park. We even managed to get in a decent walk along the coast, and as reward for our efforts over the last few days we shouted ourselves dinner at the local hotel, which was very nice (local seafood) and a welcome break from our Herculean task of vegetarianism in recent days to ensure we disposed of nothing at the quarantine station. It is easy to make the mistake of thinking once you reach Ceduna that you have crossed Australia, but really you are not even halfway there yet, so still a lot of driving ahead of us. From Ceduna we travel to Port Augusta (5th largest Sth Australian city) and it feels like we are getting back into civilisation. Two nights in Port Augusta to do some washing and shopping and take a bit of a break from driving then we will spend a couple of days at Mt Remarkable NP to do a bit more walking. From there we will visit Adelaide then work our way back along the coast to catch up with friends in Anglesea, then family in Geelong and hopefully land at home around 3rd December.

I don't think that I will post another blog between now and home, so this is the last instalment in our amazing gap year adventure. Beth tells people that there is not much in my blog which resembles the truth, but she is wrong. Everything in my blog resembles the truth, it is just not always a perfect replica. We have had a wonderful time, and I hope that this blog, despite its exaggerations, omissions, ramblings and occasional rantings has to some extent brought you along on the journey with us. I have certainly had fun writing it.

Esperance beach

Stonehenge at Esperance

Lucky Bay - Cape Le Grand NP

On the way to Rossiter Bay - Cape Le Grand NP

Cape Le Grand NP

Sun shining on Lucky Bay

More waves on Lucky Bay

Frenchmans Peak - Cape Le Grand NP

Lucky Bay again - I think

On the way to Hellfire Bay

More n the way to Hellfire Bay

Hellfire Bay

Climbing Frenchmans Peak

On top of Frenchmans Peak

Sunset - Eucla

Cliffs on the Great Australian Bight

Sun behind clouds - Ceduna

Saturday 15 November 2014

Pulling the boots back on - 4 Nov to 13 Nov

We continue our southward journey from Kalgoorlie to Hyden, ostensibly to see Wave Rock. Hyden is a small wheat farming town seemingly nowhere near anything else, and farmers in these parts have over the years used the natural rock formations close to town to catch, channel and dam that most precious of commodities out here, rain water. Until the 1960s the only real value of the interesting shaped rocks was retaining water. Then along came an amateur photographer whose picture of the wave shaped rock at Hyden won a major US competition and was subsequently published in a National Geographic feature article. All of a sudden Hyden was transformed from sleepy backwater to tourist Mecca. I sense that the locals are still trying to figure out whether they are a tourist town or a farming town. Given that they receive something like 100,000 tourists a year, I think I have the answer for them. Wave rock is amazing, and in itself makes the trip to Hyden worthwhile, but there are all sorts of other rocks to clamber over, wildflowers galore and a nice little walking trail - all of which meant hat we had a lovely time there. We tramped over every square inch of Hyden Rock (of which Wave Rock is just a small part) and also took a long walk over another granite outcrop near Hyden (The Humps).

Interesting happenings in the caravan park at Hyden. We are not in the high tourist season at the moment, so the caravan park had heaps of free space, but for some reason which is beyond me, the park manager seemed to think that it was important to crowd people together in one small corner. Perhaps she thought this would bring about a sense of community. First night this was ok. Apart from a bit of snoring here and there it was quite peaceful. Second night though a group of mining workers moved in, and we could tell that they were likely to be boisterous. Sadly though the park manager had a different sense and continued her community minded approach rather than banish them to a far flung corner of the park. Needless to say drinking, swearing and generally oafish behaviour ensued. Beth wasn't too disturbed though, because there was a clearly documented rule that noisy behaviour must not continue beyond 10:00pm, so although the swearing was offensive, at least it would all stop at 10:00. I didn't quite know how to break it to Beth that people don't always obey rules, and of course these folk did not. Now I know well that people in glass houses should not throw stones and appearance is not everything, but in addition to their poor social conduct, these mining chappies were decidedly unattractive. So imagine my surprise when a couple of young French backpackers (female) wandered along and started chatting these coves up. Goodness me girls, what are you thinking (free drinks probably). There are lots of nice boys you could be chatting up, these are what we call yobbos, and you should leave them alone. Thankfully the yobbos were bemused by the attention and the girls eventually gave up and went back to their tents. Things were quiet by midnight, which was better than I expected. Whilst I was lying in bed getting annoyed by the loudness and silliness which was keeping me awake my mind turned to revenge. Being vengeful is not nice. I know that, but still thoughts of getting up at 5:00am and making loud noises under their window would not leave my head, and I went to sleep with those thoughts still wandering about. I did wake at 5:00, or at least I was woken at 5:00 by loud noises under MY window. It appears our yobbos had an early shift!!!

You may have noticed that I am referring more often to walking. We are starting to get back to where we left off before heading to Europe, and seem to be quite easily achieving our 10km per day target. So easily in fact that Beth has decided to add a bit of elevation to our challenge, so off we go to the highest mountain range in these parts, the Stirling Range. With its highest point (Bluff Knoll) being a miserable 1,095 metres above sea level, you may well scoff and claim that these are not mountains, they are molehills. Whilst this is certainly not Switzerland, I can assure you that some of the walks that we did were at least as challenging as anything we did in Switzerland and Austria. The Europeans tend to take a meandering path up steep hills with lots of switchbacks to reduce the gradients. The tracks here are not so gentle and tend to take a beeline to the top. We did 5 mountains in two and a half days, and two of those were class 5 walks (Toolbrunup and Talyuberlup). These are the ones with signs up saying if you are not fit and agile and comfortable with steep climbs turn back now - despite my failure on all three counts we continued on. The walks in the Stirling Ranges are sensational. They are definitely challenging, but the rewards are well worth the effort. Beautiful views, stunning wildflowers, and a little adrenalin rush here and there as you scramble over some of the steep exposed bits. The tallest mountain here is Bluff Knoll at 1,095 metres, and the walk to the top is a class 4, very steep, but should be a breeze, so we charge up. About halfway up I started feeling queasy and suggested to Beth that we rest a bit, whereupon my queasiness escalated to cold sweat and full on nausea. I suggested that Beth continue up and I would either catch her up, meet her back where I had curled up to die, or meet back at the bottom. After a little rest I did stumble a few more steps upward, but clearly my body was not thrilled with this idea and ordered me to turn around, so slowly I made my way back to the carpark. I wish I could report a sneaky snakebite, some exotic disease, or even altitude sickness as the basis for my malaise, but I think it may have been a touch of self inflicted dehydration. Surprising because generally I a very good at keeping up my fluid intake. Just goes to show you need to be ever vigilant.

We had a great time at Stirling Ranges, but three days without a shower (and without coffee and cake) really did demand a civilisation break, so rather than venture straight on to our next National Park stay at Fitzgerald River, we headed for a caravan park at Bremer Bay on the edge of the western end of the National Park for a couple of days. Bremer Bay is a lovely place which certainly delivers all our comfort needs, but the real beauty is in the National Park where we start to realize that this part of the southern coastline is home to some of the most beatiful beaches in the world. The sand is pure white and silky smooth, the water is brilliant blue, and the rocks jagged and spectacular. There are two public access points to Fitzgerald River NP. One on the east side of the park near Bremer Bay, and one on the east side near Hopetoun 300km away, so whilst we are based at Bremer Bay we discover the west side of the park (including a fair chunk of the spectacular Mamang hiking trail - superb beaches, cliff top vistas and masses of wildflowers) then drive to the east side to camp within the park. A lot of money has been spent recently to provide roads and facilities for visitors to this park (we overheard someone mention $40m) and much of this seems to have been concentrated in the east side of the park where a spectacular new sealed ocean road takes us to our palatial camping ground at Hamersley Inlet (stainless steel pit toilets, gas barbecues, well drained level sites - but alas, no showers again). Our district focus here is walking, and we manage over two days to cover most of the Hakea walking trail, which whilst less endowed with wildflowers than the Mamang Trail on the west side (with the exception of the really interesting royal hakea), is even more splendidly blessed with a gorgeous coastline. Hamersley Beach is just impossibly beautiful, and is certainly one of the most beautiful beaches I have had the privilege to walk along, and we had it all to ourselves - magical.

Although there were very few people about, we managed to be very sociable at Fitzgerald River NP. Our only neighbours when we arrived were a 70 something Swiss couple (I am convinced half the populace of Switzerland are touring Australia) who we struck up a conversation with that lasted 2 hours. We seemed to exchange life stories as best we could in our language challenged circumstances, but the most interesting thing was that they were on their 10th visit to Australia, during which time they had tackled most of our iconic sites and roadways and had travelled more than160,000km. More than most Australians would ever do!!! A lovely experience made even nicer by us being presented with a piece of swiss chocolate each (which certainly helped to ease my cake withdrawals). We also bumped into a couple that we had encountered a couple of times in the Stirling Ranges and struck up a bit of a friendship. They shared our enthusiasm for walking, and each afternoon after our walking efforts, we all repaired to our place for drinks and nibbles under the awning. Very civilised (albeit rudimentary).

Come time to leave and the weather, which had been so kind to us, suddenly turned against us. It rained so heavily that we abandoned any thoughts of packing up (we still have nightmares about our last ill fated wet weather pack up at Katoomba), so instead we headed into Hopetoun to weather the storm in the local cafe. Despite another three showerless days, we were not turned away. It appears that customers are few and far between at this time of year, so any port in a storm so to speak. We had morning tea, and then lunch in the cafe, and were thinking about afternoon tea when the rain finally abated. By the time we arrived back at the camp the sun was just starting to peek through the clouds, so we decided to move quickly and have a go at packing up and getting to Esperance before 6:00pm. Amazingly we were able to pack everything up 90% dry, and were on the road to Esperance with plenty of time up our sleeves. No sooner had we finished patting ourselves on the back than we realised that the putrid weather from Hopetoun had been moving slowly eastward and seemed destined to arrive in Esperance about the same time we did. Oh well, we avoided packing up in the wet, but I think we set a new world record for setting up in the wet. Let's hope we didn't miss anything important.

We will spend a few days in Esperance, then a couple of days in the Cape Le Grand NP before heading back across the plain towards home, so next post will likely come from the other side of the Nullarbor. Til then....

Wave Rock - Hyden

Hippo's Yawn - Hyden

Hump Rock - Hyden

Wildflowers - Hyden

Hyden Rock - Hyden

Climbing Tolbrnup - Stirling Ranges

From the top of Tolbrnup - Stirling Ranges

Beth atop the mountain - Stirling Ranges

Our warning - we survived!!

Stirling Ranges

Descending Mt Hassell

Stirling Ranges

Wildflowers - Fitzgerald River

St Mary Beach - Fitzgerald River NP

Anne Point - Fitzgerald River NP

Hamersley Beach - Fitzgerald River NP

Wildflower - Fitzgerald River NP

Fitzgerald River NP

Birds on Hamersley Beach - Fitzgerald River NP

Hamersley Beach

Another one of Beth's friends - Fitzgerald River NP

Edward's Point - Fitzgerald River NP

Royal Hakea - Fitzgerald River NP

Hamersley Beach

Saturday 8 November 2014

The Wild West 28 Oct to 3 Nov

We say farewell to the ocean for a little while to make our way inland to Mullewa, but first a detour to Geraldton to get our fridge fixed. Our fridge has never quite worked consistently. It is a 3 way thing which is meant to intelligently decide the most suitable and efficient power source (240v, 12v or gas). In my experience intelligent things also have temperaments, and so seems to be the case with this fridge. One day it will behave perfectly and then the next day it will chuck a hissy fit and flash its fault indicator light seemingly without any provocation. And like any decent temperamental child, it sits in the corner and cries but doesn't actually tell you what is wrong. The manual is very helpful and tells us something like "this light indicates that there is a fault with the fridge". The fridge may be intelligent, but whoever wrote the handbook is not. Anyway, we have grown accustomed to these little tantrums, and the old trick of switch off and back on again (I am from IT so I know this one well) seems to work. Well now our fridge has learnt a new trick. It doesn't sulk and flash its fault lamp any more, but neither does it cool things, even after a reboot, which is a bit of a problem.

Remember our grumpy man who did some running repairs for us at Copley? Well it seems that all caravan repair folk are cut from the same cloth. The signs indicating that standard labour rates are $100ph, or $110 if you watch, should have warned us. First we were interrogated ruthlessly regarding the fault and had our answers dismissed as fabrications. When eventually they deigned to accept our story, our trailer's design was ridiculed as impractical, and we as the enemy at hand were held personally responsible. Prior to our visit we had consulted Dr Google, and had a pretty good idea that the problem was a failed 240v heating element (yes, refrigeration does require heat), but we weren't brave enough to offer a prognosis (the rate card indicated $150ph if you wanted to offer advice). Thankfully after much testing and head scratching they also arrived at the failed element theory. By this stage our repairers demeanour had improved immensely, and we even managed a bit of friendly banter and philosophical discussion. After nearly three hours of two repairmen almost fully engaged on our fridge, the fault was fixed and our time of reckoning drew nigh. We held our breath as the account was tallied, then audibly sighed when we were only charged 2 hours labour for one person and were sent on our way with a friendly smile. The moral of this tale I guess is that if you weather the initial storm of disagreement and confrontation in a relationship, often you will eventually find common ground and achieve happy outcomes. These were innately decent people conditioned by many years of dealing with know-it-alls. And our fridge? Well, I think that as well as replacing the element, our repairmen also performed a lobotomy, because the fridge is no longer intelligent, just automatic and predictable - hurrah!!

Mullewa is an outback town on the fringes of the Wheatbelt, best known for the mass of wildflowers which bloom there in spring. It is nothing fancy, but it is amazing how much work has been done by the locals to encourage tourism. There are several walking trails and a heap of signs describing points of interest and historical sites. Unfortunately we were about two weeks too late for the wildflowers, but we still took the local wildflower walk to look at the remains of what we missed. We also took a couple of their historical trails and a nature trail. All up about 12 kilometres of quite interesting trail, which is not bad for one night in a small town. One of the more interesting walks took us to the Our Lady of Mount Carmel church designed and largely built by Monsignor Hawes, who was parish priest at Mullewa for many years in the early 20th Century, but he was also a gifted architect who was responsible for the design of many churches in Western Australia (and indeed around the world). His crowning achievement was probably the Geraldton Cathedral (which unfortunately we missed visiting all three times that we were there), but the Our Lady of Mount Carmel in humble Mullewa is quite splendid, and given that he physically built most of it himself, it must surely have been one of his proudest achievements.

From Mullewa we head for the mining towns of the wild wild west. Our first stop is Mt Magnet, which our tourist information lady at Mullewa assures us is a lovely town. I guess lovely is a relative term. Interesting, not really untidy, and not exactly unpleasant are terms which I would be more likely to use. Again, fair effort seems to have been expended to encourage tourists, but Mt Magnet has a little less to work with than Mullewa. We manage a bit of a walk around town, and were even brave enough to stroll along the same side of the street occupied by several members of the Rebels bikie club. Pleasantries were exchanged as we passed (but no smiles, that would be bad form). Beth's pace increased somewhat until we were out of range of their slings and arrows. Interestingly there were six bikies and six bikes ( $40,000 Harley Davidsons - ownership of which is a prerequisite for becoming a Rebels member), but 3 were on a trailer being towed by a $120,000 top of the range Land Cruiser (I wanted to ask why - but I am not that brave). Clearly cashed up Rebels, but far be it for me to cast aspersions. I am sure, no certain (just in case I acquire some Rebels readers), that this money was hard earned through honest toil.

Next stop Leonora via the towns of Sandstone and Leinster, both mining towns, but incredibly different to each other. Sandstone is a gold mining town, which in its heyday had a population of about 8,000, but now has something like 100 (And most of them were in hiding when we passed through). Not exactly a ghost town, but getting there. We had intended lunching at sandstone, but the only eatery was the pub, and it was 30 minutes from opening, so we moved on. We did however visit London Bridge, a natural stone arch near Sandstone, which on the tourist brochures looked roughly the size of Sydney Harbour Bridge, but in reality is more the size of a footbridge in a Japanese garden. Still interesting and impressive though and well worth the visit. Leinster, unlike Sandstone, is a modern mining town established in the 1970s, and it is quite vibrant and well ordered, and clearly subsidised heavily by the mining company (nickel I think). Obviously it is in their interest to make sure they provide good living conditions to attract and retain employees. The bonus for us was a relatively cheap lunch, the down side was that the cafe menu catered significantly to the taste of the miners. No quinoa salads here.

Beth decides that we need 2 nights at Leonora. Whilst I don't argue, I am not so sure. Little outback mining towns are quite interesting I guess, but the novelty value had diminished somewhat over the last couple of days. As often seems to happen though, Beth was quite right. Leonora was a nice little town, and staying two nights allowed us time to visit the Great Beyond Explorers Hall of Fame in Laverton about 120km east of Leonora, a small but really well presented museum with a focus on Laverton and the explorers who opened up thIs part of the world in the late 19th century (Forrest, Giles, Eyre, Carnegie etc...). It also did a pretty good cappuccino, which is a fair effort for way out here. Laverton is pretty much the edge of the vast nothingness of Central Australia and the start of the Anne Beadell highway and the Outback Way which completes an overland road link between Perth and Cairns. At the height of its gold rush days this was considered the toughest town in Western Australia. Of all the interments at its cemetery, only one, a young child, had died of natural causes. Here we are in the wild, wild west.

Once back in Leonora we decided to pay a visit to the Gwalia ghost town (mining of course) just a couple of kilometres away. It is fair to say that I was quite blown away by this. Enormous effort has been spent (as well as quite a few mining dollars I think) on preserving and restoring this remarkable old town (which went from a bustling town of 800 or so to zero overnight when the Sons of Gwalia gold mine closed in the 1960s) and establishing a fantastic museum where we lingered for quite some time. A little while ago I lamented my poor understanding of European history. Well it seems that my Australian and American history are also a bit scratchy. I was quite surprised to find that during the 1920s, a young engineer named Herbert Hoover was plucked from small town American obscurity and sent by his bosses to Australia to manage their mining affairs. Hoover acquired for his bosses the Sons of Gwalia mine where he installed himself as manager and set about making it extremely efficient and profitable (needless to say he upset a few people along the way). He then went on to amass a fortune and of course became president of the US just in time for it to slide into depression. He only lasted one term and history has (probably unfairly) not looked upon that term favourably.

From Leonora we head for the (relatively) big smoke of Kalgoorlie for 3 nights. Another mining town, but not a little one this time. On the way we make a short (100km or so) detour to Lake Ballard near Menzies to see an art installation By Antony Gormley called Inside Australia. This installation comprises 51 steel human(ish) sculptures representing each of the inhabitants of the town of Menzies which have been placed by the artist, seemingly randomly, over a wide expanse of Lake Ballard, a dry and stark, but quite beautiful salt lake. The only way to see all 51 of these characters is to walk out onto the salt lake and visit them individually. I took the approach of seen one seen them all and was quite happy to walk out to the closest of these chaps, say hello then head back to the car. Beth on the other hand felt that each of them deserved a personal visit, so over the salt lake we traipsed for miles and miles and miles. From the car park the lake's surface looked quite solid, but once out there we found this not to be the case. Beneath the crunchy salt crust was black gooey muck of varying viscosity levels. At times the top was solid and going was easy, but at others we were collecting goop on our boots and it was a trudge. I of course never betrayed my negative feelings towards salt lake walking to Beth at these times of trudgery, but somehow she sensed my discomfort and offered to continue on without me if I wanted to return to the car. The car actually didn't sound like a fun place to be either, so I continued on and cursed Antony Gormley under my breath. Why couldn't he have done a smaller town than Menzies? The furthest flung of these sculptures took us forever to get to over the boggiest of ground, and when we finally got close enough to make out its shape it became apparent that it was just a stick poked into the ground. My curses momentarily shifted from Antony to the larrikins who placed this stick just to trick fervent sculpture hunters into an unnecessary and gluggy walk. After 2 hours or so we had met a loose approximation of every man, woman and child of Menzies (thankfully pets seem to have been excluded), and we returned to climb a little mountain on a small island on the lake to survey the whole landscape. This bit was quite fun. You know how sometimes you look back fondly on situations which at the time were unpleasant, generally because they helped to build character or they were a necessary part of a bigger achievement. Perhaps in time, chasing malformed sculptures over Lake Ballard will be so for me.

Kalgoorlie was very pleasant. We did a walking tour of our own invention covering most of Kalgoorlie and its neighbouring town Boulder. Gorgeous old buildings, reinstated 19th century facades in Burt St. Boulder, Hay St brothels, gardens and an arboretum all fell under our gaze as we tramped around town putting lots of kilometres under our belts. We also went to Hannan's Goldmine museum, named for Paddy Hannan, who registered the first mining claim on the famous golden mile after stumbling over a nugget as big as a man's fist. This was a fantastic museum, and whilst the mining artefacts and stories from the gold rush days were most enjoyable, the 250 tonne ore trucks on display really stole the show. After climbing up into one of these monsters, Beth decided that driving one may be a new career for her. Upon reflection though, she decided that the living near a mine part of that deal might cause her a problem. Evidently the mining companies prefer women driving these machines because they are gentler with them than men, so I am sure if Beth chose to, she could be captain of a CAT ore truck in no time.

Given that we had been excited by the ore trucks in a static display, we thought that we should also see them in action, which you can do from the lookout at the Big Pit gold mine which is basically a void where once was the golden mile just beside Kalgoorlie. As holes in the ground go, this is quite impressive, and evidently we have Alan Bond to thank for it. The golden mile was made up of quite a few mines, which because of the diminishing yield of gold over the years were becoming unprofitable. Alan Bond started buying up these mines in the 80s with a view that more efficient extraction would make low yielding ore profitable. His way of making extraction more efficient was to consolidate all the mines into one giant hole and just keep digging.

Our last night in the caravan park at Kalgoorlie, I was cooking up potato chips on the barbecue, when our newly arrived neighbour poked his head around the corner and asked me whether I liked fish. Without thinking I answered that I love fish. Hang on a second, I've got something for you, said the neighbour. As he walked away I began to wonder just what sort of fish this character could have caught within cooee of Kalgoorlie, then I started to worry about what state these fish may be in - scaling and gutting fish is not my forte. By the time the fisherman returned I was in a state of torment regarding my unqualified acceptance of fish. Happily my mind was set at ease. It transpires that my neighbour was not the fisherman, but the friend of a Geraldton fisherman, who had been overly generous with some beautiful whiting fillets, and he was keen to share this bounty rather than see it go to waste. The fish went on the barbecue (a perfect complement for the chips which were already cooking). There was too much for Beth and I, so we shared fish and chips with a young Swiss couple who we had just struck up a conversation with. Isn't life wonderful?

From Kalgoorlie we will head down to Hyden and Wave Rock, then to Stirling Ranges and Fitzgerald River National Parks for a bit of a back to nature fix. Til then.....