Coral Coast

Well we are a bit over half way through our long trip and just over half time. We have travelled just over 8,000 kilometres to get to the city centre of Minilya Bridge, and it is just over 6,000 to get home via Melbourne, which is our plan at this stage.

Like many Australians, we have generally hugged the coastline, or at least within a couple of hours drive to the coast. There is so much yet to see and unfortunately the interior roads can be pretty rough, and even with the little bit that we have travelled, the van and the car are showing a bit of wear and tear. The flood lights on the front bumper are held with a bit of wire and some cable ties (the lessons my old man taught me of repairing anything with fencing wire have finally paid off); a vent cover is held on with gaffer tape; a wing mirror came adrift and was secured with the needed gaffer tape; the Suzy is temporarily undriveable due to a broken drive belt, and to cap it off, it had an unfortunate encounter with a tree. And then there is the dust layering both vehicles accumulated over the travels.

So here we are at Minilya Bridge, licking our wounds and waiting till we get to Carnarvon where we can get some things repaired.

We had a couple of nights at Onslow. There is not much there, but it was fortunate that we had scheduled an extra day there so that John’s Jeep could be looked at, if not actually repaired. As I write, it is on the back of a truck, with their caravan, for a long haul to Geraldton – over 1,000 kilometres. They have hired a ute from Onslow so that they can drive to Geraldton. The ute is a typical mining ute so won’t have the creature comforts they have been used to in the Jeep, which, what it lacks in reliability, makes up for in more-indulgent comforts. When I suggest a degree of unreliability, this will no doubt be highly contested, and the Jeep has given good service for 6 years or so. An unusual sight along the Onslow beach is the Paparazzi Dogs, a replica sculpture of a famous piece of art. The dogs look along the sight towards the Staircase to the Moon, visible from Sunrise Beach at Onslow.

As roadhouses go, Minilya Bridge is not too bad. There is power, water (bore water, so not good to drink,) some grassy patches, and reasonably cheap fuel. On the other hand, during the night the road trains and trucks produce a rhythmic frap, frap-frap, frap-frap-frap, frap-frap, frap-frap-frap, frap-frap, frap-frap-frap, as their wheels go over the expansion joints on the bridge. Our senses are a bit raw in the still of the night when you are trying to shut out external noises and catch a sleep.

We had cancelled our Coral Bay excursions because of our changes and loss of John and Anne (temporarily!) but we thought it would be nice to at least drive out there and have a quick look. It is about 120 kilometres of gently undulating, if sparse, countryside. The road continues on to Exmouth, and Coral Bay is a short diversion off the highway. It comes to view over a rise with its sheltered, sparkling aqua waters giving something of a hint to its popularity for tourists and families. We went for a stroll along the beach and into the warm, shallow waters of the bay where little fish darted about playfully around our feet and further out, the snorkellers swam to view the corals. The little village is quite small, but heavily geared for the onslaught of tourists who have descended on it for the school holidays. It was an easy drive back to Minilya Bridge and we arrived just in time for some pumpkin scones that Pauline had baked, served with jam and cream and a fresh brew of coffee.

I suppose I need to provide a little more detail on the Suzy’s problems. Back at Onslow, we had set out in the morning to see the wonders of the town. Barely had the car started when there was an alarming flap-flap sound coming from the engine. Popping the bonnet I could see a rubber strip had come adrift from the drive belt. I was able to snip off the ends, so that at least we did not have the annoying sound, but still needed to investigate and see if we could have it repaired. The mechanic who was also attending to John’s Jeep was only a few hundred metres away, so John took us there. The mechanic did not have a drive belt that would fit, but he assured us we could still drive if we took it easy. I admire his confidence, if not his assessment, for as we drove up a sandy track to a lookout, barely two kilometres away, I was unable to steer around a sharpish bend. Among other purposes, the drive belt furnishes power to the steering, so it was clear what had happened. Rob dropped me back to the caravan park to get the motorhome so I could retrieve the car. I had to park the car in a safe place that did not need further manoeuvring, but this meant a rather complicated set of chicanes and S-bends. Unfortunately, in attempting this, I lost sight of the car, and did not see that a large tree had jumped out of a garden and into the path of the car, giving it a very hard rub along the driver’s door. The only redeeming aspect is that it seems to be a great conversation-starter, and people seem a bit bemused that only the door is damaged (apart from my hurt pride and feelings!)

We got to Carnarvon on Thursday and dropped the car into Repco where I had booked the repair. John and Anne had arrived in their mine-site ute and we arranged to have a celebratory catch-up dinner at a recommended Thai restaurant. We had booked a table for 6 at six, and as we arrived, we could see that the restaurant had just four tables, the largest of which was set for five people. We imagined we would have to take turns to sit and eat, but it was clear from the frantic work of the lady taking orders, helping the husband in the kitchen, rushing food to patrons – that the expectation of a pleasant evening relaxing over a good meal was rapidly evaporating. The lady was at the end of her tether, and I think she was relieved that we decided to try our luck at the local pub.

Carnarvon is an interesting town. It seems to be the only town we have encountered so far with a thriving intensive farming community. The farms are mainly along the banks of the Gascoyne river and there are plantations of banana, mangos, avocado, grapes, tomato, citrus, corn and all manner of fruit and vegetables. We drove what is called the “Fruit Loop” which traverses both sides of the river with many farms open for their offerings of fruit and vegetables, herbs, home-made ice-cream, locally produced jams, spreads and chutney. You will be assured that we made some generous contributions to the local economy. There was an amusing site at an organic farm where some of the free-range chooks had little high-vis vests to protect them from distracted drivers. We also took advantage of a truck and caravan wash, to give our motorhome a needed clean. The grime and red dust gets deeply imbedded, but for now it looks quite smart.

One farm had an amazing collection of cacti. Incongruously, the cacti were set among whale bones. The cacti reminded me of my old friend, and best-man at my wedding, Rod Whitty. Rod had a highly-developed interest in cacti and his house and garden in suburban Canberra had thousands of rare and beautiful cactus plants. Some plants would flower very rarely and for just a fleeting moment, and on many occasions, Rod would be up in the middle of the night so that he could capture the special moment of flowering. Vale Rod, I wish you were still with us. It was the late 60s, and we would have long and intense conversations about philosophy and theology which I think exasperated his wife Ellen who, after several hours of argument and debate between Rod and me, would stump off in exasperation saying Well I am going to bed! I guess even then I lacked self-awareness.

Well, I think this is long enough – more than… We still have a couple of days here at Carnarvon and we will check out the old satellite earth-station and museum and also see the Quobba Blowholes, about 75 kilometres up the coast.

Thanks for reading, bless you for your perseverance.