The Great Aussie
Caravan Park
Hands madly waving, shouts of stop, go forward and a barely
audible ‘stupid woman’ fill the air as the grey nomads bravely park their vans
on hallowed ground – the all aussie caravan park. These nomadic experts spend anything up to 3
months of the year on the road and some like us, are full time travellers -
gypsy warriors out to conquer the great southern land. You see them cluster in small gr
oups discussing
the merits of the park, their van and their experiences with great alacrity
over many a cool beverage.
We kind of don’t fit the mold. Not old enough to be grey
nomads enjoying their retirement or young enough to be the gap year family taking
the trip of a lifetime, we aren’t hippies and we’re not holiday makers. We’re
just living on the road like most people live in their homes - only the
location changes.
Anyway back to the nomads. Bums are now waggling in the air
like great floating pears as the male of the species unhitches and stabilizes
his abode. The woman busily unwraps hoses and cables in flawless
synchronization with her partner. It is a dance to the metronome of van life
that sees them floating around each other in perfect harmony. The roles are set
and the dye is cast.
In caravan land the man is very much in charge of his
kingdom. He looks after the outside and she nests with great abandon overseeing
her tiny castle. Seems old fashioned but actually it’s really practical. You
need to be strong for hitching and unhitching a van, you need to be virile to
empty the 20 kilo porta-potty (essential living item for us corporate escapees)
and you have to be smart enough as a woman to let the heavy lifting be done by
someone other than yourself. Now that is a change for me! He’s happy, she’s
happy and all is good. Michael won’t even let me drive the car with the van on
so I have to put up with being chauffeured around the entire continent. Poor
me!
The protagonists in this little drama now have their chairs
set up and coffee in hand – all done and dusted in 10 minutes. It’s interval
time and the story switches to fun for the second act.
Living in Paradise
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| Pemberton Pool |
Finally a little internet access and I begin the process of
trying to accurately describe the ambience that surrounds our location. If you don’t
know the area, Pemberton is about trees, bigger trees and a surfeit of even
more gigantic trees. Warm salmon tinged bark and organic shaped bifurcations
contour a lush green leaf canopy that leaves the watcher in awe. This is our
home of choice for
the next few days.
I wander over a quaint bridge that leads to the iconic
Pemberton Pool, a place of quiet reflection that heaves with tranquil
vibrations. My inner hippy is partying on the inside as birds flit through the fading
sunlight. I hear the crunch of leaves and happy chatter as the local kids
wander down to swim in the calm waters. All and all it leaves me with a feeling
of great serenity. My adventure into this world of trees begins. But first we
must eat.
Food Sensation
I am determined to eat local produce and with that in mind
we decide to shop at the local Marron Farm. Growing up in Geraldton I am very
familiar with eating crustaceans. In fact I got so sick of crayfish I refused
to eat them for years after I grew up. I am also familiar with cooking these perilous
creatures. My last experience of cooking such a beast ended in a severe water
burn to my neck when the crayfish resisted its plight. So this time I made
Michael do it!
A Marron is a fresh water crayfish (large crustacean with
big claws) so the anatomy is the same but the taste and appearance are
different. These are a jet black ‘Smooth’ variety with two predatory eyes
peering out of small hairy eyestalks. Large antennae and huge claws complete
the prehistoric feel you get from observing their motions. Marron range in size
from the length of your hand to the length of your foot and are listed as a
luxury product. We certainly paid premium for them - $69 for six so you really
need to enjoy them. They are only sold through farm stock although you can get
a license to catch them yourself at certain times of the year.
The local Marron farmer, a crusty old dish himself, gave us
the hint to freeze them for 15 minutes before entry into a large pot of boiling
salted water. He even lent us a pot although we didn’t use it after a hole was
discovered (Dear Henry, Dear Henry hehe….). The black fiends seem to stare at
us accusingly as we prepare to make them dinner (ours that is). I kind of feel
guilty but not enough to stop the process.
Carefully Michael, using a gloved hand, grabs the crustaceans
from behind and lowers each quickly into the pan. No resisting this time thank goodness.
After 5 minutes the Marron is ready for eating. It is easy to shuck the shell
and extract the meat. Only salt and pepper is required and a little lemon if
you are so inclined to enjoy this delicacy. The marron has a tantalizing
flavour with succulent tender flesh aching to be savoured on the lips. I couldn’t
resist eating three and I know Michael enjoyed it as well. A little local
bread, an alcoholic beverage and a salad complete the experience. Well worth
the effort me thinks!
The Road Less
Travelled
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| Beedulup Fall Steps |
After a hard morning relaxing I plan our next excursion. Diligently
studying the local tourist maps I decide on Beedulup Falls, The Donnelly River
and Lake Jasper. These sites are all located within 30 minutes of Pemberton and
offer the contrast I am looking for in a recreation adventure.
First up is Beedulup Falls situated in the Beedulup National
Park right next to the Karri Valley Resort on Lake Beedulup. There is a fee per
vehicle to enter the area which is styled to create a variety of scenic vignettes.
The Fall walk leads you by the hand like a small child, through a Yellow Leafed
arbour designed to showcase a somewhat superficial impression of the much
richer picture contained within. We really have to concentrate to appreciate
the unplanned nuances that are easily missed when one’s eyes leap ahead are led
unwittingly to the next scene.
The area is awash with filtered light. Damp, fusty air surrounds
us with evidence of the primal decay indicative of all natural forests. The
arcane nature of the twisted and mold covered trunks leaves me with the comfort
that nature will always prevail. It absorbs its’ fallen into the musty earth
while sprouting new growth with discreet confidence.
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| Beedulup Trickle |
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| The Falls in Stasis |
The Fall itself is just a trickle at this time of year. But
even a trickle has a beatific effect for the scenic hungry. Smooth black rocks
are littered with rust coloured pools that are so clear you can see bright
green tree reflections that encourage one to engage in a photographic flurry. Of course I obliged. The mostly bituminised
path twists and turns through a series of platforms, bridges and steps fashioned
for the not so bold. A suspension bridge provided yet another opportunity to
take the obligatory tourist picture before leading up a series of steps that
guide the sightseer to the exit. The 30 minute walk and photographic discourse,
whilst beautiful, felt like a manipulated entrée for the aussie bush experience
and not the main course.
Just a few kilometres away we take the unsealed road to the
Donnelly River campsites and boat launch. Again the trees are the stars as we
travel on rich red ground towards the river mouth. Scattered along the road are
beautiful clumps of Banksia in full flower with textured prongs of pink and
orange reminding me of fairy floss on a stick.
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| Donnelly River |
The River itself is a Kayakers dream spot. The edges are
flanked in Paperbarks so characterful that my artists soul feels the need to
capture its essence and take it with me. The river is obviously popular and we
have been told that many fishing shacks are located on its banks evidenced by
the large contingent of 4wd’s and boat trailers located in the car park.
Michael is determined to come back here with our kids on the weekend and in
this I agree. Down the road are a number of loops designed for campers. We
decided the Snottygobble Loop is our preferred camping spot and have added this
spot to the ships logs as a destination of choice to stay.
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| 4WD track to Lake Jasper |
The river admiration party over we head out to our next
destination, Lake Jasper. This is touted in the map book as a 4wd track only.
We have a 4wd and therefore Michael determines that we are more than capable of
the trek. At first the track is just like any unsealed road, dusty but doable.
However a few kilometres in the scene changes and becomes more and more rugged
and wild. We rattle our way over hills and dales before stopping for a moment at
the one lane river crossing only accessible during the dry seasons of the year.
The narrow passage warns us as do the signs that although she allows us through
now, at any time we could really get stuck if bad weather should prevail.
Up the hill we encounter our first sand track experience.
Again we determine that our vehicle is made for such things and carry on with
high spirits into the unknown. The track is becoming more and more
inhospitable. Large tracts of soft dirt make you realise how far away from
civilisation we actually are with no means of communication to the outside
world and absolutely no recovery gear should we get into trouble. The sand is
traitorous and our vehicle struggles to get a grip. We pass not one but two turnoffs
– Lake Wilson and Lake Smith were glimpsed through the window. We will stop on
the way back.
Michael concentrates on getting us through without bogging,
cresting hills with speed while coasting down the other side. Me, well I am
hanging on for dear life as we hit roots and rocks securely shielded in the
dusty soil. Swearing proliferates the air as we pass into deeper and deeper
drifts. It is now (4kms into the 9Km journey) we agree that commonsense should prevail
and decide to turn around before getting into real trouble. We stop on the ridge
of a hill and turn the vehicle around accompanied by great sighs of relief from
mwah! I am such a wuss.
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| Lake Wilson |
Although we still have to negotiate the pitted terrain back
to the road, we do stop briefly at Lake Wilson. This rewards our efforts with
my shot of the day. Violet touched waters align in perfect symmetry framed with
shrubs and trees that hug its oval shores in a loving caress. Such a different monograph
to all we have seen so far. Proves you
have to be intrepid and go off road to really see what Australia has to offer.
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| Secret Pool |
After a brief stop at the less spectacular Lake Smith we
proceed back to the river crossing. Michael is waylaid by a small detour he
spies. We trek down an overgrown track which turns into what probably was the
river crossing in days gone by. Now washed out and degraded it has a distinct
painterly quality I have come to equate with all that is the Pemberton area. A
light filled haze lies over the water. This is a magical mystery tour that no ‘Beatle’
will ever experience. It really is
another secret find I just can’t resist. After a short sojourn it really is
hard to leave. Time here feels like it is in stasis as the enclave surrounds us
in her serene embrace. We reluctantly make our way back and across the river to
the main road.
Evening approaches and our drive back is peppered with scenes
out of a nursery rhyme book. Bales of hay lie dormant on giant ochre paddocks
waiti
ng for pick up. Cows are gathered under large shady trees or walking
lazily about swishing tails to swat the Marchflies wanting bovine blood for
dinner. The sun reaches through outstretched tree branches making them glow with
beautiful ginger highlights. This is my moment in the Enid Blytonesque tone of
the Faraway tree. All seems alive with the possibility of magic. All in all, I
think this is the perfect fairy tale end to a perfect fairy tale day.
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| The Faraway Tree |
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