Pemberton Magic

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

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

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.

Beedulup Trickle

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Faraway Tree

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