Hi there,

For those of you arriving late to this intrepid family journey through the heart of Australia, you may like to start reading at the beginning. Unfortunately, Blogger organises posts with those most recently created appearing first. So, if you jump in at the top, you're not going to get the full experience of this gritty blow-by-blow account of our adventure. As such, I suggest using the navigation window above and head down to March, where the first part of this journey began. Hopefully, by the end, you’ll be hooked. From there you can scroll upwards to continue the journey. I can’t wait to see how it turns out!

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http://theblackstump.blogspot.com.au/2017/03/.

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Sunday 30 December 2018

Hamelin Station (2): Bumpity, bumpity...



So, here we go… Francois Peron National park – strap in, it’s a bumpy ride!

Having packed our lunch and other necessities for the day, we left the comforts of Hamelin station and belted up the highway towards Cape Peron. Soon we passed through the little township of Denham, before quickly turning off the main road towards the cape.

For the uninitiated, Cape Peron is a narrow stretch of land heading up a thin peninsular through some magnificent scenery. Our first stop was at the homestead at the base of Francois Peron National Park. Here we pulled over and duly let down our tyres down to a lowly 18psi, before heading off the main road into the park itself.





 
Francois Peron National Park... here we come!
 
 
The road was sandy… Oh my, was it ever sandy! Over the course of our adventure to date, I’ve had a been able to learn a few things about driving on some pretty rugged 4X4 tracks. But, mostly, what I’ve learned is that I don’t much care for driving on sand… Oh no, give me a nice rocky track to navigate at my leisure and I’m happy as Larry. Sure, there’s every chance that you could burst a tyre on a shard of rock; but, no matter how sharp the rocks are, at least you can go at your own pace. On sand, however, you need to keep up the speed enough to sail over the surface – but not too much, as you’re likely to lose control of the car. Oh man, the head miles you do while driving over sand are countless… although the passengers do seem to have a good time (freeloaders!!)

 
 

The road to Francois Peron - starts of good... but quickly turns nasty! 


For the first part of the track, the road was just heavily corrugated. But, sadly, this didn’t last long. Eventually, the hard, tyre-gripping, corrugated road gave way to stretches of soft, drifty sand. Revving and braking, turning and straightening – often all within seconds of each other – I followed whatever trail had been left by previous drivers, who had already made an attempt to cut through the unforgivingly soft sand. For a short while, the sand did give way to a hard, potholed clay pan – but, here, the fear went from not getting the car bogged in the sand, to avoiding a tyre being blown out on the great gouges in the track. In the end, we finally made it to the end of Cape Peron, at the very tip of the Francois Peron peninsular.

Turning off the car’s hard-working engine, everyone piled out. However, I sat there for a few minutes, in stunned silence – thanking my lucky stars that we had made it.  As I sat there in my quiet contemplation, the realisation suddenly hit me… this was a one-way road… we still had to make it back the way we came (oh pooh!)


Yikes!


When I eventually scrapped myself out of the car and found my legs once more, I trailed after the rest of the family who were gambolling merrily towards the toilets and picnic area. I grabbed the sandwiches and drinks from the boot of the car and trundled off after them. Lunch was eaten as we looked out across the ocean, keeping an eye out for any marine life that might happen to wander by. Eventually, with bellies full and bladders emptied, we took a stroll down the track to the beach.






 
The truly spectacular Francois Peron National Park.


To be honest, it was nice… spectacular, really… but, after the harrowing journey to get here, I must admit part of me thought that it didn’t really seem worth the effort… Besides, having been to Cape Range only a week before, Francois Peron just seemed a ‘nice place to spend an hour or so’ before moving on.  

We wandered along the rocky shoreline, where we had a chat to a family who were fishing. They had been at it for a while and had a bucket full of fish – most of which seemed to be staring out at us quite forlornly. I asked them if they were going to eat the fish, but they said “Nah, we’ll tip ‘em back in when we’re done”. As I looked at the fish, in a bucket that was warming up steadily in bright sunlight, I thought to myself once again “don’t Aussies know how to fish responsibly?” Why bother keeping them in a hot bucket of water, if they’re going to chuck them back in the water anyway?

As we wandered down the beach, watching large stingrays frolicking in the waves along the water’s edge, I was glad to see a Ranger and an officer of the WA Parks and Wildlife dept coming over a sand dune. The Ranger greeted us in a friendly way and we had a chat about the area (after checking that we had paid the national park entry fee – thanks again to our All Park Annual pass for that). As we were chatting to the Ranger, I watched his Parks and Wildlife counterpart wander up to the fishing family and talk with them for a while. Soon the hot bucket and its fishy cargo were poured back into the ocean. I swear that I could almost hear a gleeful ‘yippee’ amongst the slightly strained fishy gasps slurping in fresh water from the sea. With that small mercy done, the officer quickly took off down the beach to talk to the next family a few hundred meters away…
 




There be stingrays in them th'are waters!

 
We took a stroll along the cliff between Francois Peron and Skipjack Point (the next bay along). With our eyes keenly peeled, we scanned the water in the hope of seeing a dugong (manatee), shark, turtle or whale. But, unfortunately, none of the usually abundant sea life came out to play today. So, we turned back and headed towards the car.
 



 Board walk between Francois Peron to Skipjack Point


Heart in my mouth, we began the homeward journey…

At least I now had the lay of the land and knew that we would encounter the boggiest patches of sand on the first half of this journey home. But, to be honest, that was small comfort. I did, however, take some reassurance from knowing there were at least four or five cars behind me – which, gleefully, I thought to myself, would not be able to get passed us if we became irretrievably bogged on this narrow sandy road back to the highway.

In the end, we made it back to the entrance of the park and, luckily, didn’t get bogged once. After such an arduous journey, it seemed only right to stop in at the homestead, at the base of Francois Peron peninsular, to reinflate our tyres and take a dip in the natural hot springs that were tucked away behind the homestead. The boys played for a good hour in the hot springs – while I uncoiled my nerves.

 
 




 Relaxing in the hot tub after a hard day sitting in the back seat...

 

Heading back to the homestead, we gathered our supplies from our trailer for tonight’s dinner and made our way to the kitchen/dining room.

Walking toward the communal kitchen, we heard the now familiar sounds of Jo’s acoustic guitar belting out an Irish Ballard; "Oh, I've been a wild rover for many a year". As we walked into the kitchen, a few of the travellers from last night raised their glasses and called out to see if we were in fine voice tonight. I’m not sure about fine voice – but the second night in Hamelin station was spent in song and laughter once more.

 Inspired by the welcoming bon ami and musical comradery of the night before, Ben was also keen to play a song tonight on the Uke. So, gathering his nerve, he brandished this diminutive instrument like a shield and gave a sterling rendition of Rip Tide (accompanied by a couple of old hacks on our guitars). Having never played in front of an audience before, I think he did a brilliant job!

 


Encore, encore!
 

And with that, our joyous ending to an otherwise harrowing day came to an end. We tucked ourselves into bed and drifted off to a well earned night of slumber. Tomorrow would be our final day at Hamelin station, and we wanted to make the most of it!
 

Bye ‘d bye,

 
Gregg

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