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!!)
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!)
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…
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.
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.
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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