Perth > Eneabba
After missing dinner the night before Madam was ready for a solid starter, and there was a fair void in the Hughesy digestive tract as we made our way downstairs to check that the tariff we'd paid included the continental breakfast I vaguely recalled being mentioned the day before.
A continental breakfast, in my understanding of the term, is something light that might do you till morning tea but doesn't fill a gaping void. If it wasn't included, we agreed, it shouldn't be too difficult to find somewhere nearby where they turn out a hearty breakfast at a reasonable cost. Yes, we were assured, the continental breakfast is included in the tariff, so if you'd care to step through into our restaurant…
So we did, and in so doing added a new dimension to the definition of the continental breakfast. I was expecting something like (maybe) juice, tea or coffee, toast and (maybe) a croissant or some other form of pastry. What we fund was a substantial smorgasbord offering fruit juice, cereal, toast, pastries, ham, salami, boiled eggs, yoghurt and an array of fruit. Not a bad spread with tea and coffee thrown in for good measure.
That, I suspect, is another example of the impact of fly in fly out miners on the Perth hospitality scene. If you're heading off to the back blocks for a fortnight you'll be wanting a substantial breakfast and you're going to want it at the right price. I could be wrong about that, but I'm not holding my breath in anticipation of a similar spread being classified as a continental breakfast anywhere in the eastern states any time soon.
So, refreshed and fuelled, we checked out and set out for the short stroll to Bayswater Car Hire, where our chariot and Karen the Helpful Sat-Nav Voice waited. Paperwork was disposed of quickly in an environment that could have been friendlier, but when you're paying the rate we were paying smiling courtesy and detailed explanations are an extra that would cost a bit more.
Once the paperwork was concluded, we claimed the chariot and prepared to negotiate our way out of Perth. It may come as a surprise to the gentle reader to learn that Hughesy's array of techno-skills comes to a screaming halt when you're talking GPS technology and I had no idea how to get Karen to start doing her thing.
A visit to the office for orientation while Madam sat in the car park with the engine running produced a rather abrupt entry of the Brand Highway as our preferred destination and a hasty retreat during which I failed to register the existence of the step leading up out of the office.
The result?
A sprawling Hughesy, iPod and mobile phone relocated from the breast pocket to the right hand sleeve, a skinned little finger and a hasty undignified exit. Oh, and on arrival back at the car, Karen proceeded to spit out a series of directions that didn't compute with our (admittedly basic) knowledge of the local geography.
A handy street map and a few hurried directions had us across The Causeway heading for the Wildflower Country.
Once we were on the road, Karen's directions became increasingly accurate, and by the time we were into the familiar territory of the Swan Valley she was delivering directions like a little champion.
The plan was to get onto the Brand Highway and arrive at Western Flora Caravan Park north of Eneabba in time for the 4:30 Wildflower Walk, with a stop at The Pinnacles on the way. The Everlastings Trail of the Wildflower Holiday Guide listed three possible areas for wildflower viewing, en route, but Madam was adamant The Pinnacles was a must visit and so it turned out to be.
The first part of the drive through urban traffic had been a stop-start affair, and it was lunch time when we passed through Cervantes heading towards The Pinnacles.
Arriving, we discovered there was an admission charge, and once we'd made our way onto the drive around circuit I came to the conclusion it was money well spent, because I've never seen anything quite like these formations, and don't expect to see their like again.
The drive around route allows plenty of places to pull over and take in the scenery, and you're quite welcome to walk around, provided you don't touch or try to climb the structures. Madam took advantage of the chance to exercise the photographic skills, and we took our time around the circuit, parking at the Desert Lookout and setting out for a stroll around the walking track. I was amused to overhear a Chinese tourist (or perhaps a tour guide) remark this was too quiet for him and that he'd be happier on Swanston Street!
The walk through the landscape was enjoyable but time consuming, and once we'd made our way back to the car, navigated our way out, and set off for Cervantes and the Brand Highway, a four-thirty deadline meant that there wouldn't be many wildflower stops, since the ones in the book were away from the route Karen chose for us.
Delays at roadworks we'd sailed through unhindered on the way down didn't help matters, and as the clock headed towards four-thirty we were increasingly unsure of arriving in time. That side of things was complicated by uncertainty about where the place was. We'd booked by email, but I'd neglected to print out the reply that contained the directions.
I knew we had to go through Eneabba, and look for a right hand turn off at a distance that ended with a '2' north of the town. I thought it was 12, Madam failed to note the odometer count as we passed the township and we rolled relentlessly north as Mickey's big hand moved relentlessly south and were just about to push the panic button when, on a curve 22 km out of Eneabba, there was a sign indicating a right hand turn and an eight hundred metre drive over a good dirt road to our destination.
Madam had been unsure about things, but Hughesy had always been confident there'd be a sign on the highway indicating the existence of an establishment which depends on the arrival of paying customers for its existence, though, interestingly, Karen was completely unaware (at least as far as I could tell) of the Park's existence.
As we travelled along the dirt road there was no sign of our destination until we were right on the doorstep, and we arrived as the Wildflower Walk party was assembling. Once we'd checked in, paid, and transferred the luggage to the mud brick chalet it was off for our introduction to WA wildflowers.
The walk lasted an hour and took us on a circuit, stopping at irregular intervals to give noted amateur botanist Alan Tinker an opportunity to talk about some significant feature, and was more of a nature ramble than a guided tour with specific stops at designated locations. I got the feeling, had we been staying more than one night and ventured out for a second walk, while many of the stops might have been the same there would have been a few different stops thrown in for variety. There's certainly enough diversity there (the park covers 160 acres, and has something like two thousand different species on site) to allow for any number of variations on the hour-long walk.
At each stop there were descriptions, pointers and explanations of what we were seeing, though the vast amount of knowledge on offer was largely lost on this botanical novice. If I'd had a bit of background in the botanical sciences, I'm sure my knowledge would have been considerably enhanced, but I still learned a lot, and it was obvious from comments around us there were people there with much more knowledge who were finding the walk equally interesting.
As a novice, much of the detail went over my head, but I picked up enough to make the next couple of days an absolute delight, and made me think it was just as well we'd missed Badgingarra and Lesueur on the way up, since that probably would've been us zooming by at around a hundred and bemoaning the lack of floral delights.
The walk concluded at the Theatre, where a dissecting microscope hooked up to a data projector gave us a look at some of the finer points of botanical specimens Alan had collected along the way around the walk. Very interesting, entertainingly presented while conveying a wealth of knowledge and an experience not to be missed if you're in the area.
So, all in all, the Wildflower Walk was one of the highlights of the trip, and if anything it was the opening five minutes or so that delivered the greatest benefit as far as we were concerned.
The 2010 Wildflower season is, according to all sources, a poor one, and the lack of winter rain before mid-to late June meant that the carpets of Everlastings they tend to show in tourist brochures just aren't there.
That's not to say there are no wildflowers. You have to go out and look for them. I had visions of spending the four days in the wildflower belt sitting back and listening to the iPod and would probably have been tapping my foot waiting for this bit to finish so that we could get on and get through the day's jaunt around the back blocks.
The fact that Karen needed to plug into the car's cigarette lighter started to put the kibosh on that idea, but the Wildflower Walk demonstrated what was out there (and made you appreciate just how interesting these things could be to the photographers among us), and the realisation that there was no option but to get out and walk meant that you couldn't really complain when you had to do it. Really, there's no option.
Still, you won't find Hughesy out doing much of that kind of thing because, as I've frequently noted, I don't need any more obsessions, particularly not ones that would carry a large price tag when it comes to travel, photographic equipment and reference material.
With the walk over, we were booked in for the evening meal. Given the haste with which we'd arrived at the assembly point I hadn't dressed appropriately for the deepening chill, and had to make my way back to the chalet with Alan and the non-diners (the dining room is next door to the theatre) to grab the fleece and walk back to the dinner venue.
I hadn't paid too much attention to the relative numbers of diners and non-diners and was mildly nonplussed to find that the dinner party numbered exactly four - Madam and I and another couple including the bloke who'd probably been the most botanical-savvy member of the group on the walk, and if he wasn't, he was the one who asked the most questions and made the most comments. That's not a bad thing, by the way. I picked up quite a bit from the dialogue.
I was majorly nonplussed, as I sat down, to discover the other diners run a gallery west of the Clare Valley in a town called Blyth, and that set us off on a five-way conversation that ran continuously for about the next three hours over pea and ham soup, and a roast chicken dinner that went down fabulously. It's been a long time since I've sat down anywhere for a three hour dinner conversation without a glass or three but the conversation was so good and the company so entertaining that the thought of ducking back to the chalet to collect that bottle of Pinot Noir that was still in the luggage didn't even cross my mind.