Eneabba > Geraldton
21 August 2010 was a day that will be remembered by many people, and it's one Hughesy won't be forgetting in a hurry, but the reasons that have it etched indelibly on my memory will differ from most people's.
We didn't get off to the best of starts around dawn since our intentions re. early mornings didn't exactly coincide. Madam, with her developing interest in photography, and nature photography in particular, was going to find plenty of subjects to keep her busy. I, on the other hand, lacking the wherewithal to keep a record of what I came across, wasn't so keen to go exploring.
Madam's attempt to catch something of the sunrise wasn't too successful, given an overcast morning, but she set out for a lengthy spell in the bushland while I opted to find a warm sunny patch to stand and meditate.
Coupled with previous musings on the Nullarbor, the hour I spent looking and listening as the wildlife around me went about their business with the roar of traffic on the Brand Highway behind them wasn't exactly a life-changing experience, but it did reinforce some long held beliefs and add weight to some lurking suspicions.
Having mused on those matters for about an hour, I returned to the chalet, brewed a cup of coffee and waited till Madam returned, full of excitement having found all manner of small wonders on her walk. After showers, with the bags packed and stowed in the car it was checkout time, after which the general plan was to wander in the grounds a bit more, then continue to Dongara for lunch, after which we'd move on to the evening's accommodation at Geraldton.
There were, however, a couple of little extras and one big plus in store before we departed.
The first started simply enough. Pulling up outside the shop, we spotted a small member of the kangaroo family sniffing around outside the Tinkers’ quarters, and while we watched and snapped away at a distance that wouldn't alarm the subject, Alan emerged, invited us closer. Madam was able to pat the euro, which, though effectively wild, was used to humans, and, like the subjects of earlier meditations, went about her business largely unconcerned by their activities.
That led into a conversation about matters relating to the Park, wildlife conservation and wildflowers, which, in turn, delivered the news that five kilometres north of the park just before a Don't Drive Tired sign, a turnoff onto a dirt road would lead us to an area where there were abundant orchids. That's the way you find these things, it seems. Word of mouth, and the odd distinguishing landmark.
A couple of days later we heard about a display of orchids in the back-blocks that could be identified by the presence of a blue sock.
With that conversation over, we checked out, emerging from the store to find Lorraine had emerged, and thanks to expert guidance we were able to spot the tawny frogmouth that had been one of the subjects of conversation the night before.
This was apparently the (almost perfectly camouflaged) female and it was believed the male was sitting on a nest somewhere within a hundred metres of where we stood, though the best efforts of the Tinkers and assorted wildlife rangers had failed to locate the nest. Looking at the female, hidden away in the branches, I must say I wasn't surprised.
Once we were back in the car, the short drive to the Don't Drive Tired sign delivered us to a landscape that looked, on the surface, amazingly unpromising. The signs of bushfire activity were all too obvious, and as we parked about a hundred metres off the bitumen it wasn't hard to imagine motorists zooming past and ruefully shaking their heads at the sight of such devastation.
On the ground, however, as you looked there was more and more to be discovered.
Nothing very big, mind you, so hurtling along the highway it'd be easy to miss them, but scattered across the landscape were small patches of orchids and other wildflowers that were quite wonderful.
Fortunately, Madam didn't stray far from the track, since a move into the country would have revealed more and more items that demanded attention. We could well have spent hours wandering further and further afield, but, with the prospect of lunchtime looming on the horizon we returned to the blacktop and resumed the northward trajectory.
That venture set the tone for the next couple of days. Coming to a promising patch of roadside terrain, we’d slow down and scan the verges as we travelled along much more slowly than would have been the case in other circumstances. In situations where there was space to pull over, Madam would get her five or ten photographic minutes while Hughesy sat patiently, as expected but sans soundtrack since Karen was plugged into the car's cigarette lighter.
Dongara might not be far up the road, but with the late start and delays along the way it was close to lunchtime when we arrived there, and without alternatives before Geraldton, we decided this was the place for a meal. We'd had nothing more than a nibble at breakfast and weren't sure about dinner, so after finding a park and taking the obligatory visit to the local Information Centre to gather the latest Wildflower Intelligence, we lunched at a pleasant little Asian coffee shop.
A green chicken curry and rice and a pad thai (Madam's almost invariable selection in such circumstances) provided the wherewithal to keep us going in the afternoon.
We could possibly have ventured further afield in search of wildflowers, but the morning's efforts had largely satisfied Madam's photographic urges and we were in Geraldton in time to book in to the night's accommodation and make it over to the Information Centre before it shut at four.
Actually, we probably didn't really need to head that way, since checking in at the accommodation revealed that the manager had been in the job for a week, and his previous job had involved managing the Information Centre. He's provided us with a printout of the latest bulletin they'd put together at the Information Centre, and the girls at the Centre didn't give us much new and vital information, apart from another copy of the bulletin.
We did, however, need to be in the area to pick up dinner supplies for Sunday night and scope out the dinner possibilities for Saturday night. There wasn't anything that reached out and grabbed us by the throat as we strolled around the Front Beach and we retreated to the unit resigned to the inevitability of fish and chips for dinner.
We'd also need something to go with the deep fried staple, and the fact that it was already after five and the Woolworths Liquor outlet I'd spotted en route was closed threw a spanner in the works, but once the wonders of Google had revealed a conveniently located and highly rated fish and chippery (Chis and Fips) and pointed out a Thirsty Camel we had the wherewithal to fuel an evening's catching up on writing, watching the election results (for as long as I could stand it) and a lengthy spell of deep slumber before we set out on the Wildflower Trail again in the morning.