Heavenly Beverley : July 2019

Tuesday 30 July 2019

It Takes All Sorts To Make The World Go Round...

We have enjoyed a wonderful slob day, reminiscent of Mondays in Beverley. We dawdled in the caravan all morning. Part of our lack of pace was caused by the indecision of cyberspace to remain connected. Or not. There was absolutely no point in becoming frustrated. There was nothing we could do. So the task of my post writing and a mutual sharing of photos took much longer than anticipated. There was nowhere we needed to be, nothing we had to do.

Eventually, we decided to take a picnic lunch to the Beasley River free camp and rest area just down the road. We had stayed there a year ago. The toilets had been pretty disgusting, the bins overflowing and the river dry. 2019 was much the same. However, this jaunt had also opened our eyes to the beauty of Pilbara rocks. Beasley River's dry river bed surface was coated with them.

So we walked, stopped and gathered. A new type of fossicking and just as entertaining. We arrived back at Lily's parking spot with our pockets bulging and our hands full.

When we had arrived at the Beasley River, the site held only another four-wheel-drive and caravan. Mum and Dad and four boys, three of whom were having lessons at a picnic table. The fourth was supposed to be having a rest. Instead, he had peered over the top of the caravan's flyscreen and waved at us. We waved back.

A short time later, a four-wheel drive and camper trailer pulled in. The vehicle was rather striking, its sides featuring a scene from "Mad Max", featuring Max, an improvised machine gun and his dog. Then the driver climbed out of the vehicle. He was a short and stocky Swiss chap with a long and limp Mohawk, unfortunate tattoos, ghastly Australian flag boxers, an unpleasant singlet and...Crocs on his feet.

His portrait was unflattering in the extreme. Yet, he was full of himself, describing his adventures in Australia and Europe. He boasted of his travelling prowess. He did complain, bitterly, of the lack of water available freely in the Northwest. We wondered whether the terms "low rainfall" or "arid country" rang any bells with him.

After badmouthing the Beasley River free camp, he then chose to...camp. Proud of the fact he was thoroughly self-sufficient, he pulled out a blower-vac and proceeded to blower-vac his trailer. By this point, we were nearly hysterical with laughter. What was the point of blower-vacuuming in the Northwest?!

Swiss Army Max was definitely somebody a woman would not like to take home to Mother. We felt vaguely sorry for him. The free camp was filling, mostly with caravanners who wanted more from their free camps than Beasley River offered. I approached a couple of groups to recommend Cheela Plains. As soon as money was mentioned, they all turned into Scrooge.

We left soon afterwards, somewhat relieved. We joined the crowd around the communal firepit at Cheela for drinks and chatting. A German couple who were coming to check out Western Australia with their son, who was keen to spend his gap year here. A couple from Paraburdoo who had sold everything and were now on the road for an undetermined period. Another couple from Perth on a road trip for five weeks. Some rugby league fans from New South Wales. More kindred spirits gathered together in a place called Cheela Plains.

We have retired into Digger for the night. The internet is still elusive. However, outside the door is a night sky that is mesmerising. I think I may well sit there for a while and finish my vino.

Images of the Beasley River dry bed -

This is Mad Max and Dog

This is how short and round chaps could look...

This is not a good hairstyle for anybody...

Neither is this...

A pleasant evening around this was able to negate the images of the unfortunate Max we had encountered at Beasley River.

The Colours Of Cheela Plains

I was struggling with the title to this post, when I ran into Louise, one of Team Cheela, preparing the cafe/dining room for the day's guests. Breakfast had been completed, "coffee and cuppa" was gearing up and numbers for evening meals were being crunched to ensure all visitors enjoyed a fabulous dinner (with a complimentary glass of decent vino or a beer).

She suggested I call the post "Red Plains"...which really set my brain turning. I stood at the cafe counter with Louise, watching a slideshow of past lush green grasses and the Pilbara bush at its most abundant. The bush is still apparent but the green is gone. Cheela Plains has minimal rainfall at the best of times, so the grasses are faded and the country in survival mode.

Which doesn't mean that the scenery is any less dramatic. Cheela Plains is an extraordinary location. Recommended to us by the Paraburdoo volunteer firies a year ago whilst stopped at the Beasley River free camp, Cheela was on our list for our 2019 Northern Jaunt.

The statistics of Cheela are just mind-blowing. Forty-seven kilometres long by forty-seven kilometres wide. Low and unpredictable rainfall. Fragile eco-systems. Sustainable cattle grazing. And stunning natural features, that even during dry times, sing with an unbelievable colour palette.

Robin Pensini is a former Texan gal. She fell in love with the country and her husband Evan nearly thirty years ago. Her accent is soft and barely discernable. Cheela Plains was originally part of the larger Whylo Station to the west, which Robin and Evan took over as a new pastoral lease. They have diversified into contracting and tourism and have hopes for potential carbon farming.

Anyway, I digressed. Yesterday, with the gate key and the map to Perentie Falls, Mussell Pool and the Wall, we ventured onto parts unknown of this vast station. Brilliant.

The Pilbara scrub is at its greenest following the edges of the seasonal watercourses. However, the vivid hues of the soaring ridges all around us more than compensated for the duller shades of the grass. I have come to realise that leaving my mouth open in wonder for a lengthy period of time does lead to a stiffness of jaw. I actually had to remind myself to shut my mouth...

Perentie Falls wasn't falling. However, the challenging walk required us to keep our eyes downwards. Which allowed us to fully appreciate each and every smooth pebble through to the huge slabs of rock. Every colour of the spectrum was represented in the formations. They were tiny rounded coin-sized pieces through very solid and heavy specimens through to layered slabs looking like they had been through a giant's paper shredder.

And we were delighted by a remaining very clear pool the size of a largish fish pond brimming with life at the base of the falls. Tadpoles, tiny molluscs, underwater bugs and a smatter of plants were thriving, despite the current climatic odds. We watched their very busy antics for quite a while before reluctantly leaving.

Mussell Pool was a larger watercourse and appeared to be permanent. We dallied for a few minutes before moving on. We still had to visit the Wall...

The closer we drove to the sheer sides of the Wall's gorge, the further open my mouth fell. My camera had chosen to run out of battery so I was reliant on Michael's somewhat unfamiliar pocket Canon. Parking Lily in the shade, we clambered along the creek bed closer and closer...

The Wall delivered beyond our wildest expectations. A place of awe and outstanding beauty. Colours that stretched the imagination. Giant sheets of shiny slate. Huge red rocks at gravity-defying angles. A cool oasis with two beautiful pools, wildflowers, ficus clinging to cracks in the Wall's face and remnants of lush vegetation last seen in the Karijini gorges. On an East Pilbara station that has only had a hundred millilitres of rain for 2019.

Finally, I walked to the top of the hill behind the camping ground to photograph the last of the daylight. I had run out of superlatives. I decided to allow our images to tell the full story.

Sunday 28 July 2019

Changes In Plans...

We enjoyed a quick twenty four hour stopover back at Tom Price Tourist Park, following our marathon effort at Dales. Practically the first task at hand was to wash some unspeakably dirty clothes. Red Pilbara dust permeates all clothing from undies and socks through to shirts and jeans. The resulting patchy red-brown smears are not uniform, hence I can't suddenly claim a light coloured shirt to be caramel in colour. Our clothing often resembled a piebald pony after he'd just had a jolly enjoyable mud bath.

I have come to admire (as well as love) our nifty top loader washer machine. Whilst most other appliances within Digger have experienced unexpected malfunctions, the washing machine has - so far - never missed a trick. Three loads of washing were completed and hung out. We attended to shopping essentials - more water containers, chocolate, salmon fillets and Michael's drugs (which had been ordered in by the chemist).

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed peacefully. Michael located the TV room and watched the Eagles thrash North Melbourne at the footy. We ate a delicious dinner not too late and retired to bed at a reasonable hour. All was well in our world until...

Michael woke with severe reflux at some ungodly hour of the early morning. He was the unhappiest of campers. The episode ended with some miserable heaving on his part and a profound reluctance to surface this morning. I could hardly blame him. I busied myself with the usual chores whilst trying to work out a plan of action.

Becoming unwell is the unspoken horror of any outback expedition. Vulnerability snuck upon us. We were due to leave for Cheela Plains Station for a couple of nights and then onto Mount Augustus, which would have us travelling in the middle of nowhere for a couple of days.

Michael refused point-blank to attend Tom Price Hospital. So we decided we needed to alter our itinerary and reluctantly bypass Mount Augustus. We still resolved to go to Cheela Plains, which was within an hour's drive of Paraburdoo Hospital and also well acquainted with the Royal Flying Doctor.

Farewelling Tom Price with grateful thanks to Grace and Kerrie at the Tom Price caravan park, we set off for Cheela Plains. This was an easy two-hour drive, all on bitumen. Michael declared himself markedly improved after lunch. We arrived at the Station just before three o'clock.

We were immediately blown away by the hospitality of the owners and staff. All sites formed a ring around a central grassed and gardened meeting spot, with a fire pit, benches, shade and greenery. The birdlife was apparent immediately. We secured site 14, the last of the powered sites. The arrangement offered privacy and peace, along with every opportunity to socialise as desired. Later, we listened to the crickets as dusk fell. And we were rewarded with a spectacular Pilbara sunset in rich orange tones and stars so bright that we believed we could reach out and touch them.

We enjoyed the Station dinner of roast and veggies, followed by chocolate self-saucing pudding. We bid adieu to dinner hosts Louise and Les relatively early. When I explained the circumstances of the previous night, Louise insisted we wake her if needed. "You just ring up the Flying Doctor" she enthused "and they tell you what to do."

Seemed far simpler than making a doctor's appointment. We'll keep you posted.

A gatecrasher looking for a free lunch - Tom Price caravan park...

Paraburdoo's "Resilience" art piece rationale...

And the sculpture in all her glory...

A comparison in size with my beloved husband...

Playing a "Resilience" melody with a pebble...

Pleasant green spaces and rotunda in Paraburdoo...

A symbol of Paraburdoo's reason by being...

On the road to Cheela Plains...

Welcome to Cheela Plains...

The camping sites...

Sunset...

And the location of Cheela Plains Station.

Saturday 27 July 2019

The Mediocre And The Magical

We left Point Samson feeling as if we'd only just started a journey. The location of the Cove Caravan Park was stunning. We were welcomed like family. The Point Samson Tavern rocked. However, Roebourne and her determined latest breed of Aboriginal social and justice warriors just blew us away. Michael and Lorraine were looking forwards. The past was the past and should be treated as such. They were all about Roebourne's future. Along with Lesley of the Roebourne Arts Group, they were all searching for ways to include and unify the community, so that Roebourne became the town she should be. And we will definitely be returning.

We had chosen to travel to Harding Dam en route to Millstream. The road was awful. We also were given the heads up that a train had broken down and would not be moving for an hour. Or so. No problem. The road was so dreadful that we accepted any excuse to stop and photograph. We bounced our way to the railway crossing where the unfortunate train had blocked the tracks. Five minutes later, somebody worked a miracle and the train slowly moved on and the vehicle queue could disperse.

We arrived at Harding Dam soon afterwards. Opened in May 1985 to supply water to the towns of Dampier, Karratha, Wickham, Point Samson and Roebourne, we had no previous knowledge of the scale of this structure. Words and photographs cannot do Harding Dam justice. Despite every jolting kilometre, we were thrilled we'd made the journey.

After reinstating our dropped jaws into their correct positions, we drove onto the Rio Tinto railway access maintenance road. We had hoped that with all their grandiose publicity and the need to sit through a mind-numbing video featuring an Anthony Albanese lookalike for a permit to drive on their road, that we would enjoy a gravel road that was graded now and then. We were wrong...

Fortunately, a bit further along, comic relief was provided by Ben, part of the White Springs team. He was engaged in road management and we were entertained by him for a good fifteen minutes whilst waiting for our turn to move on. Born in Tom Price, Ben's country included Karijini and his family took their responsibilities seriously. He had us in stitches with his imitations of delighted relations turning up with a meal of goanna (not bloody goanna again!) or bush turkey and describing that he had about fifteen members of his family who were all called Pop.

The bone-crunching ride bestowed upon us seemed endless. We eventually made a shattered arrival into Millstream mid-afternoon. The afternoon was bleak and the Miliyanha campsite was fire-scarred and black. The wetlands trail was closed due to damage from Cyclone Veronica back in March. The Millstream homestead had just been painted so all the displays had been removed. The long drop toilets smelt. The camp hosts may have only just arrived as they were unaware of some of the trails' closures.

In spite of all these negatives, I still enjoyed a pleasant and cool walk around the homestead. The lawn and trees were comforting and green in the midst of other shortcomings. A couple of kangaroos/euros stopped to peer at me. One had a joey in her pouch. Little tidbits of joy to ease the disappointments.

The rain fell, gentle and steady throughout the night. Miliyanha camp was clean and refreshed by morning. We were not enticed to stay. Tom Price was calling us and we were pleased to depart.

The road improved in places where grading had recently occurred. The rest of the Rio Tinto access road should be ashamed of itself. I understand that we use the road due to a mining company's indulgence of tourists and workers. But honestly, guys, lift your act.

Our arrival in Tom Price didn't disappoint. The highest town in Western Australia is green and inviting. Great facilities and all the services. There appeared to be families everywhere. School had just finished and the town centre with its statues of kangaroos, emus and goannas was bopping. We checked into the Tom Price tourist park with a sigh of relief.

The following morning saw us leave for Karijini. This was an easy drive. Just over a hundred kilometres, all bitumen. The Visitors' Centre was most impressive and the reception staff were informative and pleasant. Naturally, they knew Ben from White Springs and Michael and Lorraine from Roebourne. We bought another two books to add to our burgeoning pile.

Our site at Dales camping ground was private and quiet. The long drop loos were sweet-smelling. Whilst Michael nanna-napped, I walked to the Circular Pool and Three Gorges lookouts. Absolutely stunning in the late afternoon light.

Later, we discovered the extent of our caravan's shuddering two-day ride. The microwave packed its bat and ball and refused to play. The extractor fan above the stove was at a decidedly wonky angle. The flip mix in the kitchen sink had gone floppy and wriggly.

The good news was that the fridge, the stove and the grill were all working swimmingly. However, the television antenna handle had discombobulated for the umpteenth time and the TV itself had gone out in sympathy and refused to function. Along with the caravan reversing camera, the telly's antenna appeared to be another useless white elephant.

We stayed at Dales for a wonderful two nights. Our second day involved a marathon expedition of Fortescue Falls, Fern Pool, the trek to Circular Pool, a near-vertical climb upwards and a long tramp back to pick up Lily from the Fortescue carpark. We were pathetically relieved to climb into Lily and return to our Dales campsite.

Needless to say, we were both horizontal very early last night.