Heavenly Beverley : To Newman...And Beyond!

Our final morning at the Eco Resort began with a catastrophe of epic proportions. Whilst Michael was flinging the remains of his coffee plunger out Digger's door, he inadvertently tossed the inner glass beaker as well. Disaster ensued when the glass insert hit the unforgiving Pilbara dirt. The look of despairing horror on Michael's face was unforgettable. The situation was akin to throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

I laughed. A lot. I had previously been responsible for similar misadventures and had suffered the ignominy of Michaels disapproval on several occasions. The tables had unfortunately turned...

I prayed for coffee plungers in Newman...

We were actually packed, showered and ready for departure just after eleven o' clock. We endured the bone-shaking three kilometres of corrugations until we were on the bitumen once more. We would not miss the park's gravel roads at all.

However, Karijini had not quite finished with us. Driving east towards the Great Northern Highway was right through Karijini's belly. We travelled nearly a hundred kilometres from the Eco Resort to the boundary of the national park.

We drove into Newman and immediately became lost. We found navigation far trickier there than in Tom Price. At least the tourism information office was open and we were able to secure a powered site in a caravan park just south of town. And we actually located and purchased the elusive coffee plunger in the local Retravision.

Oasis@Newman was about eight kilometres from Newman in the middle of sparse scrub. There was an upmarket motel, dining facilities and a caravan park, which was basically a paddock out the back with a few trees. However, the ablutions were new and clean and the washing machines were free.

We managed to haul out the caravan awning for the first time without any tears. Michael then constructed a washing line for me. One enormous load of washing later, we filled both lines, which we left merrily flapping until morning.

During the night, Michael's vertigo returned with a vengeance. Rising abruptly for an urgent visit to the facilities and without turning on any lights, he stumbled into our table, clutching at any object to stay upright whilst his head swam. On his first attempt, he grabbed the unanchored pepper grinder; a Last Tango scenario. Thankfully, his second frantic grope for any means of support met the table itself and he did not end up performing the Watusi Quickstep to the floor. After I realised he was not completely horizontal, I bellowed at him to turn on an effing light!

The rest of the night was without incident and we prepared for departure in the morning. Lowering the awning was a comedy or errors until we asked Graham and Kay for help. Within five minutes, we'd secured the awning, hoping we'd remember the sequence next time or at least be able to work it out on our own.

Oasis@Newman was a most unlikely place to meet an art therapist. Marian, originally from the Netherlands, was working there as a cleaner as nobody in Newman would admit to having any mental health issues. When I commented on the number of Dutch we had met, she responded cheerfully "That's because we breed like rabbits!"

Heading towards the free camp at Gascoyne River South, we stopped at the infamous Kumarina roadhouse for fuel. The complex, which included a cafe and caravan park, had not appeared to improve in the previous twenty years. One fusebox still provided power to all caravans, the site was either windswept and dusty (this time) or a freezing mud hole (twenty years ago). I wouldn't let Michael use the facilities as I was convinced they would be as awful as my previous encounters.

As we drove away, a roadtrain threw up a stone on Lily's windscreen. Almost immediately, a thin, straight and ever-increasing line began travelling from the point of impact. Bollocks. This confirmed in my mind that Kumarina should be avoided at all costs.

We drove into the pleasant and secluded campsite late afternoon. The birds had started their evening chorus, the caravan bays were generously set apart and there was plenty of shade. I was somewhat disappointed by the rubbish left behind, especially given the number of bins around.

Michael's vertigo was active again during the night, which made for disturbed sleep for both of us. But the beautiful sunny morning revived our spirits. And we were off for three nights in Cue, a favourite town, and also known as the Queen of the Murchison.