Heavenly Beverley : Ten Things I Have Learnt About Caravanning...

We have been the proud parents of Digger the caravan for well over a year now. We are currently almost half-way through our second big trip Up North. I feel like I'm becoming a bit of an expert on most aspects of Digger and I'm certainly learning the pros and cons of both caravan parks and free camping spots.

We have had a fabulous few days here in Port Hedland. We have been staying at the Cooke Point Discovery Park. The location is ideal - possibly the prettiest end of town but still only ten minutes drive. The facilities are clean and functional, albeit a tad dated. There is shade, some grassed and some concrete paved sites, a beautiful outlook over the mangroves and abundant resident birdlife. The only detrimental factor is that some sites are quite tight, and being the high season, the park is very crowded. Having said that, we would like to return next year and we will definitely book a preferred site ahead of time.

Tomorrow we move on to Point Samson, near Cossack. The annual art awards, bearing the name of this pioneer town will be held this weekend. Shane Moad, one of the East End Gallery's talented artists and an all-around good guy has previously won the Cossack Prize and we will be delighted to honour his achievement and be tantalised by the 2019 entries.

Having reached the northernmost point of this year's jaunt, I would like to share some of the lessons I have learnt being a red-haired retired rebel (rather than a grey nomad).

In no particular order -

Being very fat does not work in a caravan. Digger is five and a half metres long and negotiating around him requires some deft manoeuvres and fancy footwork. Currently, Michael and I can shimmy past each other between the kitchen and dinette seating. Being ten or twenty kilogrammes heavier would change the slide into a slog.
Caravanning on gravel roads opens all doors and watertight hatches, even if we believe they are closed. Dust permeates all corners of Digger whenever we venture off the beaten track. I usually wipe surfaces when we stop, however, I refuse to become anal about the cleanliness issue. I have watched elderly women cleaning caravans from top to tail in order to repel the evil forces of red dust. In my opinion, that is a complete waste of my formidable efforts.
Digger's confined spaces do encourage athleticism. Due to a great deal of whinging, I swapped sides of the bed with Michael as, frankly, wiggling past the dinette to the left side of the "bedroom" does require some gymnastic energy. I have perfected the Digger roll which involves launching myself onto my back and swinging my legs leftwards ho onto the floor on my side of the bed.
None of the handovers prepared us for the unexpected dropsy of certain inside parts of Digger. Most knobs on the cupboards have ended up on the floor as we drive along. Water containers must be placed firmly on the floor, otherwise, they fling themselves from any height, usually leaking any remaining water out of the air hole that never lets in enough air to allow for rapid transfer of the liquid to another receptacle, such as the kettle. Mysterious screws are also items that make floor fall and often end up under bare feet in the middle of any night.
On a similar theme, we have experienced a series of unforeseen breakages. The Anderson plug ( an electrical device) that disappeared somewhere between Gascoyne Junction and the Kennedy Ranges. A holed communication valve between our reinforced water tanks was struck by a foreign object leading to the loss of all one hundred and eighty litres of water. A collision between Digger and the Forbes Building just before we left resulted in the demolition of a side awning on Shop 1. Unfortunately, we discovered (later) that the sunshade on the side of Digger had been mortally wounded as well. Our first insurance job is looming.
Travelling involves flexibility. Embrace changes to itineraries and destinations. We have met couples who plan their trips to the most minute detail. Where they stop for morning tea and lunch. What time they are off the road. How early they can depart in the morning to begin their next regimented day. They lose the journey sticking to a regime. Relax...
Have plenty of food, water and favourite treats. Chocolate, vino, port, pastries, biscuits, cheese - all are as important as other staples. And there are times I refuse to cook and we retire to the local pub/roadhouse/cafe. Nights off are quite acceptable.
Mix with the locals. Go to the pub/bowling club/ cafe/restaurant/bakery. Chat. Share stories. Pick up local gossip. Pat a dog. Compliment a cat. Admire a garden.
Visit tourism information centres. Spend time talking to the staff or volunteers. Experience an earthquake with them in Marble Bar! These hidden gems are bursting with knowledge and history, often within the person on the front counter.
Do not be in a hurry to move on. Sit outside and read a book or a newspaper or a magazine. Watch the birds. Go for a walk. Photograph the sunset. Watch the footy in the pub. Let these gentle experiences just appear in golden moments.

Oh, and have fun no matter how much it hurts (epilogue by Michael!)