Heavenly Beverley : Whoops! We Did It Again...(Twice)

We left Cheela Plains Station fully intending to turn left at the junction of the Nanutarra Road and the North-West Coastal Highway and head south towards Emu Creek Station. Whilst contemplating this decision, we had a complete change of heart. Sod going south. We would head north (not quite to Alaska) to Onslow.

Neither of us had been to Onslow and we were well within striking range. I managed to secure one night only at the Ocean View caravan park smack in the centre of town, thanks to Kim on reception who changed a cancellation by another into a much-desired booking by us.

Onslow is an extraordinarily beautiful spot. Well serviced with the restored Beadon Bay pub, a coastal boardwalk, an ANZAC memorial, visitor centre and museum, skate park, water playground, plenty of shade, a new hospital, supermarket, a "Fish and Fuel", two caravan parks and several unit complexes, Onslow is the perfect winter escape from the cold.

I met Dawn in her lovely garden, whilst admiring her stunning red flowering Ixora bushes. Dawn had lived in Onslow for seventy years and was delighted to share her gardening hints. She had no desire to relocate anywhere else. I could understand and appreciate her low-key existence.

Trevor was an older bloke we met in the tourism centre. He was a walking fund of information about Old Onslow and Michael was delighted to pick his brain. Although losing his sight, he had chosen to return to his boyhood home to see out the rest of his life. Trevor also had a touch of the hopeless romantic - holding a torch for a much younger lady but not being overly perturbed by her being seemingly out of reach.

I also met Ilona from Denmark, who with her husband and dog had made Onslow their temporary residence for a couple of months. As she was offering ten dollar haircuts outside her campervan, I eagerly accepted. I had been impersonating Cousin It for a week or so and I was heartily sick of hair hanging in my eyes. Ilona took me In Hand and solved the issue in a few short minutes.

We spent the following three nights at Three Mile Pool, en route to Old Onslow, a hodgepodge of deserted ruins dripping with the echoes of the past. We spent the better part of all three afternoons listening to Old Onslow's stories whispering in the background.

Finally, with some regret (and the emptying of our water tanks) we needed to move on. After replenishing fuel and water back in Onslow, we started our southern journey. We remembered Emu Creek Station from 2018 with much affection and were looking forward to stopping there again, albeit for only one night.

Unfortunately, Emu Creek had changed, and not all for the better. A new manager had been installed, a young woman who was intent at letting us know all the rules. We understood the push for better environmental conservation, however, the delivery was rather heavy-handed.

The homestead and grounds were markedly improved and green, but the Yannerie River waterhole had almost dried up. Plus, deep alluvial sand tracks made accessing some of the campsites very difficult. We were also concerned about the encroachment of the palms, taking precious water reserves and space from the native river gums. Ongoing antics with our battery systems did not add to the scant enjoyment to this brief stopover.

Upon leaving Emu Creek Station this morning, we found ourselves heading in the wrong direction. This was due to my mixing up two roads very close together that both led to the station. However, only one existed. Which we initially didn't take. Twenty minutes and an altered route saw us on the correct road, heading in the direction of Gascoyne Junction.

The Wool Wagon Way had significantly deteriorated in twelve months. We were barely covering fifty kilometres an hour due to the appalling road conditions. We reached the turnoff to Lyndon Station after some quite involuntary gnashing of teeth and looked forward to reaching our destination within the next couple of hours.

I kept watching the horizon for the Kennedy Ranges and wondering why they remained elusive. The station names did not appear to be corresponding to those on my map. Confusion was reigning but we still appeared to be heading south (ish). I was convinced that Gascoyne Junction would magically rise into my view and all doubts would evaporate.

No such luck...Bollocks. We found ourselves five kilometres south of the Minilya Roadhouse, on the North-West Coastal Highway (again), closest town being Carnarvon. Way back at the Lyndon Station turnoff, we had veered right instead of left...As navigator, I was forced to accept the Chalice of Shame.

Which is why we are staying at the Coral Coast Tourist Park in Carnarvon, rather than in Gascoyne Junction, one hundred and seventy kilometres to the east. We have accepted our lot and are looking forward to the next three nights here. Neither of us has been to Carnarvon for a very long time.

Stay tuned!