Heavenly Beverley : To Sandstone and Beyond! (Where...?)

We had four wonderful nights in Yalgoo. The town had undergone a topsy turvy change from Michael's recollections of thirty years ago. Somewhere he had not been keen to revisit was now squarely back on his radar as a Favourable Destination. The tip was a revelation - a joyous cornucopia of history served up in one expansive location. Helen and Ray had been the best of hosts. With a grassed and fenced verge within the confines of the caravan park, nobody seemed to mind me launching the tennis ball for Stella's off-lead entertainment and exercise.

And then we left for Sandstone. En route, we stopped for supplies in Mt Magnet and checked out the tourism information centre. With resident staffer Mary's help, we rang through to the caravan park in Sandstone for the night. Just as well, as Alice Atkinson Caravan Park was nearly chockers when we arrived.

Sandstone is one of those beautiful remote towns that is endlessly surprising. We didn't think a caravan park could top Yalgoo's, but Sandstone's Alice Atkinson Park is right up there. Plenty of shade, very pleasant surroundings, clean ablutions, memorabilia, a communal fire pit and grassy (!) tent area. Although slightly more expensive than Yalgoo, we were very happy to stop there for the night.

Run by Margaret (originally from Melbourne), she had a definite European accent; we couldn't think of anywhere else much in Western Australia more remote for her to live. Even so, she had an obvious distaste for crowds or noise or traffic - there was certainly none of that in Sandstone.

The town itself is a charming oasis in the Northern Goldfields. Neat homes and lovely parks and gardens. There appeared to be no vandalism at all. An art exhibition was running, which unfortunately I didn't see, however, there was an example hanging on the wall of Margaret's office -a stunning art quilt crafted by a South Australian artist. Sandstone also had a community newsletter that would put other towns to shame. Although tiny, there was a distinct resemblance to Tom Price, our favourite town in the Pilbara. A bus service was being offered for shopping in Mt Magnet, the fish van visited every couple of months and there were comprehensive health services in Wiluna, but those services were nearly four hundred kilometres away! The Sandstone nursing post was only open on Thursdays with the Flying Doctor visiting every fortnight. Sandstone is not the place to have major health problems or severe injury.

We headed further east the following morning. Michael was longing to return to Agnew. I was loving the journey. Peter Denny's lookout was a highlight. He had been a Yalgoo councillor who had passionately campaigned for the sealing of the road to Mount Magnet. Unfortunately, he had been killed in an accident on that road. The lookout in his honour was utterly jawdropping. Turning right off the flat Goldfields Highway, the landscape fell away to reveal some amazing breakaway country.

Another addition to our drive was the presence of the original railway line remains. Mostly, the bridges had gone and washaways were a frequent occurrence demonstrating the power of the rare desert deluges. One bridge was actually intact, complete with its wooden sleepers. I stopped to take photos.

Always interesting was the presence of the RFDS (Royal Flying Doctor Service) landing strip on the highway. An all-weather highway also doubles as a runway in the middle of nowhere.

We were also thrilled at the number of wedge-tailed eagles we passed. These imposing birds feed on roadkill of these animals not lucky enough to cross the road safely. Usually, animals are killed between dusk and dawn and then the wedgies come in to clean the scene. With intelligence and keen eyesight, they are adept at calculating the need for takeoff as a vehicle approaches. Weighing in at three and a half kilograms, an adult eagle can't just launch off the ground without a decent galloping in order to generate enough power and lift.

As we drove closer to the Agnew Loop, a wholly unexpected bunch of wind turbines appeared on the horizon. Which became more majestic as we approached. I seem to remember several political oafs bagging these awesome examples of clean energy generation in favour (!) of coal mines...Their glorious white outlines against a brilliant blue sky were just magnificent.

As we turned into the Old Agnew Road, we realised the turbines were part of the gigantic Wahroonga mine operations. Other highlights of Agnew were the remnants of early mining, automotive and agricultural equipment, including the huge stamp head battery. These relics of the past had been set in a pleasing arrangement with interesting interpretive panels. Significantly absent was the Agnew Hotel, which had been in ruins on our last visit. The entire site had been excised. That the Agnew pub was still being advertised as open in the Leonora Loops 2009 guidebook immensely tickled our funny bones.

We soon realised that Agnew, with all the mining activity, was not going to offer us somewhere to camp. We drove onto Lawlers cemetery and headed down a well-formed track to find a sheltered spot to set up camp, along with the numerous cowpats from the resident cattle which attract flies in their millions. Not ideal but we had shade and shelter and could escape the flying fiends inside Digger.

Lawlers tip was a sight to behold the following morning. The aged rubbish was visible as far as the eye could see. We found shade for the car and the dogs and proceeded to explore. We quickly became aware that there was an enormous legacy of cans and broken glass, with collectable titbits few and far between. At the end of a couple of hours, we were sweaty and tired. However, Stella was more than a little distressed with a touch of the sun. We retired back to the caravan after we'd driven around with the airconditioning at full blast to cool Stella down.

An obvious and prolonged dry spell dampened Lawlers' previous magic for me. We chose to leave after two nights as the unseasonal heat and wind were making conditions unpleasant. As we continued down the Agnew Loop after our second night at Lawlers, we became more and more acquainted with a devastating lack of rain that had been suffered by the country. Doyle's Well, last seen by us as a grassy and green oasis, was plainly dying. The bougainvillea that had been a riot of hot pink flowers had expired. The hardy climbing rose was barely alive. Only the sturdiest of trees was surviving the relentless drought. Every creek bed was bare with only dust and desolation apparent.

Leonora was a welcome distraction. Although only slightly greener, flowers in tubs on the main street cheered me up. However, the fine dust had permeated every nook and cranny inside the caravan. The caravan park (expensive) offered a chance to clean off the dust, shake out our pillows and bedding and wash and dry some clothes. We strung up a temporary line for this task and managed to complete a flurry of clean clothes. Then we pondered our feelings for the last days of this trip.

Away for five weeks and running out of money, we candidly discussed our options. Home was becoming an incredibly attractive proposition. I had hoped to stop and free camp at Karalee Dam but I couldn't face another ingress of dust. Instead, we decided to head to Kalgoorlie. We had run out of Michael's alkaline water and his reflux had rapidly worsened. Woolworths supermarket had suddenly become an urgent goal for the alkaline water that lessened his symptoms and relieved the miserable burning.

The final deciding factor was another slow puncture - our second for the trip. Leonora could not help us so Michael valiantly changed the wheel with a bit of help from me in the shade at Gwalia. A most amiable chap and photographer, Wade, arrived on the scene at the right moment to help Michael heave the damaged tyre back into Lily's boot. And so, we launched forward for Kalgoorlie.

The heat and wind continued. Driving was reasonably challenging. Arriving at our puncture repairer Tyreright in Boulder mid-afternoon, the temperature had risen to thirty-seven. By the time we checked into the Kalgoorlie Discovery Park just up the road on Burt Street, four o'clock had come and gone. More dust had been shaken out of Digger's interior and I needed to venture out to the supermarket and a vet for the dogs' meat log. So I left Michael with a cleaning task and set off. The Google Maps app on my aged phone chose that moment to malfunction so I became lost in both directions to and from shopping.

The evening improved as the temperature cooled. Hopkins Park, site of the original Boulder Racecourse, adjoined the back fence of the caravan park and was a combination of extensive native gardens, paths, hidden nooks, an excellent playground, shade and grass. The dogs thoroughly enjoyed romping about and we had some much-needed exercise in the form of a gentle stroll.

Today has brightened my mood. We have called in a rest day. Hopkins Park has been visited again and we had had a most leisurely and lowkey morning. Later this afternoon, we intend to go for a walk in downtown Boulder. Maybe coffee or a drink?

Why not...