Our Carnarvon Special

In our original itinerary for this year's Northern Jaunt, we were scheduled to come to Carnarvon. This was the be the end of a trek from Emu Creek Station, to the Kennedy Ranges, Gascoyne Junction and then out to the coast. However, as this trip has progressed, all stopovers became negotiable. Millstream, a disappointment only held us for one brief night, along with Emu Creek.  Chilla Plains, Marble Bar, Nullagine, Port Hedland all had their stays extended. Onslow was in, out and spontaneously in again.  Although we stayed at Point Samson, we spent the majority of our time in that corner of the Pilbara in Roebourne.

After Onslow, Old Onslow and Three Mile Pool, the plan was to take the Wool Wagon Way down to Gascoyne Junction. Except we took a wrong turn at Lyndon Station and headed for the North West Coastal Highway. Interestingly, the Lyndon Road was in far better condition than the Wool Wagon Way. Perhaps Lily and Digger had grown tired of the incessant corrugations and steered themselves onto a less bone-jarring road. The upshot of my blunder found us just south of Minilya Roadhouse, Carnarvon was once more back on the agenda.

We pulled into the Coral Coast Tourist Park, a small family-run business on the main drag (Robinson Street) quite close to town and behind the airport. The aircraft noise was negligible, the sites pleasant, the ablutions divine, so we stayed four nights. We began our stay with dinner at the Carnarvon Hotel. My risotto was quite acceptable, the house wine excellent but Michael was disappointed by his Chicken Parmi (which is why I don't eat Chicken Parmi). Thursday night was Mystery Dinner at the caravan park - beer and Guinness stew and dessert - with live music to entertain us. Fabulous evening and well done to the Coral Coast Tourist Park. The Friday Yacht Club dinner, prepared by volunteers Karl and Carmie was a triumph. We enjoyed a generous and delicious plate of Chilli Con Carne each, which had just enough chilli to tingle our lips. Throw in two glasses of wine, all for forty dollars and this was an absolute bargain. In the midst of dinner, a wake was being conducted for a much-loved chap named Toby, orchestrated by his other half, Susie. After a slight awkwardness, we listened to Susie's eulogy and raised our glasses to farewell Toby on his next journey.

Four nights in Carnarvon and I only cooked for one...Bliss!

Apart from a visit to the Historic Precinct on a cool and windy day, we did no touristy activities. I washed mountains of clothes and lesser piles of dishes. We stripped and cleaned Lily. We stripped and remade the bed and pampered ourselves with fresh towels.

Plus, we adopted a puppy now named Stella.

I had resigned myself to waiting (rather impatiently) until we returned home to procure a new canine fur-kid - for us - a playmate for Pip and an annoyance to Ruby. Having opened my laptop in Carnarvon to attend to a deluge of e-mails and other messages, I innocently logged onto the SAFE Carnarvon page, scrolled through their available dogs and promptly fell in love with a fifteen-week-old puppy named Melu. 

Four days later, she is now our Stella. She is known as a Carnarvon Special or a Heinz Variety. A pinch of this, a dollop of that and a slosh of something else. We have had her for just on twenty-four hours now. Her behaviour has been, up until now, exemplary. She sat on our alternate laps for seven hours in the car yesterday. We were strange, the car was strange and she had left all she knew behind. She didn't wee in the car and she only cried if we were not both in her line of sight. She has successfully piddled (twice) outside the caravan here in Belair Gardens Caravan Park in Geraldton. She stayed in her plastic crate/bed until morning. She is currently snoozing by the caravan door waiting for Michael to return from his morning ablutions.

Today, we are staying still in Geraldton for the footy. And a chance to get to know her better. We already adore Stella. That has been so easy. Monday and Tuesday will be the last days in the car with us.

Come Wednesday, she will have a whole new world, home and playmates.

Live long and prosper, Stella Bella.

The wildflowers were the best feature of the Wool Wagon Way...

Did the Lyndon Station cattle lead us astray?

Old railway wagons at the Historic Precinct, Carnarvon...

The One Mile Jetty, unfortunately, closed at present...

Gromet, I need assistance!

Old and rusty paraphernalia...

Thursday night entertainment at the Coral Coast Tourist Park...

Volunteer chef Karl at the Carnarvon Yacht Club, who produced a superb Chilli Con Carne...

With Stella leaving her foster home, mum and sister...

Very proud new Mum and Dad...

Largish traffic obstacle en-route to Geraldton...

Stella Sofoulis - 11 August 2019.

Destined To Come to Carnarvon

We have just experienced a most unusual couple of days. Yesterday morning, we left Emu Creek Station with some relief and set off down the Wool Wagon Way towards the bright lights of Gascoyne Junction. I must admit that I was feeling a tad out of sorts. We had entered the last ten days of our Northern Jaunt. We had turned the shower cubicle into a dirty clothes repository. And dirty all our gear was. I was becoming weary of bucket baths (or no baths at all) due to our reliance on caravan parks for the luxury of a shower. The portaloo was losing its appeal. And I was missing home, Pip and Ruby (Madame Cat). In fact, I am now longing to see our beloved pets again.

There was more than that. For ten years, Michael and I had been the ringmasters of a trio of canine clowns. Losing Sascha was almost unbearable last year. I wanted another dog almost instantly - not to replace her (impossible) but to return to my status quo. Michael resisted, pointing out very sensibly that we still had Ruby the Beagle and Mister Pip, as well as Her Feline Majesty and the Pirate parrot.

So we settled into the rhythm of a doggy duo. Ruby was not the world's greatest companion to Pip and she was, inevitably still the Problem Child, causing unexpected havoc with no feelings of remorse whatsoever. Then the Bloody Beagle's health became another headache. An issue of elderly leakage was thought to be caused by a urinary tract infection. Except there were no bacteria. Then the spectre of cancer was suggested. Along with her rapid descent into dementia and a bladder tumour, we were planning to leave for this trip within a week. Euthanasia was quickly decided to be in all of our best interests.

And I still believe we made the right decision. The morning she died, Ruby was spent. She hung her head, panting and frightened, in the waiting room at the vet. Ingrid carried our sad little dog out to insert the cannula and then brought her back to me to cuddle and weep over and say my goodbyes. Ruby was gone before the injection had been completed.

In essence, Ruby's spirit had already flown some weeks earlier. In the final period of her life, she was not the Ruby we knew and loved. That was the hardest knowledge to digest. We didn't see her quirky personality disappear before our eyes until she had become a shell of herself. And then suddenly, her last vestige was gone as well.

Pip has lost both his life partners. He is moving into the twilight of his life. His arthritis and anxiety will remain hopefully under control. As long as he is functional, pain-free and happy, I am content.

But I think, like me, he needs more. He needs a canine buddy. Madame Cat needs a newbie to annoy. Michael needs to walk for his diabetes. And I need a spark of youth and play and fun back in our home.

Having turned right instead of left on the Wool Wagon Way and finding ourselves in Carnarvon yesterday afternoon, I opened up the local animal rescue page on my laptop. I stared into the chocolate eyes of a black three-month-old puppy. Her name was not my choice - Melu, which is a Kiwi name. That didn't matter. I looked at her and fell in love.

We saw her today. And we have adopted her. Michael, who was not in favour of this act admitted that she was a really gorgeous little dog. Placid. Relaxed. Very mellow. But still off for a bark and a run when somebody dared walk past the front yard of her foster mum's house.

She is being sterilised tomorrow.  She is already microchipped and had her first vaccinations. Now we are in search of a proper name for her. Michael and Vanessa are not happy with my choice of calling her mellow after her personality. We are toying with Ella, Millie, Rosie, Lucy. Suggestions would be welcomed. We leave Carnarvon with her on Saturday. So looking forward to having her in our family.

*UPDATE* our latest addition, our black little lady furbaby will henceforth be known as STELLA.

Where it all began - Marangaroo March 2010...

Miss Ruby the Cat...

Mister Pip...

Our infuriating, destructive and always resourceful Ruby...

Still one of the great loves of my life - Sascha in 2016...

The parrot with his pirate...

And the newest member of our family, Stella - she's on the left.

Going With The Flow In Old Onslow...

Our three-night stay at Three Mile Pool was not without incident...

We continued to endure the shenanigans of our battery system. Neither Michael nor I consider ourselves to fail miserably in the stakes of intelligence and logic (that may be somewhat presumptuous of my occasional flawed decision...), but Digger's electrical workings remain a complete mystery. The fun usually starts when we attempt to use the caravan's water pump and lights in the dark. Instantly, we become transported to the Twilight Zone, complete with flickering lights, clicking lights, no lights or a combination of all three. Another regular annoyance is the total failure of both the water pump and power when we first arrive in a new (unpowered) location. Fresh air treatment, a random flicking of various switches in no particular order, time and most surprisingly, the opening and closing of the shower door all appear to have a role in resuming normal programming. In the absence of any reason, we have resolved to carry our gas lamps with us on future expeditions.

Our second frustration was an entire day of dusty wind or windy dust, depending on one's point of view. The big Easterlies, for which the Pilbara and Kimberley are famous, descended upon us with might, meaning an additional red invasion of Digger's interior, just after I'd removed all semblance of the previous red invasion delivered between the New and Old Onslows.

Fortunately, the wind died to a zephyr by mid-afternoon, so we ignored the dust and set out for a further reconnaissance of Old Onslow, having already engaged in a quick sortie prior to our night at the Ocean View caravan park in New Onslow.

In all, we spent the best part of three afternoons peering intently and poking occasionally, having civil conversations with any snakes who may have been in the vicinity, photographing every interesting discovery from all conceivable angles, querying the location of some of the ruins, revelling in the challenge of staying upright whilst traversing the slippery mangrove mud and watching the amusing dance of the Grey Nomads' Fandango (which could be performed either in single formation or by multiple four-wheel-drive vehicles in circular motion).

The Grey Nomads' Fandango was a fascinating insight into the peculiar habits of the accidental tourist finding themselves in derelict settlements and having to feign interest. A recreational vehicle of some sort would drive alongside any of the myriads of tourist information posts, stop for a minute or so, read the description from inside the vehicle and then move on in an orderly fashion. The three vehicles Fandango was an exquisite display of the ability of a convey of four-wheel drives to approach and pause, then briskly move to the next point, all vehicles precise in their dance moves of circles and U-turns.

Our adventures involved a great deal of footwork outside of Lily, though she proved herself useful in transporting us to far-flung locations, such as Old Onslow's second jetty several kilometres from the townsite. At both jetty ruins, we encountered Mud, resulting in much laughter and the occasional shriek as we struggled to remain standing. "Jap Town" the area of the Asian pearl divers provided us with some serious prodding and pushing with our boots. Opposite the remains of Clark's Store were mountains of bottles and oyster shells, some intact. We imagined the tennis courts in all their glory, with white clothed and respectable players enjoying a match. Next door to the tennis courts were the date palms, an area frequented by the Afghan cameleers and their beasts of burden. And not particularly welcomed.

The remains of the tram depot were difficult to locate, due to the unkindness of salt towards metal. Only crumbling relics remained of the machinery. However, we were able to piece together enough for their story, much to our satisfaction. Behind Clark's Store, somebody had planted the flowers of their childhood, which were still evident amongst the native wildflowers. The hospital site was a puzzle. Eventually, we worked out that the location of the tourist post bore no relation to the hospital itself. The substantial stone building further up a rise was, we believe, the actual hospital. A smaller stone building may have been the morgue. More investigation required.

The original cemetery was a reminder of incredible hardships. We lingered for quite a while, caught in our own thoughts and reactions. The cemetery was also in the early stages of restoration, which was most heartening to see. Old Onslow was going to live on.

At Three Mile Pool, we were rewarded with the glorious Pilbara sunsets, the great grey-green Ashburton River, the surreal calls of the local birdlife, the low mooing of the resident cattle and an almost Jurassic Park feel to the location. The campsite is no longer free, but at five dollars a day is still within the financial reach of anybody who wishes to while away some time in genuine peace.

We are so lucky to live within reach of this amazing country. As we approach the final week of our Northern Jaunt, our heads are loaded with memories and our hearts filled with experiences.

And much to our surprise, we are now staying in Carnarvon for three nights...

First sortie to Old Onslow...

Second sortie - original town jetty remains...

Inhabitants of "Jap Town"...

Water tank @ Jap Town...

Garden edging in Jap Town...

 Hospital ruins?

Doing his very best Stout Cortez impersonations...

Water tank...

Old copper for washing?

Approaching dusk...

The Police Complex at sunset...

Day two evening colours at Old Onslow...

Friendly locals...

The great grey-green Ashburton River...

Coastal jetty out of town...

Pioneer cemetery...

And a deeply touching tribute...

More graves on the edge - all Catholics...

Meanwhile back in town...

Tram remains...

A garden of flowers behind Clark's Store...

And all I want is a S-S-Single Bed...

The abandoned courts...

Post office red render...

Allowed but not accepted...

An echo of Afghans and their camels.