The best job in the world.
- Queensland Government, Australia
So who are you going to bring? Best not to leave yourself sitting at home, finding out only 30 years down the track that you could regret wasting your time wondering "what if?" instead of getting out and doing it.
We packed our bags, rushed over to a kind neighbour offering dinner to two travellers (note: not vacationers) backpacking to Western Australia for a week of orientating ourselves to camping in the bush. The cruel 5-hour Air Asia torture chamber came out to be pretty easygoing after we checked out and had our first decent hot drink at sea level. The initial couple of days were spent catching up with family and gossip, driving around Swan Valley for lots of fresh country gourmet that left none wanting for more, saturating our veins and vessels with copious amount of wine, met many a country folk (true blue okra, accent thrown in for full blown effect) and even getting my mum to celebrate her 57th birthday at a local Irish pub (her first time and surely not to be the last). Also it was a good time for the both of us to get some great camping gears at half price.
So what did two eager beavers with enough outdoor survivor paraphernalia strive to do?
Cultivate the intrepid Crusoe, of course!
Short of being thrown in the middle of nowhere, we set forth in a driving adventure out of the city, covering > 800km of dusty red roads where lines weren't drawn, great Marri giants towered over us, a roadkill to remind us of mortality and belting up, tested our nerves of steel, the Karri trail took us as shown in the story here...
We started off finding our way towards Swan Valley, like faithful pilgrims making their way to Elmar's to sacrifice our digestive cavities in honour of the pig. Real nice bangers I got to admit.
And there were just the gums everywhere, you see them, you smell them, you just can't help but to stand in awe.
It didn't take much to convince everyone to head towards the German brewery (although most of their sellers (no pun) are brewed in Margaret River now) and it was all happening down at Duckstein's then...
I must say, it was hard work, but all worth it. Samplers on a plate, think about it!
So from SV we took off to York, quiet sleepy town that looked pretty much the same but assumed you shall not! Most exquisite wines I've had the opportunity to sample (and empty our wallets for), and friendly country folks, even friendlier dogs, and lots of wide expanding pasture.
Like they said, your closest neighbour could be yards (literally) away. Not sure if it's your thing but it was great to fire up the senses adjusting to that much of space, time and well, more space!
And just when you thought you're about to call it quits due to isolation anxiety, the corner turn hit you with loads of bleating. These sheep were honestly uninhibited. They came near, they checked you out, and well, I got one that actually showed me some attitude by doing its business right there and then. Still, they were very curious creatures that seemed to absolutely find cosiness (no pun, man I'm getting up my own nerves now!) wandering among each other, eating, bleating, eating, bleating, (repeat as many times as desired)...
But aren't all babies cute?
We actually got out of the car at one point because nobody could give an affirmative answer on what those melon-looking UFOs were on the ground. Golden dime of the day was awarded to planter's experience: they were rotten melons that were left to rot as it was more costly to pick them up. Strange outcome but true.
Day ended with some darn good lamb shank, tucked in with Little Creature's pilsner by the waters. Bliss. Will I do it again? You betcha!
Next morning at Busselton dock. Hot scones, cold milk, chilly morning and a lazy start.
We came by to Drafty's in which it's isolated, beautiful, raw and basic (on that I mean no flushing system). We built a camp, I set up my own fire (Serendah's experience came in useful!) and we existed on ham, brie, bread and three bottles of wine. What I found strange was the fact that the forest was so different from what I've seen in Southeast Asia. It was deadly still, no wind, no crickets, just a few birds that wandered into our site.
Fire voodoo. We sang - a lot, multilingual, the kind that you just dropped off your reservations and go all-out-in-the-shower kind?
Next dawn. Very zen, and very unexpectedly I was told to "move away from the car, but don't make any extreme gestures!" - just next to my hips, the supermodel of forest spiders, long dangly legs on a body as big as my thumb, brown and hairy. What more could I have asked for? I was expecting a brown snake underneath the car!
We continued driving along the Karri trail and headed towards Beedelup National Park (in case, we're all within the Shire of Manjimup, Pemberton - its aboriginal meaning, place of water) and what seemed like we broke out of the density of thick luscious Marri forests, into the wide open plains of agriculturally tended farms. Cows, more cows, and as we turned into what we thought was the Pemberton Wine Centre...
This handsome fellow showed up with 5 other mates. Any closer to the wild and you would have to take it yourself. They were munching docilely with no other living being in sight except us. Here I was thinking I was pretty stoked seeing 4 parakeets from the entrance! We took a break while I got slightly closer on the ground to photograph Skippy. Under that late arvo sun, you can easily forget about fatigue when you come eye-to-eye with one of Australia's icons. After 15 minutes, we decided to head out to catch the falls before dusk. Six pairs of eyes saw us through to the junction.
The Cascades. It was a good track inside the forest in which you'll catch the falls, and we caught sight of a Kookaburra (white, with yellow under flaps) the size of a decent small back pack (I don't know if I'm doing justice here) doing the waiting game. In a swift second, it swooped down and caught a fish within a blinking sight, only to return to the tree and then to be gone. I know they are gecko eating birds but it was quiet a sight to behold when again, I thought, one of Australian's icons. How very lucky of us.
Final thing to attempt - the Dave Evans Bicentennial Tree. In short (no pun, ahem...) Karri trees are one of the oldest and largest living things on earth. This bugger was named after one of Pemberton's most revered sons. In windy conditions, the tree could sway 1.5m on each side. There was a chicken-out resting station at 30m. I told myself that I didn't fly all the way here to stop half way. And it was 75m one way that you conquered and the way down again to tell yourself that you, indeed, could have been terrified due to vertigo! Honestly, the first 15m were more terrifying than the rest of the way. Although I have a boat loads even more respect for fire watchers whom had to climb up these trees (planes were not good options during windy, fiery conditions) to do the watch. And yes, my thigh and gluteus maximus considerations were far more enhanced and I discovered biceps that I didn't realise were there all along... loads of tiger balm but all worth it.
Our last night in Pemberton. We checked out its local produce - trout. Best washed down with a stout. Again, done the small town way, got a table outside with loads of other tables filled with local tradie lads. We got back to the new camp site much to our surprise, nobody stole our tent! But this site was also a caravan site, hence the warm shower was like sweet honey water from the heavens.
Our fire place, by the river. Much colder night. And we were more reflective that last time, more politics and values, no Prince Aladdin and Princess Jasmine on the magic carpet songs.
Next day's drive out towards home in Clarkson. Couldn't resist this sign. If you're the bull, then you rule!
We passed by many fields, even larger trucks, a few hooners and many friendly faces. The journey has only begun. France is another eleven nights away. Once you get outside, you never really again come back to your little corner.
So what are you ****** waiting for?
