The perpetual task of explaining ourselves to different people every day, the up-and-at-them of the fundraising in the pubs and clubs and the persistence of collecting in the Marinas and Shopping Centres was starting to show itself in a little tetchiness and belligerence that belied our otherwise sunny exteriors. While we had succeeded in Perth through our contact with Mike Gilbert and Apex in raising over $4000, it had been an event.
From being a smashed window away from leaving town and missing out, our luck had come in and the most was made of our good fortune, but two weeks is a long time in the world of repeating yourself all the time, and we were looking forward to being on the road again.
With the fuel situation at maximum capacity we bade farewell to Perth and drove south through Freemantle towards Rockingham, stopping there for the night with Norm and Jean who run the Apex Members Holiday Park at Cape Peron. Located on a promontory by the sea, again we tried to fish, getting out the old rods given to us in Darwin, and casting them out into the sea with the vim and verve of exuberant landlubbers whose salty-seadoggedness in these matters consists of trusting solely to hope, then casting, swearing, detangling the tangled line, casting, recasting, detangling, then retiring. It can be fun, but no fish will ever be caught this way.
Still heading south we were Bunbury bound the next day, and determined too, as it was St Paddy's day, to find a kindly publican to suffuse us with some Guinness. We succeeded in finding a place to stay at the Parade Hotel, and as soon as we had time to ditch our bags we headed out into town and found Mitch at the Prince of Wales who donated to the cause a few pints as we recollected Ireland and sat by the bar.
Phil and Gareth try to untangle seaweed from their lines
Pausing next day at Bussleton we were then on our way through to Margaret River, the famous wine region, to stay in Metricup, at the Willy Bay Resort, having been put touch with Caroline and Dale there who run it by Ryan in Bussleton who fed us when we stayed there, and they rang us up and offered us a chalet for the weekend.
Ngilgi Caves, Yallingup
On our way there we stopped briefly in Ngilgi Caves, a short distance north of Yallingup, and Pete, the manager there donated the tour round to us. Aboriginal legend has it that it was the battle between a good spirit, Ngilgi and an evil spirit, Wolgine, that formed these impressive limestone caves. It was certainly another world that we walked into, with the beautiful and strange formations of stalactites, stalagmites, helictites, cave crystal pillars and columns, arresting our eyes.
Bussleton Jetty at Dusk
Then it was on to Willy Bay. Now Willy Bay Resort as we discovered with amazement, is a AAA rated 4.5 star self-catering luxury resort set amidst 75 acres of beautiful natural bush and parkland with lake and vineyard views, sitting beside thousands of hectares of state forest situated in the heart of the world famous Margaret River Wine Region and we, in our road-weary dirt-smeared Wicked van parked up and made it our home for a weekend.
We experience luxury at Willy Bay Resort for the weekend
It was secluded and ideal for recharging the old batteries. The Margaret River region is very pastoral, more like a pleasing Mediterranean-English countryside than fair-dinkum Aussie Bushland; with its rolling hills, lush fields, dense forests, tree-lined winding roads, and lined with vineyard after vineyard, your internal monologue is punctuated with remarks like 'isn't this nice' or 'ooh, look at that tree, I wonder if a squirrel lives there'. It is that bucolic and pleasant. That there are hordes of middle-aged and aged visitors and inhabitants attests to the fact of its appealingness and bustling sense of rural quietude. We liked it immensely.
Margaret River region
On Monday we were invited to stay in Gnarabup at the Margarets Beach Resort, a ten minute drive from the township of Margaret River itself. That night Anthony Jansen, manager of the restaurant at the resort, The Gnarabar, invited us to dinner. It was a pleasure and though we are fortunate to have benefited from much generosity on our travels so far, we are constantly taken aback by the friendliness and warm welcome that we receive, and keep receiving, by so many different people.
The next morning we had arranged with Keith, owner of the Margaret River Surf School to go to nearby Redgate Beach for a surf lesson. We met there Jarred, our teacher and were given our boards and taken to the beach. After an introductory tutorial in 'popping' onto the board from the prone position, and, bending at the knees, swaying with the motion of the sea, man, we thought, 'this is easy, no problem this time.
When we surfed in Caloundra, we were ignorant, we didn't know how to do it. Point break hang ten, yeah' and we ran into the sea like jubilant seals. But, as they say, the proof is in the pudding, and in our case in the plodding. We plodded on. Plugged away. Gave it a shot. What more could they ask of us?
We toiled and travailed. What they neglect to mention on Bondi Surf or what you never see on Baywatch as Hasselhoff pectorially dances up the beach and bounds into the sea to 'scue (short for 'rescue' - no time for full enunciation when you're 'scuing someone from danger, capiche?) is the sheer amount of salt-water snot and strings of briny mucus that hang around and cover your face as you get pounded by the surf, or while trying to try to surf, and it is a bit hard, if you ask me, to look cool, and gnarl like a dude, if you have tentacles of salty phlegm glued to your upper lip and face.
Jarred, to his credit ignored all this, and did a great job looking after us. Looking after five others also, he was like a Bluefin gliding through the water, as he helped one then another of us, diving, gliding through the water, appearing by your side all at once, advising you how to do it, offering advice, telling you where you were going wrong, pushing you off, and with a splash, he was off, like a Merman, into the water, appearing a hundred yards away, helping someone else.
A seagull dives for fish
He tried with me, oh how he tried. Phil managed to stand on his board a couple of times, but the best I managed was a knee-raise, or a topple-ride a couple of times, not forgetting the starfish-glide I managed to pull off, and while not strictly 'pro-terms' that you would find 'on the tour', they were pretty representative of my style and ability, in that I had none.
Possessed with no natural coordination and an innate ability for disorientation it was always going to be a struggle. With Jarred's help though, I did manage to ride it like a hot potato once.
Some kids show us how it should be done
Heading off after our lesson, we took the road south to Augusta, ate fish and chips (the only meal that truly gets to the nub of the matter when by the sea) courtesy of Stewart and Noelene Grayson's Fresh Fish n' Chips Shop there, and followed the coast south-east then inland to Pemberton. Leaving the sea for the time being it was to the Land of the Giants that we were next destined.
Cheffy's Cafe, Yallingup donates an incredibly delicious Sunday roast
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