Welcome back loyal readers. We hope you had a relaxing, indulgent Christmas and have recovered in time for 2023. Our fortnight in the ‘burbs was happily interrupted by a four day, all expenses paid round trip to Melbourne for a New Years Eve party. As you can see, it was a quiet affair……and thanks to Dee for her generosity, we had a great time right through till dawn and beyond.
The next two months are a series of out and back trips from Perth until we make the sojourn southward to Margaret River and the south-west capes. We had done some research on what is locally known as The Wheat Belt, an area east and north-east of Perth stretching about 200klms. We didn’t even contemplate anything in the two weeks after Christmas, but we did go looking for water. The tourist guides would have us heading out to York and then a series of country towns, but apart from seeing endless wheat fields it sounded like a sow’s ear hard sell, especially in the heat of summer. So we decided to make it up as we went along, with rivers and swimming holes our number one priority. It always takes us a good half a day to get the van back to clean & tidy (we’re still finding bits of the Northern Territory on ledges and in cupboards). It’s also an opportunity to take advantage of water under pressure. Things like flushing out your grey water pipes, hosing out your toilet cassette bay and being able to blow out the air bubbles in you water tanks so that they fill up to the brim – all those things they don’t mention in the brochures. Fuel, food and replacing items is never less than $300-400 before the rubber hits the road, but of course, not much to spend in the first week.
As Covid has showed us, the WA government is inclined to go hard early, so it was no surprise to learn that in summer, rather than banning fires they sometimes just close the whole National Park. So, finding anywhere at this time of year is a real project. We settled on Lane Pool Reserve about 125k south east of Perth as our first stop. After a year in the tropical zone, old memories had a chance to re-surface-cool breezes, tall trees, streams and rivers with water in them, standing in the sun to get warm instead of hiding from it. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed the temperate climate -aaaaaaaahh.
There were several campgrounds within the reserve and we settled on the first in-best dressed Nanga Mill.
Naturally, at the height of the school holidays, we weren’t sure if we’d get a spot, but had no problem. A cool stream snaked it’s way through the campground and we followed the adjacent track for about 300 metres into the bush to find one of several swimming holes. At 36 degrees, we didn’t need any encouragement, so we rushed back for the cossies and towels and spent a good hour lounging around in the cool waters. Even though only a short walk back, we were well and truly air dried by the time we reached the van, so we decided lying in the handy babbling brook was also a good idea.
Over time we’ve learnt to anticipate the weekend warrior and plan a lot of our travels mid-week so that by lunchtime on the Fridays, we’ve arrived, picked a good spot and beaten the rush. Of course, sometimes there are no descending hordes but there have been times we’ve watched them arrive, circling the campgrounds like they’re looking for a good time, having to settle on the leftovers. Friday morning came around too quickly but we were ready to move on. We loaded up the truck and moved to Beverley…..literally.
We emerged from the forest twenty minutes later and into what is known as the Wheat Belt. You know the put-down – “Your mamas so big, when she sits around the house, she sits AROUND the house!” Well, the WA Wheat Belt is so big, it’s over 38 times the area of the ACT and about 38% the size of Victoria, and its just two colours, green and gold. We would spend the next few days in this duo tone country, the unchanging scenery broken by the string of towns and villages scattered along the highways.
We chose the village of Beverley as it had a free camping site for RV’s and withing walking distance of the pub. If the AHA knew how much grey nomads drink, they’d be sponsoring these sites all over Australia. It was also across the road from the only major river in the area, the Avon. However we were soon to learn, the Avon was a poison chalice, seasonal, flow-less and the end point for chemical residue from innumerable farms. Still, there was the pub.
But seriously, for the history buffs and architect nerds, Beverley is a classic Federation town, one of many established on the back of the 1890’s gold rush to Kalgoolie. The highlight though is the art deco town hall, one of the finest examples I’ve seen. Who knows what that style could have evolved into, if not for WW2.
Yeah, I know it’s not what your used to, but in 9 million hectares of wheat fields and windbreaks, historic country towns are like a beacon in the night. Do you remember those days? I mean, when was the last time the main street of your town looked like this at 12:05pm on a Saturday? And some of the shop signs are really adhering to the KISS principle.
Still, the pub…..icy cold Carlton Dry on tap and only a short stagger across the bridge to home. From here the next step was the beginning of our leap into the unknown. We were in the middle of a hot summer and were told that all the blue on our map could well have been reduced to blinding salt pans. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow .