Decisions, decisions

In the run-up to the trip of all trips at the end of June, there had been end-of-lease admin and small-scale removals from St Kilda to Torquay; goodbyes in Melbourne; re-homing the Landie; a few weeks on the Surf Coast; getting used to driving The Van – for example, no rear-view mirror in the cab but oversized sticky-outy wing mirrors; figuring out what could be left in storage while we were on the road, and what was essential to take, including spare parts in case of remote breakdown. Inevitably, stuff was jettisoned last-minute as we fitted everything securely into The Van. However ruthless you think you’ve been – especially when it comes to choosing clothes for all seasons – there’s usually room for improvement: ‘No, you can’t take your favourite jacket for if and when we go out for supper: only practical jackets, for rain, cold and big wind’.

Inevitably in these times, there were Covid-related decisions; principally, if and when we could get vaccinated prior to departure; and whether or not state borders were still open or likely to close before we were could get there. We had to cross into South Australia sooner rather than later.

We were on a much tighter schedule than originally planned way back, which inevitably meant more either/or decisions along the way. Cape Arid National Park or Cape Le Grand? Hopetoun or Bremer Bay? Fitzgerald River National Park or the Stirling Range? It still makes me slightly angsty to remember that, despite research, I had somehow missed Fitzgerald River National Park, right up until we were just up the road, sitting in the rain in Ravensthorpe and spending more time than usual in the tourist office. I noticed an awful lot of bumf about the Fitzgerald River… hang on, where is this place [picks up leaflet]… ah, we have to change the plan.

Then, many weeks further on up the road, was it to be Exmouth or Shark Bay? We mulled these things over; slept on it; read travel pieces and guide books; asked others opinions in tourist info offices, cafes, service stations, even at lookouts. In the end, a friend of my son, who’d come to Western Australia, loved the life and never left, advised that unless we intended to take up some of the high-energy activities Exmouth has to offer – freediving, anyone? – she thought we’d probably prefer Shark Bay.

Many travel plans are based upon whimsical thoughts, beautiful images on travel posters, or friends’ enthusiasm, all of which may be unreliable. I’ve travelled to places merely because I liked the name. In Australia, however, many names describe more or less what you’ll find when you get there, which is quite helpful. Or not, in the case of Shark Bay, perhaps. Which reminds me; emus look funny, but they can be quite aggressive: wind the window up if one approaches. Trust me, you do not want an emu beak at the end of a long neck niftily extended into a car.

On Day 59, Carnarvon to Nanutarra, we crossed the Tropic of Capricorn. Crossing a tropic is always a big deal. I was once on a plane not long after take-off, and realised the captain hadn’t thought to mention we’d crossed an important if imaginary geographic grid line on the earth. I was so disappointed. No, I was angry, at his indifference. Is it only me who cares about this sort of stuff?

Emus in the city

Too fast to avoid creatures crossing

Off to see Tom Price