Hi all

So the next day we set off towards Augusta and on the way passed through the Karridale forest which was absolutely stunning. The trees are huge and with the light dappling through the branches, the whole thing was exactly what I imagine a primeval forest to look like. Awesome. And as we stood there imagining prehistoric beasts rummaging through the undergrowth (said in my best David Bellamy voice) we realised again the futility (not for the first time and certainly not the last) of trying to capture the stunningly beautiful and more importantly capture the ambience created by something on a camera. For all our efforts all we’ve really got is are a few pictures of some tall trees. Ho hum. Thank God for Photoshop eh? I might put some dinosaurs in the frame...

Anyway, after a brief respite for lunch we headed on down to Augusta and our second stop of the day, Jewel Cave. Now Jewel Cave has been recommended to us by loads of people along the way, tourists and locals alike, so I was really looking forward to it. In order to help give us at least a semblance of an idea of what we were looking at we first stopped at a cave museum along the way. After a quick go at pretend potholing (all of us except Kimbers who decided it was too dangerous because she might get stuck bless) through a mock up of cave, and a quick shufty at some interesting displays on rock formations it was pretty much all over (although I did spare a couple of minutes to make a small child cry simply by saying hello and waving - it’s a knack, what can I say?) and with Kimbers point blank refusing to have ago at the kiddies’ potholing thingy on the way out (‘I don’t care what you say, I’m not doing it’) we left and headed out to Jewel cave itself and arrived smack bang between tours. But not to worry cos they had a nature walk we could do while we waited.

So it was with visions of venomous snakes, horrible lizards and gargantuan spiders that we set off on the two mile nature walk. With Mand reading Latin names and the telling us of the importance of leaf structure thanks to the nature boards en route, we were soon deep in the middle of the woods. We must have seen about a dozen different types of trees, twenty different types of bush, and about four billion different types of flower and plant. But definitely no dangerous animals. Gutted. This didn’t stop me sneaking a look back over my shoulder every few seconds or so though, just in case. By the time we got back there was only about twenty minutes or so to kill before the next tour started. Sweet.

As we sat there, we were suddenly surrounded by kids. Loads of them. Aged between two and seven. Not a school trip (thank God) but just a bunch of families all waiting to go down and get a look at the cave. The next twenty minutes was the longest of my life. Longer even than the entirety of Unbreakable. This kid of maybe two asks his mum if she can pick him up. She says no and before you know it he starts screaming. And I mean screaming. One old couple looked round in panic before heading off to find the nearest air raid shelter. It was loud. And the mother’s response? She gave him a crack. Now this is something that always seems to calm a screaming child. Not. The wailing increased to deafening proportions. The old couple gave up their search and just dived to the ground with their hands over their heads. So the mother gives the kid a time out. This means grabbing him by the arm and half carrying half dragging him ten feet away, and then returning to her previous position. Every time the kid came screaming back she just dragged him further away again. Eventually he must have been 30 feet from her. And the wailing was relentless. After fifteen minutes most of us (especially those of us still feeling a little fragile from Margaret River wine) were gritting our teeth and shaking our heads in open disgust. Revolution was most definitely in the air. But how the hell do you find the balls to walk up to someone and tell them they’re treating their kid badly? And to please shut it the f*** up before you strangle the pair of them? Thankfully I’ll never know, because at this point our guide arrived. As soon as she did, the mother calmly walks over to the kid and picks him up. The microsecond he’s in her arms the noise stops. Some people actually applauded. I s*** you not. Now the thing is, this whole time out your kid business may well work. But why the f*** should the rest of us have to put up with twenty minutes of clarion like screams just so you can teach the little f***er to behave? Fine, do it in your own home. When you’re out and about how about showing a bit of compassion for others and a bit of love for your kid and give him a goddam cuddle. It’s not f***in rocket science. But it didn’t stop there. As soon as we were down in the cave all the other kids decided that now was the time to let rip. They were running (in a dimly lit room on slippery walkways with sheer drops to their sides), screaming, shouting, crying, laughing and generally make a right mockery of the whole thing. The guide had to actually shout her lungs out just to make herself heard and people were constantly having to check their stride so as not to knock one of the little s***s over. Now here’s the thing. When a kid goes into a cave he couldn’t care less about the rock formations or how long it took them to form. All he cares about is finding Batman Although you can’t knock the fact that it’s educational and you’re doing something together as a family the fact is he just wants a go in the Batmobile. So why the f*** take them down there? Here’s an idea - don’t. One of you can stay up top and look after the little t*** . What, you might have to miss out? That’s the price you pay for having kids. Live with it. Why f*** up everyone else’s afternoon? It’s not as if the parents got to enjoy it anyway. They spent most of the time trying to catch their kids, apologising to people, telling the kids off and repeating what the guide had just said to the other parents who’d missed what she’d said cos they were doing the same. Whaddya mean I’m ranting? Fine, I think I’ve made my point...

Ok, back to the cave itself, which was amazing. Stalagmites, stalactites, swirls, curls and ripples. All beautifully lit in different colours and the ceiling a mess of huge tree roots (there’s as much of a tree under the ground as above it fact fiends). Yes, once again I’m wearing my geekiness on my sleeve ladies and gentlemen. But best of all were the straws. Straws are formed by water running slowly down the rock but for some reason instead of forming a pointy stalactite they stay straight and form a ‘straw’. Every drop that runs down it leaves a little bit of calcium carbonate(?) behind and so these straws grow at about one millimetre a year. And Jewel cave is home to the largest one in the world that rocks in at six metres. At this point Kimbers attempted the maths and came up with the answer that this makes the straw six hundred years old. A bemused silence formed between me and Andy. ‘Come again?’ ‘Six hundred years’ ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Yeah’ ‘I reckon it’s six thousand’ ‘No, it’s six hundred’ ‘How many millimetres in a metre?’ ‘Erm, ten in a centimetre and a hundred centimetres in a metre so that’s.....a thousand’ ‘And this is six metres long so...’ ‘Six hundred years’ ‘It’s six thousand’ ‘No. It’s six hundred’ By now people were stopping to listen and I heard one four year old tell his mummy that the crazy lady was scaring him. ‘So it grows at a millimetre a year and it’s six thousand millimetres long’ ‘Yep so it’s six hundred years old’ Silence ‘So it takes a thousand years to grow one metre and it’s six metres long. How many is six times a thousand?’ Stunned silence, followed by a slightly embarrassed laugh. ‘Oh yeah, six thousand’ Beautiful.

Back on the road and before long we found ourselves at Australia’s most southwesterly point. Augusta. This is where the Southern Ocean and the Indian Ocean meet and as such it has got some serious currents and some seriously choppy water. The Cape Leeuwin Lighthouse lighthouse is pretty famous in Australia (apparently) and there have been tons of wrecks off here. Foregoing the chance to climb the lighthouse we instead headed beyond it to sit on the rocks and really feel the full force of the elements. And so we did. Outstanding, energising and once again another little reminder of the raw power of Mother Nature. Splendid.

Our final stop of the day was the waterwheel that was installed in 1895 to carry the water from a natural spring three hundred and thirty metres for the stonemasons to use in the construction of the lighthouse. It’s on all the postcards so we kind of felt duty bound to go and have a look. Nowadays the use electricity to pump the water (the wheel wasted 8 litres for everyone it delivered) and the wheel is now covered in calcite and is really really pretty. A perfect end to a perfect day, and sat round the fire that night (lovingly built in a cone shape by Andy) for the first time I really felt like we were on a road trip. Perfect indeed.

The next day Andy and Kimbers headed off to Nannup ostensibly to try and pick up some weed. Nannup was renowned in the sixties and seventies as a kind of hippie commune and today is still a kind of alternative lifestyle town so it seemed like a fair bet. Mand and myself meanwhile elected instead to spend the day doing Internet stuff and bimbling around the town (such as it was - do two streets and a petrol station count as a town?) before heading out to the only pub to try and catch the Man Ure v Pompey game. Now the pub contained about seven people and six of them appeared to be off duty staff. Hmmmm. The reception we got when we went in was about as frosty as the snowman so we bought a pint each and settled on the pool table. At this point the one who didn’t work there (although he was still in his work clothes) started to take an interest in us. In fact he offered to take us outside for a joint. Get in. Finally we were going to get to try some of this weed these Aussies are always boasting about but seemingly reluctant to part with. And to be honest it knocked f*** out of me. See, they roll normal sized joints but without the tobacco. And seeing as it was now a good three months since I’d had a smoke (back in Laos believe it or not) I had a right wobble on. Lovely job.Back inside and feeling slightly more ‘relaxed’ we got back on the pool table and attempted to strike up a conversation with the other patrons. One of them was a guy who was betting on horse and carriage racing (they have bookies in the pubs over here - although they do encourage you to bet responsibly) and had so far spent the whole time shouting incoherently at the screen. We’d both tried to chat with him when we first arrived. I elicited one word answers until I got bored and he just completely ignored Mand. At this point our friend with weed (whose name turned out to be Rog) started taking an interest in our games (as well as Mand who incidentally was the only girl in the place) and decided he’d like to play doubles with us. This is when we realised that Rog was sat at the end of the bar on his own and no-one would talk to him. In a bar full of unfriendly weirdos we’d picked the one the others wanted nothing to do with. Touch. After ten minutes or so of hassling everyone in the bar, racing guy finally gave in and agreed to partner Rog. Now Rog was by this time battered as a Mars Bar in Bonnie Jockland and the looks he was throwing Mand were going way beyond friendly. In order to try and combat this I decided to get all pally pally with him. This worked in a sense. In the sense that he now felt relaxed enough to start throwing playful punches my way every few seconds. This is something I’ve never been particularly fond of and makes me want to smash someone with a pool cue. For his part, racing guy refused to pass me the said pool cue without spinning it wildly like he was Steven f***in Segal. Great stuff. Stupidly thinking that Mand would’ve picked up on the 'slight change in atmosphere’ which by now was sending weed fuelled scenes from The Accused to the front of my brain, I asked her if she wanted to go. Imagine my surprise then when she lopsidedly smiled at me and announced how much she was enjoying herself and that we should stay for another and carry on playing pool. No really, wouldn’t you rather go? No, let’s stay for one more eh. Hmmmm, fair enough. We hung around for a bit longer beating the chump brothers at pool, with me glugging my beer as fast as politeness would allow, and then something happened to change Mand’s mind about staying. A fairly well dressed young couple (mid twenties maybe) came in, and were promptly abused into leaving by Rog and racing guy. I can’t remember exactly what was said but it was something along the lines of ‘Why don’t you f*** off you pair of c*** ’. Funnily enough this stopped them dead and they turned and walked out. I don’t think they uttered a word. It was just like being at home. But this did bring home the fact to Mand that we were hanging around with d*** wads and we promptly necked our beers and with a manly handshake from Rog and a slight nod from racing guy whose eyes never left the screen, headed home to bed.

Next morning I headed back to the bar to see if Rog was around and to get him to sort some smoke out for us. Unfortunately he was nowhere to be found but the barmaid said she could sort some if we came back in a couple of hours. But we had bigger fish to fry and so it was with a not particularly sad farewell that we said goodbye to Augusta and headed on to the Gloucester Tree and Shannon National Park.

Laters all

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