Hi all

So our objective for the day was to head off to the Gloucester Tree which is a 61 metre tree with huge metal spikes driven into it in a spiral shape to enable you to climb it. It’s not just for tourists though, it’s actually an old fire lookout point for spotting forest fires. I say old, it still gets used occasionally when the wind is too strong for choppers to go up as happened just a few years ago. But for now it’s just something for me to climb and then s*** myself at the thought of climbing back down. Grand.

We headed out through some more amazing primeval forest and were soon pulling up at the Gloucester Tree to be joined a few minutes later by Dave and the gruesome twosome. After a quick lunch only slightly ruined by the seven million or so huge horseflies who took a friendly interest in our food, we were of for our first look at the famous tree itself. And I have to say my heart did a little jump when I saw it. 61 metres doesn’t sound that high when you’re sitting having a beer and chatting about climbing it but when you stand at the bottom looking up and the wind is already whistling (I only wish through my hair - but more truthfully through my ears) it suddenly seems like a long way up.

But not to be daunted we gamely started the climb and ten sweaty and seriously blowy minutes later we were stood at the top. Being up there felt like an achievement in itself although thanks to the way the whole thing swayed in the breeze together with the slightly wobbly leg syndrome I had going on, my desire to let go of the steel cage we found ourselves in was slightly dampened. But gazing out across the ancient canopy of the Gloucester National Park as it disappears off into the distance was something to behold. It just goes on for miles and miles and miles and this view has remained unchanged for centuries. Time travel at it’s best and without the need for a flux capacitor or the risk of upsetting the space time continuum. Great Scott.

And trust me when I say that 61 metres looks even higher when you’re stood at the top looking down at the ant like figure of Kimbers (who once again had wussed out opting instead for a cigarette and a nice quiet sit down) and contemplating the slightly scarier descent. I don’t know what it is but climbing down things always bothers me more than climbing up (many’s the time I’ve thought I was stuck halfway up the chalkpit) and by the time I got to the bottom my legs had taken on the consistency of a Bird’s trifle. After five minutes or so of standing around feeling all pleased with ourselves we wobbled back to the car (trying in vain to look manly - even Mand which is a bit of a worry) and headed off to Shannon National Park where there was a campsite which promised log cabins and pot bellied stoves for our comfort. Luxury like that is not to be sniffed at. And besides I wanted to feel like the Waltons.

This was by way of another stunning drive through the forest (I don’t think I could ever tire of it to be honest) and a quick stop for Andy to get a picture for his project. Now the project idea was decided upon as a way of trying to keep some sort of ordered photographic record of our journey. It was actually inspired by a guy Andy and Kimbers met in Indonesia who to add a bit of spice to his travels began photographing the switches on the fans in his rooms as he went. Now how cool is that? I just think it’s funny as fook. So, after much discussion me and Mand decided that we’d listen to the entire ipod in alphabetical album order and have ourselves a picture to go with each one. Kimbers at this point was still undecided on her project (she used to think she was indecisive but now she’s not so sure) and Andy had decided on the most exciting one of the lot. Roadkill. Well, pictures of it anyway. I mean he’s not driving all over the country with a boot load of dead roos and lizards. At least I don’t think he is. But this provides by far the most exciting collection of pictures I’ve yet to look through. Keep your majestic expanses of untouched virgin forest, I’d much rather see pictures of cute little Qokkas with their guts spread across the road being feasted on by a million flies. But maybe that’s just me. Truth is, you can’t help but look and the zoom function on the camera really adds something to the action. I can’t rate this grisly collection highly enough and I’m sure that there has to be a gallery somewhere that would see some sort of mileage in putting on an exhibition of it. Hats off to you And you’ve come up with an absolute cracker.

Anyway this meant that our journey was broken by a huge lizard in the middle of the road that at first appeared to have shuffled off this mortal coil. As we came screeching to a halt in a cloud of dust and smoking rubber, three of us jumped out (Kimbers deciding to stay in the car - she’s absolutely disgusted by the project - not enough to not look at the pictures mind - I tell you, you just can’t help it) and ran back to admire the latest subject. Which turned out not to be dead or even remotely under the weather but was simply sitting sunning itself on the road. We were gutted (unlike the prehistoric looking f***er that had caused all the excitement) and set about taking a few pictures anyway. When we’d finished we decided to do the charitable thing and try and get the cute looking little b***** off the road to safer pastures. Andy picked up a stick and gave him a little prod. No reaction. He prodded a little harder. No reaction. He prodded slightly harder and lightning quick the f***er turned on us opened it’s huge mouth and fluffed up it’s spikes. Jump? I had to open my parachute on the way down. It was just like that bit in Jurassic Park where the cute dinosaur turns into a demented killer. We backed off uneasily and then hurried back to the car sweating and hearts beating a little too fast for our own good. As we pulled away I glanced back in the rear view mirror and the lizard was long gone from the road so I guess it wasn’t all in vain.

But soon enough we were driving through the Shannon National Park which was just as beautiful (or is that identical) to Gloucester National Park, and after a slight unintentional detour we arrived at our destination. The campsite is set in the middle of the forest on the site of an old sawmill and the ruins are still visible in places. Unfortunately all the cabins had been taken by a bunch of greasy biker types so we found ourselves tenting it once again. The old couple hosting the place gave us a quick rundown on the area and the surrounding bushwalks, and after relieving us of the $18 ‘voluntary’ fee told us with much glee that we had ‘hot water tonight’, which is something of a novelty out here. However as the showers were filled with huge insects and about a billion mossies we passed on this ‘treat’ and opted instead for dinner, a campfire and a good old fashioned singsong.

After we’d got the fire going me and Andy stood back admiring the beauty of it and once again discussing the merits of a cone shaped construction (yes, yes I know how sad we are), and we became aware of some screeching about ten yards to our right. Brought out of our revelry we turned to see Mand hopping up and down, screaming and pointing over our shoulders with a wild look on her face. We turned, and there not ten feet away was a huge monster of a kangaroo bouncing happily through the campsite. This was our first proper look at one of these beautiful animals (other than the one we nearly ran over this was only the second one we’d seen - the one we ate in Margaret River during our bushtucker lunch doesn’t really count) and I have to say they are a truly arresting sight. And this one was f***in huge. It must’ve been about five and a half feet tall and judging from the noise it made bounding along (almost within touching distance it has to be said) must’ve weighed about twelve tonnes. Nobody else on the campsite gave it a second glance but we were absolutely gobsmacked and probably sounded like a bunch of five year olds at the circus as we clapped, cheered and jumped around. For his part, the kangaroo must’ve thought he was the bees’ knees. I swear I saw him puff his chest out and perform a little pirouette as he disappeared into the forest.

After dinner (which was cooked and eaten in a state of slight stress due to the swarms of flies, and I do mean swarms, who just loved us) we sat round, had a few glasses of wine and had a right old singsong before going to bed. Top day.

Next morning we were up and out ready to tackle one of the many surrounding forest walks. On the way out we stopped for a chat with our genial hosts and it turns out were just travellers like ourselves. Well, kind of. They were just a couple of retirees who had decided to sell their house and take off round the country in their huge Winnebago. They weren’t the first people we’d met who’d done this and they certainly weren’t the last. In fact a fair percentage of older people we met along the way at the various campsites had also done just this, and an equally large percentage had done it without selling their house. I think it’s absolute quality. The mobile homes these people drive are bigger and more luxurious than some houses I’ve lived in. I s*** you not. They’re amazing. And the pensions they receive pay for petrol, food and campsite fees. Different class and for me an almost perfect way to live. It’s like an endless summer. This particular two had taken to ‘hosting’. This means staying on the campsite for a period of time and looking after the place. In this case, that meant greeting people (if they happened to be around when people arrived), extracting the ‘voluntary’ fee, and erm, that’s about it. For this, they get diesel for their generator, bread eggs and milk every day and they get to stay there free. Which means they get to save the money from their pension. The barter system is alive and well it seems, and working an absolute treat.

Ok so, the walk. It was an absolute scorcher of a day and the walk was pretty difficult going. And worth every sweat soaked step. It took us through forest, up rocky slopes, alongside streams, across a dam (which was dry thanks to the drought, so really was just a pile of rocks and wood - but a stunning view from the top nevertheless), past ponds and waterholes, and finally to a Quokka watching hut. A Quokka is a shy and rarely seen, cute, cuddly little animal apparently. The only one we’ve seen though is a dead one in Andy’s collection. As for other wildlife on the walk, there were loads of lizards and towards the end a huge brown snake. And I mean huge. Five feet plus I reckon. Luckily it saw/heard us coming a mile off and slithered off into the bushes at the side of the track. With me telling everyone not to worry (snakes aren’t renowned for randomly attacking people), and Mand refusing to walk past the bush it had gone into, I eventually convinced her that if we walked past slowly it wouldn’t pay us the slightest heed. We tentatively tip toed past except for Mand who, acting like she was in the movie Anaconda, sprinted past waving her arms and remained hyper tense for the remainder of the walk. To the point that when I put my hands round her waist a few minutes later she jumped about twelve feet and World War Three started. The snake it turns out was a proper dangerous one too (though by the end of the walk I’d have found it’s company infinitely more preferable to Mand’s) as when we looked it up later we identified it as a Brown snake. Highly venomous and a threat to your entire family for generations to come or something similar. Nice. And that was that for Shannon national Park, so we headed back to the campsite and the cars for the next leg of our journey which was down to a place called Windy Harbour where we’d decided to spend the night before heading down to Denmark the day after. Cool beans.

Laters all

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