Hi all

So we arrived in Windy Harbour to find out it’s very well named. We also found out why our tents only cost 60 bucks. After attempting to set them up for quarter of an hour and watching in abject disgust as they simply folded in half regardless of how tight or how many guide ropes we pegged out, we decided to move to slightly more sheltered accommodation. We spotted a clump of bushes with a kind of clearing in the middle and with much huffing and puffing and impromptu kite surfing we manhandled our erected tents into it. This is where we found out that the clearing acted as a wind tunnel. It was like standing behind Boeing 747 during take off. Unwilling to move the tents again we set about manoeuvring Dave and Priscilla to try and block enough of the wind so that the tents stopped looking like an elephant had sat on them. Several un-peggings and re-peggings later and I was just about to set about ours with the mallet when Andy just burst out laughing. And thank f*** he did. I don’t think the tent would’ve survived the battering I was about to give it. But before I knew it a serious fit of the giggles had taken hold. Have you any idea how ridiculous it is to stand in the middle of a huge field and berate the wind for blowing too strongly? I do. Echoes of King Canute abound. So it was that we were reminded that this is indeed a holiday and that rather than doing battle with unco-operative tents and the raw elements, we should be off exploring, watching beautiful sunsets and well, enjoying ourselves. And to be fair does it really matter that we were going to be sleeping in a sandwich for one night? If anything it’d probably be funny as f***...to look back on.

So leaving our tents looking like they’d had a fight with a steamroller and come out underneath off we went to try and tire ourselves out. The views were once again amazing and the feeling as the waves smashed into the rocks below us was bordering on the scary. It was easy to see why the local Aborigines held this place in high regard. To try and aid understanding of their culture and how it relates to the landscape there are information boards every few metres, explaining among other things their attitudes to the seasons which are based on the food that is available (so there are five seasons instead of four). Spot the only bit of information I can actually remember...

The walk round the cliffs and over the rocks was quality, the highlight being a platform next to a natural bridge with waves crashing against the base. Doesn’t sound like much now I’ve written it down, but hey I’m sure I’ll find my touch again when I’ve got a few drinking stories to pass on. After about an hour or so we found ourselves nearing sunset time and headed back down the reserve to the appropriately named Sunset Point. Which turned out to be the biggest misnomer since Superdrug. Not only couldn’t we see the sunset from there, I couldn’t see the point. So we headed back to our original vantage point and watched in rapt amazement as clouds seemed to materialise out of nowhere and completely cover the sun. Hmmmmm.

Back at the camp we were surprised and more than a little pleased to see that the tents were still standing (after a fashion) and that the wind had dropped sufficiently that we weren’t going to run the risk of suffocation when sleeping in them. Beautiful. Dinner and chat followed before Kimbers decided to call it a night and shot off to get washed and do whatever it is girls do before they go to bed, that takes two hours and leaves them looking no different from when they went in. Girls’ stuff is probably what it is. Anyway, this time she wasn’t gone for hours, but scant minutes. And she came running back (no mean feat for our Kimbers considering the amount she smokes) wheezing like an out of tune bagpipe (see?) and shouting for us. Thinking that she’d been attacked on her way to the toilets or something I leapt from my seat and hid under the table, only to find out that it wasn’t wild hillbillies that had prompted all this, but a herd of kangaroos. A proper herd. Mand was out of our seats like jack a rabbit and after she'd coaxed me out from my place of refuge we headed over to the toilet block. And after we'd tiptoed round the outside looking like characters in a panto we saw...absolutely nothing. Thinking Kimbers must have had far more wine than we’d given her credit for (or perhaps those mushrooms in her soup hadn’t been quite what they seemed) we stood looking at each other for a few seconds. But then, appearing as if by magic, a kangaroo bounced into view. And then another. And another. And another. We were spellbound. So much so that Mand actually managed not to speak for thirty seconds or so. Not to be knocked as after a few glasses of wine she gets a cross between verbal diarrhoea and Tourettes. I can’t know where she gets that from Chris... :o) Ahem, moving swiftly on, after a couple of minutes watching them in stunned silence we went back to our cardboard city style tent and fell into a wine induced sleep and the risk of suffocation was proved false when we both awoke the next morning feeling light and refreshed.

And thus we set off for a drive through the Valley of the Giants which was everything it promised to be. A drive through a forest of huge Karri trees. And I mean huge. Think Peter Crouch and Shaun Wright Phillips, compared to other trees. It was a truly magnificent drive, the kind that makes you want to stop every few metres to take photos because you know you’re never going to see anything quite like it ever again. What makes this even more true is that the Karri trees are fast dying out and only survive in numbers in a couple of places, where they’re protected. They’re like a holdover from another time, a time when the elements and the conditions for life suited them down to the ground, no pun intended. Anyway, that drive will live long in the memory, it was as close to perfect as I’ve found in Australia so far.

The road through the Valley of the Giants eventually leads to a place called the Treetop Walk. Which is a, wait for it, a treetop walk. They’ve built a walkway through the top of some Karri trees and you walk up and around it. And it’s even more s*** than it sounds. It’s only 40 metres up so you’re walking through the canopy rather than over it and after the Gloucester Tree it was a serious anti-climax. And cost twice as much. The ground walk, excitingly named the Ancient Empire walk was a lot better. Great information boards and a beautiful walk over the forest floor, explaining why the Karri is so threatened (can’t remember) and was a really nice diversion for an hour or so. Along the way, the urge to get absolutely trashed stole over me and when given the freedom of the mouth the idea was greeted with great gusto from my alcoholic travelling companions. So we upped sticks and headed down on to Denmark where we fully intended to paint he town red, score some weed and chill out for a couple of days. This zooming along is all well and good, but sometimes you just want to settle for a few days. Jesus that makes me sound old...it’ll be hot water bottles and shawls across the knees soon.

Laters all

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