"Watch out for 'roos," said the man at the hire car place, "they're a bugger up there on the roads when it gets dark." I wasn't sure what he meant. Of course we'd be watching out for kangaroos. Both of us are suckers for furry creatures. Especially Australian ones. That was half the point of the trip.
"Drive after sunset and you're likely to hit one. Makes a hell of a mess of your car," the hire car man explained. "And of the kangaroo." It was an afterthought.
Suddenly, getting started seemed like a really good idea. We were to cover around 2000km in a round trip, starting from Perth, driving up through country towns like Dandaragan, Badgingarra, Dongara and Geraldton though to Kalbarri National Park where we'd stay overnight, moving the next day through Binnu, Billabong Roadhouse and Overlander Roadhouse to Shark Bay and a resort called Monkey Mia, famous for its friendly dolphins who are reported to prefer human company to that of their own kind. A long way, even on roads that stretch with barely a squiggle for 30 or 40km at a time. Sunset was just after 6pm at this time of year. No time for dawdling.
Of course you could fly to these places. Practically every town north of Geraldton has its own airfield. But to drive such distances, speeding into the outback, in danger of wayward kangaroos and curious emus on a coastal highway that boasts a petrol station every 150km or so if you're lucky, seemed such an Aussie adventure. On one side of the road there's the Indian Ocean, crystal clear, striped every shade from turquoise to navy blue and filled with exotic marine life and extraordinary clutches of coral. On the other there's the Australian outback, harsh, tough and vaguely menacing with a reputation for swallowing up innocent tourists who, like mad dogs, go out in the midday sun. Yet, somewhere out there are hidden secrets; gorges of red rock, millions of years old casting purple shadows across the landscape; tracks that when properly read are like maps, inland rivers only on the edge of controllable. Fly over this? No way.
Geraldton
First stop was Geraldton, 450km from Perth and the biggest town north of the capital. Visiting Geraldton used to be about as exciting as watching paint dry 20 years ago. If you didn't check the map you wouldn't know you were on the coast. All the shops, such as they were, squatted on the main street, backs firmly toward the sea, pretending it wasn't there. There might have been a restaurant or two, and possibly several pubs, but life? Forget it.
Things have changed. Geraldton buzzes. It's found the sea and in doing so has found itself. We wandered around the new Batavia Coast Marina which is modern, stylish and filled with all sorts of craft from tall ships to million-dollar yachts. Just across the road is the boringly-named WA Museum of Geraldton. However, it turns out to be anything but boring with some brilliant footage of the turn-of-the-century settlers captured in ancient black and white film alongside chilling recreations of some of the gorier moments of West Australian history; tales of mutinous sailors and brutal sea captains and wenches no better than they ought to be.
We planned to spend two hours, max, in Geraldton. We stayed overnight. There was just too much going on to ignore the place. Our B&B - huge room, soft bed, bathroom with a spa - was a joy. Outside in the yard were both a swimming pool and a few sheep while kangaroos were known to lurk on dark evenings. Looking for a likely spot to have supper, our hostess recommended a pub called the Freemason's Arms. I was cautious. The very name sounded like old Geraldton to me. But what a revelation. The place rocked, literally. We had tasted fish cooked on hot stones in several salubrious establishments around the world. All of them were smart restaurants and all of them were somewhat pretentious. Yet here in Geraldton we ate the freshest prawns, fat and succulent and followed them with hefty slabs of delicious schnapper and dhufish, all just caught that morning and all cooked, by us, on our own stones. Needless to say, at about quarter the price I'd paid anywhere else.
We were tempted to stay longer in Geraldton. What else could there be? Stunning beaches? Pavement cafes? Trendy art galleries? Great snorkelling? Apparently the answer to all of the above is yes, but we were heading north for wilder country. Kalbarri was our next stop, an easy four hours away and offering all the Australiana we were looking for. Inland we were promised the red gorges of all the Crocodile Dundee movies, without the crocodiles, while the coast was considered to be one of the west's favourite fishing grounds and home for some of the best rock lobster (crayfish) in the whole continent.
Kalbarri National Park
We arrived moments before sunset, hot, sweaty and nervous about adventurous kangaroos out for an evening hop. Yet again we had plans for an early night to prepare for some heavy sightseeing. Our hosts had other ideas. The north-west is an hospitable place and newcomers have to be made welcome. Dinner, with just about everybody in town at the table, was a pleasantly rowdy affair, with fishermen telling stories and surfers comparing waves while the rest of us relished the chilli and garlic prawns (fabulous) and the pink schnapper (my new fave rave) with mango salsa and spinach and pine-nut salad.
We learned about the humpback whales who, come June and the Australian winter, perform acrobatics just metres away from the coastal cliffs; about the surfing at Jacques, a beach with a left-hand break and consistent waves that can reach two to three metres high; about the sea gorges along this coast, where the Indian Ocean pounds into the cliffs creating extraordinary rock formations.
Early the next morning, with one of our new pals from the night before acting as our guide, we were off into the wild. Peter Stewart, former tour operator, presently providing accommodation for both backpackers and folk who want a bit of comfort with their Australian adventure, knew precisely what we were after. His four-wheel drive bounced over rutted paths and through spiky undergrowth for an hour or so. "The faster you go the smoother the ride," explained Peter. Our bruised bottoms could argue with that. We caught sight of the Murchison river, swollen by the recent cyclones and thick and brown and magnificent. We explored the Z-Bend Gorge, named as you would expect for its Zorro shape. We clambered over sandstone rocks that glow pinky red in the morning light and we marvelled at the way winds and violent rain over centuries have carved a perfect window out of the sandstone, providing framed views of the river below. Meanwhile the sun was merciless. It was only 10 o'clock in the morning in autumn, but already the temperature was around 35 degrees Celsius. Peter opened his 'Esky', a kind of portable Aussie fridge, and produced God's own ice-lollies: frozen mangoes from his garden, providing all the sweetness and lubrication we craved without the sticky juice to bring the flies to frenzy.
Monkey Mia
Why hadn't we heard about Kalbarri before and would Monkey Mia, still waiting for us another 400 or so kilometres away, live up to expectations?
The short answer is no. Shark Bay, with such a name, should be more exciting than a ripple-less stretch of water shimmering in the afternoon sun. The famous dolphins do obediently appear at scheduled intervals, but it was all a bit regimented for our taste. Far better to take the Shotover Catamaran and slide around the bay spotting sea turtles and dugongs, fearsomely ugly sea creatures that olden-day sailors, obviously seriously sex-starved, mistook for mermaids. Not a shark in sight, but the dolphins, away from the bossy whistle of the rangers, cavorted happily and provided photo opportunities galore.
One experience was special. Following the unmistakable sound of a didgeridoo we met Capes, an Aboriginal tracker with a passion for his people and their culture that he loves to share. We went walking through sand-dunes and into bush scrub with Capes, learning how to recognise echidna tracks (like those of wallabies, but with a backward brush shape); how to tell kangaroos going fast (deep tail tracks) from slow (soft tail tracks). We were taught how to survive in the bush on berries and on bush bananas (delicious finger-shaped fruits with a nutty taste) and we experienced for just a few hours the simplicity and the spirituality of the bush.
The distance we'd travelled would have taken us to Moscow and back. Was it worth it? Absolutely. We had discovered one place we'd never heard of, discovered the new face of another and we hadn't collided with even one kangaroo. A bit of a result really.
Way to go
Sandra Harris stayed in Geraldton at Green Gables Lodge (email: greengables@wn.com.au) and at Pelicans Nest in Kalbarri (kalbarriwa.info/accommodation).
Other useful links
australiascoralcoast.com
airwaysrentacar.com.au
monkeymia.com.au
geraldtontourist.com.au
kalbarri.com
Aboriginal cultural walks: wulaguda.com.au
