Broome

Broome seemed to be the Grail of most Perth west coast travellers, though on our arrival on an overcast threatening day it seemed a little disappointing. We looked around the town first before venturing to the camping ground. At least we had taken advice and booked our camp site in Broome (Palm Grove at Cable Beach) in advance as space anywhere in this winter destination for retired Perth sun seekers was at a premium. Blow-ins were rejected or offered a space in a standby area until a vacancy occurred. We even saw vans waiting as others pulled out.

Weary, we settled in for the night watching a movie on our lap top as unseasonable rain poured on our roof rendering the dialogue at times unintelligible.

The next day was still overcast and we set out to explore the town. Cable Beach which was reputed to be one of the best in Australia was not looking too flash, overcast with few surfers hoping for a wave in the flat murky waters – we later learned that the potentially deadly stingers were still in evidence and the beach still had to be cleared daily of stingers. One the other side of the town the "port" consisted of a long wharf much occupied by unsuccessful fishers and terminated by a fish café selling rather expensive fresh and cooked fish. Still it was more pleasant than the mangrove enhanced shore.

The main town beach was then inspected only to find an ominous crocodile sign (we heard later one was sighted on Cable Beach that day) and clumps of mangroves where one could imagine such beasts lurked. From there we ventured past the expensive resort hotels to a modest main street entitled Chinatown (there were a couple of Chinese shops remaining), where we were disturbed to find a large number of indigenous doing what they seem to do most - hanging around. Little was on offer to them or us on a grey Sunday.

Back to the camp ground to find that despite the intermittent showers our laundry had dried and at least we would have a bed for the night. More happily we joined our neighbours for a drink and chat before dinner. They were among a loose group of couples and young families mainly from Port Macquarie whose paths had been criss-crossing up the West Coast. We joined them the next evening for a 30^th birthday for Nathan our immediate neighbour. We were bemused at the number of young families and couples making the Big Trip "while they could", "before the kids start school" or "before the kids get to high school" or in response to a recent health or family death scare. Mostly I suppose they had plenty of money and were confident on their return, work would still be available. (It was rather like the confidence of the European travellers of the 80s that we had met, though here they were mostly builders and tradesmen while in Europe professionals were more common.) Many had simply rigs with second hand 4WDs, but some were fully equipped with the new 4WD and caravan just like the winter escaping grey nomads. Indeed most of the rigs surrounding us would often exceed $100k and often were accompanied by expensive boats and other toys. (Perhaps, many of those on more modest budgets with cheaper vans would be free camping on remote beaches and creek side locations rather than in this somewhat expensive Broome camping ground.)

A bad night followed as coughing racked my body until finally I slept only to wake to find the experience repeated. Hence the next day was allocated once again to rest around the pleasant pool as the sun shone and the temperatures hovered around thirty. As we watched the sun set over the Indian Ocean from Cable Beach that evening, life did seem good, but it would be nice to be thirty and immortal again.

The following day included a short excursion back to town where a minor incident in the bottle shop intrigued. The police arrived apparently being summoned to chase away some aborigines drinking near the shop. Their partner, waiting beside me, was refused a purchase of a port tap pack on the grounds that he was procuring alcohol for underage drinkers and that he had just been ejected from the shop previously for trying to steal the tap pack. At 11 am!

That evening we ventured to the local pub, where State of Origin football was on offer. Expecting a quiet night remote from the Eastern States, we nonetheless arrived early. The place was packed and we only managed a spot by dragging in a seat from outside. The game was of course great, but I continually felt and indeed was treated by all as an invalid. I suppose limping and spasms of harmless pain in my rib cage (too much driving?) did not help to convey the appearance of vigorous health, but I felt very envious of the young and not so young enthusiastically downing jugs of beer and screaming at the screens while I huddled anxiously empty handed.

The next morning we were greeted by full sunshine and I rejoiced not only in that and my freedom from coughing, but also with a victory over the Times crossword for only the third or so occasion on the trip. My book of Daily Telegraph puzzles had become relatively straightforward though I did miss the gentle mental exercise of the Newcastle Herald. As can be seen the great voyage of discovery had temporarily lapsed into the week at the beach.

A sailing cruise off Broome in a modern copy of an old pearl lugger provided an amusing afternoon with more conversation and wine than nautical pursuits. The account of the creepy bities that inhabit tropical waters did little for my interest in swimming especially as only those with heart problems have ever died from stingers. We even saw two sea snakes from the boat. Eventually the sun set in a typical blaze and we returned to shore where the bus awaited us on the broad beach.

The following day was uninspiring poor weather and the minor excitement of the local Court House market. The court house in typical Broome style of corrugated iron was originally a telegraph station and was surrounded with some attractive trees including the Boab. After the day dragged with only a glass of wine at the Cable Beach resort as the sun set to highlight the day. The following day was even worse with rain returning so we decided to leave sacrificing one day's prepaid site fee.

After eight days in Broome doing little we returned to the road on May 30^th for the long haul across the Kimberley. The first leg took us over 400 km to Fitzroy Crossing. Again it was mostly flat with occasional boab trees and significantly more termite mounds. I found the rest from driving in Broome had made it no easier to deal with the long boring stretches, and when the hundredth floodway sign was recorded in my brain as "flowers" it was time for Genny to drive the last hour.

In the morning we undertook the one hour tour of the Geikie Gorge which turned out to be excellent. The gorge was formed by the Fitzroy River carving its way through an old coral reef leaving interesting patterns of rocks. As with many rivers in the North during the wet, the river turns to a huge torrent of water leaving a whitened area. Of course like other cruises spot the croc was an important activity and we were well rewarded with the sighting of several freshies. The only other life form was small swallows building nests attached to the overhanging rocks.

We drove on somewhat frustrated by the lack of a convenient camping ground. Mary Pool was highly recommended but too close, Hall Creek was mainly an aboriginal settlement and we had been strongly advised it was not the place for a peaceful night, then Spring Creek offered and we pulled into an attractive treed free-camp by a small stream. Several vans were already in temporary residence and we joined some of their occupants around a fire for a chat and a glass or two. One couple (Michael and Mary) were inspiring and were on the last stages of a three year working holiday around Australia. Picking bananas for $12 an hour in snake infested mud seemed to be too hard a way to survive. As with all the travellers we met, the group now had very negative views about the indigenous they had met and would gladly have removed all funding and expected them like everyone else to work for a living.