Around Oz the First Time - Chapter 68 - Carnarvon Day 2

With Silver Leader and Rosalie in Quobba Station, it is left to Forbsy Robyn and I to make our own arrangements for the day. This we will do, and I start by making omelettes, bacon, onion, tomatoes and eggs, topped with cheese, a delicacy in our house and normally brought out when we have visitors at home. The bacon can be replaced with prawns or whatever else I might have at my disposal.

Forbsy is amazed at what I put on his plate, thinking one might be cutting what I made for him in thirds, but Robyn’s and mine is still in the pan. He suggests he might struggle to consume this and have the left over for lunch. There is no need, it all goes. Robyn and I, used to this type of breakfast, consume ours with ease.

Where to start on our day here. The obvious choice is the Space Museum, and we head off in the direction of the dish and rocket in the distance, easily seen from our park. We take the Geraldton road and the first turn off. From the moment you make that turn you know you are in the right spot. Even in the car park there are lots to see, simply wandering and not going into the museum.

Photos are taken, plaques are read and then we look to enter through what appears to be a shipping container door. We pay our $10 each and listen to the receptionist, a volunteer perhaps, rattle off the bits we MUST see, even handing us a buzzer for the Apollo 11 display, which we are told has an up to 90-minute wait.

Surely, we won’t be here that long.

There is also a planetarium experience that occurs every half hour and is also a must we are told, we are then sent on our way. All the MUST-see attractions are part of the entrance cost.

As we walk in, there are a myriad of things to look at, both static and interactive. I get to land a space shuttle in a simulator, managing a respectable mark, given I accidently took it to the second level first off and had it pitching and yawing all over the place on approach. At one stage I thought I had lost everything as I could not even see the runway, but managed to correct it  by the seat of my pants, regain the horizon and land successfully, a little off the centre line. The simulator congratulated me on the second best effort of the day. I am chuffed at that.

There was a set of old arcade games including asteroids, space invaders etc. I jump on the Space Invaders machine and even manage to pull off a high score. Even though I was never really any good at these things on my youth, I do remember the strategy, work on the edges and increase the distance they have to travel before dropping down. Forbsy give the Asteroids game a go with the same result.

Another interactive attraction is a Q&A moving the participant through levels to becoming a “scientists”. It consists of five levels of five questions. I was watching two early twentyish guys giving it a go and they could not get past level four. I sit down and have a go, getting all the way on my general knowledge. At times the machine tries to trick you into changing your answer with an “Are you sure”. I don’t fall for it and luckily, I am right each time.

The buzzer goes off in my pocket, its time for our Apollo 11 experience. I race around looking for the others, who I fund, funnily enough, already in the vicinity, having just done the interactive planetarium exhibit. So Apollo 11, we crawl in feet first into a simulator the same size as the capsule and experience the take-off, minus the shuddering and G-forces they must have experienced. The capsule is set out with dials and screens on the side to give the illusion of moving into space. It’s a seven minute experience, laying down with your feet up on a ledge with Robyn and Forbsy in the capsule.

There is also a Gemini simulator, decked out the same way but without the interactive parts. It is horribly cramped. How the astronauts managed to live in such cramped conditions is beyond me.

There are many more attractions to wander around. Towards the closing time of the museum, yes closing time, we have been there that long, we head into the shop and purchase bomber jackets for me and Kirsten, a hoodie for me and T-shirt for Robyn, and a few other items, including “miniature” tin mugs, for those midnight schnapps tastings etc.

We have been here almost three hours and it has been a hoot. Outside and back to the Cruiser we notice more to see and walk around some more looking at the last of the attractions, telescopes and receivers.

Finally, we kick ourselves out of the museum and start driving. Driving not for a specific purpose other than to see what there might be to see. We see a blue tree in someone’s back yard almost immediately and continue onwards.

Carnarvon is a labyrinth of streets and roads, contained within the confines of waterways, sand flats and the desert. One of the turns brings us to the local Pony Club. Being children of the pony club system in our youths, this place interests me. The grounds are surrounded in white painted truck tyres, there are drums set up for barrel racing, a six bar jump set and another show jumping course and further over a dressage arena. A very neat and tidy arrangement. This place is how we would have liked our pony club to be set up at Yass but we were “stuffed” in the showground and had to drag everything we needed in and out every time the club met.

As we leave the pony club, I spy a Lada Niva, rusting away in a paddock. I take a picture and send it to a Lada Lad, with the appropriate sledge of derision. He answers almost immediately defending the rights of the Niva. There is much guffawing in the Cruiser over this.

Further travels take us to the airport, which we manage to drive in and out of 3 times. Why you might ask, firstly to marvel at the arcade of trees either side of the road in, secondly out giggling at the fact they are all on a serious tilt, and back again to take the required photographs of them. Apparently cyclones here are prevailing winds and constant and push the trees over in one direction, a pattern we have noticed all through this town.

We pass the Carnarvon School of the Air. Given its school holidays, there is a real reason for it to look deserted.

Moving on we circle around the southern side of town, looking at boats and other businesses related to the ocean and a sign captures my eye. 3 kgs of prawns $35. I throw a U-turn and check it out again, and indeed the sign does say that as well as fresh local cooked prawns $21 per kilogram. Its lunch time but after the omelettes, we are not overly hungry, having said that prawns might be a light lunch. I stop outside and we pile in.

The 3kg offer is for frozen prawns whilst the fresh ones in the trays are the ones we really want. Packed with them a re jars of marinated octopus, we will need a jar of them and of course we will need seafood sauce. Our booty in our midst, its time to find a place to consume them. A local park is no more than 200 metres away and right on the water.

As soon as we park and start on our prawns not only do the seagulls arrive, but a man walks over and asks in a very New Zealand accent, if his body shape and general appearance didn’t give him away. He is curious as to where we were able to purchase such a repast, and we point to the shop back along the street. He gathers up his family and they head directly there, they do not pass go, and do not collect $200.

Peeling prawns and retrieving octopus from an oily jar is a very messy business. The paper wrapper for the prawns has also become the plate for the seafood sauce and the hand wiping cloth, held down now by not only the weight of the oil infused paper, but also the suction the wet paper creates on the wooden table. We refuse to feed the seagulls until we are finished, and it seems the seagulls expect this as there is only a small number and they are very quiet.

Once the lunch is eaten it is on for young and old as we disperse the heads and shell amongst an ever increasing number of birds. One bird in particular seems to want to bully the others. In its anger it misses out completely. Another bird is teased by Forbsy to take a prawn head from his hand. It comes within 6 inches but will not feed directly from his hand. He relents and feeds it.

After lunch we continue our jaunt around Carnarvon. We go looking for the One Mile Jetty, which is not marked on my GPS. I can see it so we can guess where it is and head in that general direction. There is disappointment once we are there because the jetty is in such a state of disrepair it is actually closed, but there is a museum of sorts, showing items that ran along the train tracks here many years ago.

Following on towards the end of the road, I snap a picture of a half-submerged sign, buried in the sand dunes suggesting “Dunes Under Restoration”. Again it’s a giggle.

Further around I see a sign which suggests a dirt road heads towards the head of the Gascoyne. I give way to a car driven by a reasonably large lady. Forbsy comments if I were to cross here, a backhander might send me into next week, then concedes she is probably a lovely person. How perception can rule our thoughts and then our prejudices.

We follow along the track as far as we can, this being before the road disappeared onto the beach proper, which would have meant tyre deflation, and turnaround. The track we notice has effectively followed the One Mile Jetty, and in our path we can see a statue, which we think may be Mr Gascoyne.

As we get closer it is obvious it is not him, but a statute of something much different. We park in close walking range and head on up, snapping some wildflowers on the way. The statue depicts a wife, holding a child at her feet pointing towards the ocean. Her eyes are covered by her hands. The sign accompanying the statute tells the story of women, not wanting to look at the ocean for fear they would never see their men return. It’s a poignant reminder of the perils of the early settlement here.

Forbsy removes his hair restraint and stands beside the statue in an irreverent mimicking of the pose and I snap a quick photo. I also take photos over her shoulder to see what she is not looking at, including panoramas which give a great sight of the vastness of the land and the ocean in front of her.

Wandering some more, I see roads that seem to travel beside the river, which means beside large sand banks. Many of the streets depicted on the GPS, don’t exist or are closed off, making getting to the “water” difficult. There is however a sign to Chinaman’s Pool, which appears to be down the direction I have been trying to drive.

This is a nature reserve and there are signs about conserving nature and the fauna we might see. Forbsy immediately starts destroying nature as he has stood in a column of ants. He moves,  but not before some move on him. He takes a picture of the column and asks, where is an echidna when you need one”. The pool itself is quite spectacular and we can access it at many points along the road I could not get to as suggested by my GPS. According to it we are well into the bush away from streets.

Once back on the bitumen, yes I have been off roading again, poor headlights, but I did give them a good tightening this morning, we are almost back at the van park. During our travels Silver Leader rang and said they were on their way. On our return to the park, they are set up, but not with us, the snobs have parked adjacent to our neighbours in the next row, under a tree.

We wander over and say hello, admonish him mercilessly and then set about comparing days. They unfortunately have not had the day they planned, the surf at Red Bluff was not particularly congenial to great surfing, so they packed up and headed our way.

Silver Leader is not interested in cooking dinner tonight, so we head back to the pub from where we enjoyed our means last night. We tell them of our pasta and the slat and lemon pepper calamari, which they order, and comment as to its taste. They are both completely satisfied.

There is much discussion about the destination tomorrow. Robyn would like to see Kalbarri, but by all reports with the school holidays, there are no vacancies. We could try for a place just outside, but all calls are negative. In the end we decide we are going directly to Geraldton and will need to start at 8.30am. To get a head start I pull down the awning and pack away the chairs and tables.

Tomorrow will be another long day on the road.