Robyn had considered Caves House for dinner, and earlier in the day that had sounded a reasonable possibility. Once we were back, neither of us could summon the appetite for another meal, and we ended up on the lounge. There were new things to eat and drink put away in the van, gifts to take home, and a whale somewhere among the photographs. For the moment, all of them could wait while we sat down together.
The Places We Found and the Things We Never Went Looking For
We stayed another day at Yallingup to do a wine tour, which sounded a reasonably straightforward undertaking in the Margaret River region. There were wineries everywhere, we had people willing to visit them, and we had already established that a day out together could be made to last considerably longer than its list of destinations suggested. The previous day we had managed one winery and exhausted our guide, although there had been a brewery, ice cream and table tennis involved as well.
Wayne, our local guide and new friend, had eventually stretched himself out on the grass outside the brewery. This was a man familiar with taking visitors around the district, so finding him horizontal while we were still considering what to do next suggested we had given him a reasonably full day. Photographs had been taken, naturally, and our achievement in breaking the tour guide had been circulated for the benefit of people who were missing all this at home.
This time we would organise ourselves. Robyn wanted the chocolate factory, Silver Leader wanted to see the Margaret River surf break, and Wayne had recommended the olive oil place at Vasse. Lunch required a brewery, while Cullen’s was the preferred winery, on a recommendation passed to Silver Leader by his acquaintance Dr Harry. Forbsy, Rosalie and I would help make up the numbers, offer opinions and investigate whatever needed investigating along the way.
Once everyone’s interests had been accommodated, the wine component of the wine tour had been pushed to the end of the day. This made perfect sense to us at the time, although it did mean the one activity in the title would have to wait until we had finished with everything else. There was no shortage of enthusiasm; it was simply distributed across several industries.
I had thought the olive oil stop was something Robyn particularly wanted, but she was not especially fussed. Then we walked inside Vasse Virgin and found that olive oil was only part of the proposition. Before reaching anything I might put on bread, we had moisturisers, hand creams and soaps to negotiate, with a large sink available for rubbing things in and washing them off again.
The smell belonged to that collection of products rather than to anything I associated with a bottle of cooking oil. There was plenty to examine, and the route through the shop provided ample opportunity to discover a requirement you had not brought through the door. I took photographs as I went, then made my way towards the food tasting tables at the back.
Here the invitation to try things was broad enough to occupy me properly. There were jams, relishes, chutneys, olives and pasta sauces, with spoons, croutons and little picks supplied according to the job. The staff member told us the macadamia pesto was their biggest seller, but encouraged us to try the others as well. It seemed only polite to give the alternatives a chance.
Oil on its own did not particularly interest me, but the chilli jam and caramelised onion jam certainly did. I was less persuaded by a couple of the pasta sauces, although I make my own and was therefore bringing the entirely impartial judgement of a man who already thought his version was pretty good. Robyn joined me, sampled the offerings and agreed about the jams, which left only the small matter of finding some to buy.
I searched the shelves without success and eventually asked at the counter. They were in the fridge beside the shelves, close enough to have bitten me had they been equipped for it. Retrieving them brought a jar of duck liver pâté into view on the bottom shelf, and a look between Robyn and me settled that purchase without the need for a formal discussion. She had also added caramelised onion and black olive tapenade to the basket.
There is a comfortable shorthand in that sort of exchange. You can spend time discussing what you might like for dinner, or you can find yourselves looking at the same jar and move straight to ownership. We had come to see an olive oil place and were assembling the makings of several very agreeable things to eat beside the van.
The soaps eventually drew me back, partly because a friend looking after our post box at home made her own. I photographed the descriptions and sent them through, explaining that I was conducting market research on her behalf. Her reply advised that she had run out of oil and progressed to making alcoholic cider. My research department had been overtaken by developments at head office.
Still, it had been enjoyable looking, and there was something to see beyond the finished products. The soap making took place on a lower floor visible from the retail area, where the staff could continue working while answering questions. Robyn bought a soap set for a new baby, and the cashier added a special cake for the new mother. Among a basket of purchases, that unsolicited extra left its own pleasant impression.
Another staff member was occupied with a less fragrant aspect of the operation. Several large, slow blowflies had gathered in a window recess, and she was trying to persuade them through a partly open window. They were proving reluctant to cooperate, while an aerosol assault would hardly have improved the atmosphere among the soaps. Even here, with all those carefully chosen aromas, someone still had to deal with the flies.
By the time we reached the chocolate factory, Robyn’s nominated stop had considerable competition from the rest of us. Huge bowls of white, milk and dark chocolate buttons were available for tasting, and the three men worked our way through the selection. We tried them again to make sure our first assessments had been sound. There was no point rushing an important comparison.
The dark chocolate particularly surprised me. It was smooth and rich, without the dryness I sometimes associated with it, and very easy to keep eating. There were plenty of other products to look at too, including bath salts and massage oils, which took chocolate into areas beyond the ordinary business of putting it in your mouth.
I sent photographs to the children, suggesting I had died and gone to heaven. My eldest, then thirty-five and in a new relationship, showed an interest in the massage oil. I told him we had already bought giant freckles, only to receive a reply asking what freckles were. After all the examples he had consumed over the years, it appeared some remedial work was required.
Those little exchanges let home into the day without taking us out of it. A shop full of chocolate became a conversation with the children, just as the soap displays had reached our friend at the post box. We were away together, but still finding things we wanted other people to see, laugh at or eventually receive. Several of them were doing the practical work that allowed us to remain away, so the gifts had a purpose beyond filling space in the Cruiser.
Outside, we took our photographs in front of the sign and spent time looking at the blossoms in the garden. Further along, I photographed Knotting Hill Winery because the name brought the film to mind, then found flowers worth a closer look and Friesian cows lying beside the road. They were ordinary enough subjects, but ordinary things do not cease to be interesting because there are more famous attractions nearby. My camera was having a fairly comprehensive day.
Heading uphill, I saw what looked like a blue-tongued lizard on the road and stopped abruptly. By the time I had reversed to look, the animal was no longer where I thought I had seen it, leaving the passengers wondering what had warranted the interruption. Rosalie suggested it had probably heard about my driving abilities. This was the sort of assistance available from within the vehicle.
Moving forward slowly, I asked Forbsy to keep watch, and he spotted it just off the road. On closer inspection it appeared to be a shellback, rather than the blue tongue I had first thought, and Forbsy got out for a photograph at close quarters. He said he could sit watching a lizard like that all day. Mention of the beer waiting further along the route brought him back into his seat with remarkable efficiency.
Forbsy’s interest in reptiles was perfectly sincere. So was his interest in lunch at a brewery, and the two interests had simply required a decision about precedence. This was how our day was developing: somebody saw something, the rest of us became involved, and eventually another appetite supplied the reason to move on.
Getting to the Beerfarm required us to resolve a disagreement between a sign and the GPS. We passed the sign bearing the name of the place we wanted, but the device instructed us to continue another five hundred metres. At its chosen destination, the absence of the brewery made the sign’s case rather stronger. We turned around and returned to the entrance we had already passed.
The Beerfarm had a warning about incorrectly parked vehicles being turned into beer cans, which established a certain tone before we reached the bar. The old milking bays seemed to extend an extraordinary distance until a mirror revealed how the effect had been achieved. There was still a dairy smell about the place, and a fire burning in an old dozer bucket fitted with a door and a chimney. On a cool day, that was a useful piece of machinery to find indoors.
Silver Leader and Forbsy ordered beer tasting saddles, while Robyn chose bubbles. I noticed a bottle with a buffalo on it beside the Jack Daniel’s and asked what it contained. Bourbon was the answer, so that settled my selection, with an Angus burger to follow. Robyn ordered nachos, and the wine tour continued to make very little progress towards wine.
Our food arrived promptly enough that we were almost finished by the time Silver Leader and Rosalie received their loaded fries. Robyn had been hungry and made an impressive job of her substantial serving. While the others ate, I took the opportunity to make some calls to clients who needed placating. Even a day devoted to chocolate, lizards and lunch could have a small opening through which work found its way in.
Back at the table, Silver Leader and Forbsy were contemplating another beer, and I joined them with another of the bourbons I had tried earlier. Eventually we persuaded ourselves to leave, only to discover a mezzanine overlooking the brewery, with comfortable leather seating and nobody occupying it. There was rustic art to look at as well. We had found somewhere we would have liked to sit just as we were completing the business of getting up.
Silver Leader’s surf break was about half an hour away. I thought the drive might produce some sleeping passengers after lunch, but instead he rang the Missing Link and we talked along the way. There had been some good news, involving faith in people being rewarded, although the details were not mine to share. It was enough to have a happier conversation accompany that part of the journey.
At the coast, the sun had disappeared and the wind was cold and biting. Silver Leader had reached somewhere important to his surfing interests, only to find little in the way of surfable waves. He reckoned his arrival had been enough to flatten it. The rest of us had managed to get him to his chosen destination, but arranging suitable conditions was evidently beyond our capabilities.
The signs offered some indication of what the place could produce. We read about waves approaching eight metres, while even two metres sounded quite sufficient to keep me ashore. A map made very limited provision for beginners and rookies. I could see an entirely suitable position for myself watching from the beach, without needing to progress through either category.
Then Robyn spotted a whale out wide. In that sea it was difficult to pick out at first, until its fin movements gave us something more definite to follow. The water that had disappointed the surfer suddenly had all the interest I required. Robyn had found an attraction that had not appeared anywhere in our planning.
When the whale disappeared, I kept the camera ready. The telephoto setting, moving water and wind were giving the autofocus plenty to argue with, and there was no opportunity to ask the subject to wait. A breach came, I took a burst of photographs, and afterwards examined the results to see whether my enthusiasm had been matched by any photographic success.
One frame had caught it. The image was blurry, but close inspection revealed enough to establish what was happening, which was a satisfactory result under the circumstances. It was our whale photograph from Margaret River, found while we were visiting a surf break on a wine tour. There was room in the day for several different descriptions of what we were doing.
By then Cullen’s was becoming a matter of some urgency. The earlier willingness to stop for a flower photograph had to be suspended if we intended to reach the cellar door before it closed. We had allowed the rest of the day to expand, and the winery now had to fit into what remained. We arrived with fifteen minutes to spare.
Being the last customers of the day did not prevent a warm welcome. I was driving and left the wine tasting to Robyn, while taking an interest in the selection and the prices. Two particular wines were listed at $125 a bottle, with a five-dollar tasting charge, enough to make us curious about what separated them from the more affordable possibilities. Curiosity was considerably easier to accommodate than a collection of those bottles.
Robyn’s tasting took us through the premium wines and into the others, with smaller pours than we had encountered at Wise the previous day. A white with a particularly dark hue appealed enough for her to buy it, and we chose a couple of reds for a friend looking after our house. The place had an air of formality, but the people spoke with us easily. There was no need to arrive with an elaborate wine vocabulary to enjoy being there.
The modest quantities in the tasting glasses did prompt the thought that slightly larger samples might have encouraged larger purchases. That was their business decision, however, and we had already found bottles we wanted. After spending most of the day on the way to a winery, we had finally completed the nominal purpose of the outing. It had taken almost until five o’clock.
There was even a late thought that we might squeeze in the Ugg boot factory, but closing time finally imposed a limit we could not negotiate. Back at the vans, we sorted the purchases from the rear of the Cruiser and returned to our own accommodation. Silver Leader and Rosalie went to Wayne’s for marron, already waiting in his fridge. Had catching them still been involved, I might have found another reserve of enthusiasm, but the catching was the part that particularly interested me.
Robyn had considered Caves House for dinner, and earlier in the day that had sounded a reasonable possibility. Once we were back, neither of us could summon the appetite for another meal, and we ended up on the lounge. There were new things to eat and drink put away in the van, gifts to take home, and a whale somewhere among the photographs. For the moment, all of them could wait while we sat down together.
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