Silver Schoolies No More - Chapter 11 - Karratha Day 3

We have woken early to a hot one. Perfect washing weather.

I received a job from an old client and friend wanting me to have what we call in the accounting industry a “due diligence” on the potential purchase of a business he is looking at. This is not an ordinary transaction where you purchase a business based on profits. There are other factors at work here as there is a crossing factor of businesses. 

I understand what my friend is looking for, and his engagement of me to have a look is more a “rubber stamp” for him as opposed to a full on investigation. But my investigations make me uneasy. There are assertions made by the vendor that don’t seem to make sense.

Looking to use the integration of this business with his own, my friend is hoping to not generate profits but enhance his own with extra services which could be bestowed on the existing network of clients. My analysis took the information provided and remodeled it into various forms to show the reliance of the target on its client base and its fee base.

I convey my concerns to my friend in a detailed report with lots of examples of the assertion I feel are less than they could be. I send the report and call him to give him a quick heads up. Although my friend was keen to make the purchase, my report has made him take a step back for the moment, digest my findings and perhaps make a revised offer or walk away.

While I am doing this Robyn has thrown a quick load of washing, clothes and sheets etc into the park washing machines. They almost dry as quickly as they are pegged onto the clothes lines.

The is a big giggle about the “testicles, spectacles…” event from yesterday, ensuring we have everything before we head out today. We even pull the washing in before we go.

With the washing and the due diligence we have used a fair part of the morning so we will be going straight to lunch at our furthest point, Point Samson Hotel, before heading back via the other tourist points our Visitor information Centre Lady suggested.

Coming into Point Sampson we come to a bridge where the tide is streaming through the pylons into a lake. This needs some investigation. I cannot help myself, I must vfsh this water, so i break out the light gear, throw on a lure and give this place a go. 

The power of the water is immense. I can cast well across the scream into the calm water but as I retrieve into the rushing water, the lure heads downstream at a rate of knots. I give this several goes, getting a small enquiry on one retrieval but basically there is no joy.

Its lunch time so this effort is not continued with too much vigour, so I pack the gear back into the Cruiser and we head towards the pub. The hotel is at the end of the road but it is not immediately apparent where the entrance is. We park in what looks to be the car park and walk around until we find drinkers a sure sign a bar is close.

Normally I will eat what is put in front of me, having come from a home where unless your plate was cleaned you weren’t finished but the fish and chips here are way too heavily battered. The oil content of the batter just doesn’t sit well with either of us and we leave a significant part of the meal on the plates.

From the verandah of the pub the view across the water is idyllic. There is a walkway and a covered viewing platform out near the point, and in an event to walk off some of our lunch we tackle the heat. What we realise on the journey to the point, is the local caravan park is right beside the hotel and the point. 

You can see why tourists flock here, you can also see why this place can be so dangerous once the wind gets up as a cyclone approaches. Everything seems as if there are points to tie things down or bolt up. The pub has strong shutters that bolt into place should the wind come.

We head back out and stop again at the bridge. This time I only talk to the fisherman rather than breaking out the gear. They are getting bites but the only things  we see landed are small bream. Not very inspiring and certainly not enough to make me want to break out the fishing gear.

Further discussions suggest there is only a one hour window either side of a tide to fish here with any chance of catching a monster.

Wickham is our next port of call. 

First we check out the Information area at the start of the town. There are displays of big boys toys, including a huge ore truck and a locomotive engine. We spend lots of time here getting ready to investigate the entire town.

There is no evidence of shipping here at the edge of town. We follow our noses following the signs to the Yacht Club. Along the way we find the ships, we find the trains and huge bridges across multiple train tracks, all filled with moving stock. The road is windy and travels along the ore mounds with massive equipment moving ore from the ground to conveyor belts and off to the waiting ships.

At the Yacht Club we see a group of people relaxing around the boat ramp. They are obviously not Yacht Club members, they are just a large Indigenous family having fun. On our drive out here we past a highway patrol car. If they had followed us they would have had their hands full with several minors racing quad bikes all around the parking area. None of them were wearing helmets. There could well have been thousands of dollars in fines and penalties to be handed out.

But not today.

We sit and watch the “harmless” fun for a while.

Heading back into town we see the town water supply water tank. Perhaps there is a look out with it. If the Information area is any indication, there should be.

We find the track up the hill and when we arrive the view is worth the effort. You can see the train tracks filled with trains of ore heading back towards the Yacht Club we had just left. Empty trains heading out and filled ones heading in.

Below us is an outdoor cinema. The town stretches out in front. It’s nothing like Karratha in design. Wickham is more a traditional square town in shape.

The vista taken in, we still have more to see and do on this expedition.

Back to the Cruiser Robyn cops an injury as the wind grabs the door and connects with her gluteus maximus. I laugh, she does not see the funny side such is her discomfort. She finally climbs into the Cruiser.

Cossak, a somewhat abandoned town is next and anther “scavenger hunt” of monuments, signs and ruins. The main part of the town has been restored and the main building is a boarding house with plenty of residents. 

It and the rest of the town have markers corresponding to a map we have with us. The map we feel has been constructed somewhat after a visit here. Many of the posted spots are either on the other side of the road or several “blocks” away.

The final spots are out of town. An old market garden, a look out and a cemetery. The lookout causes us to stop and take stock of the view. The view sweeps up the coast and across a small creek which cuts through the beach. The view is better form the Cruiser as outside the wind has strengthened beyond comfortable levels.

The last point to visit is Roeburne. We almost don’t bother but something draws us here. The Information area at the start of town talks of the locals overlooking their land. The map again is rubbish. We drive around looking for the points of interest and struggle to find anything of interest.

We can see the watchers and move towards them. The map struggles to show us the way or perhaps the interpretation of my injured co-driver that is the issue.

When finally we get to the top of the hill, there are several metal men, spears in hand watching over all the land around them. Inscriptions at their bases, talk of the tribe and the family area they keep guard.

This is a magic place. I take photographs taking in their lands. The view from here is expansive. I think to myself the wind is even stronger than at Cossack but the stories here are much stronger. In 60,000 years plus, I wonder what things these people would have seen or experienced under the pressure of Mother Nature and the learnings of the DreamTime. . 

Handing those stories down through the generations, from the dawn of “history”. Were there conflicts between tribes, were there times of trade and inter mixing to maintain bloodlines or did they keep to themselves in their existence. Memory and stories is how the history is conveyed.

We as white men write, they as traditional owners paint and talk. 

Its been a big day. When we get back to the van its dark. The greasy lunch sees us looking for something more nutritious. Its not long before we are in bed after dinner. Another long day of driving tomorrow.