At Barn Hill, WA there is a rock cairn atop the hill that was erected by Alexander Forrest when he passed through here in 1879. It is reminders like these that make our journeys inconsequential compared to the distances covered on foot and horseback by our early explorers and pioneers.
The campground is a casual bush camp with plenty of shade. The power situation leaves a bit to be desired as orange leads are strung in the air and in some places looped around trees. The ablution blocks are rustic and built from corrugated iron and rammed earth. One has no roof, they must be quite optimistic about the dry season is all I can say. A customer in a motorhome with no cooking facilities asks the office for the whereabouts of the camp kitchen to be told that they “fire up the BBQ each Wednesday night”! She’ll be going hungry, this is Saturday.
We’re perched on a cliff and the sea glimmers in the distance. The cliff overlooks what has once been an inlet. The beach is startling. The cliffs are a bright outback red yet the sand is creamy white. The rocky outcrops are hard to describe because there are so many different kinds of rocks strewn about in otherworldly fashion. Some are layer cakes of pink and white others orange with hard dark knobs of what looks like iron. Cuttlefish on the sand take on the appearance of rocks as they too are stained with the red of iron ore.
It is a fisherman’s paradise and they are parked on the beach and standing up to their knees in the water. Like so many other beaches on this west coast, sunset is a grand occasion with everyone standing on the red cliffs. They don’t realise that the best show is looking back up at the cliffs themselves as they too glow luminous in the sunset.
The birds wake us up and the air smells wonderful. There are green tree frogs in the dunnies, on the wall and three peeking out from behind the toilet roll holder. As I flush the loo one gets swept out from under the rim and down the toilet, oops! We have chosen the powered area and our neighbour has all sorts of trouble with his power supply. We have been instructed to limit our power usage to only six amps. As we happily eat breakfast and sip our lattes he has to keep racing to the power box to flip the switch. Gee, I hope our espresso machine isn’t the culprit.