Geraldton to Wooleen

It was a four hour drive from Geraldton to Wooleen Station, where we had booked a cottage for 4 nights. The straight roads Geraldton to Mullowa, then Mullowa north towards Murchison were long and boring, but it was a lovely sunny day with clear blue skies. Our lunch spot was at Ballinyoo Bridge, built recently with Royalties for Regions Funding, to replace an older dangerous bridge across the Murchison River.

The gravel road into Wooleen was very well maintained and appeared to have been graded after recent rains. It was the best gravel road I've ever been on and I've seen some shockers up North! One in the Kimberley gave us 2 flat tyres and then we were in a pickle!

Wooleen Station is owned by a young couple, David and Frances, who are trying to regenerate the land which has been badly degraded in the past. They have de-stocked it of cattle and sheep and shot all the wild goats, kangaroos, foxes and feral cats. All of these graze the grass in competition with cattle. To make a cattle station more sustainable, their theory is to allow dingoes to roam the property as they keep the other wild animals at bay. There is a lot more about this on the Wooleen website.

Our cottage is one of two, recently constructed near the main homestead which was built in 1922. The walls are of mud brick and all the doors and some windows have been recycled from elsewhere, as has the kitchen. There is no phone service, no TV and only limited wi fi. The best thing is a roaring log fire and there is plenty of dead wood around to feed it. JL likes to forage for wood at every opportunity, as the nights are very cold. The starry skies are beautiful as there is no light pollution at Wooleen. Flies are a big pest during the day, but disappear when the sun goes down.

View from our balcony at 8.00 am

Lunch spot

Entrance to Wooleen Station 

Our cottage

Better than watching TV

Up North

Driving north to find some warmer weather, we set off with C's car loaded up with supplies for 6 days. Every inch of space was required, including a consignment of Aldi's grog under the front seats. We stopped at a strawberry farm and bought a punnet of luscious berries and a head of garlic.

We spent the first night in Geraldton, with a harbour view 2-bedroom apartment at the Mantra Hotel. The view of the sunset from our balcony was terrific. After a stroll along the boardwalk we came back to cook some trout and watch Poldark.

Paintings in our room inspired by the Batavia Wreck:

School hols

School hols and I managed to prize E away from her electronic devices for half a day. We made pea and broccoli soup and then walked across to have a look at the new bridge. The Premier walked across it yesterday (on TV) but the hoi poloi must wait another week.

We are not football fans but we stopped to admire this gigantic score chart inside Crown:

Point Walter

One of our favourite bush walks is along the river between Perth and Fremantle. Last Sunday was warm and sunny, so I set off on my own. I was anxious to discover my walking pace after my foot surgery, as I didn't want to join the Bushwalking Group and find myself lagging behind. I managed 3.5 kms per hour.
Point Walter is a sand spit which stretches out into the Swan River for a surprisingly long way. I walked as far out as I could without getting my feet wet. There were two kids ahead of me, a long way out and up to their knees in water:

Shots taken in the middle of the spit, looking both ways.

Flame Tree

Ells Bells Cockle Shells

Ellie is 12 today. How time has flown since she arrived in Australia aged 6 months. She was born in England on the longest day and now celebrates her birthday on the shortest.

Here are a few photos from those years:


Feeding a quokka on Rottnest

Shelling prawns with JL; In the forest; New hairstyle at Quinn's; On the farm.


City to Surf; New camera in Kings Park; "Alice" in Book Week.

(Based on an idea from Local Kiwi Alien).

Hibernating

We do get some poor weather now and again in Perth (windy, rainy and chilly). It is winter after all. I've also had to rest up after my foot operation. The answer is to get out my knitting needles! I managed to finish the cardigan for C. She didn't like the fancy buttons I'd put on and insisted on changing them for plain ones. E (on the left) is wearing one I knitted for myself years ago, which doesn't fit me any more.

A gloomy day by the river. The stadium is on the top right.

The pelicans have commandeered the waterskiing ramp and fight off any other birds that try and land there:

Fiction?

The following three novels about Spain are more than armchair reading. They throw light on events in a more dramatic way than most non-fiction accounts.

Guernica by Dave Boling.

On April 26 1937, the German Luftwaffe dropped bombs on the small Basque town of Guernica: a surprise attack on innocent civilians. This novel describes life in the town in the years beforehand. We come to know the characters very well, but we know that this is a story which will not have a happy ending. This terrible event is also portrayed in Picasso's huge painting of the tragedy. Together the book and the painting demonstrate the horrors of warfare. Guernica is on the Northern Coastal Camino. I haven't been there, but I've seen the Picasso in Madrid.

Two Steps Forward by Graeme Simsion and Anne Buist.

There are hundreds of self published accounts by pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago. Most are poorly written descriptions of the highs and lows of their days, boring and predictable. This one, in the hands of two professional writers, is something else. The husband and wife team take turns in writing a chapter as they spin a yarn about two pilgrims who meet on The Way and fall in love. Alongside their budding romance are descriptions of life on the trail, which ring true but do not dominate. There is actually a plot with many twists and surprises. This is definitely not a travelogue. The Camino is just the back drop. More than half of the book is set in France, as the two pilgrims begin in Cluny, and then proceed to cross to the Northern Coastal Camino in Spain. More Caminos to put on my bucket list...

The Last Jew by Noah Gordon.

In 1492, the Catholic Monarchs ordered all Jews to leave the country. After his father and brother are killed, the young Yonah is left to fend for himself. Determined to hold onto his faith and Jewish inheritance, he travels all over Spain in disguise, somehow avoiding the long arm of the Inquisition. Last year on the Via de la Plata, I visited several medieval Jewish Quarters, including Córdoba and Hervas. This novel brought my visits to life. I was also reminded of a terrible anti Semitic episode in the history of York. In 1190, the city's entire Jewish population of about 150 took refuge in Clifford's Tower. Rather than be slaughtered by the mob outside, they killed their wives and children, set fire to the keep and committed suicide. This is one more example of religious intolerance and cruel inhumanity, for which Spain and its Inquisition was not alone.

Brass plaques on the Route of the Sefarad in Córdoba.