Chapter 19: Fitzgerald River National Park and the peccadillos of West Australians
The Campground is situated at the centre point of the Hakea hiking trail at the intersection of the river and the Southern Ocean. Buffeted by strong winds, the trail connects the main beaches and lookouts of the National Park. The Park rises quickly above the beach; and is dotted with a handful of stark hills that look like waves set in stone.
Thanks to the informative signs, it turns out this is almost what they are. 700 million years ago, when Australia split off from chilly Antarctica, the sea level rose so much that these hills were islands surrounded by a shallow sea. Over time, the tumultuous seas shaped the islands into a wave-like pattern. Then, as the sea-level dropped, the islands created the conditions for some uniquely West Australian-looking flora.
Day 1
On our first day in the Park, it’s grey, windy and a bit rainy; a day not unusual in Melbourne. We push aside the thought that we embarked on this trip to get away from Melbourne’s volatile weather and decide that, just like in Melbourne, we’re going to read the forecast and then do what we came to do anyway.
‘Don’t worry,’ I tell the kids, ‘it never rains for more than five minutes in Western Australia.’
They are not convinced. Turns out for good reason because the wind and drizzle continue on and off all day. I pretend it’s a warm rain but…it’s really not. I guess the weather has changed a bit since I lived here 20 years ago.
After two days of not doing much exercise, we decide to walk east along the Hakea trail simply because the weather looks slightly more hospitable in that direction. Along the way, we discover a robust combination of harsh-looking plants with very delicate little pink, yellow and purple flowers. These are completely at odds with the hostile growing conditions.
But the real standout is the hakeas. With their striking yellowy-orange glow and giant spiky leaves, they are the epitome of ‘look but don’t touch’. Sprinkled among these remarkable-looking plants grow the bastion of the West Australian wildflower world, the banksias.
In wildflower season these must be quite something to behold because even now, in this so-called summer, they are the kind of flowering plant that tells an entire story in one bush. New young upstart flowers grow and bloom into pale yellow globes. Next to them, the middle-aged flowers change to a sunburnt orange. Nearby, the older blooms look on jealously as they try desperately to cling to their youth. Last, but not least, there are the hard, nut-like creatures with angry eyes saying the flower equivalent of ‘you kids, get OFF MY LAWN’.
I could write a whole story about them. But I won’t because someone already did a hundred years ago. It’s called Snugglepot and Cuddlepie and is possibly the most famous Australian children’s book ever. It tells the story of two little gumnuts pursued by the evil bad guys: the Banksias. No-one could capture these flowers better.
Once the rain stops, the kids become more amenable to the walk and we make it to Nature’s Rockery Lookout. Its vey picturesque, situated among hakeas and banksias. I pull out the Jatz crackers, cheese and ham for lunch.
Peccadillo #1: Jatz and Savoy
We embark on a discussion about why Jatz crackers are called Savoy in Victoria. I had always assumed it was some kind of brand licensing thing but the kids are vaguely intrigued. Since we’re in phone range we ask Google. It turns out to be one of those weird parochial things between the different states that dates to the 1960s. Apparently Savoy were around first and when Arnotts arrived in Victoria, they ‘borrowed’ some of the Savoy recipe and biscuit making techniques to make Jatz. Then they took over the Savoy-making company and tried to re-brand them as Jatz. But the people of Victoria (and Tasmania) wouldn’t have a bar of this and so now Arnotts make Jatz in WA, NSW and SA but they are still Savoy in Victoria and Tasmania.
The Hamersley Inlet Campground
The Campground is expertly laid out and organised by vehicle size. Like Lucky Bay, you have to book in advance but its not nearly as busy. It doesn’t have flush toilets or showers but the drop toilets are very clean and there is a rainwater tap to wash hands and watch kangaroos have a drink.
Our next door neighbour has some kind of complicated Toyota Landcruiser-roof tent thing with a canvas annex on either side. When I walk past and take a quick peak into the boot, I see the ubiquitous slab of Emu Export Lager (beer).
Peccadillo #2: A retro passion for Emu Export
Until around the mid-1990s, Australians were very parochial about their beer. If you were from New South Wales, you drank Tooheys. Victoria: Carlton or Victoria Bitter. Queensland: XXXX. In Western Australia, it was either Swan Lager or Emu Export.
For the record, no Australian ever drunk the only Australian beer exported to other countries, Fosters.
At some point towards the end of the 20th century, Australians started to gentrify their beer-drinking tastes. It became easier to move around the country and people took their beer preferences with them. New breweries started to break the stranglehold the state-based breweries had on the local beer market.
And this brings me to Emu Export. In our memories, it was a slightly fancier version of camel piss. Nobody drank it when we left WA in the mid-2000s. Now, inexplicably, it’s everywhere.
According to my brother-in-law, ten years ago, Emu Export was nearly dead in the water. But then it tweaked its formula, dropped its alcohol content to 4% and all of a sudden everyone is drinking it again.
‘I prefer Carlton Dry [a Victorian brand] but every client I visit (he’s an agronomist who visits farmers for a living) only drinks Emu. When I tried to buy some Carlton in Esperance, they told me they hadn’t had any in stock for two weeks. They only have Emu. So I guess I’m stuck with it.’
Pecadillo #3: The weirdness of the small country town
Like their South Australian counterparts, when it comes to tourists, West Australian country town residents straddle a line between tolerance and impatience. Most of them go about their business, usually with at least two dogs in the back of their utes.
One thing they do have is real dogs. Where were live, dogs are everywhere but they’re all some kind of oodle — Labradoodle, Cavoodle, Groodle — that cost $10,000 and is awarded the status of a child. In West Australian towns, everyone has a dog but it’s a real, working animal, usually some kind of Red or Blue Heeler. They don’t try to jump all over you, they just look at you with their cool, intelligent eyes until you feel vaguely inferior.
Hopetoun
Hopetoun, the closest town to the east end of the Fitzgerald River National Park has a lot to offer. Firstly, for $4, you can buy condoms from a machine that also sells car deodoriser. Does the possibility of sex increase if it’s accompanied by the mysterious aroma of ‘new car smell’? Who knows?
Secondly, Hopetoun has craftily separated the RV black and grey water dumping site from the rubbish dumping site AND the fresh water acquisition point. This means you have to visit three different sites scattered through the town before you can complete the basic re-supply functions of your vehicle. Not only that, but they have refrained from providing any helpful signs that might alert you to the need to embark on this little adventure, ensuring you’ll stay in their town just that little bit longer.
Although this is rather inconvenient, Hopetoun makes up for it by having far better mobile coverage than the much bigger Esperance. The coverage is broader too, even stretching into some of the exceptionally beautiful Fitzgerald River National Park.
But just in case you were lulled into a false sense of security, there’s no mobile coverage at all at the Hamersley Inlet Campground, one of two on the eastern edge of the Park and where we are staying for five nights.
Day 2: East Mt Barren
It rains a bit overnight but it’s still windy and no good for kayaking. After a trip to Hopetoun for more water, we pick up some fresh bread — a rare luxury in the days between Christmas and New Year in rural WA — and head back to the National Park. It has finally begun to clear and although the wind hasn’t dropped much, blue sky is peaking through.
Our plan is to hope the weather stays clear enough to climb East Mt Barren, the hill overlooking the east end of the Park. The view should be magnificent and the carpark is a blackspot of internet access, so the kids decide there’s nothing else to do but climb up the mountain.
We make the climb to the top with minimal whinging. The view at the top over Hopetoun and the rest of the Park is hazy but still magnificent. We see the two wind turbines that provide most of the power to the town and the coastline stretches out in front of us.
It seems the weather is finally starting to come good, we cross our fingers and hope we can get the kayak out tomorrow.
Spoiler alert: so do the jet ski owners.
