Chapter 21: Walpole and the dryer’s lament
Having successfully won the battle for a washing machine, I lose the war over the dryer. If this was a normal summer, I wouldn’t even need a dryer. The sun would come out and the breeze would dry all the clothes within a few hours. I could even put the sheets and towels on and get them dry too.
But it is now very clear that this is NOT a normal summer. There are floods in Queensland, scorching heat then pouring rain in Sydney, and Melbourne is beset by vicious storms. The entire southern seaboard of Australia is covered in a miserable grey cloud and tortured by a howling wind that it seems no matter how far and long we drive, there is no escaping it. The only warm, sunny weather is in a band north of us towards Perth. But we won’t be there for several days yet. Any further north than that is only scorching heat.
In nearly six weeks of travelling, I can count on one hand the number of sunny days we have had. This is an Australian summer now. The only saving grace is that the weather is even worse in Melbourne.
Women’s Washing Work
The Big 4 at Denmark is bursting at the seams with holiday makers. There must be about 1,000 people here. A drizzly rain has fallen off and on for hours — days we discover later. This makes drying the clothes with a dryer essential. But out of five dryers, there are only two in operation. At a full occupancy rate, these two machines have been running on full tilt since the minute we arrived with no sign of stopping.
Fortunately, I have hung the washing I have managed to do under the awning. The intermittent rain has assured that it has not dried overnight. The next morning, I wake up at 5 am and walk through the drizzle with yet another load of washing. Maybe it’s too early for the washing machines to be occupied? But I’m too late; there’s already a woman there. She’s loading sheets into one of the credit card washing machines leaving me with the coin-operated one.
She explains without prompting that her two-year-old wet the bed earlier in the night and was now sleeping with her and his Dad. Since she couldn’t sleep under these conditions, it seemed a good time to get up and do the washing. ‘Women’ fucking work,’ she says. I nod in agreement. Not for the first time, I am grateful that my children are not any younger.
‘How are you finding it with the kids?’ I ask, trying to sound kindly.
‘They’re having a great time,’ she replies. ‘But they wouldn’t sleep for the first few nights. We’re supposed to go to Esperance next but to be honest, I’m pretty over it.’
We’ve seen lots of people with pre-school aged children in caravans and frankly, I can’t imagine anything worse. Even though I know our kids spend way too much time on their iPads, at least they don’t need constant supervision. When they don’t want to walk to a lookout, we just leave them in the van and go together. When it stops raining, they ride their bikes around or play a bit of cricket.
I quickly realise that she has two loads of washing going. Under the unwritten Laws of Caravan Park Washing Machine and Dryer Usage, this means that even at 5 am in the morning, she already has dibs on the only two working dryers.
There’s a choice to make. Do I sit there in the laundry for hours haplessly waiting for a dryer to be free? Or do I concede defeat, hope the sun will come out later and go back to bed to snuggle up with T?
I’m supposed to be on holiday, I tell myself. I choose the bed.
Walpole
Walpole is a lovely forested region on the southern section of the south-western coast. It has lots of tall karri and tingle trees and access to dramatic beaches. It’s very beautiful but it’s an area very much reliant on people enjoying its natural environment. This would be a whole lot easier if it didn’t bloody rain the whole time.
We stay at an open area campsite we found on the internet. It’s someone’s farm and they have provided three powered campsites. There’s two other caravans there already but it’s easy enough to park so we are not on top of them.
The rain has finally cleared and a little bit of sun peaks through accompanied by a breeze. I quickly pull out all the damp clothes hanging around the campervan, piled on the beds and table and start hanging them out under the awning.
T rushes to help me. ‘They’ll dry in no time now,’ he says hopefully, sensing that my tolerance for this entire enterprise is starting to wear thin.
About an hour later, sitting on the bed reading my book, I hear the wind suddenly pick up. We’ve been in wind for long enough that I can tell just from the sound of it that rain is coming. I peak out the window. Sure enough, a large grey cloud is coming towards us.
Both of us spring in to action, throwing open the campervan door and rushing to bring all the clothes back in. They’re not entirely dry but I’m so over this whole debacle that I decide they are and start folding and putting them away. They’ll smell later but whatever.
It doesn’t rain too much then. That comes the next morning.
Mt Frankland and Conspicuous Cliffs
Unwilling to trudge through the wind and rain on a bushwalk, we head into Walpole to get some grease for the kids’ bikes. Weeks of exposure to the elements means they are covered in dust and starting to rust. The rain is coming in fits and starts now and the woman in the Tourist Information Centre laments where the summer has gone.
Our chores done, we decide to avoid the coast for the morning, hoping the weather will clear. We head out to Mt Frankland, about 30 minutes north of Walpole. It’s overcast but at least it’s not raining. It’s not the most riveting walk or view but its good to stretch our legs.
In the afternoon, the sun finally starts to peak through as we head back towards our campground by way of Conspicuous Cliffs and the Peaceful Bay Fish and Chip shop. By this time, the clouds have cleared away and although it’s not that warm, the first clear blue sky in days lifts our spirits considerably.
I check the forecast for our next stop, Nannup. 31 degrees and no rain. Finally.
