Another day fishing on Carnarvon jetty. We catch nothing except a huge mud crab which escapes despite 23 small boys trying to help Duncan net it. But it's a gorgeous day for snoozing next to a fishing rod and that night we check in to the Gascoyne Motel where we stuff ourselves on pub meals while some godawful fight thing is broadcast on the sports channel ("This is delicious!" "GARN TAKE HIM OUT YA MONGREL!!" "Yes, how's your seafood?" "LEFT HOOK, LEFT HOOK YA BASTARD!").
Sitting in the bus checking on the stock market after dinner, lulled by the relaxing sounds of blokes brawling outside the Tropicana Hotel on the other side of the parking lot, I am regularly interrupted by various lonely men ("Oi've just come in from the salt mine love" and "Yer bus got a bed in it then love?") until Duncan emerges from the motel room barely wearing a towel to see what is going on ("Just making some quick bucks on the side honey!"). The shower is so awesomely good that we each use it about five times. After weeks of communal facilities at the roadhouse it feels like the Hilton.
We drive carefully around unconscious bodies left over from the pub the night before and head off to Woorrara Station up near Coral Bay, stopping briefly at Minilya Roadhouse to stock up on diesel & fight over the last of the chocolate bavarian. One of the road crew workers on the highway must have been at the pub last night because he is throwing up in the bushes next to his "Slow" sign as I drive past. With all the rain the land is very green and bursting with wildflowers.
No comments:
Post a Comment