Carnarvon. Shopping. The shiny green and red Woolies sign beckons; drooling, we drift hypnotised into its seductive fluoro-lit aisles and buy 27 packets of Sara Lee Chocolate Bavarian which we then fight over in the bus for 2 days, crazed from all the sugar.
There are lots of Aboriginal people in Carnarvon and their medical centre is much better than the white-ass honky medical place, so I go to the AMS to get a checkup & prescriptions for my crappy knees. In the waiting room I entertain a small boy by tying his jumper up into a ball & playing footy across the seating area & we gradually get everyone involved. There seem to be dozens of teenage Aboriginal girls with babies everywhere in town.
First night we camped out at Quobba Point, which is just north of Carnarvon, a sandy beach area between miles of limestone cliffs. In true WA fashion, you drive through a vast empty wilderness to discover that the campground allows you about three square feet of space and you are not allowed to set up more than two inches from your neighbour. We manage to squeeze in next to Mr. Beagle Man. Unsuccessful surf fishing is followed by crashing through the bush in the dark (forgot to take torches) and then Duncan complaining all night about imaginary discomforts in the bus bed, earning himself the nickname "Princess Duncan", which he grows quite fond of.
There are people camped at Quobba who clearly stay for months on end, desperate pensioner-caravanners who have signs up selling just about anything - "Photos' For Sale" "Fishing Gear Used in Good Nick Not To Expensive". It's a bit sad. We leave early the next morning to escape the claustrophobia.
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| The Blowholes at Point Quobba |
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| Limestone cliffs at Point Quobba - king waves sweep fishermen off at regular intervals |
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| Duncan catching fish with his mind |
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| Yep those would be the blowholes |
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