Wind and Other Elements in Port Gregory and Kalbarri

I am sure that the wind that blew during our first night in Port Gregory was a quiet shuddering breath compared to the violent cyclone that tore through Kalbarri, less than an hour to the north, just over a month ago. To me, however, the wind in Port Gregory seemed like a howling gale intent on battering our modest, defenceless tent all night long.

For the first time on this trip, I could barely sleep. I wanted the rain back if I could only lose the wind. I promised myself never to whinge about the elements, other than the wind, ever again. While I filled in time by reading an online novel by Rex Stout, I wondered how David could sleep through the cacophony of pounding, clapping and banging noises. I envied his deafness, because wearing my ear plugs didn’t help at all. When the side-flaps of the tent annex slipped out of their pegs and lashed the inner tent, I hammered them back in, astounded by David’s serene, unflappable sleepiness. The man is a rock in the wilderness.

To my surprise on the following day, David admitted that his sleep had been uneasy. He agreed that, since the wind was predicted to be just as strong the following night, we should shore up our defences. So we moved our tent into the lee of a large, solid caravan by unpegging it and shuffling it across. After that, we were ready to drive to Kalbarri and observe the effects of an infinitely more serious wind: Cyclone Seroja.

It was astounding how much work had been done to restore the town in such a short time. The people of Kalbarri seemed to have the situation well in hand. The severely damaged trees had been pruned back, the debris cleared away, and many roofs covered with tarps. Sometimes whole roofs were missing, while some houses seemed to have escaped major damage.

The cyclone had produced gusts of 170 kilometres per hour, whereas the winds in Port Gregory had gusted to a mere 50. This comparison made our unpleasant night seem mild indeed.

By the time we reached Kalbarri National Park, another element had become a factor — the heat. In the gorges, the temperature can rise to 55 degrees in the summer; people have died during short walks that would normally present no major challenge. Since we were there in May, the temperature was bearable, but it was breathlessly hot all the same.

Seeing the beauty of the Murchison River and the gorges it has shaped over hundreds of thousands of years was nevertheless worth every drop of sweat. The views reminded me a little of that Streeton painting, “The Purple Noon’s Transparent Might”; the river set off the rugged landscape, while the layers of red rock made the river glow in shades of blue and violet. The tracks and lookouts had been built to fit in with the shapes and colours of the natural world and to protect both the environment and the human intruders. It was a majestic, timeless place.

One advantage of being exposed to the elements is that they wear you out and prepare you for sleep. After the disturbances of the previous night and the heat of the day, I barely noticed the gusting wind on the second night and slept nearly as soundly as Davey.

Final Notes

Accommodation:

• Port Gregory Caravan Park (excellent, though windy)
• Shark Bay Caravan Park at Denham (very good)

 

Sunset in Shark Bay Caravan Park—and some campers knew the best way to capture it.