Barn Hill

                      Barn Hill from the beach (go on, click on the image, it won't bite you!)

It’s a cattle station about 140 kilometres by road from Broome (50 kilometres as the crow flies) and within it lies a caravan park nestled on cliffs overlooking the Indian Ocean: Barn Hill is really quite pretty if not a little on the unsophisticated side. We are camped in the unpowered area meaning we are relying on Vic and Cheryl’s generator for any electricity we may need (we get by on 12 hours a day quite easily). The amenities block is...very airy, to say the least. But at least the toilets flush and if you shower in the afternoon then the coils of black poly pipe lying on the ground will provide warm water (woe betide those who shower late for they are consigned to a cold water, hurried wash – we even overheard a lady [obviously not in the “know”] trying to have a shower at 5.30 in the morning saying to her husband “I’ve tried both taps and they’re both cold!”) You see, this is what you get if you don’t ask questions around the camp – ignorance is no excuse).

                                                          The shower block, Barn Hill

                                                        Loos with views, Barn Hill

We have been blessed with a campsite right on the coastal cliff, much coveted by other campers who become relegated to a spot in the backblocks – it’s a site that you hang on to if you can and we are staying for as long as possible, weather permitting, while the other campers plot and scheme and try to guess when the prime space may become available. And yes, we have been caught up in some unseasonal rain through this part of the world although Barn Hill has fared better than the poor sods down the road in Karratha where 200 mm were dumped on them in 24 hours. We might have got a tenth of that amount. Can’t complain though, this is the first bit of weather that we have seen since leaving the Clare Valley in South Australia at Easter. A bonus from the rain was witnessing a flight of Frigate birds hovering above the shore and taking turns to dive and flutter their wings to shake off the annoying raindrops accumulating on their feathers (be careful we don’t subject you to the movie we took of it next time we see you).

                                                         The Barn Hill campsite

                                                       Sunset from the campsite

We discovered a casualty to our camper, probably from the Gibb River Road experience, but the long plastic tube on the back that carries our tent poles had been jolted loose and was found just hanging on. Repairs were needed lest our tube of tent poles be found lying on the highway next to Kevin’s caravan door (see last episode for further explanation). With Vic’s help and electric drill and another camper’s pop rivet gun we made the necessary repairs, ready to resume the travels safe in the knowledge that there’s a secure home for the tent poles.

                                    A tradesman (Vic) and his mug helper fixing the camper

A lot of people come to Barn Hill year after year to sit out the southern winter so it’s a real community feel down at the powered area, probably like the feel one gets in an old people’s home when one’s special time has come. Everyone says hello whether you want to or not. The beach is beautiful and behind the beach abuts sandstone rock formations with vivid red shades to contrast against the blue sea and white sand. There are a lot of keen fishermen here but we’ve yet to see evidence of many fish (a familiar story). I saw one old bloke simply give up and feed his remaining bait to the grateful seagulls.

                                                             Maurs on the Rocks

                                      The foreshore at Barn Hill (Gus digs a hole for himself)

The other day we decided to visit the Eco Resort that lies up the beach past a few headlands. We didn’t know how far it was – now we do – a 17.4 kilometre round trip, best done at low tide to get around the rocky bits. We had lunch there – all very nice and civilised. Being there though took me back to 2000 when Barry Hanstrum and I were working the cyclone warning centre and we watched on radar as cyclone Rosita blew the whole resort away with Category 5 ferocity, but it has recovered very well.

The first week here we just walked the beach and swam and suntanned but then we had those few days of watching the rain form puddles around us and wondering when it will go away. Well it did go away but was replaced with a blast of easterlies that has been buffeting us and testing the sturdiness of our campers and annexes. I figured it out – this is why people live in HOUSES!!! We have limited internet access here - we must be right on the edge of internet range as it floats in and out – mostly out.

                                                        Victor in repose - on the beach

We have spent 15 days in the warmth of Barn Hill but it’s getting to be July and we need to be back in Perth in order to get off the Returd Highway and back into a more normal existence. I mean, we can’t have fun forever can we? So it’s a compass heading of south soon, leaving our friends Vic and Cheryl to squeeze the last bit of heat into their remaining holiday while we plunge into cooler climes. However, it’s not over til it’s finally over.

And what’s biting me today? Sandflies!!