Australia is like its wildlife-unique!
When I first decided to write this blog I thought I would put up some photos of the highlights of our trip with a few descriptions to accompany them. But the more I thought about the experiences we had and the impact they had on me, I realised that a few cursory paragraphs would not do the trip justice at all. I therefore decided to split the blog up into different parts. Hopefully this will make it more accessible, in these days of ever decreasing attention spans, to a wider range of readers. So, if you get bored, you can read one part at a time. Ultimately I want to remain true to the thing that drives me; a desire to put down, as freely as possible, the things I’ve seen and the places I’ve visited, how they impacted on me and perhaps go some way to providing a record for future generations and enabling them to share in those special moments in my life.
Our last trip, which was also our first, to Australia was in 2020. (see post ‘Land Down Under’). We visited our daughter in Brisbane on the southeast coast of Queensland. During that visit we thought that Queensland was like nowhere else on earth. A place where a 60-minute drive could take you, depending on your starting point and direction of travel, to the city of Brisbane, to the rainforest or to a golden beach. She now lives 4,350km from there in Western Australia in a small town called Margaret River. How she ended up there is a story in itself and one which I hope she will write someday. We were about to embark on a three-week road trip up along the West coast of Australia and were taking a couple of days in Margaret River to catch up with our daughter, meet some of her friends and readjust to something resembling a normal sleeping pattern after travelling across seven time zones.
To describe ‘Margs’, as they call it, as different to Brisbane would be a gross understatement. It has all the small-town attributes, such as people waving at each other as they pass on the roads, offering help to strangers without being asked and generally moving at a slower pace. An unmistakable charm and sense of community prevail, reminiscent of small-town America or a typical small Irish town. You won’t find any large shops or malls here but coffee shops, craft and jewellery studios and artisan bakeries are abundant. Its geography and climate also make it a prolific wine producing region. We arrived in late June, which is their winter and the weather reminded me of a typical ‘in between’ day back home. One of those days when you’re not sure whether to wear shorts or long trousers and whether it’s safe to hang the Washing out (ok, I never ask that question personally but I know people who do). Apparently this part of Australia can receive heavy rainfall at this time of year but we didn’t experience any.
The local bakery in Margaret River, where you can watch the baker load the next batch before selecting your breakfast roll. The aroma of baking bread, combined with the smell of the burning wood that heats the ovens, is, in my opinion, right up there with the smell of fresh cut grass or a Donegal turf fire.
Ten thousand miles separates Ireland from Australia, so it’s not surprising that new sights and sounds are all around. Shortly after our arrival we stopped at a supermarket to pick up a few groceries and, not being a fan of grocery shopping, I busied myself cleaning the windscreen of my daughter’s pickup truck (‘Ute’ as they say in Aussie). Just to make myself useful, you understand, and not in any way inferring that my daughter doesn’t keep her windscreen squeaky clean! Anyway, as the visibility gradually returned, I noticed that the car park was dotted with groups of brightly coloured parrots, casually foraging for scraps of food. In Belfast, my hometown, the most colourful bird you can expect to see in a supermarket car park is a black and white magpie or a grey and black crow. I grabbed my camera and started snapping away, unable to believe my good fortune. However, my excitement at seeing these green, blue, yellow, red and black beauties was somewhat tempered when I was informed by fellow Irishman (who lives in Margs) and big wave hunter, Dave, that their official name is the ‘Twenty-Eight’. Apparently, the name is a reflection of its call which sounds like the three syllables of ‘Twen-ty-eight’. I didn’t hear them make any sounds, so I couldn’t verify this. If I was a cynic, an accusation often levelled at me, I would suggest that the person (I can’t believe it was a collective decision) responsible for naming this exotic bird was either very lazy or had completely lost his/her mojo and, in a state of ennui, named them after his/her house number. I can’t think of any plausible reason why such a striking creature should be labelled with such a spectacularly unglamourous descriptor as ‘28’. Maybe it’s simply a reflection of the laconic tendencies of Australians. A bit of a ramble, I know, but I include this anecdote because it seems like an appropriate portent of what lay ahead. Every day brought something new and unexpected.
A trio of ‘Twenty Eight’ parrots in the car park searching for food. Or maybe they’re holding a demonstration in protest at their inglorious title!
On our first full day in Margaret River, our daughter took us on a unique journey to the coast. I say unique because it was an extreme off-road journey never before experienced. And I say extreme because that’s exactly what it was. The tracks that we navigated were deeply rutted and uneven and, in some places, giant craters had been gouged out which appeared to render the track impassible. On more than one occasion, as we were being thrown about like ragdolls and the tilting of the vehicle was evoking theme park rollercoaster memories, I thought there was a strong possibility that the vehicle was going to overturn. Luckily it never came to that. Relief set in when we reached the coast at a place called Boranup. I was immediately struck by how similar the coastline was to the beaches of northwest Donegal in Ireland. A place I know well. But we weren’t looking at the Atlantic. This was the Indian Ocean. A world away. But in some respects, just like home. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps this was one of the attractions for young people coming from Ireland. While Australia is different in so many ways, there are still features and characteristics that remind them of their roots. Ireland is such a small island that the taste of salt air on your lips is never far away. Literally, or as a happy childhood memory. Maybe this core element of their DNA is one of the factors that makes it easy for them to think of Australia as ‘home’.
Boranup, Hamelin Bay, in the Margaret River region. Not forgetting the ‘Ute’.
My daughter summed up the drive, “Apologies, I’m not used to back seat passengers. Hope there aren’t too many head injuries!”
Mother and daughter reunited.
Daughter and granddaughter testing the water.
Some of those salt air memories in the making.
Having made a successful return trip to Margs, with the passengers and vehicle in one piece, we lit the fire pit in the garden and settled down to an evening of food, wine and reminiscing.
The next day, I was treated to a belated Fathers Day gift-a wine tasting at one of the local wineries, called Cherubino. This was another first for me. I enjoy a glass of wine but drinking it surrounded by racks of wooden barrels, complete with that heady aroma and looking out at the parallel rows of vines where the wine begins its journey, brings a whole other level of appreciation and enjoyment. I am by no means a connoisseur but it was fascinating listening to the Sommelier describe the different grape varieties and how they are influenced by the specific geography of the region. The Margaret River region, especially the southern end, is one of the best examples of a maritime climate in Australia. It experiences the warm westerly breezes from the Indian Ocean and the cooling breezes from the Southern Oceans (officially, it’s all the Indian Ocean but Australians use ‘Southern Oceans’ to describe the part that borders the southern reaches), making it ideal for producing Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc and Semillon.
The Cellar Door tasting rooms at Cherubino winery.
Cherubino vineyard slopes gently toward a small lake, ensuring good drainage for the vines.
Father’s Day wine tasting. The perfect excuse for day drinking!
And so, after a short drive and some delicious wood fired pizza at Swings and Roundabouts, it was back to our rental property to begin preparations for the next stage of our adventure-picking up the RV/ motorhome, or as we called it, the ‘Moho’. Not only was this the vehicle that would enable us to discover Western Australia. It would also be our home for the next 18 days and nights. It’s probably accurate to say that it also became the source of some of our most memorable moments, challenges and emotions.
Target date for publishing Part 2: 22nd September 2026
Bleeding Dove 