We wanted to go down Whalers Way to the most southerly tip of the Eyre Peninsula. Then we found out that it was $30 to get the key for the day. Apparently it wasn’t always quite so expensive. My parents went around Australia in 1979. When the kids emailed their grandmother to say she was there, she replied:
“I just checked my round Australia diary and found that we were in Coffin Ban on 20th March 1979. On the 18th we went to Port Lincoln in the morning and in the afternoon to Mill House and Mill Museum. On the 19th we went to Whaler’s Way, 32km south of Port Lincoln. It is private property ( or was then anyway) so we were issued with a key and had to pay a fee of $3. Granddad bought some fishing line, a hook and sinker in Port Lincoln and we actually caught our first fish in Coffin Bay on 21 March 1979.”
Well, if it had followed the price of inflation, we probably would have done it, too. Instead, we camped on the cliffs near the start of Whaler’s Way overlooking the Southern Ocean. We had stunning views from our window, and after walking down the cliffs we could get to a golden beach.
We were so pleased that the winds from a few days ago that had buffered us at Lincoln National Park had settled down, so we just settled in to enjoy the scenery and relax.
Three days we spent running in and out of the ocean. There’s no land between the Eyre Peninsula and Antarctica … so you can imagine how cold that water is! Lucy did better than the others, as she had her wet suit. Everyone else was just in bathers.
Jarrad pumped up the truck tyre tubes to ride the waves on. I couldn’t hear the kids, but I could see them, and i could imagine the squeels of delight as wave after wave knocked them around.
The kids only lasted in the water for a little at a time. They’d come out and dig in the sand while they warmed up in the sun. As soon as they’d start to thaw out, they’d turn and run back into the water again.
Me? I just sat there reading my kindle.
Jarrad joined me occassionally while the kids splashed and played in the sand some more. “I want to take you on a date,” he told me.
“What about us kids, Dad?!” Susan piped up indignantly. Jarrad rolled his eyes, and left to go and chase her into the waves.
On the third day the wind struck again. We were inside having lunch when it started. The campervan started rocking. It was so bad that this time even Jarrad was getting worried. Susan was reading on her bed, so since her side of the campervan would have been up in the air if it had tipped, I got her to move.
“Can we move?” I asked him. “I want to be anywhere but two meters away from a cliff overlooking the ocean.”
“We’ve gotta be in one of the most unsheltered places. Problem is, if I hitch up in this wind, the campervan is more likely to topple. I can’t hitch up at all until there is a lull in the wind.”
I checked the bureau of meterology’s website. “Ah, hon? Apparently the winds here are about 100 kilometers an hour on average. Gusts have been reaching 115 kilometers around here. It’s not at it’s worst yet, either – it’s expected to be at its worst around 2 this morning.”
But even if we there was a lull in the wind … where were we going to go? And how on earth was I going to get ANY sleep listening to that wind?