To Windy Harbour

 

With the sporadic phone reception there, we worked out the weather was going to turn toasty to the tune of a couple of 44 degree days in the coming week. So with that in mind, and being behind large sand dunes, with not much chance of a cooling sea breeze, we opted to break camp and go to nearest town, Pemberton.

Pemberton, a sleepy little town perched on a hill, with vineyards scattered about it, about 30k from the coast. With the hot weather coming the next day, we treated ourselves to a motel room, with aircon and unlimited showers, paradise. Spent the day and night in comfort and only ventured out to the supermarket for some little special treats.

With the worst of the hot weather over for now, off we went on our way. Back to the coast and the small settlement of Windy Harbour.

The majority of houses were obviously holiday shacks but scattered amongst them were more substantial homes of the permanent residents. Had a good look around but didn’t stay.

On our way out we spotted a small track leading up the coast, with a ute stopped at the entrance. Stopping for a chat, the driver told us it led to a creek with good fishing and a camp site. Quizzing him about our chances of reaching there, he thought for a minute and said he thought we would, the track was good for the first 4k, then it got a bit soft in the sand for the remaining 4, he said, but he was confident it would be OK. So I moved on a bit and let Ned’s tyres down. We could always turn around if it got too difficult. We always like to check with locals where possible, regards to road conditions before heading into the unknown, then make up our own minds, with our knowledge of Ned’s capabilities and his drawbacks.

Driving the first half was as he had said, a mix of firm clay bits with some sand stretches, nothing Ned couldn’t handle.

 Then we must have passed the half way point, because the sand became deeper and softer. So soft in fact that in low range and having had to go right down to 1^st gear, we were barely moving, until poor old Ned couldn’t go another foot. Getting out, I surveyed the scene. The wheels were burried half way up, it was up to the axles in soft fine sand. The diffs and axles were like grader blades pushing a wall of sand in front of them, which had stopped us. Nothing to do but start digging. Fortunatly only about 15 meters away was some hard ground, so I only had to get that far to be out of the bog.

With a considerable amount of time clearing the sand from around and under Ned and preparing the track ahead, we were ready to try our luck. With a short move backwards, it was into 1^st gear again and Ned threw himself at the remaining stretch of sand. Ever so slowly we crawled out onto the solid ground.

It was getting late by now, so with a thank you kiss to Ned’s headlight and an affectionate pat to his mudguard we set up camp for the night.

With a reconnaissance of the track ahead, it was clear that this was the second half of soft stuff old mate had talked about. Normal 4x4s would struggle, but with our extra weight and the drawback of dual wheels on the rear Ned was at a disadvantage, and we had to come back again on the same track. In the morning, weighing all this up we decided to cut our losses and turn back.

Don’t get me wrong, I have faith in Ned to go anywhere any other 4x4 will go, but it is always good to know your limitations, Touch wood, I have never gotten into a situation where I couldn’t get myself out of. Mainly because I recognise the limit before plunging in deeper.

Another bout of digging to get out of the softest sand on the way out and we were on our way. All a bit of fun really.