Ruggedly picturesque and sparsely populated, it’s been said it’s got it all; an area bigger than 75% of the world’s countries, cram-packed with pristine coastal beaches, steep-sided mountain ranges cut through with sandstone and limestone gorges and cave systems, waterfalls, ancient rock art, remote cattle stations, big rivers, big fish, and most important of all, even bigger adventure. Home to one of the oldest living cultures on earth, we were about to embark on the Kimberley. The next couple of months held a lot of promise, and we were excited!

It wasn’t long before we hit red dust again, the road was pretty rough going as we ventured up the Cape. It had been music to our ears when we’d been advised to only start the journey after lunch as the main road to Pender Bay was single lane and meeting oncoming vehicles leaving was not something you wanted. It was an unwritten rule that over the years seems to have been engrained into the route and thankfully worked well for us, no other traffic to negotiate and we arrived unscathed at camp.

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We’d been allocated a large camp close to the boat ramp which made it easy for Shaky to easily get his tinny into the sea. The vista was incredible. Elevated on the cliff side, the camp gave us panoramic views of the whole beach; ochre coloured cliffs, craggy rocks half buried by sands to break up the otherwise flat yellow plane with the clear shallow waters lapping at its feet, another little piece of paradise. Get up, brekkie, look out to sea for whales, relax, read a book, chat with Kerry, quick cool down in the sea (‘quick’ being the operative word as we were now in croc infested waters), bit of lunch, read some more of said book, chat some more, another dip in the water, eat dinner by a warm fire, bed. Repeat for 12 days. OK, maybe this is a slight exaggeration, we did a little more than above, but we certainly didn’t want to break out in a sweat!

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The one down side of the camp (if you can call it that), is that the toilets and showers were about a 10-minute walk from our site. Great to get the legs some exercise, however with little ones, the urge for the loo would suddenly come last minute and panic would start to set in and we’d need to run them up there in the car, quick smart. When one child said they needed to go, the other also wanted to hop along for the ride. Andrew the local Aboriginal owner also had a gorgeous dog, a Golden Retriever called Smokey. It wasn’t until about day 2 or 3 that we started to see a pattern… never in the 8 and 6 years my children have been alive had they needed the loo so often! Smokey’s house was near the ablution block and as soon as we arrived at the loo’s the urge had gone and surprisingly, they didn’t need to go any more. However, seeing as we were now up and Smokey was around, cuddle time ensued.

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On arrival, Andrew had told us about some caves around the next bay which was accessible at low tide. One morning we set off to explore further. Once at the edge of the beach, we had to start clambering over black rocks, already hot on the feet from the morning sun. As we ventured on further the rocks turned into boulders and it was a fun scramble to the next bay. There were a few nooks and crannies to explore before getting to the big cave. Already by 10am the temperature was 32 degrees and the solace of the cave offered a welcome coolness. The kids entertained themselves looking at the bats and playing in the sand while we sat and savoured the view.

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Shaky escaped camp daily in his tinny as he and Bella went fishing, catching us some big Spanish Mackerel, Shark Mackerel and Cobia which made for delish dinners. Alex tagged along with Shaky one morning and hooked himself a Giant Trevally. He also took the rest of us out for turns. One afternoon early in to the stay the kids had been out whale watching and then it was mine and Alex’s turn for action. From land the sea looked flat, but as you ventured further offshore you suddenly had a clear understanding that Mother Nature was boss. With seemingly small waves, the ride in the little tinny was still bumpy and as you crossed further into the blue, you start to appreciate how insignificant you are in the surrounds. We’d been following the spray of the whales, yet it had all gone quiet as we arrived in the area. Suddenly, a whale breached right in front of us, so close you could see the barnacles on it, it was HUGE! WOWEE! It was incredible seeing it so close, again a reminder of our insignificant size as we bobbed in the deep. The whale was obviously a bit of a larakin as it was happy to breach again and again, flip its tail, slam it’s fin down and hang around to give us a show. It’s hard to find the words to describe how I felt watching this display, I was giddy with excitement.

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While the adults got into their routines; Kerry and I reading under the cabana, Shaky and Bella off in the tinny and Alex fettling and scrolling through Instagram (while still muttering under his breath he had no time to relax and read a book), the kids relaxed into their own too. The first couple of days school was pushed under the carpet as the kids were always rushing around making sure they were busy and out of our hair in the hope we’d just totally forgotten it existed. After we refocused them, they convened in Crusin’s caravan to complete their relevant paperwork, so they were free for the rest of the day.

They played down the beach, waving off Shaky and Bella as they zipped out on the waves and then after they’d had enough of the sand and a quick dip in the sea, they would return to the vans, make a packed lunch, take their towels and sometimes body wash then disappear for at least the next 3-4 hours. From what I managed to glean from them, all the kids assembled at the ablution block – the cool place to hang out – and while the time away. They wet themselves down at least in the solar heated showers, soap usage and drying was optional I believe. There was a large tree offering good shade and maybe more importantly a swing, but the biggest draw of all was Smokey. He was a well-loved dog.

One evening as the sun was dipping to the horizon, I decided to go and find them as they hadn’t got torches with them and once it’s dark, it’s dark. A quick drive up to the customary rendezvous point, empty. Hmm. I asked Andrew if he’d seen the 3 kids, describing them briefly, to which he hadn’t. I asked about one of the girls I knew Lexi & Chloe had made friends with and he pointed me in the direction of their camp. He told me to return if I couldn’t find them and he’d come help search for them, I guess no-one knows the lay of the land better than the owner. Having not ventured down the other side of the camp, I had no idea where I was going in the pitch black. Tracks look very different in the dark and there were a few turn offs which I wasn’t sure if I should take. I got to a dead end and not seeing the camp I wanted I stopped to ask another couple if they’d seen 3 errant children. They immediately sprung up in concern and as we were chatting about where they could be (endless options) I heard some familiar voices further back where I’d parked up the car.

Without a care in the world, they’d been wandering back to camp, probably a 30 min dawdle for them, when they saw my car. After asking where they’d been, “just jumping off the cliffs mum,” I had a chat with them all about how things can go wrong quickly in the dark and that I had become concerned when I couldn’t find them from the spot they were supposed to be at. I’d been gone about 45 minutes by now, so when we finally returned to camp, the others were about to send a search party out for me! A new rule was soon made that all children had to be back at camp before dark.

One day Shaky and Kerry had been out for a drive and returned saying they’d sussed out the neighbouring camp Smithy’s and he could take us on a mud crabbing tour in an hour’s time. After some furious activity we were all ready to set off in the hope of catching dinner. Smithy was a friendly and interesting character. He drove us while Cruisin’ followed behind in their car. We started the journey on the main dirt road, but after a couple of turns, we soon found ourselves crawling under low hanging branches as the road became a mere cart track, trees encroaching on the car like brushes of an automatic car wash about to embark on a thorough clean, although ‘bush stripes’ were the only remnants left by the end of the journey. Smithy engaged us in lots of interesting stories as we bumbled along to the mangroves we were about to hunt in.

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Once the cars were parked up, we then had about a kilometre walk to our mud crab mission. Smithy had brought his grandson William along to help locate them and then it was time to experience how the locals catch their dinner. Scrounging around the mangroves knowing Salties could be lurking nearby leaves you a little jumpy, yet Smithy & William marched forward like they were strolling into a supermarket for a loaf of bread. Smithy made the hunt look very easy and before long he’d used his lengthy stick of metal with a hooked end and pulled out 2 crabs. It was clear when you’d located the crab, as the metal rod made a distinctive crack on the hard shell hidden in the mud.

Then the fun began as we had a go. Shaky first, working up a sweat trying to get the hook in behind the crab to enable him to lever it out. It certainly wasn’t as easy for the layman. He persevered and was rewarded with one Mother of a crab when it came out clicking and clacking its pincers, very upset at being removed from its hiding place. We only took the males, distinguished by their triangle shape on the underside, the females left to breed further crablets.

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Alex next, with much banter from Shaky after he pulled more of a ‘tiddler’ from the hole than Shaky’s monster, then Little Fella and I had a combined attempt. Reo did a great job trying to get the hook behind the crab and stuck at it for a while trying to ensnare his dinner. I then took over and finally, between us, we grappled with the rod and mud and with an effort pulled ourselves a feast for later. By this time we were all up to our knees in thick, clay mud, squelching beneath us like slime except with the hold of superglue as you attempted to pull your foot out only to realise you’d left your rock shoe behind. It was easy to spot the Westerners Vs Locals as Smithy and William sauntered through the terrain like a couple of resident Mudskippers. It was a fun morning and we bagged 10 crabs in total, more than enough for 2 meals. That night we cooked some on the open fire as the locals would do, boiled in salt water and made a Thai chili crab. All varieties were delicious, we were totally stuffed by the end of the meat fest with leftovers for tomorrow. The interspersing days we continued our tiring routine of total relaxing.

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We’d bought a couple legs of lamb along with us to roast over the fire, so on another night cooked up a feast, set up the tables for our fine dining and opened a very special bottle of wine to compliment the roast in the hope it hadn’t turned to vinegar. One Alex and I had bought in South Africa at the millennium, a newbie 3-year-old at the time, in the hope that Y2K would not destroy the planet and we’d live to enjoy it a few years down the line. Little did we realise it would only be opened 19 years later! This wine has been abused from the day we bought it. Introduced to the UK and stored under the stairs until we decided to leave for our travels, where my sis cellared it properly for a few years. We then brought it back to Aus on one of our return trips to the UK, where it then lay forgotten, under the bed in the front bedroom, until we were manically throwing items into Minty at 1am the day before leaving! It’s survived 7 months on the road in a compartment under Lexi’s bed where we’ve experienced temperatures from 8 to 46 degrees and I was sure the corrugations would have just added to that tannin ting we’d been hoping for. So, the verdict of this Cab Merlot: Robust – literally. And bloody gorgeous. Tasting all the better sharing it with new road friends.

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After 11 nights, our longest stay in one place on the trip so far, it was time to move further north. After negotiating the single lane back to the main road, it was bitumen all the way to the top! Gumbanan had little on Pender Bay unfortunately, a bit of a dust pit with a resident Salty. The kids are well versed on the croc code of conduct and for some unknown reason, Shaky thought it a good idea to go for a dip just after I’d reminded the kids about no swimming. The main reason to stop here was to see staircase to the moon, a natural phenomenon created by the full moon reflecting off the exposed mudflats at extremely low tide, creating a beautiful optical illusion of stairs reaching the moon. Unintentionally and blissfully ignorant, we’d already seen this when we were at Heralds Bight in Francois Peron National Park, and given the hype leading up to the ‘phenomenon’, our previous experience felt more personal and extraordinary.

We ventured down to Cygnet Bay, Australia’s oldest operating pearl farm for lunch, a dip in their infinity pool (well the kids braved the cool temps) and tagged onto the pearl tour where we learnt about the area’s history of pearling. Commencing around the 1870’s the mother of pearl shell was originally used for buttons, the pearls a mere afterthought at the time. It was a deplorable start as pregnant women and children were mainly used for the diving as they were better on their air consumption!
With the plastics boom replacing the mother of pearl buttons, times have obviously changed with pearls becoming increasingly popular, but with only 1 quality gem found in 10,000 oysters, newer and better ways of production needed to be found if business was to continue. We learnt how the world-famous Australian South Sea Pearl is cultured in the world’s largest mother-of-pearl oyster, Pinctarda Maxima, after a nucli is placed in the shell then left for the next few years for Mother Nature to do her thing. As with any tourist jaunt, when you finish the tour, they exit you through the shop in the hope you’ll be lured in digging deep and throwing a minimum of a few hundred dollars on a little gem. They were very generous with allowing you to try on the goods as Lexi paraded in over $30,000 worth of necklace and bracelet round the shop!

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The best thing about coming to the pearl farm was we found out about Terry. A lively and funny local Aboriginal, whose tour we booked on the following day. Terry was 5th generation of Pearlers yet decided to keep his feet firmly on land. It soon became obvious how the Aboriginals have lived off the land for thousands of years. Australia has some incredibly harsh terrain, yet they forage what we would consider mere vegetation, create hunting tools from waste wood and stone and survive quite easily, whilst we would have perished. We walked a few metres along the shore at low tide before Terry bent, showing us the bubbling of a fresh water spring out of the sand. It tasted great. Incredible.

We continued further to the rocks where we were on the hunt for oysters. With traditional tools – a chisel and hammer from Bunnings! – we took turns in selecting the tastiest looking shells to harvest. They were then cooked to perfection for morning tea on a smouldering bed of spinifex. The rock Terri had chosen to cook by was speckled with smaller oysters and the heat had warmed the rock giving us a further feed as we shucked the littlies off. We then sat under the scorching sun as Terri explained the wonders of the boomerang and how relationships and marriage worked on the ‘skin colour’ system – which is not literal, but the tribe you come from. It was a fun and informative tour and we’ve told everyone we’ve met since to look him up if they’re heading up the Peninsula.

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We’d said our goodbyes to Cruisin’ who were returning to Broome to get a service on their car. Cygnet Bay Pearl Farm had such a relaxed feel about it, we moved camp to veg by the pool and catch up on blogs and admin, although I think it was the C&C (coffee & cake) that actually won Alex over! We did tear ourselves away one morning and visited a local community where they’d built a hatchery, originally to grow shells and polish up for the tourists, then over the years different fish and a rescued turtle had found themselves in captivity. The local lad who gave the tour spoke rapidly, like bullets rattling out of a machine gun, it was hard to follow and understand him for a lot of his chatter, but he had quite a wit about him for the bits I heard. We joined the tour twice to see if we could catch up on the segments we’d missed first time round! With each tour we were getting a little insight into local cultures and history of how life used to be.

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The camp kitchen back at Cygnet had 2 ovens so we spent a whole morning baking. Between us we made 2 loaves of sourdough, a dozen brownies and lemonade scones. After a little gorging on the goodies we’d just made we whiled away the arvo by the pool, it felt we were in a mini resort getting away from the dusty camp which was only a few hundred metres away. After the afternoon soaking, the colour of our feet were several shades lighter too! Reo managed to give himself a ‘Dumb & Dumber’ haircut (there was a bit of regret after the scissors had found their way back to the drawer!) and they both managed to pull a tooth out in the hope the Tooth Fairy could still find them.

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We couldn’t have ventured up the peninsula without checking out the epitome of the area, Cape Leveque. Heading to Kooljaman, we arrived before sunset for a walk on the white sandy beach – ok, and cheese and biscuits – and to catch a glimpse of the stunning red coastline as it palpitated under the diminishing sun. That evening there was a band playing, so we hung around and opted for the locally made pizza. Given we were in a local community, Alex had joked that the topping options would probably be witchety grub, crocodile and roo tail. While the options were slightly less exclusive, we did opt for emu & kangaroo while the kids played it safe with Hawaiian!

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It had been a fabulous 3 weeks on the peninsula and we were sad to leave. We made a quick detour into Beagle Bay’s Sacred Heart Church with its beautiful pearl shell altar built by local Aboriginal people and the Pallotine Monks in 1917, before we descended back on Broome for the restock. If we were going to make use of the dry season, we needed to venture further into the Kimberly and hit the notorious Gibb River Road, before it disappeared underwater and out of reach for another year. Pristine coastal beaches and big fish had now been ticked off the list, the big adventure had started well, it was fingers crossed we would continue this trajectory.