I’ve been lounging about all day, lazily, soaking up some nurturing words and waiting for a friend to come whisk me away on an adventure.
I heard rumor there was one little water fall in Margaret River.
The trip advisor guide says, “ go up the log steps follow the path, cross the bridge, keep going, slide down the sand dune and when you see a sign take a right” along those lines.
Bridget rolls up in here forest green, 4×4 van wagon. I hop in. Marigold and wildflower car freshener fill the space.
This is the third time we’ve met but the first time spent together. She’s down to earth, high vibes and has got golden dreadlocks down to her lower back. We speak all the pleasantries on our ride, surrounded by miles of vineyards protected by thin metal wire fences as to say “you’re still welcome here come try our aromatic vino!” Gradual curves are a sweet lullaby on the road.
“Look out for Moses Rock Road” Bridget interjects through the contemplative silence
“You got it captain!” I pull up google maps, cause why risk it when technology is in the palm of your hand? “Looks to be about five minutes north on our left”
“Perfect, we’ll catch sunset”
“Beautiful” I say and we continue in our comfortable silence.
Moses Rock Road is a gradient of paved to dirt to sand. We drive along nice and slow. Thickets of brush cradle the roadside, looming nearly above the car. Grass trees shoot up along the hills, they look like evolved cattails, when you touch them they are hard as a rock and at least two meters high. As we follow the sand we reach a small overlook with full ocean views. The daylight is drifting and grey clouds covet the sky. sun beams stream through the clouds enchanting distant patches of the ocean, as if the heavens are opening up just before night falls.
There’s a brisk wind as I step out of the car.
“Hmmm, we can either go right or left. Where are those log steps?” Bridget and I search the coast like pioneers on an expedition.
“But first, I need to pee.” There’s an outhouse just above the parking lot.
These outhouses are particularly nice. Most of my outhouse encounters have been above average. This one had a particularly heavy wooden sliding door, thick toilet paper, a little cleaning bucket (in case someone left a little mess), and detailed instructions of how to escape a bush fire creating quite a safe atmosphere when relieving myself. Thanks Straya.
We find our wooden logs and follow a path that weaves through the bush. Wildflowers are in bloom and the salty mist of the ocean lingers. Grey clouds act as a shield. We are in another world, caught between the seaside and red rocky dirt.
The path leads us to a bridge and we know for certain we are on the right path. Up and over little hills we come to a fork, go left and descend down a giant sand dune go right and continue along the green folly. So we go left. Sliding down our feet absorbing in the sand with each step.
“That’s going to be a fun climb up” we both giggle with slight apprehension at the thought of getting back up that slope. Further down we descend. Til we reach a large flat clearing of red dirt.
To our left the ocean plays gentle breaking waves to our right the mountains go on and on.
“Let’s go right I guess, no sign, but at least we can guess the waterfall is inland.” The images of waterfalls play across my mind. Though I don’t have high expectations for this waterfall. Summer is approaching here in South-West Australia, less rains more wind. I am taken back for a moment with a picture of home, to the day when I first saw the Alamere waterfall. A triumphant cliff sending streams of water from the mountain into the frigid Pacific Ocean.
The path is narrowing as we climb inland. One more bend and the path opens up to a cliff about four meters high stained with algae. Saturated green fills my eyes. The waterfall is sparse yet still flowing, down into a pond that leaks into a creek. Swirls of algae, mossing mud flow with the tide. Little tadpole wiggle around in the shallows. It’s magical. The only waterfall in the area and it’s perfect.
After some time of sitting appreciating the waterfall we ascend the mountain on a little path that’s been cleared by others before us. Rocky and slippery, every step in strategic and careful. The brush weaves in all directions. Covering the ground in patches and we’re lost for seconds at a time then recover the simple path. The sun is still somewhere in the middle sky enveloped by grey clouds, not too far from setting. We reach the top of the waterfall. The water looks turquoise at this downward view against the dark green moss. I want to sit and watch this scene for ever. But I know how much I do not want to be out here after night fall. The air becomes icy and harsh next to the great Indian Ocean.
Standing there I can’t help but listen to all the beautiful sounds. Sweet serenading birds, wind rustled brush, trickling water on its effortless journey towards the sea. Everything is. All is at peace. I don’t want to leave but dinner is calling my name and I’m becoming parched. We say goodbye to this haven of timelessness and say hello to a melancholy walk back. A taste of natural beauty lingering on my lips. I’m pleasantly enchanted, the wind doesn’t seem so cold or harsh. Although I’m a guest in this land I feel at home. Kangaroos bouncing around trying to catch the sun halt to observe us, bored with their discoveries they hop away into the fading foliage in the distance. Our feet are bare as we walk back to the car. Feeling the ground is a shock to my shoe protected feet but the sand and stones are soft under my soles. But the rocky road is approaching and my sensitive toes beg me for a barrier. We both stop once again to reattach our armor against the jagged ground, take in the view of the valley kissing the shore and follow our way back to the dirt lot.
We discuss future adventures as we reminisce amongst the memories of the little cove.
It was a good adventure we say to one another. Let’s do it again.