We head ever further west, going southwards now, through a town whimsically called Denmark. It’s lush country, trees getting thicker and taller round every turn, wineries everywhere, walking trails and romantic natural beaches, but colder and colder – so we head to Peaceful Bay which sounds, well, peaceful. We both laugh as we look at the Bay entrance. As an ex-cruising sailor, I am horrified – very narrow, between rocks and hard places, scary.
The caravan park is hardly such – we are in natural surroundings behind the beach bushes, parked beside a tiny freshwater waterway full of ducks, seagulls and other waterfowl, with oyster catchers on the beach competing with the hordes of seagulls.
This is such a difficult entrance that all night the horns on the navigation buoys whoop mournfully, while Southern ocean roars and the birds in our small enclave chirp and twitter. The biggest building on the coast is the sea rescue station. Happy to be in a van, not a sailing boat!
Charlie is in seventh heaven on this beach, tears off like a bullet, then rips back even faster, belly to the ground. The wild freedom gets to him as much as to us. It’s freezing, though, even for Charlie. Winter soon, time to go north..
Blackwattle Roaming 
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