Barn hill station to Broome ‘advencha’

(Written by Julz)

Barn hill station is reached by a 9km red dirt road, mostly sand, thank goodness Dad is driving – he wouldn’t have it any other way!It is really hot, 35 degrees, in the sun. We find a site in the shade, setting up is fairly exhausting and we are ready to look around. 

The beach is reached by a small red dirt path with old timber decking stairs. The view from the top of the staircase is absolutely magnificent! We are at the end of 80 Mile Beach, all you can see is the sea, sand and cliffs of earthy coloured rock – breath taking!!
The beach has so many shells and an amazing amount of pieces of Mookaite, which is washed smooth from the action of the sea and sand – I am in seventh heaven, as this is one of my most favourite crystals!! The colours are pink and purple to the earthy Browns, beige and burgundy – WOW!!! 

Gypsy, the dog, is allowed off the leash on the beach and she is in an excited frenzy and has re-found her puppy enthusiasm. 

The ‘facilities’ here are ‘interesting’. A corrugated tin roof with walls that do not reach above hand height, and do not reach the floor. I am the first to admit, I do not like crawling things of any sort, and am reluctant to take the risk of my clothes encountering any of these ‘unwilling to travel’ with me creatures. I take a pair of undies and a towel to the shower, I also lower my intake of water and chai, so minimal toilet visits.

We have a bit of a ‘fish feeding’ session late afternoon, with an inability to throw out far enough, because the line quickly comes back in with the incoming tide. We decide that we will only stay one night, due to the ‘facilities’. In the morning we decide we will again come to the beach with Gypsy and her ball.

Just a bit of a background on Gypsy – Mum had a heart attack 6 1/2 years ago and had bi-pass surgery. She was told to take regular walks and exercise, hence, Gypsy. Gypsy is Dad’s dog and they carry on with a mutual admiration and love for each other. In Dad’s life, it is Mum, Gypsy and the rest of us after that!

The morning dawns and is absolutely stunning. The beach is beautiful, with a cool lovely breeze. Dad is throwing Gypsy the ball, which unfortunately lands in the water, oh well, have to dry her before we go. The ball went into the water, again, and of course, Gypsy went after it. There was a small rip and of course, the ball went into it followed be Gypsy. I was luckily at the waters edge half watching her and half fossicking for my finds, and realised that Gypsy was going to get into trouble. So, of course I waded out and retrieved her in my clothes up to under my arms! The rip was quite strong, so it was very fortunate that I didn’t have to go any farther, as it was dangerous. All I could think about was how Dad would be if something happened to her. The ball and her lead (which was in my back pocket) went floating off into the sea, as they were replaceable. Must admit, I had a very shaky trip back up the stairs to reuse the dreaded shower again. An adrenaline rush I hope I never suffer again.

The countryside on the way to Broome is ever changing, dry and dusty scrub land to green farming properties with mainly cattle, also spotted some white/grey emus! 

We are stopping at Roebuck Roadhouse caravan park, 30 kms outside Broome, a nice tree covered little spot with great facilities😍! (Yes, it has a pool!!)

Mum is a diabetic and last night, she had another ‘hypo’, which was different to the others. Earlier in the night, about 12.15am, compared to 2am. She was a lot more co-operative with Dad and the glass of milk and cheese biscuit. As she was coming around, it touched my heart to see her stroke Dad’s cheek and place a kiss on it. My Mum loves to be in control, and she has genetically passed this on to me, so I understand this notion. This disease is in control of her, not her in control of it, which is extremely frustrating for her. Hoping there’s no more for the rest of the holiday.

We decide to stay five days (four nights) in Broome and have some more relaxation and rest.  


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