Marching Orders - Cape Le Grand National Park, WA

It takes time, to find the emotional distance one need's, to re-tell a traumatic story. Finally, I am ready to write about the first and only time Caz and I have been kicked out of a national park. 

And not just any national park, but the stunningly beautiful Cape Le Grand in the south-west of Western Australia with its granite peaks and deserted white sand beaches, its turquoise ocean; whales frolicking in deep bays, its unique flowers decorating the low heathlands and our overnight off-track adventure that was, at the time, an absolute joy.

On our first day in Cape Le Grand National Park we explored a few formed trails -  short walks to Lucky Bay and Hellfire Bay and then the spectacular granite dome of Frenchman Peak with views across the vast, grand landscape. Granite peaks and headlands towered above the coast while out to sea lay a hundred isles of the Recherche Archipelago. 

Pigs in mud, I said to Caz, as we gazed at the potential walking opportunities stretched out before us. 

On our second day in the park we had a late start, slowly packed up camp, and made our way across to Le Grand beach, Driving past the open, granite-slab headlands we eagerly discussed options for walking the beaches, crossing headlands, camping as far out as possible for a night of pure solitude. A decision was made that Mount Le Grand would be our first overnight trip – a short little pack walk up the peak, sleep under the stars then cross south and follow the coast back to the car. 

So, we parked at the Le Grand Beach carpark, packed overnight backpacks, ate a quick lunch, and set off east along the Coast Trail. The Coast Trail is one of the few  marked walking tracks in the park. It extends 15km from Le Grand Beach to Rossiter Bay via Hellfire Bay, Thistle Cove and Lucky Bay. We had discussed the trail walk with one of the Rangers earlier in the morning. The conversation should have given us an indication of the ‘different’ kind of attitude prevailing in the park at the time. 

In summary, we had arrived late the previous night and so put our camping money in one of the self-registration envelopes at the park entrance. When the Ranger made his usual rounds of the campground at 9am, his comment to us was: “Well, it had better be there. I’ll be going straight out to check, you know.” It didn’t feel like the most friendly of welcomes. He then asked us to tell him what we intended to do for the day. At that stage we had no idea. I mentioned the Coast Trail. He replied: “if you are walking the trail you can only camp in the campgrounds and leave a note on the dashboard of your car so I know, watch out for tiger snakes, no fires anywhere in the park, don't mess with kangaroos.” 

Then he said: “Right, I’m off to wake that couple up over there. I love catching people who think they are leaving without paying.”

With the Ranger's abrupt voice ringing in my ears I spent a good amount of time (before we left on our overnight walk) re-reading the park brochure and carefully reading the signage at Le Grand Beach car park. I could find nothing that said off-track walking was not permitted and nothing that suggested if we did venture off-track we couldn’t camp out in the wilds. So, off we went. Pigs in mud, I declared again, happy as. 

The Coast Trail skirted the base of the first headland. Not long on, we passed another of Western Australia's unique bushwalking experiences – a sign that reads "Bee Risk Area". It boasts a big, red exclamation mark followed by a list that reads “Beware of: Bee swarms, Bees in rock crevices, Exploring alone”. 

In South-Western Australia the European honey bee has become a feral pest species that threatens the viability of native flora and fauna. In dry, rocky areas, such as Cape Le Grand, the bees make their hives in rock crevices, and can occur in large numbers when the heathlands flower profusely in spring and summer. We encountered a few bees, busy doing their bee thing in the flowering spider hakea, and we encountered one other couple running down the track flapping their baseball caps claiming they had been “chased” off the mountain by bees. So, we walked cautiously, remained vigilant, and saw no more bees than in my mother’s garden.

Not far past the bee risk sign, the coast track dropped into a slabby, rock gully where a nice little creek was flowing. Here we turned right, using the bare rock as an easy path to the summit of Mount Le Grand, the highest peak in the park at 345m. There were several rock cairns dotting the slope, indicating many others before us had braved the bee risk signs and headed off-track and up high. Walking to the summit was a sheer delight. The slabs were grainy, fissured, with good grip, even up the seemingly 'too-steep' parts. We kept stopping to wonder at the forever-of-fun to be had here as the view improved the higher we climbed. 

Pretty skinks and dragons raced over the rocks and dived for cover as we passed. Towards the top, one large goanna, about 50cm from tip to tip, disappeared into a perfect tunnel beneath a small rock. We spent about an hour exploring the summit north and south seeing red banksia flowers, tiny wattles, ti-trees in bloom, buttercups and orange peas. The view was amazing. The eastern flank of the mountain dropped away forming a big bowl of granite. To the south, and west, deserted white beaches were tucked along the coast and there were so many islands visible off-shore, big and little; some, nothing more than rock bomboras. 

We enjoyed a clear, superbly-starry night atop the peak. Sleeping in our bivvy bags, I lay awake for half an hour not wanting to close my eyes to the brilliant sky. In the morning, heavy dew pooled on the surface of the bivvy bags but we used the early sunshine to dry everything on the rocks. It was a leisurely morning and through the silence of the still air I heard what sounded like a boat dropping anchor.  I searched the coast with my binoculars. Not a vessel to be seen. Instead, a whale, playing in one of the bays. Its heavy breathing and fin slapping made enough noise to drift up to us in the clear air. 

As a return route to the car, we zig-zagged down the western side of Mt Le Grand and onto one of those gorgeous beaches. The clarity of the water was exquisite, almost excruciating. In the morning heat, it looked tropical. At sea level, the ocean appeared less benign; big waves and dumpers crashed ashore. The water was freezing cold. But, there was not a single footstep in the sand. 

We walked to the western end where a zawn forced us into the dunes to cross back over to Cape Le Grand Beach East. As we weaved our way through the heath, sticking to the granite where possible, I spotted a half-opened Purple Enamel Orchid just a few centimeters high and tucked in a sunny, sandy open patch of heath. We again came across several rock cairns and followed them for a while before losing their bearing at a wall of ti-tree. This thick, 10m wide patch of scrub was our worst obstacle, but once through we were back on the easy rocks all the way to the coast and then along the rocky shoreline (with some climbs and one wet slippery section), arriving back at the car by 1pm. I was all smiles. It had been such a relaxing, easy, accessible and beautiful overnight jaunt. 

On the car windscreen sat a handwritten note under one of the wipers. It read: "We are concerned for your safety, please report to the campground hosts". Ooo. Pigs in s**t, I said to Caz.

I am going to share here an abridged version of the subsequent email we sent to family to let them know we were safely back from our walk. It retains a greater sense of immediacy, the gut reactions we had, to what happened next. In between these email extracts, I have written a more distanced account of what transpired.

 The story we told family goes like this: 

In case we don't make it across the border before the authorities catch up with us…can you get someone to crowd-fund a good defence barrister, preferably Chris Murphy, he's handled some pretty serious, underworld criminals like us.

Can't believe we got kicked out of a national park! Us nature lovers, greenies, national park advocates were asked to leave Cape Le Grand National Park by the head ranger. So, we are now hot-footing it for the SA border .... looking nervously in the rear view mirror. 

In case you want more detail of our crime, here it is... We went for an overnight bush walk, off track, across some amazingly beautiful granite slabs, slept up on top of a mountain and then walked in a loop back to the car via untrodden white beaches lapped by crystal clear blue water. But, we left our car in the car park overnight without telling the ranger!!! (Like we have done in just about every other national park we have ever visited!) We returned to find a note under the windscreen "We are concerned for your safety, please report to the campground hosts". 

After we had thrown our packs in the car, and had a quick bite to eat, we wandered down to find the campground hosts to let them know we were safe and we told them we were heading back to Lucky Bay campground for the night. They suggested we should wait by the car as the head ranger wanted to talk to us. Sure, we said. 

It took us about 3 minutes to get back to our car and the head ranger had already arrived. (Was he waiting in the bushes? With a road block somewhere on the access track? How did he get there so fast?). 

As he stepped out of the car he said: “So did you two sleep on the beach last night?”

No, I declared. I couldn’t contain my excitement about our beautiful walk. I happily told him all about what a great night on the mountain we had, the views, the beaches. From the ensuing conversation, however, we got this impression: 

From the first comment, it was obvious they assumed we had camped on the beach to dodge the $20 campground fee. They actually drove along the beach in the dark with a big spotlight looking for a pair of old washed up hippies smoking joints and twirling their dreadies naked in front of a bonfire on the white sands of Cape Le Grand Bay. Caz reckons the junior Park Ranger, who we nicknamed Curly the Great White Hunter, given half a chance would have pulled out the tranquilliser gun to sedate us before putting a tracking collar on us. 

We tried to explain ourselves, that where we come from you can go walking and camping off-track in all national parks without telling anyone other than our emergency contact person. The conversation that ensued involved a lot of bulls**t about us possibly being stung by bees or bitten by a snake. 

I still have a clear memory of one section of the conversation.The head ranger said ‘you can’t just go off walking wherever you want’. We replied, (probably rather too quickly) that you can where we come from. He asked why we didn’t tell the caretakers at the campground where we had gone. I don’t think we even had an answer for that question. Why would we? We have a family member who receives details of all our walks in case of an emergency. Then he said, we didn’t know where you were, and I’m sure you can see it from our point of view. We both hesitated, I said ‘Ummm, well, sort of’.

Ah, pigs in mud no more. Our email to family said the following: 

We tried arguing that none of their signage or brochures suggested off-track walking was not possible but the head ranger was so "concerned for our safety" he suggested we leave the park or he would fine us.  His bureaucratic explanations for being a wowser were extensive. Then there was the overstepping of personal space as the Ranger argued with us and threatened us with the fine and police involvement. He suggested we head to Cape Arid NP instead….knowing full well the park was actually closed and a 150km round trip. 

The moment he told us to leave is etched deep in my psyche. He had asked us where we intended going next. I replied we wanted to return to Lucky Bay and camp the night and then explore that end of the park. We had yet to see Rossiter Bay. His reply was, and this I remember verbatim; “I think it would be better if you left the park. But if you want to stay I can issue you with the $125 fine each.” He asked to see our drivers licences and he claimed he had already contacted police in Esperance and had rescue services on standby on the assumption we were in trouble. 

Neither of us revel in confrontations. But, we are free spirits. When I was thinking about how to end this piece I looked online for some inspirational quotes or a clear statement supporting the public's right to public land and more particularly our right to privacy and self-reliance. 

Instead, given the timing of this post, with Australia Day just passed, I ended up thinking of Darryl Kerrigan in the Australia movie The Castle, when he says: "I'm really starting to understand how the Aborigines feel!" He was talking about how a man's house is like Aboriginal connection to land ("It holds their memories, the land is their story, it's everything, you just can't pick it up and plonk it down somewhere else."). I'm talking about the indignation Aborigines must have felt (and still feel) when told them they can no longer walk here, or visit that spot over there, or climb that mountain for a night of peace and solitude. 

There are many campfire discussions to be had from our experience: individual rights versus public order, our obligation to obey ‘rules’ versus ‘laws’, the role of national parks and the public's access and use of them. I will leave these discussions for more distilled minds than mine but say, there is absolutely no doubt that Cape Le Grande is one of Australia's most spectacular national parks. The final paragraph of our email to family says it all:

Still, one of the most stunning bush walks we've done yet, and it turns out, our last in WA. So, here's some pics from "Our Last Walk in WA" also known as The Unlawful Adventures of Caz and Chrissy or "How to P**s off a Park Ranger in less than 24 hours". 

Lots of love from the Fugitives. 

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