This was at the end. Note the somewhat dazed expression.thesomewwhat
The walkway wobbled, by the way, and was quite slippery in the rain.
We calmed down a bit by a gentle stroll at ground level among the trees (called Tingles . . . REALLY? at over 40m high and up to 20m circumference, the word that best fits is 'tingle'?? . . . they're a kind of gum and share the forest with the good old Karri trees and the She-Oaks or Casuarinas that are also around in other places. The Tingles seem only to be in this smallish area of SW WA . . . probably got told not to go around intimidating the smaller trees, and, being all kind of Western Australian, really didn't want to disoblige). I kind of like these tingle trees (notwithstanding the inappropriate name). The fact that many of them have frighteningly shallow roots AND gaps in their buttressed bases, from insect or fungal attack, followed by fire, but keep growing, and their gap grows with them . . . kinda analogous to a positive way of thinking about getting on with things . . . in a hippy kind of way of course. But then we are in Denmark.
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So, after calming down, and a bit of a slightly freaky wander around an art trail (that responded to the big fight that happened in the 80s to keep this Walpole Wilderness area safe from the loggers) . . .
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. . . the next thing we did was walk to another high place, Mount Frankland, an old fire-watching tower that really was a 'mount' to get to the top. Before the last bit of the climb, there was actually a sign that showed a photo of the ladder you had to climb up the side of a rock and a note saying it was not for the 'faint-hearted or foolhardy'. Can you believe, also, though, that there was a sign on the metal towery-type thing at the very top, asking people not to climb it. Like you're not high enough yet?
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And then we also went to the more easily accessible lookout . . . which also had a wobbly metal walkway . . . and that rather disconcerting ability to look right over the edge and almost under your feet . . .
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So . . . after all that, we went wine tasting (and buying) at some Denmark winery cellar doors with a detour for some cheese, jerky and fudge buying, on the back road back to Denmark. Mistimed it a bit after a 'quick' lunch that took a bit longer to arrive than planned (but made up for it in ambience at the Nonalupbar (sic) restaurant just east of Walpole), so unfortunately the winery I really wanted to check out, Harewood, shut at 4pm and we were there just after. But we still managed a very respectable hoard of wines from Rickety Gate (a sprightly Sav, a remarkably quiet Chardonnay - yes, the first time we've gone for one of those in over a decade, and, not bought, but tasted the first EVER Riesling that didn't remind us of lemon washing up liquid) and Estate 807 (Bean's fav Sav, a nicely minerally one, though I'm not sure I agreed with the tasting notes that mentioned pea pods in addition to flint. . . but I could still have been a bit delirious from the adrenaline horror of the high places.)
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Ok, so one more night in Denmark, (did I say we're clearly a bit too used to camping as the floor seems to be the sitting place of choice . . .)
Then Margaret River tomorrow. A mere 3 1/2 hour drive and another cabin booked in the town caravan site as the forecast is for continued 'showers', which means mostly wet, with glimpses of lovely sun, but ultimately buggery cold and damp if one were camping.
The later start (ie no packing up of wet tent in the rain) means I get another run. Hope not to get lost tomorrow along the inlet pathway, as that was also a little odd (seems to be the Denmark trademark vibe) as I ended up in a kind of New Age holiday camp with A-frame shacks amongst the trees and a 'bush volleyball court' . . . kind of had to be seen to be believed. The rest of the run was splendid. Some hills (ah, lungs, there you are!), water, of course, and that pesky rainbow that's been stalking us for ages.
