8 May 2013 - Shark Bay Caravan Park, Denham, Peron Peninsula, Western Australia

I was wrong. It was not the end of the storm, merely an entrée and one promising greater things. It rained but mostly it blew; the extra flapper straps Chris had put on in the late afternoon were not enough to stop the movement of the awning. We had visions of it being snapped off the caravan and blown across the park, trailing the guy ropes like tentacles. But it was not until nearly 9.30 pm, just before the end of a nail biting mystery was winding up and the television reception just disappeared, that we decided to do something about the awning. Out we went, into the howling gale and horizontal driving rain and took it down, finishing up wet through and surprise, surprise; cold. Cold is not anything I have felt all year however a hot shower soon put paid to that. We remained in the dark about who had done it, the murder that is.

We sat up far too late listening to the storm and waiting for Chris’ sister to come on line; she had sent a message several days ago that she needed to talk to us. We have yet to co-ordinate online moments.

This morning on waking we found the rain gone but the wind no less fierce. I suggested to my husband that it would be foolishness to leave and take to the roads in this wind, particularly with a caravan in tow. He agreed. We paid for another night.

And how should we fill our day? By returning to the World Heritage Discovery & Visitor Centre and taking in the museum section, and so very glad we did. What a wonderful place it is, the exhibits well displayed and so much to see and read. There were a couple of DVDs playing with short verbal stories and explanations and we enjoyed every bit of it. It should be the first port of call for any body interested in Denham and Shark Bay, and not just here to feed dolphins at Monkey Mia.

It was here we learned that the gleaming white “ocean cruiser” seen across the water yesterday would have been, in fact, the great piles of salt being mined at Useless Loop, which has been going on since 1962. Here we read over and over of the “wind sculptured sand-heath”, a description so much better than anything I had come up with to date.

We topped up with diesel and there were told by the proprietor who has lived in Denham for six years that he has never known winds like these. Checking online I learned the winds were blowing at 35 kph, gusting at 54 kph. Blue skies were visible from time to time, but deceptive. Heavy rain is forecast for tomorrow.

Along the foreshore three big fishing boats lay moored at the wharf, the sea slopping across the boards. Several small yachts anchored out in the normally safe and sheltered bay,  lurched about in the waves. Without any real seawall, I reckon that it would take little more for the waves to lap at the shop fronts, with the yachts and other craft following close behind.

Back at camp we pulled the awning out and removed all the tree debris caught in last night’s haste, then put everything properly away for departure tomorrow. The winds are supposed to die down before the morning and it is time to move on.