Sweet Mercy, Halelujah

Last night was horrendous. The wind roared up to gale force intensity and the campsite was drenched in rain. The walls of the cabin were bowing from the wind so badly that the bunk beds were shifting back and forth. I'm glad we eventually decided on the cabin instead of the tents; I reckon my tent would have been picked up by a gust and flung over the horizon.

In the morning the sky is overcast with dark clouds and it's still breezy but at least the rain has stopped. We climb up to one of the hilltop lookouts with a panoramic view of the town and harbour. There are several cargo ships in the harbour being guided in by tugs. The beachside resort we stayed at last night belies the true nature of this town as a major shipping port. They've done a good job of hiding that reality from the tourists.

We stop briefly at the abandoned fort facing the harbour. Built during WWII it served as defence for the town and as a command post for the ANZAC naval fleet. The original cannons and guns are still there although now only for display. Old material from the scuttled HMAS Perth is also on show. I'm not usually into war related exhibitions but I can't help to feel some empathy for the previous residents of Albany. The fear and uncertainty that ultimately created these war weapons must have been intensely demoralising.

We leave Albany to see the local coastal rock formations The Gap and The Bridge. The first formation is a natural funnel for waves and wind. We've chanced upon a perfect day to see this in action. The wind howls from the south, hits the rock funnel, and is then launched vertically out of the gap. Waves crashing into the gap are thrown tens of metres upwards by the concentrated wind. A precarious metal balcony hangs over the edge to let spectators get a better view. Of course this is also the best place to get drenched by the seaspray, as I quickly discover. National park rangers have a warped sense of humour.

Heading west from Albany I notice something really odd with my bike. It keeps leaning from side to side, twisting back and forth, almost as if.... sweet mercy... there are bends in this road! Dave has picked one of the roads from his Motorcycling Atlas. The ride is absolute magic. It winds through a forest and behind every inviting corner is another bend lying in wait. The camber and surface just begs the bike to go faster; sticking to the speed limit becomes a real struggle. After several weeks of straight roads disappearing into the horizon I was worried I'd forgotten how to turn corners but it's just like riding a bike, you never forget.

We stop briefly to tour the Valley of the Giants Tree Top Walk. This is similar to the Cape Otway Fly and I have the same reservations then as now with the concept. I don't consider it to be bushwalking when my feet never leave a man-made walkway. It seems clinical and tame. I entertain myself by shifting my weight on the suspended metal walkway until it's swaying from side to side by several feet. Dave gets seasick. I'm amused.

It's still early in the afternoon but we're now heading directly into the setting sun. Visibility is poor and I need to shield my eyes with my left hand. Rather than waste this brilliant piece of road we decide to call it a day in Walpole.