The Husbands

Early starts are not good for the Wandering West Australians more so the wife of the duo with Mr Clarkie not to far behind. I note this because we decide to head to Great Kepple Island for the day which requires us to be up at six am, have the glampervans packed and ready for our next destination and out of our site by 7.30 am. Now when you say six am it seems pretty clear to those of us that have set the time that there is not much room for negotiation….unless of course you are someone who does not like to get out of bed without the ritual of slowly waking up, slowly adjusting to being awake, realising that you are awake and then having a cup of tea bought to her in bed whilst still adjusting to actually being fully awake. So the negotiations begin the night before…

Mrs Clarkie “so what time are we leaving”

Us “7.30”

Mrs Clarkie “and what time do we have to be up again”

Us “6”

Mrs Clarkie “is that really necessary”

Us, “yes”

Mrs Clarkie “how about 6.30”

Us “this is not a negotiation”

Mrs Clarkie “are you sure, couldn’t it be later”

Us “no”

Mrs Clarkie “6.15 should be plenty of time”

Us “not going to happen”

Now smothering someone is not conducive to maintaining a friendship so she’s a very lucky girl. She resolves to get up at the allotted time but is clearly not happy about it.

We are up, on time. We leave the glamper vans hooked up in the car park. We arrive on the island and it’s turquoise blue sea with swaying palms trees. We are looking forward to some swimming, snorkelling and maybe a little exploring. Now back in its day Great Kepple Island was a resort filled with 18 year olds with raging hormones set out to party hard and drink themselves stupid and eventually take home the shirt that stated “I got wrecked on Great Kepple Island.” Not any more. Today it’s filled with a couple of houses, a souvenir shack, a bar and a couple of places to stay.

We head to the shack, have a couple drinks, do a bit of browsing when the husband spies a map of the Island. He advises us not to swim on the perfectly beautiful beach directly in front of us because apparently Monkey Beach has “way better snorkelling”. Ok we say, we commence what we thought would be a quick beach to beach walk where in the how can I kill my husband today stakes I had plenty of time to plan his gruesome death, I’ll tell you why. We started a gentle climb, not to bad at this point, a little difficult as we were wearing thongs at the time, we go up and up, the weather is warm and only Mrs Clarkie had thought to bring water because I at no point thought we would be trekking. We see a sign, yay we are here…negative, the beach track heading downwards which looks ok is NOT the right beach for perfect snorkelling according to The Husband. We continue on with promises of its not to far, “Ive seen the map”.

Now this is no small hill, this is not strolling but climbing, up and up. Now early on Mrs Clarkie and I established we are not a fan of stairs, steep inclines or anything that may bring on a cardiac arrest. We commence the complaining and the questioning. Where actually is the beach as we are climbing up, the higher up the further from the water was a fairly valid comment made by Mrs Clarkie I thought. The Husband who was muttering at this point comments such as “never heard so much whinging” and the reason he’s about to be pushed off a cliff “it’s good for your thighs”… “meaning what” I say. This is hard going and not enjoyable in the least, our thongs are slipping and our tempers are becoming a little frayed.

After climbing for what seems a calf burning 4 hrs we reached a sign, finally here we are, Monkey Beach, we look down. Now if you thought up was bad, down looked death defying with no water insight. I swear to drown him at the end when he says “well you can go back if you want to, you didn’t have to come” During the trip Mr Clarkie had solicitously checked on Mrs Clarkie, not The Husband that would mean admitting defeat. Even when Mr Clarkie pointed out that this part of the island would be windy making snorkelling pointless, The Husband did not agree, because they said the “snorkelling is better here” I decide to power ahead. I liken the decent to a slip n slide. By this time I have heaped a significant amount of abuse at The Husband who by now is way behind me, I can see the sea, I’m hot so this better be worth it.

I emerge from the bush, it’s blowing a gale, the ocean is dark and choppy, I want to kill him. I find a spot, sit on the sand, The Husband emerges, I point out the state of the weather, not one to give in he states that it looks fine to him, we wait for The Clarkies and wait and wait. Oh crap we’ve killed them or they are stuck like mountain goats on the hill. I receive a text message, “can’t make it, turning back, meet on original beach.” I read text to The Husband “Oh well” he states, “we can snorkel then head back” …really… it’s blowing a gale, the water is black and The Clarkies have the snorkel gear…. I commence the climb.

On the way back the bush resounds with the sound of my voice heaping abuse at my still lucky to be alive husband. Finally emerging on my own as I made The Husband walk ahead of me, I find The Husband and The Clarkies cooling off at the original beach, no wind, perfect snorkelling conditions.

The rest of the day on the island is lovely, relaxing. The husband has apologised although reluctantly and The Clarkies have survived.

We catch the boat home, jump into the glamper vans where The Amarok fires into life, The Clarkies Jeep on the other hand is dead, toes up last rights dead. Now if I tell it honestly we also had left the plug thingy, inserted to the glamper van instead of disconnecting it so it’s pure luck that we are not in the same boat with the life sucked out of the battery. The petrol station across the road won’t lend us jumper leads as the last person he gave them too stole them. At this point Mr Clarkie is calling the RACQ. The lady states the guy would be here in 15 mins. Mrs Clarkie queries the address given as Mr Clarkie had mentioned the marina. We were not at the marina we were at Roslyn Bay, yes there were boats but it was no marina. Mr Clarkie states that he gave the right address. Half an hour later our plans of arriving an hour and a half up the road before dark are gone, the $27.99 jumper leads are looking good but rejected by the Clarkster. Mrs Clarkie has asked several times did he give them the right address, Mr Clarkie stands firm (another husband about to bite the dust). After several requests Mr Clarkie resolves to call and when he states to the operator that the last lady said they would be here in 15 they laugh and say “we would never say 15”. Finally the RACQ man calls, he’s lost, did Mr Clarkie say the marina because he can’t find him. Mrs Clarkie is justified should she choose to have the jumper leads attached to his nipples.

We start, we are off. I know that for Mrs Clarkie this hour and a half won’t be easy as she hates driving in the dark and am not surprised to find she sat on her hands the whole way. We hit the pub that we are free camping at, have a good home cooked meal. Mrs Clarkie and I head to the caravans for a shower in the glamper van, I can’t make the pump work, tell my husband off who has remained at the bar and shower in the public showers. Mrs Clarkie notes the low pressure in the shower but gets in, lathers up and the water ceases, she, like I had previously done calls her husband at the bar. Ummmm he’s forgotten to fill the tank there is no water and she has to remove the soap scum with baby wipes. Needless to say both husbands on their return did not fall into the loving arms of their wives. There was a statement written from a wife that said “Tell me again how loudly I loaded the dishwasher while you were watching the football, the detectives will want to know exactly how this went down” There’s a lesson there, just sayin.