Confessions of a Free Range Prolapsed Catholic

It was January 2001. I drove my new car 1,079.9 k from my home. I travelled alone. The middle of summer. The little town I stayed in was Foster and the gorgeous little cabin was called Wattle Cottage.

I’d been told to check out Fish Creek because the hotel was huge with an enormous fish on its roof. The first time I went there it was the middle of summer. Could have fried the fish on the roof of my royal blue car. I had been to Tidal River and worshipped at Whale Rock perched above the tannin stained ( from the tea trees) water. It is complete peace. The return trip to Wattle Cottage is not far.

It was a boiling hot day. The aircon packed it in. It was like being a broiling chicken and I was lost! The Kooweerup swamp viewing platform rises up over the wetlands. No satnav in 2001 but lots of roundabouts. I viewed that viewing platform repeatedly, each time on different sides, while my right arm absorbed the suns rays till I covered it with a beach towel!

Finally – a sign to Fish Creek. Had it morphed into “Nirvana” I would not have been surprised! And there it was! Enormous hotel in the tiny village. The enormous fish greeting me with ” I’ll just light the oven” ( totally unnecessary in view of the 40 degree temperature!) Big bellied locals checking out the broiling extraterrestrial- me – “only bird in the place and we get this?” almost printed on their foreheads!

“I’ll have a lemon squash, thanks”

It took me four and a half hours to find Fish CreekI arrived at Wattle Cottage. Crisp air. Glorious silence. Total, absolute peace.