As the sky gradually cleared we followed Blackboy Hollow Road through bushland scattered with tall grass trees, climbing slowly up to a ridgeline with views over to the farmlands and houses to the east of the National Park. From here the track turned west with more views back out to the sea, a bright blue line at the end of the Boodjidup Valley.

A set of log steps led us down the steep side into the lush vegetation of the valley floor. The guide book says that there are over 300 steps - we counted 352 before we reached the bridge across the Boodjidup Brook. Fortunately there were only 35 steps up the other side before a narrow sandy path led us westward alongside the stream, giving our jellified legs a chance to recover from the descent. Soon we reached the sandy dunes, where the track and the brook turned south, the latter flowing between the hill and the large foredune for several hundred metres before breaking out through a gap into the ocean.

Dropping down to cross Redgate Beach, a nesting place for the rare hooded plover, we crossed Calgardup Brook in one large step and climbed back up the low cliff on the far side and into the shelter of a grove of gnarly old tea-trees set in a hollow. With the strong winds, it was the perfect place for lunch.

Continuing on up through the tea-trees, we reached a plateau which undulated behind the cliffs, gaps in the dense heath letting through glimpses of the sea and cold gusts of wind. Ahead of us, the landscape changed dramatically from textured greens to black and white; we were about to enter an area recently burnt by a bushfire (whose origin we later found out was a control burn gone wrong).

As we passed into the fire zone, the blackened skeletons of heathland shrubs contrasted with the bleached white limestone rocks in a surreal scene. However, the grass trees were pushing up their flowering spikes following the burn, some shrubs were already reshooting from their bases and a multitude of small herbs were starting to push through the sandy soil. The bush would recover!

The track led us to the edge of the cliff, where a short steep rock scramble took us down to a broad unburnt ledge that looked down through the tea-trees to ocean. Rounding the ledge, we climbed back up again to a shallow cave set in the limestone cliffs. We had reached Bob's Hollow and it was a good place to sit in the shelter of the wide cave, contemplating the endlessness of the Indian Ocean.

A short steep climb up a set of wooden steps brought us out from Bob's Hollow to the start of the tallest cliffs of the walk, reaching 80m above the dunes and ocean below. It is also brought us back into the burnt out zone, which was a pity, as this section is described by the guidebook as "the most spectacular" of the track.

The cliffs were certainly impressive, but our attention was more focussed on the dark shapes out to sea. A set of rain squalls was moving rapidly toward the coast and we were in the middle of a completely burnt out area with no shelter at all. So began a race along the cliff edge as we headed south, while the squalls headed east (not happy, control burners!!). We outdistanced the first two and, with luck, reached the only unburnt patch of tea-trees for a long way around just as the third squall hit the coast.

Rain over, we finally found ourselves heading inland again, leaving the coast and the fire zone for Conto Camp, a very pleasant spot set amongst the trees of the interior forest, complete with picnic tables, fireplaces and sheltered kitchen areas. Just before we arrived, a fourth squall sneaked up behind and dumped on us - oh well, 3 out of 4 ain't bad!

We set up our tent, recovered our food stash, and life was once again good. The storage fee for the food was quite cheap too; only one bag of nuts eaten by the bush rat who lived under the grass tree. That night we sat around a camp fire, exchanging stories with a pleasant couple from Tasmania, but not for long. It had been a tiring day, our longest so far, and the comfort of our sleeping bags was calling.

Nature smiles on the Gnoocardup forest

The road began a long and steady climb up and out of the karri grove; we passed a solo Cape to Cape walker, only our third such meeting in five days, perhaps not so surprising as most people do this walk from north to south. The flowers of the forest are more subdued then those of the heath, but in recompense the vegetation is multi-layered and there is always the hope of spotting a rare orchid.

Flattening out on top of the plateau, we found ourselves walking down a corridor lined with weeping peppermint and arching peas, their branches covered with white and orange/maroon flowers, respectively. The edges of the track were scattered with pink, and occasionally yellow, orchids.

Turning westward again and changing roads, we climbed steeply up and out of the cool shade of the karri forest into a low and more open eucalypt and peppermint woodland. The roadside here was lined with tiny paper daisies and other microflora as we crossed a grass tree hollow and headed up to a junction leading off to Boranup Trig, at 194m the highest point on our walk.

It seemed unreal that the highest point on our last big walk was 4940m! Leaving our packs at the junction, we made the short detour up to the viewing platform at the trig to look out over the vast sea of green that was Boranup Forest.

Returning, we resumed our undulating path westward and then south again. We descended slowly through the mallee-like woodland, surrounded by the low hum of a myriad of pollinating insects providing their services to the flowering plants that lined our path in the warm midday sun. Turning westward once again the descent became steeper as we followed the Boranup Beach Road once more to the sea. Halfway down, a spectacular view opened out over Hamelin Bay with its island of the same name and protecting reef. It was a good place for lunch.

The route down through the dunes to the beach was steep and spectacular, eventually breaking out onto the Boranup Beach through a narrow gap. Before us lay the superb sight of 6.5 km of white sand stretching all the way to Hamelin Bay.

On a sunny day with a cooling breeze this should have been a pleasant stroll, but much of Boranup Beach is steep and the sand is very soft - the trip down the beach became a hard calf-burning slog through deep sand, coupled with a few sections where we dodged the waves in a desperate attempt to walk on firmer intertidal sand.

The only real way to deal with such a stretch of beach is zen - focus on the target (the white cliff at the end of the bay), align your breathing with the ebb and flow of the waves, emancipate your mind of negative thoughts and before you know it, you are at the old ruins of Hamelin Bay Jetty, climbing up the wooden steps to the shady green comfort of the Caravan Park, the only development in this quiet part of the southwest corner.

Quickly crossing the 800m of soft sand beach to its south, we climbed steeply up and over a frontal dune to pick up a fisherman's access track in the shady hollow behind. A sandy footpath soon left this track and took us over a series of short steep climbs and shallower descents as we slowly worked our way up the heath-covered back dunes, eventually reaching rockier ground and a steady climb up to Foul Bay Lighthouse.

From the lighthouse (and several points before) there was a superb vista back over Hamelin Island and the path we had taken down the long sandy Boranup Beach. To the south, we overlooked a pretty little bay nestled in to Knobby Head. Across the headland, foaming white breakers crashed on to the rocks and reefs of Cosy Corner, a stark relief to the deep blue of the sea.

We could have stayed longer, but, despite the sunshine, the southerly wind was getting a little chilly. We pushed on down the main lighthouse access track, briefly turned coastward down Cosy Corner Road, lined with blue-flowering heath and golden wattles, before once again heading bush along a sandy 4WD track. The track undulated southward through the tall heath, before turning to the sea and the beautiful rocky islets of Cosy Corner.

Dropping steeply through the dunes, we emerged at the start of an impressive limestone platform. We followed the narrow platform, eroded into bizaare shapes by wind and water - sets of weirdly shaped towers and deep solution holes that sometimes penetrated several metres through the undercut rock, so that you could watch the surges and listen to the air being sucked in and pushed out by the ocean swell.

Deep fissures in the platform had led to several blocks collapsing at strange angles, adding to the curious landform. It was fascinating as we picked our way slowly across or around this platform, emerging at the northern end of Cape Hamelin. As we climbed up on to the cape, we passed an area littered with beer cans, bottle tops and assorted plastic; white man's midden! At least it was one of the few times that we have seen such a sight on this walk.

From here we crossed the red rocks of Cape Hamelin - there is something about the contrast of red rocks and deep oceanic blue that really strikes a chord! As we reached the southern end of the cape, we saw for the first time our target, the tiny white silhouette of Cape Leeuwin lighthouse, beckoning 18km to the south. Several stumpy-tailed lizards were out sunning themselves on the track as we passed a small rockpool-like bay, crossed a short section of heath and emerged at the start of the long sandy stretch of Deepdene Beach.

Long trudge in the deep soft sand

Passing broad flat sections of beach and others where the sea had recently cut right into the dunes leaving only a narrow steeply sloping sand shelf to pass by, our reveries and musings took us quickly along and we found ourselves at the start of a long limestone platform, eroded and broken into jagged forms. The track crept between dune and rock for over a kilometre, before climbing around Granite Head, where the way in which the limestone had been laid down over the granite bedrock was very evident. Around the headland, the now not-so-distant lighthouse re-appeared to encourage us on.

 

This led us back for one last shorter stretch of soft sand before climbing up and over the dunes to avoid a sharp cliff face - we had reached the start of the Augusta Cliffs.

The path took us through low heath along the lower cliff edge, before climbing up into taller heath as we worked our way above the higher cliff-line to the south. After a short detour to take in the splendid views up and down the coast, we pushed on following a new line of track, recently slashed into the 3m high heath.

For 4-5 km we followed this, as it snaked through the heath behind the cliffs. It was a bit like walking through an endless heath tunnel, with no pleasant spots to sit and rest and only the occasional glimpses of ocean beyond the plant canopy. Perhaps this was appropriate, as we had developed a tunnel vision ourselves, focussed primarily on the ever-nearer view of the lighthouse and the end of the walk. For the only time in our 8 days out, we found ourselves wishing that this part of the track would end.

Cape Leeuwin across Skipy Rocks and Quarry Bay

Eventually it did, breaking out onto another viewing point at the southern end of the Augusta cliffs; but it was not the view over the sea that caught our eyes, but the view behind us to the inland. Above the heath-covered hills a curious brown cloud, the colour of a smoker's lungs, was spreading towards us and the coast. As we ate our lunch, it fanned out above us and out to sea, sucking the blue colour out of the ocean and casting the world in a curious orange glow (later we found out that it was a band of smoke that had resulted from an aerial control burn in a National Park to the east).

From here it was but a short stroll up the road to the lighthouse and, suddenly we had nowhere else to go - our Cape to Cape experience was over.