If you surf, and you travel up or down the WA coast, you have to go to Gnaraloo (pronounced narloo), Red Bluff and (further south) Kalbarri. No questions. No discussion. You go. Apparently you take the family too, if they happen to be in the car.

So we left Coral Bay and the calm, clear water that covers the Ningaloo Reef and its underwater paradise of coral and marine life. You have to drive south down the highway to Carnarvon – refuel, groceries, water – and then go north again on the coast road.
First you get to The Blowholes. They’re just your regular spouting quirks of coastal rock formations. You get wet if you wait long enough.

The bonus of stopping here was the coffee van! (only 4/10) He also did burgers and squid. Nice surprise.
Then you go across private land, firstly Quobba Station, then Gnaraloo Station. The track is pretty rough and bumpy. They say you have to be an experienced surfer to ride these waves. I’d like to add “dedicated” to that. And you need a saint for a wife. Clearly John has all the attributes.
We pulled in to Red Bluff, on Quobba Station.

The camp sites are right on the edge of the sand, spread along a stretch of about a kilometre. There’s about 5 trees along this kilometre. They’ve also built a few beach shelters covered in palm fronds with imaginative names like “Green Room” and “Love Shack”.

I think they charge more to camp in these. Then there’s the proper tents, permanently set up. They’re a bit fancy, with their own toilet and water. I think they are for men whose wives aren’t saints.
We found a good spot, where the tent pegs got through the rocks, but not near one of the five trees. We’re faced away from the wind, and the solar panels get the afternoon sun. This is a good thing, because there’s no power, no water and no fire wood here. But they do have the best long drop toilets. They (the toilets) all have a great view, with just a bit of green shade cloth for privacy. Airy too.

Some would call this a desolate place. Perhaps the sheep that live here would agree. I’m confident the station owners are enjoying the cash economy of dedicated surfers rather than the price of spring lambs at market. The afternoon we arrived the wind was onshore. For the non-surfers reading this, that means no surf. It also means the flame on the gas burner was struggling to cook our dinner. But we fell asleep to the crashing waves of the shore break, so loud it sometimes woke us up. It sounded like the thump of a car crash.