Day 9 - Ferguson Valley to Donnybrook

The morning of Day 9 is my most memorable. As dawn breaks we continue our journey along excellent forested single track through Wellington National Park. The air is crisp and the sky squeaky clean. Rolling farmlands, small dams and stunning coastal views of the Ferguson Valley greet us as we pop-out onto a country road.

Around another bend is Carlaminda Winery and restaurant, a sign touts, a lunch degustation of authentic French country cuisine and matching wines. Damn, its only 9 o’clock. I momentarily wonder if my companion can pass 3 hours patting the lamas at the gate.

Just down the road, we spy what looks like a country English garden replete with miniature lake and rowing boat. And further on again, is Lyndendale Gallery, its veranda’s draped in wisteria; roses haughtily luring visitors at the gate.

Along the circumnavigating concrete trail of Crooked Brook Forest, a sign tells of all the frog calls, although we see and hear none. A father and his daughter are locked in a duel with the spiky needles of a native Xanthoria.

We sit in the shade behind Boyanup General Store and greedily consume handmade plump pasties for a well deserved breakfast while we watch the local teenagers puff on fags in secret behind the shop.

At Donnybrook, after 20 kilometres of mostly boring road riding we head for the pub. A map dotted with wineries and other attractions tells why we are the lone diners of perfectly cooked local steak. My heart sings when I spot a cidery on the map. Donnybrook? Apples? Of course.

We gather supplies at the local supermarket and head off to “The River Company”. We arrive at 3:28, just minutes before the designated closing time; patrons retreated the staff are tucking into burgers on the veranda.

Jackie, our pommie host,  cheerily takes us through a tasting and I learn that cider was once currency for English harvest workers. I could write for cider, I think. We order a mixed box of Scrumpy, heady cinnamon “Mulled”, Sweet cider and apple port to be freighted home in time for Christmas.

We chat to the cidery owner, a former London chef and his locally born and bred wife who have recently taken up a license to run what was formerly known as ‘The Old Goldfields Orchard & Cidery’ from the retired founding owners. They have ambitious plans to turn this already well established business into an Australian icon.

With the afternoon fading and no camp site nearby we take up the offer of camping in the apple orchard. On dark, I venture to the farmhouse, and enjoy being pampered with hot shower, fresh towels, washed and styled hair (Jackie is an x-London hairdresser) and girly chats. At midnight under the dazzling moon light I wander the apple orchard, the hum of my companion’s snoring resonates from the tent.