Margaret River
By Stan Morse
March 5, 1998

After three days of writing, and archiving digital images from the train trip, it was time for a reward. I boarded a bus in Perth for the five-hour trip to Margaret River.

This wine region, situated on a peninsula at the southwestern corner of the continent, is as far from Washington State as you can get . . without boarding a boat.

Green rectangles of vineyard quilt only a small fraction of the brown hills. Where grapes haven't taken over, you find cattle, horses and sheep grazing the rolling hills and shallow valleys, often in fields bordered by old-growth stands of eucalyptus.

The wine industry is a relative newcomer here. In the early 1960's a vacationing American winemaker became curious and took soil samples to a laboratory for analysis. He discovered the Margaret River region was perfect for growing grapes. Shortly after, Vase Felix became the first of an industry that now totals 51 labels.

Most varieties thrive in this mild climate, allowing growers to plant different grapes side by side. It is not uncommon to be served Merlot, Shiraz, Chardonnay, Cabernet and Reisling, all at the same cellar.

I found the wines smooth on my palate, with intricate bouquets. Most vineyards are small, with high attention being paid to quality. The region may produce only 5% of Australia's wines, but it boasts 25% of the country's premium vintages.

Add surfing, excellent ocean fishing and a laid-back lifestyle that accommodates everyone from backpackers to the gentry, and you have country-living at its best.

I stayed at the Boodijup Lodge, an Aboriginal word meaning: "Place of little black ants." No ants were evident. But we were repeatedly visited by a pair of my favorite Australian animal: the kookabura, who woke me early each morning with their joyous banter.

There was nothing fancy about Boodijup. I had a single room, but shared bathroom and shower facilities. It was quite workable, and for A$25.00 (about US$18.00) per night I wasn't complaining. The other guests were gentle-natured, sometimes interesting, mostly young, and respectful of privacy.

On the second day I took a winery tour. As we headed back near sunset, I spotted six large kangaroos in a field. It was only my second kangaroo sighting since November. If you have the impression that Australia is overrun by kangaroos, it isn't. At least, not the thousands of miles I've crossed.

I took another tour the following day. We ended up at a promontory overlooking the Indian Ocean. The sun was sinking into slate-blue water highlighted by emerald-green bands. I wanted a picture.

But when I asked for my backpack, which held my camera, I got a blank look from the guide. "What backpack?" he asked.

My gut turned queasy.

We searched, but the backpack wasn't there. And the English couple, who were the only others on the tour, said they hadn't seen a backpack.

I remembered showing my digital camera to the staff at the Tourist Bureau, where I'd caught the bus. Between then, and half an hour later when I boarded the bus, I had lost track of the backpack. I don't remember removing it from my wheelchair, but I must have. No one could have taken it from the chair without my knowing. I might have taken it off and left it inside the Bureau; I might have taken it off when I boarded the tour bus. I can't recall.

I learned a lesson: never let something important become "routine". My backpack had become so routine that I couldn't remember taking it off my chair. If I'd been thinking about it and not let it out of my sight, it wouldn't have disappeared.

I filed a police report the next day. And walked the street, asking merchants if they had seen or heard of the backpack, hoping some good-intentioned person had picked it up, or dropped it off with someone to deliver to the police. But no one knew of it.

On the camera's memory were two pictures: me transferring onto the steps of the first tour bus, and a panorama of the vineyards. I'll never be able to share them. That also hurts.

I left Margaret River with a sour feeling. I fretted for half the trip back to Perth, then decided to stop punishing myself. This was like that night I spent at the L.A. airport; it was a mistake, but I'd survive.

The following day, Camera City in Perth gave me a special price (after hearing of my project, and my loss) on a new Kodak DC120. I paid the equivalent of what a mail-order camera store in the U.S. would charge -- about US$700.00. I want to thank the staff at Camera City. Cameras are expensive in Australia. I'd been afraid it would cost me the US$1,100.00 I'd seen it listed for in Sydney.

I now try to look upon the loss as a blessing in disguise. It may save me a greater loss, like my computer, or my wallet. Or maybe my life. I'll let nothing important become "routine" from now on. And I won't let anything out of my sight.