Cape to Cape Track, Western Australia

The Cape to Cape Track follows the sublime coastline of Leeuwin-Naturaliste National Park for 140 kilometres. We intend to start the walk at Cape Leeuwin, Australia’s most southwesterly lighthouse, and head north, past a glittering string of beaches, occasionally meandering inland through secluded woodlands and magnificent karri forest to end our journey at Cape Naturaliste lighthouse.

Day 1: Cape Leeuwin to Deepdene Campsite (17.5 km)

Yesterday it rained all the way to Augusta. Despite the forecast for more storms, we wake early to a blue-sky morning, sun streaming in the window. After breakfast at a bakery overlooking Flinders Bay, we take a taxi to Cape Leeuwin, the southern end of the Cape to Cape Track. The lighthouse here is the tallest on mainland Australia and still uses its original lead crystal lens. From high up on its balcony, you can see the swirl of water where the Southern and Indian oceans merge.

Taking the light keeper’s wry advice to keep the ocean on our left, we head off along the rocky shore, past sooty oystercatchers and crested terns and up over the sand dunes, following a path through fragrant peppermints with an understory of pink, mauve and violet wildflowers. The sun shines, not too brightly, and there is a cooling breeze off the sea.

We scramble down the Augusta Cliffs, their limestone outcrops lace-like with calcification and walk for several kilometres on the hard sand close to the water’s edge. Shoals of seashells, a seahorse, cuttlefish made jagged by predators. We stop for a swim in a reef pool on the edge of the vast ocean. Calm turquoise water, white sand, the beach all ours. A paradise. Later on, we come across a father and son fishing for whiting at Deepdene Beach and that evening we share a campsite with a Baptist pastor from Margaret River (‘Marg’ as the town is known by the locals).

Day 2: Deepdene Campsite to Hamelin Bay (10 km)

An early start and, with only ten kilometres to walk, the promise of a slow, sunny afternoon. We hear the ‘hoot hoot’ of an owl in the woodlands as we make our way back down to the beach, the sea silken in the soft early morning light, then shimmering. A string of pearly offshore islands and reefs all along the coast. A rare rock parrot, nesting swallows and sandpipers. A backdrop of dunes, pink with wildflowers.

The sea howling from deep down in the fissure of the limestone rock platform. A track that takes us up and over the vegetated dunes, stopping near Foul Bay Lighthouse for spectacular views north to White Cliff Point and south to the islands off Cosy Bay Corner. On to Hamelin Bay with its ruined jetty and eagle rays swimming close into shore. We take off our shoes, roll up our trousers and delightedly follow the rays through the water.

In the evening we spend time with three young women from Perth who are walking in the same northerly direction as us. They are knowledgeable about the natural history of the area and generous with their laughter and stories.

Monitor lizards and kangaroo tracks in the sand. The clouds gathering, then scattering.

Day 3: Hamelin Bay to Conto Campsite (22.5 km)

It rains intermittently during the night but we wake to clear skies and early sunshine. A six and a half kilometre walk on sand from Hamelin Bay to the northern end of Boranup Beach. The sea silken in the clear early morning light. Just us and a runner out and about. Off in the distance, four surfers appear out of the dunes and paddle out to a big wave break. As we climb off the beach we spot a pod of dolphins just beyond the swell of surfers.

We walk on, following a track through the forest that is strangely devoid of waymarkers. Sensing something amiss, we stop to check our map. Just then, a surfer on his way home pulls up and tells us that we left the beach too early and missed the turn to the Cape to Cape Track. Fortunately, it is relatively straightforward to rejoin it a couple of kilometres further on. We thank the surfer, his hands stained purple from blueberry picking, and head off, taking advantage of having strayed to climb up to Boranup Lookout from where we can hear the surf pounding two kilometres away.

A leisurely sunny lunch at the lookout. We can see right back to Cape Leeuwin, its lighthouse glinting white at the edge of the cape where the oceans meet.

For the remainder of the day, we walk in and out of banksia woodlands, towering karri forests and groves of flowering peppermints carpeted with tiny white wildflowers and delicate spring orchids. The salt scent of the first two days gives way to the minty aroma of gums and peppermints. A gentle breeze tinkling the leaves. 

We pass several walkers heading south, all but two doing the walk supported by vehicle drop off and pick up with a hot shower, lavish dinner and comfortable bed waiting for them at day’s end.

A family of six emus, skittish and regal by turn, struts through the Conto Campground in the late afternoon, stopping to eat seeds and drink water from the campground tap.

Day 4: Conto Campsite to Prevelly (16 km)

The moon still up, another beautiful blue-sky morning. Up out of Conto and out along the ridge of a limestone cliff. The sea turquoise and translucent. Views southwards towards Cape Freycinet and northwards to the unknown. We hear rumours of whales but all we see out on the horizon are heavily-laden container ships.

Down into Bob’s Hollow Grotto with its calcified stalagmites and on to the beach. Sooty oystercatchers, tropical terns, sandpipers and young hooded plovers. A pale tawny hawk out on the hunt, steadying itself then honing in on its prey. Beautiful and mesmerising.

Along Redgate Beach and the longer, steeper, softer-sand Boodjidup Beach as far as Boodjidup Brook where we turn away from the coast and follow the brook upstream, past grass trees and wildflowers and across a bridge to climb 365 steps up out of Boodjidup Valley. A hot trudge along a sandy 4WD track to a communications tower and down to the holiday hamlet of Prevelly where the Margaret River flows into the sea.

The one general store sells Augusta bakery pies and cold beer; a simple and satisfying late lunch. Everyone in the store except us is a surfer. Until now we’ve barely seen a soul all day. The occasional fisherman, a surfer, and three solo walkers: a Welshman, now a pharmacist in Perth; a German backpacker on an overnight walk; and an intense, agitated young woman who has lost her map and her way. Even though it is mid-afternoon when we meet her she is hoping to walk another 16 kilometres before darkness settles. We offer what navigation advice we can and wish her well.

Day 5: Prevelly to Gracetown (22.5 km)

A late, slow start. A sociable breakfast in the camp kitchen and a coffee at the general store. At low tide we wade across the mouth of Margaret River, the depth of the water a concern but crossing here avoids a long road detour. An osprey on its nest. A flock of Carnaby’s black cockatoos careening overhead. A day of lizards; dragons, bobtails, monitors. And, whales. Humpbacks off in the distance making their way to Antarctica, a southern right whale in close at Left Handers and a humpback breaching in the bay at Gracetown.

A swell running and the waves wild. Clouds building to an uncertain sky. Lunch under the peppermints at Ellensbrook Campsite, our halfway mark. We explore Ellensbrook Grotto and Homestead, its storyboard telling a tragic tale of the European occupation of aboriginal land. We make for the sea cliffs, the afternoon a spectacle of wildflowers. Regal red kangaroo paws, purple fringe lilies, pale-lemon grass tree spikes.

We follow the coast to the small settlement of Gracetown and come upon a poignant tribute to the nine people who were killed here when a limestone cliff collapsed on them. Children and parents, watching a school surf carnival. It must have been a dark day; such a small community and everyone seared by the tragedy. 

Trail talk has it that Gracetown’s one store is closed on Wednesdays but no one mentions the Sunset Club, which we discover opens on Wednesdays for locals’ night (‘non-locals also welcome’). We while away the time before the club starts serving food, talking to a walker who has called a halt to his ambitious plan to do the Cape to Cape Track in three days. He thought 50 kilometres a day with a heavy pack achievable but is crippled after a day.

Dinner eaten, we walk on, keen to clear town before nightfall. We find a secluded place to camp high up on the cliffs and sleep the sleep of angels, the waves operatic below us all night. 

Day 6: Gracetown to Yallingup (32.5 km)

An early morning breakfast on the rocks, the sunrise illuminating the landscape. Two red kangaroos moving between boulders burnt orange with lichen. The waves in the sea below us exploding as they collide with the rocky shore. The sand untrampled and whales for the watching. Awed by the majesty we are torn between staying and pressing on, today’s 32.5 kilometre walk a stretch for us with fully laden packs. 

Shrubs fragrant with citrus and mint as the morning warms. Miniature yellow banksias, mauve butterflies and pale pink bottlebrushes. Mist blowing in from the sea. Up and down sand dunes and sea cliffs and across slow-flowing brooks. Steeply descending and then ascending again. Sitting to rest our weary bodies every now and then and gaze westward across the Indian Ocean. Rocky granite headlands and weathered limestone tracks, tough underfoot. A flash of pink and grey, a folly of galahs. 

A friendly local stops to chat to us on Smiths Beach and tells of a beachside camping ground at Yallingup. The day’s end reveals itself; respite from the long hours of walking, the prospect of a hot shower and perhaps even a chilled Margaret River white.

Day 7: Yallingup to Cape Naturaliste to Dunsborough (27 km)

A sparkling early morning, surfers out on the break, swimmers gliding through the silken water. We leave our tent set up at Yallingup and walk lightly across the sand before taking the clifftop track to the Three Bears lookout. Stunning views out across the Indian Ocean. Whales off in the distance. On to Sugarloaf Rock, an offshore islet and summering habitat for the threatened red-tailed tropicbird, known for its sky-diving mating dance. We are stopped by a Lonely Planet photographer on the hunt for images of ‘authentic walkers’. We agree to be photographed, sign a model release and pose somewhat inauthentically for a series of shots. The beginning, and the end, of our modelling career.

The final six kilometres of the Cape to Cape Track is all smooth surfaces and gentle undulations, the wild sea and a lone tiger snake the only disturbances to the urbanness that prevails. The Track officially ends at the Cape Naturaliste lighthouse, a squat, limestone tower, graced today with clouds of dragonflies and a knowledgeable tour guide. From the top balcony of the lighthouse, there are breathtaking views of the Indian Ocean, Cape Naturaliste and the beautiful Geographe Bay coastline. 

We press on beyond the lighthouse, following the Meelup Track towards Dunsborough. Walking along the protected shores of Geographe Bay, the sea as still as glass, the sand white, the water turquoise. We stop for lunch and a glass of wine at a chic cafe nestled in the tea tree right on the edge of the Bunker Bay beach, the light and the water lulling us into a zen-like sense of calm.

We pass memorials to French explorers. Baudin, Picquet and Freycinet landed here in 1801, in search of good water. On across the red rocky ridges and through banksia and tea tree forests. Peregrine falcons on the hunt. Small offshore islands, astir with nesting seabirds. On eventually to Dunsborough and a slow unwinding of our seven days of walking. A taxi back to Yallingup and dinner and drinks at the very laid-back Yallingup hotel. We chat to the pizza maker who discovered surfing as a teenager in Italy and believes he has now found paradise far from his native home. A job in the evenings at the local hotel and more wave breaks to surf than he ever dared to imagine.

A walk of stunning coastal landscapes, spring wildflowers, whales breaching and dolphins surfing. Secluded beaches and shady groves by day. A waning moon and starry skies at night. The sea, always the westward sea, gently lapping the shore or pounding the rocky headlands. An Eden. A fine seven days of walking.