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The Picnic At Wellington Dam Western Australia

We all at some stage got packed into the back of the Kingswood, elbows sharpened for battle, knees wedged against the front seat, and set off for another grand family picnic at Mundaring Weir, Serpentine, or Canning Dam. Dad drove, chain-smoking with the window down just enough to let the smoke swirl back into the car. Mum sat up front, armed with a thermos of tea and a look that could silence a backseat squabble at fifty paces. The esky rattled against the floor as we bounced over potholes, the ice melting prematurely because someone (Dad) had forgotten to freeze it overnight. In the boot, an assortment of questionable Tupperware held enough egg sandwiches and sausage rolls to feed a small army. And, of course, there was always one rogue banana that would turn to mush by the end of the day, leaving a sticky reminder of its existence on everything it touched. Arriving at the dam was always an event. Dad would pull up in the most inconvenient location—usually half a kilometre from the picnic tables—and declare, “This’ll do!” before making us all lug chairs, blankets, and the world’s heaviest esky through ankle-breaking terrain of gravel and rocks. The moment we set up, the real entertainment began. Uncle Kev, self-appointed BBQ king, would wrestle with a public barbecue that hadn't been cleaned since the late 1960s, while Mum frantically swatted at flies with a tea towel, muttering about “bloody bush budgies the size of mice.” After lunch, we’d venture down to the water, where the bravest among us would dip a toe in and instantly regret it. The water at these places was always arctic. Dad would wade in up to his knees, puffing out his chest and declaring, “It’s not that cold,” just before turning blue and retreating to his deck chair with a stubby. One of my best bush experiences, though, has to be seeing the mega mural on Wellington Dam. Back in the day, the dam was built to give people jobs during the Great Depression. Now, it's giving tourists a reason to head to Collie—besides the bakery, which is worth the trip alone. The mural, stretching a whopping 367m by 34m, is painted by some bloke from Queensland, Guido van Helten. Fair play to him—if I had to paint something that big, I’d need a nap or two halfway through. It’s a brilliant addition to WA’s Silo Art Trail, which runs from Merredin to Albany and Northam to Ravensthorpe, making road trips even more interesting than spotting how many caravans Dad could overtake before Mum gave him the look. So why not load up the Kingswood, whack on some Cold Chisel, and make a day of it? Better yet, pack the tent and stay the weekend—just remember to freeze the ice bricks this time or maybe you got one of them flash new Engels fridges there?