From Mars-like Pinnacles to vibrant coral reefs: A journey beyond Perth

My road-trip buddy Andrew spots them first: four emus, trotting beside Indian Ocean Drive, 40 kilometres north of Perth. The eucalypt forest has given way to desert scrubland, peppered with stunted banksias and black native grasstree. We've just got clear of the city but already we're on the edge of the desert. Any place north of Perth, you're on the edge of the world.

The last time I drove Perth to Coral Bay was in 1995, a university student behind the wheel of my 1979 UC Torana. Today it's more comfortable, if less stylish, as I pull into Pinnacles Desert Drive, 188 kilometres north of Perth, in a rented 2020s Ford Puma.

"Nearest thing to a Mars landscape. Maybe we should get used to it," Andrew adds cheekily. Our warming planet. We've discussed the least-worst options. "It's yellow sand, not red, but anyway I imagine this might be closer to a lunar landscape." The Pinnacles stick up everywhere, thousands of them, one to three metres high. They look like an extinct reef, with marine shells clearly visible in most. This was an inland sea 25,000 years ago, although specifics around the creation and exposure of the Pinnacles remain subject to debate.

By the time we reach the town of Kalbarri, 570 kilometres north of Perth, it's nearing sunset. Andrew picks his way among the coral skeletons to find the odd patch of bare sand at Blue Holes, one of the few safe spots for a paddle.

On our first Kalbarri morning, we find that the clifftop lookouts just south of town haven't changed - Natural Bridge, Pot Alley (a craypots reference, not jazz cigarettes), Island Rock and Eagle Gorge, where Andrew and I scramble down a rocky 250-metre hiking trail for a quick and treacherous swim.

I'm keen to acquaint Andrew with the ocean end of the 82-kilometre-long Murchison river, and the Murchison Experience seems ideal, as it takes in historic Murchison House Station (with its circa 1860 shearing shed), before a canoe paddle and campfire dinner. Guide Randal insists that music on his tours features WA artists, so we settle in riverside with Broome's Pigram Brothers, Aboriginal storytellers whose folk and country tunes dreamily accompany the early evening stars.

Kalbarri National Park is 35 minutes' drive away, but we might as well be taking a trip to another planet. The Murchison carved out 80 kilometres of gorges millions of years ago - a joy for hikers, staggeringly hot in summer, and best experienced by dropping over the edge of a cliff. Andrew and I meet abseil guide Col at the Z-Bend carpark, where we hike to the gorge and then suit up with gloves, a helmet and harness. We've soon conquered the 25-metre and 35-metre cliffs and, grinning like adrenaline-filled schoolboys, we follow the trail to where a chill swimming-hole dip awaits.

It's another 15 minutes' drive to Nature's Window, the hole in the sandstone rock that brings visitors from around the world. Andrew tackles the nine-kilometre Loop Trail from here down to the river. We also stop by the Kalbarri Skywalk, opened in June 2020. Besides the inevitable procession of tour buses and the odd annoying drone, it gives everyone disabled or mobility-challenged a spectacular overview of the Murchison gorges. The Skywalk isn't lit at night, but it is still freely accessible then, when it can be a jaw-dropping spot to view the constellations of the Milky Way.

We've chosen to bypass Shark Bay and its controversial dolphin feeding at Monkey Mia, pushing on instead for the seven-hour drive north to Coral Bay. It's an ideal opportunity to argue about music, and we're kept company by PJ Harvey, Nick Cave, Radiohead, the Stranglers and Warren Zevon, so things could be worse.

The spotter planes are aloft next morning for our first snorkel trip to Coral Bay's outer reef, but the sought-for manta rays are nowhere to be seen. "Aye well, amazing corals and fish," I say stoically. We've seen blue-spotted rays, a cleaner wrasse "station" where parrot fish lie motionless to have parasites picked off, a green turtle flapping lazily by. And from the boat, four pods of humpback whales, tail-slapping and frisky as they surge north on their migration from Antarctica. Just as I'm looking out for more tell-tale spouts I see my first ever dugong, a nut-brown marine mammal, surfacing to suck down a noisy lungful of air.

Coral Bay is 2.2 square kilometres, and the easiest way to view a fair bit of it is via glass-bottom snorkel boat. As a self-appointed climate-change Grinch, I expect we're all doomed, but as a SCUBA diver who's seen plenty of dead, slime-covered reefs, I admit these are astounding - resilient, flourishing. Lots of boulder, cabbage, plate and brain corals. And staghorn forests everywhere, blue-tinged underwater briar patches that protect shoals of tiny colourful fish.

Andrew has scarpered back to Sydney and I'm up for a solo overnight stay at Bullara Station, 45 minutes' drive north-east from Coral Bay. Sadly, a desert sky festooned with stars is not to be, as cloud cover closes in. But Friday night is "burger night" at Bullara, and the 400 guests camping or dossing in the converted shearers' quarters have brought plates and camp chairs and now it feels like a music festival. There's even a bloke on a stage, strumming his way through Johnny Cash, Waterboys, Beatles and Hoodoo Gurus covers, while kids run amok or dance wildly in the red dirt.

With the sloop pointed south next morning, I have eight hours of driving accompanied by some energetic rock'n'roll (Cold Chisel). A day-flight from Geraldton is not, strictly speaking, part of a road trip, but I've never been to the Abrolhos.

When I was a student in Perth, the Houtman Abrolhos Islands were near-mythical: boat operators didn't visit, and its tiny population of fishermen guarded their lobster catches and privacy fiercely.

Aboard the "Fly Gero" six-seater plane for 20 minutes, it's already apparent I needed to see the Abrolhos from the air. These 122 "islands", some barely a swirl of sand, would have been a nautical nightmare before an accurate measurement of longitude became possible in the late 18th century. Today, ramshackle huts are clustered tight together on a few tiny atolls, with jetties poking out all around like spokes on a wheel. And these are islands that harbour a dark and terrible secret. Until the Titanic sank in 1912, the Batavia, which ran aground here on Morning Reef in 1629, was the world's most famous shipwreck: mutiny, mayhem, and murder most foul, wrought by a proper madman - a barely believable tale, although several books do it justice.

Pilot and guide for our snorkelling day is Ryan, who has flown over every inch of these islands. "There are 62 identified shipwrecks scattered around the Abrolhos, but it's likely there are dozens more," he says. "The Batavia itself is visible from the air, but it's on the ocean side of the reef so you'd need perfect conditions to snorkel."

I've got six hours of driving ahead of me, Geraldton back to Perth, but I just finished reading my book on the Batavia so now have one of history's remarkable tales to reflect on.

Getting there: Fly to Perth, then drive 1120 kilometres north to Coral Bay via the Pinnacles and Kalbarri; or fly onward from Perth to Geraldton, then drive one hour 45 minutes to Kalbarri (this option bypasses the Pinnacles).

Getting around: Any vehicle will do as the roads are sealed.

Staying there: Kalbarri Edge Resort has studio rooms and family apartments for about $180-$300. Bullara Station (45 minutes' drive from Coral Bay) has options from unpowered camping sites to permanent tents and lodge rooms, for about $36-$450. Note: most visitors are required to BYO drinking water. The Gerald Apartment Hotel in Geraldton has studio rooms and family apartments for about $200-$350. kalbarriedge.com.au; bullara-station.com.au; thegerald.com.au

Explore more: kalbarriabseil.com; themurchisonexperience.com.au; mantaraycoralbay.com.au; flygero.com.au; westernaustralia.com

The writer was a guest of Tourism Western Australia.