The Hillbillies

3: Rotto and Rocky's Dog

Grandma would always come. She would stay with us but she would always have her own room. She wanted her own space you see. She loved Rottnest. She used to take Dad there all the time when he was little. Every night we would climb up to the lighthouse and watch the sunset. Then, while we munched on pizza slices or sausage rolls, Grandma would tell us all about Dad's adventures and how cool he had been.

Brodie and I reckon we would be great friends with Dad if we knew him at our age. He sounded like a fun person to play with.

Another marvel of Rottnest were its native animals – the quokkas. They were cute and round and furry and had big buck-teeth. They were protected by a bunch of laws so nobody could harm them. They were allowed to roam free all over the island and they were very friendly. It wasn't uncommon to find one or several inside a café or shop. They would come right up to you and eat out of your hand.

They were pretty popular with the tourists. You could always tell which people were the tourists too – because they'd go all silly over the quokkas. They'd crouch down super low on the ground and take heaps of pictures with them. We would always secretly laugh at them and their ridiculous poses. We thought they were idiots.

While most of the adults were out and about in the little township of Rottnest, we kids would bike down the narrow dirt track that wound its way down the hill towards the beach. Our snorkels and towels would be tucked into our bike baskets and our crocs would be in sports mode. Our bucket hats securely on our heads and smears of sunscreen across our faces, we would be ready for a day of fun in the sun.

We would spend all morning swimming and snorkelling and exploring the little rock pools. We would find shells and crabs and bright, colourful fish. We would see an impressive display of coral and seaweed and, if we were lucky, a turtle or two.

When lunch-time rolled around, we would dry off and walk up to the beach café overlooking the sea. We would count our coins – proud prizes from the chores we had done at home – and buy milkshakes and ice-creams and sandwiches. Then, our faces sticky with sugar, we would enjoy the warmth of the sun.

We all loved bike-riding so when we were tired of the beach we would set off and go exploring. We found lots of hidden wonders around Rottnest – sheltered bays, swimming holes, caves – you name it.

Rottnest was filled to the brim with wonder and beauty and we couldn't get enough of it. It was like our own personal playground – any kids dream. We would always especially look forward to our holidays there. Safe to say, it was a bit nicer than riding around the cul-de-sac in Perth.

Anyway, like I said, we went there for our Christmas holiday that year and it was there that we met Rocky.

It was when we went exploring around the coast that we found him, a brown, wrinkled old man whose face and arms looked like they were made of leather. He wore suspenders and a captain's hat and he carried a walking stick. He looked fierce and unfriendly. Lots of tourists had made up stories about him and how he had apparently stolen things and punched people. They were all scared of him. But they were just lies - none of them were true. He was just a big softie who loved dogs and telling stories.

He had a black and white border-collie who followed him around everywhere. Her name was Daisy – after his wife. She wasn't around anymore though, he told us. She had gone to the isle of wonderland.

We didn't know what that meant but by the look on his face, we knew better than to ask.

One evening, as the sun cast long shadows across the island, we kids biked down to the place where he kept his boat – in a secluded little bay on the west side of the island. And when I say 'we kids' I mean Brodie, Sam, Juli, Ren, and myself.