What if I told you that there is a region of Western Australia so spectacular that it almost defies belief? A place so wonderful that you could get lost in its beauty. A place were blooming flowers carpet rolling hills in majestic displays that stretch to the horizon.

Well, this is what I told Steph as we drove down the coast from Ningaloo Reef last year only to discover that my memory of the area from 8 years ago did not match the reality of what we were then seeing as the we pulled up the van.

We were at Galena Bridge, a cute little overnight stop on the North West Coastal Highway, and there wasn’t a wildflower in sight. Just the cracked and parched earth where, in my mind, thousands of flowers once stood. Had I imagined it all?

One of the pitfalls of travel is the notion that one can return to a destination and expect the experience to be exactly like the last visit. I understand this, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed as I took a photo of Willow next to the riverside trees that looked so barren amongst the dry land.

As we soon found out, it had been a particularly bad year for wildflowers given the drought conditions that had afflicted much of Australia. We spent a few nights at Galena bridge before Steph, Willow, and I arrived in Perth; I got a job, we found somewhere to live and life went on.

But this isn’t where the story ends. In fact, it’s just the beginning because for the whole of the last year the image of those wildflowers years and years ago has plagued my thoughts.

Oh, you should have seen it, Steph! Willow frolicking around amongst the colours. It was real, I promise. Steph was used to me going on about ‘this one time before I met her in 2016 when Willow and I camped with the wildflowers’. I’d told her the story many times and wanted nothing more than to share it with her.

The months went on and after an exceptionally wet winter, spring was just around the corner. This is it, I just know it.

We packed the van and headed North through fields and fields of bright yellow canola. The further we headed North the more abundant were the displays on the side of the road, as if every flower had been meticulously planted.

Moora, Three Springs, Mingenew; each town subjected to its own unique floral invasion. Whether there was a bakery or not determined whether we would stay the night there.

Back on the road. The bitumen a dividing black line between the vibrance of yellow canola and young green wheat fields. We found ourselves in a place called Tenindewa where the pink everlastings were as prevalent as the mosquitos.

A few days later we finally arrived at Galena Bridge. This is it, I told Steph, this is what I’ve been talking about all these years.

Steph got out of the van and saw it for herself.

I took Willow down to the river. Those barren trees were now engulfed in a verdant carpet of plants and white flowers. I got Willow to sit in exactly the same spot I photographed her last year, the foliage nearly covering her.

The river was now a beautiful blue and perfect for a midday swim. Up from the banks the carpets of colour continued with species after species of wildflower. Willow enjoyed sitting and listening to the birdsong and watching the flying insects – that was until it was time to come in for her dinner.

We stayed for a few days; we needed that long to take it all in. A faded memory from 8 years ago now rejuvenated, and for Steph, a brand new one.

When it comes to the pitfalls of travel, returning somewhere will never be the same. But this time it was even better; we now had Steph to enjoy it with us.