Walpole WA Camping: A Week at Nornalup Inlet

If you’re planning a trip to Walpole and wondering what camping at Nornalup Inlet is really like, here’s a firsthand look. We spent six days based at Rest Point Caravan Park — boating, fishing, and soaking in one of Western Australia’s most peaceful estuaries — discovering it’s about far more than just what ends up in the esky.

Margo and I had been talking about taking a proper camping trip for a while. Not a quick overnight. Not a squeeze-it-in weekend. A real break. Every year, we promise ourselves we’ll carve out the time to disappear somewhere quiet, somewhere coastal, somewhere that lets the shoulders drop and the phone stay face-down.

We’re good at day trips. We manage the odd weekend. But a full week away? That takes intention.

This was nothing like our overnight stay in a Monastery.

This time, I took leave from work and committed to it. We pointed the car south-east and drove the four-plus hours from Mandurah down to Walpole, tucked into Western Australia’s Great Southern region — a place that still feels like it belongs more to wilderness than to people.

Margo knows the area well. She grew up visiting and fishing regularly with her family while living in Albany, just an hour up the road. I’d only seen Nornalup Inlet once before, during the dispersal of her parents’ ashes in 2022. I was skippering a large houseboat filled with guests at the time — responsible, focused, unable to wander off and chase fish where instinct said to go.

This trip was different. We brought our own runabout with us and booked into Rest Point Caravan Park, right on the shores of Nornalup Inlet. The plan was simple: launch the boat, anchor it in the shallows near camp, fish during the day, and return at sunset.

There was one small hiccup.

Our boat is slightly larger than most at the campground. The “ramp” at Rest Point is more a gentle earthen slope than a formal launch facility. To float our boat, the entire trailer would need to be submerged — not impossible, but awkward without a jetty to step onto. With high sides on the boat and knees that don’t bounce like they once did, climbing aboard from the water wasn’t an option. Practicality won out. We launched from a nearby concrete ramp with a proper jetty each day.

Problem solved.

And once on the water, any minor inconvenience was forgotten.

Setting up camp came first. The tent. The bedding. Kitchen gear was set out. Margo even got to rescue her first feather from the site and filed it in an appropriate, well-seen place (like she always does ;)).

Nornalup Inlet is impressive. It covers roughly 11 square kilometres and forms part of the Walpole–Nornalup estuarine system, connected to the Southern Ocean via the Walpole River channel. It’s tidal — though gently so — and its depth varies from shallow margins to channels reaching around 3 to 5 metres. The water shifts constantly in tone, depending on tide, wind and tannin flow from the surrounding karri and jarrah forest. The entire area sits within Walpole–Nornalup National Park and is jointly managed by the Western Australian Department of Biodiversity, Conservation and Attractions, along with the traditional custodians of the land, the Noongar people. It feels looked after — and respected.

Day one delivered in spades. Black Bream came aboard steadily. King George Whiting followed. Skipjack (Skippy) added some welcome weight to the esky. By afternoon, we had more fish than we needed, so we shared some with a neighbouring camper. In return, a bottle of wine appeared at our table that evening — the kind of easy exchange that only happens in places like this.

Day two slowed. Day three wasn’t spectacular either.

But fishing was only part of it.

The inlet changes by the hour. Early mornings brought mirror-flat water reflecting the sky so clearly it felt like boating through clouds. Midday light deepened the blues. By late afternoon, the forested hills along the shoreline glowed amber and green. The scale of it sneaks up on you — broad open water bordered by untouched bush, no housing estates creeping down to the edge, no noise but wind and birdlife.

It’s large enough that you can move around and feel like you’ve discovered a new corner each time.

Back at camp, Rest Point Caravan Park lives up to its name. Established in the 1950s and still family-operated, it has grown over the decades without losing its simplicity. There are around 70 powered and unpowered sites, along with cabins and on-site vans, all spread across gently sloping lawns shaded by mature trees. Kangaroos graze casually between tents. Ducks patrol like they own the place. Birdsong starts early and runs all day.

Amenities are clean and practical. There’s direct water access, a small beach area, and that modest boat launch. Nothing flashy. Nothing overdeveloped. Just enough.

And that’s the appeal.

Even on the quieter fishing days, we never felt short-changed. Some sessions produced fish; others produced long drifts, quiet conversation, and the simple pleasure of being adrift in a place that doesn’t demand anything from you. The tidal flow subtly reminds you that you’re connected to the ocean, yet sheltered from its force. Safe water, open space.

By the end of six days, something shifts internally. Work feels distant. The constant churn of routine fades. Your senses recalibrate to wind direction, light angle, and water clarity.

Rest Point isn’t about adrenaline. It’s about easing back into rhythm. The name fits.

We packed up reluctantly, boat strapped down, esky cleaned out, tent folded with that familiar mix of satisfaction and mild regret. There’s something grounding about towing your own boat, launching it yourself, solving small problems, sharing fish with strangers, and watching an inlet breathe in and out with the tide.

We’ll go back. I’m certain of it.

Next time, maybe the fish will cooperate every day.

But even if they don’t, Nornalup Inlet has a way of making the trip worthwhile anyway.

–Michael (Dark Fiction. Author of SEETHINGS (the first book), free for a limited time)