Having done dangerously little research, armed with only a rudimentary map and an unread guide book, we are on our way to Kangaroo Valley, nestled between Australia's Southern Highlands and the Shoalhaven region. Unfortunately, we have taken the Kangaroo Valley Road (Route 7), rather than the main road from Nowra. What was pictured on the map as a two-lane, divided road is little more than an overgrown, single-lane mountain pass. God forbid a car should come speeding down from the other direction. There is neither a shoulder nor a barrier guarding us from a precipitous drop into the thick Australian bush. To make matters worse, a fierce windstorm from a few days previous has left the road scattered piles of logs and brush. It is the perfect setting for a military training exercise.

At the wheel, my husband is having the time of his life, reliving his reckless youth in the Rocky Mountains. He tries to reassure me by recounting the time when he drag raced down the Sandia Mountains with no headlights on a moonlit night. I am ever so glad he shared this with me, especially within earshot of the children.

In the backseat, my daughters (ages 4 and 6) are oblivious to the vehicular fun up front. We have been in Australia for three days and, although we have seen lots of exciting wildlife, we have yet to see the highly prized kangaroo. The kids are certain that Kangaroo Valley must be the place. I consult the guidebook and find that Route 7 is described as an "exhilarating" drive. Life-threatening is more like it.

After gnawing half my cuticles away, we descend into Kangaroo Valley where the land is blessedly flat and the highway is clear of storm-strewn obstacles. Enchanting countryside blooms before a dramatic backdrop of mountain ranges. I am overcome with the beauty of springtime. Emerald fields, rolling hills, quaint shops, picture-perfect farms. In the cool morning air, I can relax and breathe again.

"Mommy, where are the kangaroos?" my 6-year old anxiously inquires.

Hmmm. Good question. I scan the countryside intently. Unfortunately, there appear to be absolutely no kangaroos in Kangaroo Valley at the moment. I decide to stall.

"Honey, remember, uhhhh, kangaroos are nocturnal. They're not going to be out in the middle of the daytime. Maybe they'll be out later."

My six year old grabs her "Facts about Kangaroos" book and begins to read aloud. I'm actually wondering the same thing myself. Where are all the kangaroos? The kids were expecting to see herds of them lounging about in the bush. Why do they call it Kangaroo Valley?

No time to worry about the lack of kangaroos. In the blink of an eye, we've driven straight through the quaint village and over the historic Hampden Bridge. My husband is now geared for another exciting destination, Fitzroy Falls. The kids are on the verge of mutiny. They are not interested in waterfalls. They want to get out of the car and search the bush for kangaroos. A minor riot ensues, but seniority does have its privileges. I toss a few Tim Tams in the back and we press on.

Fitzroy Falls is stunning after a brief, but welcome bushwalk. Over 81 meters of water pour down the Hawksbury sandstone cliffs, exploding into a mist among eucalyptus greenery.

"Mommy, where are the kangaroos?" my little interrogator strikes again.

"Ummm, well, I don't think kangaroos can climb mountains. I think they stay in the valley." That seemed like a good answer. "And besides, maybe they're afraid of the waterfalls." Another plausible excuse. I realize my little kangaroo-loving crew is growing grumpier by the minute.

We go to the main lookout and cover the West Rim Walking Track before deciding to turn back. The view of the Yarrunga Valley is breathtaking. Unfortunately, the children are less than enthralled. They proceed to bicker, whine, complain and completely ruin the moment. I seem to recall doing something like this to my parents after an all-day drive to the Grand Canyon when I was a kid. Parental payback is hell. Time for lunch.

Back in Kangaroo Valley, we have lunch at a most unlikely Italian bookstore/café, called Bella-something. Admittedly, this trendy place is a bit incongruent with the overall rustic atmosphere of Kangaroo Valley. However, the food is delicious and we indulge in un-Australian fare such as pesto, roasted garlic, and sun-dried tomatoes. A refreshing relief after a steady diet of fish-n-chips and meat pies.

After deciding that there are absolutely no kangaroos in Kangaroo Valley, I herd my dejected children back into the vehicle of torture.

"Maybe the kangaroos hibernate like bears," my younger one proposes.

"They do NOT!" my elder marsupial authority declares.

The debate ensues until we hit construction traffic on the mountain down to Nowra. Still working to clear the debris and mud from the recent storm, construction crews have made the road one way, stacking up traffic for up to 20 minutes.

"Mommy, I have to go potty!" my 6-year-old declares.

This is not a good time. There is no place to pull over and even if we could, there is no discreet place for a little girl to go. We are on a slim road with a steep drop-off to the right and a mountain wall to the left. Thirty cars are backed up behind us waiting for the construction crews to open the road and let everyone pass. Being caught with a kid out of the car when the gates open could cause an international incident. I tell my daughter to hold it, but as time marches on and the cars do not, the whining and pressure in the backseat builds. I silently curse mothers who have little boys. They have it soooo easy!

Just as I decide to treat the local Aussies to an act of American public indecency, the construction men open the road. Everything is a blur as we careen down the mountain. The promise of a nearby bathroom pacifies my daughter momentarily.

As we reach Nowra, I see the blessed Golden Arches just off a roundabout. However, in the desperate excitement of the moment, my husband overshoots the turnoff to McDonald's and pulls into a local car dealership. But wait! It appears that the McDonald's and the car dealership share a common parking lot on the backside of the building. I grab my daughter and make a run for it.

The Nowra McDonald's has the nicest gardening I have ever witnessed at a fast-food restaurant, including a garrison-like hedgerow. But, hell hath no fury like a mother in search of a bathroom. I climb through the hedgerow, drag my daughter through behind me, and walk in McDonald's with all the dignity I can muster as dining patrons gape. Just to make things more fun, I later learned that the highly venomous Australian funnel web spider just loves to hang around in hedgerows. Who ever said that motherhood was boring?

After two spectacular days of beach distraction and marine mammal conversation in Jervis Bay, we take up after the illusive kangaroo again. Gail, a good friend of ours in Sydney, had tipped us off that we might find kangaroos around an area called Green Patch in the Booderee National Park. In a moment of maternal decisiveness, I agree with my husband to go for a nocturnal approach at dusk, but veto the possibility of crawling around the bush in full darkness.

After a full day at the beach, the kids are tired and crabby in the backseat. My youngest starts to fall asleep as the sun begins to set. But my husband is a man on a mission. He's tired of hearing about kangaroos at all hours of the day. The kids are going to see a real kangaroo whether they like it or not. We drag them out of the car amid protests for bed and food. Feeling like a cruel mother, I begin to equivocate. Isn't this a bit tough on the children? Do they really need to see a wild kangaroo? Won't the zoo be just fine? My exhausted 4-year old slumps in my arms and my older daughter stumbles around bleary-eyed.

"KANGAROO!!" my eldest screams. "It's a real kangaroo!"

My youngest rockets back to life, jumps out of my arms and takes off at a full run after her sister. We follow the kids down to a dried out creek bed near the roadside, where there are indeed, four marsupials just casually hanging around. These guys are shockingly friendly and seem completely unconcerned by our presence. As we are near a campsite, I suspect the local macropods are used to getting handouts from campers. A smaller one hops up to the children and they pet his unbelievably soft fur. It is an astonishing moment and the girls are thrilled beyond belief. So am I. We have finally met the highly prized Australian kangaroo in his natural habitat.

"Mommy," my inquisitive 6-year old starts in as we drive for the beach house, "now were those real kangaroos or just large wallabies?"

In all honesty, I have no clue. "Kangaroos, honey," I answer decisively. "You definitely got to meet a real kangaroo."

Questions?
If you want more information about this area you can email the author or check out our Australia Insiders page.