20:39.40S 116:59.53E
Yesterday, here in Te Opu, Rob was busy. He telephoned Travis who lives in The Ritz, the other little homestead not far from the main house and Shipton. Travis has sold all his young bitch’s puppies, one to Perth and the rest within Kojonup. Within minutes of the phone call Rob and Travis were wrestling the new giant gas cylinder into place; Travis works at the building suppliers and so knew exactly from where Malcolm procured his gas supplies. So we are now literally cooking on gas again and our little camping stove has been returned to its box.
As soon as Rob returned from town he hitched the White Falcon up to a green trailer, he had a choice of three and decided the green looked best with the white bodywork, and trundled up to the paddock behind Skipton where we had done the log splitting if you remember. He loaded all the remaining logs into the trailer and brought them to the house log shed and re-stacked them so they would dry off a little before they were needed. There are not many left from all our log collecting when we first arrived, but the rest should last longer as we are not burning any at Shipton anymore…….
During the night after our Windjana Gorge day I awoke suddenly around 2.00am to the smell of cigarette smoke in our room and the sound of Scruffy’s soft voice just outside in the courtyard, “Section 20 of the ……………Act, within three hours…………” is what I could make out and there were some defensive grunts, in French, from the offenders. The smell gradually dissipated and I went back to sleep.
The next morning I was chatting with a young man who is a diesel mechanic for Rio Tinto, he was between contracts for a few days having just finished work on Koolan Island. He mentioned how Rio Tinto would sometimes clear up the land they had finished with, re-shape it and plant native trees so that after 5 – 10 years the area would be ready for tourism. Similarly where they have built ports for the loading and export of their ore they would leave these so they could be used for military or civilian purposes.
Of Karijini and the recent blowing up of the caves sacred to the aborigines, he said he had known them to cordon off an area of special interest and mine all around it and then when the interest had died away they would simply mine through it. They will take out the ore on the northern border of the Karijini National Park over the next forty years and then he suspects they will be done with operations in Australia. They can do this because they took out the mining rights before the area was designated a National Park. And like illegal tree-felling at weekends or when the authorities are otherwise distracted, once the saw and the dynamite have done their job, there is no going back.
We had a relaxing extra day in Broome, a stolen day to do some blogs and go for a walk in the afternoon to Matso’s, a pub of great character and very popular with locals and visitors of all ages. Built as a branch of the Union Bank of Australia the building has been moved twice in its life and been re-born as a general store in the time of the pearling industry and more recently a café and art gallery with a tiny experimental micro-brewery. The present owners extended the brewery which is now elsewhere, in bigger premises as the beer is so popular it is sold all over Aussie.
While we sat looking out to sea a very strange optical illusion took place in front of our very eyes and it wasn’t caused by the beer, although it was very nice. On the horizon there appeared to be a band of low lying land with a few irregular features. Rob looked on his phone at Google Earth to see there are sandbanks separating areas of deeper water. So this land started to disappear from right to left quite quickly, more quickly than a rising tide could submerge it. A few minutes later it started to reappear from left to right, with the same irregular features. A quite weird phenomena that repeated itself and had us confused.
So the next morning we dragged ourselves away from this little oasis in the heart of Broome, gave Bojack a final fussing and headed off on the road westwards, back across the Great Sandy Desert along the Great Northern Highway with our next stop already decided. We lunched on Rum and Raisin chocolate and a mug of coffee from the Pardoo Roadhouse where we sat and chatted about where to stay the night. There was the odd rest area we could use, but we would arrive with a couple of hours of travel time left, which seemed pointless. So we decided on the devil we knew and I gave the Discovery site at Port Hedland a ring, knowing what a nice camp it is and we booked in with ease. Then for the following two nights I phoned the sister site in Karratha because we wanted to check out the Aboriginal rock art and the Dampier Peninsula. They also had plenty of space, so that was the next three nights sorted. I was conscious that the school holidays were coming to their end, so wanted to make sure we had a spot for our little tent in this popular holiday area.
We chatted with friendly fellow campers; one man camping with his wife and sons was moved by the ruthless nature of RT’S operations. Like others we had spoken with including the lad in Broome, he felt RT should be spending a lot more on services for the people their mining processes adversely affected; he also felt we were moving into a world where prejudice against white men was creating a toxic society and his efforts to do well through his education and to achieve a good lifestyle for his family was being undermined by groups with political axes to grind who attain success by bullying and not by their own skills. I felt for him. One dear family member lost his job to a woman who did a substandard interview and had no experience but got the job because the company needed to redress the balance of male/female employees and appear politically correct. That’s an insult to him and patronising to her. But I suppose it is a rough road to redress the gender inbalance.
Another topic of conversation in camp is always ‘where are you heading?’ We were clearly grouped under the heading ‘grey nomads’ thousands of whom head north in Western Australia away from the cooler winter. Ours was a brief voyage of discovery whereas many around us were there for months before they would venture south and home for the summer.
Westwards again towards Point Samson because Malcolm said they did very nice fish and chips at the restaurant on the headland. We had a little look around the harbour area first. It was a tiny shelter for fishing boats and Border Force Vessels and one or two private yachts. Most of the residents and holidaymakers trailed their boats and launched down the boot slipway, keeping them safe in their driveways at night in this pleasant holiday and second home resort.
We sat in the Tavern and looked out to sea at all the ore ships anchored and waiting to be guided into the long jetty for loading. The jetty was a short distance from the headland so there wasn’t the lethal build-up of red dust everywhere as there was in Port Hedland. I wondered what it was like for the crew on board, imprisoned for months on end and now not allowed ashore because of Covid.
There didn’t seem to be much in the way of visiting sailing vessels around this coast. Many yacht clubs we drew up near were closed and looked as if there had been no activity for a long time. The numerous yachts who transit Australia through the Torres Strait must head straight off westwards or north to Indonesia from Darwin without the intention of making further landfalls. There was a nice anchorage in the lee of Point Samson in case anyone is interested.
So that was our lunch time venue and we drove the short distance to Karratha and pitched the tent before returning to the I-Site we had passed as we approached the town. With charm and efficiency the lady there booked us onto a guided artworks tour the very next morning at eight Am., so that was perfect. We explored the area a little, returned to the camp and spent a couple of hours relaxing outside our tent listening to the worst verbal assault of a young person I have heard for a long time.
Next door were a family of mum and dad and three girls. The ‘dad’ pistol-whipped the oldest girl with cruel words constantly causing her to plead with her supine ‘mum’ to help her. This inept bully laid hollow threats of a beating with his belt, sending her to stay with her grandparents and calling her father to tell him to come and collect her, which said it all really. He did none of these things but in the end she went into her tent bedroom just to get away from him. It was hot, she must have roasted in there poor lass. I hoped she would hang in there until she could leave home.
Clinton Walker and the Ngurrangga Artworks 22:59.01S 114:36.47E
We arrived back up at the lookout behind the I-Site and looking down on the town of Karratha and beyond, early and enthusiastic the next morning. The other popular place to view these ancient pictographs is in nearby Murujuga National Park but that place was closed at the time of our visit because improvements are being carried out to protect the objects and area with boardwalks, Clinton explained. He was happy to be showing us the little known ones which are numerous in the hills around and are protected by their obscurity.
Just before our small group followed him onto the narrow rough track a lady turned up in a four by four and Clinton gave her a 1.5 litre plastic bottle of a pink liquid. He had made up the medicine the night before when she told him the problems her daughter was suffering with her eczema. He pointed to the tree from which he had taken a slice of the bark and made the infusion. He told the lady the liquid was for external and internal use and then told us about medicines known to his people that actually destroys cancer cells. Sick folk in his mob have been for a western diagnosis and then treated the illness with their own medicine and when they have returned for further treatment the cancer has disappeared.
Clinton is cousin to Walter McGuire with whom we had spent a morning in Perth if you remember, and he is another wise man who knows all about the plant and medicinal values of the local flora.
More importantly to the lovely children in the group, two girls of which already knew lots about aborigines, were the flowers and berries that were sweets to the aboriginal children. The extraordinary and luscious red flowers are Sturt’s Desert Pea and by squeezing the deep purple centres Clinton revealed the inner part of the flower where the sweet nectar can be found. On low green bushes he pointed out the ripened red berries and he encouraged the children to suck them and spit out the pips so the plant would spread; as you can imagine the children had no problem with this. You can see from the photos how the children grouped around him sensing his warm, friendly and interesting personality. Even his wife will not let him have a boat in which to go fishing because it might sink under him!
Surrounded by 360 degree views over the coast and countryside we progressed uphill towards the rock pictures carved out of the dolomite rock and thought to be between 40 and 80 thousand years old. Clinton is standing beside a carved record of a family and on a separate photo you can see their dog, kept for protection, which helps to give a rough idea of the age of the picture. The dog is a Tasmanian Tiger; they have striped bottoms and are thought to be extinct, although they used to roam all over the Continent and were the first domestic dog of the Aborigines before European breeds were introduced.
Trying to keep in order, the rock showing what looks like two arrows pointing upwards is in fact an emu walking downwards and the next picture with what appears to be two feet with a long groove in between is a kangaroo in transit. Then there is the picture depicting a carnivorous kangaroo that used to walk on all fours and has long been extinct. After the picture of Clinton with a group of children and in the distance with blue sky and the blue flower is an echidna, like the one we saw in the wild in Tasmania, a big hedgehog like creature with porcupine-like spines. There was a bounty of durable recordings of past lives out there in what looked like a hostile area but was in fact home for millennia to the most ancient race of humans in the world and how good it is that the knowledge of the past is being spread and preserved right now and for the future.
A number of us lingered around Clinton back in the car park, not really wanting this special experience to end and realising that he had given much more of his time than we had paid for. The topic of Rio Tinto and their policies is never far from any conversation in this region and the mood in our group was one of disgust at their arrogance. I don’t bring up the subject but people seem to be harbouring pent up frustration that this one company has little or no regard for the health and welfare of the people they affect and no regard for what is held as sacred to the aborigines and of immense value to the history of man.
Eventually we made our way towards Dampier and found a place that would be a very pleasant stop over for a yacht travelling west across the Timor Sea. A vast, safe estuary revealed a number of yachts on moorings and of course one can ‘clear out’ from Aussie at this port, by arrangement with the Border Force. Rio Tinto built the town as a closed town for the employees of their Mount Tom Price mining project at the west end of the Karijini National Park, but it is slowly opening up for tourism as a seaside resort too. We found a welcome at the popular Dampier Seafarers Centre for a snack lunch with the Spinifex Pigeon for company. I wondered what this place would be like in years to come once Rio has left the continent. A vacuum of valuable facilities with potential for a variety of uses, both civil and possibly military.
A Fortescue Roadhouse Breakfast
I will leave you to imagine why we were on the North West Coastal Highway by 06.40am the next morning, leaving behind a snoring neighbour in the campsite; Karratha and Dampier on our right and the ancient dolerite and quartz Karratha Hills on the left; suffice it to say that such an early start deserved a hearty breakfast and we were not disappointed at the Fortescue Roadhouse as you can see. In fact Rob’s only frustration was he couldn’t finish his plateful.
At road works we chatted to the young lad out from Perth who was holding the Stop/Go Slow sign. He worked 12 hour shifts for 4 weeks out of 5 on this contract and spent the off week exploring the area he was in, so we told him about the Seamen’s Centre in Dampier and the rock drawings we had seen. This length of road was also used as an emergency runway for the RFDS (Royal Flying Doctor Service) but we were out of luck as far as that experience goes. Malcolm’s car is fitted with an LPG tank in the boot and we used a little on this section just to make sure we got to Exmouth ok.
We had been looking forward to some snorkelling on the Ningaloo Reef thinking we’re in the tropics so it will be warm, just like in Fiji, but had a rude surprise of chilly wind blasting in from the North West over the whole area. In the big, but clean and accommodating campsite people were packing up to leave to find somewhere a little warmer and more sheltered. To make the most of our time and as soon as we were pitched, we drove northwards from Exmouth to beautiful Bundegi Beach to see the wreck of the SS Mildura which pitched up onto the corner of the reef in 1907 during a cyclone. You can read how that event was formative in the decision to build a lighthouse nearby. She was carrying nearly 500 head of cattle and although they were released and given the chance to make it ashore, sadly few survived.
The beach itself was a wonderful cornucopia of shells, living sea creatures and birds. See the massive sea snail in the shell Rob is holding; I remember seeing shells of this shape before but tiny by comparison. Funny how all the emphasis is about getting offshore and seeing the reef and the whales when there are items of wonder right at one’s feet.
We drove to an elevated position nearby and, along with a handful of other folk bracing against the wind, watched humpback whales outside the reef just as we had watched them a few weeks before off Middleton Beach in King George Sound near Zoonie on the opposite coast of the continent. Guess we’ll be watching them from Zoonie next.
Then it was to the Lighthouse at Vlamingh Head where we learned that the European history of this place started barely 150 years ago and its (once American until 1992) Naval Communication Base is gaining in strategic importance by the day. Ningaloo Reef and its inhabitants is now a global tourist selling point.
Back in camp we decided to try the American themed Country and Western Pub over the road for a country western concert, beer and a pizza before experiencing the windiest night in the tent yet. The opposing sides of the tent fabric didn’t quite meet, but they weren’t far off and we were sandwiched in between!
To Snorkel or not to Snorkel on the Ningaloo Reef 22:19.13S 113:48.53E
Lying in bed, our fabric walls buffeting us with a will, we were working out at what time we should get up and speed off to Turquoise Bay on the west coast of North West Cape for our only chance to have a look underwater and onto the reef. There are a few suggested sites where one can drift snorkel with a gentle current to propel one across a bay. The water over the fringe reef is not deep and snorkelling is only safe for the reef and swimmer around High Tide, two hours either side of HW to be more accurate. So we had to be up and away at 7.00am on the 19th as we had a half hour or so to travel to get there.
There are only a few camp sites in the Camp Range NP but the Parks have an odd policy of taking only online bookings and being unhelpful to anyone who just turns up on the off chance. Consequently there was a sign at the entrance of the NP saying all the campsites were full. In a phone call we heard at the Milyering Discovery Centre one ranger reported she had eight no show bookings the night before at just one of the three sites. They appear to be catering for the whimsical people who we know of in all walks of life who like choices and who have no intention of following through on most of them. More stringent booking formalities, a refundable cancellation fee and confirmation might help, or at least the consideration of letting the Park know they are not coming. Another couple in the Centre complained they could not change their booking, only lose the first one and rebook another. The term ‘unfit for purpose’ comes to mind.
We arrived at the beach to find one other car there and wandered down to the shore to find a couple snorkelling in exactly the spot that was deemed as safe. But the wind was brisk and cool and we were not keen. They came ashore and liked what they had seen and then scurried back along the beach 100 metres for another go.
An information board showed the different fish we were likely to see if we chose to take the plunge, which was becoming less likely as the minutes ticked by. We have been spoiled by Fiji and a few other places on our travels and decided that breakfast in the car with a nice sea view would suit us perfectly.
The brave couple appeared for another dip and I was glad for them, they probably spent a lot of money on their adventure and I hope they felt it was worth it.
We spent a lovely morning poking our noses into different beaches and watching the sea breaking over the reef far out; learning about turtles and hoping that the folk from the buses in the car park were enjoying their time communing with the whale sharks, that had been located by a spotter plane and visited by their sturdy motor boats full with people looking for that rare experience and hopefully not disturbing them too much.
Back in Exmouth’s Froth Pub we sat outside with a dark ale as the wind was easing and the temperature rising. Then to the Ningaloo Discovery Centre just across the road from the campsite and that is about all there is to do there. A two night visit is quite enough unless the weather is perfect for snorkelling of course! It appears to be windy there a lot of the time, just cool and windy in the winter and hot and windy in the summer. A beautiful, rugged, exposed place.
The Sun goes down on Hamelin Pool
We had a long day ahead of us ten days ago on the 20th July, heading due south from Exmouth first to Coral Bay that you can see in the first four photos, another stop on our original ten day camping adventure where we would have snorkelled for sure a few months ago. Suffice it to say it is a very pretty bay with a small transient community of visitors and a few holiday homes. We soaked up the views briefly and then retired to Fin’s Café for a nice coffee before hitting the road, next stop Carnarvon to research the area where we planned to clear out of Aussie in a few weeks’ time.
So that short visit brought about a major change in plans, such as we are used to making, sometimes very quickly. We found the harbour area and the deep water side suitable for Zoonie’s draft and then located the Border Force Office. A contingent of Officers had arrived in the car park with a fast launch on a trailer from Fremantle and one of them told us that it is possible to clear out there. However, the full story was revealed when we spoke with the Officer running the actual office in Carnarvon. It is an operations office and that means it is only open for the likes of us who would have made an appointment and it would be closed for all of September anyway due to the two man crew being away on ‘operations’, for example drug running yachts. The nearest permanently open office is Fremantle, so we decided there and then that Fremantle is where we will sail away from our home of the last ten months and we would give Jeremy and Kathy that news when we planned to meet up with them in Denham.
We headed on down the North West Coastal Highway ruminating on our change of plans and eventually turned right near the Overlander Roadhouse still uncertain of where we would spend the night and pulled into the newly signposted Bush Foundation Hamelin Station for a look see. I fancied another Station stay as the one at Kirkalocka is still a happy memory in my mind. This one did not disappoint either. Once a sheep station the photos tell the story but I have to mention that Rob and I both heard the eerie sound of a ghost sheep bleating during the starlit hours – or maybe it was a feral sheep – no that’s not nearly romantic enough.
The brilliant white paths were made up of miniature cockle shells, their dwarfism caused by the high salinity of nearby Hamelin pool. Black dots of roo poo contrasted on the paths and we were hopeful we might see some enjoying the land they have lived on for eons.
This whole area is a place where there were no barriers between ones links to ages past and the wonderful natural phenomena of our present. We drove the short distance to the lower part of Shark Bay, known as Hamelin Pool and found ourselves in the presence of something truly great and yet modest in size; incredibly rare beds of stromatolites, layers of different cyanobacteria (blue/green algae) living off the fermented residue of the layer above and watered by concentrated seawater, from whence life on earth started three billion years ago and one and a half billion years after the earth came into its hot, gaseous existence.
Billions of years of photosynthesising created the oxygen rich environment in which higher life forms could evolve. Religion is for believers, here in beds like these is where life on earth started. These 2000 year old stromatolites bear witness to that process. Bill Bryson referred to the knowledge of their seminal importance in the formation of life and the fact we can still witness that very same thing happening today as ‘peerless’, and I quite agree with him.
One can only begin to imagine the noise and the violence involved in the formation of the planet, but as to the start of life and in stark contrast it was in peaceful, static, little changing places like this from which our origins came. The still after the storm.
The Aborigines look upon the rocks as their ancestors, or could they be the lost children of Hamelin, taken in the thirteenth century by the Pied Piper in revenge for the King refusing to pay him the 1000 gilders he promised after the Piper cleared the town of rats? This is a place where myth and reality rest easily together.
On this evening visit the tide was still covering the beds so we decided to come back in the morning for another look, one visit could never be enough here, and instead we retreated to a comfy seat on the beach of tiny shells to watch one of the most perfect sunsets we had seen since last at sea on Zoonie. One of the trillions this precious place has witnessed.