After a fortnight languishing around the farm we decided it was time for a day out to Bunbury to research the place as a possible stopover for Zoonie when we eventually sail westwards and then north up the west coast of Australia. By the time we get there we will have passed Cape Leeuwin and entered the Indian Ocean, the penultimate ocean of our circumnavigation.We needed a break from the literary task we had taken on since our arrival at Te Opu; Rob has been dictating to me the book I am using while writing my own book comparing our two voyages; that of the Teddy back in the early thirties and of course ours. We were two thirds of the way through and my typing fingers needed a rest. I had decided the old book needed an airing by being re-published as it is a book full with human interest written by a warm hearted man with an immense spirit of adventure and a wholly brave and supportive wife. Also I liked the idea of it appearing in the world of readership at about the same time as mine so they might enhance each other.
We sped westwards with the pent up excitement of a couple of school kids. The parched, lifeless ground gradually becoming greener as we approached the coast where rainfall from the ocean is more generous.
The Premier coal mine at Collie was vast and the air acrid with the bituminic stench of recently exposed coal. We scanned the ugly site while chatting to an elderly gent who was equally awed by the gaping hole and had recently moved to the area to live.
Many farmers are still doing burn offs on their land so there was a smoke haze until we arrived at Bunbury town and I remained outside the Dome Café while Rob bought the coffees because lockdown was still quite strict about café culture back then.
The bronze bust is of Captain Baudin, whom I have mentioned before in our travels across the south coast when he met Captain Matthew Flinders purely by chance at Endurance Bay near Kangaroo Island in 1802.
Baudin was leading a four year expedition (1800-1804) from Le Havre to thoroughly explore the west and south coast of Australia and fill in the gaps on the charts drawn up by Dutch explorers who preceded him. Over 200,000 specimens of flora and fauna were collected and stored on his ship the Geographe and his expedition was the first to transport live Australian animals to Europe where they lived out their lives at Empress Josephine’s Summer Palace zoo near Paris. Baudin died of tuberculosis on their way home while in Mauritius, where Flinders had the misfortune of being imprisoned for a number of years by a cruel and vindictive Governor disliked even by his own men.
Back to our day out.
After the long drive we decided to do Bunbury on foot, it was a beautiful day anyway and soon we arrived at the Koombaba Bay Sailing Club, where it was evident most of the yachts were kept in the pound and launched by tractor when the owners decided to go for a sail. There were a few mooring buoys offshore and we asked a likely chap if a visiting yacht could pick one up.
He was very positive and suggested the furthest ones out were in deeper water and more frequently checked than those nearer the shore. He explained that the area is very much a summer sailing location as the storms that come in from the NW in the winter have wrecked many a vessel in the harbour over the years. Hence keeping the existing fleet out of the water. As you can read Bunbury is the only town in Aussie to have its town plan based on a shipwreck!
So that was very useful and we told Jeremy and Kathy about it as they are now making their way around there in San Dorago in search of warmer weather. Mid-winter is approaching here and so far most days have been like lovely summer days in England. But that could all change of course.
We found our way to the Marlston Hill Lookout with its tower and fine all round views and now have a clear picture in our minds of where to head should we turn in here. Certainly not to the right unless it cannot be avoided as there is the Department of Transport Marina with its infamous recent history. The chap at the yacht club told us of how a visiting yacht was turned back into a storm because it didn’t have the right insurance. As if a test of that decision was needed the yacht foundered on the shore further north and was a total loss. The irate owners kicked up such a furore that the WA government were shamed into buying the owner a new yacht and make a few changes to their policies. Laissez faire (leave well alone) when it comes to DoT Marinas we think. Augusta might be an exception if the weather turns against us before the Cape.
After a snack lunch overlooking the Ocean we found a different way back towards the giant Jarra tree. That little side track also took us past a kangaroo convalescent home and then back on to the main road through a beautiful green and undulating valley just like rural Devon. In fact I strongly suspect people from the Westcountry in the UK settled there because of the preponderance of Devon Cattle suckling herds. Olive groves, an Emu farm, vineyards (the dead looking vines are often fine but just resting without water because of the shortage of rainfall), plantations, natural forest and the first lambs skipping and snoozing in the sunshine. Lambing takes place in the autumn here instead of the spring, so the critters can thrive on the new grass growing after the dry, parched summer and with the autumn and winter rains. If they arrive that is. Makes sense doesn’t it.
Near a place called Wilga we drove alongside a vast plantation and on the other side a bush fire was raging sending clouds of black and grey smoke eastwards. The season for them is not yet over and a small burn can easily get out of control when the wind gets up. We were nearly home before we lost sight of the lurid grey/orange sky.
Delights of Farm Life at Te Opu
Mind you it can be a big disadvantage to be born a BLACK Angus calf around here. Rob and I were on our way to Kojonup the other day when we saw a small, very young black calf all by itself while the rest of the herd was over the hill and far away. We decided to do our errands and see if he was still there on our return. He was. We knew the farmer was aware of him because he had a blue tag in his ear.
So we wandered gently towards him and when he spotted us he leapt up and started to run hell for leather in a direction we hoped would take him back to his mum. But I wondered why he had not stayed with his mum and vice versa? Well the answer made me laugh. The farmer sometimes moves his herd at night, so in the pitch of a moonless night the little chap had been overlooked.
Similarly on one of our perambulations around the farm we came across this newborn lamb, fast asleep beside the fence in the sunshine, the rest of the flock having vanished.
The lady farmer, Pam thanked us and the little one was returned to the flock soon afterwards. No good us doing it or we’d be forever chasing mum away. Malcolm told me that what often happens is the farmer drives into the field with a hopper full of grain for the sheep who all dash over to where it is, and then the mum may forget where her lamb is or if it is one of a twin then she might be happy with one lamb and ignore the other. That lamb was lucky; the one in the field behind us was boarded by two ravens this morning who like the eyes apparently. Life is red in tooth and claw…and beak.
Ants thrive in this part of Aussie. Many different types of all sizes and various colours. I can always tell if that tickle on my neck was an ant before I crushed it from the smell. Apparently they are incredibly clean and bug free, so a biscuit is likely to be safer to eat after they have tramped across it. We come across many on our walks, hop scotching across their busy mounds and the wood for our fire is now kept outside until we need it as I think that’s where they were coming from.
The little hole with the lid is from a witchetty grub crawling in to its souterre tunnel before closing the door for some peace and quiet.
We also get critters apart from ants indoors and the little lizard was most welcome, but not so the biggest huntsman we have yet come across that fell onto Rob from the kitchen towel hanging above the cooker. It was the size of the palm of my hand and was dashing around Rob’s back and shoulders so quickly I didn’t have time to take a pic. Rob dashed outside and I flicked it harmlessly off him and watched it run under the cottage, no doubt to make it back inside again when we weren’t looking. For the rest of the evening Rob was unravelling the silken thread it had wound all around him like a truss. Ambitious spider!
The paddocks are ready now for the next stage in the annual agricultural cycle; the white powder area in the photo is all that is left of the mighty fallen gum tree you have seen before, burning away to pure ash.
Locky Norrish is a descendant of the first Norrish family to arrive in Kojonup; Richard Norrish who was born in Chelsea, Middlesex and arrived in Albany aboard the ship Java in January 1847 with his wife and children, was a corporal in the 96th Regiment of Foot and he was ordered to take seven privates to Kojonup to relieve the 51st Regiment at the new barracks because they had to leave for service in India. His family has been farming in the area ever since.
Locky completed seeding the farm with barley two days ago and it was fun to watch him manoeuvre the big machinery around the small paddock behind us. But before he started we were able to pluck plenty of mushrooms from the paddocks and freeze lots down. I made Cranks Mushroom Stroganoff for supper when Christine and Malcolm came for a few hours of chat and games.
Their oldest daughter, Kylie and her three girls, Abby, Zoe and Izzy came from their farm for the weekend before the seeding along with Christine’s parents, Don and Betty and her sister, brother in law and niece, Kerry, Mark and Nakita. A full house.
We had some lovely times walking the farmwith them, collecting the biggest mushrooms we could find and grandad Malcolm provided fun entertainment by bringing out a motorized go-cart and the little tow along you see in the picture. Izzy’s screams of joy could be heard from far afield as she bounced along behind Grandad and her two sisters on the quad bike repeating the fun her mother and Aunty Tenille had had when they were children.
So we have seen the transformation of barren fields to a glowing green and now red/brown seeded soil. We have had about half the rain hoped for during a weekend of strong winds from Cyclone Mangga merging with a cold low pressure system in the south Indian Ocean, so that moistened the soil for planting and raised the level in the dams a few centimetres but more is needed if this year’s crop is to thrive.
Chores First – Before a Day out with Christine and Malcolm
Dear Readers, I must apologise for the muddle over the past two blogs; I was in the early stages of mountain climbing recovery mode, that is my excuse and I’m sticking to it. Xx This blog took place nine days before our ascent of Bluff Knoll which itself was the activity of the day before yesterday.
Rob and I walked around the yard towards our cottage and a pile of logs we had gathered before, while Malcolm drove the tractor round with the splitter on the back. The old sheep ramp a rustic ghost from the past, especially now that the entire farm is seeded with barley and the bleating sound of sheep in motion is replaced with the song of numerous bird species.
My dad used to use a mallet and wedge to split the logs for our open fire when my brother Robin and I were kids and mum used to toast bread and crumpets on the live glow in the red brick hearth using a toasting fork while we watched children’s programmes like The Children of the New Forest on a Sunday evening.
Malcolm’s hydraulic splitter ran off the power drive from the tractor and makes the job of splitting this incredibly hard ‘Yate’ wood possible; so much so that I was able to stand back and take some photos while Rob operated the machine and Malcolm fed in the logs. It’s all in a day’s work!
We were looking forward to the next day when we sped off as a foursome to have a look around the pretty and Bohemian town of Denmark, where it is perfectly normal for a friendly lady shop keeper to wear her long head of shiny grey hair in a plait over one shoulder, finished off with a parting sprayed with gold dye. She told us about her daughter, a nurse, who is in the process of moving back to Denmark; a town with lots going for it for families. There was an excellent bakery, Strickland and we wondered if they were part of the same family of bakers in Rob’s home town of Oakham. Arts and crafts flourish and the generous Denmark river around which the town has grown is full with wildlife and its banks are dotted with cool picnic spots and then there’s the water sports of course.
Nature tumbles into Denmark from the countryside all around in the form of wines and foods and is one of its attractions; and only a short distance away is the south west coast with all its beautiful beaches and inshore lagoons, like the one near Ocean Beach (see pics) which is only open to the sea in rough, tumultuous conditions and otherwise is a perfect area for canoeing, swimming, paddle boarding and snorkelling.
Our tummies told us it was lunch time so we made our way to Albany and one of our favourite pubs, ‘The 6 Degrees’ where we sat, amongst other tables of folk, for a tasty lunch-out for the first time in two months. Then Malcolm saw to a few errands while I had a mop chop at Ron’s barbershop for $35; nice price.
Zoonie looked as well as ever and her cradle had not budged an inch in all the wind and rain from Cyclone Mangga, she even had just a couple of pints in the bilge which we soon pumped out. Jason came up her ladder and introduced himself as someone who knew Jeremy and Kathy and was taking a break from cleaning the bottom of a local whale watching boat ready for the new season due to start at the weekend. We could see Sal Darago on one of the buoys off the point; so frustrating we could not visit them. Equally frustrating was seeing Darren in his workshop as Malcolm dropped us off but he had gone home by the time we walked around there.
A Mountain of Emotions
I was looking forward to our day exploring the Stirling Mountain Range and the first visual impressions certainly lived up to my hopes. Under a mantle of pure blue and above the red dirt track they rose majestic, dark grey/blue and numerous. But as soon as I started reading the information boards the negativity of the messaging just for a while overwhelmed the beauty of the place.
Phytophthora Dieback is killing a third of the plant life in places, notably alongside the roads and walking tracks. Having made it thus far we are told that it is partly us visitors who are spreading the disease, along with plant to plant contamination and water course dispersal of the silent monster. Well pardon me for saying but the real cause seems to be written on the board. When recently turned soil was used to create the roads with their soil run offs every few metres to carry rainwater into the bush, then the disease was very efficiently spread. Similarly along the walking tracks; but there is no mention of closing the roads or tracks because of that source of contamination. The roads opened up the Ranges to visitors who are now the culprits of the dieback it seems.
Then there is the fact that the drying climate is resulting in old creeks, that not so long ago supported a colourful variety of fauna, are now permanently dry.
I was in need some cheering up.
It came in the form of Mother Nature herself and, surprisingly, through tragedy number three, the recent bush fires.
The ranges were hit by two lightning strikes and the resulting fires ravaged a large area. The dark grey of the mountains was partly due to their being pyramids of fire for days. In some places the road itself created an essential barrier, so on one side the effects can clearly be seen while opposite the untouched bush is still thriving as you can see in the last two photos. Well the appearance of tender young green growth from charred midnight black stems and branches was not only reassuring but also quite comical. I’m no expert but I do know that some of these plants need fire to produce flowers, the seeds of which will germinate; just look at the six blackened stems in pic 912 with their posh new top knots, ‘punk rockers’ of the natural world and the single flowering stem in 902; determined to survive. Similarly seeds that have lain dormant in the ground sometimes for years now have their chance. New eucalyptus foliage was springing out of blackened trunks and branches all over the range. There is hope.
I was feeling better already. Nature was speaking for herself.
News, Views and Changing Hues – From Dick Renshaw’s Lookout to Bluff Knoll
First some good news. Jeremy and Kathy have arrived safely in Freemantle Sailing Club on San Darago after taking advantage of the past few days of fine weather with steady SE winds; but not before they climbed the hill behind their mooring at Emu Point and took this fine photo looking over Oyster Bay to the marina with the boatyard behind where you can see Zoonie, she has the tallest mast, and on to the countryside behind. They can watch the bad weather that is due in from the NW this weekend from the safety of their marina pen; hopefully the storm will bring some rain as all the farmers need it for their crops including Malcolm for his paddocks of barley.
Secondly, my picture of our botanical punk rockers; maybe Black Flag or The Sex Pistols is in pic number 912, (sorry it didn’t appear in the last blog) I favour the sex pistols for obvious reasons. In 917 you can see where rainwater runs off the road along the gulley and into the bush carrying with it life-giving and life-destroying properties.
As we approached the mountain range and the sun rose, so the dark gloomy shadows lightened to reveal not only the extent of the fire damage but also the shapeliness of the well-worn sandstone. These were not Mountains born of volcanic activity as were the Porongurups you see in pic 921, which as you know we climbed when we first arrived in Albany. The Stirling Range was born from the sea and is made of compressed sand called sandstone and some of that was again altered by compression into quartzite. The rippling effects of waves upon a sandy beach that we have all seen is preserved here as rock, some of which is found at the top of the mountains following the processes of folding and faulting during phases of the earth’s crust being on the move.
The ancient perpetuity of geological movement and change was another source of hope for me. It is like the strong arm of nature, doing the groundwork that we enjoy today but that is never ending but always on the move.
At the highway end of the Bluff Road there is a delightful café where we stopped for some refreshment before approaching Bluff Knoll Mountain for a closer look at the highest mountain in SW Aussie at 1,100 metres; a mountain and a half! (A mountain is 2000 feet or more and 1100 metres is roughly 3400 feet.)
The park has only re-opened recently after the easing of the strict Covid 19 rules which followed the necessary closures while the fires raged. So with the rain that has fed the range in the past weeks the bush has had a few weeks to start its recovery, and as you can see it has been very busy.
We sat outside the café on a patio area where the majority of chairs and tables were still stacked and the few in use were well spaced to allow for social distancing. A very fluffy young brown lama watched us, hoping for some crumbs or maybe just out of curiosity.
We came away hoping the couple running the place would be able to continue providing their friendly service after the lost business they have suffered, and with a tray of six quite different little cakes to add to our picnic for later on.
Just around the corner was a pay station where we parted with £7.50 so we could enjoy the mountain and they can continue their invaluable work preventing the dieback and maintaining the tracks; do you see the irony?
A few kilometres nearer to the magnificent corner of the mountain that juts out arrogantly towards its neighbour, I could make out in places the thin hair-like track that leads diagonally and steeply upward from left to right and then curves around the back into a different climate fed by cool ocean winds. The track distance to the top is 3.1km from the car park. I could see tiny, weeny specs stomping their way upward and said quietly to Rob, “You’re not getting me up there!” He was doubtful of my resistance from the start, knowing me as he does. Born a Leo always a Leo. I just wondered if I still had my Machu Picchu or Mt Hobson on Great Barrier Island, or Mt Manaia or even my Parihaka at Whangarei fitness. I was soon to find out.
The Bigger Picture of Bluff Knoll and the Stirlings
As soon as we got away from the Government Agency Parks Service negative and very ‘narrow in outlook’ information boards and found those written by historians, geologists and the Noongar Indigenous Nation we got a much better understanding of the spectacular area we were in.
The weather was perfect when we set off but we were aware of how it would become cooler around the back of the mountain not only because we would be shaded from the sun but also because moisture in the cool air from the ocean was condensing into droplets of water and forming cloud, a white shawl of mist that would grow as the sun dropped in the sky towards evening. The friendly walkers on their way down may have started in the morning or around midday and some were so encouraging, telling us that many breaks to catch their breath as they climbed the hundreds of steps was how they made it. Another lady told us that the track was much more level after we turned the shoulder and that was encouraging.
Rob is a ‘walk from A to B as fast and as uninterrupted as possible’ kind of guy, but he was very good natured about our frequent stops even when his hips started aching like crazy. For me I like to stop frequently to take photos and investigate the area near and far and that fitted in well with needing to get my breath back and allow whatever is going on with the muscles in my legs to sort itself out before continuing.
The little lizards and any other burrowing animals can survive fire by hiding underground provided it is not too intense. In the serious fires on the east coast you heard all about, it was found that creatures in their own burrows were letting different species of animal shelter in their burrows for survival alongside them.
I took photos of the little distance markers to quell any chance of conspiracy theories starting up that we didn’t climb to the summit, just as men didn’t land on the moon! The one that has Rob in the picture and is bleached out by the sun I think read 2.1 km to the summit.
The whole distance thing amazed me, the summit getting closer and the car park and approach road suddenly looking far away and way down beneath us.
About two thirds the way up and while still on the sunny side we came across an Asian lad collapsed on the track, lying on his back and groaning loudly. I stood so as to shade his face and he opened his eyes. I thought it would be rather stupid to ask if he was ok because he clearly wasn’t so instead I asked “Have you got some water,” “Yes” he said pulling an empty water bottle out of his pocket. So I poured some in to it from ours, “That’s great thanks, my friends said they would leave a bottle for me a little further up.” Cunning I thought, an incentive for him to continue, which he did slowly behind us. And yes they were as good as their word and there was a bottle awaiting him.
The lady was right about the different temperature behind the rocky mountain, and it was lovely and refreshing. We let it cool and dry us before putting our jackets on again to prevent a chill. I felt like a racehorse, frothing and steaming into the winner’s arena after the last hurdle and having a blanket thrown over me.
Springs were sending trickles of water down the path near the summit making it slippery in places so we had to step carefully. After a few times wondering if we would actually make it right to the top; a couple in the café turned back a third the way up and they were ten years younger than us, with the 600 metres marker passed ‘this lady was not for turning!’
The World around Us
It was only from the very top that we could see how many mountains make up the Stirling Range, more anciently and evocatively named by the Noongar people ‘Koi kyennu ruff’ meaning ‘mist moving around the mountains’. The first European to see them was our old friend Captain Matthew Flinders on one of his circuits of Aussie in 1802.
Thirty three years later Governor James Stirling was travelling close by between Albany and Perth so his travelling companion John Septimus Roe decided to name them after James. The runoff from the south east end forms the Kalgan River along whose pretty shores we walked not so long ago when we were living on Zoonie.
Unlike Mt Hudson on Great Barrier Island off NZ where we perched a little precariously after our ascent on a small wooden platform here the peak stretched out nicely and we could have hopped and skipped in celebration of our success. There were a few others, the rest of our struggling young lad’s party, two other couples and one or two individuals. Mother Nature here has been very kind and provided numerous flat and level rock seats, with backs, so we sat down next to a young couple and looked westwards, into the gentle sunshine and across the flat plains of agricultural land. An atmosphere of peace and harmony reigned, people stared outwards like us and spoke on soft tones.
The young man next to us was from Falkirk and had lived for a number of years a few miles from where I used to live on the Isle of Wight. He had climbed the face of Bluff Knoll more than once in his role as an outward bound instructor. His wife was from Sydney and both had chosen to settle in Denmark five years ago and never regretted the decision. She said with pride that they now had their own home. What a lovely place to settle down I thought, as must have many of the first settlers.
We spent half an hour or so enjoying their company and relaxing. The mist was circling around the mountain and evaporating between us and the sun so our view was unimpeded. With no more than about two hours of daylight left we decided to make a start back down the track and our first joy was seeing a Wedge-Tailed Eagle soaring on the thermals seeking out its next meal. But there was only one, not a pair and that was worrying, unless the mate was on a nest.
One thing I love about retracing steps is that the views, or rather many of the directions we look toward, are different from the outward experience.
Our young struggling friend appeared ahead, within a few minutes of the top and looking good after his drink. We congratulated him and told him he was close now and his friends were awaiting him.
The young couple we had been talking to started back just before us but stood to one side for a rest and drink so we passed them and came across a small group making their way up. If they were going to the top, as some do to see the sunset and spend the night up there, then they would be coming down again in the dark, so we felt a little concerned for them. Did they realise the inevitable sequence of events that were just ahead of them with the sunset and twilight and then darkness. The moon, as you can see, was up and just three days after being full, so there would be some light and maybe they carried torches in their back packs. I worried a little less.
“So you got up there on gin and tonic!?” A man asked noticing our drop of water left in the tonic water bottle I was carrying. “Yep, and the first one didn’t touch the sides!” I replied. “Really?” He said; did he believe me I wondered.
The car park was in sight for most of the way, drawing us on towards a soft seat and picnic which we ate while parked overlooking the plains towards the sea. Three cyclists rode triumphantly into the car park and I asked of one who swung around next to the car, “Are you off up to the top now then?”
“Twenty years ago I did just that with a 15kg pack on my back, now I carry the pack on my front,” he said patting his tummy. He turned out to be Dave and he farmed at the bottom of the hill just outside the Park. Every Friday he and his mates completed the cycle ride with a beer at the Bluff Café we had been to for our coffee. He knew of Christine and Malcolm’s daughter Kylie and her husband Chris and Chris’s parents through farming circles and listed the areas in which they have farmed over the years, which we had heard our friends mention. Small world isn’t it; six degrees of separation.
Rob drove carefully home because it was the time of the evening when kangaroos are moving around grazing and we really didn’t want to hit one. After the last easing of CV restrictions which came just before a bank holiday weekend there was some mad driving in this state, with numerous serious accidents. Four female kangaroos, all carrying joeys, were killed both sides of one small town and the rescue lady, in response gave out advice on the radio which hopefully will save future joeys’ lives. The joeys can be safely removed and taken to the nearest vet or rescue centre and if they were attached to a teat then the teat should be cut off rather than taken out of the joey’s mouth. So I was ready to act if necessary.
We were coming back from Albany yesterday evening in the dark along the fast highway when a ‘roo jumped out from the right and bounced across in front of a lorry ahead of us. He immediately dipped his lights because if the ‘roo had looked into a full beam it might well have stopped. As it was it reached the other side of the road safely, thank goodness.