Eudaimonia (n) the
contented happy state we feel when we travel
Each day we found the beach profile
and drainage lines generated within the low tide zone different with natures artwork
to catch our eye and marvel over.
Noticeable were double tracks
of hermit crabs. Yet, separated bi-valve shells scattered amidst the worn
fragments of sandstone at tidal marks were all we saw. Thus, it was the unusual
sight of a coned shell, Lea immediately picked up for inspection in the early
days of our stay, and found it occupied by a young hermit crab. It was to be the only ‘hermit’ spotted for all
the many tracks observed each evening during almost ten days at Barn Hill.
The first morning of August,
George set off to further explore the back country / gullies lying behind the
beach. On a previous visit, we had entered a mini canyon, below the north campground,
Lea referred to as the valley of the shadow of death, cowboy style - for
the red pindan narrow gullies scarcely wide enough to walk through.
George was keen to check out another, further along North beach. He found a geological ‘’treasure house’’, beautifully illuminated at that time of the day.
In certain spots the ground surface carpeted by hollow,
tubular shaped black rocks he recognised as ferruginous concretions
Thin slabs of pale coloured shales; sometimes at the
surface; sometimes found in thin layers embedded in sandstone.
On other occasions appearing as a conglomerate, giving the
impression of a fossil-bearing horizon
Strange tubular structures of biological origin (possibly
ancient tube worms) on the surface of the sandstone rocks closer to the beach.
AND, most intriguing of all, the tracks of hermit crabs either disappearing into the Canavalia, a creeper with long runners and large leaves, draping the dunes.
Or running along the base of
the tall, pillar-like sandstone outliers on the beach. Being a non-sclerotized
creature - lacking calcified exoskeletons, with a need to prevent
desiccation. George, therefore concluded
the hermit crabs seek respite from the sun in recesses amongst the rocks and
dune vegetation above the high-water mark by day and probably only came out at
night. As he could find no hermit crabs
hidden away to confirm this, a night survey was required.
The hunt for the evasive
hermit crabs of Barn Hill intensified… George searched below rock overhangs in
the morning and after dinner, he set off to do a survey of the southern beach
area by torchlight. So many tracks but no sign of the crabs themselves. After an hour-long search, only one miserable
specimen!
Questions constantly developed
in George’s head … Was it something to do with the full moon? Why so many
tracks on a beach completely devoid of the type of conical gastropod shells sought
by hermit crabs when the time comes to ‘’move to a new house’’. Where do they
find suitable shells?
The hermit crab tracks we saw
at low tide seemed to confirm a sense of desperation as the tracks clearly
defined a systematic search from one prospective shell fragment to another,
sometimes mistaking stones for prospective accommodation. OR - are there no gastropod shells to be seen
because as fast as they wash up, they become occupied and transported into the
dunes? As is the case in most studies of
animals, there seemed to be no easy answers – the ‘mystery’ simply deepened. Nights were in short supply as our
penultimate day came up. We decided to do our laundry – using the washing
machines provided at Barn Hill to cut down time in Broome to one night.
No wash lines necessitated George stringing one up for Lea with hopes no red powder dust would blow about before the laundry was dry!
Our final afternoon walks. Another
fruitless search began. George followed
the low waterline while Lea searched further up to give us a wider spread of
hermit crab tracks searching for shells! George finally gave up and walked up
the beach to join his wife when unbelievably he hit the jackpot! A large hermit
crab hiding in the wet zone exposed by the low tide. He called Lea and on seeing this strange shape
and unable to even grasp how it could possibly be a hermit crab with such
prehistoric looking armour let alone see a shell … Lea insisted on disturbing
this oddity and picked it up. It was rapidly put down as the ‘shell growths’
unfolded into legs. No sooner down than it scuttled off determining it was, indeed,
a large hermit crab. Lea wanted a photo
as this was not how she saw hermit crabs and the biologist obliged…
Since it was heading up the
beach, we decided to save it the journey as recompense for creating fear!
George scarcely able to walk ten metres before the pain of nippers became so acute,
he was forced to put hermit down with much spluttering’s of a George kind! Lea
unsure whether the performance was for real or not, before hilarity took over… George
immediately called to mind an occasion camped on Middle Beach at West Alligator
Head (in Kakadu) with his brother Pete in 2001. They found the place absolutely
swarming with hermit crabs, each dragging its shell around like a veritable
army of medieval charioteers. There were so many hermit crabs, Peter had a fear
of being eaten alive in his sleep that he decided to doss down inside the back
of the truck instead of throwing his swag down on soft beach sand. George had the Toyota roof tent; he was fine
and didn’t believe for a minute the hermits would be any problem. All these years later, he can now vouch for a
painful nip like a pair of vice grips!
After ten glorious days at
Barn Hill we reluctantly departed, as we have run out of fresh provisions -
fruit and veggies, milk, and bread. It
probably was time for a change of scenery and a loop of West Kimberley beckoned.
We can easily come back later in the
month…
We decided to give Roebuck
Plains Roadhouse a try… By lunch time we’d pitched camp on a nice grassy site beside
the Roadhouse, 33km east of Broome where, amidst the smell and sound of cattle
on the road trains re-fuelling at the roadhouse, we had an abundance of water
available to give both Skiv and the caravan a good wash. Later we drove into
Broome to stock up with provisions and fuel for the next leg of our trip, into the
West Kimberley region.
First stop, 70km along the
Savannah Way, was Nillibubbica Rest Area.
A utilitarian stop for the night - we were the first there, able to
position our rig across a corner before discussing an email and reading books.
The antics of a mud-lark fighting its image in the wing mirrors of the truck or
the comings and goings of traffic were all interesting little distractions.
Steadily the place filled up with other campers, coming in for an overnight
stay. We have long since lost touch with
the outside world via TV. In its place, a game of Scrabble takes place each
evening – the more hotly contested the better. Nillibubbica marked a record win
for Lea beating George by 176 points… It’s not who wins, it’s by how much!
There is definitely a preference to keep the difference between 5 and 25.
Blue dome sky after blue dome sky
ad finitum had us somewhat shocked to awaken and find Nillibubbica enveloped in
a thick mysterious fog. Fortunately, it began lifting soon after we hit the
road where we were delighted to sight our first boabs, stretches of termite
mounds, black soil plains, kapok trees coming into flower and roadside acacias creating
magnificent avenues of green and gold colours. At the Gibb River Road, we
checked signal and realised we needed to go into Derby. We went straight down
to the jetty overlooking the waters of King Sound. The massive tide was out and
almost immediately Lea was out of the truck, she was attacked by sand flies. We
retreated into the van and Lea began furiously typing, three and a half hours later
George had served up lunch and still he marked time, walking out to check the
incoming time.
After yet another round out to
the jetty, George returned to Getaway as the local shire ranger pulled in to
check how and when we’d come in from Victoria? They had been warned about
travellers from over east using clandestine routes to infiltrate WA. He
suggested we were going to be hassled wherever we went with our Victorian
number plates and suggested we thought about changing them! He was the first
Official to check us. Since leaving Perth we have had the odd observant camper
notice our ‘plates’ and made brief comment, either about us being far from home
or joked - asking if we were Covid-free.
Finally, in the heat of the
day we left Derby and made for Birdswood Downs, a small campground on a cattle
station 18km out on the Gibb River road.
We picked ourselves a lovely spot alongside a paddock containing three
horses.
Next morning, we debated whether
to stay or go, as this was a delightful spot with wallabies, horses, and bird
life. NO! Jandamarra’s country called,
Lea shot off to shower while George checked and cleaned the solar panels on the
roof of the caravan. Just as well as some of the screws had either sheared off
or dropped out. In the shower, two little yellowy tree frogs hopped off the
shower head and stretched their rubbery ways across the tiles to a mirror until
Lea was done. Such pretty creatures and always a joy to find – even though a
sign on the door said, “Please keep the door shut as the frigging frogs and
snakes like to come in”. Warm winter mornings have us up relatively early
in the north and we were soon heading East on the lightly trafficked Gibb River
Road. The contrast to the first time we took this route in 2006, with speeding
camper-trailers madly leaping about behind 4X4 trucks intent on reaching
destination as fast as possible leaving us in constant block-outs of red dust.
In 2014, with Alison and Amanda we hit sections of tar on this western end. Now
over 100km was sealed and we were able to trundle along seeing Wedge tail
eagles a plenty, baobab trees (some in leaf, others still bearing pods) and
termite mounds housing the unseen, but vital, megaherbivores of the Kimberley
region. We encountered a few deviations where road works were underway –
stopped along the road for our midmorning cuppa and, only then realised there
were other vehicles travelling The Gibb.
Soon after our stop, with the jagged limestone wall of the Napier Range
already in view, we came to more roadworks
across the Windjana Junction making it difficult to continue a bit further
on to the Lennard River Rest Area we’d planned to spend a free night as we had
a Road man – second guessing our destination, wildly gesticulating the detour entrance to the gravel road out to
Windjana Gorge. We headed ‘his’ way.
Under normal peak season one
can scarcely move in this popular National Park. Thanks to covid19 we were
confronted by a near empty ‘noisy’ (generator permitted) campground. We both
broke out in laughter … other than one
caravan and one tent we could select our own camp spot ensuring a nice view of
the range, far away from anyone. Black kites circled on thermals overhead like
vultures, dozens of bowerbirds hopped around below each shady tree, added to
our delight. Since we’d booked in for 3 nights, George put out the awning to
take heat off the caravan and no sooner had he placed camp chairs and table than
bowerbirds arrived to check them over. As he rarely feels the heat, ‘Lizard’
man was soon off to check out the gorge and crocodiles! Leaving Lea to stretch
out on the couch and attempt to keep cool with her book. Not long after, movement caught her eye and
there, below the doorstep was an agile wallaby sniffing the ground. Slowly she
picked up her phone to take a photo of her visitor. Unperturbed when she stood
up for a better shot
In due course we learnt from
the park ranger this was a relocated wallaby, hand reared from a baby and kept
in captivity for a few years before being released in the park 6 years ago.
‘Crumpled Ear’ never called again although we’d see him resting up under a tree
not far from our rig – always alone.
As heat let up, we both walked
into the gorge during the late afternoon to catch the light that made the gorge
as beautiful as ever. Later, the moon rising above the dark serrated ridge of
Jandamarra’s country just before we turned in for the night, made for a perfect
end.
Warning! Focus goes from Hermit crabs to Bower Birds…
The activities of all the Great
bowerbirds flying and bounding around the place became our spotlight of
interest to each day. Within 25m of us was a young male busy building a bower
on the ground in the shade of a bush bauhinia. Posturing whenever a female
arrived to check on progress, throwing dead leaves into the air, presenting her
with round objects that we later discovered were dried wallaby droppings;
dancing around the bower with wings half spread; the purple tuft of short
feathers on the back of its head spread in the form of a colourful crown.
Unless aroused by the presence of a female the purple crown on the nape of his
neck is almost undetectable. This male had his time cut out especially when
more than one inquisitive female arrived to disrupt his work. Then there were interfering
males to be chased away. Another interesting behaviour was the stick-finding
exercise; the male could pick up as many as five sticks at a time, before
returning to its bower. Sometimes picked up from the ground, on other occasions
twigs were tugged from the branches of a tree. All the while, the range of grunts, hisses,
lots of ticking and strangulated sounds of flapping added to the theatrical
goings-on. Many of which George was unable to hear.
The Great
Bower Bird and his bower under
construction
Given the short shape of the
bill of a bowerbird, a noticeable observation made during bowerbird visitations
to this site, was periodic nectar feeding on the flowers of this bauhinia tree.
A behaviour at odds for a bird with such a stout bill – George sat for hours determined
to photograph a clear vision of this. Nearly … but not confirmatory enough for a
biologist. Within a short distance of our rig there were four ‘bowers’ under a process
of construction. Some more advanced than others with the same frenetic activity
taking place. After we had inspected them all, it became apparent that our male
had a long job ahead of him. We also noticed another male constantly circling a
shady tree just beyond “our male’s” site, practising his courting dance without
any sign of a bower. Campers set up their tents under the tree in his territory
– yet he continued to flutter up and down from the boughs and encircle the base
with his crouched bent knee hops and wings hunched out. An extraordinary eye-catching
event as there was no grass to blur our vision and his noises were out of ear shot.
Over in the busier, ‘Quiet
Campground’ we found a very mature bower, the male watching over it from a
stump close by. We saw no female activity while we were there.
The arched walls of an old,
well established bower formed a tunnel and, just as importantly, the surrounds
of the bower were thickly littered with all sorts of objects from shells to
bones, plastic pill boxes and stones. The containers insinuated this Great
Bower Bird had entered our plastic world, came as a jolt and as Lea exclaimed on this; a voice came from the tent overlooking the
site saying “the Ranger believed they had been deliberately placed there by
tourists”!
The bower of ‘’our bird’’ can
only be regarded as a poor man’s shack in comparison – with the only ornaments
around it, at this stage, no more prepossessing than wallaby droppings! The
situation prompted us to leave a small silver object we’d found in one of the
caravan drawers, out on the table glinting in the sun. George even tried to
draw his attention to it by throwing it towards him on four occasions. He
showed absolutely no interest in it.
By next afternoon, a sudden influx
of campers left us a little alarmed until we realised it was a ‘Friday’ and the
prospect of noise, generators and partying loomed large… However, blue winged
kookaburras sounded their nightly ‘last post’ closure to the day and later a
Boobook owl deemed the campground a most peaceful night for all, with his
cuckoo-like call. Boobooks often sit
quietly in a high branch overlooking a campsite fire watching for insects in
the firelight. Their double-noted call a characteristic night sound before folk
fall asleep.
After breakfast, our attention
shifted, albeit temporarily, from bowerbirds to crocodiles as we set off on the
gorge walk before the days heat became too much. George had seen very few
crocodiles on our arrival here. He was keen to do a count when all were out
basking on the sandbanks. We accounted
for seven freshwater crocodiles over the length of the main gorge pool. Two
were accessible on our side and we were able to approach within 4m without a
flicker of concern for our footfall in the thick sand. The striking thing was the absence of young
crocs. These crocs were all largish and
around 2 metres in size and well spread out. Back in 2006, on our first visit
to Windjana, young crocs were lying everywhere.
The photo above (taken on
14/8/2006) of at least 50 crocs lying on a portion of a bank serves as
confirmation. A whole generation of
young freshies that have since moved elsewhere?
2020 – we found our few largish crocs virtually lying in the same spots as we did in 2014. Are these the adults of the original 2006 cohort, after natural dispersal? Crocodylus johnstonii – the freshwater crocodile, does not grow to huge size like the saltie and their young are easy prey.
Once back in camp we had a
shower and settled in to do some more bowerbird watching. Noticing the silver object, we’d left outside
as a prospective ornament had disappeared, George shot off to check all the bowers
and discover the culprit - certainly not our bird. Another attempt to photograph a bowerbird
nectar feeding began… After patiently waiting out three hours George witnessed
a sharp-eyed bowerbird kill a small (20cm long) snake, five metres from his
chair as another bowerbird arrived to try and rob him of his prize! Such
patience pays… The quiet urgency to George’s voice had Lea shoot out in time to
see the stand-off between the two birds. Lea, unsure what it was all out until
the victor picked up the snake and flew to a branch. Almost a disbelief he had
a snake not a worm. For a short time after the other bowerbird chased and
harassed the snake killer for a share. So
here we had a bird that not only comes to eat the bits of cereal we sprinkle
outside for a pair of mud larks, it also kills snakes and feeds on nectar! Our bird book says absolutely nothing about
their diet.
The fleeting comings and goings of fellow campers to Windjana
hardly affected us based on the margin of the campground with a flush toilet
close by and the showers on the opposite side of the campground we soon realised we could easily spend more time than normal
– we extended our stay by another two
days. Our only complaint, the number of tiny burrs that adhere to the bottom of
our shoes and lie in wait about the floor of the caravan (like land mines)
ready to spike and cause unexpected pain at every opportunity. We have taken to
sweeping up well before bed even running our hands across the floor to ensure
one isn’t left to sabotage us during the night. Our shoes are mandatory as
these ‘’Windjana burrs’’ cover toilet and shower floors too and we have no idea
which plant in the campground gives rise to them. Four our last two days the
temperature easily rose to 34.7°C (in the shade) by 3.00pm.
George noticed our bowerbird was not undertaking any more stick gathering exercises, possibly as a consequence of the heat. He also perceived the birds ‘’panting’’ with open beaks which made him wonder when they obtained water. In the case of our male, it never seems to leave his area such is his vigilance. This emphasizes the significance attributable to shade for bower site selection. Furthermore, given the ceaseless activity, the questions arising from energy expenditure, is when and where is the food required? And, of course, what is its diet? In brief, the longer George observed the Great bowerbirds at Windjana, the more he wondered. These birds provided a marvellous subject and opportunity for a higher degree. The campground served as a perfect research base. Given their low, sweeping flight paths the bowerbirds could easily be mist-netted and ringed; the population size established; the location of their bowers easily mapped; their breeding behaviour and success determined; their feeding habits established and interactions between themselves and other species (man included) properly documented. His thoughts led to what happens when a male with a well-established bower dies of old age (or fatigue). What happens to its bower? Is it taken over by another bird or, once abandoned, is it dismantled, recycled, or allowed to rot? For that matter, do bowerbirds steal from one another? In other words, are they inclined to pinch the ornaments found lying outside the bower of another male for redistribution outside their own? Similarly, would they steal the sticks used for bower construction to save themselves the bother of finding their own? What happens in the case of the male bowerbird we could see 50m from our camp without any trace of a bower five days later yet still spends all day prancing around the base of his shady tree, courting females. He may have developed a completely new bower free strategy that is just as successful as any other. When and where does the female begin building her own nest to lay her one to two eggs. We have noticed the female visiting our male making little alterations as if to stamp her mark. Many questions … we need to check existing literature, once back in signal, to see if they have all been answered.
The highlight of our last day was finally capturing The Shot! A bowerbird nectar feeding.
A little later, in the middle
of another very hot day George
noticed a bowerbird feeding on something
high up in the canopy of a eucalypt (bloodwood tree), and regularly wiping his
beak on a branch He decided such behaviour warranted climbing the tree to see
what it was up to.
‘Seventy-six’ scoots up the tree surrounded in prickly bush and thick vine with his harridan squawking in vain. Once up, he required a pair of scissors which took some throwing before he caught them.
His conclusion. Bowerbird fed on
the delicate little flowers growing off the tendrils of the vine – confirmation
came from fresh lime green droppings lying on a branch below where it had been
feeding.
Next day we left Windjana and headed for Tunnel Creek – 36 km away. The road recently graded made a world of difference to the rough, horribly corrugated track we had followed 14 years ago. Nearing Tunnel Creek, we entered the Devonian Reef Conservation Park – Of interest were the boabs perched impossibly high up amongst the limestone cliffs looking like grey sentinels overlooking the landscape guarded by the Bunuba Aboriginal people.
The Napier Range is part of an
extensive fossilised barrier reef from Devonian times 360 million years ago.
Only small bits of the original reef system (shown in yellow above) are now
exposed but at one stage constituted an extensive reef system similar to the
Great Barrier Reef that extended way out to sea off what is now Kimberley
coast. It is in the Devonian Reef Conservation Park that Tunnel Creek, a water
worn tunnel beneath the Napier Range, serves as the main attraction.
Both of us had forgotten just
how awkward clambering through the boulder strewn entry to Tunnel Creek. So
much so, Lea wisely decided her gammy knee was a problem and the prospect of
wading through thigh deep cold water and stumbling over rocks in the dark, was
not for her. Consequently, equipped with
a torch George went through on his own.
Mid way along the creek a
colony of little red fruit bats roosted on the roof of the tunnel.
It is in Tunnel Creek that the
Aboriginal freedom fighter Jandamarra hid for almost three years before being
killed on 1st April 1897 by an Aboriginal police tracker. When George
reached the exit to the tunnel where Jandamarra had been shot, falling 30m to
his death, before returning the way he’d come, George silently offered the
spirit of Jandamarra his respect.
Dry clothes required before we could set off to
our next camp spot, the RAAF Boab quarry, 58km away.
We were delighted to find we had the whole place to ourselves at that stage – a
large Brahman bull just leave the drinking hole! We picked a spot overlooking a small baobab
studded valley where no one was likely to intrude and settled down. We were surprised by a large amount of cloud
cover crossing overhead; the likes of which, we have not seen for a long time and
it brought short respite to the heat.
Towards evening we walked among
the many boabs that give name to this RAAF site before walking along the rim of
the quarry, with the water body it contained now very much shallower than when
we last saw it – a beautiful sight, nevertheless.
We thought we’d left
bowerbirds in Windjana until Lea’s good
hearing recognised the now- familiar noise of a bowerbird and her sharp eyes picked him out taking regular triangular
flights between boabs where he’d perch
high in the branches and issue guttural calls, before flipping to another to
repeat the performance, as if advertising for a mate. Rightly or wrongly, his
behaviour convinced us he was alone in this huge space. Sometimes he’d flit down to a bush in our
camp site and stare closely at us and have a few words…
Next day, Lea chanced to see
the bowerbird pick up a stone behind the caravan and fly across the valley,
carrying it to below a leafy bush growing on a rocky outcrop 50m from where we were
parked. A rapid inspection followed – and to George’s absolute delight, he discovered a beautifully
built bower surrounded by a fascinating mound of debris ranging from stones to
plastic forks, bits of broken bottles, shells,
squashed soft drink cans, a fragment of jawbone with the teeth still in
place, bits of silver paper, and freshly picked pieces of greenery in the form of fruits and seeds
pods. The grey colour of the rounded bower perfectly matched the weathered
colour of the limestone platform on which it had been built. The male, speedily
dubbed the ‘’geologist’’ due to his vast collection of stones, became very agitated
at George’s presence.
Location of the bower (arrowed)
If one were to count the
number of stones that constitute the ramps constructed on both sides of the
bower, there is no doubt there would be thousands. The sheer number leads one
to ask how old is the bower? And, does this represents the lifelong endeavour
of a single bird or, after its disappearance (or death), does the bower
continued to be built upon and added to by a number of succeeding males? Late afternoon, well over 24 hours later, we
finally spotted a female in the area, showing an interest in the bower. Her
presence induced the male to display in the normal manner. The bower is only
for courting – once the male has his female she has to build her nest, lay 2 eggs,
and bring up the chicks! George also
observed the male swoop down, catch a large (35mm) grasshopper and proceed to
break it apart before devouring it, which added to our growing information
about their diet. Another interesting
moment there, was the bellowing of a bull. Reminding us of a lion warning of
its presence, as this grunt echoed about the RAAF Boab quarry. Scrabble was a disaster that night! Just as George
was closing in for the kill with 269 points compared to Lea’s 249 with no more
tiles to play, she finished with a 42! Game over on a dreadful note!
With our rig pointed soon to
head west on the last leg of our Kimberley loop it wasn’t long before we were
back on the Great Northern Highway. As soon as we reached Ellendale rest area,
we began to look for the free camp described in our Camps Australia guide as
Lake Ellendale (aka Ellendale Pool) supposedly 6km further south. Not being
signposted we missed the turn off and had to ask a Road Supervisor for
directions. He kindly returned us to the entrance and explained the site was an
old borrow pit that had since filled with water on Ellendale Station. Although
not designated as a rest area it had become a popular roadside stop over for
many travellers. A man we’d met yesterday at the RAAF boab quarry said he’d
seen over 50 caravans parked here in peak season! Fortunately, not the case this day. There were
only two other vans camped beside the pool when we pulled in. With a wealth of
camp sites to choose scattered amongst the bush, flocks of corellas shrieking
discordantly at us for infringing upon their peace and quiet, and numerous
brown ‘mombies’ (Brahmans) lying around in the shade – it suited us perfectly.
An unexpected pleasure was finding 33 messages had crept in after being out of
communication since departing Derby.
We’d give Ellendale Pool a big
green tick in our Camps Australia guide to signify it met with our complete
approval.
Next morning, as Lea was dressing a large brown cow peered in and gave her quite a turn. It seems it had pitched up for breakfast and was happy with an old carrot Lea gave it. However, it was not prepared to move until George had paid his dues with a parsnip.
We thought it would never
leave as it followed George around outside. Saxon was quick to react to the
above photo we sent her, wondering why her Dad had not followed up with a
Crocodile Dundee moment. Our brains just don’t work like that!
Tranquillity was broken by the
awesome grunts of a bull and when he arrived on site, we decided it was time to
‘’put foot’’ and depart. As we passed
over Cockatoo creek Lea spotted a large flock of brolga on the water’s edge.
There was no-where to pull over safely and we missed the opportunity to obtain
a photograph. By midday, after a long 190km drive, we finally dropped anchor back
at the Nillibubbica rest area, where we’d begun our West Kimberley Loop. The
same mud-lark quickly resumed its fight with the wing mirror enemy on SKV. By the 15th August we were back in the caravan park at Roebuck
Plains roadhouse and scrubbing our rig, dirty laundry sorted before our very
thorough showering as temperatures rose, we had the advantage of running the
air-conditioner! Our only complaint – the pathetically weak phone signal, for
being 33km from Broome. We are so
irritated by the Government fanfare on a much-lauded National Broadband Network
and claims by Telstra, our service provider, about their country wide coverage.
No TV signal here either. Come nightfall, with three huge road trains
outside laden with cattle, doing the dance of death as their hooves tap danced
on the metal of their double stories trailers
we found it very distressing to go over to the roadhouse for dinner with
‘’Malcolm & Douglas’’ the two fibreglass bulls in the pub. Saturday night! Covid
distancing certainly didn’t come into play as we gazed around at a large, noisy
crowd of people who converged on the place.
We hopped on to bar stools in a far corner with the snooker table and
were soon presented with an enormous serving of roast lamb and vegetables. Neither of us were able to finish the meal
and speedily left the ever-increasing crowd of people who showed not the
slightest concern about a pandemic virus, Covid19, still technically in the
process of hurting humankind. Quiet drama
ensued on returning to the caravan when we could not locate the ablution key. Thinking
back on our movements, the trail hunting began searching high and low; inside
and out until Lea decided it may have been handed in at the roadhouse and over,
she went to inquire. No! They kindly
gave her a spare and finally when we had regained our equilibrium … Lea had a
light bulb moment! She had put clothes
pegs in her pocket on taking down the last of the washing. Sure, enough there
in the peg bag was the KEY!
A steamy Sunday rising to 40’C had George hydro-sealing the caravan roof in case corrugations had created any new
hairline cracks while Lea saw to fresh bed linen and laundering the old before a aircon kept us
cool and relaxed ready for our departure next day back to Broome
Caravan Park. There, we quickly set up before going to town for lunch at
Matso’s to mark our wedding anniversary. We had planned an adventure in
recognition of our special day – the tide did not align so our celebration was
two days hence! Broome was far busier
than we’d seen, and we were lucky to be squeezed into ‘Matso’s’. Sadly, our
meal was a big disappointment. We shopped and refuelled ready for our trip up
the Dampier Peninsula and returned to the caravan to made up our bed in the
back of the truck and pack what we needed for two nights away. Getaway was left
out in a sunny field - off power (running on solar) while we went up to Cape
Leveque – last travelled 2014 on a shocking road slowly dragging Getaway. We
were surprised to find the first 50km of the 200km journey sealed with roadworks
underway.
A major upgrade of Cape Leveque road being undertaken by WA Govt.
There are mixed reactions to this
‘new road’ as the shocking state of the old road acted as a barrier and kept
the peninsular unsullied by commercialism. A sealed road brings people into an
area that does not have the infrastructure to cope and becomes a community
intrusion as a result of increased tourism. Presently a bio-security area due
to Covid19, Dampier Peninsula is predominantly Aboriginal land. Therefore, no
entry allowed into the area without prior booking for Kooljaman and Cygnet Bay.
Near the Middle Lagoon turn off a zebra veered onto the road –we rapidly pulled
ourselves out of reverie on this very straight endless road to recognise a
donkey! We were to see more donkeys along the last 50 kms of road – obviously,
a hazard, as on the return journey we came across a dead one. Usually it is
cattle!
Our first port of call was
Kooljaman, the Aboriginal owned eco-resort incorporating a restaurant, cabins, glamping
tents on platforms and campground overlooking the beautiful beaches that
stretch either side of Cape Leveque itself.
We had our picnic lunch down on the beach, it was just too hot to walk,
and George was eager to reach our campground.
Not too far away was Cygnet
Bay, the oldest pearl farm in Australia, run by the Brown family.
Diversification into non-pearling investments helped the Browns weather the
2008 financial crisis by opening the farm to the public; establishing a
licensed restaurant, enabling people to go ‘’glamping’’ in safari tents (with
private ensuites and fans), serviced bush tents, powered and unpowered camping
facilities, as well as offering fishing trips, sea safaris and indigenous tours.
We’d booked two nights in their
campground at $50 per night! We were certainly taken aback when we found the
camp-spot we’d been allocated, on the bend of the narrow
sandy track threading its way through the campground of acacia scrub. Our site comprised
nothing more than a tiny clearing scarcely big enough for the truck to fit
into, fully exposed to the heat of the afternoon sun, a power point and tap for
water nearby. No view at all and no privacy from passing cars. It was the most
expensive parking bay we have ever had to pay for.
Those early hours of overcoming
expectations in the heat were difficult but we soon adapted. George rigged up
some shade cloth from the truck tied to the branches of a tree. Then we realised
we forgotten to pack our pot- having used it the night before. We had to eat
our precooked meal cold! Next morning, when George came to light the gas for
the kettle, he found the lighter, kept in his toolbox, and not used in a long, fell
apart. As did the old box of matches! Our nearest neighbour - barely seen
through the thickets played a radio non-stop. Although things seemed to be going from bad to
worse, we were happy with a most pleasant toilet, shower and camp kitchen block
concealed further away in a central location.
George found a small lizard intent on digging a burrow in the middle of the pathway and presumed, it intended to lay its eggs there.
Come late afternoon we set off
to explore more of the campground and find the beach. Not far we found a rocky
foreshore on a bay. No wonder Lea kept
saying she could hear water running during the course of the afternoon. The
tide had been going out and water ran between the rocks without the usual sound
of waves.
Our celebration for 52 years
dawned! Six years ago, 2 July 2014 to
be precise, we stood on the shore of the Dampier Peninsula’s One Arm Point
marvelling at the sight of the powerful tidal currents streaming into King
Sound – These tides, emerging from the deep offshore zone are not only
constricted squeezed by the narrow continental shelf but amplified as it moves
shoreward. Then, with King Sound shaped like a huge funnel the tide is
amplified even further as it is forced up its narrowing form. Now with a boat
trip into the entrance of King Sound to see the much-acclaimed Waterfall Reef,
our big day had arrived.
The morning was spent patiently
waiting / reading in what little shade our campsite afforded us, then around
2.30 walked to the reception area, a kilometre away, from Reception where a
strange small boat was destined to depart from.
We decided only 6 fitted in and realised why it had been so difficult to
get a booking over the years to coincide with an extreme tide!
However, this was “Sea Legs” – no ordinary boat! Equipped with wheels, it assisted passengers across the shore before becoming an amphibious inflatable. Two engines – one, an inboard four-cylinder engine to drive the wheels and the other, an outboard motor came into use once the boat was afloat and the wheels had been raised. Bala, our captain/Guide - a lanky, very pleasant young Aboriginal responsible for transferring twelve of us out to a larger boat, with seating arranged in straddle form and equipped with two 200HP outboard engines, like the powerful boat we went to see the most exciting ‘Horizontal Falls’ on an extreme tide to celebrate our thirty-eighth wedding anniversary. By 3.30 the tide had risen to 9.43m. Consequently, the trip to ‘Waterfall Reef’ timed to coincide with the falling tide. We raced out of Cygnet Bay towards the entrance of King Sound, passing One Arm Point. It was a phenomenal experience (somewhat like white water rafting the Zambesi River below Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe) as we witnessed, and felt the turbulence of the whirlpools created by the outgoing tide. In places the surface of sea looked as if it was boiling, contrasting with other patches of silvery smooth water. Wherever a rocky island occurred, the velocity of the water streaming past it was an extraordinary sight. Overhead, flocks of terns moved at speed in every direction, and as rocks rose out of the fast falling tide, we spotted pelicans perched.
Pancakes of depressions formed
by downward pulling whirlpools.
Sunlight on the shoreline
demonstrated how far the tide had fallen as we dodged the upwellings of
turbulent boiling waters.
As Lea took photos of the
beautiful cliff-like rock formations her phone battery died. Not long after, she noticed an unusual white
‘frill’ appearing in the distance. We reached Waterfall Reef an hour after the
high tide begun to recede yet from quite a long way off we could see the change
in the water as the frill steadily
became an ever increasing cascade of
water spilling from what appeared to be a vast lagoon behind it. Bala explained
this steadily draining platform, four square km in size is well submerged in high
tides. The ‘reef waterfall’ displays at its spectacular best on an extreme low
tide. Bala was able to take the boat
right up the edge of the cascade and for the next 30 minutes we sat there
watching the waterfall gradually increase in height, plunging vertically in
some places or dropped g over a series of tiers in other places. All the time
keeping a sharp look out for turtles that gather below the outflow to feed on
soft corals, molluscs, sponges and crustacea. Not our day however, standing on
the edge of the cascade we could see reef egrets fishing. All in all, a highly
unusual sight – unrivalled, so it is said, anywhere else in the world.
The ephemeral waterfall rising
out of the sea
We steadily moved back from
the falls not wishing to be grounded on the clear rocky bottom that we could
easily have stood perhaps waist deep in by then before the return trip to
Cygnet Bay, travelling alongside the
shore of Sunday Island, where Bala said saltwater crocodiles sunned themselves
on small pocket-sized beaches that lay in tween gaps of an otherwise rocky
shoreline. Two or three small ‘logs’ were seen! The surface of King Sound still swirling
violently in different places across the width of the Sound with the setting sun
directly in our eyes, blinding our vision at times. We stopped briefly next to
some of the long, buoyed lines of the pearl farm and Bala explained the continuous
monthly cleaning process of all the nets and pearl shells.
In next to no time we were back in ‘Sea legs’ as the soft evening light drew this marvellous King Sound Adventure to a close. Sitting behind us, were folk with our accents and over a chilled beer. We chatted to ex Zimbabwean farmers Tim & Kathy Millet. All too soon our restaurant booking was ready, and we departed promising to meet over breakfast next morning. A delicious dinner completed our anniversary and we walked back to our back to our campsite in the dark (with the aid of Alison’s ‘’dark-walker’’ torch).
No sign of our Zimbabweans
next day. We hit the road and took the three plus hour journey back to Broome knowing
our friends Pete & Di Ryan, had arrived the previous day and parked near us
in our caravan park. Back in time for
lunch, we found they were out… not perturbed as they probably expected us at
evening time and would have dinner awaiting us!
We sent an SMS mid-afternoon to discover they had been in Accident and
Emergency all day. Di had walked off a wall late at night leaving the ablution block
where shadows played tricks with her eyes. As we all laughingly say Di is
easily disorientated in a new location and needs to be watched! No one to help
her at that time of night in her shock with blood streaming from hand, knee,
and lip. She gingerly made her way back to the washroom to mop up the mess she
found herself in. Luckily, nothing broken and worse, Peter hadn’t missed her
thinking she was phaffing about! Late afternoon a bruised, battered and patched
up Di returned to the ‘fold’ with Pete.
She had defrosted bolognaise and Lea took over cooking spaghetti as
plenty of chatting took place.
George had a booking with
Dodger at ALL VOLTS to replace / rewire the trailer connections (the earth wire
in which recently melted) and establish why the 20amp fuse in the truck keeps
blowing. He set off early with our rig leaving Lea with Ryan’s. Three hours
later in a temperature of 34°C George and Dodger were still at it, having
established the electric brakes on the caravan were the problem. Increasing the
fuse to 30amp meant the electric brakes would engage but not release – locking
the wheels. Checked break-safe system, replaced battery … and still Dodger
could not fathom out what was going on. Eventually they were forced to give up
and George returned hot, thirsty, and hungry; feeling disappointed and fed up.
Meanwhile Lea had undertaken to cook dinner and was champing at the bit to get
going and dreading cooking with her oven in such heat. Air con saved the day.
That Saturday morning was
spent in the supermarkets stocking up for Barn Hill Station. We were returning
there on the Monday with the Ryan’s. We were moving on to Roebuck Plains Roadhouse
next day as we’d expected Di and Peter to shoot up to Cape Leveque for a night
before joining us down at Barn Hill. Unknowingly, the third Saturday of the
month had our evening suddenly erupt into a deafening roar of racing cars and
go-carts! The Broome caravan park neighbours the speedway! For three hours we
could scarcely converse, let alone think, such was the incessant, unholy
racket!
Early next morning the warning
signs for our hottest day yet had us ready to move out as soon as ABC channel
‘Insiders’. Months since Lea has been able to indulge in a favourite Sunday
morning programme. As soon as we arrived at the Roadhouse for our night – we refuelled,
check tyre pressures, and put on a last load of laundry before retiring to the
caravan in 40’C heat to stay calm and
collected in the aircon. One power outage had our hearts plummet!
Heat set us on the road
earlier than usual and we returned to Barn Hill. With Northern Temperatures rising fast we
were in two minds about going unpowered. By the time we’d seen what was
available we still settled for an unpowered site. No view of the sea on this
occasion we took a quiet back row site with plenty of space around us and shade
from a couple of trees to sit under planning to move should a suitable site in
the front row become available. As the day progressed we realised our rig was
perfectly placed in terms of exposure for solar power and our place was
perfect. We settled in permanently.
Pete and Di arrived around
midday just as a sea mist came in, obscure the Barn Hill views and creating a
strange mystical aura about the huge campground. We arranged to meet halfway at
the Reception ‘Plaza’ to avoid carting chairs and tables back and forth between
our caravans which were almost at opposite ends as Ryan’s required power for
their rig. Pete with his gammy knees and
Di with her injuries were unable to join us on our evening beach walks. Naturally, we picked up where George had left
off three weeks ago, searching for hermit crabs! Rather surprisingly, a search
of the low tide zone on the southern beach was devoid of any tracks but above
the high water mark it was a different story. Tides had reached the base of the
cliffs lining the beach and washed out tracks there too. George went inland and
found the same abundance of tracks above the high-water mark. He searched under
logs, beneath shady overhangs and amongst the vegetation. Known to live on dry
land, dis-associated with the near-shore zone, the question is where do they
hide during the heat of the day? Amongst clumps of terrestrial vegetation? George
found none!
Potentially a perfect hermit crab shelter with all the evidence directing George there… Nothing! Nada!
We’d invited Ryan’s to afternoon tea to see our section of the campground with direct instructions to find us. Just as we were giving up on them they arrived hot and bothered having been on a long ‘wild goose chase’ provided by the office who had no idea where anyone camps in unpowered zones. Unlike the powered site which are allocated with names and numbers!
We took Ryan’s to overlook our North Beach and a fellow
camper obliged and took a team photo of friends!
Wednesday siesta time – George’s face appeared at the door saying it all…. We were about to be delimited by neighbours. A motorhome on one side and barely metres away from our front door a tent was about to be erected. His dismay stayed, even while we had our evening walk and during the Wednesday evening Barn Hill BBQ and entertainment. Our open space had closed in on us. Our son’s 50th birthday dawned and George discovered half a dozen empty sites had been vacated earlier in the morning. Lea was urged to get up and go and see if she fancied one. She did! Consequently, having decided how to access and position the caravan there was a mad dash to pack up. Moving hosepipes, taking down the awning, and moving running to place the chairs and table there to hold our site. Working speedily as a team we soon had our rig trundling round to take advantage of empty sites to enter one and move across to perfectly place Getaway. A nerve-racking episode occurred when George turned SKV into our proposed site and the back wheels began spinning and digging ever deeper with sand flying out everywhere. The previous occupant had been discharging wastewater for goodness knows how long which added to our woes in the thick sand. Rapidly George engaged low ratio 4WD to get out and even that didn’t come easy as tyre pressures were too high and we were perilously close to an eroded gully. The precious piece of lawn we’d hoped to have as our front patio was chewed up in part and spat our leaving deep wheel tracks to be levelled out afterwards. Within an hour of frantic activity we had everything set up once more, with a marvellous view of the ocean overlooking the pindan canyon directly below us. Even better, phone signal had improved threefold! George’s theory we are in line of sight with Broome.
Lea proceeded to prepare the celebration cake she’d made and frozen for this occasion with whipped cream to celebrate Keith’s birthday down at the Central Plaza with Di and Peter. The Ryan’s last day in Barn Hill they had taken a walk down on the beach to see the beautiful rock formations we talk of. There is strong tendency for those that spend huge amounts of time in Game Reserves to see much the same time after time and yet, a fleeting tourist catches an unexpected and unique event without fully realising how lucky they have been! This occurred on the beach this day. Having told the Ryan’s about the paucity of shells on the beach bar bi-valve shells. Peter’s sharp eyes spotted a most beautiful spiky shell and pointed it out to Di who picked it up. Amazingly, inside the ornate almost cumbersome shell (Murex sp.) was a hermit crab. Not to be outdone Lea noticed slight movement within a deep imprint of a horse hoof the following evening.
Another unusual shell which also contained a hermit crab. Where do they find these pretty exotic shells?
With the departure of the Ryan’s on their homeward journey – our lives returned to their natural rhythm on Barn Hill Station; catching up on the blog in time to post at the end of August, our walking and, George watering the patchy grass around the caravan door hoping to produce an enviable patio lawn!
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