Sublime to the ridiculous
Posted: October 7, 2015 Filed under: Australia, Camping, Iconic Australian images, Landscapes, WA | Tags: Australian native flora, outback, pilbara, roadtrip, snorkelling 6 Comments
Content warning: If you are close to convincing your better-half that camping is a really great idea, disavow all knowledge of this post.
Hello! I’ve been thwarted in my attempts to post in the last three weeks due to not having enough ‘fibre’ across the top end of Australia. I still don’t fully understand because W hasn’t drawn me a picture, but apparently having coverage and having speed to upload stuff is different. Stabbing my finger repeatedly on the return key doesn’t help either. W makes a dial whizz around on his iPad and declares the location blog-possible or not. As we have made it to the East Coast, the dial should whizz above 0.84 megabits and I can get back to where I left off…
And the Landscape Design Award goes to…nature
Monitor Lizard, critter time (for Kenny)
When we packed up at Cape Range, a little surprise awaited me on the underside of the groundsheet; two poor little mice in pancake form, a vision now burned into my retina for the rest of all time. I had managed to forget the stowaway Huntsman spider, the ticks, and the poor man dismantling his two month old Toyota to evict the family of rats that were eating his vehicle from the inside of the seats out. Until then.
Mt Nameless Rd, the 4WD alternative to Tom Price. Looks innocuous enough.
We headed in the direction of Tom Price, and at 4pm set up camp on the side of the highway, close enough to deter psychopaths, far enough from the road-train that would inevitably park nearby, and run their refrigeration units all night. Opening the back door of the car to pull out bits of tent, a tiny stowaway mouse freaked out and shot into the depths of our vehicle. A forensic sweep of the Silverado coaxed it out of the car and straight under the imagined sanctity of our tent. By morning, two of them made it out alive to examine their new digs in the local spinifex.
The last time I was at Tom Price, Stevie, Suz, W and I went to the only restaurant open at 6.30pm – the hotel – where no menu item escaped the scorching love of the deep fryer. Jump aboard the DeLorean and fast forward 5 years, and we found ourselves at Crave coffee cart that not only served a great heart starter, but oh my! smoothies with kale. I caught up with the lovely Matt and Kass, mid-roadtrip to meet photographers for new venture Austockphoto, started by Kass and business partner Clare. Hallelujah for beautiful Australian stock imagery, and hooray for tangibly supporting Australian artists! The Coles was another revelation. Jammed with every kind of produce you could want, we set new records in Paleo contraband (six kinds of kinds of cheese anyone?), and set off for Dales Gorge camp at Karijini National Park.
I waited for the nude swimmer to leave, Circular Pool, Karijini
The numerous campsites at Dales Gorge were spacious and shady, the serenity broken only by the grind of the Parks generator, and the five flirty European 20-somethings next door, travelling in a tardis. I still can’t figure out where they all slept.
Hancock Gorge where you wished you had worn more grippy shoes
Karijini has numerous stunning walks, some a short wander, some a sweaty ridge top walk, and a couple of sweaty-palmed spider climbs, like Hancock Gorge, rewarded by a cool gorge pool. Everyone seemed to have the same idea. It was a race against time. We all wanted to do an Edmund Hillary and knock all of the bastards off, and the same faces showed up at every walk throughout the day. Most striking were the family groups, with home-school books pressed to the back window of their packed vehicles. A typical bunch had five adults with at least seven kids aged two to ten. A beaming three year old boy matched us walk for walk and stayed considerably more cheerful than I did battling heat and mosquitoes. The older kids raced each other up every rocky ledge and tricky incline with the agility of rock wallabies, while their mother told me they didn’t really bother with the home school stuff, they had adventures instead.
A walking bottle of bug deterrent. Karijini National Park.
That night we took in an Astro-tour at the campground, run by Phil Witt, a sound and light spectacular. I thought the Milky Way was a cloudy blob, but no! Densely populated with up to 400 billion stars, I gained a new appreciation for how extra teeny Earth is, and how any number uttered with more than nine zeros recalls the horrors of Pure Maths and Stats at Canterbury University, before converting to white noise in my ears.
Millstream Chichester National Park, homestead walk.
I had read about Millstream Chichester a few years back, and never got there. Lush with wetlands thanks to an underground aquifer estimated to contain 1700 million cubic metres of water, the surrounding country supports a wide variety of species. It was worth tackling 200km of corrugated 4WD thick with bull-dust. Arriving at any campsite at dusk usually means you get the sole remaining camp site, next to the rubbish bins, and out in the burning sun. Which is exactly what happened. It was a breathless 39 degrees on the last campsite, as we paused to draw smiley faces in the red veneer of dust on everything outside the vehicle. I said to W that it’s ok, AT LEAST there were showers. Opening door after door to over-ripe bush-loos, I was confronted with the irrefutable fact I need reading glasses.
So dirty right now. That is not a tan.
The aquifer, along with the Harding Dam supplies water to ‘industry’ and residents in Dampier, Karratha and other surrounding towns. Unceasingly through the night, the inescapable drone of an industrial water pumping station sliced through the silence, but the brochure reassured me that this is to just to keep the Park wetlands topped up and ensure the survival of dependent species. Hmmm. Awake since 3am, waiting for first light, we thundered out in a cloud of red dust headed for Point Samson, an idyllic seaside spot for a shower, power, laundry facilities, and the promise of the ‘Best Beach in the world’ at Hearson Cove.
Best Beach In The World. Perhaps on another day? Hearson Cove, Burrup Peninsula.
There are many things to do in the West Pilbara Coast, ideally in the early dry season, and ideally if you have access to a boat. Having failed in our search for snorkelling and swimming, almost being carried off by midges and devoid of waterborne vessel, we headed out to the Burrup Peninsula in search of one of Australia’s most prolific Aboriginal rock art sites, with over 10,000 engravings and etchings, dating back 30,000 years. Their location is somewhat mysterious. Three hours and five failed attempts down nondescript trails later, I can confirm they are 2.2km from the turnoff to Hearson Cove from the Burrup Peninsula Road, down a gravel track. Despite the noonday sun leaching all colour from both the landscape and my life-force, the rock art looked freshly pressed.
10,000 etchings and drawings dating back 30,000 years, yet so fresh!
Our next stop was Barn Hill Station, champion of corrugated iron architecture and the authentic bush experience (covered in this post). We went from Barn Hill to far fancier digs at the Cable Beach Resort in Broome, where the rooms are lined in corrugated iron.
NEXT: Broome, Cape Leveque and Derby
Lambstails, Road to Tom Price
A toast to Mrs P.
Posted: September 18, 2015 Filed under: Iconic Australian images 5 Comments
Two weeks ago a dear buddy of ours lost his Mum, Maureen. It was unexpected, and came as a great shock. She will be farewelled today in Perth, and we are 2400 km away, so I would like to pay a tribute to a wonderful Mum, who left an indelible impression on Warren and I. Although we called Blaise’s Mum Maureen, I always wanted to call her Mrs P, so today that’s what I’ll do.
We met her at Blaise and Raechels’ wedding. Mrs P was an absolute hoot. I don’t think she intended comedy, but she calmly rolled out outrageous stories of Blaise’s spirited and youthful exploits (often in cahoots with his siblings or friends), with deadpan delivery, as if that went on in every household. Whenever we saw her we encouraged her to tell us more, which she did in the same matter of fact way, to our immense delight.
Mrs P knew how to put an outfit together. Whether we were whizzing along in a boat, or she was support crew at a mountain bike event, Mrs P was stylishly turned out. No shrinking violet, Mrs P was keen to get in amongst the action, a vision of classic style in the dusty heat at the end of the Cape-to-Cape Mountain Bike event, in firm possession of an esky with icy cold champagne and beer for us all. When we were on the boat, Mrs P effortlessly produced fabulous onion tart, and other foodie goodness.
We didn’t get to spend a lot of time with Mrs P, but we feel lucky to have the time that we did. She was terribly proud of her children, and although we only know Blaise well, I am sure all are testament to the amazing job she did as a Mum.
To Mrs P; Although we cannot be there today, we know you liked a bubbly, so we toast you with a Champagne, and imagine you are having a glass with us. You were an impact player, a jolly good stick, and you will be missed. x
When you are those campers
Posted: September 17, 2015 Filed under: Australia, Camping, Iconic Australian images, Landscapes, WA | Tags: Australian native flora, roadtrip 10 Comments
Imagine building an Outback-themed wilderness camp. There would be buildings made of rammed earth and corrugated iron, open air showers like Mash, but with higher walls, and painted tyres with names like Redback to indicate camp spots. At sunset, campers bring chairs and a beer and enjoy Johnny Cash and Paul Kelly covers from a guy in a singlet with a guitar, sound system and good yarns.
Barnhill Station Camp is ACTUALLY like this, without trying. The unbelievers on Wikicamps say things like “we drove in and drove straight out. WE WILL NEVER RETURN.” Was it too tree-lined? Are the station beef sausages at $3.50/a pack of seven too expensive? Is the croc-free ocean too warm? At the end of a 10 km access road on bulldust, I find clean flushing loos with a live green tree frog on the paper dispenser, hot showers, bore water at your camp site, and a pristine beach, a veritable gift for $25 a night.
More corrugated iron than you can drive a rivet in
Our campsite was on the ridge top overlooking the ocean, next to a site with an unfeasibly grassy front lawn, and a selection of veges and herbs flourishing under a tree. Vacated by a guy who spent a few months there, an annual pilgrimage, the new inhabitant took his duty of care seriously. A gregarious racing identity, our neighbour was a hoot, regaling us with hilarious stories about any topic you care to name. Both he and his wife, early retired, super savvy, knew all the good spots to fish, walk, swim, and the closest shower block within 24 hours of arrival. Despite the dusty drive in, their Winnebago was immaculate. He talked about backpackers and Whizz-bangers (the sound a mini-van camper side door makes – GOLD!), about his friend up the other end with the four drones and an undeniably cool 4WD motorhome complete with winch and simply everything that opens and closes. He generously offered his hose, grassy shade, gas, anything you could need. Aghast, I realised, we had become THOSE campers.
Barnhill Station Camp
Looking back, the signs had been there for a while. At Tulki, our need for optimal view, necessitated a camper angle that was arguably the most inefficient use of our site. Our tent ropes splayed out beyond our site in all directions, and we eyeballed everyone on their way to the loo. At the time we labelled this Own the Road. What began as an apologetic wave to passers-by, evolved into This World domination, and foot traffic diminished as campers found alternate routes in. The undeterred few that kept coming started dropping by for a chat. The chatters were always fisher folk, and a new species revealed itself, the FIFO* Fisher Folk. Who knew fly-fishing in the ocean was a thing? Clearly, a gaping hole in my knowledge. It was either a Bony day or a Permit day, the fightier the better, unless the freezer was running low and they needed meat fish more than sport.
At Osprey, we had taken a similar approach with trailer placement, we were effectively invisible and inaccessible to others, so they had to grab us emerging from the surf, to let us know we had the prime site. Throughout the day, campers wandered by, scratching down our site number. We knew to enjoy our time, as it would probably be booked out for the rest of our lives.
After Osprey we urgently required power and water so made tracks for Tom Price via the dusty and corrugated Mt Nameless Road. With dust in every crevice, we set up for just a night at the campground in a blistering, windless, 35 degrees. We finished the last peg when I noticed our shaded location straddled two sites. Cue apology to immensely friendly camp office, who mercifully allowed us to stay put, preserving the last of our good humour.
Every outback location needs a weather vane
We managed to keep it together at Karijini, but we clearly needed help at Point Samson. A combination of downward pressure by W on the coffee pot and the swing out nature of the kitchen was too much to bear for the hinges and giving way, rendered us denuded of Means to Conjure Coffee. Inexplicably, the caravan park had a blow-up castle, carwash, and toaster, but no means to cook other than a microwave. To get the trailer kitchen hinges fixed, we formed a contemporary installation out of possessions on the concrete slab, and set off for Karratha, 60 odd Km away. Several hours later, we returned to new neighbours who called out from their pristine caravan annex, “Oh hello, we thought you were having a garage sale.”
But the kitchen wasn’t the only issue. The only way to know whether our water tank is full, is when it overflows; a shameful waste of desert resources. So W fills the tank, and notes the unceasing cascade of water splashing down on the concrete slab, spreading inexorably toward the aforementioned neighbours. Hours later, in the growing mass of red mud under the trailer, W determined the source and it was off to Karratha again for parts. Fixing it meant draining more litres of precious water out onto the concrete, and then filling the trailer up again. Picture frowning caravan-ers in all directions standing hands on hips watching all of this unfold, and you get the vibe. The only people not taking noticing was the family with four children under four, the naughtiest of whom was Brydon, fond of hitting his sister Charlay, and waking the inconsolable baby with colic, prompting Dad to threaten tying him to the front of the car. “BRYDON. To the bull bars. Is that what you want, mate? One, two….”
Under the watchful eye of camp residents, we set off for Honeymoon Cove, at the end of the campground, for the ‘best shore snorkelling in the Dampier Archipelago’. It was deserted, save for a high pitched whine in the distance. Ten minutes later, bare skin freckled with welling Midgie bites, we trooped back. That night, shambolic pile of possessions hastily hidden in the tent, we took comfort in cooking on our gas burner, by the ambient light of the caravan park. Some hard-core retirees in an off-road trailer offered us their lamp, and enquired after our repairs. They suggested Barnhill as our next coastal destination, in direct opposition to the freshly pressed van-ers who told us “DON’T go to Barnhill, it’s really bad. 80 Mile Beach is much better. Our friends looked at Barnhill and drove straight out.”
Sang Choy Burger
And so we found ourselves at Barnhill, inadvertently taking up two sites (seriously, again?), enjoying the entertainment without taking our wallet (no-one mentioned passing the hat!), drove to the beach (prohibited unless launching a boat – didn’t read the flyer), and attracting offers of gas and amenities from our jovial neighbour. I hadn’t noticed that we were the ones in a rig worth about 1% of almost everyone else’s. People actually felt sorry for us! To put them at ease we let on that we were booked into the fancy Cable Beach Resort in Broome in a couple of days, but W felt compelled to explain to quizzical looks that we won it as a door prize. Equilibrium, restored.
*Fly In Fly Out workers, usually employed in the remote mining and affiliated services industry
The Real Thing – bush camp, camp oven
It’s a moray
Posted: September 1, 2015 Filed under: Iconic Australian images 7 Comments
Walk to Lakeside snorkelling
A massive factor in the enjoyment of a roadtrip is the company you keep, and I have a great travelling partner in crime, the Chef de Mission, all round awesome guy, AND chief cook with Executive Chef countenance when in cooking mode, otherwise known as W.
Noo shoes became whiffy Roo shoes
Awwwww
Chef tirelessly drags deceased Roo’s off the road for me (I can’t bear seeing them gradually disintegrate under multiple tyres), sherpas a massive bag when we have a hike to snorkel, keeps fridges stocked, cold, and operational, and produces gastronomic wonders with one key ingredient – flame. Once bereft of inspiration when denied a campfire, Chef has since reimagined the Weber Baby Q as a camp oven/poijke without wood, and as a result, moist Chicken Wrapped in Pig (prosciutto), Goldband Snapper in Butter Caper Reduction, and Steak with Chargrilled Sweet Potato has returned to our table as business as usual.
Cape Range friend
Aloha falls silent
Chef has a bad back at the moment (L5/S1 ruptured disc flare up), which every now and again tests his patience for the otherwise delightful. Aloha the dancing hula girl on our dashboard, once madly squeaking and jiggling, only shimmies silently since her solar panel was removed. Until Chef intervened, I didn’t even realise if you grabbed her and yanked upwards, she unclipped from her base (a tip for everyone I have given one to with similarly tested patience).
personal tour guide at Osprey Camp
I am so lucky to have a snorkelling buddy that loves it as much as I do. We go out at least twice a day, in the morning and late afternoon when the fish are busiest. Snorkelling is an exercise in time. The more frequently you go out, the more you see, and every time is different. Every time we go out we are excited; “it’s a moray!”, “it’s a cuttlefish!”, as if it is the first. We see turtles that take us on tours, reef sharks that circle around, tetchy morays with toothy mouths open, rare Clarkes yellow, black and white anemone fish, schools to swim through, and countless other magical fish in myriad colours.
I always wanted to be a mermaid. Turquoise Bay, Photo credit: Chef de Mission
Chef is an excellent tracker. He can spot the tiniest movement in bush or water, which means he finds all sorts of things, but his specialty is octopus. My gift is remembering colour and pattern. Chef will point at something and all I’ll see is brown coral and and rock. I’ll say, “did it have a yellow margin on the fin?” to a blank look. Luckily, Chef has turned out to be a far better underwater photographer than me. I took the Sony version of a Go-Pro out, and after following a turtle for 10 minutes, produced a movie of the turtle’s head, my head, and the surface. We happened across a shark we hadn’t seen before under a ledge. I couldn’t duck dive long enough to get a good look but thought it looked pale yellow. Chef couldn’t tell me any more than it was grey, but got a close shot. Back at camp the fish book told us we had performed multiple fly-bys of a 2.5 metre Sicklefin Lemonshark, a short-tempered individual known to act out.
Holding court at the hotplate
Chef likes to chat to fellow travellers when at work in the camp kitchen. He managed to gather up a lovely Catalan guy one morning, and swept him along snorkelling with us for a couple of days. The Catalan had travelled to Alice Springs with a ‘big real Aussie man’, but elected to shorten his trip without reimbursement, after his travel mate got on the phone once they were in range, and made a call that involved debts and breaking legs. On the second day with us, the Catalan had met a keen diver from Hong Kong at the Cape Range info centre, so the four of us set off for Lakeside on a blustery afternoon.
The boys at lakeside
A flood in March 2014 washed away our treasured camp-site at Lakeside, along with a few tents, a camper trailer, and almost one campground host. Tons of soil was washed into the pristine reef. The reef was in excellent health, but conditions not dissimilar to a washing machine developed a thirst. We sat on the sole remaining picnic table in our old spot for sunset, with a chilly bin/eski Chef had prepared earlier with cheese, snacks, and a wide variety of beverages.
Dawn from the front yard at Osprey Camp
Since the flood, Parks have expanded the campgrounds in flood-proof areas, and closed others permanently. We heard Osprey now boasted around 40 sites, and we tsk tsk-ed. Shame on us! Using funds from Royalties For Regions, the new and expanded camps are better than OK, they are paradise for $10 a head. The airy and stylish ‘eco-loo’ has beautiful Jarrah doors and a swift, fresh, breeze charging through. It is a fitting place to end our time in the world heritage listed Cape Range National Park, Ningaloo Marine Park, and the world’s largest fringing reef. Tomorrow we swap salt water for fresh, red dust for white sand, and further north, Chef will be on croc watch. When the moon hits your eye…it’s amore.
when the moon hits your eye…Osprey Dawn
Another dawn at Osprey camp
Carpets of Mulla Mulla at Cape Range. Who knew?!
Mulla Mulla at Cape Range
Tutu time
Posted: June 12, 2014 Filed under: Australia, Eucalyptus, Flora, Iconic Australian images, macrocarpa, WA | Tags: Australian native flora, eucalyptus, macrocarpa, mallee 4 Comments
I claimed I was on a mission, and I’m sticking with the theme. I’m gradually getting up to speed on the nuances between various mallee and macrocarpa and where I may track them down, thanks to evenings spent poring over quaint brochures, wildflower society booklets, and the ABC’s weighty Native Plants tome. I’d recommend not sitting next to me at a dinner party and politely enquiring about it, lest I send you to sleep. Suffice to say, it is proving to be a treasure hunt for me, and easily as much fun.
As glamorous as this sounds though, hold your envy in check. This week I took a while to get some shots near a house that had no open curtains, a large number of cars, and frequent short term visitors. I briefly contemplated a side business in surveillance, but as the industrial seed oil smoke from the nearby fast food outlet enveloped my hair, I realised I wouldn’t have the tenacity. And I don’t eat donuts.
Ah, the serenity.
Beyond the tutu. An exercise in being present.
After about Day 3, W said he no longer needed to see my daily finds, but to let him know when I have something different. Luckily I have a boom or bust approach to, well, everything; a perfect foundation for making hay when nature shines.
So, at the risk of overdoing the mallee and macrocarpa theme, here are a few from the last few days. I’m gathering a body of such work over at Nina Williams Photography, so check in there every now and again, if you would like to see more. I’ll be taking calendar orders in November!
I always love to hear if you have a favourite, and please let me know if you are interested in the plant names!
Roadside attractions
Posted: June 2, 2014 Filed under: Australia, Flora, Hakea, Iconic Australian images, WA, Wildflowers | Tags: eucalyptus, Eucalyptus Silver Princess, Gumnuts, Hakea, roadsides 6 Comments
Spurred by my singular mission for Australian iconographical supremacy, I have been burning up the kilometres in Perth’s hinterlands and developed a keen eye for the shrubbery of my favoured plants. Next time I will take a shot of the other view around some of these images. Envisage trucks and cars roaring past apace, and about every 10 minutes a ute horn and muffled yelling issuing forth. A strange custom, that one.
I’m playing around with backgrounds a bit. I cannot bring myself to snip off branches, preferring to shoot them in situ, but I have particular ideas about what I want my subject matter to sit on, and the background is not always ideal (the McDonalds red and yellow is SO dominating). I love the challenge of finding plants at the perfect stage, in the right light and manageable weather – it takes me back to driving around pre-dawn Victoria in the dark winter drizzle, with my travel mug of tea, and frozen fingers on the car heating vents. My happy place!
Eucalyptus caesia, Silver Princess
Hakea laurina, Pin-cushion Hakea
Eucalyptus Macrocarpa, Mottlecah
As I see it 