Back out into the Outback

Click on any photo to enlarge it.

Our views along the Southern Ocean, from Western Australia to the peninsulas near Adelaide, have been breathtaking (there's Art on top), so we’re a little sad to bid the turquoise and deep cobalt waters farewell. Still, unexplored lands await us, and we want to reach the far, far north before it’s too hot and rainy.

Down here the early spring weather is very changeable, from gale force winds and chilly temperatures to balmy sunshine. Here’s a bathing beauty in a sweet, private cove. The island in the distance is covered with sea birds in constant motion and raucous conversation.

Although our bouncing friends are a common sight, it’s always a thrill to encounter a ’roo or wallaby. Here’s an itchy one with a curious baby in her pocket.

We see quite a few emus, too. This mob of 13 is the most we’ve seen at one time. When they run, their feathers bounce and sway like flouncy skirts.

We have left the coast, but the wind still knows how to sweep through with insane abandon. In the flat landscape there’s nothing to stop it, and the red dust is so fine it can move through solid walls. Everything we own, including our skin, is taking on a ruddy hue.

In the harsh, arid outback, plants and animals have evolved for survival. Striking spring flowers vie for the attention of pollinating insects. We take enough photos to create a botany book. Sturt’s desert pea is one of the most outrageous of these wild blooms.

Broken Hill, a city of over 20,000, thrives as an unpretentious oasis in the middle of the vast, dusty, red desert. Mining (silver, zinc, and lead) is its lifeblood, its colorful history stretching back to the discovery of a silver lode in 1885. Early mine conditions were appalling, resulting in many deaths. The rise of unions improved conditions and gave the townspeople a strong sense of unity. We meet a young man who tells us one has to be born here to be an A-Grader. If you marry an A-Grader, you become a B-Grader. Only A-Graders and B-Graders can obtain mine jobs. No scabs here!

Broken Hill is also a hub for a phenomenal Aussie institution: the Royal Flying Doctor Service. There are only 20 million people on this entire continent, and over half of them live in the handful of cities along the southeastern coast. For the people sprinkled here and there around the bush and outback, the RFDS was born in the 1920s. It originally provided emergency medical service and now includes regularly-scheduled clinic days. The planes are set up as flying ambulances.

Back to nature, here are a couple of guys we frequently dodge on the roads: the docile sleepy or stubby-tailed lizard and the warrior-like frilled lizard. Each is about a foot long.

And check out this bizarre creature. It’s a caterpillar that has glued together a kind of sleeping bag cocoon built of small sticks. It’s hauling its burden by its front feet as it searches for a safe place to attach itself while it changes its identity.

Having left ocean-side cliffs, we’re back to finding our jollies along Oz’s many unstable gorges. If you can pronounce Mutawintji National Park, you may go there. From the top of this rugged world we make our fearless descent with the aid of a rope.

For marching around on rocks, we should take lessons (or not!) from these agile, feral goats. Goats are actually an introduced species in Oz and are therefore undesirable in this fragile land where they wreak ecological havoc. Nevertheless we enjoy a good show. This mama cautiously risks coming close to us as we sit on the opposite side of a desert rock water hole. We soon discover why when her twins emerge from a hidden crevice and duck under her belly to nurse. Here these two seem to be looking at the second baby back under the rock.

Wherever we go the finest of humanity emerges to greet us. Don’t be shy; you know who you are. Aussies are excellent! Thank you.

Surviving the (shudder) Nullarbor!

We take a final hike up the tallest rock we can find at the edge of Albany, a huge block of granite overlooking the bay and town. It’s a glorious day, we’re sorry to leave the area, but that demon wanderlust drags us forward to parts unknown.


We head inland for a change. On our way to the Gold Rush city of Kalgoorlie, which is still actively blasting gold out of the earth in the colossal Super Pit, we stop outside Hyden so that Art can hang ten on the Wave. Don’t worry, no sharks here. Heading into the hinterlands on unsealed roads to visit more gigantic granite, one rough stretch of two-track takes us 175 kms through dense bush without meeting a single other vehicle.

Kalgoorlie is a big city, so right away after stocking up on groceries, etc. we say to each other, “Let’s get out of here.” On our way out we visit the Super Pit where a modern-day mining conglomerate has bought all the individual mines and dynamited them all into one huge hole in the ground. Enormous trucks and cranes and whatnot hum noisily around down inside, appearing as small and busy as ants. Our next stop is tiny Norseman, named for a horse who pawed up a chunk of gold with his hoof, setting off another gold frenzy in the late 1800s. In those days hardy afgan camels hauled gold and supplies. Here is a captivating sculpture in corrugated metal commemorating their heydey.


And outside Norseman another adulterated Aussie sign. This one’s for Aaron, who would have laughed. (Click on the photo for an enlarged view.)



And then it’s time to cross the … gulp … 1200 kms of the Nullarbor! Legends of the vast Nullarbor Plain (nullus arbor = no trees) hint at people and probably even entire vehicles drying swiftly to dust and blowing over the towering limestone cliffs, of nothing but scrubby plants surviving the harshness, of a road so straight and tedious that the inevitable hypnosis spells doom. Indeed there is a stretch of 145 kms without the least bend. Someone asks us if it’s true about the zigzag: that the road engineers grew so fed up with construction without deviation that they introduced a frivolous wiggle in the bitumen.

Gosh!


And wildlife. Here’s an alert for three feral animals. Furthermore, behold, we can now assure you that wombats are in fact not mere mythical creatures. Still, Barry and Jeanette, this does not let you off the hook for Live Wombat Patrol when we reach Nowra. This poor, road-killed fellow has been propped by the side of the road with a beer bottle… evidently dead drunk.





The Nullarbor does seem to be an appropriate final resting place for Art’s pants. Alas, duct tape patches only work for so long. When he can’t move without another spot disintegrating, we know it’s time to say farewell. (But Barb, I did save a couple of zippers!)





The base of the Nullarbor is in fact a ridiculously mammoth single limestone rock, formed more than a few years ago when the area used to be a seabed.

Since limestone is soft, water has carved countless caverns and tunnels. Blowholes such as this one breathe and sigh. Closer to the ocean there are blowholes that respond to big waves with terrifying, Jurassic-like ROARING along with expelling air and/or water.




All along the water’s edge, for hundreds of kms, are thrilling 300-foot limestone cliffs.


With wind and the thundering sea below, there can be significant eroding and undercutting of the edges. Periodically chunks crack off. You want to stay a respectful distance inland.





But that’s so hard to do when Southern Right whales pass below, frolicking with their calves.




Amazingly enough we survive our passage along the edge of the Southern Ocean and down the wild west coast of the Eyre Peninsula.

If you look at the handy map of Oz in the upper right corner of this blog, you’ll see us waving from just above the “ai” of “Adelaide.” It is on the bottom point, along the beach, that Mr. Limpet-eyes and I discover this piece of whalebone jaw standing at attention. What the camera doesn’t capture is what happens a few seconds later when a sneaker wave reminds me that you should never turn your back on the ocean (yeah, yeah, I can hear you, Adele and Mitcho).




If we have held your attention this long, you are rewarded with a glimpse of Kym, a Legend in His Own Bathtub and a Hero in Our Hearts. If ever ANYTHING electrical goes wrong with your vehicle, from wherever you are in the world, we suggest you go straight to Lincoln Auto Electrics in Port Lincoln. Not only does he know more than the average koala, he’s very funny, and if you’re really lucky he’ll give you some whiting fillets (caught from his boat “Poacher”).

Turning the SW corner of WA

How do we deal with medical issues Down Under? Here’s a pretty good story. For a couple of months I had an increasingly ugly lesion on my arm. A few of weeks ago we met Julie, a Perth doctor, and her medical student daughter Lauren camping at Cape Range National Park. One thing led to another as things do, particularly over a glass of wine at a campfire. She wrote the required medical referral on a scrap of paper. We arrived in Perth in time for surgery and biopsy (yes, skin cancer). Further, Lauren happened to be filling in for an absent employee that day so it was a jolly reunion. And Mad Dr. Art was thrilled to remove the 8 stitches a week later.

A few days is all we country mice can take of a city, appealing though Perth and Fremantle are. You may wonder where we spend our nights. We’re always curious about that ourselves. You would either be impressed with our ingenuity or else want to call the cops. Caravan parks (we Yanks call them private campgrounds) give us the willies because it feels like we pay $20-25 to park so close to our neighbors they can hear us if we hiccup. Therefore we’re always scoping out scenic picnic areas, overlooks, remote tuck-in spots, etc. In cities this can be a challenge. Here’s where we slept for a couple of stormy nights on the waterfront in Fremantle. Wind-driven waves actually washed through the holes in the high stone wall!

Oh, and cleanliness. Sometimes there’s just nothing more wonderful than an actual hot water shower. Generally caravan parks permit a shower for a couple of dollars. At this public park we must stoke the water heater with wood and wait an hour for hot water first!

Stormy winter weather follows us south down the western coast. Whipping winds and rain squalls drive the sea to spectacular heights and frenzies day after day. Although we’re chilly and damp most of the time, we’re constantly agog over the wild coast and lacy limestone formations. Nothing dissuades the surfers at Myalup. We spend the night in the carpark overlooking this show.




From Cape Naturaliste to Cape Leeuwin in the far southwest we walk along the craggy coastline, spotting humpback and southern right whales. This whole corner of Oz is known for its riotous wildflower displays (not unlike Vermont’s fall foliage), but we’re just a little early in the season. Still, we have had some previews, and the upside is that we pretty much have the area to ourselves. Anyone with any sense (that excludes us right away) is still enjoying the warmth of the north. Then finally, from the Cape Leeuwin Lighthouse, we find the junction of two great oceans.

From here we must swim or point our compass eastward. Soon we discover forests (yes, actual forests! Are we still in Oz, Toto?) of mighty, white, smooth Karri trees. For such a long time it seems that nothing (except termite mounds) has grown higher than our knees. And here’s something we haven’t seen since New Zealand: a swing bridge spanning a raging river and waterfall.

Down the road we bend our necks further at soaring Tingle trees. An offbeat characteristic of these long-lived trees is that they are inclined, from fire, fungus, and bugs, to be missing their interiors. No matter; their growing parts are around the outside, just under the bark. These trees are so lofty that we treat ourselves to this Tree Top Walk which takes us on a stroll 40 metres above the ground.


Other curious trees include: marri, jarrah, sheoak, banksias, and of course the ever-popular grass tree. But the all-time winner for name alone has to be … the SNOTTYGOBBLE!


Colossal granite rocks are the featured attraction along the Southern Ocean landscape. Mt Chudalup is such a huge block we have to hike to its summit hundreds of feet up and then hold our breath not to fall off. And when you see one of us perched on an edge, consider where the other of us may be clinging to take the photo!


Now here we are at Albany, and we can’t seem to leave. More granite! Glorious hikes! Clear weather! Laid-back citizens. A wind farm which supplies 75% of the city’s power. Free showers. A defunct whale station, now converted into a fascinating history-of-whaling museum where they show their documentaries in the old whale-oil storage tanks. Whale and dolphin sightings off-shore. And friendly Bar Cino coffeehouse with delicious coffee and free wireless internet (Hi, Martin & Annette)!

But still no wombats….

Central West Western Oztralia

How can we not go to a place called 14 Mile Beach? And we are not disappointed although the amenities are pretty much only those offered by Mother Nature. To keep the area environmentally acceptable, all campers must have built-in or portable toilets, and there’s a sullage tip a few kms away. Also there’s a well with brackish water, too salty to drink but fine for dishes and bathing. We park and set up our shower tent right on the beach. We’re just in time for a big bocce tournament. Art nearly wins—and we forgot the camera! After a couple of nights, with the full moon approaching, we are surprised in the morning to find that the surf has come up, through, and beyond everyone’s campsite! Since most people have tent annexes, mats, and whatnot, there is a flurry of precautionary moat-digging, in case the horse tries to escape the barn again.

Carnarvon is a tropical haven for produce, especially bananas. At a farm we are shown around and educated in banana production. If you double-click on this photo you can see the purple blossom close-up. Baby bananas form under each petal (kind of marsupial!), which curls up and falls off when the offspring are big enough.

Shark Bay is a World Heritage Site because of its ecological significance. Other sites include the Grand Canyon and the Great Barrier Reef. It’s a pretty exclusive club. Here the water is super-saline, having to do with shallow sandbars and the curious Leeuwin Current which flows in the opposite direction from most ocean currents (well, what else would you expect down under here?). Consequently there are surprising sea creatures here, huge prairies of sea grass (as opposed to seaweed which is not affixed to the sea floor), prehistoric strombolites which generated enough oxygen to permit higher forms of life, and a particular mollusk which has produced enough shells to fill entire beaches. The calcified shells were even quarried to cut into blocks for buildings. Once again we find an incredible camping spot. Do you see our little Troopy at the edge of the water?


Nearby is a place called Monkey Mia. Mia means ‘place,’ but what the ‘Monkey’ part means we can’t guess. It’s known for the wild bottlenose dolphins who visit daily for a hand-out. They’re only given a small percentage of their daily fish requirement so they remain self-sufficient. We must admit it’s quite a thrill to have such close contact.

As the sun sinks into the water, we offer a toast to the wonders of Shark Bay.





So much for the fine weather. As we travel down the coast to Kalbarri National Park, winds kick up into a frenzy, promising (and delivering) rain. It is definitely dramatic, with huge, crashing waves beating against the rocky shore.






We don’t have to travel far inland to find the peculiar limestone pinnacles of Nambung National Park. Aha, so THAT’s what inspired the termite architecture designs. Running through the sandy fields is a narrow track for small vehicles to actually drive around the pinnacles. Somehow this feels more than a little bizarre.





But no more bizarre than the latest natural offering: the grass tree. Peculiar to southwestern Oz, it appears to be a type of yucca. In any case, it was designed by Dr. Seuss.



And finally we arrive in Perth, the only Big Act in Western Australia. It’s said to be the most remote capital city in the world, and having traveled thousands of outback and bush kilometres we’re here to tell you we believe it. Nearby is coastal Fremantle where Art’s antics landed him in the local pillory for a while. Hey—put that rotten tomato down!