Lucky for me I worked from home on Friday. When one of Lisa’s plunging friends messaged her to say we had a unusual visitor on the beach, I was able to quickly hoof it down to see for myself. The sweeping prints left by the flippers indicated it had come ashore very recently. They led to an adult male Australian Sea Lion (Neophoca cinerea) lazing in the dunes. Despite looking like cumbersome creatures, they are very good at climbing. The dune may not be an impressive ascent, but they are known to be able to scale steep rocky terrain:
I can only recall finding one on the beach here once before, but know they occasional turn up. This male looked old and battle weary, puncture marks across the back of it thick neck and broad powerful shoulders. More likely to be a result of territorial wars, as opposed from their two main predators that are great white sharks and killer whales. They are the only endemic species of seal in Australia. The population is estimated at 10-12,000 of which over 40% are found in three colonies over east resulting in them being sparsely distributed over their range:
As a result they are one of the rarest sea lions globally, and not surprisingly their conservation status is listed as endangered. Due to being a rare treat I went down to say hello three times that day. With each visit it had moved, but not by much and in each location it took on a perfect sunbathing pose. Not at all phased by my presence, merely opening its eyes to see who was about before closing them again. For the third time Lisa and I went down as the light was fading, and it was back up on the dune ready to settle in for the night:
We did the same and headed home. This term Lisa has been getting up early to fit in a remarkable amount of activities before work. Driving to and from an exercise class, studying, reporting writing, and the usual morning stuff. Resulting in what most regard as my unnatural time to get up, being even earlier. Lisa can somehow switch to staying in bed on weekends, but my body clock makes me restless and I end up getting up at the same time. Consequently I was at the top of the crag on Saturday while Lisa was walking down the beach:
The Australian Sea Lion was nowhere to be seen, no doubt having returned to the ocean after feeling it had suitably rested up. No one was about and available to get out today, which assisted with my early departure from home. Driving out the sliver of a moon and one star was thinly veiled by wispy clouds, the light was however too low to catch an image. At the carpark with more light starting to creep in, I couldn’t resist a shot. The morning light show was extra special today and I took quite a few more images, as set up the anchors:
I had a bit of a game plan, but wasn’t sure how far I’d get. The weather was a little unsettled. When the sun managed to peak over the ridge and through the clouds, rainbows appeared and vanished out to sea. On occasion the rain made it to shore. Never too heavy, until my fourth route. A line that is not likely to get climbed much. It is a bit broken and has a slab leading up the capping roof covered with brittle flowstone and no gear in sight. I’ve lead it once before close to twenty years back, and decided today was the day to jump on it again:
It was fun and with a rope above me felt fine. Although I will admit to being a tad nervous about the traverse from under the roof on wet holds. Even more so on my second lap, when water started to stream over the roof and the holds became even less secure. But as with all my chosen climbs today I was being sensible and had picked ones at a comfortable grade 14 or VS 4c. After completing the second lap the sky and ocean started to become one. Quickly bundling up my gear I only just made it to the shelter of the toilet bock before it poured:
My head and heart battled it out. Still keen to get two more lines in, but my head suggested it was too wet. Mind you my elbow had held up pretty well so far, only wincing a little on a few moves. Plus I do enjoy these inclement conditions, it makes me feel even more alive. This made me even more keen to make the most of it, without being silly. The heart won out, and I set up the line in the easing rain. Having a surprise when I rapped down to find a group huddled under the overhang, seemingly being given instructions on trad climbing:
Despite my cheery hello and joking suggestion that the rock was in pretty good condition, only one of the trainees looked over and smiled. Not a word was said in response to my greeting, as the person instructing carried on talking. It was all a bit strange, so I started climbing and left them to it. While the rain was slowing down water still ran down the rock. On my first lap water made its way down my arms as I reached up. Coming down three more times, they looked like statues. Huddled and still listening, looking not to have moved a muscle:
The rain stopped at some point, and clearing skies were rolling in as I walked out. Quite a few empty pupal cases of Rain Moth (Abantiades atripalpis) were about. The moth can be the size of a small bat and have an uncanny ability to know when rain is coming, which it did here yesterday. Emerging a few hours before a major downpour, and living for a single day. The female scatters up to 40,000 eggs while in flight, making us of the rain to wash the eggs into crevices and increase their chance of surviving. I didn’t however see any of the moths:
Sandbagged 