A few weeks back I mentioned an unearthly being that I hoped would still be about on my next trip out this way. One I first sighted with Josh. Today as Rongy and I headed out in darkness, I remembered to keep an eye out. And there he still was. Marvin the Martian. Although his name wasn’t known until 1979, this softly spoken extra-terrestrial first graced us with his presence on earth in 1948. He was known to pursue just one objective, and that was to destroy the Earth. Merely because it obstructed his view of Venus:
I didn’t hear him say, in his gently voice, “bow before me, inferior beings” or “brace yourself for immediate disintegration”. Nor did I see any sign of his Illudium Q-36 Space Modulator. As such it looks like he may no longer have a hankering to rule as Emperor Marvin, or to blow the earth up. Maybe this time he has come in peace. We left him to continue to greet others as they passed by, continuing on our journey to Wilyabrup. Where it was time to dust of the trad gear, as it feels like I have been doing a fair amount of bolt clipping and top rope soloing:
The waves were putting on an epic show as we arrived. Big, clean sets coming in. Trailing mist behind them as they broke. Most came in as spilling breaks, with the wave crumbling and cascading upon itself. Some attempted to form plunging breaks, where the crest curls over the front of the wave before coming down. These were not able to provide that highly sort after barrel that surfers seek. But did result in a more booming sound as they broke. Further north at the beach where the Wilyabrup River meets the ocean, mist streamed off the ocean:
It was a beautiful morning. In our favour the rock was dry and felt good. A gentle offshore that was forming the trailing mist behind the waves also kept the salt spray at bay. Added to that we had the crag all to ourselves. Today was a day to pick the fun lines, and play it by ear. Seeing how the mood took us and what our bodies felt like after each ascent. During each of which we relished placing trad gear, looking for funky placements for added entertainment. Rongy took first lead, and found this pocket that was the perfect brown tricam size:
During my first lead about six meters up and as I approach a big horizontal break, a Nankeen Kestrel (Falco cenchroides) flew out. It was a great sight, but did make me wonder if I should back off. However, with winter having just kicked in there was no way that I had disturbed a nest. And hopefully it had merely been resting up. Climbing on and as I passed the break, it came back. Flying along the front of the cliff at about my head height. There was no keek-keek-keek or killy-killy, in fact it didn’t call out at all. Indicating it was not alarmed by us:
We assumed it had just been curious. And after the flyby inspection it settled not too far away. Not moving the entire time I was sat atop the route, belaying Rongy up. After which I wandered over and it allowed me to get really close to take the above image. It wasn’t till we walked back down that it flew off, heading south and landing in the scrubby headland some way away. I swear I saw it come back as Rongy then took on his next lead. Chosen for fun and also length. And on which he found a great red tricam sized pocket:
On my last trip here I top rope soloed the below climb. However, due to the overhanging nature and resulting phaff with the rope work, I avoided the low down crux moves. Having mentioned on the drive down today that I could be tempted with it, I reckon Rongy had also chosen his route so we would walk below this mighty line. To further encourage me to jump on it. The start certainly felt goey, as I felt the weight of full rack pulling me down. Mind you, as I made my way up, I was thankful for the safety the gear offered as I slotted it in:
It was tempting to link the two pitches but Rongy felt it may be better if I didn’t. Being concerned that if the crux spat him off, the stretch of the additional rope would see him hit the deck. It was a fair call, and as it is always does safety comes first. This saw him take on the fine second pitch. And only after we had five pitches under our belt did others drift in. Back at the base we were drenched in sunlight and the spray was making land fall, due to the off shore wind having turned. A sign for us to call it a wrap, but not before we hit one more great line:
Sandbagged 