The woodchip hobo

The ocean is too rough for the Peppy Plungers to dip today.  A sure sign the weather has been and continues to be a bit naff.  And as a result I’m not likely to get out for a wander in the bush, let alone touch rock this weekend.  I have however had a couple of quick wanders during the week to see what may be out and about.  Mostly because I wanted to find the one species of orchid that I wasn’t able to spot at the Capel Nature Reserve a few weeks back.  I have seen it just once in the coastal dunes just out the back of our home, so I started there:

I didn’t have too much orchid success but stumbled across a little patch someone had cleared and popped a couple of chairs in.  It seemed a little random.  The track to get to them is fairly overgrown and they are tucked away from anywhere, but the chairs look to be in good nick so I’m guessing must have been placed there recently.  While the orchids evaded me I did spy a slimy egg shaped bulb coming up, being a Common Rosegill (Volvariella gloiocephalus).  The species name aptly coming from Greek words meaning ‘glue’ or ‘slime’ and ‘head’:

It was nothing special.  Being a species that grows in temperate areas, is not too fussy about its habitat, and is found on every continent except Antarctica.  Slugs and snails are the most notorious consumers of this fleshy mushroom, often leaving visible and irregular bite marks on the caps.  No slugs or snail on this one, although I have no idea what insects were taking advantage of what may be a bite mark, which had provided them with a way through the defensive skin.  My next image if of a Golden-eye Lichen (Teloschistes chrysophthalmus):

These are said to rely on highly specific coastal or temperate, sun-exposed habitats.  Something we have in abundance, as such I do get to spot these every so often despite being considered highly localized and relatively rare in Western Australia.  In the UK they were thought to have been extinct for over a century, until staging a quiet natural recolonization.  While they may not be everywhere and are general small, it is hard to miss their incredibly bright and cheerful colour.  As for the lichen to its left, I have had no luck in identifying that:

The above is a Powdered Ruffle Lichen (Parmotrema hypotropum).  Several lichen found here have cup like structures that release spores, very clearly seen in the Golden-eye Lichen, but not this one.  As the name suggests the margins feature a powdery edge, called soralia and these produce and release its spores.  It also has distinctive black hairs along the edges.  As mentioned before, lichen are a symbiotic relationship between fungus and algae or cyanobacteria.  Being entirely fungal the purpose of these hairs has baffled botanists:

The next species shown above, Cartilage Lichen (Ramalina celastri), also clearly shows the cup or saucer like structures.  As with all lichen because they have no roots they absorb trace minerals, nitrogen, and moisture directly from rainwater, dust, and the surrounding air.  This results in them being high susceptible to poor air quality, making them a great indicator of how fresh the air is.  They can be one of the first things in the ecosystem to die or disappear when the air quality degrades.  We are lucky here and have an abundance of lichen:

I was going to give up and head back when I decided to look for gems hidden under the blankets of the incredibly invasive weeds, the Arum Lily (Zantedeschia aethiopica), which were starting to take over big patches.  Here I found a solitary Jug Orchid (Pterostylis recurva) with its flower preparing to emerge.  This Greenhood species is a little different to most in that the labellum remains entirely hidden within the flower, rather than sticking out.  On the flip side it is similar to others as they can from large colonies, but with few flowering plants:

The non-flowering, or sterile, plants form a ground-hugging basal rosette of leaves.  Whereas flowering plants will not have this feature.  The leaves are instead above ground and distributed along its stem.  The species of orchid I was really keen to find also displays this trait, and I found heaps of sterile plants in the area I have previously spotted a flowering specimen.  The other weekday trip out was to the Minninup Tuart Woodland, with a mixture of tall Tuart trees and lower Peppermint trees.  Here I could not resist taking this image:

A very vibrant cluster of Banded Greenhood (Pterostylis vittata).  The star was however the Brown-veined Shell Orchid (Pterostylis aspera), which I finally found.  Only one small cluster came into view for me.  They are quite low to the ground, that and their drab colours result in them being very well camouflaged.  On this specimen there is a Spittlebug larvae (Bathyllus albicinctus).  Partially hidden in the foamy white mass, often referred to as ‘cuckoo spit’, which they discrete to both protect themselves and avoid dehydration:

After finally finding what I wanted to, I headed off but will close with this Chip Cherries (Leratiomyces ceres).  While native to Australasia it has taken advantage of the global landscaping trade.  Australia has a massive wood chip export market forming one of the largest segments in the country’s forestry sector.  This has allowed this species to spread to North America, Europe, and elsewhere.  And as such can now be found over much of the world thriving in mulch and woodchip beds.  Earning it the title of the ultimate ‘Woodchip Hobo’:

Breaking things down

For several reasons Howsie and my fortnightly trip to the quarry was a much later start today.  Arriving mid-morning under a mostly clear sky.  This meant the sun bathed the lawns where Western Grey Kangaroo (Macropus fuliginosus) lazily switched between grazing and basking in sun.  The main walls, where we started climbing, were tucked on the north east side of the amphitheatre and as such were in shade.  The shadows extend that bit further this time of the year, due to the low winter sun.  And as we prepared to start our session it felt cold:

Unlike yesterday, I pondered if I should have rugged up a bit more than I had.  These walls never get any sun on them, and during winter once lost the thermal mass is not easily replaced.  The rock gets cold and stays that way.  A few more of the black streaks were starting to succumb to seepages, and it felt like the walls had a slight damp feel to them.  Various mosses and lichens live on the walls, and the below is a Granite Moss (Andreaea).  Individual black, dark brown, or reddish cushions form clumping colonies:

Brittle during dry periods, this patch was hydrated.  With no root systems they absorb water directly through their surfaces.  From the morning dew, direct rainfall, or the seepages that run down the steep walls.  They are found primarily on acidic granite outcrops, and while these faces are quarried, as opposed to natural, the moss isn’t that fussy.  The granite here is felsic.  Rich in quartz and potassium feldspars results in it containing lots of silica, and gives it a pale look.  The silica makes the rock naturally acidic, which also affects the local soil makeup:

These resulting slightly acidic soils aid in defining the ecology of the areas flora.  Acid-loving native species like Jarrah and Marri trees thrive, as well as various understory species.  Lichen, which is a composite organism resulting from a partnership between a fungus and algae or cyanobacteria, secretes acids that very slowly break down the granite.  Which transfers some of the chemical composition, including the acidity, into the soils.  The lichen shown below is likely to be from the Rock-Shield (Xanthoparmelia) genus:

These thrive on exposed granite outcrops, and there are over 200 endemic species in the South West of Western Australia.  Making it one of two global hotspot for its diversity, the other being southern Africa.  Based on the darker colour of this specimen, I’m tempted to say may be a Xanthoparmelia pulla.  A rebel of the genus, as it lacks usnic acid that is contained in most species of the genus.  This results in it having a dark-brown colour, instead of the more usual yellow-green hue.  Below is a close up of the poorly fringed cup-shaped fruiting bodies:

The lichen expands at just over 1mm a year, resulting in this one being between 80 to 100 years old.  This aligns well with the age of this quarry, which was first mined in the 1930s.  The granite was blasted and then crushed to provide the aggregate required for the concrete to build the dam wall.  As demand for water increased the dam had to be enlarged, resulting in the quarry being reactivated twice in 1945 and 1956.  This lichen was however closer to the outer walls, so I’m guessing may not have been disturbed during these two later operations:

In 1960 the quarry was cleaned up and transformed into a recreational space.  The dam engineers put their skills to designing and building the unique concrete and stone picnic shelters, which still stand strong today.  After yesterday’s battle on the one and only tough route Seb and I climbed on the warm coastal environments, I was a little worried about how strong I was.  Howsie looked at me questioningly, when I started proceedings on a spicy grade 20.  Despite the coldness that numbed the fingers and wet moss ridden patch, I cruised it:

As did he.  After that and due to Howsie’s chosen line we kept our sights on a few of the tricky grade 21s we have only in the last few visits started to attempt.  With the blood starting to flow the fingers no longer felt numb, and the rock also felt, for the most part, dry.  Today was my day, the next three 21s felt great.  Howsie, was however having to battle hard and taking flight on several occasions.  Next time the roles will no doubt reverse, as so often happens.  Our last two line were in full sun, which reflected off the mica at the base of the last climb:

This route has a steep pumpy start, which didn’t pose any issues.  At the end of the steep stuff it transitions to a selection of tiny crimps, with not a great deal to work with for footholds.  From here the crux of the route is the transition onto a near featureless slab.  Once the crimps are chosen it is hard to change the sequence, and several times I chose a sequence that led to a dead-end.  Resulting in me taking several falls.  Howsie decided in his exhausted state he was better off having the security of the top rope, which was a good call:

Gearing up

Seb is back in town after several years in tropical climates.  But only for a few days before he hits the high seas.  Having succeeded in scoring a job on a superyacht.  Although the vessel is at the smaller end of what is classified as a superyacht, so don’t expect him to make an appearances on Below Deck just yet.  Before heading off he was keen to hit rock, and my calendar allowed me to help provide an experience that was to be unfamiliar in several ways.  Firstly it is winter and he hasn’t experienced a South West winter for some four years:

We came well rugged up, but unexpectedly my buffalo and beanie stayed in the bag.  It felt quite comfortable being a couple of degrees above the forecast, at approx. ten degrees, and was completely calm with not a breeze.  Even Seb, used to tropical winters, didn’t find it at all bracing.  Next he has only climbed a couple of times this year, so wasn’t sure how he would go stamina wise.  No matter I’m more than happy to hit lower grade routes.  Thirdly, he has climbed on trad is twice, both times at Wilyabrup with me and over a year and a half back:

Seeing he was warmed up enough, and in my usual manner, I suggested he rack up and take the first lead.  Nothing too serious to start with.  Long slabby lines to get the body moving, start to remember how to place trad gear, and figure out the art of setting up belays.  All of which seemed to come back to him very quickly, as he gobbled up the first two lines.  Above while on the second one a Welcome Swallow (Hirundo neoxena) is taking a dive.  Named as the sight of these aerial acrobats were a sign for early sailors that land was not far away:

These birds are a common sight in the area.  Found year round but more so from September to February, before on the onset of Autumn.  They rarely perch, and seem to do everything on the wing.  Not only do they catch and eat prey during flight but also skim freshwater bodies to drink, even feeding their fledglings while flying.  After a couple of gentle climbs it was time to steepen things up.  With Seb taking the lead of course, as I belayed from higher up than he was.  Just for the photoshoot.  His preferred gear was wires and tricams, all placed solidly:

Not bad considering so few times of climbing on trad and an eighteen month abstinence.  And when required his cam placements were also well thought out and bomber.  With so few visits here, it was easy to pick lines that he had not been on before.  Allowing him the chance to nab them as on-sight leads.  The best way to climb!  I also suggested he have a crack at one of my most recent creations, The Christening.  And just like Howsie had on the second ascent, Seb snuck a little to the left as the gear got further below on the runout section:

Sorry Adrian we think my original thought of grade 13 was right.  Our intentions today were very much fun lower grade stuff, but all that changed when Seb spied gear high up on Steel Wall.  Yes we could have rapped in from above to retrieve it, but that felt like cheating.  As such after four stellar leads under his belt, it was my turn to tie in and take and floppy end.  Needing to change my mindset and also prepare for a sharp increase in grade.  Luckily the gear could be reached from a line I have led many a time, so that’s the way I went:

While it was a well-rehearsed climb for me, it felt really, really tough today.  Several times I felt like I was going to peel off.  Added to that the spaced gear made it a nervous lead.  Luckily no one else was about, as they would have wondered what the hullabaloo was all about each time I noisily pulled on small holds.  Seb managed to get up, but had to fight hard testing my belay set up several times.  I thought he may have been toasted after that, but as we came back down he was keen for another lead.  On a route that was now in full sun:

This not only warmed us up, but also woke up heaps of Buchanan’s Snake-eyed Skinks (Cryptoblepharus buchananii).  These were racing across the ground at break neck speed.  Assisted by a low centre of gravity and long toes, especially on their hind legs.  They are also capable of leaping right into the air to snatch flying insects, not that I’ve been lucky enough to witness that.  And as I watched the skinks, just like when Rongy and I were here last, here is a blurry picture of a Nankeen Kestrel (Falco cenchroides) circling above watching Seb:

Being the smallest Australian falcon and one of the only Australian raptors that can hover in one spot.  Something it does as it looks for prey.  Not that this female, determined by its more rufous (rust-coloured) crown and tail, was eyeing up Seb.  It was more likely watching what he was looking at.  While they are known to go for them, snakes are not the small falcons primary food source.  So this Southwestern Carpet Python (Morelia imbricata) may well have been safe.  The name imbricata coming from the Latin word imbricatus, meaning overlapping:

Referring to the snakes overlapping dorsal scales, that look like roof tiles.  Although why is unclear as it is not something that is unique to this species, being common for terrestrial snakes.  When I followed Seb, and again like last time, the Nankeen Kestrel sat and watched us.  Not flying off until we had packed up and started to walk back down.  Where I tied in for the last lead, using my crag booty on the first piece of gear.  It was a great session made all the better due to the perfect rock, wonderful conditions, and having the place all to ourselves:

Fire and ice

Another weekend of trying to dodge the weather led to a quick Saturday morning out while Lisa was hoping to bob in the ocean, if it was not too rough.  Unfortunately being the one of the two days no one was free to join, I contemplated my options.  The forecast for Collie, near Welly Dam, was for the mercury to dip to below zero.  This made it very tempting with the strong possibility of seeing ice encrusted vegetation.  A rarity for us.  But it would also mean cold heat sapping rock and harder routes, which I was not sure if I was all that motivated for:

The other option was to head to Castle Rock, from where I was hoping to be able to watch a fiery sunrise light up the sky across the bay.  And as the images indicate the latter option won out.  Being greeted by a more forgiving balmy 14 degree morning.  Much more pleasant.  Even better were the lower grade routes, which my body was more accepting of.  For the first few climbs, each lap on the top rope was interspersed with sitting watching the sky change.  The thin sliver of horizon below the cloud promising and giving a spectacular view:

The crag lit up briefly, before the sun was hidden behind the cloud.  Allowing the climbing to continue without as many interruptions.  It feels like it has been a while since I have climbed here, unlike at the Dam.  The only downside being that the last route left me with a several battle scars when it spat me off on both laps.  Not that I can complain, seeing it is one of my creations.  So for several reasons it felt like I made the right choice of fire over ice, and most of the images relate to the display the sun created during my two and half hours at the crag:

Looking into references of fire and ice.  I came across a 1920 apocalyptic poem, that concludes both elements are equally destructive.  It is also the title of a dark fantasy-adventure sword-and-sorcery film that didn’t go so well in the box office.  But has since been granted the status of being a 80s pulp-fantasy masterpiece, one in which fire won.  Then there is the 80s classic rock track that use the term as a metaphor and assisted the singer in being given a Grammy award.  A song she was forced to release as a single by her record label:

And while this post may also feel a little forced, I was keen to share the images.  Including one not related to the sun.  Whether it is a Mosquito Orchid (Cyrtostylis robusta) or slightly later flowering Midge Orchid (Cyrtostylis huegelii) is impossible to tell at this early stage.  If I am really lucky it may also be the even later flowering Cape Mosquito Orchid (Cyrtostylis Cape Naturaliste).  I’ll have to come back to see which it is, and when I do I also need to jump on that climb of mine.  This time on lead to focus my mind and put a bit more fire in my belly:

Quantity not quality

It feels like I have gone off the boil on the search for orchids this season.  I’m not alone and a few others at work have expressed the same lull.  In an attempt to reinvigorate the energy a trip out to the Capel Nature Reserve was in order.  Here lost in my own thoughts and nature I whiled away a couple of hours, with three species on my wish list.  The first two came to view within the first ten minutes, starting with the Banded Greenhood (Pterostylis vittata).  Oh so very common, but there is something special about this species:

It is described by some as an overachiever.  Not in terms of how many plants will regularly flower nor in terms of how long they can remain in flower for.  It is because of its ambitious bloom output, standing up to 45cm high with as many as 25 flowers.  There are other species that can match the flower power, Leak and Sun Orchids in particular.  The Banded Greenhood is however different in that it also has a greater number of relatively large leaves, which extend up the stem.  Making it look more fleshly and even weedy, unlike any other species:

The second quick find was one of many Autumn Scented Leek Orchid (Prasophyllum sp. ‘early’).  The last few years I have struggled to find these, but this year there are heaps out.  Many of the leak orchids do not have a particular pleasant odour, but this species is known to have a ‘delightfully sweet and perfumed flowers’.  Not that I was able to detect it as it was masked by the stronger scent of the Peppermint Trees (Agonis flexuosa) on this dewy morning.  The closely related Autumn Leek Orchid (Prasophyllum parvifolium) is also about:

But I have not seen that yet.  Interestingly the latter, which has more colour in the flowers, usually blooms a month or two after the former.  Scouring the floor there were some fungi starting to pop up.  The above has given me no end of pain in trying to work out what it is, and I eventually gave up.  Whereas the below with it’s white flap on the margin of cap yielded more easily, being a Golden Wood Fungus (Gymnopilus allantopus).  Being a very common wood-rotting fungus found in forests across southern Australia:

In Western Australia the species is particularly fond of feeding on fallen Banksia logs and branches, as this one was.  The below Rhubarb Bolete (Boletellus obscurecoccineus) was also an easy identification, one that I no longer need to look up.  I saw mature specimens but the young are equally fun.  They can change colour over time, which may be triggered in differing ways.  The first being age.  As the velvet-red cap dries and splits, it reveals a bright yellow layer of skin similar in colour to the pores on the underside of the cap:

The colour of these pores can also change, but only when they become bruised.  The change in colour depends on where it is located, and unfortunately in Western Australia we do not get to see this transformation into a blue colour.  Next up is one of several cocoons I found sandwiched between the leaves of a Grass Tree (Xanthorrhoea), which I assume is from a moth.  There are few local moth species that favour grass trees for their cocoons, and this may be from a Bag-shelter Moth (Ochrogaster lunifer).  Although I am not convinced:

I’m also sitting on the fence with this find.  Could it be a White Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus dilatatus subsp. dilatatus), or am I just living in hope.  The distinguishing feature of the dilatatus subspecies is the leaf.  Being either a egg-shape or narrowly lance-shape, the leaf is the longest of all Bunny Orchids measuring up to 29 to 100mm long and 4 to 15mm wide.  It also generally sits a bit higher up the stalk.  Seeing I didn’t find the third species I was hoping too, and based on the evidence, I’m going to count this one as a positive identification:

Last but not least I have included a repeat find of a Hare Orchid (Leporella fimbriata).  I found a clump of them right at the end of my walk.  This one is well past it’s best but was still a special find.  Typically they have one to three flowers.  Four flowers can be found if you are very lucky.  However, to see five is a rarity and very uncommon.  Going to prove that sometimes quantity is better than quality.  Needless to say I was chuffed to bits, as this orchid should be with three flowers having been pollinated, and also possibly a fourth:

Close encounters of the feathered kind

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:

The deafening silence

How could I not write up our wild weekend. Sunday was always predicted to be an entertaining day, which started with me being woken up at 2am by the gale force gusts buffeting overhead. The winds didn’t stop till late into Saturday night reaching near Category 2 cyclone strength. This broke the previous record of wind speeds for May, maxing at 135km/hr. It was an impressive front that hit some 900km of coastline. Tearing the place up and knocking out power for some 160,000 people, included us. The biggest storm in 49 years:

The above image and below video is our beach at 8am. The gusts nearly blowing me off my feet and assisting in producing a swell with waves reaching all the way to the dunes. There is usually 40m of beach between the dunes and waterline. I went down several times during Sunday and the water stayed high all day. On Tuesday after the wind and swell had subsided we would be lucky to have 20m of beach left to the waterline. But it was not just the beach that got battered. Trees were bowled over, and a few homes had roofs ripped off:

Monday morning came and things settled down, so I went out for my usual walk along Peppy Beach. Intending to use an image of trees that had been felled, laying part way across the roads. However, this Quenda or Southern Brown Bandicoot (Isoodon obesulus subsp. fusciventer) is far more interesting so won out. A record breaker in its own right. It earns the title of having the shortest gestation period of any mammal, at 11 to 15 days. Once born the joey makes its way into the pouch, which is reversed compared to most other marsupials:

This is to avoid the pouch being filled with dirt, as the Quenda is a digging marsupial. These small rabbit sized creatures do not burrow but dig to forage. They can dig nearly 4 metric tons of dirt in a single year while searching for food. Walking back along what was left of the beach, last night’s rare blue micromoon hung in the sky. Call a blue moon as it is the second full moon in a single calendar month, and micro as it has occurred while the moon is the furthest it orbits away from earth. A combination we won’t see for another 27 years:

The contrast from Sunday to Monday was quite amazing, calm blue skies came over. And as Monday was a public holiday this opened a window of opportunity. I went fishing. Howsie took the bait, which resulted in us heading up the hill to Welly Dam for an afternoon climb. While the lawns were littered with branches and a few of the smaller trees had been uprooted from yesterday’s wind and wet weather, today’s dry and sunny conditions worked it’s magic in our favour and most lines were in great condition:

Good enough for Howsie to beat one of his nemesis climbs, and get a clean ascent. And also good enough for me to brave an attempt on one of the routes I decided was a bit too silly on the misty moisty Saturday morning, when I came up here on a solo mission. It was not to be a clean ascent for me, taking a healthy whipper at the crux much to the amusement of a small crowd that was observing our antics. Most of our time we had the place to ourselves, and after the continuous ear battering wind of yesterday the silence today was almost deafening:

Johnny Nash

Much as it may seem that I am always out and about.  The vast majority of my awake time is sat in front of a computer, if not at work then at home researching my finds and writing them up. In both screen focused situations I am a shocker for getting stuck into it.  Sat down for hours of end without getting up and moving about.  It’s not good, I know it, but have now been told it.  This has given me the impetus to train myself to change.  As part of the plan for getting up and moving about more often, I have also started to get a brisk walk in each day:

A proper walk and not a ramble through the bush, when I tend to take it very slow and steady looking for anything that may catch my eye.  After work I head down the road, and back along the beach.  The aim being to get a good pace on, no dilly dallying along the way.  The above image was the sight that greeted me on Wednesday, as was hurried back along the beach that bit quicker.  Walking into a right into a brooding mass that was coming my way at quite a rate.  Sadly there was no lightening to put on a real show, but when it hit man did it pour:

Not just heavy drops, but big buckets loads.  Within minutes I was soaked, and when I finally hit the tarmac to get home the road leading down the dune was a river.  Water gushed down it kerb to kerb, washing over my feet.  I thought I may get caught but didn’t think it was going to be quite that bad.  Not that it would have stopped me.  This weekend however we were forecast to be hit by a front, bigger than the usual annual early winter fronts.  This is the sort we may expect every five years, which put a spanner in the wheel for a couple of trips out:

From 2am this morning, by which I mean Sunday, I lay awake as the veranda sheets rattled as a 80km/hr gusts wind battered them.  So much so I decided to get up early to crack on with this post.  While I said the wild windy weekend weather had mucked up my intentions, Rod mentioned that he thought things may be OK for a trip out on Friday.  And having just had a 12 plus day heading to Perth and back for work on Thursday, I thought why not claw back a few hours and head out.  This saw me gate crash Rod and his wife’s, Gaynor, session on rock:

In our local area the furthest crag for me to get to is Cosy Corner, which so happens to be their local crag.  A mere five to ten minute drive, and where I first got out on rock with Rod.  This time however we went to Bobs Hollow, still pretty close to them and a bit of a trek for me.  It does however have a great 30-40min hike along the coastal track allowing me to get a good couple of walks in, as well as some fun climbing on the steep limestone walls.  We even managed to bag a few lines that require self-placed protection, so it was not all bolt clipping:

On the drive down and walk in there were occasional short light showers, but on arrival they dispersed and it was a lovely temperature with just the lightest of breezes.  With three fo us out, I took advantage and ran round the area, or scrambled up the rocks nearby to looking for, different angles.  Taking so many images, most of which I have sadly binned.  Due to past incidents my phone is now in a waterproof case, and for some time it has been telling me to clean the lens.  Not that the lens is dirty, the plastic window of the case covering it is scuffed:

So much so that in darker cloud covered conditions the images are a bit too blurry.  I had luckily also brought my normal camera, ensuring that at least some of the images were clean and sharp.  Including the above, of a tiny spider making our efforts on rock look rather pathetic in comparison.  There are three genera of Lynx Spiders, and this one is likely to be one of the Grass Lynx Spiders (Oxyopes).  Although I have failed to identify the species.  While there are only 15 described species in Australia, it is considered there could be as many as 60:

In trying to work all this out I came across some useful distinguishing and interesting features between Lynx (Oxyopidae) from Jumping (Salticidae) Spiders.  Having seen and documented a few species of the latter more often than the former, but I’ll leave those titbits of information for another day.  It was a chilled session, not doing anything too hard.  In part to allow Gaynor to also enjoy moving on the rock after Rod and I had led each route.  She did however decline the above line which I have to admit to being particular fond of:

A route that also offers one of the most spectacular photo opportunities IMO.  Looking stupidly overhung and exposed, as shown above when Rod headed up.  It is nowhere near the upper grade range on offer here, but is steep in places and makes you work.  Rod came down with weary arms, and as such wasn’t sure if he was quite ready to take on his project that is several grades higher.  Instead opting to have a bite to eat, and offering me the rope to head up it first.  Some days everything just flows, and today was one of those days for me:

Making it up as rain drops, which had started on the previous line, started to come in a bit bigger and more consistently.  All things considered Rod opted for the sensible approach for his project.  Keeping the rope above him as he battled his way up the fine but technical line.  The increasingly wetting rock not helping his cause, but he never gave up.  With rain setting in it was time to head out.  They had driven in so only had a short walk to the car.  I was however happy to hike out in the rain, so left as Rod worked his way up last section of the route:

We certainly made great use of the weather window, so thanks for the invite Rod and Gaynor.  The only disappointment was on the walk out when a couple walking in the opposite direction said they had just seen a snake cross the path.  One of them had frozen and wasn’t prepared to walk past where it had been seen.  Much to their bewilderment, which turned to amusement, try as I might I couldn’t find it anywhere.  On the plus side I was able to encourage them to continue on their journey past the point the snake had been seen:

The forecast, as it often seems too, changed.  The front was now not due to start to come in till later on Saturday.  This resulted me in me heading up the hill for a quick solo session at the dam while Lisa planned to go in for her weekly early morning plunge on a glorious morning.  In contrast to the conditions at the beach and while the drive was clear and cloudless, the bowl in which the dam sits was caked in thick mist.  Laughing Kookaburras (Dacelo novaeguineae) did what they do, laughed.  Seemingly mocking me as I arrive to the cold and damp conditions:

It didn’t stop me.  Starting on the first lap as intended, at exactly the same time Lisa would have been walking into the cold ocean.  The conditions made me work that bit harder, so I didn’t jump on two of the slightly stiffer lines I had in mind.  But still managed five fun routes, finishing the last lap as the mist was clearing.  Just fifteen minutes later, as I prepared to drive out blue skies rolled in.  It was however time to get back, as Lisa and I had a bit of shopping to do.  Including buying a new phone case to allow me to be able to say I can see clearly now:

Timing is everything

Arriving in Busselton for a meeting on Thursday morning the town was clad in a blanket of fog.  The drive down seemed a little eerie with visibility at times down to less than thirty meters.  Pea soup sprung to mind.  It was all the talk on arrival at my location, a wondrous and strange morning was what I heard people say.  The image below is from several hours earlier during Lisa and my beach walk, and it lingered well into the morning.  Not that I heard anyone use it, ‘pre-frontal snot’ is a colloquial term for such an event that often precedes a strong cold front:

I’ve also read such conditions are not unusually for the south west.  They can be expected as the year transitions into the cold front season.  Normally around mid to late autumn.  We however struggled to think of a previous fog of this density or one which blanketed quite as expansive an area.  My image bank proved us wrong and in late April just five years back we did, but it is the only such event in some twenty years of living here that we captured through stills.  One thing was evident, the mornings were coming in damper:

This week, we have noticed condensation on the inside of the windows.  Managing to stave off the cooling nights by popping another top on, or snuggling under a blanket in the evening.  Wisps of smoke had been coming from chimneys of other homes for a few weeks, indicated they had opted for another way.  And with dampness finally starting to creep indoors, on Thursday when I got home it was time for us to join them.  Friday morning the poodles were grateful to be able to lie in front of the fire, which I made sure was wells stoked before I left:

Thursday’s thick fog wasn’t looking like it would be followed by a strong cold front, at least not this week.  Something Howsie and I were grateful for when we drove out early, through a few patches of mist that looked to turn to fog once we drove into Wellington National Park.  Fully expecting the bowl in which the dam lay to be the place it all collected, but to our surprise we could still see the stars when we arrived.  A cold crisp morning, with a very heavy dew that resulted in us leaving a trial of footprints as we walked from the base of one climb to the next:

A second very welcome surprise was the rock was dry.  Even holding onto just enough warmth, such that our fingers didn’t feel completely numb after the first line.  A route that Howsie looked to cruise up, whereas my ascent felt heavy, clunky, and nervous.  Despite it being a route we are very familiar with.  Then moving onto one that rarely gets any attention.  It’s a shame as it climbs really well, it is however an area that gets a lot of water and the state of the bolts is likely to put most off.  And maybe they should put us off too:

One of the original lines here from when these walls were first sieged in 1997.  Is it just surface rust coating the bolt head and washer’s, or does it go deeper.  There is no way of telling.  It was my turn to go first, on a line with holds and moves not as etched into my memory as others here are.  Making me focus and work that bit harder, but also resulting in me improving my style or had I just warmed up.  In contrast to the first climb this time it was Howsie who looked uncomfortable and sluggish.  Not a great way to lead into his next route:

We went from one of the oldest to one of the newest climbs.  Established just three years back, it has shiny new bolts you could hang a car from plus more bolts than any other route here, so is safe as houses.  But it is one of the burlier climbs at the grade, not Howsie’s forte.  Working well in the bottom half, his tiring arms made him second guess the last and steepest section.  Having to repeat it numerous times before committing.  But as he said timing is everything, and when I led it I had the perfect reward as I looked back across the valley:

Alexander’s band

Another hit and miss weekend, and it all boils down to whether you believe it or not.  Unless you get out there, you’ll have no idea of what you may be missing.  With a positive attitude I stepped out of the house.  The sky above was clear and speckled with stars, with who knows what else may be lurking amongst them.  My little Olympus tough does not do justice compared to the sight above me, but it’s not too bad and you probably get the picture.  Then on the drive down I spied a creature seemingly from out of space, and no I haven’t lost it:

And no I did not get an image.  But it was in exactly the same location that Josh and I spotted it last weekend.  Neither of us can recall seeing it before, so on my next early morning trip down this way, and if it is out again, I’ll have to take a picture just to prove I’m not going off the rails.  That was not what I intended about believing or not.  Those thoughts were far more down to earth, and related to what conditions I might encounter.  While the sky above was clear, the road had stripes of dry and wet tarmac giving it the appearance of a zebra:

The moisture from the overnight rain was lifting, forming an eerie misty sight.  I was however trying to keep my focus on the roadside verges.  Looking out for signs of movement, wanting to avoid any kangaroos.  I have been even more conscious of this risk over the last few weeks.  So much so that I have slowed down a tad, especially during my early morning drives that include when I head to the office.  My sense of security as I drive has been lessened, proving that the Car Cushion Hypothesis is a real thing.  At least for me after changing cars:

No longer am I seated in an elevated position surrounded by a larger mass of metal.  And no longer do I have the added protection of a dirty great roo bar.  It is interesting how a simple switch can make you feel more vulnerable, although it is more truthful to say that driving a bigger car provides a false sense of security.  I can recall decades back how in the UK Volvo drivers had a reputation that aligned with the Car Cushion Hypothesis.  It was common to hear that they thought they were driving a tank, relative to other cars on the road at the time:

Then in 2020 the results of a poll of some 2,000 people in the UK indicated Volvo owners were the most law-abiding drivers across the country.  That said, this doesn’t mean they were the safest or most considerate.  Um it feels like I have drifted off the road a little and will get back on course.  The only person who showed a hint of availability to get out today was Rod.  If that was to happen we would have gone to Welly Dam, which had a better forecast.  However, it is a two 2hr drive for him.  So he opted out as it was a bit far for a day when we may get wet:

A more than reasonable thought but this left me pondering.  Having hit the quarry walls a bit of late, I was keen on a coastal crag for my solo mission.  While the forecast was certainly less favourable, I felt it wouldn’t be too bad.  Drizzling as I walked in, the first daylight image shows what awaited me.  Puddles and wet rock but out to sea patches of cloudless skies could be seen.  Opting for the highest wall of Wilyabrup.  Thinking that it would catch any wind and dry that bit quicker.  It did for the most part, as the clear patches above turned to blue skies:

As the brightness drifted over the coastline, pushed along by the merest of a gentle wind, behind it came a stunningly bright rainbow.  Accompanied by a secondary rainbow with the colours in reverse order.  They are separated by what is called Alexander’s band.  This darker bit of sky was first described in around 200 AD, by a Greek philosopher known as Alexander of Aphrodisias.  So beautiful I had to stop and watch it inch towards me and as it did the clouds dropped all the rain they could resulting in the rainbow fading well before it made landfall:

A darker brooding mass was lining up next, and as the meteorological events continued to play out around me I kept rapping down and climbing back up.  The rain started to fall on my last lap on the open and exposed wall.  But I was not done and dropped the roped down an epic corner on a considerably harder line.  Some may considered this a counterintuitive move, but with looming overlaps it did afford me a bit more protection.  Wet as I may have got it was great being out, so I was happy to have been a believer today even if I got it a bit wrong: