Being summer in the southern hemisphere, Lisa gets to chillax and recharge her batteries with a decent break before the new school year kicks in, when February arrives. This changes my work life routine. Working out of the office, so as to allow Lisa to have the house to herself, and not feel like she has to tiptoe about just because I’m stuck in the study working. Over the years I’ve also adopted a go-slow January approach, working a four day week by taking Fridays off. Allowing me a bit of time off with Lisa, and after all leave is there to be taken:
While I say spend time with Lisa, the extra day off also allows me to further indulge in my guilty pleasures. A guilty pleasure is generally something that is not held in high regard, which is true for climbing due to peoples lack of understanding of the high level of risk management that we apply. So I use the phrase lightly, as the active outdoor lifestyle we manage to maintain is nothing but good for us. Just like taking leave and truly disconnecting from work by not dipping into technology to check emails and messages, without feeling guilty about it:
Today’s play was at Wilyabrup. Requiring a wee bit more coordination than most trips. I thought there may be four of us, and we needed to do some car wrangling. I’d get a lift down with Seb, and head back with Howsie. Seb only had the morning free, after which he intended to head further south to go diving. Tying in nicely with our usual morning sessions to avoid the sun. He was super keen to get to Wilyabrup and do some more trad climbing. As such I had to pick a few sensible lines for him to further cut his teeth:
Howsie was only picking Mikie up on the way down, or so I thought until three people rocked up. They arrived to see Seb high up on his second lead. Mikie’s mates from back in Queensland happened to be over, and as such Ben tagged along. Howsie and Mikie had something a little more serious in mind, and Ben was out to enjoy the great outdoors and capture some footage. Travelling round Australia he’s got a contract to supply footage of the places he gets too, which is used in social media:
This meant that he was armed with not just a decent SLR camera but also a drone. I am eagerly awaiting a selection of images to include, but can’t stop myself from starting the post now. I’m not waiting for the images in part due to my slight, although some people may say it’s more than slight, OCD nature. Compelling me to crack on with it now. I am however conscious that I’ll be out on Sunday, and do not like to have things piling up. Um again a trait of my OCDness. As such my word may not tie in with the images, but I’ll make it work:
I started Seb off on some of the shorter lines. Easing into the morning with a line on ring bolts, then carrot bolts, and for the third route throwing him onto a full trad line. A feisty grade 16 crack, but one it is easy to stuff good gear into. As such as he climbed I kept prompting him to place a piece of gear, on occasion getting him to do so when he was working hard to stay in the awkward crack. He managed a safe and clean lead, feeling pretty pumped by the time he topped out. So much so he overlooked something:
Completely missing the Southwestern Crevice-Skink (Egernia napoleonis) that was tucked behind the cam placement in the fourth image. We wandered along the crag after his successful battle to find Howsie high on Steel Wall, nearing the top of another trad crack. This one being sparse on gear, so while not physical feisty it is mentally demanding. Ben had his drone out, while taking images with his SLR from the safety of the ground. Watching as they rapped back down, so Mikie could ascend a fingery bolted line to complete their warm up:
As Mikie climbed the sport line, Seb was also went back to clipping bolts. On a route that was nearing his upper grade limit, and it certainly tested him but he’s not afraid to take a fall. Just like the main event for the Howe brothers was likely to result in. Their sights were set on the first grade 24 route Howsie had attempted in 2024, just over a year ago (https://sandbagged.blog/2024/01/05/partners-in-climb/). Back then they did not manage to complete it, but the attempt had provided them with some intel that could prove useful this time round:
I wasn’t able to watch their battle but could tell from the length of time the drone hovered above them that it wasn’t a complete walk in the park. My focus was however on Seb, who after having pumped out on the stiffer bolted route was then keen to hit the longest route at Wilyabrup. A very traditional style route that many people consider a complete and utter sandbag. As such I didn’t walk about as much as I can be guilty of doing while belaying, which I do to get better images. Being happy not to need to catch a fall on this route, as was Seb:
There were however a few falls by Howsie on the other route, but it ended with success. He worked all the moves and topped out, being justifiably happy about it. Due to the relatively short time it took there was still an hour or so to play. Keen for more I sent Seb up another nice long trad line, which he ate up. Before he started on the route we all managed to convince Mikie to jump on something a bit testy, despite his obvious hesitations about it. This resulted in a role reversal, and time Howsie had to catch the falls:
The morning was coming to a close. Howise was however still fired up after working his project, so was keen to squeeze one more climb in. Too tired to climb with packs, Ben kindly offered to be a Sherpa and carried their bags up. Seb would no doubt have also been keen for another route on the sharp end, but I snuck in to get a lead in. Picking a route I wasn’t comfortable climbing with a pack on my back, meaning we had to head back down to get our gear. Instead of walking back down we opted for a fun scramble down and back up, while the others started to sort the gear out:
Another successful day on rock was had by all. Sadly Mikie would be heading off soon, so I won’t get to climb with him again during this visit. But Howsie’s sights are now set on getting the grade 24 clean, and being 2025 he is also starting to eye off a few grade 25 climbs. This makes me think there will be a few pretty tough sessions this year. Hitting climbs equal to the hardest I’ve previously climbed, which was way back when I was in Alice Springs. I’m not sure how I’ll go but if we attack them with the right attitude of just having fun, it’ll be fine:
One of the simplest forms of life on earth are sponges, which come is all shapes, sizes, and colours. Fossil records of some species go back approximately 600 million years, and there are over 8,500 identified species with many more yet to be identified. While sponges seem to have retained their simple form with no tissues or organs, they play a valuable role in managing water quality. As filter feeders they process waste products discarded into the ocean, such as nutrient. The by-product of this process being a substance other organisms feed on:
The above is a demosponge (Demospongiae), one of the most commonly seen classes of sponge that make up some 95% of all species. And as with just about everything else during my local dive on Saturday, it was coated in fine sediments that have been washed into the marine environment via the Capel River. The swell has hardly dropped below four foot this season, resulting in detritus being continuously mobilised in the water column. There are no river systems of note that drop into the bay at Meelup Regional Park, so I kept my fingers crossed:
Sunday morning Josh needed to be somewhere with guaranteed phone reception, as he was on call. We decided on Castle Rock, with the view of a climb and I was hoping a snorkel afterwards. Something that also appealed to Seb, who tagged along. Despite having grown up here, he confessed to having only seen Castle Rock from a boat. Never having approached it via land. Not that he would have been any the wiser about the climbs it offered, as he has only gotten into climbing in recent times while living overseas:
Living in Thailand his experience extended to the art of bolt clipping. Today’s location was to offer a mix of some bolts and some trad, but mostly trad. Offering an opportunity to expand his repertoire of climbing styles. Of all the forms of climbing, trad probably requires the most knowledge transfer. This meant a fair bit of time with me talking through this and that, and assessing how we was climbing. While not formal training, the consequences of getting it wrong are life threatening even on small crag like Castle Rock:
So teaching someone it is not something I take lightly. We started, as we should, with a couple of simple routes. Allowing me to place heaps of gear for Seb to inspect, but for his first lead other than a sling he was first introduced to the iconic Australian carrot bolt. Making short work of that route he then eyed off stiffer opposition. The harder climbing being protected by bolts, after which you need to place trad gear. It was the hanging about to fiddle the trad gear that worked him the most, despite being on the bigger holds:
This didn’t put him off and he was keen for more, so we went full trad for the next two lines. Dropping the grade and this allowed him more time to work the gear placements. Both Josh and I following up inspecting what he had put in and provided advice as required. These two lines were on the northern face, which was in very welcome shade. You may also notice the water to the north was looking much calmer and cleared. A moderate southerly wind was whipping up the water, and so keeping my fingers crossed hadn’t really helped:
As for the gear placements, it was a little mean to introduce Seb to it at this place. The cracks can often be shallow and flared, making solid placements at times that bit harder to find. It did however make him think more, and for the most parts the gear he placed was bomber. It was good to see that he really took his time, trying different options until he found something that he was comfortable with. And not just crossing his fingers and hoping his first choice was alright. One of the many things I watch for, as I introduce people to this form of climbing:
Josh seemed to be content to follow up with the rope above him. Although, as can be seen a few images up we encouraged him to push himself, even getting him to try the hardest route of the day. And I think he surprised himself with the last route below. Having started the difficulties by yo-yoing the move, talking himself out of pushing through each time. Resulting in gradually becoming more and more weary, forming a mental block that get increasingly harder to push past. But with encouragement from Seb above and me below he pushed through:
It was then time for Seb to bite off more than he could chew, with another bolted line. Not making it very far at all, admitting defeat and then being happy to follow Josh’s lead. Who had decided he’d happily sit this one out, and was already in the water. Despite the water being a little choppy all three of us went in, and it felt lush. The visibility was better than my local beach, but deteriorated as we swam round to the southern side. As such there was nothing new to see or report on, but the morning was rounded off perfectly during my return swim:
I recognised the eyes of the Western Rock Octopus (Octopus djinda) immediately. Expecting it to slide further into the crevice as I approached, but glad to be proven wrong. Initially reaching one tentacle out as if to test the situation, and then swimming out into the open water for a play. Suckering onto my hand, arm, and covering the camera. So it was that my underwater adventures, which started with the one of the simplest forms of life ended with one of the smartest creatures in the sea:
The summer holidays can result in what I would have a called a blow-in or two coming back to town. However, before I call Mikie a blow-in I thought I better check the meaning of the phrase. It originated from Ireland, referring to visitors not born in the local area. No matter how long you may have lived there. Making me the blow-in, not Mikie. Australia more recently adopted the phrase putting a less friendly slant on it. Suggesting the person is an unwelcome newcomer or stranger, something that is fair to say doesn’t apply to Mikie or me:
You’ve probably guessed Mikie and his family are back for a while. A visit by them would not be complete without a catch-up or two on rock. We last caught up just over three months back, when Howsie and I flew over to stay with them in Queensland. Since that time Mikie has only been climbing on rock and with ropes once. Having an appreciation of where we were climbing today, He was very aware that today’s foray would be challenging. In addition to his lack of climbing fitness, the climbing style would pile on extra helpings of difficulties:
He started cautiously scoping the start of first climb. Moving his arms and hands with purpose in the air, as if to mimic climbing the route before he had even left the ground. A technique that people may be more familiar with since climbing has been included in the Olympics. There are three disciplines of climbing in Olympics. Bouldering, something Mikie has been doing occasionally on his own wall. Short explosive problems, but not great for building stamina. Lead climbing, which is what we were doing today and requires stamina:
The last being speed climbing. Even as I say it I can feel a bad taste in my mouth. I do not really considering it climbing, being a discipline only devised to make it more appealing as a spectator sport. And in the climbing world, I’m not alone with this thought. However, as I was about the meaning of blow-ins I may also be wrong about speed climbing. Record’s go back over two thousand years. During a siege of Sogdan Rock, Alexander the Great offered a grand reward for the first soldiers to scale the fortress located north of Bactria in Sogdiana:
In more recent times, but still approx. sixty years back, Russia used speed as a measure of climbing ability. By 1955, they had a clear set of consistent rules for engagement, and by 1976 they opened up the ‘sport’ to the rest of the climbing world. I was therefore wrong to assume it was created as a spectator sport. But speed is one thing that Mikie has on his side, he climbs fast and when your stamina is not up to par speed can be a worthy ally. The first two climbs flew by, and above he kept the pace right up till the last bolt on the third line:
A line that his brother Howsie has pontificated on for rather a long time, just a few weeks back. With no guarantee siblings will be similar, for these brothers their climbing styles are very different. David and Seb also joined us, the latter who again can’t be called a blow-in under the less abrasive Irish definition. And while not new to the area he is relatively new to climbing. Not that this stopped him giving several routes a red hot go on lead. While they spent a little while perched on the handy posts being spectators, it wasn’t for too long:
By Welly Dam standards the place was busy today and a third crew arrived. Having climbed here for close to two decades, as happens every so often, the other climbers recognised me. This time I recognised them too. Dan established some quality lines a decade back. Three were named after his children, only the youngest of which had taken to climbing. The climb named after him being Chasing Mason, and based on how he climbed today if he sticks at it there’s a good chance he’ll live up to the climb’s name and will be ahead of us in ability:
In view that I have been off work for four days, it may be surprising I haven’t posted anything until today. In part due to the ocean conditions not being great for swimming with the fish off our local beach. But also due to yet another little mishap, which will get a mention later. I feel I have had more than my fair share of incidents this year. There have been several big falls, and a few encounters with the ocean that resulted in technology failing. I guess it is the price you pay if you get out as much as I do, but here’s hoping it eases off next year:
Today Adrian was keen to climb. Having driven down the night before to allow for an early start for which he didn’t have to get up to early. I found him pulling down his tent at 5am, and despite the extra hour in a prone position he looked just as bleary eyed as I felt. Our destination had changed several times. Starting with Bob’s Hollow, which he had a taster of with David last week and was keen for more. Then he changed it to Moses Rocks, where he and I had climbed recently, and finally I suggested Wilyabrup would be the better option:
The three places are very contrasting in terms of the climbing style, due to the varying geology and rock features and formations. I certainly feel very lucky to have such a broad range of rock types all within approx. one hours drive. I suggested Wilyabrup for today because it has the best range of grades and plenty of longer routes. The idea being to allow Adrian to crank and for me to kick back on any leads I might take. He’s only been to each location once, so there were plenty of classic lines I could point him towards for on-sight glory:
A gentle warm up was in order, as his head wasn’t on quite right. Feeling a little groggy from a restless night. The climb he managed fine, but he forgot his belay device. Resulting in there being a bit of faffing about, as indicated above. I won’t bore you with the full recount of all the ins and outs of why our first and easiest route took by far the longest. I feel that I cannot however go past yet another great word. To ‘faff’ about is suggested to have originated from the word faffle, the first recorded use being in 1570 and meaning to stammer or mummur:
In more recent times it has been used to describe something flapping about in the wind. This seems very apt in view of the image of the rope being hurled through the air. Not making it to the ground on the first nor a few other attempts, if you catch my drift. References indicate this use of the word is found in England and Australia during the 1870s. It’s use in Australia being a result of the convicts shipped over from England, with over 162,000 brought over between 1788 and 1868. This equates to approx. 10% of the population of Australia in 1868:
It would be reasonable to say that after the first route, Adrian was no longer trapped in a groggy head. This freedom resulted in him hitting, and very successfully on-sighting, progressively harder lines. On-sighting meaning to climb a route, without any prior knowledge or advice about the line and not taking a fall or rest on the rope. I was happy to point him toward line after line, and would only offer up advice about the route if he asked for it. A couple of times it sounded like he asked, but it sounded conversational to me:
My response each time was something like ‘whichever way looks best’ or ‘look about and you’ll find something’. Allowing him to figure it out for himself, which based on not being badgered for information seems to have been the right approach. And with each climb in the bag he was keen to try something a little more testy. Leading us to Steel Wall, a rock face in many climbing books, and one that justifiably attracts many climbers here. It was mid-morning and I was surprised not to have seen anyone drop a rope down this mighty wall yet:
There were a few other people who had turned up about 9am, they were however at the far southern end. When we first walked past them, one group assumed we had just arrived and asked if the car park was filling up yet. Not that we had any idea, but when we finally left it wasn’t even half full. This worked in our favour, but I was surprised not to have seen more people out. Needless to say Adrian was impressed with Steel Wall, and even happier to have got a clean ascent on the route he chose because he was starting to get a little weary:
Not overly surprising. In my usual fashion we kept moving. Plus having taken all the leads, his morning was physically and mentally more challenging than mine. But before we were done he was keen to sample one more line on Steel Wall, just not keen to push the grade. As such I offered to take a lead allowing us to access the big ledge half way up, from there he took on a mighty fine face climb that took us to the top. And just as the day had started a rope was thrown into the air. This time it was someone else, setting up a top rope:
And finally why we ended up here. Having realised a set of wires were left at Moses Rocks after our last visit, he suggested we go back there. I could visualise where they may be, so went back on Boxing Day. And managed to take a tumble when trying to capture a specky image. My phone flew out of my hand, slipped down the rock, dropped into a crack, landed in the sink, and died. Hence I have no images of that trip, and sadly that makes it two phones I’ve killed in one year. On the plus side I found the wires, as below, but was a little weary from the climbing I got in. Rather than revert back to Bob’s Hollow, I suggested Wilyabrup:
The water hasn’t been playing nice at our local beach this week, resulting in me not going in for a morning snorkel on Saturday. Instead suggesting to Lisa after she returned from her plunge, which is not reliant on needing clear waters, that we could have a trip into town. There were a few bits that we still had to get for the festivities next week. This all seemed like a fine idea. breakfast on the foreshore with a game was indeed very lovely. Then I had to brace myself for the shops and that, even more so at this time of the year, was not so great:
So much so that by the time we got home, and after we had unpacked everything I risked the local waters to declutter my head. Needless to say while the temperature was lush, and did the job intended, the visibility was rubbish. I was however lucky enough to stumble across my first ray of the season. What with the murkiness and dusting of sand across its body, I’m not game to try and identify this one. The next morning I was back out looking at sand, liking the ripples. This time above the water line, as Adrian and I walked into Moses Rocks:
He came down for a few days and aimed to squeeze a couple of mornings climbing in. After having recently been spoilt when he climbed on the big walls over in Tasmania, he suggested Wilyabrup instead of Moses. Maybe because it offers the longest routes along the south west coast, and higher grades. I was personally glad to have veered his interest to this smaller crag, which he had not been to before. He noted the shortness of the crags as we walked past the different sections, but soon understood the appeal of the place:
The big attraction being so close the ocean, which provides a great atmosphere. Today the swell was doing a good job of putting on a show for us. So much that any idea of heading into the Zawn was quickly put to bed. Instead we played on the centrepiece of Moses Rocks, Hands Up Wall with its longer lines. While short in nature this place makes up for that, in my opinion, in style. The fine textured gneiss has striking bands of feldspar and quartz alternating with darker bands made of other types of mineral layers:
These were formed under very high temperatures and pressures, resulting in a smooth and rounded rock formation. Friction is key, and this means good technique is essential. Hence, this place requires a technical and focused style of climbing. This in itself can make even a short route feel long. Adrian’s focus was, like mine not all about climbing, and he found the rock fascinating. Spotting the garnet crystals peppered throughout to the rock. Suggesting it may have been something called augen gneiss, where augen means eyes in German:
After a quick bit of research we found that this was not the case. This was a shame as I liked the idea of the pockets of garnets being eyes… watching always watching. Three climbs in, for which we alternated leads, it was my turn to always watch. Adrian used the first few lines to get accustomed to the place. And when looking to be really enjoying the rock and climbing it offered, I gave him the chance to lead everything after that. After all I’ve led them all countless times. Plus I was a little weary after Howsie and my big session on Friday:
At times he pondered the gear placements, another trademark of Moses Rocks. Hinting he would have been somewhat nervous if he had led the second route I took on, despite it only being a grade 15. But as he took on lead after lead, he even started to get used to placing and trusting placements in, at times, less that desirable looking flared cracks. Any notion that Moses Rock may not be worth the time was long gone, and he gobbled up line after line. With only brief stops between tying into the rope for a snack to keep the energy levels up:
We had started at the right end of the crag and worked our way leftwards. The grades started to creep up as we moved round, but it was interesting that he found some of the trad lines a stiffer opposition than the bolted sections of the harder lines. That wasn’t however the case on the crag classic, a very fine jamming crack. Very different to the other lines, in that it has a nice deep crack you can wedge your hand and feet in. A climbing style that Adrian confessed to really enjoying:
We were however soon back on the less secure feeling slopers, but he kept ticking off the lines. These were made a little less comfortable as it was warming up. The heat also triggered hordes of Red Bandit Cicada (Pyropsalta melete) to take to the wing. Their name Pyropsalta coming from Latin words ‘pyro‘ and ‘psalta‘ meaning fire and psalm. This refers to fiery band on their abdomen, and the song they sing that was also filling the air. Competing with the sound of the waves. Our minds blocked out both noises at the trickier parts of the routes:
The last route of the morning was the one Adrian found the trickiest. While it wasn’t the highest graded route of the morning, this one was trad and had a flared crack. Working his way up he placed three solid pieces. Above he could only reach a placement he wasn’t happy with. But before he could adjust it, he slipped. The last piece came out of the crack with him, releasing additional rope. Coming down his leg caught behind the rope. Leaving him with mark on the back of his leg, one that matched the fiery band of the Red Bandit Cicadas:
I’m happy to report that while we wrapped things up after finishing off the route, the fall didn’t mar the morning enough for Adrian not to want to come back to see what else Moses Rocks has on offer. For today however we were both very happy with the routes we had bagged: · Many Hands (14)** · Gothic Streak (15)* · Hands Up (15)* · Johnny Fartpants (18)* · Fat Slags (19)** · Wheely Things (15)** · Victor and His Boa Constrictor (17)* · Twist Till You Lock (21)** · Cornish Nasty (18)**
Repeating last Friday’s early start, getting up at 3:30 felt strangely much more acceptable this week. It was not just me that thought it, Howsie also said it felt more bearable for him too. Despite leaving the house with only the garden solar lights breaking through the darkness, by the time we met at the office carpark just half an hour later there was plenty of light. We joked that considering how easy it felt, maybe we could make it a weekly trip. There are however other plans for January, which means this is unlikely to happen:
This may come as a relief to some. The thought of being subjected to déjà vu images of the black and grey streaked walls of the quarry at Welly Dam may not be so appealing. Much as we never tire of climbing here, and every trip has something a little different for us, it has to be questioned how often I can write up about a visit here without just repeating myself. Last week I had craftily left the quickdraws on the tray of the car. A subtle suggestion that I was not keen to kick the morning off by taking the first lead. I wasn’t feeling ready for the rock:
As it was I climbed with more confidence, despite my sluggish start. This week I didn’t hesitate. Popping the quickdraws on my harness and walking to the base of the first climb, before Howsie had even got his harness on. I had pre-formulated a plan for the session, and had high expectations for the morning. Other things also flipped, and as it turned out this week was my turn to be in the backseat. Howsie being the one on fire. There was no procrastinations when he climbed, and he moved with purpose and without hesitation:
This switching of performance is not uncommon, and we both have our better days. As we prattled on about how the tables had turned, I threw in another metaphor to say it is ‘swings and roundabouts’. Many people have referenced this term back to a 1912 poem by Patrick Chalmers called Roundabouts and Swings. The running of a gypsy travelling show is explained with ‘mostly they goes up and down or else goes round and round’, and ‘losses on the roundabouts means profits on the swings’. Resulting in a balanced outcome:
The phrase was however used before this time. The line ‘What we lose on the swings, we make up on the roundabouts’ was used in a novel written by Sir Pelham Wodehouse in 1906. Used alongside a similar phrase that I quite like, and will need to remember, being ‘We learn in suffering what we teach in song’. Something that that you could say has been embraced in country music, much of which has a melancholic tone drawing on the struggles of everyday life. I digress, and Howsie will know why, but it doesn’t end there:
There is an earlier reference I found from the 30 May 1895 British parliamentary debate on the Civil Service and Revenue Department expenditure. The allocation of funds for the upkeep of lawn tennis and cricket pitches, which had been offset by charges for a boat hiring contractor, was summed up with ‘What we gain on the swings we lose on the roundabouts’. There ends my investigation into this Briticism. And as we ended today’s three hour session with an eighth route, while feeling justly weary, we both narrowly managed to avoid a swing:
With a solid climbing session at Welly Dam under my belt on Friday morning, the weekend was set aside for other adventures. Starting with what I was hoping would be fun snorkel on Saturday morning. I was encouraged to head to the river mouth end of our local beach, by what looked pretty good conditions. On paper, or should I say in digital form, at least. Walking past the few remaining seaweed sentinels, the last reminders of winter, it was clear the water was not clear. But I went in anyway:
Needless to say it wasn’t the best, despite heading way out to get away from the near shore murkier conditions. In my hour plus swim a few of the usual friendly species followed me, and I spied some of the shyer species hiding as I approached. Back home, there was no need to sit at the computer researching my lack of finds or to write up a post. This left the rest of the day for something I felt my body needed, a day of nothing. I’ve burnt both ends of the candle a bit over the last months, and it felt good to slob for a change:
After our fun and relaxing trip away to Gnarabup in early November, Lisa and I had booked another night away. School holiday was however upon us making it tricky to find anywhere at a reasonable price, other than for a Sunday night. We got a place in Augusta, in the hope of a bit of snorkelling in some new ground. Plus, if I was lucky maybe a bit of orchid hunting. Just like my local dip, things were not going in our favour. The wind was whipping up during Sunday, bringing in a swell that looked likely to scupper our watery intentions:
On arrival, we wandered down to what we had been told would be a great place to eat out that night. And those plans were also dashed, when they advised that they would not start opening on Sunday evenings until after Christmas. We had a drink and game of Yahtzee ay the bar, as we contemplated our options. They seemed even slimmer when the barman told us that there weren’t any other worth places he could recommend in Augusta. So it was we broke tradition and got fish and chips, our usual Friday night meal, on Sunday night:
While we did not find ourselves sat in our restaurant of choice playing a boardgame, as we waited to be served, the take away at least had Jenga on offer. This kept us entertained until our number was called, and wandered back to our digs. Being the start of the school holidays it usually takes Lisa a few days to bouncy back from her hectic and demanding job, which never seems to be confined to office hours or weekdays. This resulted in me ready for the world bright and early, with Lisa being more interested to dip into her book while dozing:
After making a brew I headed out, to allow her to continue to snooze. My first stop was a dense patch of bush, so thick it was a bit of a struggle at times to walk through. The chances of seeing the ground, let alone anything nice, was very difficult. Finally I gave up, and went for a short drive to check a few bays along the west coast, where we had hoped to have a snorkel. As shown two images up, the water was a little less and ideal. Looking back east at Flinders Bay, see above, the waters were calmer but no less gloomy looking:
Too early to head back, I looked at the satellite imagery and took a punt. Stumbling across a much more open patch of bush. One I could walk through while look around at the same time. Out of the corner of my eye I spied a Variegated Fairywren (Malurus lamberti). I got a great look, but not picture, of the bright blue head and rich chestnut shoulders. Being found across most of Australia, this is the most common of the nine species of fairywrens. Although, it is absent in a few places including the extreme south-west corner of Western Australia:
A fact I had to dive into. Checking the Atlas of Living Australia and iNaturalist both only had one observation recorded in the Cape region. So was this may well have been a very lucky find. My next find was not so rare but equally beautiful to see. A dragonfly called a Blue Skimmer (Orthetrum caledonicum). The powder blue abdomen with a tapered dark tip, giving away that this was a mature male. Like the males of this species, the females change colour with age. Being a brownish grey while fertile, and eventually turning a dull powder blue:
They never attain the glowing colours of mature males, and only turn blue towards the end of their life. Eventually I spotted an orchid that was very much not at the end of its life. I had been quietly hoping to find a couple of late flowering spider orchids that my books tell me could be found in the Augusta area. My search was not helped when I had forgotten to take the book with maps of where they had been previously seen. While they alluded me I was pleased to find the last species of the Prasophyllum, or leek orchid, genus to flower:
The aptly called the Christmas Leek Orchid (Prasophyllum brownii) it can have up to eighty pale green and fawn-coloured flowers. Arranged on a tall stem, which I have read can often be found growing out of a rotting log or stump. Or as I found today out of a plant with a live log or stem. It was reluctantly time to get back, where I made Lisa a second cuppa to aid in her recuperation. Eventually we had to vacate the room, taking a leisurely drive back. Stopping in at a few spots along the way, including this specky spot to take in the waves:
Over the last few months, mostly, Elseya and I have been working on a few puzzles. With Lisa dipping in on rare occasions. I do love getting lost in a good puzzle, and it can be a great relaxing timewaster. This one however was not relaxing, not in the slightest, and was frustratingly difficult. In the end perseverance paid off, and we were rewarded with a lovely drone image of a local spot. Having now completed all the puzzles in the house, we are hoping the big man dressed in red might bring us a few new ones to work on:
I’ve said on countless times that Welly Dam is considered a place where the grades of the climbs feel stiff. This is in part due to the very difficult to read rock. It takes patience to find the holds, no different in some ways to working on a puzzle, and at times the combination of holds to make the moves work. It was an early first light climb, as I had to squeeze the session in before work. While we both begrudged our respective 3:30 alarms. It was in our favour today as its been heating up, and by the time we were done it was starting to get uncomfortable:
The early start meant that the Garden Orb Weavers (Eriophora transmarina) hadn’t packed away their homes. These are one of a few spiders known to take down their web in the morning and rebuild them at night. A form of predatory avoidance. We also came across a few Southern Old Lady Moth (Dasypodia selenophora), so called due to the patterned wings resembling the shawl of an old lady. These moths like to hide in nooks and crannies. I’ve read they can stay there motionless for months on end, but find that a little incredulous:
As with so many other groups, social media abounds. So it was we were able to read up about the experience of some recent visiting climbers from Perth. Clearing stating that they found the grades at Welly Dam incredulous. There was plenty of evidence of their endeavours to unlock the way up the routes, which they had moaned about online. When on a climb with holds chalked up as much as this, it is hard to avoid the eye being drawn to wanting to try and use the same holds. This can at times not work in your favour, but it can be hard to ignore these signs:
Howsie and I know better than to trust a path marked out by chalk. Only because we have climbed here so much, and know most of the routes well. There are however some that we do not get on quite so often. Generally the harder climbs, although my body wasn’t ready for them today. Proven when I was sore after playing on five grade 15 and lower routes at Wilyabrup last weekend. After just two routes this morning I could feel my muscles and joints being stretched. I even took a whipper on my first lead, but bounced back after that:
We jumped on two routes we still consider new, despite establishing them close to two years back. My memory works a mysterious way, and I can recall the holds and sequences of most climbs I’ve been on. Even those I have only been on once. Howsie, does not poses this ability to the same extent. So, having only been on them a couple of times he had to work the routes as if he hadn’t climbed them before. There was also no chalk to mark the path, or indeed lead you astray. Check out how many holds he has to try for just a short part of this climb. I’m pleased to say with perseverance he managed to complete the puzzle and reach the top:
After walking in the dark until seven thirty or later in England last week, it felt a little strange for the sun to be on its way up at five as I waited for Josh in Capel. I even wondered whether we should have met an hour earlier to maximise our time on rock during the cooler part of the day. Mind you if I was being honest and while I may have been back for close to a week, my body clock wasn’t really quite ready for that. With summer nudging it’s way in, I can foresee that earlier starts will be on the way soon:
It’s been a three week absence from rock. Therefore, I was more than happy for a relaxed reintroduction at Willyabrup on a few lower grade classics. This suited Josh, and also Harry. Someone Josh has been trying to get out for some time. Yet another person who used to climb, and after a decade long break was keen to get back into it. This meant his harness was pretty old, and he was keen for me to check it out. I’m probably the worst person to ask, having gear of my own much older. Giving it a once over it looked in better nick than mine:
Two cars were already in the carpark, again I wondered was this too late a start. Luckily no one was on the cliffs. A good thing as the better quality lower grade lines can get busy on such fine mornings. Josh picked the first line. Maybe having been scarred from when he had previously led the route I had to suggested warm up on. He had forgotten the climb he chose today was four grades harder, so it was a little mean on Harry. For once I can say it wasn’t me doing the sandbagging. But I can understand why Josh felt this one may be better:
His memory had been distorted by the intense feeling he experienced when on lead. Watching Harry climb I could hear Josh mention that he had an advantage with his extra-long reach. But reach only works when you also use technique. There was only one time Harry made this mistake. It was impressive to see how quickly he tuned his head into needing to trust his feet, take his time, and work the moves. On our second route Josh admitted, with the safety of the rope above him, that this climb was much easier. But no less enjoyable:
Josh will also admit his technique can be a bit up and down. Today he also climbed well, even hinting he may be keen for a lead today. That was until the third route, on which he focused on the wrong holds. Wearing himself down with each attempt to reach them, and that was for the moves near the base of the climb. By the time he finally made the clean ascent, his arms were weary and head was no longer in the mode to be on the sharp end. Wandering back down, it was then my turn to focus on the wrong thing. Texting good morning to Lisa:
While doing so I narrowly missed stepping on a scaly friend on the path. It slithered into a five meter wide patch of scrub, so I careful looked about. As luck would have it out it popped out on the other side onto the rocks. A Dugite (Pseudonaja affinis subsp. affinis) can grow up to two meters, but generally only reach one and half. This one was a full grown adult and could transfer highly toxic venom in its bite. Accounting for approx. 70% of snake bites reported to Perth Hospital, needless to say I kept my distance and diligently observed its behaviour:
Watching it for maybe too long, resulting in Josh feeling he needed to keep an eye on me. Just in case and from a safe distance,. He had to do the same again for the fourth climb. An old style corner / chimney line. Being an off-width, the gear was limited. He belayed below, but because of the runout and if I had slipped it wouldn’t have helped me. With the lack of gear I substituted the feeling of safety gear provides by wedging myself in the chimney. Squeezing my way up, several bit of gear fell from my harness as one of the gear loops broke:
Um maybe I should have got Harry to check my harness. Looking at the other gear loops, I feel it is time for me to retire it before they too fail sending more gear flying. During our ascent another pair of climbers turned up. Curious, I popped my head over the top and saw none other the Peter. Leaving it a little late to start, but enjoying the shade while he could. We moved over to one more route that no longer had shade. The obvious low grade classic, to see if I would be lucky and see the non-venomous scaly friend I usually see here:
It was not to be. No matter how hard I looked there were no pythons to be seen on the flake. Harry had to work hard to get this one, stating after he topped out that he was done. Josh had managed to find his mojo again, cruising the route but equally happy to call it. The sun would soon bathe the entire crag and none of us were keen to endure that. I hadn’t climbed out with my pack as I normally would on this line, so sorted left all the gear up top to save carrying back up. Meanwhile Josh went for his customary dip in the ocean, before we walked out:
On Thursday 21 November I once more found myself settling into a seat for a trip back to see the folks. Festive wreaths donned the walls of the plane, giving the surrounds a more joyous feel. Not that there is much fun when it comes to the first leg of the journey, at fourteen hours. This visit was a bit closer to the last one than my usual nine monthly trips, having only been six months ago. The reason for this was to align it with a holiday that my sister and her family were taking. Leaving me and the folks to fend for ourselves:
While I endeavoured to get some sleep, at home Lisa was enjoying the luxury of more room in our bed. She had even relegated my pillows to the floor. At least it seemed Nicka was missing me. Sleeping on my pillows for the first part of each night, before sneaking into the bed on to join Lisa and Sooky. Unbeknown to me, I was flying towards Storm Bert. As the plane descended after the second flight, the countryside of England below was coated in white. Not having a window seat I didn’t manage to get a picture of the wintery sight:
It looked lovely on arrival. However, much of Scotland, Wales, and England was being ravaged by the storm. Strong winds and heavy rain and snowfalls resulted in severe damage. Homes and business were destroyed, life in many parts were further disrupted by the flooding of roads and rail lines, and lives were lost. The area my parents and sister live was fortunately not affected by the storm in any great way. I had also luckily arrived at the tail end of the storms, and more settled weather was on the way:
Arriving on Friday morning there was not much time to chill out on the first day. We were due to head out late in the morning for lunch at the hospital in Manchester, before an appointment for my Dad. These sort of trips have been the norm for my stays with the folks over recent years. This time however there was only one face to face appointment on the cards. My sister wasn’t flying out till Sunday, and having just arrived I was grateful she drove us to Manchester. There was a phone appointment on another day, but other than that our time was free:
As expected the snow was all gone when Saturday arrived. A result of milder temperatures that came with the tail end of the storm, which had brought in wet and windy weather overnight and for most of Sunday. This put paid to my intention of going out for an early morning walk. I did however get out with Neil for a wander round Stockport while Asha and Leena went to get their nails done in preparation for their holiday to sunnier climates in Spain. The Christmas market wasn’t much cop but it was nice to have a catch up with Neil:
He suggested we could visit the air raid shelters built for the second world war, which was a fascinating place. One of the single biggest loss of civilian life occurred when a building was bombed, and approximately five hundred people were buried alive in the basement where they were sheltered. As such the government did not sanction air raid shelters that housed more than five hundred people to avoid mass causalities. The Stockport council went against this order and dug tunnels into the bed rock. A two man team could dig a meter a day:
Within a year the tunnels were ready and could house four thousand people. With a canteen, first aid area, running water, electricity, and flushing toilets the ‘luxurious’ standards resulted in them being called the Chestergate Hotel. Originally paid for by the local council, it was such a success that the government agreed to pay for extensions resulting in a mile of tunnels as well as several other tunnels close by. Providing refuge for an additional four and a half thousand people, these networks were the only large scale purpose built shelters in the country:
It was a very worthwhile place to visit and we peppered the staff with questions, which loaded me up with lots of amazing information. Too much to go into here. Just before midday Seeta picked the folks up and brought them out so we could all pile into the pub for a feed. The Arden Arms is a grade II listed building, built in 1815. One of only two pubs in England with a room that can only be accessed by going through the servery. It also has handpumps fitted to the back of the bar in the original fashion, rather than the counter:
Seeing I wasn’t driving I indulged in a good old British ale, and it went down very well indeed. After today I would be the one driving, so it was the only beer that I managed during our trips out. Many of the places we visited were old and steeped in history. And what would a trip to the folks be without a cuppa, cake, and game at Pear Mill. Popping in on the way back from the pub, and this time only Seeta, the folks, and I partook in this ritual. I did wander round to check to the antiquities, managing to restrain myself from buying anything:
If you are keen to read up about Pear Mill’s history you’ll have to check one of my previous posts (https://sandbagged.blog/2022/08/01/time-to-head-back/) or go online. From day one I was keen to get into a routine, and it was early to bed and early to rise. However, for a second day my morning walk was scuppered. Sunday morning came in wet and windy. Seeta and family would be escaping this weather, as they were jetting off on their holiday relatively early. Living just round the corner I popped over to wish them a happy holiday:
Then it was just the folks and me. We dusted off a few of the games from their cupboard, which had not been out since my last visit. Played a few games and at eleven or so our intention was to head out for a pub lunch. It was to be my first time of driving them into the countryside. The roads here are narrow in comparison to back home, definitely busier, unfamiliar to me, and all up less relaxing to drive on. Because of this I had for the first time in all my visits purchased a roaming pack for my phone, to allow google maps direct me:
Or so I had hoped. For some reason, as technology does, it was glitching and not connecting. This resulted in the first trip out, which was the only one in wet and manky conditions, not being very pleasant for me. We did however make it to The Butley Ash, and just like my phone’s antics this pub was disappointing. Something we all agreed on, and something I hoped would not set a precedence for the rest of trips. Back at home I got to work on the phone, and without needing to change any settings it was suddenly all peachy:
Monday arrived and everything was fresh, bright, and seemed to fall into place. The weather cleared up, I got out for a morning walk, and google maps made the route finding on the many windy roads way more pleasant and enjoyable. After the hick-up with our, or should I say my, first pub of choice, I had spent a bit of time looking for places that looked worthwhile. This included cafes as well as pubs. On arrival at today’s café it did not look like much from the outside. But a cosy interior, tables made for playing games, and hearty food made it perfect:
I’ll confess that my investigations of where to head was somewhat swayed by other motives. Being on the edge of the Peak District, I was keen to visit differing areas and when possible drive past old climbing haunts. Such as Stoney Middleton, with its great limestone walls. At my folks age, mobility is definitely on the decline and the idea of going out for a wander with them was optimistic at best. So our trips were very much a country drive, with food stops. And while I threw in places like this one, we didn’t hang about at these:
It was a quick photo, and then onwards to the next food destination. Taking in the countryside, and enjoying seeing new places along the way. In theory being Monday I was supposed to be heading out for a walk with Dave, my folks old postie. He has changed his rounds so works closer to his home. This is good for him but this means he can no longer read the weekly postcards I send my folks. That said we still keep in touch, and Monday was his one free day. Sadly a cold had taken hold of him, and neither of us felt the risk was worth it:
I didn’t want to catch it, but more importantly we did not want to risk my folks getting it. Hopefully, we will get out for a wander next time, and just to plant a seed in Dave’s brain as he reads this, the Snowdon Horseshoe Scramble is particularly good. On the plus side having Monday with the folks meant we enjoyed what was mostly a sunny day out. With some three hours of driving through rolling hills, and scarps capped with the infamous Peak District gritstone (https://sandbagged.blog/2017/07/30/part-4-the-peak-district-learning-the-ropes/):
Our daily routines were starting to form. I was up at five, and despite first light not coming in until after seven I would head out for a two to three hour walk. Meaning at times I walked in darkness for the whole walk. Picking up the daily rag on the way back. My dad no longer picks up these papers, so is no longer the oldest paperboy in the hood. Seeta now drops the papers off at the aged care centre and bring one back for my folks. This was my job for the week. Then it was breakfast and games, before getting ready to hit the road at eleven:
Heading to a, hopefully, well selected food establishment or two via a three hour or so country drive circuit. This would see us return by four when it was starting to get dark. After which a few more games would lead us towards the end of the day, and a bit of quiet telly time. What with all the big daytime meals, no one would feel like an evening meal so a snack was sufficient. On Tuesday I left a little later for my walk. Keen to watch the sunrise but also because today’s the phone appointment would change things a bit:
We waited an hour for the phone to ring, and then gave up and headed to the Pack Horse Inn. Due to the later than usual arrival we got to a fairly busy pub, with lots of the areas reserved for groups. There was a table free, and we enjoyed another lovely meal but it was certainly a tad noisy. Resulting in making it a bit uncomfortable. More so for my mam due to her hearing going downhill. As a result I started to plan a bit more. Not only picking our destinations, but also booking a table and asking for one that was quiet and out of the way:
The noise aside the pub was great, as was the meal. And the drive through another part of the Peak District, this time not taking in any old climbing areas of mine, was equally enjoyable. When we got back there was a message on the phone, left at three thirty. Four and a half hours after the time we were told they would call, so we didn’t feel bad for missing it. For my Wednesday morning walk I came across something I didn’t expect, a milk float. Hand delivered milk bottles are something of a rarity these days, but used to be common practise:
For most of the 20th century the British milk float undoubtedly comprised the vast majority of electric vehicles on the road. Some twelve hundred were made each year. And while they still exist, since the 1990s they have become a rare sight. This find brought back memories, as well as one in particular. During a school trip in 1983 or 84, we went to North Wales and stayed at the Snowdon Bryn Gwynant youth hostel. The hostel is set in forty two acres and one morning I encouraged two others to join me for an early walk, out the back over the hill:
When it was time to turn back, we didn’t recognise any of the landmarks and got thoroughly lost. Eventually coming across a road, but it wasn’t the right one. After speed marching for what left like an eternity we came across a milk float. The milkman offered us a lift and took us several kilometres before he had to head in a different direction. But got us onto the right road and the speed marching resumed. We got back some three plus hours later to find everyone in the hostel out looking for us, and the teachers just about to call the police:
We missed out on breakfast, and as punishment had to do the washing up for the rest of the week. But had a great adventure. I asked my folks if they had any memory of what would have been considered major incident of child safety these days, and they said no they didn’t even realise it happened. How times change. We didn’t get lost during our country drive on Wednesday. Admittedly we went back to the Yondermann Café upon my dad’s request, and my mam nor I complained as the oat cakes there were worthy of the Roaches Teahouse:
To understand the significance of the Roaches Teahouse you’ll have to dig into the two posts I have linked above. After our feed and a game we drove towards the Peak View Tea Rooms, which was a last minute change from where I intended to go. A change I didn’t check quite thoroughly enough, as Wednesday was the one day it was closed. So we drove on and didn’t spot anywhere that looked inviting enough for us to stop. This meant that the appetites were up that night, and it was my mam that chose an Indian from Indigos:
She was also keen to wander down to eat out, but my dad wasn’t keen on the idea of having to go back out. It was probably more the walk that put him off, so I offered to wander down to order it and bring it back. This allowed me to have a cheeky quiet beer while I waited for the food to be cooked. Rather than a British ale, seeing we were having an Indian meal, it had to be a Cobra beer that originally came from a brewery in Bangalore, but is now made in England. The next morning was the coldest. It was minus four degrees as I stepped outside:
The meant that many of the muddy paths, which I had been navigating in the dark would not be quite as slippy in the same way. Instead there were plenty of places where ice covered the ground. I had to keep an eye out for condition of the smoother sections, which were more likely to send me flying this time. It was worth the risk to see the frost covered fields. It is not possible to put the heater on in the car without it affecting my mams breathing. As the daytime temperature didn’t get above five degrees, this made for a chilly drive:
My dad on the other hand isn’t too good at tolerating the cold, another one of those seemingly minor things for which they have different needs and likes. And as they become more weary these differences need to be well managed. There were several cold days, and for these my dad was wrapped up in a cosy blanket on the back seat. I managed to weather the cold to save my mam from starting to wheeze, cough, and finally start spluttering. Today the coldness was forgiven as we arrived at what was the best pub of the trip:
The Lazy Trout was the furthest south we ventured, located between Leek and the mighty Roaches that could be seen from the carpark. It was the only place we went where they had games available to borrow, and we were given a large game playing sized table away from the noise. The food looked and was scrumptious, so much so that my dad didn’t hesitate to order a full sized meal. It did however beat him, and he had to take a doggie bag home. Although I suspect that was more down to the two huge portions of Indian he ate the night before:
Everything about this pub earnt it the top spot for the week. The countryside was also lovely, and we went on some incredibly narrow roads between our stops. Skinny, high hedged, roller-coaster lanes, just wide enough for one vehicle. When we came across a car going the other way, one of us would have to reverse to the nearest passing area. Areas that at times didn’t seem big enough to squeeze my folks small car in, let along wide enough to facilitate the passing of vehicles. Somehow it worked, even when there was a lorry to contend with:
The roads, with google maps directing, made for very entertaining journeys. I could feel both my dad and mam thoroughly enjoying the excitement of not knowing what was round the many tight corners or over the blind summits on these roads. And then the roads would open up to lovely vistas, and for this trip that had to include a drive past Hen Cloud and Ramshaw Rocks, above and below. And the Roaches, which are accessed via the above gate, that has an interesting accessory to stop the gate from making too much noise when it closes:
And if you have dipped into the posts linked above, you will know why having a climbing shoe for this purpose is quite topical. We continued east through more roads that you just can’t drive fast along to the teahouse I had originally intended to take the folks to yesterday. This time I double checked the opening times, and we were greeted to a delightful and quaint place. Just like today’s pub and meandering roads the Aisseford Tea Room was a big hit. And with the sweet treat in the afternoon, we were back to a light dinner. Well two of us were:
As is the case every time I come back, it feels like the week is long. Then by the time I get to my last morning walk I wonder where the days have gone. It was probably the most speculator morning sky of the lot, and one that it would have been good to be in the higher hills for. I had however chosen the circuit that had the most paved areas and least muddy bits, meaning it stuck to the lower areas. This was in part due to not wanting to muddy up my boots too much, as they would need an extra thorough clean before I headed back:
After each walk I had given them a scrub to get the worst off, but for this last clean they needed to be detailed. Coming into Australia, the slightest speck of mud could result in delays in getting back in. It may sound sensationalist, but having witnessed what can happen I would rather avoid the situation. For our last country drive, we headed in a roundabout way to The Cheshire Cheese Inn built in 1577. The oldest pub we went to and named due to the packhorse men who worked the old salt route from Cheshire across the Pennines to Yorkshire:
They used the pub for lodgings and a feed, and paid for this with cheese. The lower room still has the original cheese hooks to prove this. It was built into the hillside, and as such has quite a few steps and some of these are quite big. I made the mistake of parking uphill of the pub, out the back. Completely overlooking the small carpark opposite the pub. This meant we entered, much to the concern of the landlady, down these steep steps. So concerned, she allowed us entry through the private area with more manageable steps:
We survived the adventure without incident, but I did move the car to the front to make an easier exit. Much to the relief of the land lady. The games came out as we waited for our food. Being close to the festive period Dad enjoyed yet another mulled wine, relishing the heat of it just as much as the flavour. With bellies full we managed the flat exit with ease, and then headed northwards to just outside of the Peak District and into South Yorkshire. The Bank View Café sits up from Langsett Reservoir and is impossible to miss:
The café was on the route of the 2015 Tour de Yorkshire and the owner gave the building a special face lift, in 2014, to celebrate the event. Using the King of the Mountain jersey colours. They have remained since, and cafes connection with cycling has continued. Having received many accolades including winning Cycling UKs Cyclist Cafe of the year 2019 Lifetime Achievement Award. It was another friendly and very welcoming place, and great way to round of a week of exploring and finding new good spots to grab a feed:
The last slice of sugar must have invigorated my dad who, despite avoiding exertion whenever possible, took on the steps to get back to the car. Even though there is a mobility access ramp. The drive back included an additional stop to stock the house up on a few essentials. Not that we had put much of a dent into the larder, what with all the eating out we had done. It did also allowed us to pick up some milk for my sister’s house too. Allowing them to have a cuppa on their return, which would be later on the same day I was leaving:
Saturday arrived, and I had booked a taxi to pick me up at seven thirty. Allowing me enough time to grab the Saturday rag for my folks and Neil, and squeeze in a couple of final and very early morning games with the folks. So early that I suspect my dad probably went back to bed after I left. While Seeta and her mob had a relaxing, warm, and sunny holiday in Spain, my mam summed it up perfectly. Saying it felt like they too had been on holiday this week with lovely trips out every day to visit plenty of great new pubs and cafes:
Sandbagged 