Drawn out by the sun

In centuries, and decades, gone past mass land clearing has resulted in isolated pockets of native vegetation complexes remaining.  Sometimes these look orchidy, and at other times they look infested with weeds that have crept in from the surrounding land.  Usually agricultural or rural in nature.  South of Bunbury the Franklandia Nature Reserve is split by the South Western Highway, the larger area to the west looks pretty good.  But the eastern side looks degraded and run down, strewn with litter discarded by people using the layby area:

Not surprisingly I found myself walking about in the bush on the western side of the road, not seeing too much that I hadn’t seen before.  A lady was also hunting orchids, and she got a bit of a start when I said hello.  And as we exchanged details of our finds, she told me the other side of the road was worth a visit.  With clumps of orchids that simply had to be seen, so I went there to see what I could see.  And just like a book shouldn’t be judged by its cover, I should not have judged this patch of bush by all the weeds:

Spider orchids abound, as well as others, but it was the spiders I was keen to see.  They resemble the Chapman’s Spider Orchid (Caladenia chapmanii) and there may have been a few of them about.  But there were also some different characteristics that made me dig a little deeper.  This leads to be to think that the mass of orchids included some Common Spider Orchids (Caladenia vulgata) and possibly Pendant Spider Orchids (Caladenia pendens) of which there are two subspecies of pendens and talbotii, the latter being more colourful:

As such this little patch yielded some good finds, or so it seems.  I say that as I recently tested my orchid identification skills for a find I was really unsure about.  I went to the Department of Biodiversity, Conservation and Attractions to see what they thought my find in the Capel Nature Reserve had been (https://sandbagged.blog/2024/09/06/its-all-relative/).  I didn’t tell them what I thought, and indeed they were a little stumped too.  As such they call in the big guns, and asked one of the authors of the orchid book I use:

Although, not the same person I have previously used a few years back to test some of my more curly finds.  His assessment was that I had found a hybrid, and it was suggested to be a cross between a White Spider Orchid (Caladenia speciose) and either the Grand Spider Orchid (Caladenia huegelii) or the Scott River Spider Orchid (Caladenia thinicola).  It was suggested to be more likely the Grand Spider Orchid, which in itself is critically endangered.  So I will now have to go back there and start looking for that one too:

I’ve previously found the Scott River Spider Orchid.  The first time was in the Scott River National Park some 70 to 80 kilometres to the south (https://sandbagged.blog/2022/10/05/true-to-its-name/). However, despite its name this species can be found over quite a wide range.  After a very successful short walk and on the way home I stopped in to check out another small patch of bush in a place called Gelorup.  This one had less on offer but I did come across my first Pink Fairy Orchid (Caladenia latifolia) of the season, almost out in flower, shown above:

Tuesday I plumped for the Ruabon Nature Reserve, and it seems that we have slipped from winter into summer.  High twenty degree temperatures and a weeklong forecast of sun and heat.  It has started draw out more orchids, and there were quite a lot of King-in-his-carriage Orchids (Drakaea glyptodon) in flower.  Standing taller than the companion Flying Duck Orchids (Caleana nigrita), often found together, but they were a little way of being in flower:

It was not the place to stand still for too long, being overrun with mosquitoes.  I braved them for quite a while in the hope of finding more, but the only other sighting to report was the above lonely clump of Little Pink Fan Orchids (Caladenia nana subsp nana).  Tiny plants for which I had to get down on my hands and knees to be able to observe, allowing the mosquitoes an easy target.  But it was worth it.  Later in the season the other subspecies unita will come into flower, having a similar flower shape and size but with a much taller stem:

I was eventually driven out by the clouds of winged pests, but content with my finds.  Wednesday came and true to my word of last week, I got out again.  This time a bit inland to the higher and rocky area of Crooked Brook Forrest.  The sun was out and had bite to it; on the plus side it was drier and I wasn’t being forced to keep moving.  It seems however this place will take a little while longer to wake up.  There was very little on show, to the point I started to take images of even more Dwarf Pink Fairy Orchids (Caladenia reptans):

With the three species of Pink Fairies in one post you may get an appreciation of the differences between them.  My book has five different ones, including subspecies, of which I have seen four.  I’d need to travel 550 kilometres to the north to find the fifth species, which is unlikely to happen.  There is a limit to my obsession.  I did however walk 5.5 kilometres on this trip, the longest walk of the week, and completed that in an hour.  A sign of how quiet it was, although with the pace I kept I did surprise myself when I saw this:

Standing no more than 20 centimetres high with a flower less than an inch in length, I feel it was a good spot and I was a bit lucky to see this Warty Hammer Orchid (Drakaea livida).  It was not the plant that had caught my eye, but the 10mm in diameter basal leaf.  I may have been keeping a reasonable pace, but still had my eye tuned in for orchidy type shapes and colours.  Sounds a bit silly, but Craig noticed this when we walked along the Cape to Cape track a few weeks back.  He was amazed at what he missed, after I pointed things out to him:

Thursday rolled in and I gave a Tuart Woodland a go, just on the edge of Bunbury.  The entire ground looked like it had yellow lights covering it.  Cowslip Orchids (Caladenia flava) were out ‘en masse’ and occasionally I came across a white spider or two.  I took heaps of images and think I managed to find the White Spider Orchid (Caladenia longicauda subsp longicauda) below, and the second image being a Sandplain White Spider Orchid (Caladenia speciosa).  It’s a place that will be worth going back too:

The sun has not only drawn out more orchid species, but also more of the orchid hunters.  I heard the little car park at Manea Park was full on Thursday evening.  Hordes of people were scouring the paths looking for these delicate flowers.  Luckily, as I mentioned at the start, there are of pockets of bush scatter about.  I will be visiting those, leaving the more accessible and well known areas to the masses.  That won’t however be for another week or so, by which time I hope more species will be out:

Watch your step

Despite having had a week off work David hadn’t managed a trip out to explore his new outdoor playground.  It seems his desire to get out is near equal to mine, and his fingers were itching to touch rock by the time Saturday arrived.  We’d planned a trip out with, in my mind, one focus.  To get him back on the sharp end.  And there is but one place to go when you need to start from basics.  This meant a repeat trip to where I climbed with Craig last weekend, and also attempting the rock hoping path along the coast:

The path wasn’t being smashed like last weekend.  It was low tide.  The swell was lower than last weekend, although it had only receded overnight.  Foamy bubbles, a result from the recent churning ocean conditions along with natural decomposing organic matter, were scattered about and being blown around in the wind.  The boulders that were no longer wave washed, had a green hue to them.  The residue from the sea foam, which resulted in what felt like icy conditions.  We had to be very careful with our foot placements to avoid a spill:

David admitted to not being as sure footed.  Fortunately we managed to keep on our feet, but it did mean it was a relatively slow walk in.  During which we only had a couple of near misses, which included from my at times over confidence.  A bit of time was also spent hiding from a squall that wetted everything up.  This conveniently reached the shore at the time we walked past the only shelter of note.  There were only two sections, where the conditions were such that, we had to scramble inland a bit more to reach our destination safely:

Back to basics was a bit harsh way to explain the situation.  David has plenty of climbing experience, it has just been packed away for too long.  You could say it is has become rusty and needs a bit of lubrication.  A major block after his abstinence from leading, being the need to rebuild his mental focus and confidence when on the pointy end of the rope.  Climbing above your gear and being prepared, if necessary, to take a fall, and trust your gear implicitly can really mess with your emotions.  This requires training your amygdala to not do its job:

The small in size amygdala plays a big role, as the part of the brain where your emotions are processed.  I often say to people when they are looking stressed on rock, to find a stance and focus on their breathing.  There is science behind this technique, unintended on my part.  It is no different to applying stress management practises, which include meditation, deep breathing, and exercising.  The trick is being able to apply that when your amygdala is starting to kick off.  This can be helped by offering the right verbal cues, in a calm and controlled voice:

We started at The Playground.  Easy lines with plenty of gear and a nice sandy landing below.  These all help to make it easier to focus on controlling the brain, by making it feel like fun.  It is however hard to avoid your shoes getting sandy, especially when the beach is a little damp as it was today.  The sand acts like marbles, eliminating much of the friction between the rock and the rubber on the soles of our shoes.  So once again care was required with our footfalls.  David made use of his approach shoes to minimise the amount of sand his shoes picked up:

After five leads at The Playground, which got progressively steeper making David need to control his emotions, we wandered across to Lost Buttress.  On the way over we came across a, sadly deceased, hatchling Loggerhead Turtle (Caretta caretta).  There are four life stages of turtles, being an egg, hatchling, juvenile, and adult.  Born in the warmer northern parts of Western Australia between January and May, hatchlings and juveniles live in the open ocean for up to seven to fifteen years, before moving to near shore environments:

They can be encouraged to move further south along the coastline by the warmer waters in the Leeuwin Current.  Then, during winter storms, they can end up being washed up, such as this one, when they are unlikely to survive.  This is only one of the many perils needing to be navigated while growing up.  There are articles that indicate only 1 in 1,000 hatchlings will make it through the nest couple of life stages to become an adult.  On the plus side I’m however pleased to advise that David did survive today’s experience:

Polishing today off with two more leads at the taller Lost Buttress.  These routes made him run out is gear a bit more, and he also got his first experience of the great Australian icon… the carrot bolt.  So I feel it was definitely mission accomplished, and I had a relatively relaxed day following up with a rope above me.  We were rewarded with an improving day and settling ocean, meaning we could rock hop the entire way back.  With David blindly following me on a couple of airy scrambles that sometimes made him stop, needing to placate his amygdala:

Once the path took us back up the ridge we took a slightly deviated route.  Allowing me to show him a few lesser frequented crags.  Although the main reason was to get to Driftwood Bay, where two weeks back I hoped we had dropped a piece of gear.  It required some bush bashing, and sure enough my missing gear was at the top of the crag.  We had to tread carefully through the bush, where David once more got to see a Southwestern Carpet Python (Morelia imbricata) and shortly after also his first Bobtail Lizard (Tiliqua rugosa):

It’s all relative

This week I only managed two trips, and as things are heating up I’ll have to make an effort and get out for more after work wanders next week.  I say that as I soon won’t be able to enjoy my local strolls for a while.  Not for too long, but some species flower and disappear quickly.  For example that tiny Sandhill Helmet Orchid (Corybas despectans) that I checked weekly at Wilyabrup, flowered and withered within a week.  On Tuesday, after Josh at work had shared that he had spotted even more White Spider Orchid’s, so I went to Manea Park:

The Sandplain Donkey Orchids (Diuris tinctoria) were out in numbers, along with a few other species of this genus.  This particular species have up to five flowers on one plant, where as the similar species that I sometimes get it mixed up with have up to seven.  This particular species is also commonly found after periods of higher than average rain, which we certainly had in August.  The other orchid out in numbers, as I predicted would happen after spotting my first one just one week back, was the Cowslip Orchid (Caladenia flava):

The trip paid off when I found a single White Spider Orchid (Caladenia longicauda) in flower.  My book has fourteen subspecies, so you may be able to imagine my quandary of trying to identify them.  However, I feel comfortable in saying this one was a Sandplain White Spider Orchid (Caladenia speciose).  The pink tinge of the flower being the clue.  This one also had a grasshopper nymph nibbling on the more juicy bits.  They belong to a group of insects known as orthopterans, meaning ‘straight wings’, of which there are some 3,000 species in Australia:

Needless to say I didn’t try too hard to identify it, which is even harder being a nymph.  Based on its size this nymph looked to be one of the early stages of development.  They moult four to six times over five to six weeks, before becoming an adult.  Each time they moult they reach another ‘instar’, which is Latin for form or likeness and is used to refer to a developmental stage.  At each development stage they grow and hence need to moult, becoming an adult when they reach sexual maturity:

My next trip out was on Friday, and as I was working from home I kept it really local.  Heading to the Capel Nature Reserve, where on arrival the above Heart-leaf Flame Pea (Chorizema cordatum) shrub looked wonderful in the late afternoon light.  The Chorizema genus has approx. eighteen species, all of which but one are endemic to Western Australia.  Many other native peas were also in flower.  Many various sizes and colours, but too many to count with over twenty genus in Australia.  There were also lots of Sandplain White Spider Orchids out:

I lost count of how many I saw, all looking very elegant with their tall drooping sepals and petals, and upright dorsal sepal.  And there look to heaps more getting ready to flower. While  I didn’t look super hard at every flower I did notice the above, not so uncommon sight on spider orchids, being a Flower or Crab Spider of the Thomisinae subfamily.  I’ve spotted this species before and unsuccessfully tried to identify it.  Despite getting a better image this time, I have still not managed to find a match:

The other spider orchid that this nature reserve has in abundance is the Chapman Spider Orchid (Caladenia chapmanii).  Last year this was a species I noted quickly transitioned from flowering to wilting.  It was a shame, as it really is a striking and incredibly colourful species.  Only a few were in flower, with heaps of large clumps being on the verge of blooming.  First identified in 1940 it wasn’t published, so the naming rights were lost.  It was finally published in 2001 when it was named in honour of an amateur orchid enthusiast:

I have found a few orchids over the years that the authors of my guide have failed to identify.  However, it takes a fair bit of effort and time to publish a find and be able to claim it as a new species.  So I can’t see this amateur enthusiast ever receiving such an honour, at least not while I’m working.  I mentioned it was heating up.  I meant this metaphorically, due to more and more species starting to appear and be at a stage where I can identify them.  Such as this Purple Enamel Orchid (Elythranthera brunonis):

I feel that some orchids are more striking before they flower, and the above is one of them.  Not to say it isn’t pretty when in flower, being one of Lisa’s favourites.  With spring upon us it is also literally warming up, and drying up.  A gradual process that signals to many orchid species that it is time to show yourself.  Such as this Flying Duck Orchid (Paracaleana nigrita).  It is watching this transition from bud to flower that I may miss, while I won’t be able to go on my local walks.  Despite seeing it each season it seems a shame, maybe I have FOMO:

By which I mean ‘fear of missing orchids’.  But for now back to the Capel Nature Reserve, where I spotted a different species of white spider.  The red labellum and neater fringes making it stand out amongst the countless Sandplain White Spider Orchids.  I’ve checked and double checked based on its features, the soil type (deep sands), and vegetation complex (Banksia) in which I found it.  The only option is a Giant Spider Orchid (Caladenia excelsa), but is outside of its normal range.  If I’m right it is an uncommon find, being listed as endangered:

I reckon this is one I should send to the Department of Biodiversity, Conservation and Attractions to have checked out, just to be sure, because if I am right it is a significant find.  Significant is of course a relative term and my last find also falls into that category, for me at least.  It is the first lutea, being the Latin word for yellow, Jug Orchid (Pterostylis recurva) I have come across.  The flowers being devoid of the green and white strips and brown tips, and the stem and leaves also looking bleached out.  Another reason to go back:

Knocked for six

With another blustery morning, and a rough ocean the Peppy Plungers were not gathering for their dip today.  Despite that Lisa was still leaving early, for swimming lessons.  Or should I say lessons to improve her swimming style.  While she has a never ending urge to keep learning and doing something different, the lessons are part of her plan to feel more comfortable and safe in the ocean.  And that is a good thing.  On the other hand I am a bit of a stick in the mud, and have a select few interests that more than adequately chew up my time:

Feeling the rock calling me, I too headed out early.  Driving to my chosen destination the above sight brought back memories of many a view of lush green rolling hills in the homelands.  And like many of those trips I drove through the rain in hope of finding better conditions at the end of the journey.  A big difference being that back then I would be on the road for anywhere from three to six hours; driving hundreds of kilometres to get away for a weekend.  This was an hour trip, heading towards the darker clouds as oppose to past them:

My hopes of touching rock waxed and waned with the weather.  Every time I had to put the windscreen wipers on full, they swished back a forth mimicking a head shaking from side to side.  Sending me an unspoken message of disapproval.  Pushing such thoughts to the back of my mind, stubbornness kept me going forward.  A friend from Alice Springs used to say, he who dares wins.  It was also a catchphrase used by David Jason, as Del Boy, in a brilliant British sitcom called Only Fools and Horses, only for Del Boy it rarely worked in his favour:

Water, water everywhere is probably an apt way to describe what greeted me.  In my favour the clouds looked to be lifting and breaking up a bit.  Before I put my trust in that being the case, I went for a wander through the forest.  Keeping a sharp eye on ground but also spotting wildlife in the scrub, at times just off the path.  The fact that they were still out, and so close to a walk trail, hinted that no one else was braving being out just yet.  During the three to four kilometre loop I didn’t find any new orchids in flower, however it did not rain:

I think it may have been Howsie’s suggestion to come here on Friday that resulted in me being drawn this way today.  He’s still crook, and I doubt anyone else would have contemplated joining me for a visit here on such a day.  I could hear frogs croaking away in the quarry, a sure sign it was going to be wetter than usual.  They were probably hidden in the many nooks and crannies, but I failed to find any of them.  Water had been flowing down several of the climbs for a long period, with green algae taking hold:

But as the streaky walls indicate, some sections were drier.  I even found some parts that were completely dry, just not entire climbs.  Having made the effort to get here, I set the top rope up on each line with extra caution.  Big puddles and algae where scattered across the top of the crag, ready to send me flying if I was careless.  As is the case after we have had a break from climbing here, it felt hard.  And even harder due to the conditions.  Two laps on three climbs, and I was knocked for six.  It was however still a lot of fun.  This one dared and won:

The rambling buoy

It’s often not the accomplishment of the climbs for me, but the journey.  That includes the approach or walk into the crag, and then back out.  Going up the routes of choice is almost a bonus.  And for really big crags, which we lack locally, the descent is also great fun.  Howsie and I planned to go to Welly Dam, where the approach is non-existent but that can be convenient for quick trips.  Sadly he started to feel unwell.  Next David indicated he would be keen, but as he predicted he got called into work due to other workers feeling unwell:

Third time lucky and Craig was feeling well, so we wandered out to Lost Buttress.  Of all our local crags this one has the longest approach.  At least it is the way I head there, along the coastline.  I was possibly a little optimistic today, but Craig went along with it.  The swell was at five meters, it was high tide, and fresh to strong winds were aimed at the coast.  Bays such as the one above, which we normally rock hop across, were awash.  And others, like below, were coated in foam, resulting in the boulders being incredibly dangerous to step on:

We attempted to follow the rocky coastline as much as possible, without getting too silly.  But had to occasionally escape by scrambling up short faces and corners.  Then needing to bush-bashing a path higher on the ridge, until it looked safe to descend back down.  I will always remember a family trip to a place called Woody Island.  Sat on the boulder strewn beach, a woman screeched at her kids ‘STAY OFF THE BLACK ROCKS!!’, because they were slippery.  Today however the black basalt rocks had the best friction, and we did exactly the opposite:

It took us a while longer to get to the crag, but we were in no rush aiming for a fun relaxed day out.  Nothing too silly, not that this place offers too much of that.  It does however have a fine selection of lines that I knew I could point Craig too, which is exactly what I did for the first lead.  Taking his time and complaining that it was all wet.  We had just been hit by a short squall so it was quite possibly the case, but by the time I followed up it was dry.  Even if it hadn’t dried between the showers, the routes are of a grade that it wouldn’t have stopped us:

We were however somewhat distracted by the ocean.  The waves crashed into a short wall next to the crag, sending water towering into the air.  Then as it came back down, it created cascading waterfalls along the length of the wall.  This did stop us climbing for a while, and as Craig inched closer trying to get that perfect image I did wonder if he may have been trying his luck a little too much.  On this occasion he remained dry, and needless to say sights such as what we were lucky to observe today simply can’t be captured in a single picture:

The image below shows a plume of sand splaying out from the vegetated slope into the boulders.  It is possible to drive to this crag, and then wander down this slope.  The scramble down to the beach has over time created a more defined path, and place for water to flow.  The path is eroding badly, turning into a deep incised track with more and more sand being washed down.  To be fair very few climbers come here, but it is also a popular place to camp on the Cape to Cape track.  And those people along with fishers, do use the track:

This erosion does have a bearing on why I don’t like driving in, and prefer the walk along the coast.  But the walk in along the coast had felt a little too dicey at times today.  As such when Craig suggested we could make our way up to the Cape to Cape track to walk out, I felt that would be OK as long as we followed the more solid and rocky ridgeline to get to it.  This started with a scramble up the crag but before we could do that Craig went to pick up a bit of flotsam he intended to take home.  The buoy was tied to the rap line, so we could haul it up:

We did however carry our packs up as we solo’d up a new line, which Craig aptly called ‘The Rambling Buoy’.  Probably no harder than a grade 7 or Diff in UK grades, but a fun route all the same.  While soloing a new route with packs on may not seem sensible, taking the Cape to Cape track back certainly was.  We spotted a couple of orchids in flower that I’ve mentioned previously on recent trips to Wilyabrup, and signs there are plenty more other ones on their way.  We were also greeted by this very sluggish Bobtail Lizard (Tiliqua rugosa):

The blue armada

Orchid season is great for encouraging me to get out for a few more walks than I would normally.  I let that slip last week, so made a conscious effort to refocus my life to work balance, managing to get out for a wander three times.  This was made in part easier by having slightly improved weather.  Like the rest of the world things are all a bit topsy-turvy.  The southern parts of Australia, which includes where we live, are being battered by strong winds, dropping the temperatures, and lashings of rain:

To date it has certainly been a year of contrasts.  Starting with the longest and hottest summer on record.  Then over the last week or so we have recorded the highest river flows on record in quite a few systems.  While other systems have had very rare events, which have only been witnesses a couple of time over the last thirty plus years.  It all sounds very dramatic, but most of the river catchments in the South West of Western Australia are relatively small, so we are not at risk of being flooded out:

Meanwhile the northern parts of Australia are being subject to a very hot August.  The record for the hottest day in August, at many weather stations, are tumbling.  In some cases the record has been exceeded on successive days, as the temperatures creep up.  Many places up north are baking with forty degrees or more, and I know which part of Australia I would rather be.  While it is windy, and at times cold and wet, I can more easily cope with that than shearing heat.  The conditions might also just might help with the orchid season:

My species count at Manea Park crept close to double digits.  But I’ve started with an image of a beautiful old Bull or Giant Banksia (Banksia grandis) in flower.  Many of the Banksia woodlands are suffering badly, with trees being knocked off by a plant disease called Phytophthora Dieback caused by a microscopic organisms present in the soil.  So it was great to see this tree going so well.  Many of the orchids I saw are repeat finds for the season, such as the second image of a rather specky looking Jug Orchid (Pterostylis recurve):

The third images, as I start to catch up with myself, being a Dancing Spider Orchid (Caladenia discoidea).  I spotted these last year but only in one location.  After unsuccessfully trying to find them anywhere else I went back to where I knew, or hoped, they would be once more.  It took me a little off the loop I had chosen, but that worked in my favour a second time when I spotted my first Cowslip Orchid (Caladenia flava) of the season, above.  No doubt in a few weeks many of the places I visit will be absolutely rife with these:

It was a bit that way with the Dwarf Pink Fairies at Crooked Brook, during my second wander on Wednesday.  Everywhere I looked they were popping up, along with the blues, purples, and yellows of quite a few other shrubs and plants starting to bloom.  Hidden amongst them I spotted three Bird Orchids (Pterostylis barbata).  An orchid that I feel I will never tire from seeing time and time again.  I still recall the first time I found one, a walk that is sadly also when I lost my Buffalo (https://wordpress.com/post/sandbagged.blog/6738):

Crooked Brook also had a few Frilled Leek Orchids (Prasophyllum sargentii) out on display.  Looking quite stunning on their near one meter tall stems.  I’ve not seen these before so spent a fair bit of time looking at the intricate detail.  Staring more intently as I thought I had found two species because of the different coloured stems.  The petals and sepals were also differently colours, but the shape and colours of the frilled labellum was the same.  Despite them being the same species it was certainly a worthwhile trip:

This afternoon I wandered out to Ambergate, hoping something might be coming out.  My last visit here over threes back with Lisa yielded Buckley’s.  This trip wasn’t much better with a couple of small clumps of Kemerton Donkey Orchids (Diuris cruenta), below, and not much else.  On the plus side this image made me revisit the species I found at the Capel Nature Reserve, realising for that trip I incorrectly identified some Sandplain Donkey Orchids (Diuris tinctoria) as Kemerton Donkey Orchids.  This has now been corrected in that previous post:

Going back in time, I went down the beach with Lisa and the poodles this morning.  It’s rare to spot a crab on our beach in the daytime, but she had done just that a few days back.  The chances of a second sighting was slim, but we did see a bunch of By-the-wind Sailors (Velella velella) and Blue Bottles (Physalia physalis), which had been left high and dry.  These get washed up during winter on our beaches, and in summer over on the east coast of Australia.  And like our Western Stingers that arrive in our summer, they can deliver an unpleasant sting:

When this happens over east they are joined by another blue floating colonial cnidarian, being the Blue Button Jellyfish (Porpita porpita).  This blue armada is also joined by Violet Snails (Janthina janthina), shown below, and a very alien looking creature called a Blue Sea Slug (Glaucus atlanticus).  These two float on the surface with, and feed on, the cnidarians.  Even ingesting their stinging cells, resulting in becoming toxic themselves.  All five of the full fleet can be found where we live, but the Blue Button Jellyfish and Blue Sea Slug are a rare find:

As lucky would have it I also found a crab, the same species as the one Lisa had spotted.  A Smooth-Handed Ghost Crab (Ocypode cordimanus).  During the day they normally live in burrows deep in the sand, reaching all the way down to the water table.  They usually forage on the beach at night or early and late in the day, which is why it is such a treat to see one.  Maybe one day I’ll have to head down just after dark with a torch, to see who else might be out and about:

Showing their true colours

I won’t lie and I steered the ship to my advantage today.  This resulted in a fourth trip, on the trot, out to rock starting with a walk towards Wilyabrup.  I would have headed out solo if no one else was keen, but David was and was also happy to risk the weather.  Having climbed in Ireland and England before moving here, he isn’t one to shy away from a bit of dampness.  He is also yet to sample all the crags available that collectively reside at Wilyabrup,  This made it easy to offer a selection of options I felt would appeal to him:

The drive took us through a mixed bag, and it stayed that way on arrival.  Being greeted by some very welcome sunshine and a colourful rainbow, which was rapidly advancing to shore.  This could mean only one thing.  We pondered if it was worth sheltering in the dunny while it passed over, as I had last weekend.  Deciding not to bother, we scrambled round the loose top in the rain.  I’m a little desensitised to the terrain and loped along happily, whereas David took his time to make sure each footfall was solid.  Aiming to avoid tumbling over the cliff edge:

Two weeks back David joined us at the Organ Pipes, a relatively short crag with clean lines and only the very occasional loose stuff.  Driftwood Bay is the next crag along, and is a step up into the murkiness of what I’d regard as proper traditional climbing.  With a bit of a mountaineering style thrown in.  Longer rambling lines, loose rock, and the occasional longer runout.  In its favour however the grades are much lower, reducing the impact of those more nervous aspects.  The description, and on arrival the environment, appealed to David:

It was all a bit slippy when we got there, but he is getting used to the quickly changing weather and drying rock here.  And sure enough as he followed up the first climb the sun was upon us and the rock was starting to dry.  His face however hinted that the loose rock on the line I chose to start on, had made him a little nervous.  It was probably the worse line for loose rock, and in hindsight maybe I should have started on another route.  But hindsight isn’t particularly helpful and it resulted in me taking a second lead.  This time on more solid terrain:

As I set up the belay anchors, I spotted the above Southwestern Carpet Python (Morelia imbricata) sunning itself just across from where our abseil line was.  I wonder if David will expect to see a snake every time we climb here now.  He has certainly been very lucky to date.  We were able to get very close for a good look.  Making sure that as soon as it showed signs of having a good sniff, with its tongue, that we backed off.  Not wanting to disturb it too much.  Back at the base, someone’s brain was having a battle.  To lead or not to lead:

Without being too pushy I encouraged the ‘go-for-it’ side of David’s brain, which seemed to gain traction.  He started up the rock, but  it was however clear that the mental struggle wasn’t over.  He placed a piece of gear, after which he struggled to push himself any higher.  This had nothing to do with the precarious looking left foothold that he kept using.  I thought it better not to mention that until after the ‘don’t-do-it’ side of his brain had won out, and he was back on the deck.  I also found out how long it had been since he had led anything:

The few times we have managed to encourage him to lead, has resulted in him bagging more leads than he has managed in the last four to five years.  So it’s no wonder he was not overly motivated to get on the sharp end at such a ‘traditional’ style crag.  Needless to say I jumped on sharp end again and then again, picking a rarely climbed route for the last one.  While not prepared to lead these kind of lines, David certainly wasn’t afraid to climb them on second.  Pulling off the moves, and occasional loose hold, and is keen to come back here for more:

Four lines may not seem a heap to bag.  We did have a slightly later start, but it was the sudden drop in temperature, and wind picking up, that helped us decide.  Out to sea it was hit and miss as to what might befall us.  On the plus side this meant the gear was packed away dry, which is always nice.  Then on the walk out we stopped to check out the reason I wanted to come here.   Finally the tiny Sandhill Helmet Orchid (Corybas despectans) was in bloom and showing us its true colours, and despite having a flower less than 5mm long it was a beauty:

Keeping it short

There has been no time for a wander during the week.  Stuff kept getting in the way, plus the weather has been somewhat meh.  Today was again forecast to be pretty average.  It started that way, and we were hit by pounding rain and hail with thunder booming in the background:

But I needed to get out, so when a dry patch appeared I seized the opportunity.  Josh had nipped out one lunch during the week to an old faithful spot in Bunbury, and stumbled across a lone white spider in flower.  Raising my hopes when I headed back to the above place:

There were certainly heaps so spikes indicating there will be a booty of spider’s in bloom at some point.  Just not today.   No matter I was out, and that in itself felt good.  There didn’t seem to be too much about, as I scanned the relatively drab scrub for splashes of colour: 

With persistence I found a few donkey orchids.  The first image being the Yalgorup Donkey Orchid (Diuris porphyrochila).  And there are subtle, but sufficient differences to give me the confidence to say the above is a Sandplain Donkey Orchid (Diuris tinctoria):

Other times those little differences can be a huge timewaster.  The above is Slender Snail Orchids (Pterostylis crispula), but the one below has had me flip-flopping over different species too many times.  The hood and main body shape looked quite different:

But it took a bit of zooming into the image, for me to notice the hairy stem.  Allowing me to decide on a Red-sepalled Snail Orchid (Pterostylis erubescens).  I was out for about an hour and half.  Getting hit by two fortunately short showers, as I continued to scour the ground:

I also got to check out the trick I learnt last weekend to confirm if I had found the Dwarf Pink Fairy (Caladenia reptans) when I found this one, and some others.  Sure enough the small leaf at the base had that purple hue on its underside:

All up I came across eight orchid species in flower, so while the spiders weren’t ready it was definitely worth the time.  Nothing particularly new, but I thought you may like the images, so I’ve kept the words uncharacteristically brief for me:

Blink and you miss it

In thinking of themes for this post, The Gambler keeps going through my head for this post.  I felt the lyrics from the songs chorus were apt for various moments during Friday mornings foray to our rocky coastal playground.  There were times we needed to know when to hold ’em, fold ’em, walk away, and run.  It is of course a song that most will associate with one artist.  However, written by Don Schlitz, it was recorded by some pretty big artists, including Bobby Bare and Johnny Cash, before Kenny Rogers made it famous:

The forecast was grim, very grim.  But as Friday approached the synoptic charts indicated an early sliver of dry weather may be upon us.  Craig and Howsie were game.  We had a choice between Wilyabrup and Welly Dam.  The latter, being inland and potentially further away from the approaching front so may have stayed dry for longer.  No one seemed keen for hard climbing, so Wilyabrup won out.  Working in our favour, in more ways than one.  On arrival I thought it may not have been the right decision, when, while using the facilities, rain arrived:

I made use of the shelter a little longer, not wandering down until it eased off.  Here I found the two of them gasbagging under an overhang.  Bags unopened, and not a hint of motivation to climb.  It had been a while since I have been on lead, so as they continued chatting I racked up.  In view of the conditions, the first route was one we often finish on.  It was the right choice with just the right amount of dampness to keep it more than exciting enough.  I’m still not overly keen on taking a lead fall, not wanting to impact our fast approaching climbing trip over east:

In addition and despite it having been nine weeks since I sustained my injuries, my knee still groans at times and my foot also complains.  Possibly due to having continued to climb, maybe because my body does not heal as quickly as a young whipper snapper’s might, or it could be that I did more damage than suspected.  Whatever the reason, today was not a day to take risks.  Added to that I was feeling heavy on rock, and on his first lead Howsie said he felt clunky.  A slow paced day was a good idea, and we started by each getting a grade 14 lead in:

Seemingly to keep us all on a level pegging, Craig mentioned feeling uncoordinated.  To be fair he had the most justification for not quite feeling it on rock, considering how infrequently he gets out.  Not that this prevented us from badgering him into taking on a lead.  After efficiently climbing the third lead, he then took his time to re-familiarise himself with setting up a belay anchor.  Unaware of the next belt of rain whisking its way towards us.  Once ready to belay us, Howsie and I ran up making it atop just before the drops once again fell:

It was my turn to lead, having seemed to luck out with the timing.  However, with Craig comes flasks of tea.  Allowing us to pour cuppas and spend a moment or two to let the rain ease, and consider what next.  There was a lot of indecision about what that might be, nothing jumping out to any of us.  Finally I went for an old favourite, which in hindsight was a dumb choice.  The freshly moistened holds on the headwall played with my head.  After three attempts I decided to be sensible and fold.  Escaping the difficulties via a long, unprotected, but easy traverse:

The other two managed to get up the headwall, but it did make Howsie reconsider what he was keen to do next.  He had hinted at being keen on the complimentary climb to my lead, being next to it and at the same grade.  Then while supping his brew, it was his turn to come to a sensible decision.  And was drawn to an easier, but equally enjoyable, line.  Even that made him stop and think at the crux, where, unlike I had, he pulled through.  All the while the clouds were being blown away, and as the clear sky arrived two people also arrived:

Not climbers, but staff from the state agency that maintains the abseil anchors at the top of the cliff.  They had replaced a couple of bolts yesterday and were now testing them.  All the bolts along the top of the crag get tested every year, so it is surprising that in nearly two decades of climbing here this was the first time any of us had bumped into them.  We found out that they only test the glue strength, which is done by applying a vertical load of 8kN for a period of three minutes.  It is simply assumed that the horizontal strength of the bolts is maintained:

Wandering back down, Craig had already decided on the path out for our final climb.  There was not a hint of rain in any direction, with only whispery clouds on the horizon.  The forecast had been way off; in our favour this time.  Allowing Craig to lead us out with the sun on our backs.  Still being fully rugged up, as while the clouds and rain had gone the wind had not eased up.  We had, and were still, being buffeted by gale to strong gale force winds.  Howsie came up last taking his time and having a good long look behind the flakes and in the cracks:

Not for trying, but we did not seen a single scaly friend today, unlike our last trip out.  Not put off, as we walked away from the crag, and as the howling of the wind eased, we continued to keep our eyes peeled.  Spotting the same three orchid species as last week, two having been mentioned in that post.  The third is the one I am waiting to see in flower.  It is getting there, and we spent quite a while checking it out.  But I’m going to hold my cards close to my chest, and not reveal an image of it yet.  Not until it is in flower, unless I miss the spectacle, as I did last year:

Place your bets

Things are heating up, and the number of images popping up on the orchid Teams chat group at work are increasing.  Josh and Elspeth managed another lunchtime wander late last week and found a few more in flower.  But it was an image taken by Josh’s young son, it seems that his whole family enjoy hunting these little flower, that really caught my eye.  During a trip to Crook Brook they stumbled across an absolute beauty.  So good that I headed there on Tuesday after work, despite a storm front approaching:

This was my second visit to this delightful place this year, and the first visit in June didn’t yield too much at all.  So little that I haven’t made a mention of it in any of my posts.  Having been in the dry period between the early orchids that come out around Easter and those that winter starts to draw out.  On the drive out I stopped at Lisa’s school, which is conveniently on the way, to pick her up.  Walking slowly and looking all round, it looked fairly quiet.  There were the usual winter flowering greenhoods, and quite a few Pink Fairies out but which ones:

As can be seen in the first image the petals, which are the two that sit to the side of the flower, are slight downward pointing.  This flower had a total height of approx. four inches and looked relatively dark in colour.  These characteristics indicated to me it may have been the Little, or also known as Dwarf, Pink Fairy (Caladenia reptans).  I’ll have to pay a little more attention next time, as another and more distinguishing feature that will assist in a true identification, is the smaller basal leaf usually has a purple hue on its underside:

The real gem that I was hunting was the second image, and I was lucky Lisa joined me as she spotted the only one we saw on the short three kilometre wildflower loop.  It is my first ever sighting of a Reaching Spider Orchid (Caladenia arrecta), one of the earliest flowering spider orchids with amazing eye popping colours.  Made more striking by the heavily clubbed bright yellow sepals and petals.  And unlike the petals on the Little Pink Fairy Orchid, the petals on this flower reach up towards the sky, further adding to the visual impact:

We sat and admired it for a while before carrying on.  There may well have been more out, but halfway round the sky darkened, the temperature lower, and as expected rain started to fall.  Our pace quickened and we didn’t look round anywhere near as much.  No matter I was very chuffed and grateful to Josh for sharing, who I mentioned had got out for a lunchtime walk with Elspeth.  Because it is right on our workplace doorstep, they had wandered round Manea Park, which is where I went on Wednesday on my way home from work:

They had spotted a single Yalgorup Donkey Orchid (Diuris porphyrochila) in flower, but plenty more spikes looking to be on the verge of flowering.  And in the short five days since they had gone out, I did find heaps more in flower.  It is a common and plentiful orchid that comes out almost every year, distinguished by having more colour variation to contrast against its orange base colour.  I also spied a single flowering Silky Blue Orchid (Caladenia sericea).  An orchid that I have never seen in great numbers, so it is always lovely to see it again:

I advised the orchid crew at work of my find, and Josh went out there a few days later finding three flowering plants.  He said our recent knowledge sharing, between the Reaching Spider and Blue Silky Orchid, was a fair trade.  Mind you I somehow feel like I got the better deal, this time.  Continuing on my wander round the two and a half kilometre circuit, I found a small patch of Midge Orchids (Cyrtostylis huegelii) and the Slender Snail Orchid (Pterostylis crispula), with its long sepals and small basal rosette of leaves.  Shown in the two above images:

My last find was the above fungi, breaking through the soil with an opening that look like it had been torn open with ragged edges.  My first thought, which Howsie agreed with, was a cup fungus.  Many of them are above ground.  But this one looked to be more of a geophyte, which is a posh word for plants that have growing parts below ground.  Remembering of course that fungi are not classified as plants or animals.  It took a while and I think it may be Peziza austrogeaster, with a bit of luck Verity will use her networks to confirm if I am right:

To wrap up the weekday wanders I popped out to the Ruabon Nature Reserve on Thursday, where things were still pretty well under wraps.  Having exhausted my research stamina I’ll let the above fungi slip, but liked the image enough to include it.  There were of course positive signs about, including these three orchids.  My guess is that they are likely to be the King-in-his-Carriage Orchid.  However, the basal leaves looked different so it could be one of the lesser found hammer orchids.  I’m not willing to place my bets just yet, and will wait till they flower: