It’s an extra-long weekend for me, having taken Friday off and Monday being a public holiday. Not the best timing for Lisa to share her lurgy with Elseya and me. While I can feel that I am not bug free, I have not been struck down in the same way Lisa was all of last week and now it looks like Elseya may be next week. It may sound dumb but even when I don’t feel great, and I am able to, I feel a whole heap better in the fresh air. As such and despite the wild weather, Lisa and I managed to find a weather window to enjoy the great outdoors:
We drove to Ambergate Reserve. Heading towards the darkening skies, eventually seeing rain in increasing intensity hitting the windscreen. This was not unexpected and we had come prepared with rain gear, although we did sit in the car for a moment and I could feel a tinge of hesitancy from Lisa. Rather than focus on that I simply got out and Lisa followed suit. I kinda feel it seems like it is raining heavier when you are driving. My theory, right or wrong, being that more drops hit the windscreen driving at speed:
We timed it well. While there was a little sprinkle here and there, for the most part of our hour long walk it remained reasonably dry. During which time we only walked a couple of kilometres, half of the complete circuit on offer here. The slow pace was in part, of course, due to me stopping to check things out. However, it was also because neither of us were feeling completely healthy. Now it may get a little boring to include similar flowers so often, this is however one that I have not included to date:
In previous seasons when I have sighted Bunny Orchids, they seemed to me to simply be Bunny Orchids. There are however six species and six subspecies in the South West of Western Australia. And this is the third different one I have spotted this year. The two I have previously included were the Swamp and Common Bunny Orchids, which are different species so more distinct from each other. However, I’ve just noticed an error in my orchid guide which led me down the wrong track. One of the characteristics to look is the leaf:
What I thought were Common were in fact White Bunny Orchids (Eriochilus dilatatus subsp. dilatatus). The one in this post is the Common Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus dilatatus subsp. multiflorus), proven by the small oval leaf. These are subspecies having lots of similar features, hence why one error led me astray. The South West, and for my orchid guide, extends from Kalbarri, 660km north, to Israelite Bay, 760km east, of where we live, as the crow flies. As such my chances of seeing all of the species and subspecies is non-existent:
There are a few more species and subspecies round here though, so I’ll keep looking and will be more careful. This includes paying a bit more attention to the finer details, but also double checking my sources even when they are in print. You will no doubt have spotted the mosquito in the second image. It has a distinctive curved proboscis, and using a great tool from the Department of Health I’ve tried to identify it. The image didn’t capture all the intricate detail required, but based on what I have available it may be a Culiseta atra:
It was a very pleasant stroll, and we even spotted two Scented Autumn Leek Orchids (Prasophyllum sp. ‘early’). Yet to bloom, with their small flowers still tucked inside what looked a bit like duck heads. It is very similar to the Autumn Leek Orchid (Prasophyllum parvifolium), which you could argue is incorrectly named. I say that as the Scented Autumn Leek Orchid flowers in April to June, i.e. Autumn, while the Autumn Leek Orchid flowers in June to August, i.e. winter. That said being the first day of June, it is technically winter:
There is an image earlier in the post I did not mentioned. Showing stringy white filaments coating a plant. My first thought was a lichen of fungi, whereas Lisa suggested an animal. She had looked more closely and was on the money. The stringy bits have a pattern and look to be segmented, these could be eggs. I was at a loss and felt it could be a number of critters such as aphids, scales, or mealybugs. However, Verity used her social media contacts and has confirmed it was a Burgan Woolly Scale (Callococcus acaciae). Having enjoyed the morning amble so much, while Lisa stayed home to recuperate I went back out later:
This time not going so far, and visiting a different section the Capel Nature Reserve from my last visit. Like the Ambergate Nature Reserve the ecosystems vary in different parts, and can include tall trees and shrubs such as marri, jarrah, peppermints, banksia, and snottygobble, to creepers and a multitude of ground covers. A sign of just how much we have changed the landscape, which would formerly have all looked like this. These remaining ecologies have been compressed into small pockets, still battling to survive and remain as pristine as possible:
I didn’t find anything new on this wander, but did get to spot White and Common Bunny Orchids and Hare Orchids. These were massively outnumbered by all the Greenhood Orchids popping up everywhere. I did stop to watch another mosquito, on the above Common Bunny Orchid. Again I didn’t look hard enough at what I was seeing. Only noticing that it had been captured by a spider after I looked at the images back at home. Putting my new mosquito identification tool to use this may be a Southern House Mosquito (Culex quinquefasciatus):
As for the spider, it is going to have to be a bit of a punt. The angle I was taking the image from didn’t capture the all-important body. It is definitely a crab, also known as flower, spider. With the limited detail, and checking which ones are common here it may be a Milky Flower Spider (Zygometis xanthogaster). On a final note it has been said the images can make it hard to gauge scale, a fair point. So to put my sightings into perspective for you, above are three Common Bunny Orchids with one in flower, and below three Hare Orchids all in flower:
I hadn’t picked up on the silence last Sunday, as I battled hard on the steep unforgiving walls at Welly Dam. Not from the lack of people, but the lack of birds. I thought it may have been as a result of the quicker pace I take when top rope soloing, meaning I’m on rock for a greater percentage of the time. Also that on that trip I had to focus harder than normal, trying not to falloff. Probably from weariness from the recent big trip to Wilyabrup, although also due to the humid conditions. All that said I would normally also notice, as a minimum, the creaky squawks of the Forest Red-tailed Black-Cockatoo (Calyptorhynchus banksii naso) on high:
Today we were immediately greeted by four Laughing Kookaburra (Dacelo novaeguineae), like us unafraid of the damp and what started out as foggy conditions. You may recall I previously explained that fog is heavier than mist, and the point of reference for calling it fog is when the distance you can see is less than 1,000m. When we arrived it wasn’t even possible to see the valley below the dam, a mere 200m away. The above Laughing Kookaburra was barely visible, but could be clearly heard. I also spotted two Australian Ringneck (Barnardius zonarius) on the grass next to the car, looking like shadows:
We seem to be in a feast or famine cycle when it comes to rainfall. After the long dry, we had a big dump of rain during the week. With a bigger front heading our way this weekend. Based on the closest rainfall gauges in the area several inches fell. In the four days since my last visit the lichen on the walls had turned from dry dark grey to wet black streaks, at times with water dripping down them. Patches of fallen London Plane Tree (Platanus acerifolia) leaves lay across the lush green grass. And the patchwork quilt was provided another colour, with the moisture bringing out an explosion of Common Agrocybe (Agrocybe pediades):
London Plane Trees were introduced to eastern Australia in the 1850s. The rationale provided by a professor of the Victorian Department of Agriculture in 1889 included: “when there’s most rain, the drip from them is little, and at the moistest season the roads beneath them soon dry up and keep in good preservation”. This was of course true for their climate and also because the roads were unsealed. What was not considered was how they along with other deciduous trees brought over, such as the Weeping Willow (Salix babylonica), would negatively affect the waterways, water quality and even increase flood risks:
We were only into our second climb when rain started to fall. I watched Splendid Fairywrens (Malurus splendens), hoping about on the grass. Coming within a foot of me. Unconcerned by either our presence nor the damp conditions. And above me Howsie was also pushing thoughts of the wetness to the back of his mind. Climbing on, and having to make use of the now even less secure hand holds. And that added to the rubber on our shoes being cold, meaning that it is not as pliable and as such the contact friction is reduced. Maybe only marginally, but it all adds to a reduced feeling of security:
On my climb Howsie mentioned he could hear a bit of a thud when my feet made contact with the rock, whereas it is usually a relatively quiet process. Today was definitely more of a mental, than physical, game. We climbed slowly and cautiously. Maybe holding on that bit too tight, and certainly not maximising our flexibility or ability to reach as we would normally. There is a tendency to stay in a more compact position, which somehow feels safer but then makes the climbing harder. Howsie was rewarded for his perseverance when he topped out. The winds were pushing the fog and rain away, and brought over some welcome clear skies:
With the clearing skies came another feathered friend being the Scarlet Robin (Petroica boodang). More brightly coloured, but very much subdued compared against the Grey Fantail (Rhipidura albiscapa) that had also come out. They were providing endless aerial acrobatics displays, and when perched they spread their tail feathers into a fan shape at every opportunity. It was almost as if they were showing off. Something we were not doing today, not that anyone else was dumb enough to have got here as early as we had. It was a case of picking the driest line at a reasonable grade, and that didn’t leave us too many choices:
The sun may have broken through, but it made no difference to the wet walls. They remain in shade nearly all day, great for hot summer days but not so good on wet and cold winters mornings like today. We could see the high clouds being sped along by the winds, again this was not help as at ground level it was still. So despite the rain having left us, the damage was done and we were having to climb to the conditions. This on occasion included avoiding using the holds we normally would, being too slick today. So despite the countless time we have been up the routes, it was definitely one of those sessions where things felt different:
You may be wondering why we had even come out today. The main reason should be abundantly clear, both Howsie and I have a passion for climbing. We are not easily put off by such conditions, and today reminded us of a mad year when we came here before work for a climb almost every week and in all conditions. That was eight years back, and we both felt that we probably couldn’t sustain that now (https://sandbagged.blog/2016/05/14/not-so-early-starts/). While I mentioned another big front would sweep across the South West, I saw a weather window today so we were willing to take a punt and get out fix today. And that we managed in spades, getting up six fun routes in conditions that would put most off:
We also enjoyed the companionship of our feathered friends and observing what the changing season brings. The above could be Brick Red Laccaria (Laccaria lateritia) in their early stages. I’ll be honest and that is a bit of a guess, there is no fun in fungi when it comes to trying to identify them. The Swamp Bunny Orchids (Eriochilus helonomos) I had seen were gone, but to Howsie’s delight we found a few more. Their delicate flowers measuring no more than 10mm in length. I was thinking of bringing Sam from work up here tomorrow, which would be a significant step up in terms of difficulty for him. So while Howsie and I are used to this stuff, I thought better of the idea. Unlike we had today, he probably and understandably would not have a laugh about it:
Today’s plans to head out for a walk, followed by a feed, with Lisa were scuppered. When yesterday she started to feel unwell. Rather than rattling about the house feeling restless, which would not have provided a relaxing environment to aid her recovery, I aimed to get out. An unsettled forecast meant the decision of whether it would be a wander or solo climb was uncertain. After checked the radar in the morning, as well as clearing the kitchen, feeding the dogs, and of course putting a thermos mug of tea was on Lisa’s bedside, I slipped out:
The radar and synoptic charts indicated a window of opportunity. Despite being before first light, the moon was enough to show the sky to the west, where the coastal crags stood, was blanketed in cloud. Whereas inland was clear. Although, not entirely unexpected, as I entered Wellington National Park mist hung in the air. There were pockets where the mist lifted, and I was treated to great views of the valley. The valley sides covered in tall jarrah, marri, and blackbutt trees. Looking particularly green as the moisture ran off their leaves:
Unfortunately, as I looked further up the sides of the valley, the scars of the unprecedented hot and dry period we have experienced was also evident. A patchwork of brown and green canopies, suggested that in some areas as many as fifty percent of the trees have succumbed. The cooler weather and rains, which have finally arrived, will hopefully prevent any further loss of trees, for this year at least. While the tree below may also look in a poorly state, being a non-native deciduous tree it is just doing what it does naturally:
Not surprisingly I had the place to myself. I didn’t even see any cars to indicate mountain bikers were out and about. My expectations were lower today than they had been on Friday, fully expecting to do fewer climbs. Although, and purely because of what is available, the grades would be higher. With so little rain to date I was not expecting too much seepage. There were some starting, such as this one where water is exuding, seemingly magically, out of solid rock. They were few and far between, and did not to restrict my options for today:
My mind was certain of one thing, the friction would be a bit meh. On account of there being plenty of humidity in the air. Added to that, and not by design but just plain oversight, I hadn’t brought my chalk bag to counter the negative effect of the humidity. My first route felt tough, which not an uncommon feeling here, so actually went quite well. I was however completely overoptimistic with my next choice. A sustained and technical climb, on which I hung in my harness way too much. Each time I got back on the rock my muscles ached:
Climbing by myself I use the above ascender. When I fall a single spring loaded cam with teeth compresses the rope against the main housing. The short teeth don’t go much beyond the outer sheaf, but considerably add to the grip the tool has on the rope. A simple and effective system, one you have to have complete trust in it. It may seem madness, but is no different to abseiling that also uses a simple device and relies purely on friction. Not put off by my silly route choice, I found three more to play on. Climbs I would normally run up:
The cumulative effects of two solo sessions in one weekend took its toll, as the morning wore on. On the last lap, which is also when a light sprinkle of rain started, it felt like a repeat of my second route. I spent a disproportionate amount of time hanging on the rope, thankfully not just a thread. The soreness creeping over my body was however forgotten when I spotted a Swamp Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus helonomos) in the thin veneer of soil atop the granite. The tell-tale heart shaped leaf, along with the height, and position of the petals giving it away:
Maybe despite better judgement, after my pretty big morning climbing, Lisa convinced me to walk the zig-zag with her, when she got home. This is a circuit she does with the Peppy Plungers, who are also known to walk up and down the lookout. The dogs were excited when their leads went on, but this is not a relaxing stroll. There is little time for sniffing. The pace is set with one aim, get the heart rate going. On the return leg there are various paths leading to the beach, and at each one they attempted to protest and try to lead us down to the sand:
On the plus side the brisk walk wears them out. Resulting in them not being so restless every time there is a sound in the garden during the night. Usually a possum, or sadly sometimes a cat from one of the neighbours that lets them roam. On the negative side my legs were even more achy, which led to me having a restless night. Compounded by the strong winds and waves. Sounds which seem to help Lisa sleep, but not me. The swell was up, and in the morning most of the Peppy Plungers were put off from going for a full immersion:
If you look closely in the first image can see them congregated on the beach. An image I took from the lookout. While it may seem contradictory to my thinking of the night before, I decided to head out for another walk, after leaving the Peppy Plungers to contemplate the dark tumbling waters. The dogs would probably have been happy to join me for my walk. I wasn’t aiming to get the heartrate up, but to watch the sunrise. It also included a return leg along the beach, where I eventually met up with Lisa so we could walk back togther:
Midmorning I ducked out again. Heading out in-between the squalls, which the less settled weather was sending our way. For an even slower paced walk, round the Capel Nature Reserve. After finding the Common Bunny Orchid (Eriochilis dilatatus subsp. multiflorus) yesterday, something inside told me to have a bash at seeing what this place had to offer. As can be seen above it is a relatively pristine bit of bush. Somehow the weeds have not invaded this place, and sure enough I came across some Common Bunny Orchids quite quickly:
The reserve doesn’t have set walking paths. There are a few maintenance tracks that criss-cross the area. My approach however is to go where it looks like it might be interesting. This leads me to weave all over the place, often getting completely disorientated and having no idea where I am. You have to walk slowly, it can be hard to spot orchids. Go to fast and you might miss out, or worse accidently stepping on them. It also takes a while to tune your vision into what you are looking for. There is no rushing, and only then will you be rewarded:
I would not say orchids were all over the place, but I saw quite a few Common Bunny Orchids. The next most abundant were the above Hare Orchids (Leporella fimbriata). I’ve only once seen a couple of plants previously, in Manea Park, so I was happy to see more here. As the image shows some of these had been out for a while, with the lower one having already been pollinated. Evident by the swollen ovary that sits between the flower and stem. There is also a Rabbit Orchid, just to complete the set. But they flower later, from September onwards:
A few Banded Greenhood (Pterostylis vittata), above, had also started to pop up. A couple even had flowers forming. These are the first of the Greenhood family to flower, and can be seen from April onwards. Then when May arrives, the Slender Snail Orchids start to appear. I spied a couple of basal leaves, but no flowers. There are also a few of the Shell Orchids that can pop up in May, and as yet I have never managed to find any of these. I was however treated with this Lutea (or albino) Common Bunny Orchid, which was pretty cool:
But not as good as the find shown below. A Leafless Orchid (Praecoxanthus aphyllus). The first time I have sighted one, and despite looking hard for over an hour it was the only one I found. This was the second species I came across today, but being the best find I have left it till last to show you. I was so excited that I could almost have given up and gone home there and then. If I had I would have missed out on so much more. The Capel Nature Reserve, in its near pristine state, has been a bit of a gold mine for me. And I have Ed at work to thank:
He let me in on this place a few years back, and today it once again had plenty on offer. My thermos mug of tea was drained, and happy with my finds I headed home. Taking in a quick stop to check the Tuart Forest National Park, hoping to find one of those Shell Orchids. Orchids aside, this is the largest remaining area of Tuart (Eucalyptus gomphocephala) forest. So is pretty important, but unlike the Capel Nature Reserve it is heavily weed infested. They germinate early, out competing native ground cover plants. Including orchids, and I saw none:
It was an early start today, and there was a full moon to light the way. My intention being to get a first light start at Wilyabrup. The decision to head out so early was made easy being a solo trip, and my body is back to waking up at silly o’clock. Watching the moon through the treetops, as I drove through the Ludlow Tuart Forest, was almost hypnotic. I had to keep reminding myself to watch the road. Not for other cars, kangaroos. The moon phase can affect their activity, and with more ambient light they are generally out and about more:
And just because there is a full moon it doesn’t mean that all the creatures of the night are more active. The predator and prey behaviour can also be an influencing factor, also altering in response to the changing ambient light conditions. When there is more light prey may modify their activity to reduce their predation risk, which could include being less active. That said there are very few natural predators that kangaroos need to worry about. Possibly Dingos (Canis familiaris), but I doubt very much they are round where we live:
Then there are Wedge-tailed Eagles (Aquila audax). They generally hunt at sunrise and sunset, so there was little risk of them being about. As it was I didn’t see any kangaroos, but I did pull over to try to get a shot of the moon that was silhouetting the tall tree tops. Not taking the time required to get such low light images, they were pretty average. My focus was more intent on getting to the crag to watch sunrise, so I drove on. Managing this as shown by the first image, taken as I walked the short kilometre’ish from where I parked my car in darkness:
I had a plan for today, and it was more than usual. While I am feeling so much better, Howsie is laid up recovering from a bout of COVID. He was however well enough to communicate so I teased him with my thoughts. The options I had in mind comprised The Playground where there are a couple of harder boulder problems, which I have never played on, or the usual Wilyabrup. The latter won out, and he agreed it was the better destination. I like the height, but there is a front is on its way and the main cliffs are a much shorter walk from the car. Just in case I got caught out:
This was also a factor when I decided on the slightly earlier start. Mind you, those that know me will be well aware that I would rather watch the world wake up while being at the cliff. The images show that my timing payed off, it was a glorious start to the day. In fact sunrises and sunsets have been particularly good of late, due in part to smoke haze hanging low in the horizon as a result of people back-burning before winter sets in. I was already well into my itinerary for the day before the sun had managed to get high enough to touch the first boulder, two images up:
I began on the same wall that Howsie and I had started and finished on just a week back. For no other reason than it being a good height and beautifully featured, providing great lines. It may seem that it would get boring revisiting these places so often, but climbing for me is so much more than just the routes. Sure if there were more options in a reasonable distance I’d shake it up. However, each time I head out, something is different. The weather, season, how I feel, and/or what I see, any one of which can make the climbing feel not completely new but certainly fresh and enjoyable:
It was only for the last climb of the day that the sun was on my back, so I was being hopeful. Rapping down I didn’t see anything and resided to not being lucky, just like we had not been last weekend. However, hope won out when looking that bit harder during the climb I spotted one of our scaly friends. Snuggly tucked away deep behind the flake. What a great way to finish the session. One that saw me ascend 500m on twenty laps of quality lines, with an average grade of HVS/E1 5a. Not too shabby at all even if I do say so myself. And to boot, while packing away I looked up at just the right time:
Allowing me to witness a lightning strike in the brooding cloud. Still way too far out to deliver any rain. However, despite the long dry that we have endured, the cooling temperatures are resulting in a morning dew. With enough moisture to bring a bit of life to the vegetation, including the pasture that was looking lush and green across the valley. The orchid leaves we saw last weekend were still nowhere near flowering. This time though, I stopped at a small patch of bush just off the gravel road leading to Wilyabrup. Being rewarded with another wonderful find of six flowering Common Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus dilatatus). Let the hunt begin:
Back in the homeland it’s a common thing to hear ‘its grim up north’, or at least it used to be. Having lived in the north and south of England and really enjoying both areas for different reasons, I’d disagree. Hence, I’d rather say ‘it’s different up north’. And Western Australia is similar, although from a climate perspective even more so. Ranging from tropical in the north to Mediterranean in the south. Even the short distance of approx. 200km from where we live to Perth can see quite a change, as Verity proved when she went for a snorkel this morning:
The waters at her local spot proving to be much better than my local pea soup. Enabling her to spot several Fantail Leatherjackets (Monacanthus chinensis). A fish that doesn’t venture this far south, which means I will not be lucky enough to find round these parts. And while she was enjoying the waters before it feels too cold, Howsie and I set off for yet another Friday climb. Yes I have restarted my attempts to get my leave hours down by sneaking out on the last working day of the week, and I’m not doing a very good job of it:
We were greeted by a large male Western Grey Kangaroo (Macropus fuliginosus), as we walked towards the cliffs. Not worried by our intrusion, it took a lazy hop to get off the path and then just watched us as we walked past. While it was looking super chilled, it’s broad muscular shoulders suggested that it was best not to tangle with this one. Continuing down to Wilyabrup we chatted about what we might jump on. Should we continue on the 2024 challenge and push the grades, or have a more laid back day and maybe get some mileage in:
We opted to start with mileage and see where the day took us. Ten cruisy lines would be fun, and the first two pitches were exactly that. Allowing me to continue making good use of my crag booty, and this time I brought all of it along. Howsie inspected the carabiners and slings for wear and corrosion, and was unable to find any. In fact the gear looked practically unused. Our next two lines were not quite as easy, being three grades harder. The first seemed fine, but on the second we both hinted that our not so muscular shoulders were starting to feel it:
We were just enjoying being out and wanted to keep it that way, so dropped the grades back down by three for the next two routes. Searching for any signs of our local Carpet Python as we climbed them. Sadly only finding an old snakeskin tucked behind a flake. The easier lines seemed to revitalise us as the iconic Steel Wall, on which we started the day, again drew our attention. It meant bumping the grades up by six. Both of us spent time on the halfway ledge to have a that bit more of a breather than usual, which assited us in managing clean ascents. The two lines did however take enough out of us to call it a day:
Being happy with our lot, and not worrying about having fallen short of our intended ten climb goal. I knew it was the right choice for me when I puffed my way back up the path, with my legs feeling pretty ‘tree trunky’. As I scoured the bush, Howsie mentioned a friend had sent him an image of a Common Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus dilatatus) found in the hills that fringe Perth. And a bit like I started this post, I said to him ‘it’s different up north’ and the orchids usually flower earlier up there. We did however find a small patch of Common Bunny Orchid leaves, indicating the orchids are on their way:
My work days have been a bit all over the shop since I returned from the UK, and I found myself working from home on Wednesday this week. which is unusual. And even more unusually I found myself joining Lisa for part of her morning routine, when she took the dogs down the beach for a quick run on the sand. It is not often I join her when working from home. When she goes down I have already spent a good one to two hours working, by which time my mind is singularly focused on what I need to do:
I find it hard to switch off when I know I will soon have to get back into the same frame of mind. This would normally result in me not being fully in the present. Thereby not giving the sensory delights around me there just due, and of course not paying attention to Lisa. Today, however, I made a concerted effort and relished the morning hues coming from the horizon and being reflected off the ocean and wet sand. Meanwhile, Lisa was busy chatting away to another beach walker, being one of her fellow Peppy Plungers, leaving me in my own world:
The ocean looked reasonably flat with the near waters looking clear, and I started to believe Verity. She had suggested that there were still good swims to be had this season, and that I should not be putting my snorkel gear away just yet. Providing evidence of this from her recent swim at Woodman Point Almo Jetty up in Perth, which I have to say has some very beautiful marine life living on its piles. The swell back at our beach was up about 1.7m, but the winds were light and the surface of the water belied what lay beneath:
So mid-afternoon when my brain was just about fried, I pulled the snorkel gear out of storage, suited up, and wandered down. Still trying to convince my mind that it was worth going in. It only took a few quick strokes before I was in two to three meters of water and all I could see was pea soup. The above image was taken looking up, after I ducked dived down. It was so bad that I struggled to find my local reef. Every so often I could see the surface below slightly darken, but each time I went down it was just a heap of sea wrack:
Still I couldn’t find the reef proper. Popping my head up to get my bearings based on the landmarks and my distance from the shore. It made no sense, I am sure I should have been right above it. Due to the conditions I didn’t see the point of going further out, or was it that I didn’t dare. But did keep going down mostly just to watch the sea wrack being washed back and forth along the sea bed. I also spotted a circular rock, about the size of a football or as they call them here soccer ball, and that too was being rolled back and forth:
Every time I looked up the surface of the water seemed to be relative flat. All I could think of is ‘beware of the under toad’, as the water beneath the surface pushed me this way and that. Eventually heading for shore where I was bowled over by a series of bigger waves. At least I saw one Western Smooth Boxfish (Anoplocapros amygdaloides), a live one and not just a carapace. It felt like the waves were pushing me out and saying ‘give it up’. I did however go back later, but only to watch the sun go down. This time my snorkel gear will stay stowed away:
The weather has finally broken after the hottest and driest period on record for the South West of Western Australia. Much to the relief of many, but the first rains is not always good news. While I was in England a local dump of 50mm of rain, approx. 7% of the average annual rainfall, resulted in organic rich soils from dry agricultural lands being washed into a major river system. This is likely it have been a contributing factor for the drop in dissolved oxygen that led to a significant fish kill. Something unfortunately not uncommon at this time of the year:
The change has also stirred up the ocean. The clear water I swam in on the day I flew out has turned brown. While the image doesn’t look too rough, the visibility is shot and my snorkel gear is packed away. The only fish I’ll see now being the ones washed up during the bigger storms. This Western Smooth Boxfish (Anoplocapros amygdaloides) was dead long before it was stranded on the beach. The exposed carapace clearly showing the protective shell-like bony structure of fused plates, with the only holes being for the eyes, mouth, and fins:
While the snorkel gear is packed away, it is the time of the year that the first orchids would normally appear. Not too many species are out this early, but there is one in particular that I am yet to find. While not filled with confidence, considering the preceding hot and dry six months, I went to check out one of the best local spots. What I didn’t factor in was the result of another weather induced phenomena, which again can result in negative outcomes for this time of the year and is again described by the Bureau of Meteorology as not uncommon:
On Friday a cold front lashed the area, and a tornado formed. Wreaking havoc in its path, ripping off roofs and, along with anything not tethered down, lifting them high into the sky. The debris was scatter across a wide area. As I started my wander through Manea Park there were sizeable, twisted bits of corrugated roof sheets deep in the vegetation, as well as assorted household items. Along the path taken by the tornado trees with trunks up to half a meter in diameter had been twisted and snapped like they were twigs:
Despite the destruction, I continued with my walk needing to work round fallen trees and limbs that blocked the path in multiple spots. My initial thinking that seeing any orchids was unlikely, was correct. I kept my eyes mostly on the ground, and the only sightings was a small collection of leaves just breaking through the ground. They didn’t look like the basal leafs of the orchid species commonly found at this time of the year, being the Bunny, Hare, and Leafless Orchids. With the last one being the species I have not yet found:
Something else I have always been keen to see is the aurora australis, or southern lights. This weekend with the first extreme geomagnetic storm in twenty years, it seems that half the world has had the opportunity. The aurora australis being on display in the southern and aurora borealis, or northern lights, on display in the northern hemisphere. These displays come about due to something that sounds like it has come out of a SciFi film. With plasma and magnetic fields, which have erupted from the sun, travelling across space to earth:
Verity, who writes up and sends out her recount of her many adventures, has travelled to Antarctica where she witnessed the aurora australis. She said that to the naked eye it wasn’t anywhere near as spectacular as the images people take. And tonight while it was great to see, it was as she had said. These two images being taken by my daughter, on her phone. The plasma and magnetic fields were obviously not interfering with the technology of the phone, as it transformed the faint glow in the sky into a dramatic and uncommon sight for where we live:
When reaching for my glasses as I got out of the car for my morning walk to look for orchids, the tiny screw that held the frame tightly round one of the lenses had come out. Luckily all the parts of the dismantled glasses were still in the case, enabling me to fix them back at home. It is therefore possible my lack of luck with the hunt was partially due to wearing my prescription sunglasses. That said it was fortunate I had my glasses at all. Going through the security check in Singapore for the final flight home my bag was checked and they fell out:
It was only because I was keen to prepare for a quick getaway on arrival at Perth that I noticed this. While waiting in the departure lounge I pulled out the car keys, parking ticket, but couldn’t find the glasses. They had been put to one side at the security gate, and I do wonder if they would have tried to find the owner if I hadn’t gone back. The reason my bag had been pulled to one side was the crag booty I had collected on Kinder Scout, during my walk with Dave the postie. The unusual metallic objects not surprisingly drawing their attention:
For the climbers out there the crag booty comprised: a 60, 100, and 200cm sling; a quickdraw, and two wire and a locking carabiner; and a no.10 and 11 offset wire. A bit over $200 worth, so whoever left them may be a bit sad but must have had good reason to leave it halfway up a waterfall. Hopefully they are safe and unscathed. Being truthful the amount of gear left behind and their placements indicated a lack of experience. And there was little point leaving it there to succumb to the elements that were quite literally raining down on them:
Today in complete contrast the rock was bone dry. Not even a hint of that pesky and greasy salt spray, despite the crashing waves being brought in on a rough swell. And while Howsie had brought his rack, I couldn’t resist bringing the two offset wires. Luckily back at the waterfall I managed to remove them from their placements with ease. Today however, they sat perfectly in the flared cracks and bit tightly against the more textured rock, something normal wires just wouldn’t do. So much so Howsie had to get out the nut tool to help ease them out of their snug and secure placements:
There was a risk I wasn’t going to get any images of the nut placements. Similar to the glasses coming apart, the strap on my camera had worked its way loose. On my first climb, as I went to take an image, I watched helplessly when the camera fell three of so meters. Bouncing of the rock several times. Amazingly there was not a scratch on the all-important lens and screen, and the body only received a couple of extra dings to show it was well used. On the plus side Howsie was climbing well, and managed to bag the second ascent of the difficult to read Off the Rails without any hints:
You may recall this climb as my most recent addition to this wall. Established when I came here with Craig just four months back. Howsie hung on his arms and before they gave out he eventually unlocked the puzzle of the first roof, after multiple attempts. Today for the first time this year, we enjoyed an afternoon climb. This was due to kids sports dictating Howsie’s availability, although we both agreed climbing in the evening light was wonderful. And in the cooler time of year, having the sun on your back feels good. We had evened up the numbers between us, but there was still a bit of time before the sun set:
Howsie was keen to maximize the use of the evening light, and jumped on one more climb. I was more than happy with that, finding a perfect rock to sit on to watch the sun inch towards the horizon, as I belayed him. With the sun gone we packed up and walked out, as the light was sucked out of the sky. Reaching the car as the darkness was taking a stronger hold of the sky, allowing the thin slither of a moon to shine through. It had certainly been a very enjoyable trip out, although I think I have said that for every one of the many trips to Moses Rocks:
This visit was a little touch and go, as in addition to the crag booty I had possibly brought something else back with me or someone here had shared it with me since my return. After battling through whatever it was on Wednesday, I was then unable to function on Thursday. Taking a day off work sick for the first time in as long as I can remember. I like to think the power of positive thinking assisted my recovery, allowing me to muddle my way through work on Friday and get out today. The friendly and lower grade routes at Moses were the perfect choice, as I was still a little wobbly on the rock:
Who is Dave the postman you may ask. He has been the deliverer of post for my Mam and Dad since they moved up to Romiley some five’ish years back. And my sister, Seeta, for as long as she has been living in Romiley. He had been delivering the post on that particular round for thirty years up until a few weeks back. And being a well-liked and friendly character, he has built up a great relationship with many on his rounds. And I know my folks for one, will dearly miss his friendly chats as he check in to see how they are going:
He is still delivering post, so why the move you may ask. It’s simply really, he is now delivering from the sorting office just round the corner from where he lives. And in an equally quiet and pleasant part of the world, one from which on a clear day Kinder Scout is clearly visible. You may also ask how it came to be that I would be taking a day out from my trip to see my folks to head into the hills with Dave. Well he took a liking to the weekly postcards I would send to my folks, personalised with an image from our life and my adventures:
With my folks, and my, knowledge and acceptance he always enjoyed seeing what was happening in our life down under. And knowing I enjoyed the great outdoors and also indulged in early morning wanders when back in Britain, he had offered to take me out for a day hiking sometime, if I was keen. We had attempted to make this happen last September, but the weather and illnesses got in the way. And being truthful, as Lisa, Elseya, and Griffin had also joined me for that week, it also felt kinda wrong to head away for a day:
This trip however, I went by myself, there were no bugs to hold anyone back, and the weather forecast was looking favourable. So Wednesday morning I was being picked up at six thirty from my folks house, where Dave first had to apologise to my Mam for moving to a different delivery round. Something that had happened pretty quickly, so he did not have the time to say farewell to all the locals. Then it was a quick thirty minute drive to downstream of Kinder Reservoir, where we shouldered our packs and continued on foot:
Dave has been up Kinder Scout numerous times over his life, being a local lad. And during his first week of delivering on his newly acquired rounds he had looked across to it, and thought it may be a good destination for today. He had asked if I had any preferences, and while I pondered suggesting a few places I knew with great rocky edges full of fun routes I resisted and allowed him to choose. I didn’t find out our destination until the day we drove put, and was not disappointed. Having been up Kinder Scout only once before, thirty years back:
It is the highest point in the Peak District, at a lofty 2,087 feet above sea level offering lovely vistas. It was also the site of the 1932 Mass Trespass, a time when rambles from nearby towns peacefully protested to ensure public access on what was then private land. This event assisted in resulted in changes in legislation and was an instrumental part in the campaign for open access. This eventually led National Parks being created in Britain, with the Peak District being the first one founded on 17 April 1951:
It’s a place steeped in much history and culture, and Dave was a fountain of knowledge as we walked and talked. He was however concerned that the day may not turn out as good as forecast, as we walked up the incline to the trig point at Kinder Low (2,077 feet). There are some six and half thousand trig points, which were built from 1936 onwards to assist the Ordnance Survey in creating a single national map and one reference system for Great Britain. This resulted in the OSGB36 datum and the National Grid, a system that is still used today:
You may notice the trig point is not as high as the highest point on Kinder Scout, by ten feet or approx. three meters. The highest point does not have a trig point, and is merely marked by a mound of grass and small cairn. But once on the edge of the plateau the views are equally stunning from all directions and heights, so while we didn’t reach that extra ten feet of elevation it made no difference to the experience. You will also have seen that I got to play on a bit of rock, holding myself back from going too high as Dave watched on nervously:
The clouds came and went, and two images up we reached the waterfall of Kinder Scout as the cloud rolled back in. The only other time I have been here, there was more water flowing over it and the wind funnelled up the valley. Blowing the falling water right back up and over the waterfall. Creating a stunning rainbow in the mist filled valley. Today it was a mere trickle, and as Dave explained while it has been damp and cold it had not been raining heavily for prolonged periods. The low flows coming off the peaty plateau back his views:
As we watched the trickle of water, I spotted some climbing gear part way up the waterfall and mentioned it to Dave. Suggesting that we could try to get down there to check it out, but also saying it may be too hard to get to. He was keen to find a way down so we scoured the immediate valley, guarded steep rocky outcrops. Spying a likely decent we walked round crossing the creek. This is where I took the close up image and the amount of water looks bigger than it is. I was however taken by the all the lush greenery:
To get down we had to down climb a chimney and pop out of a small opening onto a final rock step. Dave confessed to having never progressed from hiking to true scrambling, so this took him out of his comfort zone. But showing determination he managed to get down. A low level traverse then took us back to the head of the horseshoe shaped valley and the base of the waterfall. Dave was content to watch from the side while I scrambled across to the right-hand corner and climb up the falling water, before traversing left to retrieve the gear:
He confessed that this made him ponder his options if things should go south, so was relieved when I got back down. He had even scrambled across to the base of where I had gone up, and I reckon with a bit of encouragement I could easily get him into scrambling and maybe even climbing. Back at the packs I spotted the above spawn in a crevice where the water was splashing up. We weren’t sure if it was frog or toad spawn, but it may be frog spawn which is laid in clumps as opposed to toad spawn that is laid in strings:
Scrambling back up to the main plateau, we had a sit down and bite to eat looking out and the clouds lifted for good. I had to resist the temptation of scrambling back down to climb up one of the many inviting features, as we relaxed here for a bit. Eventually we continued on our chosen path being the thirteen mile Kinder Scout mass trespass walk, which we were doing in the reverse direction to the linked site. Our time on the plateau was coming to an end and soon we made our way down the steep steps to a crossroad in the path:
The steep decline can be seen below, and it was during this descent that we saw the most people on what was otherwise a quiet day. We had cheerily said hello to them as they huffed and puffed their way up, something we were to ponder on later. It was still early as we hit the crossroad and our direction was towards Hayfield, but I was tempted by the sign pointing in the opposite direction to Snake Inn. Dave reckoned it would be a couple of miles and maybe an hours walk to get there, but he warned it may no longer be a pub:
Many of these pubs have their original name and have sadly been turned into bed and breakfast places, but we walked on regardless. Listening out for the familiar calls of the more common moorland birds such as the Skylark (Alauda arvensis), which true to its name came out to play in numbers when the blue skies came. The distinctive bubbling call of the Curlew (Numenius arquata), which we heard but only saw on occasion. And then there were the Red Grouse (Lagopus lagopus) shown below, given away by the fleck of red on its head:
None of the birds we spotted allowed us to get too close, as we walked and walked. The valley meandered round the ridges that dropped into the valley, and each time there was no sign of the A57 or the more commonly call Snake Pass. A road that connects Manchester and Sheffield built way back in 1821. With each footfall there were two thoughts in my head. What if the Snake Inn isn’t a pub anymore and secondly we are going to have to walk back the same way, which somehow was becoming less and less inviting:
Eventually we had a conflab and decided it was time to consult the map. The result was that the two miles and approx. one hour was a tad of an underestimation. We could well have been two thirds of the way there, but it may be less. The road passed through the dark green forest all the way at the end of the valley to the right in the image below. Neither of us were keen on going all that way just to turn round and come back without the reward of a pint. So it was time to make a decision:
So for a second time we went off track, deciding to take a rising traverse up the side of the valley to reach The Edge. The rocky skyline shown two images up. We spied a section that wasn’t guarded by near vertical rocky outcrops and started our way upslope. With no path we had to be careful on the tussocks of grass, so as not to twist an ankle. Dave saw a movement in one of these and we dropped to our knees looking about to find the first reptile, being a Common lizard (Zootoca vivipara):
As the name suggests it is the most widespread and common of the lizards found in the United Kingdom. This one however is just a little less common in that it is a green variant. I say just a little as while they are usually brownish-grey, colour variants are not that unusually and can include yellows, green, and even jet black. As we sat in awe of our find Dave also spotted a small section of a moulted snakeskin. There are three species of snake in England although the habitat of Smooth Snake (Coronella austriaca) is restricted to the south:
As such it was either from an Adder (Vipera berus), the only venomous species, or more likely a Grass Snake (Natrix helvetica). I’ve only ever seen one snake in England and that was an Adder trapped in a well, which I managed to rescue. We didn’t see any more reptiles, and as we continued the trudge up the ever steepening slope we reflected on how chirpy we had been towards the people hiking up the steep steps. Not that we would have begrudged someone being friendly and saying hello, but a little less upbeat may have been better:
We made it and were now ready for some lunch. Our legs had that tree-trunk feeling, which was probably fair seeing we had hiked up to the plateau twice now. As we had made our way up the last sections we had spotted a Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus), or more truthfully it had spotted us. Circling in and out with a rasping kack-kack-kack-kack sound. This was a warning as they are generally silent. And sure enough we watched as it landed on a horizontal break on a short buttress not far away, and from above we spied three eggs shown above:
It looked like one egg had rolled out of the nest, precariously sat on the edge it was probably done for. We ate some food at what seemed a safe distance and out of sight of the nest. Not far enough obviously, as the kack-kack-kack-kack sound continued so we moved on to leave it in peace. As we followed The Edge towards the top of the steep steps we had previously walked down, we marvelled at the many rock features. Along the way I noticed the patchwork pattern in the moorlands on the opposite side of the valley:
Dave explained that this was done to boost the Grouse populations for when the grouse-shooting season begins on 12 August. He also told me that over the years he has tried to find a number of aircraft crash sites, and pointed one out to me in the valley side way below The Edge. I’ve read there may be in excess of three hundred across the Peak District. Many occurred between 1939 and 1963, and nearly all were military aircraft. The majority of crashes are reported to be due to navigational errors, during poor weather conditions:
Most of the pilots in world war two did not have enough training, were very young, and unfamiliar with the landscape. To work out their location when they were lost they needed to drop below the cloud line so they could see landmarks such as roads. This combined with the topography often led to them crashing into the hillsides. At the steep steps we went down, this time not meeting anyone coming up. And at the crossroads, we followed the sign to Hayfield. Taking us down William Clough and towards Kinder Reservoir:
Similar to as we attempted to reach the Snake Inn, a creekline gurgled away the entire way down the path until it dropped into the reservoir. It was a wonderful sound. Dave cooled his head off part way down, and we then stopped just shy of the reservoir to soak our feet in the cool waters. The track then became a much more well-trodden path along the reservoir, for the final leg back towards the car. This time Dave purposely said that this last leg always felt longer than expected, maybe due to the underestimation of his previous thinking:
Not that the deviation from our planned hike had worried me. It had certainly provided us with some great sights both big and small. And as we got closer to the car I was impressed with one more sight. What might be considered an over-engineered sheep dip built between 1900 and 1910, still standing strong but no longer used. We had seen sheep all over Kinder Scout, and wondered how they were rounded up seeing they were spread across such a vast and at times difficult to access landscape. The answer is simple, hard yakka:
Sandbagged 