Urged on by my recent first orchid sighting, as well as needing a bit of a stretch after an extremely relaxed do nothing day yesterday, I headed to the Capel Nature Reserve for a stroll. It was a chilled wander in more ways than one. Firstly I was in no rush. Secondly, a liberal layer of thick grey clouds covered the sky and without radiant heat from direct sunlight it felt chilly. Even more so as a breeze was blowing the air immediately round the skin away, which would normally form an insulating layer. Definitely a long trousers and hoody day:
While there were greys above, down at ground level there were some specks of colour to be found. The deceptively named Pink Summer Calytrix (Calytrix fraseri) were the most abundant of the blooms to be seen. Deceptive as they flower for an exceptionally long period from November to August, so nearly year round. Also while the ones I found were pink, their flowers can be found in cherry, purple, and sometimes yellow. The only part of the name that does hold true being Calytrix, derived from two Greek words of calyx (cup) and thrix (hair):
This refers to the long and thin rigidly held bristles stretching out like hair extensions from each sepals that fringes the receptacle, which forms a cup like base to the flower. Closer to ground the recent rains had started to bring out tiny Matted Triggerplants (Stylidium repens). These are the only species of triggerplant known to flower twice, in both autumn and late spring. The catapult-like column that these plants are named after is not visible in the image below, nor would it be when it is triggered. A movement that take a mere 10-20 milliseconds:
The super quick movement puts them among the fastest-moving plants to be found. Next up are Grey Stinkwood (Jacksonia furcellata). A fun fact about this plant being that it photosynthesizes through its stems. Unable to use its leaves, which have evolved over time to become tiny toothed, egg-shaped scales a mere 1 to 4mm long. Like the Pink Summer Calytrix, this is another plant that can flower year round, with its peak period to blossom being from October to March. And while it is called a stinkwood, that is a little unjust:
Someone has taken the time to test the theory behind the name only to find the aroma being that of burning wood. The lucky last to be included in this post is not a flower. I’d need to come here between December and February to see the cream white flowers that would have covered the knobbly branches extending beyond the seed pod in the image below. There are six species of Woody Pear in Australia. Two of which are found in Western Australia and only one in my local area being the Western Woody Pear (Xylomelum occidentale):
This tree has an unusually long seed pod cycle. After pollination the pear-shaped fruit can take several years to fully mature, in the image above a few flowers have been successfully pollinated and the tiny fruits are starting to form. Once mature they are then reliant on the high temperatures from a fire to open and release their seeds, so can remain sealed for several more years. However, they can also open if the branch it is on dies. The above pod has not reached maturity, as it still has a smooth velvet-covering. Providing a defence against insects and reducing temperature related stress by providing an insulated layer:
A thought came to mind after climbing at Smiths Beach yesterday, of reversing the situation from several weeks back. Climbing two days on the trot, but this time hitting Welly Dam on the second day. It is a bit cheeky for Howsie to head out on consecutive mornings, as it takes him away from his family. Nadia however gave him the go-ahead for a ‘quick fire session’. Similar to our before work trips. Heading out to pick him up, I stopped on the road out of Peppy Beach in darkness because a kangaroo sat on the road in front of the car:
Either not worried or dazzled by the full beams. I pondered whether to take an image, after all it is just a kangaroo and I see them so often when I drive out in the wee hours. Pondering too long and it lopped off to the verge allowing me to carry on. On Thursday as I drove to work I had a similar situation, not able to move to the other side of the road as a car was coming towards me. Seemingly unaware that I had come to a complete standstill the other car didn’t slow down, and just before it got to me the kangaroo hopped into its path:
With a broken body it was done for, but still alive. Having driven round these road for many years I am prepared for such situations and helped it on its way as humanely as possible. Having had to do it quite a few times, when people have hit and then left them suffering. Despite having driven at silly hours in these parts for decades, it has been an extremely rare occurrence for me to hit one. While at times collisions are unavoidable, it is a shame others do not take as much care. Apologies as that certainly took an unintentional dark turn:
It was my turn to take the first lead today, and the path of my chosen warm climb was blocked by a Cellar Spider (Pholcus phalangioides). Nothing that a bit of working round couldn’t overcome. After completing the climb and being lowered back down, Howsie declared it felt like a ‘pull the rope and lead everything day’, which is why there are draws above him in the second image. Half way up the route he felt like he may have made the wrong decision, when everything felt heavy. Maybe his body hadn’t fully recovered from Smiths Beach yet:
Being a quick fire session, we aimed to pack in six quick lines with not much recovery time in-between. Adding to why he may have also regretted our pre-arrival discussions about raising the bar just a wee bit, and jumping on a few of the lines we do not climb as often. This did not however stop him from encouraging me to take on a few of the climbs we had thought about. But was happy to have a rope above him on those. As I’ve said before it is swings and roundabouts when we head out. Today Howsie was the weary one, another day it’ll be my turn:
There are many theories about the meaning and origins of ‘two is company, three’s a crowd’, which was first recorded in 1670s by John Ray in his collection of English Proverbs. Digging deeper a Spanish twist exists as a slight variation with compañía de tres no vale res, which directly translates to ‘a company of three is worthless’. Whichever you chose, as a minimum two is all you need to go climbing, and as someone with a low social battery two is ideal. That said I also really enjoy taking images, and for that three is a great number:
Rongy had a rare day off that coincided with Howsie and my usual day to get out, and as such the three of us hatched a plan. Giving Rongy the choice we ended up at Smith Beach, for which we had no complaints. There was talk of ambitious lines being ticked. Quickly qualified with how the rock, body, and head felt on the day. With three I was able to run round to take a few snaps, and brought an abseil line to allow a few closer up images. Stuffing up with the above first line of the day, when I forgot to take my phone with me as I rapped into position:
The proverb I started with has a few extended variants floating about including ‘two’s a couple, but three’s a crowd, four’s too many, and fives’s not allowed’. Sarah made up the fourth person today. However, avoiding being one too many she wandered off to the insta-famous aquarium in the next bay. And due to our relatively early start was exceptionally lucky to have the place all to herself. Returning a few hours later just as David rocked up, after coming off a night shift, shifted the crew into the proverb’s not allowed bracket:
Being consumed in my own world, and making sure I could keep looking down at Rongy and Howsie when they were on lead, the growing numbers did not however noticeably chew into my social battery. Although I was probably not feeling as isolated as Howsie was when he led this gem. One that Craig may recall as being a tad sketchy and run out. At least this time it was not the belayer taking the images. Craig would also likely be the one to point out that in several images that the rock looks to be glistening, which put paid to any of those lofty goals:
And while the prior thoughts of what might be led slipped by a few grades, quite a few for some, Smith Beach still packed a punch on the lines we did hit. Keeping us honest. Watching the three of us climbing the above line, including me slipping off it, didn’t inspire David to have his first taste of climbing at Smiths Beach. However, he was keen to don his harness and boots for the below climb. Unaware of how Rongy, even at full stretch with his gear just below his feet, was only just able to reach what some may described as not being a hold:
I’m pleased to say it seemed that David enjoyed his first taste of this place. Even asking how easy it would be to set up a top rope for when he had a chance to get out by himself. Mind you I also heard him mutter something about preferring to climb something with actual holds on it. And then after watching Howsie making a bit of a meal of the last climb of the morning, as he followed me up, David declined the offer of coming up it. We shall have to wait and see whether David will come to relish or avoid this particular spot:
After much of the landscape had a good soaking over Friday and Saturday, delivering well over half of the total March average, Craig was keen to risk an atmospheric climb. As mentioned in my last post the winds hadn’t picked up at all. However, the clouds still hung heavy and showers were still about. Wilyabrup is the obvious choice on days like these, providing shelter under overhangs and a raft of lower grade routes we are capable of scaling in most conditions. This also meant that the rack was relatively simple with single set of wires and cams:
We were amazed to find a car already parked up as we rolled in. There was no need for a crazy early start in unsettled weather, so admittedly it was a late’ish arrival at 6:30. We guessed rightly that whoever it was, they were not climbers. As with the chance of a shower or two today, there was a strong possibility that no one else would be out climbing. Indeed we had the place to ourselves all morning, other than on the last route when several groups of Sunday strollers wandered in to take in the scenery:
We arrived to find the rock faces pretty well dry, other than the seepage areas. Seeing I had taken the first lead with Howsie yesterday, I felt it only right to offer up the first climb to Craig today. Being more of a statement than an offer, which he didn’t seem to object too and promptly sailed up the first route of the day. As I reached the top out to see a wide band of rain was coming our way, but we were prepared for this. We rapped down, made sure the gear we weren’t using was undercover, and then I set off:
Managing the first third of my, maybe not so wisely, chosen climb before the rain hit. Within moments the dry rock was no more. Above me still to come was the sketchy run out section for which friction is most definitely desirable. I found an additional piece of physiological gear, not one I have used before, which helped me push through the steepening crux sequence. Upon reaching the better hand holds, my foot brushed that piece of gear and it fell out. I won’t be using it again, but it did help me break the mental barrier and go for it:
While there were a few more sprinkles to come, as the morning rolled on they mostly reduced in intensity and frequency. And we also rolled on, the showers didn’t hamper our pace. Helped by having picked spots to allow raps back down and reasonably quick set ups for belay anchors, we soon had four fun lines under our belt. The image below of Craig coming up that fourth route may be a bit fuzzy, but my phone and I were aligned on the focus needing to be on the brew that Craig had poured just before coming up:
On a slightly wintery day such as this one had started, a hot brew was very welcome before we moved along to another spot to hit a couple more well-trodden lines. Not expecting to see much on the reptile front, as I followed after Craig I was very happy to find a one and a half meter long shed of a South-western Carpet Python (Morelia imbricata). Something that he somehow missed. It was a good job we were doing two lines close together, allowing him a good look at the discovery second time round:
The sky was breaking up allowing partial, or as Lisa would like to say dappled, sunlight to warm the world below up. With sufficient warmth to draw out the odd Southwestern Crevice Skink (Egernia napoleonis), as shown below, and we also got to spot a King’s Skink (Egernia kingii) before is scampered to a hidden retreat. The conditions also resulted in the rock drying out nicely, despite there being very little wind. Working in our favour, as while the last two lines were in keeping of the lower grades they both have what can feel nervy runout sections:
And in kinda keeping with tradition we climbed with packs to avoid the walk back down after the last route and then up again with all the gear. However, due to the route selection, and being at least a little bit sensible, we decided only the second on each of the last two lines could carry a pack. Allowing the leader an unencumbered climb, which we were both very grateful for on our respective more runout sections. It was certainly a wonderful morning out, mostly having the place to ourselves until the very end when the day walkers came in:
More of whom were drifting in as we walked out. The sun was properly out and it felt a bit hot and muggy on the track. Chatting as we sweated along, I also kept an eye out and was feeling hopeful. Sure enough we stumbled across one, and just one, of the first flowering orchids. A species reputed to be one of Western Australia’s best known, a Common Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus dilatatus subsp. multiflorus). The first find of the year. And so the great hunt begins, as the ocean conditions start to make the chance of a local snorkel less likely:
For those old enough to remember when the original film came out in 1981. It’s more engaging story and the iconic cinematography of the day means it well and truly trumps the modern 2010 remake. The newer film heavily relied on CGI for impact, taking away from the plot and resulting in a cookie cutter action-styled focused film typical of the early 2010s. This week we were preparing for our own Clash of the Titans. A strong cold front was expected to hit the south west of Western Australia, as the weekend encroached:
As it made its way eastwards, tropical cyclone Narelle was heading west. Skimming the northern coast of Australia. It is the first cyclone in 20 years to make landfall in three states or territories. First coming in as category five before changing into a tropical low, and then re-intensifying above Western Australia back to category 4. It reached the western edge as the cold front approached. Resulting in it swinging south and making landfall further down the coast than usual. A phenomena that has only occurred twice since records started in 1970s:
Howsie and I had been plotting our own course way before any of this was on the radar, for a day out on Friday. Watching the forecast change daily as the week progressed, we decided that regardless of what may come we would stick to our guns. Heading to Bobs Hollow, where we were certain there would be no clashing of titans. The impressive and intimidating limestone cliffs, with its steep pumpy routes would no doubt smash us mere mortals. But we suspected a clash or two with the rock if we pushed things that bit to the point of falling:
Parking up just after first light, allowed us a walk in without the need for head torches to avoid stumbling on the at times rocky path. Keeping a good pace, it was a still and cool morning. Not a breeze was in the air, maybe the foreboding of the calm before the storm. While the sky had a high blanket of cloud stretching far and wide without a break, it looked like we may be lucky with our timing. The occasional drop or two of rain left their mark on the mostly sandy track, but they were few and far between. We kept our hopes up, or at least I did:
As I have previously hinted at a few times, the climbing here intimidates Howsie. For someone who can be remarkably cool and calm on technical, sketchy, and runout face climbing, on overhung stuff he is quick to crumble. Whether it was the big weekend he just had, germs his kids were showing signs of having, or band practise the night before, he was wavering as soon as the looming white limestone walls were above us. I personally feel he has a knack for allowing the prospect of climbing here getting to him before we arrive:
I kicked things off, as it was my turn to take first lead. Picking what I felt was a sensible warm up grade on a line that was nice and long, offering a gentle first half before steepen up. There are not many lines that are not steep for some of the climb. It is part of the attraction of the place. During and since COVID times the areas popularity surged when those who climb in Thailand were not able to fly. So they came here for their jug haul fix. In his book of climbing in Australia, John Morris recently rated Bob’s Hollow as the best limestone cliff in the country:
Not that there are too many limestone crags for it to contend against, despite the size of Australia. Howsie, looked to be going OK on the first line until the overhung section. Here he battled with his head more than the steepness. But once your head takes hold you start second guessing yourself, which results in you hanging on the holds too long and pumping out. This it set the scene. We found less steep routes for him to lead, as I wasn’t going to allow him to forego his leads. And I bagged the steeper ones without pushing the grades:
This of course didn’t detract from our enjoyment, and we racked up seven fine lines. As the morning wore on, despite us wearing ourselves down physically, Howsie confessed to finding that he was becoming more comfortable with the climbing style. We may well have thought this before, but we talked about how we should make an effort to come here a bit more often to allow him to build on the progress. Time will tell, although neither us of think we will ever have the climbing skills of this Southwestern Crevice Skink (Egernia napoleonis):
Another creature we found clinging off the rock were these larvae stage Faggot Case Moths (Clania ignobilis). Being a case moth, the larvae builds a home of twigs that it takes from the plants it feeds off. The ends of each are meticulously shaped removing any sharp edges and from one end the head and thorax, with hardened skin, protrudes. Only males transform into moths. The females remain flightless and never leave the protection of the case. Their home differs, as it include two twigs longer than the rest and we found both male and female cases:
As can be seen the weather was perfect. Staying dry, cool, and calm all morning and only on the last climb did we start to feel the humidity start to creep upwards. The near shore ocean was a crystal clear aqua colour, and from the crag we spied pods of dolphins in the shallows and what looked likely to be a large shoal of salmon. The 2026 great salmon run has started, with increasing activity being observed along this coast. The fishing folk will be getting excited about this but not just them, and we spied a couple of others too on the walk out:
The image below was taken as we walked out. It is probably impossible to see, but we saw at least two sharks in the shallows that at times came into the surf zone. Shallow enough to force their fin and tail to be be clearly seen thrashing about in the water. While they may not be Bronze Whalers (Carcharhinus brachyurus), they particularly known to enter the shallows when feeding on schools of migrating fish like salmon. While watching the water we also had to watch where we stepped, as there were quite a few processionary caterpillars out:
If they survive these will transform into the Bag-shelter Moth (Ochrogaster lunifer). From approx. December to May the caterpillars moult 7 times, resulting in 8 instar stages. They remaining in a silk nest for the first seven. For the 8th instar stage they leave the nest and form these single-file lines, at times including a hundred or more. Each one keeps contact with the tail hairs of the one in front, and as can be seen below the procession was on a collision course. When this happens they form a circular mass of confusion:
We simply had to watch for a while to see how it all unfolded. At the point of impact they started to bunch up, unsure of which way to go. For us the way forward was clear and after watching the display for a bit, we left them to it and made a beeline for the car. It was not until midday that the drops started to fall on the windscreen. The combined effect of the cold front and tropical cyclone Narelle, still approx. 800km to the north, started to hit. Since the first drops the slow and steady rain hasn’t abated as I type this 18 hours later, but there have been no strong winds. For our area at least, maybe the clash of the weather titans had a bit of a cancelling out effect:
With no one able to make it out on rock over the weekend and not feeling like a solo mission I was at a bit of a loose end. Typing up my finds from earlier in the week Lisa headed down to the beach for her weekly bob with the Peppy Plungers. Sending me images of what looked like a relatively flat and calm ocean. There was certainly more movement than I experienced during the week but it looked slow and sluggish. Decision made. I suited up, drove down to the other end of Peppy Beach, and started to walk aiming to go past the point:
There were just a couple of cars on the beach, one towing a boat slowed down as it went past and they offered me a lift. I said thanks and passed on the offer, telling them I enjoyed the walk. While true, at the back of my mind was the fact that with my sedentary job I needed to take every opportunity to move about. Going just shy of a mile I caught up and passed the people who offered me a lift, as they prepared to launch their boat. Thanking them again and saying that in all the years of heading this way they had been the first to offer me a lift:
This got me thinking whether everyone else who had driven past me, over the many years, have simply observed me walking with my gear and thought he’s not going to want a lift. That said very few have ever waved or acknowledge me. As such maybe, as appears to be the growing trend in modern western life, they are just focused on themselves. Indeed there are studies that suggest social media, technology, and the more fragmented family ties have affected social cohesion and resulted in people having a greater interest on their own wants:
Before I go any further down what may be a dark and dangerous road, which someone else got me going down. The first image shows the near shore waters were somewhat cloudy, the slow sluggish swell was stirring things up. But being hopefully I dove in and swam the approx. 200m out to the reef, where it was better in patches. In the second image I only saw the Dusky Morwong (Dactylophora nigricans) when it moved on. Building on my observation of human interactions, was it a gut instinct that made the fish swim away or was there more to it:
There are many studies to test the cognitive ability of creatures. Checking their aptitude to recognise themselves, others, and/or responding to being looked at. Did the Dusky Morwong detect my shape as a risk, as opposed to that of a dolphin or seal? In the second image Banded Sweep (Scorpis georgiana) and Western Pomfred (Schuettea woodwardi) would often meet me face on. Making their bodies look thin, as if to become invisible. While Silver Drummers (Kyphosus sydneyanus) didn’t seem to care if I saw them, just taking a wide berth:
The Silver Trevally (Pseudocaranx georgianus) were also fine with my presence, when above them. Each time I went down they would disperse to a safe distance, returning as I went back to the surface. The above Masked Stingaree (Trygonoptera personata) took on a different approach. Simply freezing like a statute once I looked at it. Putting faith into its camouflage I guess. Most showed signs of scopaesthesia, a phenomenon of sensing that you are being stared at. Not just an awareness of another form but also that the form is looking at you:
The above good sized Smooth Stingray (Bathytoshia brevicaudata) seemed happy to swim round me. Then as I looked towards it, it reassessed it’s options and took on the approach shown in the video. Seemingly deciding hiding was the better option. This seems to go against most research I’ve found that explores different creatures ability to focus their attention on threats based on another’s gaze or focus. It is suggested this higher-order cognitive ability is generally limited to mammals, birds, and some specific social animals:
It was Verity that led me down this path when she sent me an article released less than a week ago. Detailing a study of fish in Lake Tanganyika in eastern Africa that explored this very trait. They found the fish in the study did display scopaesthesia and responded differently depending on whether you looked at or away from them. It was my last test specimen that I was most excited about. It was impossible to miss the outline of the Port Jackson Shark (Heterodontus portusjacksoni) on the sandy base, which I approached with great caution:
Not because I was afraid of it. Their teeth are small and they are benthic feeders. Sucking up the sediment along with sea urchins, crabs, starfish, and at times small fish. I just didn’t want to scare it away. First swimming alongside to get a close up view as above. It didn’t move a muscle. Then wanting to get a little closer to get a front on image of its large nostrils, which enable it to multitask. Both smelling for prey and breathing, while sucking up the sediments through its mouth. This time I was not so happy turning and swimming away in no great rush:
Normally I have a few bits with me that I stash on the shore but not today. This allowed me to follow the reef all the way back to where I accessed the beach. Taking about an hour and half. Covering a variety of ground both deep and shallow. Over reef, weed, sand, and broken ground. It was a lovely peaceful snorkel. The only human disturbances, even though I was 200m out with my head under water, was when I heard someone driving like an idiot on the beach. Fortunately not too often, despite how many cars were now out:
I’ve said it before but it has been somewhat of a shocker of a snorkelling season, which I now say with a pinch of salt. I had to search through my images to help with this post. While it is true that I have not been in the water anywhere near as much as usual, there have been windows of opportunities and I have seen some cool things. This weekend, and stretching well into next week, provided one of the biggest windows so far. And due to the long settled period, you could also say it will potentially provide one of the best views of the season:
Feeling somewhat achy from two days of climbing Sunday was a rest day to allow my body to recover. A perfect time to have a soak in the ocean to assist with the muscle relaxation. Wandering down it looked pretty good, other than having a group of people already in the water exploring my local reef. It may sound a little shellfish, pun intended, but I’m so used to being alone out there. Plus two of them had fishing spears which I seriously hoped they did not use. Especially with one fish I spotted, but I better catch up before I get to that:
Although I spotted quite a few familiar species the fish were not out in any great numbers, but most of the images didn’t make the cut. Instead I’ve started with a Pink Golf Ball Sponge (Tethya bergquistae), one I liked because of the long, thin, root-like structures being visible. Used to secure itself. Then the above Sand Anemone (Heteractis malu). I would normally see these in abundance, but not this year. And below one of the fifteen species of Diogenid or two species of Pagurid, or in layman terms hermit crabs. Having a snoozing during the day:
The fish I really hope alluded the other people in the water was this Longsnout Boarfish (Pentaceropsis recurvirostris). They are described as being both curious and territorial towards divers. I’ve only seen them a few times, the last time being four years back. Today it stuck around for an age, allowing me to swim alongside it and get some great images. On occasion coming close with its eyes fixed on me. Mostly solitary but during summer pairs may come into shallow waters where they head to spawn. I’ve not come across a pair yet:
Below is one more image from Sunday, a Western Striped Cardinalfish (Ostorhinchus victoriae). As with so much marine life, another nocturnal species. It can however be, and is often, found as it shelters in caves and under ledges during the day, as this adult at a whopping three inches was. And while it may be a night swimmer it is one of the fish seen most times I come out, that is if I am in the mood to duck dive and check out the hidey holes. This week my work from home days were a little different, working in my favour:
Another trip to Perth resulted in my usual two days at home, at the end of the week, being scattered. The plan was to get out for a swim on Monday and Wednesday morning, both before the daytime winds had a chance to shift and also before the swell started to pick up again on Thursday. A well laid plan that would have worked if I wasn’t so work conscious. On Monday by the time I got down, being mid-afternoon, the easterlies were chopping it up. Come Wednesday I decided to relax my brain a bit and make a conscious effort to get out:
Not only that but, to recoup just a smidge of the additional hours work is currently demanding, I drove down to other side of Peppy Beach for a swim over the reef out from the Capel River mouth. The ground here, as shown by the images, was looking quite bright and colourful, in contrast to the sediment and algae covered reef of my local spot. I immediately spotted lots of schools of young fish. Leading on for the last image from Sunday, the first above image is of juvenile Western Striped Cardinalfish looking like mini adults:
Next are juvenile Western Pomfred (Schuettea woodwardi), with a couple of mates hiding amongst them. After all there is truth it the term safety in numbers, especially when so young and vulnerable. Western Pomfred display yellow in the body when young and that shifts to silver as they age. Adults have yellow colouring mostly restricted to the edges of their fins. These are multiple batch spawners. A single fish can produce young several times within a single season, with the spawning often being associated with the lunar cycles:
Lunar-synchronized spawning, yes it is a real term, has several benefits and is displayed by a lot of fish species. It results in spawning being undertaken at select times by many fish. Vast amounts of sperm and eggs are released, which increases the chance of fertility and also overwhelms predators. Back to my images, above are juvenile Gobbleguts (Ostorhinchus rueppellii). As with Western Striped Cardinalfish these are mouthbrooders. The males can carry a staggering 50 to 230 fertilised eggs in their mouths for about two weeks:
If you look closely you can see one young fish that is quite different, being a juvenile Bigscale Bullseye (Pempheris multiradiata). It is described as having a bronze to yellowish tinge along its back, to my mind it looks orange, and distinct yellow pelvic fins with black tips. The rest of the body being translucent. This creates an illusion of a half-eaten body. Believed to be a form of camouflage developed by this species. Very different in appearance to their adult form shown above, this one being approx. eight inches but they can grow to a full foot:
I have found have all species of Bullseye to be generally pretty skittish. Today however they were more accommodating to my intrusions than I am used to. Above are two Rough Bullseye (Pempheris klunzingeri). Very different in appearance to the Bigscale Bullseye, with a body of pale bronze to coppery-brown. With this colouration I almost felt the juvenile I spotted could be from this species but my research indicates that is not the case. While a common find below are Western Striped Grunter (Helotes octolineatus):
Included to show the water clarity. The view was pretty damn good! I also came across large schools of Australian Herring (Arripis georgianus), which can live up to a ripe ole age of twelve. However, they are very popular and most caught by both recreational and commercial fishers are between 1 and 4 years old, according to WA’s fisheries research. A bit of a scary thought for their long term future, seeing they become mature at around 2 to 3 years old. Another popular fish, one I have only seen once before, is the Snapper (Chrysophrys auratus):
Shown below, these can live to over 40 years. Based on the obvious blue dots this one is likely to be between what they call a ‘cockney bream’ or ‘squires’, both stages being under a year or two old, and ‘pan-sized’. Their size in the latter is approx. a foot, which this one was just shy of. This stage occurs when they are three and five years of age, as they reach sexual maturity and the spots begin to fade. It was time to think about heading back in to my desk. On the way in I took one last image of Sea Mullet (Mugil cephalus) right on the shoreline:
Adults exhibit a schooling behaviour forming large groups on the shoreline or just outside the surf zone, as these were. The term ‘mullet’ is engrained in Australian culture, referring to a hairstyle associated with a ‘bogan’ in the 70/80s. That said the term wasn’t recorded as being used in this way until the 90s, after the song “Mullet Head” by the Beastie Boys came out in 1994. The first written use of the term mullet head was however way before in 1857 to describe a ‘stupid, dull person’ and based on the perceived lack of intelligence of the Sea Mullet. Maybe harsh for a fish that has adapted to differing environments across vast oceans:
I’ve banged on about phrases from the homelands enough. So this time, for a change, I’ll start today with one from Australia. Some may recall the term being used by a prominent character from Australia’s longest running soap opera, which in four days’ time will have its 41st anniversary. While the use of the term in this show elevated its popularity, and resulted in it becoming an accepted national catchphrase, it first emerged in print some fifty years prior in the 1930s. And if you have not already guessed, I am talking about ‘flamin’ galah’:
It is stated as originally being used as an insult. These days however it is used in more of an affectionate way. While the Galah (Eolophus roseicapilla), one of Australia’s most abundant and familiar parrots, is a highly intelligent bird, the term makes use of its more light-hearted side. Known to act like a bit of a clown at times, the term is used to incite someone is acting like a fool or idiot. So what brought all this on you may ask. It was a huge flock of the Galah’s that flew above round us in circles, as Lisa and I went for a wander on the beach on Thursday:
Friday morning I traded the high-pitched and raucous “chi-chi” or “chill-chill” screeching of the Galah’s with the loud and harsh “karrak” or “kree” grating of the Forest Red-tailed Black Cockatoo (Calyptorhynchus banksii naso). These came and went during Howsie and my early morning climb, as we yet again graced the steep technical walls of Welly Dam. While the Forest Red-tailed Black Cockatoos flew on high, we were very pleased to discover that back at ground level that not one March Fly (Tabanidae) came out to feed:
As I belayed Howsie I did notice one White-kneed Mosquito (Aedes alboannulatus) land on my hand. This species is a potential spreader of Murray Valley encephalitis virus, a rare but potentially serious infection of the brain, That said this species is considered a poor transmitter compared to others. Plus, while it is possible to catch the virus in the South West of Western Australia, the risk is much lower than in the northern parts of the state. Not willing to take the chance and rather than take a snap I flicked it off, and didn’t spot any more:
Friday’s session was going to be a little shorter than usual, due to a meeting that Howsie had to get back for. We pondered whether to hit less lines and maybe try something a little more testy, or get some mileage in on the more well-rehearsed climbs. Not that these slightly lower grade routes are pushovers. We still needed to work to get them clean when we plumped for the latter option. Having to work a little harder when the morning came in cloudy with a light sprinkle. Raising the humidity, which resulted in the friction reducing a tad:
We were also weighing up the fact that we had plans to get out the next day, and did not want to wear ourselves out too much from the session at the dam. As is always the case we thoroughly enjoyed the before work session. Being outdoors in nature alone is reward enough; the climbing is an added bonus. Making us feel like we had accomplished heaps before most people’s days are only just getting going, as they focus on the humdrum of yet another day at work. On Saturday we were not restricted by return times:
Allowing us a slightly more relaxed start. Arriving at Smiths Beach after first light, and just as the sun’s rays were hitting the peaks in the landscape Scrambling into the zawn, the walls were damp. Whether from overnight salt spray or maybe the morning dew, the impact was the same. The first couple of lines were that bit more nervous. The dampness added to the insecurity of holds that were already affected by the uncomfortable gritty and flaky surface of the granitic gneiss. A sign, as with all trips here, that no one has been climbing here:
Maybe foolishly, my first lead was the first route I established at this intimidating place. It felt like a complete an utter sandbag and my muscles were screaming, as I tested the gear in earnest. In my head I could hear myself say you ‘flamin’ galah’. Howsie did a sterling job coming up second, a few images up. The workout took its toll, as he then took on his second lead on a steep route that could also be a sandbag, courtesy of Crag this time. I am however, pleased to say that as the morning wore on, the sun hit the walls drying them out beautifully:
There was no more testing of gear placements and as we had at the dam, we bagged three fine climbs each but took twice as long. The above image shows we had to work hard on the last route, a clear sign it was time to wrap things up. But before I wrap this post up, below is a video of a Purple Swift-Footed Shore Crab (Leptograpsus variegatus). Roof climbing as it was feasting on what are likely to be a non-biting species of Midge (Chironomidae), based on our experience of having to occasionally climb with swarms of them round us, until I disturbed it:
One of my favourite lines from any film is ‘keep to the road, stay clear of the moors, and beware of the full moon’. And in case you are not aware of the flick, it comes from the early 80s classic ‘An American Werewolf in London’. This came out a couple of years before Michael Jackson’s epic video for his hit ‘Thriller’. The special effects won Rick Baker the first ever first-ever Academy Award for Best Makeup. Being for the werewolf transformation scene, which used new and original special effects, with no computer-generated imagery:
Last weekend Lisa and I hoped for a bit of a transformation. Not one quite as monstrous. Simply getting away for a few nights, taking advantage of the long weekend, to relax. Deciding a bit late in the day to go away and being a long weekend, our options for finding somewhere available were limited. Ending up in Pemberton, where on the first day as per previous visits here, it rained. The second day cleared up but we only squeezed in one short walk close to town. The rest of the time we spent eating, playing games, and chilling out:
As such there are only a few images from our wonderful mini-break. The place where we stayed, all lit up at night. Above the moon tipping over the towering Karri trees, which help make this general area so special and soothing. And below Lisa and me in a rare selfie image, after having soaked up a heap of relaxing energy. Transformation complete, we headed home on Monday. It was the moons turn to transform on Tuesday night, into a Blood Moon. A fancy word for a total lunar eclipse that occurs when the sun, earth, and moon line up:
As the earth is sandwiched between them, it blocks out the direct sunlight that usually reflects off the moon. The eerie colour of the moon that results is caused by Rayleigh scattering. The light from the sun passes through the earth’s atmosphere, in which the oxygen and nitrogen particles scatter the blue light. Only the yellow and red light make it through, and this is then reflected off the moon. Yellow and red make up orange, and during the whole event the moon can look red, rusty orange, or a deep crimson:
I make no apology for the above fuzzy image. Being the best I could manage with my hand held phone on night setting for a shaky long exposure. This spectacle occurs approx. every three years and the whole process takes close to an hour. The last time it occurred we had cloudy skies, so missed out. This time round we were in for a real treat as, with a cloudless night sky. Fast forward to Thursday, when I joined Lisa and the pooches for her morning beach walk. And as may be evident the water wasn’t looking great. Again:
My friend Verity, in Perth, recently sent an update on her underwater adventures. Weaving a few stats into her exploits, and advising she has managed an average of 2.5 snorkels/week over nearly three months. Way more than me. I can probably count the number of times I’ve been in the water on my fingers, and not including my thumbs would still have spare digits. I could of course have driven to coastal areas with bed sediments not as affected by the higher swells. Verity has even suggested I could head up to her local spots, and they do look good:
They are however a solid two hours and 190km away. One day I really should head up there, as the different marine life does look very cool. That said and in keeping with the t-shirt I am wearing in the selfie, I generally reserve car trips of that length, and much shorter, for my adventures on rock. This occurred on Friday, with yet another quick session up at Welly Dam. Another before work trip with my partner in climb, Howsie. Here once more the moon added that extra little something to images of this place that would otherwise all meld into one:
These sessions are short and sharp, and we kinda view them as training. Time on rock is what we are after. So not picking climbs so hard that we waste time working one or two moves, but push things just enough to wear ourselves out. If we get it right, which we did this time, later that day we start to get a satisfying achy feeling. This ache, also known as Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness (DOMS), comes from microscopic tears in muscle fibres. As such when it occurs, time off and rest is what the body needs before returning to said activity:
Added to that, the need to be careful of my repairing tendons would suggest I should have made use of the weekend to allow for ‘time and rest’. However, I liked the idea of a climb by the ocean and put out a call for a relaxed climb on Saturday. I got no bites, maybe another sign to rest up. The pull was however too strong, and this saw me watch first light come in at Wilyabrup. The moon was, once more, adding to the imagery from this past week of mostly outdoor fun. I didn’t expect to see any werewolf’s, but a dolphin would have been nice:
While I cleaned up on the Dolphin Smiles wall and ended with Hope, references only local climber’s will understand, I saw no dolphins. That was despite the perfect sets of waves for them to surf in on, which were rolling in all morning. These can be seen above as I walked out, which is the last image with the moon in it. In contrast the ocean in our local bay was looking relatively calm and clear. Much better than it has been for most of this snorkelling season. And with the added encouragement of seeing Verity’s images, I went in for a dip:
Despite being quiet and seeing very few fish, it was a lovely cool temperature after the hot time on rock. The two stars of the shows were a wonderful bait ball of juvenile Striped Eel Catfish (Plotosus lineatus), and a Southern Eagle Ray (Myliobatis australis) that was mostly buried in the sand when I spotted it. Until I endeavoured to get a rare, for me, front on image. Not taking too kindly to my intrusion it rose out of the sand, spun round, and disappeared. Back at the beach just as I got out, a pod of dolphins cruised by. Bliss:
When arranging today’s adventure, I asked Howsie what time he’d like to meet and then didn’t think anything of it. This saw us beat first light by a good twenty minutes, as we rolled into our destination. With a mere waxing crescent 5% full moon it was still dark, allowing us a glorious sight of the stars above. I have avoided this place for twelve weeks, as it probably was not the wisest place to climb during my rehab. However, as reported when I got out with Darby a few weeks back, I have been the green light to give myself a bit more of a test:
I’ve also had a couple of weeks of real rest from rock. That is other than the very enjoyable lower grade fun with Rod at the Crystal Palace a few days back, during and after which there were no tell-tale signs that anything was amiss. Considering the limited light, you may have thought I would offer the sharp end to the culprit who had dragged me out of bed half an hour earlier than necessary. Instead I racked up and jumped on a route that was familiar and sensible enough to be able to climb with a mix of feel and sight, completing it before first light:
Unlike the slow and steady mornings of England where you can savour the changing morning hues, which I relished just a week back, first light here rushes in. It takes 20-30 minutes to go from first light to sunrise, and it seems that it is far less to go from first light to plenty of light. This image is taken just over fifteen minutes, after the above one. Allowing Howsie to pick any line he fancied, without any excuses of not being able to see the holds. That said and being the first visit back here in three months, we had no intention of going too hard:
The dark start reminded us of the year we came here before work on a Friday nearly every week for the whole year, which was a decade back. While I am still on holiday, today was a before work climb for Howsie. As such we didn’t want to dilly-dally in-between lines, and kept up a good momentum. Dare I say a better pace that the building of the new bridge at the base of the dam. Work started in March 2025, nearly four years after the old bridge was closed. While they are making progress it looks like the full build will take well over a year:
There was one time today Howsie was not quite so decisive. Or should I fess up and say that I put doubt into his mind, as on this occasion I placed the crate between two lines. One he had mentioned and the other I not so subtly hinted he should have a crack at, which he was not sure if he was quite up to today. The crate was more towards the one I was encouraging him to jump on, which he did after some procrastinating. And with just a little egging on at the right time, as his arms were wavering, he kept going and managed a fine clean ascent:
Another reason for keeping moving, other than the timeline, was that from early on the pesky March Flies (Tabanidae) were out. Emerging from their slumber and ready to feed, just as we were about to hit our second route; fortunately still being a bit sluggish. Howsie had come here last week, later in the morning than today, and they were so bad that he bailed after just one route. He is not normally irked by them, and will be happy to put up with them long after I’m well and truly over their biting antics. So I knew that they must be bad this year:
As we kept moving, they remained a bit slow. This meant that while at times we were surrounded by a swarm of them, sometimes also called a cloud, business, or cluster, they didn’t affect our focus as we ticked one climb after another. And just like they didn’t bother us too much, my elbow was also behaving itself. Something that I was very happy about, as we hit eight fine lines. Finishing in good time we left ahead of schedule and before the time for feasting really began, when ‘it must be blood and must be fresh’:
Sandbagged 