The sting in the tail today was not so much from our pesky local jellies. There are being found in increasing numbers, patrolling the shallows of our local beach. But with care it is possible to navigate your way through them safely. It was that I was not able to join in with the fun happening down at Wilyabrup. Howsie and Ash had teed up a trip out, and were being joined by Mikey and Josh. Work got in the way, as the mad pre-Christmas shutdown rush is on, when everyone decides to send everything in and ask us to try and get to it quickly:
I am also conscious of not using the car too much. The overheating issues are still lingering, and the work required for the next step to try and resolve it are booked in for mid-January. Added to that, I may have been having just that bit too much fun on rock this year. Indeed, looking back I have certainly been out and about a fair bit, and had some great weekends away to the Perth Hills, Eaglestone Rock, and the mighty South Coast. So I can’t complain, but my old shoulder injury has started to. And that is more of a worry than work or my car:
As such I stayed home today. I’ll also miss out on an early before work climb at Welly Dam on Monday, when Mikey will take on the lines I put up at the start of 2023 (hopefully). With his rope being held by Howsie, and being joined by Rongy and Sarah for one last climb in WA before they finally head off on their travels. Or so they say, and based on past experience I won’t be convinced till they hit the road and stay on it. While I will miss out on these more social outings, I was accompanied under water today by more fish than normal:
Plenty of schools were out, but the above mass of Western Striped Grunter (Helotes octolineatus) was the most fun. They followed and swam underneath me, and when I duck dived down a circle opened up in the middle of them. It felt like being in the eye of a storm, as the fish swam in circles round me almost from the seabed to the surface. In addition to the schools the usual suspects were out, and despite being included in my last post I couldn’t resists this clearer image of a female Herring Cale (Olisthops cyanomelas)
The final image from my quick workday dip is a colonial ascidian. As the name suggests it is a colony of tiny animals, that commonly forms round a substrate such as a sponge or reef. This one however, looked to be unattached and able to move freely. Looking a bit like a sea cucumber, although the intricate pattern and small siphons over its body gives it away. They are very hard to identify without examining their internal structure, so is beyond my skills. We see these unattached variety washed up on the beach, but this is the first one I have seen underwater:
Mikey is back in town for a while, having made the journey from over east again. That means there are more opportunities to get out, as he is always keen and motivated. Having arrived with a tick list in mind, which included a few lines at Moses Rocks. More than a few in fact, enough to probably spend a reasonably long day there. But both he and Howsie have young families, also want and need to cram quality family time in while they are all in one part of Australia. We knew it was an ambitious list for Moses, so just took it one climb at a time:
Walking in the tide was visibly very low. The small bay from which the sand is often washed away had a thick and low angled blanket of sand stretching into the sea, with very few boulders in view. As such I was keen to see what was happening in the zawn, which aligned well with a couple of lines that Mikey had in mind. So we walked past the harder lines he was keen to jump on. Instead rapping into the zawn where most of the walls were wonderfully high and dry, unusually allowing access to nearly all the routes:
I was the tag along today, so was happy to let Mikey and Howsie jump on alternate leads. Using my time to snap a few images from angles, which when you climb with just two are impossible to get. All three of us love the zawn, being right on the water’s edge, having steep walls, and providing fun climbing even if it never gets too hard. Mikey started on one of the original lines called Freddy Kruger’s Claw. For Howsie’s first lead I showed him the possible new line that I had purposely not climbed yet, so as yet has not been named:
I had told him some time back that I’d leave it for him to nab, although we were not too sure whether it may seem a little contrived or indeed if it was worth climbing. Happily it was not contrived and worth the time. He thoroughly enjoyed jumping on something unfamiliar. Stepping into the unknown with the potential of having anything thrown at you certainly makes climbing more exciting. And having climbed every route here, here bar this one, was another reason I was happy for the two of them to take on the challenges on the floppy end:
Mikey had on his list a route that I am not sure if anyone else has ever clocked up a second ascent of. Very few people venture here making me fairly confident with this statement, although maybe Rongy has led it. I can’t recall. Dreamweaver was a line I put up with Craig in our heydays, and has a blank looking start to further help put people of trying it. But it was on Mikey’s list and I was of course encouraging him to look beyond the blank start. As he climbed, I was busily working out the best angles to deal with the contrast created by the rising sun:
I’m pleased to report it was a good route, and well graded. And in view of the near optimal conditions I next encouraged Howsie, with Mikey’s help, to jump on a line that I knew for sure had never been repeated. I put The Beach up with Rongy when this place was a beach, the only time I’ve seen it like that in eighteen years. It was so unusual that I had to put an image of the beach on the back of the Moses Rocks mini-guide, to prove it really happened. As can be seen above it was not quite as good conditions today. Howsie was nervous, but went for it:
You could tell it challenged him. Eventually he made it up, just as a Mikey and I were lucky to look out the window of the zawn and spot a pod of dolphins cruise past. This time it is questionable as to whether the grade I had assigned the climb was reasonable. It certainly felt challenging, and could easily be bumped up one grade and maybe more. Mind you, will anyone ever attempt it again? Maybe not so there is no need to update any records about the grade, and it can be a ‘nice’ surprise to anyone keen to try it as it had been for Howsie:
We spent most of our time in the zawn, which I took in from almost every conceivable angle other than from the sky. Scrambling and rock hopping to get the best vantage points. Time slipped away, but left us enough of a buffer to tick two more routes off Mikey’s list before we walked out. The stiffer opposition of Twist Until you Lock and the much easier Mini Thor, which we all soloed. While I won’t get out with them on all of their adventures while Mikey is over, but I hope to get out and catch up with the brother’s Howe again soon:
It was that bit harder to motivate myself to get up. But having promised Lisa a cuppa in bed, before she need to get up and head down for her Saturday morning bob in the ocean, I forced myself. Even though I didn’t feel like being vertical, once up I’m not the sort of person that can easily go back to being horizontal. Cuppa drunk and Lisa was soon up and out the door. Shortly after she sent me a video of what the ocean was doing. It was still early in terms of how high the sun was in the sky:
But the water conditions looked promising plus I was up now, and we were aiming to head into town, which would prevent a later dip. Wandering onto the beach, to the right I could see Lisa and the Peppy Plungers getting ready to dip. While to the left the small but regular as clockwork dog walking crew, which Lisa sometimes catches up with during her before work walk, were giving their four legged friends a run on the sand. I stayed in the middle, making my way out of the shallows cautiously, dodging the pockets of stingers:
The sun was still low, as was the tide and swell. So much so that the reef was a bit closer and the water was in pretty good conditions. I was hoping to see my first ray of the season today, and while I thought I was in luck it was not to be. The big shape hoovering on the bottom was instead an adult Dusky Morwong (Dactylophora nigricans), shown in the first image and the largest species of fish I’ve seen here. Still not fully awake, and allowing me to get very close before leisurely swimming off. And while I got some images super close, I kinda liked the one in this post:
Many of the fish were out in a more chilled way than usual. Allowing me to say hello and snap a few pictures, before they decided their personal space was being invaded too much. Two images above an Old Wife (Enoplosus armatus), which at my local reef is normally hiding in the crevices was out and about. And even the above Rough Bullseye (Pempheris klunzingeri) allowed me to get a reasonable image. They are normally very skittish, and usually being found under ledges I have struggled to get any in focus images of them:
The above female Herring Cale (Olisthops cyanomelas) was not as keen on me lurking about. If you didn’t know it was there it would have been wonderfully camouflaged in the kelp. These, like most wrasses, change sex and colour during its life. The juvenile is disguised as well as the female being a mix of brown and yellow, but with blue wavy lines on the head, which this one did not have. While the males are more brazen, and can be spotted from afar being a pale blue to almost black and have striking blue lines on the caudal (tail) fin:
The lucky last fish to be included in this write up, is a juvenile. It followed me for ten plus minutes and all the way back to the shore. Circling my head the whole time. Approx. 50mm long, silvery with faint yellow on the dorsal and caudal fin and vertical lines on the main body. Being so young it is a tough call, and maybe a Skipjack Trevally (Pseudocaranx dentex). They school when young, so it has been separated from a school that may have been attacked, as it had some scarring in front of the dorsal fin. So being called lucky last may be apt, if it survives:
After an attempt by a colleague to give me extra work “to prevent me from heading to the beach”, I did the only thing I could do. After all it was a go-a-bit-slower, work from home Friday and I was feeling a bit fried. Plus there is nothing better than a dip in the ocean to reinvigorate the brain, even if the water temperature is starting to feel almost bath like. The water temperature is currently 21 degrees, which is getting close the long term average maximum that peaks in March. Mind you the average year round variance is only 6 degrees:
So it is not so much the water temperature that makes it feel so much colder in winter; it is the air temperature, wind, and lack of radiant heat from the sun. Being a quick dip I went in only wearing my boardies. After a very refreshing half an hour I didn’t even feel a tingle of coldness. Back at my desk Rob was however happy I hadn’t refrained from heading down, when I sent him images of what the people in the above boats were hunting. Unlike my last dive, this time I could have reached out and caught several Rock Lobsters (Panulirus Cygnus):
The fish were also out and about feeling braver. Allowing me to get that bit closer, or maybe it was that I was able to stay under a little longer. Sneaking up on them from the side, ambush style. Of the images my favourite are the above female Shaw’s Cowfish (Aracana aurita) with its deep red keel like belly, and below female Western Smooth Boxfish (Anoplocapros amygdaloides) that seemed to be play peekaboo with me. Both are boxfish, a family that also includes cofferfish and trunkfish. Cowfish being names due to the obvious horn like feature:
Often I will swim from the reef across a sandy section. Keeping an eye out for any subtle change in the wave pattern the sand, which is made as a result of the rhythmical motion of the water. The change in pattern can be for several reasons. The one I am interested in is the potential for something being hidden just below the surface. When I got too close to the two stalk like eyes, a Blue Swimmer Crab (Portunus pelagicus) sprung out like a Jack-in-the-box, taking on its defensive posture to make it look bigger that it really is:
Back at my desk it was back to the grind, but with the weekend just round the corner plans had been laid. Josh was keen to get out. However, my car woes continue and we have still not managed to pinpoint the reason for the overheating warnings. To the point I’m not prepare to risk taking it out. While living out at Peppy Beach is wonderful, not having wheels leaves us somewhat hamstrung. Josh kindly offered to pick me up, for which I was grateful, and we headed to a place he had, until today, not sampled:
In past posts I’ve, maybe too often, talked of the fearsome reputation Smiths Beach holds. So I did wonder if he had remembered that when he suggested the location. On the plus side I really enjoy the climbing here, so was happy to pick off a few of the lower grade lines to make sure Josh had fighting chance on them. Despite getting the early sun, which was already up when we arrived, the two chimney like features on Harbour Wall were the obvious choice. Both of which Josh ate up even enjoying, I think, worming up The Drunken Sailor:
We then retreated to the narrower second zawn, which is afforded shade for a wee bit longer. Not that it was overly hot today, more so to allow us to keep the grades reasonable. This meant picking off a couple of routes I haven’t led for many years, and carefully eyed them up before committing. Below I am looking up at one of my routes called Deceptive Looks, which wasn’t too bad but I confess that it would scare the bejeebers out of any grade 13 leader. It was however the next route that played on my mind:
Photographic Belayer is aptly named, as the gear is relatively sparse making the belayer at times redundant That said on the pointy end it is a very nervous lead, and Josh was a little worried himself when I kicked into serious mode. As I write this I had to check my images to work out when I last led the line. To my surprise it seems I have only led it once before and was a week after Craig had established it. Back in January 2011, when I was a bit more fearless than these days. Um maybe another sandbag route, but at least this one is Craig’s not mine:
It’s good to have moments like that, when you feel right on the edge, just to stop you from becoming complacent. Josh found the relatively long crux sequence somewhat challenging so I was surprised when we suggested one more line before we wrapped thing up. But he did and while I found the last line more reasonable, his ability to hold onto the rounded holds was nearly fully depleted. Not helped by his fingertips being raw and sore from the abrasive rock, but he batted on regardless. The rope was then coiled and stashed in my rucksack:
Fortunately, having a healthy depth of skin left on your fingers is not a requirement for what we had in mind next. It is becoming more of a regular thing to head round the bay to Canal Rocks and go for a dip after scaling the cliffs at Smiths Beach. The ocean was relatively calm today, and I was tempted to jump straight in off the rocks. One day I will. The water is certainly a bit deeper there, but we could see the weed covered boulders below the surface and it looked like interesting ground. Today however we went in in at the boat ramp:
Like yesterday I decided to go in with just my boardies. No wetsuit, or even a rashy that Josh had opted for. Possibly a brave move by me as the water temperature on the west coast is some 4 degrees cooler than at our local beach that is in the more protected Geographe Bay. It certainly felt more brisk as I dove in. Preferring to get it over with quickly, as opposed to torturing yourself as the water creeps higher up your body when you walk in slowly. All of that was washed from my mind as the abundance of fish came to sight:
It may seem I have included images of two different fish above. I’m reasonably confident the first one is a Filefish (Monacanthidae), in part because of the distinct shape of the lower part of the body near the pelvic fins. That said it is not unique to filefish and I have not been able to identify which species. And as I attempted to follow it, it seemed to change colour. Therefore, I am not sure if I ended up following the same fish. And looking more closely at the images the body shape near the pelvic fins looks different in the above image:
Needless to say I have given up, but was interested to read that some Filefish can change their appearance very quickly in 1 to 3 seconds. So, I was not hallucinating when I saw the first fish change right before my eyes. Leatherjackets, a similar shaped fish, can also change colour, but I have not been able to find out how quickly. I spied another colour changing marine creature, and got excited. The above Giant Cuttlefish (Sepia apama), while not at the maximum length of one meter it was a good sized one and as Josh dove down to it, it swam under a ledge:
It didn’t seem to mind me popping down to say hello several times. Each time seemingly more comfortable with my presence, getting closer to me and not putting on as much of a colourful display. While there were many species out there, here is another Western Smooth Boxfish. I included it, as it had much deeper colours than the specimens I find off my local beach. Half an hour was enough, and as we made our way back in this fish was happy for me to take an image. While I have seen them before, as yet I have not pinned down what it is:
‘Picture perfect’ is the only way to describe this sight, but it is not one I saw. Lisa is down the beach most mornings walking the dogs before she heads to work, and also on weekends since she has started cold plunging. The frequency of her visits provides more chance of seeing the beach in such tranquil conditions. And inspired by such sights, she has even dropped hints that she might get out on the paddleboard this summer, and only time will tell about that:
The above image was taken last weekend, while I was climbing down on the south coast. And based on the relatively settled and almost summery conditions we are experiencing, even though it is still spring, I was hoping for similar sights this this weekend. Summery may not be the right choice of words, and it has been described as a heatwave. Something that in Australia is based on the ‘excess heat factor’, which is assessed the maximum and minimum temperatures over a 3-day period against the thirty day average. Fair to say it has felt warm:
Last weekend Lisa also captured the above image that I really like, and don’t like. From a photography perspective I love it, having only ever taken images of them in the water myself. But being a South Western Stingers (Carybdea xaymacana), I’m not so thrilled. They normally make their first appearance much closer to Christmas, when the summer school holiday starts. Their presence, and the not as idyllic conditions as the first image, didn’t however stop me from dipping into the water twice today:
I was fully expecting not to see the abundant fish life I saw of Meelup Regional Park or at Canal Rocks, and was not disappointed when my expectations were met. But the ease of walking down and diving in, without driving, makes it worthwhile. I was happy to find the above Pale Mosaic Seastar (Echinaster arcystatus), one I have mentioned before so started digging for interesting facts about it. I read, again so it seems now that I have looked back at past posts, that some say this species resembles the Mosaic Seastar (Plectaster decanus):
Making me wonder if that was the seastar I found, and failed to identify, the last time I wrote about the Pale Mosaic Seastar (https://sandbagged.blog/2021/11/20/a-biology-lesson/). Many seastars are carnivorous and prey on molluscs, but both of these two species feed mainly on sponges, but also other sessile animals. The term sessile meaning they are not able to move about, being attached to a solid substrate. Marine animals, other than sponges, that are sessile include corals, bryozoan, truncate, and barnacles, with the last also found on boats:
And there have been plenty of boats out, with talk of bountiful amounts of Western Rock Lobster (Panulirus Cygnus) for the picking. Not that Rongy had much success recently. The people on the boat a few images up were however not diving but fishing. The weed floating in the foreground of the same image, being the above weed. Entangled in fishing line that had snapped, or been cut, due to the hook and weight being caught in the reef below. Not something I like to see, or leave behind, so spent some time retrieving all of the line:
I found one Western Rock Lobster, above, who was not game to sit still for a picture. And this seemed to be a similar theme, when I spotted what I am sure was a Red Bait Crab (Plagusia chabrus) grazing on the reef. I didn’t bother going down, knowing how skittish crabs can be. Sure enough my presence floating above was enough to make it crawl deeper into the reef. I also briefly saw the very distinctive shape of a juvenile Port Jackson Shark (Heterodontus portusjacksoni), of which I have only ever seen one before:
As soon as I saw it, it disappeared into the crevices of the reef. If I saw right, it came from one of the lucky 10% of eggs laid by these sharks. The other 90% get eaten by predators, during ten to eleven months it take for the eggs to mature. My last image being of a Biscuit Seastar (Tosia australis). They come in a multitude of colours and patterns, but the distinctive shape and six to eight knobbly plates along each arm makes it easy to identify. While it may not have been picture perfect above, below the surface it was still possible to get some perfect pictures:
Ash has been absent from my posts for a while, and for good reason. He has been a bit of a national and global trotter, but is now back in the sleepy south west of Western Australia for a bit. Some months before he reached the shores of this island, he had reached out and suggested we should hit the road and head south for a trip. With a particular climbing spot in mind that he is somewhat partial too. Rongy would have joined but you may recall that while he should be travelling himself, he is currently stuck in Perth working:
And the initially considered fourth member was Howsie, who could make it. In fact I doubt if wild horses could have held him back. And it was a good thing too, as Ash had been battling some bug the week before the trip. Advising us just days before the off that he would head down separately, allowing him a later departure on the Friday. The intention being to optimise his chances of being healthy and enjoying our destination on day two. Howsie was happy to take his rig, which I was thankful for as mine has a gremlin at the moment:
Being picked up from home on Friday morning he told me his rig also had a gremlin, one that he had hoped would have been fixed on Thursday. The choice was to take my rig and risk it over heating, or take his for which there was a chance it may not start. A case of six of one and half a dozen of a another, and Howsie drove. Our first stop on the south coast tour was Blindmans Bluff, a small but fun crag hidden from sight and just a stone’s throw from the Peak Head carpark. Short single pitch slabbing on smooth south coast granite:
Rain had fallen every day in the first half of the preceding week, but the forecast for our four days down here were nothing but glorious. Twenty degrees, mostly cloudy with hints of sun, light to moderate westerly winds, and a small swell. The last too being particularly important for the crag that Ash was super keen to get too. We racked up a stack of great climbs during the afternoon and the conditions could not have been perfect, and even the Australian Common March Flies (Tabanus australicus) didn’t seem interested in taking our blood today:
The image of the fly was while it sat on my climbing shoe, not caring to move as I took aim and snapped an image showing its strong straight proboscis that would normally be used to pierce the skin and suck out some blood. But not today, and the only soreness we had after climbing here was a tingle on the fingertips. Resulting from the coarse sandpaper like rock steadily removed layers of skin. I’m not going to recount every line we did, but for those who are keen and as I have for some of my longer trips, there is a route list at the end of the post:
One thing we had previously agreed was that this trip was all about mid-grade fun, no aiming for high numbers other than in the meterage we covered. The hardest route being grade 19 and there was only one, on the first crag and the very worthy crag classic shown two images up. We had intended to camp at the Panorama campsite for the trip, but Friday was the one and only day of the year that they were closed due to an ultramarathon event. So we instead met Ash at the campsite at Cosy Corner:
It has been many a year since Lisa, Elseya, and I have campedat Cosy Corner and much has changed. That includes our previous site being closed, needing to now pay, and there being a camp warden on site. At times well-meaning camp wardens can be a little annoying, but today we were grateful to have them about. On the short 1km, or so, gravel road approaching the camping area some schoolies were hooning in and out at stupid speeds. ambivalent of other road users and frustration levels they seemed to leave at most places they went:
Some of the people already camping there were preparing to leave, not willing to put up with the schoolies antics. But the camp warden put their foot down and the schoolies were sent on their way. Fortunately it was the only encounter we had with them during our time down here, and as it grew dark Ash rocked up. Soon after he popped his tent up it seemed everyone at the now peaceful campsite hit the sack, as did we. The other campers were still tucked up in bed when we got up, packed up the tents, and drove out:
It was 5am but the sun was up and it was bright. We left Ash’s car at the national park entrance and lowered the pressure on Howsie’s tyres, in preparation for the drive into the mighty West Cape Howe. This was the place that Ash really wanted to get to, he loves it here. Dark cliffs fall into the Great Australian Bight, and with the wrong wind direction and higher swells this can result in sea spray making the rock feel greasy. It was however perfect today, although before we sampled the rock to test it we had breakfast and a cuppa:
Ash was happy to follow up with the safety of a rope above him, and Howsie and I already had a bit of a route list mapped out. Mid-grade fun on lines that we had not been on before bar one, or so Howsie thought. Then I checked his guide and he had also marked up the first two lines during our trip here in 2012, when he climbed them with Andrew. Any memory of the routes was long gone so he was happy to jump on them again. Each route offering long pitches on quality and sustained lines, bliss:
This is however a pretty serious place. It is off the beaten track, the setting is for some intimidating, and due to the nature of the rock and situation there can at times be lose rock. Safety is always first and foremost when we climb, and here it is that bit more first and foremost. Double checking everything you do, staying tied in at all times, and climbing with confidence but equal amounts of caution to check each hold before committing to it. Regardless of all that it is still easy to see why Ash loves it so much:
Four wonderful climbs in and it felt like lunch time was here. The carpark is very close to the cliffs, so it was just a few minutes to get back. Here the food came out again and the kettle once more went on. We had the place to ourselves, and despite the great climbing here in the seven or so times I’ve climbed here only on one of those occasions did I see anyone else climb. Possibly it is due to the access and situation that keeps some away, being that bit more of an effort physically and mentally:
As we munched our lunch, a silent visitor crept up on us. Howsie spotted it first and Ash gave a shriek, and only then did the Bobtail Lizard (Tiliqua rugosa) seem to notice us and take a slightly deviated path. By which time he was within half a meter of me, and seemingly unperturbed by our presence. Fed and watered we were back on rock, on a multi-pitch route that happened to be the first route Ash had ever climbed here. It was a storming line, with a huge belay ledge at half height on which all three of us could have laid out and star fished:
The next route was unexpectedly the final route of the day. A line that Howsie had attempted to find with his brother Mikie a year or so back. They had rapped into the wrong area so didn’t get to climb it, as such we took our time to make sure we found the right location. It looked steeper and more intimidating that the other walls we had climbed, and Ash opted not to come down. We did however still required his services, when we foolishly left the guidebook on top. Looking up the wall we were not entirely sure where to go:
The guidebook is being lowered on the end of the rope in the above image, and even with the topo in the guide it was misleading. Resulting in me going slightly off line, and Howsie having to work his way back on line for the second pitch. We may not have climbed the route entirely as intended but it was still fantastic. All the mucking about had however meant we spent twice the time on this route than any of the others, maybe we were also starting to tire. So while we went off track it was still a great way to end the climbing on day two:
Howsie’s car started without a hitch, phew. It is probably not the best place to get stranded, but it did have a bit of a turn when we stopped to pick up Ash’s car. Howsie does have a trick when it doesn’t want to start, and for now that seemed to work. That night we stayed at the Panorama campsite, stopping in Albany on the way to grab dinner first. After the tents were pitched we made use of the communal area to sort the gear ready for the next morning. The next place would require a bit more of a walk in, so food, water, and gear had to be sorted:
At night we were reminded that it was schoolies week, as we settled down for the night. Just like at Cosy Corner the campsite fell silent soon after darkness descended, and as the wind eased and picked up we could hear the doof doof music from some distant place drift off and then get louder. Not so loud that it was clear but audible enough to be like the sound of a mosquito, not quite allowing you to enter that perfect deep sleep. But it didn’t stop me from getting up early. It seemed to get light earlier and dark later here, compared to back home:
Indeed it looks like first light arrives some quarter of an hour earlier in Albany compared to where we live. But interestingly last light is more or less at the same time. I’m not quite sure how that works, but my circadian rhythm was in tune and cups of tea were awaiting the others as they rose from their tents. Today’s destination was Peak Head, a place that Ash was yet to climb at and Howsie had only been to once before to climb. It was my fourth trip here, and there is a climb that one day I should jump on, today however it was one for Howsie to consider:
And consider it he did. I lost track of time, as he stood looking at it then sat down continuing to stare at the steep finger crack. It looks down at you both inviting you in and making you feel daunted at the same time. There was even some head holding, rocking, and for a while the child’s pose was assumed. Eventually weighing up many factors, including the intent of sticking to mid-grade fun, he decided to leave it for another day. I was quite literally spat of this line on my first visit here in 2006, and in 2015 the start of the climb baffled Dan and when offered the rope I simply didn’t have the energy for it:
So I could fully appreciate the quandary that Howsie was battling with. On the plus side there is another magical route that takes you off the ledge, where 50m of open space awaits below your feet. A curving traverse crosses the big face and eventually leads to a series of ledges and cracks. All of which Howsie gobbled up with great delight. Having so much fun that he passed the belay ledge and kept climbing until there was no rope left. He then had to down climb several meters and as the rope went slack below him something unexpected happened:
Ash and I waited patiently, and when we heard the shout that we were on belay and could climb when ready we knew something was amiss. As Howsie had down climbed the twin ropes had slipped into a vertical crack, and as he went to pull the slack in to belay us they had locked against each other. The issue being this occurred midway up the 50m pitch. We managed to avert the mid-wall crisis, when I self-belayed myself up the rope until I reached the offending crack and freed the rope. Problem solved and we continued up the pitch, followed by two more with nothing but air below us and smiles on our faces:
The wander back down to the bags brought up the dilemma of what to do next, it was early and there was plenty of time to squeeze another route in. But the grades only went up and as Howsie pondered his choices again I looked about and spotted a native bee that was also in a pickle. Having overindulged in nectar and being covered in pollen it was tangled up in the stamen of this Coastal Pigface (Carpobrutus virescens). I’ve since discovered there are over 2,000 native bee species in Australia, with 800 of them being found in Western Australia:
Meanwhile, Ash laid down. He was shattered. Climbing for me is a great way to disengage the brain and soak up the surrounds. Ash’s brain isn’t wired that way and his buzzing brain combined with other factors had left him feeling very weary. So much so he was considering heading back that afternoon. This aided Howsie in his decision making and unlike the unlucky bee, Howsie was released from his tangled web of options at Peak Head. We trudged out, stopping along the way to provide advice to a couple from Oregon:
They were over for a week long climbing trip seeking worthy multi-pitch climbs, and had come up behind us on the route we had just done. We sent them off with some pointers on places to go and lines to climb. Then back at the campsite we saw Ash off. This left Howsie and I to head back out for the afternoon to explore, plumping for one of the crags at the Blowholes. No multi-pitch routes awaited us here, but at 25m tall the climbs felt a good length. And to boot we were right next to the crashing waves, which provided a great atmosphere:
Main Wall was developed in the 80s, and you could immediately tell it was developed by old school climbers. The lines looked imposing and even the lowly graded ones visually looked tricky. Later that evening when we caught up with Kym, Meg, Tess, Claire, and Beau, Kym said he had been seriously sandbagged at this crag before. Making us feel somewhat justified in our thoughts, as we stood below the face. Being my lead I plumped for a wicked rising corner, a line Howsie had shown interest in also. But first in, best dressed and all that:
It was amazing, and didn’t get a single star in the guide or even a line to say that it was a worthy route or anything. At our local crags we both agreed it would have had stars splashed all over it. Making us keen to get another climb in, and Howsie chose based on aesthetics as opposed to grades. Aesthetics is something that the cove we were in had all over it. In addition to great granite walls there were stunning sections of conglomerate rocks. Car and even transit van sized boulders poked out, and the floor below was littered with round boulders that had over time popped out:
Howsie picked a beauty, providing a style of climbing we do not get too much of over our way. Both he and I were tiring now, after three days of climbing and a few good walks. We managed the line, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Marvelling, and also being somewhat jealous, of all the hidden gems that the south coast has tucked away. And while there were certainly more lines to tempt us, we felt it was time to head out. Kym was sadly unable to join us during this trip, but we simply had to have a catch up so we headed over for a cuppa or two:
Sunday night was peaceful and maybe that is why I was up extra early in the morning, way before first light. Having a camp kitchen was handy allowing me to brew a cuppa without making too much noise. I sat and watched another sunrise, which made me wonder how Tomski was going in Israeli as I hadn’t heard for a few days. Howsie was up in time for when I was making my second cuppa. Today was the day we would drive home, so we had a decent breakfast and then made a third cuppa for me and second for him, ready for the journey out:
While we like to get home at a reasonable time after a decent trip away, we were up early and had already decided it was time for a tree change. We are talking towering karri trees, which could mean only one place… Mount Frankland. A two’ish hour drive from where we had slept the night, yet we still managed to be at the base of the climb by eight. Not being greedy, our plan was to sneak in one route that would summit out and allow us to take in the landscape from the top. And again I handed Howsie the rope:
I get out heaps more than he does, and I have also led the climbs at Blindmans Bluff, Peak Head, and Mount Frankland that we had on our radar. The last one we had in mind is another beauty, and one that does not get much attention. The first pitch being the meat of the climb and offering a long 47m delicate path up the slab. A cool crisp morning and superb dry rock made it all the more special, as he tippy toed his way up. Occasionally shaking out his calves, when there was a slightly more forgiving foot hold on offer:
I was happy stood at the base. Surrounded by a feeling of serenity that the greenery around me seemed to instil. Standing on a pile of leaves that had collected against the granite dome over years. Making a perfect compost and no doubt a home for many critters, although I struggled to see any. The one spider I did see, and attempted to get a close up of, was bright green and less than a three millimetres in size including the legs. Wandering about on the rock, looking like it was checking its webs for anything tasty that may have been trapped:
With mere meters left in the rope Howsie reached the belay, and was rewarded with a view from above. It was my time to pad up the steep granite dome and leave the spider, which I have not been able to identify, to its own devices. I didn’t stop too long at the belay and made my way up the much easier second pitch. So easy that I body-belayed Howsie up after me. Being conscious that he would be moving fast, it was easier to keep up with his rapid pace by using the old school belay technique. One that some, in this day and age, may frown upon:
Looking out at the tree canopy stretching into the distance we could make out the wonderful ocean that laps, or more like smashes, against the amazing playground of the south coast. For this trip at least our climbing was done, and we were extremely satisfied and also appreciative of Ash for suggesting a wee trip away, so thank you. With five areas visited, and eighteen awesome mid-grade routes comprising twenty three pitches climbed in perfect condition, who wouldn’t be happy. And it made us think an annual South Coast jaunt isn’t such a bad idea. For now however it was time to head home, back to our creature comforts and understanding families:
While I didn’t get my hurkle-durkle in on Saturday, it was still a relatively lazy day. This resulted in me getting itchy feet and wanting to get out and do something on Sunday. My preference was a snorkel, but with a forecast of fresh winds and being mostly cloudy it was not looking promising for a swim with the fish. The expected wind directions hinted the west coastline would offer the best chance. So I packed ready for both a snorkel and/or a climb, knowing full well that the early start would mean at least my climbing gear would get used:
I aimed for Smiths Beach, and walking in there were heaps of Wavyleaf Sea Lavender (Limonium sinuatum). And as happens so often, it is the weeds that look so pretty. Originally from the Mediterranean region this is a common and much loved choice for gardens. Having escaped the confines of gardens decades back it has naturalized and become widespread across much of Australia. Considered an environmental weed in Western Australia, little is done to manage it and we can add it to the list of invasive species the desire for western styled gardens has brought here:
Being by myself I could cram in a few lines and would still have time for a dip. Helped by not needing to set up multiple anchors, and only hitting four lines instead of the normal six. In fact the routes were wrapped up within the hour, not that I rushed them. Being keen to focus on climbing efficiently, as opposed to expeditiously. Savouring the insecure holds on steep terrain, I was keen to make sure I used good technique. So I stayed in many positions to figure out how to make best use of each hold. As such I worked that little bit longer on each line, the rationale being stamina training for an up and coming trip:
And after my Friday morning session at Welly Dam in sandals where I definitely got a workout, I felt I didn’t need to climb anymore today. Mind you I did ponder my options for a while as I looked across the bay towards Canal Rocks. The view shown above suggested the sheltered bay looked reasonably flat, but the cloud persisted only allowing the sun to break through for glimpsing moments. Decision made and driving the short distance I again looked out across the bay. The winds were shifting and rippling up the surface, but for now it still didn’t look too bad so I suited up:
Just like Meelup Regional Park last weekend, this place is not as prone to being churned up as quickly as at Peppy Beach. While the visibility was not mega it was reasonable, and I could spot movement all about. I didn’t chase too many fish but did pop down to check out the many crevices. Fair to say my ability to hold my breathe is currently pretty poor, hopefully that will improve as the season progresses. We have about 60 species of leatherjacket fish in Australia ranging from 25mm to a meter long, and I always find them so pretty and colourful. This one being a Yellowstriped Leatherjacket (Meuschenia flavolineata):
The common and scientific name being based on the yellow strip found in adults, which are often found in pairs but not today, with flavolineata coming from the Latin words flavus (yellow) and lineata (lined). If I ever go night diving, which I am not sure I will, I would have the chance to see this particular fish biting on a strand of seagrass. Something it does this to avoid drifting about while sleeping. There are a few distinguishing features of leatherjackets, the one I’ll mention today as it is quite clear is that the they have a grove in the top of the head, in which their single serrated spine fits neatly:
Diving down and looking under the roofs there were beautiful gardens that looked to be filled with mushrooms and berries. So even if I didn’t see many fish I am not familiar with, there was plenty to marvel at. I will however finish with a fish, and one I saw a few of last weekend. The Red-lipped Morwong (Goniistius rubrolabiatus) is endemic to Western Australia, and again has a common and scientific name that align, making use of the Latin words rubro for red and labiatus for lips. A bit like the climb it was a shortish snorkel, but not because I was getting cold but the water was roughing up:
Another 4am wake up time meant there was no hurkle-durkling for me today, which was in fact yesterday’s word of the day. Nor Chris who I would pick up three quarters of an hour later. There are a few things I do to reduce the time required between rolling out of bed, quite literally sometimes due to the dogs taking up most of the bed forcing us to lie on the edges, and driving out. First I set the tea maker so I can pour two sippy mugs of piping hot tea. One for me to drink on the road and one that I pop on the bedside table for Lisa to sup several hours later, at a more sensible time of the morning:
Secondly I pack my climbing gear the day before and have it ready in the car. And being yet another Welly Dam trip for which there is no walk in, that meant using my handy crate. I also put my sandals and a warm top, when required, in the car. With a first light temperature of just below 4 degrees being forecast in Collie, a warm top was worthwhile so that did go on top of the pre-packed crate. However, after donning my top and popping my harness on I noticed I had forgotten to pack an essential bit of kit… my climbing shoes:
It is not the first time I have forgotten my shoes, although it has only happened once before. The first time was for a trip to Smiths Beach with Lou. She kindly allowed me to wear her shoes as I climbed, and after each route I lowered them down to her. They were several sizes too small for me and pretty painful, but at least that meant my feet didn’t move about inside them. Today Howsie was also generous enough to allow me to use his shoes. This time they were several sizes too big, resulting in them feeling fairly floppy and not supporting my feet as well, which is important when you have to trust your feet on small edges:
He confessed to having a bit of a sore shoulder, and due to the steep, technical, and often powerful climbing here we decided to jump on the lower grade lines. That said they still ranged from 17 to 20, or HVS 5a to E2 5b in UK speak, so were of reasonable difficulty. While I used Howsie’s shoes for the first route, I reasoned that due to their floppiness and the grades we would hit that I would climb in my sandals from then on. Even though they were even more floppy and offered less support. This made me rethink the moves, use my arms that bit more, and work a lot harder, which is not a bad thing:
I’m pleased to say that Howsie’s shoulder held up. I checked in on this regularly, ready to pull the pin if he even hinted it was being aggravated. I also held up pretty good in my sandals, and even on the small edges I seemed to manage to angle my feet enough to apply pressure. That said I did use my arms a fair bit more, where there were better hand holds. Both of these changes in my climbing style resulted in me tiring much quicker than normal. So much so that Josh may be pleased to hear on the last climb of the morning, the rootlet of Raging Torrent gave me grief. I say that as it blocks his path every time:
The high, small, and slopey hold for your left foot felt incredibly insecure in my sandals. Maybe in part due to tiring arms. So I took the sandal off my left foot and attempted to go barefoot, but that put heaps of pressure on my big toe to the point that it was too painful. Howsie captured the barefoot attempt above, but as I groaned above he was too worried that I might slip to spend time focusing the camera. I eventually worked out a different sequence that worked with sandals on, and then grovelled up the rest of the last climb coming down completed shatter. So much so that I think I might be hurkle-durkling* tomorrow morning:
* A Scottish word meaning to lie in bed or lounge about when one should be up and about.
While Lisa has been bobbing in the water off our local beach all winter with the Peppy Plungers, I have refrained from doing so. So while in recent weeks she has come back from her Saturday bob saying it was warm, I really had no idea what to expect. Usually I don’t swim with the fish until December and looking back there have been a couple of years when I went in earlier, but it has then been mid to late November. I was today being encouraged by the beautiful clear waters I’d recently witnessed off the Meelup Regional Park coastline:
It’s a forty five minute drive, and I had already made my mind up that I would make the effort to head out and jump in. The road doesn’t follow the coastline meaning I didn’t catch glimpse of what the conditions were like, until I quite literally rolled into the Gannet Rock carpark. It is a little further north along from Castle Rock where I frequent the most, and have snorkelled quite a few times. It is also a bit further north from the very popular Meelup Beach, and I was hoping to avoid the crowds of what seemed to be a busy weekend in terms of tourist:
I picked it right and the carpark was relatively quiet, more than could be said for the water. Like my last few trips here it was a perfect slight swell, at only 0.9m, which would normally be great. But the moderate easterly winds resulted in the waves rolling onto the shoreline sufficiently high to murky up the water. It’s one of the risks of driving that bit further, and admittedly not checking the conditions properly before leaving. Rather than waste the driving time I kitted up and went in:
It is fair to say it felt like a bath, aided of course by my wetsuit. Making me wonder if I could have got away with an October swim with the fish. A testament to the short lived spring and early hot weather that we have experienced. And further proven, as if it is needed, by the terrible wild flower season and pretty ordinary orchid hunting this year. I have given up on the latter, as have my fellow hunters from the office. And while today’s water was a tad murky, it is at least promising that the water is ready for this fair-weather snorkeler:
While the water column was filled with varying amounts of sand, as the sets of waves eased and then built up again I still spotted heaps of fish. Many species that I recognised and many I didn’t, way too many to list. Perhaps the variety and number of fish was due to the conditions, and they were sheltering in the shallows. I’ll definitely have to come back here in calmer conditions to see if that is the case. But also because the clarity made it pretty undesirable to snorkel right round the prominent rock on which many gannets were perched:
I couldn’t resist the first fish image of Weeping Toadfish (Torquigener pleurogramma). Being the fish my dad so nearly got to see, when we helped him have a bash at using a snorkel mask on his last trip out to see us. Being terrified of the water he did really well, but while these fish were right at his feet in the shallows his emotions took over, and he can’t recall seeing them. I also liked the above image of a singular Giant Creeper (Campanile symbolicum) huddled together with a bunch of Turban Shells (Turbo torquatus):
It was as if these molluscs were sheltering. Waiting for the water to settle, but I am sure they had just found a spot to rest for the day seeing they are nocturnal grazers. What I thought to be a jellyfish of some sort, shown in my fourth image, is in fact linked to molluscs but not those shown above. Being an egg sac from the small predatory Conical Sand Snail (Conuber conicum), in which you can see thousands of tiny eggs. These egg sacs are up to five times bigger than the snail that laid it, having swelled up by absorbing water after being laid:
While feeling like a bath I came out after approx. half an hour with not even a hint of feeling cold. The sky above had like the water become murky. Clouds and quite possibly some smoke haze from distant bushfires, blocked out the sun and that combined with the mobilised sand made the decision for me. The three to one ration of journey to snorkelling time wasn’t ideal, but I’m still pleased I made the effort. So now on my desk the orchid books have been replaced with my fish and reef books:
This morning the unwelcome sound of rumbling thunder rose me from my slumber. Truth be told I’d been woken up several times prior, when rain fell noisily on the plastic veranda roof right next to our open bedroom window. As such I had already checked the radar at 1 and again at 3. Each time hinting rain was falling not just where we live but also where I intended to go this morning. On the plus side by 4 the clouds had mostly passed and having been pretty warm over the last few days the thermal mass of the roads had already evaporated away any dampness as I drove out:
After their quick ten day test run in the Midwest of Western Australia, Rongy and Sarah were back in town last weekend. Rongy for a pre-booked rally, while Sarah pottered about hence why I got her out for a climb. They were supposed to head over east last week but the van needed a bit of work done, and they were waiting for parts to arrive. As such despite having had his last climb in the area a few weeks back I was back out with Rongy, this time for the last time before they really hit the road, or so I thought. And again Howsie couldn’t make it:
However, both to help a friend and make some good money they will now be in Perth for six weeks. So similar to the last time Rongy decided to head off travelling, it will be a long goodbye and we are left wondering when the rubber of their van will hit the road for real. This morning as we entered the national park I spotted an injured young Tawny frogmouth (Podargus strigoides) on the road, where it had been sat for some time based on all the excrement. Fortunately, as Sarah checked it’s wings, it decided it was fit enough to fly off:
Not wanting to indulge in roped climbing, instead bouldered the lower walls, she didn’t however have to contend with the inhabitant of all cobwebs that Rongy and I encountered. If you look closely at the second image, you might spot a male Garden Orb Weaving Spider (Eriophora transmarina). These were out in numbers and we had to watch carefully to avoid picking up a hitchhiker as we climbed. They are a fair bit smaller in overall size, have a relatively smaller abdomen, and are more dully coloured than the female, of which I didn’t spot any:
Through Howsie, Josh had cottoned onto our trip and made a last minute decision to have a break from his studies. Despite several coursework’s looming heavy over his head. I can relate to the need to clear the brain at such times. When I was sitting the final exams for my degree I can recall heading to the hills to go for a day long walk literally the day before. It’s a great way to reset the brain and come back way more focused, for some. For now at least, as the changing of the shoes occurred, study was the furthest thing from his mind:
It has been a while since Josh has been out, he however climbed really well. Having a very fine bash at an unfamiliar route, and making surprisingly easy work of a more familiar line that normally gives him grief. Sarah also enjoyed her bouldering, and even managed to overcome a few of the tricker problems, with just a bit of encouragement. Rongy too surprised himself. Regardless of how many times we have climbed here, the dam will still hit you hard when you haven’t been here for a while. It’s almost as if it is telling you off:
All up it was a lovely morning out. Made better for not having wet rock, although we did spot a few Dewdrop Spiders (Argyrodes antipodianus). At 2-3mm long with a silver abdomen and not making their own webs, these spiders cleverly resemble water droplets. Hanging off the webs of, usually, orb-weaver spiders trying their very best not to be seen. Here they wait patiently for an opportunity to scavenge of smaller prey caught in the webs of their host, a practice which is called a kleptoparasitic relationship:
But they need to be careful, as their host would happily devoir them. A bit how Welly Dam can treat us if we are overly confident or get carried away. And all four of us felt as if our muscles were telling us we had had our fill, and for me at least if I continued I would risk not life but at least injuries. So we hit the road, and after missing the last two farewell climbs Howsie can rest at ease, knowing there will be at least one more farewell climb with Rongy, and Sarah, before they finally head east:
Sandbagged 