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:
Being keen spy a whale or two, Lisa was up for a wander on Saturday. The obvious place to head was Cape Naturaliste Lighthouse from where a number of walk trails head out. One of which takes you to the point of Cape Naturaliste and a whale watching platform. Here you can in 180 degree views of the south Indian Ocean. While this is a great spot to be, you are only able to observe the ocean when you get to the platform, so having been lucky with recent whale sightings both in the bay and off the west coast I suggested those locations. We plumped for the closer location of Meelup Regional Park, for several reasons:
Firstly, it is generally calmer here than on the west coast, making whale spotting that bit easier. Secondly, the meandering path is lovely and takes in stunning views of the bays with their aqua blue waters before then branching out up on the ridge for views from on high. Lastly, we could stop in Dunsborough on the way out to grab a feed from the bakery, allowing us to start the walk by sitting down and taking it all in. The plan worked well, and as we laid back on the rocks munching away we were greeted to a few whales travelling northwards up the bay:
They were some distance out and did not give us an acrobatic show. Based on the shape of the tails and way the bodies arched out of the water it is possible that they were Blue Whales (Balaenoptera musculus). Geographe Bay is claimed to be the most accessible place in Western Australia to see these whales, as they come in close to shore in relatively shallow and crystal clear waters. I’m pleased to say that we did go for our wander, but didn’t see any more whales. Also, and not surprisingly with the way the season is tracking, we didn’t see any orchids other than a couple of Scented Sun Orchids (Thelymitra macrophylla):
The heat did however bring out a few Bobtails (Tiliqua rugosa) and King’s Skinks (Egernia kingii), but no snakes. But for a change here is an image of an Orange Spider Wasp (Cryptocheilus bicolor), which we found busily checking under rocks and vegetation. No doubt looking for a Huntsman or Wolf spider to paralyse, before laying a single egg in its body and then burying the ill-fated spider. This is the most common species of spider wasps, growing to an inch and a half and looking pretty fearsome. They are however not aggressive so will only waste their venom on humans, by stinging us, if extremely provoked:
Sarah was back in town for a few days and keen to get out, so for Sunday we made plans to head to Moses Rocks. Driving out the clouds along the western coast looked dark and ominous, whereas to the north they were more broken. This kinda aligned with the forecasts I had been tracking for each location, so we changed plans. This resulted in me finding myself parking at Castle Rock beach for a second day. The bay at times looked as stunning as yesterday, although every so often a bank of clouds would come over ridge and the amazing colour of the water dulled, as rain started to drizzle down and soak the rock:
It was warm and there was a moderate wind, so in-between the showers the rock dried up just fine. Not that there was a need to stop when the water fell, as the coarse grained granite provided great friction whether dry or wet. As Sarah found out, as she willingly followed me up one, two, and then a third line on the north facing side of the castle. I had offered her the chance to have a lead, and she was at first keen but as we racked up quick climbs her desire faltered. Maybe dampened by the weather, but also may be put off a bit by the lack of a break between each climb, which didn’t allow her arms to recover:
When we moved to the southern face we did take a break, and as she sat up the wall protected from the rain I went looking about. Thinking there was nothing to see a movement caught my eye. In the weed and algae that was within the wave wash zone there were heaps of worms, seemingly reaching upwards but I have no idea what they were searching for. I also have no idea what they were, and my best guess is a type of sandworm. Possibly, based on some of the body characteristics, juvenile Blow Lugworms (Arenicola marina). The larvae of which are known to settle on firmer ground to further develop, before moving to more sandy areas where they can burrow:
It may seem that there was not a lot of climbing going on, but after the short interlude we cracked on. The climbs from here on were a bit longer and certainly more technical, and I could sense Sarah’s self-doubting nature creep in. But with a bit of gentle encouragement she followed me up another three fun lines. Even keeping going when her brain was telling her she couldn’t do it, or her arms were telling her they were done. All up it was a very successful second visit to the area, and there were smiles all round at the end of both of the back to back trips here:
I was hoping to capture todays sunrise. And being aware that I might miss that special moment of the day due to being on the road, I took this snap while parked outside Howsie’s house. The morning hues were on display, but it didn’t really show the full glory of the sun peaking over the horizon. What with all the first light and sunrise images I have previously used, you may be left wondering where I am going with this. In short I wanted to take the image for Tomski. Longer term readers may remember him from a few years back:
His last trip out with us was two and half years back, at the place Howsie and I were heading today. And soon after that he returned to his homeland of Israel, and I’m sure I don’t need to explain what is happening there. I recently confessed to him it felt somehow weird writing about all my outdoor adventures, while life over there was in such turmoil. His response was however not to stop, and to keep getting out and typing away. He also said that to help stay positive he was taking an image of the sunrise each morning:
We arrived at the dam just in time for me to take the above image for Tomski. And I will now get back to today’s short and sharp session at the formidable quarry. I needed to get back to work at a reasonable hour, so we were pressed for time but also keen to pack some lines in. I had pulled together a list of ten routes from grade 18 to 20. While maybe a bit optimistic it did mean we didn’t stand looking at the wall wasting precious time trying to work out which lines to jump on. There was a game plan, and on arrival Howsie was keen to get the ball rolling:
To hit all ten lines we would have to climb at a rate of a route every twenty minutes. Something we had managed on the more sedate routes at Wungong Slab last weekend to beat the heat. Things certainly started well, although on the second route we forgot to pull out the longer rope. Only remembering the errors of our way as Howsie lowered me down after the lead. Route three and four also got knocked off quickly, the conditions today were great. The low humidity meant the friction was superb, and so far our stamina was holding out:
Route five came along and tell-tale signs crept in. If you look closely Howsie’s left elbow is sticking out. Ideally when you crimp down on small holds, of which the quarry offers many, it is best to keep your elbows close to the rock. This enables you to apply pressure to where your fingertips make contact with the rock in the most efficient way. As the elbow creeps out, the angle results in the need to apply more pressure and you waste more energy. Simple really, but as weariness takes hold the brain struggles to remember and then get the body to apply even these little techniques. As a result the route rate slowed down:
After climb five and six, both of which Howsie will confess to having dogged up, I thought we would be done. But, like me, he was enjoying being out too much. To ensure he had a chance to get up with a clean lead, we deviated away from the list allowing him to jump on a lower grade route. And for my last lead, he picked what he thought would be the least punishing climb that remained on the list. This seemed to work, and surprisingly we got very close to our target of one route per twenty minutes. Next we just need to work on someone’s stamina to allow us to stay and climb that bit longer:
It’s the one day of the year that I really don’t want to be at work, and would much rather get out into nature and enjoy life. Luckily falling on a Friday I was able to encourage Howsie to join me on a little excursion to head to unfamiliar territory, just to make the day that little bit more special. For a day trip, the only direction for us to drive to discover new locations is Perth, which of course meant the drive was a tad longer than usual. Based on the closest weather station in a similar landscape we could expect temperatures of the low twenties:
However, as the week crept slowly forward the forecasted temperature crept slowly up. This meant we could now expect temperatures in the high twenties. This is getting pretty warm, and could be uncomfortable especially as the crag is in the full glare of the sun, with no shade until after mid-afternoon. We agreed an early, and then even earlier, start was warranted. By early I mean early, driving out of our driveway at 2:30am. The timing was to allow us to arrive at first light, so we could at least see where we were going as we walked in:
Driving out of Bunbury in darkness I was grateful for the extra light bar on my car. And out of courtesy, which is at times is not provided in return when on dual carriageways, I turn off my full beam off when a car is coming the other way. I wish I hadn’t been so thoughtful this time, because with the lower light and oncoming car we saw the kangaroo too late. It lopped across the two lanes, from the central reservation, right in front of me. Going 100km/hr it was too risky to abruptly manoeuvre, so all I could do was brake and brake hard:
There quite simply was not enough stopping distance, and sadly we collided. On my part the damage was not terrible due to the roo-bar, and we could carry onwards. For the poor kangaroo it was not such a good outcome. Not a great way to start the day, but it is a hazard that I have to accept what with all the early morning driving I do to feed my desire to climb. Fortunately a rare occurrence. Although I did wonder if nature was not on my side today, when before we started climbing two bull ants got up my trousers and bit me several times:
I’m pleased to say there were no more mishaps with nature from that point on. And Howsie and I relished the enjoyment of coming to a new location, needing to orientate ourselves. Firstly to find the place and then work out which line is which. We arrived at Wungong Slabs at 5:30’ish and the climbing began a bit before 6, with no sign of the sun, cloud in the sky, and a stiff cold wind blowing down the valley right across the slabs. Good slabbing conditions, and I’m normally pretty comfortable with the climbing style slabs require:
For some reason my footwork was not as nifty as usually at the start. I could blame the run ins with nature, or my hay fever that blew up today, but that would just be a feeble excuse. Slab climbing will include, at times, the need to trust nothing but friction. The hands really don’t help much on these sections. It is all down to the angle of your feet and the direction of the force you apply, to maximise the friction between the sole of the shoe and rock hold to hold you in place. Body tension is everything, and a couple of times I let that relax a bit too much:
I just had to focus a bit harder to make the smears stick, and as the morning wore on I did just that. And as time ticked along and the sky became lighter we also noticed the place wake up, while we beavered away ticking climb after climb. The warmth of the sun, which eventually burnt off the clouds, was well received after the cold start to the morning. Birds became a bit more vocal, and once the sun was on the rock proper more insects popped up. Other than the couple of pesky bull ants, the first insect of interest was this soft-winged flower beetle:
This family of beetles, Melyridae, is vast and at first I thought I had got it right away. Finding a couple of identical images that made me think it was a Black-headed Melyrid (Collops tricolor). Then I discovered this species has not as yet been recorded in Australia. I have since spent hours trawling my reference sites, and cannot find anything even close to it in Australia. There was once species I pondered but the elytra, or hind wing component of the carapace, had distinct grooves. The one I spotted did not being smooth with fine hairs, so I am at a loss:
As for the climbing, it was a lot of fun. The routes were a mixture of bolted, mixed, and full trad lines. The various guide books gave three of the lines either a R or X rating. R indicating the protection is dodgy or runout and a fall could cause major injury, and X indicating that a fall could result in death. Climbing is however all about risk management, and you need to consider the grade or difficulty of the climb, your physical ability, your state of mind at the time, and the conditions on the day. Despite my early foot slips, today we both felt good:
Fully bolted lines really should not warrant an R or X rating, so these lines were trad although one sported a single bolt. Howsie and I both prefer trad over bolts, so have the right mind set to take on such challenges. Above I’m on the only X rated route and I also led one of the R rated lines, both were absolutely fine and great fun. Howsie nabbed the hardest line of the day, which also happened to be the other R rated line. Several of the routes here were also contrived. Meaning the difficult climbing can be easily avoided, but we did them anyway:
Onwards we marched, regardless of the grade, rating, or contrived nature of the routes and each one had its own charm. While Howsie was on lead I took the chance to look about and spotted a few interesting and very small spiders, and I wonder if he was also looking about while I climbed. Some would frown upon my wandering eyes, suggesting my focus should only be on the climber. But as I said it is all about risk management and being aware of the situation. These routes for the most part allowed wandering eyes, which spotted the above Trapezoid Crab Spider (Sidymella trapezia):
The two stripes across the back of the thorax, and triangular shaped abdomen making it an easy identification. The find below has however foxed me, and I’m waiting for Howsie’s entomologists friend to come to my rescue. Clearly from the Salticidae family, but being the largest of the spider families claiming 13% of known species I’ve had no luck in working out which of the 6,000 plus species it is. These spiders have a distinctive eye configuration and unlike other spiders, assisted with the enlarged eyes at the front, they are forward looking:
Howsie and I also had a clear forward facing vision of how our day would map out in terms of climbing. There was a chance the heat of the day could have got in the way of that. While I was feeling too hot to care Howsie’s stubbornness prevented us from not reaching our goal and five hours after we started climbing we finished by topping out on a slightly pointless and very short line. With 14 routes under our belt, one of which being so good we both led it, we were very content and walked out, with not an orchid in sight, to find the car thermometer indicating it was 28 degrees:
Just for the records, as Howsie got confused on the way back working out the numbers, probably because we both led the crag classic Whisper: 1) Tramping on Roses 13 – led by Howsie 2) Dead Seal 17 – led by Krish 3) Juggamatic 14 – led by Howsie 4) Crossroads 18 – led by Krish 5) Freedom 19R – led by Howsie 6) Flake and Slab 15X – led by Krish 7) Whisper 17 – led by Howsie & Krish 8) Middle Line 13 – led by Howsie 9) Easy Street 14 – led by Krish 10) All Holds Barred (15) – led by Howsie 11) Mirror Mirror 17R – led by Krish 12) Strange Idea 14 – led by Howsie 13) Weird at my School 14 – led by Krish 14) Death by Cutty Sark 17 – led by Howsie
Our 2006 Roads and Tracks Road Map of Western Australia, prepared by a potentially dodgy publisher on the basis that the contact for them was a ‘bigpond’ email address was once again misleading. The road names had potentially changed or swapped in places, and many of the dirt roads were shown as sealed and vice versa. As such I have no doubt I took a meandering path on the back roads from the Stirling Ranges National Park to Cheyenne’s Beach. No matter I rolled up to find Ron deflating his tyres ready for the sandy track to our destination:
Kym, Jim, and Ange were also there so we almost had the full contingent of (relatively) older climbing crew of the South Coast, with only Jon as the missing link. The familiar and somehow endearing bickering, needling, and cajoling started almost straight away. It was great to catch up with everyone, and from what I heard it has been a while since the crew has been out together. We were heading to Lost World, a place I’ve been to twice before. One successful day out and one not so, which I will come back to a little later on:
Jim hasn’t been out climbing for a few months, after being knocked off his bike by a dog which has caused him no end of grief. Today, as such, he was out for a bit of top rope soloing to see, in his own words, “if I can still climb”. Ron and Ange eyed up a fun single pitch climb to warm up on, and Kym and I sat there with no real idea of what to do. During some of my south coast trips we have been on a mission. A new crag to check out, a first ascent or two that was itching to be climbed, or some gnarly classic we were keen to test ourselves one. But today there was none of that:
Eventually I let Kym, who knows the area way better than I do, lead me to a long abseil all the way to the base of the cliff where a three pitch route called Blitzkrieg started. It began with a bang, a steep and awkward pitch the grade of which that was heavily debated. Was it a 20, 19, or 18? No matter the number jumping onto it cold and not being overly used to the south coast granite climbing style it felt hard. There was even a section where you have little choice but to act like a beached whale, lie down and gracefully worm your way upwards:
It had just about everything on it, making the whole climb super interesting and engaging. Including a clump of Coastal Sun Orchids (Thelymitra granitora), which are found in shallow soils on granite outcrops along the south coast, sadly the flowers were not open as shown a couple of images above. And just below the vegetation in the image below I found some Southwest Granite Snail Orchids (Pterostylis jacksonii) surivisng in a thin layer of moss, sadly past flowering and wilting away. These being found in ‘moss on granite outcrops’ along the south coast:
It was the longest route at Lost World, in part due to the long rising traverses that allowed the line to avoid towering blank faces of granite by meandered its way along the weaknesses comprising flakes and cracks. These ranged in width from barely finger tips through to full arm bars, and the route also included a couple of spicy vertical sections. Needless to say Kym and I had an absolute blast in an amazing position, and of course a backdrop that few crags even along the south coast can match:
Once on top we caught up with the rest of the crew, Jim found that he could still climb and Ange and Ron fired up after a fun warm up were heading down to jump on the route Kym and I had just had such a blast on. Coming down this way is as much about catching up with Kym, and his family, as it is the climbing. So we grabbed a bite to eat and chilled out pondering what next. The multi-pitch route had been such fun that we plumped for a second multi-pitch climb, one that Rongy and I had attempted to get on during my second less successful trip here:
On that visit we managed the first abseil and were about to go down the second when the storm hit. Huge raindrops transformed the granite slabs into a waterfall, made even more exhilarating when the lightning started. Today was a complete contrast, and I had the glory of leading the first pitch up Cloud Street at 16, which followed an unusual dolerite dike with different holds to the rest of the area. Kym then padded us to the top on the delicate slab of Silver Lining again 16 , which I had previously done in the rain. Both pitches were crackers on clean rock with no vegetation, and hence no orchids:
Back on top there was no sign of Ron and Ange, but we found Jim. His hands had given up on him so was just packing up. We were not sure what to do next, but he had suggested earlier we try a route he had not seen anyone repeat. And also a new line that Ron had secretly put up some time back. This time, and under the watchful eye of Jim we hit a couple of single pitch routes. I got the feeling that I had led Schmidchen Schleicher at 17 on my first trip here, but checking my post from that trip I hadn’t. Kym’s toes were starting to complain, so he was happy to hand me the rope again for one last climb:
Ron’s new route, Panel Beater, was not here on my last two trips, and Jim was keen to see someone lead it and give a second opinion. It may have even been the second ascent. After climbing it the grade like the first route of the day created a bit of heckling, based on all the routes I did today I’d struggle to give it more than an 18, possibly only 17. Not the 19 that Ron adamantly claims it deserves, but that was not the only bickering that was going on. As when Ron and Ange finally topped out there was the sorting of gear, and the need to make sure something had not ended up in the wrong rucksack as can at times happen:
Ron’s route Panel Beater, whether 19, 18 , or 17 was great fun and on the way out we discovered where the name had come from. The track was wet on the day he and Ange had come here to establish the route, and as they drove in the car slipped where the tracked was angled sharply to one side. This resulted in a bit of panel beating needing to be undertaken. The banter that might have some worried carried on all the way out, and as we sorted the gear between the cars were we parted ways. It was a fitting way to end yet another very enjoyable day out with the old’uns, although that I said only Jim is older than I am:
The evening went by relatively quickly. Firstly topping up on tea, then playing ping pong with Tessa as Beau ran round as the ball boy. Meg had made a lovely homemade quiche for dinner, and after a bit of grown up chat once the kids had finally drifted off, we all hit the sack. Claire was up early and made us breakfast, as Kym and I pondered our choices for the morning. It was going to be a morning session only, to allow me to head home at a reasonable time. A trip to West Cape Howe was tempting but the conditions would mean the rock would likely be damp and in the shade:
Many of the other options, which didn’t have a long hike in, faced east and would be subject to the swell. And while being a paltry two meter swell, something Lisa would consider bobbing in the water off Peppy Beach in, here on the south coast that could result in a fair bit of spray. The final decision, right or wrong, was East Side about a twenty to thirty minute hike from the Blowholes. A crag that see’s very, very few visitors and as such there was no track to follow when we worked our way through the, at times, head high bush:
Kym did well and we found our way there with no detours or backtracking required. And on arrival the magnificent position and view made us realise we had made a good choice. As seen above a two meter swell was indeed pretty serious. The 25m crag was small compared to where we were yesterday, but it felt like it towered above us. Higher than it did due to the proximity to the waves. It was also pretty steep with sheer faces, cracks, and corners. Some overhanging, and that just added to the intimidating south coast experience that is strangely enjoyable:
Feeling the seriousness of the place, also makes you question the grade at which you want to climb. An accident here would become a massive situation, boat and helicopter access wouldn’t work. And with no defined track the rescue from above would be a logistical nightmare. As such I flaked the rope out to avoid the risk of it becoming a knotted mess as Kym would lead us out on Sea Serpent, a snaking grade 14 line. And as soon as I had finished a wave got that bit close, then another, and finally a third captured in the above image:
The swell eased off again and Kym set off with the dripping rope below him. Soon finding himself on clean dry rock, while I watched out to sea waiting for the next descent set to come in which it didn’t do. It was weird how hard a grade 14 climb could feel just because your nerves are more on edge, but it may also have been because it was a fairly sustained so it kept you on your toes. Or maybe I was making excuses, because our options for the next route, and it was my lead, were a bumbly grade 10 or bumping things up to grade 17 on the crag classic:
I certainly waivered as I stood below the steep corner crack, weighing up my ability to take it on. Kym meanwhile kept providing words of encouragement, until the biggest wave of the lot came in and completely drenched him. I managed to be that bit further back from the edge and stayed dry, but wasn’t keen to hang about anymore. Tying in and going for it, I won’t lie and I was nervous. It was sustained, technical, and committing. Everything you would want from a classic, making it completely absorbing and thrilling. Luckily the crack gobbled up gear helping to calm my nerves:
Heads and Tails certainly earnt every one of the three stars it is given in the guidebook, and I’d be keen to come back here on a slightly calmer day to try some of the other lines. But we agreed that there was little point in going back down today, the wind was picking up just enough to increase the impact of the swell. Also if we were to go back down we’d have to resort to the grade 10 bumbles, as the remaining lines all started at grade 20 and the conditions today made the thought of trying them pretty undesirable:
It’s also fair to say we had just climbed two classic routes in conditions that elevated the experience significantly, and we wanted to end on a high. Instead we kicked back on the little bench that Jon had made here years back, with a 30m drop into the ocean at our feet. Taking it all in while having a snack or two. Eventually, sorting through the wet salty gear and packing up for the fight through the bush back to the car. Armed with walking sticks to ward of any unseen snakes in the thick undergrowth:
Those that know me, will also be glad to hear that I wore shoes and not sandals for today’s venture. I’m probably not making this sound particularly inviting to most, but as Kym said we ended my weekend away with a proper south coast experience. Difficult to find access, getting scratched up by the bush, a remote location, brilliant views, bundles of atmosphere, superb rock, and classic climbing. We may not have climbed much on the second day but the whole experience was quality through and through:
Back at the house we had a well-deserved cuppa and it was a final catch-up with Meg, Tessa, Claire, and Beau before I said my thankyous and goodbyes and hit the long road home. Passing kilometres upon kilometres of bush and wondering what I might find if I stopped, which I only did the one time to check out one of the many very obvious patches of Scented Sun Orchids (Thelymitra macrophylla), which seemed to be scattered along the roadside for much of the journey. And while it was great to get away, it was equally lovely to get home:
Several years back I heard of a fabled location called Orchid Valley, a place with a name that simply screamed out to be visited. Several of my work colleagues knew about it, as we have water resource monitoring stations located in the vicinity. They just happen to have been lucky enough to maintain the stations at the right time of the year to spot a few orchids. It is not too far off the approach to take to get down to Albany, and seeing I was going south to catch up with Kym and his family this weekend I tagged on an extra day onto my trip:
After a bit of research I identified a few places I wanted to cram in on the Friday. First and foremost Orchid Valley, aiming for a Mettabinup Nature Reserve that is dissected by Flora and Fauna Road. Then I’d head to Mondurup Reserve on the edge of Mount Barker, which has a Facebook Group that claims it has a very good diversity of flora with some forty plus orchids species having been found there. Finally, ending my road trip at the old faithful of Mount Trio Bush Camp, in the Stirling Ranges:
With some five hours of driving ahead of me, and three stops for orchid hunting I allowed myself a generous eleven hours so I could have a good sticky beak at all three locations. Mettabinup Nature Reserve has no facilities, being simply a block of land that is designated a nature reserve, and importantly for my service provider it has no phone reception. So without any walking tracks I had to be careful that I kept my car in sight, and that I didn’t wander off into the bush and lose my bearings as I have many a time before:
There were certainly lots of flowers in bloom, such as the above Everlasting Daisy (Rhodanthe chlorocephala ssp. Rosea). While there were not too many orchid species in flower, I spied one or two of each of the usual suspects including Purple Enamel Orchids (Elythranthera brunonis), Cowslip Orchids (Caladenia flava), and Blue Lady Orchids (Thelymitra crinita). The Sun Orchids (Thelymitra spp.) were out in the greatest numbers, and despite looking at the finer details I have struggled to work out which species they were:
It took a while to find anything new, which wasn’t wilted. Patience eventually paid off when I came across a few of the above Christine’s Spider Orchids (Caladenia christineae). Looking more dainty than the white spiders I have found in my local area; with narrower, shorter, and more stiffly held petals and sepals that have a light coating of red hairs at the tips. It was a nice area and I whittled the allocated time away keeping a close eye on the ground, finding just one Dragon Orchid (Caladenia barbarossa):
Dragon Orchids, like the various species of Hammer Orchid (Drakaea spp.) uses trickery to ensure pollination occurs. Luring the male thynnid wasps into trying to mate with the labellum by emitting a particular scent. I also found just one Hairy Rufous Greenhood (Pterostylis ciliata), a strange looking species of the greenhood genus. Named due to the fringing hairs of the labellum resembling eyelashes, with the name ciliata coming from the Latin word cilium meaning “eyelash”:
To be fair it wasn’t a bad tally, but I do feel that I had probably come here a bit late in the season. And as I have previously said the 2023 orchid season has been a bit on the lean side. I also fell-foul of this at my second location, Mondurup Reserve. Here there were walking tracks and I wandered a bit further afield from the car. And being just on the edge of Mount Barker I had phone reception, so if I did go off track I could work my way back. However, after an hour of ambling on and off the tracks it was clear that I wasn’t going to see anything new:
The above is likely to be the Slender Sun-Orchid (Thelymitra pauciflora), and it is possible I also came across the Shy Sun Orchid (Thelymitra graminea) and Scented Sun Orchid (Thelymitra macrophylla) at the first two locations. I am simply not proficient enough to distinguish between them and be confident, and equally I won’t attempt to identify the following insect. I did however like the fact that it was busy carrying pollen around to help make sure we would have flowers to look out for next season, whether orchids or not:
Due to the shorter second stop, I arrived at Mount Trio Bush Camp that bit earlier than anticipated. And while the campsite has expanded as a result of becoming very well-known and popular, it was fairly quiet and I had the camp kitchen all to myself as I made a welcome brew and kicked back supping on that. Arriving earlier than intended allowed me to wander round the nature trail, and also the adjacent National Park for ages. Since my last visit here the National Park had recovered from the fires a few years back and the bush was thick:
I must have spent over three hours scouring the area. The most commonly found species being the White Fairy Orchid (Caladenia marginata), it was everywhere and in great numbers. I did come across a few of the ones I have previously listed above, with the Dragon Orchids coming in second in quantity. But I was too late to see any of the local Spider Orchids (Caladenia spp.), other than the White Fairy, Cowslip, and Dragon Orchids that despite their quite different petal and sepal configuration, and shape are in the spider orchid genus:
It was probably the least number of orchids I have found at the bush camp, and not for trying. I went to all the places that are off the beaten track where I have previously had a lot more success. However, it was definitely still spring time with tadpoles lazing about in the small pools that remained in the creek line, and the occasional Western Grey Kangaroo (Macropus fuliginosus) with their joeys. Seemingly becoming used to people milling about in the bush, as they allowed me to walk round where they were grazing without being spooked:
I have to admit that I lied above about the spiders, as I also came across a few Green Spider Orchids (Caladenia falcate). This was previously called the Fringed Mantis Orchid and it does look very similar to a Forest Mantis Orchid (Caladenia attingens subsp. attingens), which we get in my local area. As to why it is no longer called a mantis I don’t know. That was the lot for Friday, and unfortunately I had been so busy looking for orchids in the bush that I missed my chance to catch up with the owner, John, before he headed down to Albany:
It was a quiet night, and there were only a handful of campers about. Providing a very different atmosphere to the usual visit that Lisa and I have had during spring school holidays in years gone by. Without Lisa about I hit the sack early, and was up having a bite to eat before anyone else stirred. Even as I drove out a bit before 6 only one or two people were milling about. The reason for such an early departure being I had organised to meet Kym and Ron at Cheyenne’s Beach Caravan Park at 8:30 and was keen to check out a reserve on the way:
The clouds couldn’t make their minds up, allowing the lofty peaks to poke out and the sun to hit the ground on and off. But as I drove south to South Stirling Nature Reserve all the peaks where hidden from sight by a thick blanket of clouds hanging heavy in the sky. Like Mettabinup Nature Reserve this place didn’t have any facilities. So taking a punt I stopped at one of the lowest points on the long straight road, on the assumption that there may be more moisture about to aid some orchids in lasting that bit longer:
The Sun Orchids were out, as they seemed to be everywhere. But it was the Swamp or Albany Daisy (Actinodium cunninghamii) that stole the show, these intricate and delicate flowers were beautiful. They are called a daisy, but are in fact related to the gum tree family Myrtaceae. Being the only flowering plants in this family that is formerly named. Usually found in winter-wet areas in near-coastal areas in the south-west of Western Australia, with the majority of sightings listed on the Atlas of Living Australia being round the Albany area:
I also spotted the Common Mignonette Orchid (Microtis media), and just one specimen of the Leopard Orchid (Diuris pardina), below. Sadly, as the it was still relatively early and the sun was hidden away the flowers were closed up. The distinctive upwards pointing, green, and fleshy leaf wrapped round the base of the stem, and speckled pattern barely hidden in the bud gave this one away. So all up despite my complaining about not seeing too much I managed to tally up a baker’s dozen of species. However, now had to truck on to get to Cheyenne’s Beach Caravan Park on time:
Rongy is once more heading off travelling, so today we popped down to Wilyabrup for a farewell climb. Sarah is joining him this time, so she too came along for a climb, but was also hoping to get a bit of herping in. “Herpet” is a Greek word that means creeping, and it could be used to describe both the people who are herpetologists as they go about herping, or the creatures they are looking for through the act of herping, being amphibians or reptiles. The first creature we spotted was however of the feathered, as opposed to scaly, variety. Driving in on the final gravel road we stopped to watch what looked to be 1-200 Carnaby’s Black Cockatoos (Zanda latirostris):
I’ve seen these birds here a heap of times before, but never in these numbers and it was good to see as this species has been listed as endangered since 2000. The primary reason is habitat loss due to clearing, which has resulted in their distribution over the past 50 years being observed to have moved considerably more west and south. They are however doing better than there close relative the Baudin’s Black-Cockatoo (Zanda baudinii), which has been listed as critically endangered since 2018. Then as started the walk into the crag the herping began, when I noticing a movement in the leaf litter:
Wisely I had worn my glasses and this helped me to spot the above Quacking Froglet (Crinia georgiana). It wasn’t all that keen in hanging about, so the image was a bit fuzzy. Sarah wasn’t sure of the species so as we walked in I sent the image to Howsie, who provided the identification. This species is also known as the Red-Thighed Froglet for the obvious reason, although Howsie tells me he also identified it based on the distinctive colour of the upper eyelids which I’m still struggling to see. I’ve read that these frogs will talk to humans by quack back if you attempt to quack at it:
Despite being a climbing trip, and yes we did climb, it seemed that nature was intent on being the star of the show. The next spectacle came to sight when we made it to the base of the crag. A pod of whales was frolicking in the ocean. It’s hard to say but maybe a dozen whales were happily playing, putting on a display of tail and pec slaps through to full breaches. Too far to see which whales there were, but close enough to stall us getting on rock. Even when Rongy finally set off on the first lead Sarah and I still stood there watching out to sea. We did however climb, and after knocking off a couple routes Sarah said she was happy to take a break:
Providing an opportunity for Rongy to jump on something a bit more testy. After following him up we were delayed from walking back down when I couldn’t help myself from observing the above ant that was out all by itself. I’m pretty sure it is a Carpenter Ant (Camponotus spp.), of which there are dozens of species native to Western Australia. The name comes from the fact they like to build their nests by boring into damp or decaying timber, and some species found in other countries are considered as problematic as termites. Although the extent of damage to property by species found in Western Australia is limited. They are also known as Sugar Ants, as they feed on and are attracted to sugary liquids such as honeydew:
When we finally got back down Sarah was keen for another climb, and I again handed him the rope to Rongy. He hinted it was my turn to lead, at one point during the morning but it really didn’t take much to convince him to jump onto the sharp end. After all it was his farewell climb. With Sarah happy with three climbs under her belt, I suggested Rongy take one more lead to allow us to climb out with packs. Unfortunately the usual climbs we would pick, which would also offer the chance to see our friendly Carpet Python, were in use by a group. Mind you what with all the people going up them the chance of seeing a python today was probably very slim:
Instead we jumped on one of the longest routes at Wilyabrup. As Rongy sat atop with Sarah who had walked up, they watched the whales that were still playing about. It had certainly been a fun morning on rock, made all the more special by the extra special dose of nature’s wonders. There had also been King’s and Southwestern Crevice Skinks, which would normally have satisfied Sarah’s herping addiction. There was however one more surprise in store, being not one by two Dugites (Pseudonaja affinis) waiting for us on the track. We kept a healthy distance from the first one below. It’ll be hard to see but the eye looks glassy; a sign that it is in the process of shedding its skin:
This is the new skin covering its eye and results in its eyesight not being as good as normal, which can result in the snake coming across as being more aggressive during this period. Hence why Sarah wasn’t tempted to try and handle it, while the second snake was quite simply too alert and got away by slithering into the bush before we got too close. Walking back to the car the huge crackle, and yes that really is the right collective noun, of Carnaby’s Black Cockatoos had moved to the trees. As we walked under them, the air was filled with the whistling sound they make, as if to give Rongy and Sarah a send-off to remember:
Sandbagged 