Having a degree of arachnophobia makes Lisa a little jumpy when she see’s things moving on the wall, and what with poor eyesight anything on the wall can look blobby and could be a spider.  The other day this is what she found on the wall at the foot of the bed.  The House Centipede (Scutigera coleoptrata) definitely looks creepy, but they are harmless to humans, don’t invade food supplies, being nocturnal tend not to be noticed, and are in fact a predator of the less desirable creatures that may inhabit the house such as cockroaches and spiders:

That said once she had seen it I had to take it outdoors, allowing her to have a good bug free night’s sleep.  Speaking of which to get my quota I hit the sack early last night, as Howsie and I were heading outdoors bright and early.  We opened the gate to Spring Grove Farm, just north of Pinjarra as the day woke up.  Unlike the landowner on whose land the nearby Boobyer Boulders sit, which we’ve not been permitted to go to, after a short and polite exchange of text messages with Maurice, who owns this land, we were granted access:

Howsie was on a timeframe, which was in part why we headed out early.  And this place was chosen as you can park quite literally at the base of the crag.  While climbing next to a road may seem unpleasant, as it is a private road it has very little if any traffic.  So the only noises we heard were those we made, as we battled the climbs, and the birds in the trees and sky.  My last trip here was with Mario when we climbed on the more natural granite boulders across the road, while the trip before was with Rongy and Steve when we stuck to this manmade crag:

During that visit I added two new routes that followed the blast holes, which were protected using cams in a very unorthodox way.  And as described by Howsie, not in a way that the manufacturer was likely to want to promote.  Most would find the placements uninspiring and they require a lot of trust.  I took a video of Rongy, who normally climbs confidently and at a fair pace, as he inched his way up one of my new climbs at approx. one metre per minute https://sandbagged.blog/2021/06/19/the-george-michael-effect/.  Since that visit I noticed on The Crag that two more routes had been added to the arsenal of this little crag:

As such there were plenty of lines for the picking.  Although on arrival water was running down the left-hand side of the face.  This put the route that had made Rongy so nervous and the old bolted route next to it, which is the hardest line here, both out of contention.  Before I introduced Howsie to the delights of placing and trusting cams in the blast holes, we warmed up on a few easier lines.  The whole time needing to dodge the many Portuguese millipedes (Ommatoiulus moreletii), which were scattered all over the place:

I climbed one of the new lines and Howsie jumped on the easiest route, which also has double the amount of bolts of any of the other climbs.  These lines drew our attention to the right-hand side of the crag, where we spotted more possible first ascents.  Two blast holes looked like they may yield fun lines.  I tried one but would have had to solo at least a third of the crag, on what felt like sketchy holds, before I could get to where the blast hole was whole enough to get a cam placement:

Needless to say fear took hold sufficiently and I backed off.  The blast hole to the right was more forgiving, and it was on this route that Howsie placed his first, second, third, and then fourth cam.  I couldn’t tell if he was convinced of the way they sat and looked, but he climbed on and bagged a first ascent.  A route he aptly named Comeback Kid, seeing he has just come back from a three month road trip and based on how he climbed today he is also back to climbing with the same cool head he had before he went travelling:

We moved from right to left picking of one line after another, and half way along the sun started to peak over the opposite hillside.  As it rose higher in the sky it seemed to banish the shadows back into the depths of the earth, and we relished the warmth that came with the transition.  The sun also started to dry the left-hand end of the crag, and by the time we got to the routes at that end there was but a mere dribble of water to be found on the face.  Howsie was starting to show signs of tiring, but he had obviously enjoyed the thrill of the cams:

And for his penultimate route be bagged another blast hole route, with his arms only just managing to get him to the top.  I was then left with the option of climbing the hardest bolted route, or my scary blast hole line that had put Rongy on edge and which after a quick look Howsie politely declined to give a go.  I opted for the bolted line and it felt hard, which only enhanced the fear factor of the idea of taking on the scary blast hole.  This resulted in both us being content with climbing an even ten lines and neither of us fancying that final route.  Maybe next time:

Today we almost had a guest appearance by one of the old crew, but sadly their Saturday morning became double booked.  To climb or to help their mum by chopping firewood was an easy choice, and so the axe fell on Glen’s guest appearance.  But he still remains “famous” for being the only one of the South West climbing crew that didn’t provide me with a write up on his thoughts about me.  This was back when COVID was rife and I idled time away writing about people I climbed with, and they could in return say what they wanted about me (https://sandbagged.blog/2020/04/21/south-west-climbers/):

The climbing scene in the South West has changed somewhat since that time, when there were plenty of people keen to get out for a climb and we also had semi-regular social gatherings.  Not that I am ever short of someone to tap on the shoulder for a climb, and today it was Rongy and I that headed out.  And due to Glen was not joining us we changed our plans.  Instead of a relaxed and easy paced climb at the ever friendly Moses Rocks we headed to steeper, more fingery, and somewhat more intimidating terrain.  The Terrace at the Northern End of Wilyabrup is not a place that sees too many visitors:

Not that everyone logs their antics on the online climbing guide, called The Crag, there are only two crew that have reported any action at this crag over the last two years.  It is tucked out of the way and you need to abseil into it, which might put some off.  The routes are also pretty steep and sustained, and Rongy and I were feeling it today despite starting on the “easy” stuff.  Admittedly, the first route or two can feel harder than it should because the body has not yet warmed up and the mind not yet being prepared for the location, conditions, and/or type of climbing:

That said in order of what we hit: Thin Crack felt a tad stiff for grade 14; while Thrice Bitten in the second image felt right at grade 17 it was solid and sustained, which Rongy’s arms were almost not ready for; and then Metamorphic Sausage in the above image definitely didn’t seem to match up with its given grade 13, in fact we both felt it wasn’t a standard breakfast sausage and had metamorphosed into one of those spicy variety.  All three routes are graded such that we should have been able to waltz up them.  It didn’t feel that way today, and now we had to concede to the fact that our options for easier routes was dwindling and we had to bump it up:

Kym will be happy to hear that his creation of Time and Space got another lap, and after that I jumped on Silver.  The latter being shown above, is a climb with more recorded ascents than any other route here.  Both were grade 19, both are amazing, and both made us work hard and to the point that we almost came off on lead.  Rongy dealt with the pain as his forearms burned and his mind suppressed thoughts of falling in his usual silent manner, while I resorted to a power scream to push through.  Success came for both of us on our respective routes, but neither of us had any motivation to raise the bar any further:

Instead we went back down for one last route and Rongy ticked Golden Smiles shown above at grade 14, and it felt like the easiest route of the morning by a long way.  In fact it was such a breeze that we both felt like we could take on a couple more routes, but not at The Terrace.  Instead we wandered to another wall of the Northern End, called Banana Wall.  Aiming to bag a line each, but after we had managed to work our way up the very aptly named Digital Delecti at grade 18 shown below, we felt our fingers, forearms, and minds had been worked well and truly enough and called it a day:

Despite things feeling that bit harder today, we still thoroughly enjoyed being outdoors.  Having avoided the crowds we assumed would be over at the main cliffs of Wilyabrup on such a lovely day, and while every route made us work physically and mentally they were all great fun.  Rongy also spotted a couple of whales playing about, although they were admittedly a long way out so due to my myopia (short-sightedness) I really didn’t see much.  But then on the walk out, I couldn’t blame blurred vision when I walked right past one of the most well-known skinks in Australia, being this Western Bobtail (Tiliqua rugosa):

Of all the birds I see the one that seems to allow me to get the closest on a regular basis is the Grey Fantail (Rhipidura albiscapa preissi).  Whether it was due to the slightly later start this morning or not, a variety of small birds were busily hopping about in the bushes but moved away as I approached.  The Grey Fantail however stuck close to me in an inquisitive manner.  It is a insectivorous bird and likes to catch its meals on the wing, so was taking advantage of the insects I disturbed as I brushed past the vegetation.  :

The Grey Fantail has learnt that where there are people there is likely to be an easily picked  meal.  To the point that when they spot us, they will fly to a handy perch near where we are and if required fly very close to us in order to get a fed.  There are five subpopulations of this bird in southern Australia, and each of these subspecies shows the same characteristics and lack of fear of humans.  On a less joyous note the fantail in Māori mythology, being a different species that is found in New Zealand, is said to indicate the presence of death:

Heading down to the coast away from the scrub that covers the hills, I left the birds behind.  Their chattering replaced by the crashing of the waves, as I took my usual path to get to Lost Buttress.  This takes me rock hopping along the edge of the coast at the same level as the ocean, and being high tide with a four meter swell several sections I normally take were awash.  Sometimes careful timing allowed me to pass, and other times it was just too dodgy to try and scoot across the wet boulders in-between the sets of waves:

Being a little more cautious today because I was going solo, plus having no phone service along this stretch of the coast meant I really didn’t want to risk a fall.  While the waves were impressive to watch, and watch them I did so as not to get caught out, all the signs were about of the recent six meter swells.  And I am sure I wouldn’t have even considered this approach if it was that high today.  In contrast to Friday when it was blowing a hooley, and yesterday when it seemed to drizzle for much of the day, today was bliss:

I’d risked the drizzle yesterday and headed out for a wander, managing to avoid most of the rain.  But like Friday I didn’t spot anything of interest and there seemed to be very little out and about.  Today however the birds were out in force early on, small skinks were bathing themselves in the sun, insects were buzzing and hopping about, and on top of the crag I found heaps of small jumping spiders.  There were so many of them, and as I watched them they seemed to be playing chasee with each other more than hunting for food:

These ones were different to the species I spotted a few weeks back at Bobs Hollow: https://sandbagged.blog/2023/07/08/window-of-opportunity/.  The size, colouration, and patterning, including the pale cross on the top of the head, indicate that the one I photographed is a juvenile Bronze Rockhopper (Euophyrine).  Referenced as being undescribed meaning it has not yet been formally described and named.  After each climb I sat there watching the spiders madly hopping about, and now wish I had checked if there was more than one species:

After two laps of each of my chosen six climbs, and more jumping spiders than I care to count, my body was telling me that I had done enough for today.  But as I move pretty quickly when I’m out by myself, there was time sit back, watch the waves, and have a bite to eat before packing up.  For the return trip I opted for the inland route following the Cape to Cape track, hoping to spot something fun on the way back but it was not to be.  After three days of getting a fix of the great outdoors, I feel refreshed, recharged and ready for the week ahead:

We came across the same hairy caterpillar, which I spotted at Bob Hollow a few weeks back, on the path into Wilyabrup.  Sadly Howsie was not able to assist with identifying it, as I told him of my struggles the last time when I spent well over an hour trying to research it.  That said one thing I am fairly sure of, is that despite the intricate and colourful patterns it does not mean that it will necessarily transform into a beautiful butterfly.  As with many things in life, making assumptions can lead to the wrong conclusions:

Butterflies like their less endeared relatives, moths, belong in the insect order Lepidoptera, which means “scaly winged” in Greek.  Unlike the adult stage of life, when in their larva stage the features of a butterfly and moth caterpillars seem to be interchangeable.  In Australia out of the hundred odd families in this order only about half a dozen are butterflies, and the rest are moths.  And while not relying on these statistics to reach my conclusion, from the species I did find during my research I’d hedge my bets and suggest it is likely to be a moth caterpillar:

Of course once an adult there are a number of easy ways to identify a moth from a butterfly. The most obvious visual cue being the way if holds its wings in the resting position, but also the fact that butterflies are diurnal (active during the day) and moths are generally nocturnal (active at night). On a similar theme, because I climb people often feel I should be able to rattle off a heap of pull-ups without breaking a sweat, and that is another incorrect assumption. This week Lisa managed to convince me to join her for what she calls a shed session:

This incorporates lifting weights and doing body resistance training, working our legs, core and upper body.  Now while I can do a few pull-ups, as I have always called them, I can certainly not do heaps.  And of all the exercises we did, this was the one that hit me the hardest.  I change my grip when I do sets of pull-ups and it was not until I started this post that I found out the different grips provide two different exercises, called of pull-ups and chin-ups.  For the first your palms face away from you and for the second they face towards you:

While I didn’t know the name changed, I was certainly aware of the different muscles groups each works.  Something I believe is important to be conscious of as you do weights or resistance training, allowing you to focus on the right muscles and sense how they feel to avoid going too far.  But you may be asking why, with all the climbing I do, am I not able to do more.  Quite simple really.  I don’t do much really steep climbing, such as the overhanging limestone cliffs of Bobs Hollow, and I use a lot of core and footwork allowing me to transfer the weight to my legs:

Something Craig is illustrating quite well in the above video, however as I started to form this post in my mind that wasn’t going to the reason for including the video.  My original intention was to give you an idea of just how noisy the wind was.  We took a punt today and it paid off, while the wind was up we watched the bands of rain hitting the coast to the north and south of us as we enjoyed dry rock, and the sun when it did pop out.  Below Craig is huddling not because he is cold but due to his forearms being in pain after following up the line I led:

Both Craig and Howsie don’t get out as much as I do, so it was to be expected that their arms would tire before mine.  As such I let them tell me which lines to climb, allowing them to enjoy routes they wanted to do with the safety of a rope above them.  My first climb was a ripper with great exposure, being the video, that they both thoroughly enjoyed.  My second was a more sustained and harder route.  And it was that one that resulted in Craig cradling his arms, and Howsie cursing himself as his arms gave way part way up the route:

I suggested Howsie find a comfortable armchair and kick back, and once Craig’s arms had recovered enough I belayed him on the last line of the day.  And as we have so often before we finished up Hope with packs on.  It was lucky three of us were out.  The wind made it impossible to use audible cues to advise key safety messages.  And on some climbs when you reached the top the belayer was not visible.  Today the third person helped in that regard by being able to move away from the base of the cliff and use visual cues to communicate.  And when it comes to safety in climbing, that is something you really should not make assumptions about:

I’m sure everyone has at some point been told putting yourself out of your comfort zone brings benefits, and trying new things helps us grow as individuals.  We can choose to do this, but at times it is thrust upon us.  This past week could have been an “interesting” one in that regard, but fortune was on my side and just in the nick of time things took an unexpected turn in my favour.  Twenty one years back, almost to the day, the official running the ceremony when along with a bunch of strangers I took the final vows in order to become a citizen, told us that we now had three great advantages in life:

The passport was the first, and the second was the chance to be called for jury duty.  I had managed to avoid this second wonderful advantage in life until two weeks back when I got the letter calling me in.  On Monday last week I turned up and waited in a small stuffy room with some fifty other people.  Over an hour later we marched into the court room and the accused stood and pleaded not guilty.  This meant twelve of us would be “lucky” to get picked, and the lotto was drawn.  They quite literally pulled pieces of paper out of a box with our respective allocated numbers on them.  My number was drawn, and it was due to be a four day trail:

All I will say is that it was not going to be a pleasant experience.  The formal court proceedings were broken up with various adjournments, and soon it was late on the first day.  We walked back into the jury box for the fifth time bracing ourselves again for the uncomfortable experience of hearing from witnesses and seeing confronting and graphic evidence.  Instead, the accused unexpectedly changed their plea and the jury was discharged.  It is fair to say all twelve jurors breathed a huge sigh of relief, and of all the people who knew I had been called up only a small handful said they would enjoy the experience:

You may be wondering what the final “great advantages in life” was that I earned twenty one year back.  And this one I really hope we, and I mean we, never have to encounter as it was being able to be enlisted to serve and fight for the country.  While this may seem a rather miserable topic for my musings today, the topic of trying new things is relevant.  After taking Sarah to Moses Rocks last week, Rongy and I today introduced her to its big brother.  We had another wet and wild week, but the Friday and weekend were forecast to have a minimal chance of precipitation:

Howsie popped up to Welly Dam on Friday and told me every route was running with water, which is unusual.  Due to the steep walls there, normally one or two lines are dry enough to be climbable.  The conditions steered our thinking towards Smiths Beach, which like Moses Rocks has amazing friction so it didn’t matter if the rock was wet.  Of course it was wet, although it was more because of the rough swell that was crashing at our feet.  As we drove in the bay of Smiths Beach was full of people surfing, but many of them would feel confronted by standing were we were now:

Despite being the very same ocean that they were fully immersed in, I guess standing on the edge of where the waves hit land is probably the worst spot to be.  As all the momentum is abruptly halted the direction the water takes somewhat unpredictable.  Understandably, for many it would be a strange place to be able to operate in an anxiety-neutral state of mind.  But it is well within my comfort zone, and to be honest I feel there isn’t much that nature can throw at me that would really worry me.  Although that may be a statement that I have to retract in approx. five months:

We of course applied good safety practises being in such a location, although at the very start before we had even started climbing I was caught out and got drenched from head to toe.  As I stood looking out across the bay I noticed the water dropping at the end of the zawn, as a clean wall of water came in.  A sure sign that when the wave smashed into the rocks water would be sent high into the air and sure enough all over me.  At times like this it is best to brace for what is coming rather than trying to run away from it, which due to the terrain would likely result in a fall and probably a more serious injury:

We notched up four of the great routes on Harbour Wall, which always avoids being directly hit by the waves due to the direction the swell takes as it enters the bay.  Sarah got up the first two, but whether due to being physically or mentally exhausted she sat and watched the waves as we climbed.  Then to allow her to get another climb in we left the zawn and headed to a small buttress on the headland high up above the water.  It felt strangely quiet and calm here.  Despite the easier angled rock and less intimidating situation, while having a go at the start of the first route here she had nothing left to give:

Rongy and I ran up the two short lines and called it a day.  Normally it would be back to the car and time to head home, but today Sarah was keen to try a café in Busselton.  And seeing that she was brave enough to give Smiths Beach a go, I agreed.  Although in terms of comfort level I really don’t think the two compare.  It was however an opportunity to see if Lisa wanted to pop out and join us for a bite to eat, which she was more than happy to do.  It did feel strange when I finally got home not to feel like I did needed to grab a feed.  Something I really should do after being out, but as Lisa will remind me it is something I don’t do often enough:

It is a rare thing to have to scrape the ice of the windscreen where we live, but today it happened.  First light was trickling in from the horizon but not enough to be able to clearly see the amazing patterns nature creates using ice, and the waning crescent moon didn’t help the cause.  Not only was it a tad dark but it was also a mere one degree just before seven, as Lisa walked down to the beach for her weekend cold water dip and I got into the comfort of my car.  Needless to say the heater went on, something Lisa didn’t have the luxury of being able to do:

I’m impressed that she still goes for her cold water dip.  The Peppy Plungers, as they are known, would by now have ceased the ritual a while back in previous years.  Lisa has however managed to keep a few of them going for longer than they normally would.  This morning was a bit more of a struggle for her, as she could hear the waves suggesting that getting in would be that bit more of a struggle.  The height of the tide is of course related to the position of the moon and because it is waning, or getting smaller, we are very close to a new moon and spring tide:

The term spring tide has nothing to do with the seasons, and is instead related to the concept of the tide “springing forth”.  This happens twice a month when the moon lines up with the earth and sun, and when it finds itself sandwiched between the earth and sun the gravitational pull of the sun and moon join forces resulting in a stronger spring tide.  This lined up with Lisa’s observation, based on the audible cue, that the tide was up and indeed it was.  They struggled to make it past the waves this morning but still plunged into the balmy 18 degree water:

The waves at our destination were also up.  Clean, crisp, and almost orderly looking waves that crested beautifully with a trailing white mane, as they rolled into the bay.  The wave washed beach was covered with smooth sand, devoid of tracks for us to identify unlike my visit here with Josh just a few weeks back.  And after the main beach, the small bay before we got to the rocks proper, where Josh and I had found a second set of Bandicoot tracks, there was no sand left.  The strong spring tide no doubt having played a part in taking it all out to sea or moving it a bit further along the coast:

Despite the lack of sand in the small bay, and high spring tide, we managed to avoid testing the water temperature by skirting the rock between the sets of waves.  After which we stood atop the outcrop looking back at the waves marching into the main bay.  We were not in a rush but when we arrived at the main face it was finally down to business.  Howsie is back in town after a three month road trip so he set off up the cold to touch and wet rock.  It was not cold enough to turn his fingers blue, his nails had rather been painted by his kids, and the rock here can never be too wet to counter the great friction on offer:

While Lisa was no doubt trying to warm up her core temperature back home, we didn’t have that problem.  After the walk in and then our first climb the blood was circulating heat round our bodies nicely.  Howsie’s family road trip had not included any climbing, so he had picked Moses to ease himself back into things.  The place also suited Sarah and Rob, who had both joined us today for a bit of mid to low grade fun.  But they were, like us, also just coming out to enjoy the stunning location and allow it to clear the head:

After a couple of routes on the main wall we wandered over to a small buttress that would offer some good lines for Rob to lead.  This happened to be above an elevated rock pool, which has a reasonable vertical drop into the sink.  On days like this, the good sized waves hit this wall and tower into the sky, adding to the dampness on the rock but staying just far enough away to make it a safe location.  As Rob and Howsie were on lead, one wave did however surprise Sarah and myself getting that bit closer than any of the others we witnessed:

Oblivious of the action behind us, they climbed on enjoying the friendly feel of the rock.  I’ve often have, and will continue to refer to Moses as a friendly place.  It is not only the rounded, smooth, and high friction rock, but also the general feel the place gives me, and others.  Simply put it feels welcoming, and today I picked up on something else that I have either not noticed or paid any attention to before.  The occasional pocket of garnet, blood red crystals contrasted against the brighter quartz veins that cut across the grey speckled gneiss, which is the predominant rock of these formations:

The appearance and size of garnet crystals can vary massively, as can its value from practical nothing to $130,000 per gram.  I’m pretty sure that the ones here at Moses Rocks are very much at the lower end of the spectrum.  They are however still very pretty to see and due to the deep red colour people, since the old days, connected this crystal to the heart.  Believing, amongst other things, that it could counter deep or serious thoughts of sadness.  It has also been known as the gem of faith, with some believing that those wearing it and doing good would have more good befall them:

Certainly today, being at Moses Rocks, all of us could feel nothing but happiness to be here.  We also had to have faith in the holds, which while not sharp or painfully did need you put complete trust in friction.  Also Rob went that bit further than expected and led three climbs, while Sarah while doubting at times managed to follow us up every line.  Not that I am claiming that it is down to crystal healing, but the presence of garnet here does tie in nicely to how I have felt about and described this particular crag since I first visited it nearly twenty three years back:

Not put off by the forecast, Rongy and I headed out hoping to catch a weather window.  Reckoning the better chance would be on the coast of our little corner of the South West of Western Australia, as opposed to our other consideration of heading to an inland crag towards Perth.  Based on this we decided on Bobs Hollow, which may seem strange as during winter the build-up of moisture behind the cliffs eventually results in a slimy substance oozing out of, and coating the surface of the rock making climbing pretty horrendous.  However, I felt it was too early for this to happen and we stuck to our guns:

It felt like an age since we had been here, so much so that we even forgot the directions and ended up heading to Cosy Corner.  Driving some twenty kilometres too far to the south before realising the error of our ways.  It didn’t worry us too much, as the windscreen wipers were being worked and that fortunately eased up as we got closer to our destination.  Checking my images, the last time I came here was March 2021, with Tomski, Dan, Mikie and Howsie.  I recall it got fairly busy down at Bob’s on that day and that is a key reason I have not been back for so long:

During COVID times Bob’s became very popular and it was not uncommon to find up to fifty people here, which based on the number of climbs is very busy.  Today, walking in, we were pretty sure we would have the place to ourselves.   Not only because it is winter, but as per the forecast early belts of rain floated above the ocean, threatening land fall.  Walking on regardless of the view out to sea, there was a distinct difference with the scenery.  My Walking in Circles book describes the landscape vegetation in this general area as being a mix of Holly-leaved Banksia (Banksia ilicifolia), Western Sheoak (Allocasuarina fraseriana) and dense coastal heath:

Normally on the walk in the vegetation would be head height or higher.  This prevents you seeing where you are going, and certainly stops you enjoying the vistas from the elevated position.  Today, however, we had a clear view in all directions for the entire walk.  In December 2021 a bushfire ripped through this country and burned 5,200 hectares.  A similar occurrence happened in 2006, which my trusty Walking in Circles book references stating that it would take several years for the vegetation to recover.  Well it has been over two years since the 2021 fires and the vegetation was knee height at best:

We also noticed the vegetation coming back included a lot of Yellow Tailflower (Anthocercis littorea), easily identified by the yellow flower a few images up.  This is one of the coastal heath shrubs, being native to Western Australia and known to grow on coastal limestone and dunes.  The plant can reach a height of three meters, but has a very long way to go to reach that size.  Indeed we found very few remnants of the taller pre-fire vegetation, a sign that this place really was ravaged.  That said, as always, it was a lovely walk and even better on arrival the rock was not looking to shabby:

Another rain belt made land fall before we managed to get on a climb, but which such a steep overhung cliff it was easy to find shelter.  Using this time to warm up the upper body muscles by having a boulder, which drilled home what we were in store for.  It has been awhile since either of us have climbed routes of such a physical nature and we wondered how long we may last.  What was on our side, however, was that we had not set our sights too high.  Being out for the scenery, experience, and enjoyment.  All of which was boosted as we scored that weather window we had been hoping for:

Relishing having the place to ourselves, mostly dry rock, and the right attitude to what we could achieve today I also kept an eye out.  Spotting Welcome Swallows (Hirundo neoxena) flying in and out of their nests made of mud that were safely tucked away in the many holes in the rooves of the caves, and occasional Nankeen Kestrel (Falco cenchroides).  The former darted about catching insects on the wing, while the later skilfully used quick shallow wingbeats to allow it to stay horizontal in one position as it searched for prey.  There were also a few spiders out, and the above tiny specimen caught my eye despite only being approx. half a centimetre long:

With some 5,000 species of jumping spiders I didn’t fancy my chances, but am fairly confident that this is a female White Garland House Hopper (Maratus scutulatus).  This species is common in coastal locations, including in the South West of Western Australia.  Despite their miniature size jumping spiders are known to be efficient and stealthy hunters, just like a cat they pounce on their quarry holding nothing back.  For such a small creature I was also surprised to read that if they bite you it can result in local pain/inflammation, and at times mild illness.  My next find can also cause us humans pain, if we are foolish enough to get too close and allow the stiff barbed hairs penetrate our skin:

This one was always going to be a hard ask to identify.  There are some 20,000 species of moths and butterflies found in Australia, and of these less than 5% of their respective caterpillars are known.  I’ve attempted to work it out, but haven’t found anything despite taking note of quite a few very distinctive markings on my hairy find.  We unfortunately also came across an even less savoury creature.  A human who felt it was OK to go walking in a national park with his two dogs, which he even allowed to roam off the leash.  Who when challenged on this point turned aggressive, but it fortunately did not come to blows:

Rather than expend energy on such an individual we continued to climb, and the rock was more than willing to sap our strength in a far more enjoyable way.  Maybe even quicker than we would like to admit, but we had a great time and thoroughly enjoyed the six lines we picked off.  After which we felt very content, and no other climbs were calling out to us.  Therefore, despite the great conditions continuing to provide the ideal opportunity to stick about, we opted to finish up and enjoy the hike back out.  Passing quite a few responsible people, out for a walk without any dogs, and who were also enjoying for the weather window:

Josh foolishly said he was up for an early start when we made plans to head out to Moses Rocks.  He was however in luck, and being a Saturday morning I already had in mind to offer Lisa a lift to the beach, for her first light ocean dip, before heading out.  I left her on the beach with the self-named Peppy Plungers, whose numbers were slowly dropping just like the water temperature.  Driving to Capel for the agreed rendezvous with Josh, light had already crept into the sky.  And it was another cold, crisp, can clear sky start to the day:

It has only been six weeks since I was last here, but the beach access had taken a noticeable change for the better.  From the carpark it was previously possible, if you were that way inclined, to drive onto the beach.  It is however a year round soft beach and I have seen a few people really struggle to negotiate the exit up the steep dune.  Carving the place up and generally making a mess.  So while those people may be upset with the work undertaken, I personally like the dune restoration that has limited the beach access to foot traffic:

A lone fisherman was packing up and walking off the beach as we walked onto it.  Claiming that he was giving up because all he was doing was feeding the fish.  This reminded me of when Lisa and Elseya used to fish of our local beach many year back.  They used to refer to their trips as feeding the fish, and they never caught anything.  The fisherman did however advise there was a big one out there, and sure enough as he pointed in the general direction the familiar top of a whale briefly rose above the water as it was migrating northwards:

Being the first of July, whale watching season has officially started.  I was hoping to see one and the wind and swell conditions indicated that if they were out today we had a chance of seeing them.  We watched this one make its slow paced journey in the opposite direction to where we were going for a while.  Then a bit further along the beach stumbled across some unusual tracks.  They had us a bit stumped as to what animal had made them, and I made a note to check them out when I got home.  But for now our tracks took us to the rocks:

I asked Josh if he had any preference of routes, and he didn’t really mind but did say he had never climbed in the zawn.  To make sure it would be safe today we sat at the top looking down, watching the waves come and go for a while.  It certainly was not ideal conditions.  The boulders at the base were all wet and green, and the base of most of the walls also looked slimy.  However, the waves did not seem to be reaching the far corner, and as the tide was receding this could only improve.  Josh was keen, and I didn’t need any extra encouragement:

Due to the circumstances our attention was drawn to the slab on the back wall.  Offering generally lower grade routes and being accessible from the small corner that we huddled in, as we attempted to avoid getting wet.  This we managed mostly, although Josh was severely sprayed just before he followed me up the first climb.  Only the first three or so meters of the first and second climbs were wet, after which the wall dried up providing delightful climbing.  The third line to the far left, was however slimy and sketchy for more than half the route:

As I fiddled the gear in at the start a couple of reasonable waves hit, and I spent the rest of the morning in wet shoes.  But that is all part of sea cliff climbing and added to the experience we were both after, and had willingly had put ourselves in.  After that slimy ascent we went down for one more, a steeper route up the side wall.  Again accessible from our little nook, but certainly more challenging.  As I sat atop that climb I hoped to see another whale, but the winds had picked up and the white tips of the waves made whale spotting near impossible:

As I struggled to spot any gentle giants, below me Josh’s arms were struggling with the steeper terrain.  Digging deep and taking a slightly more meandering path, to allow a rest or two, he made his way up.  It was however now time to leave the soggy zawn, and head to the main wall to get a couple more routes in.  Here we stayed dry being high above the ocean, and for the last line the sun had swung round to the north.  Just enough to bathe us in warmth and while lovely, despite the chilly start to the day neither of us had at any time felt cold:

Nearly every move of the last climb was accompanied with a grunt, and Josh was ready to accept that his arms were toast.  While we never saw another whale, we were however more than happy with the fun routes we had played on.  Plus, to our surprise we came across another set of tracks like the ones we had seen in the morning.  Not completely convinced, but based on the paired larger rear prints being just ahead of smaller staggered front prints I reckon it was a Southern Brown Bandicoot (Isoodon obesulus):