Cramping my style

Unlike progress on the bridge at the base of the dam at Wellington National Park, I’ve been overdoing it a bit and have clocked up way too many hours at work.  So much so I had a choice today, work and forfeit the hours or take the day off as a flexi.  The choice was easy and I decided to head to Welly Dam, not for a climb but a hike.  Driving into the National Park  the paddocks were white and crunchy in the near zero degree temperatures, with a thin coating of ice.  I really should have stopped to take a photo, but was too keen to get walking:

Not unexpected, as started to descend into the bowl where the dam is located fog hung heavy and thick.  A great sight, but the blanket of moisture in the air meant the temperatures were not quite as cold and there were no icy images to be taken.  No matter I sorted myself out and set off, leaving the empty carpark behind me as I headed into the soupy conditions.  I was a little surprised to see that there had been no progress on the removal and replacement of the bridge at the base of the dam.  I know the reason is because the approvals take forever:

It was still a little annoying to see nothing had start though.  The bridge has been closed for maybe a year now, and I do enjoy the journey to this place coming for the south.  Far more than needing to trudge all the way into Bunbury, up the scarp, and entering from the north.  What with all the roadworks going on it takes almost double the time, and is nowhere near as pretty a drive.  The sights as I walked were however very lovely, watching the sun slowly burn the through the fog leaving only drops of water hanging off the leaves and spider webs:

The first section of the walk today was along the river.  The sound of water cascading over the rocks filled the air, and almost masked the faint thumping sound.  I was lucky as I wasn’t ready for the first Western Brush Wallaby (Notamacropus irma) I came across, being too shy and bounded off.  The above one however was quite happy to pose for me.  Macropodidae is a family of marsupials, and most species in this family are somewhat nocturnal.  The Western Brush Wallaby, also known as the Black-Gloved Wallaby, does not however follow the trend and feeds during daylight:

As I continued along the river I left the rapids behind and the river took a more gentle path, with wide open pools.  Perfect for water birds to feed, and I spotted a Little Pied Cormorant (Microcarbo melanoleucos) pop back to the surface after a dive with a fish securely held in its hooked beak.  Unfortunately it was too far for the images I took to be worthy of inclusion, and the above image is of another one a bit further along.  These birds are often solitary when found on smaller inland waters, but hang about in big numbers on larger water bodies or the coast:

Eventually I had to leave the tranquil river, but I stood there for a while watching the water before I started up the hill.  The track I wanted to take had a closed sign across it, the same one that was in place when I came here in July last year.  So it seems that work on maintaining the walking tracks is happening at about the same pace as the works on the bridge.  It didn’t stop me and like last time I went round the flimsy barrier, and began the incline.  I seemed to recall from last time that it felt like the hill never ended, and it was the same this time:

I consider myself to be reasonably fit, but when I got to the top I was puffing away.  Time to stop for a snack, but not for too long and I was soon back on the track.  Walking through the tall tress the silence was deafening.  Due to stuff I’ve got on at work and not having Lisa to chat with, it was all too easy for my thoughts to drift towards work.  To refocus my thinking on where I was, I kept a sharp eye out for anything interesting.  Unlike my visit here last July there was nowhere near as many flowers or fungi about, so the finds were few and far between:

I was very interested in the insect three images up.  I am not going to try and identify it, but it looked to me that the insect was being attacked by a fungus.  Reading up on this gruesome subject, the poor creature was probably infected with the aptly named Zombie-Ant Fungus also known as Cordyceps (Ophiocordyceps unilateralis).  If this fungus manages to get into an insects cavity, the host is doomed.  It sucks all the nutrients out of its living host, before filling the body with spores to allow the fungus to reproduce:

Back to more pleasant subjects, and every so often the undergrowth would spring into gentle sounds and frenzied activity with lots of small birds looking to be playing chasey.  They were too fast but the Grey Currawong (Strepera versicolor sp plumbea), several images up, was happy to pose.  These birds are found across the southern portion of Australia, comprising six sub-species.  The Western Australian subspecies is also referred to as the Leaden Cuckoo-Shrike.  I assume because of similar features it has with the Black-Faced Cuckoo-Shrike (Coracina novaehollandiae), which in my opinion is one of the most sleek and majestic birds:

You may have noticed a couple of orchids images pop up.  Two more first time finds for this season being a Jug Orchid (Pterostylis recurve) three image up, and the above Midge Orchid (Cyrtostylis huegelii).  The latter can be found in large colonies but only a few may flower, like a some other species I have recently mentioned.  It was this orchid I was hoping to find in flower on the uphill slog, which was not the case and the above image is from later in the walk.  Neither species I spotted were in flower, and feel this season is starting slightly later than last year:

There were a few fungi out, nothing particularly specky but I did like the above image.  I believe the one centimetre high fungus is from the Psathyrella genus, but with some 400 species to wade through I’m not going down that rabbit hole.  For the last few of the sixteen kilometre circuit my legs were getting pretty achy, and I was quite pleased to finally get back.  With very few cars or people about I soon became surrounded by Splendid Fairy Wrens (Malurus splendens).  These ones being way less shy than their cousins in the forest:

Being at the dam I had come prepared to finish the trip off with a top rope solo.  Wondering how I would go with my stiff legs there really was only one way to find out.  Right of the bat it was my turn to make a Storm in a Teacup of it, as I felt my calves seizing and arms lacking in the required gumption.  Not put off I then threw the rope down Building Bridges.  It was slow work, not quite as slow as the bridge building not too far away, but after one lap my legs were cramping my style and I packed up:

Setting the pace

While I was having fun on rock yesterday Lisa had managed to polish off the last of the school reports.  So waking up to a crisp blue sky, we decided to head out for a walk.  Having a sneaky feeling the weather would break at some point during the day, we plumped for a quick trip to Manea Park.  Things it had going for it being it was less than half an hour away, it is dog friendly place so the poodles could join us, and it is kinda just round the corner from subway, which Lisa had been yearning for since yesterday:

It is widely accepted that dogs, even when on the lead, result in the physical and temporal displacement of wildlife from their habitat.  Furthermore, the scent they leave behind as they mark their territory can continuing to repel wildlife so has lingering impacts.  For these reasons we never take our dogs to national parks or areas where dogs are not permitted, but if a place is recognised as dog friendly such as this we do make use of them.  The good thing about taking the poodles was that we took a slow pace, as there were so many smells for them to check: 

The pace allowed me to keep an eye out.  I was expecting to see a myriad of fungi but not too much else, but that was flipped today.  For the second time this year I’ve spotted Banded Greenhoods (Pterostylis vittata), this time in huge numbers.  However, in the background of the above image there was something different.  A solitary Scented Leek Orchid (Prasophyllum sp. ‘early’), yet to fully come into flower but the spikey petal configuration was unmistakeable.  Unlike the abundance of Greenhoods I only found this one Scented Leek Orchid:

Soon afterwards I stumbled across a couple of Hare Orchid (Leporella fimbriata), one of the orchids I was hoping to find a month or so back and a species that until today I had not seen.  I’ve read these can form colonies of thousands of plants with, like some other orchids such as Red Beaks, relatively few flowering in any one year.  However, after fertilization they can continue to flower as late as August or September, so I am a little surprised it has taken me this long to find one.  Maybe the relatively drab colours and small flower help to camouflage them:

Once the poodles had worn themselves down a tad from all the sniffing about, they got into a more relaxed and consistent pace and my opportunity to keep an eye out was more limited.  You may laugh at that, but checking out all the scents activates their brain and this can use as much energy as a fast paced walk.  With noses that can have up to 50 times more scent receptors than ours their sense of smell can be 10 to 100,000 times more sensitive than ours, resulting in a lot of sniffing:

I did however happen to spot the above very pretty Scarlet Waxy Cap (Hygrocybe coccinea).  After which I stopped looking, as a sudden chill in the wind signalled it was time to get to the car.  Looking up reinforced that thinking, and we made tracks but before heading home we had to stop in at subway, to satisfy Lisa’s hankering.  With one week of school remaining, and next term not being a reporting term, we might get out for a walk a bit more often again.  And are already considering which dog friendly places to visit, where they can set the pace:

Seeing the wood, not the trees

There was a fair bit of procrastinating this week.  The total rainfall for June was inching its way upwards in the statistics table, as I had predicted in my last post.  Due to the uncertain conditions, I lost count of how many times I checked the regular weather app alongside the BoM isobar maps.  Looking, or was it willing, for even a glimpse of a weather window to appear.  Even then it was a last minute decision to head out on Saturday morning.  Driving down clear patches lingered to the east, in the opposite direction to where I was heading:

Ahead of me, to the west, dark clouds loomed fronted by stunning displays of rainbows.  Then, as I drove into the belting rain the rainbows disappeared from sight and I pondered my decision.  I admit that at times I can be a little stubborn.  If I have an idea or plan, even when things suggest it may not be the wisest, I can at times forge on regardless.  Today was one of the those times, and not surprisingly I was heading out alone.  Less surprisingly and despite not getting to the carpark until just past nine it was empty, as was the crag for my entire visit:

It was already a bit nippy, and made all the more chilly by a stiff north westerly wind that was whipping across the face of the crag.  Quick to take the rope on a sideways adventure as soon as I let go of it, and at times making me hold on that bit tighter for the more delicate moves of my chosen climbs.  On the plus side, I had ventured past the rain and while dark clouds were out to sea it looked like things might improve.  My destination was primarily based on the ease of setting up, and the first anchors gave me access to seven routes:

Being appropriately dressed for the conditions, and being able to keep moving due to not needing to faff with the ropes between routes, I soon warmed up and acclimatised to the conditions.  While not everyone’s cup of tea, being on a coastal crag in such blustery conditions provides a very exhilarating experience.  One I was thoroughly enjoying and not wanting to end too quickly, so I kept knocking off climb after climb.  One went up a huge partially detached flake, which is being monitored for movement using these two steel pins:

On a much bigger scale, there are seven major and eight minor lithospheric plates that make up the earth’s crust.  Australia has its own plate, not unlike a few others continents but what makes it different is the rate at which it is moving.  Shifting by approx. seven centimetres per year.  When I first started surveying some thirty years back it probably didn’t matter too much, as positioning systems generally provided an accuracy of five to ten meters.  However, with technology advancements and dare I say our obsession with detail and accuracy, it matters heaps:

Today I was definitely observing the woods and not the trees, taking in the whole experience and situation rather than focusing on each of the individual components that made it so wonderful to be out.   That may be why I didn’t stick to my predictable formula for top rope soloing of two laps on six lines.  Instead bagging two laps on nine lines and a single lap on both Glory and Hope to finish.  The last two being very purposeful, and even though my quick inspection as I rapped down the lines indicated I would be unlucky, I wasn’t:

My spirits weren’t even damped when the rope became stuck, as I tried to pull it up after my last climb.  Instead rapping back down to free it, before scrambling up an easy slab to make it 21 instead of the usual 12 ascents.  It was now time to wrap up the climbing, although I had one more stop in mind.  A quick check in the bush before I hit the sealed road that would take me home.  Wanting to see if the orchid leaves, which look so much like helmet orchids leaves, had transformed into a more substantial plant:

They hadn’t, but I was rewarded with some great fungi, including a very fine specimen of Rhubarb Bolete (oletellus obscurecoccineus).  The above fungus was first found and named in South Australia as recently as 1997, and observation recorded on the Atlas of Living Australia have only included one sighting in Western Australia, in the metro area.  That said I have read Russula lenkunya, which has not been attributed a common name, is considered a native fungus to Western Australia.  As for the fungus in my last image I have no idea:

Good karma

Winter seems to have set in and along with the increasing rain and decreasing temperatures comes the season of illnesses.  There is currently talk of the big three hitting Western Australia being COVID, respiratory syncytial virus, and influenza A; and it seems that possibly during my trip to Perth I caught the latter.  Starting to feel a tad ropey on the following Wednesday and not really coming good until Friday last week.  This put paid to any hopes of a trip out last weekend, despite having had plans for a session in-between the showers.  Instead I spent the weekend laid up, allowing the body to fight whatever I had:

It is pretty rare for me to get proper sick, so even while I had the bug I was working from home.  Despite being low on energy my brain doesn’t slow down quite so willingly, resulting in getting bored senseless if I don’t have something to focus on over such a long period.  Gotta to love the flexible working opportunities, which in my mind is one of the good things to come out of COVID.  But after nine days of not leaving the house I was keen to get out to blow the cobwebs away, as was  Rongy.  So we endeavoured to re-enact the plans from last weekend, and head out for an afternoon climb:

Thoughts had crossed our mind of a longer trip to a Perth crag, but for various reasons such as not knowing the area and also whether I was recovered enough for such a big day we decided to play a safer option.  It was a good decision, as Mario advised the place we had considered visiting in Perth usually seeps heavily in winter.  Earlier I mentioned how the season was well and truly upon us, a statement that is based on how many fronts and belts of rain have been hitting us.  It does seem much earlier in the year than what we have previously experienced so I did a quick check:

So it seems that April was a very wet month with the total rainfall hitting the 95%ile based on near a hundred years of records, and eclipsing anything we have had in the last ten years.  In contrast, May was below the 5%ile from all records and only just sneaking in as the second driest in recent years.  If June carries on like it has started, it’ll be above average across the hundred years and the second wettest in the last ten years.  Temperatures show a similar inverse story with April and June looking pretty cold and May relatively warm.  Regardless of what the records and statistics may tell us, it certainly feels like we have had a lot of wet days:

It was therefore entirely possible when we got to Wilyabrup that we were going to find a crag with water seeping down the cracklines and runnels.  On arrival our first surprise was a full carpark and my usual spot for parking being taken, which may be a first.  Fortunately, most of the cars belonged to walkers.  Other than us there was only small school group who were squeezing in a couple of abseils, in-between two legs of hiking the 14km’ish from Gracetown to Moses Rock on the Cape to Cape track.  It was this group that had stored all their rucksacks near the toilet, as shown in the first image:

This was the second surprise, as the rucksacks where the same style as Rongy’s.  I did wonder if he may have been scoping them to see if there was one in better condition than his, but as it is pretty rare to see someone with the same brand, let alone a whole row of them, he was just soaking in the sight of them.  I can liken it to when I owned a Triumph Dolomite (car) in England and whenever I passed another one on the road we always waved and flashed our lights at each other, despite having no idea of who the person was.  They say familiarity breeds contempt, although it can also lead to comfort:

Our third surprise was the crag being in mint condition.  The group was very quiet and unobtrusive compared to other school groups we have encountered, making it feel like we had the place to ourselves.  With no set plans let the mood take us.  While not spoken, it had previously sort of been in the back our minds to take it easy.  That all changed as I was drawn to a couple of gnarly traditional lines that rarely get any attention, and Rongy was attracted to some of the steeper well featured face climbs.  It all feel into place nicely, and we also thoroughly enjoying the sun on our backs when was able to sneak through the clouds:

For our final route we went searching, with packs on, for the local Carpet Python.  Not being overly hopeful due to the darkening clouds and lowering temperatures, we were not disappointed when we found no trace of it.  For the observant, two images up you may notice the gear that I had found here in mid-May, when I offered to be a taxi service for Lisa and Elseya who were enjoying a local wine and food experience.  I finally tracked down the owner, being a local tour company, and later in the day a couple from that company turned up to retrieve their gear.  I had been offered a bottle of wine as a thank you, but declined the offer instead banking the good karma:

Back to basics

It has been a long time coming but I finally took up Mario’s offer to crash at Jena and his place for a night in Perth.  Why has it taken this long, well there is no particular reason.  Maybe in part because it is only two and half hours each way to most of the spots, so while making a longish day it is entirely doable as a day trip.  And indeed I have had multiple skirmishes this way over the years.  Therefore, I have sampled a good variety of the places, although there are still a few on my wish list, one of them being the first cab off the rank for this trip:

For most Chruchmans Brook’s main draw card is a water supply dam built in the 1920s and associated recreational facilities, which includes peaceful hikes not too far from the hustle and bustle of the city.  Located in the Darlington Scrap, otherwise known as the Perth Hills, this is not a place to visit in summer when it is stifling hot, but on a wonderful autumn day like today it was bliss.  I have actually been here once before, in 2009, when I had a spare hour or two while waiting to pick someone up from the airport.  Taking the opportunity to duck down for a quick top rope solo:

That was in the hotter months and I recall the one and only route I did being slick and smooth, which was not ideal in the sweaty conditions.  The tops were also a little loose and earthy, as can be seen above.  Nowhere near as bad as the big cliffs of Swanage but still a little disconcerting when you are by yourself.  I have however heard good things about this place, and since it’s discovery in the mid 1970s the early guidebooks claim this as being the most popular place for Perth climbers.  It is also suggested this crag was a milestone in Perth’s sport climbing history:

It’s discovery and development initiated what would become a greater desire to explore and bolt new crags outside of the main staple until that time, which where the Perth quarries.  That is not to say this place still holds such revere, and I don’t feel it draws the crowds those old guidebooks claim.   Indeed The Crag, the main online climbing guide, now describes it as having been one of the most popular places.  But now an area that is a lot quieter, and today we had the whole crag all to ourselves.  Mario warned me of the runout finishes, but the rock was nearly all solid, other than a hold he removed from the above route:

I was at Mario’s mercy today, he had a list of routes and I simply followed his directions.  Seeing it was one of his local crags and he had climbed so much here, I lead every route.  The only climb he also lead was the above one, quite simply because it was so good and definitely worth the three star classic status.  Neither of us muck about when we climb, and there is little if any rests between routes.  Added to that Mario still has the eye of the tiger, and is keen to push it.  All of this means I tend to come away from a day’s climbing with Mario very satisfied, but fairly achy:

If I was honest that may be another reason that has held me back from accepting the offer of staying at his place up until now, not being sure I could manage two days of solid climbing.  The climbing on the compact, blocky, and well featured dolerite rock of Churchmans reminded me of the style in the Grampians.  Quite a few of the lines we did were physically demanding and three dimensional, with a need to use your whole body and use a variety of techniques.  More so because Mario included quite a few of the very fine older traditional routes, as opposed to full sport lines.  Added to that, leading each route certainly increases the emotional energy expended:

This use of energy was enhanced further by the fact I climbed each route on-sight, not having a guidebook to provide any hints nor being given any indication of what the grade was.  Merely being shown the general direction by Mario before setting off.  Although he did tell me that we would ease the grade back down as we came to the last two routes.  These were back to the old school traditional climbs, up well featured lines with cracks and flakes.  But still demanding concentration and focus, with at times marginal gear and being runout.  I could really feel my body on the last line, and it also happened to start with a mantle:

For this technique you reach for a ledge above you with your hands and pull up, then continue the upwards motion until your shoulders are above the ledge, and then push down and match our feet where your hands are.  When the feet below the ledge aren’t very good it becomes a very physical move, and not one I am very adept at.  I pushed through it, but then half way up there was a second mantle with worse features for your feet.  That one really drained me physically and emotionally, taking me many attempts while hanging on my arms between attempts.  Topping out on that routes I could safely say I was toasted for the day:

We drove back to their place, and I was grateful that Mario was driving as my body was aching all over.  Eight rapid fire lines had certainly been a good introduction to the delights of Churchmans, and while I have waited so long to go back and climb there I don’t think I’ll wait as long before the next trip.  If you are keen to see what we climbed the tick list is at the end of this post.  But for now it was time to sink into the couch, and enjoy a very well earned beer before a wonderful seafood risotto dinner followed by homemade lemon bake, with the family.  Having a five year old they generally get up and crash early, a routine that suited me just fine as I slunk off to bed:

Sunday was my turn to drive, as we headed to one of the many pebbles in the Perth hills.  The hills are scattered with these granite boulders.  It is fair to say all the boulders of reasonable height that are worth climbing have been found, developed, and for some since forgotten by most.  And two of the more prolific early pioneers whose names are scattered as far and wide, as these many boulders, are Jim Truscott and Matthew Rosser.  Even now with the surge in popularity of bouldering, where there are no ropes and strict etiquettes regarding sit starts, and at times off limit holds.  All to maximise the length and technical difficulty of a problem, which means even the shorter boulders become of interest, few new spots are being found:

We walked past Shark Rock Quarry, above, a sheer featureless face created in the old days when the granite rock was highly sought after, being a valuable construction material.  Quarrying of these remote and hard to get to places started in the 1830s, and carried on until the mid-1960s.  Numerous quarries are left from this bygone era, providing a variety of rock faces ranging from forty plus to five short meter playgrounds.  Some full of loose crumbling features, and others provide clean solid rock.  The tallest is probably Mountain Quarry, which has since taken the title of Perth area’s premier outdoor climbing crag from Churchmans:

We continued past the small quarry.  There was a line that Mario hinted that he was keen to have a crack at in the quarry, if time permitted on our way out.  Like I used to, when Elseya was young, Mario balances his time on rock with making sure he has quality time with the family.  Therefore, today was not going to be an all-day session.  That was good on several counts, Shark Rock doesn’t have heaps of lines and the ones we had in mind were nearly all Truscott and Rosser routes.  To understand what that means you’ll have to check an earlier post when Howsie and I visited Oakley Falls:

Another reason being this place, Mario claimed, had quite a few climbs that were complete and utter sandbags.  Probably because of that, unlike yesterday, he provided me with more detail of the lines we eyed up.  With a focus on the severity and sustained nature, and some of the safety issues in relation to available gear.  It certainly put me on edge and made me that bit more cautious.  Even on the easier lines that we started on, which were on a couple of manmade faces.  Created of course by early quarrying activity.  These climbs, above and below, had a more gentle angle to them providing a more forgiving introduction to the rock:

Being early in the morning it felt cold, the fingers tingled and toes felt a little numb as we padded our way up.  The granite boulders have amazing friction, which at times is essential as they can also be lacking in features to provide positive holds.  This became important when we moved round to the next and steeper face, as shown below and which was a natural feature.  The night before I had only looked at the grades and thought this face would be ideal to enjoy a few good lines, that was until Mario described his experiences on them.  And while he didn’t give away the tricks in relation to the holds or moves on each climb, it did put me on notice:

The first line on this face, above, was a fun crack with a prominent bulge at half height.  With my fingers jammed in a crack to the side, and feet buried deep in a crack below, the bulge, it was hard to scope what options lay ahead.  And after a few futile attempts with tiring muscles I slunk onto the rope, and almost immediately due to not being buried in the crack I was able to spy another option.  It was a shame, as after I got back on I managed to clean the route, even negotiating a mantle with not quite as much fuss as yesterdays.  I certainly came down worked, no doubt assisted by yesterday’s aches:

The next line was up a shallow flared seam, with three carrot bolts for gear.  The first a tentative clip and the second providing a ground fall potential, which I’ve now read is noted in the detail of the route description.  Blame it on tiredness, nervousness, or unfamiliarity with the rock and climbing style here but my footwork was pretty ordinary.  Unable to identify and stick the small smeary holds and certainly worried about making the crux moves to reach the second bolt.  I also wasn’t completely convinced of my ability to tension onto the shallow holds that only allowed fingertip contact.  I came down defeated and handed the rope to Mario, and he too struggled but eventually got up the route:

That allowed me to second the route, which Mario then led clean with the draws in place making it slightly less nervous.  I pondered my options but while my mind teetered on the edge of going for it on led, my body held me back.  Instead I attempted the line to the right, a full trad line with marginal and very spaced gear.  One Mario had previously led after lots of rehearsing and one he said he would never lead again.  Needless to say I top roped it and was very grateful that I did, and found it very difficult to read and sketchy.  My body was exhausted and footwork become even less graceful, but for some reason I jumped on one last route.  A traverse across the crag, which I absolutely dogged:

Struggling to read the rock, using terrible footwork, and finding it near impossible to use the marginal smeary hand holds; I rested on most placements.  Strangely I enjoyed it, but was even happier when it was over.  Mario followed up, but slipped soon after the above image and as he pendulum below the next bolt he smacked his ankle.  It immediately started to bruise and swell, so it was time to call it a day.  Obviously, we did not stop in at the quarry for the route he was keen to try, as he carefully walked out so as not to further aggravate the ankle and I carried both packs to avoid putting extra pressure on it:

Regardless of how it ended we thoroughly enjoyed both days out.  And I definitely crammed in as much time on rock that I was able to sustain.  Dropping Mario off I said my goodbyes to Jena and Mario, thanking them for putting me up and feeding me so well, and also Luna who wanted me to take this painting of hers.  And much as it was lovely to visit, it was also wonderful to roll in back into the driveway back home.  My body was more bruised and scrapped than it probably should have been, and my muscles groaned as I moved in bed.  Resulting in me getting up at silly o’clock to start typing.  Despite the severity of the climbs at Shark Rock, I would be tempted to go back even if just to redeem my faith in my ability of the basic skills of footwork:

The tick list:

Churchmans Brook (as per the 2002 Perth guide, not The Crag):
First Route 30m 15**
The Sting 25m 14***
Slash and Burn 28m 18***
Bodgy Dolts 28m 21**
Gates of Mordor 30m 20R**
Red Giant 30m 19**
The Bite 25m 17*
The Fang 25m 16*

Shark Rock (as per the 2002 Perth guide, not The Crag):
The Fin 10m 17 **
Defining Moments 10m 18
Fatal Rivalry 10m 18*
Phalanx 10m 19*
Spatial Encounter 10m 18*
Traverse of the Gods 25m 18

Waiting to be named

Instead of hours on rock this weekend; hours have been spent futilely delving into the world of fungi.  The reason for not getting out for a climb, and not worrying too much about it, being that Craig opened up his indoor wall to allow a few of us to pop over on Saturday afternoon, for a bit of a social and indoor boulder session.  I took advantage of a morning at home to jump on my pushbike and head to the Tuart Forest National Park, part of which is right on our doorstep.  Tuarts (Eucalyptus gomphocephala) are only found along the Swan Coastal Plain of the south west of Western Australia, favouring the limestone soils found along the coastline:

However, over the last two hundred years, many of these areas have been cleared resulting in our local national park being the largest remaining tuart woodlands.  Reputedly having the biggest surviving specimen of these majestic trees that be as old as 600 years, reach 33m in height, and/or have a girth of up to 10m.  That said, even here, the tuarts were felled.  In some areas they were cleared to make way for pine plantations, to fuel the demand for plywood.  These plantations are no longer in operations, and all that remains of that past industry is the Ludlow forestry mill and settlement:

As the image above shows while there are some giants still about, much of the landscape is a far cry from the glory that existed before colonial intervention.  In addition to the changed upper storey vegetation status, the groundcover has also massively changed with key threats coming from Bridal Creeper (Asparagus asparagoides), Arum Lily (Zantedeschia aethiopica), and pasture grasses.  As such the once amazing floral display that could be witnessed here at particular times of the year, are no longer anywhere near as spectacular, varied, or widespread.  That didn’t stop me having a wander to check for orchids today:

The only signs of orchids I found were two Banded Greenhood (Pterostylis vittata), a common greenhood in these parts and the first one to come into flower as the new season approaches.  They were taking advantage of an elevated position, above the weeds on the ground below, by growing in soil and detritus that had collected in a rotten fallen tree.  And, as alluded to before, I had more success with fungi.  Albeit in finding them, not identifying them.  This is not a huge surprise as there are about 5,000 known species of larger fungi in Australia, and if you count all types of fungi there are potentially quarter of a million species:

This didn’t stop me having a crack at identifying what I found.  The image of first one had me a little confused, thinking it was a species of Bolete mushroom.  These are distinguished by having a thick cap with a spongy body that has pores instead of gills.  However, this type of cap is not unique to Bolete mushrooms, and after much pondering I believe it is more likely Slippery Jack (Suillus granulatus).  These are associated with pine plantations, and seeing the area has been used for pines I’m taking a punt that these are still lingering here.  But I do not believe it is the species luteus, which is more common to the south west, as there was no ring on the stem:

I’ve slotted in an image of what I believe to be a species of Leafy Foliose Lichens, which is made of flattened thalli.  This means their structure does not have components of a leaf, stem, and roots.  They attach to their host using root like structures called rhizines, but are not harmful as they do not take any nutrients.  Walking round the woodlands, the occasional bigger tree still stood proud.  Tuarts have wide straight trunks, making them a great resource for the durable hardwood timber industry.  While protections are now in place to conserve what remains of this species, they can and are still felled with strict conditions:

Despite checking the many fallen logs, looking deep into the dark hollows.  I didn’t spot any creatures, other than the birds in the trees and on one occasion a mob of kangaroos, as they bounded away after I disturbed them while they were resting up.  Insect wise it was also very quiet, and the best I could find were the many relatively small spiders hanging in their webs.  The only species I spotted was one of the elongated spiders, being the Long-Jawed Orb Weaver (Tetragnatha Latreille).  These spiders when disturbed straighten up their body and legs, and resemble a stick that has been caught in the web:

After an hour or so, I could take the mosquitos no more.  So made my way back to where I had dropped my bike, keeping a hopeful eye out.  But all that I found were more fungi, and so it seems fitting to finish with two more images.  Based on the texture and pattern of the cap, the above looked to resemble a type of Scaly Sawmill mushroom from the Neolentinus genus, while the deep and straight gills of the one below looking to be like a species of the Russula genus, but I have not been able to get any closer than that.  I’m not too upset though as, whether right or wrong, I’ve also read that many of the fungi located in the Tuart woodlands are yet to be named:

Making the time

Yesterday we caught up with some friends who we hadn’t seen for too long, as we made some time for a kinda farewell catch-up for Tom who would soon be heading overseas.  It was great to see everyone, and with luck I might get to have a climb with Tom in a few weeks as his departure date looms.  All going well the timing should coincide with my plans to finally head to Perth and spend a couple of days climbing with Mario.  Mario also happened to be down south this weekend, climbing up at Welly Dam and I was quietly hoping he’d give my new line Peanut Brittle a crack and be the second person to get it clean:

I didn’t join Mario yesterday as we were busy, nor today as I had committed to head out with Ash.  Another person with an overseas departure getting closer and closer.  So what with the trip to Perth planned, the choice was easy and Ash and I headed out to the Northern Blocks at Wilyabrup.  It was another glorious morning to be out and about and watch the sky wake up.  It was however a bit more of a struggle than usual to get up.  Last night Elseya and her mate, who as down from Perth, fancied a night out on the town.  And they asked if we were able to help out with lifts.  We’ve encouraged Elseya to be sensible in such situation and have offered to help when she has asked:

This time Lisa kindly offered to take on the taxi service, knowing that I was planning for an early start in the morning.  It was a restless night with the poodles kicking off at 10pm and then again 2:30am as the car rolled in and out.  I was however thankful and certainly managed to get more sleep than Lisa did.  It seems Ash too had struggled a bit with the start time, but had managed to get up and out.  Waiting for me as I rolled into the driveway as the deep reds in the sky were turning into dark oranges.  Then as we arrived at the carpark the yellows started to creep in, lingering that bit longer than normal and stretching all the way to the opposite horizon from the sunrise:

With both of us being that little bit more lethargic I did wonder about my choice of crag today.  My rationale had been to pick a place Ash hadn’t climbed at before, but the walls are that bit steeper and the climbing more technical and sustained.  While there were very few easier lines, there was no turning back and we simply had to dig a bit deeper.  Both on account of the general difficulty of the routes and both of our slightly off-kilter mindset.  The northerly wind felt cold and the clouds failed to lift and disperse, so the sun remained hidden from view.  We were however soon feeling pretty warm, as we jumped on the rock and started to climb:

Generating our own heat as out muscles needed to work pretty hard, and then the blood pumped round the body that bit quicker heling to circulate the warmth.  Although after each climb, as we stood about enjoying the view and straining our eyes to look for dolphins that we never managed to spot, the cold crept back in.  Truth-be-told I reckon we did really well, leading these routes one after another certainly made me focus and work.  Ash was again happy to be on second, and even more so as he followed me up the lines.  He thoroughly enjoyed them and managed to get clean ascents, but also declared he would never have led:

Never is however a word that we should use with caution, a bit like always.  Terms commonly used in moments that we are not thinking straight, and that can quickly escalate emotions.  They are however words that rarely hold truth in the way they are used.  I’ll remind Ash of that one day, after his time overseas, when I encourage him to have a bash at leading one of the routes here.  Four climbs in and our bodies were happy to dial things back, and jump on a couple of the easier lines.  And as we made the decision the clouds seemed to, all of a sudden, break up and let the sun through.  The next line was Missing Frog, but what was missing as Ash came down the rap line was a lead rope on his back:

Due to a bit of poor communication we both ended up scrambling to the top of the cliff different ways to find the lead rope.  But I was pleased to have gone up the way I did, when I spotted this beautiful green Praying Mantis.  There are approx. 160 known species in Australia and I have spent a lot of time trawling through many of them, unsuccessfully.  It seemed like it could be an Australian Green Mantis (Orthodera ministralis), the colouration and length seemed right.  But, a distinguish feature of this species is the thorax is wider than the head, and that was definitely not the case.  So I am at a bit of a loss, and have not been able to identify it:

We found the rope, and climbed the line but the frog remained missing.  One day I’ll have to quiz Kym as to how he came up with the name, my theory being that he could hear but not see a frog when he first climbed the route.  The morning was wrapped up on the classic Banana Split.  Another lower grade route that seems so fun an innocent until it spits you out from the comfort of a chimney onto a steep face with a long drop below your feet, and it certainly freaked Ash out.  Not so much that it has put him off considering another trip out, and it seems he may be keen to make time for one more foray on rock before he heads off:

No complaints

Today was back to getting up and heading out the door in darkness.  While I could complain that I needed to stay that little bit more alert driving out at this time, to avoid the kangaroos.  On the plus side it is the time of day that I am most likely to see a Brush-tailed Phascogale (Phascogale wambenger).  Every time I have been lucky to spot one, like I was today, I have brought the car to a standstill and then watched it almost do a bit of a dance, as if performing in the light flooding out of the headlights.  After which it scampers off to the verge and is lost from vision in the vegetation:

I wonder if the dance is its normal reaction for when it senses danger, as they have been reported to signalling danger by tapping their front limbs.  Or maybe the performance is the critter making the most of its short life.  They live for one to three years, but most males do not even make it past one year.  The reason being that they die after reproducing.  One time I might be lucky to take a video of the performing Phascogale, although at such an early time of the day it is unlikely to be very clear.   A bit like most of today’s photography:

In contrast to yesterday, today the sky was covered with a grey woolly blanket of clouds.  With not a hint of a break in the monotony, which stretched the whole was to the horizon in every direction.  I could again complain but I won’t as my taxi service today was picking up Ash on the way through to head to Moses Rocks, and a day out here is always good to lift the spirits and make you feel good about life no matter how grey the day may be.  It has been a while since we last caught up, as he has been travelling about having some amazing adventures:

One of them was a climbing trip to Thailand, a place I have not been too but really should make an effort to get to one day.  The first opportunity I had to go there was way back in the 90’s, but the sport climbing wasn’t enough to draw me away from the trad climbing of the British Isles.  My aversion to clipping bolts is well and truly behind me now, so I could be convinced to head there if the chance came by.  Despite Ash getting his leading head on in Thailand, today he was happy to stick with seconding and simply following me up whatever.  And he know I certainly won’t complain when I’m offered the lead:

I was feeling good on rock today, and relished being on the sharp end.  And so it was that there was a lot of top down photography going on.  This probably suited the grey day when the backdrop isn’t as a jaw dropping as it could be.  You may also notice a couple of images in which Ash is grimacing and/or has a look of extreme focus.  This happened as he grappled with the surprising variety of features for such a small crag.  Including insecure slopey foot and hand holds, the occasional hand jam and finger lock to pull through, and then the above wide crack in which he buried himself as far as he could physically go:

On most routes he pulled at least one look of concentration.  Not that he was complaining and he was obviously having a ball, as he sung his way up the lines only stopping when he had to focus that bit harder.  This also allowed me to gobbled up one route after another, jumping on the next as soon as we had scrambled back down.  We marched on at this pretty solid pace, one that would only have been slowed down if Ash had jumped on a lead or too.  I wouldn’t have complained if he did.  Although we would not have managed to get in as many routes as we did before the water droplets that made up the clouds grew too big to be suspended in the sky:

The droplets finally gave into gravity signalled that it was time to wrap things up, and at a time that seemed about right for us.  We were running out of routes that would be reasonable, both for me to lead after all we had done and for Ash to follow up.  His body was hinting signs of being sufficiently weary and satisfied, and I could hardly whinge after bagging so many fun routes.  As the droplets fell I could not help but think that we have not had much of an autumn, what with the frequency of the cold fronts that have been rolling in.  Maybe as a result of the dampness I’ve noticed a few fungi popping up:

The above was on the path we walked out on, I’m not really convinced but the closest identification I can find is a Slimy Yellow Cortina (Cortinarius sinapicolor).  The rain abated as we took a slow and steady pace along the final stretch being the soft sandy beach, which worked our legs that last bit before we got to the carpark.  Dropping Ash back, my route home takes me right past the Ambergate Nature Reserve where I simply couldn’t resists a quick stickybeak.  And just like yesterday there were plentiful Bunny Orchids, but not what I was hoping for.  However, after such a great morning out I don’t have any complaints:

A good vintage

I was torn today, whether to use my window of opportunity to go orchid hunting or play on a cliff.  I had two plus hours up my sleeve in-between dropping off and then needing to pick up Lisa and Elseya, who were going for a wine and dine experience.  It really is not something I would enjoy, but I was more than happy to be their taxi driver for the day.  Allowing them to enjoy the wine sampling without the worry about transport.  They had picked what is claimed to be the first vineyard and winery to be established in the region.  It started life in the same year I did, so I was sure there would be some good vintages for them to sample:

In May there are only a few orchid species out, but not having gone hunting this early in the season before this includes a few that I have not as yet seen.  This includes the Leafless, Hare, and Easter Bunny orchid, and in one of my older orchid books there was a place just twenty odd minutes down the road in which all three were claimed to occur.  However, just five minutes away was Wilyabrup and the taste of rock won me over.  The forecast wasn’t great so I thought it might be quiet.  You might notice some ropes in the image below, and seeing I was the only person here someone or a group had no doubt accidentally left the gear behind:

Top rope soloing was the order of the day.  Tallying up the time to drive here, walk-in, setup, and then need to repeat it all in reverse, I reckoned that I had an hour and half to crank a few lines.  I picked the walls of Dolphin Smiles and Hope, allowing one anchor to service the four routes I had in mind.  Nothing too hard, as I have started to pull plastic on my home wall again and Thursday’s session had felt a tad hard, and I was still a little sore today.  Starting on the Dolphin Smiles wall I kept my eye on the ocean, but there were no dolphins were to be seen:

I then swung the rope round onto Hope wall.  Quietly wishing to see, and very happy when I did spot, our resident Carpet Python. This time he was snuggled up on top of the flake of Hope soaking in the warmth from the sun.  I thought he would slink deeper behind the flake, so took this video as he turned his head, buried it under its body, and then just lay there.  I went past the snoozing snake eight times in all, as I went down on abseiling, stopping for a look, and then climbed up. and again stopped for a look.  With two laps on both routes:

The whole time he just lay there, not minding me and even allowing me to get up close and personal.  So close I could see his beady eye peering back at me from between the folds of his body.  There was a distinct lump in his body and no doubt he had recently fed.  Not that that is why he would not have slithered away from this annoying creature that kept coming back and staring in awe at him.  I did however refrain from picking up and handling him, which I could so easily have done and really don’t think he would have tried to fight me off:

Not that I too was lazing about, but I was happy with just four climbs today.  Two climbs and four laps less than what I would normally try to get in.  Not only were my arms feeling it from the session on my indoor wall, but my legs were a bit also a “tree-trunky”.  I’ve decided that, what with my sedentary job, I really do not get enough cardio exercise.  There are the walk-ins for the climbs but there are never too long, other than for the not very often trip to Perth or the South Coast to climb with Mario or Kym.  So on Friday after work I went out for a 20km’ísh bike ride, which certainly felt enough for me to start with:

That said I did get one last sneaky top rope in.  There are some bolts that appeared a few years back on the Hope Wall, and no one has claimed responsibility on the climbing forums.  If I do update the local climbing guide, I thought I better see what the line was like so I could at least mention it.  Pointless is probably the only word I can think of, and needless to say one lap was enough to come to that conclusion.  After which I started to pack up, while being watched carefully by the above King Skink.  And unlike the snake this fella was not so keen on my presence and certainly did not tolerate me when I tried to get closer:

I was ready to roll and pick the girls up when I saw a message from Lisa to say that I had an extra half an hour to kill.  Enabling me to stopped at what looked like a possibly orchidy location, as I drove out from the crag.  Sure enough Bunny Orchids were about, but not the Easter Bunny and nor the Leafless or Hare orchids.  It was still fun looking for them and I also noticed loads of basal leaves, a sign that this may be a place worth coming back too soon.  I arrived at the winery just as Lisa and Elseya were about done.  They too were feeling very satisfied from the amazing food, the different wines served came with each of the five courses, and their choice of vintages to takeaway:

Just can’t help ourselves

For me establishing ground-up first ascents is the best way to climb, having absolutely no knowledge of what lies above other than the assumptions you make from what you can see from below.  Tying in, racking up and then setting off with all the uncertainty of whether it can be protected, what the rock quality is like, how sustained and hard it may be, and indeed whether you are mentally and/or physically capable of getting up the line.  Ground-up is a traditional style and attitude to climbing, and one I cut my teeth on in the UK.  Then when I came to Australia came the opportunity to add to the extra excitement of ground-up first ascents:

I have been lucky to have lived in places where there has been an abundance of rock with no or limited record of any routes being established.  Alice Springs and the South West, and on occasion the South Coast, of Western Australia have provided ample opportunity to establish new climbs.  And I have probably climbed and named between close to a couple of hundred routes.  It’s certainly not everyone’s cup of tea, and most will want the security of having checked the guidebook to read up on the route before attempting it.  And even then some people will go an extra step of popping  a rope down the line to further check it out, taking away the surprise of what is to come:

It is possibly my approach to, and passion for, climbing that led me to write a guidebook for climbing both at Alice Springs and the South West of Western Australia, and sadly both of these guides are now out of print.  It is not a case of simply reprinting them, in part as there have been changes in both areas that have resulted in some crags no longer being accessible, for both social and cultural reasons.  Nothing new and if you are keen to read about some of the trials and tribulations linked to climbing that circle round every so often check out this post https://sandbagged.blog/2019/12/29/timeless-issues/.  Plus there are the new routes that have been created since the guides were written:

Not that there are new routes here that are not in the current guide, Lost Buttress was one of the places I was lucky to help establish.  And I was surprised to find out it is a place that Craig has never been too.  So when the opportunity came up to snag a morning out on rock together, I steered the group here.  As Craig has so few chances of getting out, even the threat of rain didn’t stop us.  And as can be seen above we had to climb in the rain, at least for the start of the day.  Again it is not something that is everyone’s cup of tea, but both Craig and I are quite OK with making the best of changing conditions.  I did wonder however if Josh and Sandra would be of like mind, and was pleasantly surprised when they too turned up:

The reward being that Craig brought two flasks of tea, so as shown above, in-between the climbing we had a well-deserved and very welcome hot brew.  We set up a couple of ropes for Josh and Sandra so they could enjoy the climbs without the thrill or was it  fear of needing to lead anything.  But Craig and I went lead for lead, I was a little surprised at this as last time he was happy to have a rope above him.  I’m sure he didn’t regret his decision, but there was at least one nervous moment on the climb below.  Physically he was more than capable, but he had to battle with his head before making the very committing step out away from the comfort of the corner, and traverse out above the big and airy feeling roof:

I’m also standing on a metaphorical edge at the moment, needing to make a decision about whether to dive back into the climbing guide for the South West.  It’ll need a rework, mostly because we have lost access to one climbing area.  That is a whole story in itself with lots of history behind it, although there is probably little point in digging all that up in the revised guide.  Then there are the new routes, not that there has been too much activity since the guide was published in 2016.  I have been involved in putting up most of the new climbs in the area, and truth be told we have pretty well climbed out most of the rock.  It would however be good to see the new lines in print, so I am tempted to step back into editing the guide:

A bit like the last, near, eight years since I wrote the guide.  Today’s time for climbing was coming to a close remarkably quickly.  So while the sky seemed to be clearing up nicely it was time to drop the ropes back to the base for the last time.  Craig and I managed six fun routes, and he bagged three very good ground-up ascents.  Meanwhile, Sandra and Josh had enjoyed four routes, with the exposed and steep finale of the last line shown above providing plenty of excitement for them.  Maybe in part due to tiring muscles, which probably resulted in their heads making them doubt whether they were capable of making the final moves:

There was still tea in the flasks, so a quick brew was in order while we sorted through the mishmash of gear.  Josh headed down to the ocean for his customary dip in the water, as Craig and I stuffed our packs with unfortunately still damp gear.  Meaning we would need to drape the ropes and hang the gear back at our homes, a price that was worth paying after another great morning out with such a specular backdrop.  Everyone seemed to be fumbling about taking their time, as if they were not really wanting to leave, so my eyes started to drift towards a fun looking boulder and Craig and I just couldn’t resist: