There was a slim possibility of bagging three mornings of climbing on the trot, but Rongy had other plans for today so it was not to be. Instead, and seeing the conditions had looked not too bad yesterday afternoon, I decided on a dip. Truth be told I could drive an hour and find some clear waters with good visibility. My motivation to spend several hours driving to get out for a climb, does not however extend to going for a dip. As such I have to suck up the conditions that the convenience of my three minute walk to the beach offers:
To my surprise, and for the first time I have seen it, several people were fishing off the beach right on the spot where I normally head in. It’s the area with the best bit of reef, and normally people fish in the open sandy bay away from this area. The open sandy areas also being the place I have seen the most shoals of herring, so my guess is that the people fishing were not local and didn’t have that knowledge. To avoid their lines and upsetting them I went in the open areas and swam further out to the reef:
The visibility was ‘ish at best, and while there was a bit of life about it was hard to see well. The low angle of the sunlight was not helping my cause. As such rather than chase fish I decided to just soak up the feeling of being in the water, only going down for a closer inspection on occasion. I did like the above Lace Coral Bryozoan (Triphyllozoan moniliferum), which being a coral you may realise is actually a cluster of animals. These are less than a millimetre in size and called a zooid:
Like many marine creatures they are calcifying animals, and can make structures out of calcium carbonate, such as shells. The difference being that they create a far more diverse mineral composition, resulting in an enormous range of shapes and sizes. My next find is one I have included several times before being the Giant Sea Hare (Aplysia gigantean). Growing up to sixty centimetres in length it is the biggest sea hare in Australian waters, but this one looked way bigger than that so deserved a closer inspection:
It took me a while to figure it out, but there were six or more in a row. These creatures are hermaphrodites and often mate in numbers, with as many as twenty having been recorded at one time. Forming a line with some using both female and male reproductive organs, while others only use female or male. Mating mostly commonly occurs during January and March, but can occur into early autumn. The resulting spawn is long and stringy clumps of orange coloured eggs, something I have as yet not come across:
I left the amorous procession alone, and wandered back towards the sandy bay, not seeing too much more but enjoying being followed for a bit by a small school of juvenile Western Pomfred (Schuettea woodwardi). These fish would normally spend their day hidden in caves away from the eyes of predators, coming out at night to feed on tiny planktonic crustaceans. But today they were quite content to swim with me in the open water. Leaving the water I got home to rinse my snorkel gear for the last time this hopeless season before packing it away:
As hinted yesterday, today was Rob’s day. He was keen to tick a few lines and continue to get his head back into the leading game. As Sam has been finding out, climbing is so much more than physical ability. The best indoor climber can come unstuck on the easiest of outdoor routes when put on the pointy end with a trad rack and no bolts to clip. I didn’t realise, but when I bumped into Rob at Moses on Christmas eve last year, that was just his second excursion out since he had decided to get back into climbing:
It had been a fair time since he had touched rock and he didn’t know any other local climbers, and so it was a fortunate encounter for him. Resulting in giving him access to a few people to get out with to help him on his journey. Today we visited Driftwood Bay, a place with some ghosts for him in particular his chosen first climb. Having come to climb here with a mate and his wife some years back, the day didn’t turn out quite as expected. In part due to not knowing where the crag was and rapping into the wrong outcrop, being The Organ Pipes:
But probably more so due to the lack of flexibility of his mate, who got a tad grumpy about it all. When they rapped down the right outcrop his mate spat the dummy, scrambled out, and left them too it. It is interesting and at times baffling what can tick off some people. This resulted in Rob setting off, not in the best frame of minds, up what they thought was Crab Slab. Placing a wire soon after which a hand hold came away. Not only did he fall but the wire popped and he and his wife then tumbled down the vegetated slope below. Lucky not to have done any more damage to themselves, that was the end of that day out:
So in a way today was about working on his leading head and a bit of redemption. It started well, a clean lead on Crab Slab, that included the use of several well placed tricams and being on the actual climb this time, no holds came off. Although I really should have taken an image of the occasional loose rock that he unknowingly dislodged, sending it down the direct line at me. This crag has quite a few ledges and there is loose stuff on them, so care is required. I’m fully aware of this so kept an eye out for this precise risk:
I could also sense his mindset was not at total ease, as he inched his way up. But up he went and he enjoyed it. I’d even go so far as to say there was as sense of relief in addition to the joy of having that route under his belt. We went lead for lead, and as my head came level with a horizontal break on Turkish Delight I noticed a tail slip down behind a big flake. Here I found two King Skinks (Egernia kingii), you’ll have to look closely in the above image to see the second. Sadly no other reptiles showed their scale today, and Rob seemed quite happy about that:
He then picked off Pick Pocket and was visibly more at ease, moving that bit smoother on sharp end. Another successful climb with the tricams getting more use; I think he likes them. I thought I undid the flow of the day when I decided Sure Footed would be a good idea, the bottom crack is a bit stubborn and had Rob a tad perplexed. After several attempts he worked round it, quite literally, and then relished the very fine upper name sake slab. Admitting he was a bit pumped, as he arrived at the belay, I ignored this and asked if he was up for Old Crate:
Later he told me that in his mind he was thinking not, until I asked him. And I’m pleased he changed his mind, as he certainly looked to be thoroughly enjoyed the third lead and seemed way more comfortable. As he climbed, the sun came further over the ridge hitting the vegetation at the base of the crag. Bringing to life the only other animals we found at the crag, flies. I have seen this type before, back then finding a web identification indicating it is a Snail Parasitic Blowfly (Amenia imperialis):
I am now not so convinced, as other sites suggest the body is supposed to have a metallic colour. So it might just be a Spotted Blowfly (Amenia leonine), but even then the silvery abdomen doesn’t fit in with the identifications I have found of that species. As is often the best approach with multiple choice exams, if we assume my first answer was correct, I have discovered that the Snail Parasitic Blowfly lay larvae as opposed to eggs. This is quite unusual, and these larvae are reasonably well advanced so when they are placed on snails they are ready to feats on their living host. Meanwhile above me Rob ticked off a third successful lead:
As we walked out I found another parasite, a tick. Howsie is a self-confessed tick magnate, but I rarely get them and this was a first for me at the cliffs of Wilyabrup. It had latched onto my wrist, and was yet to start feeding on my blood. There are two main types of ticks in Australia being hard ticks (Ixodidae) and soft ticks (Argasidae), the latter not often attaching themselves to humans. So by deduction, and based on the most common hard ticks found in Western Australia, I am guessing this was either an Ornate Kangaroo Tick (Amblyomma triguttatum) or Brown Dog Tick (Rhipicephalus sanguineus), probably the latter:
Apologies to Rob, but I’ll make it up to him tomorrow. He had asked if Howsie was keen for a session up at Welly Dam this morning, but with everything that Howsie had to organise before the big off on Sunday he declined. I wasn’t aware of that when I also suggested to Howsie that if he was keen we could squeeze a quick trip up to the quarry. Suggesting that we could hit two lines, allowing us to be in an out within an hour’ish. That and an early start would therefore not eat too badly into his and Nadia’s preparation schedule:
To my surprise he was tempted, and upon checking with Nadia she was also OK with it. With the plan set I asked if he had a particular climb in mind, which he did. And then promptly swayed his decision, with very little resistance, by suggesting he should attempt a grade 23. Due to the higher grade of the second line, the warm up had to be a reasonable grade. So we started on Savage Sausage Sniffer. And when it was my turn Howsie repaid my belay style by walking away as I started, and didn’t put me on belay until I clipped the first bolt:
I really didn’t mind, after all if I am prepared to do that to him, and others, then I have to be prepared to accept the same treatment. With the camera in his hand I’m not sure how much he was watching me and, like I do, his eyes may have been drifting. This meant he saw, and took the following image of what is probably a Garden Orb Weaver (Eriophora transmarina), based on the hairy nature and triangular body. Huddled tightly against the rock, no doubt making use of the heat that the rock still held:
The mornings are feeling a little cooler now, but we didn’t have the time to ease into the climbing to allow our bodies to warm up as we would normally. Although I confess we snuck a third line in by jumping on Murky Corner, which didn’t take more than ten minutes between the two of us. Our rationale being that the first climb had worked Howsie a bit harder than was probably ideal before attempting a grade 23. So to keep the body moving, while allow the muscles to recover and relax a bit, an easy lead to focus the mind wasn’t a bad idea:
Now it was the business end. Howsie prepared himself and set off, while I sat with a friendly juvenile Australian magpie (Gymnorhina tibicen). Magpies are very social animals forming tribes of up to 50 individuals, however the start for young magpies can be tough. When they are kicked out of the nest, it is not uncommon for them to be ousted from the tribe and this leads to them needing to figure out how to survive. Like the youth of today, juveniles can be found hanging about in gangs, although this one seemed to be all by itself:
Finding a good habitat, partner, and eventually new tribe can be dicey business. Added to that existing tribes can be ruthless to newcomers. Unsurprisingly, not all young survive this harsh stage of their life, and being alone we did wonder if this one would make it. My focus had to then shift onto Howsie and whether he would make it, unlike the grade 23 a week back. I’m pleased to say he completed Chasing Mason, and was very chuffed. But there was no time to celebrate, and it was time to dash back:
The Monadnocks Conservation Park, covering approx. 20,000ha, stretches a considerable length along the Albany Highway that runs to the south east of Perth. A place I have been to before, but just not realising what the name of the area was. The term monadnock is defined as an “isolated hill of bedrock standing conspicuously above the general level of the surrounding area”, and I wondered how this differs from a term I am more used to hearing being monolith. The large granite domes of places in England, such as Bodmin Moor and Dartmoor, being referred to as monoliths:
The word monolith has quite a few meanings, one of which is “a geological feature consisting of a single massive stone or rock”. So regardless of which term you prefer, the result is the same. A park with very hard and solid igneous or metamorphic rock formations that have been exposed by erosion, and which stand proud above the lower lying landscape. With this park getting its name from three distinct granite peaks, being Mount Vincent, Mount Cooke and Mount Cuthbert:
The latter of the three peaks is where I went last time with Mario, who was again my climbing buddy for this trip. A relatively short hours’ drive for him, and two and half hours for me meaning I had a “well before crack of dawn” start. Our destination was not to the peak of one of the three monadnocks, but a relatively small slabby section that was named Over the Hill by the people that developed the climbing here. The name should have given me a hint of what to expect on the approach, and to some degree it did as I came armed with approach shoes instead of sandals:
Arriving with five minutes of each other and parking off the Albany Highway, we walked west. A mere 1.4km, as the crow flies, but needing to cross over a smaller monadnocks. One that had no name attributed to it, and stood at approx. 480m above sea level. It was about 100m lower than the highest peak of the park, Mount Cook. The highest peak was not visible on our approach, despite only being 4km to the north, as it was cloaked in cloud. Our hike took us 140m’ish uphill and then 90m’ish down the other side. Typing this it does not seem too bad, but it felt like hard work:
Mario, somewhat fitter then I am, took it in his stride and eventually after a bit of mucking about we managed to find the climbing area. Comprising two sections, split by a large boulder that you can scramble under to get to the two spots. On arrival we approached from the north so looked at the left hand section first. This looked in reasonable condition, as show two images above. But the right hand area was seeping sufficiently to render much of the steep slabby walls unclimbable. The area had received a couple of inches of rain a few days back, enough to soak the vegetation and soil above and keep the seepages flowing:
Before I go too much further I need to quickly go back to the second image of one leaf from a Zamia Palm (Macrozamia riedlei). We came across these on the hike in, but only a few in one spot were liberally coated in the clear looking gelatinous sap shown in the image. Something I had not seen before, and my initial thought was that sap dropped from the Jarrah trees could have dropped down, but their sap is usually a deep red colour. So with Howsie’s assistance, all that we have been able to identify is that this sap can be exuded as a defence against insect attack:
When Mario had initially got in touch to see if I was keen for another adventure on a Perth crag, he had three locations in mind. I had only been too one of them before, and of the other two the first was a collection of largish boulders that would yield relatively short routes, and then there was this place that on the face of it based on the descriptions would offer 15m plus routes. As such the choice, for me, was easy. The conditions dictated that we should started our climbing for the day on the left hand end. Here the rock was mostly dry, although in the above crack there was a bit of moisture and this made the finger locks somewhat insecure. The routes were fun, with two glory lines that stood out:
Both slabs, providing sustained grade 21 and 22 routes. The first shown above was amazing, but felt a little tough when compared to similarly graded slabs at Mount Frankland. The second however had me completely baffled, Mario looked smooth and controlled for the first third. Then he slipped and found it tricky to get focused enough to continue the ascent in the same style coming across one section near the top that had him completely perplexed. When I attempted that line I pulled on draws several times and had to finish it off by aiding up with the help of a sling to stand in. It has to be one of, if not, the most ungraceful ascent I can recall:
We both considered it was very hard at the grade. Other factors may also have been at play, but even at grade 22 to have a section that had us both completely at a loss was very strange. That said at times it is good to be handed a good spanking, and it certainly felt like I had. With five routes under our belt, if I can count that last one, we moved across to the right hand area. Truth be told the whole area felt a little scrappy, and image wise it was hard to get many climbing shots worthy of including. On the plus side the rock had some great unusual features, shown above and which I had not seen before. Called pegmatite, these formations comprise of quartz, feldspar, and mica just like granite:
Unlike granite, and what makes them standout is the size of interlocking crystals, which are individual usually greater than 1cm. These provided interesting viewing and also some very unique and at times strange holds. Despite the initial wet looking nature of the area we managed to find a few dry lines to play on, and the climbing was technical and interesting. In addition to the pegmatite holds there were fun underclings with the above one, which we thankfully didn’t have to make sue of, providing a great habitat for what I assume are wasp nests:
It was a weird spot to have invested as much effort as had been. Generally the climbing was less than 10m followed by at times a 15m runout to the anchors on an easy slab to the lower offs. Plus a number of the routes were so close you could clip the bolts of multiple routes, as you climbed. But that said it was great to come to yet another location I hadn’t been to before. And after nine routes at an average grade of 19 I was feeling it, plus Mario’s stomach was starting to grumble, so we called it a day and started to ready ourselves for the hike out:
But we had one more battle on our hands. While I could not locate any nearby nests, the resident bull ants had taken offence to the rope bag. They were not interested in our shoes, rucksacks, or other climbing gear that was strewn across the base of the rocks. So we abandoned the rope bag until the final moment, and when we came back to it we found the usually solitary ants scrambling all over it in double figures. Watching them for a while they acted aggressively to one another when their paths crossed, but they were seemingly not too worried about us:
The walk seemed longer on the way out, especially the downhill section back to the Albany Highway. Weariness was probably a key factor for that. We took a different path to the way we had approached the crag, and came across what I believe were Lacy Coral Lichen (Cladia ferdinandii). Shown above, we only saw a few of them being relatively small and incredibly delicate looking. The colour was more yellow than the image shows, having being bleached out by contrast on a cloudy day. While it was another successful and fun trip out, with some interesting finds I’m not sure the climbing was of a quality that would entice me to head back over the hill:
In early 2012 I wrote an article that made into the third or fourth edition of the Australian magazine Vertical Life. The article was called Wait Awhile, named because it took time for me to transition from bagging first ascent on almost every trip out in the mighty and ancient Red Centre, to finding my way on the more established areas of the not so wild or remote but equally picturesque South West.
When approached by the current editing team, and having been so long since the last article, I was more than happy to help out again. They were after a short article to promote the South West of Western Australia as an alternative Easter getaway option for climbers. With a focus on the lesser frequented gems that provide quite places during a period when the popular cliffs would be draped with ropes and crawling with people.
Unsure of the level of detail they were after, I prepared double the amount of text required. They expertly crafted this down to the desired length that meant a couple of locations were left out, one unfortunately being Cosy Corner. The article was accompanied with images I had provided, while the full page lead image was picked from their own image library. This lead image was actually from a similarly named crag in the South Coast region not too far from Albany… oops.
Below is the text from the article that was published in the Autumn 2023 edition, under a section called Local Lore and aiming to give a slightly more in-depth insight into specific areas. The images below are not the same as used in the published article, and I have chosen them to give what I personally feel is an indication of the atmosphere each place has to offer. While the images not linked to the specific climbing areas provide a glimpse of what you get to see as you walk to the areas or indeed just head out to explore the coastline.
Exploring WA’s Southwest Coastline
In the southwest of Western Australia lies Busselton—a small coastal city known to local climbers as a gateway to a multitude of crags. All are relatively small, but aesthetically appealing and within an hour’s drive of the town. Mostly spread out along the rugged coast, each crag offers a different setting, atmosphere, rock type and a day or more of climbing.
Visiting climbers often flock to the main cliffs of Wilyabrup, made famous by the iconic Steel Wall with its steep, finely featured face and Bob’s Hollow, which became a popular alternative to Thailand for locals during COVID, with overhanging, jugging up strenuous limestone sport routes on flakes, pockets, stalactites and columns.
These locations can be crowded, especially on long weekends, like Easter. But the hidden gems, in locations that you may often have all to yourself, are the focus of this article. Even though you may avoid the crowds at these crags, you are likely to bump into one or two of the local crew—the vast majority of whom are friendly, helpful and happy to have a chat and offer an opportunity to climb with them.
Welly Dam
As all good stories should start, we begin with an area that has a chequered history. There are a few who may bag the bolting of the routes at Welly Dam, but I would risk saying that this may come more from envy of having missed out in the development of this crag than truth-based criticism. For many, the first time they climb here they find it intimidating and hard. The black and grey-streaked granite walls, carved out of the hillside to provide granite boulders for the dam that lies below in the valley, are hard to read. Steep, technical, sustained climbing awaits. And once you get a taste for this place, it is hard not to like it.
If you come over with the family in tow, this place is perfect with a grassy base for picnics. It also offers hikes, mountain bike tracks, and water sports on the reservoir.
Dan Meester fell for this place and in the early 2010s, adding some quality lines, while maintaining the same bolting ethics of the original routes. So passionate was Dan that he would at times drag a generator and flood lights up, to climb as you can at Kangaroo Point in Brisbane, at night. He was not alone, and both Kym Hartley and Jonas Hollingworth also added some fine additions in the mid 2010s. I too added three more additions just a few weeks back.
While it is easy to say every route here is great, this is one place I feel that is almost true. Although there isn’t much for beginners—a few routes are below grade 18, but most are from 18 to 24.
Crag classics Ear of Fear (22)—a fingery and nervous crux and delectable corner above. T3 (23)—a great three dimensional climb that will give you a full body work out.
Castle Rock This granitic gneiss outcrop glows orange in the early and late sunlight. It may be small in size, but it’s right on the edge of the crystal clear waters abutting the Meelup Regional Park. It can get hot in the morning sun, but affords the perfect way to cool down with great snorkeling right off the rocks. Despite the low number of climbs, the rock has features unlike anywhere else in the region with rounded dishes and flakes that may perplex the gym climber. There are also a few hard test pieces, with routes in the high 20s.
Crag classics Corn Flakes (12)—a classic for great exposed but well protected climbing. Well Rounded (20)—this aptly named climb will have you struggle to work out how to use the holds and which way to tension your body.
Smiths Beach These granite crags arguably have the best friction of all the outcrops mentioned here, but these come as steep walls with rounded holds. The gear is there, but at times is in flared cracks which can be off putting. Added to that, the proximity to the ocean makes this a perfect crag for those seeking an exciting trad adventure. Kym and I both stumbled across this crag in 2010, and it is how we first became acquainted with one another.
Kym was at the time hugely driven, seeking out new opportunities and hard problems, some of which are still awaiting a clean ascent. He had climbed a couple of routes at Smiths when I came across the area, and within the space of a month or so I sieged the place with anyone willing to join me. A bolt-free place, with all bar one first ascent being a ground up creation, in keeping with my British climbing ethics. One of my key partners in crime here was Craig Johnson. A wiry mechanic with an unnatural ape index, whose trade helps maintain great ability on crimps despite his now infrequent trips outdoors. But be warned, you need more than good crimping technique at Smiths; the crag requires body tension, an ability to smear, and a cool head.
Like Welly Dam, Smiths is another crag that seems to instil fear in many when they first come here. Those who come back for a second taste become hooked, in part due to the friction holding up on wet days and very atmospheric coastal situation, with the rock sentinel at the end of the zawn keeping the rage of the ocean at bay.
Crag classics The Billowing Sails (17)—consistent climbing in an outrageous position over the ocean. Cape to Crack (17)—the leaning crack under a rooflet rams home the true meaning of rounded holds on excellent friction.
Moses Rocks Without doubt my favourite crag has to be Moses Rocks, which I call Smiths’ little brother. Like many of the coastal crags it consists of granitic gneiss, but the texture and features at each location vary considerably. This place, like Smiths Beach, has rounded holds, flared cracks, and friction that is maintained even when wet, but is less steep and more forgiving.
Having spent my early climbing years in England, including many a trip to the Peak District, I can see similarities here that drew the early developers to the charms of this place. A key difference being that the boldness of the climbing here has been somewhat subdued with the addition of bolts, something you would never find in the Peak District. I have come to accept the bolts, as they help to ensure Moses Rocks always provides a chilled day out with a great atmosphere.
This place also offers a very fun zawn that includes a couple of routes that Ryan Doe (Rongy) and I established, which may never get repeat ascents. More than 10 years back we found the normally boulder strewn base of the zawn covered in a sandy beach and every wall bone dry; conditions we have never seen again.
Crag classics Hathersage (15)—this Peak District namesake has a steep start on big holds, which leads you to a fingery headwall. Wheely Things (15)—a climb that is true to the grade and yields much easier if you know how to jam.
Copper Rocks—bouldering Nearby Castle Rocks in Meelup Regional Park is Copper Rocks, a rightly popular bouldering spot. Steep scooped formations on a wave washed platform make this just one of the many very good bouldering locations in the southwest of Western Australia. The area was first made popular by the classic problems established by Andy Lampard, and since then has gained much attention from young crushers coming out of the increasing number of boulder gyms in Perth.
More information about these crags is available from various sources, such as the printed book A Guide to Rock Climbing in WA’s South West, PDF mini guides available on the Climbers Association of Western Australia website, and of course online from The Crag.
Bio: Krish began climbing more than 30 years ago with strong British traditional ethics. Although, after moving to Australia in 2000, he has been known to partake in sport climbing—even bolting the occasional route. He is the author of South West ROCK—a guide to rock climbing in WA’s south west (2015) and Rock Climbing in Central Australia (2005).
Howsie will be heading off for a bit on a road trip, and time was running out to squeeze a final foray at our local crags. It is not that we haven’t got out once or twice in recent months, but it is 2023 and he has as yet not kicked off his challenge for the year. Friday gave us an opportunity both to get a session in with just the two of us, and also to encourage him to attempt at least one 23 before heading off. During the chats today I was surprised that he could only recall ever being on one 23 before:
That was a feisty sport climb at Welly Dam, which he seconded some time back and that wasn’t even this year. For today I was happy for him choose where we went and what we did, and he suggested Wilyabrup. In part, I am sure, due to the longer climbs although I suspect also due to a certain climb that I have been suggesting he really should have a bash at. Before we contemplated that line, it was time to warm up. As he wouldn’t get much climbing in for a while, I was happy for him to take all the leads today. This allowed me to kick back and relax a bit while belaying, in my usual fashion:
In these changing times of what is and is not appropriate and/or tolerated, I have to admit to considering my words as I type. That is in relation to whether I should include the names of the climbs we did. Most climbs are a reflection of the experience of the person that put the route up, whether the journey to get there which can take some time especially on trickier climbs, or the final glory moment as they got that sought after first ascent. I’ll risk the first couple, and Howsie can be seen sitting down on the job in the first image as he leads Thunder Thighs:
And yes Howsie it is given a grand grade of (in bingo lingo) legs 11, which is probably just an unfortunate coincidence. The second route he picked was a line that he had never been on before, called Slapping the Fat at grade 17. A tricky start on somewhat greasy holds, which I made oh so much harder when I spotted the above Tower Case Moth (Lepidoscia arctiella), starting to pupate. I held on to these holds, as sweat seeped through the skin on my fingertips making them more and more greasy. But I was intent on getting a few images, even if they were a little blurry:
The life of a case moth is mostly as a caterpillar. These creepy crawlies can spend between one and two years in their intricately built homes, depending on the precise species. More interestingly the females never leave these homes, so I knew this one was a male. While it may seem unjust that the females remain trapped, the pupating stage can take anywhere from a few weeks to months in part dependent upon the weather. Once finally released some species may only have days to find a mate, which are still hidden in their house of sticks. The male of some species do not even have the ability to feed, so they need to be quick:
For our third line, and without any coaxing from me, Howsie realised that it was now or never. If he did any more leads before jumping on this spectacular line he would feel too weary. As the image above show it has a strange start requiring a stick clip onto a very, very old bit of tat that has been there as long as I have been in Western Australia. Tat, being the name for a bit of insitu rope or sling. The idea being that you pull yourself up to the tat, called a batman start. Then you look up and contemplate the above looming corner, capped by a reasonable roof. That is only the first half of the route, and the longer you sit there the more trepidation can seep in:
After you leave the tat, it is all trad and all on. So I wasn’t sure how he would go, but after a nervous start and as he got into the rhythm of this mighty route he looked down and had a big ear to ear grin on his face. Unlike the male Tower Case Moth, Howsie was not in a rush. It was however impressive to watch, being his first grade 23 lead and a very intimidating one at that. At the roof there is a stance, which allowed him to rest up a bit. Eventually however there is a need to go near horizontally to be able to see what holds await you above the roof. At this stance nervousness, and probably a bit of weariness crept in, and I could sense the old Howsie trait come back as he started to yo-yo on the initial moves over the roof:
With each attempt he weakened that bit more, without fully committing and needing to down climb back to the stance. So when he finally did got for it, he gassed out and went sailing through the air falling a considerable distance. Lifting me off the ground by over a metre. Even though for this route I was standing right below him, not kicking back in some prone position. This was repeated another couple of times, and I captured the start of one of his rapid descents above. After his third fall he had nothing left to offer and came back down. Leaving me to finish the route off, which I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed. Howsie, had however given it everything when he was leading, which had lasted close to an hour. So much so that he was unable to repeat the initial hard moves through the steep corner even with a rope above him:
That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and I suggested he can experience the top half of the climb on lead when he returns from his road trip. More than satisfied with what he had achieved, and before we called it a wrap, there was the need for one more climb to get us out without needing to walk up the track with the packs. The obvious climb being Hope, which Howsie led while I offered to carry both packs up on second. I hear you ask “don’t you ever got bored of that climb?”, and the answer is no. I have probably been up it close to a hundred times and have enjoyed every ascent:
We were hoping to see the Carpet Python, but it was nowhere to be found. While a little sad, we did spot this juvenile Western Bearded Dragon (Pogona minor minor) as we walked out. Like other Pogona species they are known to wave one of their fore legs to trigger a response from a potential rival or mate, and males are also known to bob their head possibly as part of organising social order. We didn’t however get to see these traits. Howsie didn’t see the little fella and almost step on it. As such, and after it escaped Howsie’s footfall sprinting into the adjacent vegetation, it simply froze:
I have been very remiss this summer at attempting to get into the ocean for a swim with the fish. The conditions for a second year on the trot have been pretty average. The wrong type, or should I say direction, of winds resulting in the ocean never being given a real chance to properly settle down for any great period. That is not to say there haven’t been windows of opportunities, and a few weeks back both Geoff and Rongy reported experiencing great conditions, on separate occasions. I missed out on both of those opportunities:
Encouraged by Mario telling me he had a swim in the ocean yesterday, and found the water to feel warm I decided I might give it a go. He also reported murky conditions, but checking the weather, the swell at my local beach had supposedly been a promising low one metre’ish. I even did a pre-dip reconnaissance by walking over the hill to see which way the wind was blowing and whether the water looked flat, which it did. The only negative being the cloudy sky, which Lisa described from the comfort of our home as being sharky:
Walking to the beach the second time, prepared for a swim, the sand was wet from the rain that had doused the landscape overnight. There was a sole person on the beach, who was fishing but at that time was looking out to sea. A large pod of dolphins not too far off shore was cruising past, so I unfortunately missed my chance to swim with them by five minutes or so. The water felt cold as it crept up my legs, and when it feels like that there is only one way to get in and that is to dive in. Straight into a big cluster of South Western Stingers:
I don’t recall them sticking about this late in the season, but no matter I managed to avoid being stung. A mere ten metres from the shoreline I left the stingers behind and was then surrounded by a shoal of baitfish. Based on their yellow stripe and shape I assume they were Anchovy (Engraulidae). Being cloudy the visibility as expected, was not the best leading me to stay a bit closer to shore than usual, Lisa’s words eating away at the back of my mind. The baitfish followed me for most of the dive, and I spotted a number of the usual fish:
Despite trying pretty hard I didn’t find any crustaceans, cephalopods, mollusca, or cetaceans; or in layman terms crabs or lobsters; octopus or cuttlefish; nudibranch or sea hares; or dolphins. There were of course, like the fish, the ever present and visible echinoderm, otherwise known as sea stars and sea urchins. Swimming back over the open areas, fine dark organic material settled in the troughs of the wave-sculpted ripples on the sand, creating pretty patterns. But also a sign that should the wind and/or the swell pick up, this sediment will lift up and fill the water column:
Life is about to change for Sam and Michaela, as they prepare to bring new life into the world. The months leading up to this point have been way busier than anticipated, and Sam told me this was likely to be the last opportunity to get out for some “him” time. Like me getting outdoors is required to create balance in life. Depending on where our minds may be at it provides a time to allow us to reset, reflect, and/or simply appreciate, but always enabling us to immerse ourselves back into “the norm” with a positive outlook:
Unlike me, Sam has a few outdoor pursuits that compete for his time. But today climbing won out on account that the winds were not looking too favourable to catch a wave, which ranks higher on his list of preferences. That’s not a huge surprise as he has been surfing for a long time, whereas his first introduction to climbing was only in September last year. Since then he has only managed to squeeze in a handful of trips. Added to that his last trip out was all the way back in November, which was also when he had to be a sponge:
That day out was at Lost Buttress, where he needed to absorb hours of advice, hints, tips, and at times instructions from me, on the many aspects to take account of, when lead climbing. His absence from rock since then was not on account of having found it too much but, as alluded to before, the months have been packed with both the good and bad that can occur in life, at any or at times every turn. Indeed, he came away from buzzing, and keen to get out on some longer routes with a keen eye on Wilyabrup. Which is where we headed to:
With such a long period between touching rock I wasn’t too sure how he’d go, but as with all these forays it is best to take things one step at a time and see where the days leads you. Sam was already hinting he was keen to have a lead, so I guessed we would be hitting some familiar lower grade lines. This would allow him to ease back into leading, but also make sure the in-between climbs that he seconded were not too hard so as to tire him out. Understandably, he was happy for me to kick the day off, which I did with Glory (14):
Sam was more than happy with the choice. Recalling from a prior visit, this and the line next to it afforded a potential to say hello to a Carpet Python. Sadly just not today. Despite not seeing a snake, Sam was feeling good after the first climb, and racked up to take on Twenty Questions (12). A very aptly named route. Easy to make completely safe this line includes for many, including Sam, a very perplexing crux that keeps you pondering and questioning “how?”. After the climb and checking in on how he felt, it was obvious he was hoping for more:
So Hope (14) it was offering a second chance to search for a Carpet Python, while also being a very popular and truly classic climb. From the above images you may be able to tell I was trusting Sam’s ability. Applying my unorthodox belaying approaches, to allow some better images. This is not something I will do with just anyone, today however I was comfortable enough on account of Sam’s demeanour on rock, proven ability to place good and sufficient protection, and method of climbing being considered, calculated, and controlled. And while he missed the snake during the ascent, I was happy that he had instead been focusing on what really mattered, safe climbing:
I could tell he was keen to take a look, so he rapped back down to catch a glimpse of the short sections of the body curled up deep behind the flake. The skin covered with beautiful markings that are said to resemble the patterns used on oriental carpets. Back on the deck we pondered what next. This was swayed by a comment Sam made when we arrived, hinting he was intrigued by Steel Wall. The +30m vertical and clean wall is certainly an impressive sight, but he also said he would not be keen to lead anything on it. And I would certainly not have sent him up any of the direct lines, although Sirius was an option:
I pointed out how Sirius snaked up the wall. The first pitch (14) following a right trending flake before traversing left along a horizontal break that goes almost the entire width of the wall, providing plenty of air beneath your feet. I led this, and as Sam prepared to follow me the next arrivals rocked up. Setting up camp under and then climbing Hope, and as I watched them it was clear they too didn’t spot the snake. I also kept a close eye on Sam, especially on the traverse. A airy type of climbing that can take a little getting used to, but I needn’t have worried and it seemed to just add to his enjoyment:
For the second pitch (14), Sam needed to leave the comfort and safety of the great belay ledge to climb a couple of blocks, before stepping round the arête onto a fine but super exposed face. I didn’t tell Sam about the exposure. That was something I wanted him to experience without any preconceived notions or indeed realisation of what was to come. When he got atop the blocks and looked round the arête, and then down, it certainly had the desired effect. The smile somehow spread even further across his face, hinting at both excitement and a bit of fear. I watched the rope inch upwards at a slow pace, he was being careful and that was a good thing:
He took enough time for me to watch the second party finish on Hope, and then spot a third party arrive. They too set up camp under and climbed Hope and the leader again didn’t spot the snake. I didn’t get to watch the second go up, but comments from them later hinted he too didn’t see the snake. Obviously local knowledge is needed to spot the delights that while so close are hidden from view. Sam was understandably very happy with his leads, and said he had just enough mental power and strength in his forearms left to follow me up one more lead. So I picked the direct and rather steep The Unbolted and the Beautiful (16), which provided an achievable but very satisfying last climb:
The same four of us who rolled south to Peaceful Bay just a couple of month back were back in the car heading south this weekend. Not quite so far this time, and not even intending to hit the true south coast. It was a very lazy start, allowing us to pick up a mid-morning snacks at a very average bakery in Manjimup. And I really wouldn’t recommend anyone going there, at least if you don’t want something with meat in it. Other than that the trip south was a relatively traffic and roadwork free cruisy three hours:
The mid-morning snack allowed us to fuel up, and hit the ground running when we reached out destination. Mount Frankland is yet another stunning place we are so lucky to have not that far away. I’ve managed a few day trips here over recent years, but to really soak the place in, a two day trip is best. My last two visit have been sodden, and the other couple of times we have popped in just in case we could hit a line or two it was also sodden. However, on trip south two months back Mario and Andreas had come here before meeting up with us and had a ball:
That was one of the key motivations for making us thinking a wee trip would be a good idea before the season breaks. Unfortunately, the first low pressure system of the new season rolled across the southern half of Western Australia on Wednesday, and there was some discussion about whether we would need a backup plan. The upper walls would dry quick enough, but the lower moss and lichen covered slabs don’t get any sun or wind resulting in them holding onto the moisture. After daily checks the decision didn’t change:
We had two other good reasons to get here, first Howsie was super keen to jump on Hannibal. A simply magnificent nicely balanced line that heads up the above elephant’s trunk. While not in the South West guidebook, it was one of the grade 20s he had been really interested to climb 2020 as part of his challenge. That was not to be, and on his and my last trip here 2022 the place turned into a waterpark. Waterfalls and creeks appeared almost instantaneously, as a storm cell hit us (https://sandbagged.blog/2022/03/12/cloud-watching/):
Today however, after a quick warm up on a regularly repeated route, Howsie was keen to get down to business, just in case the weather should close in on us. And as he battled with the mighty climb, a couple of Bull Ants (Myrmecia Gulosa) were having their very own tussle right by my feet. I knew Bull Ants were the biggest ants species in Australia and can get up to 40mm long, but I didn’t know there were as many as 90 different species of them. Very aggressive and often only seen solo these ants are fearsome fighters:
And with enough stings from them, noting unlike a bee they can sting multiple times, it is plausible for a human to go into anaphylactic shock. However, despite looking I can find no reason for them to fight each other. The only reference to that happening is after a new colony has been set up, and the queens that were involved in its establishment then fight to the death until only one rules supreme. Howsie didn’t fight to the death, but certainly came out with a scrape or two, as well as a beaming smile having thoroughly enjoyed the challenge:
As it was he managed to get up the original line, but was too bushwhacked to continue on the extension that led out to some rap anchors. And the way things worked out I led that bit and then managed to force Rongy into also have to lead it. Hence why, for those that know the route, or inspect the images in greater detail, it looks like he took over the leading from Howsie a few images up. Rongy hinted he was not too keen to be on the sharp end but I think he really enjoyed it, especially when he managed to get it clean without breaking skin:
The second reason for coming here was to give Sarah her first taste of true slab climbing. It is a very acquired taste, and not for all. If you check the image above of Rongy, you’ll see he is only using friction to stay on the rock. Slab climbing requires slow, controlled moves, and if just one point of contact slips you will invariable take a fall. As such you are continuously on edge, using body tension, and thinking hard. Sarah has had a real initiation of fire into climbing and is still loving it, but after one long pitch of slab was more than happy for Rongy to join us for Hannibal:
Once the three fo us came down, they went back to one of the more gentle slabs, as gentle as they come here, and are barely visible in the above image. Howsie and I headed off for a third reason I was keen to come here. The high 45m main face, on which I have only ever done one route back in 2012. A grade 18 that felt incredible challenging, which was probably due to the plus 40 degree heat that we had unknowingly climbed in (https://sandbagged.blog/2012/03/12/south-coast-trip/). Ever since then I have never managed to get back onto this wall, and that drought was broken today:
You’ll have to scroll back a few images to see the route I picked, standing on a relatively steep slab at the base of the mighty wall made looking up to check the lines really difficult. Bolts were the only real way to spot the lines and they were very well camouflaged. While we checked, and checked, and checked, and really thought we were on the right line, there was no way it was right. The final move over the overlap was on two very narrow sharp flakes, requiring a huge reach into the unknown, hoping for something reasonable. As Howsie’s expression shows above when his head came over the lip:
We came down to join Rongy and Sarah and there seemed to be enough daylight left, resulting in me suggesting Howsie jump on one of the lower slabs. Still a good length route at 40’ish meters. He enjoyed the “warm-down” climb and as Rongy got half way up on second the drought of the day broke and drops started fall. This meant I got the pleasure of reliving my last two trips here, trying to stick the slick steep rock with water trickling down the slab. But after the great line of Cowlick on the main face my mood could not be dampened:
While we could potentially have got one more wet route in, we were all pretty weary so hiked back and set up camp. This gave us time to get some food down us and have a brew, before darkness quickly descended on the world around us. Fortunately the rain moved on and while the three of them had a game of cards, my body was saying it was time to lie down. So I snuggled into my bivvy bag, not even wanting to get up when I heard then talking excitedly about something they had spotted. That from what I heard I guessed was a scorpion:
And indeed it was, being a Wood Scorpion (Cercophonius squama). Commonly found in the South West and Eastern area of Australia, and also being the only species found on Tasmania. There are six species of Wood Scorpions, and all of them like forest habitats usually being found in leaf litter and fallen branches. Hiding and waiting to ambush their prey with a sting that would cause us inflammation and pain for several hours. I didn’t know but scorpions fluoresce when exposed to ultraviolet rays, meaning they producing a bright blue green light:
They are no alone and many arthropods, such as insects and spiders, glow in a similar fashion. Why this occurs is still not clear, and there are a variety of theories. The one that seems to get the most support being it allows the scorpion to detect when it’s body is visible, and as such may be seen by its prey. And being an ambush predator that is a pretty important piece of information. The chemicals to make it glow are in its exoskeleton, and when they moult being more vulnerable they do not fluoresce. Only when their new exoskeleton hardens, do they once again glow:
I kinda wished I had stayed up, as Rongy and Sarah went for a night walk to see what they might see. There was not a lot out, one more scorpion and a wonder blanket of stars above. I saw the latter later that night, when I got up. But what would have been really cool to see were the above Canary Worms (Fletchamia sugdeni). These worms are found across Tasmania and Australia, preferring extremely wet and dark forests. They are flatworms, which can be understood looking at the top three in the image, but they can and do also stretch out into skinny worms with a brown coloured head:
Flatworms, and similarly Canary Worms, are predatory. Hunting and feasting on small invertebrates similar to the Wood Scorpion. Although, Canary Worms are also known to be scavengers if the opportunities arises. During my reading I have learnt a new word, being an aposematic coloration. This is used to describe the colour, that acts as a deterrent to predators. Canary Worms, while not dangerous to us can secrete toxins and these will cause irritation and/or a stinging sensation. So the bright yellow is a warning to predators and us to leave them be:
In the morning, before light crept into the sky I got up at my usual wakeup time of 5:30. The first thing to go on was the kettle. I overheard Rongy say to Sarah “welcome to camping with Krish”, and he later told me he thought I had got up a bit too early. The whistle of the kettle whined, which I let go that bit longer than normal to make sure everyone was awake. And as the orange glow that could be seen through the trees turned yellow, the light chased away the darkness and the timing was perfect. We only had a half day today, and I knew the others were keen to pack a few lines in so I didn’t feel any guilt:
That and any misgivings were washed away with a welcome hot brew. Back at the crag I set off up one of the lower slabs, preferring that approach to the scramble up the to the base of the main face we had done yesterday. Rongy set off on another lower route, so Sarah could once again see if slab climbing was for her. She was still unsure, but keen enough to keep trying. When Howsie and I got to the mighty main face he picked what we thought was the route I had led in 2012, Thieves like the Sun. It is listed in four climbing guides and each one seems to give a varying account of the route and each location differs, it was all very confusing:
We are pretty sure we were on the right line today, but it did not seem familiar as I came up second. So I am now left wondering what I climbed eleven years back, and sadly I have no images of that climb to try and work it out. Howsie, had a blast. He was pretty nervous standing below the 45m towering cliff. However, once he got going he relished the awesome climbing. He looked and sounded to be tiring towards to end where the pumpy overlap awaited. I hollered up words of encouragement, plus a stern bit of advice to not yoyo and wear himself out. So when he set off he powered through:
Following Howsie my fingertips were feeling the reduced thickness of skin, skin that had been left on the rock yesterday. It was an impressive lead, and made me work all the way up. Edging over the final overlap a hand hold broke and went flying downwards where Rongy and Sarah were now walk below us, as you might see above. I too went both flying and spinning into the air, bouncing off the overlap with my legs dangling below unable to reach anything to steady myself. At times like that you just have to let gravity and momentum do what they need to do, and today it was my turn to get a few scrapes and bruises:
Sarah was pretty weary from the slab route of the morning, it is a mentally fatiguing style of climbing. And also physically demanding, especially on your calves and ankles. So they joined us at the base of one last climb, which was the main event for me. A route I have been wanting to jump on for many, many years. Dickheads and Dynosaurs is an amazing looking line. The same grade as Cowlick which I had climbed yesterday but with more sustained sections and also more varied climbing, which made it feel even more special:
And to make it even more so, I had a Wedge-tailed Eagle soaring above me whenever I looked up. It was everything I hoped for and more, a stunning and very rewarding route to walk up to and just climb. Being back on long 45m routes was so good, and with now three of these long steeper routes on this impressive upper face under my belt I’m keen to get back and jump on a few others. Not unexpectedly Howsie, and then Rongy, followed up this mighty route. Both getting up it clean, after which there was a liberal dose of smiles all round, as we one by one rapped back down:
While the weather was perfect, and the rock was in great condition it was time for us to call it a day. We had agreed to leave home at a reasonable hour on Saturday and also to return at a reasonable hour on Sunday. No one seemed to be fighting the decision, maybe due to the very, very satisfying way to finish the trip. Or maybe due to Sarah’s ankles say enough is enough, while Rongy, Howsie and my fingertips screamed that if we do much more they might break through:
Before we could get back to the car we had to rap down the lower slabs. Sarah went first and she got her first taste of having to sort a tangled rope, while hanging on the rope. Rongy had suggested he should go first, but we all agreed that it was a good learning experience for Sarah. So if she ever comes across the same problem in a less comfortable situation she will have a better idea of what to do and what it feels like. I’m not sure is she agreed, but managed to keep cool all the same and it worked out just fine:
We sorted the gear as the kettle boiled one last time, and when the brews were made we went for a short walk to a lookout give out legs one last stretch and take in the views one last time. The sun was out and had a bite to it, what a contrast to yesterday afternoon as the clouds rolled in and the rain fell. It almost felt too hot and a little uncomfortable, and just like the Canary Worms and Wood Scorpions were no doubt hiding in some cool spot, we went to escape the heat in the air conditioned car as we drove northwards:
And finally to give you a feel for the place, here’s a fun video from Sarah:
Today we were heading to Wilyabrup with a crowd. Seven of us, which is more than the normal trip out. That said Kellie was, as per normal, would be heading off for a run to leave the rest of us to it. The number sadly dropped before we began, as on arrival at Capel Rongy got a call to say that the shop he manages had just been raided. A smash and grab job. It seems there have been a number of these raids over recent times in Bunbury. This of course meant he had to jump in his car and head back to Bunbury:
Alana decided that she would still tag along, after all there was nothing she could have done to Rongy out. We headed onwards meeting Rob, Josh, Kellie and a new tag called Shannon, who Kellie had recently met at runners club. Shannon, however, was not joining Kellie for a run. While suggesting she was a little rusty, she was keen to have a climb. Having very recently moved west from Brisbane for a year, she was feeling lucky and very happy today to sample her first taste of WA climbing:
With Rongy being out, it kinda turned the concept of today a little on its head. The primary reason for coming this way started with Rob suggesting the location, as he had his eye on a few leads. But with Josh, Alana, and Shannon we also had to make sure they were kept busy. After organising a top rope for them, we set off. Rob was keen to warm up on a gentle slab route. And as with many slab routes here that meant not much gear, but the grade being low enough not rattle Rob as set off:
After the warm up it was back to the group, where Rob was sounding a little hesitant about the two leads he had really been keen on. They are not ridiculously hard and have plenty of gear, but in the build up to today he had worked them up in his mind into something else. Managing to shake just enough of the doubt, and with a little encouragement he set off on the first lead. Once the gear started to slot in he became more comfortable and at ease. The others were still working the routes on the top rope, but Shannon was eyeing the route Rob was climbing:
She followed up after Rob and climbed it with relative ease. Even if rusty, her past climbing experience showing through. A dangerous thing for me to see, as this resulted in me suggesting that she should have a bash at a lead. While a little slow to agree and then start, once on the rock she made short work of the next route. This line happened to be the other one Rob was keen to lead, and watching her climb it so well he was encouraged to have a bash himself on lead:
As indicated by the ropes round us in the images above and below, the place quickly packed out making our paltry six people, once Kellie returned, seem small and insignificant. Several groups arrived in addition to a 40-50 strong university group that was practising rescue techniques. While we moved onto two more routes, which was a challenge in itself with all the ropes hanging about, the atmosphere certainly changed. Both in relation to the feel of the busy place, but also the sharply rising humidity making the holds sweaty and uninviting. Therefore, as the sun crept round we decided it was time to call it a wrap:
Sandbagged 