Sandbagged

Down the road

We’ve moved office, all of 700m down the road from where we were before. This might seem a little odd but the old building was well, old. Things were falling apart, the technology was a bit dated, and the office design didn’t match the so called “modern style”. So in May of this year we moved into our swanky new office. For me an office is an office, although I am not entirely convinced the “modern style” suits the way I’m wired. So I look forward to working from home on Thursday and Friday that little bit more now:

That said mid-afternoon today I found myself driving into Bunbury and parking near the office. Another keen orchid hunter from work, Josh, had checked out a small patch of bush a short walk down the road. He’d mentioned the myriad of basal leaves littering the floor, and he was not wrong. At the time he also shared an image of something I pondered for a while, thinking it could be the common Midge Orchid (Cyrtostylis huegelii), or possibly the less common Mosquito Orchid (Cyrtostylis robusta):

The key way to tell these apart is the labellum, with the Midge Orchid’s being narrower by a mere 1mm and a darker shade. I’m fairly sure based on what I saw today, along with the height and number of flowers on some stems that it may be the less often seen Mosquito Orchid. But that was not why I drove here today. During a second visit here Josh had, just a few hours earlier, shared an image of something far more exciting. The Helmet Orchid (Corybas recurvus), a genus I have had on my wish list for a while now:

These have similar but smaller leaves to the Mosquito Orchid and the two orchids are often found together. The Mosquito Orchid can often flower in great numbers and it was today, and while the Helmet Orchid forms large colonies of leaves only a few will usually flower. The name of the Helmet Orchid comes from the way the flower is held, with the Latin word recurvus meaning “recurved” or “curved backwards”. The first formally described specimen was coincidentally found at my favourite peak in the Stirling Ranges, Toolbrunup, in 1991:

As I wandered about I spotted a few spider orchid leaves, so this will be a place to head to over the coming months and see what pops up. Also while we are having a wet spell there are other colourful finds that impressed me. Small sprouts of Orange Coral (Ramaria anziana) were pushing their way through the leaf litter, above. Distinguished by their thick upright orange branches that split into tips, which start to turn yellow. Quite a few were close together, which aligns with this species that is known to be gregarious or growing in clusters:

Unlike the above Yellow Brain (Tremella mesenterica), which is a true parasitic fungus that feeds on wood-rotting fungi of the Peniophora genus. The Yellow Brain is a sign of the recent wet weather. Appearing during wet spells and then becoming a thin film or shrivelled mass within a few dry days with no rain. Not dying but patiently waiting for the next rains when it once again takes the above brightly coloured fleshy fungus eating form. We’ve had a lot of rain this week, mostly from one big front and that has drawn out big numbers of frogs:

I didn’t see any frogs, but did spot the above spider skating across the water. I thought it may have been a species of Water Spider (Dolomedes), but the configuration of the eyes did not match up. Water Spiders have the two rows of four eyes, whereas this spider had a bottom row of four with two rows of two above. This configuration is akin to Wolf Spiders (Lycosidae) and the body pattern also matches this family, which gains its name from an Ancient Greek word “lycosa” that means wolf. An apt name because this spider stalks its prey, like a wolf:

As occurs when I get lost in nature time had slipped away from me, and it was time to leave the frog chorus and head back to the car as I had a few errands to run in town. Like the above caterpillar, which I have not even tried to identify, I kept a beady eye out on all the leaves. Stumbling across one particular patch of Helmet Orchids that was ablaze with flowers, a sight that based on all my readings of this species is not something that is usually witnessed. And to think all these wonders are a mere stroll down the road:

Getting my fix

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The danger of assuming

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Under the hood

With the second day of the weekend being glorious, it was a shame to waste it being inside all day so we went for a wander. The last couple of trips out with the poodles have been north to Manea Park in Bunbury, only 25km away but being just round the corner from the office it feels a little bit like I am heading to work. Another option we have that is only 30km away is to head east to Crooked Brook, the trip however takes us right past Lisa’s school so the journey there makes it feel like a school day for her. So instead we went 70km south to Nannup:

Wandering through the near silent forest with hardly a whisper of a wind in the air, was a stark contrast to yesterday’s experience with the incessant noise of the crashing waves. Lisa corralled the poodles, whose noses were to the ground most of the time. Following the scent of most interest every so often suddenly stopping, resulting in nearly falling over them. I meanwhile ambled along with my eyes fixed on the vegetation along the side of the path. The first item that caught my interest being a small cluster of Cup Lichen (Cladonia):

Despite the obvious fringed cup I can’t identify the species, noting Australia has approx. 3,500 species of lichen. They are classified as a fungus but are in fact unlike any other organism on earth. Being a creation of a mutually beneficial relationship between a fungus and an alga or cyanobacterium. The fungus is the protector of the alga or cyanobacterium, anchoring it to whatever it is attached to. Through this anchoring the fungus absorbs water and nutrients, while the cyanobacteria or algal uses photosynthesis to change these elements into energy in the form of carbohydrates for the fungus:

This partnership allows lichens to live in the harshest of environments, including the dry arid interior of Australia. Where despite searing temperatures and low rainfalls they form large and amazing patterns on the surface of rocks, which have often drawn my attention. Moving on, the less impressive and simple striped pattern of the Banded Greenhood (Pterostylis vittata) is what gives this species of orchid its name. Quite simply the Latin word of vittata means “striped” or “banded”. My reason for including the above image is that this common orchid is normally described as having 2 to 25 flowers, but the above specimen had in excess of 30:

The Greenhood genus Pterostylis has approx. 300 species, and like many other genera of orchids they have an underground tuber and are terrestrial herbs. However, what distinguishes Greenhoods from other orchids is the hood-like “galea”, which is the botanical name for a structure shaped like a helmet. The dorsal sepal and two lateral petals of the flower are fused together to form this hood, and it is a common feature of all Greenhoods. Although the hood of Jug Orchid (Pterostylis recurva), which is yet to flower in the above image with the end of its two distinct brown sepals poking out, sits more to the rear of the flower than on top of it:

The silence of the forest was broken by the occasional bird song, heard but unseen. But at one location where was a clattering of a dozen of more small birds as they flew back and forth across the path. I believe they were Western Yellow Robin (Eopsaltria griseogularis), which gets its species name from two Latin words of griseus and gula meaning “grey” and “throat”. These birds were included in the first collection of local fauna assembled for the newly founded Zoological Society of London in the 1830s. What made me question my identification was they are not commonly found in small groups, although in autumn and winter they are known to join hunting flocks as they prey on insects:

The colour yellow theme continued with these Yellow Navel (Lichenomphalia chromacea). Small fungi that are no more than 20mm high with caps that spread to a diameter of 30mm. The deep and delicate gills under the caps being clearly visible, due to their caps forming an “innie” belly button a bit like the Cup Lichen I had found earlier. The caps also seemed translucent, so looking from above the pattern of the gills could be seen. Whenever I saw them their colour sprung to life against the mat of green algae or as below bryophytes, on which they are often found:

The last image is of another Greenhood, and the third orchid we spotted during the walk. I find snail orchids a tad tricky to identify, but I’m learning and took account more notice of a few features such as the basal rosette of leaves which gave this one away. We found Slender Snail Orchid (Pterostylis crispula) at a couple of spots, but this was the best find. A heap of the plants were growing in the detritus at the end of a fallen trunk, and their green contrasted nicely against the burnt blackened wood or it would have if the sun wasn’t in the wrong position. The hood of these orchids are clearly visible, covering the top of the plant and looking a bit like a peaky cap:

The comfort zone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crystal healing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Window of opportunity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Making tracks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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: