Sandbagged

Kicking goals

A long weekend heralds the arrival of crowds from Perth. We can expect busy roads on Friday, as we head home from work, and the beach starts to fill out more than usual. On such weekends there is little point in heading anywhere in the local area for a feed or to a coastal spot that is insta-famous, as it is likely to be packed. I feel Peppy Beach is getting to be more well-known and visited, which in part is due to the caravan park, but where we are located tends to be the quieter end:

Boat access here isn’t great, and as I came out from the first dip of the weekend another car with a boat trailer was bogged in the soft sand. Hopefully discouraged from launching from this area in the future. The sound of a propeller and engine can travel long distances underwater. When you are looking down snorkelling it can feel a little uneasy hearing the sound, but not really knowing how far away or close the boat or jet ski could be. Most time, and for my three swims last weekend and into the week, I didn’t have to worry about that:

The conditions were good and I spent three quarter of an hour or so each time just floating about relaxing. During the first dive on Sunday, I spotted a few small schools of juvenile fish and spent a fair bit of time watching them. Young fish can be hard to identify, but I think the above may be juvenile Western Striped Cardinalfish (Ostorhinchus victoriae). Based on the patterning and distinctive spot at the base of the tail. But the adults of these are fish are normally solitary fish that lurk in caves, and while these were hugging a reef they were in the open water so I’m not convinced:

The above juvenile fish were staying just above the weed, and were well camouflaged. I am a little more confident in saying these were juvenile Western Striped Grunter (Helotes octolineatus). Slight horizontal, but less distinctive, lines and a slightly more streamlined body seemed to match what they will grow into, as they become adults. Sunday morning I got down a bit earlier to a relatively quiet beach, less people and flatter conditions. The oil slick from burley stretching out from a lone fisherman, a local fella who always gives me a wave when our paths cross:

I was hoping that I might see a ray or two, drawn towards the shore by the burley. Sure enough as I went in I came across a couple of rays, but they spotted me before I saw them and took flight. A long whip like tail trailing behind, as the disappeared. With what looked like just a flick or two of the wings they were gone. Unlike the recent image of the small oval shaped stingaree, this ray’s disc was more board in shape with triangular tips, so I knew it was an eagle ray but which one was unclear:

After swimming in the general direction the rays had gone, and of course not finding them, I decided to just keep swimming. Eventually I got to the furthest part of the reef that I go out too. Far from the eyes of people on the beach but still in water that is no more than 5m deep. Here I bobbed about, lots of fish life kept me entertained, and then I spotted what looked like an orange strip. To my delight I had spotted a 10cm long Short Tail Nudibranch (Ceratosoma brevicaudatum):

Despite being in 4m of water I spent a lot of time and energy duck diving down to see this fella. I was regretting not having my weights, which would have made getting down easier and saved me breathe to stay down long. Still I was able to get some great images and could clearly see the mushroom like ‘horn’ just behind the feathery gills. This horn is where it stores horrible tasting chemicals extracted from the food it eats. And it is specifically coloured to attract potential predators to the nastiest tasting part of the animal, so a kind of defensive mechanism:

After tiring myself out in the deeper water I headed closer to shore, here I watched fish dart about below me. And have included the above image of a brightly coloured juvenile McCulloch’s Scalyfin (Parma mccullochi), next to an adult Western Striped Cardinalfish. The fish I thought the first image of the small school of juveniles might be. And not that it proves anything, but both images were taken on the same bit of reef within about five meters of each other. Looking up I saw the fisherman had left the beach and felt it was also time for me to exit the water:

As I swam across the sandy bay, I saw a couple of the rays again. This time I got a bit closer but they were still pretty flighty. The one that didn’t escape the lens of my camera had lost its whip like tail. And with this image the mottled patterning allowed me to identify it as a Southern Eagle Ray (Myliobatis tenuicaudatus). Both rays had been munching on what I assume was burley or bait that the fisherman had left behind, and as each ray alighted from the sea bed I spotted a heap of, what I believe were, Sand Whiting (Sillago ciliate) also feasting on the leftovers:

It was another hot week here so on my way home on Wednesday, with a calm wind and no hint of a sound of waves as I stepped out of my car I decided I would have a swim. I was pleased I did. I came across my second ever sighting of a Giant Sea Hare (Aplysia gigantea), my last sighting being April last year. It was at least half a meter long, and the relatives of this gentle slimy giant had hit the news as they do this time each year. Now is when dog owners are on alert, as sea hares wash onto the beach and can be very toxic to dogs:

I have found afternoon dives are generally a little quieter under the surface. As such I wasn’t surprised that the rest of the dive was relatively uneventful. Still it was a great way to end a working day, and also to cool down. Just before heading out I felt like I scored when I came across a male Whitebarred Boxfish (Anoplocapros lenticularis). It really wasn’t hard to spot the foot long, bright orange, football sized fish in amongst the mottled browns and greens. Equally it wasn’t too hard for it to see me either, and it kept its distance and eventually slunk into a crevice:

Stretching the rope

Over the festive period, which seems so long ago now, I would normally pop down to the south coast to get out for a climb with Kym. However, just before the school holidays last year, he took a fall of his skateboard and badly sliced his wrist on a broken bottle. Needless to say that put paid to any climbing, as well as skateboarding, playing the guitar and most other things he enjoys. I’m glad to say that he is sufficiently on the mend now allowing most things to resume, which includes climbing:

We did however need to make sure we didn’t do anything too hard. This suited me as I continue to take things relatively easy on the climbing front, to allow old injuries to again settled down. So at just after 4am Saturday morning, I popped a cup of tea next to Lisa in her thermos mug before leaving the house in the darkness. There were a few reasons for not driving down on Friday. It’s a long weekend and the roads would have been horribly busy. Driving down when I did, I hardly saw another soul on the four hour’ish journey:

Other reasons being that Kym was working nights and we were not going too hard, so there was no need for us to get to the rock for a silly early start. I arrived just before 8am, surprised to find out that Meg, Tessa, Claire, Beau and even Sonny, the pooch, were not there. Normally by this time the house would be a hive of activity and noise, but instead it was eerily quiet and Kym was already all packed up and ready to head out. I found out that Meg and the kids had made use of the long weekend to visit family, but Kym had to work so couldn’t join them:

With such a quiet house Kym looked a little lost, which I can understand. When you are used a busy household, it seems a lovely idea to have the house to yourself. But when it happens, after an hour or two it doesn’t seems like it is so much fun after all. So in a way it was a good weekend to go down and get out with Kym, and fun was what we were after. We’d already discussed our destination. A place Kym had only been to once before, over a decade back. And a place that Howsie and I have been wanting to visit for ages:

Family Rocks 01 05-03-2022 Download

While Howsie didn’t make it this time, his rope did. To make the access easier we needed a couple of 60m ropes, Kym has one but I don’t and Howsie kindly lent us his. Family Rocks, is a strange name for the crag that requires a 2km, off the beaten track, bush hike and does not poses one aspect that I would call family friendly (check out the video above). But this out of the way and forgotten crag is a towering 150m from the ocean to its top. A gentle angled slab, with nothing too hard on it but also not a lot of gear options. The slab is enormous and it is hard to get a good idea of it when you are so close to it:

So we decided to repeat the only route Kym had done before, as this allowed us to get our bearings and also a feel for the rock. It provided 120m of climbing, and is the only bolted route here. A line of bolt heads is all that shows you the path. As we rapped down we had real problems spotting them. Eventually we found it, with the base being at the end of two long raps one being a full 60m. The belay anchors were a healthy distance about the ocean, but the roar of the waves was ever present reminding us of our situation. And the need to be careful:

I was up first, just a bank of rain looked to be coming our way. While the grades were not silly, we still had to rely on friction and some very small edges numerous times. A shower would result in water streaming down the rock, and nearly all friction would be lost. Something Rongy and I experienced on the granite slabs on the south coast on another trip: https://sandbagged.blog/2021/03/10/battling-the-elements/. Knowing what might happen I went for it, climbing quickly and fortunately as I looked up the bolts were easy to spot. As it was I could have taken my time and enjoyed the first pitch a bit more:

The rain headed out to sea and all we got were a few drops. Kym’s wrist seemed to hold up OK. Although down palming, which stretches the wrist just where he had injured it, was uncomfortable. Regardless of this he was happy to take the next lead, this time stretching the rope on a monster 60m pitch. It was no unexpectedly more of the same, following the bolts and padding your way up. It was a fun line, and there is no disputing the setting was stunning. But what Kym and I were really after was some adventurous trad, so after a snack we went back down:

The granite slabs along the south coast generally tend not have a huge amount of features. This makes trad climbing a little trick, as you need to have flakes, cracks, pockets and/or breaks in which to place gear. Added to this, and for a crag that is so vast, the route descriptions are a little vague. So this time we rapped all the way to the huge square cut slab, allowing us a better view of where the routes may go. Even then some were not entirely obvious, as we looked up at a mostly blank slab rising above us:

We decided on a weakness that resembled a crack line. It got pretty thin in places, but looked like it should provide opportunities for gear. The initial belay station from our first line just happened to be at the base of this feature, so we again set up there. The climbing was never too hard, but it was engaging and the crack provided sufficient gear opportunities. If I had taken my tricams along, which were in my pack at the top of the crag, there would have been even more. I set up a belay ready to allow Kym to follow me and he shouted up to make sure that the belay was on good gear, which it was:

His main reason for asking me that was the next pitch. From the base it looked like whichever line we took, it may be run out with less options for gear. I did not lie about the belay I had set up it was great, but I feel like I would have wanted Kym to climb the first pitch regardless of the belay as it was a lovely route. He enjoyed it as much as I did, in fact so much that any thought of his wrist, as he climbed, had vanished from his mind. He met me at the belay buzzing, which changed a little as he eyed up the two options for the next pitch. These were, continue along the disappearing crack to the left or go up the featureless slab:

Not having been out on rock for a while he wasn’t too keen to push things, so he offered me the lead. While the continuation crack looked like a lot of fun I was also conscious that being a rising traverse it would probably not be sensible. If it was thin on gear that would really mess with Kym’s head. On a traverse a fall will result in penduluming onto the closets piece of gear. And both the leader and second could experience this if they fall, so instead I decided to go upwards. That way Kym would have a rope above him, and any fall potential would be reduced:

It was a good choice that I went first, at the start there was a 10m plus runout up the slab. Not even my tricams would have helped. There were a couple of delicate moves the hardest of which being quite high up. As such I needed to double check every small edge, some were loose. It was just what I hoped for and I loved it. I was fully focused and relished the runout, need to control my thoughts, and make precise well considered moves. It was another rope stretching pitch, and we both really enjoyed it. This just left us a short final pitch, which I was pleased to see Kym step up to and romp up confidently:

Because you are continually on your toes, slab climbing will test how comfortable your shoes really are. And after two long multi-pitch routes we were both keen to get our shoes off and keep them off. So while we could have easily got another route in with the daylight left, both of us were content and preferred to leave while riding on the high of the great trad line we had just bagged. More food was consumed before sorting the gear and shouldering the packs. The 2km hike out seemed to be much longer than the hike in, another sign telling us that we had climbed enough for today:

The hike is very picturesque and follows a ridge that goes up and down. Looking north we got the occasional glimpse of Albany across Frenchman’s Bay. Ahead to the east The Gap and further in the distance Peak Head came in and out of view. They seemed to be continually basking in sunlight. Then when we finished the bush hike and reached the short circular walking trail that takes in Sharp Point, there was a great view back west of Family Rocks with the turbines of the windfarm in the distance, almost obscured by the salt spray drifting up the steep cliff line:

It was a storming day out with a great hike, an amazing setting and really good climbing; as it usually is when I head out with Kym. Back at the house it again felt a little strange without the rest of the Hartley clan being there. Although we did take advantage of it and had a feast of fish and prawns, as we watched The Alpinist. The stunning scenery and scale of the ascents in the film eclipsing what we had just experienced at Family Rocks. But it is all relative and we were both still reeling from the day we had just had. While it is not everyone’s cup or tea, I’ll definitely head back to Family Rocks to explore the other trad lines on offer there:

Kym was back on a night shift that night, so as he headed off to work I hit the sack. He did try to tempt me with a morning trip to the Blowholes, but I refrained not wanting to push things at the moment plus I was feeling pretty worn out from the adventure we had just had. In addition I might have another big day next weekend, and need to make sure I pace myself. With an empty house, and not needing to say any more goodbyes, I got another early start to head home on Sunday. As I drove round Frenchman’s Bay the only light came from the street lights in Albany, and I was already half way home by the time the sun poked over the horizon:

My precious

I am a great fan of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, so much so I have read the books and watched the films multiple times. And all I could think of, as I watched my wedding ring disappear between the boulder, was the sound of metal bouncing off rock when Gollum dropped the one ring in the deep and dark tunnels within the Misty Mountains. I would normally take my ring off in the car and attach it to my car keys, but today I waited till we were at the crag. And all Josh and I could do was watch it fall and then disappear below the boulders, listening to the tink, tink, tink that became more faded with each bounce:

We had an initial look, and then started to move a few of the more manageable rocks. We could see what looked like the bottom, but no ring was insight. The rocks we moved started to get bigger and bigger, and we need to take great care not to crush our fingers, hands or feet. Each time checking if we could see more clearly, but no luck. I was ready to call it quits, after all we were at the fittingly named Lost Buttress. But Josh reckoned if we moved the big boulder that looked iron stained, we’d be able to move the smaller ones underneath and see more clearly:

So we collected some flotsam and strategically moved some pretty big boulders to create space for the big one to fall into. It was starting to remind me of the reality television shows showing people shifting boulders on treacherous scree slopes to find gems. But with a bit of thought and care we managed to roll the biggest boulder out of the way. Next we began to lift and roll the rocks, previous pinned down by the big one, to one side. We spent a good half an hour all up, but thanks to Josh’s optimism and persistence we finally found my precious:

After the hike along the coast to get to the crag, and warming up every muscle in our bodies by shifting some sizable rocks we were finally getting down to why we came here. We started on No Nuts Required, a gentle but fun climb to begin on. Today was a bit of a slightly later start not due to the shenanigans thus far, but because it was forecast to be a bit cooler today. As such it was close to 8am before we started climbing, when I found this March Fly that was feeling too dozy, cold, or lazy to fly off. It simply walked away from me:

Only the female flies bite, with the sole purpose of getting protein from blood to develop eggs. They use tiny blades to slice into the victims flesh so they can drink the blood that pools in the wound. But fortunately for us this was the only one we saw today, and it didn’t seem in the mood to try and get our blood. Josh followed up with relative ease, the hard yakka of the morning hadn’t dented his stride. I had already mapped out a bit of a plan for the session, and we quickly scrambled back down and got ready for the next route:

Jenga was up next. And after we had shifted the large boulders at the base, some of which seemed to have moved a bit too freely, it made us think about the large boulders that give this climb it’s name. Large jumbled blocks at mid height that it is impossible to avoid. Some of which seem to be balanced in place, but I have never noticed any indication of movement before. We experienced the same today, they didn’t budge, but it didn’t stop us being that little bit more cautious, as we gingerly edged over and past them:

This one made Josh think a bit more, but he managed a clean ascent so we moved onto Washing Away the Blues, creeping the grades slowly upwards. While, just like the top of Jenga, the top of the third route played a little with his head. But each time he gave himself a little talking too, and then powered through. As I led the fourth route I felt it may have been a tad too hard. Due to the smeary footholds and steeper sustained nature, in a very exposed position. Despite all of this he worked hard and it wasn’t until the final moves at the top that his footwork let him down, and his arms started to give out:

This time when we got back down we packed up the gear and left Lost Buttress, but we were not heading out yet. After a short boulder hop we dropped the bags at The Playground, it was time for Josh to pop his leading cherry and he was sounding keen. With big juggy holds and a soft sandy landing this place is a great spot for a first lead. Before he set off on his first lead we talked a bit about gear placements and rope work. Chimpanzee was a good one to start on with comfortable stances from where you can place the gear. Despite his arms having started to give out earlier, he managed the route and placed bomber gear:

Some people don’t like lead climbing, the rope being below them makes them nervous and plays with their head. Even on climbs they may have got up before with relative ease. I therefore checked in with Josh and said he really enjoyed the feeling. So I sent him up a variation of Cookie Monster, which made him work a little harder. But not too much, and he climbed it safely popping in well-spaced and placed gear. He was eager for more, and I pointed him to a section of the wall that provided the steepest and most sustained challenge yet. I could see he was working harder this time, but again he got good gear in as he methodically worked his way up:

Confessing his arms were now well and truly ready for a, well deserved, rest we finally packed up. During the rock hop back along the boulders we spotted a White Faced Heron, and I couldn’t resist including the image. While they are known to inhabit tidal mudflats and beaches, I was a little surprised to see it on a rough rocky coastline with nowhere for such a wader to hunt for food. Unlike the Heron we had however been successful in looking for what we wanted today, firstly a great adventurous morning out and secondly my ring. But so as not to tempt fate it was not until we got back to the car that I popped my wedding ring back on my finger:

Close encounters of the smallest kind

The beach is a short three minute walk from where we live, and jumping in the water after work is always so refreshing. It can also help to wash away whatever thoughts of work may remain lurking in the back of my mind. Despite knowing this, I rarely make use of the extravagant luxury of where we live. In part due to wanting to snorkel and see something, as opposed to just bobbing in the water. Often I’ll do a quick drive over the hill to check the water before getting home, and if it doesn’t look snorkelable then I don’t bother:

This week however, the water looked inviting, seeming to be relatively calm and potentially clear. The stark contrast in colour between the water over the sand and reef being a great indication of how good the visibility was likely to be. As a result of this I have taken advantage, and had a couple of dips during the week and one today. The first dip was on a hot and bright day with amazing visibility, and I soon found myself 150m plus from shore. Here four fish appeared and stayed with me for the majority of the dive. Staying mostly below me, and not being afraid as I duck dived down:

My initial thought was that they were herring, but the yellow tail indicated not. And due to their relative lack of inhibitions, compared to herring, I was able to get some great images and identified them as Silver Trevally (Pseudocaranx georgianus), a fish I do not recall seeing too often. For the second dive the sun was again bright in the sky, but the water was a little murkier. Maybe for that reason I found a few shoals of smaller fish out in the open. Below these Yellowhead Hulafish (Trachinops noarlungae) are a species I normally only find under a ledge or in a cave. They have a very distinctive yellow shaped tail that looks a bit like an arrow:

Being a carnivorous fish, known to feed on feed on crabs, fishes, and larvae, these darker recess are where they are more like to find a feed. I can only assume that the other fish intermingled with them, with a deeper and shorter body, are also carnivorous. With Rongy’s assistance we think they may be juvenile Silver Trevally. Another shoal of fish that has popped up in the last few dives are the ones below. While hard to see in the images they are different to the silver fish mixing with the Yellowhead Hulafish, plus I have seen these more frequently brazenly swimming in the open:

Again a bit of guess work, but Rongy and I thought they may be Juvenile Yellowback Fusilier (Caesio xanthonota). The Yellowback Fusilier feed exclusively on plankton, which would explain why I see these out in the open water more often. And again if we have guessed right, an interesting fact about these fish is that they can protrude their upper jaw outwards. Making snatching plankton out of the water easier. My next find is one that I have included in quite a few posts, and I will no doubt do so again. Every time I see Bat-wing Seaslug (Sagaminopteron ornatum) flying through the water I’m captivated:

This time however, I allowed it to rest on the palm of my hand and it’s lobes, which are normally flapping as it swims through the water (check out the video of this in the linked post https://sandbagged.blog/2021/02/14/deja-vu/), curled upwards to provide protection for its main body. These sea slugs belong to the Gastropteridae family, and can be found in tropical through to artic waters off Alaska. However, one thing the many species have in common is that they are small. The largest is only an inch long, and some are mere millimetres long. This species found in Western Australia is approximately one centimetre in length. And this happened to be the same size of my next find, something I have not come across before:

To provide an idea of scale I also included the next image. I’ve been told it was a sea louse, and that they are not often seen floating about like this. Most people will find them attached to their catch, as they reel a fish in. They use suction to attach themselves to the fish, and can move along the scales as they graze on the hosts body. They can, as such, become a lethal parasite. There have been reports of people getting nasty rashes and reaction to sea lice, but today despite seeing two of these I didn’t notice any after effects:

Today’s dive was again different, the water was clear enough but the sky was a bit cloudy. Resulting in the visibility being that bit reduced, and I immediately noticed that there were quite a few Comb jellies (Phylum Ctenophora) bobbing about in the water. These resemble jellyfish, but they are part of a distinct and diverse group of their own. They capture their food by literally sticking to it, not having or using the paralysing stinging tactics of true jelly fish. Although I have read there is one species called Ctenophore (Haeckelia rubra), not only does it eat other jellyfish, but it takes their stinging cells and uses them as a weapon on its own tentacles:

The stinging type is found in Australian waters, but it is not the ones I see. Or at least I have not to date been stung by them. Watching the light catch the rows of tiny hairs move in unison along each ridge is quite special, so I always stop and spend time with these gentle jellies. Today however, and on three occasions, I found something else hovering right next to them. And as I moved round to get a better look the tiny newly hatched Horseshoe Leatherjacket (Meuschenia hippocrepis), would swim to the other side of the jelly. I took lots and lots of images in the hope one would be in focus:

The camera doesn’t always pick up the translucent body of these jellies and this tiny fish was less than five millimetres long so again not big enough for the camera to focus on. I was both rewarded and really happy to have captured a few reasonable shots. The one above being my favourite, really showing the tiny fish’s dorsal spine and blue eye. These are by far the smallest fish I have seen, and it is amazing to think that they will grow into a fish that can be as much as 120 time longer, at sixty centimetres. While not the full adult size I did see some more mature specimens of this fish, and maybe due to the cloudy weather they along with numerous other fish were out and about:

Today duck diving to check out the caves I regularly frequent, I was often faced with a good variety of fish. Being dark it was hard to get a good image, but the above one wasn’t too bad in which I watched a Horseshoe Leatherjacket, Squareback Butterflyfish, Juvenile Moonlighter, Western Striped Cardinalfish, and Orange Spotted Wrasse. Or were they watching me. As a result of the reduced visibility from the lack of direct sunlight I stayed relatively close to shore today, no more than 75m. Spending a fair bit of time combing the weedy bottom, which is where I found another shoal of small one centimetre long juvenile fish:

I am not game to try and name the above fish, although they could be from the bullseye family. But the below Impressive Pencil Urchin (Gonicocidrais impressa) is something I have found and had identify before. Swimming over the sandy bay towards the beach I spotted an oddly shaped collection of weed, which was not moving in the usual or expected rhythmically way as the gentle swell went back and forth. As I got close the spines became evident and in-between the weed covered spines I could see the armoured round body of the urchin. The ends of the spines on these urchins have cupped suckers, allowing them to hold on to the reef in rough seas:

It is the first urchin I have found so far into the sandy area, and I am not sure it was intentional. Compared to the reef this was a very vulnerable and unprotected environment for the urchin. Leaving nature as I found it, I swam on back to the beach. And as I approached the shoreline a large shoal of Hardyhead Silverside (Atherinomorus lacunosus) blocked my path. A couple of thousand swam in a long seemingly never ending line, between me and the beach that was no more than five meters away. So I stopped and let them cross my path, which took some time. Watching them disappear before getting out of the water:

22022022

With a date like today’s, combined with Howsie’s 2022 challenge of attempting every grade 22 in the south west climbing guide, how could we not take a day out from the routine of life to bag a 22 or two. In fact we thought maybe in keeping with the date Howsie should jump on three 22s, but that did limit our options of where to climb. Welly Dam, which we visit most Friday mornings before work, or Bob’s Hollow were the two obvious places. Wit felt like we climb at the former enough, and for the latter the access track is still closed due to the recent bushfires:

So it came down to lines that he was particularly keen to try. There are some climbs that people see and they yearn to be climbed, it may be the neatness of the line, the rock architecture or simply a name of a route that draws you in. And for today Howsie’s response was swift, Smiths Beach it was. Not only for a great climb, but also possibly only the second ascent of the route. We arrived as light was just peeking into the sky, the timing was great. This place gets early sun and it would heat up like a hot box today, with a forecast of about 30 degrees:

To limber up the body and become accustomed to the rock, we popped into the smaller of the two zawns first. Of all places to climb around here, this is the one where you want to ease into the climbing. The roundness of the rock, and coating of small flakes that always seem to be present is not everyone’s cup of tea. And even us who venture here more frequently need to re-familiarise ourselves with these characteristics. There were two primary reason for the smaller zawn, Howsie hasn’t done many of the routes here and there are a few fun lower to mid-grade lines, perfect to get the body moving:

Sadly the rock was wet, and on one wall it was so wet that the rock felt slimy. So after one route we moved into the big zawn, where the rock was merely a little damp to touch. The friction however shone through and after a second slightly trickier warmup climb, Howsie looked up and decided now was the time. Buffalo Soldier has a tenuous, what I feel is a grade 22 traverse, on small holds some offering little more than friction, with final a nerve wrecking lean across to flake feature:

As you’ll see between the above and below image, it really doesn’t take long for the sun to creep up on you in this place. So Howsie was in full sun as he got to the traverse. There was the usual Howsie yo-yoing, in a sideways fashion, as each time he inched his way closer to the flake. Then reversing the moves back to the safety of the stance just below the gear. Eventually he went for it and leaned over, holding onto not much, as his fingertips just made contact with the flake. Pulling over the flake Howsie was deservedly very chuffed, as you will find out if you watch the video:

Buffalo Soldier 22-02-2022 Download

It is only the second time I have been on this route, and I really enjoyed it. In fact I feel like I should lead it again sometime. Speaking of which you may notice there is no mention of me having led anything. There were a few reasons for this, firstly I was a feeling weary and uncoordinated, not a good way to be when climbing on this type of rock; secondly, and sadly, I think I have been climbing too much of late and my old shoulder injury is starting to niggle again; and most importantly Howsie was climbing well from the start and I wanted to give him the best chance to bag Buffalo Solider. Allowing him to have lead after lead to build up his confidence, without getting too tired by following me up additional lines:

It had worked well, and he was feeling up for giving The Holy Grail a bash. While he got up it and had great fun, after the event, even he would agree he needs to go back and lead it again. As there was what some may call unacceptable techniques adopted. While he hadn’t exhausted his physical stamina on the first three routes, he had worn down his mental focus. And this route is even more of a mind game than Buffalo Soldier, despite being an easier grade. To finish off and Craig, you may be happy to hear, your line Small Pro also got what is probably it’s second ascent:

It was only nine in the morning as we walked out but it was already 28 degrees and the zawns were unbearable. Despite such a short climbing window, there was another reason we picked Smith Beach. It allowed us to head for a dip afterwards. The usual crowd of tourists were heading into the natural feature located approximately half way along the bay between the zawn and Canal Rocks. We left them to The Aquarium, another overrun Insta-famous attraction. Instead, jumping in the water at the Canal Rock’s boat ramp, and having the place to ourselves:

For a change we headed along the edge of the rocks out to the ocean. Some areas dropped off quite deeply, which meant there may have been bigger things out there. I only spotted one that was cruising along the edge of the sandy bay. My guess, based on body shape, is a Grouper? But it was heading steadily away from me and was in water over 10m deep, so my chances of getting any closer to check it out were zero. No matter we saw heaps of fish, and while I did take a few images, I was mostly content with just watching them:

They seemed to be in full feeding frenzy, mixed shoals of fish were hovering round the rocks. As the larger species pecked away at the rocks in search of a feed, the smaller fish seemed to be waiting until the dislodged bits floated out into the water allowing them to dart in to grab them. As I went down the big fish swam away quickly, while the smaller ones kept feeding not being too worried until I got really close. This Bluelined Leatherjacket (Meuschenia galii) and Brownfield’s Wrasse (Halichoeres brownfieldi) didn’t however seem to mind me saying hello:

On our return swim we attempted to head into the canal, and just as we went under the bridge we spied a large group of squid watching us. As we attempted to head into the deep canals the swell was starting to pick up and it really didn’t look all that inviting. So instead we turned around and slowly pottered back to the beach, spotting plenty of life below us along the way. Fair to say that Howsie may not have bagged three 22s today, but he did get a great one under his belt and we both had a very fun climb and snorkel:

Blame the grease

When I wrote up my thoughts about Alan, way back as COVID was taking hold, I called him the tagalong (https://sandbagged.blog/2020/04/21/alan-the-tagalong/). His trips outdoors would be few and far between, and then it was more about catching up and a bit of fun. This was in part due to his many other competing outdoor pursuits. So despite being one of the fittest people I know, his climbing fitness has in my mind never really grown to its true potential. Last year he went back to Ireland, and by the time he returned he’d been gone for twenty weeks. So today was a reintroduction to rock, with an even longer absence than usual, and of course the chance for a catch-up:

We decided on Beginners Wall. A small, some might say scrappy, crag that is part of the Wilyabrup area. It only has a bunch of mostly lower grade routes and I have not been here very often. My last record of visiting the place was in late 2014 with Steve (https://sandbagged.blog/2014/11/02/beginners-wall/) and then Lou. I remember we had a blast on both of these trips and put up a few first ascents, but I can’t honestly recall seeing glue-in P bolts at the top of the crag. I just remember the completely rusted out iron stakes and large U-bolts sunk into a big plugs of concrete, which you can check out in the linked post:

The tags indicated a couple were placed in late 2014, but others may have been more recently added. There were at least eight along the top and we even found a couple at the base of the wall no doubt to anchor into as you belayed. This was a little surprising. The crag gets very little attention and to support this statement, unlike the main area, we found absolutely no evidence of chalk on the rock. The bolts did however make it easier for us to set up an abseil and the belay anchors after each route. The was probably not in Alan’s favour, with less time between each climb for him to recover:

We started sensibly, on the easy lines in the middle of the wall. While I recognised a few of the more distinct routes, I really had no idea what we were climbing nor what the grades were. There is however nothing too hard here and certainly we were starting on routes well within Alan’s capability, despite his long absence from rock. He was quick to remark that the rock felt greasy. He wasn’t wrong, and the air looked a little misty from the spray and felt heavy with humidity. But with the grades we were hitting it really wasn’t an issue:

Being so close to the ocean this crag is far more susceptible to being coated in greasy feeling salt spray. Maybe the rock would have been better at the main cliffs, but it was nice to have this place to ourselves. We also both agreed the longer routes at the main cliffs may have drained Alan’s stamina that bit quicker. The first four lines fell quickly, and the only gear I used was a pink tricam. I even placed both of them in the fourth climb. In fact I wasn’t sure why I was carrying a full rack with me other than for weight training, as Alan pointed out:

We did occasionally stop and check out things that caught our eye. Like the above, what looked like a recent scar. It was definitely very fresh, and we didn’t see any other areas with such a brilliant white colour. Completely free of any algae or discolouration due to oxidization, neither of which would take long in this environment. Surprisingly we could not find the block that had been dislodged, which meant it must have been a very rough sea. On closer inspection the white scar was not clean exposed rock, but a thin veneer of limestone. It’s almost as if a bricklayer had come along and used limestone as mortar secure the block in place:

For our fifth route, which having now inspected the guide hasn’t been recorded as a climb, was the one where Alan’s lack of climbing fitness started to show. The line looked innocent enough from below, but proved to be pretty fierce. While I desperately tried to continue the theme of using just a pink tricam the top one didn’t inspire confidence. The holds were slopey, small and spaced and due to the poor gear I decided it was best to traverse out right to better holds. Even this was a little pumpy, and it was all too much for Alan’s forearms. He didn’t give up and persevered, eventually, in-between references to greasy holds, topping out:

As we were stood on top of the unnamed route, one I will have to come back to so I can lead the direct line with maybe a better choice of gear placements, we saw three people wandering our way. Looking like hermit crabs with boulder mats strapped to their backs. Coming along the base past Driftwood Bay seemed a strange approach, seeing there is a great coastal path higher on the ridge. As they walked past us we had a chat and they too had found the boulders at the base of the main area of Wilyabrup greasy. So they were now moving to the base of the Northern Blocks in hope of slightly better conditions, which explained the rationale of their chosen path:

This short interlude provided a bit more rest time, before we hit our next line. This time I didn’t hold back placing a wire and then a cam, but of course also had to use the pink tricam. While Alan’s brain could see the moves, it seemed that his arms and legs were misbehaving and not doing what they were instructed. The problem wasn’t his internal communications but, in addition to what he claimed were greasy holds, that his forearms were shot. His hands were simply unable to hold on any long. He dogged his way up the above line but the next one, which is the classic of the crag and a very fine corner, was simply too much:

I wasn’t overly surprised, and was impressed that we had managed to get as many routes in as we did. But I wasn’t done, there was one more line I wanted to try that is mostly unprotected. I don’t recall leading it before, so I did today. I led it with a cam low down hoping to get the pink tricam in higher, but it didn’t fit. So I had to lead it again placing the pink tricam instead of the cam, taking a short video as evidence. After that, with Alan still at the base, we climbed out on one of the easier lines. And as we walked out it looked like the three boulders had also found some routes on which they, like Alan had managed on the last route, could hang onto the greasy holds:

Beginners Wall 19-02-2022 Download

A little ray of sunshine

For the first time since before the school holidays, two months back, the conditions along our stretch of coastline seem to be improving. The last week has been another scorcher, mid-thirties and above most days but this time there have not been the strong easterlies to churn up the water. As such this week I have had a couple of mid-week dips. The first one was just to cool down, but it was so good that Nana joined me for a second dip on Thursday. Before my first dive I wasn’t convinced, maybe jaded and feeling like I have been tricked once too often into thinking it would be good:

But as I swam out, the sunlight pierced right down to the sandy base. Casting that familiar, soothing and rhythmical pattern the sun makes, as it gets deflected by the surface ripples. It was a hugely welcome sight. Just the water clarity was enough to make me smile, but then saw a Bight Stingaree lounging about below making me smile even more. This species is also known as the Striped Stingaree, and the Latin name Trygonoptera ovalis reflects this distinct oval (ovalis) shape of its disc. Chatting to Nana on the second dive, during which we saw no rays, we remarked how absent the numerous rays, which are normally found here, have been this season:

While we didn’t see any rays on that second dive, as with the first there was a lot of active fish life. The place seemed calm and had a tranquil feel to it, and maybe the fish had also noticed the change and come out to feed. On clear days like this I venture out up to about 150m, and it gets a little deeper. If you bob about on the surface in one spot your eyes become accustomed, and you start to see the movement of numerous fish. I was happy to see two fish in particular, ones that I have not frequently seen on the reef off our local beach. The first being a fish that is endemic to Western Australia being the Magpie Morwong, Goniistius gibbosus:

The second is the Spinytail Leatherjacket, Acanthaluteres brownie. I have only ever seen a few of them, but on both dives this week I saw groups of up to eight of them foraging in the weed. These are very skittish fish, and are quick to slink away, so I have never really got a good image of them. I think that I may have only ever seen the female of this fish, as checking on the Fish of Australia website it indicates the males seem to be much more brightly patterned. The females are still very striking, and also display the namesake two pairs of spines just in front of the tail:

No matter how many times I went down, nor how far away I went down from the fish to try and sneak up on them, they seemed to allude me. The deeper water gave them plenty of notice of what I was up to and I could see their bodies shifting into position to keep a better eye on where I was. Eventually I gave up with this game of cat and mouse, reverting back to bobbing about content with seeing all the other fish. Closer to shore the depth reduces and there are large areas of weed:

In these weedy areas while I see lots of fish, it is way too easy for them to duck undercover. It is however a good place to spot cephalopods, such as cuttlefish and squid. The former do not usually move as fast and are less skittish, and the latter tend not to go into the weed from what I have observed. I didn’t spot any cephalopods this time, but did start to see groups of the same leatherjacket. Being shallower I had a slight advantage this time, and was eventually rewarded with an almost in focus image, as this fish darted away:

Nana hadn’t been snorkelling in this area before, and was pleasantly surprised. Like me she is happy to float there and just watch, but also like me she pops down every so often to take a closer look for hidden gems. Each section of the beach has its own distinct feel, our spot is a bit deeper and more open. Wave walk is next prominent section heading north east, which is like a nursery being shallow and sheltered. Then off the beach where Nana and Geoff live there are lots of small bommies, followed by the Capel River Mouth area which has large open sandy bays between large bommies. Finally you hit the extensive reef that stretches for another six kilometres past the point, which is the densest reef:

They are all good, but I do like the ability to walk out of the door and dive in off the beach. This week’s two dives were about the fish, but I spotted many other creatures and this one had to be included. Something had taken a bite out of the otherwise perfect Vermillion biscuit starfish, Pentagonaster dubeni. Despite having been mauled, the distinct pebble like pattern still prevailed in the fleshy white body under the skin. Sea stars are echinoderms, meaning “spiny skin” in Greek, which is exactly what their skin is on the upper side. Although the spins can be very small, hard to see and are not a form of protection from prey:

The primary function of the spins, or pedicellaria, is to keep the skin free of unwanted objects. Whereas for other echinoderms the spins are a form of protection, such as sea urchins. As we started to come back to shore, Nana spotted a blue swimmer crab and couldn’t resist a closer encounter. Seeing if by mimicking the crabs actions, it might accept her as one of its own. It certainly seemed to confuse the poor crab, as it didn’t swim away and seemed frozen to the spot. It looks like we might be in for some more favourable winds conditions for a little while, so with calmer waters we are hoping a few more rays might start to come back to say hello again:

A jolly good morning

I feel like I might have jinxed my early morning encounters by mentioning them, in more detail that I would normally, in my last post. Today I sadly came across a lifeless young roo and, just a few hundred meter along, brush-tailed phascogale. Fatalities from the night. While at times the animals do just come out of nowhere, with limited chances of breaking and avoiding them. Many of the night time drivers don’t take as much care as they could, and when they do hit animals they leave them in the road like this:

I stopped and moved both of their limp bodies off the road. The main reason for doing this is to avoid any scavengers becoming the next fatality as they take the opportunity for a an easy feed. And yes I did take a gruesome image of the phascogale, but have refrained from including that. Chatting to Howsie he mentioned that while the brush tail variety aren’t listed as a priority, threatened nor endangered species, they are not that commonly seen. I feel lucky to see them as often as I do, and would rather share an image of a live one with you:

Today Steve was a live one, as he came running along the soft sandy beach to catch up with me. He had stuff to do, so I wandered ahead of him taking in the morning hues and just loving being out here. We left a bunch of people back at the carpark sleeping in their tents and cars; campers from the night before who were yet to rouse. I have been seeing more and more carpark campers, which surprises me. The rangers are usually pretty onto illegal camping but personally I feel that if you leave the place as you found it, it isn’t an issue:

That said walking through the dunes to get to the beach today, we came across numerous things that really shouldn’t have been left like that. And in times of desperation when you just can’t hold on, they should in the very least have been buried. Steve too was finding it hard to hold on today. But not in the same way. In part due to the early start, also his core strength is not what it used to be and on Friday night he had taken Marnie bouldering in Perth at Blackwall Reach, and packed in a lot. A limestone wall up to 10m high right on the Swan River, which one day I will have to visit:

We started on a route call Nothing too Serious, and when I posted about it I said ‘be warned it may be a sandbag’. I’ve led it since and 14 may be a bit mean, but not too far off. Today however Steve didn’t like the route in part for the above reasons but also as he struggled to get his feet to stick to the holds. Claiming that the route was a completely pile of rubbish, as he handed me the rope. Then after following me up he didn’t change his opinion. Although he was smirking when he said it. We then looked at another route of mine, The Plough, but the base was awash when the bigger waves rolled in so we decided to leave that for another day:

While our intention had to be to climb on Handups Wall high above the water, I noticed the classic line in the Zawn was dry. The waves were also not quite reaching the small corner of boulders from where you belay, as shown above. I was surprised to hear Steve had never climbed in the zawn, so we changed plans and headed down. While he enjoyed the route, just like the slopey traverse of the first route we identified something else he is not keen on. Confined spaces where the noise of the ocean bounces off the walls, which seems to play with his head. He had also experienced this during a recent trip to Smiths Beach, but today he was keen to test if it was the setting or just one off thing. Sadly it proved to be the former:

Despite his head rattling inside, he managed a clean ascent. He ran it out on steep section above, and seemed to struggle to get into good stances, find the right gear or stop his legs from shaking. When belaying someone in this situation the belayer needs to keep a level head, so you don’t add unnecessary stress for the climber. I’ve put belayers in similar situations while climbing, it’s all part of climbing. While he was climbing I was also watching crabs feasting, and I couldn’t resist a quick video of the crabs eating. As I followed up I found the above crab crawling right over Steve’s placement. When I appeared it quickly slunk underneath the tricam and I managed to remove the gear without harming the no doubt terrified creature:

Moses Rocks 02 13-02-22 Download

It was time to hit some slabs. The echoey setting of the last route, just like the traverse of the first climb, simply was not Steve’s cup of tea today. So we found ourselves back at Handsup Wall. There are some fun full trad lines and some that require bolt plates. I was keen on a bolted line, but we hadn’t brought any bolt plates. While Steve did have wires, which we could have used to hook over the heads of the glued in machine bolts, I instead put my fearless gritstone head on and led the above bolted route on trad. It gets a little more run out but the gear is bomb proof. So the roles reversed and this time Steve had to be the cool headed belayer:

I had thought to possibly bring my snorkel gear today, but was glad I didn’t bother. The waves were full on wintery barrels, making for spectacular viewing. While I avoided the use of the bolts, Steve decided to have a lead without taking any camming devices. I would normally think this is fine, but today as he was tired I wasn’t so sure. There was a lot of fiddling about with his tricams, when a camming device would have just slotted in no fuss saving him much needed energy. But he loves his tricams and eagerly took on the, at times, challenge of getting them to set:

He managed another clean ascent and was buzzing having thoroughly enjoyed the classic of the crag. It seemed he was all fired up again and was keen to follow me up Cornish Nasty, another fine crack climb and I was surprised at how he floated up the route with ease. That was until he got to the final steep section which made him work a bit harder, with a top-out that resembles an elephant’s arse. This is a technical climbing term, we used in England, for a rounded top devoid of any features or edges that resemble a hold. Leaving nothing to rely on but pure friction, which can feel a little nervous which we both felt:

While tired Steve was keen to put his tricams to use one more time before we packed up, and he picked, in his words ‘an easy route’. Steve lives by his tricams and has complete faith in every placement he makes with them. On this line however, he muttered that he wasn’t feeling confident with his gear. Climbing slowly and not looking like he really didn’t want to test them with a fall. Resulting in him be extra cautious on each hold and move. Following him up I inspected each piece with a more critical eye than usual, but it was clear they were all bomber. When you are getting tired the nerves can certainly get the better of you something I, like most who climb, experience at some point:

The climbing for the day was over, but we still had a fun boulder hopping venture to get back to the beach. Maybe it was because he was weary that he blindly followed me, while I took a very convoluted path back. Attempting to keep as close the water as possible. But it did mean we came across some interesting rock features that he inspected with interest. The final stretch on the soft sand was a killer, and we were both feeling it. Steve was no longer ‘a live one’ and was certainly not running along the beach, as he had at the start. Back at the car he looked grateful to sink into the seat, with the air conditioner pumping out cold air. Depsite the weariness taking over, which isn’t surprising when you’ve been up since 2:30am, and as Steve would say it had been ‘a jolly good morning’:

The banter

I see a variety of animals crossing, resting or at times sleeping on the road, as I drive out for a climb in the wee hours. Kangaroos go without saying, but I also at times see emus, boobook owls, tawny frogmouths, phascogales. Then there are the non-native rabbits, foxes, cats and on the odd occasion a cow or two that has escaped from their paddock. Today however was the first time I have come across a white faced heron sleeping on the road. Standing on the white lines on one leg, with its head tucked under its wing:

I simply had to double back to check it was OK, which it was. I was a little surprised that it didn’t fly off as I approached it, merely walking off into the darkness. This was a particularly unusual find, as they normal reside in and around anywhere with water in the day and roost in trees at night. As I returned some eight hours later I saw no sign of the bird, so can only assume it was okay. The only reason I can come up with for this find was that the heat of the last few days had knocked it about. No doubt today’s cool change will have come as a relief to humans and animals alike:

Howsie had arranged to take Nadia, Marnie and Josh out for a climb. Josh and Nadia had climbed a bit of late, but Marnie hadn’t been out for two years. This meant there would be a bit of top roping going on, and I offered to help out along with Steve. Not unexpectedly we were the only ones about, when we got there. The cool change was indeed welcome and it had also bought some dampness about, with a predication that it might rain later. Steve and I wasted no time and set up a couple of lines on the shorter routes to allow the others a gentle warm up:

With two lines up everyone had the chance to climb each route. There was a lot of banter occurring, both catching-up and meeting and greeting. On days like this it isn’t about clocking up the routes, I knew this but still had to reset my brain into a different approach. This wasn’t too hard as Rongy, Howsie and my Friday morning trip up to Welly Dam had felt hard and I was still weary from that. That morning was in complete contrast to today, it had been hot and muggy. Conditions that had also brought on an onslaught of ruthless and relentless flesh ripping and blood sucking March Flies:

We then moved across to put up a line on both Hope and Glory. This time Howsie and Steve led the lines and then set up a top rope on each. With no prior knowledge of these routes Josh managed the two routes, with relative ease. But he sadly managed to pull a bit too hard at one point, so is now nursing a sore shoulder that is hopefully not too badly strained. Nadia romped up Hope, which was the one climb that she had in mind to have a go at today. However, despite encouragement from all, except Howsie who was no doubt trying to stay neutral and in her good books, she declined to attempt Glory:

Marnie had a bash at both, and considering her two years away from rock did really well. At the roof of Glory either her arms were not physically strong enough or her brain simply was telling her body this is silly. It reminded me a bit of Alan’s noodle arm episodes, but with a rest or two she managed to overcome the overhang and romped at a steady tired pace up the rest. Sadly there were no carpet pythons, nor discarded skins, to be seen on these two climbs. I do wonder if due to all the traffic we see down here, whether they have decided to move on:

We had taken three sets of gear with us, so had enough to run a third line. But as I said before it was a relaxed pace filled more with banter, which I have to say was flowing very freely, than climbing. The urgency wasn’t there to keep three lines active, but I did drop a hint that Howsie might like to try a route I put up way back in 2011 that was conveniently next to where we had to top ropes set up. It has the worse name of any of my routes. Each name I thought of seemed to be already taken up by a climb on another crag in the South West, so maybe the name of A Pocket Full of Nothing puts people off trying it:

Since I put it up I cannot recall ever seeing anyone on it, nor have I seen any chalk indicating someone has been playing on it. I’ve led it twice, and in truth it is a route that scares me but I didn’t tell Howsie that. Where he has got to in the image above, you have to run out the gear on an off vertical wall with slopey holds. It feel intimidating and pumpy and it is near impossible to see what is above you. But Howsie enjoys a challenge, and while he battled against the route Nadia and Marnie decided it was time for a rest. So they found a rock armchair to kick back on and watch the shows unfold above them:

Which Howsie performed in style, and not necessarily all in good style. He dug very deep, taking at least four falls off the steep wall, and at times the strain in his face made it look like his head was going to explode. Exhausted he finally conceded that he had to find another way up. A traverse into and up the wide corner, was followed by a beached whale manoeuvre to make sure the delicate traverse back over the line was protected. It was all a little comical and completely fitting for today, providing lots more fodder for the banter:

While all this was going on, the others cleaned the ropes and Steve and Marnie then went on to climb Orryjohn. He had a mini-epic on the start of this route last time we were down, but today he seemed calm and collected. It also seemed that Marnie’s arms had recovered from Glory and enjoyed another birthday climb. The timing was great and we all met at the top. There we found loads of people milling about all eagerly soaking up knowledge about climbing, as part of a training camp being run by the WA climbing association. On the way back Steve and I reflected on the day and what stood out the most, and he was quick to reply with “the banter”:

Dangerous conditions

I’ve been watching the water after work each day and it seems that things have been clearing up a bit. Or so it seemed looking down at it from the road side and not taking the time to walk up to it. I was going to jump in myself but then Geoff and Nana told me they too were thinking of a dip this morning, but heading past the point where the reef was more substantial and interesting. No one else from the usual Peppy crew was available to join us, so the three of us drove out happy to see the calm conditions. Sure there was a bit of a swell but the surface looked glassy:

It didn’t take long to realise the water column was full of debris. We have had lots of hot days with low currents. Added to that the previous generally less settled conditions had been enough to rip the weed out, which was also floating about. All this is leading to dangerous conditions, one in which plankton can start to thrive. There are two types, phytoplankton and zooplankton comprising plants and animals respectively. While I am not going to try and guess which one was evident today, the excess presence was obvious. Slimy looking filaments were distributed through the water, the floating weed and jellyfish were coated:

We have an abundant source of light, so with calm warm conditions the last trigger required to enable plankton to kick off like this are nutrient levels. Nutrients are flushed into the ocean via the rivers, and via groundwater, originating from many sources. The main contributor in our local area being agriculture, with excess fertilizer application and animal waste leaching out of the catchment. While the Capel River catchment has one of the lower nutrient concentrations compared to other catchments that flow into the Geographe Bay, with the current conditions it has been enough to tip the balance. And whether this has resulted in increased phytoplankton, zooplankton, or gelatinous zooplankton activity the result is the same, low oxygen conditions:

Sadly, this too was obvious and I came across two herring gulping for air at the surface. Fish will do this for, usually, one of two reasons. Poor water quality or more likely today, based on the conditions we have had, there wasn’t enough dissolved oxygen in the water. This results in their normal respiratory mechanism, of drawing water over the gills to extract the oxygen, is ineffective. All we can hope is that the winds come in and help to generate greater currents. The movement of water will help to distribute and dilute the effect of the nutrients, reduce the water temperature and avoid pockets of low oxygen water:

We spent a fair bit of time looking about, and while there were a few fish about all three of us felt the reef seemed empty of life. As such our dive today was not as long as it could have been. The good news being that as we swam slowly to shore we spotted more life. I came across a reasonable school of Australian Herring, Arripis georgianus (Valenciennes 1831). These fish spawn here from April to June, and the Leeuwin Current then takes the eggs and larvae eastward towards the southern bays. Here they spend about two years, after which the return as adults in February and March to start the cycle again:

Below are a fish that I used to spend a lot of time watching on the reef off my local beach. Not a recreational fish, so most people wouldn’t be interested in them. There is however something about the Western Gobbleguts, Ostorhinchus rueppellii (Günther 1859), that tweaks my interest. I didn’t realise it before but they are paternal mouthbrooders, which means they protect their eggs and/or young by holding them in their mouth. Quite a few fish are like this, including all of the cardinalfish family, which these fish are in:

I also came across a few King George Whiting, Sillaginodes punctatus (Cuvier 1829). Not a fish that will normally allow me to get too close, but this one seemed okay with me popping down to say hello. Punctatus comes from the Latin word punctum meaning spot or small hole, hence punctuation and puncture. In this case it is thought to be due to the brownish spots along the fishes body. This is the largest of the whiting family and can grow to approx. 70cm, but are more commonly found at half this size. The ones I saw were no more than 35cm, but being a highly prized table fish I wonder if Geoff would have considered spearing one or two:

I spent a bit of time watching the above Whiting, due to how it feeds. The snout is conical at the end of which is small mouth, from where the jaws can extend outwards. The fish would bury the tip of its snout into the sand, and suck small invertebrates into the clutches of its jaws. With each attempt to find food little puffs of sand would billow out. It was both interesting and relaxing to watch it go about this process. When we came in the water still looked great being flat and glassy, but underneath there were pockets on the cusp of becoming dangerously deoxygenated. Fingers crossed the conditions change to prevent this happening: