How could I not write up our wild weekend. Sunday was always predicted to be an entertaining day, which started with me being woken up at 2am by the gale force gusts buffeting overhead. The winds didn’t stop till late into Saturday night reaching near Category 2 cyclone strength. This broke the previous record of wind speeds for May, maxing at 135km/hr. It was an impressive front that hit some 900km of coastline. Tearing the place up and knocking out power for some 160,000 people, included us. The biggest storm in 49 years:
The above image and below video is our beach at 8am. The gusts nearly blowing me off my feet and assisting in producing a swell with waves reaching all the way to the dunes. There is usually 40m of beach between the dunes and waterline. I went down several times during Sunday and the water stayed high all day. On Tuesday after the wind and swell had subsided we would be lucky to have 20m of beach left to the waterline. But it was not just the beach that got battered. Trees were bowled over, and a few homes had roofs ripped off:
Monday morning came and things settled down, so I went out for my usual walk along Peppy Beach. Intending to use an image of trees that had been felled, laying part way across the roads. However, this Quenda or Southern Brown Bandicoot (Isoodon obesulus subsp. fusciventer) is far more interesting so won out. A record breaker in its own right. It earns the title of having the shortest gestation period of any mammal, at 11 to 15 days. Once born the joey makes its way into the pouch, which is reversed compared to most other marsupials:
This is to avoid the pouch being filled with dirt, as the Quenda is a digging marsupial. These small rabbit sized creatures do not burrow but dig to forage. They can dig nearly 4 metric tons of dirt in a single year while searching for food. Walking back along what was left of the beach, last night’s rare blue micromoon hung in the sky. Call a blue moon as it is the second full moon in a single calendar month, and micro as it has occurred while the moon is the furthest it orbits away from earth. A combination we won’t see for another 27 years:
The contrast from Sunday to Monday was quite amazing, calm blue skies came over. And as Monday was a public holiday this opened a window of opportunity. I went fishing. Howsie took the bait, which resulted in us heading up the hill to Welly Dam for an afternoon climb. While the lawns were littered with branches and a few of the smaller trees had been uprooted from yesterday’s wind and wet weather, today’s dry and sunny conditions worked it’s magic in our favour and most lines were in great condition:
Good enough for Howsie to beat one of his nemesis climbs, and get a clean ascent. And also good enough for me to brave an attempt on one of the routes I decided was a bit too silly on the misty moisty Saturday morning, when I came up here on a solo mission. It was not to be a clean ascent for me, taking a healthy whipper at the crux much to the amusement of a small crowd that was observing our antics. Most of our time we had the place to ourselves, and after the continuous ear battering wind of yesterday the silence today was almost deafening:
Much as it may seem that I am always out and about. The vast majority of my awake time is sat in front of a computer, if not at work then at home researching my finds and writing them up. In both screen focused situations I am a shocker for getting stuck into it. Sat down for hours of end without getting up and moving about. It’s not good, I know it, but have now been told it. This has given me the impetus to train myself to change. As part of the plan for getting up and moving about more often, I have also started to get a brisk walk in each day:
A proper walk and not a ramble through the bush, when I tend to take it very slow and steady looking for anything that may catch my eye. After work I head down the road, and back along the beach. The aim being to get a good pace on, no dilly dallying along the way. The above image was the sight that greeted me on Wednesday, as was hurried back along the beach that bit quicker. Walking into a right into a brooding mass that was coming my way at quite a rate. Sadly there was no lightening to put on a real show, but when it hit man did it pour:
Not just heavy drops, but big buckets loads. Within minutes I was soaked, and when I finally hit the tarmac to get home the road leading down the dune was a river. Water gushed down it kerb to kerb, washing over my feet. I thought I may get caught but didn’t think it was going to be quite that bad. Not that it would have stopped me. This weekend however we were forecast to be hit by a front, bigger than the usual annual early winter fronts. This is the sort we may expect every five years, which put a spanner in the wheel for a couple of trips out:
From 2am this morning, by which I mean Sunday, I lay awake as the veranda sheets rattled as a 80km/hr gusts wind battered them. So much so I decided to get up early to crack on with this post. While I said the wild windy weekend weather had mucked up my intentions, Rod mentioned that he thought things may be OK for a trip out on Friday. And having just had a 12 plus day heading to Perth and back for work on Thursday, I thought why not claw back a few hours and head out. This saw me gate crash Rod and his wife’s, Gaynor, session on rock:
In our local area the furthest crag for me to get to is Cosy Corner, which so happens to be their local crag. A mere five to ten minute drive, and where I first got out on rock with Rod. This time however we went to Bobs Hollow, still pretty close to them and a bit of a trek for me. It does however have a great 30-40min hike along the coastal track allowing me to get a good couple of walks in, as well as some fun climbing on the steep limestone walls. We even managed to bag a few lines that require self-placed protection, so it was not all bolt clipping:
On the drive down and walk in there were occasional short light showers, but on arrival they dispersed and it was a lovely temperature with just the lightest of breezes. With three fo us out, I took advantage and ran round the area, or scrambled up the rocks nearby to looking for, different angles. Taking so many images, most of which I have sadly binned. Due to past incidents my phone is now in a waterproof case, and for some time it has been telling me to clean the lens. Not that the lens is dirty, the plastic window of the case covering it is scuffed:
So much so that in darker cloud covered conditions the images are a bit too blurry. I had luckily also brought my normal camera, ensuring that at least some of the images were clean and sharp. Including the above, of a tiny spider making our efforts on rock look rather pathetic in comparison. There are three genera of Lynx Spiders, and this one is likely to be one of the Grass Lynx Spiders (Oxyopes). Although I have failed to identify the species. While there are only 15 described species in Australia, it is considered there could be as many as 60:
In trying to work all this out I came across some useful distinguishing and interesting features between Lynx (Oxyopidae) from Jumping (Salticidae) Spiders. Having seen and documented a few species of the latter more often than the former, but I’ll leave those titbits of information for another day. It was a chilled session, not doing anything too hard. In part to allow Gaynor to also enjoy moving on the rock after Rod and I had led each route. She did however decline the above line which I have to admit to being particular fond of:
A route that also offers one of the most spectacular photo opportunities IMO. Looking stupidly overhung and exposed, as shown above when Rod headed up. It is nowhere near the upper grade range on offer here, but is steep in places and makes you work. Rod came down with weary arms, and as such wasn’t sure if he was quite ready to take on his project that is several grades higher. Instead opting to have a bite to eat, and offering me the rope to head up it first. Some days everything just flows, and today was one of those days for me:
Making it up as rain drops, which had started on the previous line, started to come in a bit bigger and more consistently. All things considered Rod opted for the sensible approach for his project. Keeping the rope above him as he battled his way up the fine but technical line. The increasingly wetting rock not helping his cause, but he never gave up. With rain setting in it was time to head out. They had driven in so only had a short walk to the car. I was however happy to hike out in the rain, so left as Rod worked his way up last section of the route:
We certainly made great use of the weather window, so thanks for the invite Rod and Gaynor. The only disappointment was on the walk out when a couple walking in the opposite direction said they had just seen a snake cross the path. One of them had frozen and wasn’t prepared to walk past where it had been seen. Much to their bewilderment, which turned to amusement, try as I might I couldn’t find it anywhere. On the plus side I was able to encourage them to continue on their journey past the point the snake had been seen:
The forecast, as it often seems too, changed. The front was now not due to start to come in till later on Saturday. This resulted me in me heading up the hill for a quick solo session at the dam while Lisa planned to go in for her weekly early morning plunge on a glorious morning. In contrast to the conditions at the beach and while the drive was clear and cloudless, the bowl in which the dam sits was caked in thick mist. Laughing Kookaburras (Dacelo novaeguineae) did what they do, laughed. Seemingly mocking me as I arrive to the cold and damp conditions:
It didn’t stop me. Starting on the first lap as intended, at exactly the same time Lisa would have been walking into the cold ocean. The conditions made me work that bit harder, so I didn’t jump on two of the slightly stiffer lines I had in mind. But still managed five fun routes, finishing the last lap as the mist was clearing. Just fifteen minutes later, as I prepared to drive out blue skies rolled in. It was however time to get back, as Lisa and I had a bit of shopping to do. Including buying a new phone case to allow me to be able to say I can see clearly now:
Arriving in Busselton for a meeting on Thursday morning the town was clad in a blanket of fog. The drive down seemed a little eerie with visibility at times down to less than thirty meters. Pea soup sprung to mind. It was all the talk on arrival at my location, a wondrous and strange morning was what I heard people say. The image below is from several hours earlier during Lisa and my beach walk, and it lingered well into the morning. Not that I heard anyone use it, ‘pre-frontal snot’ is a colloquial term for such an event that often precedes a strong cold front:
I’ve also read such conditions are not unusually for the south west. They can be expected as the year transitions into the cold front season. Normally around mid to late autumn. We however struggled to think of a previous fog of this density or one which blanketed quite as expansive an area. My image bank proved us wrong and in late April just five years back we did, but it is the only such event in some twenty years of living here that we captured through stills. One thing was evident, the mornings were coming in damper:
This week, we have noticed condensation on the inside of the windows. Managing to stave off the cooling nights by popping another top on, or snuggling under a blanket in the evening. Wisps of smoke had been coming from chimneys of other homes for a few weeks, indicated they had opted for another way. And with dampness finally starting to creep indoors, on Thursday when I got home it was time for us to join them. Friday morning the poodles were grateful to be able to lie in front of the fire, which I made sure was wells stoked before I left:
Thursday’s thick fog wasn’t looking like it would be followed by a strong cold front, at least not this week. Something Howsie and I were grateful for when we drove out early, through a few patches of mist that looked to turn to fog once we drove into Wellington National Park. Fully expecting the bowl in which the dam lay to be the place it all collected, but to our surprise we could still see the stars when we arrived. A cold crisp morning, with a very heavy dew that resulted in us leaving a trial of footprints as we walked from the base of one climb to the next:
A second very welcome surprise was the rock was dry. Even holding onto just enough warmth, such that our fingers didn’t feel completely numb after the first line. A route that Howsie looked to cruise up, whereas my ascent felt heavy, clunky, and nervous. Despite it being a route we are very familiar with. Then moving onto one that rarely gets any attention. It’s a shame as it climbs really well, it is however an area that gets a lot of water and the state of the bolts is likely to put most off. And maybe they should put us off too:
One of the original lines here from when these walls were first sieged in 1997. Is it just surface rust coating the bolt head and washer’s, or does it go deeper. There is no way of telling. It was my turn to go first, on a line with holds and moves not as etched into my memory as others here are. Making me focus and work that bit harder, but also resulting in me improving my style or had I just warmed up. In contrast to the first climb this time it was Howsie who looked uncomfortable and sluggish. Not a great way to lead into his next route:
We went from one of the oldest to one of the newest climbs. Established just three years back, it has shiny new bolts you could hang a car from plus more bolts than any other route here, so is safe as houses. But it is one of the burlier climbs at the grade, not Howsie’s forte. Working well in the bottom half, his tiring arms made him second guess the last and steepest section. Having to repeat it numerous times before committing. But as he said timing is everything, and when I led it I had the perfect reward as I looked back across the valley:
Another hit and miss weekend, and it all boils down to whether you believe it or not. Unless you get out there, you’ll have no idea of what you may be missing. With a positive attitude I stepped out of the house. The sky above was clear and speckled with stars, with who knows what else may be lurking amongst them. My little Olympus tough does not do justice compared to the sight above me, but it’s not too bad and you probably get the picture. Then on the drive down I spied a creature seemingly from out of space, and no I haven’t lost it:
And no I did not get an image. But it was in exactly the same location that Josh and I spotted it last weekend. Neither of us can recall seeing it before, so on my next early morning trip down this way, and if it is out again, I’ll have to take a picture just to prove I’m not going off the rails. That was not what I intended about believing or not. Those thoughts were far more down to earth, and related to what conditions I might encounter. While the sky above was clear, the road had stripes of dry and wet tarmac giving it the appearance of a zebra:
The moisture from the overnight rain was lifting, forming an eerie misty sight. I was however trying to keep my focus on the roadside verges. Looking out for signs of movement, wanting to avoid any kangaroos. I have been even more conscious of this risk over the last few weeks. So much so that I have slowed down a tad, especially during my early morning drives that include when I head to the office. My sense of security as I drive has been lessened, proving that the Car Cushion Hypothesis is a real thing. At least for me after changing cars:
No longer am I seated in an elevated position surrounded by a larger mass of metal. And no longer do I have the added protection of a dirty great roo bar. It is interesting how a simple switch can make you feel more vulnerable, although it is more truthful to say that driving a bigger car provides a false sense of security. I can recall decades back how in the UK Volvo drivers had a reputation that aligned with the Car Cushion Hypothesis. It was common to hear that they thought they were driving a tank, relative to other cars on the road at the time:
Then in 2020 the results of a poll of some 2,000 people in the UK indicated Volvo owners were the most law-abiding drivers across the country. That said, this doesn’t mean they were the safest or most considerate. Um it feels like I have drifted off the road a little and will get back on course. The only person who showed a hint of availability to get out today was Rod. If that was to happen we would have gone to Welly Dam, which had a better forecast. However, it is a two 2hr drive for him. So he opted out as it was a bit far for a day when we may get wet:
A more than reasonable thought but this left me pondering. Having hit the quarry walls a bit of late, I was keen on a coastal crag for my solo mission. While the forecast was certainly less favourable, I felt it wouldn’t be too bad. Drizzling as I walked in, the first daylight image shows what awaited me. Puddles and wet rock but out to sea patches of cloudless skies could be seen. Opting for the highest wall of Wilyabrup. Thinking that it would catch any wind and dry that bit quicker. It did for the most part, as the clear patches above turned to blue skies:
As the brightness drifted over the coastline, pushed along by the merest of a gentle wind, behind it came a stunningly bright rainbow. Accompanied by a secondary rainbow with the colours in reverse order. They are separated by what is called Alexander’s band. This darker bit of sky was first described in around 200 AD, by a Greek philosopher known as Alexander of Aphrodisias. So beautiful I had to stop and watch it inch towards me and as it did the clouds dropped all the rain they could resulting in the rainbow fading well before it made landfall:
A darker brooding mass was lining up next, and as the meteorological events continued to play out around me I kept rapping down and climbing back up. The rain started to fall on my last lap on the open and exposed wall. But I was not done and dropped the roped down an epic corner on a considerably harder line. Some may considered this a counterintuitive move, but with looming overlaps it did afford me a bit more protection. Wet as I may have got it was great being out, so I was happy to have been a believer today even if I got it a bit wrong:
You may recall a month back, to the day, Josh gate crashed an early morning Welly Dam session with the news he aims to climb a grade 20 this year. Having sufficiently completed his last challenge of bagging a 20min 5km run, his sights are now set on building his climbing fitness. Just like with running there are Apps to help train for set goals, instead he is opting to work it out in his own way. In my humble opinion, the best was is increased contact time on rock building up experience of how to read and move on rock:
And as alluded to previously, there is no hint that he feels the need to be able to lead whichever grade 20 it may be. Happy to stick with a rope above him, or at least that is how he feels at the moment. When asking him what he fancied today, he felt a shorter crag may be better seeing his stamina on rock is somewhat lacking at the moment. This led me to thinking about the Organ Pipes. It has a nice range of grades and several routes which have particular sections that would be good to make him work on reading the rock and his body positioning:
With all these aspects in mind I worked up a tick list of lines. Four of the six he has not been on before. He should have no memory of them and will need to work out the puzzles they present. Not that he confesses to recalling any of the movements on the two lines he has been on previously. I tend to have a pretty good ‘motor memory’, which enables me to recall holds and gear placements on the majority of routes I have climbed. Often when people are in strife, and they want beta I can offer it from the ground even when they are high above:
I’ve dug out a paper on this precise ability, which suggests it is both a cognitive and physical skill developed through experience. Well I do climb a lot. Going on to suggest it stems from people who have a higher level of spatial memory, attentional focus, and ability to visualize movement patterns. Traits that come with a ‘pattern thinker’ cognitive style, which is strongly associated with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Reading on there are a few other characteristics related to that which seem to be lining up for me. I digress:
While the grades of the routes, in the order we aimed to bag them were 12, 14, 15, 16, 17, and lastly 16, I already knew the line that would give him the most trouble. Maybe because the difficulties on the grade 15 are the longest lasting, or maybe it is just a sandbag route. I think the latter. Two images up he is about to completely the steep and feisty start. Just one hold to go. Then his footwork, quite literally, let him down and he knows it. With ropes that can stretch as much as 30% this meant he dropped and had to battle the same sequence again:
With each attempt he seemed that bit less controlled in his climbing. No amount of beta I gave him was reaching his brain. Something that is completely natural in situations when you experience intense muscle fatigue, in this case in his forearms. Your brain becomes overrun with stress signals and shifts to emergency survival mode. The ability to think clearly is eroded. That said he finally managed to get up, by which time he looked completely pooped. Definitely time for a rest to allow his blood flow to normalise and brain to reset:
Which it did and did really well, as we bagged the next three lines in good style. Despite the fact they are given a higher grade, which indicates their crux movements are harder than the climb that gave him so much trouble. With the list ticked we agreed it was time to roll. It was a grand session in glorious weather. And has given Josh a few things to think about working on, which we talked about on the way home. I was doubly pleased as I had also selected the climbs to allow me a bonus of bagging the second ascent of three of the routes:
Being such a glorious day I simply had to get out for a wee bit. But first a bunch of domestic duties needed attention. And while I tended to those, Lisa wandered down to the beach for the customary dip. Not that I think I would have enjoyed the cold plunge nor the social scene that goes with it, but I was a little envious when she told me the salmon run had gone past after they got out of the water. With the fish clearly visible in the near shore waves. Close enough that they could have caught them with a net, if they’d had one:
It is all about timing and creating the opportunities. And after the mundane stuff I wanted to achieve was done I snuck out myself heading inland to the Capel Nature Reserve. If I had been in African Savanna I might have needed to watch out for a big cat lazing on a branch, or if I had been in the northern hemisphere potentially a lynx. The only Lynx I was likely to see was however of the spider variety. Lynx Spiders (Oxyopes) are small, with long spines on their legs. They are unique in that their eyes are arranged in a characteristic hexagonal pattern:
Only six of their eyes form this shape. The other two are located in front of and below the main group. If you look carefully you can make out this arrangement in the above image. In my last post I alluded that most spiders have poor sight, but not all do. This is one genus that has very good vision. Evolving this way due to not using a web meaning they need to be able to see their prey, which they pounce on. They then use their spiny legs to hold them still while they inject them. Being hard to identify they are often listed as Oxyopes sp. in regional surveys:
They are not however too hard to find being diurnal, i.e. active during the day. This one would have been a mere 3-4mm long, and I could just about make out that it had caught something. If I am right it is likely that the spider is sucking the juice out of a common mosquito species found in the area, called Culiseta (Culicella) atra. I’m also game to go one step further to suggest the spider I saw helping to keep the mosquito population down may have been a Spotted Lynx Spider (Oxyopes punctatus). Females get to 6mm and males 4mm:
In complete contrast the female and male Golden Orb-Weaving Spiders (Nephila edulis), shown together a few images up, reach 40mm and 6mm respectively. I’ve previously detailed how mating for this species is a risky business. Studies have shown that females can exhibit post-copulatory cannibalism, with a 12% probability of the male becoming a meal. One thing on the males side is that these spiders do not have good vision, being web builders. As long as he stays completely still he is relatively safe:
I didn’t come here to spot spiders but was happy to spend a bit of time checking them out. After all there are not too many orchids species out this early for me to hunt. I’ve started with one I have already shown this season, the Common Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus dilatatus subsp. multiflorus). Included again because this plant has half the number of flowers this sub-species can have. Most specimens I find have no more than three or four. This one has nine out with one more coming. There is only one subspecies of Bunny Orchid that can have more flowers, and I have yet to find that species this season:
But my next find today, as we sneak past a lovely image of yet another Brown Oyster Mushroom (Pleurotus australis), was a Hare Orchid (Leporella fimbriata). These can have up to four flowers on each plant, and I found lots of specimens but with no more than three flowers. This orchid tricks male winged Bull Ants (Myrmecia urens) by releasing pheromones that mimic the female ant. If however the plant does not manage pollination the flower can last right through till September. At five months it is one of the longest lasting flowers of any orchid species in our area. Not that this looks to impress this Bobtail Lizard (Tiliqua rugosa):
Some will say it is not my strongest suit. Admittedly I do have a general tendency to call a spade and spade that, as time rolls on, I find more and more people struggle to deal with. The term comes from the Latin word subtīlis, meaning finely woven, thin, or delicate. It was adopted into Middle English in the 1300s from Old French, shhh don’t tell the French. Since the 1800s we have moved into the Modern English phase, for which the term subtlety now covers a range of meanings from fineness/thinness, cunning/craftiness, to delicacy/nuance:
I thought I was being cunning in setting our timing for a quick dash up the hill this morning. Stood at the base of the wall at precisely the time first light was due to arrive, it felt dark. We hadn’t brought head torches. At least the clear sky above enabled the light reflecting off the Waning Gibbous moon to reach us. At 64% of illumination a full moon, this provided 0.05 lux where we stood. Only half the minimum light needed by the human eye to make shapes out. It was my lead and I was tied in and kinda ready to go. It was slow going as I gingerly went up:
Each hand/finger hold and each foot hold was placed with extra care. The body hadn’t warmed up, and I knew it wouldn’t until we had a couple of routes under our belts. In my mind I questioned the climb I had decided to start on. At least our proximity to the equator was on my side. Rather than moving at a shallow angle the sun comes up more vertically across the horizon. Resulting in first light coming in pretty quickly, and by the time we had both finished we were bathed in several hundred lux, ample to see what we needed to:
Not to say we didn’t need to apply delicacy to our climbing. Approaching the edge of winter the rock is absorbing less heat during the day, and with cooling nights more of that ‘less heat’ is sucked from the rock. Such mornings can offer great conditions for friction, but until we’ve ‘warmed up’ it is not so great for muscular performance nor how our bodies translate sensory feedback. As such Howsie’s lead was equally as slow and cautious, but for quite different reasons. My focus was more on what I could see, his was more on what he could feel:
Only a few climbs at the dam require you to ‘top out’ and belay from above. We picked one of those for our fourth route. Very much on purpose, as we wanted to see if there was a floral display above. While we may have been on a timeframe to get to work, it also pays to slow down and to absorb what nature has to offer. Here we found two subspecies of the Bunny Orchids, and I’ve included an image of one of the many Crinkled-leafed Bunny Orchids (Eriochilus dilatatus subsp. undulates). An orchid that does not use mimicry or deception:
Very few orchids attract pollinators with actual nectar. This is one of the Bunny Orchid subspecies kind enough to offer a reward to the small native bees it aims to attract, with a tasty treat at the base of the column. Howsie, wondered if we may have also seen the Blunt-leafed Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus dilatatus subsp. brevifolius). It has a similar leaf although the colouration near the base is different, just a slight nuance. A fact many seem to have overlooked or missed if you check this subspecies out on the Atlas of Living Australia:
After spending some time checking out the orchids on display, we were doubly rewarded when our bodies felt refreshed and once again ready for action. Enough for us to decide to bump the grade up for the last two lines. And it was during these that I did exhibit signs of being able to be subtle. Howsie started strong but began to tire, and so I applied just enough support and encouragement without being overbearing. Especially when I could sense the draw of sitting on the rope was nibbling at his mind, helping him to push through:
Since my first sighting of a Common Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus dilatatus subsp. multiflorus), when climbing with Craig at Wilyabrup five weeks back, I have only venture out once to see what else I might find. That ended up being a bit premature, when a week later at the Capel Nature Reserve didn’t see anything on the orchid front. Yesterday, back at Wilyabrup, I stopped on the drive out in a little patch of bush where I often have success. This spot was good to me again, with loads of Common Bunny Orchids flowering:
Setting me to think it was time to head back to the Capel Nature Reserve. Here I had success with lots of the same species, and heaps of little basal leaves uncurling as they poked out from the soil. But check out this tiny 5mm silk ball, hanging by a silk thread from a grass stalk. In the close up you can see it’s textured surface and a tiny hole at the top. This is where, after having completed their first moult inside the protection of the sac, the spiders emerge. Releasing their first strand of silk, which the breeze catches and they drift off to find a home:
This is egg sac of a Two-tailed Spider (Tamopsis sp.), a species I have not seen before. It is a small and exceptionally well camouflaged ambush hunter. In all the literature I have found they say the female will often endeavour to blend the egg sac into the surroundings, for protection. Then staying close by. This was not the case on either count for this find. Below is another small find, after find this particular leaf covered in these small ball-shaped sacs I looked hard for more, but didn’t see any. Diderma hemisphaericum is a myxomycete:
In layperson an terms it is a slime mould. Found worldwide, and while known to be present in Western Australia, it is not considered common. On inspection other species of Diderma found in the area I am pretty sure I’m on the money. It forms small ball like structures that are typically found on decaying leaves, twigs, and plant debris. The outer smooth white cartilaginous layer, covers a dark brown in mass of spore. Becoming brittle as it matures, the outer layer ruptures to expose the spore that rely on environmental factors to be dispersed:
Rather than feed on the decaying plant matter it is found, slime mould consumes the bacteria, fungal spores and/or mycelium, and other organic matter found on the host material. The Brown Oyster Mushroom (Pleurotus australis) however, does feed off the dead or decaying wood that it resides. That said it can also be found on living trees, and in our area particularly likes Peppermint Trees (Agonis flexuosa). The mycelium of this fungus, which are a root-like network of thread-like filaments, assist with tapping into another unlikely source of food:
As with most species of Pleurotus, this fungus also has a carnivorous side. Needing to source nitrogen and other essential nutrients, which the rotting wood they grow on cannot provide in sufficient supplies. The mycelium release toxins that paralyse nematodes, microscopic worms found in the soil, which are then digested. You may think the above and below are different, but they are the same species in different life stages. The above young specimen showing a more dark and vibrant coloured cap, which with age fades into a paler colour:
There was plenty of bird song about. I am however somewhat biased to favouring the call of the Forest Red Tailed Black Cockatoo (Calyptorhynchus (Calyptorhynchus) banksii naso). Some may call it harsh but it holds fond memories for me, and a flock of maybe eight gave me a wonderful vocal and visual display while they feasted on high. I also spied a smaller flock of Carnaby’s Cockatoo (Calyptorhynchus latirostris) clearly distinguished by their high pitched calls, and verified by the flash of white as they flew by. The Forest Red Tailed Black Cockatoo is here year round, only moving within a local range in response to food availability:
Whereas Carnaby’s Cockatoos migrate between inland Wheatbelt and our Swan Coastal Plain habitats. Residing here from approx. January to July, arriving after having spent their winter breeding season in the drier inland environment. Back down on the ground I was taken by this Drosera tubaestylis. The species name is derived from the unique, small, trumpet-shape styles that form a tight cluster in the flower. While an early flowering species, typically in late May to June, the styles are not visible in this specimen that has just started to bloom:
There was also success with orchids when I found my second species of the year. Several Leafless Orchids (Praecoxanthus aphyllus) were out, which tend to be solitary growing far apart from one another. These are tricksters. Using a strong fragrant and calli that look to be laden with pollen to attract native bees. The flower does not however have any nectar, so after completing their pollinating duties the bees are left wanting. It is also not leafless, having a leaf that forms a tiny insignificant scale or bract at the base of the stem:
Lastly an Australian Garden Orb Weaver (Hortophora transmarina), with its eight eyes visible in two neat rows. Sight is our most used sense but spiders generally have very poor vision. Not good for night hunting, which most do. Instead they have specialised sensory hairs and pit-like sense organs in their exoskeleton. Vertical hairs on the upper segment of their legs can detect air movement and where it is coming from. The speed, frequency, and spatial pattern of the vibrations telling them if the wing beats are from a prey and predator:
A 1927 film titled The Unknown was almost lost forever, but was restored several years back. Considered one of the premier works of the silent film era. A period that commenced approx. 35 years before it started to wane, when technology enabled sound to be incorporated. An ability that crept into the scene in same year of 1927. For various reasons most of silent films have been lost. Worldwide over three quarters will never be seen again. Some countries such as Japan, lost nearly all of their productions. This morning I was stepping into the unknown:
Today was not however something to fear. A term often synonymous with the thought of stepping into the unknown. As it can conjure up thoughts of uncertainty and unfamiliar circumstances, which may heightening anxiety and concern. On this full moon morning I was heading out for a solo mission on rock. The word on the local climbing chat group was the conditions would be glistening this weekend. Suggested due to the general forecast indicting a chance of a wee sprinkle, on both days. I was however to prepared to risk the uncertainty:
The film is recognized for its dark tones and high drama, and as I walked into my chosen crag to play on, despite first light having arriving, the sky continued to display dark foreboding tones. But after Howsie and my first opportunity to explore the many crags, previously unknown to us but now detailed for all to enjoy in the Stirling Ranges guidebook, there was no risk of high drama today. It was back to our relatively small single pitch crags with solid rock on the more well-trodden climbs, plus this dark morning I had the added safety of a rope above me:
What was a little unknown was how I would feel today. My legs had certainly felt the big hikes, with a heavy pack, from last weekend. Walking in, it seemed they may have fully recovered. But once on the wall they complained a bit each time I had to make a high step. My arms also seemed a little noodley today, something that was a little unexpected. The good news, despite the clouds threatening to make the rock glisten, was that there was not a hint of any shining, sparkling, or gleaming surfaces today. While I felt a little out of condition, the rock was the opposite:
With my somewhat weak feeling arms and occasionally complaining legs, it was a bit of an unknown as to how many routes I might manage. Especially seeing there were very few easier lines here, most are that bit steeper and sustained. I pushed those thoughts to the dark recesses of my mind. And at precisely the same time that Lisa would be stepping into the ocean for her weekend bob, which I imagined would feel cold today, I started up my first lap on the first route. Managing to struggle my way upwards and beating the expected pump:
Back at home Lisa said it had been very cold. But the Peppy Plungers are determined and stayed in for close to twenty minutes by which time their extremities were turning blue. I too was determined picking of six fun lines. Only once taking on the role of main character of The Unknown, when I used the rope like a circus performer. Topping out for the last time the sun broke through, dispelling any uncertainty of today’s conditions. Aptly the last route was an unclaimed line so is credited to Unknown, which started this whole theme. You can blame Peter for that:
I have a vague recollection of including a reference about a guide being released, probably a wee while back now. One that had drawn Howsie and my attention, as well as many others. After my last visit to the UK in February we planned two trips to this majestic place. The first would have seen me gate crash a Howe family weekend at The Lily. A lovely spot I have stayed at once before during another foray that Howsie and I did down this way, some five years back as detailed in this post: https://sandbagged.blog/2021/05/09/small-world/:
It could have been that I was still in holiday mode, jet lagged, or maybe age is increasing the leakiness of my brain. Regardless, I got the dates mixed up and double booked myself for the day that was to be the first planned trip here. There was no contest and of course Lisa won out, when I suggested that we have a night away in Pemberton. Yet another wet and cool stay in the relaxing forested area, despite being in the last throes of summer. The weather wasn’t a whole heap better in the Stirling Ranges, so it was kind of lucky that I did stuff up:
All up it worked out well, and I have to admit I did feel a little guilty to have even thought it was reasonable to Shanghai Howsie for a day. Despite Nadia having said it would be OK. On a side note the term Shanghaiing came about in the late 19th century. Meaning to kidnap people to serve as sailors on ships. It was a rife practise in England and America. Particularly in San Francisco, when they would be forced onto the Shanghai Passage. Once on that trip getting home was very difficult, other than to continue on a journey round the globe:
The abduction would often be through violence, intimidation, or drugging. There is a report of 100 men being taken in one night using drug-laced whiskey, when they attended a fake ‘booze cruise’. It got so bad in America that they brought out legislation to ban it, but that contained loopholes, as is so often the case. And it was not until the early 20th century that it was made a federal crime in the Seamen’s Act 1915. An act that is just one year younger than the Act we still use to manage water resources here in Western Australia:
I’ll make no apology for that little bit of history. When Jonas stumbled across the climbing in the Stirling Ranges in the early 2010s, he commenced a journey that took over a decade of exploration. Both of new routes and the history of climbing in the area. It was his guidebook, which he finally published in late 2025, that had drawn Howsie and I back to this place. I got an email from Jonas in 2016, three years after he started this mammoth journey. He had invited me to come down and explore the area with him, and did so several times since then:
Something I never managed to take up. Maybe a missed opportunity but there is no point looking in the rear view mirror. I was keeping myself busy enough. Plus committing to weekends at a place that takes four hours to drive to, with crags that generally require at least an hour to walk into, it would have taken me away from Lisa and Elseya too much. I’d already done that to them in developing the guides for Alice Springs and the South West of Western Australia. Funnily enough they were published a decade apart in 2005 and 2015 respectively:
The Stirling Range guide came out at a decade later in 2025. If I had taken up the offer from Jonas I would have immersed myself deeply into the area. While it is Jonas’s guide, as with John’s recent book of climbing in Australia, I would have become heavily invested. Instead I can now simply enjoy the fruits of Jonas’s labour, and be immensely grateful for all his hard work. Climbing in the Stirling Ranges is not to be taken lightly, it is remote mountain style stuff. Many areas get very few visits, although that may change now the guide is out:
We have both climbed here a bit over the years so knew what we were up for. Even still it does take a little getting used to. It is certainly sensible to re-familiarise yourself with the place. More so, due to having been mostly a crag rat in recent years, climbing on single pitch faces. Most of which get regular action so are generally devoid of loose rock. As such our goals were not lofty in grades but high in meterage, aiming for multi-pitch routes. However, rather than chew a whole day on one line we aimed for two areas to bag a few choice lines:
You may sense that I am pushing the safety aspect that bit more in this post, and for good reason. Accidents here become a lot more involved than at our local spots. This switching into a more serious mode is nothing new for me. When I started climbing over thirty years back I had it instilled in me, by the ‘old boys’ I used to climb with. The time it kicked in the hardest was during an attempt on the mighty Horseshoe Ridge on the Isle of Skye, recounted in this post: https://sandbagged.blog/2017/08/27/part-6-scotland-the-long-road/:
Our first destination was the South Face of Mount Trio. A wall that I looked at with yearning during Lisa, Elseya, and my many camping and glamping trips since we first stayed at the Mount Trio Bush Camp in 2010. But not one I ever managed to get to when I came here to climb. So I was excited to sample the delights on offer. The Stirling Ranges was the place where the first roped climbing routes were undertaken in Western Australia, and it remained the main focus into the late 70s. The first known but not recorded line, was establish on Mount Trio in 1957:
That route was not on this face, but there was a historic line that I did fancy jumping on. Howsie and I started our day early, and I was to blame for that. I didn’t miscalculate as badly as our first planned trip, and this time it was due to work. We shuffled plans about and then had to change them again, to avoid a front with a good amount of rain due to hit Monday. What with the distance to get here it is not really the place to come if you don’t get two decent days on rock. This saw us leave in darkness, so we could arrive at the carpark of Mount Trio at 7:30:
After sorting out the gear to even up the weight of the packs, we began the hike up the leg achingly steep hikers trail towards the summit. At the saddle there is a goat track that leads to the South Face, from where we opted for the West Gully decent to the base of the crag. This covers the first five images. With each step and as the walls started to tower above us, the excitement and nervousness built in equal measure. Looking at the primo features on offer, I racked up for the first pitch of Directtissima. A true sandbag route from 1974:
The guide warned us of this, and had even taken caution by bumping the grade from a lowly 12 (S 4a) to 16 (HVS 4c/5a). The first pitch certainly felt unrelentingly steep, and I had to work hard. Possibly, the nerves were on edge, maybe I was tired from the walk in, or was it the relative lack of sleep due to the ‘sparrow farts’ start. No matter, it was utterly absorbing and truly brilliant. Howsie followed up and we sat on top of the flake to take it all in. When we are places like this, we slow down. Taking time to soak in the experience and situation:
The climbing is a bonus, and for this route a sobering thought was that when they established this climb and gave it a lowly grade 12 (S 4a), they had no camming devices. Something we made lots of use of. Hopefully, you are following the images as I slowly catch up. Howsie took the second pitch, which was equally stunning. Only awarded one star, we considered with two brilliantly absorbing pitches it was the best of the four lines we hit here. Howsie then took on the next lead, being drawn in by the obvious and main feature of the wall:
A wonderful flake, providing a magnificent near 40m pitch. Rip’em Off come in at 16 (HVS 4c/5a) and was first climbed in 1973. This is awarded two stars. The first pitch was very deserving of this, if not three. Howsie even used a bit of old school trad gear that I simply had to take an image of, being the sling round a horn of rock. We looked up at the second pitch and decided to rap back down. Even the guide says the second pitch is a letdown. This then allowed me to bag the first pitch of Sisyphus, which is awarded three stars in the guide:
A 1971 route, and yet again 16 (HVS 4c/5a) and yet again really fun. This conveniently finished near the previous lines first pitch. Allowing us to sample the upper pitch. While the guide says it is, and it was, a little meh, we had to do it at least once. Our rating of the routes in relation to stars was opposite the guide and went three, two, one. However, each person’s experience will always be unique and can vary on different days, as such it is just a guide. All three lines were stonking and well worth the effort. Then there was one more line to bag:
Staircase is given grade 4 (not quite a M in the UK system). Listed as a long five pitch route, and a good beginners climb. First climbed in 1966, so we climbed it on the sixtieth anniversary of the first ascent, which was pretty epic. As was the line. Those old climbers were bold as brass. The gear was scant, even with camming devices which they had none of. I’ve included an image of Howsie following up the first pitch, in which I challenge you to find my gear placements. And an image of Howsie going up the second pitch, which did have more gear:
We climbed it with packs, making it even more fun. But it is certainly not a beginners route due to the long runouts, even if they came up on second they would risk a big pendulum fall on the first pitch should they slip. We loved it! Better still it went on, and on, and on, and we reckon it went for close to 180m. A brilliant way to end the first days climbing, on what is described as ‘the original route of the mountain and one of the first in the Range’ (the first to be written up that is). The day was not over yet and first we had to get off the peak:
After finding the above scramble, it was back down the hikers track. Arriving at the Mount Trio Bush Camp as light was fading from the sky. We definitely made the most of our first day. Bob will be happy to hear we managed our old goal of a 1,000ft of ascent on rock, with some 340m (1,100ft). While I have rambled on with some climbing talk I have included a few images to show the rock texture, which varied quite a bit on some lines, and scenery. Also an image of what I believe to be Sulphur Dust Lichen (Chrysothrix chlorina):
The Stirling Range, especially the south-facing slopes, is reputed to have the most varied and abundant lichen growth in Western Australia. This stand out that is a brilliant yellow likes shady damp rock faces, and is usually found under overhangs and in crevices. The area is also well known for orchids, another reason I enjoy coming here. It is however still a tad early in the season and we didn’t see any. When Lisa, Elseya, and I first came here the camp site was quiet and peaceful. Now in complete contrast it is a humming place, but still hold charm:
Arriving when we did, there was time to pitch the tents, have a brew, and make and eat dinner before it was time to hit the sack. We were however delayed, when someone sat right next to me and started gabbing away. I feel like I can be forgiven for not immediately recognising Alan. One of the social crew back in the day, who I had not met for some four years since he moved north (https://sandbagged.blog/2020/04/21/alan-the-tagalong/). He just so happened to be down to enjoy the area with his mates Shane and Colin:
If you do read the linked post about Alan, the one change that was evident is that his endurance has waned somewhat. Admitting that even the walk up and down Talyuberlup had worn him out. Back in his day he had run up and down all of the six main peaks in the Stirling Range’s in one day. It really was lovely to see him and he was still smiling like a Cheshire Cat. Sadly being as weary as I felt, my social cup didn’t take long to fill and my sleeping bag was calling. Plus we had another early start planned, but not as early as some:
From three onwards for an hour and half, car after car after car put its headlights on and drove out. Undoubtedly all heading to where we intended to go. The difference being that they were aiming to watch sunrise from atop of Bluff Knoll. We however got up at four and reversed our arrival by having breakfast, a brew, and then breaking camp. It was a leisurely pace, and we arrived at the Bluff Knoll carpark at six. Vehicles were spilling over by some 300m meters on both sides of the approach road:
In the darkness, a trail of headlights weaved the path of the hikers track and there were several atop the peak. A peak that would be called a Munro in Scotland, due to being above 3,000ft (914.4m). It is the tenth tallest peak in Western Australia but the highest in the south, as all nine that are above it are in the northern region of the Pilbara. We started our walk as first light started to creep in, so didn’t need head torches. Having a bit of a trudge ahead of us, taking about the same time as for the Mount Trio approach but with a more forgiving grade:
Not that our legs acknowledge that. When the track veers left to reach the summit, it was our cue to leave the hordes of people. Part way across to The Fortress, which is one of the faces on Coyananrup, we came across the above Eastern Massif Tiger Millipede (Atelomastix tigrina). Not the first time I have seen one, and there is an image of one in the post linked at the start of this one. Back then I didn’t identify this species , which is listed as vulnerable. It has a very restricted and patchy range, all contained within the eastern part of the Stirling Range:
Onwards we went. Along a ridge and then down to round the edge of The Fortress. As soon as we got up close and personal, it loomed some plus 70m above us. Looking steep and overhung in many parts. Mount Trio comprised geological features of folded sedimentary rock that was relatively homogenous, which gave it a crag like feel in comparison to this spot. The Fortress, like the nearby Bluff Knoll, comprised folded and faulted quartzite, sandstone, and shale. The blocky nature looked less stable and along with its steepness it was intimidating:
We both felt it. There is however only one way to see if it was just in our minds, and that was to get on and climb. We racked up with Howsie taking first lead today. Taking on a relatively new route from 2003 called Coyanacorna. No surprises that this one star route was graded 16 (HVS 4c/5a), which seemed to have become our staple grade. The climbing felt more nervous and it was not as easy to read if the rock would stay in place. It did but care was required, checking for cracks indicating weaknesses and at times avoiding bigger unattached blocks:
I came up on second grateful for the rope above me, as I accustomed my brain. The second equally engaging pitch was just as entertaining, problem solving, and nervous as the first. I took this one as the cloud rose up the hillside and over us, obscuring any view. The steepness was more evident here. We relish the exposure of air below our feet, but with steepness comes a tendency to hold on tighter than you need to. It was a stellar line and a great introductory route. But what next. Mind you before thinking about that we had to figure out how to get off:
Jonas has done a great job of detailing descents in his guide. For our two locations they were often aided by permanent or thread anchors to allow an abseil. The one shown below was a little nervous, due to all the sizable loose rocks on the ledges you passed on the rap. To avoid any unintended incidents, we slowed down even more and took our time. In part because of this and despite the earlier start on rock, we knew we wouldn’t get a 1,000ft of ascent in today. The routes took longer as did the descents, and with one in the bag it was time for food:
Sat down munching on snacks several Potter Wasps (Trypoxylon) flew round us. The below one landed on my top, which provided the perfect background to show the prey it had captured. These solitary wasps are, for humans, non-aggressive. But this species is not so for spiders. Leaving their prey with their eggs, so when the larvae hatch they have a fresh live meal. The spider it has caught is doomed to be buried in a purpose built mud nest or any hole that seems suitable. We watched some going in and out of holes in the rock next to us:
The lingering cloud of the morning was disappearing, and being north facing the cliff would have full sun. It was the first time we shed layers for a route, feeling like we did not need to wrap up. Howsie had already picked the line. Being one of the first new routes Jonas and his mates had scoped out in the Stirling Ranges in 2014. Freeballing goes at grade 17 (HVS/E1 5a). It is given two stars and is talked up in the guide. And rightly so. The long first pitch was all consuming, sustained, and extremely good. Howsie was rightly proud as punch with his lead:
On second, weariness weighed heavy on me. At the belay I sat down to sort the gear. And only after some time dared look up at the crux pitch. Setting off nervously things soon flowed well. Then just below the crux I found a large loose flake that put me on edge. Reaching up in the wall above the holds felt small. On fingertips only, I cranked up. To avoid the flake I had to spreadeagle my legs making the next move feel very long, with gear below my feet. I got a little vocal as I went up. The holds improved but I did not stop for about three meters. A big fall awaited:
Managing to keep it together, the whole pitch was soooooo good. I had however attracted the attention of hikers on the main track some 3-400m away. A crowd had formed watching intently. I hardly heard their distant murmuring. Howsie however heard the call of a kid shouting ‘go red helmet, he got up’ as I topped out. Howsie came up as most of the crowd started to disperse. As he passed the crux he attempted to lightly place a foot on the flake. It spun into the air and exploded below. He fortunately managed to hold on, and kept going:
Wow, wow, wow is all we could say about that route. It had it all. But it had also taken it all out of us. I could feel my muscles starting to cramp up from the two big days. Rapping back down and sat at our packs we ate more food and guzzled water. Pondering one more line, but that would mean a much later departure. We had hoped to get home tonight, to allow some family time on this long weekend. Plus there would be no climbing on Monday if we had stayed tonight. Not just because of the rain, but also because we felt toasted:
Decision made. We packed up and hoicked it back to the main track. Practically running, we passed lots of people sweating their way up and anyone heading down. Saying hello to everyone we passed, and just about everyone was cheerful and happy. When we went to pass Success and his partner, who were heading down, they asked if we were the ones they had seen climbing. Indeed we were, and he kindly provided me with a couple of photos he took of Howsie just starting up the second pitch, which I have used three images up:
A Canadian lady heading down, taking it very easy with hike poles but with an ear to ear grin of her achievement today, politely asked if we had any water that we could spare. Not for her but someone she called ‘her adopted hiker’, who was too shy to ask for it himself. He was heading down after completing the Ridge Walk. If you are keen to see what that hike is like check out this post https://sandbagged.blog/2021/11/28/a-most-unexpected-journey/. We obliged and offered what water we had left, before continuing our rapid descent. Rolling up to Howsie’s home at seven, grateful to be back but also still buzzing from two glorious days:
