Sandbagged

Whose counting

Looking out and seeing a blue sky as I type this makes me think that maybe I should have gone for an afternoon wander. Or possibly even a climb, not that I would have had success in convincing anyone to head out. It had looked like we would be blanketed in clouds and rain all weekend, to the point I didn’t bothered to try and organise anything. Having resigned myself to not touching rock, I knew there was no way I would stay sane if I didn’t at least go for a stroll. And knowing I would get wet I also realised it would end up being a hike:

As opposed to a wander or stroll, that meant getting on with it and putting some miles under my feet. It was no surprise to see my car looking lonely as I headed off on the 10km loop at Crook Brook. Lisa hadn’t joined me today. She also hadn’t gone down the beach for a plunge, which would have happened just before I arrived. No one had. Like me not touching rock on a weekend, this was a rare occasion for the Peppy Plungers. But justified as the rain was lashing down, the wind was near gale force, and the ocean was a messy surge of water:

Inland however the wind was way more sedate, and the rain remained relatively light with only the occasional heavier spell. In such situations it is a tough call as to whether to wear the waterproof. Today the decision wasn’t hard. I was travelling light, with only my phone and a muesli bar for company. The jacket stayed on, and I accepted I would get a little toasty as I moved quickly. I still kept my eyes peeled despite the pace. Noticing the flecks of pink, white, blue, yellow, and red of the few natives that were in flower speckled here and there:

The one that really caught my eye was the above Hairy Jug Flower (Adenanthos barbiger). With fine white hairs on the perianth, a fancy name for non-reproductive parts or petals and sepals, clearly visible against the deep red. These filaments are where it gets its scientific name, with barba meaning beard in Latin. An endemic plant that flowers from August through till December, so it had started flowering right on cue. Unlike a few orchids I could mention. Initially I only saw Banded Greenhoods (Pterostylis vittata), which flowers from April:

Although his year I felt that they had started late. I have also only seen spikes of the Jug Orchid (Pterostylis recurve) that is supposed to flower from August. I may be impatient, but the above Slender Snail Orchid (Pterostylis crispula) have only just started to appear, despite having been known to flower as early as May. Distinguished from other snail orchids by its narrow flower and small basal rosette. Most others species in the local area don’t have a basal rosette. Sadly I also stumbled across a South African Weed Orchid (Disa bracteata), with its spike forming and will no doubt bloom on time, which normally happens in October:

It is likely the only invasive orchid in Western Australia. Having arrived as far back as 1944. Since then it spread to South Australia in 1988 and Victoria in 1994. It has now also been sighted in Tasmania. Relishing the conditions here, that are similar to South Africa, and forming quite large colonies. There’s no getting rid of it now. Back to the natives, I found a few Hare Orchids (Leporella fimbriata) still flowering, as shown above. Blooming from March, the flowers can last seven months still being seen and recognisable as late as September:

There wasn’t much fungi to see, and the above was the only one to draw enough of my attention to warrant a quick stop from pounding the track, to snap an image. I’ll stick my neck out and suggest it may be a Beefsteak Fungus (Fistulina hepatica), which can also be known as a Beefsteak Polypore, Poor Man’s Steak, Ox Tongue, or Tongue Mushroom. While closely related to gilled fungi the fertile surface, being the underside, has smooth cup-shaped elements instead of gills. Forming what looks like a solid base, a bit like fungi in the Boletus genus:

I wasn’t too concerned about the lack of fungi, as orchids kept popping into view. Stopping to check the Slender Hammer Orchid (Drakaea gracilis) Lisa and I found a few weeks back, there were now two spiking. And above a Reaching Spider Orchid (Caladenia arrecta), being my favourite of the spider orchids. Both of these species are known to flower from August, but as alluded to above seem to be another couple of species that may delay their bloom. Happy with six good and one bad orchid species, it was time to drive back only to find a few roads were now flooded:

A winning streak

True to her words, on Sunday last weekend, Lisa and I headed to mini Pear Mill as it will be known from now, but only by us. Here we enjoyed a taste of decadence, played a game of scrabble, and were surrounded by a diverse range of antiquities. The latter distracting our attention when the letters on our boards were proving just too tricky. It is a chilled spot and we spent a very relaxed hour or two there. While it has its differences, the true Italian style food for one, it did so remind me of Pear Mill. So much so we told the owners:

Keen to see images of the original Pear Mill we dug some out and they were tickled pink when they saw them. Sure the UK version is way bigger, but the similarities in style, look, and feel are uncanny. It also seemed that it was a place where Lisa gets good Juju because not only did she win the game, but she completed trousered me. Something that doesn’t happen too often. After the owners congratulated Lisa, and we got home, she was not sure about my idea of a wander on the beach to stretch the poodle’s legs. It was pretty wild and woolly:

A break in the scattered showers seemed likely. When we got to the top of the beach we were hit by the winds, almost resulting in Lisa wanting to do a quick U-turn. The poodles were however too excited, undeterred by weather unless it is chucking it down. If we had any cobwebs hanging about in our heads they were certainly blown far away. Being a very invigorating walk for all the senses, to the point that we decided to take the more protected way back. A narrow path that leads through the dunes pretty well to our backdoor:

As Lisa and poodles went ahead, I did a slight detour to see if a small orchid spot was yielding anything yet. It wasn’t. I did however spy the above Rooting Shank (Oudemansiella gigaspora), and the below Parasol Ink Cap (Parasola plicatilis). I really liked the second find for which the common name is very apt. It is a very delicate species, and is only out for a short time. The body will come up at night after rain, and during the day it has one of two fates. If it is sunny they will dry up, and if not the weight of the cap will eventually make it collapse:

Fast forward to Saturday, and like my morning out to Moses with Craig and Howsie it was another cool start. Yesterday was so cold that Perth, some 200km to the north, had recorded it’s coldest morning in fifteen years. Images of frozen lawns accompanied the news article. I had checked the grass as I drove out yesterday, but the dew hadn’t become ice. This morning wasn’t as cold, although it was barely above four degrees as Lisa and her Peppy Plungers entered the water. Meanwhile my legs, not the poodles, were getting a stretch at the Capel Nature Reserve:

Donning my walking boots as I was going off track, and not just that but also wanted to explore the wetland area of the reserve. Not always able to avoid a short patches where I had to go through water, I was happy to have my toes covered. Still unsure that I would enjoy going in for a full body winters plunge, as Lisa does just about every Saturday morning. The sun had just started to poke its head over the horizon as I started the walk. Signally the coldest part of the day was upon us. I did wonder if this was more of a physiological thing:

But no, it does in fact take a moment for the sun to get high enough before the heating effect can take hold. Until then the surface of the land is still radiating out and losing heat, as it does all night long. This prolongs the cooling effect until after sunrise. A reason for wanting to explore this area is to see if I could find any fungi that may favour the wetter areas. The path I wove attempted to follow the goat tracks left by kangaroos, which criss-crossed the area. Walking somewhat taller than the average kangaroo this didn’t always work in my favour:

Stands of the above dense Variable-Leaved Hakea (Hakea varia) with its stiff prickly leaves, were not very pleasant to push through. Not fancying getting down low to crawl through the soggy based, low tunnels the kangaroos had made I had to find alternative paths. This shrub is a widespread endemic species of the south west. Preferring winter wet areas, it can survive without. Obviously loving the wetlands here, where it was thriving. As were the frogs, unseen but their ‘bonk’, ‘tok’, ‘quacking’, ‘dripping tap’, and ‘rattling’ calls rang out:

I wasn’t so lucky with the fungi, or not as lucky as I had hoped. Still I did enjoy the ramble not really knowing where I was going, what I might come across, and soaking in being surrounded by nature. I did stumble across a couple of gasteroid fungi, which the informal name for the group called Basidiomycota. As the common name kind of suggests, these do not have an open structure under which their spore are grown and dispersed from. Instead their spore are grown inside them, and when ready to be released the body will wear away or open up:

Two images up I was pleased to finally find what has numerous common names across the globe including Dead Man’s Foot, Dyeball, Pardebal, and Bohemian Truffle (Pisolithus arhizus). It’s scientific name has also changed over time. Containing a black viscous gel early specimens were collected for use to create dye for clothes, hence the common name of Dyeball. I’ll skip past the above, which has alluded me and even Howsie was unable to assist. Below, is what is known both as a Star Earthball and or Dead Man’s Hand (Scleroderma polyrhizum):

This was some time after I had left the wetland area, being back in the drier sandy soils that most of the nature reserve comprises of. These tend to stay buried until it is time for the spores to be released. Pushing up, the outer surface cracks to expose the powdery spore mass that is dispersed by the wind. The spores from these specimens had since been blown away, leaving what I feel resembles a flower like appearance. Like the previous fungus it can be found in many places across the globe, and has even featured on a Libyan postage stamp:

Wandering through other parts of the reserve I hadn’t been too before, the change in vegetation make up and land form was quite extreme. In part due to land of plantations, agriculture, and sand mining 50 years or so back. It does however provide for the opportunity to spot different things, such as these tiny Golden-eye Lichen (Teloschistes chrysophthalmus). Not a fungus granted, but lichen are a symbiotic relationship between a fungus and an algae. The former provides the structure and the latter the food through photosynthesis:

This is why lichen often resembles a form like a fungus. This is a twig lichen and likes areas exposed to sunlight. Found in small clusters, and rarely see in abundance. The bright ‘cups’ with ‘eyelashes’ were less than a centimetre wide, some barely a millimetre, so you need to get close to see the detail. Time was moving faster than I was, so I had to put on a bit of pace with one last pit stop for this fungus. If I am right, having multiple names of Hemispherical Stropharia, The Dung Roundhead, or Halfglobe Mushroom (Protostropharia semiglobata):

A hint my identification may be right is that it was growing out of a decomposing wallaby or kangaroo scat. Now I really needed to get moving, as I also wanted to check in on this cluster of Glossy-leafed Hammer Orchids (Drakaea elastica). In looks like only one plant may flower, so I do hope it survives and isn’t trampled. I’m not sure where the two and half hours went, but now it was time to get home. As this post started today we were going back to mini Pear Mill, where Lisa’s winning streak continued. Not that it is a competition, so we say:

In Tim Finn’s words

After having missed out on joining me at the Northern Blocks last Saturday, Craig was keen to make appearance on rock this week. Something that has sadly become a rare occurrence in more recent years. His tea delivery service has been sorely missed! David and Howsie were keen to, so we set up a chat group in which I gave daily updates of where we would have most luck in staying dry. It’s been another fickle week. Heading inland to Welly Dam looked the most promising, for which the closest weather station predicted a cold and crisp morning:

Craig isn’t overly keen with being cold, he doesn’t function too well in it. Added to that, having not climbed a whole heap, his sights were set on something more relaxing. As it was the mercury dipped to minus 1.5 degrees up the hill this morning, feeling like minus 3.7. So we may have been lucky to have seen ice encrusted vegetation if we had gone inland. Something Howsie agreed with me as being a rarity in our general area. But it was not to be. Late Friday the synoptic charts went from predicting a slightly sodden to mostly clear coast:

While the coast was clear the only question left was which crag. Craig got dibs, picking the friendly Moses Rocks. Keen for a bit of ‘atmosphere’, which we were likely to get seeing the swell was again up there. I wondered at this point if I should have got Craig to bring his rack, so his gear instead of mine could get salt encrusted. However, the two flasks of tea that filled his pack were more than enough forgiveness. The waves may have been, as Lisa would say, very crashy. Fortunately for my gear the spray was kept at bay by a light offshore breeze:

We didn’t completely escape the cold, if you ask Howise and Craig. They were both rugged up to the nines, from head to foot. Like onions they were wearing layer upon layer, and only I braved the elements with just one layer on and my toes fully exposed in sandals. It may have been in the lowly single digits as we walked in, but it really wasn’t that bad. And better still the rock seemed to have held on to some heat, meaning our finger tips never numbed. Craig was however not too impressed with the wet rock, as can be seen a few images up:

Mind you the route was the one he chose, after I had strongly encouraged him to take the first lead. He seemed hesitant but I didn’t give him a huge amount of choice, and was pleased that Howsie didn’t step in to save Craig from his nerves. After all they say that the best way for ‘getting back on the bike’, is to dive straight in. And that’s what he did, needing to have a little talk to himself a few times as he navigated his way round the wet holds, as much as possible. Afterward saying that at least the rock on other routes we hit would feel great after that:

It was indeed the only wet line, which Howsie was also pleased about as he was hoping to take on a few of the more testy lines. For his first route he needed to keep a calm head and maintain focus on what were drier but far smaller holds. Thinking I might get away without leading, it seems what goes around come around. When Craig hinted, not as strongly as I did to him, that it was my turn. Nursing my tendons after last weekend I picked a sensible route, and as I climbed I looked down and hinted to Howsie that it was time to pour the first cuppa:

Not just a hot brew was served up, but they came with biccies. How decadent! It was all too easy to slip into chill mode and kick back. This certainly happened for a while, until I made use of a few broody looking clouds that seemed to be inching their way towards us. Getting Craig to step on it and bag his next lead, so Howsie wouldn’t have to climb on wet rock. It worked a treat, as Craig sailed up feeling much more relaxed and in control. This was when David rocked up, with errands to run he decided a quick drop in for a chat was all he could manage:

It was however timely, as Howsie was about to do something only I have done. Climb a particular bolted route in true gritstone style. This meant avoiding the bolts and only using what little trad gear is available. It goes, and I know as I have done it several times. But it is a real head test, the sort of situation that I knew Howsie froths over. A couple of images up you’ll see him working his was already a good distance above his gear, with still several delicate moves and meters before better holds and gear arrives. Froth he did, and loved it:

I snuck in a quick easy line, which didn’t leave Craig much choice for his third climb. He wasn’t keen and walked away from the only obvious choice. That was until I sneakily did a stick clip of the high first carrot bolt with a wire, while standing on a boulder. A trick Rongy had to use many years back when we climbed in the Blue Mountains, and one I didn’t think I would ever need to use until today. I wasn’t sure if Craig was pleased with me, but he went up all the same. Making a bit of a meal of the top out, until he found the big holds that lay out of sight:

As David had to leave us, we still had time for one more line. Howsie was keen to jump on a very unusual climb for our area, and as he had done all morning lapped it up. In fact I can say the same for Craig. It is no mean feat to come out and jump on the sharp end for three worthy lines after such a long absence on rock. The weather held off, the tea and biccies went down a treat, the atmosphere was epic, and the company was great. So while the friction of the rock lived up to what we expect of Moses Rocks, and despite my at times slightly forceful nudging, there was not even a hint of a fraction too much friction between us:

An unsavoury find

At work on Friday the district and local emergency management committee for the South West called a meeting for that afternoon. Hinting that a significant front may roll in over the weekend, and there was a need to be prepared in case things got nasty. Then just hours before the meeting was due to kick off, it was cancelled. The forecast was downgraded, and everyone could look forward to a more relaxed weekend. The change in forecast not only came with a reduced threat over the next two days, but also a clear spell for today:

While I had suggested to Lisa that we could head out for a walk, I wasn’t getting the sort of excitement she may normally show. Being a Saturday she understandably does not like to miss out on her ocean plunge. During winter more so, this comes with a bit of a routine. After the plunge and coffee on the beach, its back home to hit the sauna to heat up, and then a period to chill. Allowing the benefit of the cold dip and sweat box wash over her. Also, I got the feeling, seeing it was back to school next week, she was happy to just kick back after that:

So it was that I drove towards the crag in darkness for the second time in three days. The roads were littered with kangaroos, and I had to stop quite a few times to allow them to hop off. However, on the final dirt track where I expected to come across mobs of them, there wasn’t one to be seen. It was still dark, so dark that I had to use a head torch for the walk in. Technically I didn’t need to get out quite that early. And I could have been out for the whole morning. There is however something about early mornings, such as this, that appeals to me:

Rightly or wrongly I had picked the Northern Blocks of Wilyabrup for my solo mission. The swell was up again, and these faces are set back from the ocean. After having to wash all my gear to get rid of the salt residue, kindly provided by the epic conditions at Moses Rocks last weekend, I didn’t want to recoat it quite so soon. I also fancied a change, something different to the main faces at Wilyabrup. The climbs here offer that, being steep and pumpy. In addition it is easy to set up on them, and it is rare to see anyone else here. Lots of positives:

The negative, being that there is not much that isn’t steep and pumpy. I started up the first line bang on 7am, just as Lisa would be heading in for her plunge. It feel like it had been a long time since I had been on these routes. The lack of familiarity, steepness, and rounded holds put me a little on edge. The morning dew also made the rock feel a little damp. As a result I yarded too hard on that first line. Did I hear something twang in my elbow? In my mind I said… ‘well it is a little tender now’, and then ‘bah, toughen up and climb on’, so I did:

The face I had set my mind to climb on only had one line that provides a more relaxed experience, shown above. This was my fourth and final climb, so climb on I did. Hopefully the twinge was nothing too serious. Although, I should probably dial back on climbing twice a week for a bit longer. Of course I hit each line twice, and wrapped up the eight laps in two hours almost to the minute. And then messaged Lisa to see if she fancied meeting up for a bite to eat. Having only just got out of the sauna, her morning routine was still going:

As I walked out we agreed to head out tomorrow morning instead. She’s found a spot that looks a bit like a mini-Pear Mill. I’m really keen to check it out. For those scratching their heads as to what I mean by that, Pear Mill is a place that we go to nearly every time I head back to see the folks in England. This post has a bit of detail about its history and set up: https://sandbagged.blog/2022/08/01/time-to-head-back/. For now however with a bit more time on my hands, I stopped in at a place just off the dirt track before the main road:

Since my last trip to the UK, from which I returned five week back, I haven’t had a proper orchid walk. Things were looking promising, lots and lots of tell-tale signs that we might be in for a bumper orchid season. Unlike my rapid session on rock, with a climb every fifteen minutes, orchid walks slow down to snail paced. Some may say appropriately, I stumbled across a single Red-sepalled Snail Orchid (Pterostylis erubescens) in flower. There were some interesting fungi too, and I wonder if the above is a Ghost Fungus (Omphalotus nidiformis):

I might have to head out for an evening climb one day in the next few weeks to see if it emits the famous phosphorescent light, which is where it gets its common name from. However, trying to find it could be tricky, other than seeing it in the dark. I do not tag my images with a location, and during these wanders in the bush I literally have no idea where I end up. After an hour I found my way back to the car and seeing it was still dry I drove to the Ruabon Nature Reserve. Again there were heaps of leaves, reinforcing a potentially good season was ahead:

Another successful hour of treading lightly. Lots King in his Carriage Orchid spikes (Drakaea glyptodon), two images up. There was also a patch of Mosquito Orchids (Cyrtostylis robusta) not far of flowering. The star of the show was however the above Variable Waxcap (Hygrocybe polychroma), with its stunning deep red colour. They also come in orange, yellow, and white, and the scientific names mean ‘moisture – head’ and ‘many – bright colours’. I did not salivate over the last find, which the local fungi guide tells me is a Dog Poo Fungus (Pisolithus species):

The damage is done

Chopping and changing is the best way to describe this winter. With what looks like another washed out weekend was ahead of us. So, with more flexitime stacked up than I should have, I took today off. Looking the more promising of the tail end days of my working week. I was also spurred on due by temperatures up the hill being forecast to drop below what was required to provide a frosty morning. It is rare to see everything coated in frost here, a shame as it really does provide for cracking images. As such I got myself all set for a crisp early start:

No one was able or willing to join me. Was it the thought of an early start? After all I did arrive at a time when it was so dark that I was a bit nervous to walk along the top of the crag to set up the top rope. Or was it the thought of the coldness? Numbing fingertips and toes to the point that the sensation of touch is reduced, resulting in the confidence in the holds plummeting. Or maybe it was simply that no one else was lucky enough to have the flexibility I do, and just couldn’t afford the time:

Whichever the reason, they didn’t miss out on the beauty of observing ice crystals encasing anything that had moisture on it. Before I drove out the closest telemetered weather station to Welly Dam was already indicating the temperature was rising quite sharply, from the night time low of one and half degrees. And as I left home, our local weather was already approaching double digits. I knew I was going to luck out on one of the drawcards I had hoped for, but was still committed to playing on the steep quarried granite faces, so drove on:

I wasn’t the only person to arrive as early as I did. I could see a torchlight flickering about at the worksite below the dam, and occasionally the headlights of a car driving up the valley indicated more workers were arriving. I watched the scene below unfold for a while to allow a bit more light to creep into the sky, making setting up the top rope a bit safer. The rock was still cold to touch, sucking out most of my ability to feel the holds with confidence. Resulting in me putting way too much effort into every stance and move, and puffing my way up:

Added to that, the rock didn’t have that crisp dryness about it, which it had when Howsie and I came here not even three weeks back. Today water seeped down the lichen coated blackened faces, out of the cracks and fissures, and down corners. Even the grey granite faces that were free of lichen felt damp. The above, which may be Grey Hoar-Moss (Hedwigidium ciliate), was loving the conditions. The tips of the long bristly stems coming to life with colour. I persisted, strangely enjoying myself:

Even when I was occasionally and unexpectedly spat off. It felt like hard work and progress was slow, after each ascent I needed a bit of recovery time. On the third line what I thought was the noise of the worksite in the valley below, was rain falling. The first tourists had just arrived, walking down to the lookout above the dam with umbrellas to keep them dry. The rain started wet the rock up, more than it already was. It was time to bail. Despite a patch of blue sky rolling in, when everything was back in the car the damage was already done:

Soaking it in

David has been a little absent of late, but jumped at the chance of a Sunday foray this weekend. I’d heard that he has been frequenting a new boulder gym in the area to pull on plastic, and has even been out for a few top rope solo missions on real rock. Understanding that there is a huge mental difference between that and leading; I did however think that with all of his extracurricular activities he may have got his mind more in tune for tying into the sharp end. I kept this thought under my belt, and I left him to choose our destination:

Moses Rocks it was and more specifically he was keen to check out the southernmost cliffs, Rumpoles Rocks. The weather for the whole weekend has been looking hit and miss. There was a glimmer of an opportunity for Sunday morning, but with it there was still a chance we may get wet. Sometimes you just have to chance it, so we locked the day in. As it got closer, the forecast looked to become more settled and quite possibly dry. The swell was also much lower than my last trip here, by three meters. Making me think Rumpoles should be fine:

It seemed however that the size of the swell wasn’t the only thing to dictate the size of the waves. The sets were clean and crisp as they came in, and when making contact with the rocky land mass we saw some shoot twenty meters in the air. David looked uncertain of our predicaments to start with. To ease him into it we stopped just short of Rumpoles, where we would be a bit further away from the water. I left him to look at the lines and decide what drew his attention. Once he had been drawn in, I suggested he rack up and tie in:

After all he had brought his new gear, a set of tricams that had not yet made contact with rock. It seemed logical he took the lead and then the next. Nothing too serious. He only had a slight stammer on the first climb. Then just before the moves shown a few images up, on his second route, I eventually had to give him a bit of a talking too. Once he committed he romped up. However, what with the waves booming behind us, the occasional spray hitting us, and the next routes being a notch up, he decided he would rather come up on second:

David only brought his tricams, as I had offered to bring my gear today. What wasn’t used and lay at the base of the climbs and this slowly on got a good soaking. Not from rain, as nothing came from the clouds. It was all the spray from the waves, which never relented. We could have avoided the smothering of salt by going to the higher walls, but what would have been the fun in that? I took a couple of leads, by which time we had cleaned up the small buttress. And while he looked nervous, it was agreed that we should head to Rumpoles to give it a go:

We watched for a bit before committing, in fact we did a lot of watching as nature just got on with putting on a spectacular show. Knowing the area well enough I knew that while the belayer may get a little damp, this wall was protected by a huge boulder so it was safe enough. I headed up leaving David at the base, anchored in just in case. Several huge sets came in and water burst over the boulder and boiled at his feet but he never got wet. Well no wetter than we had at the other buttress despite being much further from the action:

David made his way up, away from the excitement below. In the above image, he is already half way up the climb. Reaching the tope he was buzzing from the sheer exhilaration of the situation. Stating that one belay in those conditions was enough, and there was no way he fancied taking on a lead. Maybe on a calmer and drier day. He was still keen to jump on some dry rock, so it was time to walk back to the northern end. Here we were high and dry, the waves seemed nowhere near as intimidating, and there was not even a hint of any spray:

Even the sun made an appearance. And while we got to see a rainbow created in the drops of a light shower out to sea, those drops never fell on land. The rock here was in perfect condition. I’ve often said the rock at Moses holds its friction well when it is wet, this means it is super sticky when it is dry. Regardless of this, being a bit steeper and more sustained, David was happy for me to be on the sharp end for the three lines we gobbled up. No complaints from me, but next time I’ll leave the pointy end for David to tie into a bit more often:

Lunch with friends

With enough daylight for a play, Lisa and I drove off on Wednesday after I had packed my laptop away. We were heading a couple of hours north, but stopped on the way at a short walk that had been mentioned on the orchid chat group at work. After our walk and look around Crooked Brook recently, I was not expecting to make any great finds on the Harvey Wildflower Ridge Walk. It is however high in the landscape so should provide nice vistas. This included the below patchwork of native bush and pine plantations round Harvey Dam:

It really was just a quick stretch of the legs. The track passed a few rocky outcrops, which I couldn’t resist but to look around. No faces of note that were worth a revisit with my sticky boots. And as suspected there was very little in terms of flowers, and not surprisingly not a sniff of an orchid. That said the varied terrain could provide for a bit of diverse flora come spring time. It was also a little lacking on the fungi side too, looking a fair bit drier than the places just that bit further south where we live. With only one catching my eye:

And despite its very distinctive deep and well-spaced gills I have not identified it. I have to admit to also using Google Lens, as part of my collective of tools to research what I find. It is funny just how many times it will suggest that a white cap mushroom, regardless of scale or other features, could be a Death Cap. It would seem the app may have a high degree of risk adverseness, and it is not alone. I did wonder if it may have been from the Russula genus, also called brittle caps because the caps have a brittle chalk like texture that crumbles easily:

I did not however put that to the test. Back in the car we drove on, our destination was Serpentine. A place we have driven past many a time over the last couple of decades, but having been on the road somewhere we have never stopped. It is home of Serpentine Falls, one of the more renowned waterfalls in the South West of Western Australia. Not that there are too many to choose from, being mostly a relatively flat landscape. I was of course also interested to see the rock formations, just in case there may be a sneaky place to explore:

I have heard many a time there is nothing worth climbing there, plus it is a tourist hotspot so why would you anyway. But my curiosity had to be quelled. We planned to walk to the falls from Jarrahdale, which is famed for being Western Australia’s very first timber town. Now a scenic tourist town with quaint timber cottages, dating back to the early 1800s. That would not however be until the next day. We were staying overnight to avoid the need to cram the plus four hour drive, on top of what we hoped to be five or so hours in nature, all in one day:

It was a good call, and we had a relaxed evening munching at the Serpentine Falls Tavern. Occasionally being asked by the staff who was winning the games we played. Not quite as old as the cottages of Jarrahdale, but still going back to the early 1900s. Built some ten years after the rail line through Serpentine was opened. The rail line serviced a thriving timber milling town back in the day. Unlike our local rail line that has fallen into disrepair a long time back, this one is still in use. It was strange to hear the horns of the engines during the night:

We awoke refreshed and not needing to rush about to get out the door. Instead taking our time, being able to pull out the scrabble and have a few cuppas before it was time to get sorted. Being less than an hour from Perth and during the school holidays, not surprisingly we were not the first to park up. Although we imagine the place would get much busier on the weekend. I’ve got behind on the images and the first image as we set off on the walk is of both of us. Today was going to be more of a walking walk, the trail we thought was 14km:

The Kitty’s Gorge Walk is a reasonable length and listed as a grade4 hike, so it was not one to dilly dally on too much. Just like the landscape at yesterday’s short wander it was relatively dry, the recent big rainfalls we had experienced had not made it here. As such while there was a trickle of flow in the Gooralong Brook, which the path first took us along, the falls along the way were not gushing with white water. Before we got to the Serpentine Falls the brook confluences with the Serpentine River, which would hopefully boost the flows:

The hike down to the Serpentine Falls was never too bad, so the grade 4 status seemed a little overkill. But we were not to know that from the outset, as such I had suggested Lisa take my hiking poles. She’s got dodgy knees and while she wouldn’t say too much, a grade 4 hike of this length was sure to aggravate them. It took a bit of getting used to, but by the end of it she said they had certainly helped to take some of the pressure off the joints. So I think we may see them come out a bit more often on the bigger walks:

Along the way you pass Spencer’s Cottage, built in the 1860s by Joshua Spencer and claimed to be one of the first residences to be built in the Serpentine-Mardella district. The cottage looks pretty dilapidated, and is enclosed in an unsightly six foot high ring mesh fence. No doubt to avoid someone getting hurt, rather than to safe guard the building which really could do with some TLC. I though the name of the walk may have been linked to this cottage, but it is not and the only reference I can find it that it is named after a cow that got lost in the area:

This seems somewhat unlikely, especially seeing this was supposed to occur in the 1800s and it is said the cow was found living a happy life over a year later. As we wandered on the trail didn’t seem to make sense, and we wondered if just like Kitty we too had got lost. But gradually more people were coming the other way. A sign we were getting close, and that we were not lost. It turned out that the last part of the original trail had been closed and was being rehabilitated back to bush. The new track followed an access track the long way round:

Adding an extra couple of kilometres it took us down to the main car park, heaving with people. Despite the crowds we had to get to the falls just to have a look, and while the combined flows of the two waterways was still not huge, it was a pretty sight. The waters cascading into an eight meter deep pool that suggests the flowrates get much bigger. We found a quite spot to pull out the flask and, what has become our tradition of, cheese sandwiches. Under the watchful eyes of a group of Australian Magpies (Gymnorhina tibicen):

There are several collective nouns for magpies including a charm, tidings, tribe, conventicle, gulp, and/or parliament. The one that seemed most appropriate however is a mischief. As soon as we sat down at the bench, they joined us. Quite literally sitting with us. Using various tactics to win our favour, as they vied for morsels to feast on. They are after all not silly and are known for their high level of intelligence. Being capable of solving complex problems to access food, make use of tools to aid their cause, and remember faces for years:

Refreshed and content we hit the track for the return journey. The further we got from the main falls the quieter it became. After the initial broader landscape we made it back into the narrower valley and onto the slightly more rugged track. Taking a slight detour at the end to allow us to take in a slight detour on Stacey’s Loop. I can however find no folklore to explain who or what Stacey may be. There was even less stopping on the way back, not that we had spotted much to distract my attention on the way down either:

While I have not been able to identify the above delicate little fungi, I was able to work out the one sandwiched between the two unidentifiable ones. The dainty Orange Moss Navel (Rickenella fibula) is also called the Moss Sentinel, no doubt because it is grows amongst moss. It ended up being a neat ten mile hike. As we had hoped, with an extended lunch stop to enjoy the company of the magpies, we had enjoyed a lovely five and half hours in nature. On the drive back we already started to think about where we might go next:

Different ways of walking

We are experiencing a bit of a lull. I had a fair bit of success in April and May. Now with most of the early orchids having been and gone things have eased up during June and into July. The next batch are starting their journey of coming into bloom albeit a bit slowly, which is fair enough being a reasonably wet winter. I suspect that towards the end of July and into August more of them will come out to play. With the boom time of course being the big months of September through to November, when the greatest number of species spring into action:

That is not to say that I’ve given up completely. It does get a little trickier to find days that I am motivated enough to get out for a slow walk. Balancing using the better day to hit rock, with of course the majority of the week being taken up by work. It doesn’t always leave too many options on these shorter, wetter, and windier days. I’m not alone on this, and our orchid chat group at work has been extremely quiet of late. Although a few weeks back Rob sent me an image from his place, a mostly vegetated block with five acres of bush and pines:

This led me to pop round, seeing it was on the way back from work and it was one of those not to bad afternoons. As he gave me the grand tour round the block, it reminded me of when we lived in Capel and had just over an acre. It took a lot of our free time looking after the place. Mowing, weeding, tending fallen branches, and then there was the menagerie, veggie garden, and fruit trees, not to mention the usual domestic duties. It was never ending for us, and I can’t begin to imagine how much time five acres takes up or how Rob does it:

He mentioned, as we wander round, that it had been a very long time since he had simply strolled round to look about. Most other times he’s busy with some form of maintenance that demands his attention. Being rewarded by finding quite a few good finds, in order of the images being Brown-veined Shell Orchid (Pterostylis aspera), Yellow Fieldcap (Bolbitius titubans), Collinitus Slippery Jack (Suillus collinitus), and the below what at the time I had hoped was the Green-veined Shell Orchid (Pterostylis scabra):

I’ve only seen the Brown-veined Shell Orchid once or twice, probably because I have never specifically gone out looking at the right time of year. The heart of winter. While the Green-veined Shell Orchid is common in the Wheatbelt, it has on rare occasions been identified towards the coast and in our area by citizen scientists. Hence my added word of potentially. Sadly upon a bit more research and interrogation it is more likely my find was a Brown-veined Shell Orchid. I suspect the other recorded observations in this area are also wrong:

When something like this happens I tend to dig into a particular genre a bit more. For shell orchids there are two other species that can be found round here. Maybe next year I’ll try a bit harder to see if I can spot them. Saturday was the first day of Lisa’s break from school, and with a forecast dry morning I suggested a wander. This meant she didn’t have enough time to reheat her core after the usual 7am bob in the ocean. So rugged up in her buffalo we had the heating on in the car as we drove along. On arrival and she was still cold, while I felt hot:

Despite being a bit hot I still donned my buffalo when we got out of the car. It was a cool morning. I imagine it was a very cool dip for Lisa in the ocean too, something that really does not appeal to me. Armed with a hot sippy cup of tea to help heat her up from the inside, we set out on the flower walk at Crooked Brook. I was keen to check out the lateritic country. And as per my above chitchat, I wasn’t expecting too much. Although with a bit of luck there may be a Blue Fairy out, a lonely species seeing there is only one in the pheladenia genre:

While it is winter the Scarlet Kunzea (Kunzea baxteri) two images up, is known to flower from July to September but can be seen in bloom earlier. We are lucky to have relatively quick access to different land forms and geology, which helps to mix up what we might see. This one is an endemic myrtle of the south-west of Western Australia, found near granite outcrops and hills. That said it is also a very popular cultivated plant, so is not really an uncommon find. It did however add a splash of colour to the otherwise mostly brown and green bush:

Not surprisingly the ground was littered with fungi, lots of regular finds and a few not so. I’ve limited my images to mostly the ones I have managed to identify. Two images up is the not so exciting Field Mushroom (Agaricus campestris), a well-known edible species for the fungi aficionado. But for a lesser person such as myself I would not risk it. There are, of course, some similar poisonous species. The above was the fungi of the day with its vibrant purple coloured cap, more interesting to observe due to the slime coating that made it glisten:

The above is nothing new, but I did like the way this Terracotta Mushroom(Lactarius eucalypti) was framed against the moss covered fallen limb. With its cap, due to the stem having come up next to the limb, being forced outwards and also upwards in a fan shape to expose its deep and well-spaced gills. The next image is of a Fleshy Cup Fungus (Aleurina ferruginea), something I have been keen to see for some time but have never really known what to look for. This may sound strange as it looks quite distinctive:

But sometimes until you have seen something for the first time it seems impossible to find. Then suddenly you start seeing it everywhere. I only spotted it as I was looking at a much bigger fungi specimen. Afterwards, due to its size, I didn’t find them everywhere. The cup of this fungus was only half a centimetre in diameter, and they do not get a whole heap bigger. So unless you get down and look closely it is easily missed, despite it lovely colour. It’s funny as Lisa has in the past told me I also need to also look up and see the wider views:

It is true that I tend to keep my head down looking at the ground for the hidden finds. However, knelling down and observing the Fleshy Cup Fungus there is yet another scale beyond that, still available to the naked eye. The beautiful green and almost translucent leafy moss in which it was sat was equally amazing. It is likely to be a moss of the Rosulabryum genus, of which there are three main species in this area. Based solely on how commonly it is found I think this one is going to be the Twisting Thread Moss Rosulabryum torquescens:

So do you hike and look at the big stuff, wander slowly and look at the smaller stuff, or scour a confined area looking for the micro sized gems. The latter is probably something for me to spend my own time on, while I can get away with the other two when out walking with Lisa. There is one more image of a fungi that we have gone past as I ramble on, and this one I have not been able to identify. Despite the delicately coloured and evenly textured dome and matching mottled coloured stem, I’ve had no joy in pinning this decomposer down:

Lisa sent me a great cartoon once to show what it was like to be out on a walk with a botanist, not that I profess to being one. At best I would say I’m a very amateur scaled enthusiast. But I reckon it would be a step backwards to ‘walk’ with a mycologist. I’ve refrained from expanding my arsenal of research tools to more books or potentially identifier apps. While it may aid my ability to work out what I have found, it would open up whole new world. One that would no doubt only result in me slowing down on the track even more:

Moving on, as we must. I have included the few orchid specimens we spotted. A single Banded Greenhood (Pterostylis vittata). Common as they are to see, I liked the image due to the background of the brunt stump of a Grass Tree (Xanthorrhoea preissii). One of ten species of grass trees found in the southwest of Western Australia. Next is my first and only sighting of a Jug Orchid (Pterostylis recurve) this year. A few weeks away from blooming, and again a common species to see. Finally a tiny Slender Hammer Orchids (Drakaea gracilis):

One of two spotted, at least I am assuming that is what it was. The Slender Hammer Orchid is a bit tricky to differentiate from the Warty Hammer Orchid at this stage of growth. The former is however more likely to be found in mossy ironstone environments. Only time will tell if I am right. Onwards, passing the above lookout where we stopped for a while, the last image is of a plant Lisa particularly liked. The basal leaves of a Golden Triggerplant (Stylidium ciliatum), which when we come back in spring will have lovely white, cream, or yellow flowers:

Winter wonderland

Another weekday jaunt, and you may be wondering how I managed back to back Friday outings. Several reasons that I won’t dwell on The most important one being that with a soon to be changing job, from August onwards, Howsie will no longer have Friday’s free. At least for his first month or two. Not surprisingly we are therefore keen to make the most of the good thing while it lasts. I’d been watching the weather during the week, as you do when the location and what might be feasible relies solely on whether the heavens might open up:

Wednesday night the rain drummed on the roof. Not the usual downpour we are used to that lasts for a short period, after which the rain bank has passes over. This lasted for hours. Four days into July and some local areas have already received over half the average monthly rainfall. This includes Busselton that received its highest daily rainfall on record, for the month on July. The pluvio station has observations stretching back close to 150 years, so it was a good dump. Not surprisingly we didn’t expect perfect conditions wherever we plumped for:

The decision was made and we headed to the safest bet, the old faithful Wilyabrup. Our guess that the cracks would be seeping and some of the slabs would be trickling with water was right. But with a stiff southerly wind cutting across the coastline, the steeper faces were looking pretty good and if it stayed dry would only improve. We had no idea of what to climb. It was a slow start, and one that saw me on the sharp end first. Today I was hoping we would go lead for lead, and I aimed to go just a wee bit harder on pointy end to see how I fared:

Like most people, my physical and mental climbing state fluctuates in response to many things. My keenness to keep a tidy belay station however rarely wavers. I won’t say never. There is never a situation where never truly applies. Life is too unpredictable. Good rope work, appropriately angled and tensioned anchors, gear sorted ready for the next person to rack up, and for me climbing shoes off is all part of the ritual. Some spots have a bit more room, making it easier. The above ledge is a beauty. One we have set up on many a time:

We picked it right, the day was shaping up to be a fine one. Regardless of that we were still rugged up. After all we are in the middle of winter, so it wasn’t warm and the biting wind cut through the layers. I had my cosy buffalo on, while Howsie kept his waterproof over multiple other layers to keep the heat on the inside. At time this resulted in us heating up a tad when we were on rock. The protection when we got to the belay ledges, when we tended to be that bit more exposed to the elements, however made us grateful for the choices we made:

Today we kept moving. Despite the slow start and having a bit of a time limit set for our departure from the crag, we clocked up eight routes. Nothing super silly, but all good routes with a few more testy moments on thinner holds and occasional runouts. The way things panned out the obvious last two climbs, which would allow us to climb with packs for a quick exit, were bathed in dappled sunlight. Managing alternate leads, I was very happy. Even more so when, while it wasn’t quite warm enough for our friends to come out, we got to see them:

I say them, as there were two nestled in the same big flake, we both spotted one on each climb. They were a safe distance apart, which I say as while not common the Southwestern Carpet Python (Morelia imbricata) can display cannibalistic behaviour. One was very young and much smaller, while the above specimen was a reasonable size. We also found a shed in the flake, and above it is possible that during its recent shedding process a scale on its snout didn’t dislodge, which is why it looks a little odd:

Atop the last climb the rapid jumping movement of these half a centimetre long spiders, caught our eyes. Having very occasionally been out during our outdoor adventures I still can’t get any closer to an identification other than an undescribed Bronze Rockhopper (Euophryinae). With Howsie’s changing situation I will have to encourage a few other local climbers who during winter at least, like these spiders, are only very occasionally seen outdoors. Saying they may be fair weather climbers won’t necessarily help my cause, but it is too late now:

Deenergised

For a change this post does not start with an early morning, but a late arrival image. Lisa and I were sticking to our agreed plan, and were off for our next short getaway. Heading out on Friday Lisa struggled to leave work any earlier than normal, so by the time we arrived at our destination we were only just in time to see the last of the daylight fade away. Fortunately the pub was just a hop, skip, a jump away from where we were staying. And after a good pub meal and a game or two, which made me feel like I was back in England, we hit the sack:

Unlike in England it was a late start the next morning. Something we both welcomed and it took a few brews to get us going. More than happy to make use of our time away from home to chill out. Hoping that by slowing down for a few days our bodies might have a better chance of shaking the unwanted bugs, which seemed to be lingering on. Thinking back on our walk round Mount Frankland, we joked about how the stroll into town was on her kind of path. This was however just a short wander to a café to get breakfast, with a game of course:

After we had our fill it was back to the room to pack a few provisions and head out on a proper wander. We had scored a blue sky day, raising my hopes of seeing a reptile or two. To start with however, our chosen route took us past a few fungi. I believe these to be Milky Conecaps (Conocybe apala). They emerge after rain, which we had plenty of last week, and only last a few days. I feel a little like the middle name of their other common name of White Dunce Cap, as I have been unable to work out nearly all of the others species we saw:

These have therefore been omitted. The path was a bit of a roller coaster working along the ridge, but at least it was level and wide. Allowing me to check out what was on offer, not much in the way of orchids and nothing worth including. Lisa was happy I was in front when I spotted this juvenile Dugite (Pseudonaja affinis). They usually lay their eggs between mid-December to the end of January, with the time required to hatch is temperature dependent. Almost doubling from 53 to 105 days, in response to temperatures of 30°C and 23°C:

As hoped our scaly friends came out to play and we got to see a Bobtail (Tiliqua rugosa), a couple of South-Western Crevice-Skinks (Egernia napoleonis), and plenty of Buchanan’s Snake-eyed Skinks (Cryptoblepharus buchananii). Coming down off the ridge, a relatively long beach section awaited us. Someone would be forgiven for thinking we weren’t in the heart of winter, with such a glorious day and warm sun. But it was winter, and that meant we were likely to have to cross the Gunyulgup Creek:

I already knew this, but had omitted to tell Lisa about it. Half expecting some resistance, she simply didn’t have the energy to say anything. Not feeling the best, but also wanting to make the most of our time away and carry on with the walk. Before we headed out in the morning I’d suggested it may be nice to reach the high point above Smiths Beach rocks. Allowing us a view back to Yallingup where we had started from, and across the bay to Canal Rocks. So after the beach the track became more rocky. I kept checking in to make sure she was OK with it:

She was keen to carry on, being rewarded with a great vista. And to boot perfectly angled rocks to lay back on to recuperate before the trek back. As Lisa kicked back I, not surprisingly, went off to a do a bit of exploring. Having been here heaps of times before I have never, as we had today, gone past where we climb in the zawn. As such I was keen to have a look round. Finding a small wall that may be worth a visit on another day to see what climbs it may yield, and also plenty of boulders that simply looked too inviting to walk past:

After my Friday out with Howsie, which hadn’t aggravated any niggles I couldn’t resist playing on a few of them. After which it was time to begin the wander back, which we made a bit easier by following the beach most of this way. Lisa will admit to loving being by the ocean, and walking along the crashing waves almost seemed to energise her. Or maybe it was the fact that there wasn’t as much uphill to negotiate, by avoiding the roller coaster ridgeline.. Whatever the reason she seemed to perk up a bit, which enabled her to enjoy it more:

We couldn’t avoid the last uphill section but the draw of a cuppa urged us on. I only had to stop once for fungi, a specimen that simply looked too weird to walk past. Checking the citizen scientists sites it seem that I may have found a Gilled Bolete (Phylloporus rhodoxanthus), which unlike most other Bolete has a gill like, rather than a honeycomb, structure under the cap. However, I have read recent research has shown the species found in Australia is likely to be a very similar looking Golden-gilled Bolete (Phylloporus pelletieri):

Rewarding ourselves with some cake to take back to the room to have with a cuppa, we both thoroughly enjoyed the eight kilometre loop. It may have been shorter than we would normally go, but we agreed it was long enough and we both felt a little weary. So much so that we opted for vegging out by eating in. We didn’t even feel like the short hop, skip, and jump to the pub next door. No matter, as after all we had never said our mini breaks had to involve lots of activities and getting out and about: