Sixes were in the air. The 6th moon phase was on display with a 66% waning gibbous moon. Lighting the path as Mario and I aimed for a first light start at Cosy Corner, at 6am. Driving out yesterday the moon was hidden behind a blanket of clouds. Today it look very different. Maybe for that reason the kangaroos and wallabies were way more lively. It felt like they were firing warning shots across the front of the bonnet. Within 500m three hopped from behind the trees and undergrowth into my path. I drove out slowly, watching carefully:
Down with the family for the long weekend, Mario was keen to sneak a climb in. This meant I had a good hour and quarter by myself in the car on the drive down to Conto Campsite, where they were staying. Not quite sure what to listen to I let Spotify pick a mix based on Watershed. The South African, as opposed to the American band. Turning out to be an aptly named band when Mario told me that it had rained fairly consistently during Friday. Half an inch may not seem like much, but the cliff tops are the perfect watershed for the cliffs:
The term watershed can mean an area that collects and directs water to a specific point, or can describe something that results in a notable change. The South African band used it to symbolises the positive change made when they formed the band, while the American band used it to honour the Newark Watershed feeding Pequannock River. The rivers name comes from a Lenape word meaning ‘cleared land ready or being readied for cultivation’. So for the Delaware Indians, it relates to the second meaning of the word but not in a good way:
Now back to Cosy Corner, where the even-grained granitic gneiss had channelled Friday’s rainfall to the low points along the cliff face. Water was still dripping down some of the cracks, and oozing from under flakes. The limestone and flowstone looked particular uninviting, and having soaked up moisture some of the black streaks glistened. But where the granitic gneiss lay bare, other than for the red lichen that makes the rocks glow a wonderful colour in the early morning and late evening light, the rock was dry and the friction was on point:
The place is not to be confused with the Bay of Fires in Tasmania, which displays a similar landscape with red lichen covered Devonian granite. Mario was however on fire, armed with his above trademark No.4 Camelot. Without verbalising it I offered to be his belaying tour guide, seeing it was only his second visit here. Pointing him towards the lines he hadn’t been on before. Keeping in with the theme of six, we jumped on a couple of routes in the guide and the four routes Howsie have put up here that are not in the guide:
Sorry to say Rongy your and my lines from our last trip here were looking very unpleasant. They will have to wait until the next trip here for their second ascent. We didn’t hit anything too serious grade wise. Not that worried Mario who enjoyed the routes finding they all provided interesting and worthy climbing. With sufficient gear, most of the time. The two stand outs were those in the above and below images of Mario on lead, which should make Howsie happy. They also happened to be the two climbs with a disconcerting, but not too silly, runout:
But as for grades, this crag is probably the place where I reckon they really are all over the shop. And just based on today that could be said for old and new routes alike, with some over and some under graded. Not that I was able to subjectively add to this discussion today. I felt like I was climbing like a cabbage. There are plenty of excuses I could put out there such as being weary from yesterday, getting used to my new shoes, having had two early starts on the trot, or just feeling my age. All I can say is I am glad Mario was happy to bag all the leads:
It was finally time to call it, but not before checking out Wave Wall. Despite hinting a day or two back there was a climb he was keen to play on in this amphitheatre, Mario conceded it all looked a little too steep and pumpy for today. I was both pleased about that, and that we had wandered in here. In a similar theme to my climbing today, I lost my way entering the area by trying to get through some scrub. Nearly stepping on this Southwestern Carpet Python (Morelia imbricata), one of the six species of the genus Morelia found in Australia:
The car slowly came to a standstill. Having spotted them a long way off, the wallaby and it’s joey stood motionless in front of the car as it came to a stop. The intense full beams made brighter by the light bar, had either blinded them or confused them to the point they became statues. Instead of reaching for my camera to take a snap as they continued to sit there, I was content to just watch them until they lazily lopped across the road into the bush. Thinking it is better to see them sit on the road, as opposed to when they hop out of nowhere:
Another early morning, but not too crazy a start. It’s just as Lisa had remarked to me a few weeks back, the days are starting to wake up a little later. I was on my way to pick Sam up, who has not touched rock for just over a year and half. For this reason we were heading to a cruisy little crag, where he was keen to be reintroduced to placing gear and maybe have a lead. Wilyabrup has a few such small crags, which rarely get attention. Being Easter I also suggested here as we were likely to have the place to ourselves, while the main crag fills up:
Sam hinted that maybe I should take the first lead. His thinking that this would allow him to ease back into it, and also enable him to check out how I set up the top belay anchors. The latter part seemed to weigh more on his mind than jumping onto the sharp end. I could fully understand his thoughts, after all as I climbed after him I was putting my life in his hands. Belaying is a serious and a big responsibility. I however had faith in his ability, even though he hadn’t put the skills into practise for a long time. Even when he had, it was not that often:
It meant spending time refreshing his knowledge and understanding, and taking things slowly. Including when I climbed after him so I could check each piece. Happy to find that he had retained the basics. All the gear slotted in was well thought out and bomb proof, even when he was not so convinced. Interestingly his faith in the gear placements was tiered. Wires were great, tricam pretty good, but when it came to cams not so much. This trend indicated that as the hardware became more mechanically reliant the less trust he had in them:
I get it, my journey into trad all those decades back started the same way. And like me, several people I have climbed with over the years, would prefer a solid bit of metal wedged into a crack. As opposed to relying on springs and hinges to generate the friction needed to keep the gear in place. This did not however stop Sam selecting the right gear for each placement. As the morning wore on it felt the imbalance of faith started to even out. Helped by leading each route, when in my usual way I kept calmly handed him the rope and gear:
This was never questioned. He simply accepted the rope and climbed. As I had to trust in his belay anchors when I followed, he had to trust I wasn’t going to send him up something too silly. The route below, was his third lead. Having watched him climb and place gear I thought he’d be OK with it. Not that any encouragement was needed, the corner and sweeping arched rooflet piqued his interest as soon as I pointed to it. He did however tell me afterwards that it had certainly put him out there, and he had felt pretty exposed:
A position that conjured up mixed emotions of exhilaration while being nerve wrecking. The only thing to do in those situation being to slow down, breathe, and make purposeful and controlled decisions. Sam’s words not mine! I did however think getting him to lead the next route may have been a stretch too far. The line has a couple of decent runout sections, and a ground fall potential from quite high up. Again Sam’s words. Having said that to me after he had observed me on the sharp end and followed up, grateful to have the rope above him:
Four seemed a good time for a brew, seeing Sam had packed a flask. Coinciding nicely with the typical “time for tea” time of 3:30 to 5:00pm. A British tradition that started at the end of the 19th century when a close friend of Queen Victoria had a sinking feeling late in the afternoon. Needing something between lunch and dinner to replenish her energy levels. With our energy levels topped up there was time to squeeze a couple more lines in, one lead each. After completing his lead Sam looked over and spied the first reptile of the day:
I’d been scouring all the cracks and crevices without success. This made the sight of the King’s Skink (Egernia kingii) soaking up the sun feel like a privilege. Chilling out on a steep slab. Scampering for cover if we made any sudden movements, before coming back out. Making our roped climbing efforts today seem trivial in comparison. We were not however out for egos and high grades, just having fun. Ending the session in exactly that way, with a first ascent up another one of the fine easy angled walls to create Sunny Sidewalk:
Sunny Sidewalk (15m, 12), start-up Sunny Arête until you have the confidence to step left onto next pillar just above the undercut flakes to take the sidewalk up the pleasant slab (Seewraj, Avery 2025).
Third time lucky, or at least I was hoping, as I found myself again wandering through the Capel Nature Reserve. Mind you I can’t say if I would have been too upset if there were no orchids out. Just wandering through the bush is reward enough. At times it surprises me how little can be seen on some of my visits. Making me wonder if I should have a wander one evening, to see what comes out at night. With a full moon tonight it would have been nice to be out, but it didn’t happen this time. If I had I may not have seen this little grasshopper nymph:
As they head up to feast on green leaves at night. It could be either a Gumleaf Grasshopper (Goniaea australasiae) or Slender Gumleaf Grasshopper (Goniaea vocans). The nymph and adult of each species being similar, but my gut tells me it was the latter. Resting during the day in the grasses, allowed me to see it when it try to avoid me. Close to this nymph I also spotted an adult. While I took a bunch of images, in my haste I didn’t keep any as it looked like any old grasshopper. If I had I may have been able to more definitively identified it:
Haste cannot be used to describe how I wandered round the bush, I most definitely go slow. Careful footfalls to avoid stepping on something, pleasant or unpleasant. Not quite snail, but maybe tortoise paced. If I went any faster I would not have seen the above solitary spike. With no basal leaf visible it could be one of several species of orchid, getting ready to flower. The below shrub was easier to identify, having already started to flower. One of 150 plus species of Beard-Heaths (Leucopogon), the majority being found in Western Australia:
I’ve gone a step further, and pinned it down to Leucopogon glabellus a species endemic to the South West of Western Australia. The description of flower says inside the five petals there is a beard of white hairs. The petals fuse into a tube, with the tips rolled back. This facial hair is common in the genus, and Leucopogon comes from two ancient Greek words meaning “white” and “beard”. The genus name reminds me of the mischievous leprechaun, and Irish folklore creature said to reveal the location of hidden treasure when captured:
While it did not lead me to a flowering orchid. It felt luck was on my side when I soon after stumbled across a small clump of the same spike I saw before. This time showing the basal leaf, so at least I now knew what I was looking for now as I kept my slow pace. A pace that after an hour in hadn’t seen me go very far. More basal leaves came into view. Curling out of the ground with no stem visible, so again could be any number of species. I wonder if they take this shape to more effectively collect water from rainfall and/or dew to aid their growth:
My pace soon slowed to the point I sat down, to watch the legs of a Leaf Curling Spider (Phonognatha graeffei) as they awaited for the vibrations of their prey. At times it came out a bit more, but never fully. The ingenious house, built by the female, is usually silked shut at the top with the opening pointing down. This one may not look fully enclosed at the top, but was still a marvel to behold when you took in the intricacy of its work. It seems like a lot of effort for just a single year of life, especially seeing the female makes a second as a nursery:
Ninety minutes in and with the finish line in sight, and this tortoise finally got to meet the hare. Or more precisely little hare, as the genus is derived from the Latin word lepus with the diminutive suffix of ella. Only one bud was in flower. Not fully formed and the labellum did not yet have its fringe on display, which is where the species name comes from. There is however only one species in this genus, being the Hare Orchid (Leporella fimbriata). It is one of the first orchids to come into flower as the year rolls in, and if pollination does not occur it can be found in flower right through to September:
Howsie will admit that sometimes the weight of all the hats he wears can be a little overwhelming. Today for example a voluntary afternoon commitment came up, being half way up to Mandurah north of Bunbury. After last weeks failed Friday foray Howsie was still very keen to get out this week, and as Friday approached we played with the options. Boomer Crag up near Pinjarra or Welly Dam would have suited due to being on the right side of Bunbury. Cutting down how much travelling he’d have to do:
But when pushed for a decision late on Thursday he plumped for Castle Rock. This surprised me a little, being 80 odd kilometres in the wrong direction. This hinted to me that he may have been after a more relaxed climb. The small outcrop, does have a few punchy routes, but most are fairly cruisy. After he jumped in my car at Capel, for the second leg of the journey to the crag, he admitted to feeling pretty weary. Several days on site of doing mechanical weed control with hand held tools in difficult locations, hadn’t helped:
And while I am very much a desk jockey with my work, after a couple of weights sessions in the shed with Lisa and a couple of bouldering sessions this week, the thought of a more gentle day also appealed to me. To the point that I offered up all the leads to Howsie, so he could dictate how the morning would roll. This was in part as he still had a little voice inside of him, telling him to jump on one or two of the more challenging climbs here. And in part because I’ve led all the routes we were likely to try more times than him:
We arrived just after sunrise. In time to watch the fiery red ball rise above the horizon, and then start to turn orange as it crept higher. Dumping our bags below the main wall, which was aglow with the morning light, I left Howsie to ponder how the day would start. While I rock hopped a bit further along the coast to snap a few artistic shots at the water’s edge. Holding tightly onto my phone to avoid another expensive incident. On my return he was still stood in the same position looking up at the wall, eyeing up a tough route:
His brain was working hard, struggling to make a decision and using up precious energy. To break the cycle, I persuaded him to jump on the most gentle of warms ups we could do on this side of the castle. Allowing him to stretch his muscles and see how he was moving on rock. This led to another two easy but fun routes, above and below, which I was surprised to hear he had not climbed before. Despite having enjoyed the three lines, he still couldn’t make his mind up as to whether to go hard:
The only way to know, was to step it up a notch. And hit the main wall, on which even the lowest graded climb can feel pretty steep and pumpy. His approach immediately changed. The need to mentally prepare kicked in, and he started to procrastinate before heaving himself off the deck. On the plus this did mean we spotted this Punctata Gumtree Hopper (Eurymeloides punctata), at not much more than a centimetre long. There are some 20,000 described species of Hoppers making them one of the bigger families in the Hemiptera order:
And while I get side tracked. This is the order that includes insects known as true bugs, which makes sense as Howsie and I first though it may have been a Cicada that is a group that falls in the true bug collection. Hoppers feed on the sap from plants, and excrete the excess sugar which attracts ants. The ants in turn provide a kind of protection. Protection, at least, on this climb being ample and easy to place. So once he got moving, he kept the momentum going, maybe also being motivated by me recording the ascent:
Despite the pleasing ascent his body was still not convinced it was ready to step it up a notch. So a fifth route was slotted in on less steep terrain before the options started to run dry. By now it was also starting to warm up a tad, being in full sun. Adding to the factors working against him for the sixth route. The number six is considered to be lucky in some cultures, and even symbolises smooth progress and good fortune. But today climb number six it was the one that sapped what energy remained:
It seemed that even the honey dew poop of the Punctata Gumtree Hopper, if it could be produced in large enough quantities, was likely to sufficiently replenish Howsie’s battery levels. Having had the luxury of the rope above me all morning I offered to take the lead. Not that I managed a clean ascent, but at least the rope was above for Howsie. When he made it up after me, it was official. The line being eyed up on our arrival would have to wait for another trip. There were however two more reasonable climbs, thankfully in the shade:
I was more than happy to gobble these up, wrapping up a fun morning with eight routes. Yet another number that I have read is considered lucky. In fact it seems quite a few single digit numbers could be considered lucky, depending on what culture you want to adopt for the day. But eight was enough and we felt like we had had our fill, a bit like we thought these bees had. They were busy collecting pollen from one species of shrub, which Howsie didn’t recognise, even though the pollen baskets on their hind legs looked to be overflowing:
Encouraged by yesterday’s ocean conditions, which had finally settled down to what we would normally expect it be like, I decided to walk past the point to the more intact reefs. I could have driven. A sand bar had formed across the Capel River mouth. as usually happens during the low rainfall period of the year. What with my sedentary job, I didn’t mind walking down and it was only a couple of kilometres. Beside if I drove I’ve have to let the tyres down and then pump them back up, and that becomes a phaff that I just can’t be bothered with:
Only a few cars were parked up by the water’s edge as I wandered along. Most people were fishing, using a rod and reel. One person however was using a drop net. If you look carefully you can see where he is aiming for, the surface being broken by the fish as they nibble at the bait he’d thrown in. This reminded me of when I watched this technique being used in Ghana. One part of my role was installing dry season gardens, which required us to install pipes through the walls of existing dams. This of course meant lowering the water level:
We held community sessions to warn of over fishing the reservoirs as it became smaller, but it was hard to prevent the onslaught. The main fish being catfish and tilapia, and the fish stocks took a serious hit each time. I’ve read that tilapia is estimated to provide 60% of the protein intake of Ghanaians, being one of the main staple foods. In 2012 the Global Affairs Canada invested significant funds to boost the tilapia market in both the Upper East and the Upper West regions, I lived in the latter. I wonder if any of the villages I worked were included:
One day I hope to dig out my dairies and slides, and write about my two years in the Upper West region. But for now my head was underwater. Yesterday in boardies I got goose bumps as I snorkelled, so today I wet-suited up hoping that would also keep those stinging filaments at bay if they were about. In writing this post I have looked back through past finds and found I previously used a very similar image of the above impressive plate coral. I guessed back then it was of the Astreopora genus, and like then haven’t managed to pin it down any further:
Despite being great conditions, and this reef being way more intact, the fish life wasn’t up to its usual standard. Even checking in the caves and under ledges there was very little to be seen. A few fish that were out in numbers were the Western Gobbleguts (Ostorhinchus rueppellii) and Banded Sweep (Scorpis georgiana), the latter following me about in case I stirred up the sediment and released a tasty morsel. Above there were also quite a few juvenile Horseshoe Leatherjacket (Meuschenia hippocrepis):
For a while they had me guessing as the body shape had a distinct lobe where the pelvic fin usually is. However, they had the namesake horseshoe marking on the midside and it seems as they mature this lobe is drawn back into the body. Unlike yesterday’s Spinytail Leatherjacket (Acanthaluteres brownie), these were less inclined to allow me close. Something I’d observed when I last wrote up about the Spinytail Leatherjackets. Another fish out in numbers were juvenile Brownfield’s Wrasse (Halichoeres brownfieldi), shown above:
Wrasses generally do not group, or shoal. The Brownfield’s Wrasse breaks this rule with both adult and larger juveniles commonly forming large schools. I gave it a good half hour in the deeper water. Hoping that a shoal of bigger fish might appear or that I may stumble across something bigger. It was not to be. So I wandered towards the shallower reefs, where eye-popping colours greeted me. Maybe due to having less of a water column to hide in, things came into sight. Such as these juvenile Silver Drummer (Kyphosus sydneyanus):
I did wonder about these as the back of the tail was not fully dark, as my research indicates they would normally be. Then I noticed how many of the drummers look alike, and also cross over in their range. Two species are found further north, but with warming seas they may be drifting down. Then some thirty years back a new species was identified that shares the same range, and looks to me practically the same. Despite my research I was not able to confirm if this was a juvenile of a different species, so I am left guessing:
The shallows allowed me to get close up, and above is a Leeuwin Triplefin (Norfolkia leeuwin), only two inches long. Again looking back I may have seen this before. This time noting it is missing the bands on the face, I had incorrectly identified it back then as the Common Threefin (Forsterygion lapillum). Below is an Eleven-armed Sea Star (Coscinasterias muricata), nothing new but being so shallow the colours really stood out. Next time I get such a chance I need to look much closely, as it has small appendages with claws round the spines:
I’ve zoomed in but the image quality is not good enough to see them. These small claws are used for defence but also to catch food. Holding on to it until it dies or one of the many arms can reach it and pull it towards its mouth. Another interesting fact I found out is that smaller specimens can split themselves in half. Each half then regenerates the missing tissue, a form of reproduction called binary fission. Larger specimens reproduce by releasing sperm and eggs into the sea, as to why it uses two methods at different periods of its life is not clear:
Above is what I had previously thought may have been a type of Boxer Shrimp, it is however a Red-handed Shrimp (Palaemon serenus). Being so named due to the red marks just above the claws, which are on the elongated second pair of legs. This is where it gets it’s common name from but the scientific name comes from a Latin word serēnus. This means clear, bright, serene, tranquil, or calm. Quite apt for today’s dive. I got out, due to feeling a little chilly, after an hour in the water and even after I had walked back, the water still looked serēnus:
Lisa and I hit the shed this week for the first time since we, probably, got hit by COVID. I’m not sure either of us were fully prepared for it, but we managed two sessions and also aim to get back in on the weekend. I also opened up the doors on Tuesday after work for a boulder, which David, Josh, and Craig popped along. It was clear the wall had not been used for some time. Webs crisscrossed between the holds. And knowing we have a family of them in the shed, what was likely to be the skin from the head of a King’s Skink (Egernia kingii):
Needless to say the body was certainly feeling it, but up until Thursday night I was still keen to head out with Howsie for another Friday escape. Our plans were however scuppered when a front rolled in, and we decided to bail. It was a good job as it proceeded to dump 40mm during the time we would have been out. Instead I worked, jumping back onto my wall in the afternoon as the rain continued to play tunes on the steel roof. It eased off later in the day, and then came back in early Saturday. Clearing up enough just in time to allow Lisa to bob:
I didn’t bother trying to arrange a climb on Saturday knowing it would start wet. My thoughts were instead eyeing up the Capel Nature Reserve, wondering whether any orchids may have started to appear yet. None had, or at least not that I saw. But it was still nice being out, especially as it felt a little chilly. This time I stumbled across a Australian Garden Orb Weaver (Hortophora transmarina), usually hiding in the day time this nocturnal spider was building its web so I took the chance to get a bit of footage:
Unlike the Golden Orb Weaving Spider I saw last time, this one constructs, takes down and rebuilds their web on a daily basis. So adept at it, that it only takes them about half an hour to build one from scratch. There was much fauna to be found, but this ant stood out being approx. 15mm long. I believe it is a carpenter ant, possibly Camponotus rufus. Like termites they munch on wood, but unlike termite they do not consume the wood but discard a material that looks a little like sawdust. Making them important in the process of decomposition in forests:
I also kept an eye on the trees, the reserve has an impresses variety. This image is of the seed pods of the Western Woody Pear (Xylomelum occidentale). The name occidentalis quite simply means ‘western’ in Latin, and this species is endemic to the south west corner of Western Australia. The reason for the common name is obvious. However, while the three inch long pods have a thin outer layer that is soft and slightly furry inside the are solid. As they ripen they dry out, split open to disperse the seeds, and what is felt looks like a pair of wings:
I found other great seed pods, but the next image is of the bark of the Western Sheoak (Allocasuarina fraseriana). I’ve read that these trees are known to produce a jelly like caustic sap, but haven’t found out what triggers this. The leaves of this tree are spines, that fall and create a soft flooring. So soft that these areas were used for giving birth by Noongar women. This practise may have stopped, but the tree itself is still sought after for its wood. It has a lace like pattern, ideal for wood-turning and carving of decorative ornaments:
After an hour or so I headed home and drove past the beach to a surprisingly flat looking ocean. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, I was soon jumping in the water. Under the surface it was clear and calm, there was hardly any swell which seemed like a first this season. I got closer to this female Shaw’s Cowfish (Aracana aurita), but liked the picture as it showed it blowing jets of water to search for invertebrates buried in the sand. I’ve often seen this, but rarely manage to get close enough before they notice me and swim away:
The next image is of a Spinytail Leatherjacket (Acanthaluteres brownie) swimming away. I again got some great shots as I swam next to a few of them. This image however allowed the light to emphasise the structure of the caudal fin, or tail, which I really liked. It took a bit of working out to identify these, despite seeing males and females. The males didn’t have the expected bright colouration round the head, but clearly displayed the yellow patch around the spines on the caudal peduncle, which is where the body narrows and the tail attaches:
They get to about 46cm, and these were 30cm long. Clearly not juveniles, as they are more of a mustard orange colour. Therefore, the mystery of why the males were not putting on their usual colourful display remains. The water column had Comb Jellies (Ctenophora) floating about, and also these string like filaments that I have not been able to work out. They may be a type of Apolemia, but I am not really convinced of that. What I did know is that they stung, and it was impossible to avoid them. Maybe a wetsuit would have been a good idea:
The last image is of a Globefish (Diodon nicthemerus). The name means night and day in Greek, coming from nyctos and hemera. It is suggested this was given due to the silvery-white underside and dark upper side. The colouration is presumably camaflauge, but this fish has another defence. Being able to suck air or water in to quickly inflate, and in so doing all its spines stick out. Something I have never seen, despite getting very close to them. If you look carefully there looks to be an opaque lens over the eye that looks a bit like a contact lens. I have not been able to find out any information as to whether this is normal or not:
I bumped into a long term local when I came out of the water after the dive in which I saw the least, out of my three recent dips. They told me of memories of diving here in the 80s and seeing abundant and diverse marine life. Claiming something changed in the 90s, and since then the underwater ecology has never recovered. This made me want to see if I could pin down something that could have resulted in such a change. I’ve heard commercial seine fishing is to blame, which uses a vertical net with weights on the base and floats at the top:
The net is placed in the water to create an enclosed areas. Off our beach one end of the net is held on the beach, a boat takes the rest out and drops it in a large arch bringing the other end back to beach. The net is then dragged to shore. This technique can disturb the life cycle of fish if carried out in spawning or nursery grounds, or by capturing juvenile species of fish that stay close to the shore. This practise has however occurred here for decades before the 90s. It is also restricted to specific areas and times of the year, presumably to lessen impacts:
Other risks to the environment are the sediment and pollutants that come out of the Capel River. This historically didn’t directly connect to the ocean, instead flowing south west through a series of wetlands behind the primary dunes. Eventually meeting the ocean via the Wonnerup Inlet 12km along the coastline. To assist in draining the land cuts were made through the primary dune, with two in close proximity. The first, in 1865, was call Higgins Cut, which has a Grade A heritage listing. This no longer has direct connection with the ocean:
The second was called McCourt Cut, constructed approx. ten year later, and is where the Capel River now flows. This cut does not have any heritage listing, but is still connected to the ocean with seasonal closures due to band bars forming during low flow periods. The drainage enables agricultural land uses, and a pathway for organic matter to enter and significantly change the local marine ecology. This change occurred over a hundred years before the 80s. Although more intensive agriculture has been adopted with time, which may contribute:
So it was back to the drawing board. A 2019 report provides a review of the ocean temperatures round Australia. The data from 1870 is not surprisingly coarse, but three stations provide fine scale data since 1940. For the South West, between 1930 and 2019 there has been a steady increase in temperature of approx. 0.8 degrees with no notable sudden changes during this period. Again drawing a blank, I noted the residential properties were first created in 1965, and development expanded from 1975. So maybe this is the cause:
After all the area does not have reticulated sewer, so all our waste is infiltrated into the dunes and through the groundwater system is connected to the ocean. It’s hard to pin it down a definitive cause. It is more likely, based on what I’ve read, to be an accumulation of land and climate factors. As such I have been unable to verify the claim that there was a significant impact of change in the 90s, by the local I bumped into. It has however finally made me look into this a bit more, so when people make random claims I am a bit more informed:
Regardless of the state of the local area, I’m still getting out there to see what I can find. With a recent low’ish swell period during my first dive on late Thursday I saw a fair bit, despite the surface bobbing up and down. The first image is of a Juvenile Smooth Stingray (Bathytoshia brevicaudata). Also known as a Short-tailed Stingray, with the species name coming from brevis and cauda , meaning short and tail in Latin. As it swam off, a small school of Tarwhine (Rhabdosargus sarba) crossed between us. At only 15cm long they too were juveniles:
As I came back to shore and right off the beach a Southern Bluespotted Flathead (Platycephalus speculator). This too was quite young being only 30cm long, which is a third of what they can grow too. Speculator is Latin for explorer, searcher, and investigator. It is said this may have been used because this species has larger eyes than others. Later in the day Lisa went for a sip and dip with the Peppy Plungers, and took the sunset image. Telling me when she got back that the water looked flat and very snorkelable, however I would disagree:
The next image explains why. The flat surface occurs when there are no wind waves. These are created by local winds and are choppy and frequent. The other factor is swell, which is generated by distant winds and results in water movements that are smoother and more spaced. One way to check for swell on seemingly calm days, is to see how far up the beach the water goes, and it was coming up a long way. On Friday the swell and wind waves, as shown by that and the next image, were against me but I chanced is anyway:
Lucky enough to spot a dolphin swim past me, but there wasn’t much else. Not one image was taken. I guessed they were staying protected in amongst the crevices and caves of the reef. Not put off a Saturday morning dive seemed in order. Providing the calmest conditions, and almost immediately I saw a Blue Swimmer Crab (Portunus pelagicus). Hop and glide away from me before standing its ground pinchers stretched out and ready for action. Next a small Striped Stingaree (Trygonoptera ovalis) remained calm and allowed me to get close:
Fish that did not darting for cover when I got close were Old Wifes (Enoplosus armatus), Magpie Morwongs (Goniistius gibbosus), Globefish (Diodon nicthemerus), Horseshoe Leatherjackets (Meuschenia hippocrepis), Western Talmas (Chelmonops curiosus). The last ones looked to be playing chasey, although I have read they are pretty territorial so it may not have been playful. In the above images are an adult Moonlighter (Tilodon sexfasciatus) and juvenile Bluespotted Goatfish (Upeneichthys vlamingii), which also shows a cloud like algae:
This algae seems more prolific this year, a sign of poor water quality. Above Lisa was walking back from her Saturday morning dip with the Peppy Plungers, where just earlier commercial fishers had driven looking for a likely catch. Reminding me of two of the probable causes for the ecological decline. My exit was delayed by this very young Striped Stingaree displaying its flexible margins. So flexible that it is the most agile stingaree species. A juvenile Yellowfin Whiting (Sillago schomburgkii), which are known to shelter along shorelines, also watched the display:
No we were not partaking in what is claimed to be Australia’s top breakfast drink. Yet another packaged and processed way to start the day, which advertising will claim is good for us. Instead a simple cup of tea sufficed to prepare Howsie and I for another Friday session. It’s been a stinker of a week, and it wasn’t about to ease up today so we were aiming for shade. And wanting to get to the crag at a sensible time. It was dark as I drove out at just after 5. The moon was but a sliver, wanning at 1%, and looking stunning. Not that you’ll see it below:
Wilyabrup was our destination, and it was a lovely cool 13 degrees on arrival. But as I have said so often this summer, it felt like the air weighed down on us. Just two hours later the mercury sharply rose by ten degrees. Continuing to creep up until we walked out in just shy of thirty degrees, well before the sun hit the west facing walls. This didn’t worry me too much as I was going to take it easy on my leads. The reason being that Howsie had put some though into what he wanted to attempt, picking a few goey lines that don’t get too much attention:
Better still he has only led each of the lines one or two times, so he didn’t know what to expect. The conditions meant he needed to have an extra positive mindset and level of determination and energy. Hence he needed a get-up-and-go attitude, as opposed to the afore mentioned product. The term itself is self-explanatory, but I was keen to see if it had any history. The first known, i.e. recorded, use was in 1871. I am not however quite sure in what context it had been used in the Annual Report of the Indiana State Horticultural Society:
There was unfortunately nothing else of interest that I could uncover on the phrase. I was however interested in getting a few good images today. The three routes Howsie was having a bash on today each had a certain amount of spice. All having a bit of a runout, sustained technical sections, steepness, and an extra dose of exposure. As he climbed I wonder how much he was observing me, as I wandered this way and that. If he did he never complained about it as he successfully weaved his way up the first and then the second line:
Coincidently The Weavers wrote and first recorded the song called Get Up and Go. I couldn’t find a date but they recorded songs between 1948–1952 and 1955–1964. The reason for the break being the lyrics of their songs were considered by the authorities as being ‘Un-American’. This was during a period known as the Red Scare. My easier leads meant I had no scares and also allowed Howsie a more relaxed climb in-between each of his routes. Hopefully allowing him to recuperate a bit, so he had enough go-go juice for his next lead:
And would you believe the Go Gos did a cover of Get Up and Go in 1982! On my last climb shown above and despite being in the shade while on the route, we could both feel the heat and the rock getting more and more greasy. Not that this stopped Howsie taking on his third and hardest line, nor me wandering about below. He did however watch my antics more closely this time, especially when his arms started to tire and he prepared for a fall. The conditions were deteriorating fast, so we decided we would get up this route and go:
This will confuse Adrian. He’ll have no recollection of the opening image nor a few to follow. There are four orchids that are known to flower early, potentially popping up in March. Working from home on Friday meant an early finish and the chance to head into the Capel Nature Reserve to see what I might see. It was a bit toasty, being the hottest part of the day and after close to an hour I gave up. There was however a splash of colour with small shrubs called Pink Summer Starflower (Calytrix fraseri) brightening up the place:
The above is endemic to the south-west of Western Australia, whereas the below is not. The Golden Orb Weaving Spider (Nephila edulis) occurs in Cocos Keeling Islands, Papua New Guinea, New Caledonia, New Zealand and Australia. I kept looking forward and down as I continued my search. Fortunately the web of this spider is in excess of a meter across, and caught in the right light the silk glows a golden colour, so is easy to spot. Harmless as it is, I still didn’t fancy having a spider with a body up to 4cm long suddenly appearing on my face:
The name edulis is Latin for edible, which was given when in 1799 French biologist Jacques Labillardière observed native people eating this spider during his travels in New Caledonia. While not prepared to try this delicacy I was up for braving a plunge. Enticed by a seemingly calm ocean, I gave it a go a couple of times on Friday and Saturday going in with eyes wide open. There may have been no waves, but the distance the water swept up the beach was a tell-tale sign that the swell was still up. Surprisingly the clarity wasn’t however too bad:
Before jumping in for the second dive a pod of dolphins swam past, and I missed my chance to see them while in the water. There was very little else to see, and there were even very few fish. So quiet that I only took four images during the two dives, which has to be a record. Three of which were of this Striped Stingaree (Trygonoptera ovalis). By no means a new find, but in view of the season I’ve had I got pretty excited. Each time I come across a stingaree end up needing to again familiarise myself with the distinguishing features of each species:
This one has a few, including being pale along the midline and down the tail and rear of the disc being heavily fringed. I may not recall all the details of the orchids, marine creatures, and other finds I come across and write about, but do however have an uncannily good memory for the holds and gear required on routes. This came in handy on Sunday when Adrian, who has finally made it into the post, asked about the lines I pointed him to as we climbed at Wilyabrup. Admitting to me that he generally doesn’t like running it out too much on trad:
To be more precise it is more the uncertainty of knowing where the next gear will be. With the routes we picked he certainly showed he was happy to run it out, when he knew where the placements were. At times running it out in excess of six meters. However, once he had to move past that point, and where the route was hard to read, his head would start to play games and hold him back. Endeavoured to explain what to expect as he got higher, the height worked against us as it started to make communications that bit more tricky:
This resulted in him backing off a couple of the steeper routes and offering me the lead, after giving it several good attempts. When I went up and placed the gear, he would say ‘oh you meant there, I’ll lead this one next time’. While some people like to have more knowledge of what they are in for, I have previously seen Adrian jump on some solid routes he has no knowledge of without fear. So I personally felt the mind games that were plaguing him today had been heightened because he was a tad weary:
The slower pace resulted in us not packing the routes in. Neither of us were particularly concerned about that, and we both enjoyed the climbs we got on. With no one else about we had the pick of the crag. Joking that other people would turn up as we were walking out, which would be when the sun hits most of the walls and gets uncomfortably hot. And sure enough on our final line, as we climbed out with packs, other people started to appear. We tried to work out their logic and gave up, we simply couldn’t see it:
Not for lack of trying it has been close to two and a half years since Kym and I have managed to catch up. To be honest I was a little shocked when I realised just how long it had been. My memory has failed me, and I have no recollection of what went wrong the last time in Nov 24. Luckily for me, Howsie had also been keen to tag along meaning that trip down south still occurred. We just didn’t see Kym. This time Howsie was again keen to join in the fun, as we again attempted to reconnect with our elusive south coast friend:
The journey was somewhat longer this time. Kym and his family having made a move from Albany to Ravensthorpe. This meant a slightly more inland road heading that bit further east for some six hours. With part of the journey following the Horsepower Highway helping to break up the scenery with a range of vintage and quirky tractors. There are currently twenty seven, not that we saw all of them as we didn’t drive the full 75 kilometre trail. Turning off when it headed south to the Stirling Ranges, so we could continue our journey east:
Our destination was not Ravensthorpe. Kym and Meg’s house was full this weekend with family visiting, so Howsie and I booked into a caravan park in Hopetoun. On the eastern edge of the mighty Fitzgerald River National Park. So vast that it stretches all the way back west to Bremer Bay, where Lisa and I had headed to a few years back for a very relaxing get away. The distance between the two towns being 85 kilometres, as the crow flies. The park covers some 330,000 hectares, but that is not the only impressive number it boasts:
It may not be the biggest national park in Western Australia, but it is the most botanically significant. In fact it is a well-known for being a haven for botanists. Containing a whopping twenty percent of the species described in Western Australia. And of the near 1,750 plant species identified here, so far, a staggering seventy five percent are endemic or in layman terms only found in the general area. With approximately 250 being very rare or geographically restricted. Needless to say a trip in spring time will definitely be on the cards:
As a result of its size there are three Noongar groups recognised as traditional owners of the Fitzgerald River National Park, being the Goreng, Menang, and Wudjari people. While the coastline was explored by the Dutch, British, and French in 1627, 1791, and 1792 the likely first non-indigenous explorer was William Baxter in 1823. Who was aptly a plant collector, lucky enough to stumble on what is now a listed International Biosphere Reserve. Kym is relishing all the amazing natural wonders in his new playground, and kept reeling off facts to us:
The only plant I will mention in this post is the above Royal or Lantern Hakea (Hakea victoria). It was first recorded by western society in 1847 by botanist James Drummond, who wrote ‘The variegation of these bracts is so extraordinary, that I almost fear to attempt a description’. The leaves may have a cabbage-like appearance, but seen at the right time of the year the leathery and veined leaves can display striking colours ranging from green to yellow, orange, and red. This plant is known to grow in quartzitic or lateritic soils:
This gave us a hint as to the type of rock we may encounter, although just like the flora here the geology across the park is also quite varied. We were however sticking to the confines of the coastal crags. These are made from the younger rocks in the area, being a mere 1100- 1800 million years old. Best described as metasedimentary rock, they started out as siltstones and sandstones. After being placed under extreme heat and pressure they were transformed into Phyllitic Schist and Quartzite, in formations that tilt towards the land:
This was my first time of coming here, and Howsie had only driven through once when he was on the road with the family. As such both of our eyes were popping out of their sockets at the vegetation, while our minds were racing as to what we might encounter in terms of rock features to climb. And it has to be said the landscape is also pretty stunning, resulting in our drive in on the first morning being made all the bit longer due to stopping here and there to take it all in. The coastal foreshore is mostly elevated, providing wonderful panoramic views:
Steep inclines dip down to a mostly rocky shoreline that comprises bays in which beaches have formed. Erosion over time has resulted in scattered cliffs of various sizes, as opposed to a continuous rocky defence against the ocean. While this was all new to us, Kym had been provided some intel from Lord Jim. A long, long, long time explorer and climber of the amazing places the great southern region has on offer. As such we did have a notion of where to head and how to get there. That said we took our time and were careful:
It was important not to go crashing in. The delicate environment here, as with so many placed we go, is at risk of Phytophthora dieback. It is recognised as the biggest threat to biodiversity in Western Australia. We needed to be, and were, cautious in our approaches. Scoping the way down to the shoreline to avoid vegetation and soil, by sticking to places with exposed rock, as much as possible. This was an adventure trip after all, and that meant slowing down. Our enjoyment being measured in far more ways than the meters we managed to climb:
From the top of the ridge, the cliff we were aiming for looked small. The size seemingly growing as we approached, and with the finer features becoming more apparent our finger tips started to tingle at the thought of what might be possible. I was lucky enough to be first to rack up, and had my sights set on what looked like the line of the crag. Kym and Howsie looked at it a bit more cautiously, suggesting we should maybe start on something a little more forgiving. Holding my urges inside I went along with it, and so became Ease Up:
A nice gentle warm up at grade 10, or VD in UK grades, and being a nice 35m long. The bright rock felt on first touch solid and clean. There were of course some loose parts, but these were surprisingly few and far between for such a large untouched cliff and there was nothing to worry me for the whole climb. The rock seemed to be a quartzite. Nowhere near as hard as the Heavytree Quartzite I have climbed on in the Red Centre, and also having more texture and friction. The block below caught my eye and showed the features of the rock nicely:
To avoid having to scramble down after each climb we set up a rap line, avoiding having to disturb any vegetation with multiple descents. Howsie was next up and had already spied his line. Again trusting his instincts and sticking with something that looked a sensible first sample of the rock on lead. It was again a nice clean line, the rock and the cliff was proving to be a bit of a gem in that regard. He lead a longer 45m route, that was nicely consistent and had some very pleasant sequences and moves and plenty of gear to make it safe:
We pondered the grade thinking 13 was fair, and it was not until after our trip that Kym found Lord Jim’s records. And only then finding out they had bagged the very line, over thirty years back in January 1994 and there was even a photo of them on it. They had named it Banish Misfortune at grade 14, VS 4c in UK grades. Having only ascended the first 30m, Howsie had at least lengthened it by 50% with equally enjoyable climbing. What with all the scoping we were going slow, the last thing we wanted was to rush a decision and end up in a pickle:
Kym had spied a line that was drawing him in, but on closer inspection there were elements that made him nervous. It is worth being aware that he hadn’t climbed in some four months, and as such jumping on the pointy end of a rope at a new crag on long routes was probably not the best way to get back into it. As such he offered up the lead and I jumped at the chance knowing exactly what I would climb. Just as the rain started to come in, not that the images give that impression:
My mind was however set. While water dripped off the overlaps above me, and the rock was getting proper wet, I started up the line that had caught my attention when we first got here. It started behind a large block that was leaning against the cliff hiding a wonderful finger crack in the main wall. Above this and out in the open, as I was being hit by the elements, spaced horizontal breaks were separated by seemingly blank slabby sections. Water trickled down these as I tested my options, and Kym below suggested I wait till the rain eased off:
My mind was set and I pushed all that to the back of my mind. I’m not sure what Kym or Howsie thought when I started up the slab gingerly reaching as far as I could to curl my fingers round the horizontal breaks. Hoping to find a reasonable hold and also gear. Everything was quiet in my head as the first, second, and then third break was reached. Tentative, delicate moves being made between each, and each time being rewarded with good gear. Above a broken looking vertical crack, which I thought from below would be were the grade eased:
I was mistaken, this was where I spent most time, testing options. Also as the gear was already at my feet, I chewed up more time trying to fiddle in tiny brass RP wires to no avail. Finally plucking up the courage to go for it, when I spotted a number one wire placement, which could only fit half the head in. It was enough to push me through, as I reached as high as I could by twisting my hips and extending my ankle on the one marginal foot hold. While holding onto a low and very thin under cling that I could fit a third of my finger pads under:
Even then when the holds finally became big and chunky, it really didn’t easy up. Underclings allowed a traverse into side pulls, with feet at times on holds of pure friction. And then for the final section a wonderful series of flakes that made you switch your body from left to right to left as you weaved up the final wonderful finale to the top. You can probably guess that this line was all absorbing and totally amazing, and my finger tips are starting to sweat as I replay each move in my mind to describe it here:
So became Power Up, a nice long 35m route. In UK terms it was easy, I would give it E2 5b hands down. Earning it due to the multiple cruxes of differing styles, and beautifully varied and sustained climbing. With no move harder than 19 how do you translate the sustained nature into the singular numbered Australian system. We contemplated long and hard, as to whether it was worthy of 20 but went with 19. I would love to see someone else lead it. Can you tell I was on a high, it is up there with the best on-sight first ascents I have done:
I almost feel as light headed and euphoric as I did after completing the line, and have had to hold myself back from adding even more detail. The only dampener at the time being that rain came in again, and even harder this time. So we decided to bail despite Howsie having had his eye on what was likely another classic route. It may have been raining, but we continued with the slow and steady approach to the day as we packed up and made our way back up the ridge to the car. What an adventure, and we had another day in hand:
Kym headed home and Howsie and I settled into the campsite and cooked up another storm. A well-deserved almost overflowing plate full of pasta, which went down very well after such a great day in nature. That night our sleep was interrupted by the pitter-patter of rain on the canvas, but that seemed to ease and then hold off as light crept into the sky and we made our way out for a second day. In my usual fashion I was up before first light each morning and put a brew on. We saw some birds, but it was a relatively lack lustre dawn chorus:
We were also surprised not to see any other wildlife. Insects were about but there was little else, and not for want of looking. Taking on Sarah’s more enthusiastic approach to herping, we checked cracks and crevices as we went. Maybe the cooler and slight damper days had kept them all at bay. For our second day in the expansive park the approach to the coastline was much easier. It involved a very pleasant rock hop, passing numerous very impressive boulders before we came across our quarry. A series of cliffs, very different in appearance:
There were cliffs that were well in excess of a rope length, with huge foreboding roofs for which it was hard to see if it was possible navigate a way over them. As such we aimed for the shorter of the cliffs. Finding the shortest and easiest access, made possible by rocky outcrops and sections of scree leading up the slope to the base. And while the vegetation looked to be right up against the cliff, there was enough room to easily manoeuvre along the base. From here even on the lines that looked reasonable from the coast became more daunting:
Similar to the first day it was agreed to start slow and Kym picked the first line. His first lead in way too long. As such his nerves were tingling, and for good reason. The rock was slick even when dry, and water was seeping down the line in places. He kept going, working his way up a fine slabby corner, which included a few fun traverses under roofs before taking on the next corner system. The rock was smooth but the gear was plentiful, and we had somehow stumbled across another route that maintained a consistent grade for most of its length:
So became Army Surplus (14 40m), VS 4c in UK grades. Hats off to Kym for sticking at it and keeping his nerve. After enjoying hr lofty views we found a way down that included a couple of fun scrambles, and as with all adventure routes the down climb is part of the experience and makes it twice as fun. Back at the base the big question was what next. It all looked quite improbable. I had however spotted what I felt might be a fun route. But it did start in the same corner as Kym’s line:
I had suggested it to Howsie, and while he looked about at what else might be a reasonable route he finally came back to it and racked up. He was not put off by the start being the same. It was more that the higher up the corner he went, where Kym had move left into the next system, the wetter it got. And the top of the climb was an exposed traverse on a hand rail with what looked like not much, if anything, for your feet. Howsie will confess that when it comes to steep juggy lines his stamina is quickly eaten up:
He set off and soon passed where Kym had ducked off left, and from here up to the traverse it was soppy. Making it extra nervous, as he had no choice but to trust what little friction was on offer and step above his gear. I think I held my breath watching him make these moves, as I belayed. Then each time his foot slipped I sucked in that bit more air, preparing myself to catch a fall. He may not like steep jugging but Howsie has a talent for keeping a cool head when it gets like this. Reaching the traverse, it was time to get some more gear in:
He gingerly moved his hands out on the rail, keeping his feet so high on the opposite wall that he was practically horizontal. When it was no longer possible to reach that wall he started to heal hook the same crack his hands were in. It was not until he had to swing round the arête in a wonderful exposed position that his feet were once again below him. And when he was established on the slab and dry rock it was a short section to reach to the top. Here he allowed himself to breathe normally again, or was that just me as I watched from below:
It was a brilliant on-sight first ascent, and I feel that those lingering thoughts about the line he didn’t get on yesterday were washed away. After all there is always next time. I went next and it certainly was as slippy as my words above indicated. Several moves had me on edge, it would have been so easy to pop off the rock. Then traverse out was as wonderful as I had envisaged when I first spotted the line. A cracking lead indeed, made even more impressive because of the conditions. Once up I scampered off like a mountain goat to get some images:
Howsie named that line Victorinox (18 20m), E1 5a in UK grades. A line that would be worth coming back for, but as for the other stuff on this upper wall it was hard to see much else. Two images up, Howsie and I were mentally climbing the crack system in front of us. Hands moving about in the air to show how we could tackle it, despite the fact that the system was closed and didn’t off any gear placements. The image does however show just how smooth the rock was on the lower part of this cliff, more akin to what I would expect quartzite to be:
Back at the coastline, we munched on some food before tackling a small outcrop halfway up the hill to where we had just climbed. A couple of low grade fun lines awaited us. Howsie jumped on first with a finger crack. Allowing me to snap some images of not just him but also some super impressive cliffs further down the coast. Kym and I have already been thinking about them, and when the next trip may be. Howsie named this line Ferrous Bueller (13 15m), HS 4b in UK grades. And while it was an easy line I couldn’t resist finishing on a lead:
So became Iron Age (6 15m), which is classed M in UK grades and is the lowest UK climbing grade that can be assigned. However, as you may realise I don’t care about the numbers, it was a very fun climbing made all the more interesting by the rock we climbed on. Unlike yesterday’s cliffs and the upper walls today this little outcrop had bands of amazing crystals. I’ve unsuccessfully tried to find out what they may be called, but can say they have an iron component hence the route names. Each exposed needle being very sharp and strong:
So care was needed as we padded our way up. It felt a little sad to be walking out. We could however not complain as it had been a storming couple of days. For Howsie and I at least we also had a hearty pub meal to look forward to that evening. Kym headed back home, and as we said our goodbyes it was time to sort all the gear, as we aimed to have an earlier start in the morning. Not for climbing but to have a dip in the ocean. There was a great looking lagoon, and the conditions may be just good enough to make it worthwhile:
But as with most of this snorkelling this season, and climbing, a front had been pushing its way down from up north. Another tropical low had resulted in the cool wet conditions, just for this weekend, and the swell was up at 2m. You may think I am being a bit of a broken record about this, but just today a news article came out to say it has been the busiest cyclone season off the west coast in 19 years. And there is more to come. The image above is very deceiving, the sand was being pushed around obscuring our visibility way too often:
Still it was very refreshing being in the water, even if we needed to work hard against the channelling waters. I did however spot what may be a tubeworm that was holding its own against the shifting sands in the lagoon. Venturing further out we found an abundance of fish in both numbers and variety. Being that bit too surgy to get down, and claggy to take reasonable images, we admired them from above. Sadly we did have to face the fact there was a big drive ahead of us, and finally it was time to say ‘so long, and thanks for all the fish’:
Sandbagged 