Not quite with it, may be the best way to describe the feeling this morning. Better however than last week, when I was feeling distinctly ropey due to a bug I brought back with me. A phrase I was surprised to find Howsie was unfamiliar with. Admittedly another colloquial phrase from the homelands, but one I thought would have spread across the oceans sufficiently. It was this reason I suggested we may want to head out in separate cars today. While definitely on the uphill, as opposed to going down, why risk it:
Weather wise the forecast was suggesting the west may not be best, with a likely sprinkle in the air. Keen to find some dry rock we therefore headed east, to the beast. This meant, like me, we were going uphill. Howsie, also didn’t seem quite with it when he suggested a 6:30 meet at the crag. The above image was taken at that time, being a good twenty minutes before first light. Arriving at our agreed more sensible time saw us get there when it was both light and very noisy. The bridge that was closed four years back is finally being worked on:
It’s been eight weeks since we have been here, and on that last trip I finally succumbed to the fact I needed to get checked out. The diagnosis was golfers and tennis elbow, compounded by a chipped elbow. Making me reside to lower grade routes during my weekly visit rock, without which I would get grumpy. I rarely led and if I did only easy stuff, and have done no additional training. Heading to the unforgiving Welly Dam, hence the earlier beast reference, would be a test for sure. Whether it was a sensible one or not, we would just have to see:
Howsie said he’d had second thoughts about coming here. Not sure his body was ready for it. As such we started the morning with a slow wander to check out the bridge construction, and hopefully watch the sun rise. Due to a thick bank of cloud hanging on the horizon there wasn’t even a hint of the sun, so it was back to the quarry where we started very slowly. Howsie romped up, but after pulling the rope my ascent was way more clunky. Not trusting my feet, feeling heavy, and not seemingly able to make moves that should come naturally:
As such we wandered back to the dam, to see if the sun that would be higher enough to be visible. It was as shown above, and after having sufficiently soaked up the views we plodded back. It was shaping up to be a very relaxed session, neither of us being keen to push the pace. I was also happy for Howsie to be on point for each route, like our last visit here. It was a good move on my part. I got up the next two routes I won’t argue that my style wasn’t the best. The grades were heading upwards, and the next line made Howsie work hard:
Another clean ascent at least. Strangely I was getting my mojo back and while I didn’t run up it, it felt like I was climbing that bit smoother. Still with the rope above me of course, which takes out the head game that Howsie had to battle with. As I sat atop preparing to rap down, Howsie used the time to make a brew. The car park was fuller than normal during our weekday morning sessions, but we were the only people in the quarry. The other cars that had rolled in were workers heading down to the bridge:
With a brew inside us, Howsie set off again. The short break, tea and biscuits were however not enough to allow him to recover sufficiently. Kym had messaged me just before Howsie set off on this route, asking me to video him taking a whipper. I don’t think Howsie did it to appease Kym, and after the fall he admitted he was toast. Meaning that it was time for me to get on the sharp end to polish the route off. We then upped the grade again, but sensibly top roped that. My eight weeks of being sensible seems to have paid dividends, and everything held together pretty well:
With a little under ten hours of daylight today it could only mean one thing. The Winter Solstice was upon us. Thinking it would be a shame not to celebrate the shortest day of the year and if at all possible watch the sun rise, I was up and out early. Lisa was heading off shortly after me, but not down the local beach for her Saturday morning catch up and bob with the Peppy Plungers. Today they decided to head to Busselton and join the Winter Solstice Geographe Bay Plunge, which aimed to raise funds for the Busselton Hospice Care:
As seasoned year round plungers, I hear they were first in the water and last out. She tells me the life guards were keen for them to get out. Maybe because Shelter Brewing was laying on what was, by all accounts, a very yummy breakfast for all participants. The winter solstice has been celebrated for numerous reasons over thousands of years, and has and continues to be honoured in varying ways by different cultures round the globe. One thing has however remained relatively constant, being that it is a social event. That said I was happy to go solo:
The organisers for Busselton’s event were hoping to attract 250 people brave enough to endure the cold water dip. The actual numbers may have been reduced as a result of the weather. For several days it has been what can only be described as wild and woolly. This morning was no different. Mind you Geographe Bay is well-protected, and there were no safety issues at the event. I was however going to the west coast. Open to the Indian Ocean with no land insight until South Africa, some seven and half thousand kilometres away:
But first I had to get there safely. It was dark, raining, and my vision was hampered all too often by oncoming vehicles. Way more cars were out than I usually encounter on such early ventures. I can only guess I was not the only one who had the idea of enjoying as much of the day as possible today. With just a few kilometres before the last turnoff, I had to dip my full beams one more time. For cars whose headlights I though needed adjusting. All I saw was a broken branch, a good six inches in diameter, aimed towards the car and rapidly approaching:
A tree or large limb had fallen foul of the overnight gale force winds, and was now protruding into the lane. There was barely enough time to break. All I recall is the noise when the branch made contact with the bull bar. The weight of the car won out forcing it up and away from the windscreen and towards the verge. Pulling over a short way along, other than the bull bar now being closer to the car body than before I could see no other damage. A huge sigh of relief waved over me, as I jumped back in to complete the short distance left:
Onwards and upwards, as they say. It was not until I made it to the coast that I noticed the car being buffeted by the winds. Having checked the observations, the winds this morning had dropped from a forecasted near gale to strong on the Beaufort Scale. Still windy enough to make it atmospheric, and make me that bit more cautious as I scrambled along the rocky coastline of Moses Rocks. The waves were doing what I had hoped. At over six meters they made for fascinating watching, and I idled most of my time away transfixed by them:
For the observant ones you may have spotted in the second image I didn’t have my usual rucksack. Making use, for the first time, of a water proof bag I bought for a sailing and climbing trip in Bass Strait, between Australia and Tasmania. A trip that sadly never eventuated. The bag was however brilliant, keeping everything inside dry. I however got a tad damp. Hit by rain and liberal amounts of spray from the crashing waves. The rope eventually made it out. Certainly not by design, but just as the sun made a short appearance:
During my trip to the home country just a week back, I drove round the Peak District quite a bit. It therefore made sense to climb Stanage Youth and Hathersage today. These are located on a wall that was conveniently facing north and as such sheltered me from the wind, belts of rain, and spray. Here I also observed the below climb for a long time. Despite a plus six meter swell today, I did not see a single wave as big as the one that wiped me during much calmer conditions this time last year: https://sandbagged.blog/2024/06/07/davy-jones-locker/:
The above was the biggest by far and would not have bodily lifted me as I had been back then. The constant thunderous noise continued to beat my eardrums, but with the sheltered face almost made me forget standing on top of the ridge the wind was nearly strong enough to bowl me over. Being reminded me of this, without incident, as I was cleared the gear way. Being distracted the waves again, the walk out was slow. A great way for me to welcome the Winter Solstice, and now we welcome and look forward to brighter mornings:
‘The wing flaps are not responding as they should’ was the message from the captain after we got in the plane. Considering they are used to increase the lift and drag during take-off and landing, and as the captain advised, it was considered a critical issue. The initial fifteen minute inspection by the engineers was extended four times by progressively longer durations. And the two hour delay in leaving Perth resulted in having just enough time to get to the next gate in Singapore to board the connecting flight, slightly out of breathe. I’m glad I didn’t miss it:
As were the folks when I arrived at their doorstep, a little before ten in the morning. The daily outings into the countryside during my last visit were obviously very much enjoyed. My Dad seemed eager to get them underway. Having hardly had time to get a cuppa before he asked what the plan was for today, and where we might be going. There wasn’t a plan, and I hadn’t booked anything. Thinking that driving into the Peak District after a near thirty hour journey could possibly be unwise. We went out regardless, picking a café we all really liked last time:
Starting the adventure as we meant to continue, taking with us a game to play. After my last visit and realising some of the pubs became booked out for lunch, I had an itinerary ready. Different pubs to last time were booked for each of the five days we didn’t have to get to a medical appointment. This included selecting a café to head to on the return journey. Each trip would see us head to another part of the Peak District. Allowing us to sample as many winding single lane roads as we could. For this unexpected day out we only went to a café:
And by early evening my eye lids felt like lead shutters. There was little point in forcing them to stay open any longer. I slept solidly, being woken up by the dawn chorus. Being not long till the longest day meant it was getting light early and the birds were at it from just after three. An hour later I was up and by four thirty I was creeping out the house, as quietly as possible. The folks are both in their nineties, and the days of early mornings is long behind them. Allowing me time to walk round the beautiful countryside right on their doorstep:
These circular walks are tried and tested, I’ve been on them a heap of times. So to mix things up I used the little local knowledge I have built up to link a few up. Making my own circuits and where I had an incline of where a path I stumbled across may end up, taking routes I was not familiar with. This resulted in walking round the Woodbank Memorial Park. Wandering under a lush green canopy was refreshing. Several flowers were lingering past spring, which officially ended a few days back and I’ve since read was exceptionally warm and sunny:
As with many other places records had been broken, and the 2025 spring had been recorded as the warmest and sunniest since records began in 1884 and 1910 respectively. The air was full of fragrance from Sweet Cicely (Myrrhis odorata) and Wild Garlic (Allium ursinum), both edible. The second image is of the Field Bindweed (Convolvulus arvensis), which has been used for medicinal application. As the name suggests it is a creeper. Despite being a native plant, growing quickly it can choke other plants so is thought by some to be a pest:
During the walk I came across Nabs Weir, in the third image. Built by the estate owner, Peter Marsland, in the 1820s when Stockport faced a water shortage. Water was directed into a tunnel suppling his mills and a reservoir. While on private land, it played a role in Stockport’s first public waterworks. Mixing up the local routes allowed me to manage a six to eight mile wander each morning, which was probably a good thing. The rest of the day fairly sedentary. Sitting down at the house playing games, in the car travelling, or at a pub or café eating:
I’d get back to a quiet house, and again creep in as soundlessly as possible. Having time to stretch for half an hour before making more noise. Usually the boiling kettle would result in my Mam shuffling into the kitchen. Her mobility is going downhill, but she refuses to give in and regular tells me ‘use it or lose it’. Another favourite being ‘getting old isn’t fun’, as I watch on nervously when she shakily picks up a kettle of boiling water to pour it into the tea pot. My Dad is also slowing down, his mobility being affected by a neurodegenerative disorder:
Regardless of this, they get out of the house a lot. That is down to my sister. Many outings are now appointment driven, but not all and on occasion she takes them on longer trips away. As such I knew that while they would be stuffed by the end of it, they would be well and truly up for a week of getting out every day. Day two the itinerary kicked in proper, a longer and more windy trip led us to a pub. The games and food tradition began in earnest. A hearty meal, being followed by a car journey to a café where we indulged in tea and cake for afters:
The image below my folks playing Yahtzee at the pub, as we waited for our lunch, was the view from the carpark of the café. One of the many mighty gritstone escarpments that stand proud, looking down at the valley from on high. And one that I particularly liked climbing at in the early to late nineties. Despite having spent many weekends climbing round here back then, I have barely touched what is available. Something that is relevant and will come up again in this post. Our daytime eating, was such that we didn’t need a heavy evening meal:
A bit of a snack was sufficient, and we of course also got the games out again to while away the few hours we had left of the day before our beds were calling us. For my second walk I again mixed up the circuits, starting the hike with a toad rescue mission. A Common Toad (Bufo bufo) had become stuck in one of the dog water bowls. Some people leave these outside their house to allow passing thirsty pooches to rehydrate, as they lead their owners on a walk. The next images shows some paths were overgrown, it was a good spring:
A few paths had been closed. Erosion was the usual reason. But the ramblers of England fight for their rights to hike, and a new path often led round the barriers. Needless to say I followed their lead, never finding the path that dangerous. I guess the council is just protecting themselves from someone who may have an accident. My second walk saw me cross Brabyns Park Iron Bridge. Built in the early 1800’s and reported to be the first iron bridge in the north west, during a time that stone was the traditional material used:
Iron was used for other products, such as steam engines, but was a relatively untried material for bridges. It has however stood the test of time, so it is surprising this was the only iron bridge the Salfrod Iron Works built. The video and images show a few of the many colourful flowers, such as: Oxeye Daisy (Leucanthemum vulgare), producing up to 26,000 seeds per plant; White Campion (Silene latifolia), also known as ‘Grave Flower’ or ‘Flower of the Dead’; and Red Campion (Silene dioica), being a great flower to attract moths, bees, and butterflies:
I was lucky when three Canada Goose (Branta canadensis) goslings waddled up to me, and their parents were fine with it. Known to aggressively defend their nests and young, all the others times I came across them the heads of the parents would go up and they started hissing a warning to stay back. The injuries sustain from attacks are usually minor, but there is however little point in getting them all worked up. Avoiding creaky floorboards on my return was part of the routine. But once we were all fed, and after a game or three, we hit the road:
Our drive today took us down Winnats Pass. The average slope of this near 2km stretch is 1:10, but in places it is as steep as 1:4. The short and stunning road, is navigated by most very cautiously leading to a build-up of traffic. Not today, it felt like we had the place to ourselves. Overtime the name changed, and it was originally called Windy Gates owing to the way the wind funnelled up the steep sided valley. Not only winds are said to haunt this pass, and the spirits of a couple, murdered and buried in a mine shaft in 1758, are said to still reside here:
Our daily feast, was exactly that for the second pub outing. It was a monstrous serving, brought to us by incredibly friendly and jolly staff. Only marred by my Dad’s taste being negatively affected by an antibiotic that he had just started taking. It took a while to work this out, as he was put on it after my sister had gone on holiday and just before I had arrived. Bad timing in more ways than one, but we made the most of it. And while he had less than half of his meal, it was wrapped up for us to take home and he polished it off later:
Heading out for meals was a good way to travel about, and the country drives were enjoyed by all. The lanes at times became very narrow, super windy, and had many a blind bend or crest. The great spring had resulted in the hedges going berserk, seemingly closing in on already tight roads that you could just about fit one car on. I took it easy on these roads, as did most others. And on occasion we had some close encounters when we rounded corners or topped hills, and every time this occurred the drivers were all courtesy:
Someone had to back up to the closest passing bay, and at times even it was still touch and go trying to get past. The folks loved it when this happened, that and the glorious views all made for very enjoyable car trips. Weather wise the week of my stay, was a little hit and miss. But when you are indoors or in a car it didn’t really matter, although we didn’t make any stops to get out when we came across a nice view or something interesting. While last time we had made such stops, this time with their reduced mobility it may not have been a bad thing:
For my third early morning wander, before any other souls were out, it was wet. This did not stop me. However, when the rain came in it was more of a head down and get on with it type of walk. During the last third of the circuit it eased off, which is where I took the image of the Lady’s Glove (Digitalis purpurea). I’d seen these everywhere, with their striking and quite unique architecture. Known as the original source of a chemical from which the prescription medication digoxin is made, used to increase the strength and blood flow of the heart:
Some other flowers out in large numbers included: Red Clover (Trifolium pratense), used in agriculture to improve soil fertility and in herbal medicine, particularly for women’s health and skin conditions; Common Bistort (Persicaria bistorta), which was an ingredient in an Easter time dessert in North England and as such locally known as ‘Pudding Dock’; and at times quite literally fields of Meadow Buttercups (Ranunculus acris). The vast number of the latter is in part due to grazing animals avoiding them due to their sap containing protoanemonin:
It is produced when the plants tissue in damaged. Effectively it is a defence mechanism, and a good one. Having an irritating and blistering effect on skin and mucous membranes, which is why gazing animals avoid it. The substance also has antibacterial activity, but due to its toxicity is not typically used medicinally. Something else that has not been typically applied, during my trips to see the folks since they have lived in Romiley over the last five years, is the upkeep of some of the older buildings. Such as the Grade II listed Old Barn of Springwood Farm:
Shown several images up in poor condition, check out what it was like just three years back in this post: https://sandbagged.blog/2022/08/01/time-to-head-back/. It was not the only building looking dilapidated and uncared for. On the positive we were not neglecting the many fine eateries on offer. The Cock Inn, being the only pub to crack a name check, was voted the best pub we got to. We all loved our meal there. Even Dad’s taste buds couldn’t resist coming back to partial life to get tingled by the taste sensation he was served up:
Such a fine meal and place, that when we rocked up to the café to find only outside seating on picnic benches we were not disappointed. I have to say the Black Stag cake, made with bitter and recommended by the staff was incredible. The best dessert for me on the trip, but not being awarded the top spot by consensus the café won’t get named. Luckily it didn’t rain while we were there, but the next morning on my walk I got a proper soaking. So much so my boots filled with water. And typically it happened on the longest of the local walks I did:
My saturated state wasn’t helped as I walked through sodden and thick vegetation. Including massive stands of Policeman’s Helmet (Impatiens glandulifera), of which the single flower I came across is shown a three images back. Also called Himalayan Balsam it was introduced as an ornamental in 1839, from it is native country of India and western Himalaya. It is now one of the most widespread and problematic invasive plants species in the United Kingdom. In researching my finds, it was interesting to see how many introduces plant species there are:
Two images up is another, Sweet Pea (Lathyrus odoratus). Originating from Sicily and Sardinia and first offered as a garden plant in Britain back in 1730. This one is however not as prolific or problematic, and as such in the countryside it adds to the colour spectrum as oppose to over powering it. Another one brought over from those Mediterranean climates, which I saw often was the Purple Toadflax (Linaria purpurea). Arriving some hundred years later on from Italy, and escaping into the wild shortly after. Again not being as invasive:
After drying up back at the house, the weather followed suit and also dried up. Not only that but patches of blue could be seen breaking up the cloud cover. It was set to be a warmer day, and one that we would drive down Snake Pass over the Pennines. During a trip a year back I went out for a big walk for a day with Dave, the postie. We endeavoured to get to Snake Pass. I hoped to find the pub the pass is named after, but Dave was on the money when he said the Snake Inn was no longer a pub: https://sandbagged.blog/2024/05/05/hard-yakka/:
It is a road that has had more than its fair share of accidents. Unlike the narrow windy roads where people seemed to accept slow and steady won the race, being a thoroughfare and less windy this road seemed to bring out the boy racers. We observed such reckless behaviour, as a panel van tried to scream past three vehicles. An accident was only averted when the innocent oncoming vehicle screeching to a full stop. It was time to pull over and let the idiots go ahead, giving us a bit of time to soak up the babbling creek line and warmth of the sun:
The roadside stop, along with another road that was closed and required quite a significant detour, resulted in our first late arrival at the pub. An isolated building with no neighbours in sight and a magnificent view from its lofty position high on an escarpment. The late arrival was not a stress, as I had booked us in for midday this is a good hour ahead of the real lunchtime rush at these quaint country pubs. We would spend approx. two hours at the pub before another half to three quarters of an hour drive before a cuppa and dessert:
The café for the day was nestled below Kinder Scout, where Dave and I walked. The place of the 1932 Mass Trespass, which I detailed in the above linked post and explained how it initiated national parks. It also paved the way for the Countryside and Rights of Way Act enacted some fifty years after the trespass event. Back then the trespassers had to climb the steep slope up to Kinder Scout, and today after our tea and cake the folks re-enacted this. They walked the few hundred yards to where I had parked the car, after dropping them off:
The last section having steps I should probably have taken them round, but both proving age should not stop you trying. The goals just need to be set at the right level, so as not to make them insurmountable. Because it was so lovely, we had a quick stop on the way back. Looking across the valley towards Edale and Jacobs Ladder. The steps of which were cut into the hillside in the 18th century to provide a more direct trade route for pack horses, by the then land owner. Today it is the most popular way to hike, the near 400m, up to Kinder Scout:
My sister’s family returned from their holiday late Monday. Sadly due to being midweek, work prevented them from joining our trips out. We did however have a lovely catch up on Tuesday night with a takeaway. To be honest I am not sure how the folks nor I fitted any more food in, but it was a very yummy. The next day was a little different. No pub was booked or café selected, as there was a hospital appointment. This did however mean I had a little more time to play with in the morning, so at the crack of dawn I drove off by myself:
My Mam had kept a paper cutting for me of the United Kingdom’s rarest native orchid, the Lady’s Slipper Orchid (Cypripedium calceolus). Once widespread in northern England, the last remaining wild population is found in the Yorkshire Dales, and the best time to see it is early June. Having been reintroduced in two nature reserves within an hour and half drive, it was so tempting to use the morning to try and find it. But I knew I would spend hours and hours and not give up easily, so decided against the idea and instead went to the Roaches:
I left quite literally the crack of dawn. Walking up onto the ridge just in time to watch the sun creep over the horizon. Unlike back home, where we are closer the equator, the sunrises and sunsets in England happens at a much more leisurely pace. Allowing way too much time to sit and observe the changing colours. I was not in a huge rush, but the walk today would be the longest of the visit, and I of course had to allow a bit of time to play on the rock. Several times along the path I got a shock when a Common Pheasant (Phasianus colchicus) flew off:
So well camouflaged in the vegetation, it was impossible to spot them. Not until I was practically on top of them would they fly away. Originally from Asia they arrived in the United Kingdom with the Normans in the 11th century, but came from Europe where the Roman’s had already introduced them. Close to becoming locally extinct until in the 19th century their popularity as a gamebird quite literally shot them to fame. Gamekeepers extensively reared them, and today an estimated 40-60 million are released every year. All in the name of sport:
The main reason for coming here was to revisit Lud’s Church, a place of refuge for a group condemned as heretics in the early 15th century. A religious group called the Lollards used the well-hidden narrow chasms for hiding, and as a place of worship. The origin of the name is however inconclusive. Theories include being named after the Celtic sun god, a Lollard preacher’s daughter shot in the chasms, a member captured during one of their meetings, and even a horse that avoided falling in but bucked its rider to his death into the deep depths:
Many a legendary figure is also said to have used this place including Robin Hood, Friar Tuck and Bonny Prince Charlie, as they hid from the authorities. It is also said, by some, to be Green Chapel of ‘Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’ from the days of King Arthur. Local folklore also indicate it to the home of a clan of fairies. While the clefts are not very long it is easy to lose track of time exploring them. The fern and moss covered walls are enhancing and beautiful. Despite being hugely popular I guessed I would, and did, have the place to myself:
Eventually I left that peaceful place, and made my way back through Back Forest in which it is nestled. The familiar coniferous and broadleaf trees would no doubt provide a cool shady wander for later visitors when the sun was higher in the sky. However, a large number of European larch (Larix decidua) had been felled. Introduced in the early 17th century for timber plantations, they were not felled due to be non-native. But in response to a Statutory Plant Health Notice issued by the Forestry Commission, which required the land manager to:
This was a result of Phytophthora ramorum having been identified in the wood. Referred to as Larch Disease, it comprises a algae-like organism called a water mould. Eventually blocking the flow of water and nutrients in the tree. It has ravaged the larch population in Britain for fifteen years, leading to mass felling such as I witnessed here. The pathogen can also result in Sudden Oak Death. Fortunately it has not reached this part of the country, and the Sessile Oaks (Quercus petraea), one of two native oaks in the United Kingdom, were looking healthy:
Back up on the ridgeline and out of the shady trees it was still very comfortable. Not till I reached the Roaches did I come across another hiker, and all up I only saw a handful of people during my last hour here. An hour used to solo a few climbs at The Roches, walk up to and round Hen Cloud, and finish off the wonderful hike by scrambling up Easy Gully. This goes up the cleft in the left hand side of the cliff below, a scramble I took Lisa up many a year back. It has a tight squeeze at the very top, which did not impress her too much:
I arrived back at the house at ten, in time to manage a few games with the folks who were both up and ready for the day. Another trip out even if it was to the hospital, which my sister as their primary carer came along for. We got ourselves a feed at the cafeteria before the appointment. Here my Dad’s comments that his usual choice of food was not to his liking today sparked a chat. During which my sister and I discovered the antibiotics can have a side effect of impacting taste, the relief of knowing this helped to improve his enjoyment a bit:
As often occurs with hospital appoints, there was a delay so this chewed up a fair bit of the afternoon. Getting us back in time to play just a couple of games before I was due to head out for a second walk. Dave’s days off coincided with when I left Australia and when I was due to fly back, as such we arranged to have a quick evening walk and catch-up. Today being the day that best suited him. With a relatively short duration available he drove us out toward Lantern Pike, offering a hike along the ridgelines giving us views stretching east and west:
Flowers of note on this walk being the above Common Cottongrass (Eriophorum angustifolium), which is not a grass but sedge preferring boggy moorlands and heaths. We also came across Yellow Flag Iris (Iris pseudacorus), one of two native iris species of the United Kingdom. The other being not so affectionately known as the Stinking Iris (Iris foetidissima). I really enjoyed finding all the flowers, but they also caused me a lot of grief. Hay fever had taken hold, and I had to double the recommended daily antihistamine dose:
Even being fully drugged up, and particularly on this evening, I sneezed and wept my way round much of the walk. It was Dave who told me about the great spring resulting in the bounty of floral displays. Maybe I should have gone hunting that rare orchid. He also mentioned that Barn Owls (Tyto alba) were about, and kept saying we’d see one. Their numbers took a hit due to the use organochlorine pesticides in the 1950s and 1960s, leading them to become a Schedule 1 and 9 species under the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981:
This makes it an offence to intentionally or recklessly disturb them. No matter as we didn’t see one on the walk. However, as we drove out, much to his relief and my enjoyment, we spied one gliding over the fields. Normally being most active between dusk to dawn, we were lucky as dusk was still an hour and half away. We watched it swoop down and catch something, taking it back to the barn that is behind the above Yellow Flag Iris. Transfixed we watched it successfully hunt a second time, no doubt taking the prey back to feed its owlets:
After two decent walks, I decided not to head out the next morning. This resulting in me making a bit more noise earlier in the morning. Scrubbing my boots clean and putting a load of washing on in preparation for my return trip. My Mam who sleeps downstairs, and all the extra noise didn’t rouse her up. Making me think I really didn’t need to creep around quite so quietly when I had headed out and returned from the morning walks. Not heading out also meant that we could squeeze in a few more games in morning, before our final fun day out:
The last pub was another good un, and my theory that the relief of knowing what was affecting his taste might improve my Dad’s enjoyment seemed right. Even more so when I drove them to the last café, one I had hoped to visit during my last visit. We did visit it, only to find it was closed on that day. This time I had checked to make sure it would be open, and it was. Providing the perfect end to our days out, with a scrumptious cake that earnt it the top spot. And offering magnificent views, as to be expected with a name like the Peak View Café:
After two and half days of glorious weather, we got back in the car just as the rain once more came in. At least this dampened the pollen count, which was a relief for me. It had been a little unnerving needing to sneeze just as we rounded a corner or came over a crest, unsure of what might come the other way. On the road back it just so happened that we drove along Windgather Road, where Windgather Rocks are located. A place Dave had considered going for a walk, but thinking I would have climbed here he decided on somewhere else:
I haven’t climbed here, which is not that surprising with nearly 15,00 climbs on who knows how many crags just in the Peak District. I told Dave and said I intend to sample the place next time, which spruiked his interest. So we may go climbing instead of walking. The last evening of the trip was spent playing games, interrupted by a drop in visit by Seeta, Neil, and Leena, with Asha popping in the morning, all to wish me a good return trip. It had certainly been another very enjoyable visit, and I’ve already got a list of places to go to next time:
The public has been warned that “winter is coming”, and is being urged to prepare for the first major storm of the season. A cold front and low-pressure system is forecast to hit the west coast today, bringing with it showers, thunderstorms, and gusty winds. Rainfall of several inches was predicted, which doesn’t sound like much but it is for here. Never one to miss out on an opportunity to have an atmospheric time out on rock, Howsie and I decided we would head down to Wilyabrup. We were greeted to a ‘red sky in the morning’ morning:
This heeding a warning that aligned with the forecasts, but for now there was no sign of wild windy or wet weather hitting the coast. At least not where we were. We traditionally place our gear under the overhang below Hope Buttress, but today we moved a bit further along and settled under the Stormcock Boulder. Not that this provided improved shelter from the elements, should it come in. The reason was that it was closer to where we would start climbing. A sneaky little wall, hidden away. One that is as far as I know is untouched:
I spotted it last Friday when I came down on a solo mission. Rapping into a scrappy area that rarely gets any attention, I looked across and saw it. Taking an image and sending it to Howsie, suggesting it may have a couple of worthy first ascent opportunities. Always up for an adventure he was keen to check it out. Based on a visual inspection of the image I took the possible routes didn’t look like they would present too many issues. As such we picked today to check them out, fully prepared to be greeted with rain and water running down the rock:
It was not to be, and for the most part the rock was in good condition. Pleasing Howsie who, after being offered the choice, plumped for the primo looking line on the main wall. As can so often be the case, what looks straightforward is not. Steeper than we first thought, the holds were less obvious than we expected, and the gear required a fair bit hanging about to get in. All making for a very entertaining line, and one with a bit of a runout feeling and nervous finish on the upper wall. Rewarded with a new climb that we though only lived in dreams:
This is on the basis that Wilyabrup has been climbed out over the last fifty odd years. So spotting something worthy that hasn’t been played on is a real treat. Still in sensible mode, I picked the easier of the routes on offer. The left arête led to a delightful slab, coated in a veneer of quartz and providing a perfect brown tricam sized pocket for added fun. I had visions of ascending this as water cascaded over it like a waterfall, but still it remained dry. And more surprisingly we managed a third independent line on this little buttress:
A bit of squeeze up a chimney led Howsie to a clean square cut corner. Seemingly made for gear and sporting holds to make it an enjoyable climb. And while we kept looking out for rain, it was still not looking likely to worry us. This led me to suggest he jump on the climb that had led me to find this spot. Going up the buttress behind him in the above picture. At the triangle shaped roof there is an exposed move out right. He admitted to having been on it with Nadia, but the top sketchy limestone section had worried them and they escaped left:
Today he was fine to run it out past the above the unusual sling placement, which to be honest I would also have been happy with. Even the unprotected limestone coated slab up to the capping roof didn’t concern him. But at the committing traverse I felt I needed to encourage the increasingly worried sounding leader to keep going. Once atop the crag, we checked the weather radar. The storm belt was tracking south but gradually heading inland towards us. Looking to be moving slowly enough for us to squeeze another route in:
This time we picked a climb we knew well, unlike the others today. Still keeping Howsie focused and engaged, and as he inched up the final section I was tied in and ready to climb. The air temperature dropped and I felt a few drops. Somehow it eased off allowing us to finish up, pack the gear, and walk out in the dry. Not till we sat in the car did it rain. As alluded to in my words about each new climb we established, it seemed fitting to make use of our expectations of inclement weather and damp conditions to name the new routes:
Route titles, courtesy of Howard Jones, Billy Joel, and TLC, and descriptions:
Don’t Always Look at the Rain 10m 12 Squeeze up the chimney, followed by a delightful corner. Howe, Seewraj 2025
River of Dreams 10m 17 Work your way up the middle of the wall trying to place gear before pumping out, and then keep your nerves up the slightly runout headwall. Howe, Seewraj 2025
Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls 10m 13 Steeply up the left side of the wall, before delicately tip toeing up the slab. Seewraj, Howe 2025
It was time for our next weekend getaway. Not sure we picked the best dates. A public holiday on Monday extended it to three days, which would no doubt result in more traffic and potentially difficulty in booking somewhere. Then added to that a pretty big front was due to roll in on Friday, the day we aimed to leave. And could have washed out a fair chunk of our planned two night trip. Indeed we struggled to find available accommodation that was not massively overinflated at the first couple of areas we thought it would be nice to head to:
This led me to suggest heading a little further afield. After all we had the chance to start our journey around lunchtime on Friday. Plus we could return at a leisurely pace and get back a bit later on Sunday, what with Monday in our pocket to clear up and prepare for next week. It was agreed, and we found a lovely place to stay down in Walpole. Three hours to the south, in a landscape that allowed us to experience a few wanders in amongst some big trees. After a great night sleep, without two pesky poodles hogging the bed, we awoke refreshed:
Our first destination was Mount Clare, where we got to see the Red Tingle Tree (Eucalyptus jacksonii). Only found in the higher rainfall areas round Walpole and Denmark, these trees have a huge girth at the base. The one in the first image is 12m, but they have been recorded as double that. The reddish bark is stringy, making it feel spongy and soft and you can almost feel the warmth exuding from it. Having adapted to the wetter climate it is susceptible to climate change, which is a worry with the south west of Australia already drying and warming:
This was my second visit here. The first was five or so years back during a climbing trip when we inadvertently parked on the opposite side of the mount to where we were heading. This adding four to five kilometres to the already fifteen kilometre round trip. It was a monster day already, so we didn’t get to the peak. Not heading that far today we did reach the top of Mount Clare. There the granite lay bare with lush green moss flourishing where the water ran across the depressions. This created an image of islands, and land for creatures to roam:
Lisa laughed when I got excited seeing a Black Keeled Slug (Milax gagates). It wasn’t however good enough to make the cut, being beaten by the above millipede. Despite being quite unique, with a clearly segmented body and orangey brown marks along the side, I cannot identify it. Later on Lisa then excitedly showed me one of her finds, and I think she was jesting. It may however be an endemic Glauert’s Land Snail (Bothriembryon glauerti). Named after a curator of the Western Australian Museum, who used his time studying snails:
Bugs aside we were both very taken by the Red-eared Firetails (Stagonopleura oculata). Small finches that kept a healthy distance, but were playful enough for us to get a really good look at them. Next time I’ll have to bring my SLR to get a good shot. They have intricate patterns and stunning colours. It was a lovely walk. There is something calming about being amongst truly big trees. Made more relaxing as there was not a sole in sight for the entire near five kilometre stroll. Not even another car at the carpark when we returned:
Before heading back for lunch we went to a place I had not been to before, called Circular Pool. It was still in amongst beautiful vegetation but a very different walk. A mere 600m black topped path meandered down from the carpark to an idyllic pool, which we were able to enjoy having the place mostly to ourselves. The tannin stained water cascaded over a rocky descent, and the water below each step filled with foam. In the final pool, as the water slowly swirled as it made its way along, the outer bubbles burst and created patterns:
I’ve found out the foam is a natural phenomenon. A result of something called saponin, a substance found in many plants. It has soap-like properties, and the vigorous splashing and churning of the water as it tumbles over the rocks results in the foam. The foam can then become stained by the tannins that come from the eucalyptus trees. Creating a cappuccino effect, and Circular Pool is well known for this. It is a big draw card for budding photographers. The pool is special for something else too, someone called Lionel Gunson:
Back in 1962 he was the first National Park Ranger in Western Australia, and was very progressive in what he achieved. Living at Coalmine Beach in Walpole, he was concerned about the impact visitors were having at Circular Pool. After a near miss, when a car almost rolled into the pool, he went about establishing a carpark. Then building steps down to the pool to prevent the place being eroded. We eventually wandered out, to yet another carpark in which our car was the only occupant. And drove to Walpole for a spot of lunch:
Managing to have stayed dry all morning, we then looked out of the room and watched the rain as it repeatedly came and went in belts. It was never going to stop us getting out in the afternoon. The weather had been expected, so came prepared. The drive to Mount Frankland was certainly damp. At one point, with rain to the east and sun to the west, it felt like the rainbow was inside the car. A secondary rainbow was fighting hard to be seen, but never getting any clearer than shown in the image:
This place is full of Jarrah (Eucalyptus marginate) and Australia’s tallest tree the mighty Karri (Eucalyptus diversicolor). They typically grow thirty to sixty meters high, and can be as tall as ninety meters. Sheer vertical trunks powering out of the ground, making for the perfect ‘fire tree’. Meaning a place to sit on high and watch out for fires. All up there were eight fire trees spread across the south-west forests, which the foresters would climb using pegs driven into their trunks. Then simply sit atop, on a platform, to look for the first signs of smoke:
But that is not why we came here. Mount Frankland is another place I am very familiar with, having come here many a time to climb the huge granite dome and faces. Today it was a tad wet, although I have climbed here in much worse conditions. No today, was about a pleasant stroll round the base. Lisa had not been here before, and swears blind that I suggested there was a nice and even gravel track round the base. I feel there may have been some miscommunication, as I knew full well that was not this case. She ribbed me regardless:
I did however know that is never gets too silly, and was entirely manageable. And indeed it was a wonderful day to be here, we saw a few people at the carpark but no one on the track. As we walked we did as we had on the last two walks, kept an eye out for anything of interest. Winter is upon us, so the not surprisingly there were very few if any flowers to see. But just as I had given up all hope, late in the walk we spotted my first Banded Greenhood Orchid (Pterostylis vittata)of the season. Of which there will no doubt be many more to come:
We also spied a few repeat Bunny Orchid species and sub species. Eventually making it to the end of the natural path and onto the main tarmacked, and shorter, track that takes people from the carpark up to the summit. And this is where it became claggy. The sky darkened, rain fell, and any hope of views disappeared. Lisa’s knees were ailing her a tad, so she declined the offer to climb the final three hundred steps to get to the top. But was happy for me to head up just so I could see nothing of the landscape, it had come in good and proper:
However, on the way back down I spied what some would disregard as just another Bunny Orchid. I however got all excited even though it was not in the best of shape. This was a Granite Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus pulchellus), not found up our way. It is however a relatively common species in these more southern parts of the South West, growing in shallow soils on granite outcrops. The flower has that bit more colour, and yet again a slightly differing leaf shape. It made tackling the three hundred steps in these conditions more than worthwhile:
Back at the start we escaped the rain under the impressive shelter, supping on our still hot brews we had made before driving out. Three wonderful wanders today and only during one did we get wet, or at least our rain jackets did. Watching the birds in the trees and listening to the rain fall onto the roof, it was a lovely way to end our day out in nature. Our car all by itself one more time, it was a little surprising there were not more people out and about on this long weekend. Not that we were complain about having these places to ourselves:
As the light started to fade, and we knew there was no hope of seeing a sunset, we walked back to the car. Here we were both taken by the patterns along the side of our usually white car. A bit like the patterns created by the bubbles that came from the saponin; nature had taken the dust we had kicked up as we drove along, stuck it to the car, and then used water to create an artistic display. Almost like a drone image of the landscape from on high, and something we pondered capturing more often. Touting it as art created by the mud-man:
Back in Walpole we headed out for dinner and a game, before another good night’s sleep without poodles fidgeting about. Our third day arrived, meaning we had to start the journey back. It was a lazy start, and we aimed to head off track to break up the journey with a stop in to see Lane Poole Falls. A five kilometre hike, this time through a Karri and Marri (Corymbia calophylla) forests. Starting at the Boorara Tree, which was one of the eight fire trees. The peg ladder having been removed for the first ten or so meters, to prevent anyone climbing it:
The path was much wider than the other walks we had done, but the location no less beautiful. And as an added bonus the path was littered with a stunning array of fungi. We had seen a couple of good ones on each walk, but this place blew the others out of the water. The five kilometre walk taking a fair bit longer than it should have, as we spied more and more fungi. Eventually making it to the falls, where another fun foamy pattern was on display in the pool below. After soaking up the place, again with no one around, we started back:
Fortunately the walk out was the same path, so we didn’t stop nearly half as much. And nor does the post stop here, although it is where I will leave you. If I were retired and had more time on my hands I would go through the impressive array of fungi we found to try and identify them. Indeed I recognise a few. But it is getting late and my bed is calling me, albeit with poodles in it tonight. There are a couple of sneaky double ups, but not many. So I would encourage you to keep scrolling, and it starts with two that we found at Mount Clare:
These two were at Circular Pool, the first is the size of a dinner plate:
The next two are from Mount Frankland:
And finally the explosion found along the Lane Poole Falls trail, in the order we found them:
Lucky for me I worked from home on Friday. When one of Lisa’s plunging friends messaged her to say we had a unusual visitor on the beach, I was able to quickly hoof it down to see for myself. The sweeping prints left by the flippers indicated it had come ashore very recently. They led to an adult male Australian Sea Lion (Neophoca cinerea) lazing in the dunes. Despite looking like cumbersome creatures, they are very good at climbing. The dune may not be an impressive ascent, but they are known to be able to scale steep rocky terrain:
I can only recall finding one on the beach here once before, but know they occasional turn up. This male looked old and battle weary, puncture marks across the back of it thick neck and broad powerful shoulders. More likely to be a result of territorial wars, as opposed from their two main predators that are great white sharks and killer whales. They are the only endemic species of seal in Australia. The population is estimated at 10-12,000 of which over 40% are found in three colonies over east resulting in them being sparsely distributed over their range:
As a result they are one of the rarest sea lions globally, and not surprisingly their conservation status is listed as endangered. Due to being a rare treat I went down to say hello three times that day. With each visit it had moved, but not by much and in each location it took on a perfect sunbathing pose. Not at all phased by my presence, merely opening its eyes to see who was about before closing them again. For the third time Lisa and I went down as the light was fading, and it was back up on the dune ready to settle in for the night:
We did the same and headed home. This term Lisa has been getting up early to fit in a remarkable amount of activities before work. Driving to and from an exercise class, studying, reporting writing, and the usual morning stuff. Resulting in what most regard as my unnatural time to get up, being even earlier. Lisa can somehow switch to staying in bed on weekends, but my body clock makes me restless and I end up getting up at the same time. Consequently I was at the top of the crag on Saturday while Lisa was walking down the beach:
The Australian Sea Lion was nowhere to be seen, no doubt having returned to the ocean after feeling it had suitably rested up. No one was about and available to get out today, which assisted with my early departure from home. Driving out the sliver of a moon and one star was thinly veiled by wispy clouds, the light was however too low to catch an image. At the carpark with more light starting to creep in, I couldn’t resist a shot. The morning light show was extra special today and I took quite a few more images, as set up the anchors:
I had a bit of a game plan, but wasn’t sure how far I’d get. The weather was a little unsettled. When the sun managed to peak over the ridge and through the clouds, rainbows appeared and vanished out to sea. On occasion the rain made it to shore. Never too heavy, until my fourth route. A line that is not likely to get climbed much. It is a bit broken and has a slab leading up the capping roof covered with brittle flowstone and no gear in sight. I’ve lead it once before close to twenty years back, and decided today was the day to jump on it again:
It was fun and with a rope above me felt fine. Although I will admit to being a tad nervous about the traverse from under the roof on wet holds. Even more so on my second lap, when water started to stream over the roof and the holds became even less secure. But as with all my chosen climbs today I was being sensible and had picked ones at a comfortable grade 14 or VS 4c. After completing the second lap the sky and ocean started to become one. Quickly bundling up my gear I only just made it to the shelter of the toilet bock before it poured:
My head and heart battled it out. Still keen to get two more lines in, but my head suggested it was too wet. Mind you my elbow had held up pretty well so far, only wincing a little on a few moves. Plus I do enjoy these inclement conditions, it makes me feel even more alive. This made me even more keen to make the most of it, without being silly. The heart won out, and I set up the line in the easing rain. Having a surprise when I rapped down to find a group huddled under the overhang, seemingly being given instructions on trad climbing:
Despite my cheery hello and joking suggestion that the rock was in pretty good condition, only one of the trainees looked over and smiled. Not a word was said in response to my greeting, as the person instructing carried on talking. It was all a bit strange, so I started climbing and left them to it. While the rain was slowing down water still ran down the rock. On my first lap water made its way down my arms as I reached up. Coming down three more times, they looked like statues. Huddled and still listening, looking not to have moved a muscle:
The rain stopped at some point, and clearing skies were rolling in as I walked out. Quite a few empty pupal cases of Rain Moth (Abantiades atripalpis) were about. The moth can be the size of a small bat and have an uncanny ability to know when rain is coming, which it did here yesterday. Emerging a few hours before a major downpour, and living for a single day. The female scatters up to 40,000 eggs while in flight, making us of the rain to wash the eggs into crevices and increase their chance of surviving. I didn’t however see any of the moths:
It wasn’t FOMO that resulted in me driving towards Welly Dam at first light. The trip was certainly not for a climb. That would have been dumb after what happened on the last visit just a few weeks back. Climbing aside, during that last trip with Howsie we were lucky to see some great orchids. At that time I explained the features to look for to help identify them. He’d use this new found knowledge early this week to recognise some Swamp Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus helonomos), during a work trip along the bank of the Collie River:
A species that has alluded me to date. I could have used his direction to find them. However, it felt a bit excessive to drive the approximately three hour round trip, for no other purpose. Instead, and because he had spotted them on the South Branch of the Collie River, I hoped they could also be on banks of the main branch of the Collie River. Hence why I was heading to Wellington National Park. Lisa had a morning full of stuff that she wasn’t to crack on with, so I went solo. Making it that bit easier to sneak out and arrive at first light:
Getting there early, when it was not so bright, had other bonuses. This place has got very popular. Not just with the hikers, but also the mountain bikers. Many of what used to be great trails to wander along peacefully are now dual use. So you need to keep an eye out for those travelling on two wheels, more often than not dressed in Lycra, who tend to go that bit faster. The roads were mostly quiet but a car tailgated me most of the way into the park. Seemingly not caring that if I had to brake suddenly they would likely have rear ended me:
They pulled up alongside me in the parking area that was devoid of anyone else, and a woman hopped out to get ready for a walk. After a polite hello I left her to it and went ahead. I didn’t see her again, so I guess her walking pace did not match her driving pace. I must admit I kept a pretty good speed. Keeping an eye out along the way, but also keen for some mileage. Much as I was keen to spy some orchids, after what Howsie had told me yesterday, a few days earlier I had already decided to have a longer hike to get a bit of a cardio workout:
I’ll get to the orchids later, as the stars of the day were the fungi. A couple of images up is one from the Boletus genus, which is as far as I have managed to get with it. The giveaway for the genus being under the cap. A mass of porous almost honeycomb looking flesh, as opposed to the neat radial lines of gills. I started along the river walk from the Honeymoon Pool end, and it took just over an hour to get to Welly Dam. The longest I stopped was when for a Tammar Wallaby (Notamacropus eugenii), two in fact and both observed me as much as I did them:
They are the smallest of the seven living species in the genus Notamacropus, and have a couple of special qualities. This includes having colour vision, using less energy than most when hopping, and also being able to drink sea water. The latter being in their favour due to the Collie River suffering from inland salinity. Not reaching ocean salinity levels of 35,000mg/L, but being over double, and at times triple, what is considered the levels for fresh water. There used to be an eighth species, sadly after colonisation the species only lasted another 85 years:
Moving on, the second fungi image may be of a Dark Melanoleuca (Melanoleuca cf. fusca). That is according to a fungi field guide of the general area that I have a copy of. My web searches hoover suggest maybe not, and hasn’t helped to suggest what it may be. For me, identifying fungi feels like working on a really tricky puzzle. Of which I have one that is still in the box, unopened. The image is a little like the above one, but instead of Jarrah and Marri trees, it is of the taller Karri trees found further south in the Boranup Forest:
This time my field guide hasn’t helped me one bit with the above find, and after lots of research I may have to admit defeat. But just like puzzling if you keep going eventually you’ll find a piece that fits. Although to be fair there really is no mistaking the below, and very aptly named, Egg Yolk Fungus (Bolbitius titubans) for anything else. It would seem I was lucky with my timing to see them in all their glory. Several sites suggest they typically live for no more than 24 hours, making it one of the shortest-lived mushrooms:
Finding natures wonders will so often happen when you are in the right place at the right time, so to a degree is a bit of luck. For example all those great orchids Howsie and I saw just two weeks, at the top of the walls we climb, were gone. However, with time you build up a knowledge base of what you have found and where. Mind you I do feel going back to the same places takes away some of the fun of the hunt. Today’s hunt scored me more Common and Crinkle-Leafed Bunny Orchids, both of which I have already seen this season:
I also added the Easter Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus dilatatus subsp. magnus) and above White Bunny Orchid (Eriochilus dilatatus). Increasing my chance of luck today by walking back on the tracks higher in the landscape, through differing vegetation and soil types. This also assisted in me working up a bit more of a sweat on a ten mile, or so, circuit up and down the hills. All that said maybe next year I won’t rely on luck alone, and may dip into Howsie’s beta to see the Swamp Bunny. For now however I can safely say I do not have fear of missing orchids:
With Nadia away with friends, we had to wait till a wee bit later in the morning before we could hit the road for another Friday rock session. It meant the chance of a collision with the animals was far reduced. Although the roads were significantly busier with the less fortunate souls that still had to go to work today. All these factors had to be taken account of, if Howsie was to get back in time for the school pick up. Driving down we got organised. Agreeing the climbs on the hit list, and the times for various steps to make sure we returned on time:
While I enjoy the walk back down after a climb, due to the circumstances I brought a rap line. Maximising our time going up the rock, by speeding up our descents. With strategically selected routes and the rap line placed in the middle of the cluster, we were set to go. For those wondering, yes I do still need to be careful. To lessen the risk of me doing something silly, I told Howsie he was on point for the whole session. A rope above me as I climbed would allow me to be more relaxed, and be less likely to make sudden movements out of desperation:
There was no complaint from the other side. In addition, and before, we had started the trip down Howsie had hinted at moderating the grades to doubly make sure I was being sensible. There was however one route here that Howsie has previously bottled on. Never having managed a completed lead on it. Admittedly there is at least one pretty spicy moment on it. Other parts feel airy and runout even though they are not. This makes it as much of a mental battle as a physical one, and this set the scene for the lines we picked for the day:
Not super high in difficulty, but each climb having a bit of a reputation for being a mental sandbag at their grade. And not surprisingly they are all fully trad, there would be no bolt clipping today. After Adrian’s battle on the route below not that long back, this was one I suggested as fitting the bill. Howsie having no memory of ever leading it trusted my thoughts. It took one test run to get over the crux bulge. Coming back to the stance below to compose himself before going for it. Made more impressive, due to the rough swell today:
We were not racing to pack the lines in, just aiming to keep a steady pace. It was up to Howsie’s head to decide the rate he would take on, and style he would ascend, each route. Three lines in and he was starting to feel his arms, the flash pump on the first route didn’t help. The super long runout on the second and greasiness on the third had then made him grip that bit harder. None of this helped when on the fourth climb. At the crux where you have to leave your gear behind, he started to lose the mental battle. But not completely:
Down climbing the sequence back to the ledge to shake out, and refocus. I’m reading a book, which is a rare occurrence, called ‘Ron Fawcett – Rock Athlete: The story of a climbing legend’. As an autobiography it might sound like ole Ron is blowing his own trumpet. However, he was an exceptional climber and pioneered rock climbing into a new era with amazing first ascents. Lines many thought would need to wait for several generation to come. Climbed without the modern sticky rubber shoes or protection. They are still a significant undertaking today:
Why is any of this relevant you may ask. Well, in the 70s when Ron was at the forefront of British rock climbing and up there with the world’s best climbers, I have just been reading about what was called the yoyo technique. Frowned upon by the previous generation of climbers, but accepted by the modern day elite to make ascents that bit safer. Climbing as high as you dared placing gear, and then coming back down. Then repeating this with the rope already above you at the high point reached. With the aim to get that bit higher:
I guess if this technique was good enough for Ron, then its good enough for Howsie. After resting up he stormed up the line. Then despite his nerves tingling, bagging the above route in one push. The one he’s previously backed off and never completed. The last line had to be the obvious one to climb out on with packs. Having an added bonus of a baby Carpet Python buried deep in the flake on high. Not purposely watching the clock, we somehow packed up, got back to the car, and arrived at Capel pretty well bang on our pre-planned timeline:
It may be dead but I couldn’t resist including an image of this Hairy Stone Crab (Lomis hirta), mainly because it is the first time I have found one. While the name includes the word crab, it only has three pairs of legs in addition to the claws. This means it is not a true crab and is a carcinisation, or non-crab crustaceans that has evolved over time to form a crab-like body. They only grow to about an inch wide so this one may have died of old age. We spotted it as we rock hopped along the coast to the Playground, and were equally fascinated by it:
We being Craig, a different Craig to the usual one, and myself. Mikie had introduced Craig to the group a little while back. When I posted that I was up for a cruisy Saturday morning out, he jumped at the chance to join me. An easy trip was on order after I went to see a sports medical practitioner last week. The good news being that I was advised not to stop all activities, the bad news was that I have added tennis elbow to my golfers elbow alignments. I had to have a giggle when the practitioner asked if I was a professional climber:
Unlike the Hairy Stone Crab I did not pretend to be something I am not and was pretty clear that I was not a professional climber. Despite this, after quizzing me about how much I climb he wasn’t so convinced. Now all I can do is wait on an x-ray and ultrasound to see just how much damage I’ve done. And like the Hairy Stone Crab, age is not on my side. At least not in relation to the time it will take to heal. Back to today and Craig didn’t know me from a bar of soap, but was willing to put his trust in me when I said I would teach him trad climbing:
The Playground was the perfect place. Short low grade lines that suited both my need to take it easy, and his need to be on something easy. Allowing him to focus more on learning how to place gear and practising good rope work. We had just had a glorious end to the week, only to be greeted to the ‘slight’ chance of a shower this morning. Craig made no mention of this as we walked in, having picked up from the chat on our group that I wasn’t adverse to being out in damp conditions. He also found out on the walk in that I liked a bit of adventure:
I took us along the slippery boulders on the coast. At times needing to wait for a set of waves to calm down before making our way across the wetter sections. I was the one to fall foul of this folly, being hit by the spray of a wave and getting soaked from head to toe. All I could think was how pleased I was that I had bought a waterproof case for my phone. Craig followed where I went and we eventually reached The Playground. I started to download knowledge before Craig racked up and tied in, and it looked like we may have been in luck:
We even managed to get a line in, before the rain hit. Most times along this coast we get a short sharp shower and can sit it out. Then, being so compact and with no porosity, the gneiss will dry out quickly. The ‘slight’ chance of a shower was however a ‘bit’ misleading. It rained, rained, and rained for the next two climbs. Even then when we thought we had got through to the other side, it came back. Craig climbed on unperturbed, taking lead after lead. Water was running down the rock and we were both soaked to the skin. And still we continued:
With each climb I checked the gear, his belay set up and anchors, and we talked through various elements. It was a rare thing for him to put a foot wrong, which was pretty impressive considering it was his first time of leading, first time of using trad, and even more so the conditions that we were out in. That did however finally change and the sun won out, which was very welcome indeed. Working our way from right to left the wall got steeper with each climb, and it was the fifth route below that was Craig’s undoing:
Taking his first lead fall on trad, and then taking several more at the same spot before admitting defeat and sending me up to finish the job off. We had a bit of a chat about grading, both for lead climbing and bouldering. At this place a few of my solos have been significantly upgraded, which I am still not convinced about. However, that aside he will be happy to know that the climb that had pumped him out so much is suggested, on The Crag, to be a V2 boulder problem. Not put off we kept moving left, below:
Another climb that made him work hard, but with perseverance he managed a clean ascent. There was no testing the gear this time, and again I was not able to fault what Craig had put in. He did however make the route that bit harder for himself, as a result of starting to tire and not thinking about technique as much as he could. I though he was going to be keen to bail and call it a day, but instead said he had one more lead in him. This time the climbing eased up, and it was a pleasant line with the sun on our back. A nice way to wrap up the session:
There was of course the walk back to contend with, and I did wonder if Craig would once more blindly follow my footsteps back along the coast. He did. Admittedly the sun had dried up most of the boulders nicely, although there were a couple of sections for which we had to be careful with our timing. It was Craig that fell foul on the return trip, but not to the same degree. Trusting in mounds of seaweed he lost a leg thigh deep, fortunately out of harm’s way as the waves crashed behind him. I get the feeling Craig will be keen to get out again:
The Peppy Plungers only dared to go into the water waist deep this morning. It was a tad wavy, and the less than ideal weather continued into the morning. On her return Lisa and I pottered about and finally got round to breakfast as we played a game. When she then hinted it was time to hit the books to prepare for next week’s study load, it was the perfect segue for me to head out the door. Armed with a brew in my sippy mug, and not put off by the patchy rain nor the rainbow that hung low in the sky over the Capel Nature Reserve:
The wet weather of late had started to bring out some familiar fungi. The above being an edible Southern Oyster Mushroom (Pleurotus ostreatus), if my identification is correct. As I just had breakfasts I felt no need to test that. This species crosses over two of the three main types of fungi, being both a decomposer and a weak pathogenic. Due to being found on both dead and live wood, but more generally the former as it was today. Decomposers are an essential part of the forests ecosystem, breaking down dead organic matter to make it more bioavailable:
Needless to say pathogenic, or disease, fungi have a negative impact by invading and often killing their hosts. This can be trees, insects, and/or other organisms. As for the third main type of fungi, I’ll get to that later. A few weeks back I thought the first orchid spike I saw, as shown in the second image of this post https://sandbagged.blog/2025/04/12/the-tortoise-and-the-hare/, was a Hare Orchid. Much to my surprise and delight it was in fact the above Leafless Orchid (Praecoxanthus aphyllus). Only the second one of these that I have seen:
There were many Hare Orchids (Leporella fimbriata) in flower today. Lots in full colour, not just sporting the beard that gives this orchid its species name of fimbriata, a Latin word meaning fringed, but also having the delicate spotted pattern on the side of the broad labellum on proud display. During recent wanders its amazed me how rare it is to find any insects, so I was happy to come across this one. Even when, after a lot of digging about, it turned out to be nothing more than a Common Gum Tree Shield Bug (Poecilometis patruelis):
There are many genera and species of Shield Bugs that like to live on gum trees, and they share many similarities. The way to tell them apart, like some orchid species, is the detail. This can be the wing numbers and arrangements, segments of antennae, and placement of mouth parts. This one was a bit trickier, being in the nymph stage. From the time of hatching they go through up to five nymph or instar stages, each time moulting their exoskeleton. Not getting their wings until they become adults, and I’d suggest this one is at the 5th instar stage:
After a while I followed a track toward an area I’ve not been before, marvelling at the patches of little basal leaves that I recognised as Hare Orchids. And then I noticed the ones shown below, which are from the Glossy-Leaved Hammer Orchid (Drakaea elastica). Just a few weeks back I discovered that they are located in the general area, but I’ve never seen them. With only 42 known places in which they are found and a total population size of around 230 plants across these areas, they are listed as “endangered” by the state and federal government:
This listing means the probability of extinction of the species in the wild has been assessed to be greater 20% within in 20 years or within 5 generations of the species, whichever is longer. Hence why I was so delighted with my find of ten plants, and I went so far as to mark a pin of the location. I will however have to wait till September or October to see if any of them flower. Next up is a fungi belonging to the third main type, a mycorrhizal or symbiotic fungi. Without these many plants and animals would struggle to thrive, so they too are essential:
This one is an Erupting Russula (Russula erumpens), bursting into the light from under the earth. Fungi in this type can act like a secondary root system, extracting nutrients from the soil and supplying them to plants, including orchids. In fact many orchids are highly reliant on specific fungi, just like they are on specific insects to pollinate them, another area of their fascinating life I have yet to delve into. In the world of conservation and management we often refer to flora and fauna, many feel it is time to change that to the three Fs of flora, fauna, and fungi:
Deep into my second hour or walking, and to be honest I had no idea I’d been wandering about that long, I almost missed a second Leafless Orchid. Not that they are easy to spot, it’s there in the above image if you can see it near the base of the picture. This one was more mature, with petals that had a bit more colour in them. These orchids are highly fragrant, to help them attract native bees for pollination. The purple labellum has yellow calli to resemble pollen-bearing stamens, but there is no nectar so any bees attracted by the scent get no reward for their services:
For my last image, I found one Scented Autumn Leek Orchid (Prasophyllum sp. ‘early’) starting to bud. These flower in autumn, April to May, and should not be confused with the similar looking and incorrectly named Autumn Leek Orchid (Prasophyllum parvifolium). Incorrect because it does not flower until winter arrives. In the background was one of the many Common Bunny Orchids (Riochilus dilatatus subsp. Multiflorus), showing why it is named so. The most number of flowers I saw on a single plant was six, a far cry from the twenty flowers one plant can have:
Sandbagged 