Instalment 11 - Darwin, Kakadu, Savannah Gulf

We rolled into Darwin with every intention of staying in a nice room for a couple of nights and having a slap-up seafood dinner to celebrate getting engaged. After spending about an hour on the phone we still hadn’t found anywhere, so in the end took the last camp spot about 5km out and reserved a motel room for the following 2 nights. Battled with the last of the squid, took a look round town and had a BBQ, were we met a couple, the chap resembling Erlie from Kalifornia (thanks for the reference Prys) who introduced himself as the campsite “Enforcer”. This title was further accentuated by his nervous tick, stories involving baseball bats and full body tattoos. They fed us prawns and we yarned famously for a couple of hours, and I believe they found us as out of the ordinary as we found them.

The next morning we dropped the Toyota in to get greased and have the tracking sorted out. Meanwhile a young German/Scottish couple next to us were sweating over a list of repairs required for their truly knackered Ford Falcon.

These cars are bought, by backpackers straight off the plane, from adverts in hostels, thrashed around the country without a thought of maintenance, and sold on again at the end for the same amount, or more than they originally paid for it. (A free tent, pots and pans and an old sleeping bag seem to clinch the deal.) As you’d expect they eventually fail, as this one had in spectacular fashion. Over a thousand dollars worth of work would get the car back on the road, just. The dilemma seemed to be that they only had to get to Melbourne where they could flog it on to the next unsuspecting generation of owners. My trusty 30 dollar toolset came into play and we figured out a way to get the essentials down to nearer 700 bucks. Helped by a campsite local ship’s bosun complete with bluey, akubra, can of VB and stogie hanging out of his mouth.
I am of course no stranger to the occasional pre lunchtime beer, circumstances prevailing, but I must confess that at 10.30am I was surprised that under the pressing conditions the owners of the vehicle were sucking back cider. I was less surprised when they bought a bag of marijuana off the bosun as I lay under their car connecting a tow rope.
We left them to it and moved into our motel room for an injection of pizza and TV.

Our romantic meal took place the next night at ‘Crustaceans’. The restaurant perched at the end of pier, we were subjected to a sunset with dolphins playing beneath us whilst tucking into a giant mud crab and other seafood.








Next up was Kakadu, we drove in and took a look at a billabong, some really spectacular aboriginal rock art and the visitor centre.



We pulled into a camp spot, setting up our tent as far away as possible from the waters edge, which was taped off as a warning of crocodile attack.

We are now in Salty country, and a couple camped next to us had seen a monster that day a metre wide just 2 rivers along. It got dark and we were immediately attacked by bloodsucking mosquitoes. Everyone else in the camp had disappeared into their tents as soon as it was dark, but we hadn’t cooked yet, and were trying to listen to Richmond V Melbourne on the radio. Eventually with Richmond about 5 goals down we were driven away as the bugs were biting through our clothes. Siobhan’s jeans were covered in blood spots from squashing flies that had already feasted on her.

The next morning we went to another aboriginal rock art site. This was really detailed with several stories being depicted at a number of sites.

We then attended a talk by a ranger from Melbourne. He went a long way to explain the workings of the local aboriginal communities together with land management for the NP and Arnhem land further to the east. It is startlingly obvious around here that in a place where they have not been displaced from the land the aboriginals live a hybrid mix of ancient and modern times in harmony with the land, and interestingly also with the tourists and european Australians. The ranger used his own Greek heritage really effectively to demonstrate examples of some of the cultural differences he had assimilated after 10 years living amongst the communities. One that I was to use later was the fact that shaking hands does not feature in their culture, and whilst they will offer to shake hands out of politeness to white fellas, not to expect anything but a soft shake, and not to take too firm a grip as is the european way.

We drove up to Jim Jim falls, a wet and sandy track, and swam in the splash pool just upstream from a crocodile trap with a whole chicken hanging at one end.

Twin falls was unfortunately closed due to excess water and crocs. From talking to people it seems that the wet season has stretched on considerably longer than usual and the sheer volumes of water everywhere and the fact that it rained 2 days ago seemed to highlight this.

We camped nearby and the next day set off to see Maguk Gorge some more falls up a 4x4 track. Despite thick sands I hit a creak crossing with a “boggy” sign in 1st gear in high ratio, and as we ground to a halt was forced to go into Low 4 to get out the other side. We spent a really enjoyable morning swimming above the waterfall in a long series of connecting pools diving through underwater arches.

As we returned to the road we were forced to stop as a middle aged couple coming in the other direction had bogged their Jeep and trailer. Another couple towed out the jeep, and continued on, leaving the trailer stuck in the middle. We were then joined by an older guy who resembled a slightly younger six-packed Keith Richards with his young German girlfriend driving a flash Mitsubishi camper van.

He sauntered over to the river, stopped and surveyed the scene, a bogged couple in the water struggling to push out their trailer as a Spanish father and son on the far side span their wheels as they tried to tow them out.

Reading from the side of the trailer he addressed the people in the water,

“hmm, the ‘Ultimate Off-Road’ trailer” , and seemed content to just stand grinning watching the melee.

The owner of the trailer, a middle aged pom, seemed more concerned with being gentle so as not to scratch the trailer than actually do anything practical to clear the river and let the growing queue get past. I crossed the river and explained to the driver of the hire car the snatch technique and ignoring the cries from the waterlogged pom, we got the trailer out in one go.

Siobhan and I then bounced our car through the crossing.

Steve Tyler followed close behind and emerged unscathed.

“How many reverence points does that earn?” he yelled to his young companion.

“Oh, ten at least!” she clapped, and hopped into the van.

We were busy putting air back in our tyres, being the cautious souls we are, as he pulled up alongside. Still grinning he looked over, caste a pile of orange peel into the bush, winked and drove off.I must find out which Aussie band he actually belongs to, the incident will go nicely with the ever growing list of Tim Roger stories that Joel and myself have been collecting.

On the way to Katherine gorge we stopped for fuel and the engine cut out after pulling the hand break on. This would seem strange until I remembered the modification made by the previous owner, a security device in the form of an on off button designed to cut the ignition when parked in dodgy places. We bought the car deep in the Mornington Peninsula and so were curious to find out where on earth he considered dodgy. His answer led us to christening the device the “Frankston Switch”. Anyway, it had come loose and we were miles from Frankston, so the trusty 30 buck toolset came out and we cut the switch out and off and continued.

We poked our heads into Katherine gorge and swam to a croc trap and back, then drove into a bush camp near Mataranka.

We got up early and went for a dip in the famed hot springs, following the path past the main spa area to a ladder into a river. Just near to the ladder was were the hot spring water poured into the main river so we climbed down and swam across a broken tree to sit in the hot estuary. The steam rising from the spring was hanging close to the river, and with the palms and vine like tree roots made the whole river look like a set from Tarzan. We had it all to ourselves for about 30 minutes before some grey haired nomads turned up and started calling down about crocodiles swimming nearby. As they were only fresh water crocs we ignored them, but the couple were convinced otherwise and stood poised with their video camera clearly hoping to profit from our imminent demise.

We spent most of the day driving east and eventually pulled up to Borroloola. The hotel there had a spot to pitch the tent out back by a duck pond and we had a feed in the Pub. As we were leaving a girl introduced herself as Amanda and her mum Chloe. We spent another 20 minutes chatting with them and their friends, and one of them came from Woollagarang 100km along in the direction we were going. At this point I felt our choice of vehicle was completely vindicated when the whole table agreed that the trip could only be made with a Toyota, though I’ve got a feeling that the word Toyota is just the generic aborigine translation for 4 wheel drives in this area. I also made use of my previously gained knowledge and limply shook everyone’s hand as we bade good night.



The plan today was to get up early and head towards Lawn Hill national park, taking in about 600km of unsealed road, although it is highway 1 so we didn’t really expect too much trouble. The road started off rough as guts.

We passed very minimal traffic and had made a number of small creek crossings when we came to one about 20 metres across. Being highway one we didn’t think too much of it, but couldn’t help thinking that the last 4 metres or so looked ominously dark and was flowing at quite a rate from right to left. We dropped into the water that was about half a metre deep and got a good bow wave going, but the river just seemed to be getting deeper and deeper and as we hit the last 4 metres the water was actually coming over the top of the bonnet. Steam was pouring of the radiator, but before I realised we should have attached the tarp across the front we were out the other side.

We continued to rattle ourselves to pieces when we came to another river crossing. This one was considerably shallower and you could clearly see the bottom all the way across. Siobhan persuaded me to use low 4 and we set off. We quickly discovered that the bottom was not just visible but actually made up of really big boulders which lifted the front and back of the car high out of the water and dropped it back down again. Oh, just a note, we were back in Salt water crocodile territory, so the last thing we wanted to do was stop, which is exactly what happened as we were lifted onto a large hidden boulder with a mighty crunch. We quickly threw it into reverse and ground off our perch and with another few teeth grinding moments traversed it and came out the other side. And so it seems, crocs or not, one should probably walk these rivers first.



After a tough day we eventually camped in Adel’s Grove, a beautifully arranged private camp deep in a botanists delight due to it originally being an experimental station testing various flora in the outback habitat. Early the next morning, we canoed up the gorge at Lawn Hill, the waters being entirely green and warm to the touch, the paddle taking us past small water falls and a turtle sunning itself on a log.



We climbed to another lookout and headed up to Riversleigh to look at the fossils.

On getting there along a pretty corrugated road we noticed that the previous day had taken its toll, and the bull bar had snapped 2 of its contact points, and rattled a screw free. We looked at the fossils and tied a rope to the bar to stop it wobbling against the remaining bolt and limped back to the campsite that had a small workshop. A chap from the campground bolted the bar back as a temporary measure, but as we lifted the bar back on the radiator started leaking, and on closer inspection it was obvious that the previous day we’d virtually put a hole in it that had now opened up. This was beyond the workshops expertise, but luckily I had some sealant with me and after emptying it into the radiator and running the engine the leak stopped.

Thanks be to Wayno who gave me this magic powder 18 months ago and it looks like it’s really saved us, as we were about 300km from a proper workshop.

We limped out the next day checking the levels every 40km or so to start with until it became clear that the bind had stuck for now, and late Thursday afternoon pulled up to a garage in Normanton. The mechanic explained that the best we could do short of going to Cairns and getting the radiator properly fixed would be to fit a new one and the earliest he could do it was next Weds.

“Try the BP garage and ask for Barry”

We drove over to the BP, and after a couple of minutes loitering I caught the eye of who I presumed was Barry.

He continued to fill a giant road train tyre with air, but it looked more like he was just entertaining himself deliberately making loud hissing noises to sabotage my line in questioning. Certainly the 2 or 3 other people around the joint were all looking over in mirth. First I asked him about welding the bull bar and got.

“Now come on” , HISSS, “boy, you kiddin’ me, or you genuine? Is it a big weld or a small one?”

“Well I’m”, HISSS, “um, not sure..”,HISSS, “define, larg..”, HISSS

He stopped his hissing and he asked “Anything else?”

I asked about a new radiator and got, “Well that’s easy, ‘cept won’t be done till next Wednesday. Where you headed next anyhow?”

We had planned to go up north and up the Cape York peninsular, though reports about there being too much water were starting to make us think twice, so I answered the Daintree rain forests.

“Well no point you going up north from here. Why don’t you head to Cairns, get it all fixed, drink a beer, have a party then head north, it’d be quicker anyhow with rain coming in tomorrow, and don’t take any grog with ya cos it’ll all be confiscated”

HISSSSSSSSSSS……

I threw my arms up as I walked away and could definitely hear banjo music, “Siobhan, we’d better look at the map”

We drove to Karumba, about 70km, and checked out the artesian bore, the boat ramp and the live cattle export plant. Unfortunately the 4th attraction, the burnt out wreck of the prawn trawler, was not visible since the tide wasn’t low enough. We also got a good look at the Carpentaria Gulf, and drove back to Normanton to check out the cast iron gutter covers, the stone pitched gutters, the town well/light pole and of course Krys the Savannah King a life size model of a 28’4” salty caught locally.

We set off on a mini pub crawl in the evening and started at the purple pub, an “Outback Pub”. We were served by an English girl presumably doing remote service and the rest of the hotel was run by Kiwis. The next pub was empty and the bar woman explained that it was the aboriginal pub, and despite it being pay day which normally filled it to bursting with an indigenous rock band in the corner the instruments and tables were bare. As we left she yelled across the bar smiling.“Goodbye tourists”, I did like her directness.

We moved onto the last pub which was full of cowboy types watching TV over the bar, had a pot and slunk home. It soon became obvious why the second pub was empty as the noise of a really lively party could be heard across the town. In fact when I woke up at 6am the next morning the party sounded like it was still in full flow.

Time to limp across the peninsular…..

Instalment10 Gibb River Road – Bungle Bungles – Litchfield National Park

And then and then and then and then we headed down the Gibb river road.
A 667 km of rough road, with a reputation for harshness on tyres. We passed one blowout and another car on its roof from just an hour earlier. From our point of view though the road took us through some of the most rugged scenery and linked a number of truly remote and magnificent waterfalls, swimming holes and gorges. On the first morning we came face to face with our first fresh water crocodiles. Of the 2 species these are smaller, less aggressive and unlike the feared “Saltie crocodile” will not hunt you down as food. For all that, I would have been unlikely to get in the water with them.

Windjana gorge was stuffed full of them, idling in the sun and swimming slowly around in the muddy waters. Tunnel Creek was kilometre long cavern with a river running through it, and was quite exiting to walk through with our head torches.

Oh a small point, we had picked up an Adventure tours brochure, the 4x4 tours group that Mari and Sarah had used last year, and were finding it quite handy as a rough itinerary.

Up until now we had worked in a need to know basis, with Siobhan working out where and what we were doing, sometimes only letting me know minutes before we turned up at yet another breath knocked away location or Eagle Comic style adventure. This way I was able to flick through the brochure and for once had some idea what was going on, but of course Siobhan still had a number of tricks under her akubra.
Just as the sun was hanging low we stumbled across Lennard Gorge, about 5 km down a pitching track heading south from the road. After about a 2km walk which for some reason we negotiated in our thongs we were led down into a large crevice, with a thin river thundering through. It must have been quite deep as the water was almost black, and I couldn’t get near touching the bottom.




It was so nice we swam around till it got late and we had to navigate through 2 or 3 river crossings in the dark to get to the Silent Grove campground. This was clearly a popular spot and we had to squeeze the tent in. Bell gorge was just up the road, and I figured we’d have to get up early to avoid the crowds, so at 5.45 we got packed up and slunk away.
Bells gorge was much wider than any we’d seen, and sprinkled with the giant Boab trees. We followed it for about 2km according to the GPS before heading back and swimming under the main water waterfall. Just as we got out the water the first tour groups started turning up so the early morning had really been worth it.

(If you look closely you can see me at the top of these falls)

Adcock Gorge was different again, this swampy creek was covered in lily pads and an enormous monitor was swimming around in it. We then caught site of a turtle about the size of a dinner plate, and although we’d read rumours, if I hadn’t seen it I don’t think I’d have really believed this harsh habitat would be their home.

Galvins Gorge was slightly more hospitable with a nice rope to swing off the side into this oasis surrounded by palm trees and overseen by some sinister looking Aboriginal rock art.

That evening we pulled up into a rest stop on the banks of the Gibb river crossing. By the time I’d come back from a run, 2 caravans had appeared and a fire started. We joined Dan and Liz, farmers from Bunbury, and Ken and Dawn, a couple from the Blue mountains for the traditional Beer, and were generously plied an assortment of cheese and biscuits. We spent a really nice evening yarning around the fire and Liz insisted on feeding us which was just a lovely gesture.

A rough drive the next day bought us across the widest river crossing to date, the Pentecost. Signs on the bank warned of Estuarine (salty) crocodiles and at about 200 metres the far bank seemed a long way off.
We cruised into Wyndham and filled the jerry cans with the cheapest diesel to date, which is a small obsession on this kind of trip. On inspection one side of the bumper had come off and the tyres looked mangled, so some running repairs and we set off for the Bungle Bungles.

We got to the park gate just before dark, but had been warned that the road in was rough so we opted for a nearby rest stop.

Just a word on rest stops, or Lay By. These stops litter the highways and from 3pm onwards turn into little communities of caravans. Generators appear, and tent toilets (thunder boxes) go up, as the amenities may stretch to a long drop toilet but most often there is nothing.
If this happened in the UK, the police would move you on, and the word pikey might spring to mind. Here however you witness car polishing and barbeques, and a friendly hello from your neighbour. In this case Kath Knight complete with silver lame handbag, and her husband with his military spot light torch, just really really nice people.

Squid disaster, the odd smell that we had been ignoring, and pure bloody mindedness from me to admit that the bait I’d bought 7 days ago might be the cause got the better of me. I found the fishing rod, and sure enough the squid had exploded and left a sticky veneer over several items. As I sit here now writing this up 4 days later, having spent 2 mornings disinfecting, cleaning, burning and throwing away, I can still detect eau de squid.
The road into the Bungle Bungles lived up to its reputation and we had a real rollercoaster ride through the creek beds.

We signed in, and dusted off our back packs from what seemed like ages ago, packed 10 litres of water and set off up the Picaninny Creek. It soon became obvious that not many people do this hike and the log book confirmed this when we returned. We wound up the creekbed in shale like conditions, and in the heat of the day this was really quite demanding. The beehives gave way to a 200 metre high gorge with palm trees balanced at improbable locations up the walls.




We eventually figured out that we had got to “base camp” and sure enough another couple’s things were laid out, so we headed up another kilometre and found a little water hole with a beach set into the cliff.

Once it got dark the moon was so bright that it was casting shadows, and the nearby ghost gum made a spectral image amongst the palms and spinifex.
I was overtaken by the moment and proposed to Siobhan, and she said yes.
We headed out early to try and benefit from the cool morning, but after a couple of hours the sun did its job on us.
We squeezed in Echidna Chasm and around the Mini Palms valley before settling down to camp. We cracked a beer and listened to the Melbourne v. Brisbane game, with quarter by quarter results coming from Adelaide as Richmond convincingly cleaned up Port.
It was Siobhan’s turn to drive the rollercoaster ride out and I clung on as she took us through the 10 or so river crossings with a huge grin on her face, and taking it in turns we motored 800km up to Katherine.
All the camp grounds were filled and eventually we found a motel, so celebrating our engagement we drank champagne and phoned the family before collapsing in a heap. We had our first showers in 8 days but this dirt is ground in deep now, and I don’t think we smell too hot.
We headed up to Litchfield a park just south of Darwin and ignoring the news that an 8 year old girl had been taken overnight by a salty we swam in a number of popular water holes. That night we spent sharing a bush camp with 3 motor cyclists from W.A. One was particularly keen on wild life, and was a part time snake catcher. As soon as it got dark he shot off into the bush with his nephew. He’d shown us how to find spiders by shining a torch and spotting their glinting eyes, and spent some time tracking down the hundred that surrounded our tent. They returned an hour later with a pillowcase full of cane toads, which he later drowned after deciding that they would smell too much if thrown on the fire. On their tip we went down to the watering hole that we’d swum in earlier and on shining torches in the water could clearly see 3 pairs of red eyes, i.e. fresh water crocodiles zipping around with incredible agility.

(Look closely and I'm just swimming into frame on the left)

My morning dip was a briefer affair than usual to say the least.
Next up, Darwin.

Instalment 9 Karijini National Park – Broome

After the excitement of Exmouth, I hadn’t even thought about what Karijini might entail. We set off and stayed at Tom Price that evening. Close to the town we encountered our first proper water crossing, justifying the snorkel at last.
Tonight Australia played Italy, and as usual nowhere was showing it, so our $30 black and white TV came into play. I was just too zapped and left Siobhan bundled in her sleeping bag and thermals, hunkered down against the power-point on our site.

We headed into Karijini and after picking up some maps hiked around to Fortescue falls. An hours walk culminated in a circular pool, so we stripped off to our undies and jumped in. It was lucky that we didn’t go naked in this circumstance as unknown to us there was a viewing platform about 100m up the cliffs overlooking the pool. As we hiked out several people commented that they’d seen us down there.


The next spot was Joffre gorge, which presented us with a wade across the top of the falls, a climb down, and then a traverse along a ledge above the water which opened out into an enormous circular gorge with a 30m waterfall at one end. So we jumped in, as you do.

Spent the night at the really spacious bush camp - Savannah - and it was pretty clear why it was named thus.
Up at first light (annoyingly I reversed over a metal post) and headed into Weano gorge.

This really was something. After about 30 minutes scrambling down via a ladder and traversing several ledges we got to the aptly named “Spider Walk”. This involved a 20m section using an arm and a leg each side of a fast running stream to manoeuvre ones self through the narrow gorge. The reward was a stunning waterfall tipping down into another series of pools really only safely accessible with ropes.
We then headed to the nearby Hancock gorge. Again we found ourselves wading a fair bit, and after climbing down a rope and around a large pool we continued downstream. The water got progressively deeper until eventually I had to put our camera in a dry bag and start swimming. Siobhan was again wearing her Australia football top with jeans and walking boots so we probably looked quite an odd sight as we met 3 Scandinavians coming upstream in swim shorts and bikinis. The swim was worth it and after 3 more swim sections the gorge opened out into an enormous cavern.








Even the drive out of the park was something else as we headed north to Port Hedland. Not really much to report on this supertanker filled harbour. Huge piles of red iron ore and white salt dotted the place, and every surface was tainted slightly with the red dust.
Spent the night recuperating at 80 Mile Beach, which lived up to its name, and received a text from Danny to say he was in Broome, our next stop, for a few days.
We got into Broome in the afternoon and found Danny. Following him down to the camp spot we passed a sign stating amongst other things; no didgeridoos, no drums and no fire sticks. I pointed this out to Danny who grinned and drawled.
“Guess I’ve been breaking all the rules….”

Danny’s been heading around the west coast with his assortment of toys for about 4 months now, and we spent really nice evening sharing adventures.
One point in discussion was the grey haired nomads, a breed unto themselves. Basically a tribe in their twilight years driving brand new 4 wheel drives and dragging caravans to explore the outback or heading north to a better climate for the winter. Many of these couples adorn their caravans with signs such as “Spending the kids’ inheritance”, and “Hank and Beryl, CH 40 UHF”
They can be found in any caravan park or rest stop, and once settled in to roost, set up elaborate sites, announce that it is B.O.C (Beer o’clock, not British Oxygen Company) and introduce themselves with their neighbours.
As we compared notes with Danny it became obvious that we had drawn some similar conclusions including certain undercurrents amongst these consistently happy, smiling people.

Siobhan and I caught our first glimpse back in Alice Springs where 2 trailers parked next to each other contained 2 couples. They seemed to be having a splendid time. Now I’m not too good with faces, but I was fairly sure the husbands were interchanging through the evening. We left the campsite at about 6am and quietly dismantled the tent. The quiet of the morning was suddenly punctuated by amorous sounds originating from one of the trailers, and we had just finished our task when the couple loudly finished theirs. The caravan door was then flung open and the husband/friends husband/lover/whatever stepped out with a towel around his waist, stretched his arms out wide, looked at me, pulled a big grin, winked and bellowed.
“G’day mate”

Clearly Swingers.
All of them.

The following morning we got up early for Siobhan’s birthday and, after the customary gift giving, headed for the beach. A lovely day spent swimming, sucking down a couple of beers and in the afternoon we took a catamaran out around the bay. Another stunning Australian sunset, some champagne and we set off into town to watch the England football match. Eventually we found a bar showing the game decked out with a large couch, and after about 45 minutes of play Danny fell asleep and snored through the rest of the game.
The following day:
Richmond knocked the Pies off their perch, which went a long way to make up for the disaster the night before.
Danny was being bashful, but it was becoming clear that a number of girls on the campsite were rather interested and were finding increasingly poor excuses to chat him up. We left him basking in the attention and headed to the beach.



He turned up in time for sunset with his array of camera equipment and together with Siobhan he snapped merrily away. As if on cue a large old fashioned sailboat crossed the horizon, and I can’t help thinking it’s sponsored by Broome council as it had done exactly the same the night before.





We left Danny with the local fire twirling committee and headed off for the crab racing near the campsite.



The crab racing was pretty straight forward, you bought a ticket and 8 people were picked out of a hat and nominated a crab. A chap with a large crab hat then blew a tuneless fanfare and let the crabs go, the one reaching the edge of the circle first the winner. After about 4 attempts Siobhan was picked from the hat and we took our place by the edge of the arena. A couple of the adjutants were armed with water pistols and anyone pointing, shouting or trying to influence the crabs had been warned. You will be shot.
So it will come as no surprise that standing next to Siobhan I suffered collateral damage as she jumped up and down shouting and pointing, again and again and again.

We hooked up with Danny again later, and the next morning we sadly said our goodbyes and headed off towards the Gibb River road…..

Installment 8 Exmouth

That evening was some more football, Siobhan took off early, and the lads I was with decided it was time to check out the local nightlife.
We had a choice of 2 drinking establishments, the imaginatively named “The Pub” and its competition the eponymous “The Tavern”. We opted on “The Pub”. As these things go it was a fairly standard drunken evening, and I woke Siobhan up as I tried getting into the tent without opening the zip door. The following morning she exacted her revenge by making me get up and help pack before 9am.
We were planning on spending a couple of days in the cape range National park, and so we went to the local supermarket and picked up some supplies. On the way to the checkout I remembered that Danny was travelling somewhere in Australia, and that we should get his mobile number. I pointed out to Siobhan the reason I had suddenly thought of him, a tall chap with dreads at the checkout. Siobhan then pointed out that it was Danny.
Very pleasing 10 minutes of catching up and exchanging phone numbers, but we were hanging around for another week after we had come back from the park, whilst he was heading North, and decided to catch up properly further up the coast.
The Cape range park was something else, we were camped just on the beach and had another crack at fishing. Obviously I didn’t catch anything, but there was an abundance of turtles that Siobhan swam with, although my camera skills really don’t show how close she got. There were several dolphins showing off just off the beach, and presumably warning the fish of my presence, and at one point I was fishing in knee deep water when a meter long shark suddenly swam past about 50cm away.



We got up early on Tuesday and commuted back to Exmouth for Siobhan to start her PADI open water. It’s best that she tells that part of the tale. For my part I set up at the same camp ground, and in the afternoon wondered along to the dive shop to do a refresher session so that I could go out with Siobhan on the Friday.
It’s been 6 years since I had last dived, and 8 since I had done my open water course, and so was quite interesting going through the exercises on land. I assumed that we would be going up to the swimming pool in town to do the practical, and was a little concerned about walking such a distance with all my kit on, but obediently followed my instructor. So I was quite surprised when we went out of a back door, and into a courtyard belonging to the Potshots resort containing a round swimming pool with heaps of back packers sunbathing around it. Still once underwater who cares…



Siobhan came back from her PADI course and we were once again presented with the issue of where to watch England play Sweden at 3 am?
The Swedes tents were still there and when they got back from packing prawns I wondered over and asked where they were watching the game. They pointed to a site opposite and said that friends of friends had a TV. I went to say hi and was immediately impressed by the setup. Three Cornish lads, Dan, Ade and Tom, had a Pajero, circa our 4-Runner, and a vintage land rover. A tinny (aluminium boat) flanked a star wars table, and on the other side a trailer kitted out with a microwave, oven, cooker, fridge and Cornish flag. They had hired the same TV that Roberto had previously rented and it sat in a large tent. They were sat around with an Irish couple Del boy and Mo, and were cleaning wetsuits and spear-guns, and showed me and enormous fish and a larger cray that they had just caught.
Ah yes, these are my kind of people.
Earlier in the day I had bumped into Chris the German from the Whale shark day, and arranged to watch the Germany Equador match in “The Pub”. We went up just before it started, and became clear that the previous Saturday night I had been making friends as an assortment of people waved out “Alright Mike”. Chris was easy to spot with his enormous black yellow and red afro wig. We went back to the campsite at around midnight quite lubricated and no-one was up, Siobhan went to bed and I figured I would read for 3 hours and drink beer.
I was woken up by a cheer, and discovered that I had fallen off my perch and was lying across the front of the tent. So I grabbed a few Emu’s and wondered over. Everyone was wrapped up in sleeping bags and coats, and were so caught up in the match that it wasn’t till afterwards that they even noticed I was there.
2 all, so at least no one present was too upset. I managed to ask if I could come out spear fishing the next day and went back to bed.
Spear fishing;
There are an awful lot of rules around the sport, particularly which species you can spear and where according to Marine park boundaries. This ensures that only senior fish that have already bred can be caught, and hence stock levels remain even.
With this in mind they were trying out various spots to see which would be the best. Today’s spot was down a 4 wheel drive track just to the right of a sanctuary zone. Tom’s preferred sport was fishing, which has far more relaxed boundaries, and he wandered off to some rocks with an incredible array of equipment.
Dan had a rather nice waterproof housing for his camera, and kindly lent it to me, and as such I attempted to document the adventure.
We swam about and I took a number of photos, unfortunately the fish were all a bit small for spearing. Eventually Dan and I washed up on a beach, and looked out for Ade. A few minutes later he appeared and Dan pointed out that Ade’s spear was out, hence he might have a fish. In a sudden flurry of activity Ade jumped out the sea and clattered on to the exposed coral with his gun.
“There’s a f*cking shark darting about trying to get my fish,
“I dragged it miles back and then this shark just kept darting around me, you should have seen the speed of the thing.”
Empty handed this time, but I got a few photos and was starting to get the hang of the camera.






Tom mentioned he was going shark fishing in the evening, and I jumped at chance to learn some tips and watch how it should be done.
It was dark, and we tried a location on a pier that Dan had seen, but there were 2 fisherman there already with a generator and spot lights. They didn’t look particularly keen to see us so we left them too it. You could clearly see squid swimming about and they were using a specific squid hook to snare them.
We found a spot on the new marina, a massive development that is being built just on the entrance to Exmouth.

There is some debate as to whether the marina’s completion will destroy both the Ningaloo reef, and the relaxed atmosphere of the town, but this is mainly from people that already visit the place. The majority of the residents I spoke to were positive about its economic value.
The plots of land are going for around 500,000 dollars including a mooring, and about 900,000 for ones that the luxury apartment is already completed.
Personally I was glad that I came before it was completed, but you can’t stop progress.

Tom showed me how to rig up my line properly and put the bait on, he then corrected my casting technique and I let loose. He advised me to cast in then take up the slack, so the bait would sit on the bottom. I tried to do this but the more I wound in, the more slack I seemed to get. Eventually I elected to wind it in and start again, and was incredibly surprised to find that the reason I couldn’t’ get rid of the slack was because a fish was already attached.
Oh yes, my first fish.
It was too small to keep responsibly so we threw it back in, though in reality I wanted to mount it on my dashboard.
I was happy as a pig in shit yarning and got a couple more, but Tom was after bigger things and caste out a fish that I caught attached to a balloon. Unfortunately time wasn’t our side as the lads had work at 6.30 am the next morning trying out as plasterers at said marina.
I never ever thought I say it, but I had been fishing, and I wanted more.
Siobhan’s PADI course continued and I was catching up on chores, and got the car serviced. Due to the lack of washing facilities I had to battle with the flock of grey haired nomads fighting it out for a machine. It wasn’t pretty.
Exmouth seems to be a good place to do your dive masters. You pay a flat fee of 1400 dollars, and then help out until you have clocked up the relevant experience. As one of the dive masters in training pointed out, he’d done 4 whale shark tours and 50+ dives, which had paid off the fee alone. If you’re into diving it seemed like a cheep way of getting your dives. After completing the PADI Siobhan mused that maybe 5 or 6 years ago she would have gone for it.
The tour we went on seemed to have more dive masters in training than people.
I rather enjoyed the dive, but as usual was more interested in trying to do backward somersaults and headstands than look at the fish. It would have been a lot more fun if I was in Siobhans group, but this isn’t allowed until she has passed.






After the dive we went to the beach, and afterwards sat in a beach bar. The beach bar sold little hand painted whale sharks, which Siobhan had been looking all over for, and we bought one. Using some simple camera tricks we re-enacted the swimming episode and I think you’ll agree the method proved quite effective.




Siobhan had one more dive the following day, and was taking it easy, but it being Friday night I thought I’d join the lads.
Tom and Dan had passed their induction, and although Ade who had less experience in this area, the foreman took him to be introduced to some Pearl farmers, which was more likely to make use of the fact that he is a commercial diver.
Tom however had contracted an abscess on a tooth, and despite it being hidden behind the beard that the 3 of them were growing until England got knocked out of the world cup, it still looked like he had a ping pong ball in his mouth.
So I met Ade, Dan and Del boy in “The Tavern” and then rolled down to “The Pub.”
It was fairly feral and there was a fair bit debate around spear vs boat fishing with some local lads. One girl took a liking to us and was attempting to buy us drinks, but despite her interesting job of swimming with dolphins, even the single lads lost interest. She lost interest herself when I labelled her dolphin girl, and tried to communicate with a series of clicking noises and fin actions.
We moved next door to the “bimbo bar” with the Swedish contingent, and whilst Ade and myself pogo’d on the dance floor Dan was lining up shooters on the bar.
This time I crept into the tent as quietly as possible and would have got away without waking Siobhan if I hadn’t then started snoring.
The next day was slow starting, but seemed like a good day for spearfishing…
Delboy was out today, and we went to a different spot.
After about a minute in the water Dan yelled out that he’d found giant cray fish and we went over. It was hidden under a rock and he dived down to grab it. Unfortunately I didn’t get a good photo of what can only be described as Dan wrestling with a baby alien underwater. In the end it was just too strong and struggled free, and despite a chase we lost it.
Dan and Del then swam to the left and I followed Ade with the camera. After about 5 minutes Ade yelled out that there was a Dugong, and I flippered over to where he was.
Dugongs are similar to sea-lion in appearance, and feed on the grass on the bottom. They are approximately the size of a large cow, which is why I was quite blown away when in about 3 metres of water I caught site of this monster together with a number of sucker fish going about its business. I got a couple of snaps and it disappeared, so I decided to swim over to the others, about 150 metres away.
As I was swimming I got quite a shock when suddenly the dugong (the size of a large cow, remember) swam directly underneath me. Luckily I’d figured out how to use the video on Dan’s camera and got a few seconds as it did a complete circle around me. It seemed to follow me for another 50 metres before sauntering off. They must be curious creatures.



Over by Dan and Del it was game on, they had found a small hole in the reef and there where a number of large fish swimming around. Dan had already speared one and put it in a bag, Del now had the gun and was giving chase. After a couple of tries he got one, and we started to swim in. Near the shore the reef was quite high and a wave dumped over our snorkels. As the bubbles cleared a shark came out of nowhere and swam across the front of us, obviously interested in the fish. Needless to say we made a sharp exit.
Ade came in with a monster fish, and Dan went out and came back with one that he had accidentally speared when he missed one in front. This was a good spot. Dels and Dans second fish were just too small, and despite being speared happily swam away when thrown back.



Later on I met up with Siobhan in a state of excitement as they had seen 7 manta rays on their dive. We went out for dinner with her PADI chums and later went to Katerine and Jessica's caravan park , 2 German girls on the course to watch the Germany V Sweden match.
I had one more shot at spear fishing, but the location didn’t turn up much, so tucked into the beers and watched the England Equador match.



We set of the next morning, destination Karijni National park….