Coral Coast : Exmouth and Ningaloo

Nanutarra Roadhouse couldn’t tempt us to buy diesel at $2.35, and as we had filled up at Tom Price at $1.93 we were content to cruise our way gently out of the Pilbara and through the Giralia Range, towards Exmouth, home of the Defence forces and a new resort in the making that reminded me of the Costa Brava in the 1960’s. Thank you Novotel and others. It will make a big difference to the local economy of course, but it brings with it enormous pressure to exploit the tourist potential of the Ningaloo Reef. We find the battle is now on.... but more of that to come. Pulling into the visitor centre in Exmouth, a little tired, we were approached by an attractive couple wearing their sunnies, breezily hailing us across the car park. We were both cranking back through the new chum list trying to place them. “Have we met before?” I asked. The lady peeled off her glasses and revealed a familiar grin “yes, we’re related!” she replied. Perhaps we’ve been on the road too long! There were Sue Clark and her friend Nick, telling us they had been following our travels with interest from this blog, and they were two days into their own 3 month vacation from Perth, to meet up with Heaton & Jen Clark in Broome; they are doing the coastal tour from Darwin.

The countryside is uplifted seabed, the Coral Coast. Where you walk up the ridges and gullies, the imprint of corals lie all around. Swimming with the whale sharks is the big attraction, and several whale sharks and hump back whales have apparently been spotted. The cost of frolicking in this manner is up to $450, which we thought too much to swallow. We travelled southwards down the coast, marvelling at the colour of the water inside the reef. Tall breaking rollers thunder in the distance, and spouting whales can be seen beyond, on their migration northwards. By the end of July the whale shark migration will have stopped for another year, until next April when the coral blooms again. With a gentle sea breeze and clear skies we have settled down for the next sojourn of a few days.

Within moments of arriving out of the National Park onto Ningaloo Station we struck up a conversation with a couple who filled us in on the dynamics here. They have been coming for many years along with several other families. The whole coast line for about 20 kms south is dotted with groups of caravans and tent sites nestled right into the dunes, within 5 metres of the waters’ edge at high water in some places. Apparently government is on the war path to have everyone moved back 200 metres into a caravan park, arguing that other conservation values have to be applied. Strangely, in the wings, resort developers are lobbying to construct two resorts along this coast. These regulars, some have been coming for 30 years (and it has to be said the dunes look in good shape to us), have just held a meeting of 300 or more, with politicians and the whole deal. This morning the letter of concern that was drafted was aired on ABC radio, arguing that this is the last place a traditional Australian way of holiday making can be enjoyed anywhere, and it should be made a heritage place. They have a point.

Today we have borrowed our new friend’s kayak and paddled about a kilometre out towards the breakers. A large ray, about 1.5 metres, keeping about 10 metres away, circled the kayak, whilst a turtle also swooped away from me, so fast. With the rollers now really loud and the water changing to a deep inkier blue at about 30 metres depth, you cast your eyes this way and that. Alone, really, perched on top of a flimsy wobbling attractive green and blue thing. There is a clear floor in the kayak and you can see right down beyond the sharks, to the bottom. With a delighted shiver it is time to turn around and head homewards with the breeze to carry you back.

The Pilbara inland

When we were in Karratha we obtained a permit to drive the Pilbara Iron road that follows the railway into the Hamersley Range, to Tom Price. Following our HEMA map faithfully, and having viewed a compulsory video about how to drive safely, we set off on a wonderful stretch of newly bituminised road. After 50 kms we realised we were on a road that was not officially open, so we sought directions from one of the road crew that sent us off on a wonderful adventure into lonely Pilbara country, different again from anything we had seen so far. These roads are owned and maintained solely for Pilbara Iron Co. and Rio Tinto or its offshoots, that send 7 trains a day to the coats, each 2 kms long, carrying 20,000 tonnes of ore. WA is about mining of course, and it comes as no surprise that the amazing Karijini NP was cut in two when the Marandoo mine was established in the late 1990’s, and it and a railway corridor cut through the middle. Some locals are not happy.

The first stop along the mine road was at Millstream-Chichester NP. True to its name, out of the arid and rocky country flows clear and sparkling fresh water, straight from the aquifer that touches the surface at this point. A true oasis exists here, with an interesting pastoral history linked back to Roebourne and Cossack days. Remains of the Chinaman’s garden are still there, with mementos from the last years when it was a working station, in the 1950’s. Streams a metre deep link lily pools full of fish.

When you reach Karijini NP further south, you are straight back into Gorge Mode, with Hamersley Gorge and its folded rock strata on the western doorstep. By this time the WA school holidays were in full swing, and we were competing with the hordes to find a site for the night. Persistence pays off, and not taking any notice of the many signs warning you away, when face to face with park staff we always managed to find a suitable, even well placed camp. Nothing prepared us though, for the sheer gorgeous drama of Weano, Hancock, Joffre and the many other gorges that link to form the centrepiece of this park. 100 metres deep, some of them only 10 metres wide, they take your breath away. You simply have to go there, being prepared to wade and clamber. When combined with some seriously bad signage that had us teetering on one or two wrong cliff edges, the experience was interesting, let’s say! A gentler and beautiful walk the following day was through Dales Gorge via cold pools and waterfalls and vegetation like wild figs, sedges, ferns, kurrajongs and the inevitable spinifex. We finished our sojourn in the park with a brief stop at mining town Tom Price, where we drove to the top of Mt Nameless (the aboriginal people always had a name for it of course – Jarndrunmunha, “place of wallabies”) to get an overview of the mine, and to grab some Next G coverage to call home and catch upon wonderful news about the birth of Ari Morton Holland to Hannah and Nat.

Pilbara coast : Port Hedland, Roebourne and Cossack

Eighty Mile Beach arcs between Broome and Port Hedland, with a well publicised campsite halfway along it. We found a spot behind the dune separating it from the beach, and again watched a now cooler sunset, in peace and some solitude. Broome is a gateway to and from the Dampier Peninsula and the Kimberly, with tropical vegetation that extends right across the top end. When you leave to the south, the landscape becomes semi arid heath quite rapidly. By the time you reach Port Hedland you know you have shifted into a different world altogether.

The red iron oxide lies over everything. This company town, the bridgehead for a lot of the iron ore trains, sports what were company houses, fibre cement sheet shacks of about 8 to 10 squares that ride the ridge overlooking the coast. All use solar panels that are thick with oxide and cannot be of much use. Chain wire front and side fences separate 15 metre blocks of land that are short of garden hobbyists. Our jaws dropped when we were told that these ridge top houses were selling for $1m. You might pay $80,000 for one in Woodend!.Such is the world of mining here in WA. The miners are distorting so much during this boom, and we hear increasing numbers of hopeful new owners are beginning to pay the price in Perth, as some suburbs there are now dropping.

West of Port Hedland lies the other mining town, Dampier; and between these is Karratha which was built as an overflow for Dampier, and the old towns of Roebourne and Cossack. Roebourne was established by pastoralists after explorer Gregory reported on the suitability of this country for carrying sheep (it wasn’t), and Cossack was built around the same time, being the first place that pearls were discovered and harvested. Broome took over the trade when the shell was exhausted. Cossack is now the host of the annual art prize, but is otherwise a ghost town of fine old stone buildings. The history is well documented in the old gaol, and Cossack sports a fine old courthouse. We watched a race horse being exercised on the beach, and went in search of our first petroglyphs since the Flinders Ranges – rock art engraved into the hard igneous rock.

As we neared the Burrup Peninsula, north of Dampier, we were told of the extraordinary quantity of petroglyphs to be found almost everywhere, and sure enough we soon saw images of turtles and wallabies, boomerangs and “strong men” with wonderful head dresses. This pic apparently represents white sailor arrivals. We stopped a night on the shelly beach at Hearson/s Cove, where Gregory first landed back in 1860 something. The entire landform is made up of jumbles of rock that appear half quarried and then left. Spinifex fills all the gaps, and euros squat and eye you carefully from otherwise inaccessible perches – we counted 10 early in the morning. As they move the rocks sometimes overbalance, making a “chink” sort of metallic sound, so rich in iron are they. Nestled in between the tall ridges sits an alien from another world. Woodside control most that happens up here on the Burrup Peninsula, and they have built part of their LNG plant near Hearson’s Cove. The contrast of searching amongst rocks for signs of aboriginal habitation, next to this scene from a sci-fi movie, was extreme. Across the peninsula though, lies Woodside’s main LNG plant, which is being expanded continuously to meet demand, particularly from China. It is a monumental project, and those of us who can remember noises about a small exploration company finding gas back in the 1980’s and who failed to buy, can rue our lack of courage!

Broome

It was the 2^nd July when we popped off the dirt from Dampier Peninsula on to the main road linking Broome with the rest of the world. Immediately we saw a sign to the Bird Observatory that also has some camping facilities, so we short cut all the hassles of being cheek by jowl in town, in favour of a superb spot on the big curve of Roebuck Bay, about 30 kms out. It was a good choice notwithstanding the additional dirt road, with very good services at low cost, information (a Kimberly rock art book for Helen!), and obviously, bird observing facilities. One morning we were blessed with fog that rolled in across the shallow turquoise bay, and hung around well into the morning.

Broome is a most interesting and dynamic community that is expanding very fast. Don’t ask about house prices; like everywhere in WA they are enormous. The old town – Chinatown, is really charming, tucked behind mangroves, sheltered from the ocean swells (but not the cyclones of course). The place was built on pearling which supplied the world with natural pearl and mother of pearl, until the middle of last century. Plastic replaced pearl shell buttons, and so Broome pearlers developed the techniques for seeding pearls within the oysters. The Japanese were the main divers and also owners, and are well represented in Broome still, particularly in the cemetery where 919 of them are buried. The Historical Society’s Museum is an excellent way of learning about the town.

We couldn’t resist Indiana Jones at the world’s oldest open air cinema, Sun Pictures. The highlight of the evening was the arrival of the Qantas and Virgin Blue 737’s. An unusual characteristic of Broome is the proximity to the now almost international airport. Basically they land in the Coles car park next to the cinema, or so it seems. Just as Indiana was about to engage in some daring deed a thunderous rush of sound burst on us and the underside of the aircraft seemed to fill the space above, a swoop of red and silver, palm trees swaying and us bathed in a cooling swirling breeze of turbulent air. Fantastic! Just settled down and the Virgin repeated the excitement.

Sunsets in Broome occur over Cable Beach, and are not to be missed. The beach is extremely wide at low tides, and you can exercise the dog thoroughly between high and low water, as many do. Or dog walkers do. Large parties of like- minded holiday makers accumulate along the ridge overlooking the beach, on well cut lawns, in front of smart watering holes. Folding chairs snap open almost in unison as the sun yellows down. As if to cue, the old pearling lugger with gaff sails set, drifts across the sunway on the water, and the digital whirring and clicking begins, often switching to the procession of camels. Paganism is alive and well!

We met up with a NZ couple who had been with us on the Dampier Peninsula, and enjoyed a hilarious coffee and dinner with them at their caravan site (cheek by jowl – we chose the right place to stay out of town). Another evening, after looking for the dinosaur footprints on the low tide rocks at Gantheaume Point, we drove around to the wharf and enjoyed some very good fish and chips at a smart harbourside spot overlooking the quarantine station and the work trappings of the place. There is a lot of room for expansion of housing, and the roads that have been put in are ominously wide, with roundabouts of the largest dimensions. It might be best to visit sooner rather than later, but all in all we enjoyed the place very much. It is stylish in a way we haven’t seen in Australia before.

Part of the enjoyment is knowing that in moving on we are going to another source of interest or delight, and in that mood we fuelled up and headed down the road along the coast towards Port Hedland.

The Dampier Peninsula and to Broome

For the best part of two weeks we fell into an enforced rest exploring the peninsula waiting on the Toyota dealer in Broome to sort things on July 3^rd. This was so good. We visited the beautiful mission church at Beagle Bay (after Charles Darwin), decorated with mother of pearl, explored the old mission at Lombardina, now a successful aboriginal community with a delightful paper bark roofed church and a St John of God office delivering medical services. We trudged onto their beach in too much heat and spied a sweeping white arc extending to the horizon. The Middle Lagoon site where we stayed from June 23 was private, close to everything we needed, and with a good view over the ocean. Gentle highlights climaxed with a sunset observation each night, in the hope of seeing the “green flash”, much talked of in yacht cruising circles. Personally I think they get stuck into too much gin, but others do claim to have seen it! No luck yet. Cape Leveque is one of the much talked of places to visit, further up the Dampier Peninsula. There are well developed resort facilities, including some magic “tented” accommodation at $250 a night for four, and it is well done. A charming beach, lighthouse, restaurant of sorts, all very nice but we left after a couple of hours – too many people for a small place.

Our new chums Tony and Diane had wised us up on a spot at the very top of the peninsula, near One Arm Point, and when we called in there to make contact with them we were bowled over by the place and made arrangements to go there as soon as we could. A couple of days later we arrived and began a relaxed four days that stand out as one of the high points of the journey so far. Owned by an aboriginal family and not by a community as such, this place is at the start of an expansion that will cater more and more to people like us. So we are so glad we were there when we were. From our site we looked down onto a tidal lagoon (neaps, range 7 metres). A bronze whaler about five metres long cruised up and down about 100 metres off shore. Dugongs (we did not see one) and turtles are quite common. One of the aboriginal owner’s nephews, Ashley, took us out to Sunday Island to see the old mission there, where his father and uncle were brought up. What a story that is.

Very briefly, aborigines were on Sunday Island (the Bardi people) when ex convict Harry Hunter (Ashley’s antecedent – Hunter took eight local “wives”) as a trader, along with the (we think Methodist) missionaries, set up a missionary station on the island in the 1890’s. Education and religion were traded for labour, but by the middle of the 20^th century the government withdrew funding, decreed that no more support would be given because health and education could not be guaranteed, and forcibly relocated the Bardi, some to the mission at Lombardina, most to the mud flats outside Derby. They were left in Derby for over ten years. Sunday Island became Silent Island.

Ashley’s uncle Frank Davey had to fight in the High Court to have his families’ ownership recognised. It took ten years. Frank is now the Deputy Chair of the Kimberley Land Council. His understanding of the tug of war for land, between government, miners, pastoralists and the original owners, is a unique one. Anyway, we were guests of an extended aboriginal family. An important part of being there was the “story telling place” – a fireplace in the middle of the camp. It was extraordinary to hear personal experiences from people whose beliefs are strongly shaped by their traditional beliefs. Their explanations for the events going on around them are still “spirit” driven, and out of our ken. It was lovely to see Ashley (age 34) persuade his father to recount tales from his young days on Sunday Island, and to see him listen with awe and great respect.

A small coterie of second timers had collected at Gambanan, set up for several weeks fishing and story telling. We might have to join them next year!

Helen stayed put on our last day there while I took a spare seat on a day fishing trip across the head of King Sound, to the mainland to the east. We encountered boiling waters pulled in every direction as the tidal race squeezed between hundreds of small and large islands. Flat upwellings of water surrounded with metre high chop at two metre intervals. The 250hp Mercury outboard had to work quite hard through these varying conditions. The inevitable saltwater croc was lounging on a beach as we scooted past. A shoal of Tuna burst from the water beside us, chasing bait fish. An old and barnacled turtle broke the surface and lazily eyed us before rolling off underneath. An hour over a 30 metre deep hole saw us with blue emporer, sweetlip, mangrove jack, spotted cod, and even a metre long shark that was carefully returned with a sore jaw. Our new old mate Bill Gordon, met in the Kimberley, bumped into Helen that afternoon looking at clams in the lagoon so we invited him for dinner. It was a delight to yarn with him again.

Our hedonistic ways nearly led us to miss our booking for the car service in Broome, so we reluctantly headed south again the following day, wondering if we were ready for the sinful and trashy ways of Broome! So many people had been negative about the place. Where would we stay? All booked out we had heard. Where’s the laundrette? Wouldn’t say no to a smoothie though!