Tag Archives: Scenery

Kimberley Day 2 – Montgomery Reef and Freshwater Cove

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Wednesday 14 August 2024 – Today saw a morning Zodiac cruise and an afternoon landing. The cruise was to see one of the many extraordinary phenomena that result from the geology of the Kimberley – tidal water movement at Montgomery Reef. The afternoon was spent walking at Freshwater Cove.

So, Montgomery Reef, then.

If you look at the track of our Zodiac cruise on Google Maps, it looks very dull indeed.

However, add the Satellite layer, and you begin to see what we were cruising through.

In detail,

you can see we were cruising up a creek. Because we were there as the tide was falling, it presented an amazing sight.

The range of tidal movement around Montgomery Reef is very high.  At Spring Tides, it can be a 12m (40ft) difference between sea levels at high and low tides.  We were there at Neap Tide, so the movement is much less – about 5.5m (17ft).  As the tide rises, the water rises above the reef; when it falls, the water has to go somewhere, and the shape of the reef means that it spills over in multiple channels. I stole an aerial photo which gives a clearer idea of what’s going on here.

It’s not just pouring out in the channels; it’s running over the surface of the reef everywhere.

Montgomery Reef is somewhat different to a regular coral reef. Whilst coral reefs are usually composed of limestone from coral skeletons, shell fragments and the remains of calcareous algae, Montgomery Reef is an ancient terrestrial tableland created from the same rocks as the surrounding Kimberley Basin. Covering the existing features of the rock is a more recent layer of marine sediment, including calcareous coral, shell and algae. Calcareous algae in the form of rhodoliths (the yellowish chunk in the picture)

are the predominant reef building organisms on Montgomery Reef. Rhodoliths are unattached, photosynthetic organisms made of coralline algae, which aggregate to form complex communities and in the case of Montgomery Reef, act as a long barrier across the reef. (Tom, our guide for the cruise, explained some of this detail, and I got the rest from this fact sheet).

The water in the channel appears to have a problem that would be labelled “pollution” were it seen in the UK – scummy froth on the surface.

However, it is entirely natural. Because the reef spends so much (i.e. half) of its time exposed to harsh sunlight, the corals that have colonised the reef have developed a natural protective substance which acts as a sunscreen, and this finds its way into the water with the fall of the tides.

The creek we cruised along is the feeding ground for green sea turtles, and we saw several heads pop up as we went along, as well as some swimming beside the Zodiac.  Annoyingly, they were always on the shallow side so we (seated as we were on the other side of the craft) rarely got to see anything.  Our optimism that we would surely see some turtle action on the way back was dashed as we returned up the other side, so we never got our turn at looking for turtles nearby. The best I got was this bit of video, which shows a turtle basking in the shallows.  Yes it does.

The afternoon saw our first landing, which was at Freshwater Cove.

An indigenous family lives there, and every group was welcomed with a speech from the niece of the family and her sister, who narrated a story from the Dreamtime and anointed everyone with a dab of ochre on their cheeks – the dark colour of the ochre was explained by the story we heard. The building top left in the photo is an artist’s hut, where punters can relax and (preferably) buy souvenirs, such as the hand-painted T-shirts, decorated in traditional style by family members.

It was a wet landing, and the nice folk at APT had ensured that there would be towels for people to dry their feet in order to change into shoes suitable for the rest of the afternoon.  A couple of walks were on offer: a short one along the beach; and a longer one (2km out and back, up a hill) to see some aboriginal rock art.  We had opted for the latter. Dain, the expedition leader had stressed in yesterday’s briefing that some of the going was over rocks and boulders, and that there would be reasonably large rocks to clamber up and down. (He had laid a test, which was that people had to be able to step up on to the stage in the Laperouse Theatre without any assistance as a prerequisite for anyone wanting to do the longer walk.)

There was a reasonably well-defined track for most of the walk

and people obediently trudged along it.

Inevitably, for a group like this, progress was at a gentle pace, but it gave us a chance to appreciate the remarkable rock formations we passed.

We had to squeeze through a narrow gap between two substantial boulders.

This is known as the “dessert gap”, as it’s a test as to whether someone has gone heavy on the puddings during the cruise. (Spoiler alert – there is a way round for the portly!)

At the top, our group rested for a few minutes

because another group was below us looking at the rock art.  When they surfaced, we clambered down past a scene that looked like something out of Picnic at Hanging Rock,

but which was actually the roof of a wide-mouthed cave, on which one could see the rock art.

“Where is it, then?”, you might well ask on seeing that photo. “Digitally removed”, is the answer; we had been briefed that respect for the native traditions dictated that while it was OK to take photos for our own records, these were not to be shared or published on social media: it is not for us to tell their stories. That’s why you can’t see any of the paintings in the photo above. Something you can see, however, is the colonies of native bees nesting in the blackened holes along the top of the back “wall” of the overhang, whose honey is harvested by the local people.

The father of the family, a chap called Neil, described the history behind the cave, which was known as the “cyclone cave” for the protection it afforded when the weather got uppity. When asked how old the paintings were, Neil said they go back 65,000 years.  I did some intensive research asked ChatGPT about this and discovered that, generally speaking, Kimberley rock art could stretch back as much as 17,000 years;  so the figure that Neil used could well be the folk memory which inspired some of the paintings, as there is broad understanding that Aboriginal peoples have been in Australia that long. Whatever, the paintings have great historic and cultural import for the indigenous people. They depicted various aspects of life – stingrays, turtles, fish, cyclones and even the cautionary tale of a little boy, who had disobeyed his mother’s instructions and gone out on a fishing expedition, only to be sadly killed in an accident. So the pictures give lessons as well as tell stories. The art is touched up by the family every so often to keep it fresh but new paintings are not added

Jane and I didn’t find the walk at all arduous; I should jolly well hope not – the temperature was “only” in the upper twenties – we’ve walked much further in far hotter conditions – and the going was by and large not at all challenging bar the final scramble. However, a couple of members of our group were unfortunately not up to completing the walk back to the shore without issue. To be frank, I’m not surprised; some of the people on this cruise are quite crocked in various ways – aged, frail or otherwise not in good shape. APT had, though, prepared for this eventuality, and a medical team was despatched from the beach – at a run, complete with stretcher – to support the two who were having problems, and they both eventually made it back to the boat OK.

After we returned to the ship, we didn’t have long to wait for the evening briefing; just long enough to pick up a drink at the bar, actually.  Dain explained what we would be seeing tomorrow, a combination of interesting geology and further unusual tidal action, this time in Talbot Bay.  APT had organised a casino evening in the lounge, which we really weren’t all that interested in, so after a bite of dinner al fresco we repaired to our cabin and tried (with not a great deal of success, it has to be said) to get an early night, as we had to be up betimes-ish for the Talbot Bay activity. Which will be revealed, of course, in the next thrilling installment, which I hope you would like to read in the fullness of time.

Our last day in Perth

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Tuesday 6 August 2024 – The day started with us missing out on things.  We had no formal items on the schedule, so had a bit of a lie-in, to such an extent that when we went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, they’d stopped serving.  “Ah, well” we thought, “at least there’s the lobby café.”  We went back to the room, and I got distracted by writing this ‘ere blog, to such an extent that when we went down to get a coffee and pastry, it had closed for the day. “Ah, well” we thought, “we’re bound to be able to find coffee and pastry out somewhere.”  So we went for a walk. Obviously.

Our first stop was the Bell Tower, which is so named because it has bells in it.

One could be forgiven for wondering what the hell could be interesting about bells, but it was an interesting diversion, covering the making of bells, the ringing of bells and the displaying of bells.  Having paid the entrance fee, one is faced with six flights of stairs or a lift, so we opted for the latter for the way up and the former for the way down.

As one exits the lift, there is a carillon. If you put a coin in, you can get it to play a tune, selected from a bewildering variety of possibilities; or, for those interested in the deep mathematics and patterns of bell ringing, you could get it to “ring the changes”.  Here is a video of a set of changes happening, which is very, very dull, unless you’re heavily into campanology.

Inside the building at the top is the Anzac Bell, the largest swinging bell in Australia, cast from copper, tin and gold, and weighing in at 6½ tons.

Ceremonially rung daily at midday, it is a lasting memorial to Australian and New Zealand servicemen and women involved in wars, conflicts and peacekeeping operations around the world.

One level down, and just visible in the photo above, is a set of 18 bells, a dozen of which are the historically significant bells (made in 1725) from the Saint Martin in the Fields Church in London, which had to be removed from that church because their shaking was destroying the church tower.

To this day, these bells are actually rung regularly by a team of bell ringers, who ring the changes twice a week; one can book a ticket to watch them, and also book a “Bell Ringing Experience” which gives a chance for punters to have a go on the ropes. This makes the Bell Tower, custom built to house these bells, one of the largest musical instruments in the world.

Forgive the reflections, by the way; the bells are behind two layers of glass, presumably so that punters who are watching don’t get deafened.

Outside the Bell Tower is something that demonstrates one aspect of modern life in which Perth lags the zeitgeist.

Love padlocks. In France and Italy they are a curse, destroying bridges with their weight and being a general menace. In the Bell Tower, they’ll sell you a heart-shaped padlock for AUs$5.

Going to the Bell Tower put us near Elizabeth Quay, and so we went there in search of that coffee and pastry that we’d missed out on earlier.  We found the coffee at The Island Brewhouse, but they only did proper meals, and not pastry.  We weren’t yet ready for proper food, so satisfied ourselves with just the coffee before continuing our peregrination.

This led us across the very ritzy Elizabeth Quay Bridge

and past a bizarre statue.

It’s called “First Contact” and is a representation, created by indigenous artist Laurel Nannup, of what the original Noongar people must have thought on seeing the sails of an arriving European ship, looking like a big white bird, and crewed by white people whom they thought were the souls of their ancestors returning from the sea.

Our eventual destination was Kings Park, a cultural heritage site and home to the Western Australia Botanic Garden. We allowed Google Maps to tell us the best way to walk there and followed its directions. These led us along beside the river, where we saw an Australasian Darter.

We also saw, high on a hilltop, an obelisk, which seemed to be in the general direction we were headed. At one point, we had to scamper across a four-lane highway, with traffic lights only controlling two of them, but we made it OK. Then we had to scramble up a bank to a path which led us along and back down to the main road we’d just crossed, at the foot of the Kokoda Track; this would lead us up into the Park. The space at the bottom of the Track looked a bit unkempt and scruffy, and furthermore didn’t seem to have a formal way of access from the major highway running past this start point; but, hey, what the hell, we thought, and started up it.

Up was the operative word, here.

The track passed several plaques, such as these.

I wasn’t quite sure of the significance of these, because I hadn’t yet found out what the Kokoda Track was about.  It carried on up and up

for some 161 steps. Only at the top did a couple of things become apparent. The first was an information board explaining that the Kokoda Track Memorial Walk is a tribute to the bravery of Australian troops who fought in Papua New Guinea in WWII. The fighting on The Kokoda Track was one of the vital elements of the Australian efforts in World War II. The Papua New Guinea campaign, including The Kokoda Track, Milne Bay, Buna, Gona and Sanananda resulted in a total of 8,546 Australian and United States casualties. Australian soldiers fought through atrocious conditions and against vastly superior numbers in this campaign between July 1942 and January 1943.

This was the second.

We had walked up this closed path; this went some way towards explaining its unkempt state! Anyway, having ascended some 70 metres vertical, the view was pretty good.

There were various paths available, and we pottered on in search of our first main objective within the park,

the Giant Baobab (or Boab as they call it here), Gija Jumulu. Estimated at 750 years old, the tree is a special gift to all Western Australians from the northern Indigenous people, the Gija, who are the traditional land owners. They performed a farewell ceremony to the tree on Monday, 14 July 2008 and it then travelled over 3200 km by long haul truck from Warmun down to Perth.  It’s the longest known land journey of a living tree this size: 37 tonnes and 18 metres tall.

But “giant”? Hah! We saw baobabs far larger (and older) than this one when we were in Madagascar.

Jane had visited the Botanic Garden when she was last in Perth, longer ago than it would be delicate to expound, and was interested to see the wild flowers; there was a wild flower pavilion signposted and so we hied ourselves thither. To be honest, it was a bit of a let down,

so we pottered on along various paths taking in the general ambience, which was delightful.

We left the garden by its very stylish main entrance

past the War memorial, which was the obelisk we’d seen earlier,

and headed back towards the city, past sights both large

and small.

Australian Magpie (not related to the UK version, and not, surprisingly, a corvid)

A Magpie-Lark

We had the option of going down the Jacob’s Ladder stairs

but decided against that and walked down a more gentle gradient to St. Georges Terrace in the city, where there was a further selection of fine colonial-style buildings crouched between huge modern steel-and-glass carbuncles.

We ended up back at the Island Brewhouse, since we were by now ready for a proper meal. We sat outside to eat our meal, because it was still reasonably warm, and it actually came on to rain, which surprised us somewhat. Having eaten, we waited for a gap between showers and hastily made our way back to the hotel (via restocking the Twinings at Woollies) to prepare for the next segment of this trip.

We’ve had a lovely time in Perth and its environs, but tomorrow, Qantas being willing, we must leave. We fly North! to Alas… Learmonth and travel thence to Exmouth; for what purpose, you’ll have to keep an eye on these pages to discover.

A Day on Rottnest Island

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Monday 5 August 2024 – Today was the only formal item on our Perth agenda – we had a booking to catch the ferry over to Rottnest Island. This seems a cruel piece of naming to me; I’m sure there must be rottner islands elsewhere in the world. Indeed, there’s one on the fringes of London which has completely gone to the Dogs.

The item on our Audley itinerary was described as a “tour and bike ride”, with bicycle hire included in the booking, and a day at leisure on the island with just a lunch included. Jane professes not to have ridden a bicycle for longer than she cares to mention (and in fact had signalled this to Audley some time back in the trip’s planning process).  Also, given that wildlife was part of the attraction of the place, I wanted to take The Big Lens (which is also darned heavy); as well, I thought it might be possible, during our leisurely progress round the island, to whizz the drone up for a different view point.  This added two non-trivial items to be lugged about along with all the other stuff we’d need – sunscreen, water, that kind of thing.  Jane’s caution about bicycling, and the extra baggage from my photographic ambitions, gave us to decide to pass up on the bicycling idea and seek other ways of getting round the island. That, therefore, was the plan.

As Hannibal Smith so often said, “I love it when a plan comes together”.  Ours, however, didn’t.

Not in any way that detracted from an enjoyable day, you understand, but the way the day worked out was quite different from what I, at least, had expected.

We were to be collected at a nearby crossroads, so we made sure to get there nice and early, as instructed. By the appointed pick-up time, no-one had appeared to collect us, so we fell to wondering how long we should give them before stirring things up a bit.  Just at the point where we thought that Someone Had Blundered, a bus marked “Rottnest Express” did actually turn up, so we climbed on board and took about the last two available seats – it was quite crowded. The bus then took us down to the Barrack Street Quay (to which we could have quite easily walked, as it happens, but never mind) and we joined the check-in queue to collect our tickets.  It was at about this point that we began to realise that the shape of the day was different from what we’d imagined. For sure, lunch was included; but we also had an afternoon bus tour as part of our package, with no mention of bicycles. Having collected our tickets, we headed for the ferry,

which was already pretty much full, but we found a couple of seats, settled ourselves down and then we were off.

There was the usual video about safety and life jackets, with frequent mentions of the “friendly crew” to whom we could turn if we needed help. And there was a commentary, delivered as we pottered along the Swan river (originally Black Swan river, named by Dutch explorer Willem de Vlamingh in 1697) towards Fremantle, by a lady who appeared only to have received the script a couple of moments before she had to deliver it. The commentary, though, allowed us to understand some of the landmarks we passed, such as the old Swan Brewery

which, back in the day, had produced Swan Lager, one of only about half a dozen different beers readily available in Australia when I first visited back in the 1980s (others being Castlemaine XXXX, Tooheys, Victoria Bitter and, of course, the amber nectar of Fosters. Ah, the heady days before the craft beer movement had taken off!)

We got a silhouetted view of the Perth skyline

and passed a couple of pretty impressive mansions

that either still belonged, or used to belong, to people whose names meant absolutely nothing to me. And we got a good view of the industrial port by North Fremantle.

The ferry docked at Fremantle to pick up more passengers (the nice lady doing the commentary told us all to shuffle up to make room) and then the boat roared off towards Rottnest Island.

The main wildlife of interest on the Island, and something that Jane specifically wanted to see, was the quokka. There was some video on the ferry about how it was important not to disturb them or to feed them. I had no idea what to expect when it came to getting photos of this mysterious beast, which is why I’d brought the Big Lens, in case I could only see one in the distance. This is another way in which the day turned out very differently from my expectations.  As we walked off the quay, I saw my first quokka, by a “Welcome” noticeboard.

and it very soon became clear that it would not be difficult to see more of them. They were everywhere in the settlement beside the harbour. Indeed, you had to be careful not to trip over them.

You also had to be careful not to trip over all the people who were contorting themselves in various undignified ways to get photos and – inevitably – selfies with the quokkas.  It actually made it quite difficult to get a photo of one of these beasts without any people in it.  I did manage a couple, though. One quokka was still carrying a joey in its pouch

and was actually considerate enough to pose so I could get a clearer shot.

The area around the settlement, which has a shop, a visitors centre, a restaurant and a bakery, was pretty crowded with tourists,

many of whom were having their own moments with the quokkas,

and gulls and ravens,

which could lunge for any food which was not closely guarded.

The instructions about the quokkas were perfectly clear

but the beasts themselves didn’t make things any easier for the punters.

Instead of the leisurely pottering about we had originally expected, we actually had a reasonably tight schedule to observe: lunch at midday, bus tour at 1.45pm, ferry back to Perth at 4pm. This gave us time for a coffee and a short walk before lunch, so we headed off towards the nearby lakes, which are salt lakes.

There’s vegetation regeneration work going on on the banks of the lakes, to help preserve the environment.

On the way, we came across a Laughing Turtle Dove, which is very prettily coloured,

and, in an area by the lakes, I managed to get a photo of a quokka in a more natural-looking setting,

and Jane got a cute photo of one having a bit of a sleep (they’re described as semi-nocturnal, whatever that means).

Their natural food is vegetation, and they particularly like the paler-coloured fallen leaves from the Moreton Bay fig trees around the settlement.

Human food is bad for them, which is why (a) there are the stern instructions not to feed them and (b) why the ones near the settlement live half as long as those further out in the island.  There are plenty of those – there are tens of thousands of quokkas on the island, making it the largest known colony; their success is due to the absence of natural predators and the exclusion of introduced ones – steps have been taken to remove cats, dogs and foxes.

Back at the settlement, as well as a decent lunch at Frankie’s, I got a couple of photos of the non-quokka wildlife which is profuse around the settlement: Australian Ravens,

which are noisy, with a call sounding about half way between an annoyed cat and a squalling baby; and silver gulls, which don’t necessarily get on well with each other.

I also managed to get a shot of a mother quokka with a joey

which I think was trying to climb back into its pouch, but mamma was having none of it and wandered off in search of food, with the joey chasing after.

After lunch, we hopped on board our Discovery Tour bus, with guide Leo and driver Sam

and were driven anticlockwise round the periphery of the island whilst Leo gave an interesting commentary, interspersed with some very bad jokes. It was our opportunity to learn something of the history of the island, which is somewhat chequered.

  • The island became detached from the mainland about 7,000 years ago when sea levels rose; before that time it was inhabited by the Noongar people.
  • The name Rottnest was conferred by Willem de Vlamingh, who first documented the island in 1696.  He saw the quokkas as large rats and called it “Rat’s Nest” Island, but in Dutch – Rottnest. The island’s aboriginal Noongar name is Wadjemup – “The Place Across the Water Where the Spirits Are”. The Perth locals, predictably, call it “Rotto”.
  • From 1838 to 1931, the island was used as a prison and forced labour camp for over 3,600 Aboriginal people, who were subjected to extremely harsh conditions on the island.
  • Other historical uses of the island include as a military site, and for internment camps housing enemy aliens during the world wars. Many of the island’s buildings date from the colonial period, often made from locally quarried limestone, and are now used as accommodation for holidays.
  • This accommodation came in handy as a quarantine facility during the Covid pandemic.
  • During World War II, two 9.2 inch guns were installed near the middle of the island at Oliver Hill, and two 6 inch guns installed at Bickley Point, for defence of the Fremantle port. The location of the island was seen as being important to the defense of the important port of Fremantle, the major base for the Allies in the Indian Ocean, as bombardment of any attacking ships could be made from the island before the ships would come into range of the port. In the 1990s, the (decommissioned) gun emplacements were extensively reconstructed, and since then a popular tourist activity has included a tour of the guns and the tunnels.

In many areas around the island there’s growth of seagrass, which is important for the integrity of the sea floor as well as for marine life. The seagrass areas can be seen as the dark areas,

with the paler areas being sand.  Anchoring a boat among the seagrass is forbidden and offenders are subject to a large fine.

There are other nice views on the trip around the island, with some secluded and empty beaches (some are less secluded and more popular among bathers).

From a headland on the far south of the island, Leo pointed out that the next landfall to the east was Adelaide, about 2,000km away, and to the west was Madagascar – 7,000km distant. Also around the southern point, there’s an osprey’s nest which is several decades old.

There was even an osprey on it.

The osprey seems to be some kind of an icon for the island; a board by the jetty says “Follow The Osprey”, and the trails are marked with a rather nicely-imagined osprey outline.

We stopped for a 20-minute break at the far western point of the island, where we could get some shots of the scenery, which had another osprey nest and some great rock formations,

and I got a nice clear photo of a silver gull.

I’d like to say how tricky this shot was, but I’d be lying; it was just hovering there before coming in to land.

After the tour, we just had time for a swift beer

before boarding the ferry for the return journey.

So, the day had had a very different pattern from what we’d been expecting, but was enjoyable and interesting nonetheless. I don’t know if Audley had taken Jane’s reservations about bicycles on board and had altered the booking, but it’s certainly true that the information we had was largely

a quokka shit. Jane insists on taking credit for that one. No matter; we had a good day and we got to see the quokkas.

The morrow is our final day in Perth.  We have no formal plans, but I expect we’ll think of something. You’ll have to return to these pages to find out what that was, won’t you?