Post 17 - Greetings From West Kimberley, WA - Part 2: The Gibb River Road - Pics

Gibb River Road

Post 17 - Greetings From West Kimberley, WA - Part 2: The Gibb River Road - Journal

Point me north, give me a push
And let me wander through the bush
Break the shackles, set me free,
I’m heading for the Kimberley,
Down a dusty gravel track
With bed and breakfast on my back,
A pair of thongs* on calloused feet,
Impervious to rain or heat.
Spin me ‘round mate, give me a shove,
Then point me north to the land I love,
With spinifex and boab tree,
And wedge-tail eagle soaring free,
Then let me camp beyond the scrub,
Away from motor car and pub,
And while the stars are scattered bright,
I’ll sleep contented through the night.

(Bush Verse by Keith Lethbridge)
* A note for the Poms: thongs are flipflops!


If I tell you that the immense Kimberley region covers 420,000 square kilometers (700km east-west by 600km north-south), accounts for 16% of W.A and is not only 5x the size of Tasmania but also 1.7x the size of the UK and 10x the size of Sweden, maybe you will then grasp just why the blog for our trip through it all has needed to come to you in several parts! You may remember that we started it all right back in Broome (it’s southern gateway) and that then the first port of call afterwards was the Dampier Peninsula on the W.A coast. Well, having left Cape Leveque behind, we then went on to spend two nights at a caravan park (boo) in Derby – doing laundry and trying to get the red-pindan dirt out of our clothes, publishing a blog under crappy internet conditions and then shopping and cooking for our tucker box, fridge and freezer. Everything accomplished, we then set off for our 19 day bush-camping adventure into the beginnings of the heart of the Kimberley hinterland. To accompany us on our way were beautiful gorges (one or two the size of Poland!), waterfalls, billabongs, plunge pools, swimming holes, thermal springs, massive wilderness parks and working cattle stations – many of which were lying hidden at the end of rugged, rough 4WD tracks. The road that we travelled on throughout was the Gibb River Road – a rough corrugated track that runs through the heart of the vast region of empty country and dramatic terrain that is the central Kimberley Plateau. The road itself is reputed to be one of Australia’s classic iconic outback 4WD journeys. A 660km track that is accessible only in the Dry season of April-Nov (when it is not flooded or subject to cyclones!), it was originally created in the 1960’s, to transport cattle from outlying stations to the ports of Derby and Wyndham. Most of the “sights”, as we just said, were actually off the Gibb River Road, down long and rough dirt tracks. However, the Gibb itself also cut through some pretty gorgeous scenery in itself – tablelands, tropical woodlands and open forests, huge tidal rivers, majestic sandstone ranges and lush valleys… and always the unique Kimberley vegetation that we grew to love, not to mention wildlife encounters. So, were there any casualties, mishaps or nasty surprises after all that time driving and bush-camping in remote, rough and rugged places?? Yes indeed, there were a few! We will tell some of the stories throughout the next couple of blogs but in short they include a hilarious near-miss with a wild, short-horn bull; unwanted toilet companions in the middle of the night; poor Gordon running out of beer towards the end; a nasty though not fatal cut and puncture wound to the ankle; a broken tent-door zip; a broken generator; a broken freezer; and one flat tyre that turned into a shredded tyre a couple of days later! Most of the injury, equipment and car stuff is probably considered “getting off lightly” for the kind of trip we have been doing but of course, all adds to the adventure I guess! Our car has been permanently covered with a thin layer of dust on the inside that never goes away, and a much thicker filthier layer on the outside that has added itself to the red-pindan dirt we received in the Dampier Peninsula. And, as for my feet – the red on them from Cape Leveque has now been replaced and the skin ingrained with a black like I have never seen before! But we have had a blast and fallen in love with the region; its funny breed of Brahman cattle that look like they should be in the movie “Shrek”!; its gorgeous Boab trees and its landscape in general! Once again, we hope you enjoy our stories that follow over the next couple of blogs in no particular order and our photo albums (though we must say that it has been very challenging to capture such vast landscape with our camera!!)


Toilet Humour – Doing the doings outback-stylie!
When Nature has called and I have needed to “relieve” myself in rural surrounds with flushing bush-loos, I have never been lost for a companion or two! Take for example, the green tree frogs popped up behind the toilet cistern and temporarily illuminated through the beam from my headlamp - only to then duck down behind the cistern like something out of an arcade game! Or the tree frogs perched high above the toilet on a ledge, looking down at me…..I never did feel quite comfortable knowing their sticky legs were up there along with 6 little pairs of eyes watching me intently as I “did the business”. And then of course there was the case of the big frog quietly sitting at the foot of the same toilet every night. Not wanting to have him just sit there at my feet it just seemed the right thing to do to simply let him have his space and for me to choose another cubicle! In all these situations, regardless of what the job was that I had gone there to do, given the sign by the toilet in all these bush loos (“our frogs are friendly, please close the lid”), I was never much inclined to linger longer on the pot at all! Sometimes, just going into a cubicle in the middle of the night, would fill you with anxiety, not knowing what little creatures you would find! In one place there were 4 cubicles and I felt something out of Goldilocks and The Three Bears going into each one to try to have my pee! When I lifted the lid in the first one with great trepidation, there were heaps of small black bugs just swimming around the water in the toilet bowl, so it was a hasty return of the toilet lid and quickly into the next cubicle with me! Alas there, right on the closed lid of THAT loo was a big shiny black coackroach or beetle sitting there practicing “ownership is nine tenths of the law!” That was enough to have me bidding another hasty retreat…..only to find a frog on the floor by the toilet of the third, just looking at me as if it were perfectly natural that we should meet at this godforsaken hour of the night! By this stage I wasn’t game for finding out what lay waiting for me in the fourth cubicle and instead pegged it outside to take my chances with a bush pee instead!! That was OK on that occasion but another time, in another bush-camp, when I couldn’t be bothered to walk the distance to the toilet- block, my middle-of-the-night bush pee was hastily aborted halfway through. I was in full crouch and squat and concentrating hard (!), only to be startled by a bat flying right past my nose and promptly landing a yard or so from my feet! Urrrgggh! Naturally I shrieked, as any self-respecting girl would, and pegged it back to my tent, apologising to my bladder as I went and promising it a full empty in the morning! Now, traumatic though all of these experiences clearly were (!), it would seem that I had gotten off lightly when I talked to a chiro later on in the trip. He informed me that a frog has been inside his toilet bowl for weeks now and they just carry on regardless with what they need to do, flush the loo and say hi to him a few days later when he has made it back up the pipe! And if that wasn’t gross enough for you, he reliably informs me that the people in the house next door found a python waiting for them in their loo when they lifted the lid the other day! Yikes!)
So much for flushing loos and their cubicles in the outback. It was never any easier doing straight roadside or bush numbers, you know! Take timing, for instance. There were often occasions when my timing wasn’t everything and that when you gotta go, you gotta go….regardless of where you are or what has just happened. I am thinking here of the night we were driving back to our campsite and had just run over a very large snake indeed (saw it too late to stop). Well, that alerted me to the fact that snakes were on the bloody road and yet my bladder didn’t care at all and was by now signaling very loudly to me that if I didn’t give it what it wanted in the next 5 seconds, it would take matters into its own hands! (YOU try holding on and holding on over rough corrugations that are like driving over cattle grids!). So despite having just seen a snake – and not knowing if it had any aggrieved mates waiting for me - there was nothing for it but to ask Gordon a minute or so later, to pull over so that I could go out and pee! Needless to say, I thought I would play it safe by peeing on the road, directly behind the cars rear lights - where I could not only keep my bum warm from the exhaust but also at least be able to see the road ahead of me and keep a watch for anything slithery! Of course what I didn’t take into consideration was the fact that those lights were illuminating me good and proper which must have been a treat for the oncoming vehicle which probably got a bit more wildlife that night than he was expecting!
Indeed, bush or road pee-ing is a bloody law unto itself! Easy enough if you are a bloke but a little less straightforward if you are of the fairer sex! For a start, all the bloke has to do is just unzip his flies, hold on, whistle if he wants to or even eat a bloody sandwich with one hand come to think of it! But for us girls it’s a different story and there’s quite a bit of yoga stretching, flexibility and dexterity required! Allow me then, to introduce “The Crouch” – the main position being feet spread as wide apart as you can get them, which will always be dictated by how far your rolled-down-to-the-knees-shorts will say “no more”. Position attained, there’s then the business of manouevering your shorts and knickers away from your “Guestimated Flow-Path”, and off you go. Easy when it’s just grass. Sadly though, we are not in grass country but hard ground country….or ground that forever slopes the wrong way, or that is covered in brittle leaf litter, or that is a sandy soil that bizarrely doesn’t soak in! All in all it would seem that the potential for “splash-back” on ankles and calves (the bane of my bush-toileting experiences), was always very great indeed. It was even worse if your bladder was very full and hell-bent on emptying itself in a nanosecond, causing furious rivulets to stream across to your foot - which in turn would mean you have to spread that foot wider again, whilst taking care not to fall over completely at this point of great imbalance and seeming ungainliness. Now to those of you who may be wondering (!), I am here to tell you that it really is a physical impossibility TO spread that foot wider if a) the shorts round your knees are at full stretch b) your bladder is so full that it refuses to slow the flow. (Not that you mind if the flow doesn’t slow of course because to slow is to prolong the agony of being in such a low squat for a long time and having to deal with the juddering thighs that don’t seem to want to have a bar of it!) Oftentimes a compromise somewhere between the two approaches then, has seemed to work best. However, just when you think you may have cracked it, there always seems to be the wind dynamic (of the breeze kind, not the bottom kind!). Yes, the wind catches me out every time, believe me! Even when I think I have sussed its general direction or there seems to be no prevailing wind at all, it will often be sods-law that my sense of direction proved lousy once again, or the direction changes halfway through or a rogue gust of it (when formerly there was none) will hit your flow just as you are crouched in mid-stream! Jeeeez!
So, after all the trials and tribulations with the bush/roadside pee then, doing number 2’s outback-stylie was, by comparison, a complete walk in the park – especially once Gordon had initiated me into his little fail-proof ritual! Allow me now to regale you with the details of the 6-Step process for “The Shit Pit”! Well, what a ritual – it had me howling with laughter when he first mimed it for me! Step 1 is The Line-Up – where you find a tree, stand far enough away from it so that you can crouch into a squat, with both arms outstretched and hands clasping around said tree. Where your feet are marks the spot for where to dig your hole! Step 2 is “The Earthworks” – where you dig yourself a hole at least 30cm deep (or get Gordon to do it for you!). Step 3 is “Assume Position” – (best done with shorts and underwear removed if you are wearing them)…standing just in front of the hole as for step one, assuming crouch and holding on to the tree for stability. (This was the step where I had to throw away all desires for dignity and hope and pray no weirdo was walking about or a birdwatcher with binoculars, drawn to the white of my dressing gown and thinking he had spotted some rare courtship pose of the lesser spotted egret!). Step 4 is simply a case of: “Geronimo! Thunderbirds are go! Open the hatches! Bombs away!” with Step 5 being where you want to have brought loo roll with you already – and enough of it! Step 6 then is “Completion/Tidy Up” – involving burning the paper in the hole, covering with dirt and returning sheepishly – or proudly – back to camp or the car! What a ritual but I must say, it worked perfectly every time! And I can now testify that my biggest fear regards number 2-ing in the bush has never come true. That is to say that so far a bush-fly has NOT inadvertently flown up my bum (“buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-ipppppp!!”), either never to be seen again or to re-emerge days later on a keen wind (!) or the next number-2 occasion, somewhat dazed, shell-shocked and gasping for air! Maybe there IS a God after all!


Bush-camping under the Kimberley skies
There can be no doubt that one of the things we have been loving most on this part of our trip has been watching the sunset and sitting around our campfire under the sensational, clear and starry skies that the Kimberley puts on during the Dry Season. We have had some pretty different sunset experiences too – from the spectacular show of the setting rays transforming the Cockburn Ranges into a palette of deep reds, burnished golds and deep oranges, to the also achingly beautiful scene of bare trees being thrown into dark shillouette against a glowing band of red that lights up the dust still hanging in the still air from a long-passed car. Then of course there have been the unforgettable “animal” sunset moments. One of these included goats aggressively locking horns and kicking up dust while the sun dramatically sank below the horizon. Another took place at a cattle station and involved a beautiful scene of a stand of trees across the way from our tent, all being lit up by the warmest of orange glows from a setting sun opposite, while at the same time, the full moon had already risen above that stand of trees - pale-white and almost opaque against the still vivid-blue sky containing it. Across this scene then, just yards from where we were sitting, came a gorgeous amber-coloured, young Brahman bull, slowly walking past. Just under the moon itself, he stopped and bellowed out a slow, long, drawn-out “mooooooo” - literally pursing his lips and sticking his neck out as he did so! The sound resonated, echoed like a double bass and it was one of the most beautiful moments ever! Another fantastic sunset experience came a night later at that same station, when, with that same scene (but minus the cow), two helicopters flew in rather noisily just yards from our tent, landing at the heli-pad we didn’t even realise was there! It was the owner and his son, just back from 4 nights of high-jinks at the Fitzroy Crossing Rodeo. It was quite spectacular to see them fly in really low over the trees and simply land beside each other with such precision, king of their choppers and king of their station! We watched them throw out their swags and jump out themselves – all hats, belts, boots, jeans and shirts and confident swagger, looking every bit the true-blue, Aussie cattle station owners and musterers! Superb!
Every night, once the sun had set, the attentions turned to lighting the campfire – a wonderful ritual we came to love, that beautifully marked the passing of time between day and night and was something we never grew tired of. Inevitably around this time, the blue-winged kookaburras started up with a very different call to the “Laughing Kookaburras” I have been used to. All I can say is that their call sounds like a cross between the old daleks from “Doctor Who”, a computerized toy laser-gun that can make all sorts of sounds, mixed with a bit of electronic baboon-chatter for good measure! It is the weirdest sound indeed! A bit eerie - but not as eerie as the dingoes we sometimes heard in the distance at some bush-camps, or the squeaking of bats in a tree overhead! (Nicer sounds by far have included frogs in their chorus, the river rushing and the cute “boo-book” (like: cuck-coo) call of the….yes, you guessed it, the Boobook Owl!)
Where we were in bush-camps with other people it was so lovely to see all the deep-orange flames of everyone’s fires dotted about under black skies littered with stars. And whether it was in a shared bush-camp or in our own ones, it was always fantastic to smell the burning wood mingling with the cold, crisp air! Mostly we did sit around our own fire but on one or two occasions we sat around a communal one, mixing coal-cooked damper-scones and jam with good conversation, or listening to am indigenous man play didgeridoo at a privately organized-soiree around our neighbours campfire, while the full moon rose over the Cockburn Ranges! Not to forget either the sensational night spent warming our toes and hands by the fire as we were held spellbound by the genius musician in front of us who was playing and singing folk, blues and country!
Around our own fires we have had the pleasure of doing tatties in foil in the coals, baked bean jaffles and also toasting marshmallows (and my God they were divine and decadent - their insides practically turning to the most luscious, sweet, gooey warm liquid sugar that flooded your mouth as soon as you bit into their caramelized skin!). When we weren’t eating then (!), it was so easy to get lost in trance watching the flames dancing about like wild, tribal banshee women - flitting, darting and frantic. Always there was the backdrop crackling, hissing, or popping noises, along with the muted “whoosh” that to me sounded like ear-wax dissolving in my head! Now and again though, my attention would come firmly back to the here-and-now, as I nervously did a sweep along the river with my torch, to investigate a splash in the river, or a rustle of leaves or to make sure there were no crocs coming to get me!
The awesome nighttime skies under which we enjoyed these fires, is something we will treasure in our hearts and memories forever! They were so amazing! Sometimes where we camped, the skies felt expansive and at other camps we felt more cocooned by the trees and in those instances, as you rocked on your chair, those stars would appear like glittery sequins between the bare branches of the trees. And, if you actually reclined the chair backwards and looked up at the sky, it was as if you were a part of a huge snowdome – the kind that children would shake to send the snow flying! It was also pretty special to sit by our fire on the banks of the mighty Pentecost River and watch the theatre of a full-moon rising up from behind the Cockburn Ranges in front of us! Initially all you see is pitch black and you can’t tell there are any ranges there at all. Then the imminent appearance of the moon is heralded by that fist slight glow or shimmer starting to radiate, that suddenly now alludes to a mountain range by highlighting its back and throwing it into the beginnings of striking shillouette. That white shimmer gets stronger until the first bit of the moon pops its head above the mountain range. Yellow-white and egg- shaped as it rises quickly, it casts a beautiful reflection across the river. Once fully risen into the starry sky it then becomes a beautiful silvery white orb, accentuating the shillouette of the mountain range even further. Sheer magic that we were to enjoy for three nights in a row!
Just before bed then, we would extinguish the flames of our fire by raking them over with the coals – to transform the pit into one of a thousand glittering, jeweled rubies, each one emanating an intense, radiant heat that gave a final toast to our faces and hands! Bush-camping under the Kimberley skies – life can’t get much better than this!


On the Road – Ban the Victorians!
You know how I was saying in the intro to this blog that the Kimberley is remote? Well, true, it does NORMALLY have fewer people per square km than almost any other place on Earth – that’s why it is often described as one of the world’s last true, unspoilt frontiers. I say NORMALLY because when we were here, for a large portion of the Gibb it was school holidays…..which meant that much to our disgust and distress, over half of Victoria moved in! Having already been caught out at Easter on the Oodnadatta track in S.A, we had once again completely underestimated how busy the Gibb would be during school holidays – or that city-type families from Victoria, who are so desperate to escape the cold and miserable climate of Melbourne, would all fly into W.A in their droves, hire Britz campervans and hit the track!
It may not have been so bad but they seemed to come in big groups of families who, like a veritable plague of locusts, would arrive and in seconds, desecrate everywhere they went with their noise, bad driving and lousy traveler-etiquette!
Now I think it’s fair to say that the longer we have been away from London, let alone the longer we have been away from Perth, the less tolerant of crowds and noise we have become and the more we have been seeking remote areas in which to just be! So you can imagine our despair when on the very first night, our bushcamp eventually became more and more rammed with them, all arriving late, setting up right up your bum if they could, trying their best to claim the communal fire for themselves as quickly as they could, making one hell of a noise for the rest of the night and then going to bed only to leave the next day and do it all again somewhere further up the road! By the end of our first couple of nights on the track we quickly figured out how to cleverly escape the maddening crowds but not without a share of run-ins with them first!
For example, the irritating and weedy city-guy who got up at 5.15a.m like a couple of others of us, to see the sunrise over the ranges…. talking to his partner as if it were noon and shouting excitedly to his spoilt brats: “Kids, come and have a look at the sunrise, its gorgeous! THIS is what it’s all about! We’re ALL up, come out and see!” I am standing there looking through my camera on the tripod with gritted teeth and thinking “Well, NO, actually we weren’t all up but we may well be now”, and resisting the urge to strangle his puny little neck and feed him to the crocs (I could imagine him in the water getting thrashed around while I am going “Kids, look at this, your dad’s getting eaten by a croc! THIS is what it’s all about! We’re ALL up! Come and see!”). I mean to say though! A sunrise is bloody sacred in my book – something spiritual, special, to be seen and to be felt – and if it is to be heard at all then surely through the birdsong and not through the voice of this stupid idiot!
As if he wasn’t bad enough, there was also the case of the group of 11 adults and 13 children that descended on our second overnight bush-camp stop. Fortunately we didn’t have them right next to us but we weren’t spared by any means the annoying farce that was their evening. They seemed to care not a jot regards the noise they were making – or else were completely oblivious and deaf as to how loud they were being over the cooking and eating of their dinner….while the rest of the campsite had lulled into relative quietness over its various fires and meals. I am referring here to the incessant talking that noone wants to hear or should have to listen to! Every single question that could possibly be asked about the cooking of the meal or the eating of the meal, was asked - from who wanted what, who needed what, who’s doing what, who should fetch what and so on. On and on and on - rather like being in a room where noisy sex is happening next door and you somehow end up on tenterhooks yourself just waiting for it all to end so you can finally relax and have some bloody peace! Once dinner was over we thought it would all quieten down and that we would get our respite, but sadly, NO! This was when they then all moved over to a fire near them, lit it, and started all over again with who was drinking what, who wanted milk, who needed sugar, how many sugars, who wanted biscuits, what biscuits, how many packets are there – and on and on and on – till Gordon and I were about ready to slit our wrists! JEEZ! We did wonder when somebody said they were going to the loo whether we would be subjected to having to listen to a whole new line of questioning about that too - but mercifully NOT!
When these Victorians weren’t being noisy at camp they were hurtling along the Gibb, sending up enormous dusts of clouds for everyone else’s misery. We very quickly learnt to give any Britz van a wide berth (a joke on the Gibb amongst all non-Victorians!), simply because we knew it was rented and therefore trashable and that its inhabitants were always IN A RUSH, doing too-long a distance in a day for the rough track they were going on, and seeing very little of anything really. They ALL had the rush-bug! I even got asked the following question, by the father of one family from Victoria who was clearly suffering from “get-there-itis-and-then-move-on” - “what are the rules about overtaking on the Gibb? It’s just that we always seem to have a sense of URGENCY”!!!!! Give me a break!
So to all you Victorians rushing around out there, we draw your attention to the same slogan that’s on all your number plates and say to you: “If Victoria really is “The place to be” – then do us all a bloody favour and get back there!”

Post 16 - Greetings From West Kimberley, WA - Part 1: Dampier Peninsula - Pics

Dampier Peninsula

Post 16 - Greetings From West Kimberley, WA - Part 1: The Dampier Peninsula - Journal

Greetings from the Dampier Peninsula in the West Kimberley region of W.A!
Coming here has meant entering Aboriginal land as the entire Peninsula is made up of a series of small communities and outstations and is home to 6 different language groups of aboriginals. The Bard language-group calls this whole Peninsula “Ardi Country”. “Ardi” means “north of Broome” and 220km north of our last blog is indeed where we start this first part of our whole Kimberley-Adventure series of blogs! The Dampier Peninsula is one of the few untouched, pristine areas of Australia where you can get a real feeling of peace and solitude. It plays host to miles of unspoiled coastline, deserted beaches, aquamarine waters, tidal estuaries and mangrove-lined creeks, stunning scenery, red-pindan rock formations, historical churches and unique indigenous cultural experiences. It is a remote place and, with half of the road for the first 150km being a very rough corrugate ribbon-red dirt track, only 4WD can get there. I was to do the trip out here twice in a matter of ten days – once on my photography tour with just me, another woman and our teacher ….and then again with Gordon. Both trips in were extremely bumpy rides (at times feeling like you were on the big dipper at the funfair!) and for the trip I did with Gordon, some brilliant didgeridoo music from a fantastic CD accompanied us along the way, to make for one very atmospheric drive indeed! For me it was quite interesting to have had the chance to be on the Peninsula twice as they were two very different visits and experiences really and the scenery is forever changing there due to the tides, so it never looks the same way two days in a row. During my first time here our little tour group tented it at the unique and multi-award winning Kooljaman resort, a wilderness-style luxury camp at the tip of the Peninsula, Cape Leveque. This resort is what most people come for who do the overall trip to the Peninsula – well, this, plus the famous Western Beach sunsets that light up the red-pindan rocks, and the much loved Eastern Beach for its sunrises, swimming, and gorgeously located paperbark cabins and rustic beach shelters. It was quite an intense and very humid 3 days for me first time around, with photography tuition and practice on location from 5a.m until way after sunset each day and us all collapsing into our beds by 8pm after dinner! I learnt heaps of things of course and took gazillions of photos. The whole Peninsula is without doubt a photographer’s Paradise so it was fantastic to be under the experienced tutelage of someone who knew the spots so well and who had timed the trip to coincide with the New Moon and big tides that make for the more dramatic photo opportunities. My second visit with Gordon then, was a much more relaxed affair and with plenty more “soul” I like to think. This time we camped at the gorgeous Middle Lagoon, which was a lot less busy and more rustic, with plenty of space to camp and wonderful campfires at night by our tent. And it was from out of this base that we had the opportunity to spend a fantastic day with an aboriginal landowner, learning traditional indigenous fishing and mudcrabbing techniques. We hope you enjoy our tale about that and, by the time you have viewed all the photos, that you can feel for us at least a bit, when we not only had to say goodbye to the Dampier Peninsula at the end but also had to say a final overall goodbye to the W.A coastline we have been hugging for so long! It was a wrench indeed but as you might have guessed……we’ll be back! (Jeez, with all these return visits I think we might be traveling for another year!)


Bushtucker Bonanza – a tale of 12 pinching pincers, mud, mangroves, mayhem and meat!

If you go down to the lagoon today, you’re in for a big surprise
If you go down to the mangroves today, you’d better believe your eyes
For every crab that ever there was
Is gathered there for certain because
Today’s the day that Flash ‘n’ Caz have their mudcrab picnic!

If you go down to the lagoon today, you’re in for a big surprise……….
With Bobby’s simple, matter-of-fact statement “Them’s fresh saltwater crocodile tracks”, the hairs sprang up on the back of my neck and I suddenly felt glad that we were with someone who knew this backyard he called “home” - and who knew how to keep us safe in it! We were standing on a dune that looked down onto a freshwater lagoon and had been about to go and look at some ruins down at the waters edge. Just 45 minutes into our day of joining Bobby and his son Billy doing what they do everyday anyway (mudcrabbing and bow-and-arrow fishing the traditional aboriginal way), we had been following the beach and dunes of stunning Pender Bay, driving north for 5km or so, past estuaries, creeks and vast mudflats that were all very beautiful at low tide. Sitting in the back of Bobby’s bombed out 4WD, his gorgeous 11 year old son Billy had been intent on showing me photos of the huge snake they had found in their house and on retelling how they had accidentally killed a hammerhead shark “not far from here”, recently when out fishing. We had then passed a tourist-information board about turtles and, in the rear view mirror I could see the half-mischevious glint in Bobby’s eye as he dismissed it for not telling tourists how to cook the things! It was becoming immediately clear that this boy and his father inhabited a very different world to mine and Gordon’s and that they were both “the real deal”, so to speak! Now and again we had got out to look at snake, wallaby and lizard tracks that Bobby had spotted and that was all great and lovely – until he had spotted this fresh saltie track. I had never seen a croc’s tracks before nor had I really thought about crocs when I had suggested to Gordon we go mudcrabbing! In hindsight, that was a bit naïve really as once you get north of Broome the salties abound! Standing there now on the dune, tracing the tracks with our eye, it became evident that the croc had come out of the ocean at high tide and had then walked a further 700m over the sand dunes to get to the lagoon before we could. The fact that it wasn’t a huge croc – only 4 or 5ft – did nothing to alleviate my anxiety. Furthermore, had I have known at the time that Bobby was quietly carrying a sawn off shotgun in his bag, I am not sure my anxiety would have increased or abated – but carrying one he was! On reflection, this was quite funny in a way - that Bobby had all the skills of an aboriginal in terms of observation, hunting and fishing but that he had still embraced both the worlds that he lives in now, by having a gun “just in case”! Needless to say Bobby refrained from taking us down to those ruins but for me the alarm bells were now ringing and my “croc-watch” radar was up and in full swing! For the rest of the day I could never really quite relax after that, especially around the muddy mangrove banks we were to later muck around in!

Setting up camp
Before long we arrived at our camp-spot for the day by a golden dune overlooking a 700m wide estuary lined with mangroves and intermittent pools of water left by the low tide. A flurry of activity quickly ensued, with Bobby nimbly clambering up onto the roof-rack of his car and hurling down to the ground one by one the set of knackered and battered old chairs that, along with the firewood, had been originally slung higgledy piggeldy up there when we had set off for the day. Broken in places these old moulded-plastic chairs may have been but they nevertheless served their purpose during the day, not to mention the couple of old milk-crates which again, once upturned, did the job just fine! In fact Bobby had everything he needed to set up his camp and it was all an improvisation that somehow had such great appeal in a day and age where the first instinct for most of us is to go to Bunnings! And so the campshelter for the day was two long steel-tubing arms on pivots that had been welded to his roof-rack. These then swung out from the car to provide a simple frame for him to sling over an old faded yellow sheet between, tying each knot end with fishing line and volia!.....our shade for the day – and it worked a treat too! With shelter and comfort now catered to, Bobby went on to dig a pit in the sand, throwing the logs on and lighting the fire, so that by the time we were to return from our mudcrabbing exploits later, there would be hot coals ready for us to cook on! It was clear this man knew what he was doing!

If you go down to the mangroves today, you’d better believe your eyes……With camp set up, all that remained was for Bobby and Billy to give out the mudcrabbing hooks and proceed with a quick lesson on how to also use the big bow and arrow (not as easy to fire as he made it look!). Lesson over it was then down the dune without further ado for all of us and into the estuary, which stretched out to the left and right of us as far as the eye could see. We made our way just to the right, through thick sandy water up to our ankles, our destination being the mangroves on our side of the estuary. Along the way we spotted various types of crabs (although no mudcrabs at this stage) – first up being the swarms of small soldier crabs with their dark blue, dome-shaped bodies! Joining in on the party were slightly bigger and vivid orangey red, one-arm crabs with arm and pincer dramatically placed in front of their face, rather in the way a model may “strike a pose”. We also met a couple of bright blue swimmer crabs, slighter larger again than the other crustaceans we had passed. These swimmer crabs looked like boxers with their gloves on - entertainingly bandying their arms and pincers aloft out of the water to each side, as if to rally us to a fight and saying “well come here then if you think you’re hard enough!”. At this point young Billy actually got the mudcrabbing hook and did a quasi-attack on one of them. The crab in question promptly detached its arm/pincer to which Billy explained this as a means of survival for the crab, that dupes the attacker into thinking they have hooked their prey while the crab makes a clean getaway! What this young boy didn’t know at the age of 11 was nothing short of amazing and again I was reminded of what different childhoods we had had!


For every crab that ever there was, is gathered there for certain because…..
Before long we arrived at the mangroves themselves and started following the water channels through them - thick sandy water now giving way to thick slurries of very warm, oozing, squelching, soft sinking mud in between your toes. As well as negotiating the retrieving your foot back out from the mud with each step you took, there were thick mangrove roots to step over and at other times very low-lying branches to do the limbo under! This then was the terrain we were to plod through for the next 2-3 hours, while a really revolting bad-egg stink rudely assaulted our noses!
Bobby, our guide, knew exactly where to commence looking for the mudcrabs and, after taking us a little way into the thickness of the mangroves themselves, he soon headed off up into a different channel, having spotted a hole inside of a mudbank where he suspected our first crab would be lurking. Crouching very low on his haunches in a ridiculously small and cramped space, he inserted the 6ft long steel rod, hook first, into the hole and gave a few pokes. A metallic sound within confirmed that there was indeed a mudcrab inside and that he had just poked his shell! What then followed was an intriguing and exciting 5-10minutes of man against crab with Bobby remaining on his haunches throughout, trying to wrench and drag the mudcrab from its hideout. This involved the combined approaches of the hooked rod and Bobby’s own bare hands - the latter fact being all the more amazing when you consider that the pincers on a mudcrab are that powerful that they are more than capable of actually taking off a finger or a toe! Amazingly, Bobby was to win and the crab was to lose and so it was then, that our first mudcrab of the day was held up by its pincers for all to see! Nothing quite prepares you for the awesome experience of seeing your first filthy, wet, muddy and irate mudcrab and they are so huge too – this one 6-8inches across the body but from pincer to pincer over 2ft wide!
After such a promising start the hunt resumed for more of this amazing bushtucker and now the men (not the women – who preferred to take photos lol!) wanted to have a go. Next up then was Gordon, who, hats off to him, found his own hole which Bobby then confirmed could well be a contender just by the look of it. Under Bobby’s careful instruction, Gordon was told to insert the long rod into the hole, with the hook at a horizontal angle and, when he could get that hook over the back of the crab, to then turn the hook vertically and get it then around the back of the crab. He was then to start pulling the body of the crab toward him! This Gordon did as if he were born to it, though I must say all I could see was a close up of his bottom in action! (not bad!). This crab was a bit different to the first one that Bobby had got. Whereas Bobby’s was a monumental struggle, Gordon’s one resisted at the start and then obviously decided to cut its losses and peg it out of the hole. This presented its own set of challenges though because then Gordon had to deal with a huge angry mudcrab snapping around his toes! It was all Gordon could do to try and stop it legging off into the water – his only remaining course of action to be putting his foot on the crab’s body whilst trying to keep said foot away from its powerful pincers! A cufuffle followed, with Bobby also stepping in to try and help hold it down with a foot, while Gordon then tried to grab the smaller “swimmer legs” at the back of the crab (which was how you hold a mudcrab to ensure that the two front pincers are far away from you.) With mission successfully accomplished, Gordon triumphantly held up not only his very first mudcrab but indeed his first “catch of the day”! Nice one!
Crab number 3 got caught moments later when it, instead of being in a hole, was trying to camouflage itself under some roots on the mudbank. An easier catch then and the biggest so far! Hilariously, this mudcrab was then handed over to the other guy in our group, Mario ‘The Worrier”, for him to hold and carry while the hunt resumed. I say “hilariously” because it became a bit of a joke throughout the day, of Mario both tiring of holding the heavy thing and of him always getting so anxious it was going to take his finger off. He was therefore always trying to hand the crab back to Bobby, who somehow never seemed to notice!
By now a good hour had passed and so, with a catch of 3 crabs already in tow and three more yet to get, Bobby and Billy took our winnings back up to camp to “deposit” them, still alive, under the seats of the car for “safe-keeping”! As they were returning, I was already making my own way back to camp to rest, my neck painful from all the crouching and craning. I figured I would leave the guys to it while I got my book out of the car for a bit of a read. …only to be told by Bobby and Billy on their way back that I had to leave the car shut because the crabs were in there! All a bit surreal really!
So while the rest of the group, with Bobby and Billy back in tow, all crossed the estuary to the other side and resumed their hunting there, I was reduced to having to just sit there under the shade without my book – I really wasn’t game to go fishing for it in the car with them in there! As I watched the group all finally disappear from my sight into the mangroves, my mind – without a good book to distract it – started working overtime on the notion that there could be a croc coming to get me at any minute and that I mustn’t go to sleep!
A good 90mins-2hrs passed with me on a self-inflicted “croc-watch” before our intrepid heroes were to return with another 3 huge mudcrabs! Mario “The Worrier” looked desperate for Bobby to rid him of having to hold his crab a moment longer, but again, rather hilariously, Bobby seemed not to notice and took his crab the last! By now poor Mario’s nerves were shot to shreds, frayed by the absolute conviction as the day had gone on that he was either a) going to be nipped by the crab b)taken by a croc during the whole mudcrabbing fiasco and/or c)caught out by the fast, in-rushing tide that had happened to the group just towards the end of the hunting!

…today’s the day that Flash and Caz have their mudcrab picnic!
For Bobby however the thing to be focused on was getting our “feed” all ready and cooked. First up for the coals were the initial 3 crabs stowed away under the seats of the car. An amusing struggle ensued again, as, even harder to catch than the first time around, all three crabs valiantly tried to escape out of the car! However Bobby is devious and deft so they don’t escape and instead were forced to meet their fate of being unceremoniously turned upside down, still alive, and placed on the hot coals – a head of a shovel keeping them there until 30seconds later, their bodies turned red, their souls went to mudcrab-heaven and a rather vile-looking gunk oozed out of their shells! At this point their claws were removed and piled high on a plastic plate for eating, while the bodies continued cooking (“How long do they cook for” I asked Bobby out of interest and in Bobby style he shrugged and said “Till they’re done!” making me at once see that not only do the Aboriginals not track or chart time the same way we do but they see no reason to complicate things with it either!)
With the claws already cooked and ready to eat then, we were all in for another ‘authentic” and “no frills” experience as our “cutlery” for the meal – a spanner - was handed out to each of us. This we were to use to bang open the top two-thirds of the hard shell, enabling us to then hold the base of the claw in our fingers while we bit down on the big hunk of bright white meaty flesh that was exposed! Again, nothing quite prepares you for your first taste of mudcrab - deliciously sweet and smoky, it is a feast fit for kings! And of course there is nothing more satisfying than eating the food you have spent all morning catching (even if you yourself didn’t catch anything and was just there for the experience!). Believe it or not, two of these claws could really fill you up so you can imagine just how stuffed we were when we got through most of the crab bodies as well! But what a feed! And what a day! Priceless!


A postscript note on traditional aboriginal landowners and “care for country”Throughout Australia the responsibility to look after or “care for country” is held by clan and family groups as well as individuals. Senior people in their community who are responsible for their traditional land and waters are often referred to as “traditional owners” – like Bobby, our guide. An aboriginal elder was quoted as saying “People talk about country in the same way that they would talk about a person – they speak to country, sing to country, visit country, worry about country, feel sorry for country and long for country……and country knows, hears, smells, takes notice, takes care, is sorry or happy. Because of this richness, country is home and peace; nourishment for body, mind and spirit; hearts ease”.
I include this in the blog because it spoke to me so profoundly when I came across it in a brochure while up at Cape Leveque, knowing how not so long ago the petroleum and gas giants Chevron and Woodside had wanted to put in a gas processing plant up here on the Dampier Peninsular. Not only was it unnecessary to install it here (after all, Port Hedland, hundreds of kilometers further south and already an industrial town, were happy to have it), the project showed a completely arrogant disrespect on behalf of the businessmen and politicians, for one of the last vestiges of pristine, unspoilt wilderness that this country and indeed W.A has! It also threw into stark relief the different beliefs about land – the western world believing “we own the land, can do with it what we want and it’s there for us to get whatever we want from it regardless of how we do it” ….and the aboriginal people maintaining that “we do not own the land and it is our job to caretake it and look after it”.
Having ourselves spent time in this wonderful place and with a traditional landowner and his son, the reality of the damage that this project would have done, meant so much more to us. The original plan you see, would have been to have put the whole plant just below Middle Lagoon, the beautiful place we had enjoyed staying at for three days. Furthermore, the whole exclusion zone that would have been put in place as a result of the plant would have also seen Bells Point, where Bobby lives and has his low-key tourist campground, simply be excluded to him forever. (Here it should be seen again the complete juxtaposition of values between an aboriginal landowner and the big businesses – for Bells Point is a place where Bobby for years, on principle, has stayed away from packing the tourists into his campground, in a bid to preserve the land and to let visitors have big spaces in which to enjoy its energy – “I don’t need to be greedy to make a decent living” he said simply). The exclusion zone would not only ensure Bells Point disappeared forever but also the beautiful Pender Bay that we travelled along. Not only would the plant, had it gone ahead, have created an absolute eyesore and ruined remote, pristine wilderness, it would have also ruined the traditional livelihoods and stomping grounds of the local aborigines – not to mention upsetting the ecology of turtles, humpback whales and even the mudcrabs and their holes that Bobby was so strict that we should leave intact as we crabbed. So when all is said and done, that these aboriginal landowners won the case to get the project thrown out was of course a victory for them and for the Cape Leveque area in general. However, now the project is threatening to happen further south at a site of a spectacular beach 1hr north of Broome, which would transform that beach from a remote and stunning pristine bit of coastline to one with big long industrial jetties coming out of it and all the accompanying “blight on the landscape” paraphernalia.
Unlike Cape Leveque, this bit of coastline is not regarded sacred by the aboriginals and so the decision cannot rest with them. However, the decision is likely to rest with the Minister of Environment at the Federal level, which would therefore be Peter Garrat - who, given his background would be less likely to have it go ahead. The plan has not been passed yet but it still could be we suppose - so I know that Gordon and I, having enjoyed our Cape Leveque visit and potentially looking to move to Broome, will undoubtedly be joining the lobbying against this project. Watch this space!

Greetings from Broome, W.A - Photos

Broome

Post 15 Greetings from Broome WA - Journal

Greetings from Broome, W.A
…… and if we were writing a postcard we would be sure to write “WISH YOU WERE HERE TO ENJOY ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE!” ….because it’s an absolutely stunning, tropical beach-town with a fantastic vibe to boot!
Broome marks the southern gateway to the magnificent wilderness region of` the Kimberley beyond it. It is set alongside the 22km of world-famous pristine sand that is Cable Beach and lies between a vast deep red desert, an azure blue sea and a milky, turquoise mangrove-bay – coooool! Deep blue skies stretch as far as the eye can see, with lush green lawns, tropical palms and vibrant blooms ready to bring your eye crashing back to earth! It’s not hard to believe then, that one of the many things we have come to love about this place, is its breathtaking expansiveness, striking contrasts in colour, amazing wild light, and the choice of either magnificent moon-rises over the bay or sensational sunsets over the Indian Ocean. The other thing that has quickly grown on us has been the kicking back and slipping into “Broome-Time”, which the town is famous for. ‘Broome-Time” simply means to take it easy, be cruisy, see what the day will bring, don’t plan too much (if at all), don’t do anything too strenuous, let everything roll out in its own good time. In the words of our wonderful neighbour, Bernard from Lancashire, Broome and indeed life is “ulla bout choi-ces!” and there are “choi-ces” galore here for how you want to do Broome-Time! In fact, having been here a month now, I think we have perfected the art!
We have never felt so relaxed and at peace and I think this has been heightened by the fact that Broome is considered a very creative, spiritual and healing place. Indeed, the local Aborigines view certain parts of the coastline as very sacred and it’s where they believe they come to after death, to be re-born and to clear their energies before entry into their new life. This has seemed very poignant for us, as our own experience of being in Broome has likewise been one of clearing old energies and entering into a new phase of our lives - both as individuals and as a couple. It’s been wonderfully liberating with much laughter, playfulness and fun along the way!
We have instinctively found ourselves staying away from all the “traditional” sightseeing tours and flights here and instead have just spent time “being” at the various great locations around town. Through being, and staying open to who we may encounter and what a day may bring, we have had the joy of meeting many locals (including the odd “colourful character”!), all with “messages” for us on our inner journey. Plus we have been presented with amazing opportunities to shed more of the “layers” of our old identities that were limiting and restricting who we thought we were and how we thought we can or should be in life.
I guess you could say we have been having an “inner adventure” this time. As well as this resulting in many profound shifts and changes within for both of us, it has also led to me finally buying an African-style drum (after all these years of wanting to!) and beginning the fun journey of learning to play it and release the wild woman in me LOL! Meanwhile, it has led to Gordon “going bush” with a couple of colorful locals for a few days, to MAKE his own drum - thereby not only acquiring a new skill and potential future income-stream but also realizing a life-long dream to work creatively with wood…in a way he could never have dreamt of back in the old life in Perth! (OK, so maybe the tent IS now firmly “infused” with the aroma of goat and roo skins, but what the heck!). My creative juices have also been awakened too, through doing a couple of landscape-photography workshops here and it’s been truly enlivening to finally give myself permission to dedicate to a hobby and to express the creative side of me much more - something I never allowed myself to do when I was living my more one-dimensional career-life! And, whilst Gordon’s brain has been working overtime receiving all sorts of great ideas from his subconscious mind about how he would like to be working in the future and the house we are going to build (!), I have been seeing some amazing healing of my physical pain through this next level of “letting go”, massage, chiropractic and regular morning yoga at a beautiful Buddhist Sanctuary right next to our campsite!
So believe it or not then, it is going to be even harder to leave here than where we were in our last blog! We have felt quite at home in Broome and the test of whether we can come back and survive a Wet season here (when the humidity goes through the roof and beyond) will let us know whether we could live here permanently! So until we come back and try that out, we hope you enjoy the photos and stories of our experiences to date!


Cable Beach – how to lose yourself in paradise…..morning, noon and night!
How Cable Beach came to be renowned as one of the world’s best beaches is easy to understand once you actually see it and use it in some way! The sheer uninterrupted breadth of it is magnificent and compels you to get so lost in the staring at it that you end up being incapable of either moving or, sometimes, talking! All you can do is surrender to its deep-blue, straight-lined, hypnotic power that has you getting very confused as to where the horizon ends and the sky begins! (OK, so maybe that’s our convenient excuse for being very frequent and lingering lunch-time visitors of the café that overlooks it during the day and loyal sundowner-drinkers at the bar that has it for its view at night – but we’re unreservedly and unashamedly sticking to it, so there!).

Though many may love to swim in its waters or bake on its beach, for me it’s been the allure of the fact that the flat, compacted sand makes it a beach-walker’s idea of heaven! So during my time in Broome, I have taken to getting up with the birds and joining other walkers (and their dogs!) for very long, morning constitutionals along the waters edge! And trust me – there are as many ways to get “lost in paradise” first thing in the morning here as there are different appearances of the beach from day to day due to the huge tides. At times, getting “lost” has been all through the sensation of the silky-wet, firm sand that is always there to greet me, along with the care-free “splish-splash-splosh” sounds of my feet plodding through clear, warm water! Other days I have found myself completely losing track of time and how far I have walked, because I’ve been lulled into trance over the consistent, alternating sounds of crashing waves followed by the light “bubbling” of sand as the water predictably drags back out to sea for the next round. Most of the time though it seems to be the scene itself that has caught me up in its spell –such as the curve of the bend ahead, dangling like a carrot on a stick, always seeming closer than it ever really is and therefore compelling me to walk just a bit longer to try and reach it! Or through watching sea-birds skimming the cusp of a wave with remarkable, military-aircraft precision while sometimes, minutes later, man and his machine would copy nature and a striking red and white Quantas airliner, full of excited newcomers, would come in extremely low over deep-blue ocean and caramel dunes to land at the airport nearby. Usually I have spent my time squinting from both the sun in the sky as well as the sun that is dazzlingly reflected off the glassy, wet sand. On occasion I have walked far longer than I meant to just by getting caught up with staring at the sand at my feet and what may be there to see – from colourful little stones or shells studding the way now and again to pinkish brown starfish with “arms” curled up as if they want to hug me. Translucent, fat sea-cucumbers have often happily made letters of the alphabet and the pretty sand-ball patterns dug up by tiny white crabs have vied for my attention along with the mesmerizing lace-overlay effect of specks of foam being dragged back out to sea. And, on a couple of glorious days, the Universe gifted me a strikingly sleek black horse being ridden in full and furious gallop - its hooves thundering on the sand alongside the dunes for a while, only to then slow to a castanet-canter right down to the waters edge for a final cooling, splashing trot through the foaming surf!

If we’ve been going back to the beach at all after first thing, then early lunch-time or afternoon is when we have tended to hit the café, with its fully opened, ceiling-to-floor panoramic windows and cooling breeze of fans conspiring to settle us in for a couple of hours! It’s been another inspired choice for getting lost in Paradise, with great coffee that seems to miraculously reappear once drunk, refreshing pots of chamomile tea that last ages and quite probably the world’s best, ice-cold, caramel milkshakes - not to mention an array of tempting light nibbles. From here then, it’s all been about slipping into the infamous Broome-Time, staring at the horizon and watching the world go by (unfortunately that has also included the “more mature” budgie-smuggler wearers that should be banned and have you musing as to why they even bothered with the hat!)

Without a doubt though, it is sunset at Cable Beach that is the number one draw-card and for very good reason. Once again there have been heaps of choices of how to “do it” and we’ve never tired of the always different nightly extravaganza! Sometimes it has simply been spent arriving 45 minutes before-hand and getting a space with everyone else along the wooden railing that looks down onto the rather fabulous panorama of beach and ocean below. From here we have shared in that communal energy of anticipation, camera in hand (like nearly everyone else!), watching the occasional “just married” bride and her groom kick off their shoes and swig from a beer bottle, and all the while pinching yourself in disbelief at the both the surreal scene of lines of 4WD’s and processions of red or blue decorated camels all making their way down on to the sand …..and the fact that you are so blessed to even be in this incredible location, watching the world-famous spectacle that is: sunset on Cable Beach. Though that has certainly been one way to salute the setting rays, we have mostly preferred to drive onto the beach, passing all the various 4WD’s already down there (with some blasting out atmospheric opera while others hilariously clashing with loud rock music), to easily find our little spot of deserted paradise. From here we have spent sunsets together with drinks in hand, while 50 haughty, odorously earthy camels have strode nonchalantly alongside the waters edge – each procession offering their own unique bit of “theatre” as the lowering sun makes either mystical silhouettes out of them on one side or colourful reflections in the wet tidal flats on the other. There have also been times when Gordy has fished in the surf while I have been busy with tripod and camera in tow – totally absorbed in the moment and trying to capture the mood, texture and stunning beauty of exposed tidal flats being filled-in with gold or of all the various intensities, patterns and colours of a post-sunset Broome. That said, we have also loved just getting our drums out and playing them down on the sand together – having a blast just banging out some cool beats and rhythms we’ve been learning, making as much noise as we want, adding to the vibe for the people on the camels and even “drumming” up some business for Gordon (yes, someone so loved the drum that he made that they asked if he would sell it or make them one!!) And, for the times we couldn’t sum up the energy to go down on to the beach (it’s been a hard life!), we have watched the whole light-show extravaganza from the comfort of a bar stool at the outdoor bar, beer in hand or sundowner-straw in mouth, enjoying a balmy night air that has made it feel great to be alive. From here then, we have watched the palm trees and the people at the railing turn into dark shapes while the backdrop of after-glow colours intensify and then fade for our viewing pleasure! You can by now, surely imagine just how much pleasure/pain was involved in our last sunset on the night we had to finally say goodbye to Broome! We were very bottom lip but saw it out in grand style – drinking wine and playing our drums till the afterglow fully gave way to dark night and a starry, clear sky. Under that magical canopy we then blasted out some Chilli Pepper tunes and danced on the sand, finally dragging ourselves back into the 4WD to do one final long cruise along the deserted beach, windows down, heavy hearted but spirits light, and the Chilli’s belting out for the final swan-song! Broome – it’s been a pleasure!



Red Dirt Photography – cameras, lights, ACTION!
One of the things I had my eye on before I even got to this part of W.A, was to do a couple of landscape-photography tours/workshops with an award-winning photographer here, who has the most awesome gallery in Broome. Well, I can say that thanks to Nigel I have had a fantastic time photographically exploring the rugged landscapes and wild light that this whole region is famous for and am now the proud owner of a rather flash tripod which I even know how to use! Yeehar! Given that I was always just using my camera on the automatic function rather than manual, I have also had to contend with quite a bit of new technical information overload! In fact I’ve done F-stops, focal points, image composition, depth of field, light exposure compensation, rear curtain synch, fill-in flash, filters, bracketing and ISO’s till my brain has fried and my eyes are sagging in their sockets! I never knew my camera could do so much!
The first tour was early into our stay in Broome - just an afternoon workshop “on location” and I was blessed to be just one of 3 who had booked, instead of the usual 10, which just meant more individual time with Nigel. Although many, many shots were taken, I must confess to only a few of those original ones making it into the blog – so high was my mistake (oops, sorry “learning”) rate! What was great about doing it so early into my stay, was that I had plenty of time to go away and practice what I had been learning before doing his 3 day tour up north (which happened towards the end of our stay). I am delighted to say I was, in this time then, getting into the swing of it and finding plenty of my own shots and photo opportunities!
Again, on the 3 day tour I was blessed to be just one of 2 people who had booked on, instead of the normal 6. This tour was all about exploring the rugged and remote coastline of the Kimberley region. There was certainly no real rest for the wicked on this trip and my time with Nigel was spent getting up each morning at 5a.m for sunrises and staying out long after sunset in the evenings – and when we weren’t on location we were “talking shop” half the time! During those three days then, I was whizzing my neck around from one view to the next until my head almost spun off its axis, contorting my body into all sorts of weird postures to get creative with shots I would never before have thought of taking, hunching over my tripod way into the dark night until my back screamed at me to go home and getting R.S.I with my camera finger LOL! (The photographic results from that 3 day trip will be in the next blog).
It was just fantastic to have so much time with a professional though - learning to see the patterns, textures and colours that nature creates and trying to capture both mood and soul. Also, having to see landscapes with a very different eye instead of just the more obvious scene that may greet you, has also been a great metaphor – reminding me to be even more flexible in how I see things generally in life! All in all it’s been an eye-opening experience and, whilst I know I have already learnt heaps, I’m now at that stage where I am also aware of all the things I don’t properly know and have yet to master! Still, as they say, ‘slow and steady wins the race” and “Rome wasn’t built in a day!”. Also, I now know that I need to upgrade my lens as I have already outgrown the two that I had AND that it may well not be long before I am either needing a new laptop or at the very least an upgrade to the memory of our existing one. Mmmmm, photography is an expensive hobby that’s for sure - but I have to have SOMETHING to buy when Gordy buys his Microlight! Anyway, whilst perfection is beyond me at this stage, I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labours so far and in the meantime, I am sure I will keep clicking away until next time!


Marching to the beat of a different drum
There are times when things you’ve wanted to do for ages can come together in ways which you couldn’t have possibly imagined. Drum Making was, for me one such time. I’ve always wanted to work with wood, but have only ever thought of it in traditional terms of say, making furniture or something like that. A visit to the Courthouse Markets in Broome one Saturday morning managed to change that thinking completely. It all started when Caroline fell in love with a hand crafted drum made by a really interesting character at the markets called Kamali – she loved it so much so that we ended up buying it! But that wasn’t anywhere near the end of it – it also just happened that he was running a workshop on how to make the drums he makes. Without completely understanding how, I ended up being booked to be a part of his ‘launch’ drum making workshop (ie a guinea pig!). I guess it was meant to be, as the dates coincided with Caroline’s photography trip. In keeping with the somewhat unusual nature of this ‘workshop’, the venue was to be a free camp beside the Fitzroy River, with our only neighbours being birds of prey and a couple of freshwater crocs sunning themselves on the sand banks in the river. We spent the first few hours scouring the bush for suitable fallen logs to transform into musical instruments. Having found them and cut them into roughly the size we wanted we set about fully hollowing the logs, sanding the outside and preparing them for installing the skin of the drum. This whole process took 3 days, most of which was performed at our fantastic campsite overlooking the river – a ‘welcome to my office’ moment (see the pics in the photo journal!). A bonus was sitting around our camp fire at night with the three of us making fantastic rhythms and just about ‘trancing out’ playing our drums – not bad for a bloke who’s never played a musical instrument before! The satisfaction of transforming the base materials into a beautiful instrument was enormous. And then the icing on the satisfaction cake was being down on Cable Beach and having somebody come up and wanting to buy our drums – or possibly another I will make. A fantastic time was had, enormous satisfaction was achieved, I met some people I was intended to meet (for a host of reasons) and I also now have a skill which I can use in the future. – and none of this was ever imagined before!!!!!!!!!!


Return of the…..toilet humour!
With all this spiritual growth and personal development going on, I think it’s very important for one not to disappear up one’s own bottom – and so a return to our much-loved toilet humour is in order, I think! Mind you, with the short tale about to be told, I doubt I was ever in any real danger of disappearing up my own bottom, spiritually evolving or not! You see, it’s a simple story of what can happen when you combine being alone in a tent with all your valuables just 2 days after the consumption of a very authentic Vindaloo from Matso Brewery’s Curry Hut! Gordon had gone out to do some grocery shopping and then on to a campers store to purchase something there too – leaving me in the tent, with both laptops and both cameras out, happily writing the blog and uploading photographs. Now as anyone who has ever had a rather authentic Vindaloo will know, without any warning whatsoever an extremely urgent call of nature can make itself known. And this of course was what happened to me – fifteen minutes into Gordon having left the campsite! Realising the extent of my plight (that for security reasons I couldn’t leave every valuable in the tent while I went to the loo and that he had the keys to the camper-trailer front box), I resorted initially to clenching and distraction techniques. Alas, these only served me for about 2 minutes whereupon the call of nature then went onto loudspeaker mode! It became impossible to sit down so I reverted to putting the lap top up on the bed and writing from a standing position – this only worked for a few seconds before I resorted to pacing up and down what small floor space was available, trying to figure out my options. Frustratingly and thanks to sod’s law, my trustworthy neighbours (who normally were ALWAYS sitting outside their caravan) were today NOT there - so I couldn’t ask them to come in and mind my stuff for me while I “saw to business”. By now the situation was feeling “imminent” and I had to put in an S.O.S. call to Gordon to get him to drop what he was doing and get back to camp! “How far away are you” I whined, teeth and buttocks clenched and eyes watering! “Ten minutes” came the reply through stifled laughter. TEN MINUTES?????????!!!!!!!!!!!! Jeeeez! I paced and I paced. I breathed in and I breathed out. I counted my blessings that I was not in the middle of a yoga class doing the “downward dog” pose. And I came to realize just what it must be like when the midwife says “DON’T bear down just yet” and the birthing woman is practically spitting at her saying “I CAN’T HELP IT, I HAVE TO!”. LOL! After 5 minutes I was back on the phone to Gordon, pleading with him to hurry and by now almost feeling queasy! Needless to say though, this tale did have a happy ending (not to mention an enormous sigh of release – oops sorry, “relief”), when the saviour of the day chugged up the road to our tent and I pegged it out of there quicker than lightning! Hilariously, after the deed had been done and the sweat wiped from my brow, Gordon had gone back out to the camper store, only to have to wait a good ten minutes at an intersection on the way home, for 30 camels to cross the road! Oh my god, the importance of timing and the difference it can make to a situation – I mean, can you imagine if THAT plight had befallen me?????????!!!!!