Ningaloo


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Oceania » Australia » Western Australia » Ningaloo Reef
October 26th 2008
Published: December 14th 2008
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After the traumas of Perth I was keen to get out on the highway again and put as much distance between ourselves and these particular holiday memories as possible. Fortunately recovery seemed to be swift, and after a precautionary day’s delay to make sure all my pipes still worked, we were on our way north once again and it was as if the whole sorry episode had never happened.

Actually there was one important difference: a bottle of water was now continually stationed in the drinks holder just by my left hand, which handily gave it something to do, as there’s not much call for gear changes on Highway 1.

And so my left hand became my new drinking arm and proved fully up to the task, even if it was a tad less enjoyable than when I’d previously drunk copious amounts with my right. Before long there could be no doubt that I was officially hydrated, and toilet stops became a significant delay to forward progress. I moved on from there to supersaturated, as my newly recovered kidneys struggled to cope with the sheer volume of fluid I was throwing at them, my throat having turned into a veritable Niagara Falls. Like an elite athlete in training, my kidneys have, after some initial protests, transformed themselves from withered sponges to rippling piss-pumping thoroughbreds, and, as if a new connection has magically appeared between my oesophagus and bladder, I now need to urinate the exact same volume of any liquid drunk within seconds. My sweat could be gathered and sold on to unsuspecting souls as spring water. I’m Full As, as they rather lazily say around here. If you hung me on a line my toes would start to drip.

Six hours and fifteen loo stops out of Perth lay our first quarry, the little town of Kalbarri. We’d been here a couple of times before in the old days, and as usual, it irritated me.

What irks me so when I pass this way is that this little retirement town is just so damn perfect. Other than being six hours from anywhere, there’s everything you could ever want if you’ve all the time in the world. Regrettably, even when on extended holiday, I don’t have all the time in the world, and never will have. There’s just too much other good stuff to see! I seem
Diveboat, Coral BayDiveboat, Coral BayDiveboat, Coral Bay

warming up for the mantas
to be genetically incapable of staying in these spots anywhere near long enough to get the best out of them, while 2000 other souls seem to have found their personal slice of heaven and look likely never to leave. Smug Bastards!

What I do have time for is the neighbouring Kalbarri National Park. The drive from Perth to Kalbarri consists of basically one big wheat-field (and we really are talking big, here). After twenty minutes or so, the exclamations of ‘Wow, would you look at all that wheat!’ start to wear pretty thin, and conversation is reduced to trying to spy, with my little eye, anything that doesn’t begin with ‘W’. After hour upon hour of yellow, suddenly a road-sign announces ‘Kalbarri National Park’ and it’s all over, to be replaced by a vast panorama of uniform dull green. It’s mind-blowing at first, after all that wheat, to think that only 200 years ago this type of scrub covered almost the whole country. Admittedly after another 6000kms or so of dull green you’d almost give anything for some more wheat, but at Kalbarri it once again seems exciting and new.

Kalbarri forms the imaginary border between civilisation and
Eurardy ReserveEurardy ReserveEurardy Reserve

Surveying my 12 hectares!
the bush, and, as if to celebrate, it throws in a couple of cracking gorges just near the roadside without the need to trek off a million miles, which is just as well, as it also marks the return of searing heat.

The proximity of the highway provides another amusing diversion, as it tempts hordes of otherwise sensible people to take their road cars down what is quite plainly a four wheel drive access road... how hard can it be? I myself had done this on my previous trips in cars which are now long-dead, and was startled way back then by a) just how bumpy a road could be and b) the nonchalant waves of the four-wheel drive guys as they rocketed past at about 80, showering you with dust and gravel.

This time however, it was us in the four-wheel drive.

I haven’t enjoyed waving so much in a long time.

Just to make it more fun I stuck to at least 90. The very best is when you get to wave at them twice, once on the way in, and again on the way back before they’ve even got there. Its way more satisfying than just looking down smugly from Chelsea Taxis in endless traffic jams, and easily achieved as the walks are nice and short, mercifully for my kidneys.

On leaving Kalbarri we had a bit of a Monopoly moment when we stumbled upon Eurardy reserve, and a cog ticked over in my mind.

‘Hang on,’ I remarked to a somewhat startled Debbie, ‘I think I own that!’

Several years ago I’d given my first measly donation to Australian Bush Heritage, a charity who buy up land to conserve for environmental purposes, and as a result I’d bought a little bit of Eurardy Station, which having miserably failed to produce any wheat or cows, was to be rehabilitated into Eurardy reserve.

Pulling into the homestead I was delighted to discover that my meagre donation, which I’d imagined would pay for a couple of square yards, had in fact snapped up twelve hectares, by which we were now resplendently surrounded! Prices around here are somewhat cheaper than the city, it would seem. Upon this revelation a little voice piped up inside my head and greedily suggested I should take it back and build myself a nice mansion. This selfish gene was rapidly silenced when I realised it would be an awfully long walk round to the neighbours to ask for a cup of sugar. Instead we took a quick stroll through the wildflowers, and, having satisfied ourselves there was unlikely to be any gold or oil to be found, returned refreshed to our merry trip north.

Our eventual target was Ningaloo, the largest west-coast coral reef in the world, and we finally reached it 24 hours later at Coral Bay, which is not so much a town as a five-star refugee camp, a couple of thousand souls living in Bring Your Own accommodation.
Coral Bay, as the name suggests, is a bay chock-full of coral. We booked on for a couple of dives, which were most satisfactory, and in between them at lunch, as promised in the brochure, we went snorkelling. With Manta Rays. This is as normal around here as having a cheese sandwich, and can be done at any time except December to March, when you go snorkelling with Whale sharks instead, which is more like cheese and pickle.

Our Manta was something of a tiddler at about four metres across, but happily led us around for a good twenty minutes, playfully teasing us into kicking ever faster before buggering off with a slight flick of his tail.

For me it was a bitter-sweet experience. Undoubtedly the Manta was amazing, but one of the great joys of coral reefs is their sheer unpredictability, the excitement of never knowing what you’re going to see. A random Manta encounter after being told we were snorkelling with mullet would have been somehow so much better, but maybe that’s just me being a spoilt brat. It was still magic, but felt like a much more contrived Disneyworld type magic than any genuine walking-on-water, loaves and fishes type scenario.

Ningaloo stretches north from Coral Bay right up to the tip of Cape Range at Exmouth, 200 kms away. These days you can make the trip quickly and in luxury along the sealed road, but we were keen to follow the reef up the coast on the old 4WD track for a somewhat more authentic experience. This was one stretch of coast I’d been looking forward to the whole trip, having previously read of a succession of perfect secluded bays with nothing to do but camp and snorkel. As usual there was no shortage of nay-sayers to be found in Coral Bay announcing the road was way too rough, but we decided that was just their way to keep the numbers down.

And so off we set.

I have to admit I’d secretly hoped we’d stumble on a spot way better than Coral Bay that the masses had not yet discovered, but of course we didn’t, or they would have put Coral Bay there in the first place! Not that the snorkelling was bad, but the conditions were rougher, the coral less dense, and the beaches ever windier, turning camping into an exercise in avoiding sandblasting. Still, there’s little to beat watching the sun go down with wine and cheese on your very own beach, even if by sunset the wine is getting remarkably gritty.

LeFroy Bay was more sheltered than most, and an exploratory snorkel revealed good coral at the north end, even if the currents were a little strong. Sitting on the beach for the day awaiting the next high tide, we’d often spot turtles popping up for air: this being just before nesting season they were amassing in force and had plainly been listening to the birds and bees.

My plan for the late afternoon was to enter the bay at the south end and allow the current to carry me clean across the bay. Debbie elected to be less adventurous with a long swim by the beach, as conditions further out were a little choppy.

Almost as soon as I started I realised it was a big mistake. This end of the bay was empty. Nothing but rippled sand, rubble and occasional weed. By the time I reached the good north end I’d be tired and cold and need to get out, but it was too late to change the plan now. The current was carrying me fast, and at least there was little need to kick, but my spirits were flagging. We should have stayed in Coral Bay, enjoyed the time there and taken the main road north instead.

Just then, at the corner of my mask my attention was drawn to a crevice. Were those eyes? Turning back against the current I had to swim at full pace just to stay still, but at least I was right... almost perfectly camouflaged, hiding from sight, was an octopus doing a great impression of a blob of jelly, eyeing me suspiciously. I just love these guys, surprisingly common but so hard to spot that you always miss them. It’s almost comical to try to point them out to other divers, who think you’ve gone nuts over a dull brown rock. Just to prove the point, after a full minute of frantic kicking I realised there was another one sitting right next to him. They both stayed implacably cool until I could kick no longer and was forced to float away with the current, right into the path of a passing stingray.

Before I knew it, it was all happening.

A turtle. Another stingray. Another turtle and then Whoa!.. the biggest bloody turtle I’ve ever seen, who seemed as startled as me when we almost collided headfirst, both looking the wrong way. I briefly thought I was going to get a bite for my troubles, but he instead circled me warily before departing. By now the heart rate was rising. A shark: white-tip. Then a black-tip and then a bigger Grey. More turtles, more stingrays, and then the coral began, sparkling fish everywhere, angels, sweetlips, wrasse. The current dropped nicely and I found plenty of time left to circle the north end.

I crawled ashore forty minutes later a very happy knackered bunny. LeFroy Bay had delivered big-time, and all from a most inauspicious start. Okay, I didn’t get a Manta, but I got everything else I could have wished for, all completely spontaneous, and all to myself.

As I collapsed on the beach and watched the sun go down I realised with relief there was no doubt about it.

It’s Irrefutably Official.

I’m still in love with the sea.

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