It’s hard to believe we’ve already been at the Ningaloo Reef for a week and a half, and I would be depressed at the thought if I didn’t know we have another three weeks here. As we drove into Exmouth after a long, hot day in the van, we were really dispirited to see the hordes of people overrunning the IGA and small strip of shops. We had to be somewhere during the July school holidays, but we didn’t plan particularly well (or at all) to end up at the most popular tourist destination in the northwest at the most desirable time of year. We would have waited the kids out in our lovely free campsite by the river near Onslow, but we ran out of cooking fuel, and the choice was either to backtrack 100 km or press forward.
Of the five or six caravan parks in town, we were told at
the visitor’s centre that one might have a few spots remaining in their
overflow lot. We ended up paying what
would be full rates elsewhere ($33) to park in a small patch of dirt without
power or water, but I was grateful for the salty bore water shower and fish n’
chips at their small outdoor café.
Without any shade, it was just too hot to be in the van, much less cook. It’s impossible to believe this is the
coldest month of the year sometimes.
We’d been told at the visitor’s centre that we could line up
at the national park from 6:30 am, and the ranger would fill the spots of those
leaving the part on a first-come-first-served basis at 8 am. We coasted out of the caravan park in neutral
shortly after sunrise to arrive at the national park at 7 am and find five or
six vehicles already in line. We raised
the pop-top, and I made some coffee and breakfast for the wait.
Unfortunately, the coffee was a little too effective, and I
began calculating how long I could wait before things got messy. Unfortunately, by 7:30 am I was struck with a
bad case of the poo sweats, and it was obvious immediate action was
required. Without much hope, I decided
to see whether the port-a-loo behind the ranger’s hut was unlocked and set out
with a wad of toilet paper. To reach it,
I had to walk a gauntlet of our fellow travellers. Making it worse, as I squeezed past one lady,
she stopped her conversation mid-sentence to follow me with her eyes. I would normally have thought I was just
being paranoid, but Eric was watching from the van and confirmed that she was
watching me like Leroy used to eye a can of tuna. At least I had some revenge later laughing
when I overheard her telling someone that she was continuously eye raped by the
miners in Karratha. I don’t think anyone
has been without action so long that her retired cankles would look good.
Of course, the port-a-loo was locked, leaving me with no
option but to set off into the open plain with a shovel. I found a smallish bush (but still clearly
visible to any new arrivals to the queue) and had to laugh as I was digging. I mean, as horrible as some situations are,
you can’t help but see the comic value of the story in advance. At least I avoided the more horrible option
Eric suggested of pooping into a plastic shopping bag in the back of the
van. I may not be looking my finest in
these days of infrequent showers and growing belly, but I do still attempt to
retain some semblance of allure. I
reckon I could pull better than cankles in Karratha, anyway.
The wait was worth it, though, as Eric and I got the last
spot for the day and were told that they could only squeeze us in as we are so
tiny. (I mean that Turquey is tiny
compared to many of the other rigs, for those of you who are giggling about
Eric’s and my midget status. You’ll stop
laughing when we breed the most successful jockey in generations.)
We were slotted into Ned’s Camp, one of the dozen or so
small campgrounds in the park. On first
inspection, we thought the place looked quite grim and exposed and wondered
what the process was for trading up for a better spot. However, after driving through some of the
other campgrounds, we realised that Ned’s is probably the best one as at least it
has a few trees. I mean, the beach had a
shark warning when we first arrived due to a dead dugong washed up on the beach,
but at least the campground host had a sign advertising happy hour at 5 pm.
In fact, a few days after we arrived, the happy hour at
Ned’s Camp was featured in a travelogue on channel 10 about Exmouth! We obviously didn’t see it, but it was all
the talk at happy hour for a couple of nights.
There are about fifteen sites at Ned’s, and I’d say on any given night,
the campers from at least ten of those convene at the picnic tables on the
beach to recount tales of fish that got away (and some that made it into
the supper pot) that day. Hilariously, happy hour ends at 6 pm, about
five minutes after sunset, as promptly as it begins at 5 pm.
Many of the campers have been coming to this same spot for a
month every year, some for 25-30 years.
Given that Eric and I both feel enjoy the company of older people, we
never miss a happy hour, and a pregnant lady in a group who misses their
grandchildren (although everyone is suspiciously happy there are no children in
our camp) is warmly welcomed. As lame as
it sounds, we find ourselves rushing to get back to camp from the day’s
activities for happy hour every afternoon.
We must crave both the structure to our day and the company of someone
besides ourselves more than we realised.
Each day, new arrivals are questioned about how many were in
line that morning and what time they arrived.
Most days, there seem to be 12-15 vehicles in the queue, and people
arrive at 4:30 or 5 am regardless of the rules.
Now we realise how lucky we were to rock up at 7 am and still get a
spot! And with only a few days’
seniority, we were able to move into a well-shaded spot.
When the ranger asked how long we would be staying, I asked
how long we were allowed to stay, thinking she would say three or four nights
given the evident high demand. We just
chuckled when she responded that we could stay for 28 days, assured her we
wouldn’t be staying that long, and paid for five nights since that was how much
cash we had on hand. After one day exploring
a few of the myriad beaches in the park and one happy hour, though, we were
already finding reasons why staying a month made sense. At $14/night, the economy was unequivocal,
and it seemed like kind of an adventure to join this bizarre community of
nomads for an entire month.
On our supply trip into Exmouth (about 50 minutes from
Ned’s) the next day, we made our next baby appointment at the local hospital for
a few weeks out and extended our stay at the ranger station. For the moment, our lives are blissfully
uneventful. Every four or five days we
go into town, have breakfast at our favourite café, stock up on groceries and
drinking water, download emails, take $5 showers at the visitor’s centre, and
then reward ourselves for our hard work with ice cream. Since school holidays ended, it’s really not
much of a chore since kids on pushbikes aren’t trying to run us down every five
minutes, but ice cream is still the ultimate treat when you live in
accommodation without a freezer. On
other days, we hike up into one of the two gorges and scramble to the top of a
rock face to enjoy the view, take a long walk down a deserted beach, snorkel amongst
the ridiculous variety of tropical fish, or just lay around camp reading and
typing up long missives no one but me really ever wants to read.
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| Yardie Creek Gorge |
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Typical Ningaloo water with reef in the distance
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Most days we eat our lunch staring out to sea and watching
the whales spout and flip their tails just outside the fringing reef. The Ningaloo Reef runs north to south for
something like 290 km at distances ranging from just a few hundred metres to a
kilometre off shore. Inside the reef,
the water is brilliant turquoise and clumps of coral just a few steps off the
sand teem with more exotic fish than we saw in our day trip onto the Great
Barrier Reef a few years ago. Giant waves
crash on the reef making Eric crazy with calculations of how likely he would be
to drown on the paddle out to them or bash his head when tumbled by the first
monster wave that crashed on him. So
far, my argument that I can’t raise this baby as a single mother has been
compelling. Just outside the reef are a
constant parade of whales and I can’t imagine what other sea monsters.
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| Eric checking the surf conditions |
Yesterday, we got to experience a bit of life outside the
reef on our whale shark tour with 3 Islands.
Because it is so remote, Exmouth/Ningaloo is still relatively
undeveloped despite the abundance of natural beauty. In fact, the old timers say it was more
crowded than it is now 15 years ago, around when my dad visited for work, when
the US military had a strong presence. Apparently,
most of the neighbourhoods were made up of American families who are sorely missed
given that they brought life to the town year-round and services like a bowling
alley and swimming pool. During summer
now, it sounds like Exmouth is essentially a ghost town.
Anyway, because the area is not built up, there are only 12
tour operators in town, each of whom takes out up to 20 people per day to swim
with the whale sharks. They share
spotter planes, work together for the four months a year that tours operate,
and follow very strict guidelines to ensure that no individual animal is overly
stressed. All guests have to stay at
least three meters from the fish, and you can’t dive below it or go farther
forward than the side dorsal fins to avoid making it feel threatened. To be fair, while it would be amazing to cuddle
a whale shark, I was pretty happy to keep my distance from the 6-9 metre whale
sharks we encountered, particularly knowing that each metre adds about a ton of
force to its constantly swooshing tail.
When we started this trip, the three spots I was most
excited to visit were Kakadu, the Bungle Bungles, and Ningaloo. Eric questioned whether we should come this
far north given the limited time we have, but I think he saw my wee chin wobble
at the thought of missing out on all three spots just because I got knocked
up. I mean, no fair, given that I
already can’t surf or cycle. We were
both worried that by the time we got here, I’d be too pregnant to swim with the
whale sharks, but before we plunked down the $800 (worth every penny) the tour
operator assured us that women “in all stages of pregnancy” had gone out with
them, which made me picture women paying extra to experience a water birth with
whale shark midwives. Regardless, she
was correct that it was no issue at all.
In fact, I coped much better than the group of Japanese girls who didn’t
appear to have ever been in anything deeper than bathwater.
Wisely, the day started with an offshore snorkel within the
confines of the reef to give people who haven’t been snorkelling before a
chance to acclimate in calm waters and the guides an opportunity to figure out
how to split guests into groups without overloading anyone with weak
swimmers. We saw a cod the size of an
old Mini Cooper on that first snorkel, but otherwise I was disappointed as what
we saw wasn’t that different from the snorkelling we’ve done from shore. Combined with the first day of overcast skies
since we’ve been here, a chilly breeze, and some trouble locating a first whale
shark, I began to worry that our day was going to be unbearably lame. At least all of the operators have a policy
that allows you to return for a free trip within three years if you don’t swim
with a whale shark on your designated day, but I suspect our next few years
will be a bit busy.
I needn’t have worried.
Shortly after our first failed attempt, we were all lined up on our bums
at the stern of the boat with flippers on waiting for the go signal from the
spotter. On her command, our group of
ten entered the water and split into smaller groups of five to wait for the
whale shark to pass beneath us and then to follow her away from the boat in a V
formation around her tail. It’s
indescribable what it’s like looking through the surreally sapphire blue water
at this gigantic face coming toward you out of the void. I was worried about being able to keep up,
but all of the whale sharks with whom we swam maintained a very casual pace,
with slow, subtle whooshes of their massive tails enough to propel them forward
with their coterie of remoras (and ten flippered, stunned human swimmers) in
tow. Our first whale shark was
particularly accommodating, swimming in big circles for about 10 minutes before
diving out of sight, meaning that it was more of a challenge maintaining a
respectful distance than keeping up.
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| Mary is in pursuit! |
All together, we swam with seven whale sharks, one of them
twice. The overcast skies actually
played in our favour by improving the visibility of the water, enhancing the
sharpness of photos, and, our guides swear, making the white spots that cover
the whale sharks’ backs “pop”. Given the
guides’ constant use of the word “epic”, I reckon they have to find some way to
make every day special so that tourists leave happy to have spent $400 each for
the experience. To be fair, others with
whom I’ve spoken saw between two and four whale sharks, so our special day was
“epic” in terms of volume…and really every other way, too, as far as I’m
concerned. As a special bonus of the
overcast skies, despite never putting on sunscreen once, I’m not at all burnt
today. To be fair, I am so brown at the
moment I’m not sure I could burn even in the full sun (not that I risk it – I
promise I wear heaps of sunscreen every other day, Mum).
The first few whale sharks were at least a kilometre apart,
meaning there was a lot of hauling ourselves out of the water, stripping off
wetsuits, and getting warm only to be told there was a whale shark closing in
and we needed to be in the water within a few minutes to catch it. We had 10-15 minutes following a shark before
it dove or the guides gave the “stop swimming” command to bring us all back
into a group to watch it swim off into the distance. After those first few, though, we hit the
jackpot. There were over 20 whale sharks
surrounding our boat, and we swam after one and then another and another. It’s so quiet, and the whale sharks are so
serene, that you forget anyone else is in the water unless they whack you with
a flipper as they sprint past trying to get a photo. I swear gently flippering along behind a
whale shark could be a kind of meditation.
One more active moment was when one started convulsing as it took in
massive gulps of water, which our guide told us back on the boat was her way of
cleaning out her gills.
I was on the verge of giving in to the cold water and my own
exhaustion when the guides decided we’d reached our quota of whale shark
ecstasy. Ironically, the tender had to
collect us as there were so many whale sharks in the water than the larger boat
couldn’t navigate to our location.
Anyway, we’d spotted a couple of large-ish silver tipped reef sharks
circling below us, and I’d been stung on the lip by one of the magical jellies
that were floating all around us, so I was ready to get out of the water.
I’m now obsessed with whale sharks. The commonly live to be over 100 years old,
and some have lived to see 150. They
don’t reach maturity until they are about 30 years old, but once they are fully
mature, a female will carry up to 300 embryos at various stages of development
simultaneously. No wonder the females
tend to be slightly larger than the males!
The ones with whom we swam were 6-9 metres long, although ones as long
as 11 metres are regularly spotted in this area.
As long as it’s done responsibly, swimming with them is the
best way to encounter a whale shark as they don’t typically live longer than
3-4 years in captivity. That made me
feel really guilty about the ones I saw in aquariums in Okinawa and
Atlanta. It’s really tough to believe
that in some poor countries near the equator they are fished to eat, although
it’s tough to judge someone who’s hungry and surviving in an environment where
their people have lived for generations.
When they finally hauled us aboard at 2 pm, I was happy to
get into dry clothes and wolf down two plates of amazing salads followed by
heaps of fresh fruit and some tasty cheeses.
While eating, Eric and I were watching as some humpback whales swam
closer and closer the boat until they were spouting and coming well out of the
water easily within ten meters of the boat in all directions. A nursery pod had become curious about our
boat and chosen to investigate.
Usually, humpbacks swim in a threesome: mum, bub, and escort
male (not mum’s mate or bub’s dad – what a guy), but occasionally groups will
join to travel together a while. The
return trip from Antarctica to Darwin takes about a year, during which mum
lives off her blubber. It’s amazing they
have enough energy to be curious about anything! I thought I was going to die not getting
lunch until after 2 pm, and I’m nowhere close to 20 meters long.
We saw at least one very new baby, as they are only white on
top for the first week or so following birth.
Ironically, a humpback calf is also not a very good swimmer. I think the guide said something like 60,000
whales will make the calving trip north to warmer waters most years, leading
this stretch of coast to be called Humpback Highway. They tend to like to play around midday,
which explains why Eric and I see so many when we’re eating our lunch on the beach
each day.
Being surrounded by whales at such close distance when it
was completely unexpected was almost as much an attraction of the trip as
swimming with the whale sharks. Even
after yesterday’s close encounter, I was still excited when we saw a plume of
spume today walking on the beach. Whales
are freaking awesome.
Triumphantly, we returned to camp just a few minutes after 5
pm and regaled the happy hour crew with tales of our wildlife adventures. Sadly, seven sets of campers were celebrating
their last happy hour last night, although that means we’ll have lots of quirky
new personalities around the table tonight to entertain us. And now we’re the old timers!
For those interested in a baby update, the Sea Monkey seems
happy and healthy. I feel for the poor
kid, who is going to be told about all the cool things we did before she was
born. I’m addicted to feeling her kick
and spend most of my idle moments with at least one hand on my abdomen in case
she wants to chat. It’s nice that she
can let me know everything is ok in there now, even if she is getting
increasingly cramped.
She’s meant to double in size this month, and I felt like I
had, too, when I saw myself in a dressing room mirror the other day. It’s funny being pregnant but only seeing
myself naked every couple of weeks. Eric
can’t believe I don’t feel super pregnant all the time, because I look that way
to him. I’m still squeezing myself
between the cupboards in the back of the van ok, although I have to sit on the
floor if I’m getting out more than a few things. Other than that, though, everything is
fabulous!
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| Increasing gourmet skills in the van - note Dot riding on Willie Nelson in the background (not sure about that) |
