Did I say somewhere before that Kalbarri just keeps on giving? In the nearly three weeks we spent there, we found something new to do almost every day. We had finished the inland gorges and tackled the first stage of the coastal cliffs. It was time to see the rest. Island Rock and Natural Bridge are the two more noted features (not quite sure why in hindsight as you will see) but we had decided the lesser publicised Pot Alley was also worth a look.
This gully in the cliff face acquired its rather odd name from local fishermen who lost many cray pots in this hazardous rocky cove when they were torn from their mooring ropes in heavy weather.
The tourist pamphlet promotes this area as "great to explore, however swimming is not recommended, the life buoy revealing the danger of this coastline". We were to see why.
From the cliff top car park,
which provided a great view of our ultimate destination,
we made our way to the top of the access path. Our good friend and travelling companion, John Vogt, had felt the need for a morning tramp, and had joined us in this adventure.
Oddly, this track had not been graded. We decided that nothing in this area could be as challenging as the Mushroom Rock loop and we had managed that 'on the bit', so off we went regardless.
So far, so good. This looks pretty user friendly,
as did the track ahead of us down through the craggy and quite narrow ravine.
So it proved to be. Despite the rather forbidding appearance of some of the trail, human intervention by way of several series of manageable steps made for a comfortable jaunt.
After ten minutes or so the track flattened out considerably and my travelling companions were off on the trot. "Hey, wait for me, I'm trying to immortalise you two on film!"
The bottom of the gully was very similar in appearance to that at Mushroom Rock,
but that's where the similarity ended. Beyond the flat, rocky plates of the end of the ravine, Pot Alley does indeed boast a beach,
and what an inviting stretch of sand this is. With the crystal clear cerulean waters of the Indian Ocean rolling onto the shore, I could understand the temptation amongst some who are not sufficiently respectful of these conditions to venture in for a splash.
This would be a foolish move indeed. As we soon saw from the southern rocks of this small cove, the apparently benign sea was anything but. The ocean swells along this coast are relentless....and this was regarded as a 'calm' day.
The press of water through this rocky arch as each swell slumped to the end of its ocean journey was awesome to watch.
From the vantage point of this end of the cove we could see back across the beach, where, true to the words of the tourist information,
there was the life buoy standing as a stark reminder that any with less than Olympic standard swimming prowess should not consider dipping as much as a toe in the briny at Pot Alley, and even then they should immediately reconsider. The hiss and suck of the undertow off the steeply shelving sand was frightening. An ability to effectively body surf the often dumping incoming waves would be a minimal pre-requisite for survival. I could well understand why this apparent idyll has been the last place on earth some have seen.
But as for fishermen.....well that's a different matter all together. I invite you to look closely at
the cliff face ledge mid-shot. You are right. They are indeed humans figures.
I thought I had spotted the tips of fishing rods from the car park before we made our way down to the cove. Surely not. Surely so. Perched well above the tops of the incoming swells, these hopefuls were casting for tailor and mulloway in the wave wash. None had any luck whilst we watched, and it did occur to me that those casting from this eerie would have to be confident in their skills. Any stumble would inevitably result in a long and unforgiving fall.
Sitting on my upturned bucket on the warm sand of a quiet beach has much more personal appeal. Apart from anything else with this cliff caper, there is the problem of getting a good sized catch up to the platform after hook-up. Just too hard all round.
On our way back up the ravine, I paid closer attention to some of the rock formations past which we were walking. Some of the colours
and shapes were like nothing I had ever seen before.
Sharp, protruding edges were a feature of this particular rock face. This is not a trail on which to stumble sideways.
And there we were, grateful for those who had cemented these steps in place, as we made our way upwards
to the waiting cruiser in the car park at the top of the cliff in which we then whisked ourselves off to our next attraction.
The walkway from the car park to the Natural Bridge lookout was testament to the popularity of this local feature. No challenge here.
We reached the lookout in no time flat
and eagerly looked to north along the coastline.
Is this what all the fuss is about? Interesting, but frankly, not a patch on the Great Ocean Road.
Let's see if Island Rock is more impressive. Another walk was required, this time along a 2 km section of the the cliff top Bigurda Trail, a name which is taken from the local Nanda word for the small kangaroo often seen here.
It was a change to be on flat ground, notwithstanding the fact that the surface was anything but optimal, varying between limestone rubble
and sandy tracks, dauntingly close in places to the edge of the cliffs. This is a trail on which sightseeing should not be undertaken 'on the move' or that move could be in the form of a rapid and unplanned descent with no hope of a return in the same condition as at the time of departure.
I for one was more than happy to fully comply with the frequently spaced signs warning of the dangers of the collapsing edges of the cliff face,
of which there was considerable evidence along the way.
But what a vantage point from which to be able to watch one of the local cray boat crews working their pots. They don't show in these photos, but the red and white pot buoys are strung right along the base of these cliffs like a row of party lights.
And, here again we had a reminder of the sea state. I invite you to consider that this fishing vessel is just under 20 metres in length with a bridge height of about 3 metres....no small boat. And now compare that to the size of the smooth lumps of the swells through which this craft is making way. Awesome! I was reminded of my Adelaide-Port Lincoln yacht racing days when, as we rounded Cape Spencer and entered Spencer Gulf, 'Leda' would rise and fall on the swells with a motion which was for all the world like being in a lift.
So this is Island Rock. Hmmm! A bit like Natural Bridge really. I was particularly pleased that the walk had been a feature of the morning in itself.
Let me leave the last of our Kalbarri scenic adventures with a short personal rant. On our return to the car park we came across one of the ubiquitous 'Wicked' tourist vehicles, albeit one of the new fleet. Now I'm no prude, just the opposite, and I love nothing better than a play on words or a witty joust (as, dear readers, you know only too well) but I am of a firm view that course behaviour and language has a specific time and place, and on public view is not one of them.
What ever possesses the small, smutty, smeared minds of the managers of this company to think that this type of public display is humorous is beyond me (and this is one of the more 'tasteful' examples). I suspect my ire was exacerbated by the fact we came across this example of the crudely crass commercialism of the Wicked company in an area of outstanding natural beauty.
And the words 'crass' and 'commercial' are the perfect introduction to our next adventure.....a visit to Hutt River Province where your scribe's tongue was firmly in lockdown and my travelling companion spent some nervous moments waiting for the verbal challenge to the nonsense with which we were confronted. Did I behave?
This gully in the cliff face acquired its rather odd name from local fishermen who lost many cray pots in this hazardous rocky cove when they were torn from their mooring ropes in heavy weather.
The tourist pamphlet promotes this area as "great to explore, however swimming is not recommended, the life buoy revealing the danger of this coastline". We were to see why.
From the cliff top car park,
which provided a great view of our ultimate destination,
we made our way to the top of the access path. Our good friend and travelling companion, John Vogt, had felt the need for a morning tramp, and had joined us in this adventure.
Oddly, this track had not been graded. We decided that nothing in this area could be as challenging as the Mushroom Rock loop and we had managed that 'on the bit', so off we went regardless.
So far, so good. This looks pretty user friendly,
as did the track ahead of us down through the craggy and quite narrow ravine.
So it proved to be. Despite the rather forbidding appearance of some of the trail, human intervention by way of several series of manageable steps made for a comfortable jaunt.
After ten minutes or so the track flattened out considerably and my travelling companions were off on the trot. "Hey, wait for me, I'm trying to immortalise you two on film!"
The bottom of the gully was very similar in appearance to that at Mushroom Rock,
but that's where the similarity ended. Beyond the flat, rocky plates of the end of the ravine, Pot Alley does indeed boast a beach,
and what an inviting stretch of sand this is. With the crystal clear cerulean waters of the Indian Ocean rolling onto the shore, I could understand the temptation amongst some who are not sufficiently respectful of these conditions to venture in for a splash.
This would be a foolish move indeed. As we soon saw from the southern rocks of this small cove, the apparently benign sea was anything but. The ocean swells along this coast are relentless....and this was regarded as a 'calm' day.
The press of water through this rocky arch as each swell slumped to the end of its ocean journey was awesome to watch.
From the vantage point of this end of the cove we could see back across the beach, where, true to the words of the tourist information,
But as for fishermen.....well that's a different matter all together. I invite you to look closely at
the cliff face ledge mid-shot. You are right. They are indeed humans figures.
I thought I had spotted the tips of fishing rods from the car park before we made our way down to the cove. Surely not. Surely so. Perched well above the tops of the incoming swells, these hopefuls were casting for tailor and mulloway in the wave wash. None had any luck whilst we watched, and it did occur to me that those casting from this eerie would have to be confident in their skills. Any stumble would inevitably result in a long and unforgiving fall.
Sitting on my upturned bucket on the warm sand of a quiet beach has much more personal appeal. Apart from anything else with this cliff caper, there is the problem of getting a good sized catch up to the platform after hook-up. Just too hard all round.
On our way back up the ravine, I paid closer attention to some of the rock formations past which we were walking. Some of the colours
and shapes were like nothing I had ever seen before.
Sharp, protruding edges were a feature of this particular rock face. This is not a trail on which to stumble sideways.
And there we were, grateful for those who had cemented these steps in place, as we made our way upwards
to the waiting cruiser in the car park at the top of the cliff in which we then whisked ourselves off to our next attraction.
The walkway from the car park to the Natural Bridge lookout was testament to the popularity of this local feature. No challenge here.
We reached the lookout in no time flat
and eagerly looked to north along the coastline.
Is this what all the fuss is about? Interesting, but frankly, not a patch on the Great Ocean Road.
Let's see if Island Rock is more impressive. Another walk was required, this time along a 2 km section of the the cliff top Bigurda Trail, a name which is taken from the local Nanda word for the small kangaroo often seen here.
It was a change to be on flat ground, notwithstanding the fact that the surface was anything but optimal, varying between limestone rubble
and sandy tracks, dauntingly close in places to the edge of the cliffs. This is a trail on which sightseeing should not be undertaken 'on the move' or that move could be in the form of a rapid and unplanned descent with no hope of a return in the same condition as at the time of departure.
I for one was more than happy to fully comply with the frequently spaced signs warning of the dangers of the collapsing edges of the cliff face,
of which there was considerable evidence along the way.
But what a vantage point from which to be able to watch one of the local cray boat crews working their pots. They don't show in these photos, but the red and white pot buoys are strung right along the base of these cliffs like a row of party lights.
And, here again we had a reminder of the sea state. I invite you to consider that this fishing vessel is just under 20 metres in length with a bridge height of about 3 metres....no small boat. And now compare that to the size of the smooth lumps of the swells through which this craft is making way. Awesome! I was reminded of my Adelaide-Port Lincoln yacht racing days when, as we rounded Cape Spencer and entered Spencer Gulf, 'Leda' would rise and fall on the swells with a motion which was for all the world like being in a lift.
As we neared our destination, we had company on the cliff top. After peering through the binoculars I always carry on these jaunts, and a later thorough leafing through the pages of our Field Guide to Australian Birds, I am prepared to cautiously venture that we had spied a Nankeen kestrel (but please don't quote me)
So this is Island Rock. Hmmm! A bit like Natural Bridge really. I was particularly pleased that the walk had been a feature of the morning in itself.
Let me leave the last of our Kalbarri scenic adventures with a short personal rant. On our return to the car park we came across one of the ubiquitous 'Wicked' tourist vehicles, albeit one of the new fleet. Now I'm no prude, just the opposite, and I love nothing better than a play on words or a witty joust (as, dear readers, you know only too well) but I am of a firm view that course behaviour and language has a specific time and place, and on public view is not one of them.
What ever possesses the small, smutty, smeared minds of the managers of this company to think that this type of public display is humorous is beyond me (and this is one of the more 'tasteful' examples). I suspect my ire was exacerbated by the fact we came across this example of the crudely crass commercialism of the Wicked company in an area of outstanding natural beauty.
And the words 'crass' and 'commercial' are the perfect introduction to our next adventure.....a visit to Hutt River Province where your scribe's tongue was firmly in lockdown and my travelling companion spent some nervous moments waiting for the verbal challenge to the nonsense with which we were confronted. Did I behave?
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