Our journey took us out of Denham past the typical orange sands and undulating country of the Peninsula.
Within 30 minutes we were turning into Nanga Bay. Our friends the Vogts had stayed here last year and were less than impressed. We were about to find out why.
Here I must begin with a rider....our impressions of the Nanga Bay facilities are based on an external viewing only, but interestingly, they more than match most of the recent appraisals posted on 'Trip Advisor' by those who have stayed there.
The entrance road took us past these impressive stone walls and the comfortable looking houses behind them,
but already, as we drove past the boundary fence of the camping ground, the dessicated, sandy outlook was less than promising.
From here we could see across the camping ground to the park office beyond.
As we made our way towards the caravan park we passed the front of the 'Resort' section which offers motel style accommodation of an apparently challenging standard.
The camp ground is large, as are all the individual sites on it. It was here that we found some of the quaintest little on site huts we had ever seen.
On closer examination I discovered that these are designed to be moved.....I could not quite work out why.
and what appeared to be the park camp kitchen and BBQ section, which, from what we could make out seemed more than adequate.
We were on our way to check out the nearby beach which is vaunted as a great place for wind surfing, swimming and fishing,
passing some of the motel units as we did so.
The beach did look pretty inviting, with its white sand and crystal clear waters of Nanga Bay beyond. A couple of boaties had obviously launched here before our arrival. We could only hope that they had to make use of the fish cleaning table at the water's edge on their return.
A couple of nearby dongas, and the electrical post for what appeared to be a caravan site, struck us as somewhat odd, but then that was our entire impression of Nanga Bay.
We had seen enough. And by the way, did I mention the flies???
As we left the Nanga Bay Resort and Caravan Park, we could not help but agree with the predominating comments of fellow travellers who had stayed here, including the Vogts......old, run down and tired. We had considered a night or two here as an option on our way in, and chose not to on their advice. Thanks Rhonda and John, you were spot on!
And now for something completely different....Shell Beach. We drove out of Nanga Bay and turned north back towards Denham. Within a few minutes the white sweep of Shell Beach appeared on our right and the entry sign loomed.
A short entry road
took us to the car park
where we found the first of many signs explaining what we were about to see.
This one pointed out that the Fragum Cockle is about the only thing which can live in the hyper-saline waters of L'Haridon Bight, and that these little marvels crowd together in numbers of some 4,000 to the square metre. Now that's high density living for you!
We set off from car park along the track through the scrub
which took us to the 'beach',
a beach without a grain of sand. The entire surface is comprised of unimaginable numbers of dead cockle shells.
This is 'shell-grit' at its best.
Over the years masses of these tiny shells have been blown back from the water's edge to form low dunes, remarkably like a 'normal' beach.
The expanse of this shelly beach is breathtaking,
and I was surprised to find that it is not flat. The shells have been piled into long ridges running more or less parallel to the water.
Here at Shell Beach, even the sea is different. I have already mentioned that it is extremely salty, and just as occurs at Hamelin Pool, the temperatures in the shallows can be very high indeed during the summer months. Swimming here is an experience.....great floatation, but be prepared to come out looking like a salted peanut!
The obvious question is how did all this come about? Why is this water so saline? In simple terms.....it is trapped. Sand and seaweed banks at the mouths of both L'Haridon Bight and Hamelin Pool allow tidal flows of seawater to enter but not fully retreat. Evaporation takes care of the rest. It is only the fact that high tides do allow a constant replenishment of the water that these two areas do not dry out completely. This high salinity has meant that the Fragum Cockle has no natural predators with the result that its numbers have just exploded over the millennia with the obvious result.
On our way back towards Denham, we did stop at a roadside lookout to take in one last panoramic view of this incredible place
before again turning off, this time on the opposite side of the road.
Gourlet Bluff beckoned. This is not one of the 'trendy' scenic spots on the Peron Peninsula, but we were keen to take a peek anyway.
The road in actually climbs to the top of the hill, but as I discovered when I climbed it,
our decision to park below on a much more user friendly section of the track proved wise.
After something of a scramble up the rutted, rock strew ascent, I was rewarded with views back south to the Nanga Bay area
and, in the opposite direction along the coast towards Denham.
Our next, and final stop, was to be the more formal lookout at Eagle Bluff shown here as the square 'you are here' point on this sign,
where the car park area was a far cry from that at Gourlet Bluff.
I'll let this explanatory sign in the car park speak for itself.
As you can see, the sea grass beds of Shark Bay are the largest in the world, but what is not included in this particular sign is the detail. These undersea meadows cover a staggering area......400,000 hectares, a space equivalent to that occupied by the entire Perth metropolitan area. The grasses trap sediment, form higher banks, become exposed to the sun at low tide, die off and move further out to sea. The result is very shallow water extending for considerable distances offshore, as can be seen from Eagle Bluff,
where a very good viewing platform has been built.
This is not called a 'bluff' for nothing. It was a long way down to the sea where the edge of the sea grass meadows can be clearly seen.
Looking in the other direction, over the small limestone islet and the sails of a passing catamaran beyond, the edge of the sea grass is much more ragged, but equally distinct.
As we ascended the walkway,
we came to a position where we could see out over the beautifully different blues of Shark Bay
to the peninsula which ends at Steep Point. Highlighted against the dark ridge of the hills are two piles of salt, the product of the closed facility located on the coast at Useless Loop.
From the end of the walkway we could also look back over the car park and the topography which is typical of this part of the Peron Peninsula
and cast another envious eye (well, mine at least) over the lucky blighters cruising slowly across the benign waters. We did linger here for some time hoping to catch sight of a passing dugong, turtle or shark, but the only marine inhabitant which glided through the shallows was a large ray.
You may have noted a number of blackish dots on this last photo. You've guessed it....damn bush flies. They were getting worst as the day progressed....and we were over them, or more to the point they were all over us. They were making life more than difficult. It was time to make our way back to Denham, tuck up inside and do other things until the cool of the evening finally put these wretches to bed.
It was a shame that our Shark Bay sojourn had been so beset by these menaces, but, at the risk of sounding tritely philosophical, everyone was in the same boat. We all just had to get on with it, as we did.
We were just praying that the exposed and breezy top of Gladstone Hill, our planned free camp overnight stop for the morrow, would be less afflicted.
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