Mud wasp takes down aeroplane.

For Ewan.

Are you a Birdo??? Someone asked me. A What….? It was explained to me that a Birdo is someone who loves bird watching. I must admit I have been taking a lot of photographs of birds lately and here in Shark Bay there are some interesting new varieties I have never seen before. I have been attempting to recognise their call and will always stop and watch what they are doing. It is not just birds that I have become interested in since taking off on our semi-grey adventure. For something different I would like to tell a story about an insect that has been flying around the Peron homestead.




Any excuse to display photo's of a bird

 If a Birdo is a birdwatcher does that make me a Buggo???


The following is a report written in the Wikipedia and has been well covered in the media:




A large nest at Monkey Mia

“On February 6, 1996, Birgenair Flight 301, a 757 jet flying from Puerto Plata in the Dominican Republic, crashed into the Atlantic Ocean. All 13 crew members and 176 passengers were killed. A key part of the accident was a blocked pitot tube, a component which measures outside air pressure through small tubes on the outside of the aircraft and displays this as the plane's speed. Although the tubes were never recovered from the ocean floor, it was discovered that the plane had been sitting on the tarmac for almost 3 weeks with the pitot tubes not covered as they should have been. Investigators believe a black and yellow mud dauber got into the tube and built its cylindrical nest inside, causing faulty air speed readings which were a large part of the crash”

We have been seeing these large Australian hornet like creatures hovering around the place at the Peron homestead. One day temperatures reached 37 degrees and I sat in the caravan blogging away without t-shirt on to feel the cool air through the caravan door. A 30mm orange and black wasp floated through the door and hung in front of my chest. With some restraint I did not start flapping my arms in the air in a panic like the majority of homo sapiens I have observed would. Suddenly it leaped forward and head butted my nipple - antenna’s first. A bit bewildered I watched it fly towards my armpit as if it was looking for moisture and there was plenty of that on a hot, sweaty day. As if to say “you smell” it thought the better of sucking on a stale armpit hair or two and flew away out of the door.

From that moment on I have been following these insecta around the homestead and found out lots about them. Any bug that can crash an airplane is worth investigating.



Australian hornets taking water from a tap at the homestead to build a nest.

A black and yellow dauber is more commonly known as a mud wasp. The mud wasps around the homestead appear to be from the same family as the dauber and look very much like potter wasps or Abispa ephippium.  Potter wasp is a very apt name for these wasps due to their industrious abilities with terracotta coloured red clay made of sand and water. They build amazing cylindrical shaped nests that have different compartments created for their offspring. Not only do they build a small space for their eggs but for each section they have hunted and collected one larvae or caterpillar. The caterpillar is injected with some kind of poison to keep it sedate, but fresh and alive. When the egg hatches and the little one feels hungry they can instantly snack on the live caterpillar so carefully placed in the nest by the female wasp. Faster food for kids than at McDonalds.



A larvae injected with poison too drugged to escape

 

What are we looking at here? Imagine being a poor caterpillar minding your own business chewing on some leaves. Suddenly two hairy arms wrap around you and you are ripped from your bush by an orange and black alien creature. Can you feel the enormous stinger probing your soft flesh as you instantaneously are feeling sleepy and paralyzed. You can only watch as this huge hairy armed creature carries you on your last journey and your maiden voyage through the air. A large terracotta vessel appears and the creature shoves you unceremoniously into this perfectly shaped round hole. Then nothing happens for what seems like eternity. Just you, in a cell, with this round foreign shape as time tics by. Did you see it move? What is that? It is cracking open. In a drug infused haze you can see a dark shape approaching. “No. This isn’t really happening.

 

Aaaarggg!!”



 

I guess that a lot of movies like the Matrix and Alien may well have taken their concepts from the animal world.

Have a great and productive new year!

 

 

Grey bits.

• Thanks to the rangers that have given me snippets to write this story.
• These websites were helpful and interesting if you would like to read more.http://www.ozanimals.com/Insect/Potter-Wasp or http://www.hindawi.com/journals/psyche/2009/851694/
• Potter wasps are non-aggressive but will sting only when cornered or agitated. Flapping ones arms or trying to hit a beautiful creature like that is just not advisable.
• Female wasps have killed other females and taken over their nests.
• Male potter wasps have nothing to do with building nests but try to mate with several females even when they are busy building their nest. Sexual advances are made by the male whenever the opportunity arrives and will only occur when the female allows it to happen.

Secret Santa

Hello to all the readers or shall I say wonderful aunties, sons, brother, sisters, parents-in-law and all those beautiful friends.

The semi-grey Santa sat down in his camping chair in front of his caravan sled and thought to himself "what to give the good readers as Xmas gift from Shark Bay? First Santa thought he would send you all a cheque of a thousand dollars. This is to thank you for your unwavering support and believe in the semi-grey Santa. But the elf told Santa that there was a voluntary recession in Santa's fortunes and that it would be better to save a bit of bullion.

Perhaps a souvenir could work as a gift for Xmas thought the semi-grey. A fridge magnet with some sharks saying "G'day from Shark Bay" or a cuddly soft dolphin toy. The semi-wise Santa shook his head and thought it all appeared a little cheap, even tacky and not befitting the commitment you wonderful people made to click on the link and take the time to read about the silly frayed nomad.

A bottle of wine I hear you say? What good would that be if Santa wasn't there to share it with you.

Rather than money, a present or some booze, semi-Santa would like to give you a secret.... a very well kept secret from the Shark Bay area.... a secret not accessible to any old wonderer. This secret can only be seen by photographs taken from the area. Semi Santa just happened to be in the area and has taken these photos just for the semi-grey nomad reader.

So... from the semi-grey Santa and his beloved gorgeous elf we wish you a Merry semi-grey Christmas and happy viewing. Cheers!

 

Kilometres of stromatolites and hyper-saline water

 

Sea water left in holes when the sea retreats.

 

  

Some are blue

Some white



Some surrounded by crusted salt.



Some multi-coloured



Not a footstep on this shell beach.






Sometimes words are not necessary.

Grey bits

Thank you to Ranger Ross for taking us to this special place.

What did you say? You would rather have a thousand bucks?

Banana Boat

Banana Boat

Loading up the barge

We rocked up on time at 8:30am in the morning and found skipper Shane and his trainee deckhand Kieran working pretty hard at loading the barge at the Denham jetty. As part of our volunteering education we were extremely happy to go to Dirk Hartog Island on a barge run. I noticed immediately the precision and skill these guys had uploading big barrels of diesel and stood like a spare appendage at a wedding reception taking photos of it all. Ranger Chris pulled up with a trailer and started unloading some pallets on to the deck.  When we  took off it was a magic wind-free morning. Some cloud cover soon disappeared and the sun soon broke through to reveal a beautiful calm Shark Bay. The conversation was funny and full of banter as we cruised out of the harbour. Suddenly, the starboard engine started acting up. We could hear it straining and dropping out at times. When Kieran opened the engine hatch an alarming amount of grey smoke billowed up from below deck.  A large effort was made immediately by the crew and Chris to fix the problem. Again there was not much we could do.

Ranger Chris in conversation with Julie

Chris walked over to us and asked us in a concerned voice if we had brought bananas on board. He explained that throughout history sailors had been blaming bananas for bad luck on their ships. They found that bananas had all ripened at the same time and were useless to stow on a long voyage. I don’t know Chris well enough to gauge what his serious straight face looks like in comparison with his taking the 'Mick' straight face but the banana story sounded pretty bent in my ears. Guiltily we ate our bananas we had brought for lunch early in an attempt to prevent anything worse from occurring.
 

Meanwhile the boat had turned around to head back to Denham. After some repairs and assistance by phone from the mainland and the on-board crew the engine started settling down. We then turned around and headed back to Dirk Hartog. We were relieved to say the least.
 

Julie and I spotted several dolphins.  I managed to recognize the square head of the Loggerhead turtle who eyeballed me  from 10 meters away before, with amazing agility, disappeared straight down in the dark depths of the Bay, We were told that there were many whales in the bay at this moment in time and that we were likely to get close to some of them on the way back. 

 

Yep!! That's what it looked like

When we arrived at Dirk Hartog Island we had missed the high tide suitable to shift the gear to onto the beach. Another result of our banana crime committed and we had to moor the barge offshore and conquer the Island by dingy. I cannot help but think back to Dirk Hartog as he landed here 399 years ago. This crazy semi-grey Dutch nomad following him in his footsteps almost four hundred years later as we landed on a pristine white sandy beach with the most exquisite turquoise coloroured water. A massive sting ray was gliding past us in the shallow. “C’mon Dirk. What's not to like?” Three little mice shot away from the land cruiser that was left bogged on the beach waiting for our arrival. After deflating the tires Ranger Chris four wheel drove us up to the big shed on the hill. The whole shed was full of dusty camping gear in preparation for a maintenance crew to arrive next week. Ranger Chris rummaged around and came up with some instant coffee that tasted rather good to a self-confessed coffee snob under these circumstances. We sat down on the porch of the shed overlooking the magnificent bay and rugged rolling hills while more banana jokes were flying around. Waiting for the tide can take many hours we found out. Driving the ute on red sandy soil through low scrubs and amazing flowers along side Ranger Chris took us to Mystery Beach where Jules and I had the opportunity to go for a long walk. The beach was untouched by humans and deserted. Taking photos in this setting was pure joy. The sun started to set and the moon rose at the same time.

 

The barge cruising just off-shore of dirk Hartog Island

The skipper moved the barge closer to Mystery Beach but had to wait for the tide to rise by another six inches. Just after dark the crew managed to load the ship with empty diesel barrels and a trailer full of old irrigation pipes that were removed by volunteers on a previous voyage.

Loading the barge in the moonlight

The trip home was a bouncy affair. For four hours the barge danced onto the waves. We were all brave and chatted standing up for hours. When I mentioned to Jules I was feeling a little see-sick tickle in the back of the throat it was Julie that disappeared down the back of the boat for some dry heaving. She said the fumes and cold helped against that nauseating feeling that had taken hold of her. Darn bananas were about to haunt us again.


In the end we had the time of our lives and have put our names down to go again to beautiful Dirk Hartog Island.


Semi-grey nomad tips.

• Don’t bring  bananas onto a boat (EVER)!!!!!

Saving a Thorny Devil


Saving a Thorny Devil

What lays beyond the gate of the homestead? Where does that red dusty trail lead to?



The view from the yet to be built look out at Big Lagoon

It was our first Monday at the homestead. All was quiet and peaceful. Our chores had been done, breakfast was had, the kettle had been put on. Ranger Chris had other ideas. He burst around the corner in his Parks and Wildlife ute and in a dusty cloud came to a screeching halt in front of the caravan. He hopped out and asked us if we wanted to join him on a field trip. I stuck my hand up and jumped at the chance. Julie had planned other activities so a boys day out it was. Big Lagoon in Francois Peron National Park was his destination. Ranger Chris lowered his tyre pressure to 16psi – he said that you could even go down as low as 12psi for traversing through heavy sand. As we are driving over that dusty red trail with tyres almost flat, Ranger Chris chatted about “Parks for People", conservation.in general including management of feral animals, regeneration and protection of native flora and fauna.


Closer to Big Lagoon the one lane track started curving sharply left and right giving you that “sitting-duck” experience in regards to oncoming traffic.


After arriving safely Ranger Chris showed me where the new campsite and lookout was going to be built, overlooking Big Lagoon. We walked past some low bushes and Ranger Chris started explaining that this particular bush was Shark Bay Sandalwood or ‘Santalum Spilatum’. He explained that the branches, when cracked, smelled like sandalwood and showed me some of the nuts that were hanging off the branches and some were laying on the ground. He said the nuts, when roasted for ten minutes, tasted like macadamia nuts and were eaten by the Indigenous people of the area.




Sandalwood bush

Later on I found on the Shark Bay website (sharkbay.org.au) that there used to be an industry in Shark Bay making perfume and cosmetics from this bush. Emus are known to eat the rather big nuts whole and then poop them out leaving a more fertilised product behind. It shows how important Emus are in the eco system. Good luck at both ends Mr Emu!!

A Sandalwood nut ready to be swallowed whole by an Emu. Good luck with that!

Ranger Chris showed me many more interesting nature events within a small area – for example there was a hopping mouse trail on the side of the dune and a bush of which the seeds were taken and buried by ants and thus replanted.

At some time during our short drive back from Big Lagoon, Ranger Chris suddenly veered out of the 4wd grooves and stopped. He yelled out to me – "Thorny Devil" and hopped out of the car. I carefully followed him and walked to where a lizard-like creature with grey-yellow spikes and skin armour was sitting in the middle of a tyre track. "Did you get him"? I asked Ranger Chris concerned. "Nah! – he’s alright" was his reply. "Well" said Ranger Chris. "This is your chance to do some conservation of your own". "What do I do"? I asked him. He replied "Just put your hand underneath him, lift him up and place him in the bush away from the road. If we leave him in the tyre track he will just get squashed". "Ok." I said – "let me get my camera first" thinking of Julie and my blog readers in mind.



Picking the little dragon up with my hand was a strange sensation. The Thorny Devil looks so ferocious yet is surprisingly placid and slow. Again later I read that the males bump their heads against each other when the are fighting over a female. Hard to imagine these gentle creatures getting the momentum to kiss each other Liverpool style.


As carefully as I could I scooped a large hand of sand up with the little reptile on top but when the sand had left my hand, like an hour glass, the devil was sitting on my hand, softly prickling my skin with its body armour. I took a real close up look at this prehistoric looking survivor and then placed it carefully in the bush. A burst of happy energy ran through my veins all day from that moment on.



A Thorny Devil making tracks.
Slowly

The home away from home homestead .

The home away from home homestead .

Let me start with acknowledging the traditional owners of the land the Malgana people.



The tranquil spot out the back of the homestead.

We are now the volunteer campground hosts at Francois National Park in Shark Bay. We have parked our caravan in a designated spot out the back of the Peron heritage precinct. Water, a place to stay and electricity are  some of the included benefits. To earn these perks we work three hours per day between us. That is a work to relaxation ratio I easily can get used to. The rangers of the Shark Bay region drop in often in the morning as this is their depot. They are a great bunch of guys and we have spent many days riding along with them learning about this wild arid national park called Francois Peron. We even learned how to clean a drop-down toilet.

Sailing the waters of Shark Bay

As volunteers some of the other great complimentary benefits on offer are:
. 4wd tour of the Francois Peron National Park with ranger staff
. Behind the scenes tour of Monkey Mia and dolphin feeds
. Sailing charter out of Monkey Mia
. Tour of the Ocean Park aquarium
. Tour of the Shark Bay World Heritage Interpretative Centre
. Opportunity to take a free scenic flight over Shark Bay (if empty seats available)



A Loggerhead turtle spotted from one of the tours

The homestead itself is not open to the public except when it has been booked out. For example we had a group of young indigenous men from Clontarf, Perth stay for a night. They were here on a leadership course and spent a day learning about bush tucker at Big Lagoon and spend a night in the homestead. They were a cool mob of young men and I spent quite some time kicking the footy with them.
 

Ironically, our official title is volunteer campground host but there is no camping allowed at the homestead. A more appropriate title would be caretaker, but we don’t care about a title.
 

The areas that are open to the public are the visitors' centre, the old sheering shed, a bird hide and an artesian hot tub. All of these areas require maintenance and cleaning and that is what we do. There is a massive list of all the little jobs that we are volunteering to do but why put you to sleep. I can tell you that a city slicker like me is learning a lot of new skills here at "the stead".

Recently I have turned into a real man.  I mowed the lawn with a ride-on lawn mower for the first time ever. There aren’t many things better than cruising around on one of those ultimate macho machines. An imagined "High Way to Hell' reverberating in your head as you are reaching speeds of fifteen kilometres per hour. Way to Go!



What is an artesian hot tub you may ask? Underneath the ground  in the Shark Bay area there is a hot water aquifer. The water has been heated by the earth's core and is like underground geothermal heating. Not that any extra heat is needed here in this semi-arid desert. By sticking a bore down in the ground only 540 meters, hot mineral infused dieselesc water comes up in a regular flow. In some spots the water under ground is too hot to do anything with but here at the homestead the water is captured in a hot tub. I am lucky that I already have reproduced successfully as the water temperature is a goolly-scalding 40 degrees. It is Mars that scrubs the pool twice per week. Skipping one of those brushing  sessions is not an option as the green slime will strike in ghost busting revenge. There are no life guards on duty but signs for resuscitation are visible from the tub. The artesian experience is open 24/7 with little solar lights lighting the way to a romantic evening under the stars. The stars here are so clear every falling star can be seen brightly. A new experience for us is watching a full moon set on the horizon. We did not realize that the moon could be surrounded by an orange haze as it goes down. Spectacular but hard to take a photo of.

 

The artesian hot tub

We have met a lot of people just by visiting the hot tub ourselves in the evening when things cool down. Some locals and tourists frequent the tub or have bbqs or picnic on the lawn.


One lady who operates in the national park as a tour guide believes that spending an evening in the hot tub makes one feel like a 21 year old when you wake up the next day. We are trying hard to test this theory with our semi-grey bodies almost every cool evening. It feels great in the morning but spare a thought for an 8 year old waking up unsuspecting.
 

There are many beautiful birds around the homestead. This is a Variegated Fairy Wren

There is so much to get used to here at the homestead. There are two big Gould goannas living under the shed. These Bungarra's, as they are known in Indigenous terms, are always busy getting away scraping the bottom of the corrugated steel panels of the shed with their backs. A very noisy retreat. Sometimes they don’t hear you approach and sit there completely stunned and only centimetres away from you - the casual stroller. I tell you those claws and tongue are big enough to frighten anyone. Good thing they only appear interested in getting away..



The Bungarra that visited us in front of our caravan

When you walk around the homestead at night there are windmills squeaking, shed doors banging, fly strips flapping and sometimes you can hear a flaming yahoo woohooing from the artesian hot tub. At times it may take some positive self-talk to calm the nerves.


The wind in Shark Bay at this time of the year is truly an amazing force. Massive gusts of wind are sweeping the red dusty scrub land with high pitched whistling. I have sat down for lunch in a sheltered area only for a heavy burst of wind to blow the salad out of my sandwich. Our caravan was hit by a Willy-Willy and shook everything badly. Except for messing up Julie's hair, all other disasters were avoided. A lot of ladies tie their hair up or go for the messed up look around Shark Bay.


Out the back of the homestead all is quiet. Open plan living has a totally different meaning here. The view of an unspoiled horizon always surrounds us. Watching the sunrise with a cuppa. Watching the sunset with happy hour and a smile.
 



Sunrise with a cuppa

Tips for the Semi-grey nomad:

• If you would like to volunteer as a camp host in a national park contact
  Lorene Bennett |Project Officer, Training and Programs                            
  Community Involvement Unit| Parks and Visitor Services
  Department of Parks and Wildlife Locked Bag 104, Bentley DC WA 6983 | P 08 9334 0251 | F 08 9334 0221 | M 0419 944 779
• Use the clutch when driving a ride-on lawn mower.
• We have found that great opportunities will come your way if you are prepared to take some risk.

 

We could be heroes. A dolphin tail.

We could be heroes.

And now ladies and gentlemen here are your beloved volunteers. Please make way and welcome them to the beach. Put your hands together for Julie and Marcel. And the crowd goes wild.

The Champions walk.

 

It didn’t really happen like that. However, somehow it felt like we were champions walking into Wembley stadium for an FA cup final. That first ever feed of the dolphins at Monkey Mia. In our hands holding buckets, with two or three fish each, that we defrosted and weighed carefully in the fish room. A crowd of 180 people on the beach with their backs turned to us as they are watching the dolphins in the shallow. We walked across the sand and moved slowly through the crowd to our chosen dolphin. The crowd is prompted to move their feet out of the water back onto the beach while we, the volunteers, get to stand right next to the dolphin in the water.




Shock taking it all in.

The first dolphin I fed was Shock. To greet me she shot a full repertoire of dolphin clicks at me. Shock than rotated diagonally sideways to look straight at me. I was actually a bit shocked with the attention she gave me. She moved right along side of me while I was handing the fish to… sorry, I cant remember who from the crowd. Absolutely mesmerised I went through the process of feeding the other two fish with two more crowd picks. The ranger who was standing next to me at the time later laughed at me and said that I was calling Shock “mate” all the time even though she's a female. I guess I was just waffling nonsense that first time. The final act of the feed is rinsing the empty bucket in the water. Shock and the others cleverly knew immediately that this was the end of   snack time and super gracefully slid away from me. This is the moment I won't forget, as unexpectedly, I choked up and was looking through a haze of tears at the dolphins as they disappeared into Shark Bay. Where did this reaction come from?

Marcel handing a fish to a member of the crowd
with dolphin paying close attention.

Has life as a semi-grey nomad finally been rewarded?

Every time we went into the water to feed these beautiful creatures something amazing happened. Julie received a belly rub from a pregnant Surprise. Surprise was always nudging our legs carefully to hurry up with that fish already.

Julie being touched by a dolphin.

A large pelican named Rogue appeared at times. We always had to cut up a little extra fish for her as she snapped her beak wildly in the air as if imaginary flies were attacking her. We were told she was blind in one eye and needed redirecting away from the buckets of fish at the beach. No other pelican behaved like this. I was lucky enough to have the job of distracting Rogue to keep her away from the fish buckets during the dolphin feeds. I told Rogue in no uncertain terms she should not be a bloody galah and would not get a fish if she didn’t behave. Luckily she did behave. After taming Rogue I was dubbed the "Rogue" whisperer by the rangers who even wrote this on my volunteering certificate.



Jacob aka Michael Keaton counting
the people on the beach.

We met an amazing couple that were volunteering with us. Jacob and Sabina luckily new what the routine was and showed us how to record every gram and dolphin sighting. After feeding time there were many chores to be done without much pressure and plenty of time for tea and free bikkies.

Sabina having fun in the fish room.

The whole scene on the beach is controlled by two rangers. All the rangers at Monkey Mia were friendly and helpful. Best of all they looked like they were enjoying themselves as much as we did.

Finally - let's do some mathematical brain damage here. If there are 180 people on the beach - four dolphins eating 10 fish, what are your chances of being picked to feed and get up close to a dolphin?  Very little you say?

Go volunteer at Monkey Mia. It is a privilege.

Semi-grey nomad tips and links.

• Feed the dolphins the fish head first. It slides down better.
• If you'd like to volunteer contact Department of Parks and Wildlife Shark Bay District Ph: (08) 9948 1366 | Fax: (08) 9948 1512 | www.sharkbay.org

 

  I wish I could swim!

 

Like dolphins!

 

Like dolphins can swim!

 

(David Bowie, Heroes)

 

 

 

 

 

First job

First Job

“Here we are. In this special place. What are you gonna do here?”
"What show or song are we gonna get from you?"

Waterboys

We were never going to be this far North. A series of recommendations by friends new and old saw us rock up to Denham, Shark bay. Not a bad place to be after all. Every time we roll over the hill at the entrance of town the turquoise water of the bay just takes your breath away. Julie had rang up for a possible cleaning job going in Denham and scored an interview. It was a cleaning position at holiday apartments. The era of dreaded dunny polishing had begun. We were both required to front up for a meeting. We rode our bikes along the stunning Denham foreshore. For the first time ever we attended a job interview dressed in shorts and T-shirts. We were greeted by the lady owner and stood around awkwardly as no seats or drinks were offered. In the office she berated a cute fresh-faced child that had taken over her computer. “I can't wait for the holidays to be over" she muttered. The husband came in to introduce himself and proceeded to tell his wife to focus on the job at hand. How uncool! We had decided Julie would be the one to start working as it was only two weeks since I had finished working and Jules had been a hard working lady of leisure for..... 

How long?

 



Julie finding better toilets to clean elsewhere.

It wasn’t long before Julie worked out how much hard and fast work was required. Maybe it should be put that Julie was not paid an awful lot for cleaning a sea of units and their bathrooms, floors and kitchens. “How spoilt are you?” you must be thinking. I can tell you, it wasn’t the work or the money Jules was adverse to or that the boss was tough.  It was the way she was treated. Isn't it always the way? We are on this quest around Australia full of smiling energy that it makes your jaw hurt. We are looking for a certain meaningful change of direction. Exposing ourselves to people who are a deflated burnt out mess is not high on our agenda right now and does not fit the plan. No matter how hard Julie tried, short abrupt answers were used as chosen reply. At no time during Julie's fleeting relationship with the boss was any attempt made for extended niceties let alone a conversation. A friendly, but polite phone call was made, after three days of tasting Windex and Pine-o-clean.

Meanwhile….

I was recovering at the Denham tourist park from this horrible corky I got when I decided to test to the car to see if it would move at all if I walked into it real fast. It didn’t. Sitting with iced-up leg, elevated on stool, I managed to send an e-mail to the volunteer coordinator of Parks and Wildlife in Perth. “Does the ranger need any help at all?” Surely there must be more to life than sitting around this beautiful place while the missus is slaving away picking grime out of cracked kitchen floor tiles? The answer luckily was yes. Within a matter of a few days, the Ranger Chris emailed, called and picked us up for induction as voluntary camp ground hosts at the Peron homestead. All very impressive! Right?

That day of the induction I fought hard to ignore the pain from that corked leg. I walked almost as normal and managed to kneel down to change a sprinkler or two. This was an opportunity to good to miss. In the end we all got along like a house on fire and even managed to bribe Ranger Chris with some coffee and cake back at the caravan park.

A male emu running away with chicks at the homestead.

On the way to our new posting we had to drive 6km over a red dusty road. About 3km's in of our leisurely cruise it was halted by two male emus with his 6 chicks blocking our way. While we were waiting Chris explained to us that the male emu does the nesting and takes care of the chicks. He went on to tell us that at the homestead the male emus are known to fake fight each other. They would puff out their chest and make themselves as tall as possible. Whoever was the winner would end up looking after the all the chicks combined. Numbers of the flock could rise dramatically. Chris recalls seeing 26 chicks with one father.

"In my opinion the winner here is the real looser" said Ranger Chris.

After several minutes waiting we chose to carefully overtake the running herd. Carefully, but at high speed. They ran on and on, in front of us until, finally, exhausted, one of the males took a right-hand turn into the bush and immediately disappeared with every other emu in tow. What an introduction to our new work place.

For years I have been dreaming of this kind of work. Lots of diesel and dust. Being surrounded by deathening silence. Time to think and grow. Create.

Write.

The deathening silence of the diesel generator waiting to be refuelled.

There it is! Only after three weeks of travel. We are the new camp hosts of The Peron Homestead,

Shark Bay.

Night falls over the homestead.


 

 

Flap, flap bloody flap

Flap, flap bloody flap

Everyone has an opinion about what kind of homely gadget to take around Australia. Some people have more opinion than others. If I had a dollar for every shoulda got this or coulda got that I would have no need to play lotto. So let me have a look at putting my own spiel  on finding the ultimate travel set up semi-grey nomad style.

In the beginning….. there was the mattress, blanket and the stars. It just is the most romantic way of camping. It proves real joy does not have to cost an arm and a leg. I have had the pleasure of driving a poo brown, clapped out Kingswood wagon into the red dust and pull up in that non-light polluted spot and lay on my back with a beautiful girl next to me watching many a fallen star. It's awesome. Baked beans for dinner never tasted this good. I can't remember if we ever had a shower. Travelling without money allowed us to have the time of our lives. Who could have thought that less actually equals more.

Simplicity without complications

But…. There are always one or two of those. One morning you are woken by that stunning sun-rise and find a scorpion under that mattress or you get woken in the middle of the night with some hairy-arsed Wombat chewing on your toes.  The weather is obviously a concern when you are that exposed to anything falling from the sky or that sopping dew in the morning. And so…..

The tent was born. I have had the pleasure to have attempted to sleep in a wide variety of tents. On many a hiking trip one or two man hiking tents are very common to use just in case the hut is overflowing with a corporate challenge mob and there is no room at the Inn. Those tents that are touted light weight, try and carry them all day, can be put up in dune pans, little plucks of bush, forest and on rocky cliffs overlooking the most stunning landscapes. Often no pegs are required but it does feel so much safer to have it nailed down with some guide ropes. In torrential rain I noticed that if the inner tent touches the fly you can get yourself Into a serious wet spot. Look! Hiking tents are insanely flexible and only restricted by trespassing laws and lack of imagination.

Next....

The medium size tent was sent to challenge us. If you like a puzzle get yourself a decent size tent. If you turn up at the camp site late at night and you have just walked out of the store with it you are in for the shock of your life. As you cannot yet find your head torch, you will be dependant on your blinding car headlights to guide you. Eventually you will have managed to erect it unharmoniously with your dearly beloved and not a grain of help from the kids that keep on running over the canvas. Several days later you would have found the instructions you kept in a handy place. You know the one place where you would be sure to have found it.  Exhausted, you will lay down on your bouncy sea sickness evoking mattress.  Many a man has flipped his misses up in the air by rolling around on the blow up mattress. From the tent in any commercial or government campsite you can follow the neighbours arguments until the small hours of the morning or worse you can pick up handy skills off two drunk boners mumbling how to take flesh off a bone two meters from were you lay, scared, with eyes wide open. You discover that tents are not snore proof as you lay awake all night working out exercise programs and diet changes for the offending neighbour.

And than… a metamorphosis of biblical proportions.The dome tent. I am to this day scratching my head as to why the traditional tent shape was overrun by its rounded cousin. If you were to camp at the North pole and required to enjoy a blizzard or two? Maybe. Try organising all your square gear in a round tent and remember to feed the right pole through the right sleeve.

With tents it appears that all the gear you thought you needed for this trip is stashed mainly outside. Shipping containers full of stuff on and under tables spreading like a virus through the campsite. Your car will look like a dog's breakfast.  Out of desperation gear will end up hanging in trees . Your campsite will look like post cyclone Armageddon. In and among all stray looking husbands will be asking their wives again and again where the thingymegic is that fits in the dovywhatsit. Aahhh!!  Camping is such great fun.

The Taj Mah tent. A tent for six persons at Boranup 2011.

No don’t get me wrong I love camping in tents.  Bring the kids into nature and yourself back into it too after a long absence . Reconnect to people that  try the get away from the daily grind as hard as you are. Sitting around a camp fire staring into the flame. Roast some marsh-mellows to charcoal. Set up a treasure hunt. Get the kids to build some huts. Have some clean family fun without those damn gadgets.

Just recently we camped at Shelter bay in the Steep Point National Park in Shark Bay. We have this brand new rooftop tent installed  one week before we left which inspired me to write this. This part of Western Australia is famous for being one of the most windiest areas in the world. Julie described the night we spend there as if a Goliath like creature trying to get in all night. Flap, flap bloody flap. Lucky I found some earplugs. We cut that trip short.

So the evolution of camping modes has brought us to Le Moment Surprime. The sexed up version of the long forgotten tent.  Hot canvas on wheels. The holy campertrailer. Slide in, slide out fridges. Kitchen draws, sinks and water taps. Oolalaaa!! Some can be erected by simply winding it up or down others just open up like a clam on heat. I have seen flatscreen TV's that disappear gently into the manifold by the click of a button. All of a sudden we are talking solar blankets, 12 volt bliss and massive water tanks for long hot steamy showers. This will all come at a price.

 

Our old Camper trailer in full flight at Boranup 2011

We had another memorable night in Exmouth 2009, Western Australia where our annex tried to fly to the Eastern states with clothes line and clothes still pegged to it.

What options are left? Foolishly I have always counted out any mode of transport I cannot unhook from my car and leave behind set up. That just about kills off that Winnabago or converted bus idea. Most of those palaces on wheels are way, way, way beyond my price range. But one day I may be persuaded otherwise.

In the end a caravan appeared to be the answer to it all. No flapping canvas if that's your choice. Most caravans will have good square storage spaces and just the right amount of affordable luxury. Have your caravan fully enclosed so you don't have to listen to drunk grey nomads arguing how to park their van. This is just my opinion. No need to get in a flap about it. 

Tips for the camping semi-grey nomad

For camping:

• Make sure there is no reception, electricity and don’t bring a TV for anyone.
• Organise and prepare activities. Eg: cards, treasure hunt prizes, sparklers, glow in the dark sticks, marsh-mellows, extra torches for animal spotting, fins and snorkels etc.
• Remember the fun and games you had when you were young. Pac-Man excluded. What games did you play that your kids could have some fun with?
• Different terrain requires different gear. When we go four wheel driving we leave our caravan behind and sleep in our roofy.  

The rooftop tent in full flight