ANZAC Day. Remembrance in the Red Centre

 

 

 

The horse hides were glistening in the last rays of sunshine. Fine dust kicked up by trampling hooves filtered through the air. Here beautiful!! I said softly. The brumby glided effortlessly towards the fence. Beep-Beep went the camera, now there is an unusual sound for a stockman’s horse. With her head turned, ears pricked up and her eye open wide - staring at me ever so alert. As a city slicker, I have never come in contact with horses that were this energetic and alive.



Notice how she is watching me

Two Indigenous, lean young lads strode over, both wearing wide brimmed cowboy hats. An avalanche of Aranda cut through the air as if a machine gun had gone off. Regretfully, the only thing I could make out were names of places.

 

Dwight, one of the young stockmen at Telegraph Station

"You know what the horses are doing here?" I asked in English. The boys explained in a few sentences, that they had rode the horses all the way from Hermannsburg to Telegraph Station and that they had been in the saddle for 5 days to cover the 130 kilometres.  

After a bit of research, I found out that the senior students of the N’taria school (otherwise known as Hermannsburg) had tamed the wild brumbies themselves over the last 12 months as part of agricultural studies. The students had forged great bonds with, and clearly loved working with the animals. They went on to tell me that the horses were brought down to Alice Springs to ride in the ANZAC Parade. 'This might just be an ANZAC day to remember', I thought.

Every clump of grass looked like a Kangaroo in the high beam as we drove towards Alice Springs in the pitch black, earliest of mornings that ANZAC day. ANZAC Hill towers above Alice Springs and would surely be quite a challenge to make the climb for some. By the looks of it plenty made it as it was shoulder to shoulder, standing room only during the ceremony.

 

Shoulder to shoulder at ANZAC Hill

The Catafalque party left a memorable impression. Hissing commands pierced the night sky. Four guards sprung into action. Watching these skilled soldiers, making their deliberate but deadly quiet strides as they were taking  guard around the monument, as a first-timer was an unforgettable spectacle.

 

Taking guard

We all paid our respects to soldiers never to be forgotten as the sun edged between the horizon and the cloud cover. The lights of Alice twinkling all around and below us. Both Australian and New Zeeland National Anthems were sung - speeches were given by well-spoken dignitaries – a group of policemen and women stood to attention towards my left – wreaths were laid – a child was comforted in her father’s arms towards my right – special mention was made of the Japanese attacks on the Northern Territory - the crowd stood silent - that damn bugle player, he had us all in tears as he played a poignant, almost quivering rendition of the Last Post.

 

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; 
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. 
At the going down of the sun and in the morning 
We will remember them."

Laurance Binyon

And the crowd repeated in solemn unison:, “We will remember them.”


Later that day, a parade commenced from the council building, where I had plenty of time to take walk up and down the line and get something on film before kick-off. A diverse variety of uniforms and agencies were about to march on a gloomy day back to ANZAC Hill.




Our Aussie soldiers marching on

Alice Springs is a small town, the parade understandably not long, but nevertheless welcomed by an enthusiastic large crowd boosted by grey nomads and tourists.

There was a small contingent of American soldiers in the parade paying their respects, representatives of the central MacDonnell's worse kept and often publicized secret base. 

Schools and community groups were well represented in the ranks, I spotted a father and two kids on a truck, very much advertising that they were from New Zealand. 

This young man looking to follow in his father's footsteps

And there, finally, came the highlight of the parade. The Hermannsburg contingent, all wearing fair dinkum uniforms donated by the Australian Light Horse Association. A vision of historical significance and pride, taking us right back to the Fourth Light Horse Brigade storming the Ottoman trenches at Beersheba. 
 



To quote a mate from Western Australia who used to live in the red centre, "ANZAC Hill has to be the best place in Australia to hold an ANZAC dawn service."

 Grey Bits

A special mention goes to all the volunteers that worked very hard to make ANZAC day a memorable occasion. The RSL club did some great work providing a free breakfast, coffee and tea (with a dash of whisky - if that tickled your tipple) for a hungry and thirsty crowd.

If you like to read more about the Indigenous students click on the following link:

http://mobile.abc.net.au/news/2015-04-22/aboriginal-students-130km-horse-ride-anzac-wwi-tribute/6413724

The battle of Beersheba is described in detail on this website.

https://www.awm.gov.au/blog/2007/10/30/the-charge-of-the-4th-light-horse-brigade-at-beersheba/

I took way too many photos of the parade. If you like to have a gander just keep on scrolling down.




The police escort with a sound message. Seatbelt, mate!!



 



Kangaroo tails

 

The nightscape at the Peron homestead

 

The hills are alive out the back of the Peron homestead.  You can find red dust, bush, goat skulls, a heck of a lot of wildlife and an old Bilby enclosure only 300 metres away.  This was a successful program ran by DpaW as part of Project Eden. There is now proof on camera that the Bilby population is bouncing back from near extinction at Francois Peron National Park. We were told that there are several Bilbys still hanging around the old disused enclosures overlooking the homestead.

 

The old Bilby enclosures

Enter Mars and Jules – those semi-grey nomads that love the wildlife. ‘Let’s go Bilby spotting tonight!’ they say.  Armed with two massive torches we climb the hill in that eerie Australian night-scape and discover for ourselves how smart Bilbys are and do not appear when you want them to. Their ears are huge and they must have heard the virtual ‘boom-box’ footsteps of ours from miles away. Disappointed, we returned down the hill where we strolled past the goat enclosure. This is a fenced off area with two gates – it is there to capture and remove goats from the national park.

 

The goat enclosure with emus that just don't understand.

 

Shining our torches into the enclosure we spotted a mighty Euro kangaroo with bulging muscles sitting on the edge of the trough having a casual drink. Even though we were standing there for quite some time, at the entrance it was not noticing us at all. Suddenly it got spooked and hopped very fast toward us. I stepped forward and with arms in the air, I yelled ‘Whaaaa’!!!! This big missile jumped sideways very quickly and missed crashing into us by a mere whisker. As we are still thanking our lucky stars we soon realised we were under fire again, as a second, but smaller Euro flew towards us at breakneck speed missing myself by a hairs-width, but cannoned into Julie’s legs. Julie was scooped up into the air and for a couple of seconds was awkwardly-perched, balancing on top of the head of the briefly halted torpedo and gently slid down landing with an undignified thump to the ground while letting out an eardrum splitting squeal. Julie was obviously shaken but miraculously unhurt. While the Australian bowling champion hopped off into the darkness, I did the only thing a man (a nervous man) could do in this situation – have a really good (unappreciated) belly-laugh.

 

 





A kangaroo at dusk contemplating the next move

 

Please note the following story may be disturbing for some readers.



Fast forward two months where we are campground hosting for a couple of weeks at Canebrake Pool  near Margaret River. It is an early Saturday morning and we are driving to Busselton to participate in the Geographe Bay parkrun. We are both in a terrific mood and laughing about a Dutch couple we met the previous day who were very taken by the ’28 parrots’ that are common as mud in the south-west. Dutch accents are flying around in the car and when hilarity reaches its crescendo the grey back of a Kangaroo suddenly appears in front of us for a split second and immediately disappears with a “clonk” underneath the car. I pulled over straight away in a daze and remembered to switch on the hazard lights. My heart sinking as deep as it will go. I can hear Julie starting to sob uncontrollably “Oh, no, it has broken its leg” she said choking on the words. I think;  I can’t do this. I stepped out of the car and walk across the 20 metres of red slightly corrugated dirt track towards this amazing creature. She is on the ground writhing in circles trying desperately to get up.






I made the decision very fast and looked for a rock. After I found the right size (how do I even begin to know what the size should be?) I returned back to the car and turned all rear vision mirrors away from where Julie, who by know was seriously distraught, would not be painted a permanent brain image of her “man?” brutally killing a harmless, undeserving, native being. I walked back the 20 metres as if it was my green mile and stood over her. I placed my foot on her shoulder to turn her head sideways but I am surprised about the animals power as she struggles free. I can’t do this. The next image has been burned into my memory ever since. The roo is facing me now with her front paws extended towards me. She looks at me with those dark eyes and almost manicured eyelashes  straight into my soul as if to say” you are going to help me, aren’t you?” In my mind I violently steel myself to ignore this look and manage after several attempts to pin the roo down with my foot.  I can’t do this. Slowly my arm rises above my head. I look up at my hand and the white knuckles that are squeezed around the rock. I can’t do this. This is it Mars. I look at the side of her head and aim to kill for the first time in my life.

The end.

Dear reader, I have to interrupt this story and turn away the rear vision mirrors for you the same as I did for Julie. I hope what I ended up doing was the right thing for this exquisite animal and do not think it is necessary to describe the events any further.  


Grey Bits

 

I was driving seventy five kilometres per hour. Way below the legal speed limit when the car hit the roo. There was no time to avoid her. 
 
There is more risk when you are driving at dawn and dusk to hit our native wildlife. Try to plan your trip accordingly, please. 

Please check the pouch of a female Kangaroo for Joeys after an accident.

Give the pouch a good inspection
 

Do not put a wounded Kangaroo in your car. They are very strong and can easily hurt you or your family.

Do not corner a Kangaroo or Emu. They have an inbuilt fight or flight sense that triggers them to run in random directions. They will run straight into you as Julie can vouch for or they may hurt themselves sometimes fatally by crashing into walls, fences and cars. 




Emus panic too

  
We have bought sonic animal devices that emit a high frequency pitched sound that may prevent wildlife running towards a moving vehicle. You can purchase these whistles from any Auto shop.
Kangaroos cannot see very well but their hearing is sharp. Try yelling something when you want a Roo to take note.  Maybe a few profanities in roo lingo may do the job.

How would you feel if you had to kill a Kangaroo given the same situation? Are you prepared to do the job required? Do you know the best way to kill a kangaroo as humanely as possible? Would this be a life changing event for you?




A joey in full flight

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The parkrun nomad: Bunbury Big Swamp

 



Saturday morning at Big Swamp. A beautiful place to run



Yes, they have been running for a while

Love was in the air at this parkrun as a couple got engaged the day before. In the pre-race chat the happily engaged pair received a large cheer from the crowd. Did I mention it was the day after Valentine’s day?



Yeah mate!! and I went on my knees and all

I was very surprised to find a large South African community at this parkrun who seemed to have a lot of fun picnicking and taking photos of each other. Even the children were speaking Afrikaans.



Evidence of love

Running along Big Swamp is a thing of beauty. All sorts of birds and other critters shot away during our run. The trail features a lot of trees, bits of forest and the occasional small bridge thrown in.

A volunteer told me that there were many plans to run the course at the Bunbury Back Beach but there were too many safety concerns with such a course.



The barefoot Mathematician

What has parkrun got to do with mathematics and science? Well!! We met a teacher of this subject who told us that he calculated that wearing shoes would slow him down. Now he runs every parkrun barefoot.



Smart business move

We saw proof that the business community have woken up to the parkrun phenomena when a coffee van rocked up for some hefty early morning trade. A nice way to spend your Saturday morning anyway.



Anything for a caffeine hit

The Big Swamp course has a two and a bit loop and I was warned by the locals of a large looming hill in the course. Half way through the first loop I was wondering where it was? Having passed the finish line and immediately into the second loop I found it. Yep, a pesky little rise taking the rhythm out of the run. The third time I went up the slight incline it had become a serious oxygen killing mountain and just about blew me off the track. Watch out for that hill I say.

 



I am waiting for the boss to finish his walk 



Parkrun is and remains a family activity. This also counts in Bunbury where I found people of all ages participating in the event. Many prams with or without children in them frequented the course. Many well-behaved dogs waiting for their owners at the finish line or are dragging their owners around the track. Everyone it seems was busy chatting to someone and that included us two parkrun nomads.



A runner at the finish as the race director watches on

 

Grey Bits

 
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The feet of marginally increased velocity


Thanks to parkrun community Bunbury for making us feel welcome



Take stock of another fiftieth run

Parkrun 120 had 64 participating runners and 5 dogs.




The all important tail, in this case, walker. Well done!

The parkrun nomad: Geograph bay

 

 

The parkrun banner flapping in the ocean breeze

 

 

‘People in the country are so friendly’! How often have you heard that? This was my first experience of participating in a country parkrun and was the smallest I ever had the pleasure to sweat with.

 



Busselton jetty in beautiful Geographe Bay

 

 

From the moment I arrived to the moment I left, people chatted with me about all sorts. I was told straight up how easy the 5km course was. Just a ‘there and backer’ traversing along the beautiful Geographe Bay in Busselton on a flat, bitumised, shared track. I was told by the locals how beautiful it would be running along the ocean and I did manage to have a quick squizz at the gorgeous beach. Sight-seeing is very difficult to do when you’re pumping out 5ks flat-tack.

 

 

 

 I believe she made it to the end

  

 

The striking Norfolk pines that I saw at the start of the track were also planted in many other locations throughout Western Australia, a long time ago to replace broken masts of ships frequenting the waters of that time.

 

A closer look at a Norfolk pine

 

One young man, who was obviously heavily involved in the organising of the parkrun, offered us free showers and internet access at his place whenever we wanted. His property was close to Canebrake Pool ,which is part of the Rapids Conservation Park where we were volunteering as campground hosts at the time.

This young man is looking to scan his barcode too

 

 

While chatting to a lady behind the scanning desk, I was told that one of the volunteer jobs of parkrun least likely filled was that of the photographer. I was glad to be able to take some photos for this friendly bunch.

 

The run director on the job

At the end of the race we stood around chatting to Ian – he told us that he suffered from a brain hemoarage a few years ago. The road back to running was a long and hard one and almost impossible for this 73 year old. He told the story about the nurses during his physiotherapy, kicking his legs forward to assist him to walk again. During the run when I was on my way back I yelled out at him ‘pretend the nurses are kicking you again’. He grimaced and kept going – what an inspiration!

 

Ian churning out another parkrun

 

A good coffee after a solid workout is very necessary and we met some of the parkrunners in the luxurious café along the foreshore overlooking the Jetty. 

 

The view from table 92 at the restaurant

 

 

Thanks to all the runners and volunteers of Geographe Bay parkrun for making us both feel welcome.

 

 



 Grey Bits

This great parkrun was number 63 for Geographe Bay - 76 runners attended and James ran his 50^th.

The website with its usual information about where and how to get there is as followed.    http://www.parkrun.com.au/geographebay/

The current trail starting from the sea rescue building will be moved back to closer to the Busselton jetty once construction of the new car park and skate park is completed.

 

Nearly there

 

 

 

 

The turtle transcript. Part 3, letting go.

A Loggerhead turtle can weigh anywhere between 150 to 450 kilos. If it is your job to stop the turtle you can expect bulldozer type force pushing against your hands. The stopper, wrestler, anchor or whatever you call the person, has the job to prevent the turtle from going back into the water before it is tagged. We were shown a technique to stop the turtle, which is pretty much the same as catching a footy with soft hands. Hold your hands up in the shape of a W and place them over the eyes of the turtle. Her neck will snap back, retracting in its shell with enormous force. If you happen to get your fingers caught between the head and the carapace (shell) you can easily break them. If you have your fingers anywhere near its mouth, expect a crocodile like chomp on your pointers. At the end of our time on Turtle Beach we became very quick at tagging so that this ‘stopper’ technique was rarely needed or perhaps for a few seconds only. If we were caught out by an alert turtle, we would move with her sideways on our knees through the sand until she faced back to the dunes - we could then uncover her eyes. We were always looking to lessen the impact we had on the turtles.

The large head of a Loggerhead turtle

The scribe, administrator, manager or whatever you would call this team member, has the job to write all the data that is thrown at her/him from all angles. You have to be aware which beach you are on at all times (1-5), take notes on the size of the beast and jot down old or new tag numbers. This job required extreme precision and care because this is the valuable data the researchers are looking for; the purpose of us being on Dirk Hartog in the first place. This turtle tagging data has been collected for the last 15 years on DHI – they are looking for the size and health of the turtle population nesting on Turtle Beach. Writing data down on a sheet in pitch black by the muted light of a red head-torch is not easy. 




Julie scribing in the dark with head torch

The tagger is just  known as the tagger. It is the taggers job to reload the pliers with the tags, get on hands and knees in the sand, find the spot between the first and the second scale of the front flipper and aim the tag at the soft, squishy batwing. Hand crunching strength is needed to make sure the tag clasps properly. A misfire happened on the odd occasion and once or twice a tag had to be removed. This wasn’t a pleasant feeling for the team or the turtle. Nobody wanted to hurt these beautiful ladies at all or as little as possible. It spurred us on to work faster, better and more precisely.



Can you spot a tag?

I must say, that night four had a special feel to it. Walking around in star-lit serenity was magic. A thin slither of the moon made our torches unnecessary. The weather was beautiful and temperate. Our three man ‘Dong’ team (short for Dugong and given to us by Officer Locke as this team were all seegrass eating vegetarians). Steve, Marigula and myself left the troopy to tag on beach 1, 2 and 3 in a great mood. Our arrival on beach two was met with several fresh tracks up the beach and several turtles already returning. We swung into action and for an hour and a half it was just turtle mayhem, tagging one after the other. Sand was flicked by flippers, pits were fallen into, turtles were spun away from the beach, pliers flew through the air, sweaty bodies smacked into each other and numbers were dictated sharply into the night. We all knew what needed to be done and we were on the go. After a short breather, we walked onto beach 1 where I could not believe how many turtles were coming and going. Frantically we tried to keep up with the traffic jam. At one stage it became confusing which turtle we had already tagged and we had to refer back to the long list of recorded tag numbers. I forget how long that burst of turtle action was, but it was tremendous being near these prehistoric, grand ol’ ladies. When the loggerhead jam eased, we sat down on the beach having conversations ranging from the deep and meaningfull to the utter ridiculous. I am still trying to work out how Marigula could see the shape of an elephant in the stars. Sometimes the short spaces of quiet were broken by a yawn and a “sorry”.

Marigula admiring the grand ol' lady from a respectable distance

Steve went to count the tracks on all five beaches and we caught up with the carnivorous Cuvier team at beach 1 and waited for the sun to come up. When it finally became light, tranquility was personified in all shades and colours of the spectrum. What does that mean?  It was a ripper of a sunrise!!

In the first daylight on beach 1 it became clear what kind of a night we had as the beach was completely covered in turtle tracks.




Evidence of the night we had with the ladies

On the end of one of these tracks was one last lady turtle laying her eggs on the beach. “aren’t you going to tag this one?” I was asked. It just didn’t feel right. We all sat down in the sand at a respectable distance from the laying turtle and watched her every misting move. A feeling of calm and awe came over me and I hope to have shared that with my teammates. After a hectic night of hunting down turtles like terriers, this turtle was not going to be tagged. She was going to elegantly finish her natural calling. The old girl was going to be let go in peace. Discretely we took photos of her long misting session and her return to the water took a wonderfully long time, while her skin colours and reflections in the water, slowly became visible in the brightening sky.





She was truly beautiful

 

Grey Bits





Sometimes a rock got in the way

... she had to be patient


 

... waiting for the wash of a bigger wave
 

 

... and then finally disappearing into the ocean
 

Some nights the tagging was a bit slow due to the turtles numbers being low. If the decision was made to wait for  a turtle to finish laying her eggs we got comfortable by shoving our back-sides forward and backwards in the sand. This process became known as “scoot’n”.

Turtle tagging is a physical game. I estimate that we walked over ten kilometers mainly through soft sand every night. We climbed over several  rocky outcrops and handling a large turtle can be very physically demanding.

On quite a few occasions a turtle raked its carapace edge over my foot. With several hundred kilos of weight behind it, this could have hurt easily were it not for the steel capped boots I was very pleased to be wearing.

If you don’t like to wear sand in your boots or up your undies, I recommend you wear long pants during the nightshift.




You can wear more casual gear during the day

In the day time we were sleeping until 12 noon. Earplugs and those airplane eye-patches could come in handy. Or you could bring two pirate eye patches.




Thanks Steve for all your hard work

Turtle tagging on Dirk Hartog Island is done in January. I hear it is difficult to get in if you are not invited or know someone. You can try to contact DPaW if you are keen to give turtle tagging a shot. Contact Phone (08) 9948 2226 or click on the following links www.sharkbay.org, www.dpaw.wa.gov.au for more information.



Thanks to all the volunteers for this unforgettable adventure

 

 
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