Ningaloo Reef Diving…and an unexpected delight!

Whale Sharks are incredible…but Manta Rays take marine life interaction to a whole new level! I can say, hand on heart, that today was my best ever ocean adventure - two superlative dives, interspersed with barrell-rolling Mantas (4 distinct individuals over a 4-hour period), beautiful blue skies, turquoise water and the usual wall-to-wall sunshine.

Having had a day doing nothing on Friday (not by choice, I might add!), I really needed this dive trip to be something special. The reason I'd had to wait was because there wasn't enough interest in going diving amongst all the people in the 2 packed-out caravan / camping resorts, three hotels and the Backpackers'…on the world-famous Ningaloo Reef…in Coral Bay…!?? This seemingly bizarre situation was due to the fact that it was the school winter holidays - so the place was packed out, but with money-conscious Aussies, many with children, who didn't want to be spending their dollars on expensive business like diving. Many of these people were regular visitors, with preferred sites / holiday homes, booked months, if not years, in advance. So of course, this meant little or no room for backpackers and travellers, who would be more likely to want to enjoy 'experience' activities. The long and short of it was that I had spent yesterday twiddling my thumbs.

To be fair, I'd got the usual crap out of the way: washing and drying clothes (the drying part took no time in the still, pretty stiff northwesterly breeze), charging batteries, blogging etc. Even my back-up activity for the day (as suggested by the poker lads) was stymied by the school holiday curse - I was going to hire a kayak and paddle out to the outer reef to do some snorkelling. I slapped on the sunblock, gathered up my snorkelling gear and ambled down to the beach in the baking afternoon sun, only to find that the kayak man - fed up with standing around all day and getting no business - had packed up and buggered off home for the afternoon. In the end, I allowed a Zen-like calm to descend on my frustrations and pulled up a sun-lounger beside the deserted pool at my resort and read for the first time on my trip - I was just getting into the world of Arthur Dent, when the usual gaggle of loud, happy kids turned up, obviously alerted to the fact that the pool was open by my presence beside it. The sound of the water trickling into the pool from the faked tropical waterfall was now a distant memory…and I had to drag my sun-lounger further and further away to avoid the exuberant splashes of my little friends…but I soldiered on regardless because a comfy seat with a backrest was something sadly lacking from my lightweight camping set-up. I thought wistfully of 'The Guv'nor', my aptly named, sturdy, folding camping chair, gathering dust in Don and Caroline's barn and my mind sidled off at a tangent, once again thinking about the possibilities of spending a year 4x4 trailer camping through the Aussie countryside…and all the wicked camping kit that this would require. Alternating between daydreaming and 'Hitch-hiker's Guide…' ate up the rest of the afternoon and it was soon time to head back to the bar to meet up with the lads and watch the cricket again.

From my ill-gotten gains of the previous evening, I decided to treat myself to pizza, cheesecake and ice-cream, enjoyed to the beautiful background music of Aussie wickets tumbling with a pleasing regularity. As the boys finished work or drifted in from elsewhere, Bruce and I were the only ones really enjoying the sporting action and the rest didn't really want to play poker (I wonder why…? ;-) ) so we agreed to go to the pub and have a few beers. School holiday curse struck us again though when we arrived at the pub to be told that last orders had just been called. We sculled a quick one there before heading up to the other end of town to drink at Lockie's digs - the Backpackers'. Much to our dismay, again due to being deathly quiet, they were shutting the bar for the evening as well! A thoroughly disappointing state of affairs all round! With no other forms of entertainment and nobody staying in their own place, just like that, it was the end of our evening. After a day like that, you can see why it was so vital that the diving trip was a good one.

The view from the boat ramp before boarding 'Bay Escape'

Today's vessel was the 'Bay Escape', skippered by Jess with two Divemasters, Jess and Amy, accompanied by two DM's-in-training, Jonnie and Jenny. This meant that we had a 1-to-1 staff-to-customer ratio, as the tour company (Ningaloo Reef Adventures, who were suffering far worse than I, due to the holiday downturn) had only managed to scrape together 5 of us. This ratio improved drastically, when you looked at the number of divers, as there was only me and an affable German chap, Michael, heading beneath the water, as opposed to floating around on the top of it. This made the trip feel very exclusive right from the start and I was already beginning to feel that the wait had been worthwhile before we'd even got wet. On our first dive, we were led by Jess, with Jonnie taking photos and Jenny spotting cool stuff for us to feast our eyes on. We made a shallow descent into Asho's Gap and went on a 45-minute magical mystery tour through stunning coral gardens of every description. The hard corals were a beautiful backdrop of every colour, populated by teeming marine-life, including many that I'd neither seen, nor heard of before. I spotted a Honeycomb Moray Eel, coiled sneakily around the 'leaves' of a Cabbage coral; droves of Beaked Leatherjackets rippled their way lazily between branches of Tree and Antler corals and Moorish Idols waggled their way around Bombies and Fans, playing up to the audience and practically posing for Jonnie's lens. Every shape and size of fish, swimming alone, in shoals, dancing in pairs, chasing, harrying, flitting, skulking and peering as the ungainly, bubble-monsters flailed gracelessly past them. Jonnie has promised to send me some pics and I very much look forward to sharing a few with you soon. Three-quarters of an hour disappeared in a blue-haze of wheezy inhalations and bubbly exhalations, the shallow depth (max 9 metres) meaning that air-conservation was not an issue. We reluctantly clambered onto the steps of the boat, gabbling excitedly about the submarine wonders that we'd been unable to express through regulators and brine.

Dive Buddy Michael

And so, to what I thought was the sideshow, the time-filler, a cheap crowd-pleaser to tempt non-divers, a freebie that had been tacked on to my 'diving' trip…and what turned out to be a mind-blowing main event.

The first inkling that things were going to get a bit spectacular was when Amy gave us our briefing - it was very similar to the briefing for the Whale Shark interaction: no touching, no flash-photography, stay two metres to the side or behind, don't swim over the top or 'duck' dive down below the Manta. I started taking notice when she said that we hoped to be swimming with Mantas with a wing span of 4 metres plus….4 metres! More than twice my height. In my mind, rays were beautiful, ethereal creatures, floating through the ocean like magic carpets…but relatively small. I'd been wowed by the Stingrays we'd seen on the Whale shark snorkel trip, which had been about 4 feet wide…but I didn't the Mantas would be more impressive than that. But 4 metres…I was keen to see some of that!

Jenny swam out from the boat (which had been directed to feeding Mantas by the spotter plane) and, when she gave the signal, we all slid in as quietly as we could and did our best to paddle over surreptitiously so as not to spook the Manta. Their only form of defence (they have no barbed sting like other rays) is flight - and at 60 km/h top speed, there's not much that can catch them - so the last thing we wanted to do was alarm them because we wouldn't see them for bubbles. Unfortunately, the first three Mantas we found got skittish at the sound of us all clambering into the water and took off before anyone apart from Jenny was able to lay eyes on them. It was a little frustrating but we didn't yet know what we were missing and this had all taken place within 20 minutes or so, so we were a long way from getting peeved.

On our next attempt, we arrived alongside Jenny in time to see a sheet of inky blackness wafting its way into the blue with gentle undulations of its wing-tips. The sheer size, the grace, the utterly-at-home composed, floating serenity was gob-smacking. I couldn't help but smile - saltwater streaming in around the edges of my snorkel and trickling into the corners of my, now deformed, mask, as I bobbed along with a huge grin plastered all over my happy little face. I felt like a small child all over again - filled with a sense of wonder by this magnificent creature. It is something everyone should see - and, given a choice between Whale Sharks and Mantas, I would choose Mantas every time (although, do both if you can). The Manta is just so much more entertaining and interactive - he doesn't just swish along, oblivious like the Whale Shark, seeming to be more aware of our presence and definitely taking an interest in us, checking us out as he glides by.

The next hour was amazing - the next two Mantas were barrel-rolling, which is basically a feeding technique where they gather up a large ball of food (they feed, like the Whale Shark, on plankton) and then perform open-mouthed somersaults, hoovering it all into their great mouth to strain out the food from the water. Have a look at the video here, taken by Michael's Aussie buddy Steve with his underwater camcorder (must get one of those!!). The Manta's careless underwater acrobatics had us all buzzing with excitement and we were reluctant to get back on board the boat to go to our second dive / snorkel site.

By now, the wind had dropped and the ocean's surface had become faintly-rippled, aquamarine-tinted glass. Our second dive, at the Blue Maze, was every bit as beautiful and impressive as the morning dive - and Jenny even found me an octopus (which I'd only ever seen snorkelling before) - but after the Mantas, it was just 'amazing', rather than 'unbeatable'.

The Crew (from left to right): Jenny, Jess, Jess, Amy and Jonnie (with Stu the bus driver behind)

Our return to shore was swift and, after downloading some vids from Steve, signing the visitors' book and getting my Diving Log stamped, I rushed back to my resort to steal a cheeky, post-checkout shower (no salty chafage for me this time!), before jumping in the car and burning up some tarmac to get to the Nanutarra Roadhouse before nightfall and the very real threat of kangaroo and cattle on the highway. In my little Nissan Micra, a collision with a piglet would no doubt have been fatal (for the car and me more than the little porky fella). I was loving the open road and the beautiful, slowly-shifting scenery of the outback - tunes thumping, window down, fist pumping in the warm evening air with the occasionally whoop of delight. I was having a blast and felt totally liberated, unwound and shriven of responsibilities and cares. This state of euphoria lasted for the first hour of my 2 hour journey, until I started to notice just how big and empty a place Australia can be; just how few vehicles I was passing; how few sign-posts for villages (there weren't any conurbations on the road itself); and, most importantly, I noticed a distinct lack of service stations. In my stupid 'Western tourist' head, I'd assumed that Route 1, the North West Coastal Highway, would have frequent and regular facilities…but I was wrong.

With growing apprehension, I watched the fuel indicator decrease faster than the remaining mileage on the Satnav - and I really started to worry when the car's projected range dropped to zero when I was still 75km from my goal. Shortly after this, there was a sign for a large free camping area by the side of the road. (The vast open spaces of Australia are littered with 100m loops off the main road, where camper vans and trailers can pull up for a break or an overnight stop. Less frequently, there are larger Free Rest Areas, with toilet facilities, where the careful trailer-tuggers will plan to overnight on a marathon cross-country journey. The one I was pulling into was one of these latter.) I wasn't quite sure what was in my mind but I knew that I would be a fool not to throw myself on the mercy of human kindness, given that night was coming and the road had been far from busy. If I was going to find help, this would be my last best chance.

Dusk approaches...

I pulled up near the toilet block and surreptitiously opened my fuel cap to check that my car was indeed petrol - I was not pleased to see that it was, because I knew that almost every single one of the huge 4x4 trailer-towers would be running on diesel…but I still had to try my luck anyway. I struck up a conversation with a couple, who turned out to be British expats, now living in Perth. I explained my predicament and asked if they thought anybody would have any petrol to spare and, as I'd already surmised, the chap suggested that most of his fellow campers were likely to be running diesel. On the off-chance, I asked him if he thought anybody would be running a petrol generator (I knew a lot of them had these for powering high-wattage items like microwaves  etc. when parked-up). To my disbelief (and great relief) this guy suddenly brightened and offered that he ran a petrol generator himself, which he'd completely forgotten about - and that he'd filled a 5-litre jerry can for it, only a few days before. He insisted on giving me the contents of his can for nothing - the age-old hospitality of the road demanding nothing less - and I tipped every last drop of about 3.5 litres into my echoey little tank. I thanked him and his wife profusely, promised to drive with care and steeled myself for the last part of the journey in the gathering gloom.

I set off at a steady pace with a very ginger right foot (yes, Brother, I do possess this ability!), although it didn't help that the Micra was an automatic, so coasting was not really an option. To make matters worse, I was driving into a headwind and it was now almost totally dark (several hours before moonrise too), with the lingering threat of large mammals launching themselves through my windscreen out of the night. In my rearview, I could say a heavily-laden ute, chugging patiently behind me and I indicated to the left to encourage her to pass. As soon as she did, I kicked up the revs a little until I was neatly tucked in behind her and her load of household furniture - she was either moving house or going to the tip - either way, I was grateful to the truck's ungainly bulk for two reasons. Firstly, she was breaking up the headwind and allowing me to slipstream in her 'clean' air. Secondly, she was driving blockade with her bull-bars and minimising the chances of a Roo-strike on my windscreen. I suddenly felt a lot more confident about reaching my destination.

My unwitting benefactor

Forty-five minutes later, on a mixture of goodwill and fumes, I rolled into the petrol forecourt at Nanutarra Roadhouse, where I immediately brimmed the tank (at an eye-watering 1.94 per litre!) with 40.2 litres of fuel. On studying the owner's manual, found in the glovebox, I discovered that the Micra had a 41 litre tank…so I had made it by the skin of my teeth with the help of complete strangers!

My slipstream/blockade buddy had also stopped to fuel up and we had a quick chat, where I found to my amazement that she had been on the road for 20 hours, in order to take the last load of her things to her new home in Broome (still another 10 hours up the road!), where her young family were waiting for her. She didn't bat an eyelid when delivering this information with the usual, laid-back Aussie drawl - such marathon road-trips are apparently just another fact of life when you live in the wide open spaces of Western Australia. I for one, though, was more than happy to be bedding down for the night and I wished her luck as she set out on the rest of her journey. The sheer scale of the country had really caught me out this time and I knew I'd been lucky to get away with it.

Ra has departed for today...

But who needs the sun anyway?

Pokernight

Well, last night turned out better than expected!

I managed to get my multifuel stove working (after a bit of effort, which you might expect after 8 years of lying dormant) and cooked up a tasty mushroom and broccoli risotto, making use of my newly bought utensils.

After popping out to the pub for a pint, I was beginning to rue leaving my windstopper hoody back at home. The 'breeze' really got up last night and it could even be said to be cold! I'd left my jacket to make space in my bag, thinking I'd never need it with the weather forecast as it had been...but next time I'll know better! Added to this was the fact that the one-woman band at the pub wasn't really floating my boat...I mean she had a beautiful voice and everything...and was a very talented musician...but it just wasn't trance!;-D

So I headed back to the cafe at my resort, which I noticed was screening the cricket when I'd walked past before. I figured I'd stay in there, nice and cosy, until it was late enough to go to bed without waking up at sparrow's fart again. I thought it would be rude not to buy something...so I had cheescake with two scoops of chocolate and one scoop of raspberry ripple ice-cream. The cricket was quite entertaining...Bell and Bairstow were making a good go of staging an England batting recovery and every shot I saw seemed to be a four, with flailing Australians generally eating boundary rope or suffering some other ignominy in a vain attempt to get to the ball. I say 'every shot I saw'...because I was actually nodding off every couple of minutes and being woken by the ripples of excitement / disappointment as the batsmen played their shots. The place was pretty busy with people waiting for takeaway pizza and, in my prime location in front of the 50inch TV, I think I was providing added entertainment as my head lolled and snapped back repeatedly over about half an hour. A couple of times I caught one or two fellas nudging their mates with big grins on their faces. But I didn't want to go to bed too early and it was only half-nine.

To be honest, I was quite happy - warm, comfortable with some entertainment available when I was awake...but my ears pricked up when I heard someone mention poker. :-) Soon a trestle table had been dragged up and a guy with a goatee was chipping up at the far end of the table. I politely asked if they would mind me joining in...and, although a little wary at first, the guys all agreed to let me. I was wide awake now and got introduced to: Matty (goatee beard guy), Johnno (surfer dude with big dreads), Luke (another surfy looking guy with a little goatee), Bruce (a Scot/Englishman); Daniel (classic Aussie athlete-type) and Rocky (Clarke Kent specs and good poker face). We were soon trash-talking each other, chatting shit, bluffing, raising, getting-fingers-caught-in-the-cookie-jar, folding, gambling, getting lucky, gambling, going down! Texas Hold 'em is such an international game and with that one thing in common, we were soon relaxed and enjoying the banter. The guys all worked (or had previously worked) at the resort I was staying in and, as the cafe shut down, customers and staff left and we remained - poker to the left of me, cricket on the right, happy man!

The evening started off well for England, with Bell and Bairstow in fine fettle. I hit pocket rockets (a pair of Aces for those who don't know) and cleaned up a 20 dollar pot (we all paid in 20 dollars to start with and played a cash game, blinds 10/20, no limit) - at the same moment, Bairstow was clean bowled. On the next hand, I lost a few dollars with a pair of Kings (busted by a set of 4's!)...and Bairstow was re-instated when the review showed that the bowler's foot was over the crease, making it a no-ball. For the rest of the evening, my fortunes were the mirror opposite of England's cricket fortunes. For a couple of hours Bairstow and Bell knocked the Aussie bowling attack all round the park...and I got dealt utter shite: 26, 74, T2, K3 etc. But the minute England started losing wickets, I started picking up pots. By the end of the night, I cashed in 83 dollars - a profit of 63 on my initial outlay! :-)

Much more importantly, I'd got to know some good guys - guys who were into their dance music and having a good time; guys who'd been travelling to countries I'd been to, lived in Blighty for a couple of years...and who were planning on visiting Turkey. I promised to return the next evening with my DJ kit for more poker and entertainment and to swap e-mails.

I jogged back to my tent, teeth chattering the whole way, dived in and zipped up. For the first time this trip, it was teethbrushing and swallow (shouldn't do this too often, due to the high sodium content of toothpaste, but there was no way I was leaving my tent again!). Another first was that I actually used my Snugpak 4-season sleeping bag...and, warm and toastie in that fella, I soon drifted off.

Must admit, when I woke up this morning, I really regretted not having had a shower after yesterday's snorkelling...the dried salt crystals rubbing against my shirt had left a sore patch on the shoulder and side that I'd slept on...but the bright sunshine and blue skies this morning soon put a smile on my face. Chicken noodles for brekkie again and a bit of laundry.

Just been planning the 1000km roadtrip from here to Port Hedland over the next few days...the plan is to set off on Saturday afternoon after my snorkelling and get to Nanutarra before nightfall, so as to avoid the pitfalls of cattle and kangaroos in the road. On Sunday I would then have a mammoth 7 hour drive to Karijini National Park, Dales Gorge...and then about 48 hours to explore the area before a final 4 hour drive to Port Hedland airport on Tuesday. Busy-busy! Probably won't be back to update this until I've arrived in Darwin...but we'll see...:-)

Roadtrip and snorkelling time

Road trip!

Had my first self-cooked breakfast this morning - barbequed toast, scrambled eggs and poached mushrooms, washed down with water and a carton of custard for pudding :-) I then bought in some supplies (cooking utensils, plates, white fuel for my stove and a cool bag with ice to keep butter and eggs from cooking in the car.

Where the earth meets the sky...

Goodbyes said, blog updated and tourist information centre raided for maps, leaflets and tour company fliers, I was ready for my first drive in Western Australia. The road to Coral Bay from Exmouth required precisely two turns, but this didn't mean I didn't stop to have a look at the incredible scenery - far greener than would normally be expected at this time of year, due to the unseasonable rain they'd had in recent weeks. Looking at the roads, which dipped frequently to pass through dry river beds, one could see that it hadn't been raining that much...in fact the ground looked the usual Martian Dust red and the air was bone-dry.

Massive mushrooms?

Yet the lushness of the vegetation belied first perceptions. On closer inspection, this greenery was mostly composed of spinifex - one of the most hardy and indigestible plants on the planet. Dotted throughout the tussocks and tufts of this spiky, coarse grass, were great mounds that were very reminiscent of the fairy chimneys of Cappadoccia in Turkey. This time though it wasn't volcanoes and erosion that had shaped the eerie mounds but nothing other than good old termites. These structures seemed a little less planned and regimented than those of the magnetic termites as seen on TV...but nonetheless, created from spit and mud/dust, these cathedrals of insect architecture are a marvel of self-cooling efficiency.

Termite version of the Sydney Opera House?

With the trance blaring out of my bright orange Nissan Micra, I made short work of the 135km to Exmouth and rolled into the breezy little beach town in under an hour-and-a-half. I went straight to Ningaloo Reed diveshop to book my diving trips for tomorrow and then got myself fixed up with a campsite at the Bayview Resort. Facilities weren't quite as luxurious as at Ningaloo Resort in Exmouth...but beggars can't be choosers and the pitch had soft, grassy earth to poke my tent pegs into.
Once I'd taken a look at my maps and worked out how long I wanted to spend at my next destination in Karijini National Park (away to the east), I decided to go for a snorkel in the Ningaloo Bay Marine Park.
There was a stiff breeze and the water was cool enough to make me wish for a wetsuit...but this was soon forgotten as I floated along on a gentle current, wafting me inexorably back up the beach to the car. Unfortunately, a lot of the reef close to shore was dead - but there were encouraging signs of life from new corals and no shortage of fish and marine life. I saw several species of wrasse, the ubiquitous parrot fish in several varieties, gurnard, jack, trevalley, giant trevalley, a very cute, curious catfish, beautiful butterfly fish, a bumphead parrotfish and, the piece-de-resistance: a beautiful 2-metre long leopard moray eel! Happy Days.
I've just popped into the only internet cafe in town to update before they shut in 7 minutes. Depending on weather, tours and the need to move on, I'm not sure when I'll be able to update next, as I know for sure that I will have no internet access at Karijini. See you when I see you...:-)

THE ORANGE TRANCE BUBBLE - my Dutch relatives would be proud :-)

Whoop-whoops, marlin boards and noodles

Gobsmacked! This is the best way I can describe the feeling of swimming with Whalesharks :-) Humbled, insignificant, thrilled, amazed would all be adequate...but gobsmacking is about where it's at.

So, I slept pretty well in my cramped little tent, although a growing breeze made this more difficult as the night went on and body-clock issues didn't help. So at 5 am, I decided to make better use of my time and went for a shower, shave and haircut (not a barber in sight - just my trusty battery-powered clippers, as given to me for Chrimbo by Ma & Pa). I always have issues with my mask sealing on my top lip if I've not had a shave, so I wanted to be well prepared for a day in and out of the water.

At 6.30, I went down to the IGA (Aussie version of the Co-op or Spar) and bought a few bits and pieces, including a chicken noodle pot, deciding to go Vietnamese for brekkie - quick, easy and only a fork needing washing up :-)

The bus came for me at 7.20 and I joined a crowd of about 20, led by the exuberant Tara and driven by her comedy sidekick Luke. We drove to the Tantabiddi boat ramp on the opposite side of the peninsula, going via a few other caravan resorts and hotels on the way, with Tara giving us an entertaining local tour along the way. One hotel was in a converted American Naval Base, which had been set up in the 60's to administer the enormous nearby transmitter field, which consisted of six towers (the tallest almost 400m high!) and which was responsible for transmitting VLF (very low frequency) messages to the US and Aussie submarines. The base had the traditional commissary, bar & grill and, of course, a bowling alley - all mothballed and abandoned during a rapid exit in the early 90's. A hotel came in and prettied up the officers' mess for holiday accommodation but everything else has been left pretty much as is, just in case the Yanks ever decide they need to come back. Who knows - if North Korea continue to act up, they may be back sooner than expected!

At the boat ramp, we were taken out to our purpose-built boat, the Draw Card, on a glass-bottomed tender. On board we met skipper, Noss; Christian, driving our inflatable rib, Nigel(!); and the whale shark 'interaction team' of El and Honey. Tara would also be helping us 'meet' the sharks and Luke was to be camera man for the day. They were quick to set our minds at ease, regarding the weather, explaining that we would need to be careful getting in and out of the boat with the big swells in the open ocean, but that the winds and currents would have stirred up plenty of food (plankton) for the sharks and that this would make them really easy to find and to swim with.

We chugged out to the reef, still inside the lagoon and went for a quick snorkel. There was the most enormous cod sitting right under the boat anchorage. It must have been about 5 feet long and looked pretty mean (big bottom lip like a giant grouper)...but just sat there chilling and was still there when we came back half an hour later.

Cod! Would you look at the size of that...

Next spot was a huge stingray, wafting its way into the blue with its barbed-weapon tail, trailing menacingly behind it. The water was teeming with trevalleys, jack, parrot-fish, banner-heads, and an amazing variety of brightly-coloured tropical fish of every size and hue - it was an auspicious start to the day and there was plenty of excited conversation on-board as we returned to the boat for out journey out to the ocean.

Ooooh, Stingray! Da-na-nah-na-nah!

Within minutes of reboarding, we were informed that the spotter plane had already found us a whale-shark and we sped to our first rendezvous as fast as the chop and swell would allow us. As we passed through the South Passage to get through the reef and out into the Indian Ocean, the strong current and stiff breeze provided us with some 'entertaining' manoeuvres...several people were already starting to look a little green around the gills ;-). We were positioned around the marlin board (the wooden board at the back of diving boats that you climb onto before getting back into the boat proper), fins and masks on, ready to go. Noss skilfully manoeuvred us into position in direct line with the shark and the first group went in, guided by Tara so that they were placed either side of the fish, astern of his dorsal fin and well clear of his enormous tail. One or two of the girls took noodles (styrofoam tubes like the ones from the swimming pool back home) to help keep them afloat...with an XXL neoprene wetsuit holding me up, I probably could have done with a weight belt to keep me under a bit!

Soon it was our turn in group two...we went in, followed our guides instructions and came up from behind onto this magnificent beast. Her beautiful spotty markings seemed almost luminescent in the crystal clear waters; her enormous tail thrashed majestically slowly from side to side, propelling her along with minimal effort; and her sinuous, muscular, streamlined body cut through the water with ease. Her enormous gills wafted gently in the currents streaming through her open mouth and she looked for all the world like a CGI creation, belonging more rightly in a film studio than the open ocean...and yet she could not have looked more at home, more at ease and more awe-inspiring, gracefully attended by her ramora cleaners. She swam slowly in a fairly straight line and we had no problems keeping up with her, taking our opportunities for photos and enjoying the experience of being in the presence of this incredible icon of the southern oceans.

Yes, the Whale Shark is the one in the background!

The rest of the day had an almost dreamlike quality - the sharks just kept coming and we saw 5 different individuals in all, clocking up almost 2 hours of shark swimming time. One memorable chap had a couple of yellow trevalleys swimming just in front of and in and out of his gaping mouth, delighting El, who obviously lived for her work. We had another female slowly circling on feeding path (doing whoop-whoops), making it simple for us all to keep up and take our turn in front for a photo. However, the best was saved for last because, as we were following one shark with the rest of our group, another came along to cross her path. El and a British couple (living in Oz for 10 years now), Liz and Colin, and I peeled off from the main group and followed this beauty for about 15 minutes. Liz and Colin took her starboard side while I took the port, with El following at the rear. It was like our own personal whale-shark experience with no need to drop back for others to have their turn. Despite her ponderous speed by her own terms, when she finally did a near-vertical dive to leave us behind, I was pretty close to exhaustion and hauling myself back on the boat for the return trip to Tantabiddi left me lolling and dozing in and out of sleep until we got back to dry land.

Doing our whales shark impressions! ;-)

The whole crew on board the Draw Card (one of two vessels run by Three Islands Whale Shark Dives) were absolutely fantastic. All were knowledgeable and enthusiastic; each had their own special interests  in marine wildlife and conservation and they allowed their expertise and exuberance to infect us all with a sense of adventure. Despite the rough seas, everybody was able to enjoy the experience, which I'm sure will remain long in all of our memories. If anyone is thinking of coming to Australia...this is a must!

Back at Ningaloo resort, I needed to get all domesticated. Firstly, I did a bit of laundry, then went shopping for dinner before coming back to hang my clothes out. The campsite provides drying lines...but not pegs. Fortunately, I had my trusty twisted washing line, consisting of two bungee cords, tightly twisted together between two heavy-duty hooks. One hangs ones clothes up by forcing their corners into the gaps between the cords, which pinch together and hold them in place. I allowed myself a smug grin as my clothes remained up, hanging in the breeze, while others were being blown into the dust. ;-)

Domestic Goddess duties fulfilled, I hurried down to the local sports bar to catch the 'State of Origin' rugby league match - this is like the World Series of baseball to Yanks; a three-match FA cup final to Brits or, if you are an Aussie Rugby League fan from Queensland or New South Wales: LIFE OR DEATH! It was a generally good-natured crowd but as the game went into the final ten minutes, NSW Blues managed to score a try to reduce their deficit to just 2 points. The tension built and both sides made many basic errors, causing many a shaken fist and expletive to be launched at the big screens. One chap, obviously taking it a little too seriously, tried to start a fight with someone who got up to give his girlfriend a welcome hug. But in the end, Queensland ran out 12-10 winners and there were no hard feelings.

Back at the campsite, I used the free gas barbeque facilities to make myself a very healthy dinner of grilled courgette, mushrooms, tomatoes and aubergine. I got talking to a couple of girls (one French and one Italian-Iranian) who were working and travelling their way round Australia. The French girl had been travelling for 8 months, covering almost every part of this island continent and I felt a tug of jealousy as she explained her plans to head to the Philippines and South East Asia before heading to Tajikestan to join her boyfriend who had just got a job at the French Embassy there...the more travelling I do, the more I want to do...there's so much to see and do...and, really, so little time.

I went to bed marvelling at the wonders of the ocean and looking forward to heading down the peninsula to Coral Bay for some more spectacular scuba diving. :-)

Here I am...

Exmouth peninsula, which is the pointy bit at the top of the West coast in the pic below...

Western Australia - 

Aussie hospitality rules :-)

Hats off to Western Australia...great bunch of people. My day started early in Adelaide with the 6am wake-up call that found me in the sort of zombie state you'd associate with round-the-clock air-travel. No problems getting to the airport on-time and Qantas even let me off with 2kg (40 Aussie Dollars-worth) of excess luggage. It seemed that there were a lot of people stranded in Adelaide overnight, trying to get to Perth, where the weather had been very foggy. For this reason, they changed our plane at the last minute to accommodate the extra passengers and ended up taking of half-an-hour late.
However, the flight was full of lovely folks, willing to chat and shoot the breeze, including my neighbour Mick, who had worked on construction projects through the length and breadth of Australia. He waxed lyrical about the joys of Western Australia, gave me loads of good advice about places to go and generally just took an interest in the world around him and the people in his vicinity.
I also had some good banter with the cabin crew, who were an especially cheery bunch...not like the sour-faced Ryanair and Easyjet miseries we're used to. Customer service genuinely still means something here in Australia - which is just as well because you mostly end up paying through the nose.
I had a couple of hours layover in Perth, which was a chance to catch up with an old Uni/rugby mate and his girlfriend. James has been living in Oz for over 4 years now, plying his trade as a secondary maths teacher. The way he described the quality of life, the great outdoors and the living space had me reconsidering Oz as a future home once again. Lisa joined him about a year back and they now live in a 4 bed, 2 bathroom house with a huge garden, despite being on a single salary (although James is pretty well-paid as a teacher. We didn't have long to hang out...breakfast and a bottle of Aussie beer (it wasn't awful, and certainly better than the rancid Coca-Cola here, which has a whiff of DEET about it, in my opinion). I left for my flight, vowing to plan my next trip a bit better and ensure a night on the bevvies in Perth.

Headroom on boar Perth-Exmout flight...not much!

Flight number 2 was on a somewhat smaller plane - not like the 9-seat job that I flew into the Himalayas with on my last trip - but sufficiently small that the overhead lockers would be more accurately named 'overshoulder' lockers. We still received a nice picnic lunch and drinks, all delivered with a smile. The rest of the journey was spent gawping out of the porthole windows at the gorgeous west-coast scenery. Dazzling azure ocean, crisp white waves and seemingly endless miles of golden sand out of the port-side; scrub, signature orange dust, craggy outcrops and interminable, arrow-straight roads, criss-crossing the outback sporadically via the starboard windows. There was a collective audible intake of breath from the whole plane as the Exmouth peninsula's coastline finally hove into view - the water morphing into an otherworldly aquamarine / green, scattered with low-level dust-ringed, scrub-topped islands: we were definitely arriving in the back of beyond. Touching down at Learmonth Airforce base, Exmouth Peninsula, W.A. .

It was my favourite kind of airport: the kind where you walk off the plane and into the terminal via the only gate; the luggage conveyor (there is only one) can be seen to be loaded through the windows and everybody is reunited with their luggage and loved ones in a matter of minutes, leaving the place devoid of life in the blink of an eye. Except me and the car-hire lady. Once again my 'wallet-disappearing trick' was continuing to affect my day-to-day. To be fair, in Europe, arriving at the carhire place without a credit card would have a elicited a briefly mournful (not quite regretful) expression - the kind that says "Well we really wanted to take your money off you...but there's nothing we can do about it now...so please bugger off and don't make it my problem!". Instead, Janne listened sympathetically to my problem and promised to see what she could sort out as soon as she'd sorted out the other hires. At no point did she give me the impression that the outcome would be anything other than positive and, although we were unable to resolve the situation immediately, she still gave me a lift into town to my campsite, promising to sort everything out with Dave Wynne (my friend in Melbourne, who had kindly offered his credit card services), while I was out whale-shark swimming the following day. We had a good natter in the car on the way into town and her enthusiasm for her local area, its flora and fauna and the various activities available was highly infectious. If she ever gets sick of the carhire business, she would make a killer tour-guide, nature-spotter, tourism agent. I left her with a huge smile on my face and a promise to come and pick up my car the day after.

So, I turned up at Ningaloo Reef Caravan and Camping Resort in Exmouth (not to be confused with the little seaside place near my old stomping grounds of Exeter, Devon, Blighty. On arrival, I explained that I had used the web enquiry form to book a site but that I hadn't received a response. The reception ladies looked a little concerned and explained that this being the local school winter holidays, the town had swelled from a normal 2500 to over 8000 people...and accommodation of any sort was a bit scarce on the ground. Nonetheless, they found me a little spot for my tiny tent, furnished me with keys for the gate and the Ablutions Block and left me to my devices. Now, as a lover of outdoor living (even camping in Blighty is fun if you're prepared enough for the weather and any eventualities), my friends and family will be well aware of the quantity of camping kit I have amassed over the years, with never too many a gadget for the right occasion. Let me tell you, these Western Australians know how to camp! When I say camp, while they may hate the term, I would more properly call it glamping...they have every home-comfort imaginable! Outdoor erections that would put many a wedding marquee to shame are commonplace; camping chairs and refrigerating devices to make my mouth water; facilities that many homeowners would be happy to call their own; the greatest array of caravans, campervans, trailer-tents, pop-up shelters, tents and awnings that you could envisage - and campsites (for mine is but one of about 20 in a 5 mile radius) that spread out over several acres, with mettled roads, facility blocks and signposts rather like small towns. As I wandered around to gather my bearings, I began to feel a deep affinity with these affable, welcoming folk, who never passed up an opportunity for a 'G'day' or 'How's it going?'. Salt of the earth, every last one of the buggers! And probably at least half are actually of British Origin.

I pitched my little tent, which was worryingly full of stuff, seeing as I didn't have the car I was expecting to have! It was a bit of a squeeze with me and two rucksacks, sharing my 1.5man space...particularly (as I'm sure some of you will point out) as I am already 1.5 mans myself! ;-) I then went for a wonder to find food, water and take a look at the beautiful sunset. The evening smelt of the heat of the day and the tang of the salt air - filling me with optimism for the following days aquatic activities...swimming with the world's biggest fish! :-)

Follow the Yellow Brick Road...

G'day, Bruce. Say, G'day to Bruce, Bruce.

Well, here I am...and it's not been a particularly auspicious start to my antipodean adventure so far, although that is not really the fault of the locals. Travelling from London with Singapore Airlines was almost a pleasure, if it weren't for the 23-hour journey time (just about one of the fastest though, with a 1 hour turnaround at Changi airport), I could almost definitely say I enjoyed it. The service was brilliant (after the 2nd one, they regularly came up and asked me if I wanted another vodka tonic!); the in-flight entertainment was high-quality (finally got round to watching Django) and the seats & legroom were both excellent. The first leg from London was on the Airbus A380 - my first chance to fly on one of those bad boys - and it was cavernous with plenty of room for trolleys and passengers to cross in the aisle. Sitting on my backside is not something I'm renowned for but I managed it pretty well. Of course, eating of your lap provides special challenges for the likes of me and my first meal put a nice stain on my t-shirt and a less-visible one on my shorts. Needless to say, when I arrived at Adelaide, I needed a shower and a bed asap.
After watching Border Patrol far too often back in the days of having cable tv, I was fully prepared to be thoroughly worked over by Customs and Quarantine officers on arrival. I declared medicines (asthma steroids and cold&flu remedies) just to be on the safe side and had actually spent 10 minutes in the plane toilets cleaning the soles of my walking boots with my free Singapore Airlines toothbrush (I did use it to brush my teeth first!), having seen many a poor punter having their shoes carted away for radiation, due to possible contaminants.
This part of the journey was over in minutes with very little fuss and suddenly I was in a new country and on the loose. After losing my wallet in Ibiza last week(!) I had had to get creative with the emergency money procedures. The Travelex Cash Passport seemed like the perfect solution - a Mastercard with a PIN number but without my name on the front, which could be used to make electronic payments and withdraw cash in up to 7 different currencies. Having had a very poor customer service experience on Saturday (the day I bought it), spending over 2 hours on hold on the 'Customer Service'(!) line, I thought I would check to see if it worked okay. Without any problems, I was able to withdraw 100 Aussie dollars and, satisfied, called the shuttle bus to take me to the Adelaide Airport Motel.
Unfortunately, this was where the trouble started. I tried to pay for my room but the card was declined. The desk staff pointed out a petrol station about 400m away which had a cash machine, so I duly walked over there to get cash. Declined again, twice! I could see that I wasn't that far from the airport (about half a mile) so I decided to walk back there and try the ATM that had given me my original 100 dollars. When I tried to withdraw 250 dollars (to pay for the room and post the 200 dollar bond), my transaction was again declined. A little tired, a little smelly and a little fed-up by this point I decided to go to the Travelex shop in the airport...and was told that I couldn't withdraw cash from their counter! This seemed a little ridiculous and I was getting more than a little annoyed by this point...but I decided to go and try my luck with the Travelex ATM in the departures hall. Again (twice!) no luck!
Back at the Travelex shop the embarrassed cashier offered me their phone to call the customer service number in Australia...only, when I got through, I found that it was the same automated voice and the same (fucking irritating) piece of classical music that I'd had to listen to repeatedly on Saturday, as I was left on hold yet again. It wouldn't surprise me if the 'call-centre' is a Welsh sheep farmer, in the back of a shed, somewhere in Snowdonia, trying to diversify his chatline business or something. Lo and behold though, after only 20 minutes waiting, I actually got through to a real person...and they weren't Welsh...and they seemed really nice...which was a shame, because all I wanted to do was unload! She had the good sense to pass me on to a manager, who received an ear-warming burst of frustration and who, quite honestly, was a bit useless ("You can write to our complaints department to make a claim for compensation... - "Yes, but that's not much use to me when I'm in Australia with no money. Is it?!"). He claimed that there was nothing wrong with the account or the card and suggested that I try the ATM again and, much to my relief (and a bit of irritation), I was able to withdraw 600 dollars to tide me over. The problem is temporarily solved...but I would expect to hear more about this in the not too distant future...
Got back to the motel, Skyped my Mum, showered and went to bed. Let's hope today goes a little smoother :-)