Crawling up the Coral Coast

22.04.23 - 19.05.23

Dear reader,

After months of kitting out and preparing the car (Matt), and what felt like endless days packing (me), we hit the road on a beautiful Autumns day in Perth. Without meaning to we left on the 22nd (my favourite number), which I took to mean fate and destiny…but I don’t believe in superstition, it brings bad luck. That bad luck found us approximately 10 minutes into our trip when I spilt a whole coffee on my brand spanking linen shirt (hadn’t even made it out of the metro). Which takes us to the first stop on our epic road trip … the Whitfords Nodes carpark, sheepishly scrubbing coffee out of my shirt because the prospect of doubling five minutes back to home to sort it out would have felt like failing before we even started. And to top it off, it was bloody decaf.

Our first proper pull in was Jurien Bay because Hat Matt, being the BMX bandit he is, wants to ride every skatepark around Australia. And why not?

Matt lording it up at Jurien Bay skate park.

It was a bloody scorcher so after exerting myself strenuously (by watching Hat Matt exert himself), we took our first shower AKA ocean dip of the trip. Being the dugong I am it was the perfect temp for myself, but Matt proclaimed “it’s freezing babe, I’m going into anaphylactic shock” – and with that statement I took a long hard look at the man I was going to rely on to provide me any type of first aid should I need it on our trip – a guy who thought cold water equated to a peanut allergy. God help me. We battled onwards, and due to leaving Perth at midday-ish, made it just south of Gero before we called it and went hunting for a camp spot. We pulled into a spot called Lucys Beach and found a perfect little secluded spot tucked away behind the dunes. Having had a decent hot chippy blowout back in Dongara, we couldn’t be bothered with dinner so watched the sunset (glorious) and lit a fire. There was a perfect fingernail moon as our backdrop, and the sky was a lovely shade of indigo on dusk. Our first sleep of the trip was pleasant but I was awoken in the morning to the sound of sirens, which was odd as we had missioned it quite a bit off the beaten track and were in a secluded spot. Turns out a surfer that morning had had a decent chunk taken out of him by a cheeky bronzy mere meters away from our campsite (as I slumbered on…) and required ambos and airlifting to Perth (we found out the full story a couple of days later as we ran into a couple at a caravan park in Shark Bay who were best mates with the guy who got nibbled…classic small world vibes).

We packed up camp and took a drive back to a surf spot called Flat Rocks that Matt wanted to check out, but it was a bit heckers for us so we opted to keep moving. Here I was thinking we would breeze on through Gero and hit the wide open rode…. But Mr “I want to look at every abandoned building in this town in case there’s a dirty old pool I can ride” had other ideas. It was for that reason that I found myself for a good chunk of the day sitting at the Geraldton skate park watching my boy peddle around and thinking to myself “I need to find a hobby ASAP, because this is going to be a regular occurrence” – and hence the Dugong Diaries was born. I finally convinced Hat to pack her up in the late arvo and we made tracks for Coronation campground about 20 minutes or so North of Gero to hole up for the night. When we arrived it was pretty full and we were fancying a bit of seclusion. You can 4wld south of there along the dunes, and the giant sign proclaiming “strictly no camping” was a sure fire way to guarantee we were going to find a little secret spot for ourselves, if we could ranger dodge. En route to hunting a sleeping spot, we couldn’t help but notice the absolute afternoon glass off and beautiful crumbling reef break that was occurring – so we pulled up, got the boards off the roof and hopped in for an arvo surf (I was feeling a little skittish after the shark attack that morning – you know, the one I slept through). It was a couple of hundred meters to paddle out and I was jumping at every bit of weed and dark rocky shadow I saw, shallow paddling with my legs firmly folded up for safety on my board. We got a couple of waves but I was being more of a pleb than anything. After a lovely freshwater rinse off from the troopi shower (luxury), we crawled southwards and found ourselves a little pull in spot to hunker down for the evening. Hat got another bonza fire going and we wiled away the evening gazing at the milky way.

*Our second camp spot of the trip just south of Coronation Campground, Geraldton.*

The top notch evening conditions turned horse shit overnight, and we had the worst sleep ever with the pop top blowing 100 knots around in the famous Geraldton wind. In the morning I felt the strong need to get the hell out of dodge and away from the less than favourable conditions that had descended, so we did a speedy pack up and zoomed northwards, pulling into Northampton for coffee and a banana (or in Matt case, a hamburger? It was 8.30 am… but I’m not here to judge). We hit the bitumen again, pulling in at Billabong for a cheeky fuel top up and then Overlander for a cheeky chip top up. Side note, we have seen more cops on this trip so far than I have in a whole year in Perth. We were subtly trying to avoid them as our we were doing a slightly dodgy unintentional number plate cover up with our bikes and other gear strapped to the back tire, and knew it was only a matter of time before getting pulled up on it. I found it hard to feel too threatened though because the four PoPo’s who parked next to our car were all suckling on Calipsos, which diminished any threatening appearance they may have possessed.

We played on, turning into Shark Bay World Heritage Area. For Hats benefit I insisted we quickly checked out Shell Beach which at that time was teeming with tourists. We carried on and a little while later took a turn off to the north to ascend a big ass hill that overlooked the ocean. It was at this point Matt asked me “why is it called Shark Bay?” and I was like “umm there’s lots of sharks dingbat”. To prove my point, I immediately spotted about six of the bastards swimming in the shallows (I tell you what, my observational skills are absolutely on point now that I’ve had laser eye surgery). I spent a good couple of minutes trying to point them out to Mr Matt “that’s just seaweed babe” Walkemeyer – first of all its seagrass you imbecile, second of all do you think I spent five years spotting, counting and identifying marine fauna off underwater videos for NAUGHT?! Spotting a moving underwater critter is one of, if not my only, speciality. I finally succeed in pointing them out to Matt (“are you sure they aren’t fish babe”.) I assured him they were indeed sharky-doos and he needed to check himself. It was pretty cool to see so many gathered in the shallows. As we turned to leave my laser eyesight couldn’t help but spot six emus hooning off in the distance. Matt and I quickly descended the (slightly hairy) rocky hill we had 4wld’ed up, then got out and followed the emus on foot, getting pretty close to those magnificent giant feathered peacocks on steroids. Due to the unanticipated stop offs it was nearing mid-afternoon, and the one paltry banana I had inhaled earlier in the day was not cutting it. I was about to go into full blown rage mode and was in need of a nom stat. I told Matt to hit the gas and get us to town asap. We were tired, hungry, and had had a dogshit sleep – we thought YOLO, lets treat ourselves and just take the easy option and book into the caravan park instead of slogging it around trying to find a cheeky free camp. Famous last words – turns out booking into a caravan park somehow took longer than finding an illegal camp.

*The shells of Shell Beach (pretty self explanatory really).*

*Getting that tourist shot like the tourist I am and being sun smart as all hell while I’m at it.*

The next day we opted to explore Francis Peron National Park, and decided to go all the way up to Cape Peron (at the tip of the peninsula). About halfway there Hat looked in the rearview mirror and shat bricks… he noticed that our two bikes, chemical toilet and spare tire that were (key word: were) attached to the back swing arm were not looking so attached. We quickly pulled over and assessed the damage – the loot was hanging on by a thread, and the entire swing arm was bent to hell. No sooner had Hat taken the weight off the arm then the thing snapped completely. We were about an hour out of town on corrugated roads with no help in sight, and a situation on our hands. Luckily Matt managed to (somehow) wedge all the gear into the back of the car (no mean feat) and the troopi was then absolutely packed to the hilt. We both knew then and there we wouldn’t be able to continue our trip without getting it fixed ASAP – it effectively left us pretty limited as the whole set-up was unworkable. With no reception and no means of a quick fix, we decided to push on and explore the national park. We checked out the whole thing, had some beautiful dips, made up a cheeky lunch, and even spied a juvenile guitar fish in some shallow mangroves. I got excited and dipped my new iPhone 14 in the water to snap a pic (I swear the guy at the shop told me it was waterproof…although I’m not sure what I was doing was the intended use). The pics turned out stunning though so all good as far as I was concerned. Although we weren’t planning to, that night we spent another sleep at the caravan park owing to our swing arm situation. In the morning we hoofed it up to Monkey Mia for a change of scenery whilst we tried to sort out our mechanical issues. On the way out I decided to indulge myself in an iced coffee to go and almost had a heart attack when I saw the price (nine dollars), which made me thankful Matt was satisfied with his humble Moccona. At the coffee shop I bumped into a mate (Jack) I didn’t realise lived in Shark Bay…he informed me his gf (my good friend Molly) was holed up at his place working on her PhD. So of course, we decided to do a surprise visit. Not only was it a great catch up, but we were also able to dump our two bikes, spare tire and chemmy toilet in Jacks shed which was a major bonus for us (thanks Jack!).

*Cape Peron, Francois Peron National Park. Matts first attempt at a candid boyfriends of Instagram shot.*

*It would be rude not to pose by this big red cliff, surely?*

*Bottle Bay, Francois Peron National Park.*

*Major disaster narrowly avoided - swing arm on the piss. Broke off shortly after this snap was taken (pardon the pun).*

We zoomed onwards to Monkey Mia. After pulling in and doing a reccy of the park for a shady spot (I will kill for shade), we set up. No sooner had we pulled our camp chairs out then a pack of emus descended on us. These were not your friendly wild emus of yesteryear, but a well seasoned pack of big birds who were clearly used to swooping in on unsuspecting tourists in the caravan park. Someone walking past and called out a word of warning to us - “don’t leave any food out around those guys, trust me”…about 5 minutes later we saw why. There we were, minding our own business, lounging in our camp chairs, looking out across the campground where a couple had just rolled up and set up camp. The guy was cutting up what looked like a terrific watermelon (pity he never got to taste the succulent fruity flesh…), the girl was getting out a loaf of bread to make what I can only assume would be a sambo…nek minute…the same horde of emus that had just plagued us went into full attack mode. I counted eight prehistoric beasts going in for a full carbohydrate hit straight out of the unsuspecting lady’s hands…she shrieked in pure fear, and Hat lunged into action. He was over there quick as a flash, diving in to rescue the bread. I was a bit slower off the mark but went in to back him up – by the time I got there he had disappeared under a mountain of feathers and beaks and I saw elbows flying. My approach was to try to intimidate the birdy feckers by waving my hands over my head and saying “bad emus, shoo”. The French chick (by this time I had picked up their accents) asked me in amazement, “can you do that? Does that work?”, I replied with “no idea, I’ve never had a face off with a pack of emus before, but I guess we will find out”. The birds eventually retreated and the couple thanked us profusely, whilst simultaneously moving what was left of their watermelon to the roof of their car. As the afternoon wore on, we watched as more campers rocked up and history repeated itself. Matt took on Chief Emu Warden role and was warding off birds left, right and centre as unsuspecting people left their goods outside. At one point we witnessed an emu climb into the front passenger seat of someone’s van and scoff an entire packet of Tim-Tams. The occupant was taking a nap inside and her blood curdling scream when she realised she was basically snuggled up next to a Pterodactyl on roids still haunts me. But the emus didn’t stop at just food – they were into everything. We saw them pinch some Dettol wipes from inside someone’s car - at least go on a bit of a cleaning spree if you’re going to nab the Dettol wipes! The emus were genuinely quite terrifying, especially the way they would storm you out of nowhere. God knows what you would do if you were camping with young kids, it was actually rather unsafe. It didn’t make for a very peaceful camp either as you couldn’t even cook outside – I had to seek the shelter of the communal kitchen to make dinner. I’m not one to be frightened of a bird, but these feathered fiends were nek level. Champ was also not impressed and totally terrified.

*The emus at Monkey Mia campground were truly savage - you’ve been warned.*

The next morning we decided to get the heck out of Jurassic Park 5, and explored the entire eastern gulf side of Shark Bay, which involved some 4wld’ing. The wind was perfect and the eastern side glassing off. We got in an amazing swim on a sandbar and Champ even did his first independent fully fledged ocean swim (usually he is not a fan). I think the heat and the calm water tempted him into it. We made camp in a sand-dune, and no sooner had we turned the car off and opened up the awning then I look behind me and a flock of five emus are standing right there. “Here we bloody go”, I think to myself, but unlike the clearly human habituated emus of the caravan park, these ones were more flighty per say (hoping it’s not offensive to use that adjective in respect to a flightless bird). The wind came in something hectic that evening so we had to sleep with the roof pulled down, which wasn’t too bad. The next morning we legged it out from the eastern side, and popped up on the highway well south of Denham. We hooned back to town, had breakky and collected our gear from Molly and Jacks place. I was treated to a hot shower and an ice latte to go which was delectable and didn’t set me back nine clams this time. After four days at Shark Bay, we were ready to move on and hit the great northern highway, heading North.

*Sand spit on the eastern side of Shark Bay peninsula.*

*Lovely little find on the eastern side of Shark Bay peninsula.*

*The troopi enjoyed posing for this one as well.*

*Campfire on the eastern side of Shark Bay pensinsula.*

*Juvenile shovelnose ray (Glaucostegus typus) in the mangroves.*

*Had to sleep “downstairs” when the wind came in overnight…Champ didn’t seem to mind the extra company.*

We decided to pull into Wooramel Station for the night - great spot on the river, with bore fed artesian hot springs you can bathe in. When we rocked up in the arvo they were packed with grey nomads (as you’d expect), so instead we did a long walk up the dry river bed, and snuck back to the hot spring tubs at 9 pm for a soak in privacy. It was quite refreshing after a hot day, and that’s coming from someone who loathes baths. The next day we continued northwards, stopping in Carnarvon to stock up with enough food, water and fuel to last us about a week. I got threatened to a fight (surprisingly unsurprised by this) and we got the cuss out of town.

*Obligatory artesian hot springs shot, Wooramel Station.*

We took a left heading for Quobba, Gnaraloo and beyond… we bypassed the first couple of camp spots and spent our first night at Red Bluff. As we pulled in I read a sign saying “entering sacred space…slow down, chill out, give respect, gain respect”. It was giving hippy spiritual vibes and immediately sent my woo-woo meter clanging. I entered the homestead to pay and my suspicions were immediately confirmed when I spied copious crystals and dreamcatchers littering the front reception… it was giving “the universe led me here” manifestation station vibes, and my cynical self was immediately slightly off it. But as Hat said “I’d rather deal with hippies than dickheads” and if that’s not a mantra to live by I don’t know what is.

It was a glorious evening and the water looked luscious but there was a serious shorey dumping quite dangerously that made a dip seem treacherous. We opted for a walk to the Point instead and watched a few people getting made pizzle on the shorey. Hat was hobbling along the rocks behind me wearing no shoes and I was midway through admonishing him for being a barefoot bandit when I kicked the actual f*$k out of my toe, which immediately started pissing blood. Instant karma. When we got back to the campsite a couple of French chickies had pulled up and were making camp next to us, good birds. Tired from our days work, we made some bangers and salad and called it a night. I braved the shorey for a dip in the morning and emerged feeling energised as all hell, even if I was limping due to my cussed up toe. But if I thought my toe was bad…it wasn’t, compared to what happened next. We were standing around chatting to one of the Frenchys when the other French chook pulled up next to her mate and let out a ream of quick paced French… I didn’t have to speak the language to understand what she was saying once I took a glance down and got an eyeful of her hoof. Poor chick had made an enemy of a rock and ripped her nail almost clean off. She was in a lot of pain and didn’t know what to do – luckily for her I was itching to use my new first aid kit and went into nurse mode. After inspecting the wound, I realised the only thing for it was to cut the entire nail off (which was hanging on by a whisper anyway). I deftly made the snip and watched the discarded fish scale looking thing fall pitifully to the dirt. Antiseptic cream, gauze and tape, along with a couple of painkillers later, and she was all set. That was until five minutes later when I get back out of the troopi and see her rolling a condom up her foot… she was keen for a dip it seemed and didn’t want to get it wet. The shorey made short work of her though and she was knocking on our window less than ten minutes later asking for fresh Band-Aids, after my lovely handwork had been destroyed.

We decided to head further north to the next camp. After seeking some advice on the track conditions from Professor Trelawney at front office, Matt was hit with a “leave plenty of time…most people who go to 3 Mile Camp turn around and come back here… you’re packed in like sardines” (I thought this ironic, as the previous day she had situated the French chickas such that their tent opening was literally touching our car). We arrived at 3 Mile to find a glorious camp, and if she thought people were packed like sardines she must have been referring to some open water free range wild caught situation – because there was plenty of space. We hooked a spot overlooking the beautiful lagoon and I could already see the potential for a little right hander right off the reef.

Matt befriended the dudes next to us (one from Cow Town, the others visiting from interstate) who had serious “left the wives and kids at home for a boys trip” energy. Great blokes though, and we even spotted one of the guys taking Champ for a walk as we were out snorkelling/surfing. Our first full day at 3 Mile we decided (somewhat foolishly, in hindsight) to do a reccy of the 4wld track north, which we were planning to take into Coral Bay in a few days hence – it ended up chewing up the better part of the day, especially as Matt stopped for two rescue missions. The first was to snatch strap a car and boat out of the drink which was slowly sinking. The guy was much appreciative and tried pressing some fillets on us (which we declined, Matt not really liking seafood and me being…you know…vegan). The other was to snatchy someone who was bogged because they stopped their car to break off part of a tree so it didn’t scratch their door and consequently beached themselves on the soft sand… I may or may not have told the lady off for snapping branches off a live tree on the coastal reserve that is currently under rehabilitation. The lady wasn’t impressed with my admonishment, but oh well… I’m in my Karen era (or as I’ve recently coined, my “Kraken” era, AKA an ocean loving Karen). Due to the couple of set backs Matty absolutely sent it on the corrugations back to camp, and somewhere along the way we lost one of our Maxtracks. Damn.

*Working on me selfie game while Matt worked on his surfing.*

The next morning we awoke to old mates on the boys trip from next door frenetically packing up – “big swell is about to hit Margs, we’re out of here” – I looked around in amazement at the absolutely premium conditions they were leaving, after only being up here for a couple of days. I went up to the office to book another night on our spot but was told it was taken – damn – which gave me an idea…you couldn’t get refunds for your camp spots, so I asked the boys next to us if we could sling em some cash for the one extra night we were planning on staying, and take over their camp. It worked for them, and the deal was done. Back at the office and transferring over the booking, it became apparent they actually had another eight days paid for – so I got the office bird to transfer over the whole lot and Matt and I decided to pitch up stumps for another few days (cheers for the free camp Mitch from Cow Town). Admin sorted, we went for a mission to one of the surf spots the Cow Town boys had told us about, called Turtles. When I arrived my first thought was that the gents from next door must have been tsunami surfers, because these waves seemed pretty decent (definitely too big for me). It was about a 300 m paddle out to a beautiful left hander straight over coral reef, but with a deep channel on the side that you could safely sit in. We ventured out. My usual game plan is to sit on the inside a bit and pick off the small ones that come through, but it wasn’t really possible with this wave because any small dogs would break over the much shallower section of reef and you were in danger of getting yourself beached if you didn’t get off that section fast enough (which I found out a couple of waves later…madly paddling against the reef current to get off the shallow section before getting made piss). I eventually got on a medium sized dog which turned out to probably be the best wave I’ve ever caught – zoomed over the scary bit of reef and it was a huge payoff with an extended couple of hundred-meter ride. Glorious. Matt was braver than I and sending it on all the big dawgs, and also getting some sick waves.

The next morning we checked out the infamous surf break Tombstones, which can get absolutely bonkers on big swell. It must have been what the mad dawgs would consider flat as, because there was just a lone SUP boarder out there giving it a crack. However, there was still the occasional perfect wave that suited me (and let us not forget they always seem smaller than they actually are when you’re standing atop a cliff with a 200 m paddle out ahead of you). The way to get in was nothing short of semi treacherous, a stabby rock stroll across the cliff face till you reach a little nook where someone had attached a rope bolted into the rock – from there it is a couple of meter abseil down to a rocky platform. At high tide (which it currently was) the waves reached all the way to the cliff face, so you had to time your descent such that you didn’t get inadvertently pounded into the cliff by an approaching wave. It was as I had made my descent and was waiting for Hat to pass me down the boards, that some grey nomadians decided to appear for a sticky beak and engaged Hat in a chat. After thirty seconds or so of me navigating cliff, waves, and rocky platforms in the name of being cordial (literally stuck between a rock and a hard place) I lost my cool and yelled at Hat to pass me the freaking boards already, gesturing around me to indicate the absolute shit sandwhich I was navigating. The waves were deceptively hard to get on, what looked like a big intimidating boontas were in fact crumbly dogs at the heart of it, with a very slow take off – so you really needed to commit and paddle into the breaking face of the wave to ensure you could actually get on. Scored a good wave or two, but Matt was itching to get back over to his mate Turtles so went checked that and Matt did another coupla hours surf (I opted for some lazy beach strolls instead – my arms were absolutely cooked at this point).

The next couple of days consisted of more of the same - surfing Turts, snorkels, walks & camp fire feasts. Our last day at 3 Mile we decided to do one more cheeky Turtles sesh before travelling onwards. When we rocked up I knew instantaneously the crumbly dogs of yesteryear were no more and we had now entered full on bazza territory. Where we had previously shared the wave with only a couple of punters, there were at least 10 peeps out, on doubt attracted by the barrels. The waves were defs on the too big side for me, and with that many people out it made it hard to sit innocuously on the inside to pick off the small ones - nonetheless I thought I’d at least paddle out and sit in the channel. Once we’d made it out the back my suspicions were confirmed, these waves were way out of my league and barrelling hard onto that shallow coral reef. I hung back and mainly tried to not get made pizzle. Eventually, a little small one came in that I had a crack on – downside of taking a wave was that I got pushed into the inside reef and knew a mad-dash paddle straight across was the only way to get out of the pickle. Unfortunately for me it was at that point the ocean decided to produce the biggest set waves of the day – a big unit was hurtling towards me and there was nothing for it but to ditch my board and try and pancake on the reef. The wave was having none of it and picked me up and tossed me down twice, with enough force that I got squished on the reef. Out of air at this point, I pushed up off the reef to get a bit of leverage, gashing up my toe in the process. After that dumpage I yeeted to the channel, tried to save face by milling about for a bit, then boosted to shore, thoroughly shookened at this point. A heroic limp to the car ensued, and my trusty first aid kit got another work out.

We hit the narrow gravel track (or the “highway” as Hat referred to it to the lady running one of the camps…eyebrows were raised) for the long mission up to Coral Bay, as we were out of supplies. Three and a half rattling, corrugated hours later, we made it and headed straight for the pub for a pint of ginger beer and my first hot chippy blow out in 12 days. Staying the night at the caravan park was a shock to the senses after our many days of pretty much seclusion, but a necessary pitstop so as to do washing, clean gear, and re-stock for the days ahead. Replenishments complete, we backtracked the way we had come and spent the next few days at Waroora (“Warra”) Station, which we had stayed at last year and loved. Our days were spent surfing Stevens (which after Turtles seemed friendly as all hell). Nonetheless, it was a decent sized for the days we were there and there was a choice between two reefs providing either a left or right hander, with a deep channel separating the two. The left hander (which I favoured, mainly because everyone was surfing the right) broke onto shallower reef than the right, but manageable and it was at least mainly rocky macroalgae covered, as opposed to coral. We soon found out that once the tide starts turning the “safe” channel that separates the two reefs turns into a current stronger than a double espresso and near impossible to paddle out of, and if you found yourself caught in it you were given a one-way ticket to the horizon. I tried playing safe by staying inside the inner reef, but there was an alongshore current at play that was attempting to suck you right off the shallow reef into the deep channel, so you really had to watch yourself. We learnt our lesson over the next couple of days and made sure to call it as soon as the tide turned and get the cuss out of there. On our last day at Warra the surf spot wasn’t breaking, and I was secretly relieved – my arms and shoulders were absolutely cooked from the previous few days effort.

We began the mission back along the corrugations to Coral Bay again, where we topped up with just enough supplies to get us through the next few days as we poddled up the coastal track to Exmouth. We took our time meandering along the coast, pulling into the some of the sangas (Sanctuary Zones) of Ningaloo Marine Park along the way. As the afternoon drew to a close we happened upon a big sand dune system with some good greenery kicking around, a welcome change from the sunbaked flat earth we were driving through. We decided to set up camp in the lee of the dune, protected from the wind (although you technically aren’t meant to camp anywhere through that section of Ningaloo unless you’re in a designated campground, and it was part of the land that Department of Defence operates in). Deeming ourselves a low national security risk (bar perhaps the wild caught English Staffordshire terrier accompanying us), we gave zero fecks and had a nice peaceful night with only the stars for company (oh, and a few March flies). Our journey continued the next day, with our first pull in being Janes Bay, which we thought we would just take a quick geez at. The associated camping spots were deserted and the camp host seemed positively shook that someone had decided to have a geez at the area – it must have been a long time in between chats for him because he proceeded to monologue us as we were just trying to smile and wave, smile and wave. Once we made it down to the beach we understood why it was deserted (no offence), there was a pile of wrack that had washed up, the water was murky and there wasn’t much going on – however – there did happen to be a nice little peeler breaking a couple of hundred meters out that looked tempting, despite the turbid and opaque water conditions. We saddled up and paddled out there, and actually had a hell enjoyable time and some decent rides (although you had to be judicious with your dismount as the water was so turbid you couldn’t tell where the reef was). We rattled on northwards for another hour or so and pulled into South Lefroy for a geez – here we had our first glimpse of some classic Ningaloo conditions – fringing reef and shallow snorkelable clear lagoonal action. We asked the camp host what availability they had for the night and was aghast to hear they were fully booked (over half of the spots were empty). The rejection didn’t deter us much as our keen eyes had already spied an extensive sand dune system just south of the main camp ground, so we spent the day exploring the dunes and swimming, then ducked into a secluded dune camp upon evening (again, technically a no-no but oh well).

We started the next morning off with a decent hours snorkel (sharks, coral bombies, fish and turtles galore) then sent it northwards again, pulling into spots for dips and explorations along the way. The next couple of campgrounds (Billies, North Lefroy and Winderabandi) didn’t appeal to us so we brought out the trusty satellite maps and started scouting for any secret camps that could suit us further north. We stopped for another dip as the afternoon drew to a close and it was getting close to the time where we needed to buck up and find a place to hunker down for the night. The spot where we were didn’t quite do it for me, the march flies were out in force, and our dinner options weren’t looking great…so I uttered two little words to Matt that I knew would get his attention – “pub feed?”. He was in, and with that the decision was made to mission it up to Exmouth which was another couple of hours away. With a new spring in our step and hot chips on the horizon, I cracked a mango seltzer for the drive ahead, flushed all the flies out of the vehicle, cranked the aircon and off we went. We rolled into town about 6.30 pm and beelined to Froth Brewery for a ginger beer, spring rolls, hot chips, and a lovely shitake mushroom burger on a bao bun with siracha mayo. We tried our luck with another free camp that evening and nestled into the deserted, shut-down caravan park that’s at the base of the lighthouse. Despite being a bit of an obvious spot, we got away with it and scampered off nice and early before getting caught.

We ended up spending a week hanging around in Exmouth, as we were waiting for the car parts to arrive from Melb. As fate would have it, good mates and fellow marine science crew Nat, Jolly and Chris happened to be up in Exy that week for holidays, with the trusty tinny in tow. Being the land rats that we were, with not even a paltry pool noodle to pass off as a floatation device in our possession, we hadn’t yet been out on a boat during our trip, and if there’s one thing you need in Exmouth if you want to get the most out of it – it’s a boat. Lucky for us the benevolent Nat & Joll-bag extended a coveted tinny-trip invitation our way, so with fellow friend, Exmouth local and all round legend Dingus in tow, we embarked on an afternoon sight seeing mission. Resident whale shark-whisperer Dingus had the hot tips on recent spotty boy sightings, and with the aid of his drone he did a bit of a reccy. Before sighting any whale sharks, we happened upon a huge bait ball with numerous sharky-doos having a munch. With haste, Matt, Chris, Nat and Dingus jumped overboard for a geez and I stayed on board being a bit of a scaredy cat debating whether or not I wanted to swim with ten sharks in the midst of a freeding frenzy. Nat popped her head up and yelled at me to get my ass in the water pronto and stop being a loser, but just before I jumped in something huge nudged the boat – Jolly and I swivelled around in surprise and lo and behold it was a huge ass whale shark that had come up to say g’day (and by g’day, I mean this mo-fo had come up vertically from below and started having a munch on the motor – an incredible sight that was witnessed by Matt and Nat who had swum back to the boat before they realised the whale shark was directly below them). It was seriously surreal to witness this huge beast in such close proximity, and without further ado I jumped in to the deep blue and followed the back of the retreating whale shark. The first thing I saw when I put my head under water was a couple of sharks (probably bronzys, maybe a grey reef) making their way directly underneath me to the bait ball. My previous trepidation had all but evaporated in the excitement of catching a glimpse of a whale shark underwater, so I paid the sharp-teeth boys no mind and followed Nat and Matt who were in hot pursuit of the spotty boy. After a few moments the whale shark dove deep and we lost him to the impenetrable blue below.

Back in the boat we headed further offshore, spotting an oceanic manta and other manta rays as we went. The boys wanted to locate a wave-buoy that was some number of kilometres off the coast to see if anything was hanging around on it. The afternoon was wearing on, and as the boys were in the water trying to locate the wave-buoy, Nat and I took five with some BBQ shapes back on the boat. We made a friend in the form of a noddy, who flapped his way over and was more than happy to perch on our hands, shoulders and even our heads. He was incredibly photogenic and not at all camera shy, so many a selfie with the noddy was taken. As the afternoon drew to a close, and with no lights on board the boat, the call was made to head back to shore. About halfway back I spotted something gigantic leaping across the surface of the ocean in the distance, and my first thought went to a hammerhead as I thought I saw a large dorsal fin. As we approached closer we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by a teeming mass of krill and about four or five whale sharks having an absolute feeding frenzy. It was right on dusk, the sky had darkened to indigo and the ocean to midnight blue – but it was too good an opportunity to miss. We pulled up and jumped in, spending the next twenty minutes watching these majestic beasts feed. At one point Matt and Chris were following one whale shark, and unbeknownst to them another had come up from behind, effectively creating a whale shark sandwhich. There was nothing the boys could do but stay still and pray they didn’t squish them. At another point I found myself swimming through krill soup (quite a unique experience, and not altogether displeasing) when all of a sudden another whale shark loomed up from the deep, swimming directly for me. I quickly swam as hard as I could to one direction to evade it, but then it decided to change tack and head my way again, so I powered off the other direction and narrowly avoided it… it then decided to change direction again and come my way. I was zig zagging all over the place and trying to get away from its gaping maw (has anyone been swallowed by a whale shark before?!). thankfully that was the last time it changed heading and I managed to get alongside its flank and out of its way – at this point I had expended all the energy I had left in the tank so retired back to the boat. All in all it was a pretty magical time in the tinny. Quick disclaimer/PSA regarding this story – of course it is extremely important to be aware and observe the rules regarding interactions with whale sharks and other marine megafauna (which of course we did).

*Chris, Matt and Dingus dallying in the dusky deep post krill-soup whale shark sesh.*

Our next call up for tinny time came a couple of days later, and like good soldiers we snapped to attention, picked up some deluxe boat snacks and met the crew at Tropi the Locals to gear up (in the case of Tropi, this involved sponno’ed gear) and ship out. The aim of this mission was to tinny out to an offshore surf break, which we were dead keen on. The day before Matt and I had missioned a pretty solid 400-500 m paddle out to a break called “Bombies” which can get hectic on big swell, but was just breaking for us (having said that, “just breaking” was still way too big for me given the steepness of the take-off and barrelling nature of the waves that day – still, good experience. Fighting the current/tide to paddle back to shore was another story…but I digress). So, the idea of simply boating out and being deposited on a break was massively appealing. We rocked up to the joint and the wind had come in a bit, but it still looked fun. It was quite the wait between sets, and you had to commit the take-off from well out the back otherwise you’d end up on the shallow reef. I only managed to get one wave on a different bit of reef that was breaking right on shallow coral, so it was a bit hairy but worth it. I attempted to pick off some small whitewash numbers on the inside, got one, went to stand up then looked out and realised there were a number of coral bombies ahead of me that were literally out of the water at this stage, so I was instead forced to knee board and intricately dodge bombies all the way back to the channel.

After our surf sesh, we ventured to the shallower section of lagoon for a cheeky snorkel and were hoping to see some sharks (Trop had brought along his high-tech mad dawg underwater camera). The spot we were consisted of a deep wide sandy hole type thing, bordered on one side by shallow coral reef. Nat and I explored the reef and I spotted a lure tangled around some Acropora. As waves broke on my head I attempted to extricate it, but I was getting pinballed around too badly to make progress. I signalled to Nat and being the mermaid she is got to work on the disentanglement, whilst I bobbed haplessly above her. Our lure mission was interrupted by a yell from Hat Matt who was hovering over the deep sand section, I popped my head up and he was gesturing wildly for us to come over. I couldn’t leave my girl Nat to the mission alone though, so we ignored his yelling (figuring it would be a piddly reef shark), and finished Lure-gate 2023. Meanwhile, Hat was still gesticulating like a mad man so we hot-flippered it over to him and got within ear shot – “hammerhead! Hammerhead!”. I was halfway through wondering if it was a chilled out, cute scalloped hammerhead or a big stonker Great hammerhead when the big unit himself lurched out of the blue towards some fish heads chilling on the bottom – it was indeed a Great hammerhead, I would peg him at 2.5 meters, and girthy as all hell. Tropi was laying flat on the seabed with his camera and the shark swam directly up to him. I loitered on the edge of the reef crest, figuring I could yeet up into the shallows if need be. The hammerhead circled the area multiple times, scavenging its way along the seafloor as it did. The white tip, black tip and grey reef sharks that flitted alongside it looked like guppies in comparison. It really was an epic sight to witness underwater. After the hammer eventually left we called it a day. As we came back into town and turned onto Tropis street, who did we see but none other than Champ dawg himself, who had evidently escaped from Tropis place and was laying down underneath the troopi (which was parked some distance away). Matt and I were shook that Champ had pulled a Houdini. Someone had even been so kind as to leave out an icecream container full of water for him, so evidently he had been chilling by the troopi for awhile. He must have looked right at home.

*Friendliest bird award goes to this bloke.*

*Natalina being her photogenic self. Hard to choose the best looking bird in this picture.*

The rest of our time in Exmouth was spent exploring gorges, indulging in soy cappuccinos (me), grinding rails (Matt), fixing up the car (also Matt), bike rides around town and free camping where we could. As it happened, the free camping is not an easy feat in Exmouth! We got busted by the ranger one morning and copped a $100 fine - some haughty locals parked up a ways had clearly dobbed us in… I may or may not have left a passive aggressive “thanks for that!” note on their windshield. After the ranger busting us it was back to the cazza park where you are that close to your neighbours you may as well jump in bed with them, and we were kept up till all hours by some dudes on the piss who had commandeered a golf buggy and drunkenly steered it into the tree by our car at 1 am. Ah, the peace and tranquillity of nature.

*Shothole Canyon, Cape Range National Park.*

*Charles Knife Canyon, Cape Range National Park.*

Finally, we got the call that our car parts had arrived and luckily they were able to fit them right away. With the car fixed, our loitering in Exmouth was over and our Crawling up the Coral Coast came to an end, and thus this episode of the Dugong Diaries. Stay tuned for the next instalment as we Poddle through the Pilbara.

Until then my supple seagrass servants,

Yours faithfully,

The Dugong.

Poddling through the Pilbara