ODO 103k
Things are getting tougher here in the blogosphere. For a while I haven't really had anything compelling to write - I have been a bit too quiet, haven't I? But just recently I've hit a much more considerable pothole: dead laptop. My little computer has been replaced with a 2.5' portable hard drive (pulled out of said computer), and the opportunity to sit down to write blog articles is going to come around much less often.
I have just recovered a mobile (after about a month without), so I will try to get back into the habit of posting to Twitter - hopefully it will still work with the new hardware.
In processionary news, I've moved a few kms further down the road towards tomorrow. The trip from Geraldton to Perth involved a few little detours towards the beach - pleasant enough. I hit Perth, hit up the post office for my mobile battery, and virtually just as promptly left. After a short jaunt I was back in Perth the next day, but the weather was again (uncharacteristically) damp and soggy. Bugger it, I decided, I'll be much better off in Kalgoorlie!
As it turns out, the damp was not just coastal - though after a brief deluge in the Perth Hills I somehow managed to ride into storms for two days without actually getting wet. Travelling was good - popping along through a variety of agripastoral little towns, eventually finding myself in the goldfields heading north. Despite the chill, the clouds made for great viewing - surpassed however by the beautiful glades of eucalyptus. The salmon gums are famous - rightly so - but are by no means the only colourfully twisted, smooth, shagged or ragged growths on the goldfields.
I was a little unfortunate to hit a nice sharp little rock, and develop a little lack of curvature in my front rim. I got it back to the servo to pump up the tyre, and then back to Kalgoorlie which would make the nearest mechanic. The wheel held up without issue, though, so Perth I decided would be a better place to stop. Structually, the wheel is fine - and holds air with no complaints once properly pumped.
So Perth I have been for a few days now - catching up with old mates, and enjoying the generous hospitality of one I've not seen for a good couple of years. The bike is cleaner, I am too, and Perth is done with me for another few weeks. Mid-December I'm back in town to catch the cricket (which hopefully lasts longer than the three-day test which finished yesterday), and after that I'm freewaying it back to Sydney to organise life in the new year. The next few weeks will see me catching up with relatives, and exploring the SW corner of WA - the forests, craggy coast and beaches, the dryandra and the farmlands. It will be a good few weeks but you might have to live without much news of it.
Until sometime in the future, all the best with your December, enjoy the rest of 2009.
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Showing posts with label West. Show all posts
Showing posts with label West. Show all posts
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Down the Hill to the Coral Coast
ODO 98,600
As of the last entry I was on my way out of the Pilbara - the only remaining stop was Paraburdoo, which at 7am on Sunday was a quiet town indeed.
So onto the road down from the hills it was - and no less stunning a trip than the days before it. The lowlands of the Western Pilbara saw the scenery change from the isolated tussocked hills of the East and gorges of the centre, into sets of ridges of exposed layered rock towards the coast. There's something spectacular about ranges like this - the same type of formation that makes up much of the Macdonell Ranges near Alice, an association which can hardly be a bad thing. The road out here first follows then crosses range after range of mesmerising formations, until finally crossing one last, long, definitive range. It's amazing the effect natural border phenomenon like this have upon a traveller. A new country wasn't just symbolised, it was felt, by a drop of a good 2-3 degrees in temperature. The drop was badly needed and highly appreciated - the day's riding might have started relatively early, but it was relentlessly hot, almost dangerously so. As sad as it was to leave the hills of the Pilbara behind I was by this stage looking forward to a whole new land.
I have been to Exmouth before, on a family trip some years ago, but my memories of the place are fairly scanty. The town is not in the least familiar - though it doesn't take familiarity to recognise how new the fancy marina area is - 'marine living at its finest!' A far cry from the mining towns of the hills where the deli attendant couldn't conceal her amazement that a couple of guys would buy a quarter chicken and a single stick of cabinossi.
A little late into town I was pleased to discover the tourist influence had meant the conveniences I would have earleir taken for granted actually were still open - supermarket, petrol station, fish and chip shop, even a dive shop. So no need to resort to the emergency Deb and baked beans for dinner!
The next morning - having found myself a piece of quiet flat land to roll out the matress - I was up early as usual, and with a range of things circled all over my map of Exmouth. I'm probably more excited about Exmouth than I had been about any aspect of my trip for a long while. I didn't necessarily think I had anything special to look forward to, but chilling out, swimming reefs at my own pace, national park camping and a little bit of tourist infrastructure - simple things which nevertheless should make for a great few days. Doing a day trip on the water of the Great Barrier Reef was nice and all, but I have to say being able to take the beach to an isolated stretch of coast and just swim out to the coral is much more appealing - that's without considering the cost difference. I was up too early for any of that, though, so instead I opted to try out one of the roads up into the ranges from the East.
The big and beautiful Goshawk I got to watch gliding along the road two minutes later was just the start of the morning. The ridge road up the range was soon winding up the hill in front of my, and as I ascended above the shrubbed plains of the gulf I was wondering why I hadn't made the trip down here to set up camp (I think tomorrow night that is probably what I'll do). The morning sunshine angling across the lowland hills was spectacular, but as the road climbed its winding way up the ridge the scenery only got better and better. Somehow managing to twist myself backwards in both directions to admire the view, and simultaneously dodge the morning wildlife, I found myself defenseless against the still air and morning beauty of the range. I couldn't possibly even see it all, let alone get photographs to prove it!
Perseverance pays off, however. I stopped on the way down in a little side bay to check the view atop a rock to my left. I couldn't believe what lay before me. I took enough photographs to capture the image, but how could I do this view justice? I sat, presently, upon that rock. And sat. And listened to the three-tone song of a bird drifting through the perfectly still temperate morning air, echoing from some nook within the gorge which lay before me. I watched in wonder as little navy bomber birds darted and dove. I watched the light change as the sun progressed through the same cycle it does every day - but has never done quite like this before. I pulled out the billy and nestled into a shady hollow within the rock to have breakfast, planned the day, and pulled out the laptop to write this. I'm sitting in the cool shade of the gorge wall, and with the clock having just passed 8:30 the first car of the day slowly makes its way up this road up the range. I first climbed the range just after six - I have had this land all to myself for nearly two and a half hours. They pass, of course, slowly on up - probably not realising the view that awaits them just metres outside their airconditioned box. But that's okay. I realise.
But the morning needs to end sometime. I may very well be back up here - if not tomorrow, probably another day. For the meantime, Exmouth, the North West Cape, Ningaloo reef... the Coral Coast awaits!
Photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/coralcoast/ (though admittedly, as of writing I hadn't uploaded any)
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
As of the last entry I was on my way out of the Pilbara - the only remaining stop was Paraburdoo, which at 7am on Sunday was a quiet town indeed.
So onto the road down from the hills it was - and no less stunning a trip than the days before it. The lowlands of the Western Pilbara saw the scenery change from the isolated tussocked hills of the East and gorges of the centre, into sets of ridges of exposed layered rock towards the coast. There's something spectacular about ranges like this - the same type of formation that makes up much of the Macdonell Ranges near Alice, an association which can hardly be a bad thing. The road out here first follows then crosses range after range of mesmerising formations, until finally crossing one last, long, definitive range. It's amazing the effect natural border phenomenon like this have upon a traveller. A new country wasn't just symbolised, it was felt, by a drop of a good 2-3 degrees in temperature. The drop was badly needed and highly appreciated - the day's riding might have started relatively early, but it was relentlessly hot, almost dangerously so. As sad as it was to leave the hills of the Pilbara behind I was by this stage looking forward to a whole new land.
I have been to Exmouth before, on a family trip some years ago, but my memories of the place are fairly scanty. The town is not in the least familiar - though it doesn't take familiarity to recognise how new the fancy marina area is - 'marine living at its finest!' A far cry from the mining towns of the hills where the deli attendant couldn't conceal her amazement that a couple of guys would buy a quarter chicken and a single stick of cabinossi.
A little late into town I was pleased to discover the tourist influence had meant the conveniences I would have earleir taken for granted actually were still open - supermarket, petrol station, fish and chip shop, even a dive shop. So no need to resort to the emergency Deb and baked beans for dinner!
The next morning - having found myself a piece of quiet flat land to roll out the matress - I was up early as usual, and with a range of things circled all over my map of Exmouth. I'm probably more excited about Exmouth than I had been about any aspect of my trip for a long while. I didn't necessarily think I had anything special to look forward to, but chilling out, swimming reefs at my own pace, national park camping and a little bit of tourist infrastructure - simple things which nevertheless should make for a great few days. Doing a day trip on the water of the Great Barrier Reef was nice and all, but I have to say being able to take the beach to an isolated stretch of coast and just swim out to the coral is much more appealing - that's without considering the cost difference. I was up too early for any of that, though, so instead I opted to try out one of the roads up into the ranges from the East.
The big and beautiful Goshawk I got to watch gliding along the road two minutes later was just the start of the morning. The ridge road up the range was soon winding up the hill in front of my, and as I ascended above the shrubbed plains of the gulf I was wondering why I hadn't made the trip down here to set up camp (I think tomorrow night that is probably what I'll do). The morning sunshine angling across the lowland hills was spectacular, but as the road climbed its winding way up the ridge the scenery only got better and better. Somehow managing to twist myself backwards in both directions to admire the view, and simultaneously dodge the morning wildlife, I found myself defenseless against the still air and morning beauty of the range. I couldn't possibly even see it all, let alone get photographs to prove it!
Perseverance pays off, however. I stopped on the way down in a little side bay to check the view atop a rock to my left. I couldn't believe what lay before me. I took enough photographs to capture the image, but how could I do this view justice? I sat, presently, upon that rock. And sat. And listened to the three-tone song of a bird drifting through the perfectly still temperate morning air, echoing from some nook within the gorge which lay before me. I watched in wonder as little navy bomber birds darted and dove. I watched the light change as the sun progressed through the same cycle it does every day - but has never done quite like this before. I pulled out the billy and nestled into a shady hollow within the rock to have breakfast, planned the day, and pulled out the laptop to write this. I'm sitting in the cool shade of the gorge wall, and with the clock having just passed 8:30 the first car of the day slowly makes its way up this road up the range. I first climbed the range just after six - I have had this land all to myself for nearly two and a half hours. They pass, of course, slowly on up - probably not realising the view that awaits them just metres outside their airconditioned box. But that's okay. I realise.
But the morning needs to end sometime. I may very well be back up here - if not tomorrow, probably another day. For the meantime, Exmouth, the North West Cape, Ningaloo reef... the Coral Coast awaits!
Photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/coralcoast/ (though admittedly, as of writing I hadn't uploaded any)
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Saturday, October 31, 2009
The Pilbara - History of Rocks
ODO 98,000 - that's 19k for the trip so far!
I'm on to the Pilbara now, having moved on from the Kimberly. The mighty Pilbara, heart of Australian iron ore mining, home of some of the world's oldest rocks.
It's a strange place, almost misleading. Everything is rocky and red. The iron-oxide stained pebble is virtually a substitute for soil - the latter of which, if you can find it, is guaranteed to stain the blackest of clothing rusty red. Riding through the hills here, though, its almost like being back in pastoral NSW - the spinifex matting is so thickly permeating that the area looks at first glance like cleared grassy grazing land. The trees are stunted and sparce - in no other area of the country has it been so impossible to find shade. In no other area, moreover, is it so difficult to find water - outside of the towns all you'll find is empty rest stops (virtually all NT and QLD rest stops have water as a matter of course), and wide red roads leading not to a friendly cattle-station homestead, but to a landscape-plundering mine. I spoke to a Japanes cyclist (a.k.a. nutter), whose sole source of water on the three-day 250km ride from Port Headland to the nearest roadhouse - the sole source of his most valuable commodity was the kindness of passers by. There is no planning out here, to ration your water to the next stop. Your only option is to drink when you need to and get it whenever you can. Due to prudent planning (born out of my trip down the Gibb River Rd - which proved to be more hospitable than I expected, and more hospitable even than here), I've had no concerns outside of constantly trying to get as much fluid into my stomach as possible. And that certainly is necessary - it is hot indeed. Not humid like the North, so it is frankly a pleasant change. But the dry, windy 40+ days (it was 43 in Headland when I left at 11am) drain you of your fluid before you even realise you've started sweating.
If Alice is in the 'real' outback of Australia, the Pilbara is the outback with an exclamation mark. The spinifex is more avid, the landscape is larger, older and redder. It is hotter (Marble Bar, hottest place in Oz, is just over the hill), and if it weren't for the odd cyclone blowing in from the hot summer seas to the north it may very well be drier as well. The centre is renowned for its sunsets - but so is the North West, and I can tell you the label is well deserved. Sunset over the beach in Broome (yes I Know that's not the Pilbara!) was astounding, but I've just watched the best of the trip so far. Incredible, amazing - bright and colourful, equally menacing, dwarfing my little camp upon a hill. It was even worth braving the flies (admittedly not the worst of the trip - but the second worst, by a wee margin) to admire - at least until my arms got too sore and I returned to the tent to start this. So here I am writing, waiting for the clouds to decide what they're going to do, and waiting out the flies before braving the evening air.
Once you get past the immediate and unavoidable treacherousness of the place, the Pilbara is wonderful, really and exceptionally.
As far as Australia is concerned, the Pilbara is probably too far away for virtually everything - except mining. All you need is a few good rocks, and all of a sudden you have money - and with money you can build the social structure of a region. (Not that it didn't have one before, whether European or Aboriginal - but 50 years ago it certainly wasn't like this.) The one abundand infrastructure item is public amenities - the mining companies pay for those. Nothing else can be built fast enough. You end up with towns like Port Headland and Newman with a weird feeling - almost as if they were built by communists. They look 'constructed', and probably efficient, but their character doesn't show that well through the incessant layer of iron ore dust. They are definitely lacking in shade - miners, it appears, though fanatical about keeping the grass green, are slow to realise the value of trees.
The area does have a curious pre-mining history, though, from what I can gather. The 1946 strike is a famous little bit of local history. It saw Aboriginal 'employees' from stations all through the region 'strike', and converge on Headland to demand pay (not equal pay, just pay!). I never really worked out whether it acheived all that much - Aborigines over here weren't granted a right to a minimum wage until 1968. But many of the strikers never did return to their stations, so if nothing else it was a slap-in-the-face response to their ill treatment. 1968 is a sad curiousity - the result in a large number of cases was that the Aborigines who ran the stations were suddenly too expensive, and were turfed out, kicked off their land, never to return. I haven't really found anyone to ask for more detail on all of this, but I suppose you could always go and look it up.
Broome has an even more remarkable labour history. Aborigines were originally used to collect pearl oysters (primarily for the mother-of-pear shells, rather than for the rare pearl itself), which collected along the beaches. As this resource ran out and they were forced to collect in deeper water they became increasingly reluctant (there are a range of dangers of the sea which made them naturally reluctant), culminating in slavery and forced labour. Aborigines were carted around locked up in chains and forced (women and children too) to man the luggers and dive for oysters. Pregnant women made for the best divers, apparently...
Later this practice became illegal, so Asians of various nationalities were drafted over to dive - not only were they better than Europeans, but there was no requirement to pay them full wages. Eventually the Japanese became the dominant labour source, in the sophisticated and dangerous diving suits (you know, with the big metal fishbowl helmet and fully inflated suit?).
This situation continued more-or-less amicably until WWII. The ships were all commissioned, and the Japanese all locked up. The heart of Broome is Chinatown - the closest thing the place has to a town centre. What is less commonly known is the fact that until WW!! the area was Japtown - Broome's Chinese history is relatively minor compared to its Japanese influences. These days, the famous Japanese cemetary is locked up, due to (alleged) vandalism of Japanese graves by environmentalists taking issue of Broome's (former) sister city's dolphin catch.
So the area has a bit of a chequered past. And with the Pilbara's primary occupation being exhuming itself for export you could argue it has a chequered present as well. But enough about that - I find these things remarkable, but I'm not going to pretend you need to do the same.
All in all, the area does make a fabulous and memorable touring destination. The Coral Coast, just down the hill, is a famous tourist destination - the Pilbara though is much less travelled. Sort of sad, but then I'm happy to keep it to myself for the time being.
Hoping you're enjoying wherever you are, I'll be reporting from the Coral Coast sometime soon.
Photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/pilbara/
also (inc. Broome photos, and all the Kununurra and Gibb Rivers') http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/kimberly/
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
I'm on to the Pilbara now, having moved on from the Kimberly. The mighty Pilbara, heart of Australian iron ore mining, home of some of the world's oldest rocks.
It's a strange place, almost misleading. Everything is rocky and red. The iron-oxide stained pebble is virtually a substitute for soil - the latter of which, if you can find it, is guaranteed to stain the blackest of clothing rusty red. Riding through the hills here, though, its almost like being back in pastoral NSW - the spinifex matting is so thickly permeating that the area looks at first glance like cleared grassy grazing land. The trees are stunted and sparce - in no other area of the country has it been so impossible to find shade. In no other area, moreover, is it so difficult to find water - outside of the towns all you'll find is empty rest stops (virtually all NT and QLD rest stops have water as a matter of course), and wide red roads leading not to a friendly cattle-station homestead, but to a landscape-plundering mine. I spoke to a Japanes cyclist (a.k.a. nutter), whose sole source of water on the three-day 250km ride from Port Headland to the nearest roadhouse - the sole source of his most valuable commodity was the kindness of passers by. There is no planning out here, to ration your water to the next stop. Your only option is to drink when you need to and get it whenever you can. Due to prudent planning (born out of my trip down the Gibb River Rd - which proved to be more hospitable than I expected, and more hospitable even than here), I've had no concerns outside of constantly trying to get as much fluid into my stomach as possible. And that certainly is necessary - it is hot indeed. Not humid like the North, so it is frankly a pleasant change. But the dry, windy 40+ days (it was 43 in Headland when I left at 11am) drain you of your fluid before you even realise you've started sweating.
If Alice is in the 'real' outback of Australia, the Pilbara is the outback with an exclamation mark. The spinifex is more avid, the landscape is larger, older and redder. It is hotter (Marble Bar, hottest place in Oz, is just over the hill), and if it weren't for the odd cyclone blowing in from the hot summer seas to the north it may very well be drier as well. The centre is renowned for its sunsets - but so is the North West, and I can tell you the label is well deserved. Sunset over the beach in Broome (yes I Know that's not the Pilbara!) was astounding, but I've just watched the best of the trip so far. Incredible, amazing - bright and colourful, equally menacing, dwarfing my little camp upon a hill. It was even worth braving the flies (admittedly not the worst of the trip - but the second worst, by a wee margin) to admire - at least until my arms got too sore and I returned to the tent to start this. So here I am writing, waiting for the clouds to decide what they're going to do, and waiting out the flies before braving the evening air.
Once you get past the immediate and unavoidable treacherousness of the place, the Pilbara is wonderful, really and exceptionally.
As far as Australia is concerned, the Pilbara is probably too far away for virtually everything - except mining. All you need is a few good rocks, and all of a sudden you have money - and with money you can build the social structure of a region. (Not that it didn't have one before, whether European or Aboriginal - but 50 years ago it certainly wasn't like this.) The one abundand infrastructure item is public amenities - the mining companies pay for those. Nothing else can be built fast enough. You end up with towns like Port Headland and Newman with a weird feeling - almost as if they were built by communists. They look 'constructed', and probably efficient, but their character doesn't show that well through the incessant layer of iron ore dust. They are definitely lacking in shade - miners, it appears, though fanatical about keeping the grass green, are slow to realise the value of trees.
The area does have a curious pre-mining history, though, from what I can gather. The 1946 strike is a famous little bit of local history. It saw Aboriginal 'employees' from stations all through the region 'strike', and converge on Headland to demand pay (not equal pay, just pay!). I never really worked out whether it acheived all that much - Aborigines over here weren't granted a right to a minimum wage until 1968. But many of the strikers never did return to their stations, so if nothing else it was a slap-in-the-face response to their ill treatment. 1968 is a sad curiousity - the result in a large number of cases was that the Aborigines who ran the stations were suddenly too expensive, and were turfed out, kicked off their land, never to return. I haven't really found anyone to ask for more detail on all of this, but I suppose you could always go and look it up.
Broome has an even more remarkable labour history. Aborigines were originally used to collect pearl oysters (primarily for the mother-of-pear shells, rather than for the rare pearl itself), which collected along the beaches. As this resource ran out and they were forced to collect in deeper water they became increasingly reluctant (there are a range of dangers of the sea which made them naturally reluctant), culminating in slavery and forced labour. Aborigines were carted around locked up in chains and forced (women and children too) to man the luggers and dive for oysters. Pregnant women made for the best divers, apparently...
Later this practice became illegal, so Asians of various nationalities were drafted over to dive - not only were they better than Europeans, but there was no requirement to pay them full wages. Eventually the Japanese became the dominant labour source, in the sophisticated and dangerous diving suits (you know, with the big metal fishbowl helmet and fully inflated suit?).
This situation continued more-or-less amicably until WWII. The ships were all commissioned, and the Japanese all locked up. The heart of Broome is Chinatown - the closest thing the place has to a town centre. What is less commonly known is the fact that until WW!! the area was Japtown - Broome's Chinese history is relatively minor compared to its Japanese influences. These days, the famous Japanese cemetary is locked up, due to (alleged) vandalism of Japanese graves by environmentalists taking issue of Broome's (former) sister city's dolphin catch.
So the area has a bit of a chequered past. And with the Pilbara's primary occupation being exhuming itself for export you could argue it has a chequered present as well. But enough about that - I find these things remarkable, but I'm not going to pretend you need to do the same.
All in all, the area does make a fabulous and memorable touring destination. The Coral Coast, just down the hill, is a famous tourist destination - the Pilbara though is much less travelled. Sort of sad, but then I'm happy to keep it to myself for the time being.
Hoping you're enjoying wherever you are, I'll be reporting from the Coral Coast sometime soon.
Photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/pilbara/
also (inc. Broome photos, and all the Kununurra and Gibb Rivers') http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/kimberly/
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
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