Underwater Rhymes

After an easy drive from Giralia, we hit Exmouth and were pleased to find it relatively unchanged from our last visit in 2010. We bought a few odds and ends from the local IGA and, most importantly, stocked up on Golds. We then headed for the same caravan park we’d stayed in during our last visit, Yardie Homestead, a short drive out of town and on the border of Cape Range NP. Although there is camping inside the NP, it’s $11pp with no showers, drop toilets and very visible neighbours. NO, THANKS. I guess more importantly, they were fully booked.

Once at Yardies, we paid for two nights and were told that most people in tents set up on a grassy area by the camp kitchen. After a quick inspection of the grassy tent area I started to think my dream stay here was over, as it was small, busy and totally shit. While I started to get everything down from the car, Becky decided to ask if they had anything more secluded. BINGO. They said we could set up in a corner on the other side of the park, however it was quite dusty and had no grass. Who gives a shit? NOT ME.

Our new site was perfect for us, away from people and with our "own" toilet and shower near by. Although the whole area was still a little windy, we set the tent up quickly and headed into the park. We found it just as we remembered, a beautiful landscape with pristine beaches. We visited a few of the snorkelling spots, and although a little choppy and cold in the water, I had my first snorkel. Becky decided it was too cold and watched from the sidelines, making sure I didn’t drown in the waist deep water.

We headed back to the site at dusk, driving slowly to avoid the multitude of kangaroos that had come out to feed. After dark, a car pulled up in the spot next to us… of course they fucking did. Out got three loud Americans talking about how some film was different to the book. What an insightful reflection on two different storytelling art forms, you total fucking wanker. They turned out to be my favourite type of people, young, know-it-all, dickhead backpackers. Luckily it was dark, so I couldn’t see them, but we got to listen to the two blokes argue about whether one of them had an extra beer at lunch and how many they each had left. So, young, know-it-all, broke, tight-arse, dickhead backpackers. After they’d worked out their drinking situation they were generally quite quiet… Becky said they watched a film (probably the one that was different from the book) but it didn’t stop me from sleeping.

The next morning, the wannabe hippy backpacker twats packed up early and were gone. Welcome back relative solitude, my old friend. We then started to hit what became a routine for our remaining time there. I’d get up and struggle to make a cup of tea on our stove due to the wind. After brekkie, we’d head into the park and move between different beaches, snorkelling

Floating bald rock

taking selfies,

Are we still doing this?

farting about,

Still got it.

Never lost it.

using the sea as a toilet,

Luckily the sea has no pee dye

posing,

Posing, not peeing

taking arty photos of dead coral washed up on the beach,

Very nice

and so on, until after 3pm when we’d pop past the information centre and have an ice cream. We’d be back at the spot by 4pm to cook something, slowed only by the wind, before going to bed occasionally being woken up by the tent flapping in the wind. It was quite windy.

The only drama was a hire car we noted hadn't moved or been touched overnight at one of the beaches. We reported it to the information centre, and the next day noted a cop car entering the park. This made us go into full nordic noir mode and we started to discuss if they'd been murdered or washed out to sea, and that we'd have to be called as witnesses. After inquiring about it, it turned out they'd just locked their key in the car. BORING.

Each day I’d spend quite a bit of time snorkelling, taking videos using an underwater camera that was okay when we bought it six-years ago. I have now, for your viewing pleasure made a compilation video of the highlights of my underwater forays, complete with funky backing music. Sure, it’s not going to win any prizes and I don’t think the BBC will be seeing me as any sort of competition, but it’s the best I could do with what I had and I spent far too long filming shit to not have anything to show for it.

The great thing about this place is, it isn’t just the sea that is teaming with life and we saw plenty of lovely animals on land too.

Not fat, big boned

A real bustard

Lil' perentie

Made famous by Rod Hull

and the campsite was full of galahs, which soon became a favourite of Becky's

Who's a pretty boy?

For four days we followed this same pattern, until on the fifth night the wind and sun exposure started to takes its toll. The only place we could find refuge was the car, and I was starting to fall behind on this ball and chain again.

The true cost of keeping the folks happy

So we made the hard decision to move on. That night we enjoyed the sunset into the sea

What's that button do?

and headed back for our last night at Yardies. I knew, on a cold Swedish night sometime in the future, we’d regret leaving this place, but the elements had pushed us to our limit and I was getting a little tired of seawater dripping out of my nose during dinner. Plus, I’d run out of golds.

Nothing to regret!