22 April 2013 - Palm Grove Tourist Village, Cable Beach, Broome, Western Australia

What an awesome day we have had! But then I would say that wouldn’t I? And better still, my husband who had been muttering about the cost of the approaching tourist jaunt, enjoyed himself as well. But then I knew he would.

We were up, alert and out at the park gate ready to be picked up at 5.30 this morning. Our driver, Sharpy, soon collected the rest of the party from accommodation around the town and then we were off up the Cape Leveque Road in a rather strange Isuzu 4WD truck/bus. We wove  and zigzagged up the dirt road as far as Beagle Bay, the road seriously worse than it was five days ago when Sharpy last drove it. Local weekend traffic has done enormous damage and the best route was sometimes on the left, sometimes on the right and sometimes straight up the middle. We bumped and shook over the corrugations, which could not have been good for this relatively new vehicle.  Sharpy gripped the steering wheel with both hands and we were glad the seatbelts held us firmly anchored to our seats.

It had still been dark when we began our trip but as we travelled north along the rough dirt road, sitting up high in our very strange looking vehicle, we watched as the sun rose above the scrub and the low mist, round and orange, until it was too bright to be watched any longer.

The Cape Leveque Road is notoriously bad however after ninety kilometres of bone shaking, the remaining one hundred and twenty kilometres are sealed. The reason for this is to link the aboriginal communities that lie in the north of the Dampier Peninsula, one to another and to prevent undue damage to their vehicles, although that is debatable, based on the number of abandonned and broken down vehicles we saw up there today.

Our first stop was Beagle Bay, an aboriginal community of about 400 people. This was once the centre of the Pallottine Missionares we had learned a little about in relationship to the Sisters of St John of God. French Trappist Monks came here in 1890, but left in 1900 feeling their monastic life style was not suited for such remote missions. Surely it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist, or even a pioneering monk, to figure that out!  However hindsight is a wonderful thing, as it is to be on the outside looking in.

The Pallottine Missionaries from Germany came to fill the gap but were at a loss as to what to do with the women and children, hence the request for help from the Sisters.

Sacred Heart Church

In the early days, many churches were built in the mission compound of timber and paperbark, often falling victim to cyclones, bush fires and white ants. In 1914 when World War I broke out, the German priests and brothers were under threat of arrest and internment for the duration of the war. Instead, they were allowed to continue with the mission, basically under house arrest, under guard.

In 1915 the religious and the local people began to build a new church. It took two years to build and another one to decorate and it is the decoration that is remarkable. Mother of pearl, cowries, volutes and olive shells were gathered from the beach and all were inlaid in mosaics throughout the church, resulting in incredibly ornate work. Unfortunately my photos came out poorly however I suspect I should not have been taking snaps in the Sacred Heart Church. It is not a museum, but the centre of a continuing parish.

But while the church still functions, this settlement is no longer a mission, autonomy returned to the community back in the 1970s. This morning the place was very quiet, unattractive although the houses are reasonably modern. These places tend to look shabby and “try-hard”, a term I have heard my sons use.

Morning tea stop at Beagle Bay

Here in Beagle Bay we stopped to see the church, to use the tourist toilet which was not at all nice and to have a cuppa and an Anzac biscuit, and to be reminded by our ex-army driver that we were just days away from The Big Day. Thursday 25^th April is, of course, ANZAC Day, a public holiday and sacred day for many Australians and New Zealanders. According to Sharpy, we should all be up for the dawn ceremony, in the bar by 7 am for a rum and milk and Anzac biscuit and then by midday, ready for a nap. I know what he will be doing Thursday; I doubt we will be following suit.

Back in the Big Foot, we continued on to the Kooljaman Tourist Complex at Cape Leveque. The Cape is the northern most tip of the Dampier Peninsula and was, until 1986, under the control of the Federal Department of Transport. In that year the thirteen metre tall lighthouse, built back in 1912, was automated and de-manned, and the land was purchased by the Aboriginal Development Commission for the benefit of Aboriginal people. The authority and the local Bardi people chose to develop the area into a tourist complex and today this is where we enjoyed a very nice breakfast and had the opportunity of seeing what the complex had to offer and see the natural beauty of the shoreline.

The beach at Cape Leveque

The landscape is very like that seen down at James Price Point. Some of us took the opportunity of feeling the sand  between our toes before paddling in the gentle Indian Ocean surf. Ready to leave, I wiped one foot over the other and found my feet striped in red ochre colour from the pindan and creamy sandstone; ready for a corroboree.

The Kooljaman Tourist Complex offers excellent camping facilities and would be a delightful place to spend a day or three, however it must be remembered that the authorities recommend that only 4WD vehicles travel the Cape Leveque Road and that it is not suitable for caravans or trailers. And here it should be noted that the last few kilometres into the Complex were across deep sand and were not an easy route at all. 

We were then taken across to One Arm Point through the Ardyaloon Community to the Trochus Hatchery, an operation with a chequered history.

The trochus fishery in Ardyaloon has been in operation since the early 1900s, but declined in the 1950s with the invasion of plastic buttons. In the 1970s, there was a revival when trochus shell became a luxury product, sought after by the leading fashion houses of Europe and Asia for high quality garments. Then in the 1980s local catch rates began to plummet due to a number of pressures including over fishing by illegal Indonesian fishermen. This created concern over the sustainability of the trochus fishery for future generations. This is a story that is heard over and over, all down through the ages, in all sorts of industry and production. The automobile industry comes to mind immediately, but I digress.

In 1998, a solution was arrived at; the establishment of a trochus hatchery in conjunction with WA Fisheries. A trochus seeding program was designed and trochus culture methods refined. “Bloodstock” are collected from the inter-tidal reefs during the summer months and transported to the hatchery for spawning. Trochus usually spawn in the evenings around a new moon or full moon. Once juvenile trochus reach 25 – 30 mm basal diameter,  in seven to twelve months, they are seeded on to reefs. One or two years later seeded trochus reach the harvestable size of 75 mm.

Peering into the hatchery tanks

Today Barry and a small boy who I assumed to be his grandson, took us around the hatchery tanks, only some in industry mode. Several small tropical fish, including red clown fish,  are being farmed for supply to aquariums but most of the tanks which hold ten thousand litres of sea water, are home to exhibits to impress the tourist; huge barramundi and barramundi cod, a feisty shark, an octopus hidden in a shell, sea grass growing on racks, a tank full of very beautiful and colourful corals. The whole complex is housed under a rather temporary looking roof arrangement and looks like business is struggling. After the tank tour, Barry and his offsider enticed us to a table where there were dozens of shells laid out; polished and gleaming, cut, carved and fashioned into jewellery. I asked him if he exported any of his wares nowadays whereupon he told be that the export deal with Italy had been cut during the GFC and now they were in almost a caretaker mode. It seems as if it is a matter of déjà vu.

Back on the bus and we were soon at the One Arm Point airstrip where Ben and his seaplane, a Cessna Caravan fourteen seater, were waiting for us. We all squeezed in, all tightly belted and with lifebelts attached, then we were off, heading for the Horizontal Waterfall. We flew at five hundred feet across the one thousand or so rocky islands of the Buccaneer Archipelago.

The archipelago is part of a drowned coastline with islands of massive sandstones of per-Cambrian age (2,500 – 1,800 million years ago). The islands are sparsely vegetated with patches of rain forest in moist areas and a fringing of mangroves where silt has accumulated. The area has huge tidal ranges up to twelve metres. These create such phenomena as the horizontal waterfall in Talbot Bay. The falls are caused by the differential created when the tide flows between narrow island gaps. The tides and whirlpools caused havoc with the pearling fleets last century. Many sailors and divers lost their lives. However today these are the star attraction for many tour operators, or at least just one this month and until The Season kicks in after we have left the region.

We landed in Cyclone Creek, the Wet Season refuge for the operation dock for Horizontal Falls Seaplane Adventures. A long dock structure projects from two houseboat like vessels anchored in this quiet sheltered spot. We alighted and were offered a drink, a swim in the caged area on the dock where fish of all kinds congregate, most obviously four large sharks. And so we did, drink an orange juice before donning swimming costume and dropping into the cage adjacent to the sharks. With mask and snorkel the effect was even more thrilling; to be face to face with these great killers!

The base in Cyclone Creek

Lunch was soon ready, chargrilled barramundi fillets with salad and bread, then we were off in the 600 HP jet boat driven by Adrian, still in his twenties as is Ben, the pilot. Of course he had to show us how fast the boat could go, even if we were only off for a quiet cruise up the creek in search of a croc or two and to see the geological wonders of the Kimberley coast.

Back again for another drink and a swim if desired; the tide was not right until just before three. The young ones popped into the pool with the sharks once more while we oldies sat up on the upper deck and chatted, enjoying the peace of this incredibly remote anchorage. Then it was time for the adrenalin rush; the horizontal falls with Adrian.

The twin gaps are part of the McLarty Ranges, which have two ridges running parallel approximately 300 metres apart. The first and most seaward gap is about 20 metres wide and the second, more spectacular, is about ten metres wide.

The tides in this area have a ten metre variation which occurs over six and a half hours from low to high tide and vice versa. The effect of the waterfalls is created by the tide building up in front of the gaps faster than it can flow through them and there can be a four metre high waterfall between the bays.

The twin gaps for the Horizontal Falls

Today the waterfall was about one metre which did make it safe enough to drive through in the jet boat, and so we did, several times, and each time as we came around for another go, Adrian turned the boat fast and wild and we shrieked with excitement (or at least I did) and it was all quite marvellous. Needless to say there was water everywhere; fortunately we had been warned to protect our cameras.

Back at base, it was a matter of re-hydrating.  Keesha runs a tight ship and makes sure everyone is safe but also having a good time. Then on to the seaplane, strapped up tight and off again. Ben had promised to take us once again over the waterfalls because earlier in the day, they had not been as impressive. He banked one way and then came around the other way so everyone had a chance to photograph them. Alas, sudden banking in a plane is a bit like being so very drunk that your sense of balance is so out of kilter, you just want to pass out or throw up or do both. Not good! I fought the impulse and recovered before any damage was done, but the rest of the trip was not as great as it might have otherwise been.

Natures art gallery

We flew direct to Broome, crossing the King Sound, on which Derby lies, and across the base of the Dampier Peninsula. We were to have flown at eight thousand feet, but large clouds had gathered and we climbed a further fifteen hundred feet; it was a slightly bumpier ride than promised. The landscape laid out far below was amazing, rivers shimmering like snail trails across the landscapes, large tracts of swamps, folded ridges and ranges, patterns which surely inspired the aboriginal artists except for the fact they had not flown over their land to know all this. We arrived without event at Broome before 4 pm and were met by yet another team member who presented us with a DVD, yet to be viewed, and bought us home in a mini bus.

Three new experiences: swimming with sharks, flying in a seaplane and an insane ride in a jet boat. What a day!

And even after all that, we did completely forget it was our oldest granddaughter’s 12^th birthday today but were unable to send anything but a card; she is swanning about a cruise liner out in the Pacific Ocean with her parents and brother. Alright for some! But then, I can talk!