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DIRK HARTOG
ISLAND 20th MAY 1995
When we arrived at Shark Bay it had
been 5 years to the day (20th May 1990), that I finished my
big 24,000 km trip around Australia by foot, kayak and cycle
taking one whole year to complete. It is amazing how time
had flown but it was fitting that I was embarking on another,
although much shorter expedition. A kayak trip to Dirk Hartog
Island, with companions Pam Riordan and Ron Lockley.
Ron was a qualified mechanical engineer
but works as Jack of all trades, one day he is installing
air conditioners, the next he is building fences. He also
worked part time in the Snowgun Outdoor Store and used to
be a Scout Leader but he now spends much of his time rogaining,
12 and 24 hour events. What’s really remarkable about
Ron; he has no fingers on his left hand, they were lost in
a machine accident many years ago. Yet he can still hold a
paddle and move at a fast speed.
Pam leads a fairly active life. She
is a qualified white water kayak instructor, an abseil instructor,
an excellent swimmer, likes skiing, walking, and a variety
of other activities. Once a lab pathologist she now works
for the city of Gosnells as the Recreational Officer. (Since
this trip Pam left Gosnells to run her own Adventure business,
Inspiration Outdoors, but she has recently retired).
Leading up to the trip Pam had been
talking to several people and they all had their own warnings
about the area. Watch out for king waves, big seas, dangerous
waters, sharks and the list went on. Some had little substance
but it still left Pam a little apprehensive.
Eventually after driving from Perth
to Denham we started our short expedition. Our plan was to
paddle across from Denham to Dirk Hartog Island, visit Steep
Point and then paddle along the island as far as we could
with the time we had and then retrace our route back to Denham.
This story is just three days of this
journey:
Leaving Denham we arrived 3.5 hours
later at our first landing spot, Cape Heirisson as a flock
of cormorants took off from the small cliffs. Exploring the
area we found animal bones, rabbit poo and a snake skin. Climbing
up to the high point we were able to see for miles. We were
truly alone.
Ron and Pam checking
out a snake skin
After a short rest we pushed on across
the bay towards Cape Bellefin. The sea was so calm that we
could see the sea bed below. It changed constantly from sand
to sea grass and as we peered down we could see a plentiful
amount of starfish and shellfish. About 2 km from the Cape
Bellefin, Ron decided to jump overboard to dive and collect
a feed of shellfish. It was so perfect, the sun was beaming
down, the sea flat like glass and Ron's kayak aimlessly floating
around without a paddler. After collecting a feed of shellfish
he leaped back into his kayak and we headed to Cape Bellefin
to camp.
Ron out of his kayak
diving for shellfish
Our first meal consisted of oysters/shellfish,
curry and rice, dried apples and custard, tea and chocolate,
finished off with a measurement of port. I don't usually take
alcohol on my expeditions, water is more important, but I
was convinced by my companions that it was a social thing
to do. I didn’t argue.
MONDAY 22nd MAY
By 7.00am Ron was yelling for us to
rise. It was quite incredible, it was calm again. Just like
a mill pond, I didn’t think it was usually so calm for
this part of the world. By 9.10am we were crossing the shallows
and spotting everything that moved. I kayaked over a 5 foot
shark and it didn't seem to bother. Forty minutes later a
turtle swam under me for several seconds. I later skidded
over a large manta ray, which with a flap of its huge wings
shot off into the deep blue. It was like an aquarium.
Clouds were hanging around and on occasions
blocking out the sun. A slight NE wind was blowing which assisted
us down the passage towards the southern point of Dirk Hartog
Island.
At 10.35am we arrived at a sandy cove
surrounded on both sides by 6 metre cliffs. The sign of goat
and sheep tracks were visible in the sand ridges. The vegetation
was scrappy and animal skulls appeared at different spots
around the cove. Nevertheless it was a beautiful cove. I walked
along the cliffs to see a number of 4-5 foot sharks in the
crystal clear water below. Stacks of oysters clung to the
cliff, a school of small fish and several bigger varieties
mingled around a large part of the cliff that had separated
from the rest of the cliff line. On top of the cliff a large
intricately woven eagle’s nest was safe from land predators.
Back at the beach Pam and Ron had lunch
waiting. For the first few days our nut and dried fruit ration
would be accompanied by pitta bread, capsicum, cheese, and
relish.
As we were clearing up, Pam went out
for a snorkel. Excited she called across to us, "the
marine life beneath me is great", she said. We were ready
to head south so we didn’t venture in, but we had it
set in our minds to do so on our return trip. A few minutes
later a 6 foot long, wide bellied shark cruised along our
beach and along the cliffs where Pam had been snorkelling.
“Hell”, she said, “I'm not going in there again”.
As we leisurely cruised next to the
cliffs we could see the fish mingling below and the millions
of oysters clinging to the rocks. Three small blue, white
spotted rays with long slender tails slid underneath us. The
6 metre cliff was overhanging, like a huge wave, which was
ideal for swallows to nest. The odd cluster of oysters clung
onto the overhanging roof two metres above the high water
tide mark. It was strange to see them so high and so far out
of the water. I could only wonder if the ocean had receded
over time?
Cormorants, cranes and gulls fled from
the rocks and cliffs as we passed. Eventually we left the
cliffs to cross a small bay. A fishing boat lay at anchor
in the bay entrance quiet and seemingly deserted. We passed
it by. Pam kept saying she was waiting for a rich, good looking
sailor to whisk her away, but unfortunately it wasn't her
day.
Having crossed the bay we could see a strange object ahead.
At first I thought it was a person or two, then a beacon of
some sort, but it turned out to be a huge 3 metre high eagle’s
nest. We landed to have a closer look, as it was hard to believe
an eagle could have built it so tall. Twigs, branches, bits
of plastic, even goat bones were intricately woven to build
this very high, but shallow nest. Apparently eagles build
up their nest every year so they get bigger.
Approaching an eagles
nest (Picture a little blurry because of water on the lens)
Taking off into a light south west
wind we skirted between the rocky Dirk Hartog Island and the
small, cliffy Sunday Island which was covered with cormorants.
We made our way across another bay towards the southern tip
of the island, Cape Ransonnet. Just before the tip, Ron landed
on a tiny beach surrounded by rock to check out for a suitable
campsite. I paddled further, passed an old goat loading ramp,
which was still hanging from a cliff and around the point.
As I rounded it the sea instantly became rougher. I paddled
about 300 metres before seeing a flat beach overlooking the
mainland about 4.5 kilometres from Steep Point, the most westerly
point of mainland Australia. I returned to inform the others
of my find. Reaching this camping site, a small dumping surf
was pounding the steep beach making landing slightly more
difficult than usual.
Soon after landing we prepared for
snorkelling in the bay on the eastern side, 500 metres away.
Pam was first into the water telling us tales of the big fish
beneath the water. We soon followed. The cliffs were overhanging
with recessed cave areas so after diving down we had to make
sure we didn't hit the sloping oyster laden walls on our way
back to the surface. On the ocean floor lay some of the biggest
sea slugs that I have ever seen. Some were 2.5 feet long and
very fat. Clams were abundant, as were spiky sea urchins and
trochus shells.
I spotted a 2 foot cuttlefish under
a ledge, it was a strange looking thing. I surfaced to tell
Ron about it but he had already seen it. We swam to the other
side of the cove and ventured out near Cape Ransonnet. The
fish were increasing in size and number. I spotted a scorpion
fish in a hole, I checked it closer as it took refuge. Pam
who was nearby acknowledged the find. What a beauty we both
thought.
When we met on the beach Ron had speared
3 fish for tea so it was time to leave. By this time my teeth
were chattering, my body covered with goose pimples, but the
dive was well worth getting cold for. It was an amazing world
down there.
Ron with our dinner
Back at camp I washed quickly and changed
into dry clothes. It was my turn to cook but before starting
I erected my tent in the lee of a sand dune and waited for
the sun to set over Steep Point. Huge black clouds built up
on the horizon leaving glimpses of the bright red sun filtering
through the clouds.
The setting sun west
of Steep Point, the most westerly point of Australia
It was the meal that Pam had been waiting
for, - rice, peas, lentils, herbs and spices. Ron was busily
filleting the fish and slicing the tentacles of the cuttlefish
for entre. Ron carried a wok just for this purpose. Soaked
in garlic and vinegar, it tasted great. By now we were full
to the brim, but we couldn't go without our coffee and chocolate
and finally our ration of port.
Ron and Pam enjoying
a fish meal and a drop of port
TUESDAY 23rd MAY
At 4.10am I was woken from my deep
sleep and dreams by the flapping tent. The wind had shifted
more to the south. It was blowing a gale, raining hard intermittently
and my tent now exposed to the wind found it hard to stay
upright. I laid there hoping to go back to sleep but I had
no chance. The wind became stronger and the alloy hooped poles
were straining as the tent tried to buckle horizontally. The
flapping increased and the wind grew stronger and eventually
I had to venture outside to investigate the peg situation.
I had used my two spare paddles as well as my sand pegs to
hold up the tent, but they were now out of the ground. It
was just too rough so I had to take my tent down or watch
it fly across the sand dune.
The ocean was chock-a-block with white
caps which were extremely close together. To the west, around
Steep Point and Surf Point at the south westerly part of the
island, huge breaking waves were extended far out from its
shores. It didn’t look good out there nor was it good
where we were. Just to get off our beach was going to be a
challenge. Our plans were to paddle to Steep Point but they
were soon changed.
With rain threatening we busily packed all but our breakfast
gear into our boats. It took quite an effort just to stand
up straight against the wind, so breakfast had to be eaten
in the lee of a sand dune.
With all boats packed we had our hardest
challenge ahead, entering the surf, and trying to keep upright
until we paddled around to the sheltered side of the island.
Even by my standards the conditions were atrocious. I couldn't
help but notice Pam yawning. She said her heart was beating
quickly, being the result of her apprehension and nervousness.
She said she had the same feeling when we were about to paddle
the mighty Murchinson River in flood, two months earlier.
Pam who was positioned for us to push
her off was paddling a Nordkapp kayak, which was one of the
most unstable sea kayaks you can buy. The waves were crashing
onto the beach constantly so it really didn't matter when
she left as there was no good time. Even with Ron and I trying
to keep Pam’s boat straight for a good entry, the waves
hitting the boat proved extremely strong and made it difficult
for us to hold on to it. At the count of three we pushed her
out to sea. The push propelled her out like a rocket but the
boat soon slowed as it hit the oncoming waves. The bow crashed
constantly through the waves and the boat bobbed up and down
like a yo-yo and wallowed in the wishy-washy swell. The strong
wind and continual white caps made it very hard for her to
control her kayak and make headway.
Ron was next to go. He took off through
the same slop but he was advantaged by his much more stable
boat and precise rudder control, which assisted him with turning.
With both boats now fighting the horrible conditions, it was
my turn. Being the most experienced I was left to fend for
myself and it didn't look like an easy task. The beach was
steep with a two foot high sand build up made by the high
tide and dumping waves. This meant I couldn't get my boat
to sit flat on the sand and the waves were pounding in on
an angle and very frequent. There was too much bouncy slop
to drag the heavy boat into the water, get in, put the spray
cover on and paddle off. (With the Nordkapp having such a
small cockpit it was impossible to get into it in deep water
without using the paddle as an outrigger.)
Like I expected the wave angles made
launching difficult. I struggled as I attempted to make a
run for it and the waves pushed me back towards the beach
sideways. The heavy kayak didn't help but somehow, with the
help of my paddle I avoided being beached broadside and used
it to push and paddle from the beach to join the others.
It was rough, and the channel was really
stirred up. As the breaking waves smashed onto our decks and
our bows plunged through them, the fierce wind tried desperately
to yank our paddles from our grasp. When we managed to turn
to head north the big waves chased us causing us to be even
more unstable. The waves now crashed and smothered the whole
stern of the kayak. For moments our kayaks from the cockpit
to the stern were under water, wallowing. The chance of capsizing
was very real.
The further we got away from the point the calmer it became
but we were still surfing some big waves. Ron loved the excitement
of it all, I think Pam was relieved to be reaching calmer
waters but felt good that she had conquered it. Then as we
moved through a gap between the island and Sunday Island,
the sea became more confused and the waves started to smother
our rear decks again. Again we needed full concentration to
stay upright.
With the wind behind us progress was good so in no time we
reached Shark Beach, here on the previous day, we had left
fresh water. We collected it, had a nut and dried fruit morning
tea and cruised passed a 3 km stretch of cliffs. Around the
following point an eagle’s nest was constructed on a
rock broken away from the main cliff. The eagle however, was
perched on a solitary dead tree 200 metres away.
An eagles nest
We headed for the next point. The seas
once again were rough as another bay was crossed and we found
a small sand patch amongst the rocky shores to have lunch.
The wind was howling and although I had a thermal top and
canoeing cag on, I was cold. At lunch I donned a rain jacket
to keep warm. The lunch consisted of moldy pitta bread and
left over lentil stew, followed by nuts and dried fruit.
Pam and Ron having lunch
Dirk Hartog homestead was now in our
sights, only 6 kilometres away. Finally when we turned the
last corner the homestead was there in front of us. We paddled
between the small, Meade Island, but a sand bar stopped us
in our tracks. We pulled our boats across the shallows and
paddled a hundred metres to the beach. On the beach we took
a few minutes to get organised. In the meantime the men at
the homestead were weighing us up and a little shocked with
our appearance. They hadn’t seen any paddlers paddle
to the island before and when they saw our kayaks in the distance
they expected that we would have the physique of Grant Kenny.
But when they saw a small straggly man with a beard, a middle
aged women and a man with four fingers missing on one hand
and smoking, they couldn’t believe that we had conquered
the crossing.
Keith, an environmental advisor came
down to the water’s edge to welcome us. After a short
talk we were invited to use the backpacker’s accommodation
instead of camping. It was an old shearing shed with several
beds inside. It was very clean and spacious with a sense of
nostalgia. An old wool press and shearing equipment helped
it feel like a museum.
Steve the sheep/windmill man was feeding
Suma a Wedgetail eagle with goat meat. The Wedgetail had been
reared by Steve from a chick and it still thinks it is a baby.
It walks a lot and just cruises around the homestead. It jumped
in the back of Steve's Susuki 4 x 4 to eat it. When we closed
in for a closer look, 2 feet away, it opened its wings, formed
a circle and guarded the meat. It used its jagged beak and
sharp claws to rip the meat apart. Later it was amusing to
watch Suma trying to balance on a hills hoist washing line
whilst it was spinning round with the wind.
Suma the Wedgetail Eagle
The day had been cold. No sun had penetrated
the clouds and when evening came around the temperature really
dropped. It was Pam's turn to cook again. This time we had
dehydrated stew that she had prepared at home. It tasted pretty
good and her two loaves of damper tasted even better. About
9.30 pm we retired to our bunks. I tried to catch up with
my diary but at 10 pm the generator went off placing the station
in total darkness.
WEDNESDAY 24th MAY
I slept rather well, although I heard
the wind generator hum at different frequencies during the
night, depending on the wind speed. Just after 7.00am we rose,
had breakfast and prepared ourselves for a walk to the cliffs
to check out the blowholes. Our route was about 23 kilometre
round trip, by track one way and cross country on the return.
The windswept island was a sensitive environment and with
a population of sheep and goats it has little opportunity
to regenerate to its native state. This was evident on our
walk. Although there was lots of low scrub, it was fighting
for survival.
There were no sign of lizard tracks
or snakes along the sandy track. There was bird life but it
wasn't huge. After a 2.5 hour walk we arrived at the cliffs.
It was a spectacular sight. The waves created by the huge
rolling swell crashed down on the lower cliff ledges, boiling
backwash stirred anything loose on the reef. Steep Point in
the distance was further south down the coast. The sea certainly
looked more inviting than the previous day.
Spray rising. In the
distance Steep Point
We walked towards the blowholes which
could be seen for hundreds of metres. Huge sections of the
cliff had broken off and tumbled to the base. Approaching
the blowhole section waves pounded directly onto the cliff
which sent water splashing higher than the cliff itself. There
were several small blowholes operating but when big daddy
fired up, the noise of the wind being pushed through the hole
was frightening. When the water spray and wind draught reached
the top of the cliff you had to stand firm. The threat of
the draught pulling me off the cliff was quite real.
Ocean spray nearly reaches
the top of the cliff
I sat on the edge of the cliff, eating
my nuts and dried fruit watching the surf pound the shoreline
towards Steep Point. Looking north the cliffs went on for
miles. The blowholes hissed and were more effective on every
six or seventh swell.
Looking north towards
the northern end of the island. Cliffs all the way
At 11.15 am we decided to move off
north along the cliffs for 45 minutes and then walk across
country towards the homestead. As I moved off a small lizard
ran under my feet and then retreated under a rock. We checked
to see if it was okay, it was the first lizard we had seen.
There were no rabbits, no foxes and no wallabies on the island
but there were feral cats. The wallabies had been wiped out
several years earlier.
Our 45 minute scenic walk along the
cliff line came to an end. We climbed a sand dune to the east
and checked our bearings before heading off towards a well.
On the way back two more small lizards were seen and Pam found
a very healthy looking bobtail lizard (blue tongue). It had
no ticks on it and looked in top condition. We were told later
ticks were not on the island which was a little hard to believe.
Approaching the well I noticed something
that looked like carcasses. Ron said they were rocks but after
a closer look, they were carcasses. We walked over to check
and found hundreds of dead goats piled in avenues. The sight
was like something from a concentration camp grave. The smell
was unbearable on the downwind side. There were hundreds of
goats in different states of decay scattered all around the
well but it was the freshly shot carcasses that attributed
to most of the smell. It was one huge grave yard for goats.
The goat graveyard
The goats were mainly trapped in the
summer months when water was scare. Once they enter the enclosure
to drink they are shot. With capstone rock being just under
the surface and no dozer on the island it is impossible to
bury them. It was certainly a place you just wouldn't want
to take the tourists to. As we walked through the enclosure
of death I could only think of the TV series the `X Files'.
We followed a track, indicated by two
fence lines, back towards the station. It had been another
interesting day…….
Ron, Pam and I at the
lighthouse at the northern end of the island.
On the 25th of October
1616, Captain Dirk Hartog arrived on the 'Eendracht' and announced
his arrival by leaving an inscribed plate with his name and
date of arrival at Cape Inscription.
In 1697, Flemish Captain
William de Vlamingh landed at Cape Inscription and found Dirk
Hartog's plate. As the plate was badly weathered, Vlamingh
copied the record on to another plate and added his own record.
In August 1699, Captain
William Dampier anchored and surveyed the northern end of
Dirk Hartog Island.
In 1772, French Captain
Alesne de St Allouran landed on the island and claimed it
in the name of the French King. As a proof of his presence
he buried a parchment and two French coins nearby which lay
undiscovered until 1998.
Louis de Freycinet came to Shark Bay in 1818 and removed the
plate from Cape Inscription. He returned to Europe where it
was presented to the French Academy in Paris. The Vlamingh
plate then disappeared until 1940.
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