Phil walks toward the pristine 80 Mile Beach
We were leaving Broome with three full bellies and a tank full of fuel, the next stop would be Port Hedland over 600kms away. Rising early for a local radio interview we managed to leave town before 2pm, so with only a few hours of daylight left we stopped overnight at Eighty Mile Beach. The campsite here is the only way to access this vast expanse of sand for miles in each direction, we arrived just in time to watch the fading light in the most peaceful of settings. We just had time before the light disappeared to discover that the beach was covered in little white Sand Dollars. Sand Dollars are a type of sea urchin specially adapted to burrowing in sand. After the urchin dies the rigid skeleton often washes up on the beach and with five rows of paired pores arranged like petals the shells make beautiful souvenirs.
An 80 Mile Beach sand dollar
In the morning we ventured down to the beach again and were met by the local customs officer whose job it was to patrol the 110km beach every day, a task that he has been performing for decades as a volunteer. He was in his sixties and we got a surprise when he opened his mouth and sounded exactly like George Formby. He informed us that somebody had been stung by a bluebottle jellyfish only a few minutes ago but said we should still be alright to go swimming as he swims there everyday and only gets stung a few times a year. Apparently the pain from the sting goes away after a couple of days and once the affected skin has died and fallen off new skin grows back leaving no scar. Before leaving we waded in heroically, at least up to our knees, before convincing each other that it was time to press on in the direction of Port Headland. We were now leaving the Kimberly region and entering the Pilbara.
80 Mile Beach Volunteer Coast Guard
A washed up jelly fish and sand dollar
Known as the engine room of Australia the Pilbara area is home to a massive mining industry in crude oil, salt, natural gas and iron ore. To cater for the huge workforce the mining companies themselves run accommodation facilities. Huge numbers of workers fly in to work and then fly out again going back to their families whenever possible. The Fortescue Metals Group is one such company and is one of the world leaders in iron ore production. FMG run a huge operation in the Pilbara area and whilst in Port Hedland we were lucky enough to stay in one of their motels.
A huge salt mound in Port Hedland
It was getting late and we had had no luck at any of the other motels in the town. We pulled up outside a featureless building we were hoping might be a hotel, after asking a few questions
things were starting to look up. It was in fact the Hamilton Motel, however, it was owned by a huge mining company and they weren't quite sure who we should explain our cause to. After a brief conference it was decided Kathy would be the most helpful and we were taken out the back to another separate office. A very busy woman, Kathy Barrett-Lennard made some time to listen to us explain what we were doing. Her response was unbelievable. She not only offered us a Motel room each with ensuite bathroom and 394 channel gogglebox to unwind in, she also offered dinner that evening, breakfast the next morning and a packed lunch for the next day.
Phil and Gareth stand at the office of the Port Headland Mitchell Fuel Group
Thankful, we retired to our respective rooms for a cup of tea and a shower returning later to the canteen for what was to be our most amazing meal to date. We were spoiled for choice. There was an endless selection of meat, fish and vegetables cooked in every conceivable way. There were salads, cheeses, fruit and deserts, and you could have as much as you could possibly eat. We did, and after eating enough food for ten people we rolled back to our rooms considering a possible career in the mining industry and looking forward to breakfast at five the next morning. Work around here starts early and the canteen closes before seven. Like early birds we got up and whilst still digesting last night’s meal, ate breakfast. I guess the novelty wears off if you are allowed to eat like that all the time but we put away breakfast like three people who didn't know where there next meal was coming from, and after packing our lunch went back to bed to sleep it off. Whilst we were asleep Kathy had contacted their fuel suppliers and arranged for us to fill our fuel tank and jerry cans before leaving. We enquired about the possibility of work in or around the mines but sadly it was not possible due to the never ending amount of health and safety training which would be needed. Humbled by the time and effort she had gone to on our behalf we went in search of more accommodation.
The manager of the All Seasons Hotel, Port Hedland takes time to sign our book
We managed to find somewhere to stop for one more night and as we could find nobody in need of three willing workers we did some fundraising for the charity. The next day we headed further down the coast and spent the night in Karratha before moving on the next day. Similar to Port Hedland, Karratha was developed in the 1960's to serve the needs of the mining industry and in the 1980's was expanded to deal with the North West Shelf Venture concerning natural Gas. Feeling the need to press on and with flooding likely in the area we spent little time here. We were however well looked after and before leaving managed to raise some money for Book Aid. After eating lunch we left for Carnarvon along what would be one of the most barren stretches of road that we had travelled so far.
With very little to break up the monotony of the journey and with the need for some fuel we stopped at the Nanutarra Roadhouse. We had been warned by a couple of people that the fella who owned the roadhouse ''wouldn't give you the steam off his shit'' but needs must as the three idiots ride. Our spirits were lifted upon discovering that his name was Bruce Forsyth, however he certainly didn't think it was 'nice to see us, to see us nice'. Obviously not entirely understanding our challenge of working and handing over our wages to Book Aid, he gave us a lecture on the value of an honest days work and told us to come back when we had done one. However his lovely assistant behind the counter, presumably Miss Ford, told us we should head for Coral Bay as we could camp there and there were less flies. Sounding like a much better option than spending the night with Bruce we followed her advice.
Coral Bay
Coral Bay exists purely for tourism but that takes very little away from its charm. It is largely undeveloped and the Ningaloo Reef is right on the beach. It is a very quiet relaxed place and when we arrived on a Saturday evening there was very little going on. Within an hour of being there we had been offered a room at the local hotel and a meal of the freshest fish and chips at a local cafe. Heath who worked at the hotel also offered us a couple of jugs of beer and after inhaling our food this is where we headed. After lovingly and slowly sipping our cold frosty beer in fear that we would soon have to stop drinking, salvation reared its glorious head in the forms of Scott and Blake.
A long long time ago in a Queensland now increasingly far away we had visited a town on the coast there called 1770. We had gone to meet a man called Don Growcott who was one of two people to have heard our pre trip cries for help. He had offered a bed for the night and a free scuba dive but had also given us some t-shirts advertising his dive company in the town. As divine inspiration would have it one of us chose to wear this particular t-shirt to the hotel bar on the very night that 1770 residents Scott and Blake would walk into the bar. What ensued can only be described as a hazy memory; within half an hour of meeting them we were invited to get into 'a carton of piss' with them back at their campsite. You couldn't wish to meet two more archetypal and generous aussies than these fellas anywhere in this vast and wonderful country. When not slating each other and telling stories they would heckle anybody who would listen.
The coral bay fish swim through your legs unafraid, there are fishing laws prohibiting fishing. Hungry as we are, and to date yet to catch a fish on the trip, this cheeky fellow couldn't resist rubbing it in by mouthing 'ner nerr ner ner nerrrrrr'
A sea cucumber in the shallows at Coral Bay
''Hey Mate, get into it''
‘‘Pardon?''
''Go on - get into it.''
''Get into what?''
''Whatever you're into, just get into it.''
''Alright.''
''That’s it. Good on yer mate, get on it.''
We had a brilliant night and they invited us to go with them on a three day fishing trip up the coast. We drunkenly agreed but arose the next day with sore heads and reluctantly decided that we couldn't really go, Anne and Gareth had come down with infections and had to be seen by the resident nurse, who helped them with some free medicine and advice. We couldn't help but feel that we had missed out on an amazing aussie experience, especially with those two for company. To console ourselves we went snorkelling for the day with some snorkels and flippers also donated by Heath. We swam with Sting Rays, huge Coral Trout and a giant unidentified shadow that swept past only metres from us (most probably a Tiger Shark). I guess we have to thank Bruce Forsyth and the lovely Rosemary Ford for inadvertently sending us to a wonderful place that otherwise we would have missed out on. Thanks also to Scott and Blake for the good time. Get into it!
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