Ngilgi Caves, Yallingup - A Subterranean Wonderland

Invited to browse around Ngilgi cave we entered, appreciative of the freebie but not quite understanding how thrilled we would be to have walked through the most amazing subterranean wonderland we have ever seen.




Lying on the floor of the main chamber, gazing up at the ceiling was the closest I have ever felt to being in space. It was an incredible experience to look up at a million sharp stalagmites all seemingly pointed at my face. It brought on excitement I never expected to feel from a few rocks in a dark place. Sounds take on another quality in the chamber, the air moves in a different way, and while I lay there, noticing more and more of what the ceiling had to offer in terms of spectacular cave decoration, I was transported to another planet.



Within the cave we found an extremely enthusiastic speleologist who gladly answered questions, informing us that the age of the cave is approximately 500,000 years old and that the tiny stalagmite I was pointing at would take approximately 3000 years to form. “Many have been dated at 318,000 years old”, she said, “If you don’t mind please don’t take any souvenirs with you.”



Spaghetti style cave formations

It is possible to get really close up to most of the cave decorations, some of which you have to duck and dive around within the huge underground world.
I love the Australian way of doing things, if this cave was in the UK we would have to remain behind barriers and see from afar.



Wave formations in Ngilgi Cave

Listening to the zealous speleologist we learned of the Aboriginal legend which describes a battle between good and evil spirits. "The Story of Ngilgi" describes Ngilgi, a good warrior spirit who lived near the sea and Wolgine, an evil spirit who lived in the cave. Concerned for the welfare of his people, Ngilgi gathered together the spirits of the waves, lightning, rain, thunder and wind and they created a huge storm. Ngilgi attacked Wolgine and he gradually drove Wolgine back through the cave. So fierce was the battle that a tunnel collapsed, cutting the cave off from the sea. With my limited photography equipment and lack of tripod it was impossible to capture the magnificence of Ngilgi Cavern, if the chance come along that you are in the area, make sue you visit this magical place.

















Read a cheeky bit more!

Blue Botle Jelly Fish - Man of War

The Blue Bottle, or Portuguese Man o’ War, is a common, if unwelcome, visitor of Australian beaches. At the mercy of the wind, they are sometimes blown into shallow waters, and often wash up onto the beach. As I walked along the sands around the Margaret River area I took many a picture of these unusual jelly fish, ignorant of their identity. Although they have a bright colour some of them are quite small and their tentacles can reach up to 10 meters in length so it is easy to get caught out and stand on them on the beach.



I asked a local guy, who was fishing on the beach, about the jelly fish.
“Is it OK to swim here?”
“Yeh, no worries.”
Long pause as I look at the hundreds of jelly fish washed up on the beach.
“Well what about these jelly fish, don’t they sting?”
“The Bluebottles? Yeh! They sting like a bastard, don’t touch them.”
“Do they sting you when they’re dead?”
“Yep”
“But, it’s OK to swim here?”
“Yep, just that if you get stung, you’re gonna know about it fast.” He chuckles.



Although many beaches have emergency stations with vinegar for jelly fish stings, blue bottle stings are not treated with vinegar as this makes it worse. Just remove any parts still touching your skin and wash with water.



Interestingly, this blue bottle is not a true jellyfish. It is actually made up of zooids and is not a single organism. Each zooid has a specific role and together they function as if it were an animal. For example a number of zooids will make up the stinging tentacles, others will make up the feeding tentacles, etcetera.



The gas-filled float supports a number of specialised tentacles, which are actually members of a complicated colony.

The individual members, or ‘zooids’, cooperate to form what looks as if they are one animal-a jellyfish. Some zooids are specialised for stinging and capturing fishes and other marine animals, some are specialised for eating prey, and some are the reproductive members of the colony. Even the gas float itself is a modified colony member. In an amazing evolutionary survival too the floats are of two sorts, ones that face left and others that are angled toward the right. This means that the same wind will push the two variations in different directions, avoiding all the colonies becoming washed up on the beach and dying. Read a cheeky bit more!

Bussleton, Margaret River and Augusta - Surfing, Snot and Sunday Roast

The perpetual task of explaining ourselves to different people every day, the up-and-at-them of the fundraising in the pubs and clubs and the persistence of collecting in the Marinas and Shopping Centres was starting to show itself in a little tetchiness and belligerence that belied our otherwise sunny exteriors. While we had succeeded in Perth through our contact with Mike Gilbert and Apex in raising over $4000, it had been an event.



From being a smashed window away from leaving town and missing out, our luck had come in and the most was made of our good fortune, but two weeks is a long time in the world of repeating yourself all the time, and we were looking forward to being on the road again.



With the fuel situation at maximum capacity we bade farewell to Perth and drove south through Freemantle towards Rockingham, stopping there for the night with Norm and Jean who run the Apex Members Holiday Park at Cape Peron. Located on a promontory by the sea, again we tried to fish, getting out the old rods given to us in Darwin, and casting them out into the sea with the vim and verve of exuberant landlubbers whose salty-seadoggedness in these matters consists of trusting solely to hope, then casting, swearing, detangling the tangled line, casting, recasting, detangling, then retiring. It can be fun, but no fish will ever be caught this way.



Still heading south we were Bunbury bound the next day, and determined too, as it was St Paddy's day, to find a kindly publican to suffuse us with some Guinness. We succeeded in finding a place to stay at the Parade Hotel, and as soon as we had time to ditch our bags we headed out into town and found Mitch at the Prince of Wales who donated to the cause a few pints as we recollected Ireland and sat by the bar.



Phil and Gareth try to untangle seaweed from their lines

Pausing next day at Bussleton we were then on our way through to Margaret River, the famous wine region, to stay in Metricup, at the Willy Bay Resort, having been put touch with Caroline and Dale there who run it by Ryan in Bussleton who fed us when we stayed there, and they rang us up and offered us a chalet for the weekend.



Ngilgi Caves, Yallingup

On our way there we stopped briefly in Ngilgi Caves, a short distance north of Yallingup, and Pete, the manager there donated the tour round to us. Aboriginal legend has it that it was the battle between a good spirit, Ngilgi and an evil spirit, Wolgine, that formed these impressive limestone caves. It was certainly another world that we walked into, with the beautiful and strange formations of stalactites, stalagmites, helictites, cave crystal pillars and columns, arresting our eyes.



Bussleton Jetty at Dusk

Then it was on to Willy Bay. Now Willy Bay Resort as we discovered with amazement, is a AAA rated 4.5 star self-catering luxury resort set amidst 75 acres of beautiful natural bush and parkland with lake and vineyard views, sitting beside thousands of hectares of state forest situated in the heart of the world famous Margaret River Wine Region and we, in our road-weary dirt-smeared Wicked van parked up and made it our home for a weekend.



We experience luxury at Willy Bay Resort for the weekend

It was secluded and ideal for recharging the old batteries. The Margaret River region is very pastoral, more like a pleasing Mediterranean-English countryside than fair-dinkum Aussie Bushland; with its rolling hills, lush fields, dense forests, tree-lined winding roads, and lined with vineyard after vineyard, your internal monologue is punctuated with remarks like 'isn't this nice' or 'ooh, look at that tree, I wonder if a squirrel lives there'. It is that bucolic and pleasant. That there are hordes of middle-aged and aged visitors and inhabitants attests to the fact of its appealingness and bustling sense of rural quietude. We liked it immensely.





Margaret River region

On Monday we were invited to stay in Gnarabup at the Margarets Beach Resort, a ten minute drive from the township of Margaret River itself. That night Anthony Jansen, manager of the restaurant at the resort, The Gnarabar, invited us to dinner. It was a pleasure and though we are fortunate to have benefited from much generosity on our travels so far, we are constantly taken aback by the friendliness and warm welcome that we receive, and keep receiving, by so many different people.



The next morning we had arranged with Keith, owner of the Margaret River Surf School to go to nearby Redgate Beach for a surf lesson. We met there Jarred, our teacher and were given our boards and taken to the beach. After an introductory tutorial in 'popping' onto the board from the prone position, and, bending at the knees, swaying with the motion of the sea, man, we thought, 'this is easy, no problem this time.



When we surfed in Caloundra, we were ignorant, we didn't know how to do it. Point break hang ten, yeah' and we ran into the sea like jubilant seals. But, as they say, the proof is in the pudding, and in our case in the plodding. We plodded on. Plugged away. Gave it a shot. What more could they ask of us?



We toiled and travailed. What they neglect to mention on Bondi Surf or what you never see on Baywatch as Hasselhoff pectorially dances up the beach and bounds into the sea to 'scue (short for 'rescue' - no time for full enunciation when you're 'scuing someone from danger, capiche?) is the sheer amount of salt-water snot and strings of briny mucus that hang around and cover your face as you get pounded by the surf, or while trying to try to surf, and it is a bit hard, if you ask me, to look cool, and gnarl like a dude, if you have tentacles of salty phlegm glued to your upper lip and face.



Jarred, to his credit ignored all this, and did a great job looking after us. Looking after five others also, he was like a Bluefin gliding through the water, as he helped one then another of us, diving, gliding through the water, appearing by your side all at once, advising you how to do it, offering advice, telling you where you were going wrong, pushing you off, and with a splash, he was off, like a Merman, into the water, appearing a hundred yards away, helping someone else.



A seagull dives for fish

He tried with me, oh how he tried. Phil managed to stand on his board a couple of times, but the best I managed was a knee-raise, or a topple-ride a couple of times, not forgetting the starfish-glide I managed to pull off, and while not strictly 'pro-terms' that you would find 'on the tour', they were pretty representative of my style and ability, in that I had none.



Possessed with no natural coordination and an innate ability for disorientation it was always going to be a struggle. With Jarred's help though, I did manage to ride it like a hot potato once.



Some kids show us how it should be done

Heading off after our lesson, we took the road south to Augusta, ate fish and chips (the only meal that truly gets to the nub of the matter when by the sea) courtesy of Stewart and Noelene Grayson's Fresh Fish n' Chips Shop there, and followed the coast south-east then inland to Pemberton. Leaving the sea for the time being it was to the Land of the Giants that we were next destined.





















Cheffy's Cafe, Yallingup donates an incredibly delicious Sunday roast

Read a cheeky bit more!

Perth- The Principles of Serendipity

The side window of our van was smashed in while we slept

Back when everything was new and exciting, when the world was largely unknown and unexplored, and life was fresh. A giddy freedom, loosened and unshackled and open - anything was possible; undaunted and inspired individuals broke the trail and into what future endeavoured to move. These sentiments and more occupied our thoughts as we finally left Geraldton, or "Bloody Geraldton" as it had affectionately become known, though at times less affectionately than bitterly. It had been bad timing; we got stuck, were almost waylaid by circumstance, and had to wait it out. But Perth, good old Perth, the capital of WA was where we were now heading, our next destination, and as the skyscrapers loomed signalling that we were approaching we were confident our days of fruitless endeavour were behind us.



Emergency assembly point outside the Indie Club is for the nimble only

We arrived early evening (note: we always seem to arrive places early evening. Research has shown that life is made more difficult the later we arrive places. However, studies have concluded that he who rises the wrong side of ten and drives at snails pace stopping intermittently for food and fuel, will never in a month of Sundays arrive any earlier) and were jubilant and excited.



Some works of art found on Cottesloe Beach during a free exhibition we enjoyed

This fools paradise persisted until ten that night, when we realized that it was a fruitless and pointless thing to be driving around trying to find a place to stay. No managers were around to talk to and the Night Porters lacked the authority to give us a room, the backpackers were locked tight and secure, motels were closed for the day, No Vacancy signs were everywhere lit, and we could not find a caravan park for love nor money (not that we had any of one or much of the other by then) and we were tired and hungry. We found a place to park up out of the city, beside South Trigg Beach, in the suburb of Scarbrough, and I made a swag out of blankets and double-sided sticky tape and slept on the deserted moonlit beach. Perth would get better, we knew. Bloody Geraldton!



A young flaming gallah squaks until a parent regurgitates its food

Waking early (come on! early is early if you believe it is!) my bleary eyes poked out from beneath the blankets and adjusted themselves to the fact that my ingenious swag was attracting no attention from the seven thousand people now running, surfing, sun-baking, and strolling along the beach and all around me. Emerging chrysalis-like from my snug and insulated cocoon I could not find my thongs (we have been through this already, thongs is what the Aussies call flip-flops) and discovered one, twenty yards away, following the cavorting tracks of a dog, and bitten through with evident glee. The other, I never found (I had not really liked these thongs anyway, and the dog-chewed remains seemed a fitting end to the matter).



Left: Barchetta restaurant, Cottesloe overlooking te beach fed us sumptuous eggs benedict
Right: A Cottesloe Beach sculpture

We found accommodation for the night thanks to Tanya at the YHA Backpackers in Scarbrough, but only as a kindness-of-her-heart gesture to us, as the hostel was pretty full and filling up. We had a meal at Zanders Restaurant that night, then went fundraising at Bex Open Mic Night in the Indi Bar, and felt more confident that the curse of Bloody Geraldton was over, and that we would be fine and dandy next day.



The act that followed Anne's explanation of the Cheeky as you Can't trip during open mic night at the Indie Bar (Anne's favourite bar to date in Australia)




















Fine and/or dandy we were not. With an old pair of broken thongs found amidst the wrackage of the bottom-of-the-van (don't go there, things live there, please, I can hear them scuttle!) repaired firstly with safety pins then with three entwined elastic bands on my feet, any notions of finery and dandery were swiftly cast aside as another fruitless day was spent trying to find a place to stay. Firstly Scarbrough, then Cottesloe failed to turn up anything, then towards the city, still nothing, and south into Freemantle likewise was barren and devoid of the fine-stuff an dandy-things we set out that morning to find.



So we opted to camp out again. By this time we were south of Freemantle by a place called Woodman Point, 25 kilometres out of the city and beside a boat ramp. Opted is not really the word for it, as we had little choice and it was the only place we could stop, and so did. Not confident we could find a place in Perth anymore, and feeling the pinch of engaging in fruitless searching, we decided next morning to head south on the road from Woodman Point to Bunbury 200 kilometres away, and try our luck there.




A Lady suns herself amongst Cottesloe Beach's colourful art exhibition items



I got my swag system working and lay in the lee of the dunes snug as a bug in my homemade Swag (design patent pending). My stay in the Starlight Hotel was interrupted around midnight by Phil, ushering I rise and go immediately as we had been attacked, the van window had been smashed through by a beer bottle, the shards dropping on a shocked Anne as she slept, presumably wielded by one of those drinking by the boat ramp. Bloody Geraldton!



With Anne's Geordie fighting instincts urging we go down there to 'talk' to them, we persuaded her under duress to vacate the scene, to leave the perps alone (you cannot talk like that unless you know how the system works) and so we drove, eventually, back towards the city and to Trigg Beach, which we knew was safe, and camped there for the night, shaken, stirred and not a little upset by the incident.



An anonymous benefactor comes to our aid at a fuel station

Now with a van window to repair, we had to stay in Perth. We had been given the name of Mike Gilbert, of Apex Australia, by Phil, Kathy and Kelly, at the S-Bend Roadhouse, as we were approaching Perth, and so, in our hour of need, we contacted him. To say that he leapt into action and bounded in a just-in-the-nick-of-time style in the manner of a not-a-moment-too-soon hero, would be to underestimate the credentials of the man they call Mike 'Mick the Man' Gilbert. 'Of course, stay with me', his thunderous call came. 'I live in Mindarie, just out of the city, come to me, rest, and stay a while'. What a guy, we cooed!



West Australia Apex Club Pesident Mike Gilbert changes our perceptions of Perth and its residents

Mike is President of the Hamersley Apex Group in Perth, and was only too pleased to harken to our plea. He was having, in the hero-jargon of ye olde lore, "a pretty shit day", with a-things a-going a-wrong a-all over the place, and he figured, luckily for us, that if he helped others turn around their shit day, his own luck would change. Mighty reasoning from a mighty man. So from that moment our luck turned. From a broken van, the curse of Bloody Geraldton, dog-chewed thongs and sleeping rough, we now had access to a fridge full of beer, a jacuzzi, a swimming pool and the unending pleasure of the company of Mick the Man and his lovely family. Our fortunes had not just turned, Lady Luck had raced full-pelt towards us carrying a twelve ounce porterhouse and wearing a tiara.




Some of last Apexians standing at Mike's merry welcome BBQ


The courage of his convictions shining through, he invited the other Apex members around to his house for a barbecue, and we got to know how the Apex club works, the community work they do, and also got told that with Apex Clubs nationwide, we had now potential contact with some very useful people on the rest of our way round. The past three days futile running and chasing around melted away in the beer and pork chop haze of contentment as Mike and the rest of the crew threw beer down our necks like we were thirsty camels in a desert oasis.



A government inititiative at one of the festivals we were fund raising in. (Not the least conspicuous way I have seen to entice people to give up their drugs, what with TV and media photographers waiting for the first person to make use of this Drug Disposal bin)

Waking with a hump on the inside of my head, we were greeted by the cheery Mike making a breakfast of barbecue leftovers, and I tucked in like the carnivorous beast that I am and slavered all over my brekkie steaks like a caveman. That evening we took Mike up on his suggestion of fundraising at the Marina down the road, and the next few days were spent variously plundering the Shopping Centres and Marinas collecting, finding time to work for Apexian Shaun Wright, at the home he shares with his lovely wife, Sarah.



Sarah and Shaun, two Apexians we did some gardening for

Our appearance on Perth television news programme A Current Affair was useful to us (oi, binbag, have a tenner, good on ya) and so we took Apexian Carlo Formentin, hard drinking, hard smoking gentleman that he is, up on his offer of finding some accommodation for us in Perth city. We stayed not far from Northbridge, the city night life epicentre, and tried to take advantage of the media coverage collecting round the city's pubs and clubs.



Morgan and Aisha are hard at work making posters for our display



The girls (Morgan, Amy and Aisha) had us making fools of ourselves on their skateboards

Taking the van with us to maximise our exposure and announce that we were in town, we parked up on the main drag (having been on tv we feel compelled to use its most colloquial terms) on Murray Street. Anne and Phil trawled the pubs for the donations our recognizable faces were likely to have thrown at us, while I stayed with the van, displaying our new 'As Seen On TV' posters (courtesy of Mike Gilbert's printing friend) awaiting the throngs of passersby eager to talk to us after our four minutes of fame.



Phil looking pretty in pink as he scrubs clean an oven

A drunk Scotsman recognised us, and greeted us, as presumably he greets everyone, with a resounding "wankers!", before telling us to "piss off" in a friendly way, and after fumbling in his pockets for a donation failed to produce a note small enough to give us, and left catcalling promises of a fiver, "wheen I geet sum change", which in Scottish means "when I sprout wings and shit gold sovereigns", which literally speaking means never.



Phil hold up the thongs he has worn holes in. Core Surf Shop on the marina donate a new pair

A vagrant did stop by, but not because of my famous face, but for a chat about his being a direct descendant to Mary Magdalen "not one word of a lie", and to ask for $2 for something to eat. That aside, we did well out of the weekend when we decided to ditch the van and trawl the pubs irrespective of whether or not people knew who we were.



Thank you Maya Masala for providing this delicious Indian banquet



It can be fun talking to people and it can also be exhausting. The later it gets, the drunker they are, they more they expect you to dance for your donation. But it is rewarding endeavour, and between the three of us we managed to collect a tidy sum. The banter is welcome and people are by-and-large willing to give after a gentle haranguing to fill in the time.



Some of the supplies friend of Mike Gilbert collected for us

Next day and we were up and at them anew, driving to the Range View Hotel out of town, where we had been put in touch with Karinde, who organises the Australian Poker League in Perth, and who had a tournament there. We had been invited to fundraise and tell our story and as we arrived we saw a room full of gamblers, hell-bent on that Royal Flush. This may not be the Textbooks first recommendation for a bit of a fundraiser, but rewrite that outmoded manual, because we did very nicely thank you very much.


Kath, Megan and Iestyn

Collecting donations at the interval, after having been introduced over the mic by Karinde, we then mingled. I sidled up to six guys sitting around a blue table, the only one still playing as everyone else munched on sandwiches, or stood talking or watching, as I was, this game. Having recently seen Oceans Twelve with John Clooney and Eartha Pitt I was confident I had the consummate repartee for the occasion. "Hey", I asked the tall, lanky biker, "is this the high-rollers and whales table?" imagining my in-the-know shop-talk would give him confidence that I was not the uninformed half-wit I really was. "Erm, no, mate" he managed to stammer, "this is the..normal...peoples table", and duly cussed I walked away.



One of Perths crowed beaches

Returning to Mikes place for the Sunday night, we spent the evening with him and his wife Cath, and their kids Megan and Iestyn. He had been busy on our behalf while we were away in the city, contacting various other Apex members further on down the way and telling them about us. We were to leave the next morning, and it was with renewed confidence in our ability to circumnavigate this great country that we departed, having made the acquaintance of Mike, of Apex and befriending yet again that lovely mistress of Destiny and Toyer of Emotions, good old Serendipity.

The Apex logo now graces our trailer

Read a cheeky bit more!