I’m home and taking a couple of hours off before I leave again. I seem to have missed some lovely prompt words while I was away. I hope it’s okay to make belated contributions to prompts!
I love visiting Exmouth, some 1200 km north of Perth. I feel relaxed when I’m there, even when I visit for work so I always promise myself I’ll return for a holiday (vacation). But whenever I have visited Exmouth, something seems to go wrong before my visit, frequently enough for me to think I’m jinxed!
This time I dared not say where I was going, I just wanted to be there. Despite my silence, the run up to the trip was fraught with managing someone’s crisis, big enough for me to escalate it to another two levels. I should have been relaxed it was now being managed by someone else, but no, the aftermath was just as stressful. I sat at the airport with a coffee, unable to write, observe those around me with interest, or even drink my coffee. I sat with head in hands, feeling utterly spent. I knew where I had been in the last few hours and I dared not anticipate where I was going.
I got to Exmouth and the check in was a nightmare with Receptionist making mistake after mistake in her paperwork. Half an hour later, I dumped my bags and knew I had to get to Turquoise Bay and leave it all behind.
Turquoise Bay is one of the three most beautiful bays in Australia. Who can argue with the rating? Within seconds, the world fell away and I was in the moment.
The Bay itself is serene and great for snorkeling but in the distance, huge waves crashed loud enough for beach goers to look over their shoulders. The waves never seemed to reach the beach. It summed up everything I had been through in the preceding three days.
At my feet I focused on tiny things like this crab. It flew past my feet like a fleeting thought that made me second guess what I had seen. It burrowed itself with incredible speed and I could only see it with the zoom.
In the scrub along the beach were tiny flowers, a burst of colour competing with this magnificent place.
And, tiny sprigs here and there that were exquisite in size and beauty.
As I drove out of the car park I noticed someone had left a shell. A little momento, for others to know they were there.
I drove through the national park when I saw the last rays of light captured in a small tree. At 80 km/hour, I saw it! I pulled up with camera in hand. The detail in the leaves was beautiful. A few minutes later a Kombi van pulled up behind me. Two young European backpackers greeted me. They said they noticed the way I was standing and knew I had seen something worth seeing. They were right.
I’ve returned with hundreds of photographs. This was the end of the first six months of the year. This morning I feel blessed and happy. This was a break I so badly needed. I am grateful for having a receptive spirit that is able to take these moments in instantly. The joy of the moment has taken years of practice, but I got there in the end. It has been worth every step of the journey.
As always
a dawn bird
In response to Word of the Day Challenge – Friday: Vacation
I enjoy my lunch break in the Arboretum in Kalgoorlie where boughs of gum flowers hang above my car. I’m usually alone here with the only sounds being the buzz of bees and birdsong. I love the solitude of an hour in a crowded day.
I love the Wheatbelt in winter. The fog across the paddocks in Merredin makes everything glow.
And the primary colours in Broome, north of Perth, where the sea is bluer than the sky.
Back Beach, Bunbury, Western Australia
I took this from inside the car and just noticed the dirty windscreen! I drove under the shadow of wedge tailed eagles. I was hoping I would see some roadside so I could take a picture. They are magnificent birds in flight and on ground. I was out of luck, this time.
This is some 40 kms north of Badgingarra. The countryside was so beautiful. Some green and a lot of it, the beige of Wheatbelt land.
It’s only when they got closer that I realised they were sheep. Poor animals probably thought I had feed and came running towards the car. I would have loved to have stayed with them longer but it didn’t feel right to tantalize them, so I left.
There was just one other car in the car park when I got there early morning. As I walked along the coastal walk, I found it belonged to a young fisherman wetting a line in the distance.
The waters here are generally calm but on this day there was a swell coming through. Hopefully he got what he came for. I know I did.
The birds were not awake yet so I spent some time looking at the path I walked, metaphorically speaking too. I found one can find colour in the most unexpected bland places.
A gumnut caught my eye. It rolled down an embankment and came to rest against a small edge of a big rock. A cm here or there would have made a difference to where it landed and perhaps, never seen by me. Much like chance encounters.
I love dragonflies. I mean, what’s not to love about them. They have wings of sheer shimmering lace and yet they are long distance fliers. I find strength in that.
Soon my walk was filled with sound. The little Silvereye were everywhere.
And if you ever want to see kookaburra, Meelup Beach is the place. They were at least a dozen birds sitting on low branches or foraging in the leafy carpet.
Then there was this one who decided to do a full dive into the water and came out looking like a rag! 
High in a nearby tree I heard the plaintive cry of a young eagle as it rose up to stand in the nest.
Magnificent bird.
I was glad I got here early. I had the opportunity to enjoy silence before the laughter of families. Although I confess, I enjoyed both equally.
The water pipe that runs from Mundaring Weir in Perth to Kalgoorlie, a distance of over 500 kms has been supplying water to the Goldfields for over a hundred years. Driving alongside it or watching it meander through fields gives me pause for reflection. The building of this infrastructure would have been gruelling work in heat with minimal comforts by those who may have yearned to be prospecting for gold instead. Little would they have known, their contribution is a lasting legacy since 1896. It is also ever present company, for solitary travellers, like me.
I’ll aim to arrive just before sunset. It’s always a challenge to get to the town before it is too dark. I dislike overtaking slow traffic on this road. At this time of year, I expect oversized farming machinery and drivers, all wanting to get to wherever, five minutes earlier. I usually stop at a rest stop alongside paddocks between Kellerberrin and Merredin and enjoy a few minutes of quiet. Always different, it’s a highlight for me just before destination.
Whether it is light or dark, the painted silos announce I’m either entering or leaving town. I love them. They are the bright and beautifully thought out art by Kyle Hughes-Odgers, his canvas, 12 storeys high.
I hope to stop for a few minutes at Merredin Peak, where the foundations of the Military Hospital are still visible. Transported from Palestine in 1942, it was a hive of activity for those recovering from war and those who cared for them. It is a place of paradox, historically and contemporary. From the ravages of war, they came here for the peace, to heal. Ironically, in this place of peace, one remembers war.
The flowers are almost gone. At least the obvious ones. The grass is less green and more blond by early summer warmth. Some trees have shed leaves. They reminded me of chocolate curls, so I trudged around planning my Christmas menu. It helped keep happy thoughts forefront.
I don’t recall seeing these large shrubs before. They were everywhere and pretty in pink. That’s what I find so amazing about being in the bush. What looks ordinary one season, is eye catching, the next.
There were tall grass tree spikes bursting in flower. They look ordinary from a distance, just tall and white. Close up, well, a star studded sabre, comes to mind.
These flowers grow on flannel grey shrubs. There are thousands of these flowers in bloom, or waiting to bloom. Ordinary? Not to my eye.
There were a few of these still fresh and blooming. They are exquisitely tiny. And yet, each puff is several flowers within a flower. I kept walking up to it and could see it up close but stepping away, lost it numerous times in the grass. Got to get that shot became a mantra! Photography has taught me patience and persistence. 
And some were still beautiful, well past their bloom. I had to tripod my legs to steady my hands that shook with the delight of each little flower. The fragility! And, tenacity!
I heard strange sounds above me. Sounds I haven’t heard before. They, more than likely, came from young parrots, hiding in tree hollows.
I bought coffee in town and headed back to the Lair. I saw a young kangaroo family, three in a mob. The male, impressive! He was almost as big as a deer.
His face veiled by cobwebs, his gorgeous ears, twitching, alert. We were eye to eye for a few minutes, each sizing the intent of the other.
There were no small birds at all, but seeing these flowers growing profusely, who can complain.
On the way home I spotted this in Crossman, growing just off the road among a grove of shady trees.
I stopped my car to take some pictures, forgetting this is Western Australia in spring. I was covered in bush flies within seconds! If you only knew what I went through for this pic!
The Big Croc is the first thing you see as you enter the small town of less than 800 people. To quote the late Steve, Crikey! How did I miss this! It is so huge I couldn’t get the whole sculpture in the frame. 
Being off season, there was nothing open. The supermarket, too, shut early. Someone told us about a bakery, just down the road, they said. We soon saw the sign. We knew immediately, we were far from home.
This was outdoors on the way to the loo! Yes this is crocodile country, as if one could forget. There are reminders everywhere.
One of the things I wanted to show my travelling companion was the view from the Five Rivers Lookout. Because I had been here during the day, I was yearning to see it at sunset, too. I knew it would be amazing. The road up the the lookout, which is around 330 metres above sea level and the highest point of the town, is narrow and winding. The views across the mud flats, stunning. I’m surprised there are not more accidents as people peer over the edge.
We were taking in the sheer expanse of country where the rivers Ord, Pentecost, King, Durack and Forrest join forces to meld into the Cambridge Gulf. The waters must be teeming with crocs. There was an abattoir here once. The crocs remember this. They often hang around the jetty, although the abattoir closed its doors in the mid 1980s. We were taking in the views when I saw them. I could not believe my eyes. A tiny rock wallaby seated high above the town. Can you spot it on the rock between the two trees, just above the 2 in the date?
They were part of a small group, some as tiny as a cat. 
Their coats looked soft and fluffy with beautiful markings. Their feet dipped in dark chocolate.
The eyes large and luminous.
Look at that pose!
They were nimble among the high rocks and perfectly comfortable in our company.
One even sat facing us. Our delight, the evening’s entertainment, it would seem!
Soon it was sunset. The sun slipped away beyond the five rivers. 
A red disc dazzled in the darkened sky. It was time to leave.
The cabins were fantastic. Clean and high among the tree canopy. It was reasonably secure and no geckos indoors! The place is so isolated. The managers told us they never lock anything here so I threw caution to the winds and slept with the door unlocked.
I woke early, too early, and headed to the walkway. The billabong was alive with birds and wildlife.
In this harsh landscape the green in trees was vivid.
As was the jewel like emerald green in the tree ants.
I’m not sure what this bird was. Researching it online it seems similar to the Asian Koel. But in the Kimberley? I’m not sure. It was black and navy blue with ruby eyes.
How’s this for perfect mirror image!
In this harsh landscape I found the most delicate jasmine like flowers on vines that entwined over the walkway.
Below me, a lone wallaby. I watched it nervously, hoping the resident saltwater crocodile was having a snooze.
I learnt later, this species is called ‘Pretty Face’ wallaby. It has delicate shading and a white stripe across the jawline.
This bird was magnificent! Some kind of pheasant I think.
The double barred finches swarmed water side.
As did the gouldian finches. Their colours were less vivid than the ones I’ve seen before.
Some had banana yellow beaks.
At first I thought the tree was shedding leaves!
Poised on the grassy bank.
Or feeding
The blues shimmer into indigo and purple when they move.
They are usually shy but also protective. Their warning call is a fearsome screech.
This was a rare sighting of a chick this spring.
I got to Bunbury just moments before the sun slipped into the Indian Ocean. A moment of pause for me and others too it would seem.
This morning I was up early and headed to Big Swamp where the bottlebrush is blooming.
Among the reedy grass I caught a glimpse of a swamp hen chick, not yet purple, blue and red.
The Welcome Swallow chick was a delightful ball of fluffy feathers. It is so new, it didn’t know fear of me.
There were chicks every where making a silent call for food.
A young New Holland honeyeater obliged with a moment of stillness.
Then came the Splendid Blue Fairy Wren, in his gorgeous feathers of blue.
After a frantic game of chase, he rested with his mate.
On the other side of the boardwalk, the big cormorant ignored my presence. I’ve not seen this type of cormorant here before. It sat on the branch for the whole of two hours I was there. Probably still there!
A Shared Space 
You must be logged in to post a comment.