Neither of us fancied a 5 hour journey to Monkey Mia, instead we chose to stop for the day in Carnarvon, around two hours away and do a shorter run the following day. We arrived in town, the weather had turned overcast and cold again, so much so that we tried to buy some coats but alas no joy. Everyone keeps telling us that this cold snap is really unusual, we're privileged we witnessed it.
We took a drive to mile long jetty, a wooden pier, completed in 1897. A small locomotive, solar to the one along Brighton beach, carries passengers to the end where photos can be taken or maybe a spot of fishing can be done. The jetty is in a poor state of repair and while the restoration work is ongoing, it looks and feels ramshackle and not the least bit safe. The promenade has huge holes in the rotten wood, which an old local lady had cast a fishing line with huge success. The balustrade was gone and all that stopped us from falling into the cold, murky sea was our good sense not to go too near the edge. The end of the jetty was sealed off as repairs were underway, however three lads had found a way past the steel mesh and were fishing at the far end, they too were having a good day of it and we saw all of them landing a sizeable catch. I tried my hand at casting a line in but it wasn't my day. As we stood in the chilly wind, we chatted to the fishing ladies, who were lovely and imparted their knowledge of the local fishing spots, Jan was making them laugh with her squeamishness of the flapping fish prompting one lady to repeatedly ask of she wanted to hold the fish. After 45 minutes or so, the train had made a return journey and us along with the local ladies and a couple of other tourists jumped back aboard for the return journey.
Monkey Mia (Mya) is a coastal nature reserve on a small peninsular across from Denham. The journey was like many before, largely uninteresting, however around 50 kms before Denham, we made a brief stop at shell beach. The beach is a couple of kilometres long and is comprised of millions if not billions of sun bleached cockle shells. It was quite a spectacular sight seeing the bright white set against the aquamarine of the sea.
The drive into Denham was lovely, at the tops of the hills we could see yet more exquisite coastline as it changed to a thin yellow line, then disappeared. The sight of the small town filled us with excitement, another show town, just waiting to spark into life to show off its perfect beach, sea, cafés, restaurants and accommodation, but it looked like we'd again arrived early and they weren't quite ready for us. The streets were empty of cars and people, as was the beach, as were the shops and eateries.
The final leg to Monkey Mia was barely 20 minutes of yet more scrub but as we neared, the azure of the sea greeted us once again to our left, the sun created white twinkles on the surface that caught our eye and I suddenly felt very tired of driving.
The beach was typically long and wide, a pinstripe black line of seaweed lay at the water's edge drawing a line the indicated the high tide, clam and oyster shells were half buried in the shallows making entry a little uncomfortable but the water was so cold that a swim was off the cards. We sat on the beach with a hastily made picnic and watched the afternoon pass by.
I put a line into the water, still in hope of catching something for dinner but alas, we're still having the vegetarian dish of the day. As the sun began to dip, the air quickly became chilled and the water around my ankles even colder. As I stood gazing at the tip of the rod, not 3 feet in front of me a huge blow of air came from the sea, startled I stepped back as the dolphin turned on her side so she could give me a good once over before her calf joined her, they played in the shallows for a short while before heading to the deeper waters to feed. Not a bad end to the day.
The next morning we awoke early to see the daily 'dolphin interaction', I was feeling a little trepidation about the feeding of wild dolphins but the chance to get some close up photos won out. It turns out that of the 3,600 dolphins that live in the bay, only 5 are fed and even then they only get 1.5 kgs of the 12 kgs of fish they eat daily. The dolphins have been coming to the same spot since the 1960s and the practice of getting fed at the beach has been passed down through the generations. It took a couple of hours before they came to the shallow waters, in which time we saw a couple of turtles and countless seabirds. Their tardiness proved there is no reliance their part for the treats and in fact when they came, it seemed to us that they were here to observe us and that we were the entertainment. The encounter was brief, the dolphins hung around for ten minutes tops before heading back out to sea to feed their young. The experience was generally a positive one, though we were still confused as to why in these modern times, the animals weren't discouraged to come ashore.
After a hot breakfast to ward off the cold, the sun had risen sufficiently to warm our bones.
We had a day at the beach and again , fishing was my main preoccupation. Jan chilled in the shade or took photos of the amazing scenery. To our right hundreds of snake-headed egrets shared a sandy peninsular with a few dozen pelicans and hundreds more gulls.
I was stood up to my knees in the sea, casting bait out to try to catch a meal. As I stood watching for a sign of a decent bite, a dark shape passed by no more than 2 metres away. By the way it moved, it was undoubtably a small shark. Surprised and a little nervous, I took to the sand bank and continued fishing from there. Again the fishing brought no success but it was inconsequential as within a few minutes, another dolphin and calf came for a look at the strange creature in the shallows, scaring the life out of me as they stealthily appeared from the dark blue sea just a couple of feet ahead.
We took a short walk back along the beach and watched the slow sun set. A pod of dolphins jumped a little way out to sea, as dozens of small silver fish caused ripples and splashes on the surface just a a few paces from the sand. As the end of day approached the warmth disappeared and we headed back to the van. On the horizon we could still see a thin orange line of sunset but the lapping waves had vanished into the blackness.
We huddled around the stove and the bubbling pot as the bitter cold of the night took hold. As soon as dinner was ready we retreated inside, it was going to be a three-duvet night for sure.
Tomorrow we head for picturesque Kalbarri.