Sharks, Hot Tubs and the World's Smallest International Airport... (possibly)

Right, here we go again. Time to get on with my travels in Shark Bay. Not that I did all that much the first couple of days. Had to do laundry (the joys of having only enough clothes for a week and a half make that something you actually have to plan for, making sure you're somewhere with washing facilities handy when the clothes run out). Go food shopping. Get to know new hostel-mates.

Oh yes, the latter carried on the Scandi-heavy theme from the bus I arrived on, as there were 3 Danes (2 girls whose names I can't recall, and a guy called Martin) and 2 more Norwegian girls in my room (who introduced themselves as Hayley and Chrissy, but were actually called Helle and Kristina), plus an assortment of Germans and the usual smattering of British and Irish. Oh, and this would be one of the few occasions where I actually met and got to know somewhat the owners of the hostel. Partly because they actually interacted with the guests a bit, but also because at least one of them was borderline certifiable. But a bloody good laugh. You see, the hosteliers were an English couple, John and Kirstie. And John was a full-on Brummie, and mad Villa fan. And rather a good laugh.

I discovered this at the end of my first full day in Denham, as it was the final night in the hostel of one of the girls who had been staying and doing cleaning and the like in exchange for board, so John was out the back with the hostel guests, knocking back a few bevvies (and there were one or two other substances on the loose too) and chatting away. There was more of the roo on the BBQ as well, if I remember (he'd come into possession of a whole damned kangaroo, so was working his way through it!), and everybody was in a pretty mellow mood, so John offered to do a trip up to the Hot Tub.

Now, we'd heard about this from Kylie, and I think it'd gotten mentioned the previous night, but we were all into our pool competition then and didn't go. This time, I decided: ah, what the hell? So we all piled into the hostel minibus and John's 4WD, swung by the bottle shop on the way out of town (for those of us who needed to stock up on grog), and headed out of town, north into Francois Peron National Park. Bit of a strange name for an Aussie NP you might think, but he was apparently a 19th Century naturalist (that's a biologist before any of you with sick minds misinterpret it) who travelled on one of the French ships that was surveying part of Australia, and made prodigious notes about the animals and the like which he found up on this peninsula in Shark Bay. At any rate, the land was used as a farm for a long time, until the government bought it up as part of this Eden plan for creating a native animal conservation area (see previous post). As a result, there's actually a homestead up there. And also, bizarrely, an outdoor, hot-spring-fed hot tub.

All very surreal - you're out in the bush, down dirt tracks, there's little or no lighting, then suddenly there's this old homestead and, in a fenced-off area around the side, a big hot-tub. After a certain amount of stumbling around and people getting down to their cossies, we all piled into the tub. There must have been about 12 or 15 of us, which made life a little congested in there - though this eased periodically when someone had to pop out for a while to cool down - yes, the water was that hot, if you were in there for more than about 15 minutes solid it got seriously uncomfortable. And we were warned in no uncertain terms that it was not a good idea to put one's head under the water - the joys of hot mineral springs.

All in all, quite a fun evening - a lot of the usual kind of conversations you tend to have when having a few beers on the road, but with the added bonus of being out in the open air, able to see the stars (including the odd shooting star, which was really cool) and sitting in a hot tub. Felt bloody cold when actually getting out of the hot tub, though. So we all piled as quickly as possible back to the vehicles, and headed back into town to the hostel. So anyways, an interesting second night in Denham.

The second day there (also the second day of September 2005, now that I check back as to when all this was happening - 9 months ago, sheesh) accounted for the laundry, the newspaper, a certain amount of (very unusual for me) sunbathing and, in the evening, going down one of the local pubs to watch an AFL game on the TV featuring my beloved Adelaide Crows. Yes, one of the slightly unexpected leftovers from my first visit to Oz, back in 1995, is my devotion to Australian Rules Football and the Pride of South Australia (as their cheesey club song loudly proclaims). In expectation of a few of the smart-alecs out there, yes, there are rules involved, and no, it isn't just a big game of aerial ping-pong played by big men in little boys' shorts (which I have heard suggested as a reason why Aussie Rules is quite popular with the girls...).

I think it was the last game of the regular season, prior to the Finals series. Most Australian sports seem to work on this basis, where you play all your league games just to work out who gets to the finals, and what position they have in them. As a devoted fan of football in its more common form, I just don't get how you can finish top of the league and not be champions, but it's accepted as the normal state of affairs over here. The team that wins the league is known as the "Minor Premier". Not that I'm remotely swayed in this by the fact that the Crows were Minor Premiers last year, but didn't make it to the Grand Final to have the chance to be Premiers (ie Champions). Oh no. They also don't go in for relegation, which I should probably be happy about given that my adopted team in the A-League (the Australian football league, rather than the Australian Football League), the Melbourne Victory, finished last but one. And that one was actually from New Zealand.

Erm, anyways, let's stop that before I go off into a bit of a sports rant. My 3rd day in Denham, I had booked to do something a little different. I was going flightseeing over Shark Bay. A bit expensive, I know, but I figured when on Earth am I going to be back somewhere like that, and it would certainly give me a different perspective. And it had one added bonus - the flight was also the mail run over from the Peron peninsula, on which Denham is situated, to the peninsula situated to its west, home to a giant salt-gatering operation based out of the wonderfully-named settlement of Useless Loop.

So, I got a nice little light aircraft ride, along with an American couple, saw the stunning turquoise waters of the area (Shark Bay is mostly pretty shallow, with a lot of sand or shell at the bottom and areas of sea plants, which makes for very pretty colours), took in the sea-cliffs over on Useless Loop's peninsula (which include the most westerly point in mainland Australia - so I've now flown over both the most westerly and the most easterly, albeit the latter was in a hang-glider a few years back) and made a landing at Useless Loop to do a drop-off of mail and the like. At which point, I had to giggle somewhat at the sign on the wooden shack by the side of the runway, which someone had labelled as "Useless Loop International Airport" (and yes, of course there's a picture of me standing under it, which will probably make it on here when I catch up with adding in more photos for places).

Having got back from said flight in the morning, I'd been planning on another quiet day, but got roped into going along with a whole bunch of the others from the hostel whom John had offered a free day trip up the peninsula. Now, I have to admit, I am uncertain to this day whether he actually has a permit to take a bunch of people on an informal tour into that part of the park - let's just say I didn't inquire too closely. I was also slightly worried that John's first reaction on hearing that the other vehicle going up there had left before us was "shit! my beer's in that bloody car!". We then proceeded at fairly rapid speed after said other vehicle, eventually catching up with it on one of the sand tracks in the park.

Seeing a couple of looks of consternation from the back of the vehicle when he jumped back in the car and opened a can of drink (it was actually some pre-mixed vodka and lemonade thing rather than beer), John promptly asked me if I felt like driving. Let me think... Yes! Partly that would be discomfort at being driven by anyone who's been drinking, but largely also by the fact that I'd never actually driven a large 4WD before, let alone had the chance to do so off normal roads (where the damned things actually make sense). So I got a crash-course (NO, not literally) in four-wheel-driving, which was pretty cool. Our destination up the peninsula was near an old pearling platform offshore. John was making noises about maybe taking the boat we'd brought and going out there in the evening, if we'd caught some fish. Yes, we had also brought a net, which we were going to try and use to catch some fish. Or, more specifically, a shark.

Seeing as how we were going for a wander around in Shark Bay, you probably won't be surprised to learn that there's quite a lot of sharks. However, those familiar with my general dislike bordering on phobia of sharks (okay, I used to hide behind the sofa as a little kid whenever they appeared on TV...) would probably be surprised to learn that I willingly went walking (okay, wading) through water that I knew there would be sharks in. However, these were only little reef sharks, not actually prone to attacking people. I don't mind them. They're actually quite graceful, as they zoom through the water, sometimes within a couple of feet of your legs. The thought of any of the big, toothy monsters still gives me the shivers. At any rate, due to a combination of factors (mostly involving the long boom net we were dragging through the water being a bit shite) we didn't catch anything. So we ended up just making a fire out of some driftwood and scrubwood on the beach, and sitting around having a few drinks. And before you ask, no, I wasn't going to be driving back, so I was fine to have a few tinnies.

In fact, we were driven back by a German lass, one of those rare individuals you meet who is so single-minded about something it can be a bit scary. It can also be rather scary being driven back, in the dark, down sand tracks, in a 4WD by such an individual, supervised by someone who'd had a few beers. And, indeed, it was. But hey, we made it, so that gets to just be added as one more for the list of "what exactly was I thinking?" that I'm accumulating on my travels. The party carried on back at the hostel, and ended up swinging back out to the hot tub again, where at one point we had the bizarre experience of sitting in very hot water having rather chilly goon (cheap cask wine) squirted into our mouths in sequence around a circle. Well, it helps pass the time, y'know?

And that night was the end of my time in Denham, but not quite the end of my time in Shark Bay. The next morning I checked out of the hostel, loaded up into the minibus, and got dropped off over the other side of the peninsula, at the place most people think of and mention when they travel to Shark Bay: Monkey Mia. And that's where I'll pick up next time.

Until then, adieu.

Pat