|
General Info
Shark Bay is a vast area of meandering peninsulas and endless bays - the coastline exceeds 2000km in length.
The area has been awarded World Heritage Listing and it's no wonder; there is so much history, wildlife and stunning scenery that Shark Bay could almost be a country in its own right.
More species of seagrass exist here than anywhere else on earth, which might explain the abundance of Dugongs; at ten thousand animals, the world's largest population.
Shark Bay's biodiversity doesn't stop there, it straddles two distinct climatic zones. It's possible to stand on a hill and look out over heaths of southwest banksia trees to the abrupt beginning of the desert's spinifex plains.
Similarly, one can observe manta rays, dugongs, turtles and tropical fish gliding over the top of coral outcrops, to disappear into the gloom, surrounded by southern seagrass dwelling species.
Nature rules the roost here and one comes away from Shark Bay with a sense of awe.
To look beyond the more usual tourist attractions, like Monkey Mia, is to be richly rewarded indeed.
Links I would recommend:
Shark Bay Tourism Asssociation;
Excellent Dugong links;
Australian World Heritage areas;
West Australian Conservation and Land Mangement Shark Bay pages;
Fairfax
Shark Bay;
Tiger Shark research in Shark Bay;
Discover West Holidays.
Hi all, I'm Steve Rothwell, an incurable adventurer and Australia buff.
I've been travelling Australia since '94 by mail plane, boat, truck, any means at my disposal.
I have a special fondness for the wild north, its vast wilderness areas and its wealth of 'characters', especially Aborigines who have many a yarn to tell about their land.
|
|
|
|
Surreal. Stark. A little scary.
Those were my first impressions of Shark bay, an impossibly wild mosaic of red peninsulas and kaleidoscopic waters some 850 kilometres north of Perth, Western Australia.
I expected wilderness, but nothing had prepared me for this otherworldly experience. There were no swaying palms here, rather a sunbaked version of the surface of Mars.
Blood red sand, rich in iron,spilled everywhere, appearing almost incandescent, hot enough to cook on.
The red pindan sand poured from the peninsula heights, dotted here and there with defiant stands of saltbush, to cascade into steep dunes which end abruptly at the talcum- like beach.
The line between red and white was only a few centimetres, the transition compelling. Throw into the equation an impossibly blue sea lapping just metres away from this strange sand tussle and it’s easy to see why I was so entranced.
This is the very tip of Peron peninsula, named after the 19th Century French explorer Francois Peron, who I dare say was just as spellbound as I when sighting these strange lands for the first time.
What seems even stranger is how anything can live in such a harsh environment, yet we spied a wallaby going about his business quite happily, seemingly oblivious of absurd human intrusions. A bold goat stopped by our temporary camp on the beach, eyeing us with much disdain.
The goat seemed fascinated by our tent structure, as if it were a new type of triangular goat. I felt like reminding said goat that his days were numbered in these parts, due to the efforts of Project Eden, a West Australian government initiative to eradicate all intoduced species from Peron Peninsula. Oh well ,let the goat have his day...
I had arrived at Cape Peron courtesy of my newfound Japanese friend Koichi, who had navigated his rented jeep unerringly through a wild peninsula criss-crossed with deep red sand tracks, riddled with boulders and false trails.
Head high saltbush gave the impression of being in a mad red and green maze. Occasionally, the track widened when it crossed shimmering, desolate salt pans, kilometres of blinding white in all directions. Masako caved in and took a photo. He liked seeing lots of “nothing”.
Little has changed around Shark bay since Peron’s day, apart from the odd shipwreck, such as the Gudrun, which was deliberately run aground in 1909 on the Peron flats 13 kilometres north of the Cape.
The ship’s carpenter had drilled a hole in the ship’s keel in an attempt to scuttle it. This stunt he had tried before in Fremantle but this time it seemed he was more successful for being placed in irons.
This area is full of such historic events, yet when I stood overlooking Shark Bay, I half expected Peron’s ship to sail into view. Such a harsh and uncompromising coastline deterred most early explorers, but Peron persisted.
On the 27th of June, 1801 he wrote, “ …. The appearance of the continent in this part was as barren as that we had seen on the preceding days….. the shore consisted of either white or red sand, and had no other verdure than here and there a few miserable shrubs. To this dismal sterility of the continent and the isles, may be pleasantly contrasted the productions of the sea, which are astonishingly numerous and in very great variety.“
With much trepidation, Koichi and I decided to test Peron’s observations with an exploratory snorkelling session. Anything to escape the heat. Images of sea monsters ran wild in our minds even as we drifted slowly over riotously colourful coral gardens.
Just as we were feeling more at ease, a huge billowing of sand straight ahead sent us into panic mode. A massive grey flank appeared out of the debris and we feared the worst.
 Panic turned to fascination; it was a harmless Dugong, a type of ‘sea cow’ native to northern Australian waters. We remained still and observed the huge creature fin off into deeper water. It would have been over two and a half metres long and perhaps 300kilos.
Excited, we explored the reefs some more, spotting a huge variety of wildly colourful fish, some much too big for any frying pan I’ve ever seen!
Koichi tugged my arm to indicate that perhaps we had better seek terra firma while our luck held out. I agreed, keeping in close formation with my Japanese friend all the way to that alabaster beach.
We hauled out like seals and lay contentedly on the sand, raving to each other, feeling privileged to have seen such rare and pristine examples of nature.
I imagined Peron smiling down on us and winking as if to say, “There, I told you so!“
I never doubted you Francois, not for a minute.
|
|
