Walzing Mathilda

If life in Carnarvon got more laid back, it would be inverted.

Anyway... I've moved house, and now live on Pelican Point. It's a bit out of town, on a spit of sand between the ocean and the Gascoyne river. I can hear the sea at night, and at high tide I can jump on my windsurf just outside my door. Everyone's into fishing here, so I bought myself a flyfishing rod. Flyfishing has very little to do with actually catching fish, so at least I've got something to blame. Trying to talk a mullet onto the barbeque is probably more successful. As the saying goes:

"You give a man a fish- and he's got food for a day. You teach a man to fish, and he sits in a boat drinking beer."

Bruce (of Coral Bay fame) has taken on the job of teaching me the noble art of spearfishing. So off we went to The Blowholes- about 80 k's North of Carnarvon- with a massive speargun, fins and goggles. On arriving there, we chewed the fat with some fisherpeople on the beach about tides and fish and what have you. At that very moment one of their lines ran out, and a 10-foot shark surfaced 10 meters offshore, breaking the line.

I decided to stick to kiting for the day.

As fate would have it, the wind picked up after a while, and I had to give up kiting too. I deliberated that a bit of snorkelling in 1 foot of water would probably be safe. This is based on a rough calculation that sharks of 3 meters or more are probably not swimming at full speed if half their diameter is above the water, and their bottom bits are scraping coral. The reef stretches about 300 meters offshore, and is only about 10 cm submerged at low tide, forcing all fish into the deeper gullies. It was like swimming in an aquarium, with fluorescent blue coral and psychedelic technicolour fish. I saw arm-long squids, turtles, and a crayfish. I fruitlessly hunted the most edible looking creatures with my Hawaiian Sling and had a great time. The thrill was gone when I discovered that three sharks were frantically struggling to get over the reef and into one of these gullies.

On the way back some emus crossed the road. They're quite shy and even with a telelens I haven't bothered to make a picture yet. To my amazement Bruce jumped out of the car, and crawled into the verge while jerking his legs and throwing up dirt and stones.... Epilepsy? Insanity? Even stranger was, that the emus stopped in their tracks and came back to see what was happening. Turns out that there was method in the madness, and that behaving like an idiot is in fact a good way to catch emu. I've got a picture of an emu now, but realized later that a good shot of Bruce grovelling in the dirt would make more money.

Back in Carnarvon I had missed the horse races, and sadly enough, a bit of theatre I'd been looking forward to. You can't even leave the place for a day without missing out! But the next day I got an invitation to go sailing on a pretty 33-foot cutter and met half the cast of the play on board. There was beer, and wine, and a pod of dolphins joined us on our way out. It's something you always read about in books, but when it actually happens- six dolphins cavorting under the bows- it's thrilling. There was a pleasant force 3 all the way, and about 10 k's offshore someone saw whales: 'Thar she blows!!!!' Now, if dolphins are enthralling, whales are- depending if you go by length, volume or inverse chance of actually seeing one- between 10 and a 1000 times more impressive. There were two big ones, about the size of the boat, and a calf. It's quite hard to judge size, because first a big head emerges, to be followed by back, a dorsal fin, more back, and a massive tail. Problem is, you see only one bit at a time. They were rolling around, splashing with their flippers (about a 5.5 Gaastra sail in size) and sometimes they'd almost clear half their length out of the water in a broach. We slowly sailed closer, until they noticed us and started to dive under the boat... the dark shadows were a bit frightening. We gave up when the two big ones came storming at us ( the size of two trucks) only to dive just before the bows and disappear. Totally stunning. It's said that a picture is worth a thousand words, but really, you should have been there.

That's about enough for one webpage. I realize I haven't really touched on the subject of Carnarvon yet. Like many small, isolated towns, it consists of the people who live in it. And it's hard to say anything much without people being implicated. Things are not anonymous here. And on balance, that's a good thing.

Kees