Francois Peron

The early European history of this area made it anything but certain that the British would get the upper hand. The wide range of names applied reflect the Dutch and French attention the lands obtained. The Dutch first of all because of the proximity to the Spice Islands, now Indonesia. The French came later, as part of the Napoleonic empire building. Francoise Peron was a naturalist who visited in 1802 and 1805 while in his 20s. Had he lived longer, and his reports been more favourable, and the French interest in the Indian Ocean more persistent, then this report may well be in French. But none of that happened and so the interest in the area waned for another 50 years or so until the settlement came up from Swan River, now Perth, and that of course was British.

The day dawned fine and clear, but it took a long while to get going, and that coupled with the need to dry a few things out a little before we packed pretty much precluded making use of our second possible day at Monkey Mia. Instead, we headed out for a last look at the bay, this time in sunshine, and noted that the road to Francois Peron was open, so in we went.

First stop was Peron homestead. A working sheep station until the lease expired in 1992. It had a chequered history. With the complete lack of surface water in the area it would have been unviable until a bore driller in the area struck water 500m down. He decided to give up drilling and took up a pastoral lease instead. For nearly a century the fortunes waxed an waned, but even though the wool quality was high, the sand and twigs stuck in the fleece could never be removed, and so prices were low. The nature of the country precluded normal mustering, and so gathering the sheep for shearing was labour intensive.  The wool price crash of the 80s and 90s sealed the fate, and the last owners walked off the property at the expiry of the lease.

The whole property then became National Park and the station buildings have been preserved to show how a sheep station worked, especially at shearing time. There is also a hot tub, which makes use of the artesian water coming out at 40degC. We did not partake, owing to the lateness of the hour.

Cape Peron beckoned, and with such a fine day, and my memory of the stunning photos I had seen of the area, I could not resist. And it did not disappoint. The soft sandy track led 45km to the cape. On our arrival, we were greeted with stunning red sand dunes, white limestone cliffs, clear waters, seagrass beds, sea birds, dugong and dolphins. We were especially privileged to see the dolphin mustering method on the shore. We had seen videos of this at Monkey Mia, but to see it  live was simply stunning. I was too much in awe to take videos until late, and by this time I think they had a full belly, and so it was a bit half-hearted.

Dugong are not really photogenic from a cliff-top. Lacking the dorsal fin of the dolphins, there is little to see when they come up to breathe, but once you know what you are looking for, they are literally everywhere. Living a solitary existence, they are not in pods, so you don’t see groups of them, but we could easily see ten or more from our vantage point. Some people fishing from a small boat said yesterday they were literally right under their boat, and given that the seagrass grows in shallow water, they would have had a great view. Dugong are sea mammals, but are apparently more closely related to elephants than any other aquatic mammals. The only stable population in the world is in Shark Bay, all others being in decline, so this graceful and long-lived animal is globally threatened.

The road back was a little more adventurous than I had intended. Having had no trouble on the way out, I wasn’t really expecting any issues. However, a few hours drying from yesterday’s rain had reduced the road from an easy drive, into treacherous soft sandy bog holes. One of them got me. The most embarrassing part is that it got me twice. First time I backed out no problem, but on my second attempt, I got stuck in the same wheel ruts, failed to get to the side as I had intended, and wound up stuck fast this time in the same place now made even softer by my  previous bogging. Being in the middle of the road, it wasn’t long before our shovelling was supplemented by others wanting to get past. We did eventually get out under our own steam, but not until one of the late arrivals had decided to snatch me out, but the strap remained slack.

That wasn’t the end of the saga though. I made it through third time lucky, but our main Samaritan was not so fortunate, falling prey in much the same place. However he hadn’t dug himself in so badly, so a little more shovelling and a little less air and we were all on our way again.

All of that performance put us rather behind schedule on our plans for making a go at Kalbarri tonight, so after watching the sun set from Eagle Bluff, we made our camp at Nanga Bay, in what passes for a resort in these parts. It is a resort in name and camping prices only. It is really an excuse to give fishermen somewhere to camp, drink and swap stories.