Rottnest and Quokka!

‘We’re off to see the Quokka,
The cute little Quokka of Aus!’

I have a certain amount of eagerness and childlike expectancy about me this morning. An early start, I hop on a bus to Fremantle, waving at Sonya going the other way.
I still can’t get my head around the sun going the ‘wrong’ way down here. I know it does, but it’s peculiar; the bright, bright daylight out of the bus window makes me think of a scorching summer evening in England, but it’s cool still and I know the day is yet to come.
It has been rather toasty the last couple of days. I’ve got to the point where I don’t really fancy meat – it’s too hot to digest it properly. Fish, vegetables and salad are the way to go!
I arrive at C-Shed in Fremantle (right behind the bus and train station, fortunate for someone of my geographical ineptitude) and it is hot. The tarmac reflects the heat as I trot between two almost identical ferry operators’ booths. The prices are identical, so I go for the one that leaves the soonest; the Oceanic cruiser. There is a bit of graffiti which makes me giggle irreverently – spray painted neatly on a bollard is the legend ‘Jesus was a Jedi’. I chuckle and sit down on a bench. I wait on the quay next to a lovely Aussie couple, Sheila and David, who are on their way to Rottnest for a few days’ stay. Sounds idyllic. I glean from them (particularly Sheila) that it is a lovely place to go and one which is hard to leave! I steel myself for having to tear myself away by 4:30, when the last ferry departs… It is very blowy on the quay, and Sheila and I almost lose our hats! The sun is already high and it is only 9:30; it will be hot today.
Our ferry, ‘Rottnest Spirit’, is at the quay, and soon we are allowed to board. I decide to sit outside and Sheila and David join me which is nice. They tell me things as we go along; Sheila tells how her nephew, I think, from somewhere outside WA was supposed to stay for a day or so and a week later they were still popping back every day to see if he and his mates needed picking up! It is clearly an enchantment on earth, I can’t wait… David tells me which islands are which, and (the roles and knowledges are clear here!) how far we are and how long we still have to go. The first island we pass is Garden Island, a flat green mass, hazy in the distance. There is a little island next, very jagged and gleaming pale, which is called Carnac. I want to know how it acquired the name of somewhere classical, interesting. There are some enormous container ships waiting outside the harbour, rusty hulks, clearly industrial vessels. The next little landmass is The Stragglers, so called because some are straggling behind the others – David was clearly amused by the Aussie lack of inventiveness here! One of The Stragglers has a hole in it, which can just be seen from a little way off. The Stragglers apparently mean that we are halfway there, so only another 20 minutes or so until we land at Rottnest. The Rottnest Express ferry passes us and waves! Maybe I ought to have got on that one instead…
We are nearly there and pass an outcrop called Phillip Island. It used to be quite tall but during WW2, the army used Rottnest and the Island was the butt of training practice; it has had its top blown off...

I step into this island paradise not quite sure what to expect, but certain that I shall enjoy it! I wander into the visitor centre and ask various silly questions, culminating in me going to buy some postcards, lots to drink, some chocolate for sustenance and heading through the nice little settlement to the Bike Hire shop. This is rather a daunting experience for me. I haven’t ridden for over 6 months, and that was on a rather quirky little bike of uncertain origins and parentage.
I am kitted out with lock and helmet and guided towards a lady who looks at me and picks a bike to fit. I warn her that I have short legs and am the sort of cyclist who wobbles a lot and sometimes has to get off to turn corners… She seems unperturbed by this and helpfully lowers the saddle so that I can perch happily on it with the tips of both toes touching the floor… I am a little perturbed by all the levers… There seem to be rather a lot. She patiently explains how to change up and down, and we agree, after I look at her pleadingly, that I don’t need to know about the lever on the other side; it appears to have around 20 different speeds… I suspect leaving it at level 3 will suffice!
I spend a while arranging things so that nothing is digging into my back or flapping around the wheels (it would be just my luck to come a cropper and fall into something messy or sharp…). I hop on and hope…

Whee!!!
Thanks for your patience over summer Andrew, this is fun! I am sailing off down the road gleefully, with only a couple of brief hiccups as I get used to the bike. From a misread glance of his faded ID number (X179), I decide to call him Felix.
I look at the map they gave me in the Bike Hire shop and decide that, even for me the one around the settlement marked out as ‘Too Easy!’ would be dull even for a novice like me, so I decide to pedal off towards the lakes and lighthouse, which are towards the centre of the island. It is hot, and I ration my drinks. Just over a litre is more than enough for a day walking in the UK so I hope I have surmised that it will be just enough for a morning in the sun here.
The weather is glorious, the sky azure, the sun bright, a whole island to explore and a whole day to do it in! I pause under a shady tree on the hot road for a quick drink and to put more sunscreen on my exposed thighs, nose and hands. I pedal on, gently, enjoying the warm breeze in my hair, and flapping down my long, light sleeves. I feel as though I am flying, singing down the road, with the only sound the gentle sigh of the tyres on the wide road. I head onward, through the scrub in the sun. The small bushes are intensely green and have a smell not unlike that of juniper, which catches me alluringly by the nose every couple of hundred yards. I spot the lakes coming up in the distance past a small hill. There is a different smell here, a salty tang, at best, a rotten fish odour more so. Seagulls flap idly in the sun, and potter about at the water’s edge, picking up interesting dots. Not that there can be much alive in these lakes. They are an odd orange-pink colour, and an unhealthy but beautiful rime of salt cakes the edge of each one. They are quite beautiful, despite their sterility. Shining white in the sun with an unearthly pallor, the last one I pass is the prettiest. Almost pure white crystals rim its outer edge, and glitter invitingly. Small mounds and islands of salt stand cleanly proud of the rose-pink surface, which laps tinily at the lake shore. I don’t want to venture too close as this is labelled as a nesting site for endangered fairy terns and I don’t want to inadvertently step on anything important or fluffy. I snap away happily, admiring the clean contrast of pink, white and blue together in the blazing sun. Despite the presence of water, you can tell that this area is essentially a wasteland, regardless of its almost Martian beauty.
A few trees offer some more shade and a further swig of Solo before I press on towards the lighthouse. I am making good progress for me, and am finding the going far easier than I ever imagined – even the half-decent saddle hasn’t yet begun to chafe my bum! Felix and I are getting on well… I even manage to investigate his gears whilst negotiating a pretty but awkward set of switchback hills on the way. It is a mammoth effort of will to get up to the lighthouse though; you can see it coming and think you’re nearly there, but the road goes around in a loop! A cheery lady calls out on the other side of the road, ‘you’re nearly there!’ which is nice of her, and spurs me on to the last little bit.

Reaching the lighthouse, I lock up Felix and helmet and venture into its shade. It takes a while to become accustomed to the light after the bright, startling white of the rocks and road outside, which even with my sunglasses is almost unbearably bright. You can tell there’s not much between you and the sun here! The lighthouse is a newer one, taller than the original and presumably more visible to sailors – this little light on Rottnest was known as the brick on Perth’s doorstep to trip up drunken Captains! I decide to take a tour and for the princely sum of $6 I join a very small group on the first landing. There are 6 of us and one guide, which works rather well. We are not all confident on the spiral stairs and we are reminded that this is a fully functional lighthouse and we are allowed here by kind permission of the Aussie Maritime Association (‘so behave yourself!’). We can see through the staircase whilst walking up and it is a tight squeeze. The views are wonderful though – two different cardinal points on the compass on each level to look at. We are shown the lightning conductor cable set lightly into the wall, essential for a high point such as this! Once at the top, an even tighter squeeze on the staircase this time, we are shown the mechanisms. These are quite staggering. A motor smaller than a lawnmower engine turns happily to itself… This tiny piece of engineering is the sole thing keeping the enormous lenses turning directly above our heads. This is party due to the fact that they are turning in mercury, a frictionless bearing, which impressed me a lot. The lenses themselves must be at least 10 feet high, and their turning is a slick, precision process. There is a clockwork motor housed below the electric one. This is not much larger than the electric motor, perhaps the size of a small fridge, and used to be the sole means of turning the lenses. It is still in working order and could be used should the electric one fail. Keeping the lenses lit and turning is a 24/7 job, and not one to be undertaken lightly. Outside, on the balcony just below the lenses, the view is breathtaking. The whole of Rottnest is laid out below you in all its glory, blue sea sparkling away in the distance, silvery sandy coves seem to beckon invitingly and the water in the bays varies in colour from seaweed brown in patches to azure blue in the shallows… It is quite, quite beautiful.
Down again and two of the girls on my tour, Tracey and Sarah, kindly take my photo. One is from Sydney, visiting, Tracey is a Perth lass. They are friendly and I chat to them for a little while.
Giddy with what I have seen, I cycle on through the heat.
Wheee!! The hill I had struggled up not 20 minutes before, provides a minute’s amusement as I sail down it with head up, laughing inside. Grinning could be a bad plan as it would end up with a mouthful of flies…
Wending my way on I decide to go just as far as Mary Cove on the bicycle, and then turn back and finish a loop of the island by going along the coast as I felt it would be lunchtime in a couple of hours. I can’t face a loop of the whole island… For my untrained little leggies I think it might be rather much.
Mary Cove is gorgeous. It is a series of little coves, and one bigger one at the far end. I lock Felix up again and gleefully potter around the bush plants to peer over at the first cove. There is a bronzed goddess lying in the sun… Grr… Anyway, I wasn’t aiming for that one, so I leave the beach bunny to it and keep going. The erosion here is rather fantastic, leaving behind jaggedly carved caves and lumps of rock (apparently good for drying swimsuits on and hiding apples in!). Some of the caves, I am sure, aren’t at all safe, both because they could collapse at any moment and because I’m sure I spotted ENORMOUS snake tracks in one of them – they couldn’t have been bike tracks because they were too smooth and seemed to slide and loop like a snake would. I shudder and move onward to the bigger cove.
It’s beautiful. There are small swallow-like birds everywhere; they seem fearless and swoop joyfully fast and low, and near to my head! The water is ultramarine and multi-hued, with patches of seaweed clearly visible just out of reach above the silvery sand. Everything in the water is tinted blue, including my delighted toes, whom I have let out for a swim… I want to swim properly as it seems quite still, but I feel a gentle undertow and I am alone, so daren’t, weak swimmer that I am. Besides, I just caught a seagull peering intently at my bag whilst I was in the water, paddling. I stare at him and he assumes a nonchalant air and saunters off… Cheeky blighter.
It is past noon now and well into the zenith. I eat my chocolate bar. Well, I say eat – it was being held together purely by the virtue of having nuts in, I slurped the rest! I would love to stay here for longer but am getting hot and am running a little low on water so I decide to pedal gently back to the settlement for a PIE! (Anyone who hasn’t yet met the Aussie PIE won’t understand the need for the capitals – but they’re deep-filled, delicious and have no sub-crust ‘profit margin’.) As I leave, I ponder – Rottnest is a little like Yorkshire might be on a really good day if you painted it with more paint, more colours and better paint…
I sunscreen and deet myself again, just in case, try to wash the worst of the sand off my feet, which involves some amusing shore-line acrobatics, watched disinterestedly by the seagulls, and go to collect Felix. I pedal gleefully along again, though maybe flagging a tiny bit, and enjoy the little switchback hills along the way – I can just get up one if I pedal frantically down the one before… This is good gear practice! I enjoy the views along the way, white sandy dunes, unbelievably blue sea, the occasional breeze… Even a shipwreck at one point, very old.
However, the beauty has begun to escape me as I am getting rather tired and every hill means I have to gasp the burning air down into my desperate lungs, where it seems to have very little effect. I try to remember not to breathe through my mouth as I’m clearly dehydrating via every pore and daren’t use the last of my water in case I desperately need it… The one thing keeping me going through these dunes and sneaky hills is the thought of a nice bakery pie with no profit margin… mmm… PIE! Ooh, hill… Pant, pant, pant, pedal, pedal, fall over, push, pant, hop on and push off again…
Exhausted, and nearly dropping with the heat, I spot a little shelter by the side of the road and wonder if it’s worth stopping. I take a tiny sip of water to ease my parched throat and am very glad I did… I can see a little Quokka… She’s got he back to me and seems to be sulking, but I say hullo and have a look. She seems unconcerned by my presence and I wonder if she is shortly due to give birth given her position, sitting right back on her bottom with her tail stretched out in front of her. She’s obviously breathing, but not playing ball, so I take a quick photograph and leave her to whatever sulking she’s in the middle of. They really are quite small, but very fluffy and rather sweet.

I pedal on.
Exhausted.
Though my legs don’t hurt too much yet and I’m not sunburnt, so all in all, things are ok. Some of the ladies from the lighthouse tour pass me on a road at the bottom of a hill and I pedal furiously so as to get as much speed up as possible before tackling this one – it’s long… But I get a fair way up it before having to get off and push, which pleases me.

Finally, I make it back to the settlement, out of the deserted bush at last and near to food and water. This is not something to be undertaken lightly, though walking wouldn’t get you around nearly as much and cycling around it under your own steam instead of stuffed in a bus unable to stop and look at things is incredibly satisfying.
I lock up Felix and go and get a PIE and some juice… Nectar of the gods to my parched throat… Followed by a lemon sorbet. It seems slightly pricey, which I accept as the price you pay for being a captive market but soon realise that it is enormous! I can’t finish it, but feel much better for sustenance and ice! I check the time and I still have 45 minutes before I need to be on the ferry back so I decide to reward my aching sticky self with a swim in the netted area by the jetty. It is wonderful, cool and refreshing, and just what I need. It takes me a while to acclimatise to the coolness of the water after being so hot, but I and another lady, a mum of two little, interested kids, agree that it is chilly and the only way to go is to plunge in! I do this, and find myself soon happily buoyed up by the clean, clear water, loving every minute of splashing about. It is turquoise blue and safe, clean and clear. There is a small shoal of fish which I point out to the older tot, who dives after them going ‘Where? I can’t see them! Are they still there?!’ The littlest one, a little girl called Tess, asks me later on if I’ve seen any more, but I haven’t so she carries on looking herself. The friendly sea washes away the bike grime and sweat and blissfully soothes my overworked limbs. I swim for twenty minutes or so, lost in this blue, watery element, enchanted by the little ripples everywhere that merge and mingle like frosted glass. I feel weightless. Swimming (and cycling) are easier here. Maybe I’m freed of the constraints of a companion I might let down or who might worry for me and just do things as my own pace. I think that is an important part of my explorations here. I paw my way up the beach, floating idly in the shallows like a mermaid. Beached on my tummy in the ripples, I float and loll in the shallows like a sea cucumber (but without the squirting), watching my feet, blue and ripply beneath the surface. I emerge and head for the ferry. My skin is salt-flecked and my hair wiry, but I have had a glorious day and I am relaxed, happy and satisfied.

Later in the evening, Jim takes me to Ed and Sarah’s where Sonya has just cycled. We stop on the way to pick up a Chinese takeaway for everyone, and some bottles for supper and head over. It is a lovely evening, partly happy with good news and the satisfaction of a well-filled day, but also partly tinged with sadness that I’m not staying a bit longer. It is my valedictory meal in Perth, in Western Australia in fact, and I have thoroughly enjoyed it, thanks particularly to my cousins and their wives, who are fantastic hosts and have looked after me excellently. I shall miss them now I have left, having stayed with them for over week! Travelling isn’t just about the places you go, it’s about meeting the people in those places, whether they be tourists, locals, natives, or visitors like me.