People travel from all around the world to Monkey Mia, sitting high on Australia's west coast, where they get out of bed early in the morning to stand in a huge group of people and watch a bunch of dolphins swim around. It's nice enough but in the scheme of things, it really isn't a very special experience.
Special experiences are something you don't have to go far to find in WA, certainly not all the way to Monkey Mia.
On Friday morning I woke to the sun streaming in through my bedroom window and the breeze floating softly across my cheek, the wooden blinds that shade my window clicking softly against each other. I rolled out of bed, pulled on a bikini and grabbed my bag with sunscreen, hat and towel in it, then drove fifteen minutes north to The Beach Shack. A boat greeted me in the front yard, then a dog and finally his owner, my host. His sister followed soon afterwards, and throwing our stuff into the boat, we hooked it up and headed down the road to the boat launch. In less than an hour, I had left my bedroom and was floating across a gentle swell of aquamarine waters that turned deep blue, then red-gold as the coral spoor floated around us. We dropped anchor and took out the fishing rods.
The breeze, the sunlight, the golden coral spoor dusting the water's surface and the gentle tug of fish on a line - we relaxed, three people on a boat off a coast with nothing on our minds but the salt air.
After some floating and Rex Hunt style fish kissing (ok it sounds good but there was not actually any kissing) we headed back, cutting through the waves and slewing from side to side wet-dirt-road style. At Seal Island, we again dropped anchor and pulled out a beer each (11:45am, close enough to noon) then settled into our seats to watch the four seals sharing the tiny island.
We wanted to know what sound seals make, so our fisherman host's voice rang out across the water in the strange "ungh ungh" of sealspeak. We got the attention of a young seal who raised its head, then, doglike, jumped into the water and angled his way out to our boat, popping up in a spray of water and whiskers to say hello.
For almost fifteen minutes, our friendly seal ducked under the boat and surfaced on alternating sides, greeting all of us but always, in emphasis of his canine similarities, coming back to his favourite - the one who spoke Seal. We splashed the face of the seal, marvelled at his huge round eyes and soft furry pelt, jumped back in surprise when he popped up where he wasn't expected, hung over the boat when he was hiding from us, trying to catch a glimpse of his feet. He was playful and we could easily imagine him tossing around a ball, if only we had one.
Finally the game was over and we were left to the breeze and the beer. We ducked into the water, swimming and talking in breathless wonder about our luck at meeting such a social seal, before the Sealspeaker suddenly shouted in surprise and then burst into laughter as our friend surfaced loudly close behind him. I'm sure the seal would have laughed too if he could - instead he swam cheekily towards me and circled around us again as we all climbed out of the water, not entirely sure how tame our wild, big-teethed friend was.
In some of the world's most pristine waters, just south of one of Earth's most diverse and unspoiled coral reefs, on the coast of the world's most isolated capital city, an experience that people pay huge money for was given to us for the price of a few litres of fuel and three beers.
La vita e bella, qui in Australia.
Special experiences are something you don't have to go far to find in WA, certainly not all the way to Monkey Mia.
On Friday morning I woke to the sun streaming in through my bedroom window and the breeze floating softly across my cheek, the wooden blinds that shade my window clicking softly against each other. I rolled out of bed, pulled on a bikini and grabbed my bag with sunscreen, hat and towel in it, then drove fifteen minutes north to The Beach Shack. A boat greeted me in the front yard, then a dog and finally his owner, my host. His sister followed soon afterwards, and throwing our stuff into the boat, we hooked it up and headed down the road to the boat launch. In less than an hour, I had left my bedroom and was floating across a gentle swell of aquamarine waters that turned deep blue, then red-gold as the coral spoor floated around us. We dropped anchor and took out the fishing rods.
The breeze, the sunlight, the golden coral spoor dusting the water's surface and the gentle tug of fish on a line - we relaxed, three people on a boat off a coast with nothing on our minds but the salt air.
After some floating and Rex Hunt style fish kissing (ok it sounds good but there was not actually any kissing) we headed back, cutting through the waves and slewing from side to side wet-dirt-road style. At Seal Island, we again dropped anchor and pulled out a beer each (11:45am, close enough to noon) then settled into our seats to watch the four seals sharing the tiny island.
We wanted to know what sound seals make, so our fisherman host's voice rang out across the water in the strange "ungh ungh" of sealspeak. We got the attention of a young seal who raised its head, then, doglike, jumped into the water and angled his way out to our boat, popping up in a spray of water and whiskers to say hello.
For almost fifteen minutes, our friendly seal ducked under the boat and surfaced on alternating sides, greeting all of us but always, in emphasis of his canine similarities, coming back to his favourite - the one who spoke Seal. We splashed the face of the seal, marvelled at his huge round eyes and soft furry pelt, jumped back in surprise when he popped up where he wasn't expected, hung over the boat when he was hiding from us, trying to catch a glimpse of his feet. He was playful and we could easily imagine him tossing around a ball, if only we had one.
Finally the game was over and we were left to the breeze and the beer. We ducked into the water, swimming and talking in breathless wonder about our luck at meeting such a social seal, before the Sealspeaker suddenly shouted in surprise and then burst into laughter as our friend surfaced loudly close behind him. I'm sure the seal would have laughed too if he could - instead he swam cheekily towards me and circled around us again as we all climbed out of the water, not entirely sure how tame our wild, big-teethed friend was.
In some of the world's most pristine waters, just south of one of Earth's most diverse and unspoiled coral reefs, on the coast of the world's most isolated capital city, an experience that people pay huge money for was given to us for the price of a few litres of fuel and three beers.
La vita e bella, qui in Australia.
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