Walking to Eucla - Pt. 2

 

So where did we leave off … oh, yes, the big Eucla sign. About another 100m up the road, around a bend, the Eucla Motor Hotel came into view. We were hoping for a pub since a cold pint would have helped to wash down the rest of the flies, but we settled for a cold Diet Coke and a couple of sandwiches at the little attached restaurant. No other tables were occupied and the area facing the Bight was roped off. Not very picturesque or romantic, but a welcome respite. There were not many flies inside and it was cool.

Across the street from the restaurant was a children's playground and a very large grey whale. I thought it was kind of mean to have colorful playground equipment next to the whale with a big sign that said “Please keep off the whale”. If kids had been riding in a car across the Nullarbor Plain for hours, climbing on a whale would have been just the thing to use up some energy. Just walking up the road for 5km had me wanting to climb the darned whale, but I restrained myself.

Instead, I contented myself with taking pix of David standing next to the Eucla mileage sign. In essence, we were half way across the Great Australian Bight and half way across the Nullarbor Plain. In other words, pretty much in the middle of nowhere.

We followed a sign pointing behind the restaurant to a wonderfully lush garden patio and a pool area overlooking the Bight. Birds chirped; bright flowers bloomed. We could barely make out Nine of Cups, bobbing gently, beyond the road we'd just climbed. Eucla is the only place along this stretch of highway that dips to the coastline for an outstanding view of the Great Australian Bight.

Here we saw a small sign which touted the “Nullarbor Nymph”. According to Wiki, in 1971-1972, there were several supposed sightings in the area of a half naked woman living amongst kangaroos on the Nullarbor Plain. Locals produced a grainy amateur film showing a blonde, white woman wearing kangaroo skins and holding a kangaroo by the tail. After further sightings were claimed, the story was reported around the world, and journalists descended upon the town of Eucla, which at the time had a population of 8 people. The incident was eventually revealed as a hoax, initiated as a publicity stunt, but folks still talk about it and obviously market it. We looked in vain for Nullarbor Nymph postcards, but found none.

We noticed a small sign that read “Museum” and surprisingly found the door open. It was a one-room affair with a collection of Telegraph Station memorabilia, pictures of Edward John Eyre, local pioneer artifacts and some tombstones that were salvaged from the encroaching sand dunes. This was it. We had seen all of Eucla.

As we exited the tiny museum, we met Rasa who had been working in the restaurant. She asked if we were passing through and we told her we had sailed in and were anchored by the jetty. She perked right up. “We saw the sailboat anchored there and wondered who it was. We're lucky if we see one yacht anchored here a year.” She then proceeded to offer us a ride back to the boat or at least as far as the abandoned telegraph station, the ruins of which still stand among the sand dunes. We gladly accepted her generous offer. We chatted as we drove and talked about heading to Twilight Cove, an anchorage we knew little about further up the coast. She stopped the car, turned around and headed back up the road to her home. Her partner, Paul, was a fisherman who had fished the Bight for the past 27 years. He could provide us some firsthand information about Twilight Cove. Talk about luck! Paul immediately produced a well-worn chart and his fishing notebook and proceeded to give us lots of information about Twilight Cove as well as other anchorages, depths, lats/longs, hazards. It was like manna from heaven.

After many thanks, we headed back down the road with Rasa to the Telegraph Station where we thanked her again and headed off onto the sandy path. It seems in the 1890s, a rabbit plague passed through the area and ate much of the dune vegetation, causing large sand dunes to encroach upon the township. The original town was abandoned, and a new townsite established about 5km (3 miles) to the east and higher up on the escarpment. The crumbled remains of a telegraph station, a few leaning telegraph poles and one old foundation is all that's left.

As we looked at the huge sand dunes drifted around us, their tops blowing off in the ceaseless wind, we could understand how after so many years, they could not reclaim the town.

All the while we made our way down the trail, we always had Cups' mast in view. Though we wandered off the path occasionally, we headed for the mast and finally joined the sandy beach road which led to the jetty.

Trudging our way back to the dinghy along the wrack line, David spotted a very unique purple sea urchin shell. They're so delicate and fragile and yet it made its way across the bar and up to the beach unscathed … definitely a keeper and a wonderful souvenir of our visit to Eucla.

The surf was up a bit and we were soaked through and through by the time we launched the dinghy and muddled through the rollers. We were tired, wet and exhilarated when we arrived at Cups. A fine day on the Nullarbor Plain.

Walking to Eucla - Pt. 1

 

There isn't much at our anchorage area other than the welcome swallows and the old, dilapidated jetty which we discovered is over a 100 years old and a minor tourist attraction. When the first telegraph lines were run connecting Western and South Australia, a manual repeater station was built here in Eucla around 1877 and a small township arose. The jetty was built and used to unload supplies. There's not much left of it and after a few pix and a look, there's little to keep one amused.

On the other hand, the township of Eucla (population ~45 permanent residents) is ~3 miles (5km) away up a dirt road and along the Eyre Highway and is considered an important stop when crossing the Nullarbor Plain. Lonely Planet didn't have much to say about it, but for us, it was within walking distance, so a hike was in order. We didn't wake till 0730 (sunrise is 0815) South Australia time, but we hadn't changed our clocks yet. Just barely across the state line in Western Australia, we picked up a 2-1/2 hours time change in our favor. It was only 0500 here … plenty of leisure time to make plans for the day. Just sailing past that 129º longitude a few minutes and we entered a new Australian state AND picked up a couple of hours. How good is that? I might add that Eucla and this part of the most western extremity of Western Australia has its own time zone, Central Western Time Zone (UTC +0845), but we chose to ignore the 45 minute difference since we were just passing through.

We hadn't been ashore since leaving Streaky Bay and we needed some exercise. We slathered on sunscreen, packed a couple of granola bars and lots of water and headed to shore. We beached the dinghy not far from the jetty, buried the mushroom anchor in deep sand and set off up a road deep with beach sand and rutted with 4WD tracks. I took the requisite close-up pictures of the jetty as we passed by, but didn't dawdle.

It was evident from the moment we set foot on the beach that flies would be a problem. There were two types: big guys (like horseflies) that bit and then there were tiny, pain-in-the-ass, persistent flies that flew up your nose, got into your mouth and wangled their way behind your sunglasses to get at your eyes. No matter how much you swatted and waved, they just kept on coming back at you. We now know why swagman wear the Akubra hats with corks hanging all around. Otherwise, the flies drive you absolutely batty. My arm was tired from batting them away from my face. I drank some of my water to wash down the flies that I couldn't spit out or up. David reassured me they were not red meat … a mild consolation. Taking pictures was a hurried affair. When we stopped for even a second, like to adjust a shoe or get out the water bottle, zoom …. the flies were on us like ... well, on us like flies.

As we walked further, we could see buildings up on the bluff and cars, about Matchbox size, driving along the Eyre Highway. The Eyre Highway, by the way, is 1675 km (1041 mi) long and links Western Australia to South Australia via the Nullarbor Plain, a huge stretch of dry, arid, mostly uninhabited land. While we contemplated the vastness of this arid area, out of the bush stepped two emus … then another. For this, I needed to stop to take a photo. They just walked across the road rather leisurely … to get to the other side ... and disappeared again in the bush, giving us no mind at all. The flies were all over us.

We continued along the road which had turned to hard, red, rutted soil, but was considerably easier to walk upon. A small landing strip, complete with stretched out wind sock and dilapidated, rusty shack was on our left and a simple sign announcing Eucla National Park was on our right. There was no specified entry to the park, just more of the same bush with big sand dunes beyond.

As we began the climb up the steep bluff, the road turned to macadam. We were glad the temp was a mild 25C (77F) and not higher. It was a dry, dusty, sweaty climb up to the hilltop … swatting flies with so much vigor works up a lather. At the top of the hill stood a monument to Edward John Eyre (pronounced “air”), the first European to cross the Nullarbor by land back in 1841. There were two other monuments close by, one commemorating lost fishermen and another a war memorial

We rounded the corner to find the Budget Motel. We were hoping for a small restaurant or a place to sit and rest, but disappointingly, there didn't seem to be anyone around. We continued a bit further down the road and saw a welcoming Eucla sign, a bit weather-worn and worse for the wear, but welcome nonetheless. There was a town ahead.

Read more tomorrow about the big grey whale, a chance meeting with a local fisherman, the remains of the Telegraph Station that's being gobbled up by the sand dunes and most importantly, the Nullarbor Nymph!

New Friends in Port Lincoln

 

Port Lincoln is a very friendly town, but we had the added benefit of having friends in Adelaide who had friends in Port Lincoln who didn't mind playing host to a couple of American yachties. Jo and Philip were friends before we even met them. We had a couple of parts we needed to order, but no address to which to send them. They had no problem accepting and holding onto the parcels until we arrived and thus their friendly hospitality began before Nine of Cups ever entered Boston Bay.

We rang Jo when we arrived and had an invitation to lunch before we could say “we're from Nine of Cups”. She was expecting us. Philip was sailing his boat, Lady Oz, down from Port Broughton during the same time and arrived later in the evening, anchoring not far away. It was also the finish of the Adelaide to Port Lincoln race, so it was a busy time in the bay as boats crossed the finish line.

We planned to meet our new friends at 1pm for lunch which gave us time to do three loads of laundry at the local laundromat and still have time to stop by the Port Lincoln Yacht Club which had generously invited us to the festivities following the yacht race.

The day was glorious … warm and sunny … and the local Farmer's Market was in full swing. People sat at tables enjoying Venus Bay prawns, local wines, fresh produce and other local delights.

Jo and Philip picked us up at the jetty and whisked us away to Jo's family home overlooking Boston Bay. We could see the entire harbor and Nine of Cups from their dining room. Lunch was lovely and the conversation was easy as we got to know each other. There is probably no better compliment to us nor better experience than to be invited into someone's home.

They invited us for a drive around the area and how could we refuse? Jo's knowledge of the history and geography of Port Lincoln and environs is wonderful and added so much to our appreciation of the area. We drove over to the Lincoln Cove Marina, a yacht marina, as well as the home of the largest commercial fishing fleet in the southern hemisphere.

A drive to the top of the Winter Hill Lookout netted us even more spectacular views of Boston Bay, Boston Island and beyond.

We continued on past Sleaford Mere, a brackish lake named by Matthew Flinders, onto a gravel road which took us to land's end at Sleaford Bay for outstanding views of the Southern Ocean, a taste of where we would be sailing in just a few days.