Action Week

Last week a friend from NZ came to visit.

A snowboarder from the ruined city of Christchurch, this young lady was no stranger to adventure, so I took it upon myself to organize some kind of Super Itinerary, positively bursting with desirable destinations and outdoorsy pursuits.

This had the dual benefits of showing Erin a few choice pieces of WA real estate, while providing me the chance to piss off from work and have some holiday-style fun myself.

I think we did ok.

In just  two weeks we cycled the Swan River, toured Freo, found a BYO jazz bar, watched The Nextmen at Villa, cruised to Rottnest and back, hit Margaret River, spent three days in the forest around Walpole, played volleyball, attended a festival in Perth and went mountain biking in the Ferguson Valley. All while consuming our body weight in red wine.

Maybe I should be a tour guide. We sure had a ball. Check some pics.

near gas bay, margs

oh my, the brakes have failed...

karri tree carry on

 

 

walpole farmhouse still life

cottesloe beachfront

breakin' bones

elephant rocks, denmark

the tropical north

Cape Range behind our campsite

One of the very best things about living in Western Australia is the rugged, warm north of the state, a lazy 15 hour drive from Perth.

Even the most bleak winter is quickly forgotten when you cross the 26th parallel and enter the tropics proper, where red desert meets teeming blue ocean.

And there’s so much damn wildlife up there. You almost expect David Attenborough to bimble into shot, explaining why echidnas love crossing the highway at around 5pm.

Around our camp at Yardie Homestead, there were countless roos, emus, wedgetail eagles, wild horses, goats, goannas and yes, echidnas.

In the water was equally startling. As well as the fish we regularly hauled in, there were turtles popping up everywhere, huge sea snakes, sharks chasing our tuna, rays in the shallows. One day, I’d love to see a dugong.

These shots are from a couple months back when we travelled to Exmouth for a friend’s wedding and even looking now, makes me feel wistful.

Hope you feel similarly inspired.

My favourite left in the world. Mike would disagree.

a very Australian wedding scene

on the way

the author and friend

pretty, deserted beaches? check.

A girl caught the biggest fish. A GIRL!?!

fishing, beer and sunsets. a lot to like.

summer lovin’

The white yacht was anchored off the beach again.

For more than a week it had sat there, occasionally disappearing at sunset, only  to reappear the next morning.

And like clockwork, the yacht discharged its British guests to the beach daily, where they crammed in amongst the plump brown Greeks and Italian families on holiday.

But in the same way the British distinguished themselves with their pasty skin and Cockney accents, the yacht and its passengers were never truly a part of this carefree holiday scene.

The yacht’s position off the beach was far enough to deter nosy swimmers and only just within the reach of the most determined locals on pedal boats.

Because even from the beach, it loomed huge.

And the curious holidaymakers couldn’t help but be drawn in by the size, the gleaming white hull, the assumed importance.

“Whose is the yacht? Is it a king? Hollywood?”

Those same wondering locals might like to have imagined the visitors added a degree of glamour to their beach, but truly, the yacht added nothing.

vessels changed to protect the innocent

Staying actively apart from their fellows, the British had meals delivered on gold trays to the beach, even going so far as taking their own drinks ashore. To the beach bar.

Each morning a dinghy would slip ashore and quietly dump another dozen bags of garbage into the roadside bins and every night, when everyone was in bed, clouds of filth would quietly seep out of the yacht into the clear Aegean waters.

Even the cheerful delivery of the Brits to the beach was a lie.

“Have a great time, sir. Enjoy the beach, guys. Byeeeee…”

Smiles hid grim faces as the crew returned from the beach run to set about preparing the yacht for the return of their owners.

Yes, the ‘owners’ effectively held possession of their crew along with the yacht.

Ever cheerful on the outside, each white-clad worker secretly despised their employers for their sense of entitlement, ignorance and neediness.

The reality was that the British had rented themselves 16 friends for the summer, friends who were apparently only too pleased to work 14 hours a day for 90 days straight.

So the British could have a holiday in the sun.

But luckily, summer doesn’t last forever.

Soon the sun would be gone and with it, the British.

the other greece

No islands for us, mate.

No whitewashed churches, blue-domed roofs, cute islands and all the rest of it.

We’re on the … mainland.

You never really think of mainland Greece. Or at least I never do, unless there’s a report of more riots in Athens.

But it’s there and it’s pretty big. And dry. And dusty.

Jumping off from Keffalonia in the Ionian group, we headed south rather than transiting the Corinth Canal and went around the bottom leg of mainland Greece.

Not much grows down there. Some olives, providing the only shade of green on otherwise barren hills, but that’s about it.

Limoni in the south of Greece

The architecture that hasn’t been leveled by earthquakes is vaguely reminiscent of Egypt or the middle east.

The arid grey-brown landscapes and rocky shores look a little like north-western Australia. (For the record, Oman and the Cape Verdes also look like WA. See: desert meets crystal ocean).

Small remote villages and the odd bigger regional town are scattered along the coasts supporting domestic tourism. God only knows what they do thru the winter.

Sort of interesting, but not something I’d come back to. Which also goes for Greece as a whole.

kind of middle eastern, right?

cute up close, but a long way from anything. Limoni

Dirty stinkin superyachts

YEH, I know, everyone thinks yacht crew have it made — swanning from port to port in those shiny love boats, schmoozing with the like of Paris and Diddy, sunbaking on the aft deck during crossings.

Sure, we do all this and more. But occasionally we work and sometimes this gives rise to some surprising insights. So don’t hate us. Hate the yacht owners. They’re the rich jerks.

And as I learned over the winter, they’re nothing less than environmental terrorists. Simply put, owning a superyacht these days, is the equivalent of giving a middle-finger salute to the environment, the universe and everything else.

being lifted in the yard

It’s amazing when you consider it, how selfish an act owning a giant white boat is. (For the purposes of this tale I mainly refer to powerboats, yachts at least being occasionally powered by the wind).

At its very best, all a yacht can offer is an enjoyable holiday in some exotic locale with family, friends or Eastern European hookers, depending where your tastes lie.

These yacht owners are not donating holidays to terminally-ill children. They’re not using the boat to transport starving refugees out of Sri Lanka. Their yacht is just a giant overpriced toy.

Most toys however, don’t spew millions of litres of exhaust fumes into the air when the owners’ wife decides the waters off Cannes are too choppy.

They’re not painted yearly with highly-toxic antifouling and they don’t require daily cleaning with all manner of horrible chemicals.

making sure everything is shiny

Consider the fuel issue alone. A large boat I know of had new gas-turbines installed this year at a huge cost so they could go faster.

And go they did, reaching speeds of nearly 40 knots (about 70kmh). This is pretty quick for a boat more than 70m long.

Shame they were using 5000L of diesel PER HOUR to achieve this. Yikes.

The same yacht also travelled from the Balearic islands to the Channel islands off England to pick up guests who do not enjoy flying. Quite a taxi fare.

tented up. It's huge! see car bottom right.

Another yacht I was helping to re-fit over the winter required a paintjob. All 48m of boat had the old paint sanded off and this is currently blowing around the Med somewhere.

A dust-free environment was then required to complete the new spray job, so a giant plastic tent was stretched over scaffold to cover the entire yacht. A further 60-odd yachts got this same treatment in the yard. That’s a lot of plastic.

But what are you gonna do? Hundreds of new superyachts are currently in construction and now the price of diesel has lowered, very few owners are considering bio-diesel or the groovy green alternatives.

Do we boycott his horrid industry and go work for Greenpeace? They’re just going to hire some of the many eager new yachties waiting in the wings.

Beats me. But it’s worth thinking about.