Bird Island was smelly. Muddy, stinky and disgusting but somehow amusing. How we found it entertaining I don’t know, but for now we decided to take a break from repulsive poo filled mud, for a fishing trip to the cliffs.

The drive was thankfully short. Directly east across expansive sandy plains, the short trip was a treat after the torture of our previous ones. The others were out of the car in a rush, eager to spot something on the horizon or see how large the waves were. Where I was still sitting in the car, hiding from the heights of the cliff. I would have stayed in the car and not gone near the cliff at all, but I was overwhelmed by peer pressure once again.

I soon found myself looking down the steep descent of the cliffs. Below was a large rock ledge extending into the ocean. The ledge was covered in ankle deep water, frothed up by the pounding waves. I’m not fishing off that…

Luckily, I don’t have complete psychos as parents, some sense popped into their mind and they made the right choice, to not go fishing off life threatening cliffs. Instead we continued searching for a more reasonable place to fish from.

Bay by bay, cliff by cliff, slowly we were discovering that it may be hard to find some where to fish safely, they all looked the same. After rejecting a couple of bays and several cliffs we came across a much larger one. This cliff had been eroded and a large overhang had cracked off. On the overhang perched a large nest, a sea eagle’s nest. Perfectly balanced on the edge of a steep and broken off overhang, I thought it should have been impossible for a bird to build such a masterpiece.

Over time we found more and more unusual nests, some perched on the rim of overhangs, some further away, towering over bushes and shrubs.

After seeing many cliffs and risking many heights, I seemed to be overcoming my fear. I was walking over to most cliffs and had actually became enthusiastic about seeing what was over the edge.

Eventually we made it to a smaller cliff. A lot like the others, eroded overhang, ledge at the bottom covered in water, only it was a lot less steep. This cliff was more like the one at Turtle Bay, but you still had to be crazy to climb down it.

I take back what I said before about my parents not being complete psychos, because before I knew it, I was half way down the cliff. Almost sliding down with the lack of traction, we carefully placed each step to avoid falling. We weaved our way down the slope then mazed through some boulders and we found ourselves at the bottom, on the ledge.

Almost as soon as Dad set foot on the ledge submerged in water he was off with his rod to somewhere he could cast.

Once I was down on the ledge something caught my eyes and they were locked immediately. Right next to where Dad was fishing was a massive blow hole a few metres wide. Every time a large wave came it would send water flying, sometimes over five metres. It was like putting your head next to a massive boom box, the roar of the waves gave you a fright even if you were expecting it. My eyes were locked onto it the whole time it took Mum, Grace and Audrey to look around and come back, chop some bait and watch Dad fish. Eventually my eyes decided they wanted to look at something different so they dragged me around the ledge to look in rock pools.

Around on the massive ledge were many large pools where the rock had been eroded away. The rock pools were filled with colour of the glowing coral and seaweed, small fish, crabs, anemones, corals and seaweed. The water was crystal clear, showing everything underneath like it was glass. It was better than snorkelling.

My eyes had taken me from the massive blowhole to the rock pool, they then took me all the way across to the other side of the ledge where I climbed back up onto a higher ledge. On the higher ledge were more eroded holes in the rock. Water had obviously been trapped in the holes before it dropped because there was a layer of salt sitting in each one. The top layer glistened in the sun, eye piercing white. Grace and Audrey were both amazed that they decided to collect some to bring home with us.

I kept walking, distracted by almost everything I passed, it took me almost half an hour to walk 50 metres as I kept zoning out on anything unusual. I kept stumbling on rocks sticking out of the ground, I was in my own zone, oblivious. But I was soon woken from my pleasant daydream and found myself sitting in a small cave at the point of the bay.

I could see Mum and the others all back at the spot where we had dumped our gear, Dad was still fishing and Grace looked keen for a turn. I decided to head back before I got forgotten and start missing out on the fun.

As I headed back I realised something different sitting in one of the rock pools. It looked shiny like a high-vis t-shirt but I couldn’t make out what it was. As I got closer it seemed to be bulging out of the water and giving off a pinkish glow and I immediately knew what it was. A nice, big… Pink Snapper.

It wasn’t just one pink snapper but two, and soon going to be three. Dad was on fire, catching fish by the minute, and for once, I was inspired to go fishing.

Half an hour and three fish later, I still hadn’t had a go. They weren’t getting any more bites so we decided to move. Fortunately, we moved further towards the left side of the bay, closer to the cave I had found and wanted to show them all.

Dad quickly set up again, had cast out to sea, and within seconds he was hooked again. But he couldn’t bare the continuous nagging from Grace and I anymore so he passed us the rod.

Grace went first, but no luck. She spent almost half an hour with the line in but didn’t get a bite. She was soon ushered off by Mum who really wanted some of the action. It was like she had four arms as she changed the hook and sinker, then baited up in seconds. One large blink after the last hour of staring, she had tossed the line and was prepared for a big fish.

After another half hour of waiting, a long search through the snacks bag for something appealing and a few minutes of staring at the large blowhole, Mum was hooked to a fish that seemed to be putting up a fight. Slowly but surely she pulled it in. Only to find that it proved to be smaller than the last three Dad had caught.

Finally, after being skipped by Mum, it was finally my turn fishing. That’s when the thought struck me, why did we only bring one fishing rod? I had no idea how to set the bait up, neither how to cast. I don’t usually like fishing, it can be boring waiting and I’m not too fond of eating fish.

Unlike Mum with her arms of speed, it took me about ten minutes to bait up and get it into the water far enough to catch a fish. But apparently you don’t need skill to catch a good fish, because I was soon almost pulled off the ledge when a fish took the line.

My eight-year-old muscles were struggling to hold on. I kept slipping and becoming closer to the terrifying edge. I had no skill in pulling in large fish so all I knew to do was wind, and keep winding.

Dad was standing next to me, trying to give me lessons on how to pull it in without taking the rod out of my hands. It was going to be the biggest fish I had ever pulled in and Dad didn’t want to ruin my bragging rights by helping me too much.

Five minutes felt like five hours when I was barely gaining any ground. Or should I say, water. I could feel my heart racing, my hands shaking and Dad hesitating whether to take the rod from me or not. I was about to give in, I didn’t think I could take it anymore as my arms felt like they would fall off any second.

The rod was jumping around everywhere as the fish tossed and turned. I had become close enough to the edge that Dad grabbed me around my waist to prevent me from falling. My face was blood red, steaming with effort.

Fingers slipping, legs tripping, it was no use. Dad had to take over, I couldn’t do this alone. Still struggling, I tried to call out to Dad behind me. “Dad…” I managed to pass out of my exhausted lungs. “Please…” My face screwed up as I tried to pull the rod closer to Dad. My voice only just loud enough to be heard over the breaking waves. “…Take the” My arms were already letting go…

“…Fishing rod”

SPLASH!

Just before Dad figured out what I said something flew out of the water and Dad and I almost fell backwards as the line went slack. I was filled with disappointment when I figured out what happened.

I had lost the fish. I had spent almost half an hour trying to pull in one fish. The fish that was going to be my biggest, it was… still on the line?

A second later my arms were yanked once again by the painful force of the fish returning to the water. on the end. Our battle continued, but this time the winner had been decided. The fish was now barely putting up a fight, other than the odd yank on the line. I was gaining.

Soon enough the fish was out of the water and I was filled with joy. My heart almost stopped and I was left exhausted from the fight. I was proud of myself, the massive fish I managed to pull in won the competition by default. It was larger than Dad’s and twice the size of one of Mum’s, there was no more room in the rock pool where we had been keeping our trophies.

 

A large bag full of sparkling sea salt. Another full of snapper.  Sore arms and shaky legs. A cliff to climb up. A struggle we faced, but all for good cause. To go back to the homestead and cook my winning fish!

So after an amazing but terrifying experience at Turtle Bay, we headed back to the shack to sleep the night. Knowing that in the morning we would finally be going somewhere that doesn’t involve steep cliffs or scary sand dunes.

In the early morning, we were woken again by the sun as it shone through the broken old shack. After a quick breakfast and a pack up rush we were all set to go. We had almost everything we came here with, everything but the annoying trailer that caused us a dreadful journey. This time we were not going to spend a whole day attempting to travel 40 kilometres.

With no trailer to worry about, we were able to drive freely once again. It was a much more enjoyable experience, apart from the banging heads bit, that’s not so pleasant. When you’re four-wheel driving with my dad on the wheel, it would be a good idea to bring a helmet with a couple of pillows tied to it.

The absent trailer was proving to be helping. We had made it almost half way and we had only been on the road for about half an hour. Half an hour sounds like a lot for 20km but it is a lot better than almost two hours. At this rate we would be at the homestead in time for another adventure.

Another half hour and we had made it back to the homestead. We threw our swags into the hut that we were staying and the car was briefly unpacked. We keen explorers had no time to unpack, we were going to explore the famous Bird Island.

An island of an island doesn’t make much sense but you would understand if you saw it. Bird Island is barely an island, when the tide goes out you can walk across the sand bar without getting wet. The island is right out the front of the homestead and its name explains it all. Colonised with birds, all painted white and smelly, really smelly.

The walk was short, even though the tide was up it wasn’t yet knee deep. The second you step on the island you smell the disgusting odour of bird droppings. Bird droppings that cover the whole island almost a centimetre thick, and sometimes ankle deep. YUCK! Though it was hard to tell the difference between mud and poo, I guess it didn’t matter once your ankles were covered.

The smell was awful but it didn’t deter us. We explorers were determined to discover new things, especially what lived in that nest that was as tall as Dad.

Slowly we squelched across the island, stopping at every step to look at something different. Sadly, every couple of steps ended in seeing another dead corpse or skeleton. A depressing sight but not a surprise considering the large population of birds who lived there.

Eventually we made it to the massive nest. As I got closer to it, it seemed to grow until it towered above my head. Being short, I didn’t have an idea of what was sitting on top. Grace and the others were gasping at what they could see, even Audrey who was sitting in Mum’s arms was amazed too. But I couldn’t see a thing.

Finally, some attention was drawn to me and Dad gave me a lift. Much to my surprise, a bird was in the nest. Wait, that’s not surprising. It was a baby bird accompanied by two other eggs. Apparently Mum and Grace had seen the mother bird leave the nest before we came for a look, we had to be quick before she came back.

After we had a look we quickly made our way away from the large nest, hoping that we wouldn’t upset the mother. We had another quick squelch around in the mud which Audrey and I found quite amusing while Mum and Dad looked at us in disgust.

Soon enough we were headed back to the homestead, we had enough of the revolting smell of bird droppings and our stomachs were calling for an afternoon snack.

Though we were travelling Australia we needed to keep educated. We opened the massive school work box and hit the desks. With our Mum as our teacher it was our third year of home schooling.

As the day came to an end we were gifted with a beautiful show in the sky. The sky was painted with colourful rays of light before it was engulfed by the night. How special Dirk Hartog Island was, made our holiday a whole lot better, it wasn’t just luxury, it was paradise.

Our seemingly endless trip finally came to an end. Hours of driving only to travel about 40km was not what we expected. Though the drive may have sounded boring and uninteresting, the scenery it brought us to was a beautiful view. We went sand boarding on massive dunes, saw windflowers, goannas (forgot to mention that in last entry) and eventually we reached the lighthouse where we intended to be. After dropping off the wooden planks and taking photos of the historic site we finished our journey and set up camp at a small shack.

 

The next day we were up with the sun. The shack just happened to be facing the right direction so the sun would glow right through it every morning. After staying in the house at the homestead for a week, we had gotten used to sleeping in, getting up early had definitely turned into a challenge.

Once the swags and single dinner pan were repacked, we hopped back into the home of the devil, the car. The only reason we three kids got back in the car was because we have a very persuasive father. A small chance of seeing baby turtles excited us all with hope.

Off we went to a bay which Dad knew would be a great fishing spot, and we all hoped to see baby turtles. Soon we were approaching Turtle bay. As we drove up alongside the top of the bay, we realised Dad hadn’t told us there might be some trouble getting down.

When someone says were going to a bay and we might see turtles, I picture a bay like one in Bali. Easily accessible, colourful, sandy and somewhat stunning, not semi cliffs first and then the stunning beach.

After my experience at the sand dunes, my fear of heights had grown so when I looked over the cliff I wasn’t confident to be trekking down. This time, if they wanted me to go down, they would have to drag me!

Dad moved the car closer to the track to go down to the bay, but it just happened to be at an even higher spot. Oh, but that didn’t matter to me anyway because I wasn’t going down at all.

Five minutes later everyone had something to carry down the hill and we… they started walking down the hill. But of course I didn’t, instead I sat on the tailgate of the car, face scrunched pretending to be angry, I even made an effort to cross my arms to show that I was not coming! But no one noticed.

By the time they walked five metres I was already getting anxious. I started to puff and sigh, started making any kind of noise that might draw their attention. Finally, Mum turned around and saw me still sitting on the tailgate. She asked me what I was doing and my answer was obvious, “I’M NOT GOING!”

I was expecting her to get angry or come over to me to pull me down the hill, but no, instead it was a simple, “Okay, suit yourself.” It shocked me, wasn’t she going to force me to come? Something could happen to me all by myself… isn’t she worried? Maybe she doesn’t care! The others got about another ten metres away when I couldn’t bear it anymore. I was alone, in the wild, stranded on an island far from help, I was going to die here! A few seconds later, I jumped off the tailgate and started to run in her direction…

“MUUUUM! WAAAAIT!”.

 

So my plan on not going down the cliff of death didn’t work. My mother overpowered me with the important need to be beside her at all times, and now, I was taking risks just to be there to protect her… or maybe the other way around.

In the end the cliff wasn’t even that steep, it was merely a hill with one slope. All hills look bigger and steeper from the top, especially if you’re a kid with an oversized and overdramatic imagination.

Finally, we reached the bottom, looking back it didn’t look scary at all, I felt like a fool. Then I saw what I would’ve missed out on if I didn’t come down. There were no turtles or any dugongs yet, but there was a beach like none I’ve ever seen. It was amazingly blue and shimmering like gold, clear and transparent, almost like glass. No pollution, no garbage, no people, no crowd. We were alone and that’s what made it beautiful, it was perfect.

Shortly, after taking in the beautiful surroundings of the bay, we picked a spot to drop the gear. Within seconds Dad was gone, off with his fishing rod, to a spot where gulls were diving. He was determined to catch a big fish.

Meanwhile I’d gone walking, I started building random sand castles and looking at unusual tracks in the sand.

All the tracks were heading towards what looked like a hole that had been dug up again. In the small area around the dug up hole the sand was soft and uncompressed, it formed a small trench around the middle. It had me puzzling what it could possibly be, I had never seen tracks that large or anything like that. But then, an idea popped into my head, I thought I had it, I thought it might be dugong tracks, on sand… yeah dugong tracks on sand, sounds logical. I was about to call mum over to see my amazing new discovery, when… “Did you find some turtle tracks, Tom?” Mum called as my imagination snapped in half.

 

I looked back at Dad, he was chasing a school of fish going up and down the beach. It was an amusing sight, not the spectacular, rare feeding frenzy going on with birds circling and fish jumping, no, it was amusing to watch Dad going up and down the beach, failing for a bite.

Finally, when his legs were tired and he was giving up, he decided to give Mum a shot. I would like to say she caught heaps and humiliated Dad with her luck at fishing, but that didn’t happen, it was no good. Just like Dad, Mum went up and down the beach but didn’t catch a thing, not even a snag… now that’s rare.

When Mum gave up no one else bothered to try, so we needed something else to entertain us. Then we remembered the turtle tracks, so we kids decided to run up and down the beach counting them all. I must have looked like we were chickens running around like our heads were cut off. But it didn’t last long after getting exhausted as we didn’t find it as amusing.

When we ran out of ways to entertain ourselves, we returned back to the view, the beautiful view… what a view…

…It was blue too… yeah…

…that view was nice…

Oh wait, I’m still writing…

Well, after we all took in the beautiful scenery once again, I remembered something. I realised that I have very dishonest parents, that they were big liars, that they told me a FIB to get me to come to this stupid place. No… Baby! … TURTLES!

So they were lucky they had a good excuse, that they said that there was a small chance of seeing baby turtles earlier. I should’ve stayed on that tailgate all along! I would’ve been safer and I wouldn’t have to climb back up that massive, annoying hilly-slopey thing. Ughh!

We finally made it to the top, after kicking my shins on a few rocks on the way, we made it. We packed all our stuff in the car again and we were headed home. Everyone in the car, Dad started to reverse out of the access track. Almost at the end to turn around, Dad reversed a bit faster as the wheels started to spin in the soft sand. The car was bouncing around, heads were clashing. Then a larger bounce spoke with a BANG, and then a screeching SCRAPE, and the car just stopped – harpooned on something. That didn’t sound good.

When we hopped out of the car we all saw a large, old, rusty tram track sticking into the underside of the car. Good it was not! The tram track had pierced into the crossbar underneath the car, almost wedging it in half. This meant we couldn’t go anywhere until we got it fixed or got something to hold it together. Luckily, my father is a trusty builder with a few ideas up his sleeves. He took a quick look around and grabbed some old steel lying around (lucky that was there). Then he pulled out his drill and he was back under the car. Within minutes our trusty father drilled the piece of steel onto the crossbar so that it would hold it together. That piece of metal and Dads skills saved us a car or an expensive emergency call for help. Lucky.

Soon enough we were back on the road to the shack where we were camped. The five of us were hungry and all ready for a sleep. The day was ending but at least we made good use of it.

 

If you were wondering why there were tram tracks on the road, its because there used to be a train that carried cargo to turtle bay where it would be taken down the hill to a jetty to load ships. If you look at one of the photos you should see the remains of the jetty that used to stand there.

Dugong patting season was over; it had turned into a thing of the past. There was so much to do on DHI that it was impossible to plan what you were going to do, everything came naturally.

A few days after our trip around the bay, the Wardle family were off. They had gone on their own little holiday, and they had left us in charge of the homestead. They also asked Dad to take a trailer of wooden planks up to the lighthouse at the northern end of DHI. This was a perfect opportunity to see more of the brilliant island.

The next day we had packed the car full with food, fishing rods, camping gear and hooked up the trailer full of planks. We were ready for another adventure. With not far to go, we had planned to be there in less than an hour, though it takes a lot longer along a boggy 4WD track.

Half an hour later we had made it about ten kilometres, and with 40km to go we were already frustrated. Every ten minutes we had to stop to correct the planks on the trailer to stop them from being shaken off on the corrugated road. On top of that we were taking extra caution on the 4WD roads which Dad found unusually hard to navigate with an ill-fitting tailer.

By half way we had already eaten most of the snacks. We were all bored and had sore butts, but the idea of ‘arriving’ kept us in the car.

Eventually we came across a short stretch of straight track that enabled us to drive a lot faster. The feeling of driving fast and not knocking your head against the window every five seconds felt great. A chance to rest the muscles you had been using for suspension.

When I looked out the window, to my right was a spectacular view of the massive bay, it was filled with crystal clear and shimmering blue water. The amazing sight fascinated me, it was the best thing on the trip so far. After gazing at the water in the distance I took a quick glimpse ahead, that’s when I saw something almost just as amazing, there were massive sand dunes.

When you’re a kid, a sand dune isn’t just a sand dune. The bigger the sand dune the better, because sand dunes mean fun.

Dad and his guts of steel didn’t just drive us to the dunes, he drove us up them. Up and over, over and over again, I tensed each time as we got to the top, in fear we would fall down the other side. Finally, we found a good sized dune, it was the smallest one we would find that we would be able to go sand boarding on.

A few seconds later we were on top of the dune, we all rushed out of the car and started trying to snatch the sand boards out of each other’s hands. I had been excited the whole time since we had seen the dunes on the horizon, but my confidence was lost quickly when I looked over the edge of the dune. The feeling of excitement twisted into nervousness and I felt like I wanted to grab onto the ground and plant my head. It was the biggest, steepest dune that I had ever been on.

After the rest of the family had a few rounds of going down, I finally grew the confidence to give it a try. My legs were shaky and I had butterflies tickling my stomach, but somehow the peer pressure overpowered me and I had to go. The first time I went, I went down while sitting, dragging my hands in the sand trying to slow myself. I was filled with relief that I survived the descent without a single wobble or fall. The successful run made me start considering going down again, maybe standing.

It wasn’t until everyone had their last shot when I made my decision to go down while standing. By that time everyone else was getting tired and Dad was wanting to get back in the car so we could arrive with enough time to go fishing. So I made my decision…

I put one foot in the straps and then the other, I shuffled over to the edge of the dune and tightened my hat. I took in a deep breath and… Dad pushed me!

I was shocked, it was the last thing I was expecting but it should have been the first. A few wobbles and a stomach turned upside down, out of pure panic I pulled myself back to my feet and stayed in control of the sand board. When I looked up I saw that I was whizzing down the dune, it seemed as if I was at full speed, beating human records. My face had changed completely from worried and bored to a grin and beam. I thought I was fast and that’s all I needed to know, because I was going to enjoy that moment and that’s what I did… until.

In the one chance I had to try actual sand boarding, I nearly fell off after being the test subject for Dads new idea of a push off, then I stayed in control and actually enjoyed it for a split second before I realised that the fun had to end. I looked up and saw the ground approaching quickly, all at once my awesome safety and protection manoeuvres sprang into action. All at the same time I covered my head with my arms, grabbed onto sand to slow the sand board, leaned all different directions to turn and did anything that I thought might stop myself from crashing into the bottom. But all the instant movements caused me to fling off the sand board and start rolling down the sand.

Eventually I stopped, with a mouth full of sand and one leg still stuck in the sand board. I looked up and saw my family at the top. When I turned my head I realised that I didn’t even make it to the bottom of the dune, I missed it by about a metre. All the cautious manoeuvres made me end up hurting myself more than I would’ve if it actually did hit the bottom. I got back to my feet and instantly felt pain in my ankle and neck, but a second later the pain was drowned in disappointment when I realised that I had to climb back up the dune.

Two hours later we arrived at the top of the island. The long and bumpy trip had ended and we all catapulted out of the car. As we looked around we saw the giant lighthouse that towered above our heads. We saw the two posts that originally held Dirk Hartog’s and Willem De Vlamingh’s plates. We saw massive cliffs that were scary to look down and in the distance, we saw whales jumping and having a ball. This was what we came for.  

Within seconds of escaping the car, cameras were drawn and mouths were locked open. The scene was spectacular and filled with history, the views were amazing and held a mystery.

After a good look around and a flash of paparazzi, we needed to get back in the car and head to the camp site. Though the car was the last thing we wanted to enter it was getting late and we had no choice.

Soon enough we were at the small shack we intended to camp in. It was in the middle of nowhere and didn’t seem like it was regularly visited. It had three walls of corrugated iron and one was open, in the far end it had a small camping bench and some shelves with old tin cans. At first sight it was horrible, almost horrible enough to gag, but of course we were camping so there wasn’t much more to expect.

By the time we had set up camp it was too late to do anything, the long drive took up so much of our day that it started getting dark. We had to save exploring for the next day.

Long drives can be horrible, boring and annoying. Especially if they take longer than expected. But sometimes you need to get used to it, especially if you have a whole year of travelling ahead of you.

The weeks before we arrived were all hopes and ideas of what Dirk Hartog offered. We had little knowledge of the surprise that awaited us. Time was like torture, waiting for the moment to come, waiting for memories to be made, waiting to travel to Dirk Hartog Island.

We spent the first few days exploring the vast and magnificent eastern side beaches. Forget sticking to the homestead and not journeying to new places, we were born adventurers. One day, we decided we would head north and see what was around in the next bay, to find some shells and see more sights, but we had no idea what we were in for.

After almost half an hour in the buggy along the beach, we found ourselves at the end of the bay. We hopped out and looked back at the small, distant, white roofed homestead, hidden in the bushes. It seemed like we had gone so far but it just took longer after stopping every few seconds to look at another shell that Audrey likes.

At the end of the bay there were rocks and no way we could go much further in the buggy. We all had a quick look around, Mum and Audrey searching for shells, Dad looking for somewhere else to venture, Grace amazed at all the fish and me, kicking rocks and pretending I was driving the buggy.

Just as we started enjoying ourselves messing along the shore near the buggy, Dad found a track heading over the dune into the next bay. Although we were entertained where we were, we were determined to explore. Soon enough we found ourselves back in the buggy and bouncing around up the boggy dune. As we reached the top we all caught the sight of the new bay.

I was extremely over excited, I believed that my dream would come true and we were going to discover a bay filled with dinosaurs. My heart was pounding faster than I could count, I was ready to find the new Jurassic Park and become a millionaire in seconds, or maybe my eyes would explode with amazement… and then I saw it. It was really what I had dreamed, it was a spectacular sight, my eyes really did explode when I realised the bay was filled with… with… with… sea cows?

We drove the buggy down onto the shore of the new bay with our jaws locked open, speechless. We were awestruck, surprised at how quickly the bays changed. It was no longer crystal clear, pristine water but it was an underwater grass paddock fit for hungry dugongs. It was Dugong Bay.

Within seconds of arriving in Dugong Bay I jumped out of the buggy in amazement. I could see at least five dugongs at once and most were less than 50 metres away, I was astonished and all I wanted was to touch one. So I did.

Too excited to think about danger, I was determined and I was going to touch a dugong. The water was about waist deep and I slowly crept out to one of the dugongs, trying not to make a sound and trying not to stun it, it was the most effort I’d put into something in ages. Then, eventually, I was about a metre away from the dugong, I reached out to touch it and… a huge splash of water to my face, and when I rubbed my eyes and it had disappeared. It had vanished like it could swim at the speed of light. It was gone.

When I returned to the buggy, I was filled with sorrow. I never got to touch the dugong and the world was going to end. My face was planted in my palms, my eyes were bawling out tears, my holiday was ruined forever (remember, I was eight). When I started to settle I looked up and we were halfway across the bay, still driving, but then something caught my eye. I looked over and saw another dugong even closer than the last. My tears stopped instantly, my face immediately turned into a close replication of the Joker’s and I had the largest smile in the world.

Of course, the day was starting to end. I didn’t have enough time to try and touch a dugong so I’d have to save it for another time.

On the way back, Dad let Grace and I take turns at driving the buggy. What a day.

When I was eight, my family travelled around Australia. Out of all the places I have been, Dirk Hartog Island was my favourite place of them all. There is amazing scenery, spectacular wildlife and more than enough things to keep you entertained. If you’re bored on Dirk Hartog Island… you’re crazy.

Getting to Dirk Hartog Island was a pain. We started off at Carnarvon early in the morning and drove about 200 kilometres just to get to Shark Bay, then another hundred around the bay.  It doesn’t seem too bad until you realise you’re going to be late and have to race over 4WD track.

We had to cover 50 km of extreme 4WD track in under an hour before the weather got too bad to take the barge across the canal. The ride was torturous while the car was jumping around causing us to collide heads with each other a few times along the way. At least it was all for a good cause as we knew it was going to be worth it. Eventually, we arrived at Steep Point at around 10am where we met my Dad’s old friend Kieran. Kieran used to be one of Dad’s football mates when they were younger, now Kieran manages the Dirk Hartog Island Homestead for his father.

By the time we got to the barge the weather had already picked up and was getting worse. We didn’t have any time to stand around and greet each other, it was a quick hello and straight onto the barge. The ride was a nightmare and I was worried about losing the car overboard. Although, it wasn’t nearly that rough, everything seems exaggerated when you’re eight. Even though I was worried, it was an amazing sight just to see a car on a boat, and at our age then, we found it all amusing.

When we reached the other side, we all felt amazed, excited and relieved that the torturous ride was over. It was my first time to ever be on an island and Mum and Dad had high expectations of what they were about to witness. So we drove off the barge with our heads held high, along the beach a while and then straight back into the 4WD tracks. Only, this time, we weren’t racing to get somewhere.

About an hour later we had finally covered the small 20 kilometres of rough track between the homestead and where the barge was beached. There we were introduced to Kieran’s family, his wife Tory, his two sons William and Ollie, and his daughter Sanchia.  William was my age and Ollie was a year younger so we ended up becoming good friends. Sanchia was Audrey’s age and they too were the perfect pair. Only, there was no one Graces age which was unfortunate, but as I said, there was no reason for her to be bored.

Tory soon showed us our new home away from home. It was a small apartment about 100 metres away from the main homestead. The walls were pure mortar and stone which gave it a homelike, comfortable feel and took your mind away from the awful finishes. Some parts in the ceiling had glue sticking out and the furniture wasn’t amazing, the place also owned many friendly rodents that drove Mum crazy. Although it wasn’t the prettiest house, the location made it luxury. It was built on the sand dunes and just steps away from the spectacular, pristine, crystal clear beach. It was a dream.

The beaches at the homestead didn’t have any pumping waves and weren’t packed with surfers. They weren’t overloaded with tourists and you didn’t need a snorkel to see the true beauty of what they encompassed. The beaches at the Dirk Hartog homestead were their own David Attenborough show, filled with fish, sea stars, dugongs, reef sharks and more. The water was like none other, it was crystal clear, pristine and almost untouched. You could walk out about 50 metres out without getting your waist wet, whilst feeling swishes of water against your legs as schools of fish swim by. It was unconceivably magnificent. It was paradise.

By the time we were all unpacked, it was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon. We decided to have a quick look around the bay. We started off at the main homestead bay and walked north towards what I call, ‘dugong bay’. But the bay that the homestead was on was so big that we only got so far before we had to turn back to be back to the homestead in time for dinner. Dinner was pasta and sauce made my Kieran’s wife Tory.

After dinner we were all tired from the long drive there, and our butts were sore from the lack of suspension on Dads car on the 4WD tracks. We all needed a sleep, although we were all too excited for what fun and wonderful times we had ahead.

 

Part 2 coming soon.