Delight and Disappointment on the Indian Pacific (but no murders)

Click here for a Photo Album of the trip


Day 1 (Perth to Kalgoorlie)

I will season the inevitable food photos with people observations.

Off to a roaring start on both counts on the first night with Grilled Haloumi in a Field Mushroom (the menu description was more explanatory but I forget the content) then Grilled Barramundi with Stuff (ditto). Both outstandingly delish.

I managed to forego the Belgian Chocolate Mousse in order to feel saintly.

Now for the people. 

Opposite me was Mr Yama-something - the quintessential middle-aged Japanese tourist full of bows and charming smiles but no Engish whatsoever. However I managed to discover this trip is a long held dream - marvellous.
The others were a prosperous Perth couple in their 60's who immediately enthralled me. She started polishing all their cutlery, glasses and plates as soon as they sat down, while he turned to Mr Y with the menu and said loudly and slowly "No noodles eh!". I have full value for my ticket already!


Day 2 (mainly the Nullarbor)

Less successful in the culinary department - took a punt on some unfamiliar things like this poached peach, vanilla yoghurt and quandong compote for breakfast - very pretty but just, well weird, so I had a full English Breakfast to take the taste away. 

Poor choice for dinner too - the Beef Cheeks with This and That were lovely and tender but too reminiscent of boarding school stew to be yummy, and decidedly unphotogenic, so here's dessert instead - sautéed apple slices on puff pastry with vanilla bean ice cream and butterscotch sauce. Luckily both pretty *and* yummy.

And now the people stories. As the 3rd youngest on the train I was the only woman not creating something for grandchildren, but I was lucky enough to meet an old guy who was a farmer, a miner and then a cray fisherman, so we had a chat about Dalwallinu and other Wheatbelt beauty spots before he discovered I'd driven a big tractor in Canada, and then we were off the conversational starting blocks! 

We ended up at the same table for dinner as the delightful Mr Y from the previous night, who was full of beans and happy laughter. In fact his English was a bit better than he'd been willing to share with the Pompous Perthites, and he kept diving into his satchel to show us photos of his grandchildren, his dog (a "Fawencha Boowadogga"), a postcard of a Japanese train, and other charming memorabilia. Of course I showed him my screensaver of my own dogs and he literally shrieked with laughter. He made my trip. :-)

At one point we found ourselves trying to discuss the history of the train, which included the fact that it used to be steam powered. It was only later that I delightedly recalled the spectacle of two oldish adults both making enthusiastic choo choo-choo noises and, yes, I'm proud to say we simultaneously did the siren hand gesture and went woooo-wooooo. Not surprisingly this brought more shrieks of 

delighted understanding from Mr Y. 

I felt very proud of our international communication skills.

Day 3 (Adelaide to Broken Hill)

On the 3rd night I was once again randomly allocated to a table with Mr Y (whom I now suspect of being cannily perceptive about his companions) and a rather severe older lady called "Irene, and please pronounce the final E".

 After introductions she turned to Mr Y and asked the standard train questions (where you got on, where you'll get off, is it your first trip etc). Mr Y kept turning to me with the classic hands-together entreaty, so I "translated" the questions into a more familiar form and he was able to answer.

After a few of these exchanges Ireneee said rather sharply to me "Please stop helping him - I'm certain he speaks much better English than you seem to think." Even worse than the Great Noodle Incident of the first night! I was aghast, but Mr Y did not react except to withdraw into silence as Ireneee explained she'd taught English in Japan for 4 years many years ago, and never met anyone with Mr Y's apparent limitations. 

Remember he was still sitting beside her!!

As she went on to espouse her religious views concerning the afterlife (I'm not kidding) my attention was easily drawn to Mr Y who was apparently nodding off and in imminent danger of falling asleep on her shoulder. He kept opening his eyes and straightening up, but soon began tipping towards her again. She was by then in full flight about arguments she had had with atheist friends, so I was terribly disappointed when our meals arrived and he woke up. 

I watched carefully for a conspiratorial wink when he left, but even without it I will happily believe he did it on purpose. Onya Mr Y. :-)


Day 4 (into Sydney)

Forget the food!

Well that's obviously ridiculous but it's an arresting opening line considering previous paragraphs.

The Big Buzz the last morning was that the train had been attacked by bushrangers overnight! Or at the very least armed miscreants who attacked us in our beds! 

Well, we were in our beds when it happened, which is near enough for narrative purposes, but as you insist on quibbling I'll be forced to show you my post-traumatic breakfast. 

Grilled sourdough with eggs and smoked Tasmanian trout, as you ask. 

And Now For the Disappointments

Here is part of a letter I sent to Great Southern Railways on my return (minus the photos I included to illustrate my points):

Safety Concerns on the Indian Pacific

1. Throughout the whole journey, many of the exit doors were blocked with heavy and/or hard to move items which would dangerously impede exit in an emergency. In some cases both exit doors at the end of a carriage were blocked [with] baggage, walking aids, wheelchairs, ramps, bags of laundry and boxes of supplies. 

2. The shower and toilet facilities in the Single Sleeper carriage were very cramped, with an inward-opening door for the toilet. If a passenger collapsed or suffered some other emergency while inside, there would be no way of reaching them without somehow removing the door. 

3. In addition, the Call buttons in the shower and toilet were high up and completely unreachable if someone was on the floor.  

Cleanliness Concerns on the Indian Pacific

The following examples of a very poor standard of cleanliness are not what I would expect for a $2000 fare in "Gold" class. 

1. Unwashed windows 

My primary interest on this trip was photography, but the windows in my allocated cabin were too streaked and dirty (on the outside) to focus through. At my request I was moved to a cabin on the other side of the train where the windows were a little cleaner, but I soon found they were still too dirty for photographs.
I mentioned this to the Train Manager, who kindly came and cleaned the internal surfaces, but this made only a marginal improvement. At his suggestion I checked all the windows in the Lounge and Dining cars, but they were also too dirty. I was not the only passenger to complain about the dirty windows - people with compact cameras were completely unable to focus through the grime.
I wish to stress that the windows were dirty right from the start - while the train was still in Perth. ... In order to take reasonable photos I was obliged to stand in the exits, because the single-glass windows in those doors had been cleaned. As I did this for several hours over the course of the journey, I felt very irritated that I could not even sit down to take photos with a steadier hand. 

2. Toilets 

On previous journeys the single cabins had their own toilet, but now the 18 Single Cabin passengers share two toilets, one of which became blocked every morning, reducing us to one for most of the trip. Each morning this rapidly became unsanitary with splashed urine, inadequately flushed waste, and toilet paper littering the floor. It appeared to be cleaned only once or twice a day, whereas it really needed cleaning at least every 2 hours.  

3. Shower Cubicle 

Again, there are two for the 18 Single Cabin passengers, and as with the toilets, these were in very poor condition. The nylon curtains reached only halfway to the floor, meaning that any clothes brought in got wet from the shower. The curtains were also missing several of their runners, making them hard to pull around the shower. The shower head was very calcified, leading to an erratic spray which easily got past the short flimsy curtain.
There was no exhaust fan, and the light was half full of dirt/dead insects, making the tiny room very dim. There was no rail and only one hook for towel and robe, and these fell off very easily onto the wet floor, which drained very poorly so that there was always standing water. The walls and floor were stained and the soap containers were empty. 

4. Single Sleeping Compartments 

My cabin had been inadequately cleaned in Perth, without the wash unit being wiped down, [and] The seat did not appear to have been vacuumed properly, because I found a used tissue down the side.
... I feel that the Single Cabin carriages are long overdue for refurbishment, and that they do not offer the value for money, comfort and amenity that one is entitled to expect from "Gold Class". 

I noticed that none of the Single cabins or facilities are featured on your website, and now I know why.

At the time of writing, I have received only a brief acknowledgement of my concerns, with a promise to "pass them on". I have asked for them to let me know when they've been addressed.

Memoria ligna

Translation: "memory trees".

I took these photos on a walk this morning, but I pass these and similar trees every day. They are types of eucalyptus, and their bark is always evocative, for me.

About 15 years ago I lost a very dear friend to cancer while she was in her early 40's. She was a shining star in my life, and taught me far more about living life to the full than I can ever hope to put into practice.

For many years a noted breeder of both Great Danes and Rhodesian Ridgebacks, her house was arranged for both these space-occupying breeds, with stable doors between all the rooms so that the dogs could see what was happening while being prevented from drooling all over guests, each of whom was offered a small towel, just in case.

Her rambling garden was open to the public because of her imaginative interlacing of David Austin heritage rose bushes with Australian native plants. She also had a Welsh Mountain Pony who could hold a beer can in her lips and drink from it with noisy satisfaction.

Sue was a breathtakingly talented artist, whose works sold out in the few exhibitions she bothered to attend. I cherish the one painting of hers that I bought, but her charcoal sketch of my own dogs is one of my most prized possessions.

She was an immensely memorable hostess, and I have admittedly hazy recollections of a number of long afternoons under her garden trees, with an assortment of friends and a succession of bottles and plates of food appearing from nowhere.

We all have faults, and hers was an inability to finish a conversation. A trademark departure involved her husband Bob sitting in the car tooting the horn half an hour after they had both said their "final" farewells.

She also had the enviable knack of instantly understanding what someone really thought about an issue. This could be a little unnerving, because we like to think our less charitable thoughts are private. Case in point: my brother is a terribly successful corporate lawyer who has a very unfortunate tendency to condescension. When I graduated as a doctor, Sue's comment was "Well he can look down his nose all he likes, but he'll never be DOCTOR Anybody". Indeed.
In the same vein, she famously asserted that I only became a doctor to annoy a particularly cliquey dog club of which we were both members at the time. Almost true.

I miss her a lot.

Not long before she died, she said how much she wanted to visit my bush property and paint the wonderful bark of the Wandoo eucalyptus trees. She never made it, so every time I marvel at their patterns, I remember my friend.

Vale, dear Sue.

Laugh, run free, enjoy your departed dogs, and have some chilled strawberry champagne ready for me when I get there.

Canberra 2: Colour and Calliope

After sitting through several hours of mind-numbing PowerPointing (it's a really bad sign when the first slide announces it is 1/143), I staggered out into the watery Canberra sunlight and decided to restore my spirits with a visit to Floriade, the renowned annual flower show.

The organisers had sprinkled helpful signs around the city, showing the direction to go, but it wasn't until I'd walked for half an hour and ended up with no way of crossing a 4 lane highway that I realised the signs were for motorists and not pedestrians. Grumbling mightily, I clambered over a crash barrier into the car park and finally found my way over the pedestrian bridge, arriving about 10 minutes before the show closed for the evening.

Not that it really mattered, because I was surprised to find nothing more than a few large beds of tulips and assorted flowers, arranged in admittedly pleasing patterns, but hardly the floral extravaganza I'd expected.

It was certainly very pretty in the late afternoon light, but I found it rather disappointing. I guess I am spoiled, because not far from my home in Western Australia is the extraordinary Araluen Botanical Park, where volunteers plant millions of tulips each year, creating immense drifts that extend for hundreds of metres in every direction, between the native eucalypts. Click here to see photographs taken by Flickr users.

In fact, the best thing I saw at Floriade was a beautifully restored calliope:

Wet Walks and Wildflowers

It's been a long while since I posted about my walks in the bush, but I usually spend several hours each week enjoying all the natural bushland around here.

This weekend I've spent about 5 hours doing just that, walking 10km yesterday in Gooseberry Hill National Park, and another 9km today, on an annual community walk called "Trek the Trail".

Each year, the route follows a different section of the Railway Heritage Reserve, and this colourful map shows the route we followed this year, but is grossly inaccurate in at least one important respect: it was not bright and sunny!

Despite the rain, however, there was an excellent turnout of all ages, which meant that the artists and entertainers along the track had a steadily passing audience of wet but appreciative walkers.

This is my favourite time of the year for walking in the bush, because the wildflower season is just beginning, and I enjoy learning to identify a few more each year, and improving my photography of them.

On the up and up

As I've mentioned before, my natural tendency is to be a "glass half-empty" sort of person, so I've refrained from posting for a couple of weeks until my "bio-rhythms" (does anyone still believe in them?) return to the positive side, or my chakras re-align ... or whatever.* 

So today, for a change, I'm going to leave my latest exasperation with ODP/DMOZ until the very end of the post, and instead concentrate on  things which have lately made me remember that I am a lucky person.

1. I love where I live.

Kalamunda is an outer suburb of a big city, and might be nothing special except for the fact that each day I can go walking in natural forest and bushland just up the road, seeing native birds, animals, and wildflowers. 

Yesterday I walked for over an hour and a half without seeing anyone else, and yet scenes like are within a mile of my house.

True, it takes me an hour and a half to get to work, but that's only 2 days a week, after all, and trains are great for making a fidget like me sit still and actually read a book!

2. I enjoy my work (paid and unpaid)

My class of medical students are nearing their annual exams, and getting very anxious indeed about how much they have to learn. So for the past few weeks I've been giving them impromptu quizzes to show them that in fact they already know most of the material. It's been a cross between light relief and revision, because naturally, they all enjoy watching someone else having to act out a symptom or draw surface anatomy on themselves. This week they enthusiastically answered questions about blood results, tremor, and  Xray interpretation using coloured pens, scissors, butcher's paper and glue ..."Gen Y meets Play School".

One of my volunteer activities has been delayed for months due to an unfortunate administrative bungle, but last week the adult literacy tutor programme finally linked me with a student, and we begin our weekly lessons tomorrow. His main difficulty is with spelling and punctuation, so as one of Nature's inveterate typo-spotters and apostrophe police, I can hardly wait to get started. Fortunately, there are plenty of adult literacy resources on the internet, and I've already got some teaching material from the excellent BBC website.

3. The obligatory ODP/DMOZ whinge

On the whole, my strategy for enjoying the editing experience is working out OK. It's a lot more isolated than I like, and sadly I still hear too much about poor management and lack of respect for the volunteer community, but I learned a very painful lesson indeed, and no longer tilt at those windmills myself.
So in comparison to my ultimately futile indignation and deep disappointment at the way most of the volunteers are treated, today's comment is no more than a single raised eyebrow.

I'm puzzled to see that the much-heralded official DMOZ/ODP blog has become a succession of articles written by editors, when for many years there has been a publicly available, editor-produced ODP Newsletter chock-a-block with similarly worthwhile and informative pieces. Of course I completely support the wider publication of such efforts, as part of our ongoing efforts to make the directory better known and understood, but I thought the blog was meant to be something new.

Mind you, just over a year ago, the Editor-in-Chief promised weekly posts, so it has certainly been a relief to see more frequent entries, after many embarrassing months of silence. Perhaps the purpose of the blog has changed since it began, as AOL staffers have come and gone. Anyway, I'll now retreat under my Cone of Silence and resume my meditative chant. ;-)

Better still, I'll go and enjoy the late Spring sunshine in my back garden, eating mulberries from the tree and watching the honeyeaters on the grevilleas and kangaroo paws. 

*Personally, I blame the two long anaesthetics and the month of post-op complications, for the simple reason that it therefore becomes someone else's fault. ;-)

Boom and Blooms

Well, yesterday's "Dawn of a New Era" in physics wasn't quite the spectacular event that you'd expect for several billion dollars, but at least the dismal predictions turned out to be groundless, and we didn't all disappear into a black hole. Now that would have been (very very briefly) a true spectacle!
Rather to my surprise, I have in fact been following the development of this immense project with mild interest over the last year or two, not because I understand the principles, and even less because I care about the potential discoveries. My fascination is with the vast number of people (8,000 of them, according to the report in the Washington Post) who have been involved for so long on such a single-minded project with un-knowable results. How do they maintain their interest and enthusiasm? Certainly, many of them will have worked simply for the money, but there must be a significant number who have chosen to stay on the project because of their belief/hope that it will achieve something extraordinary.
Personally, I've always been more interested in serendipitous discoveries than in massively organised, expensive and ambitious experiments, and it will take more than a little puff of light on a monitor to maintain my interest.*(see below)* I think for that sort of money they could have incorporated a few more satisfying effects, or at least a whooshing noise as the protons went whizzing around the 27km tube.
But I did get a smile from the following quote made by Robert Aymar, Director-General of CERN, who obviously wanted to say something suitably momentous:

“The LHC ... has the potential to change our view of the Universe profoundly, continuing a tradition of human curiosity that’s as old as mankind itself.”

As old as that, eh?

With the Western Australian wildflower season getting into full swing, I'm delighted to be able to start my bush walks once again. I took these photos in 2006 and 2007, but with an almost-average rainfall this past winter, it should be an inspiring display this year as well. I'll take my camera the next few days, and post a couple of photos here to brighten the place up a little.
Added: it's been too wet and windy for a walk, so here are a couple of Spring photos from my garden instead, taken in the last week.

*Update on 20 September: the Big Bang machine has gone kerplonk. Apparently some of the magnets overheated, which means the recreation of the beginning of the Universe is "on hold". I love it!

What I Did in My Holidays (2)

Fraser Island - Part Two

[Click here for Part One]

"Look, no hands!" (or brains)

In my previous post I outlined some of the threats to Fraser Island's unique wildlife from selfish and thoughtless tourist behaviour, but of course in many cases the visitors place themselves at great risk of injury or death through ignoring basic rules and common sense. Spinal and head injuries are common, and there are several deaths every year. Hence the local expression "pumpkin-head" for tourists who seem to leave their brains on the mainland.

For example, one "fun" holiday activity for children is to ride in boats or trailers being towed along the inland tracks or the beach (which as I explained earlier is the island's main highway and aircraft runway). There are hundreds of unavoidable creeks, holes and washaways, and we were frequently jolted out of our seats or thrown from side to side, even inside the vehicle and wearing seatbelts. The effect on an unrestrained child sitting or standing in an open trailer is horrifying to imagine.

I should point out that there is no resident doctor, no ambulance, no life guards, and no hospital. There are very few internal tracks, and all transport has to be by 4WD. Rescue and medical attention is often delayed by many hours as the casualty is usually miles from a telephone, with the only access being a single-lane track of deep sand. Even after a rescue helicopter has been called, it can take more than an hour to arrive and another hour to transport the patient to the nearest hospital.

I'll illustrate my point with just one of the situations we witnessed during our short stay.

The wreck of the "Maheno" is a popular spectacle, but due to the advanced state of decay, the wild and unpredictable waves and currents, and the jagged metal half buried in sand, there are warning signs advising visitors to stay several meters away from the ship. In addition, all tourists are advised (through signs and information packs) that the sea all around Fraser Island is completely unsafe for swimming due to the under-currents, the high waves, and the large number of sea snakes, tiger sharks and bronze whalers which breed in the area. 

Not only does the noise of the waves make it very difficult to hear the often high-speed traffic using the beach, but vehicles negotiating the sand can rarely be steered - they have to follow their own course through existing tracks. There is often no way at all to make a sudden swerve to avoid any pedestrian who wanders into their path. 

 

So, quite apart from the most basic safety aspects of correctly supervising young children in water, can you see why this man's behaviour is critically endangering the lives of at least 3 of the 5 children in his "care"? [Click photo to enlarge it.]

It was scary. 

After he wandered off to his car, and with no other adults nearby, I went over to the children still playing in the surf. They were about 7 and 3 years old, and by now the strong current had sucked them much closer to the sharp rusty hull. I told them it was time to get out of the water, and fortunately they did so, or I would have felt responsible for their safety. Meanwhile, one of my friends was asking the father (by now several hundred meters from his children) if he had seen all the warnings about the wreck, the sharks, the vehicles, the ocean currents etc. The response was predictable and unprintable. 

Perhaps he was unaware that sharks can swim in only a few centimeters of water, as seen in this YouTube video from one of the island beaches.

Perhaps he had never heard that small children can drown in even less. 

Perhaps he didn't mind that his children were playing and wandering about alone beside a dangerous site and a busy "highway".

Perhaps he doesn't care. 

... Or think.

But I certainly don't want to remember my visit to this amazing island as a series of eye-rolling encounters with irresponsible idiots, so I'll finish this account with a couple of my favourite images. These are what Fraser Island is really about.

Complete photo gallery here.

What I Did in My Holidays

Fraser Island - Part One

Paradise and pumpkin-heads

As I start these notes, I am sitting in the sun on the verandah of a beach house at the northern end of this fascinating island, watching humpback whales rear and splash about 2 km out to sea, while a pod of dolphins cruises closer to shore and a pair of whistling kites circles overhead. Not bad. Not too bad at all.
It's the largest sand island in the world, and is World Heritage listed for its geology, rainforests, perched lakes and wildlife. All this just a mile or two off the SE Queensland coast and only a couple of hundred kilometers from Brisbane.

There are no sealed roads, so to reach this small settlement we had to negotiate more than 120 km (70 miles) of soft beach sand that frequently threatened to bog our 4WDs as we dodged the incoming waves on one side and the driftwood on the other, not to mention other vehicles, fishermen, and the occasional aeroplane!  [You can see a commercial video of the drive here.]

In the last few days we've seen several wild dingoes, innumerable birds, a rusting shipwreck [video], immense sanddunes, volcanic headlands [video], sparkling clear rock pools, huge trees and tree ferns, and fast-flowing, ice-cold freshwater creeks [video].

When we first arrived at the house, every whale sighting was greeted with an excited rush to the verandah, followed by frantic directions to those who had not yet seen it: 

"Where? Where??" 

"Look, it's just above that smudgy bit of blue ocean, below the white streak, about halfway to the horizon in line with that tree. See it? There it is again!!" 

By day three, it was more like "Oh look, another whale." "Yeah." 

How quickly we become accustomed to such wonders. ;-)

The island has several hundred permanent and semi-permanent residents, almost all of them providing services for the thousands of visitors who come to stay in the campgrounds and short-term rental accommodation. The locals believe that some of these visitors exchange their heads for pumpkins on the barge from the mainland, and certainly we saw some breath-takingly stupid behaviour. Unfortunately, not only does such irresponsibility put the "pumpkin-heads" themselves at risk of injury or death (see Part Two), but it threatens many of the features which make this island so special.

For example, despite extensive advice, in the form of plentiful warning signs and a brochure given to every island visitor, tourists persist in treating the dingoes as stray pet dogs. Feeding them scraps and allowing children to run after them with squeals of delight causes the dingoes not only to rely on humans for their food, but to see the noisy small children as either a source of handouts or a threat to themselves and their puppies. Consequently they have been known to stalk, chase and even attack children and solitary adults. After each incident, the "offending" dingoes are of course put down. Large numbers of the island's dingoes have been killed in this way, as a direct result of people failing to observe all the rules and advice.

During our visit, we saw a wonderfully healthy and impressive male dingo trotting along a track near the village. He was obviously a very valuable source of genes for the dwindling population, but the ranger told us that this animal was marked for extermination, due to his recent tendency to chase children. As we turned the corner after seeing him, we saw three young children shrieking excitedly and running down to the track after their parents had pointed him out to them. The parents did not even watch where the kids went, let alone stop them from such irresponsible behaviour. Another nail in the dingo's coffin. So thoughtless, so sad, and so unnecessary.

[For official policy, see Risk Assessment: Risk to humans posed by the dingo population on Fraser Island. (2001), and Fraser Island Dingo Management Strategy Review (2006).]

But it's not only the vanishing dingo population which suffers from our selfish behaviour.
Running over exhausted and migrating seabirds on the beach, destroying protected nesting areas and marsupial burrows by going off the tracks, disobeying fishing rules, ignoring all the rules for disposal of rubbish, broken glass, and human waste - all these activities are slowly but surely destroying the island's wildlife. 

And remember, this is a World Heritage site - a special place, unique in all the world, which should be enjoyed, appreciated, and protected by all who visit.

Complete photo gallery here.

Continued in Part Two ...

Shiny and New

I have been enjoying myself over the last couple of days by pretending to be a site designer.

As you can see I've changed the template of this blog, after about 3 days of indecision and endless requests to friends along the lines of "Well how about this one then, is that better or worse?". To my considerable surprise, I then proceeded to alter the template itself and included one of my pictures in the banner. (The photo is of a local eucalyptus tree in flower and was taken on one of my bush walks.)

While still basking in the warm glow of self-satisfaction, I decided to start another project I've had in mind for a while, so I've begun building another site about all sorts of people who do not necessarily get the recognition their contributions deserve. A few years ago I created one about volunteer bush firefighters, but there are a great many other groups and individuals who devote their time, expertise, or imagination to make our lives better, and I would like to do my bit to acknowledge them. It is only just a shell at present, but when I have built it up, I will go back to that rather dated bushfire site and jazz it up as well.

Oh there's no stopping me now that I've got the creative bug!

Pirates Ahoy!

Here's a cautionary tale for all those who enjoy one or more of the following: 

• gardening
  
• occasionally saying "arrrrrrr" in a silly voice
  
• watching Johnny Depp buckle his swash
  

On Saturday night I watched "Pirates of the Caribbean" for the first time (yes, I'm a little behind the times). I thoroughly enjoyed it, despite the irritating presence of the undeniably decorative but very over-rated Keira. 

I also admit to being a fan of the gloriously inane Talk Like a Pirate Day , and when in similarly silly company I have been known to utter a few salty expressions of my own. 

On Sunday I was indulging in a little light gardening to counteract some of the effects of a very enjoyable lunch with friends. In particular, I was continuing my personal attack on an invidious weed called bridal creeper:

"It is regarded as one of the worst weeds in Australia because of its invasiveness, potential for spread, and economic and environmental impacts. ... In South Australia and southwestern Western Australia bridal creeper is considered the most important weed threat to biodiversity."

One of the problems is its tendency to climb and smother native plants, and the dangling fronds of young grass trees make them ideal targets. I am lucky enough to have several of these extraordinary plants, and I am determined that they will not fall prey to the creeper. 

This photograph was taken in my garden - the "double-headed" grass tree on the left is about 2.5 metres high, and probably over 100 years old. The younger one is maybe 20-30 years old.

The weed is a tricky thing to kill, because of the tubers underground, so I gently disentangle it from the grass tree, spread it out on the ground, and then paint it carefully with a mixture of potent herbicide and kerosene. Even so, it keeps popping up year after year, so it's an ongoing battle.

The "leaves" of the grass tree are over a metre long, very stiff, and with needle-sharp tips. ... Can you see where this is heading?

Yes, while I was enthusiastically scrabbling around underneath, I managed to stab myself directly in the eye. Owww.

Being medically qualified unfortunately does not make a person sensible about seeking medical help, so I dug around in a box of ancient medication samples and found some extremely out-of-date eye drops. Not surprisingly, these didn't help at all, and by 9pm I realised I had to go to the emergency centre for "proper" examination and treatment.

Night driving with one eye is not to be recommended, but I made it without incident, was seen promptly (eye injuries are usually a priority) and was relieved to find that I had a deep scratch in my cornea but not a puncture. Lucky! So I was jabbed with an anti- tetanus booster, squirted with antibiotic ointment, fitted with a cheery eye patch, handed a small parcel of medication, and sent on my way. 

It's now Monday, and I'm sitting here in my patch, squinting sideways with my "good" eye at the screen, feeling a teeny bit sorry for myself, but managing (just) to resist the temptation to tie a black bandana around my head and don some gold hoop earrings.

Goodgodspe'd ferrr now, me hearties!

Blog Action Day

An exciting initiative is sweeping around the globe today, so this is my microscopic contribution to Blog Action Day. I'm not very adept at summoning up pithy opinions about global issues on the spot, but I am well-practised at wittering, as you might expect. So in honour of this project, my chosen topic today will be ... frogs.
That subject popped into my head just now, probably because on today's bushwalk I stopped to catch my breath and let my dog have a drink from a nearby pool, and we were both briefly absorbed in watching the tadpoles zooming about. I have also been toying with the idea of creating a frog-friendly section of my garden since I visited the Environmental Display at the Perth Royal Show 2 weekends ago.

I have to find out more about suitable species, but I'm hoping the rather entertaining Motorbike Frog is one that might be OK for my area. You can listen to its eponymous call here.

To finish this environmental-themed post, here's a pretty wildflower photo I took recently. We need frogs and wildflowers. Please help look after them. :-)

Just peachy

Now that I am able to clonk about on crutches in my giant metal boot thing (feeling like Frankenstein's monster), I have resumed my former computer position near the French doors at the back of the house.

These open out onto the deck with the home-made but very pleasant water course trickling past. We all enjoy sitting (or lying) here, particularly in the mornings before it gets hot.

There's an old peach tree here, that was close to death when I bought the house, but has responded to my inexpert but well-meaning efforts at pruning by being laden with fruit each year. Unfortunately the last few years the whole crop has fallen victim to fruit-fly, so this year I set aside my principles about not using toxins in the garden, and sprayed. It really should be done several times, but once was all I was prepared to do, and it certainly made a difference. There are still lots of fruit-flies, but only about half the crop is affected this time, leaving plenty for me to share with local birds, lizards and the dogs.

The tree is so close to my chair that I can take photos without staggering to my feet, which is just as well, because crutches are not a very effective way of stealthily approaching wildlife. I've uploaded some of my favourite photos from over the past 2 weeks, and they can be seen here.

This female Red-capped parrot has been particularly entertaining, because despite being perfectly able to feed herself, she maintains a constant plaintive chirping which eventually persuades her mate to fetch the best bits for her.
But an awful thing happened 3 days ago. She took off from the tree and flew straight into the glass of the kitchen window with a sickening noise. She flopped to the ground and was making pathetic efforts to fly, but unable to co-ordinate or gain height. By great good fortune the dogs were inside, so I hobbled out as quickly as I could to try to throw a towel over her so she didn't injure herself some more. She managed to lurch up into the tree, however, and I couldn't reach her. She was calling piteously for help and it was all very distressing. I watched her for ages as she sat there panting and crying, until something startled her and she flapped off in a very wobbly fashion. I did not expect to see her again, but to my huge delight I heard her petulant chirping yesterday and sure enugh, she was back, tucking into a peach with gusto. It made my week!

Fresh Air and Exercise

Well we've moved from autumn into winter, and I have sadly neglected this journal.
Surely it can't be because I have mellowed to the point of having nothing to rant or be opinionated about? That would indeed be a matter for concern, what with my having so recently embraced this wonderful way of sharing my frequently discontented thoughts.
No, that can't be it, so I'm going to play it safe and blame the weather.

It's been superb.

Far too sunny to stay indoors wittering on about something inconsequential. So I've been going for lots of walks in the bush with one or other of my dogs. (Two is too many to handle when there may be disapproving hikers, or enticingly chaseable wildlife.)

I am fortunate to live five minutes from the northern end of a famous 1000km walk trail called the Bibbulmun Track, and in fact the first kilometer of it passes through a local park, so it starts off very sedately. As it starts to wind down from the top of the escarpment, it becomes a well-maintained broad gravel path with rock steps at easy intervals. This gives completely the wrong impression to novice walkers, who can be heard exclaiming at the high standard of the track and wondering why more people don't follow it.

The reason is that within another kilometer, the track looks more like this:

Which is great, actually. There is little enough virgin bushland left, and even the modest numbers of people who use this path have caused erosion, left litter, introduced weeds, removed plants, started fires, and all the other sorts of havoc we humans usually cause to innocent ecosystems. So I think it's just as well that the terrain is not more "user-friendly". Plus of course, I love the fact that I can walk for an hour without hearing another human voice (except on weekends, when one has to be wary of rounding a corner and running smack into a frighteningly well-equipped long-range hiker).

"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness"

The quote is from a poem by John Keats called "Ode to Autumn", and I have just uploaded some suitably autumnal photographs .

Birds and bird-brains

I went to a wonderful talk last weekend, by an entertaining fellow from Birds Australia, and he made one of those observations which are almost universal truths. He said that unless great self-control is exercised, when someone spots a bird (or plane, landmark, or anything requiring the use of the binoculars hanging around the neck), that person will look down at the binoculars before raising them to the eyes. In the process, of course, the object has moved or otherwise become invisible, and it often takes some time to find it again.
His point was that we know where the binoculars are, so there is absolutely no need to look down to "find" them. We should keep our eyes on the bird or whatever, and raise the binoculars to our eyes. Of course! But a quick survey of friends and acquaintances confirmed that we all look down first. This sort of self-evident fact can easily make my day.

Of course it can just as quickly be unmade by yet more proof (as if it were needed) that people have more money than sense. I was at a party last night, and one of the other guests (obviously unaware that I was a doctor) was regaling us with details of her "new" diet and health regime. Less than fascinating stuff at the best of times, but I had to snap back from my daydream when she announced derisively that "My doctor tried to tell me that I was wasting my money on these [insert phony chemical name] herbal pills and the special liquid I have to drink before each meal." I was very well behaved, and resisted the urge to shout "Hear Hear!", but fortunately someone asked her what they cost. "Oh, they're very expensive," she replied proudly. "But I think you only get what you pay for." Right.