Review of the Dawn Princess

circumnavigating Oz, Part Fifteen, albany

written by mickeyd69 posted on 14/02/11

Circumnavigating Oz, Part Fifteen, Albany. (The story of the complete trip is available at www.theozcruise.com)

The small city of Albany, population about 30,000, is located along the southern coast of the state of Western Australia, about 420 kilometers southeast of Perth. Albany lies near the eastern end of a heavily forested area, and was established, due in large part to its position at the head of King George Sound, on Princess Royal Harbor. The coast of the Great Southern Ocean is deeply indented for several hundred kilometers, giving this area dramatic sounds, coves, bays, and inlets, punctuated by coastal mountains and steep sea cliffs, protected by offshore islands. As a result, along this coast, there are several magnificent national parks.

The closest of these parks is Torndirrup National Park, just outside Albany, on the peninsula between Torbay Bay and King George Sound. The park offers magnificent coastal vistas, a natural bridge over crashing surf, and blowholes where waves force plumes of water high into the sky. Off to the East is Two People?s Bay National Park, and, off to the west is West Cape Howe National Park, all three located within forty kilometers of Albany. Further off to the east, are several relatively unknown parks, lined up along the coast. About 65 kilometers east of Albany is Waychinicup National Park, then, about 140 kilometers further on is Fitzgerald River National Park, which is also the only national park in Western Australia to be designated a World Biosphere Reserve. Several more parks are lined up along the coast all the way to Esperance and beyond.

Going west, from Albany, several more national parks are easily accessible from town. First, beyond the local area parks, is William Bay National Park, about 45 minutes from Albany, and only 15 minutes from Denmark. Next is Walpole-Nornalup National Park, about two hours from Albany and about an hour from Denmark. The next national park is D?Entrecasteaux National Park, extending 130 kilometers along the coast, and up to 20 kilometers inland. The western border of the park extends to within 35 miles of Augusta, which is the southern gateway to Leeuwin Naturaliste National Park. That brings us back to the west coast and the area around Margaret River, up to Bussleton, and back to Bunbury.

North of this wild coast around Albany, are several ranges of real, high mountains; topped by Bluff Knoll, the highest of the Stirling Mountains, and one of the highest peaks in Western Australia at 1,095 meters, (approximately 3,600 feet) followed by the Porongurups at about 670 meters (approximately 2,300 feet). By world standards, these may not be high mountains; but they rise from a virtually flat plain less than 100 meters above sea level. In the winter, it actually snows on the summit of Bluff Knoll, and some of the other high peaks in the Stirling Mountains. The Porongurups are about 40 minutes north of Albany, and the Stirlings are only about an hour, or about 90 kilometers.

Albany sits between two hills at the head of Princess Royal Harbour, and has expanded from its original location at the center of the port to cover more than seven square kilometers surrounding both the hills that once hemmed it in along the water. Albany has a long and interesting history; from a small colony far from almost anywhere, to one of Western Australia?s top tourist destinations.

My interest in Albany and the surrounding area prompted me to get on the internet to learn everything I could. When I found the official Albany Area site, I searched for the ?Contact Us? section and promptly sent an e-mail introducing myself and explaining what I wanted to do. I also stressed two of my greatest interests. First, I was disappointed when I learned that Princess did not offer any excursions north of town. The coastal national parks were covered, as were the more distant attractions off to the west near Denmark. But, there was no way to get to the mountains I really wanted to see; the Stirlings and the Porongurups. By the time I learned that Princess was not going to help me get where I wanted to go, I had been corresponding with a delightful young lady named Donelle, who recommended two different options; one, a taxi company, and the other a limousine service. I wrote e-mails to both her recommended businesses, and I was surprised to receive a reply from each the very next day. The limo company quoted me a full day excursion with a lunch at a country inn and formal tea back in town; at a cost of only $850 Australian; each. The taxi company sent the following short note: ?We charge $50 Australian an hour for and your missus, and anybody else is ten dollars per person extra, for as long as you can stand Terry?. My choice was easy! All they wanted was my e-mail reply telling them I?d be there and we were good to go.

I was also looking for information about Albany and the area to see if there would be any additional places we could visit. When I wrote to Donelle, she recommended that I try to include a quick ride around town, up both hills, then to Torndirrup to see two specific attractions. First was the Natural Bridge, and second was the Gap, a steep, vertical notch in the cliff wall above the surf near the Natural Bridge. It would not be an easy schedule, but it could be done if everything fell into place just right.

The Dawn Princess would sail into Princess Royal Harbour, and tie up at the pier close to the center of town. Since the port of Albany is devoted overwhelmingly to commercial activity, there is no easy way to get off the ship and walk into town without walking through the port while cranes move above and fork lift trucks and other working vehicles do their best to intimidate pedestrians. So, Princess set up a system of shuttles to and from the center of town. Our driver, Terry, was to meet us right at the ship since he was permitted to enter the commercial port zone. We were scheduled to arrive in Albany about 9:00 Thursday morning, November 13th, and depart promptly at 5:30 P.M., which meant walking onto the ship by 5:00. It would be tight.

First thing the next morning my dawn detector worked too perfectly, and I leaped out of bed in the dark. I opened the drapes, looked out, and saw nothing. I opened the sliding door and ventured out to check the temperature. It was cold. It was misty. It was raining, and not just a drizzle, but a full scale rain coming down like the proverbial cow pissing on a flat rock! A dark and rainy day in Albany was the only thing I hadn?t planned for. The digital display on the TV glowed 6:22, but it could have been midnight for all I could see out there. As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I started to pick out a few shapes in the dark and mist. We were definitely not out on the open ocean since the ship was moving slowly through a series of points, coves and islands. Sparse lights blinked on and off as we passed landforms and other obstructions. I picked out a few trees, but most of the land was rather barren, and appeared to be covered by grasses and low shrubs. A lighthouse beam was rotating across the sky in the distance, but it was impossible for me to determine its point of origin. The sky was starting to brighten a bit as I surveyed our surroundings, and every passing minute brought more identifying features to the landscape around us.

Since we were meeting Terry promptly at 9:00, we couldn?t wait on the ship until all the excursion groups disappeared. We had to plunge right into the crowd and worm our way through the throngs and out to our rendezvous where Terry would be waiting. After we exited the ship, we couldn?t see a thing except the wall of buses. By the entrance of the closest one, I saw a young lady shoving rather rotund people into a bus, reminiscent of the packers working on the Tokyo Subways. I knew instantly that the woman was Donelle, and I walked up to her and introduced myself. Our meeting was just a warm as it had been in Bunbury, and, after smiles followed by handshakes followed by hugs, she led us by the hand and introduced us to Terry.

Terry got us out of the dock area before the buses blocked our way, and, while driving from the pier to the center of town, he asked us where we wanted to go first. The rain had stopped, but it was still rather dark and gray. He suggested that we head right out to the Stirling Mountains, and hope the expected clearing would occur before we got there. It didn?t. I really didn?t want to complain because we had traveled 10,000 miles by plane, and another 8,500 by ship to get to that place on that day. Besides, the Stirling Mountains have a sort of creepy factor on misty, rainy, dark days, which is certainly what we had.

We headed toward Porongurup National Park, which is about 40 kilometers north of town. This range is essentially a line of granite domes about 12 kilometers long, on an east-west axis; rising to a height of 670 meters at its highest point. The granite domes are uncovered to various degrees, resulting in a chain of steep hills with nearly vertical, clear rock walls climbing over wooded bases, unencumbered by foothills. The end result is an impression of stark, sheer granite monoliths providing great routes for rock climbers, and pleasant, more easily accessible paths for the less athletic among us. From the top, the views are magnificent, most impressive toward the north, where the jagged peaks of the Stirling Mountains rip their way across the horizon. The picnic area at a place called ?The Tree in the Rock? provides excellent views as well as pleasant surroundings, almost like being in a cathedral. Steep rock spires rise around the area and the covering karri trees give the feel of a high green roof. The tree the area is named after can be found just about 100 meters along a shaded walk, its roots digging deep through a crevice, giving the appearance of growing right from the naked granite boulder.

Many unusual rock formations make the Porongurups a great place for picnics, bush walking, and bird and animal watching, at least on a clear day. We got to see lots of gray mist, which made a strong imagination imperative if we wanted to get any view at all. At the eastern end of the range is Castle Rock. A moderately difficult walk of about four kilometers return takes you past the famous balancing rock, and a difficult scrambling climb up loose rock takes you to the battlements and defensive formations of the castle. The views from this point are the best in the park.

The Karri trees growing in the Porongurups are remnants from former times. Karri forests grow exclusively on a deep red soil known as Karri Loam, and need a minimum of 700 millimeters of rain a year. In the distant past, the area of large Karri tree growth extended far beyond what it is today, which provides evidence of a much wetter climate in those days. As the climate dried, the forests receded westward to their current center around Manjimup and Walpole. Because of the climatic advantages of the extreme southwest of the Continent, a virtual island of Karri trees survives, extending up to the mountains. In the centers of Karri growth, the trees frequently top 80 meters, but here in the slightly drier Porongurups, they rarely exceed 40.

After giving the Porongurups our best shot, we realized that we had seen all we were going to. Our time was limited, and I didn?t want to waste a minute. It was on to the Stirlings.

Sometimes we really don?t know what we want, and our day around Albany perfectly illustrated that condition. While I certainly would have wanted clear blue skies with puffy white clouds and unlimited visibility, what I got was a thick flowing mist that seemed to have a life of its own. It swirled and crawled and crept over and around the brooding mountains scraping the sky in the distance; appearing and disappearing like slow motion participants in some macabre dance. As we left the Porongurups behind, the mist began to thin in places, and, when this happened, Terry would stop the car for me to get out into the rain and fog to shoot what I could. The closer we got to the high mountains, the more the color leached from our surroundings until it seemed like we were trapped in an old black and white photograph. Occasionally, one mountain would appear, only to disappear just as quickly, even before Terry could stop to let me out. I started just shooting whatever I saw with the intent of salvaging what I could on my computer.

At one point, we could see nothing but the road and the starkly twisted naked trees on both sides, and even these seemed to convey a sense of foreboding. The fog thickened so much that Terry had to slow almost to a crawl, with only the closest trees visible faintly through the mist. I was just about to tell him that we were wasting our time when the sun burst through, turning the dark, gray landscape into bright yellow, with a towering peak off to our left, not more than a mile away. Terry told us it was probably Toolbrunup Peak, which climbs to a height of 1,052 meters, or 3,451 feet, the second highest peak in the Stirlings, and about 3,300 feet above our heads. Toolbrunup was covered by trees and shrubs that all looked like there must be monsters and ghouls living beneath their branches. Terry stopped the car and I got out, camera at the ready. I closed the car door and the mountain disappeared instantly.

Terry mentioned that we were approaching a side road that would take us closer to the mountain, and he promised to introduce us to the ?Admiral?. We drove for less than a mile, and he told us to look off to our left, about halfway up the side of the mountain. The Admiral was quite easy to see, reminiscent of New Hampshire?s ?Old Man of the Mountains? before the latter fell to the ravages of wind, weather, and gravity. When Terry stopped, I exited the car, being careful not to close the door.

All around me the mist was slowly rising, so that most of the level forest was now visible, and the mountains looked like blackened stumps rising to flat tops at the base of the clouds. I could hear the crunch of my sandals displacing the gravel as I walked, alternating with the punching sound my cane made as it landed on the stones. I stopped for a moment to see if I could hear anything else. As have most of us, I have been accustomed to almost constant sound all around me. Inside the house, there?s usually a television on somewhere, or the sounds of fans (in computers, forced air heating and air conditioning systems, etc.) from all sorts of appliances. Outside, we?re bombarded by the sound of distant traffic, high flying airplanes, and other sounds we filter out without even knowing it. But, standing here in the forest, I could hear nothing at all. After I stood there for a while, faint sounds began to infiltrate the silence. A distant bird song was the first; followed by the faint rustle of wind through the leaves on the trees. Then, I started to detect the sound of some forest creature stealthily making its way through the forest floor. Was this sound being made by the hunter or the hunted? Was it stalking me? The longer I stood silently, the more familiar, and unfamiliar, sounds penetrated my space. I heard a different sound, way off in the distance, like something crackling the dead leaves that covered the forest floor. After listening for a few seconds, it finally dawned on me that I was hearing the approach of rain, and I thought it might be a good idea to get my butt back to the car. I made it just as the sky opened.

The Stirling Range is one of the very few, possibly the only, place where snow falls in Western Australia, lightly coating the highest peaks several times a year. Usually the snow is so light that it melts on contact, but, snowfall above five centimeters (About 2 or 3 inches) has been reported frequently on Bluff Knoll. Snowfall is possible throughout winter, and sometimes spring and fall on Bluff Knoll and other peaks in the Stirlings.

While Terry transferred the contents of his encyclopedic mind to us, we approached the turnoff toward Bluff Knoll. Near the turnoff is a caravan park and the National Park offices. We stopped to look at the large signs and maps. Of course, I had to take pictures.

The paved road to Bluff Knoll ends at a large parking lot with good facilities for day visitors and mountain climbers. The good news was that the mountain was sort of visible; but the bad news was that the mist was back in force, the rain was increasing in intensity, and it was getting colder by the minute. Demonstrating their superior intelligence and common sense, Bonnie and Terry stayed in the car, while I quack-thumped my way to the forward end of the parking lot to take pictures. This was no quiet place where I could stand silently listening for the sounds of breezes drifting through the leaves, or strain to hear a distant bird song. The wind was doing its best to deposit me on my bony ass, and the rain was attempting to penetrate every possible orifice in me and my camera! But, I was up to the task, and I hobbled to the shelter of the toilet building in the lee of the wind while I arranged my plastic bags so I could take pictures without drowning my camera.

I could see the mountain as it winked in and out of view in the swirling mist. If I weren?t freezing my ass off, I would have appreciated the beauty of the situation. The elements were working overtime to make me feel small and worthless, and they were succeeding quite nicely. Instead of the gentle hush of air moving lightly across trees and branches, the wind was a roar in my ears as it swept off the heights, down on my perch, trying its best to blow me right off the mountain. The pattern of mist and rocks, with light and shadow dancing around the ridges, was incredible. With the wind howling and the rain streaking almost horizontally, I got off about 40 pictures with my increasingly stiffening fingers, hoping that a few might turn out. When I could no longer stand the cold, I turned to hobble back to the car. Watching my struggles, Terry somehow managed to maneuver the taxi onto the sidewalk so I had no more than 8 or 10 meters to walk. As I climbed into the car, the wind caught the door, and it was all I could do to get it closed and latched. I was finished, in more ways than one.

We headed away from the parking lot, working the switchbacks and sharp curves down to the flatlands in the rain. Once we got down to lower elevations, it didn?t take more than ten minutes to get back to the intersection with the main road, and we were shortly on our way south, toward Albany. It always seems to take longer to get somewhere than it does to get back. That?s how it was with the Stirlings trip. Halfway back to town, the clouds started to thin and rise, making the day much brighter, and we hoped it might be a harbinger of better weather to come.

We were moving quite rapidly toward Albany while Terry was sharing facts from his prodigious memory; and we barely noticed that the rain stopped, the mist disappeared, the clouds dissipated, and the sky made a nearly instantaneous transformation from dark and rainy to blue and spotted with white puffy clouds. I thought it might be a miracle, but Terry just smiled. He reminded us that the Stirlings are so high they make their own climate. And we were now on the south side of the high mountains, heading toward Albany, and some amazing views.

Our first destination in Albany was Mount Clarence, and the Military Monument just below the summit lookout. The Monument portrays an Australian soldier assisting a New Zealand Soldier whose horse has been injured, with the inscription: ?Lest We Forget.? It was built to honor the Desert Mounted Corps, and is still the location of an annual sunrise service honoring the fallen heroes which draws nearly 10,000 people. Near the bottom of the hill is an old fort. The road to the top was steep and winding, and Terry assured us the parking lot at the top was flat and level; and that I would have no problem getting around with my cane. As a result, I got to shoot lots of pictures and enjoy the views.

Our next destination was Mount Melville, sort of across the center of town. This was a totally different place. The road up to the top was much less traveled, and it was fortunate we didn?t come across another car on their way down. The parking on the top was off to the side of the road, in a bed of wildflowers. There were no railings, no pavement, and no facilities, other than a dirt spot they used as a parking place for the trucks that service the Telstra Relay Tower. We walked up the tower steps to a lookout platform near the top, and there it was, a magnificent 360 degree view of the whole area, taking in the city, the hills, the waterfront, and the coast. It was one of the most magnificent views I had ever seen; and, after getting my shots of the horizon and city, all the way out to the Stirlings, I turned my camera to all the wild flowers growing around my feet. I shot so many pictures of flowers that Terry almost had to drag me back to the car for our drive to Torndirrup National Park. Apparently I had been correct in Perth when I discovered that every other flower in Western Australia is either a Kangaroo Paw or an everlasting daisy.

Torndirrup National Park is located south and east of the city of Albany on a large peninsula which also protects the Princess Royal Harbour. The entrance to the harbor is named after Turkish President Mustafa Kemal Attaturk in response to close cooperation with the ANZAC contingent during the First World War.

We drove through town, and Terry stopped at the Albany Residency Museum to show us the full sized model of Major Lockyer?s ship, ?Amity?, up on a stand above the harbor. The Museum is a good place to start any visit to Albany, especially with their ?See and Touch? Gallery, but, of course, we didn?t have the time. Although I really enjoy seeing all the places we stop on our cruises, I sometimes feel like we?re flying through everyplace, and everything, at very high speed, as if quantity were more important than quality in the places we went and the things we did. But, flying at mach three is better than not flying at all, and we did manage to see some amazing and memorable sights.

The two major attractions in this part of Torndirrup are the ?Cut?, and the ?Natural Bridge?. The Natural Bridge is a large rectangular boulder that had somehow come to rest above and across a rocky area of the shore, roughly 40 meters long, about 4 meters thick, and 7 meters wide. The surf broke under it at low tide, and over it at high tide.

The ?Cut? was a whole other thing. Imagine, if you would, a rectangular box, about 10 stories, or 100 feet high, about 80 feet wide, and about 50 feet, front to back. Now, put this box into a cliff and arrange huge boulders, with sides as straight as finished concrete all around it. We now have a three sided rectangle, with perfectly straight vertical walls open to the ocean on one side. Now, give it a sandy beach bottom, or floor, with waves breaking on the beach, and a thin, steep, set of natural handholds that permits a person to carefully climb down into the steep-sided rectangle, and you have now made the ?Cut?.

At low tide, it?s possible to stand on the sand at the bottom of the cut, watching the waves breaking in front of you. Suddenly, the tide begins to come in, faster than you could ever imagine. You look for the handholds to climb out, but you can?t find them since the first few are now underwater. So, not only are you waist deep in very cold 44 degree water (F), but the waves are starting to batter you against the very hard rock walls.

The tide rises higher. Now, you?re up to your neck, and, because of the waves, you can only touch the sides every once in a while. You have nothing to hold on to as the waves beat you against the rock walls, and you have no way out unless you can swim out to sea and look for somewhere else to get ashore. You get beaten over and over against the rock walls. What DO you do? You probably die, either by drowning or by being beaten to a pulp until you can do nothing to defend yourself.

For some reason, the rumors tell of tourists who seemed drawn to the ?Cut?, and ended up dead. Did they just misjudge things? Could they not read the sign that says: ?DO NOT GO DOWN THERE OR YOU WILL DIE!!!!?

This is not easy to misread. It would be very hard to NOT understand the sign, unless you did not speak English. I couldn?t understand how anyone could go down there without intending to die unless they were stupid enough to need elimination from the human gene pool. Could they have possibly fallen accidently? I asked Terry if that were possible. He took us closer; where the steel railings and barriers were quite visible. Falling down there by accident would take tremendous creativity.

We had seen the Natural Bridge and the infamous ?Cut?. It was worth the walk. I could almost hear the screams. And, at the end of the day I wondered if the ones who died in such an unusual and creative way qualified for Darwin Awards by removing themselves from the human gene pool.

The story was finished, and Terry, once again, made sure to tell us that it was most likely an urban legend. He wasn?t very convincing. I wandered back to the steel fence and peered down into the Cut one last time. The screams of panic and the sounds of a last gulp of air were so real it was frightening. With every wave that broke into to Cut, I could see the bobbing heads and the frantic grasping hands clawing for a handhold that wasn?t there. I turned toward Terry and Bonnie; but something possessed me to stop and look one last time.

I was still watching the rising tide and the breaking waves, while snapping away. The area was beautiful. We were standing in a jumble of huge rocks, many that were more than 20 feet a side, some bigger, all piled up like some gigantic kid had been playing with his blocks and just threw them in a pile by the water. The rocks extended at least several hundred meters from the water to the cliffs that rose vertically above the whole scene.

Off toward the sea, the waves were forming way out, building to tremendous heights before breaking over the rocks in a huge explosion of spray. There were some blowholes off a hundred meters or so, and, when the waves broke, the spray from the blowhole shot upward to what looked like 50 or 100 feet. It was a totally impressive display. And the sound was overwhelming! It never stopped, from the waves breaking to the blowhole blowing and the winds howling along the shore. It was almost impossible to think! Unfortunately, we had run out of time.

I looked at my watch and suddenly noticed that it was 4:40! The ship was going to leave us here forever in only 50 minutes! Bon saw me look, and checked her watch. She knew immediately, and we were never going to miss that ship. I tapped Terry on the shoulder, and he looked at me with a ?No Worries, Mate? look. He didn?t seem to be the slightest bit concerned. We started walking back toward the parking lot, and, when we had walked far enough from the sea that we could talk, he told me the return route to the ship was lots shorter than the scenic route we took over here. Besides, he had one other thing he wanted to show us on our way back.

We left the park and traveled along the water, by a flat beach which was completely different than the incredible power on display at the Cut and the Natural Bridge. Terry stopped the car and I got out for just one more shot; a shot of a perfectly shaped, gnarled windblown tree shading a spot on the beach, framing a perfect view of Albany, off in the distance, under a cloud peppered sky. He delivered us back to the ship with three whole minutes to spare!