Blackboy spears. Sometimes you see these with many different types of butterfies, probably numbering in the hundreds, flying around them. They do not fly in a loose pack but rather form a sort of butterfly aura around the lenght of the flower.
Blackboys are pretty well adapted to fire and are extremely flammable and fierce burning. Once burnt the fronds add to the height of the trunk by becoming part of it. The flammability also ensures that periodically the undergrowth around them is torched, leaving them with no competition.

The cliffs are at Coral Bay, which is sadly having more people visit all the time, there is even a fucken five star hotel and a marina meant to be happening. At the moment though it is still possible to access the coast and drive north on the tracks around the northwest cape. This takes you up to Yardie Creek and then to Exmouth.
On the gulf side it is a lot more sheltered - generally - and you watch the dark rise rather than the sun set. The bottom of the gulf and up the north eastern side is mostly mangrove trees and mud.
The whole of the northwest has some fucken huge tides, which means some really strong currents. Fuck swimming in it though - there are also heaps of sharks (these flicks are north of Shark Bay - that kind of says it all). There are also heaps of sea snakes, extremely venomous but they apparently have small mouths - unfortunately some are really big, 2-3 meters, and they - to my thinking - would have corresponding sized mouths.
The tidal volume is so large in some places that there are "horizontal waterfalls" and one place where the water rushes through a chasm - I think that I heard somewhere that this particular movement of water is the volume of eight Sydney harbours - through the chasm - twice a day. Pretty speccy.

Summer is just about here. I can tell, not just cos of the increasing heat, but because the first marsh flies are out.
There are a few types of these ; some have big green eyes, some we call B-52's - as they are fucken huge.
They all have one thing in common, they generally buzz loudly while flying around then switch to stealth mode and land on you - so gently that you do not notice, until a red hot poker goes into ya. Yes, they all bite. And they hunt in packs. Cunts.
These trees are paperbarks. In a swamp. Full of marsh flies and, unfortunately, no pigs today.

Sunday in late May.

The weather is warm, sun is shining..the “bushpigs” playing the third home game in a row at 1400, an they won last week!!

Trip ,to Town, before the game, get some supplies.

Coming home, a quick double flash of oncoming headlights, a wave in return – no speeding tickets for me!

Then, at the dreaded hill, someone I know motioning to slow down more, so I do, thinking “yes I know the train runs on a Sunday”,.

Halfway up the hill, a 4wd with horse float is parked, the driver, (whom I know is a nurse), administers to a figure on the road, someone else assisting.

Park at the top and go to assist them.

Meet Chris, the figure on the road, just as he is taking a swing at the nurse. I help to restrain him and prevent his thrashing around as gently as I can. He cannot understand why he is being held down, and keeps asking “please just let me go”. We cannot.

Looking around.. right boot has metal sole insert ripped out of it, some blood, left leg under right. Has the ambo been called? Yes.

Chris weakly thrashing around asking to be let go, us trying to assess the extent of the wounds and treat as we can. Left leg appears, his foot looks funny. Full length leathers end at the ankle, blood around the end of them, more blood on the road, where we are and further up the hill. Staunch as best we can

“Please just let me get up”. Sorry mate , hang in there...( quietly, a voice says –“ has anyone got an esky to put his foot in?” laying on the road a couple of feet away).

Where is the ambo? Come on guys!! Sirens coming, from both directions.

Hang in there Chris, hold still we can’t let you go yet.

Sirens get louder, vehicles come into vision.Turn the damn siren off!! More people arrive, oxygen mask, green stick.. Chris wants to be let up and tears the mask off if given a chance.

More people arrive, paramedics. He needs fluids, but tears the drip from left arm. Restrain and help cut jacket off, free leg kicks off the rudimentary dressing to the stump.

Splints applied to neck and drip placed in other arm, people acting as each others arms as we work, I hold the fluid bag for someone, someone else takes it from me later on, “keep the thing dripping, squeeze the bag”

People are working around each other, whos got the scissors? Here! We cut the left leg leathers.

And cut them some more to find the remains of the leg.

Missing from mid calf down, jagged bone, mind flashes to bits of red white stuff on road amongst the blood and first aid kit wrappings, more bits of leg bone, foot still in boot is put into esky. Chris has orange socks.

More dressings are applied as I hold his stump up. Chis has become quieter.

Into the ambo he goes, in a gaggle of drips and dressings and people.

I doubt that Chris will be riding motorbikes again.

I go watch the footy.

(I wrote this at the time and just came across it, I don’t know who won the footy that day.)

Nice skirt.

Banksia flower - before and after,
as a flower they are rich in nectar which can be sucked directly from the flower, turned into numbit- (aborigional Jacks) or taken from the bees nest. Native bees are small gentle stingless creatures- easily and handily robbed. Feral (european) bees sting, unfortunately they also sting and displace the human friendly native version. They also go to sleep at night and a swarm can be easily placed into a hive for relocation.

The seed casing of the Banksia can be used to carry fire. The stick leading to it is snapped off at a good length then the openings are filled with coals and gently swung as you walk along. Saves making fire every time when you need it, especially in winter.

Fires are a precious tool and should not be squandered by the use of excess wood, Aborigional fires out the bush are recognisable at night by their frugality. Tourists heap wood on fires - missing the point, especially with the desert woods which are extremely heavy and hard and burn to a white ash.

With desert wood, three days later - even on a small fire - the ashes are nearly red hot and will ignite new twigs easily.

Try, one night, in the bush - sustaining a flame with two twigs . each as fat as your little finger (no - not a fat fucken finger), and about a foot and a half long. You have a little pile (one hand full) of tiny (matchstick) twigs as well. Done well this should be able to burn smokelessly for about six hours with judicial application of placement and continual adjustment. The flame takes on a life of its own and it is poor form to have to add tiny twigs - especially if it goes out!!

Here is a before and after shot of the bush after a recent tourist induced fire. And it's not even hot yet.

Went fishing the other day, at my spot on the coast. I got there and had the place to myself - as it should be.
After a bit, up pulls a yuppie car. and out gets this dickhead and gets set to go fishing- off the rocks and with his fucken dog. Of course the cunt decides that the only spot to be is right next to me, I can spot them a mile away. So I am sending him a friendly unverbalised (as yet) message - fuckofffuckofffuckofffuckoff - and out he starts, with his dog, over the jagged granite rocks towards me.
I'm looking around at the boats and fishing and checking on the clowns progress in between. I glance over to see where it is and there's this cunt playing angry turtle on a rock - (flat on the back and flapping arms and legs furiously). Up he gets and comes forward again. Stops where I am chucking my line in. Then proceeds to lose three sets of gear in a row over the space of half an hour, while rubbing his sore leg - that appeared to be welting up nicely and going spectatular colours.
Deciding that his heart isn't in it off they go back over the rocks to the yuppie mobile, not far into the return trip the dog goes cunt up down the rocks and the yuppie has to climb down and rescue it.
Half an hour later they are still milling around the car, I'm keeping an eye on the cunt as my ute is right next to them. What the fuck is he doing? Up the sandhills, along the high water mark, back to the car - drivers window, contortions, arm going up and down. Ohhhhh, what a fuckwit - the dumb cunt's locked himself out of the car as well. What a fucken loser.
I quickly packed up and, with my nice catch of fish headed back to the ute. Stowed my stuff, cracked myself a beer, and told him what a great days fishing I'd just had, and how a nice cold beer was a top way to finish it off.
Then I fired up the ute and fucked off and left them to it.

Here's a couple of the local pigs. That's a 303 shell in the mouth!! We have heaps of them running around here.
Keeps it interesting out the bush anyway, especially when you are crawling through pig tunnels in thick scrub, and they are about four foot high and two wide. You never know if a "train" is going to be coming at you. If it does, you'de be advised to not be in the way.

This is how pig tusks fit together and self sharpen. They are also fairly deep set into the bone with another third or so of what you see being still embedded. When you corner them in hollow tree stumps or whatever, they thrash the head from side to side trying to rip you. Some of the boys use dogs with leather breast plates to catch em - some, the dud or stupid dogs mostly, don't last long.
I used to have a pig dog but it turned into to much of a killer - took on free lance jobs -by itself. Needless to say it ain't here no more, but it ain't.
Nowadays I just use bush skills and sneak up on them- sometimes I get them with a knife, sometimes a spear, and not very often - a camera - mostly I've got one eye on a tree with a camera and am ready to get up it!!

wirrigal and warrigal

When I was young there used to be these folks lived up the road a bit that had a couple of dogs - 'wirrigal' and 'warrigal'- tan color, white tips on the tail, medium solid build\size. Every one knew they were dingos, but it was not for a few years that I found out that the names are aborigional language for the male and female of the species.

Nice ring to them.

The same family had a son, fair bit older than me, whose pursuits included things like shooting the school bus with air gun pellets - while wagging school. He, an a few other reprobates once shot a heap of homing pidgeons , only about 30 of them or so, (while wagging school). Don't know what he's doing now.

We had another kid at school - grade six - must have been about 9 or 10, bit of a ratbag - but from my point of view , not too bad - and he gets called up to the headmaster to get caned - ( a regular occurrance for him) - then he proceeds to take the cane off the head and gives it to him(the head) till he (the head) runs off screaming... never saw that fella again, (the kid - not the head), since. He certainly never went to school again that I knew of.

Funny how people come and go in different phases of your life.

Anyway, as to the point of this post, fuck knows - maybe I should go out dogging and prospecting.