Discovery in Ningaloo Nyinggulu
Soaring skies under red and silver wings at least five metres wide, a little motor propelling us up. No sides encasing us as we climb hundreds of metres above Cape Range National Park. The higher we go, the cooler the air that pimples my bare arms.
Ancient sea beds beneath us spread as worn backbones overlapping in every direction, sea corals pushed from the ocean floor when tectonic plates collided millions of years ago. The rugged limestone range appears as rounded mounds with deep canyons from so high up. They’re home to the threatened black-footed rock wallaby, which we saw days earlier when boating up Yardie Creek. Cute little things, hopping ever so elegantly over steep, fossilised coral faces.
The national park is nestled between the Exmouth Gulf and Ningaloo Marine Park, both teeming with hundreds of fish species, turtles, manta rays, humpback whales and sharks, not to mention the coral reef supporting the diverse and rich marine life.
Sadly, this pristine wilderness is under threat of industrialisation. Writer Tim Winton has campaigned to save it in the past and is doing so again through his documentary, Ningaloo Nyinggulu, said to mean “high land jutting into the sea”. Protect Ningaloo is also rallying to fight it, supporters saying that a proposed industrial port in the Gulf would see a huge rock causeway and one kilometre long wharf, as well as dredging of the seabed.
What will that do to the precious marine habitat? What will that do to the humpback whales coming in to calf and suckle their babies?
We’ve almost crossed the limestone range and begin to descend as we near Ningaloo Reef and its pristine waters. The air warms the lower we get, as though a heater has been turned up high.
Ningaloo is on the far western tip of Australia, with Exmouth its nearest town. The lighthouse at Vlamingh Head in Exmouth is one of the few places in Australia where you can see both the sun rising and setting over the sea.
It’s not long before we spot dugongs and manta rays frolicking within the shallow waters of the reef, undisturbed by people or boats. From the shore, you would never know they were there.
The turquoise coastline is spectacular, shimmies as emerald jewels dotted in sapphire reefs. The delineation between it and the vivid lapis lazuli of the Indian Ocean is clear.
We climb higher over the deep ocean to air that chills and pierces in under my loose sleeves. Thankfully, the padded vest keeps my core warm. The pilot points out a solitary whale shark, and another, many of them swimming close to the surface of the Indian Ocean beyond the reef and reef breaks. Increasing numbers of surfers make the pilgrimage via boat to surf these spectacular swells.
I soak in all around me, am in awe of our incredible world and the wonder of what we’re part of. The colours, the grace in being so exposed and connected to the elements. I have no nerves- they left me as soon as the microlight plane’s wheels touched off the sandy air strip. Now, I’m totally bedazzled.
What takes that bedazzle to a whole other level is when the pilot turns the engine off. The sound of air breezing over us and the aircraft where there is no wind, is almost deafening. We glide in the cool air, as one with the world. Then it’s my turn to steer, to command the plane under the direction of the pilot. I catch my breath as I realise I’m now in control of the plane sailing through the sky, steering the heavy control bar to turn gently left, and then right.
The pilot eventually takes control again and glides the microlight into land and by the time we’re off the plane and on land again, my legs are wavering as the sea I just looked down on.
The next day, I’m snorkelling those glitzy aquamarine waters being enchanted by shimmying schools of silver fish up to a metre long, possibly giant trevally and perch. They’re so friendly that I have to stop myself from swimming into them and instead, swim alongside them. The serenity can’t be matched anywhere, the calm where breath is slowed and magnified.
The array of other abundant blue, yellow, green and orange fish is a delight of tranquillity, as is the magical octopus that changes colour from spotted creams to electric blue, and texture to match the coral. The octopus’ agility in moving through the sequence is so gradual and controlled, it takes me forever to spot it! What an incredible creature, unafraid of the four of us swimming around it, sunning itself in the filtering sun’s rays that penetrate the warm water. It’s unfaltering when one snorkeller dives to be centimetres from it.
And of course the piece de resistance, swimming with the whale sharks instead of spotting them from above. Wet-suit and snorkel up, and swim with the incredible gentle giants at least 8-10 times in waters hundreds of metres deep. There’s no chance of seeing the ocean bottom, I don’t even try to.
On and off the boat we swim whenever a whale shark is spotted. It’s hard work getting back on the boat after each swim, which is more like a whale beaching itself, especially in waters gaining their choppy and where sometimes that chop drowns your snorkel and you’re suddenly swallowing salty water!
The last swim is the superlative best, when I’m first to reach the shark, all seven plus metres of him. His wide mouth is open to filter the thousands of litres of seawater each day, gathering his plankton feed. He swims so close to me that my legs flip in overdrive to not only keep me upright, but to also back away to avoid bumping into him. I say ‘he’ as over 80 per cent of whale sharks swimming off Ningaloo are male. Scientists are unsure why the high number of males but believe it’s because they’re on a feeding frenzy to bulk up for high level sexual activity.
For six hours we’re in and out of that water and by the time my feet hit shore, my legs are wobbly once again, but perhaps an upside down kind of wobble.
Whale shark swimming is at the end of a week of swimming, sea kayaking and snorkelling at various lagoons along the reef. I’d become air, sea and land topsy-turvy-wavering, perhaps shaken and stirred. It’s a feeling of not knowing your up from down or left to right, whether you’re Arthur or Martha or Priscilla Queen of the Desert.
One thing is shiningly clear: the encrusted jewels of sea, land and air have sparked a perspective I hadn’t had before. That’s the beauty of seeing and experiencing the unknown, to explore and discover the new and grow from that. Our world and life is full of those. New limits to push and strengths to discover, unearthing the lightness in life, and sometimes finding oneself again.
A dear cousin of mine always says you have to go away sometimes to come back, even when you don’t realise you need to come back. Life's short- enjoy it. Find what makes you happy and do it.