We were woken up about an hour and a half before sunrise. The wind had picked up and blown our tent half over. Out we jumped, just as the rain was starting to come down, and we bashed in a few sand pegs to sturdy up the tent.
By sunrise we were keen to pack up and get out of there, although we still couldn't help admire the serenity and beauty of the area. We picked our way through the woodland and heathland whilst twisted eucalypts and scrubby saltbush took their turns at and scratching themselves all the way down the side of our car - from headlamps to tailgate. Meh - I bought it to be used as a 4wd, not a show vehicle.
Within an hour and a half of 10-20km/h driving we were back on the blacktop heading for the Head of the Bight. This was about as far north as we're expecting to get for the trip, and it was a nice sunny 25 degree day... why do we have to start heading south again?!?
Shortly after rounding bend to start heading south we noticed the vegetation had become rather void of trees and that the terrain was very flat... there was null arbor on this plain, if you will. It's quite incredible, actually, and the fact it stretches on like this for hundreds of kilometers is quite unique.
We stopped off at the Head of the Bight and paid our $15ea to access the whale viewing platform. Thanks to pure fluke timing for our annual leave we happened to be there during the peak whale season! There would have been about a dozen mothers and calves swimming along within 100m of the cliffs. Who knows how many were further offshore, but a sign out the front of a tourist company in Ceduna said there were 120... certainly not today!
We probably spent about an hour or so watching them swim and play around. According to the information boards there the calves learn certain whale traits here like tail slapping and waving fins in the air. There was plenty of that going on and you could see the calves were all trying their best. The mothers would occasionally come along and show the littles ones (how's that for an oxymoron!) how it's done!
As for the whale types, I believe they were southern right whales, as opposed to the northern wrong wails. We had lunch before we left, then continued on to the Nullarbor Roadhouse, which kind of creeps up on you out of nowhere. Quote of the day goes to the service attendant at the roadhouse. Hippy in a van walks in, doesn't ask to pay for petrol or anything else and asks "Do you have any water here?". The service (sic) attendant straight away states "No. We're in the middle of the desert. Next." Fair enough then. I think he gets asked that question quite a lot.
To mix things up a little we headed north of the roadhouse about 10km to Murrawinjie Caves. Apparently these were the one of the only cave on the Nullarbor Plain that are open to the public, however when we arrived we decided there was no way in hell we were climbing into them. All three caves are basically a big circular hole about 20-30m diameter with shear rock cliff walls. You would have to have rock climbing equipment with you to abseil and climb out of the caves. One of the caves had a bit of a step that you could walk down into, but with all the rocks that have fallen I wouldn't take my chances.
We set up camp at the third cave. Up to this point in the trip this was our most favourite camp. At first glance you think that this place is just vast, raw nothingness, but after a while you appreciate what is actually out here. Despite there being no trees within sight, there are still several Australian Kestrals (according to the sign at Cave 1) who roost in the hollows of the caves and harass the Welcome Swallows (Morgs looked them up in her bird book) who also roost in the same caves. How'd you be living in the same house as the animal that is trying to eat you every day?
In the daylight we could see nothing but small saltbush scrub, birds trying to eat, and birds trying to not be eaten. Even the roadhouse was invisible, 10km to the south. However once the sun's gone down, with the clear sky we received, the sky is lit up with arguably the widest most uninterrupted view of the stars. No hills to get in the way. No cities to pollute the light. Although, to the south we could now see the flickering lights on the horizon, and occasionally the odd car from the highway, thanks to the 'fata morgana mirage' (I learnt that from listening to podcasts of Skeptoid the following day).
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