The Nullarbor

As stated, Cactus Beach was on the itinerary, so turning left at Penong, 20Km down a gravel track and then there it is - this fabulous view of surf pounding into the shore that is Cactus Beach.  While camping was allowed, it was impossible to fish from the shore so I decided to continue on.  The next feature was the Head of the Bight, where whales breed in May/June but none were present yet.  It is an impressive view and does have a proper bitumen road into it.  Quick stops at a couple of other coastal outlooks, roadhouses for coffee, snacks & petrol and the compulsory photos of the start of the Nullarbor, the 90 Mile Straight sign and the odd shot of the broad flat expanse that is the Nullarbor - I was expecting barren ground but there is vegetation the whole way, very sparse in some places and also some low trees which wasn't what I was expecting -  pretty well sums up the crossing.  The only wildlife I saw was bird life concentrated on road kill:  The ravens are smart enough to get well out of the way but the eagles wait until you are nearly on them, then lumber off into the air right across in front of you!  Thus, when one sees a gathering in the road, one slows down to allow the eagles time to be able to get away.

The world's longest golf course starts at Ceduna and ends in Kalgoorlie.  It cost $70 to play, you get a card and when you finish at one place they stamp your card and you drive to the next hole.  Certainly an intriguing way to make the crossing more interesting but a golfer I am not. 

The Nullarbor is a vast limestone shelf, some 400,000 square kilometres in extent, with many intricate caves throughout, mainly unexplored.  There are some spectacular cliffs along the ocean but generally it is flat and monotonous country.  It is similar to driving up the Stuart Highway, through the Centre, in fact, but without the gorges, giant rocks and stunning ghost gums.

A vague feeling of prescience was with me the whole way, some vague memory of a story passed down by my Norwegian ancestors.  On arrival at Norseman and learning of its history it all unfolded.  The town of Norseman is named after a horse of the same name.  Apparently, Norseman, while tethered one day, scratched the ground and turned up gold nuggets, starting a gold rush.  Now, Norseman was so named by his owner, a Mr. Laurie Sinclair, who originated from the Shetland Islands and was of Viking lineage.  Apparently Mr. Sinclair was actually looking for evidence of his ancestors having briefly exploiting the area 800-1000 years previously.  The legend has it that the Vikings believed there was a great southland rich in pink diamonds and set off to search for it.  Find it they did, but they landed at the wrong spot and it wasn't pink diamonds they found  but rather vast hardwood forests - and what they thought were giant rodents.  Not ones to miss an opportunity however, they sent word back to Scandinavia to send out hard working lumberjacks with Jonsered saws as well as enough hardtack & lutefisk to last until the snows arrived.  A fleet arrived and they started clearing the forest and sent the boats back loaded with timber.   Meanwhile the lumberjacks were to continue cutting and when the frosts arrived, they were to build more boats, load them with timber and then abandon camp & head home.  However, winter as they knew it never arrived in this new land and by the time the realisation came, their food ran out and as they couldn't be reduced to eating giant rodents, they perished.  Subsequent frequent fires and a gradually drier climate reduced any regeneration to the low scrub and sparse vegetation that exists today.