Nothing stops a history buff from visiting a Shipwreck Museum. Situated in Fremantle, the Western Australia Museum – Shipwreck Galleries is a must-visit (between the beers and all). The museum houses relics from all kinds of wrecks that occurred along the Western Australia coastline (that explains Hamelin Bay too) and countless artefacts from the various Dutch ships.
Glass fragments, mints and even grenades from various shipwrecks have been documented here. I spent a good bulk of time at the galleries reading up on the archaeology, myths and tales of the past.
If that cannot satisfy your thirst for historical knowledge, just a few stops away, one can find the Western Australian Maritime Museum perched close to the ocean, holding the past and present of Fremantle’s tale within.
I didn’t have enough time to walk through the entire museum, but one attraction you might consider would be the HMAS Ovens tour, where you can take a walking tour inside the submarine parked just behind the building and learn all about its intricacies.
It’s a small town – Fremantle – but I’m sure I’ll be back to finish up my tour of the museum…
I took a hike to Hamelin Bay one afternoon, and took in the fresh breeze by the sea. It wasn’t quite the place you would visit in Autumn, but I did anyway.
The colours were foreboding, as I arrived close to sunset, and that was where I’d learned about the notorious history of wrecks on this bay. The remnants of the original jetty stand against the winds and waves as I approached.
There I met a friend who had the same taste as I did with the sea breeze –
A short break brought me to a set of caves within the Margaret River region. I cannot be sure what fascinates me more, the shadows in the dancing darkness, or the flickering lights that bounce of the stalactites.
The region has several caves, of which I chose to take a walk at the Mammoth Cave – a self-guided trip into the unknown – but still safe, nonetheless.
The beauty of the Mammoth Cave lies in the amount of knowledge you can pick up – from the evolution of geographical spaces, to the extinction of megafauna that were far superior than what we see today.
I took a turn to another cave nearby, the Lake Cave, and was intrigued to learn the impact of human touch on the formations (I won’t spoil the fun for you – head to Perth and find out on your own!)
To get to the bottom of Lake Caves, you’ve got to take a challenging 350 steps in, and as you look up, don’t be surprised by the little white cob webs that cling to the surface of the rocks. I can only rave about the beauty of the lake caves – the sound of water trickling and echoing in the depths, forming new shapes and wonders of the world.
There’s a good other few caves you can visit, such as the Ngilgi Cave set in the bushes, and the highly-promoted (which was perhaps why I chose to skip it) Jewel Cave.
Either ways, the silence in the caves were a great way for me to relax and think about life.
“We’re not the same, but I’m sure we can still have a meaningful conversation…”
It’s a bird and his leafy friend are having a chat. Hush, guys.
What do you say?
He adored her. She was a breath of fresh air in the trenches. She was a flicker of light in the black void of space. She was the foothold for a man caught in a rip tide. She was everything that kept him grounded, hopeful and alive.
He liked to stare into her eyes and fall into a state of hypnotism.
He liked to observe her the curves of her lips meet in soft promise.
He liked to watch the curls in her hair rise and fall with the rhythm of the wind.
He liked to follow the curves of her body; the length of her fingers; the shape of her calves…
It wasn’t easy when they kept such distances apart. One day upon his request, she had sent him a photo of herself. He scrutinised the image from corner to corner; left to right, up to down, and diagonally edge to edge.
But with each pass, the air seemed to have been sucked out. The lights seemed to be dimmer than he remembered. His body rocked as if waves had swept him into a whirlpool.
He couldn’t take his eyes off a band around her finger – looking hard, through the reflection in the ring, he saw a man; looking harder, he was undressed, exhausted, and sharing her bed.
A wisp of grass. A wisp of smoke. A wisp of imagination. A wisp of a smile.
Fleeting, elusive, frail.
Like chasing happiness, merely a will-o’-the-wisp.
“Someone told me about you just awhile ago,” she said. It was a casual enough remark for him to dismiss with a smile. Which he did. Until the lady raked her memory and spurted, “Now I remember who it was! It was … … ”
The rest came to him like a never-ending whirr. He heard the name, and was certain he had given the stupidest response that his mind chose not to register. His ears rejected further information, but his heart longed to know more. His mind raced, questions slipping from his lips uncontrollably.
For a moment while he stood rooted in the room, every voice became white noise, and every person that brushed past him merely part of some cluttered wallpaper’s design.
Oh, that name, that name. It was … it was … he simply couldn’t say it.