Rottnest rite of passage for father and daughter
The travel experiences we have growing up are what in later years we become nostalgic about. We revisit destinations, often with our children, to regale them with stories of why these places are important.
Cycling around Rottnest this summer I was nearly hit many times by the smallest kids you can imagine riding bikes without an adult in sight. It’s an assault to the senses for those us old enough to remember what life on the mainland use to be like and it is what defines our love of Rottnest.
I grew up in a country town where you rode your bike around town with your mates and as long you were home before the street lights came on everything was OK. That’s what Rottnest is like. The boundary rope for rules is expanded and lowered.
This trip was about my daughter. Matilda is 10 and has wanted to go to Rottnest for years.
This summer she was ready. Her cycling and snorkelling abilities are now comparable to a kid in the 70’s and that’s the best benchmark I know. And she loves a good cream bun.
Opting for the ferry from Hillary’s we were waved off by the rest of the family and settled in to play a quick game of “I’d Have That One!” as we cruised past the various vessels in the marina.
Oliver Hill Gun Battery. Pictures: Chris Parry
As hit open water I noticed Matilda’s face; completely beaming with complete excitement. I thought, “They could turn the boat around now and I wouldn’t care. I could live off the memory of that face for the rest of my life.”
I had been concerned about our ferry being fast because of ferry experiences in the past, particularly around South East Asia. Choosing speed often comes at the expense of your spleen but this ride is smooth, quiet and comfortable. We dodged a few cargo ships and paved the way for a few runabouts seeking the smooth ride of our wake.
Arriving on Rottnest, I was thrilled that Matilda’s face was still beaming. She didn’t try to be too cool as she stepped off the gangway. She knew she was excited and didn’t try to hide it – now that’s cool!
The Rottnest Visitors Centre is a great place to start if you’re going to schedule some activities. They open early, know what’s going on and have plenty of staff on hand to help. We booked a seat on the Oliver Hill Railway and then made our way to the bike hire shop.
I knew what Matilda wanted and we were in luck. A tandem bike! Throughout the day we received lots of comments that it was a great way to travel. It intimidated those coming the other way to move over and the sheer weight of it made going downhill slightly dangerous but lots of fun.
Our first stop was the Basin and locking up our monstrous bike I glanced at my watch. It was 9:20am.
With the tandem bike.
We had arrived at Hillarys at just after 7am. The ferry left at 7:30. We’d disembarked, been to the Visitor Centre, hired our bike and arrived at the Basin and it wasn’t even 9:30.
It got better. In the next ten minutes we met Perth Scorchers and Australian Test Cricketer Ashton Agar and we scored a chat and a photo with the local legend and then met another local legend, a dugite which was promptly escorted off the premises by a lifeguard and island ranger.
Rottnest is home to 17 species of lizard and 2 species of snake, the sun loving Dugite and the burrowing Southern Blind Snake. Of these two snakes only the Dugite is venomous and variously described as ‘timid and non-aggressive’ but I wouldn’t test that description. This one probably wanted a bit of early sun at the beach like the rest of us but he was taken off to spend the day in the scrub. I know that meeting Ashton Agar kept Matilda’s beaming face in place but I’m not sure the snake did much for it.
It was 9:30.
We tucked our bags into a rocky crevice and placed a towel over them in the time honoured tradition of fooling thieves. With mask and snorkel we entered the water on the western end of the Basin, sitting on the flat rock platform before gently pushing off into the broad sandy expanse that is ringed by reef and all its beautiful occupants.
The Basin is the all time favourite beach for travellers to Rottnest. Even the quokkas know it. They line the path from the settlement to the Basin in numbers seldom seen elsewhere on the island, basking in their popularity and lying in the shade of the trees as if they have just done a hard days work.
Snorkelling at the Basin.
Drifting over the sand, Matilda was making that noise of excitement only possible through a snorkel as she pointed to first one fish then another.
Swimming alongside the rock face brings a new experience of fish moving in different ways to those flashes of silver over the sand. Smaller fish with tighter turning circles climb vertically and then twist in and out of gaps in the coral and rock. Cod laze at the bottom, occasionally doing a lazy turn just to make sure they’re not being followed.
Onwards we travelled, swimming at Little Parakeet Bay and then cycling through the middle of the island. Two swims already, a good amount of bike riding and we were ready for nourishment.
It was bakery time.
The cream bun with mock cream was genuine joy.
We deserved our bakery treats and we deserved the great seats we got out the front in the shade of a big Moreton Bay Fig tree. We ate and talked about our adventures. We watched people buying pies and cakes. We picked out those who were staying on the island, they were loaded up with rolls and French sticks.
Our next stop was the museum. It’s a small museum with a lot of information to offer. Matilda is still perplexed by the 1969 decision by the government to officially change the name of our crayfish to lobster to market them to the Americans. The history of the island is well represented in the museum, depictions of ship wrecks, the flaura and fauna and a well documented display of the Aboriginal history, a grim reminder that from 1838 to 1931 the island was an Aboriginal penal facility where 369 Aboriginals died.
Throughout the island it’s clear that the frequency of sighting a quokka is only matched by the frequency of yellow shirts at the heritage sites. On our ferry, we had met a yellow shirt named Pat, a volunteer at the Oliver Hill Gun Battery Tour. These volunteers know their stuff without the aid of google. With the aid of google I learn that volunteers account for more than 35 000 hours of work on the island, conducting tours and helping to conserve the island and educate its visitors.
Our next adventure is the Oliver Hill Railway. The train clatters its way to Oliver Hill for 20 minutes, past lakes and the impressive Kingstown Barracks, located just south of Thomson Bay and the World War II barracks that were home to the soldiers stationed on the island and now home to the Environmental Education Centre.
With the installation of the two massive 9.2 inch guns at Oliver Hill and an additional two 6 inch guns at Bickley Point the army constructed the railway to move equipment and ammunition.
At Oliver Hill, Matilda and I run around the guns, take in the magnificent panoramic view of the island and then run back to the train as the driver is blowing the horn. Matilda and I are just doing the train ride but the rest of the passengers are going to do the full tour of the guns, including the tunnels underneath.
For our journey back to the settlement we are the only passengers and Matilda is lucky enough to be in charge of the horn at the crossings, pressing the vigilance button (think dead mans handle) and even gets to have a drive. Our driver has been a volunteer for many years and very proud of the train which he explains is a railcar that was purpose built to suit the requirements of Rottnest Island.
Oliver Hill Railway.
Back at the settlement there’s still plenty of time before we have to catch the ferry back to the mainland.
“What’s next Matilda?”
“Another snorkel Dad!”
It’s all so easy isn’t it? What an island. We mount the tandem and make our way back through the settlement. I see a few things that remind me of younger times but I keep them to myself. This is Matilda’s day to absorb Rottnest with her own experiences.
This time on our ride to the Basin I stop pointing out every Quokka and just soak up the experience myself of what I’ve just realised is also my own rite of passage; a dad and his daughter sharing time together on the great Western Australian island. Now you can’t keep the smile off both of our faces.
