The sunset last Friday night was striking. The sky was filled with brilliant reds and oranges and lasted for a considerable length of time. I was in the parking lot of a local supermarket when it occurred. Not long enough to get to a more scenic location. But the power pole provides an intriguing focal point for the photo.
We went to gas up the truck and were facing the east. The colors in the night sky were intriguing; mauve fading to blue. The beauty was not just in the western sky.
News of this oil spill at Yaroomba saddens me. We purchased land when the area was first offered for sale. We built a beach house on the ocean front and I spent many happy hours on the beach. I don’t think the beach had a name in those days. The name Yaroomba came much later; we just called it 'The Beach.'
The only access to Yaroomba at that time was by a sandy road – at times little more than two ruts through the bush – that winded around from the Yandina-Coolum Road. There was no direct connecting road between Yaroomba and Coolum. There was no running water; we collected rain water in a couple of 1,000-gallon tanks. There was no power either. We kept perishable foods on ice. It was a quite a trek to get into Coolum and back; we didn’t make that trip every day if we could avoid it. It was big deal when that section of the David Low Highway was built.
The beach between Yaroomba and the Maroochy River was pristine for many years. There was no development along this stretch of beach. Marcoola did not exist. The only access to the beach was by sandy tracks through the bush. Connecting tracks – if you knew where to find them - would start off from the beach parking areas as brave little tracks only, depending on how frequently they were used, to become ruts and then less and less detectable until they become totally overgrown. Only the locals knew where they went and could navigate them when they appeared overgrown. Once, I walked one of these tracks with a local who was familiar with them. I would never have tried to follow one alone if I was not prepared to cross-country to the beach and go back home along the beach.
I walked the beach between Yaroomba and Mudjimba Island many times; Mudjimba was my trigger to turn around and walk back. Only once did I walk all the way down to the spit on the north shore of the Maroochy River. I clearly remember arriving at the spit, frustrated that I couldn’t cross the very narrow but deep channel to the south spit. So near and yet so far. And I had a long trek back home.
I would often meet surf fishermen at a few spots along the beach but, otherwise, the beach was empty. If I wanted to fish, I would just go down to the edge of the surf and dig pipis (eugarie; Plebidonax deltoides) for bait.
A photo gallery shows graphic pictures of the spill on Moreton Island. BBC video footage of the recovery efforts shows front loaders scooping contaminated sand from a contaminated beach and removing it by truck. Additional video footage of the cleanup is available at the BBC. If the contaminated material can be removed from the beaches before the oil soaks down into the sand, the long-term damage to the beaches may be limited. But 60 kilometers is a long distance; it seems inevitable that oil will soak in before recovery teams arrive. Some beaches may not be as lucky as others.
While the beaches are relatively open, uncomplicated areas to clean, it will be much more challenging and, perhaps, impossible to clean the oil from the tidal pools on rocky shores around Caloundra and between Point Arkwright and Coolum, the inter-tidal mangrove swamps, and the rivers where the oil will penetrate vegetation and may have a much more damaging effect on wildlife.
We can only hope.
Photos: House: Google Maps; Map: BBC
Photo galleries:
- News.com.au
- ABC news
He turned up at the house – at least we think it’s the same frog – several years ago and lives in one of the water-filled planters on the patio. He and his friends probably made their way from the small pools that survive after the stream on the neighboring property dry up each year and which have served as breeding pools. His friends took up residence in a water-filled bathtub that serves as a planter in the greenhouse. Some came over to the house one year but seem to have left. He is alone.
He calls every year – as early as January – until the end of the breeding season in March. At the moment, he is calling during the warm of the afternoon and often into the evening. Not continuously, but in ‘waves’ – calling for a while, taking a break, and then calling again. I have also heard him calling in the early morning as I leave for work in the dark.
He usually stops calling when we walk out the front door and doesn’t start again until we have left the area. If we tried to walk over to the planter, he would bob under the water. This afternoon was different. I walked over to the planter and peered all around the edge of the planter, not expecting to see him. But there he was. His body was
half out of the water. Maybe he thought I couldn’t see him if he didn’t call.
I had my camera with me, so I took a few photos using the zoom lens. Then I tried a shot with the flash, fully expecting that the light would be reflected and show nothing. Having taken all the shots I planned, I took a chance and switched to the macro setting. I leaned all the way down to him and took another shot. To my surprise, he stayed above water. Surprisingly, the shot taken with the flash didn’t reflect the light but showed his body underwater.
Neat!
P.S. Pseudacris feriarum (Upland Chorus Frog; now called Southeastern Chorus Frog) is found in the Southeastern United States. It's range and call can be found here.