I slept well. I'd decided to try an small experiment. Whenever I go camping, I always wake up in the night needing a pee, as does Tina. My plan for this trip was to go to bed each night without a last trip over to the ablutions block, the theory being that if I was going to have to get up anyway, I'd rather get up early, just a couple of hours after going to bed, rather than wake from deep sleep in the middle of the night. The theory worked in practice! We both woke about 11pm, stomped over to the bogs (there's no other word for them at that time of night before the cleaners have been in), then got back into our sleeping bags and slept through until not long before dawn. I triumph of careful planning over bladder control!
The curse of camping in England is, of course, dampness. On a dry, sunny day, things are still damp in the morning, and apparently it's no different in Australia. The inside of the tent gets soaked with condensation, which is hardly surprising since the overnight temperatures were in single figures. We never got down to the 2C which we could have endured but 8C or 9C were typical. It's impossible to exit a wet tent without getting wet yourself, so I didn't try. I just wrestled my way out and stood blinking at the morning. Still an hour before sunrise, Tina was up and about boiling water. I found a damp chair to sit in for a while, before staggering off across the mud for a shower. Freshly cleaned, the showers were a lot nicer than the night before, although I have to admit mine was a damn sight cleaner before I went into it than when I came out. What can you do? Red mud all over the flip flops (thongs to the Aussies) on the way in, apply lots of water in a shower cubicle without a door or curtain, and volia!, I was glad I'd got up early and was the first in there. I flip flopped my way back to the tent somewhat refreshed.
Our neighbours at our pitch consisted of a single girl on one side who was in the tiniest tent I've ever seen, and a couple of girls in a car on the other side. The couple slept in their car and Tina immediately labeled them as lesbians. More likely they were sisters or something, but they hardly spoke to each other all morning. At least they were quiet.
After the sun came up and it started to warm up, everything started to dry out. The long pants and sweaters came off and shorts and T-shirts went on. We felt like we were on holiday. We went off to explore Coral Bay. It didn't take long. A couple of shops, a few places looking to relieve tourists of their money in return for boat trips, and a petrol station. At least the idea of being at a place without food stores wasn't reality. The highlight of the hamlet, which all the locals were enthusing about, was the building site near the ocean. Apparently they were putting in a sewage treatment plant.
The whole point of Coral Bay, and certainly the reason we were there, is Ningaloo Reef. Ningaloo is a tropic reef which stretches for a couple of hundred kilometres up the coast line of the very north western tip of Australia. It is said to rival the Great Barrier Reef on the east coast in terms of beauty and diversity. It is also one of the few places in the world where the planet's largest fish, the Whale Shark, is reliably seen. Swimming with a whale shark was right at the top of my list of things to do. It's an expensive pursuit which offers no guarantees of success. If no whale sharks are in the area, or those that are choose to stay deep down, disappointment is the only result. We investigated the options and it turned out that a company called Ningaloo Experience were running a trip out the next day. For the not inconsiderable cost of $320 (£125) each we booked ourselves on a boat. With an 80% whale shark finding success rate for the season so far, it seemed a fair bet. The stakes were high but if it came off we'd have the experience of a lifetime.
That issue sorted out we went to find a decent snorkeling place. We'd been advised to head south along the beach for about 2km to a place where the reef comes close to the shore, so, flippers, wetsuit and snorkels in hand, off we went. We weren't entirely sure what we were looking for. We kept stopping to wonder if we were there. The water in close to the beach was crystal clear and light green, but a bit further out it suddenly turned dark blue. Eventually we guessed that the dark blue bit was the reef, and since it looked close enough to swim to - like all of 20 metres - we kitted up and waded in. It was indeed wonderful. The coral wasn't as colourful as the Great Barrier Reef where I'd been SCUBA diving a few years back, but there were loads of bright fish, and all sorts of other life. The highlight was a huge clam, probably nearly a metre in length, which was half open and showing it's stunning blue fleshy inside. I'd never considered what colour the flesh of a clam might be, but glowing blue wouldn't have been my first guess. I duck dived down to have a closer look and it closed itself up. We swam off to leave it be. We also spotted huge ray-like fish hiding in the sand on the bottom, just their outline and bulging eyes visible. I was tempted to swim down and poke one, but decided not to, partly because I didn't really want to disturb the wildlife I was supposed to be observing, but mostly because I didn't know if they were dangerous. I'd heard bad things about stinging rays.
Having spent 45 minutes in the water we waded out and sat on the beach warming up. We then walked back to the campsite, pausing only to ponder the idea of hiring a kayak to get to some better parts of the reef. Maybe another time.
Lunch was the last of the food we'd brought up from Perth: a paper plate of potatoes, baked beans and cheese, then we relaxed for the rest of the afternoon. Camping takes it out of you. When the process of putting the kettle on starts with building the table, life necessarily takes on a slower pace. Simple things are so much effort. That evening we took a walk down to the bay to take a few photos of the sunset.