Ningaloo

Table of Contents

Ningaloo

Sunday PM

Monday AM

Monday PM

Tuesday AM

Tuesday PM

Wednesday AM

Wednesday PM

Thursday AM

Thursday PM

Friday AM

Sunday PM | Two Days Later

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Sunday PM

It was sunset when Marty drove into Coral Bay.

He slowed the old Land Rover to a crawl past the Ningaloo Club backpacker hostel, a tavern and the Arcade, a small, multi-faced sandstone shopping center. 

The Bayview Trailer Park sprawled away to his left.  Tents covered every square foot of available ground and there were kids everywhere.  A superfluous sign declared no vacancies. 

On the bayside opposite manual sprinklers labored at generating lawn growth.  Beyond this proposed verdant belt, a dense barrier of saltbush, spinifex, and Veldt grass protected the dunes from erosion.

The Reef Café and Cabins separated the Bayview from its opposite number, the People’s Park, also bursting at the seams.  He noticed Fin’s Café and a small convenience store.

Streams of pedestrian traffic were going to and from the beach.  The temperature was still plenty hot enough for a swim.  Marty considered the idea but rejected it.  There would be time enough and there were things to do first.

He could make out a timber railed lookout at the edge of the southern point where a couple of dozen people had gathered for a better view of the sun disappearing over the cloudless horizon in a blaze of gold, orange and indigo.

He swung off the bitumen onto the white sand track that curled up and around behind the Resort Hotel.  He found a parking space, got out and checked the ropes holding the Malibu belly up to the roof rack.  He wouldn’t be needing it here.  The only waves inside the Ningaloo Reef were heat waves. 

A Reception sign dangled from the crossbeam of a pine log arch with an arrow pointing down a rocky path.  He followed it and found a small office occupying the corner of a long building fronting the bay.  Next door was Shades restaurant, separated from the resort bar by a takeout window.  He suspected that the eateries shared a kitchen. 

Out front was a paved alfresco area where people sat having a quiet drink.  Marty, feeling as dry as a wooden god after his journey, resolved to join them as soon as practicable.

The swimming pool was the central feature of a well-manicured lawn dotted with palms and Balinese hut inspired gazebos.  Two blocks of double storey apartments were placed so that they fanned out at forty-five degrees on either side to open up the vista of the bay. 

He finished taking in the scene and turned back to the office.  He slid open the glass door, walked in and was clobbered by the air conditioning, something he was used to doing without.  The unit in the Land Rover hadn’t functioned for months and Marty didn’t consider it worth throwing money at.  He closed the door behind him.

A middle aged woman with a pair of bifocals perched on the end of her nose sat at a desk holding a telephone receiver to her ear.  She acknowledged him with a wave as she began scribbling on a pad in front of her. 

Marty spotted a rack filled with leaflets detailing all the available tourist activities.  He helped himself to one of each and glanced through them as the woman read credit card numbers back to the caller.

The Quad-Treks on four wheeled motor bikes were something that Marty found of interest. 

The woman put down the phone, rose and took the two

short steps to the counter where she wrote a name and a few details in the guest ledger.  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.  How can I help you?’

‘I have a booking.  Johannsen.’

The woman ran her index finger down the page looking for his name.  He spotted it before she did and pointed it out.  Johannsen wasn’t hard to find even upside down and back to front.

‘Ah, yes.  You have better eyes than me.’  She selected a key from a hook on the wallboard nearby.  ‘Ocean View Number 4, upstairs.  That’s the block closest.’  She pointed over his shoulder.  

Marty examined the key which had a plastic card attached.

‘The card is for your power,’ she said.  ‘Inside the door is where it slots in.  WiFi is free, your access password is reefresort01, all continuous.’

‘No problem,’ said Marty.

The office phone rang.

‘It’s been like that all day,’ said the woman with a sigh.  ‘Excuse me a moment.’  She turned away and picked up the receiver.  ‘Ningaloo Resort, May speaking.’  She dealt with the booking enquiry while keeping her back to him.  Marty leant over the counter, spun the ledger around and scanned it.  He flicked back several pages before returning it to its original position.  There were no familiar names.

May hung up, turned back around and picked up where she’d left off.  ‘Now let’s see.  Your room’s been pre-paid for five nights but I’ll need to swipe your credit card in case there are any extras.’ 

‘I don’t have one.’  Marty was ineligible to obtain the plastic fantastic.  He needed a suitable employment history and/or a current job to qualify and the price was too high in his opinion.  ‘The booking was paid for by a third party, Alan Adams.  He’s my uncle.’ 

‘I see,’ said the woman looking at him anew. 

‘There shouldn’t be any extras, but if there are you can bill the same number.’

She thought it over.  There was the potential issue of damage but the card details had checked out with the bank.  ‘ID?’

Marty pulled out his wallet, took out his driver’s license and gave it to her.  She inspected it before photocopying it on a machine next to her desk. 

‘That’ll be fine,’ she said handing it back.   

Marty swapped the license for a photograph.  He held the image out for her to take.  ‘You haven’t seen this girl, have you?  Recently, say in the last few weeks?’

May looked at him over the top of her glasses before transferring her attention to the image.  She shook her head.  ‘No.  Who is she?’

‘My cousin, Diane Adams.  Last heard of in Coral Bay three weeks ago.’

‘Was she travelling alone?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘I can guarantee she hasn’t stayed here.  You could try the trailer parks or the Ningaloo Club,’ she said returning the photograph.  ‘They turn over a lot of people.’

‘What chance of extending my booking if I need to stay longer?’

She examined the ledger.  ‘Sorry, no go.’

Marty thought as much.  Alan had managed to secure this reservation because of a cancellation. 

‘The only vacancy at all in the next two weeks is the honeymoon suite,’ said May.  ‘It’s a lot more expensive, especially for one.’

‘I’ll keep it in mind.  I might get lucky.’  Marty smiled and May gave a good-humored cackle.

‘You never know,’ she said.  ‘Funnier things have happened.  By the way, the large U-shaped tap in the sink is for drinking water.  It’s desalinated.  There’s no fresh water here.’

Marty was well aware of the fact but he always carried five gallons in a jerry can for emergencies wherever he went. 

He thanked her, retraced his footsteps to the Land Rover and retrieved a battered sport bag.  He made his way up the outside stairs to number four and opened the door.  He located the power source and pushed the card on the key ring into the slot.  The split system air-con started up at once.  He entered, shut himself in and dropped his bag onto the queen size bed. 

The rest of the apartment contained a standard motel size bathroom and a common room with settee, table, chairs and more beds.  The kitchenette had the basics, fridge, microwave, hot plate, an electric jug.  He found a toaster and pots and pans in a cupboard, cutlery in a drawer.  A television set sat on a small unit in a corner but he hadn’t come all this way to watch the idiot box.

He ventured out onto the small balcony.  It overlooked the pool and the view of the bay was good.  There was a small outdoor setting made of green plastic.  He selected one of the four chairs and sat contemplating the scene with his feet up on the railing.  A light sou-wester had sprung up and the palm trees on the lawn waved tropically in the breeze.  In the gathering dusk the Indian Ocean was at peace inside the sheltered haven of the reef.  Beyond that natural barrier lay the unknown with all its hidden dangers.  But there could also be hidden dangers beneath a facade of tranquility. 

Marty’s attention was drawn to a character with a long, bushy beard under an Akubra hat wheeling an over-laden pushbike up the path from the front of the resort. 

The cyclist was of indeterminate age because of the facial fungus and wore loose fitting trainer pants and a long sleeved white T-shirt with the Greenpeace logo emblazoned on the front.  From the amount of gear he was carrying he was on a long journey. 

Marty wished he had the tenacity to do something like that.  The cyclist leaned his worldly possessions against the swimming pool fence, went to the bar and returned with a can of beer.  The contents went down the hatch so quickly they wouldn’t have touched the sides.  The empty went in a nearby trash bin before the man began wheeling his bike down toward the beach.  He was probably going to camp there for the night.  It wasn’t legal but Marty was the last person to care about that. 

Marty went inside, stripped off and discarded his clothes into a pile on the bedroom floor before taking a prolonged shower to wash the dust of travel from his athletic frame.  He was six feet three, lean and muscular.  Surfing kept him fit and he swam most mornings. 

He dried himself, wandered back into the bedroom and opened his bag.  He put on a clean T-shirt and a fresh pair of shorts and stood one legged to do up each of the velcro straps of his leather sandals.  He stood in front of the robe door mirror and combed his shoulder length hair straight back off his face.  His hair was naturally fair but had been bleached blond by the many hours he’d spent in the sun.  The bronzed skin accentuated the coloring.  He gave himself the once over.  It would do.  It wasn’t as if he had other options.  He crossed to the door, removed the key card and let himself out to the dying strains of the air conditioner.

Behind the bar, a young man of Mediterranean appearance and a waif like girl stood chatting.  The girl spotted Marty’s approach and eased away from the conversation.

‘What will ye be having?’  There was no mistaking the Irish brogue.

Marty showed her Diane’s photograph.  It didn’t ring a bell with her and she called Enzo, her co-worker, across to show him.  There was no joy there either.  Further enquiries revealed that the two backpackers had been working there for a month. 

Marty was disappointed. This waterhole was one of the hubs of social activity and Diane would have thrown herself into it.  If the bar staff hadn’t seen her then she hadn’t been here. 

He bought a beer and went outside.  There were no tables free so he decided to impose on somebody.  He chose a sole occupant, a man of about fifty with close cropped grey hair and a goatee beard. 

‘Mind if I join you?’  Marty asked.

‘Not at all.  You are welcome.’  The few words were enough to reveal a European accent.

‘Thanks.  I’m Marty.’  He held out his hand and the man took it in one of those dead fish handshakes that Marty couldn’t stand. 

‘Karel Capek.’ 

Marty put first impressions to one side and took a seat.  ‘I’m guessing you are Polish.’

‘Czech.’

‘Are you here on vacation, Karel?’

‘No.  I am here to study coral reproduction.’

‘Karel on Coral, eh?’

‘Yes, it amuses many people.’  It didn’t seem to amuse Karel. 

Marty pulled out his wallet and showed the photograph to his new acquaintance.  ‘You haven’t seen this girl during your stay have you, Karel?’

The Czech studied the image intently which is how Marty thought he would study anything. 

‘No, I have never seen her.  I would remember someone so pretty.  She is your sister perhaps?’

‘Cousin,’ replied Marty as he put the wallet away.  ‘I’m supposed to be meeting her here.’  He didn’t feel the need to go into a full explanation.  Karel had either seen her or he hadn’t.

‘She will be somewhere.’  Karel made an attempt at reassurance.  ‘Young people..’  He shrugged his shoulders.

Marty searched the sea of faces assembled at the oasis but there were only strangers.  He settled back and made further inroads into the drink he’d been so looking forward to.  ‘So you’re doing a bit of diving, Karel?’ 

‘It is necessary for research but I am not a professional,’ said Karel. 

Marty finished his beer and pointed to Karel’s glass.  ‘Can I get you another?’ 

‘Yes please,’ said Karel.  He skolled the remains of his drink.  ‘Baccardi and coke.’

Over a few more rounds Karel was quite happy, in an austere kind of way, to provide Marty with an overview of his life story.  There was the science degree from Comenius University in Bratislava and the PHD in linguistics which accounted for his flawless English.  Then came his post graduate work and lecturing in Marine Biology at various institutions. 

He managed to hold Marty’s attention which was no mean feat as his interest in academia was negligible.  The closest he came to cerebral activity was studying tides and surf conditions. 

On the other hand, apart from a few rudimentary questions posed out of politeness, the Czech scientist paid scant regard to Marty, his life or his activities. 

Karel’s work was all consuming for him.  All he wanted now was to witness the annual spawning of the coral.  That for him would be the icing on the cake.

Marty was intrigued.  ‘What made you pick Coral Bay for all this brain strain?’ 

‘The Ningaloo Reef is Australia’s largest fringing coral reef,’ explained Karel.  ‘It is far more accessible than say, the Great Barrier Reef and is very different in any case.  Where else can you go and be this close to where it is all happening?’

Marty had no answer.  He hadn’t thought about that before and was embarrassed that it had to be pointed out to him by a foreigner.  He had traveled abroad on several occasions but he hadn’t been up here before.  The place was full of tourists so they all knew about it.  It was a typical case of fixing one’s sights on the horizon