I’m checking the ocean and weather conditions of South Australia’s Spencer Gulf because this morning I am going to experience something that only occurs for a few weeks each year and, across the whole globe, is limited to a nearby 10km stretch of ocean. It’s easy to see the wind has backed off and the sun has replaced yesterday’s clouds — all I have to do is open my camper’s rear curtains, and there is nothing between me and the ocean at Whyalla’s Discovery Park. Even in the depths of winter there are plenty of explorers at the park making the most of its beachfront location.
A leisurely walk along it takes you to the town’s circular jetty and bustling foreshore. But I’ll take advantage of that later. Now I’m driving about 30 minutes to Stony Point, the stretch of coast where, building up from May, with numbers peaking in July, Australian giant cuttlefish congregate in their thousands to mate.
No, I had never heard of this either. Making the phenomenon even more spectacular is the technicolour performance these cephalopods put on to get the attention of their mates, and that it all happens literally a stone’s throw from the shoreline, where the cuttlefish are so preoccupied with hooking up they don’t care at all about the steady stream of tourists snorkelling and scuba diving around them. I’m putting on my wetsuit for the first time since an unfortunate mishap early on my round-Australia adventure which left me needing hand surgery and months of rehab to get it working again.
I’ve actually packed up from Port Lincoln and the adventure is back on track. It’s a special occasion to get back in the ocean, and I’m taking it all in as I notice the new change room and toilet facilities the Whyalla council has installed to help accommodate the increasing number of visitors wanting to experience the giant cuttlefish congregation. They even have a whole festival around it: Cuttlefest.
Of course. All the guided dives seem booked out so I just drive out, timing my run for the mid-morning sun, hoping to wing it. I’m not the only one, pulling up next to a UK tourist in a campervan who tells me he parked up here overnight so he could go for a snorkel at first light.
As I move towards the water’s edge, looking at the other divers no more than 50m offshore, there are helpful signs with information to fill in the gaps I’ve missed by not being on a guided swim. It is believed the cuttlefish congregate here in such large numbers as it is the only area with rocky ledges suitable for laying eggs. They are known as the “chameleons of the sea” because of their changing exterior, and are one of the largest species of cuttlefish, reaching up to 60cm in length and weighing up to 5kg.
I edge my way in. It’s not too cold considering we’re in the middle of winter on the south coast. Drifting, drifting, weed, rock.
I’m expecting to see more cuttlefish than a Kailis ice display at Easter, but instead, nothing. But then my eyes adjust and suddenly I spot them, just a flash of colour before I glide over them and they immediately turn a shade of brown, just like the weed and rock. I reckon I went over dozens of them before spotting them.
I edge my way towards excited chatter from the guided divers without being obvious and spot more of the cuttlefish — this time two, three and four. I’m diving down, face-to-face with these otherworldly creatures, and they don’t seem at all disturbed by us. No wonder they were almost fished to extinction before they were totally protected from fishing.
Back at the camp I crack my last West End Draught, throwing the ball to the beach for Mallee dog (who waited patiently in the car while I dived) without having to leave my camp chair, reflecting on the unique experience. I had no idea the cuttlefish congregation happened or that it was a major attraction. But within South Australia there are billboards, talkback radio discussions and targeted social media promotions hitting my phone.
It makes me realise it’s pretty important to continue to sell our attractions within the States, ensuring once people have done the hard yards to get there (particularly WA), they experience the very best. I mean there was a time no one really knew about Rotto’s quokkas until they caught the ferry there. Maybe a cuttlefish selfie is the next big thing? Maybe there’s still a window to experience this natural wonder by just pulling up and throwing on a snorkel — just like what my parents tell me Monkey Mia was like when we visited as kids.
You read it here first. + Christien de Garis was a guest of Discovery Parks Whyalla. They have not influenced or read this story before publication.
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