Kwinana Bulk Jetty

The old jetty once owned by BHP, continues to lie derelict as it rots away. Home to scavaging seagulls and pooping pigeons, it’s a popular hangout for locals, as well as an attraction for both fishing people (gender neutral label) and scuba divers.

This may very well be the hardest location I’ve ever attempted to research. Finding information on this jetty would presumably be as easy as extracting potassium nitrate from guano (pigeon poop).

Also known as BHP Jetty Number 1 and the Bulk Jetty Dive Site, it became disused in the 1980’s. That’s all the information I can find.

To get to the jetty is an interesting feat. Some wise guy decided to cut out a portion of the jetty to terminate access to it, (which certainly make sense, when considering the potential dangers associated with the jetty). Some even wiser guy (or girl) installed two ropes to make it accessible. The crossing sounds rather simple but I would certainly recommend anyone who ever decides to cross it, to either work on your arm strength or pack some top energy solutions. Whilst I’ve always had good arm strength from my long term BMXican (bike) passion, I certainly have a long way to go before I could start doing any productive achievements with my arm strength.

Facing either side of the jetty, you have to slide or walk your feet along the bottom rope and guide your hands doing the same, on the one above your head. I have to laugh at how easy that sounds, until I recall the pain of my blood-drained arms and beat of my heart almost deafening the silence in my head.

A word of caution, it is important to note that funsized people may have a predicament in reaching the top rope. Judging from the height requirements some theme parks stipulate for rides, this potential disappointment shouldn’t be taken to heart by such height-challenged people, who would presumably be accustomed to such disadvantages.

It was certainly a relief to have successfully completed the crossing, as I tend to self doubt most things I do in life, particularly if it’s something new. Human nature no doubt but I’m not a fan of heights, the water or sharks for a start.

Before I knew it, I had my feet firmly on the ground. A fairly dangerous substitute at this stage being the jetty but nethertheless, more safer than the rope.

Putting it simply, the jetty was deadset munted. With gaping big holes between planks that were big enough for a shark to jump up and grab your leg, one slip and you were gone. Realistically, if you removed any thought (or physical presence) of the sharks, stingrays, jellyfish, dumped deadly objects under the surface of the water, rips and your inability of being able to swim (if that was the case), it was just a two metre drop into the water and a short (doggy paddle) swim to the shore.

The jetty was equipped with two observation towers. The first one trembled like a child, rust eating at the core of its stability. My mate Jake and I decided to give it a miss, which was fairly disappointing, as we like to face our fear of heights and we assumed the second one further up was in the same boat.

The wind was fairly strong, which always seems to come hand in hand with the seaside. Jake’s drone struggled against the gale. It was likely to decapitate us or someone with it’s sharp blades had we kept on trying.

A few young fishermen were chilling in a concrete pipe at the end of the jetty. The type you find in a child’s playground, when you want to hide from the teacher. They were having a smoke, which was fairly brave of them if they wanted to risk not having a straight judgment navigating themselves off the dodgy jetty’s surface. I was having trouble myself trying to get off the end part, without almost tripping over their haphazardly placed fishing rods and I wasn’t even a stoner!

Thankfully the second tower was in suitable condition to climb, although we both had to plug in some high-energy motivating beats from our phones to garner any confidence. I sent Jake up first, in case the tower happened to topple over into the water. He made it up and just as quickly came down. Then it was my turn. I examined the nuts and bolts and rusted whatevers fastening what I was about to stake my life on but my imagination was obviously running rife. The chances of anything happening to it or me would surely be slim.

The view was amazing, the water was rough as chops and the wind was packing a gale. I was sure the tower did permanently move atleast a degree whilst I was up there but I made it down, so I didn’t bother to overthink it.

We didn’t stay much longer after conquering our fears and decided to head off back to shore. Jake walked off ahead of me to answer a phone call and I certainly kept my distance, as I filmed him being attacked by a ruffled seagull. Perhaps her nest egg was stashed nearby. I had a good laugh but Jake wasn’t keen to join in, as he hid under his bucket hat. My time came to pass the territorial seagull’s turf and we switched roles. Thankfully Jake was still on the phone and not in a position to film me being attacked, whilst he enjoyed a good laugh.

I can safely say I had the last laugh in the end. I took a few photos of him crossing the rope back and happened to Photoshop in a massive shark in the water, right behind him. It sickened him to think how close he could have been to facing an attack, had he fallen into the water or the shark jumped up the two metres to grab him. It was a few months later before I told him the truth.