Back into the tropical heat. About a thousand kilometres further west and a little further south than Darwin, Broome still has to be patient for a while before the rains will start. Suddenly in Western Australia, time has reset to full hours, the half was rather confusing, and the irritating cane toads are finally gone. Or rather, haven’t made it here yet. Fingers crossed that it stays that way. Instead, the observant marvels at the sight of frill-necked lizards, sand monitors and reef sharks driving the fishermen insane by stealing their proud catch right out of their hands. And suddenly the beaches are pretty again. Large stretches of tiny Mangrove roots sticking out of the low-tide mud harbouring green, red and blue crabs in all sizes and shapes round off kilometres-long stretches of yellow, white and red sand with a view on the turquoise water of the Indian ocean. A haven for pearl divers, the industry that Broome was founded on. Planned as a small town, it hasn’t grown much such that the airport is still only five minutes from the city centre. Though the real treasure lays anyway outside its boundaries. In each direction, north, east or south a different landscape, different nature, different beauty. With the second highest tide difference in the world, of around twelve meters, it bears a perfect nesting and feeding ground for shore-birds, studied and stood in awe upon by visitors, staff and volunteers of the Broome Bird observatory. A campground and research centre only accessible by gravel roads, hundred meters from the beach, made for the binocular-carriers to walk, spot and stare at their feathery friends. A small kitchen with a large front window, behind which several drinking fountains attract not only the flying creatures but also the jumping ones, wallabies and their joeys, thanking the humans for providing fresh water in an otherwise dried out country. Still, the rule stands to not interfere with wildlife. No feeding a single hungry soul. They might start to expect it from the unsuspecting traveller. Don’t want that now. What we do want to see is turtles. Further down the coast the stunningly-white eighty-mile beach lures with promising tracks. The first gentle creatures have already laid their eggs at the edge of the dunes and covered them carefully. Apparently, it happens at night. And, indeed, watching the shallow waters for a few minutes, air-requiring heads pop out only to disappear again in the comforting depths. Turtles and reef sharks become our constant companions while exploring Cape Keraudren, a small and windy peninsula sheltering a westward bay, reflecting the setting sun in the crystal-clear water at high tide or allowing for a nightly walk in the tide plains under the bright moon light at low tide. But freshwater is sparse and our tanks only enough for about two days, so we head on. From here it is only a quick trip, for Australian standards of course, to Port Hedland, harbour town, filled with boats, ships and fishermen, surrounded by a huge industrial area, spotted with blindingly-white salt mountains. A river flows here into the sea, at its mouth people go swimming regularly. Is this this first place in over half a year and thousands of kilometres across the northern part of Australia, where saltwater crocodiles are finally no threat anymore? It seems like it, and so how could I resist taking a dip?