Lying 300 yards off the south-western end of Dunk
Island, across a swift and deep channel, it is naught but a confused mass
of weather-beaten rocks, the loftiest not being more than 50 feet above
high-water. A few pandanus palms, hardy shrubs and trailers, and
mangroves, spring from sheltered crevices, but for the most part the
rocks are bare. The incessant assaults of the sea have cut deep but
narrow clefts in the granite, worn out sounding hollows, and smoothed
away angularities. Here a few terns rear their young, and succeeding
generations of the sooty oyster-catcher lay their eggs just out of the
reach of high-tide. A never-ending procession of fish passes up and down
the channel, according as the tide flows and ebbs, though they do not at
all times take serious heed of bait. To one who generally fishes for a
definite purpose, it is tantalising to peep down into the clear depths
and watch the lazy fish come and go, ignoring the presence of that which
at other times is greedily snapped at. Turtle, and occasionally dugong,
favour the vicinity of Wooln-garin which on account of its distinctive
character is one of the most frequented of the satellites.
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