MONTEBELLO EXPEDITION DIARY PART I by Paul Grace
- Invisible Enemy
- 4 days ago
- 8 min read
At 5.00 pm on Friday 18 July 2025, the 80-foot charter vessel Two Seas weighed anchor at Dampier, Western Australia, and headed out into the Indian Ocean. For me and my fellow passengers, it was the culmination of months of planning, and the beginning of an extraordinary voyage: an eight-person multi-arts expedition to the Montebello Islands, site of three British nuclear tests in the 1950s.
It is not easy to get the Montebellos. The remote archipelago is 80 km off the North West Coast of Western Australia, over 1000 km north of Perth, where I live. I had tried to get there several times while working on my book, Operation Hurricane: The story of Britain’s first atomic test in Australia and the legacy that remains. But unless you own your own fishing boat (I don’t), a trip to the Montes is an expensive proposition. So when I heard about a group of artists, photographers and historians who had joined forces to hire a fishing charter, I was keen to join in. Luckily for me, a spot became available and I snuck aboard with little time to spare.
The rest of the team came from all over Australia. In alphabetical order, they were:
Gary Blinco: heritage manager for CITIC Pacific Mining, operator of the Sino Iron project at nearby Cape Preston, and descendant of a nuclear veteran. Gary’s late father, Able Seaman Allen Blinco RAN, was a diver who served in Hiroshima and Nagasaki with the British Commonwealth Occupation Force (BCOF) and salvaged contaminated mooring equipment at Montebello in the 1950s.
Dr Jesse Boylan: artist and photographer from Chewton, Victoria, and media and communications adviser for the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN) Australia. Jesse has taken iconic photos of nuclear whistleblowers like Avon Hudson and Yami Lester.
Merilyn Fairskye: artist and photographer from Sydney, NSW, and chair of the expedition organising committee. Merilyn has photographed nuclear landscapes from Chernobyl to Maralinga. Her determination to make the trip happen was crucial.
Maxine Goodwin: ambassador for ICAN and descendant of a nuclear veteran. Maxine’s late father, Sergeant Max Ward RAAF, was a radio mechanic who serviced contaminated Dakotas at Onslow during Operation Hurricane (my late grandfather, Flight Lieutenant Ron Grace RAAF, was one of the pilots). Max died of lymphosarcoma at the age of 49, when Maxine was just 16 years old. She now lives outside Sydney, NSW.
Dr Darren Holden: historian and geologist from Fremantle, WA. Darren brought his scintillometer (or Geiger counter), designed for detecting radioactive minerals like uranium and calibrated with caesium, and hand-held GPS devices programmed with coordinates for key sites.
Toby Holden: student at the University of Western Australia (UWA) and a talented young writer and photographer.
Professor Elizabeth (Liz) Tynan: historian and author of Atomic Thunder: The Maralinga Story and The Secret of Emu Field. Liz is working on her own book about Montebello, due out August 2026.
Earlier in the day, most of us had visited the hill at Cape Preston where West Australian journalists had observed the first British nuclear test in 1952. This site turned out to be surprisingly difficult to find, as it had long been misidentified as Mount Potter, the highest peak in the area. In fact it was a hill 12 km south of Mount Potter, known as Bulyurum or Bulyroona (there is no standardised spelling) by the local Mardudhunera people according to Traditional Owner Ian Wally. It was only thanks to some brilliant detective work by Rob Newton, Gary’s CITIC Pacific colleague, that it was found in time for our visit.
From a distance the hill did not look like a difficult climb, but up close the slope was covered with loose rocks and sharp spinifex grass. It was slow going, with the risk of a broken ankle at every step. Finally we made it to the top and found the telltale stone windbreak that the press men had built to escape the westerlies on the hilltop. There was also a pit full of unbroken longneck beer bottles and other signs of previous habitation. The site appeared to be untouched since 1952.
On departure we drove back up the coast to Dampier, a busy port that exports iron ore, liquid natural gas (LNG), ammonia and salt. Dampier is also home to some of the world’s oldest Aboriginal rock art at Burrup Peninsula. We drove past the salt lakes and Burrup turnoff on our way to the boat ramp.
There we met our skipper, Steve, a quiet, competent bloke with a tender alongside. Our boat, Two Seas of Seaestar Boat Charters, was anchored off in the lee of the causeway to East Intercourse Island. Over several trips, Steve ferried us and our gear out to the boat, including cameras, tripods and cartons of Swan Draught – the same beer drunk by troops in the Montebellos in the 1950s.
Once onboard we met the rest of the crew: deckhand Will and chef Ella, two likeable and enthusiastic youngsters. Like Steve, they looked after us very well for the whole trip (owner-operator Kristin McCarthy was also extremely accommodating). The boat was pretty flash, with an indoor saloon on the bridge deck and an outdoor bar and dining area on the back deck. Down below, we shared four cabins with double bunks. Cosy but comfortable, once you figured out how to climb into the upper bunk without hitting your head (this took practice).
Conditions were perfect as we headed off into the sunset, cruising at 10 knots, despite which I still got seasick (mercifully this was not repeated). We reached the calm waters of the Montebello lagoon about midnight.
We were all up before dawn, buzzing with excitement. Captain Steve had anchored off Trimouille Island, at the precise spot where frigate HMS Plym was destroyed by a 25-kt nuclear blast on 3 October 1952. There is now a crater 6 m deep and 300 m wide in the seabed. One of the frigate’s twin propellers was still down there, and one of the anchors used to moor her in place. Little else remains of Plym or her mooring.
The lagoon was of course irradiated by the blast. Two RAN divers were sent down to salvage mooring gear and other equipment within weeks of the test, a decision heavily criticised in the report of the 1984–85 McClelland Royal Commission. Other divers soon followed in their wake, including Gary’s father. Recent research shows there are still radioactive particles in the seabed even today.
After breakfast, we climbed in the tender and went ashore at Cocoa Beach (designated T2 by test planners). This area is only a few hundred metres from the Plym site but is considered safe to visit today because the fallout drifted further north, over nearby Main Beach.
The island was surprisingly green thanks to recent rains. On the heights above the beach we found the remains of a series of Anderson shelters positioned at different angles and distances in relation to the blast. Nearby we found concrete instrument pads, old motors, crumbling concrete blockhouses, even the remains of the T2 jetty, which was scattered about in the shallows off Main Beach. Liz and I were amazed to find so many artefacts still in place.
We also spotted several marsupials bouncing away through the scrub. These were apparently rufous hare-wallabies, an endangered species introduced to the island in the 2000s, despite the ongoing risk of radiation.
On return to the boat, Jesse donned a rashie and snorkel and braved the sharks to capture some rare underwater footage from the crater, while Gary took the opportunity to swim at the site where his father once dived.
Steve then took us down to Churchill Point (T1) at the southern end of Trimouille, where a concrete bunker was built high on a headland overlooking the area. It was a steep climb from the rocky beach where we landed in the tender. Built to serve as a scientific relay station, the bunker was full of rusty shelving racks that had once held dozens of telemetry transmitters. It was a little spooky. It felt like the scientists had just left.
Trimouille Island was also the site of Mosaic G1, a 15-kt tower shot conducted on 16 May 1956, at the northern end of the island, near Gladstone Beach (T3). Along with Main Beach, this is one of Trimouille’s two ‘elevated radiation zones’. Visitors are warned not to stay for longer than an hour, camp overnight, pick up any stray pieces of metal, or stir up dust unnecessarily.
Prior to the trip, there had been some debate within the group about how seriously to take these warnings. My view was that they were there for a reason, so we should follow them to the letter. This opinion was backed up by a conversation with Tim Hunt from Parks and Wildlife Karratha, who oversees the Montebello Islands Marine Park. In the end, Maxine decided not to enter any of the radioactive areas while the rest of us agreed to visit G1 and G2 for an hour each on separate days.
Late in the afternoon, Maxine waved us off as we climbed into the tinny once more. At the same time, chef Ella sent up a drone to film the scene from above.
Upon landing at Gladstone Beach, we were met by one of Parks and Wildlife’s warning signs. Darren immediately switched on his Geiger counter to monitor radiation levels. Because Geiger counters cannot detect alpha particles, which are dangerous when ingested, I advised everyone not to eat or drink in the radioactive area as an added precaution. Then we headed inland.
G1 Ground Zero is just a couple of hundred metres from the beach. It is marked by a crumbling concrete plinth in the middle of a sandy clearing where the 100-foot weapon tower once stood. The inscription says:
‘WARNING! RADIATION HAZARD. RADIATION LEVELS FOR A FEW HUNDRED METRES AROUND THIS POINT MAY BE ABOVE THOSE CONSIDERED SAFE FOR PERMANENT OCCUPATION. A BRITISH ATOMIC WEAPON WAS EXPLODED ABOVE THIS POINT IN 1956’
The Geiger counter was not making much noise until Darren neared the edge of the clearing. Suddenly a piercing alarm sounded. We all gathered around to see what had set it off. Despite a cleanup conducted by 22 Construction Squadron RAE in 1979 (Operation Capelin), a flimsy piece of rusty metal was sticking up out of the ground. It looked like a piece of the bomb tower. I recorded a 10-second video of the scene on my phone, then decamped.
We were back at the beach within the hour as planned. All around us were signs of animal life: depressions in the sand where turtles had nested; trails where hatchlings had crawled into the water; tracks belonging to birds and marsupials. We were still in the elevated zone.
Before the sun went down, we scooted down the coast to Tidepole Bay (T4), where Steve and his crew had seen other artefacts previously. Sure enough, we found loads of old gadgets and pieces of machinery lying around. I believe it was the tip where radioactive material was dumped in 1952. Darren did not detect any radiation, but we did find plenty of asbestos.
Back onboard, we decontaminated by hosing off and washing our boots on the back deck. We then returned to the sheltered Plym site for the night. It was the end of an incredibly packed day that exceeded all our expectations, but there was still plenty more to do …
Paul Grace is the author of Operation Hurricane: The story of Britain’s first atomic test in Australia and the legacy that remains (Hachette Australia, 2023). He is the grandson of Flight Lieutenant Ron Grace RAAF (1918–2008), who flew security patrols and ‘coastal monitoring sorties’ (looking for fallout on the mainland) during Operation Hurricane.
Part II next week.
Hi Paul, A very interesting account of your pilgrimage to the site of Operation Hurricane. As you are very aware, my late father, (then) FLTLT John "Jack" Finlay, was a close friend of your grandfather's. He navigated several of the eight RAAF 86 Wing detachment C-47s (Dakotas) deployed to Onslow for the duration of Operation Hurricane in September/October, 1952. In the three and a bit years that he was to live (and to continue to serve with the RAAF) it became clear that he was suffering from the effects of radiation poisoning brought on by exposure to nuclear contamination when he and others flew through the atomic cloud. It was my pleasure to assist you with one of the talks…