MONTEBELLO EXPEDITION DIARY PART II by Paul Grace
- Invisible Enemy
- 7 days ago
- 8 min read
At dawn on Day Two of our expedition to the Montebello Islands, the 80-foot charter vessel Two Seas emerged from the narrow channel between Hermite and Crocus islands and steamed south along the west coast of Hermite. We were heading for H1 Command Centre, scientific headquarters for three British nuclear tests in the 1950s.
Positioned 10 km from the nearest test site, H1 was the site from which the weapons were triggered and the only site in the islands that was staffed at the time of the blasts (most personnel were evacuated to surrounding ships). Welsh scientist Ieuan Maddock conducted all three countdowns, earning him the nickname ‘the Count of Montebello’!
As we rounded Palmerston Point and came into Claret Bay, the abandoned Cold War outpost loomed above us, perched high on a hilltop at the southern end of Hermite. We landed at Claret Cove and hiked up the hill to our destination.
What we found was a rusted-out shell. The building’s steel framework, constructed by 180 Engineer Regiment RE, was still standing, but the ceiling and most of the walls had disintegrated. Piles of detritus crunched underfoot. The whole place was overrun by spiders.
The view was pretty good though. H1 looked out over the whole archipelago. From the windows on the northern side of the building, you could see as far as Trimouille Island. With the aid of Darren’s GPS device, Liz and I pinpointed all three Ground Zeroes, just a few degrees apart. It was surreal standing at the spot where British boffins had wrought such devastation when the scene before us was so peaceful.
Down below the command centre, on the other side of the hill, was H1 campsite. We found numerous signs of the old camp, including asbestos water tanks. A little further south lay Rum Cove, from which all personnel were evacuated as a precautionary measure following Operation Hurricane (for Operation Mosaic they used Claret Cove). Here we found another ruined jetty, but this one was probably destroyed by a cyclone rather than an atomic bomb.
After lunch, Steve took us up Hermite’s eastern shore to investigate the H2 landing site. We proceeded cautiously through shallow water, with Will out ahead in the tender, guiding us around dangerous ‘bommies’ (coral outcrops) on the seabed. Eventually Steve declared it unsafe to proceed any further and ran us into shore in the tinny, dropping us off near Buttercup Island. From there, we crossed over to Stephenson Channel by foot.
The first thing we spotted at H2 was a monument to the last feral cat on Hermite, caught and killed by scientists from Western Australia’s Parks and Wildlife Service in 1999. The eradication process was conducted prior to the resettlement of native fauna from nearby Barrow Island as part of the deal for the massive Gorgon gas project. The female cat’s name was Ginger Mick and apparently she proved a tough and wily opponent!
On a rocky ledge nearby we found a dump full of corroded 44-gallon drums filled with cement, much like the type used by British troops to dispose of radioactive waste at sea. However it is not clear whether these drums dated from that time. I was also excited to find a few scraps of Marston matting, the pierced steel planking used to construct tracks and landings on the islands. We were able to follow the old track that led from H2 to H1 to a small hill near Sherry Bay before returning to the rendezvous.
We spent that night in the secluded waters of Chartreuse Bay, a popular spot with fishers and tourists nestled alongside Alpha Island, site of Mosaic G2.
Mosaic G2 was the biggest bomb ever detonated in Australia. The exact yield is still disputed. The UK Government lists it as 60 kt. The Australian Radiation Protection and Nuclear Safety Agency (ARPANSA) lists it as 98 kt (with an asterisk to account for the discrepancy). Both figures are based on official yet contradictory reports revealed during the McClelland Royal Commission.
For the benefit of the photographers, we went ashore at first light. Once again we were greeted by a sign warning us of elevated radiation levels and telling us not to stay for longer than an hour. This time Darren’s Geieger counter started shrieking immediately and climbed in pitch as we made our way up the hill toward Ground Zero. For the first time, I wondered what the hell I was doing there.
The concrete plinth marking G2 Ground Zero is in the middle of a crater that appears to be created by the bomb. As we descended toward it we were surprised to find radiation levels dropping. This may have been a result of the cleanup conducted by 22 Construction Squadron RAE in 1979. Unfortunately the Aussie sappers have suffered from suspiciously high rates of cancer, yet have been excluded from consideration for health care and medal recognition because their exposure came after arbitrary cutoff dates.
From Ground Zero we headed down to the main landing beach (A3) before continuing on to the hilltop observation post where remote control cameras captured the Hurricane blast (A4). This site had a stunning view across the lagoon to the Plym site.
With our hour almost up, we returned to A3 for pickup and decontaminated ourselves on Two Seas’ back deck. Several of us commented that we were surprised by the level of radiation we had encountered. We were cautious enough to get out of there within the hour as directed, but would the average bloke on a fishing trip pay any attention to those warning signs? Probably not.
From Alpha Island we headed south to Campbell Island, home of ‘the Lido’, the beach camp set up for other ranks (enlisted men) in 1956. The Lido was equipped with a marquee, a separate bar for chiefs and petty officers, and a bathing pool. Many of the blokes who swam there have since wondered how much radioactive water drifted across the lagoon from the Plym site, just a few miles away.
With little to no sign of the old camp remaining, we moved on to explore a series of caves where Australian archaeologists have found evidence of Aboriginal habitation dating back 30,000 years, when the Montebellos were still part of the mainland.
Following an aborted attempt to reach the nineteenth-century pearl shell farm at the other end of the island (one of our only disappointments), we returned to the Plym site one last time to obtain footage of the propeller and anchor on the seabed. Captain Steve was the hero of the hour, diving 12 m in full scuba gear to capture exclusive images for Merilyn and Jesse. The two photographers were delighted with the results.
We departed the Montebellos in high spirits on the afternoon of Monday 21 July. The remote archipelago is an extraordinary place with layers of history and an almost alien beauty, but it is impossible to forget the damage that we as a species have done to the place – and the invisible danger that remains as a result. In 1951, UK Prime Minister Clement Attlee told Australian PM Robert Menzies that the islands would be radioactive for about three years. On current estimates, Trimouille Island will not return to normal background radiation levels until 2040, and Alpha Island until 2060 – over 100 years after the last test.
On the way back to Dampier, we spotted a pod of humpback whales, including one or two juveniles which repeatedly breached the surface. It was the perfect end to the trip. After dinner we toasted the Two Seas crew and thanked them for doing an exceptional job. We spent that night in the protected waters of Dampier’s outer harbour and disembarked the following morning.
For Darren, Toby, Gary and Liz, it was time to return to the real world, but for the rest of us the adventure continued. After picking up a four-wheel-drive at Karratha Airport, Merilyn, Jesse, Maxine and I drove to Onslow, the northern port which became a military outpost during the nuclear tests. Among the units based there was No 86 (Transport) Wing Detachment RAAF, including Maxine’s father and my grandfather.
We checked in at the Onslow Beach Resort, which was the only place in town that wasn’t booked out. It was the dry season and the town was full of grey nomads and blokes in hi-vis working on a major redevelopment project. Local kids raced dirt bikes on the beach where their grandparents once gathered to watch mushroom clouds. We had dinner on the first night at the Beadon Bay Hotel, where journalists stayed while covering the tests (the barramundi was delicious)!
The next morning I visited Onslow Library and met local history officer Fiona Allen, who took us to morning tea with local legend Dawn McAullay. Known as ‘the Onslow Encyclopaedia’, Dawn has lived in Onslow for over 70 years and witnessed all three tests. Dawn was 12 in 1952 and distinctly recalls being in the kitchen with her mum when all the crockery started rattling one morning. ‘That’ll be the bomb’, her mum said. They dashed down to the beach to see the mushroom cloud along with everyone else. By the time the third bomb went off, it was no big deal. ‘It was just another day in Onslow’, said Dawn, who calls Onslow ‘a town of bombs and cyclones’.
Fiona then took us over the road to the Onslow Visitor Centre and Goods Shed Museum, which has a great display about the nuclear tests, including pieces of HMS Plym (unfortunately we did not have Darren’s Geiger counter with us so could not check for readings)! They also have the old steam train that hauled cargo down Onslow’s mile-long jetty, which has since been destroyed by cyclones. Plus they stock a very good book about the nuclear tests!
After lunch we visited the Buurabalayji Thalanyji Aboriginal Corporation (BTAC). The Thalanyji people are Onslow’s Traditional Owners. During a nice long chat, language officer Curtley Hayes explained the cultural significance of the Buurabalayji meeting site and heritage officer Aunty Glenys Hayes told us about her late father’s recollections of the nuclear tests.
The following morning we drove out to Onslow Airport, where 86 Wing Detachment was based in 1952. My late grandfather, Flight Lieutenant Ron Grace, flew dozens of security patrols and coastal monitoring sorties out of Onslow Airfield, including one flight during which his Dakota contacted ‘an invisible concentration of radioactive particles’ over the coast near Port Hedland. Maxine’s father, then Leading Aircraftman (later Sergeant) Max Ward, was a radio mechanic who worked on the contaminated aircraft and was commended for his effort and ingenuity in doing so. Maxine and her family have always suspected radiation was to blame for his death from lymphosarcoma at the age of 49.
Airport manager Megal Walsh went above and beyond to arrange access to the airstrip for us. For me and Maxine, standing on the tarmac where our ancestors’ detachment was based and recreating the famous photo they took with their Dakotas in the background was the emotional highlight of the trip.
On the way out of town we stopped at the cemetery to visit the graves of ERA Harry Flack RAN and Sapper Frank Furlong RE, two servicemen who died during Operation Hurricane. Although rumour has long swirled around both deaths, it does not seem that radiation was a factor in either (Flack died at sea in the leadup to the test and Furlong was the victim of a bulldozer accident afterwards). It was nice to see that both graves were well kept after all these years.
Having paid our respects, we drove off into the sunset, or at least as far as Karratha. At 8.00 pm on Thursday 24 July, we boarded a flight to Perth, taking with us a deeper understanding of the Montebellos and the people who served there.
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.
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