Albany’s big event seen in another light

Lighting the Sound. What a magical idea.

As soon as I read of Albany’s signature event marking its bicentenary in Stephen Scourfield’s delightful Albany magazine, I booked my bed.

As a former resident — and correspondent for this newspaper — I’m hooked on Albany’s rich history.

Imagine lights cascading around King George Sound (named by George Vancouver, 1791 after George III) along Bald Head, over to Breaksea and Michaelmas islands (also George, it was Christmas Day), Emu Point (convict transport ship Emu, 1815), Ellen Cove and Frenchman Bay, a nod to frequent visits by French sealers and explorers.

Just think of the logistics of setting up a light show on Bald Head — a tough six-hour hike on a good day — and on the islands which can only be accessed when the Southern Ocean swell is right. I was impressed. A friend’s suggestion (an Albany local) to enjoy the lights sipping champagne on her balcony overlooking Middleton Beach clinched it.

But it was not to be. It was Princess Royal Harbour’s time to shine with its foreshore and Torndirrup Peninsula backdrop illuminated in green with shafts of red. A much less grand, more subdued location opposite the town. No giant granite boulders here.

We regrouped, packed a picnic intending to sit in Anzac Peace Park and watch the lights emerge as the sun set behind us.

Then the Albany factor kicked in. A strong south-easterly picked up and delivered a few light squalls. We picnicked on the back veranda but were still keen to see the lights.

Despite warnings to leave the car at home and catch a shuttle, we braved a drive-by along Marine Parade and had no trouble finding a parking spot on the foreshore. No selfies for us though, the gale-force wind blew hair in our faces. Beanies next time.

We stayed 10 minutes, the lights didn’t move and as we meandered home, we wondered what it was all about.

Finnish light artist Kari Kola describes it as a light show for the ages, an “immersive and meditative light experience”, with the colours drawn from the native bloodroot plant.

The what?

Hands up those who can recognise one of these little beauties in the bush.

Luckily, I can. I’m a volunteer Kings Park Guide and often point out the unique black flowers (buzz pollinated by native bees, but I digress) of Haemodorum spicatum an otherwise inconspicuous plant with thin green strappy leaves.

I’ve also tasted it. As part of an Albany Summer School Indigenous food lecture with Professor Stephen Hopper and Menang Noongar Larry Blight, they dug up a bloodroot — there were lots growing on the school grounds — revealing red bulbs just below the soil.

We each sampled a tiny slice of the bulb. My mouth and tongue went numb for at least an hour. I didn’t go back for seconds.

I’m not sure how much of this was conveyed by the lights across the harbour or what its significance is in marking the 200-year anniversary.

The bloodroot is obviously significant for the Menang people, but Albany 2026 seems to be a lopsided celebration with organisers airbrushing the last 200 years.

Don’t get me wrong, the world’s oldest living culture is worth celebrating, but surely there is room for more than one story?

Perhaps the stunning Albany Scarlet Banksia, Banksia coccinea, loved and recognised by everyone — especially tiny honey possums — could have been included, highlighting Albany’s status as a world biodiversity hotspot with a rich botanical history?

Albany has come a long way since Major Edmund Lockyer arrived with 20 soldiers and 23 convicts on Christmas Day 1826.

He is probably the world’s most unassuming invader.

The career soldier was ordered by New South Wales Governor Ralph Darling to beat his way across the Bight to Albany in the 148-ton, 75-foot 6-inch, brig Amity to establish a penal colony. Check out the replica in front of the Museum of the Great Southern. It is tiny.

The British were worried the French would claim the western third of Australia. They had good reason to be. The French had been meandering around the place for decades.

Louis de Freycinet spent almost two months in the sound in 1803 and Dumont d’Urville visited in October 1826 just a couple of months before Lockyer arrived. All visitors commented in journals on the friendliness of the Aboriginal people — and the plentiful fresh water. (You can still taste the spring Vancouver found in 1791 in Frenchman Bay.)

Lockyer officially proclaimed the existence of what he called Fredericks Town on January 21, 1827 with a feast of “flour, raisins and suet” plus fresh fish shared with the “troops, convicts and natives”.

But Lockyer didn’t stay long. He got a lift back to Sydney in April 1827 with Captain James Stirling, who had just checked out the Swan River and would present a rapturous report to Governor Darling on the benefits of starting a colony there, virtually sealing Albany’s fate to never become a capital city.

So, I put Lockyer’s name into the search engine at the City of Albany bicentenary events website.

The result: “No results found for ‘Major Lockyer’.”

Unlike the bloodroot, it seems Major Lockyer has no role in commemorating the 200th anniversary of Western Australia’s first settlement.

But he probably doesn’t mind. He was just doing his job.