Day 22: Gorging on more gorges
We stripped off (not fully) and waded into the water, my toes going immediately numb from the chilly water. Before allowing the brain to start having a logical conversation that this was not the brightest of ideas, I take the plunge immersing myself in the depths of the bottomless pool.
The initial shock of the plunge has subsided and my breath has finally comeback. I’m floating in the centre of the pool the size of an ice skating rink that has melted and left behind its icy water. Looking up, vertical walls surround me in an arc on three sides and I can only just see the top of the waterfall - enough to take my breath away again. Water droplets are falling from the rim of the entire length of the cliff, each droplet racing each other to be the first to dive into the pool. The walls are covered in layers of ferns, each reaching out to capture a wayward droplet.
This is Emma Gorge, the last of our hikes in El Questro. The morning started with the sounds of either some cattle having a romantic encounter or Graeme snoring. Cattle have been run on the station since 1903. Many realised that this land was difficult to make a living out of cattle so the land was going cheap. One entrepreneurial couple purchase the property in 1991 and set about turning this pastoral lease into an outback tourist attraction that it has become today.
It is not really known how El Questro got its name and its mystery is likely to stay with Torrance McMicking who named it in 1958. But the name of Emma gorge is known, as it was named after one of the daughters of the previous owners.
The hike to the gorge was a much simpler walk than our previous ones. When I say simpler, I mean the rock hopping only involved traversing boulders the size of fridges, not houses. But with each step you soon realise you are walking on an ancient seabed with the waves and ripples of the ocean floor frozen in time millions of years ago. Half way up the valley a turquoise pool greets us with inquisitive fish of all sizes that would get any fisherman excited.
While saying goodby to El Questro is not easy, we head off on our next adventure along the Gibb and it is not long before we get a taste of the thousands of corrugations we are going to experience in the next 13 days. Reaching the famous Pentecost River crossing, the expectation of a deep crossing with the Cockburn Ranges as a backdrop has been etched on my mind ever since I planned this trip. However, today was not one of those days with barely enough water to reach the wheels. I guess this is just one more reason to come back here during the wet season.
While the plan was to stay on the Pentecost River, the idea of setting up the tent for just one night was not welcome so we decided to push on to Ellenbrae Station - although I think the real reason was Karen’s fear of crocs wanting to snuggle up to her in the tent.
Setting up camp we re-live today’s adventure with lots of talk about how nipply the water really was - and no I promise we did not strip off fully.
Day 23: Little gem and scones
The four of us have just had a swim in our own personal swimming hole with a feeling we are the only ones on this planet. Around the edges of the river are hundreds of iridescent green lilies with small feather like white flowers. On one side is a beach with sand Bondi would be proud of, and on the other is a staircase or red rock stepping out of the water. We are now all lying on the rock like lizards warming themselves in the afternoon sun.
To get to this remote waterhole we have taken a track off another track that becomes no wider than the 4WD. But at the end of this little known path we have reached a swimming hole that likewise has no name. It is memorable moments like this where we are privileged to experience and discover these little gems that are not on the tourist bucket list.
But there are some bucket list experiences that you must do. And when you are travelling in such a remote part of Australia it is the little things that make a difference.
Thanks to two young brothers, Thomas and Edward Terry, we are at Ellenbrae Station enjoying warm scones with lashings of thick red jam and whipped fresh cream. In the early 1980s the two bothers turned a run-down property into a Gibb River Landmark. While they provided the foundation for this Station, it is the scones that now attract travellers to pause on their dusty adventure and savour the sweat warm little luxury.
Having enjoyed our little piece of swimming paradise, we head back to camp at Ellenbrae Station. With Ord river beef and crocodile burgers sizzling over the campfire we reflect on the little things including a decision to enjoy their crumbly scone goodness for breakfast one more time tomorrow.
Day 24: Don’t mention the war
When chatting to fellow travellers the inevitable question always comes up one or two minutes into the conversation - “so, what’s the road like?” This is always a dangerous question as the response is clouded by a persons travel experience. For someone who’s only experience of dirt is the car park of their local football ground, then the response can be filled with terror and expletives. For a seasoned local who lives in these parts, then a million corrugations the size of mountains is just a daily commute.
So here I am, parked up on the side of the Gibb having a well deserved break, and I strike up a conversation with a fellow traveller who has come from the opposite direction. Before deciding to ask the fatal question I size up his car. Toyota - tick. Well set up vehicle but not too well (ie; more money than sense) - tick. Suitable amounts of mud and dirt covering said vehicle - tick. And most importantly a calm manner having almost completed the Gibb from Broome.
Plunging in, I ask -“so, what’s the road like to a Mitchell Falls?” With eyes of a beaten man he responds calmly - “ABSOLUTELY SHIT - especially the bit from the turn off at King Edward River”.
The Kalumburu road not only has the potential to break your vehicle but break you mentally. Resigned that we are about to travel several hundred kilometres on a road destined to destroy any kidney, we set off with gritted teeth putting our hands in the Kimberley gods.
5km…..10km…..30km…..still not that bad. 50km….. what’s going on here? 60km…..70km…… wow this could be a lot worse. As I round the bend a billow of dust gives an indication that there is more than just a car ahead. As we get closer over the radio we are informed there are 2 road trains and a grader ahead. It turns out we have been fortunate enough to be in the path of a delivery to Kalumburu with a grader at the front to ensure the sheds get there in one piece.
Arriving at King Edward River for the night, surprisingly with no bruised body organs, we have time to explore the surrounding waterfall with rocks like lava twisted, folded and rounded over millions of years of monsoon rain. While the water is inviting, the plan is to save this dip on our return.
Instead we spend the last light exploring the Munurru Art Site. This ribbon of blue water is culturally significant to the Wunambal people and includes significant burial and artwork sites. Walking through the woolybutt trees and rocky sandstone outcrops, under each ledge we discover a gallery of art from the Jebarra (emu) to Wulumara (long neck turtles) adorning the walls. But most startling are the Wandjina paintings of heads with large eyes and elaborate head dresses that look more like past images of aliens with halo like faces.
So for all the fear and dreading we were expecting for this part of the journey, thankfully the Kimberley gods shined on us. But…… as the old saying goes “don’t mention the war” as tomorrow we are about to take on another side track into Mitchell Falls which is rumoured to be created by the dreamtime Gwion and Malan Argula (devils). May be a time for a sacrifice over the campfire?
Day 25: One day at a time
Sometimes you can get a sense of how the rest of your day is going to go by the way it starts. Today was one of those days.
We were already nervous about the conditions of the track to Mitchell Falls, but despite this we packed early ready for the slow drive there. All packed and jump in the car and hit start……… nothing. Try again……….nothing. Insert several expletives here. We pull Graeme’s car around and connect up the car with fingers crossed it is a flat battery………NOTHING. It is at this moment all the other options go through your mind - and none of them fixable this far from civilisation. Guessing it could be the starter motor potentially spells the end of the trip here. Running out of options I try jump-starting one more time, while praying to the Kimberley gods……bingo!
So decision time - do we push on, travelling the hardest track in the Kimberley or head back to Drysdale Station? But we have come this far. May be it is just the battery and something was left on?
Out of shear foolishness or pride we push on into the depths of the unknown.
Now this is where the good news would normally come. But not today. As the corrugations got bigger and the potholes and rocks bigger, for some reason I stopped and had a good look at the trailer only to discover that the thousands of km of corrugations have almost destroyed the suspension.
By this stage we had committed and there was no turning back. Any resemblance of coming across other people was likely to be at the campground at Mitchell Falls. Slowing to a crawl, we travel at a pace where we could be overtaken by a pensioner in a zimmer frame.
78km and 4 hours later we make it. While there is still no chance of repairs here, at least we are not by ourselves and have access to pit toilets and a waterfall to wash in.
I could be very pessimistic now but sometimes you have to just deal with the cards before you. Instead we all take a walk to Little Merten Falls where I fully submerse myself in the cool water in the hope of not only washing off the sweat and dust from today, but also washing away the emotions.
While I don’t have a solution yet to the predicament we are in, we will cross that bridge in a couple of days. For tomorrow, I will focus on the here and now as we plan our hike to Mitchell Falls.
Day 26: Punamii-unpuu
Flying over the Punamii-unpuu Falls like an ancestral spirit, below us the Mitchell River water plunges four times consecutively over rocky cliffs into a bubbling cauldron of white water. With its energy seemingly sucked from its life, the river then meanders over the horizon on its way to join the Indian Ocean.
You can only imaging the deafening noise of the cascading water as the sounds are drowned out by the rhythmic throbbing of the helicopter blades. With no doors on either side, and only a strap 5cm wide preventing you from tumbling out to certain death joining the spirits, this is one unique way to see the falls.
The reason we are able to get this once in a life time perspective is due to some entrepreneurial person who has set up an operation which flies hikers into the Punamii-unpuu falls (also known as Mitchell Falls named after the then Western Australian Premier) so that you only need to do the hike in one direction. Having touched down above the falls on a rocky outcrop, we duck our heads low for fear of a major scalping, and watch the chopper disappear into the distance until it becomes a dot in the sky.
From here we explore the cliff tops, with every corner a different perspective of the quadrupledecker cascade. As we did not want to upset the Wunggurr serpent (and the fact there are saltwater crocodiles in the bottom pools), we cool off at the top of the drop with the hope that crocs can’t climb.
Reluctant to leave but knowing there are more falls to experience we meander back through the savannah woodland of eucalyptus and green grass that looks soft until it slices your shins with its fine blade like leaf - now I know what this is called spear grass.
Walking past rocky outcrops, the walls come alive with art only found in the Kimberleys. In particular, what are known as the Bradshaw paintings - intricate ornate human figures with head dresses and spears and other objects, some known to date back 17,000 years. It is no wonder the traditional aborigines chose this place a we continue further around the rock ledge to be greeting with a cascade of water flowing directly over head. It is hard to describe the 50 metre wide cave with water plummeting 15 metres from above. Standing behind the waterfall looking out you can feel the rush of air as each droplet races past you.
While the hike is graded as a 5 ( and yes the hardest is a 5) what better place for a rain shower and plunge in the pool at the base - but don’t worry - there are no saltwater crocs in this pool and the serpent is friendly.
Today is a lot of what this trip was about. Visiting some of the most spectacular scenery in the most remote of places and undertaking experiences that will stay with us forever.
Day 27: The sound of silence
This mornings plan was to leave camp early and gingerly make our way out of Mitchell Falls. The target is Drysdale station to get some phone reception and decide what can be done about the suspension - if anything. Little did I know that suspension would be the least of our problems.
Having done some temporary repairs we start our way out, twisting and turning through washouts, river crossings and the relentless bone shattering mountains of corrugations. The condition of the track, in addition to not wanting to put stress on the camper trailer, meant we were lucky to get above 20km an hour. Being conservative I stopped every 10km to check my bush mechanic skills.
10km down and 70km to go. All good. At this pace it should only take us 4 hours. 20km……. Still holding. 30km……..mmmm- something does not seem right and it is NOT the suspension. A strange smell was emanating from the trailer. Getting closer I feel the wheel hubs and it was hot enough to cook an egg on. It seemed the relentless corrugations of the Tanami, the Gibb and now this section was enough to say goodnight to the wheel bearings.
While I am not mechanically minded there is one thing I have done a couple of times and that is replace the bearing on the trailer. And while this has been done in the comfort of the garage at home and not the side of a track in the middle of nowhere, at least I had some inkling of what to do. And the good news is, I carry spare bearings!
So with wheel off and tools scattered everywhere I begin open heart surgery on the wheel hub.
Now one thing that is unique in remote travel, is the willingness of fellow travellers to lend a hand. In Sydney, I would’ve been abused for blocking the road but out here there is an unwritten rule, much like sailors in distress, to lend a hand. And luckily James (yes another James) turned up. While he had only done wheel bearings as part of his course in the navy, having 2 brains definitely helps in these situations. Now I am not doubting the brain of Hux at this moment, but the need for maths or facts was not high on the needs status. But with encouragement from the onlookers the mechanics set about a road side fix.
There are a couple of simple things in life that you get excited about in these situations. The first is the smooth and silent spin of a wheel following an hour and a half repair. For those that never been in this situation, another way to think about it is the sound of silence means we are not having to abandon the trailer with the likelihood of it not being recovered, leaving behind everything but the essentials we can squeeze in the car.
The second is a simple sign that says “grader ahead” and finally making it back on to the maintained Kalumburu track. All up, it took us five and a half hours to do 80 km!
While it did not end here, as we still had to get to Drysdale Station, the worse was hopefully behind us. Eventually, arriving at the station, we were able set up camp and let out one huge breath. Not wanting to let fate determine the future of the other wheel, the evening is spent replacing the other bearing. This time with the knowledge of a warm shower and a much deserved cold beer breaking the silence at the end of a long day.
Day 28: Mustering on the Gibb
Parked on the side of the road we are knee deep in grass collecting firewood for tonight, hoping not to disturb and slithering snakes from their slumber. In the distance a throbbing sound can be heard from between the trees, getting louder and closer. All of a sudden 3 cattle burst out from the tree line in full gallop crossing the road escaping from the loud beast getting closer. Not far behind, the throbbing sound reveals itself as a muster helicopter weaving in and out of the tree line in hot pursuit.
Thank goodness the helicopter ride we took to Mitchell Falls was not with this pilot as the chopper lurched left, appearing to fly sideways, it’s blades brushing the nearby tree branches.
Then, like we are caught in a movie set of mad max, 2 machines drive past, each one a Frankenstein of car parts, steal and iron. Attached to their front is a mechanical arm that is designed to reach out like a hand and capture any wayward bull. Both machines ignore any concept of a road and drive into the spinifex, somehow dodging trees, stumps and rocks.
As quick as they came, the noise, cows, and mechanical machines disappeared off into the shrub leaving us all bemused if this really happened. Realising there were no cameras, and this was just another part of normal life in the Kimberleys, we continued our way along the Gibb River road, thankful the corrugations were only large enough to be annoying, not fatal.
Having returned to the Gibb River Road, today was a driving day with a quick stop at Hann River. While this was going to be camp for the night we pushed on and set up camp at Manning Gorge. With some more running repairs, this time replacing the trailer brake cable that was hanging on by one single fingernail, it was another reminder of not only how brutal this road can be, but the importance of carrying spares.
Sitting by the fire, I did ponder for one moment what the cowboys we saw earlier today would be doing. While I am sure they would not be enjoying a MasterChef meal and sipping a nice bottle of red wine saved for such occasions like we are, the fire and a million stars in the sky would be just as relaxing after a hard day on the road.
Day 29: Gorgeous Gorge
With backpacks loaded up into a half plastic barrel, Karen takes the plunge into the river, rope firmly in her hand, to prevent it floating downstream. The water is so clear you feel like you can reach out and touch the bottom with your feet, but this calls for full submersion requiring you to swim across. The water is invigorating and a quick way to get the blood flowing for the hike ahead. This is definitely one unique way to begin a walk to Manning Gorge.
Once on the other side, we set out, weaving through fields of native grasses and wildflowers with their feathered button flowers forming a knee high carpet. This is slowly replaced with rocky outcrops and native grevillea’s with red flowers imitating a Christmas holly. Reaching the top of the ridge, we past Boab trees standing tall and lanky, looking out over the Barnett Range.
While the views are eye popping, sometimes it is the small things that are just as memorable on these walks. Like the lizard the size of a finger scampering from rock to rock, it’s head bobbing up and down, searching for insects. Or the checkerboard pattern of reds, yellows, browns and whites of the tree bark, reminiscent of an aboriginal art painting.
The sights are replaced with the sounds of finches flittering from bush to bush, the crows calling each other with their drunken drawl, and eventually the noise of a waterfall in the distance.
Passing a fellow hiker, they respond - “you will love it - it’s such a gorgeous gorge”.
Arriving at Manning Gorge we are greeted with an amphitheatre 15 metres high and 50 metres across with a cascade of water almost its full length. Not wasting time, we dive in to the pool, disturbing the red tailed fish who must wonder what this strange animal is disturbing their peace. Swimming over to the falls it is not possible to swim directly into the path of the falling water due to its force creating currents and eddies constantly pushing you away. But, entering from the side, I slip behind the curtain of water and enter a large cave, the deafening sound of water echoing off the walls.
We spend the afternoon swimming, relaxing, exploring and soaking up one of the best gorges the Kimberley can muster. While much of this trip has been about visiting waterholes, there is a point you ask yourself if this one will be worth it. But each time you are left mesmerised, with each one having their own unique identify, much like your children, making it difficult to say you have a favourite. Gorgeous yes. But aren’t they all.
Day 30: Hat down under
Standing on the limb of the tree, it’s branches reaching out over the pool, I look down and get a feeling of vertigo. While it feels like I am 10 metres above the water I know it is not this high, but my sweaty hands are holding the rope-swing for dear life. To distract my mind I look out towards the waterfall, following the origin of the cascade of water up the cliff face, with a Boab tree standing proud at the very top. You only live once they say, and hoping this is not the end of mine, I swing out not so gracefully and fall into the deep olive green water of Galvins Gorge.
It is moments like this that you know you are truly alive.
Hux, who willingly admits the idea of throwing one self off a cliff or a tree from heights is not his strong point, decides to take the safer option immersing himself at the base of the falls, almost hidden under the shower.
Now this is where a major catastrophe happens. We have survived major breakage of a vehicles, damage to the trailer and a heavy fall leaving significant bruising and scar (yes Kathy was only running on a footpath and tripped at Kununurra but it still hurt). But this is one of those moments that will make this gorge memorable for all of the wrong reason.
Hux, deciding he wanted to emulate my jump, leaps off the 20cm high rock shelf into the water, even less gracefully than me. However he forgets one of the first rules of liquid dynamics. When ones precious hat is left on said head, and jumps into a liquid without some from of physical attachment, H2O has an ability to flow into said hat, acting as a weight, sending said hat to the bottom of the dark, deep pool.
As memories of all of the good times come flooding back, like loosing a childhood pet, he frantically dives underwater in a desperate attempt to go against the law of fluid dynamics. But alas, a sacrifice is made to the waterfall gods and the hat is never to be seen again.
Only someone who has experiences such a deep loss would understand this situation, such as the time I lost my 15 year old akubra hat somewhere on the escarpment in Arnhem Land. So I was well equiped to offer a shoulder to cry on and a caring few words.
If only he had decided to stay out of the water like we did earlier today at Adcock Gorge (yes another gorge!). If this was your first experience of a gorge you would be overwhelmed by its palm lined, jade green water and red shear cliffs. However, like a spoilt person visiting too many five star restaurants, we were beginning to get picky so opted to just sit any enjoy this one, rather than swim.
But Galvin’s Gorge and that fateful jump is all we talk about around the fire tonight. The rest is spent sharing fond memories of the first time they met, the special moment they realised they were made for each other, the places the hat had been, and the laughs they had shared together.
But now get the friggin hell over it, and go by yourself a bloody new hat will ya!
Too soon……….?
Galvins Gorge
Adcock Gorge
Day 31: Road to nowhere
I am about to quote directly from Day 25:
“……. All packed and jump in the car and hit start……… nothing. Try again……….nothing. Insert several expletives here. ……”.
If you recall, this was my car several days ago. Luckily, we got it started and were able to keep going on our travels.
Now let me start Day 31.
“……. All packed and jump in the car and Graeme hits start on HIS car……… nothing. Try again……….nothing. Insert several expletives here. ……”.
Its ok, it’s got to be the battery……. Doesn’t it? The multi-metre says it’s very low so this should be just another simple jump start. Pulling my car around I get the jumper leads and connect it up…….nothing. Try several more times…….NOTHING. Day 25 floods back where I guessed I may have had a starter motor issue. Now it looks like this voodoo may have transferred over to Graeme’s car.
Turning my car off we spend the next 30 minutes trying other possible causes from blown fuses to trying to find where the starter motor is to try the classic “if it don’t work hit it with a hammer” solution.
With no luck we decide to try jump-starting one more time.
Now this is where it gets worse. My car now won’t start! We now have 2 dead cars.
Pulling out the local currency (beers) we are lucky a fellow traveller comes to the rescue and manages to get my car jump started. But absolutely no luck getting any life out of the other car. Not even a heart beat. A flutter. A whir. Nothing. Despite multiple heads under the bonnet the options were running out.
While we are approximately 300km from the nearest town, luckily we are staying at an outback Station which has limited phone reception. We are also 20km to an entrepreneurial person who has set up a shed approximately half way along the Gibb to do tyre repairs, shock absorbers and batteries. Could this be our saviour.
Now this story could have 2 endings for today:
Ending 1: we drive the 20km, pick up a new battery and we continued on our travels
OR
Ending 2: after several more failed attempts at getting a battery or getting it started, followed by 2 frustrating hours dealing with NRMA, we have re-set up camp where we were this morning. Despite NRMA, we have managed to arrange a flat bed truck to drive 4 hours from Derby tomorrow morning to meet us and then take the dead car 4 hours back again to Derby. At this stage we do not know if it is fatal or fixable. Could it all end here?
Like a good novel I will leave you in suspense and you can guess which of these endings occurred. You will have to read Day 32 to find out what happens next.
Day 32: I survived the Gibb…… or did I?
If you had read day 31, I left you on a cliffhanger. Would we make it out? Was the trip over for Hux? Was this what happens when you drive a Ford? While I can’t give you an answer to all of these questions at the moment I can update you on a couple of these.
By now you will have all guessed that all was not well and we have had to resort to an extraction. I must say this type of extraction was less dramatic than a poor girl who slipped at Manning Gorge when we were there who suffered a compound fracture hiking. She needed to be carried out, them pick up by the Royal Flying Doctor to transfer her to Derby hospital.
Our extraction involved a flat bed truck coming to pick up the stricken ‘Ford’, with Dennis from KW Tilt’n’Tow (yes a shameless plug) coming to the rescue. Scull dragging the ‘Ford’ into position (after a bit of digging following a slight issue of getting the tilt truck bogged in the sand) we said good bye to Graeme and the ‘Ford’. Did I mention it was a ‘’Ford’?.
So this is where there are 2 divergent stories, one of which I can only pass on from what I heard. While we took on an extra passenger with Karen joining us on the trip into Derby, Graeme spent the next 4 hours listening to the wisdom of Dennis who was happy to share stories of the Gibb. He is a proud local, passionate about this land and sharing everything it has to offer. With fingers pointing out the window on each turn, he shared stories of the most beautiful watering holes, the tallest boabs and best fishing spots. This sharing of knowledge was best summed up with his words - “this is our country - yours and mine”. I was listening to a podcast interview with Albert Wigan, a traditional owner and guardian of the Kimberley who said we are all ancestors of this country and have our ancestors DNA in all of us. A great reminder from both Denis and Albert of the important role we all need to play in protecting this land.
So that was the Gibb. There are multiple shirts, beer coolers and stickers that have “I have driven and survived the Gibb” on them. Despite the challenges, millions of corrugations, flat batteries, broken wheel hubs and suspension held on by a thread, I can say I have driven the infamous’ ‘Gibb’ and survived.
Now I don’t think a marathon runner who is carried the last 400m on someone else’s back is able to say they completed a marathon. So I know there are some feelings of regret from Graeme, who technically ‘did not survive the Gibb’. But we all can take our own unique experience from any journey, and for him, he has had the opportunity that no other traveller has - time with Dennis.
So back to my initial questions posed. Would we make it out? Yes we have all made it to Derby.
Was the trip over for Hux? We don’t know yet as the ‘Ford’ is currently with an auto electrician.
Was this what happens when you drive a Ford? I think this is one answer you can determine yourself.
Day 33: Rocks and Crocs
While I could continue the suspense, sometimes a good book needs a fairy tail ending. And today we had one. Thanks to the spirit of the people in the Kimberley, Daren from Western Kimberley Auto Electrical (yes another shameless plug) managed to bring life back to the broken ‘Ford’ all within 24 hours. We had been warned that car repairs in this part of WA can be a one month wait so we were uneasy on what the outcome might be. But fortunately it was a dead starter motor, he had one on stock, and was willing to drop everything to keep us moving.
So here we are continuing our adventure. While the delay meant we were not able to stay at Windjana Gorge, we jumped in my car (did I mention it’s a Toyota) and backtracked the 130km to experience this last site on the Gibb.
If I was here 360 million years ago I would be floating in a sea with algae and lime secreting organisms slowly building a lime reef. As the sea levels changed, the reef ultimately extended 2km deep. Then tectonic forces thrust this land upward creating a unique limestone range trapping the fossilised past in its rocks.
But even more unique is the forces of water that has carved a 750 metre long tunnel through the heart of the range. Donning head torches we enter the large cave, stalactites hanging from the ceiling like chandeliers. As the natural light from the entrance slowly disappears until it becomes a mere dot, the only light penetrating the black is the small beam from the head torches.
Following the natural creek that flows through the subterranean world, there comes a point where you have to enter the freezing water, it’s depth coming up to your sensitive bits depending on how tall you are. But the cold is not the thing consuming your attention. It is the fact that these caves are also home to freshwater crocodiles. As the torch moves back and forth scanning the water ahead all of a sudden a flash of 2 red dots on the waterline breaks the darkness. I Spend the next 5 minutes explaining to Karen where the tail and head is and it’s eyes but I assume she is in denial as she can’t make it out.
It is not until we exit the cave later that Karen questions what the mouse was in the cave. I said “mouth” not “MOUSE”!
With time running out we had one last stop before returning to pick up the car. The Lennard River has taken millions of years to erode Windjana Gorge out of the limestone cliffs. While the rock faces are spectacular enough, the gorge is more famous for its abundant freshwater crocodiles. This time Karen surely can’t miss them as we watch at least 20 warm themselves in the sun or glide in the river looking for careless fish.
Luckily we were not here 10 million years ago when the Quinkana (like a crocodile but up to 7 metres long), would have been watching us as possible pray.
With the Gibb now officially done, we prepare for our next chapter from Broome to the Dampier Peninsular. And I promise to never mention the ‘Ford’ issue again.
The End of the Gibb - What an adventure!
Finishing the Gibb (well some of us anyway)
