6 DAYS HIKING THE LARAPINTA
DAY 4: Section 12 – Climbing ’Rwet Yepme’ - Mount Sondar
Along with my heavy breathing, the footfall of my boots is the only sound in a vacuum of silence. My focus narrows to the circular light cast by my head torch on the feet of the guide ahead of me. Beyond her, a dense void of darkness swallows everything in its embrace. Trusting her instincts, she navigates along the narrow track only occasionally losing the path. I am sure if I was guiding, I would have led our party off the edge or into the endless wilderness never to be found again. Glancing back, I see a line of small headlights bobbing like fireflies in a conga line, marking the trail of fellow adventurers ascending the mountain. As the hours pass, climbing in the dark becomes a meditative process only broken by the thrill of anticipation for what lies ahead.
I’ve never attempted to walk through the night to a mountain summit, but that is today’s adventure. Mount Sonder is located at the western end of the Larapinta Trail and is usually the end of the 12-day trek. Known to the Arrernte people as ’Rwet Yepme’ - The Pregnant Lady – it is the fourth-highest peak in Australia’s Northern Territory at 1379 metres high. While it may not be high in comparison to European or Asian mountains, the views are equally spectacular.
The 16km-return hike to the top of Mt Sonder could be done as a day walk but there is a tradition to see the sun rise from the summit. With the brain doing some quick calculations it takes a while to compute what time we actually have to get up in the morning.
The day, or should I say night, began with a 1.30AM wakeup call with the music of Men at Works “Land Down Under’ filling the night air. Through half closed eyes and a “head full of zombies”, I manage to get dressed with nothing inside-out. Stumbling out of the swag the body has no idea why I am eating breakfast at 2AM in the morning so we bundle ourselves in the van for the drive to the beginning of the hike.
As we climb higher the still night air is replaced with a growing breeze. Mt Sonder seems to have its own weather system, and as we get higher the winds begin to blow stronger. It is not long before regular gusts are enough to drive you sideways threatening to blow you off the shear cliff that lies somewhere in the darkness.
Spending most of my life in the City the concept of darkness is misleading. We are forever surrounded by lights, even if it is only the glow of light pollution. Out hear, you get a true sense of the meaning of the words ‘Pitch Black’. However, after another hour of walking, the black inkiness sky is slowly replaced with a bright parallel line of colour on the horizon just as we reach the pinnacle.
While the cold winds continue to buffet us, the emerging pink of the light rippling on the clouds warms the mind. Then, the golden orb, first peaking above the horizon, bursts over the mountains spreading golden rays across the valley below.
While the sunrise is spectacular, it is the first shafts of light that illuminate the adjacent range, the valleys appearing like the backbone of an animal, that keeps me mesmerised. Bathed in sunlight the rocks are transformed into dizzying shades of red and ochre. As the sun rises further, it casts a shadow of Mt Sonda across the valley. The scale is almost too much to take in with 360-degree views of breathtaking scenery. In front, lies the seemingly endless landscape in its great vastness.
Having got drunk on the beauty, it is time to head back down the mountain. In the early morning light, the rugged unspoilt terrain continues to keep me inebriated. It is only the steep cliffs that I didn’t see on my climb up that sobers the mind.
Returning to camp, we are all full of chatter on our achievement having conquered our fears and experiencing a view only few are willing to attempt. Opting for another bath in natures water hole, we return to Ormiston Gorge for another refreshing ice bath.
With the adrenalin long subsiding, and the early start catching up, what better excuse to return to the swag for a late afternoon nap. Along with my shallow breathing, the distant chatter of the Red-Tailed Black cockatoos is the only sound in a vacuum of silence. My focus narrows and my eyelids close disapearing into a dense void of darkness swallowing everything in its embrace.
DAY 5: Section 10 – Finke river to Ormiston Pound
A huge canvas awning stretches from one Ghost Gum to another, its organic curves evoking the charm of a Bedouin tent, offering a haven for desert wanderers. Beneath it lies a rustic kitchen, crafted from natural timbers and adorned with an eclectic mix of furniture, creating a space that feels both inviting and homey.
On any other day, this awning would shield us from the unrelenting desert sun. Today, however, it serves a different purpose. The MacDonnell Ranges, typically an arid expanse where life has adapted to survive in harsh conditions, has come alive. Every now and then, liquid gold falls from the sky, breathing life into this parched land.
When our guide, Violet, mentioned the possibility of rain the day before, I had dismissed it with the skepticism of someone accustomed to the rare and elusive showers of this region. Yet, not wanting to tempt fate, I opted for the shelter of a tent over the swag. This proved to be a wise decision, as I awoke to the rhythmic drumming of raindrops on the canvas.
Gathering at our communal kitchen, the group debates our plan for the day. Option 1: don our rain jackets and brave the trail. Option 2: wait a few hours and hope the rain passes. With our legs still aching from yesterday's hike, the idea of a leisurely morning is irresistible. We decide to relax, read, and play cards, letting the soothing sound of rain serenade us.
But the call of the trail is strong. Despite the drizzle, we eventually don our raincoats and set out for section 10 to Ormiston Pound. This section, kinder and gentler, winds and twists over rolling hills, crosses Davenport Creek and the mighty Finke River, now alive with the gift of rain.
Starting at Mt Sonar Lookout, we soon find ourselves tracking along the Finke River, past towering River Red Gums. Crossing to the other bank without wading through cold water, we carefully hop from one rock to another, thoughtfully placed by hikers before us.
Hiking in the rain might seem unappealing to some, but here, it adds a magical dimension. Small channels, normally dry, come alive with the gurgle of flowing water. Dry riverbeds transform into streams. While the blue sky is replaced with grey sky the colours of the landscape become more vivid. The rain-saturated colors of the desert bloom painting the landscape in vibrant hues, with wildflowers bursting forth in pastel purples and pinks, like an intricate Aboriginal dot painting. There are over 760 species of flora to be found along the trail and the rains have brought a profusion of Mulla Mulla, Sturts Desert Rose, Paper Daisy, Desert Fuschia, Curry Wattle and Bush tomatoes. Some of the hills could be mistaken for a planted suburban rockery.
We navigate our way to Hilltop Lookout, with panoramic views of the Heavitree Range and Mount Sonar. Descending towards George Creek, the hillsides are blanketed with various types of spinifex. Some are knee-high and vivid green, others a bluish hue with long seed heads swaying in the breeze. These plants, used by Aboriginal people for their resin, appear soft and inviting from a distance. Up close, they reveal their true nature—each blade a slender spike, ready to pierce skin more easily than a doctors needle.
The rain not only brings colour and growth but also stirs the local wildlife. Although we didn’t spot the rare night parrots, flocks of budgerigars flit from tree to tree, revelling in the showers. The landscape feels alive, every drop of rain a blessing in this arid land.
Being one of the shortest sections, we soon reach the familiar embrace of Ormiston Pound. Despite the intermittent rain, which discourages a dip in the Gorge, we return to camp and our Bedouin tent. We sit under its protective canvas, grateful for the rare opportunity to experience the Larapinta Trail in its rain-soaked splendor. The rain has not just sustained life here—it has rejuvenated our spirits, making us feel more alive and connected to this ancient, vibrant land.
DAY 6: Ellery Creek Big Hole and Standley Chasm
Sitting atop Brinkley’s Bluff, gazing out over the expansive vastness of Hugh Gorge, I found myself pondering a question that had drifted in my mind throughout the past six days: is it the destination I seek, or the journey to reach it?
At home, time unfolds with the jarring beep of an electronic alarm and moves through a hazy transition of traffic, meetings, emails, social media, cooking, before collapsing into bed, the brain and body exhausted and beat. In a world where time seems rush faster than a freight train, hiking offers a rare sanctuary – a chance to slow down, to savour each step, and to calm the mind.
Earlier today we bid farewell to our canvas home, packing up camp for the last time. While one of us decided 7.30am was a good time for a celebratory beer, I opted to save our drinks for a more fitting moment later tonight.
Our journey back to Alice Springs commenced with a brief stop at Ellery Creek Big Hole—a pristine waterhole framed by sheer quartzite cliffs, sculpted over millennia by the relentless flow of floods.
If it was not for the need to return to work (and the family) we could have spent a full day enjoying this natural oasis. Reluctantly, we move on to our last stop - Standley Chasm, known to the Western Arrernte people as Angkerle Atwatye, translating to "Gap of Water."
While most tourists disembark from buses and stroll the flat 200 meters into the gorge before returning, we chose one final challenging hike—a steep ascent that would have rivaled any gym's stair-master.
Climbing out of the gorge and reaching the top of the bluff I find a rock to sit and ponder.
Over the last 6 days the relentless city noise has been replaced with the chorus of bird songs, the madness of the streets traded with solitude, the bombardment of technology exchanged with uninterrupted 360 degree views. Each morning not only brought fresh challenges, but also a rejuvenation of the spirit. Each day was not only measured in kilometres but in moments of connection – connection with nature, with Aborigional culture, with country, with friends, with one-self.
The last week has been a bucket-list of experiences: we pushed our lungs to limit; treked under night skies; braved winds that threatened to topple us from lofty peaks, experienced the outback's rare rainfall, marvelled at the grandeur of gorges, indulged in meals that rivalled any fine restaurant, slept under a blanket of stars in a simple swag, and gathered around crackling campfires sharing tales and laughter. Yet, what made it truly extraordinary was embarking on this adventure with cherished friends.
As I sit here, overlooking the vastness that stretches before me, it becomes clear: it is not merely the destination that beckons, but the transformative journey itself—a journey none more enriching than that along the Larapinta Trail.