Mitchell Falls Campsite
8:30am flight with Air Ranger on the Mud Crab option. Cheery female Brit pilot hands us over to our Aussie male one who advises not to hang camera out into airstream which is about 200 knots. We make beautiful sweeps of the Big Mertens and Mitchell Falls, like wedding cake tiers of cascading water. Our big circuit took us out to the Mitchell River as it spread seawards, with a panorama of the Timor Sea beyond.
We landed in the middle of a tiny rock pad at the top of the falls, then worked our way round on foot to a full frontal view of the falls.
We landed in the middle of a tiny rock pad at the top of the falls, then worked our way round on foot to a full frontal view of the falls.
Then we followed the wandjina markers to the top of the falls, where we cross the river up to our waist encumbered by cameras. Later Gen discovers we had a near miss with a damp macro lens; and I discover a slightly soggy passport.
A bit of rock hopping takes us to the top of Big Mertens Falls via a magical Lily Pond, covered with white and blue flowers.
Next we walk along to the turnoff to the base of Little Mertens Falls for a wonderful refreshing icy dip in the pool below. Behind the veils of the falls are rock paintings. Climbing back up the trail, we rockhop some more to get to the top of Little Mertens Falls and watch a bird dipping repeatedly into the water. A flattish trail takes us back to the creek before the delightful natural rivulets for washing near the campsite where we watch tiny fish, a hornet, and various dragonflies at close-up level; then dip our feet in the stream and head back to camp for a cool Coke.
Back at Mitchell Falls campsite, we meet an Aussie couple from Woollongong who have worked their way round top of Oz for 6 years. They have a house let out in Wollongong; and a caravan in Kununurra. Work is their worry and their concern is about Lebos and Muslims changing Oz.
Next night, we camp at Drysdale where we celebrate safe return from the Plateau for the camper with a BBK ‘Biggest Burger in Kimberley’ plus bottle of Madfish Shiraz enjoyed around a campfire. Wizened and heavily bearded owner can’t understand why everyone wants to be on top of each other at the homestead rather than down in the privacy of the Miners Pool bush camp. The camp telephone has pride of place in the fridge.
Next stop is Mt Barnett Roadhouse – a cornucopia of goodies for the grocery shopper. Aborigines pop by to use the ATM - must be closest one for hundreds of miles - and pick up a supply of chupa chups gobstoppers.
We pay the camping fee and head down the track 7km to a heavily occupied campsite beside a lovely river. The camp has an array of camper vehicles, including this big rig extravaganza:
Main fun for the day is heaving to and fro on a dinghy on an endless rope whilst a sunbasking freshie looks on from a rock nearby.
A greater bowerbird flying to and fro alerts us to a bower nearby with its meticulously organised snail shells and dome of twigs. Amazing that these birds build the bowers purely for show and mating - the nest is built elsewhere and only attended by the female.
We head out with an early drive to Galvans Gorge through clouds of dust behind roadtrains carrying containers along the Gibb River Road.
The fridge stands up to the corrugation battering, but the temperature dial shakes itself to any old setting. As a variation on this malfunction, a jar of salsa at the bottom of the fridge unscrewed itself, leaked all over the base before the fridge outdid itself by resetting the dial to freeze mode...so the mess was complete.
A bus tour has gone in ahead and the guide declaims in a booming voice around a beautiful pool – we wait for the crowd to go and are rewarded with magic reflections, fish darting in the shadows, falls dropping from beneath a baobab and a sulphur crested cockie in the tree above.
The fridge stands up to the corrugation battering, but the temperature dial shakes itself to any old setting. As a variation on this malfunction, a jar of salsa at the bottom of the fridge unscrewed itself, leaked all over the base before the fridge outdid itself by resetting the dial to freeze mode...so the mess was complete.
A bus tour has gone in ahead and the guide declaims in a booming voice around a beautiful pool – we wait for the crowd to go and are rewarded with magic reflections, fish darting in the shadows, falls dropping from beneath a baobab and a sulphur crested cockie in the tree above.
We spend the night by turning off to Charnley River Station now run by Australian Wildlife Conservancy – we are there just 8 weeks into its first season. Delightful campsite with a sprinkling of campers and birds galore plus wallabies. The caretaker tells us that the only way to get into Mornington is to camp out at the gate and to phone from the gate at 7am. We decide to use the satphone and book just one veeery expensive safari tent night - an early 60th present for Gen - which enables us to spend the rest of the 4 days camping. Charnley leases pasture to Mt House Station and keeps the homestead area free of cattle, although six have evaded capture and are due to become steak when finally caught.
In the morning, we drive on a dirt track up to Grevillea Pool – past a quartet of wallabies standing ghost-like in the morning sun for an instant before fleeing into the bush. Mobs of zebu mix cattle line the road and gaze soulfully in front of a broken water windvane.Close by, Robert was caught short.
Grevillea has very little water, but a helpful ladder for the last steps. Robert moves a stone and an explosion of baby frogs erupts around us. Tadpoles burrow in the mudpools; a legless lizard which has lost its tail lies on the rocks; a dusky blue darter insect absorbs heat from the stone.
Last stop for the day was Dillie Pool, another lovely spot with a sparse trickle of water dripping from rocks into a clear pool with gnarly rooted trees.
Our Dimond Gorge day starts with a curiously drab, uniform cloud cover that darkens the atmosphere. We pick up paddles and swim vests and drive through savannah and dry creeks to the Gorge where we paddle our 3-man kayak downstream then push a little harder to return against the wind.
Returning in the gloom, brightened by an occasional attempt at sunshine, we spot brolgas beside a creek and then swing by Cadjput Hole.
Blue Bush Hide, our destination in the morning, is a lovely wetland lookout hide. Sitting contemplating the quiet with ibises, white necked heron and magpie larks, we hear brolgas flying in low to land gracefully in front of us.
One of the rangers gives an evening talk. As we all listen under the starlit sky in front of a projection screen, a couple of shooting stars produce a gasp from the audience; then the presenter draws us back to the management methods of Mornington. An estimated 500 feral cats kill around 2500 mammals daily or 75 million across Australia daily. A spaniel and a bloodhound are used to track feral cats which are then radio-collared to better understand the habits of this plague and how to deal with it.
One cat hunt suddenly lost the electronic signal of a cat, even though the pursuers seemed to be right on top of it. When the handler searched further, he found a large olive python with a telltale, cat sized lump. The presenter had been to Blue Bush Waterhole where we had been the same day and seen the largest King brown snake he had ever seen.
We leave Mornington, join the Gibb River Road, and pull into Imintji Roadhouse. Wow, what a grocery treasure trove - all the basics, plus wildly rare things, like tapenade...and the mundane, like a tin opener. We spend 450 dollars on diesel and grocs.
Grevillea has very little water, but a helpful ladder for the last steps. Robert moves a stone and an explosion of baby frogs erupts around us. Tadpoles burrow in the mudpools; a legless lizard which has lost its tail lies on the rocks; a dusky blue darter insect absorbs heat from the stone.
We get chatting to an Aussie couple from Melbourne who say a spate of rollovers has occurred around Drysdale recently, including a 4WD camper which had landed upright on all four wheels, however next day the wheels had gone.
Last stop for the day was Dillie Pool, another lovely spot with a sparse trickle of water dripping from rocks into a clear pool with gnarly rooted trees.
Mornington Wilderness Camp
We take it easy on the 90km access road, stopping for pics of the Mt House Range, and pass a guy with a trailer with a puncture.
Our opulent night in a safari tent - made in South Africa - has the feel of a royal welcome. Spend all day lazing on crisp clean sheets, and snuggle under warm blanket for protection against the chill drafts seeping through the closed window flaps. The tent is right next to a tinkling creek. Faint chirping signals the arrival on the balcony of purple crowned fairy wrens.
We head to the restaurant for Gen's birthday meal - three months early. Call that a candle? Amazingly, our table is graced with a battery-driven candle similar to the one at my own 60th that sparked Gen's infamous war of words with a waitress in a Camden restaurant that made my 60th truly unforgettable. Despite a word on the side, the staff forget to place a candle on delicious crumble and cream. Ah, the wine...an excellent silky red Alkoomi Shiraz plus fittingly gallic garlic mash with fillet steak, bread rolls.
Next morning, the balcony is turned into Robert’s safari office.
Gen's new laptop is displaying rude messages from Microsoft threatening to disable the operating system unless we 'activate' it. Typical Microsoft getting in the way when we are out of all communication range. But wait, we have a satellite phone. After much fiddling with security passcodes over the phone, we fix it; and Gen can process photos again. Success!
Early morning in the Safari tent is bliss – the dawn chorus filters through the open front flap of the tent and builds to a crescendo of interlayered trilling, cheeping, and fluting notes as the day dawns with a mackerel cloud sky
Our opulent night in a safari tent - made in South Africa - has the feel of a royal welcome. Spend all day lazing on crisp clean sheets, and snuggle under warm blanket for protection against the chill drafts seeping through the closed window flaps. The tent is right next to a tinkling creek. Faint chirping signals the arrival on the balcony of purple crowned fairy wrens.
We head to the restaurant for Gen's birthday meal - three months early. Call that a candle? Amazingly, our table is graced with a battery-driven candle similar to the one at my own 60th that sparked Gen's infamous war of words with a waitress in a Camden restaurant that made my 60th truly unforgettable. Despite a word on the side, the staff forget to place a candle on delicious crumble and cream. Ah, the wine...an excellent silky red Alkoomi Shiraz plus fittingly gallic garlic mash with fillet steak, bread rolls.
Next morning, the balcony is turned into Robert’s safari office.
Gen's new laptop is displaying rude messages from Microsoft threatening to disable the operating system unless we 'activate' it. Typical Microsoft getting in the way when we are out of all communication range. But wait, we have a satellite phone. After much fiddling with security passcodes over the phone, we fix it; and Gen can process photos again. Success!
Early morning in the Safari tent is bliss – the dawn chorus filters through the open front flap of the tent and builds to a crescendo of interlayered trilling, cheeping, and fluting notes as the day dawns with a mackerel cloud sky
Our Dimond Gorge day starts with a curiously drab, uniform cloud cover that darkens the atmosphere. We pick up paddles and swim vests and drive through savannah and dry creeks to the Gorge where we paddle our 3-man kayak downstream then push a little harder to return against the wind.
Returning in the gloom, brightened by an occasional attempt at sunshine, we spot brolgas beside a creek and then swing by Cadjput Hole.
Blue Bush Hide, our destination in the morning, is a lovely wetland lookout hide. Sitting contemplating the quiet with ibises, white necked heron and magpie larks, we hear brolgas flying in low to land gracefully in front of us.
One of the rangers gives an evening talk. As we all listen under the starlit sky in front of a projection screen, a couple of shooting stars produce a gasp from the audience; then the presenter draws us back to the management methods of Mornington. An estimated 500 feral cats kill around 2500 mammals daily or 75 million across Australia daily. A spaniel and a bloodhound are used to track feral cats which are then radio-collared to better understand the habits of this plague and how to deal with it.
One cat hunt suddenly lost the electronic signal of a cat, even though the pursuers seemed to be right on top of it. When the handler searched further, he found a large olive python with a telltale, cat sized lump. The presenter had been to Blue Bush Waterhole where we had been the same day and seen the largest King brown snake he had ever seen.
We leave Mornington, join the Gibb River Road, and pull into Imintji Roadhouse. Wow, what a grocery treasure trove - all the basics, plus wildly rare things, like tapenade...and the mundane, like a tin opener. We spend 450 dollars on diesel and grocs.
Mt Hart Station lies 50 km up another sideroad off the Gibb River Road. The previous caretaker, Taffy, departed with rancour in a disputed transaction with the owners, DEC. Without doubt, Taffy made massive improvements to what was a very rundown station before he moved in. We sit down in the bar to watch an excellent video narrated by Taffy where he turns his humour on the history of the station. On our visit, the homestead and gardens were falling into disrepair; the major new work seemed to be a massive bank of solar panels. We meet a couple from Melbourne/Victoria. He recounts how they took their Apollo up the station and made it across the 90 degree dogleg crossing, slowly floating across water as deep as the mid front door.
Windjana Gorge in the early morning has a powerful, spiritual, landscape beauty. Ranged along the edges of the river are Freshies basking in the first warmth of the morning sun.
At the campsite, we spend hours enthralled by Greater Bowerbirds. One male has his bower right next to the van. Unfazed by all the people, he performs droopy-winged dances - even coming to pose under my chair - and displays his purple crest at the nape of his neck, accompanied by frequent cries and chatter.
On our way to Tunnel Creek, we stop at the ruins of the Lillimooloora Police Station where the legendary aborigine, Jandamarra, escaped and started his exploits in the late 1800s against the settlers.
Jandamarra
Jandamarra was an Indigenous Australian of the Bunuba people. At that time, the European settlers were opening up large parts of the Kimberley. In the process, Aboriginal people were driven from their lands, or worse, rounded up, deprived of their freedom and forced to work on the newly established cattle stations. Aboriginals also could not hunt on their land any more like they used to. The only alternative was of course to kill the new animals the settlers had brought in. If Aboriginals were caught spearing the sheep or cattle of the settlers, they were chained around the neck, marched to Derby, and forced to work there in chains.
Through his contact with European settlers, Jandamarra worked on cattle stations. He became an excellent horseman and marksman. He was also jailed for spearing cattle. When Jandamarra's best friend, an Englishman named Richardson, joined the police force in the 1890s, Jandamarra, was employed as his native tracker. Unusually for the time, Jandamarra was treated as an equal and the pair gained a reputation as the "most outstanding" team in the police force at that time.
At one time the pair captured a group of Aborigines which included Jandamarra's uncle Ellemarra, for spearing a sheep. Ellemarra escaped. During a later patrol of the Napier Ranges in the West Kimberley, Jandamarra helped to capture a large group of his people, both men and women, again including his uncle. Belatedly, Jandamarra's tribal loyalties came to the fore. He gunned down his friend Richardson, stole a number of guns and set the prisoners free.
In late 1894, a posse of 30 or so heavily armed police and settlers attacked Jandamarra and his followers in Windjana Gorge. Jandamarra was seriously wounded but escaped.
For three years, Jandamarra led a war against police and European settlers. His hit and run tactics and his vanishing tricks became almost mythical. In one famous incident, a police patrol followed him to his hideout at the entrance to Tunnel Creek, but Jandamarra disappeared mysteriously. It was many years later that it was discovered that Tunnel Creek has a collapsed section that allows entry and egress from the top of the Range.
Micki was a black tracker whom the police had recruited in the Pilbara. He was said to possess magical powers, and he did not fear Pigeon. With the help of Micki, the police managed to track down Jandamarra at Tunnel Creek on April 1, 1897. Jandamarra was killed in the shootout, and another battle for Aboriginal lands came to an end.
Tunnel Creek
At Tunnel Creek, we get to the entrance to the huge tunnel cave, where others warn of a large black snake, as we squeeze our way in past boulders. Inside is cool and dark - we wade knee-high through cool water and walk across stretches of sand and rocks.
Half-way along, the roof of the cave has collapsed, allowing light and root tendrils to break through the gloom. This is where Jandamarra had his hideout for several years until he was cornered and shot at the age of 24 in front of the cave.
Our first stop in Fitzroy Crossing is the Old Crossing Inn, where we get directed to the bar. The bar windows are all barred - inside, lots of aborigines, old and young, male and female, are drinking, chatting and smoking. The huge, burly, tattooed barman doles out ice-cold beers from an eskie behind the bar where there is a sign: no humbugging, spitting or swearing. We book in for a night and are told there is no internet or takeaway alcohol in town. We look at our campsite in front of overflowing garbage and decide to see if we can find the other caravan park.
A couple of kms up the road, what a change: the Fitzroy River Lodge is hub of activity with bar, internet, nice campsites, and a restaurant. No contest - we aren't going back, stuff the money already paid. We splurge on a safari tent for a couple of nights; use the Internet to catch up on news; scoff a couple of dinners tended by a stunning Kiwi employee; and take advantage of the rule that those staying in accommodation are allowed one bottle per day to take back to their lodgings.
The main attraction, just outside town, is Geikie Gorge. We join a huge mob of Grey Nomads and are marshalled into boats. At the assembly hut, there are markers showing the height of the floods for each year - amazingly, one marker says the floods went two metres above the roof! The ranger launches into a jocular, loud and non-stop commentary. The Gorge is beautiful in the late afternoon light and the commentary later slows so that we can take in the views.
The Fitzroy River can reach 25km wide and 30m high in the Wet, when the water flow would fill Sydney harbour in just five hours. The local crocs are a reliable gauge to anticipate the height of the river for the Wet: they build their nests in the Dry season where the young will be in position in the Wet to slither into the water. Catfish in the river have nasty poisonous spines - Aborigines chew the leaves of the river mangrove into a pulp which acts as an analgesic to alleviate the pain.
The habitat has all sorts of invasive foreign and feral species: the Brazilian passionfruit vine is all along the river bank and has reached pest proportions because it climbs up trees to the crown and acts as a conduit for bush fires to totally consume the landscape, whereas it normally just burns off the lower level grasses.
The fun part of the drive to the Bungle bungle is the last 50km of 4WD dirt track.
We were there just as the grader was in action, so negotiated the many creek crossings, switchbacks and jump-ups without trouble. All sorts of ingenious off-road contraptions were en route, including this clever one:
Along the drive, we spotted scenic swathes of non-resinous spinifex and mounds of a termite species found only here.
The Bungle Bungle was known by the Aborigines for hundreds of years; and later by local bush pilots doing mustering. News of the wonders of this range, 25km wide and 45km long, spread when a TV crew got talking in a bar to some pilots - the TV footage they shot went global, and the place became famous.We stayed the first night in the Northern campsite. Next morning we walked up to Echidna Chasm, a magic, palm-lined, ever narrowing chasm.
From the south of the Bungle Bungle we took a Robinson R44 chopper flight. The friendly pilot had been a jackaroo on his parent's homestead in NSW and relished his job up North. He pointed out a rock in the distance which no-one except Aborigines can visit because it is where they bury their dead - no-one else can hike to or fly over it. Also below, we saw a natural circular rock corral which was formerly used by jillaroos and jackaroos to muster cattle.
The range looked green and verdant because this year's Wet had dropped 1200mm of rain instead of the usual 700mm.
After the flight, we talked to a German passenger who topped my soggy Mitchell Falls passport story. He had been moving back to Germany from Brisbane and made a copy of his passport in his photocopier at home. The removers came and took all the furniture. On the day of departure he suddenly realised his passport was missing - it had been carted off inside the photocopier on the removal truck.
On a whim, we changed our itinerary to include a sidetrip to Lake Argyle. Here too, we splurged on a cabin in the Resort to wind down from the trip. Gen was up at dawn to take pics of the Infinity pool when a woman appeared and plunged straight in to do laps.
Just up the road was the Durack homestead which had been transposed from its old position now deep under the waters of the dam. Outside the homestead were the headstones of the Durack family - a peaceful spot where I watched a Bowerbird carefully architecting his bower. Inside the building, there were information panels on the two-year cattle trek that the Duracks had made. On the trail, the conditions were too rough for calves, so they were killed as soon as they were born. Other dangers included springs with water that was too alkaline - two cattlemen died before the team realised what was killing them.
Perched on the top of the hill above the resort was a Robinson R44, so we arranged a sunset flight with the suntanned beau of a pilot. As we headed out, he explained the lake had taken three years to fill. We flew over some of the islands, including one where wild cattle and wallabies that had escaped the flooding for the dam, had happily existed for 40 years without disturbance.
The pilot said that Salties sometimes swam 50km upstream to below the dam and some of them died from the excess of lactic acid generated in their bodies by the exertion.
As we flew along, we heard a dull pop-pop from the rotor, and the chopper dropped several feet. Without missing a beat, the pilot cheerily said he didn't like what he had heard, perhaps we had hit a pelican, and we were going to land sharpish on a tiny island below just to check. Within a minute we had landed and, with the rotor still going, the pilot hopped out to give it the once over. All looked good, so we took off again in a cloud of dust. To wrap up the trip, we'd done an emergency landing and lived to tell the tale!
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Mitchell Falls, Lake Argyle, Bungle Bungles, Mornington Wilderness Camp, Windjana Gorge, Geikie Gorge
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