Litchfield

I finally woke up after my alarm had gone off the fourth time (every 5 minutes), thus ensuring my enduring popularity with my three room-mates. Starved of sleep and still with plenty to do (breakfast, repacking bags, withdrawing cash) before my tour pick-up, I sprang stealthily, panther-like, into action…precipitating the kind of sound one might expect from the demolition of the Eiffel Tower. The squealing, tortured-metal protestations of my bunk easily outshone the laboured air-con unit and made sure that all of my roomies were wide-wide-awake at 5.45am. The racket continued for a further minute as I removed boots and phone-charger into the corridor, followed by three bags and bedding from the metal torture-device…and it was no surprise to see all three disgruntled chaps stomp out of the room in fairly quick succession to answer nature's call, while I was putting on socks and tying up my laces in the corridor. To be honest, if Lars Ulrich had played me out with a full, extemporised drum solo, I don't think I could have disturbed these guys any more. But there wasn't a great deal I could do about it.

I made a breakfast of porridge, discovered on reading my e-mails that my prepay card had finally been credited and was thus able to withdraw cash and purchase internet time to upload blog entries.

At 6:45, I wandered two doors down to the Adventure Tours office and loitered with intent along with a couple of other guys, who were also joining the same trip as me. Shortly, a truck pulled up, which was basically like a 7 tonne light-goods vehicle from the front, but with a double cab, high ground clearance and the load area basically converted into a minibus with windows and coach seats. There were various compartments under the seats and a luggage loadspace at the back…and this 4WD drive beast was to be our transport for the next few days.

I found a space in the second cab, joined by a rather garrulous 50-odd-year old Canadian, called John. When I say garrulous, what I meant of course is that John talked a lot. Almost like a nervous tick, a lot. On finding out he was in IT back home, I came to an early conclusion that he didn't get much chance to talk at work and so saved it all up for holidays. Later on, I decided that he just allowed whatever was in his mind to come out, free-flow. And I realised after a bit that this didn't require listening or responding to…which came as a great relief! He had a heart of gold, was very helpful and would have been hurt to be told that he talked too much…but after a week of travelling independently, I found that first morning sharing the back seat of the truck a little wearing, to say the least.

Our guide, Debden, was the complete antithesis of John. Laconic, laid-back, a man of few words - and yet, highly knowledgeable about the locality and its flora and fauna. He was a Kiwi, who had settled in Darwin almost 15 years ago and had been working with Adventure Tours for the past 14. I could tell within 5 minutes of his terse commentary, that we had landed on our feet with this guy and I knew that I was going to love the tour.

We drove due south of Darwin towards Litchfield National Park. Interested in learning about what Debden was telling us, I managed to fight off the urge to sleep and listened while he  explained the history of the local human geography. How Darwin had grown with the expansion of the mining industry, recovering both from Japanese bombing in WWII and a Force 5 cyclone in 1974 to become the modern city today with a population of about 130,000. Vast tracts of industrial and light-industrial land had replaced the bush surrounding the city in Debden's time here and you could hear his regret and love for the land in the simple, honest way he told us of the coming of the Roadtrains and mining companies. The most noticeable impact - as felt by everybody in our vehicle - were the exorbitant prices for everything, brought about by the massive inflation that accompanies imported, overpaid workforces the world over. I'd seen similar disparities between local and expat earnings in places like Cambodia and Nepal before and the problems it brought, such as locals struggling to afford basic goods and equipment. This same issue was affecting Debden, not to mention the whole tourist trade in Darwin, which was half the size it had been a decade previously - money-conscious backpackers voting with their feet and heading to cheaper destinations.

The environmental damage caused by the expansion of mining activities and the concomitant support services were also themes that Debden informed us about - including his outrage that Darwin was the only city where road trains were able to come all the way into the city (elsewhere they are broken down into normal one or two trailer loads), which had resulted in several nasty accidents, including two fatal, in the last two years. Darwin Airport is also the only airport in Oz that allows flights 24/7 - obviously a great convenience for mine owners, shipping in skilled staff from anywhere in the world…but not so good for the ozone layer hole, steadily growing above Australia, nor the local birdlife in this bio-diverse corner of the world.

The dead centre of the Northern Territory?

A fairly decent sized dwelling

Battlements

We stopped to take a closer look at the Magnetic Termite mounds that dotted the bush like a graveyard alongside the main road - I had no idea that they were found in Australia but I did know that their orientation was to do with temperature control, allowing them to absorb warmth on only one side during the morning and late afternoon, but absorbing minimal heat in the midday sun, as they presented their narrowest side to this harsher radiation. Debden explained that we weren't scheduled to stop by the highway like this as there was an official Magnetic Termite viewing site at the National Park…but that you were fenced off from the actual mounds and that there would be loads of other people there too. No chance to get up close to see the construction or feel the rough texture of the mounds. This only confirmed my belief that Debden was the kind of guide everybody wants - the kind that knows where the best stuff is and is prepared to change the programme to get to it. 

Evidence of a recent managed burn

On the way back to the truck, he pointed out evidence of managed burning, deliberately started by rangers (majority of aboriginal backgrounds) at the start of the dry season to reduce the amount of tinder-dry material lying around by the time lightning season comes at the end of the Dry. This ancient technique of land management has been practiced by Aborigines for centuries but, with the move into towns and cities, valuable knowledge of such skills had been lost. Only in recent decades had the old practice been brought back, leading to a huge reduction in the number of out-of-control wildfires within National Parks. Unfortunately, as Debden pointed out, most other landowners (eg. cattle ranchers) did not practise the technique, leading to huge destruction in land around the National Parks and, occasionally, fires leaping over the boundaries and damaging the parks. Back in the truck, Debden stowed the microphone and I allowed myself to drift off until we reached our morning's destination - as much from exhaustion as to avoid listening to John witter on. 

Cathedral termite mound

We did stop again to get some close-ups of the enormous Cathedral termite mounds and, bounding off through the bush, I finally spotted my first live marsupial - a wallaby, rather than a kangaroo. It made a pleasant change from all the furry corpses I'd seen by the roadside up until this point…and, now that the hire car was safely returned, I hoped to see many more.

We pulled up at a place called Florence Creek and Debden explained that a short walk would bring us out to a series of small cascades and swimming holes, which would continue downstream for about 1.5km, ending in Florence Falls, a spectacular 15metre-high double falls, with a deep plunge pool. He told us to take swimmers, sun lotion and water and arranged to meet us at the picnic grounds at the bottom in three hours time for lunch. Perfect…now this really was my kind of tour, being left to our own devices where possible.

Swimming time

A shady spot

Florence falls from the lookout...

...and from the plunge pool

I headed off to find some peace and quiet in the warm, late-morning sun but soon found that I had a tag-along…yes, you've guessed it, John. I didn't get much peace and quiet, although I did have a very pleasant couple of hours, moving slowly downstream diving, bombing and swimming in pools of various depths and sizes. They were all full of the same beautiful, crystal-clear (and relatively warm) water and equally bathed in warm sunshine. John kindly took some photos of me in the water with his underwater camera, promising to send them on to me if I gave him my e-mail address. I'm not sure the German girls in their bikinis (part of our group) appreciated the offer or the photos quite so much but John had a little transatlantic rhino-hide quality to him and, sure that he was entirely innocent, I'd have to put his lack of awareness down to minor social ineptness. 

As we neared the bottom, I have to admit to ditching him as I couldn't bear to stop and look at another inconsequential oddity that he'd noticed in the bush by the path. I pleaded a need for shade and continued walking while he stopped to peer at some unfamiliar plant or insect. Shortly afterwards I arrived at the picnic spot, well ahead of schedule and found a nice shady rock out in the stream to perch myself on and be surrounded by the merry, gurgling burbling of the water and the soft whisperings of the trees in the gentle breeze. Twenty minutes of this was enough to restore my equilibrium and cool down, so I continued on down to Florence Falls, had a swim in the plunge pool, which was a little cooler than the upper pools and then took the Shady Creek walk back up the hill. This alternative return route instantaneously brought rewards when a loud screeching directed my attention to a bunch of fruit bats roosting in a tree by the path. They were far bigger than I'd imagined - probably the size of a kitten let's say - and their wingspans were a good 2-2.5 feet across. The path continued to bring pleasant surprises, including a range of butterflies and birds that Darwin would have had difficulty in cataloguing. I arrived back at the picnic spot in perfect time to get stuck into barbecued hotdogs and salad. So far it had been an excellent day.

Don't be scared...I don't bite...honest!

Shady Creek

Debden (left) with the first barbecue meal of many :-)

Back in the truck,. we drove on to the Corroboree Billabong, part of the Mary River system. Here in Australia, rivers are not simple, linear entities with regular flow and predictable positions, as one is used to in Europe. In the wet season they become raging torrents, widespread deltas and, basically, floods over extremely wide areas. So 'river system' is how the vast area affected by this seasonal, fluvial activity is known. A billabong is a body of non-flowing water that has become disconnected from the main body of the river when the wet season water levels have dropped. Over the course of the dry season, this water will shrink due to seepage and evaporation, concentrating all manner of wildlife into a smaller and smaller area, united by the universal need for water. And, of course, where life concentrates, predators gather. Specifically, crocodiles!

We were given a tour of the billabong by Jim in a covered skiff and we were treated to an enormous variety of birdlife. But there wasn't a single one of us aboard that didn't thrill at the merest hint of a croc, of which we saw five of the saltwater variety and one 'freshie'. The salties are not, as their name suggests, to be found only in saltwater. In fact, due to an ability to purge excess salt from their system, they are able to survive in saline water, but are just as at home in fresh water. The freshwater crocs, on the other hand, are limited solely to non-tidal rivers and streams and freshwater lakes. At this time of year, most of the crocs were pretty lethargic - sitting in the sun, in order to build their body temperatures up to operating speed, when they become a deadly predator. However, there was one fella lurking in the lotus water lilies and, judging by the size of his head, which was roughly the length of my arm, according to Jim he was probably in excess of 5m! As Jim explained, even smaller salties will attempt to take chunks out of anything that moves…having been at the top of the food chain for millions of years, in their tiny walnut-sized mind, anything that moves is automatically food. I could see everybody in the boat mentally moving crocodiles up past the snakes and spiders on the list of 'Things Most Likely to Kill me in Australia' inside their heads. I certainly did. Due to the changing nature of the waterways in the Northern Territories, it was clear that these archaic beasts could be found in almost any location near fresh or saltwater…and we would need to be vigilant in their back yard. The highlight of the non-crocodile fauna was definitely the jabiru - an enormous, bright-legged stork with beautiful iridescent blue plumage…but it was the crocs we were all talking about as we trooped back onto the truck for our final journey of the day.

Young Saltie - as evidenced by its lighter markings

Another, slightly older chap about 2.5m long

Getting bigger!

Lurking...

Now you see me, now you don't!

...and a harmless little Freshie

Plumed Whistler Ducks

Magpie Geese

Comb-crested Jacana - also known as the Jesus Bird for his apparent ability
to walk on water (lily pads!)

White-bellied Sea Eagle

Eastern Great Egret

Glossy Ibis

Darter - also known as Snake Head bird due to swimming mainly
submerged except for this snake-like head

Lotus lilies

Jabiru!

Our final destination was a campground about twenty minutes away and it was here that Debden informed us that we would be camping out under the stars using traditional Aussie swags. I was both delighted and annoyed with myself because I was keen to sleep in the great outdoors…but had left my Exped Synmat (the height of inflatable, portable, bedware) in Darwin, mistakenly thinking that we would be sleeping in camp cots in tents. My understanding of a swag was basically a divvy bag - a heavy-duty, canvas pocket in which one slept inside a sleeping bag. However, as I soon discovered, the swag also includes a foam rubber mattress…and the one in my swag was thick and comfortable. :-) Out of respect for my as-yet-unfamiliar tour buddies, I set up my swag a couple of hundred metres away from the campfire in a small clearing with uninterrupted views of the southern skies. 

A Dutch girl called Lieke and I walked the short distance to the viewpoint to find that we'd just missed sunset, although there was still plenty of colour and light in the sky for a few good photos. We went back to the campfire where I took it upon myself to find out everyone's names and to introduce us all to each other. Considering the overwhelming number of British accents I'd heard in Darwin, I was surprised to find myself the only Brit out of our group of 11 (plus Debden making 12). There were three German girls: Jasmin and Annike (early twenties, at a guess), who were travelling together, who had good English but were shy of speaking it; and Inge (mid-twenties), who was travelling independently and was, by far, the chattiest member of the group (dare I say, after me!). There was a young Swedish couple Marten and Amelie (both 20); Nengs (from Hong Kong) and Tom (from South Korea) - a very sweet couple who had met whilst both working in Oz and who were on their final holiday there together before Tom had to return to Korea; Lieke, a tulip-heiress on a gap-year; Raphael, a Swiss architect; John and me. Everybody else was comfortably under thirty, apart from John and I, which I guess was why he had gravitated towards me, as his nearest peer. Everyone was very pleasant, although the two couples were inclined to being more insular (understandably) and the German girls tended to be most comfortable conversing with each other in their mother tongue. Raphael was very reticent, although perfectly interesting in conversation - perhaps someone who preferred his own company but had joined the tour for convenience's sake. So, the majority of the conversation was amongst Lieke, Inge, John and myself - with Debden keeping his hand in when not busy with dinner and logistical matters. Inge was the most entertaining and had a particularly non-Germanic sense of humour and a penchant for a beer or two. She had been studying in Sydney and was coming to the end of her year in Oz, making sure she went out with a bang before heading home via New Zealand.

After a long day and with another early start at 6:30am, we all went to bed shortly after 9, to enjoy a bit of star-gazing as we were surrounded by the millions of bright pin-pricks of light - and even treated to the faint, wispy glow of the Milky Way, before this was smothered by the bright glow of the full moon. With earplugs in, I slept like a log and knew nothing more until my alarm woke me (at the first time of asking) in the morning.

Swagman's Rest

A little visitor to our camp kitchen (a mantis)

Fortescue Falls, Fern Pool and Moving East

Karijini sunrise

After my physical exertions the previous afternoon, I'd ended up going to bed early instead of being a good little camper and organising my packing in preparation for my flight to Darwin. I knew I'd have to offload quite a bit of stuff (mostly food but also my temporary beach towel - essential for preserving modesty when changing into swimmers, but too bulky for backpacking and unnecessary as a drying device when I already had my micro-fibre travelling towel (a gift from, Chris, my teaching assistant back in Blighty).

I was up early to make breakfast, which was a slow job on the ruddy barbecue since my Himalaya stove had conked out the night before - I suspect a fuel-line blockage and hope to find a camping store that can service it for me before I need it again. Manuela was up with the birds too and we had a good chat while we waited for the painfully weak gas jets to cook our eggs. The beautiful mellifluous call of the Butcher bird had us both smiling, as did the gentle rays of morning sunshine, spreading long, dappled shadows from the spindly trees. I ended up off-loading most of my food-stuffs on to her and Markus, as I knew they'd make use of them and I just liked their genuine warmth and relaxed attitudes.

After breakfast, it seemed to take me forever to squeeze everything back into my rucksacks and my large pack was definitely looking considerably bigger than it had on arrival - some cooking utensils and a few essentials like laundry detergent and salt & pepper were amongst the new acquisitions that I was loathe to dispose of - but I was concerned about excess baggage charges at Port Hedland. Manuela and Markus came to say goodbye before I'd finished (one distinct advantage to sleeping in a car, rather than a tent, meaning they had less packing up to do) and we exchanged contact details so that we could stay in touch.

Dales Gorge from the top

I eventually finished sorting myself out by 10:30 and was desperately in need of a wash after two days of rough camping, al-fresco dining, hiking and perspiring. The site had no facilities so my only option was to go and take a dip in one of the Dales Gorge pools. I had a choice between the Circular Pool and Fern Pool, both at the opposite ends of the gorge but I'd been reliably informed by my campsite neighbours in Coral Bay that the water cascading into Fern Pool was 5 degrees warmer than the pool itself, due to being fed by underground springs. Also, given that Fern pool was at the western end of the gorge, I was pretty sure it would be far more likely to be bathed in the mid-morning sunshine so that's where I set off.

Fortescue Falls

On the way, I was encouraged to see plenty of damp folks in swimmers, carrying towels and, after a 10 minute hike, I came upon the Fortescue Falls, only a short walk downstream from the Fern Pool. The gorgeous red rock was again illuminated by the sun and the crystal clear waters had a welcoming green hue, which boded well for my bathing plans.

...and Fortescue Pool

I hurried on to Fern Pool and was not disappointed - a beautiful, tropical paradise with water gently cascading onto the rocks at the far end of a calm, green pool.

Fern Pool

There was no messing about testing the water - I had to have a wash before getting on board a plane with other humans, so I just dived in. It was cool, but not too cold and a few strokes brought me out into the sunshine as I headed for the falls. I had not been duped, as they were indeed warmer than the pool waters and I sat happily in the flow, like a thumping shower, scrubbing at the ingrained dirt on my feet, legs and hands. I hadn't brought soap or shampoo, not wishing to pollute the lovely waters, so my scrubbing was all elbow-grease and calloused fingers but it did a pretty good job in the end…and gave me plenty of excuse to sit and hog the waterfalls. Amusingly, my confident dive and subsequent claims of the water's relative warmth had encouraged some Aussies to join me in the pool…needless to say, their wussy, southern hemisphere notions of warmth were somewhat different to mine and there were plenty of loud exhalations and hurried thrashings, followed by a speedy exit.

Refreshed, and feeling a little cleaner, I headed back to the car for the drive to Port Hedland. It was a decent drive, although there was a lot more heavy-vehicle traffic than the last time I'd used the road so it took a little longer than expected to get to the airport. However, I still had plenty of time to drop of the hire-car keys and Satnav, before checking in to for my flight.

Hey, what's the weird white stuff up there? This isn't allowed!

Air North provided a very good service aboard their miniature jet aircraft - plenty of shoulder and legroom, although the 430 dollar ticket-price demanded nothing less! I arrived in Darwin at 11.20pm and discovered that the money I'd sent to my prepay card account three days previously, had still not been credited! With 20 dollars to my name I had to get into town and do my laundry, before catching some shut-eye and heading off on my Kakadu adventure.

The shuttle bus took 16 of my remaining dollars and I had to offer an apology to the proprietors at my hostel (Melaleuca on Mitchell) when he asked for a 10 dollar deposit for my key and bedding. He was extremely understanding though and even made arrangements with the security guard to leave the laundry unlocked for another hour so that I could wash and dry my clothes. While this was happening, I was able to do some blogging and battery charging and I finally crawled into bed at 2:30, with a 5:30 alarm set so that I could sort out which luggage to leave behind while I went bush again.
I've not shared a hostel room since my first week in Vietnam back in October 2004…and by the time I got up, I'd remembered many reasons why! I had drawn a top bunk - the only remaining spot in the room - in a squeaky, metal bed that defied all attempts to do anything quietly. On top of this, the guy on the bottom bunk had some weird twitching fits during the night, consisting of huge leg spasms every couple of minutes, meaning that my sleep was about as useless as you could imagine. To be fair, I was happy with getting my laundry and blogging done, as I dipped in and out of civilisation for a few hours. I was even happier when I woke up in the morning, connected to my 3G internet and received the confirmation e-mail from my credit card company that my funds had been credited overnight. My last act in Darwin, after collecting my laundry and stowing my bag in the left-luggage room, was to withdraw 200 dollars - and it was nice, once again, to have a wallet carrying more than my not-so-flexible friend.

The Iron Hills and Gorgeous Gorges

I was awoken by the beautiful sing-song calls of the Butcher Bird and the slightly-less-welcome twittering of the local pigeons. The sun was peering over the earth's rim and lighting the roof arch of my cosy cocoon. I noticed with a little annoyance that a mixture of condensation (my own) and the gets-ruddy-everywhere red dust had become mixed along the roofline of my tent inner, due to the sagging of the fly-sheet in the night. As I clambered out, I could see that the 'firm' ground was the root cause of the problem, with my shallow-driven pegs pulling free in the overnight breeze.

This minor issue resolved (although, not the caked, orange mud on my inner), I set about making breakfast - porridge for slow-burn carbs and chicken noodle soup for hydration. After stupidly waiting several minutes for the barbecue to heat up, I eventually realised it was a lost cause and fished the multi-fuel stove out to boil the required water. By this time, my neighbours had surfaced and started to pack up their car and deconstruct their heavyweight, canvas, frame tent. The boys were grousing at each other while the father and I chortled in unison and we chatted about our travel plans. He and the boys were going to start making their way back to Perth (a good 2,000km plus) before eventually flying back to Germany mid-August. He was a farmhand who had come to work in the Aussie wheat belt for the season before heading back home to catch the harvest season in Europe. We carped about the chill and the strong breeze and he told me about his first ever farm job in Australia…in 1983. He'd undertaken an exchange programme and been billeted with a rather tight-fisted farmer in Tasmania in August. Needless to say, it was pretty cold. His sponsor had put him up in a wooden outbuilding with four or five thin blankets on a wooden pallet for a bed (as he remarked, prison inmates would get a better deal for a bed!) His main thought was, "There are millions of merino sheep roaming around this bloody country and you give me these shitty rags for blankets!" In the end, he managed to find a better host family with more salubrious accommodation…it must have been good as he's been coming back for the last 29 years!

After breakfast, I sorted out a daypack with change of clothes, swimmers, towel, first-aid kit and rations. I had every intention of climbing and exploring every nook and cranny of the day's chosen location and I didn't want to run out of steam, nor be limited by having the wrong equipment. My plan was to drive across to the Weano Day Recreation Area and explore all of the gorges and canyons it had to offer. Then, if there was enough light in the sky, to head to Mount Bruce and get atop this second highest peak in Western Australia.

Piquing my interest, as seen from the road: Mount Bruce

At 1235 metres, it was nothing remarkable in terms of height…but it had caught my curiosity on the drive the previous evening…and it was the biggest thing available.

The drive to Weano started pleasantly enough…tarmac, signage, traffic etc. But once I was back inside the park proper, I came face to face with my first taste of outback road. The unsealed roads are basically made by shovelling the red rock / sand surface as flat as possible with plenty of width for any 2 vehicles to pass. For the most part, in the Dry, this works really well, with the occasional stretch of corrugation and a few loose stones waiting to kick up into your undercarriage. In the Wet, these roads are simply not made for anything other than 4x4's and tanks.

Dirt tracking...judderly good fun.

When I'd taken the car in Exmouth, I had checked with Janne (the helpful lady from the car hire company) as to which roads I was allowed to use in the OTB. She was quite sure that I could use all 'gazetted' roads - which basically meant 'anything with a name'. Still, I'd waived all forms of extra insurance for the car and would face a massive penalty (minimum 2000 AUD) if the car was totalled in a single-vehicle incident, so I was minded to take things pretty easy. I kept to a steady 80km/h, dropping to 60 when the corrugations became unavoidable and I juddered and bounced my way over the next 28km. I can say without a doubt that I would never want my own car's suspension to have such a thorough working over - certainly not one that I wanted to keep anyway! But I reasoned that cars hired in Western Australia and the Northern Terrirtory must be expected to absorb some punishment - hence the exorbitant prices for hiring them in the first place. I did have a bit of a heart-stopper when a huge, pothole appeared out of nowhere. I managed an expert swerve to tightrope around the rim with my offside front wheel…but then spent several seconds trying to control the fishtail as the back end protested at the loose, sandy surface on which it was expected to perform such acrobatics. The trusty OTB didn't let me down though and we arrived at the Weano parking area in, more-or-less, one piece….shaken and somewhat stirred.

Eat my dust!

Looking at the information sheets printed for the area, the claim was that the combined four gorge walking itineraries in the area would take about 5 hours. This didn't leave much time (read none) for Mount Bruce…so I'd decided to plough through the first one and see how long it took so that I could pick and choose the ones I fancied.

Heading down into Hancock Gorge

The creek's dry season trickle at the foot of the gorge

First port of call: Hancock Gorge with the Spider Walk passage and the beautiful Kermit Pool at the end. This was scheduled to take 2 hours there and back so I got a march on and tramped down the iron staircase to the gorge-bottom. No matter how much of a hurry I was in, though, I couldn't fail to be arrested by the outstanding natural beauty of the area. Verdant bush had been slowly carved up by bloody red gorges, descending into unseen depths and echoing with the sound of falling water. The trail afforded me a few tantalising glimpses of what was to come and I was soon heading into a narrow defile, no more than 3 feet wide with a wide, deep stream flowing rapidly along its base. 

To avoid the water, I climbed up the conveniently stepped canyon walls (the sedimentary nature of the rock had allowed for its erosion in slabs, creating natural flat footholds and crevices for the fingers to slip into. I'd soon negotiated my way round the channel and came back down to the canyon floor where the stream had shallowed out once more. This shallowness soon passed as the channel narrowed and I was soon having to brace a foot on either wall and inch along above the water to avoid getting my boots wet or taking them off. Eventually this tight passage opened out into a tall, roughly circular chamber with the sky for a roof. At one end, water cascaded down into the collecting pool from the stream I had just followed. At the other, water trickled slowly out into a series of interconnecting chambers that were roped off with warning signs and threats of fines. In the centre of all this: Kermit Pool - a clear, glistening pool of aquamarine water, gently reflecting the magnificent rock formations and the brilliant blue sky. I was tempted to swim right there and then…but the sun was a long way from coming over the rim of the gorge and I knew that the water would be what is technically known as 'ruddy cold'….so I kept my tinder dry for later on.

Deeper into the gorge

Polished smooth

The way narrows

Kermit Pool

Inviting...but a  bit nippy without the sun shining in...

Tantalising - the way beyond Kermit Pool...unfortunately, off-limits without a guide!

Heading back the way I'd been

Sure of the route back, I marched back along the gorge and up the side, to arrive back at the information point precisely 45 minutes after I'd left. Hmmm…it clicked at this point that the vast majority of those using the area, apart from the occasional European family on the 'once-in-a-lifetime-' holiday experience, were older folks… slightly less mobile and in need of being a sight more careful than good, old unbreakable me. I quickly calculated that, on this first experience, I could expect to complete the other walks in about 2-2.5 hours…leaving me plenty of time to tackle Mount Bruce (as long as the timings for this were as generous as all the other walks on the sheet).

I bombed out to the two viewing platforms, which peered down into Hancock and Weano Gorges, stopping to snap a few pics and to read the tragic story of a local rescue volunteer, who had been swept to his death by a flash-flood, whilst rescuing a tourist who had gotten into trouble whilst walking the gorges. It was a stark reminder of the need to respect Mother Nature and to be prepared for any eventuality. The gorges seemed safe enough now, in the Dry, with mere trickles of water passing through their bowels. However, it wasn't difficult to spot the levels which the water could reach, needing only to look at the smooth worn stone passageways  - hollowed out and polished by millennia of water, silt and, in fact, huge boulders, thrust along their course by the power of floodwaters.

From the viewing platform as Hancock Gorge comes to meet Weano Gorge

Looking down into Weano Gorge - Handrail Pool in the big hole, bottom right

Memorial to Jim Regan, rescue volunteer

This grim thought in mind, I marched out to the other end of the area and descended into Weano Gorge, to seek out the Handrail Pool. Once again, I was taken with the beauty of the place, teeming with dragonflies and sheltered from the harsh environment by the steep sides of the gorge. This shelter would, of course, come at a price in the Wet, with everything below 3-4ft off the ground disappearing under the torrents for months at a time - this waterline rising much higher during intense flooding. The lushness that Europeans would associate with their countryside was evident here for the first time in my Australian odyssey and I enjoyed the gentle breeze and shady boughs as I romped along Weano. As I walked into the business end of the gorge, I could see people wading waist-deep in the water and could see that, at last, I would have to lose the boots. Reluctantly, I took them off and left them (socks tucked inside) forlornly at the water's edge. Underfoot, the first few yards were full of small sharp stones and silt - not the most enjoyable surface to walk on barefoot…but this soon gave way to large slabs of smooth rock, which I was able to gingerly step across. The valley widened and narrowed several times with one or two overland stretches on flat rock (fine) and through shallow, gravelled water (not fine) before we started getting to the interesting part. Once again, there was a spider walk leading into an ever-narrowing chute, which finally led to the eponymous handrail for the purpose of clambering down beside the waterfall that tumbled into the stunning Handrail Pool. Like Kermit's Pool, only larger, and better lit, this beautiful little spot also had teasing views disappearing off into further connected pools and passageways. I ventured as far as I could in the deepening water but was reluctant to get my rolled-up shorts wet as there still wasn't enough heat in the place to guarantee thawing out after a dip in the icy water. Instead I sat drinking in the serenity and peace of this magical spot, whilst tucking into a lunchtime snack of fruit and ginger-nut biscuits.

Time to get my feet wet...

Up to the knees, shorts rolled up...just as well - even rolled up, they got wet eventually.

Clambering into Weano Gorge's deeper recesses

The Handrail Pool

From the other side, looking back to the waterfall entrance (complete with handrail and ladder)

A Big 'un - one of the more impressive termite mounds I came across.

Refreshed, invigorated, I set off at a good lick, back to the car, which I had skilfully managed to park in the shade (with the aid of a compass) when I arrived and was still in the shade now 2 hours later. I took the unsealed road a little more confidently this time, used to the juddering and squeaking, which no longer sounded so terminal. I made sure to keep a good lookout for any dangerous holes and made good time back to the main road, which I crossed onto another unsealed road for the 3km drive to the base of Mount Bruce. I set off at 2:30 with several options for shortening the journey along the way, as there were two marked lookout posts that were supposed to take 45 minutes and 3 hours respectively to complete the return journeys. Mount Bruce summit was supposed to take 6 hours…so based on my morning in Weano, this should equate to 3 hours at a decent pace.

The task ahead - over the false summit to the right, along the ridge, then up through steep bush to the summit plateau.

Views to the North-East, with Chinaman's Hat (the conical mound in the middle of the shot)

And North-West, looking back over the foothills covered at the start of the climb

Half-way up the rocky false-summit

Sure enough I reached the first lookout after just 15 minutes, although this satisfaction was short-lived when I realised that this lookout was not for an eye-catching view of more of the wonderful local scenery, but rather a chance to survey the scar smashed out of the landscape to procure iron ore for Australia's biggest export industry.

A big ugly scar cutting slicing right through the middle of Karijini National Park

Hardly scenic...

Despite being defined as part of the Karijini National Park, a slice of land about 4-5km long had been 'excised' from the park in 1992 and had been turned into an open-cast mine. I don't want to point the finger at Australia as the sole (or even the largest) perpetrator of this kind of ecological destruction - and I know that many Australians would ask why they shouldn't be allowed to extract the economic worth of their natural resources when everyone else has been afforded that opportunity already. But I do think that as a civilisation, globally, we've got to find ways of existing that don't require us to rape our planet of every last single ounce of her finite natural resources. There's a lot of talk about plans for the Great Barrier Reef to have a channel cut through it, to allow larger bulk carriers to berth at loading facilities for raw materials such as the Hammersley Iron, which is mined here. 20,000 Tonne trains depart from here 9 times a day for the coast, in order to feed the demand for iron and steel from China to Europe and everywhere in between. Are we going to be remembered as the generation who didn't give a shit? Or, worse still, will we be unremembered altogether with nobody left on the planet to do any remembering as we bring the place down around our own ears. 

Musing on this, it took me only another 30 minutes to reach the next viewpoint, where (being a little higher up) I was able to see a bit more than the immediate blot on the landscape, although this did still dominate the view. Just before I arrived there, I overtook a group of 4 Froggies - two girls and two lads in their 20's, who seemed to be moving a little slowly to get to the summit and down before sunset. Not long after I passed them, I met another group coming the other way. It was only my German neighbour and his sons, on their way down from the summit after about 4.5 hours of hard slog. He concerned me slightly when he told me how long it had taken them…but I reasoned that anyone who's been working on farms for 30 years isn't necessarily going to be cut out for hill-walking…but that the main thing to slow him down would have been his two lads, who no doubt bitched and moaned about the climb the whole way up. We wished each other well and I pressed on, moving out of the gentle foothills and onto the slopes of the mountain proper. There was some tasty scrambling to be had from then on and I worked hard to keep up the pace, getting a good sweat on as I did so. My Barmah bush hat was fulfilling its main role as large sweatband for the most part, although it saved me from several scraped scalps and a good few twigs in the eye as shrubs and trees encroached upon the path. The views out to both sides of the ridge were really working their way towards spectacular now and I was enjoying my task, despite the pounding heart and laboured breath. I stopped twice in what little shade I could find, to guzzle water and eat a biscuit or two, but I wasn't long at it, eager to reach the summit as fast as I could.

Perfect demonstration of the sedimentary nature of the local rock...layers of iron rich minerals and silica

Views from the top 

Looking East past the summit cairn

Timer shot from the summit cairn, standing by the trig point

Looking back to the summit cairn before heading back down

On the final ascent, the path lost its way somewhere amongst the bush. I barrelled along taking the path of least resistance, trying to avoid wading through knee high spinifex (sore when you're wearing shorts) and nosing through eye-high gum shrubs. Eventually, I burst out of the bush onto a path that seemed to appear from nowhere and, within a minute, I found myself upon an impressive summit cairn and trig point. The views across the other valley to hills that looked like great gnarled knuckles tearing up fistfuls of earth, were stunning and I lolled against my rucksack happily scoffing biscuits and enjoying the feeling of achievement that comes with hoying oneself up a mountain. I'd made it in almost exactly 1 hour and 30 minutes. It now being 4pm, I knew I had 2 hours of daylight to negotiate the descent and drive back to camp. I wasn't so keen on driving in the dark on such a quiet road…visions of kangaroos penetrating the windscreen were reason enough…but as my German friend had pointed out, it would be a full moon tonight and I'd have plenty of chance to see the buggers coming.

I hammered it back down the hill, getting lost in the bush again, where I came across the Frogs, who were having similar trouble finding the path. By my estimate, it would take them another 15-20 minutes to get to the top. If they didn't hang around too long, they should be back down before the sun went down, although they didn't seem overly concerned. I decided to head back down anyway and wait for them at the bottom if my conscience got the better of me.

Moonrise 

The descent took me almost exactly the same time as the climb…whether this was testament to the pace I'd set on the way up, or down to tiring myself out in the process, I wasn't unduly bothered as I drank in the views as I headed into the setting sun. The wonderful soft, red light seemed to have been designed especially for the illumination of these ancient iron rocks. The soundtrack to this was a very unromantic thud and crunch of my boots on the loose rocks. However, when one kicked free to bounce against the others, there was the unmistakeable clink of metal on metal, like a iron ingots being shovelled into the smelting oven.

I arrived at the base just as the sun was dipping behind the horizon and I waited anxiously looking back up the hill as the light began to fade. I then realised that the other occupant of the carpark was speaking French and, when I asked, she confirmed that she was with the group of four hikers. Relieved that they had somebody else to be responsible for them, I took off and high-tailed it back down Karijini Drive to get back to camp. Night had long since fallen by the time I made the turn-off but the moon was shining brightly and seemed impossibly large, so there was no shortage of light for me to spot any errant marsupials straying near the road.

When I got back, I found that my German neighbours had been replaced by a couple - she French and he German - who were having trouble lighting that ruddy barbecue. I explained how uninspiring the thing was even when lit but went about helping them to get it lit and we fell into conversation. Manuela and Markus were both free spirits, travellers in the truest sense, soaking up new experiences, working to live and moving around where the fancy (or sometimes the work) took them.  We instantly found a rapport and we discussed our travel plans in Oz, how we'd ended up here and where we were going next. Markus was remarkably wise for a 24-year old but seemed lost, in need of some direction. He knew the formula of job+mortgage+kids+car was not for him…but was still searching for what it was that he did want. I assured him that he was well ahead of my curve - it having taken me until I was 27 before realising that I needed a change of direction, and being 30 by the time I actually achieved it.

He played an emotive, thoughtful piece on his guitar, which he'd only been learning for 6 months and I believe, whatever he ends up doing, music will always be an important part of his life. I hope he finds some way of combining what he loves with some way of making a living - he was so chilled out and happy camping out of the back of a car, playing guitar and eating al fresco - I couldn't imagine him being cooped up somewhere in an office, working 9-5. Hopefully we can stay in touch and I'll know how this particular story turns out…

Much as I would have liked to sit up and chat the night away, I was pretty beat after the day's exertions and I wanted to be up early to pack my bags before checking out the Dales Gorge area (all around my campsite) before heading to Port Hedland for my evening flight to Darwin. There was the small matter of 350km to cover by mid-afternoon…and I didn't want to miss my flight.