Sabbatical XII – El Questro to Mt. Barnett

Monday June 10 – A dusty night – the road from the ElQ tourist hub got enough traffic and the air was still enough, that the nearby portion of suspended fines settled on us.  Oh well, not much more than ambient dust from driving.  Evidence of much wildlife during walkabout – dingoes, roos, something rodent-like, and birds:

ElQ bills itself as a wilderness park, meaning that the portion of the station around the tourist facilities – a few hundred thousand acres or so, I am guessing – is managed in its more or less natural state.  That means fewer cows and more native flora and fauna, plus the horses for tourists and at least one donkey (he bites, according to signs).  For our purposes, it meant that there are a variety of walking tracks to try out.  After reading the ElQ descriptions, we decided on Champagne Springs – at Class 5, it seemed long enough (six hours return) and challenging enough (lots of scrambling, little shade) that it would appeal less to other guests.  The springs at the end sounded like they were worth the effort.  You will notice a congruent trend going forward in how Paul and I like to hike – with as few other people as possible. 

To expedite, we leave camp at dawn and make a quick breakfast at the trailhead, all of a one kilometer drive.  It’s already 23 C, and we get moving before the flies come out.  We transect up a fault-controlled stream drainage, with a high ridge of quartzite to our right.  Some shade for a while, and lots of quartzite boulders to scramble over.  This is not a trail, it’s a route with massive potential for dislocating or breaking a joint.  The boulder patches seemed piled up as well; maybe high discharge flood events.  Not something I want to see.  Tiresome joy, climbing up and down angular boulders.  Eventually the boulders thin out, as we move along a dip slope of quartzite, the broken upper surfaces of a number of beds.  Treacherous:

  The ridge gets higher and pools appear.  The sun is well up, I suspect its well over 30 C, stimulating the flies.  We come to the pools.  They are pretty:

Alas the thermal pool in the trail description hosts a layer of algae.  Ain’t going in that.  We take pictures, avoid the sun, and recover a bit.  Then time to retrace our route. 

Eventually the truck.  Too tired to think.  Camp.  Stare into hot space.  The carrots at the end of this stick are hot showers and a meal at the ElQ Steakhouse (arguably the best, if not the only restaurant in the Kimberley).  Paul has been talking about since we started planning.  Once clean, we divide up.  Paul goes to the restaurant bar, I sit outside at the Swinging Arm, the outdoor snack bar, and write this blog:

There is a herpetology lecture going on in the background.  ElQ sponsors some good work, or at least the presenters sound like academics.  They get tough questions from audience.

Dinner, well worth it.  The staff all seem to be young women from far away – our servers are from Peru and somewhere in the British Caribbean.  I have noticed that all the visible staff seem to be young good-looking and energetic.  The food they bring us is good.  Paul is happy with the cocktails.

Tuesday June 11 - we leave ElQ by way of Emma Gorge:

There are people, flies, and dust. 

OK, I should explain flies.  The more subtropical you get in Australia, the higher the fly density.  There’s also a control based on the abundance of cattle.  They are just part of being up here.  No bites, they just land on you in the tens to hundreds.  Occasional attempts to enter the ears, nose or eyes are annoying, as is the personal fly cloud as I walk.  At least the flies are small, so when a breeze comes up, they blow away.  For a while, till the downwind flies land.  I’m mostly indifferent to them, except when they are about in high numbers.  I think Purnululu was the worst.  Like the sun, they go away at night.  To be replaced by the all-night mosquito patrol.  Actually the worst is when we get in the truck; it takes a while to clear the fly swarm that comes in with us.  Opening the windows sucks them out once we are moving, but this interferes with the AC.  Yes, we have a modern Toyota, six speed, six speakers, Bluetooth, and cupholders.  I speculate that our actual evolutionary function on this drive is to help mix the fly populations along the Gibb.

Speaking of that, onto the real road.  Much of the drive to ElQ was paved, but as we enter deeper into the heart of the Kimberley Plateau it gets rougher. Today the road winds up and over the Pentecost Range (quartzite, what a surprise) and onto the Plateau per se.  We pass Home Valley Station.  The Plateau hosts younger more flat-lying sedimentary rocks than to the east, covered by what I’ll have to call savannah.  At least seven distinct combinations of acacia trees (ghost gum, bloodwoods, salmon gums, paperbarks to name a few), boabs, broad leafy things, and grasses ranging from wimpy ankle-high spinifex to head high stands.  I don’t know what controls the transitions between them, I assume microclimates, drainage, bedrock (thus soil), and overgrazing are factors.  I steal glimpses at them as we drive along, but mostly have to watch the road to pick the best path along the gravel, sand. Washboard, and potholes.  Examples from the road:

Boabs are my FAVORITE.

Today is to drive.  280 or so kms to Drysdale River Station, to stage for a further rougher drive and then hike at Mitchell River National Park.  Therein, Mitchell Falls is supposed to be a “must see” for the Gibb. 

We pause at Ellenbrae Station, which has absolutely nailed its tourist niche; it’s a half day drive from the most frequented Gibb camping stops, so they advertise homemade scones, jam, and cream.  Lots of people stop.  We get diet Coke and souvenirs. 

The Gibb is OK.  We average 75-85 kph, avoiding the worst washboard and sandy patches.  There are occasional trucks towing caravans to pass.  Eventually a turn north on the Kalumbru Road to Drysdale:

Paul begins to practice opening gates.  Drysdale is a real station compound, a mix of traveler facilities and the ephemera of a working outfit.  We find a site at the edge of campground.  Paul can’t drive the stakes for his tent into the ground.  I look; it seems to be an aluminous pisolite, i.e., deeply weathered surface rock rich in aluminum.  Looks sub-ore grade.  Right geography for this.

Flies.  Hot.  We are too tired to think.  Eventually, we agree that a fixed wing-bus-hike-helicopter-bus-fixed wing trip to Mitchell Falls, advertised at the station (it has an airstrip; all the stations do) would be better than being beat to crap by the drive up there.  The Weta test applies.  We inquire.  Paul chats up the pilots.  Alas, we almost but don’t quite get the last two seats.  Psyche for drive tomorrow, then.

The sun sets:

Wednesday June 12 - I run in the morning (note logo on singlet):

Passed by and then run the last 8 minute mile with a triathlete from Melbourne.  I’ve noticed that my body is not adapted for the type of hiking we are doing.  I am unused to the lateral motion and balance required.  Strength and endurance are no issue, but I feel slow.  Well, I get there and back.

Brekkie, and further north on the Kalumbru Road: washboarded and sandy.  70 minutes.  A turn onto the Mitchell River NP road, which is supposed to be tougher.  It’s not worse but is narrower and windy.  90 minutes.  The flora gets denser – lots of endemic Mitchell Plateau fan palms:

Worse than it looks

This is pretty much as real wilderness gets in Australia.  The map shows that we drive past a “Laterite Conservation Area”.  I am unclear why laterite needs conservation, it’s a common rock.  Maybe this means “future mine once we get the Aboriginals to agree”. 

Mitchell River park.  35 C, noonish, flies, dust.  An end to wilderness.  Airstrip.  Campground.  Helicopter pads.  The campground looks tight, so we decide to skip it, do the hike to Mitchell Falls, and sleep somewhere else.

So another Grade 5 exposed track over quartzite boulders and beds, supposedly 5 hours for 8.5 kms.  The only trail map is an aerial photograph with the route labelled on it.  It seems accurate, as I can tell where we are by the changes in vegetation.  Heat, flies.  Not as tough as Champagne Springs (more sandy areas to trudge through, fewer boulder patches).  It seems hotter, maybe that’s the sun.  I dunno, hard to think.  The first stream we are supposed to cross at Big Mertens Falls is mostly dry, although there is water in the gorge below:

OK, bonus, sign in the Mitchell River NP composting toilet

We plow onwards to Mitchell Falls.  The Mitchell River is flowing but seems lower than in the descriptions I read.  We see clean helicopter people, so we must be in the right place.  I lose the trail while looking at the rocks.  Paul finds it, and eventually we get to the Falls.  They are flowing, but less dramatically (and in less oversaturated colors) than in most of the tourist brochures:

Knackered:

We find the best overlook and rest.  I think I actually fall asleep, only to wake when the pilots we met yesterday show up with their tour group.  They seem very impressed to see us.  Mitchell Falls is still pretty:

There are flies, it is hot, so we hike back to the truck.  I notice that my running endurance kicks in on this return; my exhaustion plateaus and I actually move faster, slightly revived.  But too tired to think. 

Truck.  Escape from Mitchell River.  We bounce back out the access road, and stop to camp at the Munurru Campground, run by the Kalambru Aboriginal group.  They have done a really good job, nicely spaced sites (we take one at the periphery), new two-holer composting toilets.  Likely financed by the $45 per capita fee to use the Kalambru Road.  Dinner, sleep.  Mosquitos.

Thursday June 13 – Dawn walkabout at Munurru, pretty by the King Edward River:

Today is to drive again.  We are tired, but it seems like a push to the interesting areas further east is doable.  Back south, hello and goodbye to Drysdale, and onto the Gibb.  Lunch at Mt. Barnett Roadhouse, diesel for the truck.  We head onwards.  Over the Packhorse Range, past Over the Range Tyre and Mechanical, a stop at Adcock Gorge: tired and underwhelmed:

Further.  I listen to the truck as I drive.  It’s complex, tires sound different on dirt and gravel than on paved roads, with further variations on every combination of loose sand, gravel, and rocks.  I’m twitchy about this, it’s hard to recognize when something is off.  But then, something does sound weird.  We stop.  The back left tire is fubar.  At least the wheel is fine.  Bugger.  Paul and I efficiently change it out, given the dust, flies, and heat.  What to do.  No spare.  So another Plan B: back to Over the Ridge, a new tire, further destinations depending on how long this takes.

I hate myself for a bit for loosing a tire.  No way to tell cause, it was some unknowable combination of road surface, tire condition (this was an older tire) and speed.  I only had control over the last of these, so I worry I was going too fast for conditions. 

We drive gently back to Over the Ridge.  I immediately have a good feel about the place.  A half dozen handy looking blokes sitting around a good looking shop, classic rock playlist on loud, three well-maintained workbays, and LOTS of new tires.  We get out to many handshakes and g’days, whatcha need?  Eventually Nev(ille) the owner sorts himself out and says sure I can help you boys out.  He quotes a price which essentially takes all of our cash; the electronic payment system is down.  Luckily Paul carried a lot.  We meet Nev’s partner and six year old daughter.  The latter is persuaded to show us Nev’s photobook of life in the Kimberley – a decade of amazing pictures of floods, heat, things that bite, and his life. 

A new tire, in less than an hour.  So here’s my one regret of the trip; I didn’t take pictures at Over the Range.  I think it felt like we were there on business, plus there was literally a tour bus there for photo ops when we arrived.  Alas.  The place was a true slice of Aussie outback.

Late afternoon.  Back to Mt. Barnett, which has a campground.  It is pleasingly far off the Gibb, but unpleasingly chockablock with other campers.  We find a spot towards one end.  Too tired to think.