Pilbara Road Encounters

It’s been as strange year for driving in the Pilbara. Here is my evidence. As preamble I should say that outside of a town it’s extremely unusual to see anyone on a road without a motor vehicle nearby.

1) En route from Range Gorge to Pannawonica, I’d driven for two hours across the Chichester Ranges and seen exactly three vehicles. We came over a rise. There were two women jogging on the road. They were clean, wore nice track suits, and looked quite happy. They waved as we drove past. I tried not to cover them in dust.

2) We were sitting on the Jimmy Creek road eating lunch; out of the spinifex. Louis said, there’s some one on the road. I looked up to see a woman walking towards us. She came closer. We waved. She waved. She was Aboriginal, but dressed in safety clothes. After greetings, she wanted us to understand that much of the land behind us was an Aboriginal religious site. There were certain areas we could not go. No problem there. She thanked us and walked away. I later sighted a power shovel and truck working to the east about a kilometer. Maybe she walked over from that operation.

3) Earlier the same day on the same track, we drove past a Thrifty rental truck parked on the verge of the road. As I slowed to pass it, a helicopter suddenly took off from nearby. It headed to the top of a nearby mesa and landed. It eventually flew on to the east. I assume some one got picked up near the truck. We stayed in the area the rest of the day. The helicopter never returned.

4) We drove in Paraburdoo. The main street was blocked by cows. It was a clear sign to leave town and camp. When we returned the next day for phone, groceries, internet, and lunch, I inquired about this at the AusPost. The cows were in town because that’s the only place in the area where there’s forage. Paradurdoo’s common areas and many lawns are keep green using groundwater, unlike the surrounding parched regions. The cows were simply trying to survive. Apparently there had been many more around until the previous week, when Rocklea station mustered them out. Paraburdoo would have been quite an exciting place if this involved the usual helicopter and station hands in trucks.

5) On the way into the Mt. Hilditch section, my target was putative dolomite outcrop about ten kilometers southwest of the West Angelas iron mine. I wanted to avoid the mine site; easier for everyone. The track ran through a gap in the hills and turned west. Directly ahead as a massive tailings pile from the mine. It had expanded beyond all expectation. Luckily the Patrol looks like a mine vehicle.

6) I held my breath wondering how to end this post. What would the land provide? I cringed at the idea of having to manufacture something that fit this narrative. Provision occurred. After a final swagout, we drove west on the Giles Point track towards Newman. It’s one of the old Pilbara roads, now used for mine exploration and station work. It’s in good shape, but has serious patches of bull dust. I drove the Patrol through one of these soft patches at a sharp curve in the road. I looked to my right, checking the berm height, and saw a flash of purple.

The turn in the road: the bush just left of center

I stopped. It was a Common Fire Bush in flower. Wow; it’s early in the season and it’s been really dry, so flowers have been very rare. One of my loves of the Pilbara has been its flowers; so diverse, so fecund. The Fire Bush was lovely. It was covered with blooms and about-to-be blooms. It was a stark and welcome contrast to the harsh dryness of the Pilbara this season.

Common Fire Bush, close up

On to the Pilbara: A First Week

7/3:  quick flight to Perth, adios to Paul, hola to Louis. 

7/4: Eighteen hours in town, chilly in the morning, close to zero.  A late morning flight to Newman.  I chatted with a gent who worked as a safety trainer for a bunch of the mining contractors.  He was also in the Australian Navy Reserve, and Commander of the Sea Cadets.  He had many interesting stories. 

Newman and suddenly the weather was temperate again.  I found the truck – vehicle number four of this trip – in the car park.  It is a Nissan Patrol, which I had expected with some regret.  It’s Landcruiser Lite –a powerful engine and plenty of truckness, it’s not as taut in the gearbox or suspension as the Toyotas.  No worries – this will keep me from getting too far off road.  It was Sunday.  All of the town businesses save for the pub were closed.  We sorted gear and packed the truck.

7/5: A return to the end of last year’s field season: the gate at Orebody 18.  Last year, they pretended I had not been in contact.  This year, Phil, a BHP geo, was there to meet us within fifteen minutes of contact.  He was a young bloke, a mine geologist.  He and a couple other geos had been intrigued by the project.  Too bad only he was available on Monday. 

Our first stop was to gather safety gear and read a safety briefing.  All of the companies have gotten very serious about this, which is a good thing I suppose.  It’s a bit strange to see the uniformity of all staff in safety gear all the time, even the receptionists. 

I read the briefing materials after rolling my shirt sleeves down, as requested, to comply with the safety code.  I signed on the appropriate line.  I handed it to the safety officer.  She said, you didn’t fill it out.  I said – huh?  It was a quiz.  Oh.  This wasn’t apparent, but now I’ll never forget that I should call for help on Channel 84.  We put on our safety vests, hard hats, safety glasses, and stowed our gloves and ear plugs, and headed out in Phil’s truck. 

I had not been to this research site for nine years; on that visit I was jet lagged so it was a haze anyway.  Nonetheless, the scenery began to look familiar.  We parked, and within thirty minutes I’d found the spherule layer. 

It’s remarkable to me that my long term memory retains the visual map of this spot in the Pilbara, much less that I can so unerringly look at the rocks anywhere out here and find what I am after.  If it were possible to quantify the last twenty-five years, I’ve spent relatively little time in the Pilbara, and even less looking at its rocks.  Yet this place is ingrained in me.  I don’t think I’ll ever loose the capacity and knowledge of here.  I suppose this is true of places that are significant in one’s life.  My time here has consistently been a catalyst in my maturation through the various stages of life.  That has to help.

Anyway, Phil was delighted to see the impact layer and hear about how we think it formed. He waited patiently while Louis and I did our work.  We were off-site – free of safety gear and able to take risks again – by early afternoon. 

The shops in Newman were open.  $450 later, we had enough chairs, ice, gas, food, water, and other random gear to last a week or two.  There was still time to drive west on Rt. 95, shoot the gap north through Cathedral Gorge, and swag out off of the track to Weeli Wolli. 

7/6:  Oh, the pleasure of a first night under the Southern Cross, with the only noise the very distant murmur of road trains.  A partially cloudy sky; the weather seemed unsettled.  Louis was still asleep.  I got up and stared at the back of the truck.  Well, I opened it first.  I’d quickly sorted and packed all of the food, water and gear the previous evening.  With each new vehicle, it’s a geometric challenge to fit everything in ways that don’t rattle, abrade the truck, or cause self destruction.  It’s was made a bit more challenging by the second spare tyre, which hogged a large inconvenient section of storage space.  However, the current set up of the Patrol looked pretty good, although the chairs, shovel, and stove seemed ready to fall out.

After breakfast, I drove us on to Weeli Wolli.  This was another return to the scene of the crime from last year, only this time I was in search of the new spherule layer.  With minimal effort, we found the track we took to the research site last year.  It was a rubbly and rough drive, but at least there was a track.  We eventually came to a reasonable outcrop of dolomite; the main type of limestone that makes up the lower Wittenoom Formation, where the Paraburdoo Layer is located.  I don’t know these rocks as well. They are poorly exposed, and when you do see them, they comprise thin layers of brown laminated rock.  Yawn.  Nonetheless, it was time to learn them, in order to find the Paraburdoo Layer. 

Weeli Wolli is a fairly large drainage, typical of the southern Hamersley Basin.  It occurs in the soft rocks – the Wittenoom – and takes advantage of the abundant folds and faults in the area.  To us, this meant that the dolomite exposures we looked at were isolated hill-sized blobs.  Well, time to work with what nature provided.  We worked uphill.  The dolomite began to show a consistent stratigraphy that we could trace from outcrop to outcrop.  This was a relief.  However, we couldn’t find the spherule layer. 

I could tell that the dolomite continued downhill and across the creek from where the truck sat.  Near the northern edge of the drainage, there was a nice ravine with good outcrop on both sides.  This seemed like a good target.  After lunch we set out.

Back to walking on rubbly stumbly outcrops, through and around spinifex, and scrambling down cliffs.  My route hit the main Weeli Wolli drainage.  It showed evidence of recent flooding; large gum trees lay horizontal in the channels, their roots and branches packed with debris.  The bare dolomite outcrops were polished and scoured.  Large bars of gravel and cobbles partially covered them, and made walking tricky. 

We made it across, and got to my target ravine.  I left Louis there to look for the spherule layer, while I walked uphill to tie us into the stratigraphy we’d looked at earlier in the day.  Of course, I went slowly so I could look for the spherule layer.  This means staring at every visible bed, a slow process. 

I performed my once-a-field season fall into the spinifex.  A couple dozen punctures in the left hand and arm, oh well.  I’d climbed high enough, it was time to turn around and find Louis.  I figured, we’d looked hard, but no layer, no regrets.

When I got back to the ravine, he waved something at me and mumbled indistinctly (a trend).  Eventually I understood that he’d found the layer!  A few very minimal outcrops at the top of the cliff on the south side of the ravine.  I was suddenly happy, and forgot the allergy-induced fatigue I had been suffering.  We had a look.  Definitely spherules.  I was bemused to have a new spherule section.  I’d essentially assumed we would not find it at Weeli Wolli.  I was happy to be surprised.  It reinforced my faith in serendipity.  If I had not gone on walkabout, and Louis weren’t so thorough and inclined to scramble up cliffs, we would have never found the one centimeter of spherules at Weeli Wolli.

7/7: The morning entertainment was a several hour drive from Weeli Wolli to my next site, Range Gorge.  More time north on Rt. 95, then west towards Wittenoom from Auski.  Range Gorge is one of the series of steep valleys that cuts the north side of the Hamersley Range.  There are no tracks into it, nor does it have access from Karijini National Park.  However, an exploration company drilled a research core here in the late 1980s.  I’ll look at that in Perth next week.  I wanted to come here to look at the above ground part of the section, in the hopes of finding the Paraburdoo Layer. 

The first challenge was to find the twenty four year old track to the drill site.  A new berm on the site of the road made this tricky, but with some high torque from the Patrol, we succeeded.  I was pleased to see that the drill site, the outcrops of dolomite behind it, and several hundred acres of the surrounding bush had recently burned.  Bare rock, burnt bushes and trees, and the ashes of spinifex – what’s not to like?  It was dramatic.  The bare rock of the plain ended right at the first cliff of dolomite; a xeriscape without the plants (currently). 

More dolomite, only this time a straightforward bottom to top section to see and learn.  I again put Louis to work at bed by bed examination, and went climbing to get perspective on the overall stratigraphy.  My coordination was a bit dicey from my allergies, but I looked, climbed, and eventually got oriented.  I’d managed to climb an isolated knob.  In the 180 degree view in front of me the Hamersley Range continued to rise.  There were a series of intriguing rock overhangs in the cliffs right below me.  I immediately thought: Aboriginal sites?  To the right (west), Range Gorge cut into the cliffs, its incision making a broad alluvium- and gum tree-filled valley.  It was a big drainage.  I wanted to walk up it and see what was there.  Maybe very long day hike In the future?  The Fortescue River plain filled the scene behind me.  Broad, flat, and mostly burned off from my vantage.  The Chichester Ranges were barely visible on the horizon.  I loved this view. 

Louis had not found the layer.  We worked it over together.  It wasn’t there, or was hiding really well.  Actually, there were a number of thick landside beds in the dolomite, which is unusual.  Their presence meant that the Paraburdoo Layer had to be deeper underground.  I hope we can find it in the core when we get back to Perth.

Our work done, I suggested a walk to look at the overhangs I’d seen.  We scrambled up the burned over drainage.  There was still plenty of loose rock.  The overhangs were all at the top of steep talus piles.  They turned out to be kangaroo hostels, based on the tracks and droppings covering the area.  If the Aboriginals used these sites, they did not leave any evidence. 

Time to explore was good.  This is one beneficial aspect of this research project.  The rock unit we are looking for is so specific that I can definitely say we’ve looked hard for it, time to cease.  Projects covering a broader areas require more self-control.  It’s thus a luxury to have energy and time for a post-work stroll in the bush.

7/8: A cloudy morning, especially in the west.  That was our direction of travel.  I thought, a good day for driving; my plan was to commute to the west edge of the Hamersley Basin, where there was a potential Paraburdoo Layer exposure.  Escaping from Range Gorge, I pointed the truck west on the Wittenoom-Pannawonica road.  Time to sit and drive, racing over the Fortescue River floodplain at maximum safe speed.  A landscape covered with mulga and gum trees; frequent cattle sightings too.  We passed the Mt. Florance Station turnoff.  Coolawanyah Station was next.  Coolawanyah had done a particularly nice job marking their turnoff, using a pair of nicely painted tractor tyres. 

A pause at the Rio Tinto railway to watch an ore train roll by, headed north.  A bit more than a kilometer long.  I lost count of the number of ore cars.  All that rock, going to China, Japan, Taiwan, and Korea.  I wonder how many of my home appliances are made with Pilbara iron ore? 

The sky was darker.  I could see rain bands in the west.  Oh crap.  Nothing to do but drive onwards.  A light sprinkle began at lunch time.  Good, the Patrol windshield wipers were in decent shape.  The rain got heavier.  I was relieved we were on a main track.  It was unsealed, but the surface was well-compacted so it wasn’t immediately going to turn into a sea of red mud. 

I had to put the wipers on high and slow down.  Water began to puddle on the road.  About forty kilometers from Pannawonica, the sky lightened.  The rain stopped.  The wet track was doing just fine.  I slowed for the numerous muddy patches.  Splash!  Oops, that big puddle was more of a pool.  The white Patrol was now largely red, up to about mid-window height.  No worries, we did not loose traction.

Stopping in Pannawonica seemed like a good idea.  I wanted a tarp for weather security.  Panna is another mining town.  It was founded in the early 1960s like Tom Price and Newman.  Its independent operation was absorbed by Rio Tinto in the 1990s.  It’s a small place.  Luckily the store had a tarp, bread, and the other few things that we needed.

OK, the clouds seemed to have dissipated, but where to go?  I saw a sign that said Bungaroo Project, pointing south down a wide track.  Hmm, Bungaroo Creek was pretty close to where I wanted to look the Paraburdoo Layer.  The track was good, built by Rio Tinto.  Definitely for exploration; roads cut off from it at intervals to drill sites.  We eventually found a old, unused side track and swagged out. 

The clouds gradually returned.  We were at a relatively low elevation at 360 meters.  It was warm and after the rain, strangely humid with a strong smell of damp rocks.  We swagged close to the Patrol, and prepared for a quick evacuation.  I fell asleep right away.

Only to wake up with rain falling on my face at 12:30 am.  Time to bolt.  We threw our stuff in the Patrol and headed back to the main road, stopping just at the berm.  Slow, somewhat anxious driving through a heavy downpour.  Parked, we sat in the truck.  The downpour stopped.  Louis bravely set up his tent.  I went to sleep again, in the driver’s seat.  No worse that economy class on a Qantas 747.

7/9: I woke up at 4 am.  The stars were out.  I spread out my swag and got a bit more rest.  Dawn and the weather looked a bit more settled.  Still partially cloudy: numerous blue patches.  The brief storms had soaked the ground to a depth of six centimeters at most.

We went in search of the old Pannawonica to Millstream road.  When I came to the Pilbara in 1985, this was the main route from Wittenoom to Panna and beyond to the coast road.  The Bungaroo Project road had bisected it somewhere.  I’d missed it the night before in haste to make a wet swag out. 

This trip has been much more about hunt and find than Australia Fourteen.  We’ve done all the easy sites.  The project has pushed into the peripheries of the Hamersley Basin: more remote, old, and less traveled tracks.  Finding the old Millstream Road is a good example.  It was on my Pilbara Tourist map (1:1000000 scale) and on my topographic map (1:100000 scale).  My GPS, which includes the topo database, showed us where we were: not on the Millstream Road.  However, this was useless.  We could tell the geographic direction to go, but which route to take to get to it?  All of the new mining tracks weren’t on any map or the GPS.  Finally, I decided, let’s just try this one: a straight track, probably a mining survey line, plowed through the bush.  It cut the Millstream Road in about 2 kilometers.  The GPS confirmed our location.  Easy continued.

I’d wanted to find the Millstream Road in order to get to the Jimmawurranda Creek area.  I’d been there in 1985 with Bruce, and subsequently for some of my Ph. D work.  It had dolomite.  Thirty kilometers of damp dirt track, and a couple road encounters (see a future post) later, wee found a good site.  It was mid-morning.  The sky was clear enough to seriously boost my morale.

This project requires optimism.  As I wrote in the introduction, the Paraburdoo Layer is at most a couple of centimeters thick: fingernail-scale.  Imagine trying to find this amidst discontinuous outcrops, talus, spinifex, faults, fold, streams, and other complexifiers and the need for hope should be clear.  One helpful bit is that the spherule layer weathers to a grey-green color, which is unlike the usual brown dolomite, black to grey to ochre to red cherts, tan shales, and green volcanic rocks.  Unless of course, any or all of the above are covered by an orange-red iron stain, whitish caliche, or purple-black desert varnish. 

Does this mean I’m an optimist?  Well, at minimum I’m persistent.  I like the feeling of success.  There is also the hope of finding something new, unusual, and exciting.  This is also a great excuse to be outdoors, in Aus, and looking at rocks.

We went south of the road.  Lots of dolomite exposures, along with abundant folds and faults.  Déjà vu for the Weeli Wolli sections.  However, just like that site, my observations began to crystallize quickly into stratigraphic patterns.  Ok, these two black chert/golden carbonate sequences are here, above the think dolomite beds…  Intensely creative and useful as long as I wrote it down. 

Lunch and time to work to the north.  It seemed a good idea to pick a campsite first.  The bush was thick and unburned throughout the area.  I think it always has been.  This meant that best bet for swag out was a stream drainage.  Drainages always have plenty of wood stacked up from past floods, a reasonable sky view for star patrol, and the stream sediments are often softer than typical Pilbara soils.  So how do you find a good place to swag out in a stream?  Bruce and I evolved the following technique in the late 1980s:

1)      Aim the truck along a fairly wide drainage: one that’s pretty open, where there’s potential to get far of the road.

2)      If tyre tracks exist, follow them.  They usually mean some one has successfully followed the drainage, and returned (hopefully).

3)      Bounce along as far as you can stand, trying to control the truck as it groans in 4WD over bars of sand, gravel and small boulders.

4)      Back up frequently to avoid drop offs that would bog the truck.

5)      Get tired.

6)      See the right place to stop: room for swags, a fire pit, a kitchen, and the truck.

7)      Park, fall out of the truck and recover.

Louis and I did this.  He’s initiated now. 

The rocks to the north called.  We walked several kilometers and looked at a dozen outcrops.  The rocks showed the same sequence as south of the road.  Interesting but disappointing; we were not getting any deeper in the stratigraphic section, meaning that the Paraburdoo Layer was buried.  Just like Range Gorge

.

7/10: I’d driven at least 760 kilometers since July 4^th, mostly on unsealed roads.  A good night’s sleep in the Jimmawurranda Creek drainage had helped, but I was still tired after the rainy night.  Louis was developing a cold.  My allergies were fading but still taxing.  Another long drive was next on the agenda.  It seemed like a good time for a break.  We followed the Millstream Road to Millstream.

Millstream is a part of national park.  It’s historical; Millstream Station opened in the late 19^th century as a cattle station and sheep station.  The sheep didn’t last, at minimum because dingoes find lambs to be delectable.  The cattle station persisted into the 1980s, when the government took over the lease, i.e., no more cows.  Well, this is the colonial history of Millstream.  The station site was a in a logical site because it is where a major aquifer breaches to the Earth’s surface.  This has formed fairly permanent spring-fed pools.  Of course, the Aboriginals knew this was an important place a good 20,000 years ago.  New signs at the station indicated that Millstream has been an important gathering site for a number of different groups for at least that long. 

I was happy to be someplace that was verdant and wet.  We had enough energy for a couple of short walks among the pools.  It was quite strange to hear and see running water: well, water running on the ground, not falling from clouds.  Millstream had a real feeling of oasis.  This was most poignant at the lily pond; a pool full of flowers, seeded there by one of the station women over one hundred years ago.  I’ve never seen wild water lilies before. 

Most of the large Millstream pools follow old channels of the Fortescue River, creating long curved water bodies.  A swim in one of these was indicated as a pre-lunch activity.  I jumped in, and happily floated in the cloud of dust, sweat, and grime dissolved from my skin as I paddled about. 

Back to work.  More dolomite called to the south, along the Hamersley Front.  Back to hunt and find.  Ok, Millstream was on the maps, so we knew where we were starting from.  How about this track?  Damn, a “Pastoral Lease – No Passage” sign, hand lettered in green paint on a sheet of corrugated iron.  It didn’t say which station this was: no one to call about access.  OK, let’s go seventeen kilometers and try this one.  A locked gate, another hand lettered sign.  This trend continued monotonically.  I was annoyed and somewhat frustrated; the day was passing, it was time to find a swag out spot. 

The road intersected the Pilbara Iron railway line (Karratha-Tom Price-Paraburdoo).  I’d gotten an access permit, so we headed south along the tracks.  More locked gates.  Finally, the power line road, following the same trend as the railway, but here cutting across the bush – pretty close to a dolomite exposure.  We took it.  We swagged out close to the Front, in hopeful site a good outcrop for the next morning’s work.

Field Food Failure

Field work can create many kinds of failure. Most crucial to the research, in the case of my work on spherule layers, has been an inability to find outcrops of the target strata. This is usually a matter of poor exposure. It’s hard to find a thin layer of tiny round particles in a rubbly hillside, especially when one is not sure where it’s supposed to be. There are sometimes other extenuating circumstances, such as the troop of angry baboons I encountered once in South Africa, but these are rarer. My personal research shortcoming is failing to take copious notes or photographs. It all seems so obvious when I’m looking at the rocks.

Other field failures are the common malfunctions of travel: missed connections, lost luggage, or faulty reservations. I’d add three Outback Australia-specific hazards to this list. First, flat tyres. Our trucks have had a range of brand new to badly worn tyres, sometimes both on the same vehicle. Regardless of condition, I have gotten two or three flats on every trip. This is mostly inconvenient; we always carry two spares, and tyre repair is easy at the mining towns. Crawling under a 1.5 ton vehicle on a dusty road to place a tiny jack on the axle is a bit dicey. This is what field assistants are for. Second, getting stuck. I’ve only gotten the truck bogged – in mud – once. That was enough. Escape was a 40 hour project. Finally, road kill. Kangaroos often graze by road verges at dawn and dusk. When they are startled by the truck there’s an even chance they’ll jump in front of the vehicle rather than into the bush. Our expeditions have hit an average of one animal per trip. It’s hard to avoid an animal leaping in front of your truck when it’s going 80 kph. I’m glad that cattle, the other main road kill opportunity, tend to graze during the day. It’s easy to slow down when approaching them.

While I know this inventory of recurrent failures very well, Australia Fourteen served up my first food failure. When Bruce and I first worked together in 1982, he quickly discovered that I liked to cook. This was good: he can’t. I’ve been in charge of the kitchen on every subsequent research trip. This has suited us both very well. Bruce likes my meals, and I enjoy both the cooking as well as control over this domestic part of field work.

On Australia One, I developed a series of field recipes, which I’ve refined over subsequent years. Chernobyl Potatoes is one of these. Another is pan-baked, baking soda-raised bread. I’ve always tried to include a meal or two that features cornbread, dessert bread, or a savory wheat bread.

Louis and I purchased a set of pots in Perth. This has been protocol for many field seasons; to buy cheap, basic equipment which we can use and wear out, to be abandoned in the appropriate refuse or recycling bin at the trip’s end. The set we found was thin metal, but seemed sufficient for two weeks. The non-stick coating on the frying pan was a plus.

I bought staples for bread in Newman. Eventually, a night occurred when I was cooking, and had enough time to make a batter – cornbread this time. To compensate for the hot gas flame, I have always added extra oil to the mix. I heated the pan, and made a small test cake. It stuck a little bit, but came out satisfactorily. I put more butter in the pan, and poured in enough batter to form a layer about half an inch thick throughout the pan: standard procedure. I watched the cooking mass closely. I knew from previous dinners that I needed to constantly move the pan over the flame so that the bread cooked evenly and did not burn. Presently the bread seemed ready to flip. It held together at the edges, and tested to be cooked three-quarters through. I pried up one edge using a knife, and slid my spatula under the bread. It stopped. Crap. In spite of all the oil and butter, it was burned firmly onto the pan. I pried it loose. It broke into many pieces, and was burning rather than cooking. The damn frying pan was just too thin.

I tossed this first failure away. I modified the batter, making it drier. The same thing happened; a burned crust, a raw interior. I got increasingly annoyed. Eventually, it was clear that my efforts were futile. I gave up and made rice. I burned the partially cooked bread in the camp fire, and we disposed of the rest the next day in a rubbish bin. I’ve made dinners in the past that were a bit too spicy, but never have I had to abandon a meal plan. I should have bought a better frying pan.

The frying pan became increasingly difficult to use. Vigorous cleaning progressively removed the non-stick coating. Our meals became slightly greasier to compensate. I became annoyed at the pan for being so useless and at myself for buying such a cheap piece of equipment.

I decided to achieve retribution at our final swag out. After the final field dinner, I took the frying pan away from camp, and tried to crush it with large rocks, dropped from chest height. This was unsatisfying; the rocks were too small, and the ground was soft and absorbed too much of the impact. So I got my rock hammer and punched the pan full of holes. I felt much better.

We recycled the cook set in Newman.

Reflections III: Seeing with the Natives

The picture: Petroglyphs at N'Ghala Gorge. See previous post for more info.


A fresh and unexpected result of Australia Fourteen is my greater sense of Aboriginal culture. I’ve of course been aware of Aboriginals and their history since my first visit in 1985. I even went to a show of Aboriginal art at the state gallery that year. On previous trips I made little effort to explore or learn about Aboriginal culture. I kept looking at art, which resonated in some inchoate way, but I did not reflect on it deeply. I didn’t interact with many Aboriginals. This is a mixture of where I spent most of my time: in remote areas looking at rocks, and my innate natural reticence.

Nonetheless, preFourteen I’d built an impression of Aboriginals, their culture, and their experience. Three strong memories epitomize this. First, in 1987 I went to the Fremantle Markets, probably to buy cheap produce for the field season. There was an Aboriginal sitting at the entrance playing a didgeridoo. He was busking rather successfully. I stopped and watched. At some point we made eye contact. From the glimmer in his eyes, I intuited that I was seeing another human whose life experience and world view were radically unlike than mine. It was a feeling of utter dissimilarity. This profound difference was far greater than I’d ever felt in other places: Indonesia, Japan, South Africa, Costa Rica. The moment was disturbing. It challenged my comprehension of the breadth of humanness.

This experience fit into my evolving appreciation of the Australian land. The outback feels quite different from anywhere else I’ve been. The great age of the deeply weathered red rocks, the acacias of all sizes, the hopping animals, and the frequently harsh conditions create a unique environment. It’s matchlessly beautiful. This man was from a different and separate landscape, which had influenced his distinctive and rich culture. This is what showed in his eyes. I’ve sensed a similar heritage and power of place in the Aboriginal paintings and artwork.

My second experience is uglier. I was visiting friends in Karratha in 1990. At some point we drove through the old town of Roebourne on the Pilbara coast. Roebourne had a wide, arched main street, probably for drainage during cyclones. I though, geez, this town is filthy: the main street gutters seemed to be full of trash. As we got closer, I saw that some of this apparent debris was moving. It was literally piles of drunk and sleeping Aboriginals. This reminded me of seeing inebriated Native Americans in Arizona. Yet there was a sense of conformation here that was different. If I’m right that these were Aboriginals recovering after a drunk, it was like their bodies melded with the ground. They seemed to belong, to fit into the landscape; not or accidentally fallen down. My emotional memory of this scene is this sense of belonging. As with the busker, I felt that these people were of this land in a way that was across a very wide gap from me.

Finally, Newman 2003. In the early 21st century, Aboriginal settlements were established near most of the Pilbara mining towns. I don’t know the politics of this. I am pretty sure that the Aboriginals were the descendants of the pre-white inhabitants of the local areas. I suspect the new settlements are part of the ongoing race reconciliation process through which Australia is going. Many of the mining areas were originally Aboriginal places, taken away by Europeans. Now they’ve been somewhat returned.

We flew into town, and set about the usual assembling of gear for the field season. I was in the town centre shopping area. Newman was originally a one company mining town. Most of the workers were white. The population was a mixture of families and single males. Being the shopping centre felt like entering an excised chunk of Australian suburb: lots of consumer goods, clean people. The new Aboriginal settlement across the highway had changed this. Clusters of Aboriginals wandered the centre. A group of men waited for the liquor store to open, chattering in the local language: rapid, guttural, clearly expressive. I called home; it was hard to hear my parents in America because of another loud Aboriginal conversation going on behind me. There was trash in the streets and on the sidewalk. This seemed to correlate with the density of Aboriginals. I watched white shoppers walk by. Their faces showed distaste, resignation, and even fear.

I was watching a cultural clash in action, certainly. It showed the reverse of what I’d seen before; the unconformation of the Aboriginals to norms of white Australia. At the time, no one seemed happy with this. To be fair, Newman was already changing; the one company town had become a base for a diversity of businesses as the iron ore business expanded. I should note to; the situation did seem more resolved this year.

I didn’t make much effort to understand or integrate these experiences or the many others that took place over the years. The events were transient. Aboriginal culture seemed so far away from my experience. It was not my primary interest about Australia. My eyes and heart were for the rocks and the land. I was content with a cryptic sense of Aboriginals and Aboriginal cultures.

Australia Fourteen was different. Tnorala, which I’ve written about, was the crux. At the crater, my sense of the land aligned with the Dreamtime origin of the place. I could finally sense a bit of what I’d seen in the busker’s eyes back in Fremantle. Uluru and Kata Tjuta had similar although less overt affects. Relaxing and feeling these places was more difficult.

As I wrote this, I realized that Aboriginal art has moved me since I first saw it. This is a gut resonance about place. I didn’t intellectually attempt to figure out the paintings and other works that I saw, but some part of me understood. During Australia Fourteen, Paul was on a quest to buy art in Alice Springs. At some point on this traverse I found a decently sized introduction to Aboriginal art. I read it in the Pilbara. It gave me a basic appreciation for the diversity and breadth of Aboriginal culture and modern art. I don’t pretend to get Aboriginal art, but I do appreciate it more richly. It comes back to place. Fifty centuries have rooted the native culture on this continent. My fifty weeks here have given me appreciation of the land. This is where I can truly meet and understand the people of the place.

Reflections II: Wetness

The pictures are: 1) Fortescue Pool, Karijini NP, 2) Splash Pool, Karijini NP, and 3) Weeli Wolli Creek


This field season had the most water in it of any I can remember. Before the trip, I think I told Louis that surface water would be rare. During Australia Fourteen, we saw a stream or a pool every day, in both the Red Centre and the Pilbara. Two days of rain in the latter is unprecedented. Perhaps it was predictable. The Pilbara does have a few more millimeters of rainfall in June than it does in July or August, when I’ve usually worked there. In any event, the centimeters of rain we experienced made for drama, ranging from our epic Bee Gorge-Tom Price dirt road commute to finding the missing layer just as rain began. The potential of crisis – becoming trapped off road by mud, for example – added to the adventure.

Water was also abundant on and in the ground. Pools and streams in Karijini were fuller and higher. Better swimming. Better light reflections off the cliffs. Groundwater made a special appearance during Fourteen. The swag out at Palm Springs was unique: an actual pool created fed by groundwater. It was lush, verdant, and unexpected. Moreover, the former presence of groundwater at the “undisclosed location” is probably what attracted Aboriginals to the area. Their time there resulted in the petroglyphs we discovered. This was also true at Uluru and at N’Dhala Gorge in the Northern Territory.

Postscript - looking over previous entries, I see I did not write about N'Dhala Gorge. This was a stop in the NT, on our last day. A recommendation by the truck rental company. N'Dhala is east of Alice along the MacDonnells. Another wet gorge: rock holes close to year long. It's known for petroglyphs. Like many such sites in the NT, it remains active and sacred in Aboriginal culture.

My impressions. An hour plus east of Alice, a nice bit of 4WD at the end. Much to explore, little time. Good track, petroglyphs hard to find for a couple reasons. First, I think many are still in use as it were. Second, I was tired. Third, high fly density. Not epic levels, but enough that I kept inhaling them. Distracting. What was interesting with respect to the subject of this post was an observation of Paul's, and maybe the signage. The visible petroglyphs were concentrated on the flat rock surfaces around the waterholes. It was easy to imagine Aboriginals having the time and energy, via abundant water and probably food (via water), to create carvings in N'Dhala. More likely than a random rock among the dunes. Another bit of information about place.

Reflections I: The Work

Australia Fourteen achieved almost all of my scientific goals. I felt charmed. The route through the basin fell into a fairly logical counterclockwise loop; I was able to follow this with little deviation, anxiety, or frustration. Past trips have felt more erratic. The many new tracks, largely from minerals exploration or existing mines, made access to my target sites almost too easy. I had anticipated driving on the archetypical abandoned outback road; a barely visible track covered by spinifex, brush, and trees, visible only from faint wheel tracks and the berm on each side of the road. I was also hoping for a serious washout or two: somewhere to actually put the Cruiser through its low range 4WD paces. This happened exactly once during the field season. I missed the adventure of such challenging slow driving, and to some degree the risk of getting bogged, just a little. I’m happy to trade this feeling for the excitement and joy of spending more time doing the work: hiking, looking at the rocks, seeing new and familiar places enjoying the flora and fauna, and making pictures. Nor is my persistent back injury from Aikido isn’t complaining about good roads.

In addition, Louis and I were able to find the impact layer at every target site. This was a challenge when the outcrop was new to me, or physically steep and rubbly. This was the only situation where I felt any consistent anxiety. Would we find the layer? Did I pick the wrong place to look? Am I too high in the section? Too low? Will the exposures, if I find them, be good enough for lateral measurement? Again, it was almost too easy. As I wrote in an early post though, this is the magic of the Hamersley Basin strata: consistent stratigraphy, good exposure.

Louis did very well. I made him start working independently on the second day in the field, and he consistently improved with practice and spontaneous quizzing. He continually asked me intelligent and curious questions about the geology and natural history of the Pilbara. Many made me think. I could answer maybe two-thirds of them. I also give him credit for putting up with me for a couple weeks. Getting out in the field is one of my sources of escape from society. If I could, I wouldn’t talk much if at all for the whole time.

Some Places To Stay

I have frequently imagined writing travel literature, but never reviewing travel destinations. Nonetheless, this post seemed right.

1. Alice On Todd – Alice Springs, Northern Territory. Four nights Nice, clean, well-appointed two bedroom self-catering unit. Quiet with a decent view of the Todd River (dry) off the balcony. Reception was efficient, friendly, and easy to communicate with via email. Good kitchen with ample cutlery, utensils, plates, pots, etc. The small pool might have felt good in summer. About one mile from downtown: a nice walk, although a bit chilly at night. Only problem: this was a second floor unit, and the staircase too it was a bit narrow and long to carry with luggage.

2. Mounts Bay Waters Lodge – Perth, Western Australia. Three nights. Another two bedroom self-catering unit, in a complex of multistory apartment buildings. Only one block was a hotel. Overlooks the Stirling and Graham Farmer Freeways, but quiet. The unit was recently upgraded in inconsistent ways. The new cabinets looked nice but did not open properly, jamming on the floor. The water closet had a new toilet, but the wall opposite it needed patching. The kitchen was well equipped; a dishwasher was a nice touch. There was only one small trash bin in the five room suite. The hotel is adjacent to Perth city centre and Kings Park, which was great for access to services, shops, and nice walks. The 24 hour reception staff was always courteous and helpful. Underground secure car park worked well once our key card was reset.

3. Karijini Eco Retreat Campground – Karijini National Park, Western Australia. One night. This used to be the Park’s Savannah Campground, where I’ve stayed several times. It’s now run by an Aboriginal-owned concessionaire (this confuses me a bit; all the staff seemed to be young Canadians). It’s been upgraded with cabins, a pub/restaurant, and showers, water, and flush loos in the campground – all solar powered. It was disappointing. The campground is dirtier than previously; our site had swarms of ants, clearly attracted by the food people had tossed into the bush (all trash is supposed to be carried out of the park) and maybe the toilet paper just out of the site. I guess the toilet seem too far away after dark. The solar hot water showers were a great idea. However, they only work when the sun has been out: unlike during my visit. The campground loop is poorly signed; more than once I drove into someone’s campsite instead of staying on the dirt road. Previously, campers and caravaners where given separate areas; we were between two caravans; luckily the generator on one side drowned out the Balkan music on the other. The pub sells beer and wine, and has powerpoints for recharging batteries, for an extra charge. The staff was helpful. Astronomy “tours” are available at night – a very cool idea in this part of the world.

4. The Seasons Lodge – Newman, Western Australia. One night. This series of former SMQ blocks has been a motel for over a decade. It’s largely occupied by short term contractors, based on the vehicles in the parking bays. Given its heritage the rooms are fairly spartan but adequate. They have been refurbished since my last stay here in 2003 (I found my name in the guest book). It’s within walkable distance of the Newman town centre shopping complex. The staff was great; of all the places I’ve stayed, they showed the most genuine interest in what I was doing in Australia. The brick walls between units were a bit thin; I was kept awake by the Wimbledon matches on the TV in the next room.

5. City Waters Lodge – Perth, Western Australia. Three nights. This is a basic self-catering motel – yet another block of converted flats – in downtown Perth. It’s basic, but convenient. Each unit has a basic, barely stocked kitchen and a small restroom. I’ve stayed here since 1986, so I’m fond of the place. The staff is friendly as always.

6. In Bush – the Red Centre, Northern Territory and the Pilbara, Western Australia. Eighteen nights (never enough). No rooms. Quiet except for occasional brumbies, camels, crickets, birds, frogs, cows, road trains, and iron mines, depending on location. Self-catering, all services available from rear of the truck. Toilet with a view. Rarely damp. Sublime at all times. Not close to any services, shopping, or other amenities. Any review of staff would be biased if not self-serving.

The Second Week in the Pilbara

25th June – The rain continued intermittently through the night. I woke up around 3 am and saw faint stars. I hoped the weather was changing. The blue plastic tarp that I was using to cover my swag was definitely waterproof. No rain got in, but none of my respiration or perspiration got out. My bivy and sleeping bags were wet. Oh well, I was still warm enough.

At 5:30 I was ready to worm my way out into the cool morning. The sky was clear. My damp gear would dry. I walked down a track from camp. I hadn’t seen Pilbara bush that was this wet before. The desert pavement was almost black. The puddles of mud were bright orange-red. The flora glistened; there were droplets on many branches, twigs and leaves. It was strange to see so much water in this semiarid place. As the sun rose, ground fog began to fill the lows. Mt. Nameless turned orange as first sunlight struck it. I hoped that the outcrops would be dry.

We drove to Tom Price and met Jim Gordon, who’s one of the chief exploration geologists for the Rio Tinto TP operation. We’d been in email contact about accessing a section that was technically on the mine site. We met Jim at the TP Shell station near town. Accessing the mine site required acquisition of visitor IDs, a safety induction session, and an escort. It was no dramas. Jim seemed happy to be our minder. The section was on Mt. Reeder-Nichols (whoever this was). I’ve worked there before. We drove up a muddy track, parked by the mine water tanks, and parked.

Jim was immediately curious about the rocks. The climb up the usual steep rubbly spinifex-covered slope was slow, as we talked the whole way about stratigraphy, Hamersley Basin geology, mining geology, life in Tom Price, and all the other facets of conversation with geological kin. It was a blast. I rarely meet anyone who knows the rocks and is interested in the stories they tell. He’d been a lot of places I haven’t and vice versa. I got to be a geologist with another geologist.

The measurements were quick. The spherule layer was simple here; ripples (maybe tsunamigenic) and some overlying argillite and carbonate. Samples taken, we headed to the mess hall for lunch. I’d been promising Louis an endless feast. He got it. I ate lots of vegetables. Jim and I talked and shared info for another couple hours. A nice break and intellectual airing from the norm of field work.

The mess hall closed. Time to head back into the field. I secured a pass to drive on the Pilbara Rail access road: a time saving shortcut and a nicer drive, in terms of scenery. We drove to north to Hamersley Station. This is one of the earliest cattle stations in the Pilbara. It’s still a working station: however, helicopters, utes, and quad bikes have replaced horses when it’s mustering time. Permission to work on station land secured, I drove the Cruiser across the station airstrip, in search of the track heading west through the Serpentine Creek drainage.

It was easy to find. Rio Tinto is doing a lot of iron ore drilling in the area. The road had been refurbished. The speed limit sign read 60 kph. I thought to myself: this is too easy. The track kept going. It wasn’t even muddy. 50 kilometers rolled by. The sun began to set; hard to drive directly into it. Dangerous on dirt too. 80 kilometers. We wanted to camp early; tonight was Chernobyl potato night. We needed a lot of coals in the fire.

95 kilometers. A track turned off to the south. I took it. It ended in a turnaround about a kilometer off the road, just north of the Serpentine Creek drainage. There were palm trees beyond the turnaround and – a large pool. Wow. That explained the palm trees. I figured it must be a spring from the cave system that likely underlies the valley. A sampling pipe at the edge of the pool was labeled “Palm Spring”.

There was a lot of dead wood from past bush fires and floods. Coals achieved, we roasted potatoes, onions, apples, and carrots. Bruce labeled this the Chernobyl process years ago as the one potato that gets lost ends up as a carbon ball with a core of baked potato. Haw. A clear night.


June 26th – A dew-rich morning near the spring, well worth it for the light on the cliffs to the north. It’s such a joy to wake up in the Pilbara. The light is always red and beautiful someplace.

I had two research targets for the day. We’d camped near the first: Mt. Farquhar. A short drive, then a long walk across minor drainages and spinifex, followed. The usual climb up steep slopes and stumbles on loose rubble. The commute was made more anxious by an abundance of large spider webs hosting very big spiders. Hard to see them; I jumped spastically when intersecting one, usually face first. I’ve never liked the feeling of spider webs. In addition, almost every spider here is toxic in some way. No need to find out if these bugs were on the list. After the climb and much searching, the spherule layer appeared. It was thin, and poorly exposed. I had forgotten my hammer. Crap. I sent Louis back to get it and fetch some lunch. I found some decent outcrops. The now familiar process commenced: measure, sample, photograph, and scoot.

Target number two was Mt. Delphine. This isolated peak at the western end of the Serpentine Creek drainage has intrigued me since I first sorted it out on the geologic map in 1992. The section looked promising. My Google Earth reconnaissance was enticing.

Bruce has always been dubious about Mt. Delphine; he rightly pointed out that it’s a long drive to a site of unknown quality; we know the spherule layer does thin to the west. I wanted to go look at it, driven by both curiosity and hope. This was the time. Ninety minutes of driving on progressively degrading roads brought us to the base of Delphine. Park, assemble gear, climb. Hmm, the Paraburdoo Member was pretty deformed. Not a good sign. We climbed. The rocks showed more folding than usual. They were also cleaved, showing a regular fracture pattern caused by deformation. Another troubling sign. It also made smaller pieces of rubble underfoot: more slippery. A place to fall on spinifex for sure.

We scoured the available outcrop. Louis and I both picked the same bed as the impact layer, but could not find any spherules in it. Damn. We climbed most of the way up Delphine as compensation, and watched a wedge-tailed eagle soar.

Driving back east in search of a swag out spot, I thought that Bruce and I were both right about Mt. Delphine. He was right; the spherule layer exposure was cryptic at best, and probably not worth the time and effort to get there. But I was happy to have looked. My inquisitiveness - scientific and personal - was satisfied. My sense of place was expanded; another hill visited. New vistas seen. Now I want to go west and south from Delphine. It would be a cool loop down to the Paraburdoo access road through some neat rocks and the spherule layer might be there...

June 27th – Time for a break. Jim had told us about a tiger eye locality near Hamersley Station. This semiprecious gemstone forms when quartz and a couple minor minerals replace some of the asbestos minerals in iron formation. Toxic, like at Wittenoom. We fond the locality. There were asbestos warning signs on the entry road. Clearly, a lot of geologists and rockhounds had been here already. The informal parking area was well defined. The original mine, more of an odd little quarry, had been picked over pretty well. Many of the large pieces of waste rock had been bashed on. I gave Louis my hammer (his remains somewhere on Mt. Reeder-Nichols). He had a good go at the rocks and found some decent tiger-eye.

The real break was Karijini National Park. I’ve written about this in previous years. In a nutshell, a number of streams have cut very narrow and deep gorges through the iron formation. In the local Aboriginal mythology, the gorges are the trails left through the rock by large snakes. There are streams and pools in most gorges. Good hiking, swimming and photography. I’d been here enough times that I had sites in mind where I thought I could compose good images.

Two hundred and forty kilometers later, we reached the Park boundary. I was done in. A long way on dirt. After a stop at Hamersley Gorge, we checked into the Eco Retreat campground on the west side of the park. This used to be a Park campground; it’s now run by an Aboriginal corporation. I’ll review the campground in another post. For now, it gets 8 out of 15. The abrupt change from being with one other person out to the west, with no one else around to a campground was awful. I hated the noise of generators, music, and just the sight of so many people. It took me out of the sacred of the Pilbara and back into a human reality. I did not need this yet. I slept, somehow.


June 28th – At least the sick baby across the track did not keep me up. Time to play. I made my first descent into Hancock Gorge: steep, narrow, and wet. I took multiple exposures of the same scene: definitely a place to see if the HDR function in Photoshop really works. Louis did what seemed like a lot of risky bouldering. I was worried, and then he told me he teaches rock climbing. I worried less. Hancock is a place to come back to: the full trek requires warmer weather, a wet suit, ropes, and inner tubes. Sign me up.

More gorges. A tragedy; my Nikon lens committed suicide, via the truck hood, a slamming door, and my right shin. I almost caught it, I swear, but it’s nonrepairable. Crap. After a minute of agony, I realized that it was a done deal. Attachment wouldn’t change the scenario. I felt relieved. Not due to detachment, but because suddenly the burden of taking pictures was lifted. I’d shot a lot in the morning and been trying too hard. This was holiday, right? Now I could fool around with just my ultrawide zoom. Joffre Gorge, Knox Gorge, and then time to head east to the Visitors Centre.


June 29th – see my earlier post, Pools, A Roo, Spherules


June 30th

Morning Chores List:

1. Drive to Newman
2. Fill Cruiser with diesel
3. Go on BHP Billiton Mine Tour (Louis)
4. Scott, while Louis is on tour:
a. buy boxes and packing material for mailing rocks
b. get back door of truck fixed
c. chat up CoreFleet (truck rental agency)
d. finally have a good cup of coffee (Macchiato)
e. pack rocks
f. mail rocks
g. resupply with food and ice
h. fuss with gear
i. pick up Louis

Afternoon Chores List:

1. drive back to the new spherule layer site
2. find more exposures
3. sample the limestone above and below the layer
4. drive back to the east of Newman
5. camp someplace near the Jimbelbar mine; a second post-twilight camp
6. sleep


July 1st – A final night in bush. I’d hoped it would be someplace scenic if not special. However, the run back the new layer forced a camp after dark off the Newman-Port Hedland road. At least it was warm and dry – no dew in. After the moon set, the Milky Way was fantastic. I said farewell to the Magellanic Clouds and the Southern Cross for another year or two. I watched the sunrise on my morning walk. It was especially good. The full spectrum of visible light crossed the sky. High and low altitude cloud layers added to the drama.

On this last field day, I wanted to look at the easternmost exposure of the Wittenoom spherule layer. It’s on a BHP leasehold. I’d arranged another round of induction with a mine supervisor in order to get site access. After some pitching around, I read my notes correctly and arrived at the right remote gate: Orebody 18. I rang the buzzer as instructed. My contact had gone on long service leave. He didn’t tell anyone about my visit. They were all in meetings. They wanted me to refax my site access request form. Hello, the nearest fax was in Newman 40 kilometers away. Stonewalled. My cell phone had service. I left my number. We sat by the gate for 2 hours. A grader, a new Haulpak, and a water truck drove by. No response. I took it as a sign.

We went to Newman, checked into hotel, and started the clean up process. This took much of the day. In the evening. Fish and chips rarely tasted better.


July 2nd – Up at 5 am. Hard to see the sunrise over the houses of Newman. To the airport. South to Perth. A successful field season.

On the Fortescue Side

June 22nd – As described in an earlier post, last night’s swag out was along the old Wittenoom-Port Hedland Road. I’d driven north of the Hamersley Ranges, across the Fortescue River Valley. The work plan was to search for outcrops of one of the other Hamersley Basin impact layers, which should theoretically be exposed here. As I described, it wasn’t.

The rocks exposed on the north side are largely the Fortescue Group. They underlie and are older than the Hamersley Group strata on the south side. We’ve been looking at the latter on this trip. Most of the Hamersley Group comprises rocks deposited in the ocean. The dominant Hamersley lithologies are iron-formation, chert, limestone, and argillite (formerly mud). In contrast, most of the Fortescue is composed of terrestrially erupted basaltic lavas and surface sediments, such as sandstones deposited by streams.

The iron-formation and chert in the Hamersley resist erosion. As a result, the Hamersley Ranges are several hundred meters high and the gorges in Karijini National Park are deep and narrow. The Hamersley rocks wear a stain of orange-red from iron weathered out of the rocks.

The lavas of the Fortescue create a different landscape. They aren’t as resistant as the Hamersley; this makes for rolling hills rather than steep layered cliffs. The lavas weather to a rich brown-red; they look burnt. The rocks are shaped into lumpy, rounded to blocky outcrops. There’s a dolmen-like quality to them; they form vaguely linear, elongate bands, like teeth rising out of the ground. They look almost, but not quite arranged.

Beyond this surface appearance and what science tells me, the Fortescue Rocks feel older than the Hamersley. Their color and toothy appearance feels – deeper. If the Hamersley is the skin, this is the muscle underneath.

I actually meant to write about botany. Like much of Australia, the Fortescue area is very clearly an ecology controlled by fire. If you know me, you know that in the States I only look at rocks. In Australia, I diverge. I have at least four bird books, and three times as many on flowers and plants. I’ve resisted the urge to get a reptile book (maybe because all the snakes are deadly). The differences from North America intrigue me; I also simply love this area and want to know it better.

We camped in a broad valley several hundred meters wide, underlain by lava and argillite. It was punctuated by low mesas capped by the Marra Mamba Iron Formation – the bottom of the Hamersley Group. The swag out site was in a recently burned area. There was little spinifex remaining; all the other ground cover was gone. I slept on a coarse red-brown desert pavement of angular blocky rocks of chert, ferruginous chert, and iron formation. Pretty poky, I had to keep reaching under my swag at night and moving rocks away from tender places. I didn’t miss the spinifex. It was easier to walk around in the morning to take pictures and to look at outcrops.

Grey, black-charred trees were scattered across the desert pavement. Burned limbs littered the ground. Most of these were pretty big; all the smaller twigs and branches must have burned in the most recent fire. This made for easy firewood collection. This was our campground; bare rock and burned trees. It was windy.

I’d picked out an early morning photography site several hundred meters from camp, part way up one of the mesas. The flora here showed more signs of post-fire recovery. Mulla-mulla, a couple of cassias and a variety of peas were about ready to bloom. Wild tomatoes were fruiting (they are edible, according to my newest plant book: after you, Louis). I stepped on a number of baby spinifex in my haste to get to my site. A few surviving gum trees provided a bit of white and grey-green to the landscape. Many more plants I don’t know or have forgotten. The signs of regrowth weren’t surprising; I’ve seen the pattern many times further south. But on this cold morning, about halfway through the field work, it cheered me to see some color: evidence of resilience.

Later in the day, the spherule layer hunt took us through an unburned area. Very different. Dense brush: four meter high mulgas and corkwood, gum trees twice as big, mature spinifex knolls (too big to jump over), and lots of wattles. The ground flowers weren’t present. A few charred stumps were visible: evidence of previous fires. It felt more closed in to me. This is the turf I avoid when looking for rocks or tracks. I’m sure it’s better for everyone else birds, roos, and other fauna. I bet it excites biologists too.

Regeneration: I appreciated being reminded of this. It took a change of place for me to be able to feel it clearly.

Pools, A Roo, Spherules

Today was unusually intense and interesting. After a day of hiking and photography in Karjini National Park, we had to swag out last night in the overflow camping area near Dales Gorge. Who knew that June was the busy tourist season? It’s not as full later in the winter. The area was promiscuous: a stereo pair of banal late night conversations kept me up.

I woke up severely crabby. To compensate, I got up pre-dawn as always. I resisted the temptation to 1) slam the Cruiser doors, 2) rev the engine, and 3) set off the reverse gear, parking break, and headlight beepers (they are each loud, and not sonorous). I walked down the old Yampire Gorge road. It washed out in the mid 1990s. Like Wittenoom Gorge, Yampire had asbestos mines, so the Park never repaired the track. Fine by me. Nice sunrise, partially cloudy, so the scarlet-pink-orange-lemon-yellow transition of the sky made me smile.

I love watching the bush warm up in the early light. The spinifex glows a little greener and a bit yellower. It’s been damp enough that the desert pavement is covered by light dew. The purple-red sand gravel sparkle; this fades as the water evaporates.

Dales Gorge. This is one of the best sites to see banded iron formation. Here, the Dales Gorge Member of the Brockman Iron Formation is exposed. It includes one impact layer. I wanted Louis to see this. It’s also a really nice place to hike.

The gorges in Karijini aren’t that deep, maybe 50 to 70 meters, but because iron formation is so resistant, they’re steep and narrow. While this might sound like the slot canyons of the American Southwest, the gorges differ in several ways. First, there’s so much iron in the rocks that everything is stained various shades of red, orange, and steel-blue. Pretty. Second, the iron formation breaks out into meter-scale beds, so the sides of the Gorges have a pleasant layered look. The softer layers form benches covered by spinifex, gum trees, and a rare type of endemic pine, to name a few plants. Their yellows and greens offset the color of the cliffs. Third, the thin bedding also makes for abundant hand and foot holds when climbing. Fourth, most of the gorges are wet. I don’t know where the source springs are, but all the main tourist gorges have pools, intermittent streams, and waterfalls. Pretty pretty. Finally, given the water, there are lots of eucalypts and other acacias along the gorge floors. Not a cholla in site.

We descended into a side gorge. This was the first place I ever saw iron formation in the raw, so to speak. The steel ladder on the trail - bolted to the rock - was still there, and still a necessary part of descent. Wow, there was a lot of water in the gorge. I pulled out the camera and tripod and got to work. It was overcast, so the contrast was fair, the light a little bland. It’s so hard to be in a place and observe it as needed to take good pictures. Emotionally, I needed both states of mind. I generally caved in to picture taking. This made me sad. The time here goes so fast, hard to savor it enough.

I slowly made my way to Circular Pool, a large waterfall splash pool. By the time I got there, Louis and a bunch of twentysomething Europeans were already swimming in it. I declined the invite to join in favor of photography. Big boulders, seeps with ferns (wow), and the gorgeous iron formation bedding.

The trail weaved upstream through the main part of Dales Gorge. So many images popped in front of me. I ended up carrying my camera attached to folded tripod, which was attached to me via its neck strap. Quicker than setting it up fresh at every opportunity. The brush was thick. The air felt vaguely tropical. I don’t like this landscape as well as the open bush. It is pretty in its own way, but open space and abundant rocks make me more at ease. Harder for me to see pictures in this. We found the impact layer; I made Louis search for the spherules in it.

Finally, I heard rushing water. We came around a bend, and reached Fortescue Falls. This is a cascade more than a waterfall, with a great pool at the bottom. It was definitely time for a swim. I put my gear down. I removed my crusty field clothes (I was wearing swim trunks, no fear). I climbed to the jump off point. I tried to encourage the Swiss girl in a bikini to go in too. Her boyfriend would not pay me to give her a push, oh well. I jumped. Ah, colder than expected. I swam. I got cold, and climbed out. I was refreshed, but still dirty. Maybe it was the multiple laminae of sunscreen and dirt. The Swiss girl finally jumped in. She screamed.

We climbed out of Dales and took a rim trail back to the Cruiser. It was only 11:30. I’d already shot a couple hundred pictures, walked five or six kilometers, and had a swim. Time for a sandwich and escape from Karijini. I wanted to get back toward Newman before night fall. Louis was booked for the BHP Billiton mine tour in the morning.

There was still time to work. For years I’ve had mild lust to get to Mt. Windell, a peak just east of Karijini. I’d seen the rock section on its northern face for years. Good chance the spherule layer would be exposed there. I spied a track heading off the bitumen in the right direction. Hmm, it degraded quickly. I was happy for Louis to see a really bad Pilbara road. So many of the tracks we’d taken were easy, courtesy of all the ore exploration going on. The grass grew fender high. We drove through a two meter wide spider web. I couldn’t see the track. Branches scraped both sides of the Cruiser. The track turned parallel to the bitumen. Bugger. Not enough time to park and hike over to the outcrop. I’ll save Mt. Windell for a future visit.

My second area of interest was the mythical missing spherule layer. I was tired. I was drained from bad night’s sleep, the morning hike, and a cold swim. I was also weary from ten days of intense work (geology and photography). Driving the Cruiser for too long on too many bumpy dirt tracks had dulled my edge. Sometimes the Hamersley Range is too big.

We got to the turnoff. More bumpy dirt. At least it was a track I knew. We parked. I had to sit in the truck for a minute to collect myself and try to focus. I figured the odds of finding the layer were low. The weather had degraded; oh brother, more rain clouds to the west. Anticipating a quick look and disappointment, I took just my field vest and hammer. To heck with the camera, water, and hat.

It’s hard to search in this limestone. I don’t know the rocks that well. They often look monotonous, especially when I lack motivation. This section was badly faulted and folded. I picked a drainage that looked like it had maximum depth of exposure. I dispatched Louis up the east side. I took the west.

I wanted to sit and zone out. I was tired of spinifex and loose rocks. My back hurt. The outcrop was chopped by folds. Pretty rocks though, nice ribbon like beds of tan and brown, reflecting differing iron abundances. I bashed at suspicious looking layers. They were all carbonate. This was annoying. I kicked a rock down the hill. I thought, I should keep going, at minimum I’m a role model. Another two meters of ribbon beds. I grabbed a dead cordwood tree and pulled myself up on a ledge. I looked down.

There it was. I thought to myself, no, it can’t be this easy. I pried a piece off the outcrop. I can’t repeat what I said next in a public forum. There they were. The little bed was pure spherules. Unbelievably, I’d found the damn thing. The rain began.

Fatigue, what fatigue? I yelled for Louis to come over. I traced the bed laterally. It ran about six meters before disappearing under debris and travertine. The rain let up a bit. What to do? It would be dusk in one hour. More rain was imminent. We had to be on the bitumen before either of these conditions occurred. Louis arrived. Crap, I didn’t bring my camera: we used his. So much for being a role model. Where the hell were we in the section? I measured a quick stratigraphic column up to a known marker layer. That took thirty minutes. As we finished, a giant red kangaroo jumped out from behind some brush. He looked at us. I chased him towards Louis, who had enough time to get his camera out. Twenty four years, and finally, a cooperative roo and a good camera.

Back to the layer. Did it change laterally or stay the same? I traced it; no change. What was the rock above and below it like? I needed spherule samples, and lots of them, quickly. I sent Louis to trace the bed around the hill. I found a good spot, and went at the outcrop with my hammer. The wind picked up; it looked wet to the west. Dolomite is tough. I spent twenty minutes quarrying away the beds above and below the layer. In the end, I got about a fist-sized amount of material out. It will be enough to work with.

Time to scoot. I stuffed everything in the pockets of my vest. I almost ran down the hill to the Cruiser. Louis arrived a couple minutes later. I couldn’t see the hills to the west: too much rain. Driving a shade too fast, I got us back to the bitumen.

Where to camp? It was dusk. I was reassured to be on the main road, but it was hard to see tracks that might lead to swag out spots. In any event, where to go, given the rain? We were still several dozen kilometers from Newman. I kept driving. I was tiring, makings it harder to stop. It was almost dark. Finally, a turn off, the old road to Rhodes Ridge. We drove a few kilometers, and pulled off.

I could see rain bands all around us. I’d bought a large tarp in Tom Price. Louis rigged it to the side of the truck as a cooking shelter. It was great, except for the small termite mound that shared the space with us. Oh well, we were too tired to move anything. It was the night for Tastee Bite Indian food and cous cous. I boiled water. We crouched under the tarp and ate. . The wind picked up. It blew an empty pot into my nose. Nice bruise. It finally rained.

Ten minutes later, the rain stopped. What a day. A long hike, lots of photography a swim, a kangaroo, and another spherule layer. I had a lovely swag out under broken clouds. I was happy to see Venus at 5 am.