Day 12 - Northern Territory border

I need one more swim before we leave Lake Argyle. Well, two actually. An early morning pre-breakfast swim in “Infinity Pool”, a cool and refreshing way to loosen up for the day. And again before we leave the area, a quick swim in Lake Argyle, just because I can – there are no crocodiles in this man-made lake.

The Northern Territory border marks a distinct change in the landscape. The Kimberley is finished. Flat plains dotted with distant flat-topped hills are the only view we get until we enter Gregory National Park, just east of Timber Creek. Here the escarpments rise up high and wide on either side of the highway as we pass through. 

Late in the afternoon we stop at the Escarpment Walk, a 3km hike up one of these beautiful rocky ridges. But after reading the entrance sign, it seems clear we won’t complete the walk in time to find a camp site before sundown. We opt instead for driving on, 17kms past Victoria River Roadhouse to a free campsite by the side of the highway. It’s unassuming and bland with only a short hike down to a swampy waterhole that fills me with crocodile fears. 

We enjoy a quiet sundowner, then an hour of star-gazing before calling it an early night. We close up the campervan so we can turn the lights on and read by the interior light. Later we open the back hatch and let in the surprisingly cool night air. It’s the first time since leaving New Norcia that we opt for using the doona to keep us warm.

Day 11 - Kununurra & Lake Argyle

My delightfully long deep sleep opens to a still quiet morning, with only a few birds and frogs welcoming in the day with their chirps and croaks. But not long into this reverie the growl of big machines fire up, one after the other. A big tractor roars by our idyllic campsite by the bay. A front loader grinds into gear and starts scooping up its goods, cranking down the dirt path near our campervan to deposit them in some site out of sight. Beefy 4WDs driven by foreman, engineers, and project managers drive past in an obvious attempt at keeping to the ‘walking pace’ speed limit but unable to contain the roar of their V8 engines. An 18-wheeler backs in to the front entrance to the caravan park and waits for a back hoe to fill its back end. It appears we’ve camped in the midst of a major construction zone. Perhaps the pre-season refurbishments are just getting into gear? – or reaching their crescendo: the start of the official tourist season is April 1, less than a week away.

I toy with the idea of getting irritated with all this. Storming into the park office with my tirade: “Why didn’t you tell us…?” “This is insane…!” But instead I wash clothes, hang them on the community clothes line, then watch as the passing trucks kick up a sea of red dust which the breeze carries straight towards my newly washed clothes. I unpeg them and re-peg them in a line around the other side of the building.

It’s comical really, we two sun-tanned travellers trying to have a respectable holiday in all this noise and kafuffle. We don our colorful bathing suits, shorts, sarong and thongs and enjoy a morning dip in the pool while the trucks and all their noise and mess rumble around us. We seem to be the only ones wondering about all this strange goings on at the holiday park. The other residents are 'camped' in semi-permanent looking situations and perhaps are used to and accepting of the noise and confusion.

When our clothes are dry we head into town. The entrance to Kununurra is lined with upmarket holiday accommodation and a pretty park next to the lake – all suggestive of the town’s reputation as a mecca for East Kimberley tourists, as the brochures and websites expound. We stop at the Coles shopping centre to stock up. Groups of Aboriginals are clustered around the parking lot. The air is filled with the high-pitched verbal abuse they commonly sling at each other, often peppered with a limited array of swear words. The entrance to the shopping center is marked by four large rubbish bins, scattered askew and one without a lid. The stench is unpleasant. Inside the supermarket we pass several shoppers whose body odour outranks the meagre smell of fresh food. The fruit and veg all look tired – and seriously overpriced. Shelves of cans and boxes are in disarray and the floors need a good sweep. 

Driving around town it’s clear that most business are circled by chain link fences, some with barbed wire on top. This isn’t a pleasant place. How does tourism survive?

On the edge of this dark little circle of commerce is Mirima National Park, also called Hidden Valley. Our Kimberley Guide calls it the “Mini-Bungle Bungles” and since we can’t get into that park (4WD only and still closed for the season), we’re happy to have a look. We pay the $6 concession entrance fee and park in the empty carpark where the trails start. This is truly a magic place, a maze of steep red rock canyons made from 350 million year old sandstone, blown in all those millions of years ago by the distant sand plains, layer after layer and then morphed into solid rock over great expanses of time. The red rocks are striped with black, lichen that grows on the sandstone and apparently preserves it from further decay. It’s impressive, magnificent and awe-inspiring to think of the ancient history book we walk through and the beauty it now beholds.

We take the three short walks through and up into the canyons, then pull out lunch on the sole picnic table provided at the carpark. A ranger drives up in a 4WD and ask us whether we entered the park on an annual park pass. No, we purchased a day pass. He seems surprised and asks if he can see it. Sure enough, the slip of paper we pulled out of the automated entrance machine is marked with today’s date: March 26^th. Half apologetic, he says it’s been a while since he’s met a paying visitor. Most people just drive past the machine and use the park for free. “We’re having to crack down,” he concedes, still with an apologetic manner. We chat about the park and the weather and before he leaves he mentions twice more how rare it is to find visitors who’ve actually paid. After bidding us farewell, he walks around the back of his car and fiddles with something in the trees, then gets in his car and drives off. Later Johan goes over to the tree and finds a camouflaged webcam. He smiles and waves and leaves it alone.

We’re not sorry to leave Kununurra behind us, despite the delightful walk through the ancient canyons. We head east, towards the Northern Territories border, but before we reach it we turn south and head toward Lake Argyle. This massive man-made lake was completed in 1972 and renovated in 1996, raising the dam wall by 16 meters. Damming the Ord River effectively inundated an area spanning 1000 square kilometres – an area eighteen times the size of Sydney harbor-- and washed away the cultural history and the livelihood of the Aboriginal tribes who’d lived in this region for thousands of years. I can understand now why Kununurra seems filled with menacing mobs of black people. Displaced and nursing a collective grudge towards their invading conquerors (more like a deep-seated rage), they’ve been forced, only relatively recently, to adopt a life that is entirely alien to their people and their cultural mindset. The interpretive signs at the Mirima Park which told of their close relationship with the land and the many dreaming stories that explained what westerners understand as geology, now seem like quaint stories which few in the current generations of Aboriginal people would practice or even understand.

At the time it was built it was the world’s largest human constructed water catchment area. It was meant to turn the arid Kimberley into prime agricultural land, supplying rice, citrus, mangoes, bananas and other crops to a world market. Great for the Australian economy. Apparently it never took off to the extent it was initially envisioned (the Kimberley is pretty remote, adding freight costs and deterrents for prospective agriculturalists and their families) and was seen as Australia’s grandest white elephant for a number of years. Rumours are afoot however that ‘Stage 2’ of the development, which started in 2010, will put new life into the project. Stay tuned.

We check into the Lake Argyle Inn and Caravan Park and book a $37/night powered site. The camp host points to the swimming pool up the hill and I grab my towel and head off soon as we’ve found a site. As you approach the pool from below, an amazing view unfolds: a silky sheet of water disappearing into the chain of red mountains across the valley where Lake Argyle sits below. The panorama extends further, the sinews of the lake disappearing into the far distance. It’s the stuff of movies and top end marketing brochures.

After an enjoyable swim in this 5-star luxury I walk back to the van and fill the backpack with contents for tonight’s sundowner. Two park benches, situated just below the pool, are positioned to take full advantage of the amazing view. The sun deepens the ochre canyons in front of us as we enjoy our nightly ritual. We both express amazement, awe, dismay and disgust at what lies before us – the incredible ingenuity of human creativity and enterprise, and the formidable expanse of the human ego, which can utterly change the face of the planet and of a civilization in hot pursuit of a single-minded ideal…

Day 9/10 - East Kimberley

Despite the many warnings and worries, I'm pleased to announce that we've now enjoyed -- and survived -- five swims in the Kimberleys. This is an important achievement for two nature-loving travellers who delight in the pleasure of swimming in the wild. Our greatest dread about the trip through the Kimberley was not being able to find anywhere safe to swim. Of course everyone has suggested we ask the locals regarding safety and crocs, which we do. But for as many people as you ask, that's how many opinions you get on the matter. Some say, no problem. Others take a defensive stance: "Do so at your own risk". The guy behind the desk at the Halls Creek Visitor Centre even went so far as to throw up his hands (as though we were going to attack him or something) and say, "Hey, I can tell you there are no crocs, but you may find something different and then come back and sue me." OK, we get your point.

Since our two sweet soaks in Broome seawater, we've enjoyed three recent fresh water swims. The first, yesterday, was just out of Halls Creek (we assumed the Visitor Centre clerk knew something when he implied there were no crocs at the local swimming hole). Caroline Pool is six kilometres east of Halls Creek down a corrugated dusty dirt track. It appears the 'wet season' died an early death in the Kimberley as most of what we've met so far has been pretty parched. Caroline's Pool is a small oasis in this dry landscape, a semi-clear pool fed by a local creek. Footprints on the beach suggested it was frequented as a local's swimming haven, so we stripped down and lowered ourselves into the sandy shallows. We didn't venture much further than that, however -- the sub-clause of the visitor centre man's advice was sitting in the background of our thoughts. Still, it was nice to get wet.


The second dip happened when we hit our camping spot 100kms north of Halls Creek. Another 24-hour free roadside rest stop, we discovered a side road that went east from the camp. It appears the road was an old section of the highway, which dipped down into the steady flowing waters of the Ord River. In the truly wet season, it would be inundated now, but with the current dry spell the road sat above it and the river flowed gently through the culverts underneath the road. When we first arrived, we saw what appeared to be locals in two 4WDs happily plunged into the river. So we too had a go. So nice to lie submerged in the warm flowing water after another sweaty hot day.

After the swim we venture further up the road, which winds for a couple of kilometres before veering back towards the highway. We walk the highway back so we can go over the Ord River bridge, constructed in 2003. It offers great views of the wide sandy river below, but no crocs in sight.

The countryside north of Warnum, a tiny Aboriginal settlement another 60kms up the highway, turns into classic Kimberley outback: rolling hills and rock escarpments and some higher ranges -- the first real 'mountains' we've seen this far north. Postcard perfect, the views are enough to keep us entertained for the entire three hour drive to Wyndham as we cruise along in silence.

Wyndham is the northern most town in W.A.Situated on expansive mudflats that edge onto the Cambridge Gulf (north of here is the Timor Sea and Indonesia), the town was created as a port for a boom/bust gold rush that happened briefly in the late 19th century. Since then it's struggled to find an identity and hasn't quite stepped up to the challenge of joining the Kimberley tourist industry. But we found it utterly charming. Natural, unadorned, unpretentious. Surrounded by long stretches of coastline, estuarine lowlands and classic Kimberley escarpments in the distance. The views were breathtaking, made all the more impressive seen from the top of the "Five Rivers Lookout" point above town. We parked for a quiet lunch in a carpark that was built to hold hundreds of eager tourists in the high season. Travelling off season may have its downsides, but the pleasure of having popular sites all to ourselves makes it well worth it.

We're keen to explore the Parry's Lagoon Nature Reserve -- another top birding spot just south of Wyndham. But (and this is the downside of travelling off season) the road is closed, not yet graded after the wet season. So again we must let this one go.

Our final stop is the Grotto, 50 kms back down the highway towards Kununurra. The short steep paved road ends at a carpark (empty...again) and an unassuming hilly landscape. We make our way down the path and soon discover steps that cut into the side of a deep gorge. 120 steps down and we arrive at one of those most idyllic Kimberley destinations: the deep water hole tucked between two vertical walls of a red rock canyon. Assured by both our guidebook and the young lady at the Visitor Centre that its croc safe, we strip off and take the plunge. It doesn't get better than this. Dangling limbs of trees and roots drip a steady cadence of water and at the far end is a waterfall, gentle enough to stand under.

Cooled, refreshed and contented we make our way to Kununurra as the afternoon light accentuates the ruddy landscape. We find a caravan park site on the lake where we pull out our chair just in time to enjoy our evening ritual of beer and snacks and the evening sun on a distant ridge.

Day 8: Fitzroy Crossing & Geikie Gorge

The Kimberley boasts a few unique features not found elsewhere in Australia. Of course, there are the crocodiles, both freshwater (harmless) and salt water (deadly), of which we've seen neither yet. Another striking and somewhat comical feature of the landscape is the Boab tree. These corpulent deciduous trees, said to have evolved from stray seeds migrating here from Africa, resemble bowling pins with scraggly arms reaching out the top. The really ancient ones can get up to 25 metres in girth, fatter (though not taller) than our biggest evergreens in the Pacific Northwest. Botanists have a hard time calculating their age because they grow hollow inside their trunks as they age and hence have no tree rings. Some are thought to be well over a thousand years old:

Fitzroy Crossing is a sleepy town mostly inhabited by Aborigines. We like it for its unspoilt authenticity -- untouched by tourism, commercialism, marketing hype or the mining industry. It feels sweet and safe and friendly.

Geikie Gorge is the only Kimberley gorge that has a paved road going to it and thus may be the only gorge we get to see (stay tuned). Twenty kms out of Fitzroy, we arrive right on high noon -- not a good hour of the day for hiking. Despite the current wet season, the park seems quite dry and the mighty Fitzroy River unassumingly low. That's OK by us because when it floods (which it does several times after particularly cyclonic weather patterns) the entire park, including the carpark, toilets and several out buildings, are completely inundated. The last great flood was in 2012 when the water levels peaked at nine meters above the central pergola (meeting place for dry season river tours). It's hard to imagine this volume of water, especially when it now seems so dry and tame.

We resolve to hang out in the shade of the gum trees for a couple hours, giving time for the overhead sun to bend sidewise a bit. I do some computing while Johan wanders off to explore the gorges (despite the heat -- hard to keep a good man down...). We have lunch about 2pm, then set off up the gorge, the vertical rock walls that encase the breadth of the Fitzroy River. The river currently meanders at about a third of its potential width (200 metres) and the white marks in the sandstone canyon walls mark the highest water level, circa 12 metres above its current level. The craggy red, black and white sandstone rocks are tempting for a climb, but they're also sharp as razors and one slip or fall could end in a blood bath. We opt for a leisurely stroll a couple kilometres up the canyon and back. The shade of the western gorge wall keeps us cool on this hot day.

Upon our return to the van, Johan asks me if I enjoyed that. No doubt about it, being out there amongst the gums and the red rocks is a sure recipe for happiness. Even despite the heat, bugs and other hardships. It’s hard to explain to outsiders, who only hear about the dreadful insects, the soaring heat and the other dangers lurking in the outback (crocs, snakes, spiders, to name a few). Over dinner we speculate on where we might find this kind of experience in America. Sure there are the red rock canyon deserts of New Mexico, Arizona and Nevada, equally beautiful. But they lack the endless expanse, hundreds of empty miles between towns, a road that only rarely hears the roar of passing cars or trucks, the freedom to camp in the bush without getting hassled by police or rangers or residents who assume you’re a bum if you camp for free. There’s Alaska, but not a chance of stripping down and living on the bare minimum of clothing or jumping in local water holes for a cooling off bath. No, there’s something very freeing about the Australian outback. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but we love it.

We drive 100kms from Fitzroy Crossing to a rest area that allows free overnight camping. It’s slightly elevated amongst the surrounding plains and offers a spectacular evening view. We’ve spent most of the day picking or pushing or shooing out dung beetles from inside the van and are happy when none turn up after dark. A light breeze flows through the van during the night and we both sleep long and restfully.