When people start to talk about the Gibb River Road, the conversations
sound a little like this; “Oh, I knew someone who did two tyres and a diff…””I
knew someone who’s bearings seized…” “I know a bloke who busted one set of
springs, then another, then another…”
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| Only a freshie... |
Did those words worry us? No. Did they stop us from loading
up the Disco and getting off the bitumen? No. Have they eaten their way into a
tiny corner of my brain, making sure I drive at a snails pace, and dial up low
range / rock crawl at every creek crossing? Ummm, yes. I’m still grateful every
afternoon once the ignition’s off that the tyres are still inflated (26 front,
30 rear as a result of several bathroom conversations with blokes in blue
singlets, and several I told you so’s from Sara).
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| Windjana Gorge sunset |
Leaving Kimmy at Fitzroy Crossing, we headed out to Winjana
Gorge. We got a campsite, then headed
out to spot a croc. All freshies, and not at all concerned about us, Oli saw
one first, however it quickly became a case of croc shmoc. Up early the next
morning to get into Tunnel Creek without anyone else. No crocs, but it’s a little bit scary
negotiating a path along a creek that runs in pitch darkness for almost 750
metres. A tour group came through as we were returning, not sure if they
thought Oli’s croc impressions were authentic, but they were all walking very closely behind the guide...
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| Wadjiina at King Edward River |
Next stop, Manning Gorge. The hike into the gorge starts
with a river crossing and as I was swimming the gear over, the price of my camera
kept repeating in my head. Fortunately everything stayed dry in its Styrofoam boat and we
had a day just hanging out at the waterfall. A great campsite and fires
permitted which let Sara off her leash! She loves a campfire, what is the point
in camping without one? Marshies for all my friends!!
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| Birthday cake ($1 from Fitzroy Crossing IGA bargain bin!) |
My birthday was coming up, and I really wanted to avoid the
car if I could. We decided to drive to King Edward River and camp there, using
it as a base camp for Mitchell Falls. Good decision in the end. I had a great
day. A run in the morning, back to a massage, then cards and new socks! Black
Explorers no less! We went to have a good look at some of the local rock art
which was spectacular. Old and distinctive, a lot like me now really! A good
hike downriver in the afternoon to discover some other falls. We met a couple
of PhD students from Melbourne Uni who are studying fish genetics and helped them
by establishing that the waterfall we’d got to was probably not the reason why
barramundi and saltwater crocs aren’t found up here. We asked for our names to
be put on the paper they eventually write in 3 years time.
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| Sara guiding the Disco across the perilous King Ed River |
Birthday dinner with beer, wine and charades of the trip.
The one I liked best was Sara acting out the first day, backing the van out at
Williamstown, driving down to Barwon Heads with it still attached, and being
welcomed by Sal and Jacko. Fair bit’s changed since then. I mean, I know what
the black switch inside the door does now. Up early to drive out to Mitchell Falls.
We’d heard a bit about this road too, but were in luck as the grader had been
through most of it. That little voice kept on nattering though, and it was two
hours until we got there.
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| Kids in a chopper |
Big Phil, helicopter pilot from central casting met us
there. Picture Ben Affleck with an Aussie accent and a white shirt with gold epaullettes. The plastic came out, and into his chopper we jumped for a birds eye
view of the falls and surrounds. No doors in the back, just bits of cloth
holding the kids in. After so long driving through the Kimberley scrub, it was
amazing to see it from the air. The river and creek courses are everywhere and so
obvious, it must look brillant in the wet season with torrents of water
replenishing everything. 18 minutes later, Phil dropped us off at the top of
the falls, flew out to pick up another load, and we spent 6 hours walking back
out. That sounds a lot harder than it was, because it is really only an easy
one hour walk from the carpark. We took our time, watching older people fall over as
they crossed the river in their socks, swimming, exploring and getting far too close to cliff
edges for Sara’s sanity.
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| Mitchell Falls |
The grader had finished by the time we started back, cut at
least 10 minutes off my time which made me about 30 mins slower than everyone
else. We packed up the next morning after another tedious morning of journal
supervision and drove out, back through the river to Kalumbaru.
Jason and Soo who we’d met at Middle Lagoon had told us
about this place. We’d already met Les, the grandson of the owner on the Gibb
River road inspecting his sister’s broken trailer. Head out to Honeymoon Beach,
they said, ask for George and he’ll take you fishing if you give him a jerrycan
of diesel. No sooner than when we’d arrived, One Eyed Andy came over and gave
us a massive snapper he’d caught. Corporate Bill showed Sara how to fillet it,
including the wings. Then a toothless but jolly pirate hobbled over with a walk
that made him look like someone had stolen his peg leg. The pirates name was
George and he told us to be ready at 6 tomorrow am.
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| KIds, Pirate George, and Mangrove Jack |
Off we went in his tinny, the SS Dodgy. A mackerel took
Sara’s lure. Tuna were jumping out of the water around us. All a bit much. We
headed into the mangroves where the salties are. Within a few minutes, I’d been
snagged three times and lost 3 hooks. Ned also lost several. But bites were
everywhere. We were going through the bait when Oli shouted I’m on and reeled
in a mangrove jack. Four more of these followed and a brim with all the kids
getting in on it.
Honeymoon Beach isn’t fancy. Two toilets, two showers, no
drinking water and no power. There’s no grass except near the people like Andy
who leave Queensland to stay here and water the dirt regularly for a couple of months. We’d been down the
road to MacGowan Island to buy diesel and ice. They had lawn, water, hot showers, power,
internet, but no soul. There was no Les introducing me to his whole family
including grumpy Auntie Cheryl, chain smoking Auntie Ellen, and actor brother
Terry. No welcoming committee. No photo of famous BJ the furry dog who’d been
taken by a saltie on a hot afternoon two years ago. The kids who surrounded
ours as they attempted to do homework under a tree at the Kalumbaru mission had
told us about him, poor BJ. This is a good place. A genuine place. I’ll come
back here, but I’ll come back with a boat and a desalination plant! In the
meantime, if anyone knows of a good knee surgeon in Perth for Pirate George,
let me know.
H
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