Crossing the Gibb by Gillian Brown
‘Gooday! This is Radio 3JR. Y’all
having a good time out there? Down the Gibb River Road. On the stations. As far
as your ears can hear? Next up is Slim Dusty.’
As
our 4x4 Toyota campervan judders over the corrugated dirt track, I turn up the
volume. Australia’s brand of Country & Western fills the cab.
The 665-kilometre-long Gibb River Road – affectionately
known as the Gibb – is a classic off-road route in Western Australia’s remote
Kimberley region. The ‘beef road’, built for transporting cattle from the stations,
is now popular with adventure-seeking tourists.
A sign confirms all river and creek crossings are open. We
feel confident – sort of – with our well-stocked fridge, two spare tyres, emergency
water and fuel, and every mosquito repellent known to man.
Our first stop is El Questro, a million-hectare working
cattle station. The main homestead is run as a high-class resort, but we head
for the riverside camping area, which includes a shop, a restaurant, a bar, and
some up-market cabins. We park beneath some eucalyptus trees filled with
screeching lorikeets.
‘Mind the freshies,
mate!’ someone warns. Freshwater
crocodiles are supposedly non-aggressive, however, my proposed soak in the
nearby waterhole is postponed. After a beer, we barbecue fresh prawns and wild
snapper and eat under the stars. As we crawl into bed, the distant sound of a
didgeridoo lulls us to sleep.
An early start is essential to avoid the mid-September heat.
Luckily, El Questro Gorge is only a couple of creeks’ drive away up a sandy
track.
Soaring cliffs and lush tropical vegetation give us shade
as we climb over giant boulders and wade through waist-high creeks, shoes and cameras
held high above our heads. The two-hour walk ends with a plunge into the
crystal waters of a deep pool, beneath a 50m-drop waterfall.
The
choice of places to explore along the Gibb is narrowed down by your vehicle,
its insurance cover if rented, and the state of the roads. But crossing the
croc-infested Pentecost River is obligatory. Luckily, the water level is low. I
hold my breath. A minute later we’re across.
A short drive through the red-skirted Cockburn Ranges
leads us to Home Valley Station, owned by the Indigenous Land Corporation. Its panoramic
bush camp overlooks the river.
An Aboriginal ranger approaches. ‘Have you seen Cedric?’
‘Who?’
‘He’s six metres long.’ He grins. ‘Keep back from the riverbank.
It’s tidal here and full of salties.’
Unlike their freshwater cousins, saltwater crocodiles are known to attack.
After sunset, we dine at the station’s Dust Bar on
succulent kangaroo loin with mashed sweet potato, and freshly-caught barramundi.
The next section of the Gibb – recently graded – makes
our morning’s drive to Ellenbrae smoother. The Station’s managers regale us
with survival tales of their time spent cut off, during the wet season. And
feed us delicious cream teas.
We camp in the original Ringers’ Bush Camp – alone –
which remains much as they left it. Mod cons include a flush toilet, a bath, a
wood-burning BBQ and a water donkey. Fed logs, the latter provides hot showers
within fifteen minutes. Above the sink a sign reads: ‘The ten most venomous
spiders in the world reside here.’ More Aussie humour? Unfortunately not.
Stars cram the night sky, and once the red-tailed
cockatoos quit screeching, the bush becomes eerily silent. I put all thought of
predators behind me and succumb to sleep.
Next day, we face our longest drive yet. The distance covered
enforces itself by its sheer monotony: red dirt, eucalyptus, red dirt,
eucalyptus... But the emptiness connects with something primitive in me, long
lost in our modern, gadget-driven lives.
Finally, some huge tyres – painted white – mark the turn-off
to Mount Elisabeth Station. This 30-kilometre bone-shaking track soon covers us
in red dust – outside and in. The rear door rattles ominously. A frill-necked
lizard crosses our path, then freezes – immobile as a statue. Brahmin cattle
munch on invisible grass, being fattened for shipment to Indonesia. As the bumps
grow bumpier, the door finally drops off.
Once camped, we luxuriate in dust-removing showers, followed
by dinner in the homestead. The conversation leads to the white Australian/Aborigine
problem, but isn’t solved that night. Nor subsequently.
Our next destination is Mornington Wilderness Camp, one
of the remotest places in the Kimberley, 90 kilometres from the Gibb. The
Wildlife Conservancy do research and run conservation programs here, like
tagging dingoes and counting birds. The bush camp has no power to run our fan.
Humidity is high, so we sleep dripping with sweat. ‘The Wet’s coming early this
year,’ we’re told.
At dawn, armed with paddles, we drive to Dimond Gorge. New
shoots on the spinifex are a startling emerald green against the red earth. We
surprise a water monitor, flocks of multi-coloured finches and a pair of
bustards, who flee into the long grass.
The mighty Fitzroy River cut its way through the rugged
Leopold Ranges to form a gorge with 40-metre high cliffs. We collect our canoes
and paddle downstream. A kind of ‘Deliverance’ feeling takes hold, but no
weirdos jump out, only rock wallabies on a high ledge above us. Throwing
caution to the wind, we beach our canoes and swim, despite the presence of freshies. No worries! Luckily.
Our day is topped off in the Centre’s restaurant, with a
candlelit dinner under the stars.
Finches and wrens begin the dawn chorus, followed by
ear-piercing corellas. It is only 5:30 a.m. but time to get up.
Back on the Gibb, we stop for fuel at the Imintji
Aboriginal Community Store. Only diesel is sold here, to counter a petrol-sniffing
problem. On the door a sign reads: ‘Don’t eat rubbish fast food. Don’t touch
alcohol.’ The Aborigines’ metabolism cannot process alcohol or sugar, and
diabetes is rife.
The store manager has recommended Bell Gorge. A steep
path leads to a multi-layered waterfall with a swimming hole beneath – an
earthly paradise. To submerge ourselves we slide down a slippery rock. Once
refreshed, I struggle back out. A casual voice enquires, ‘See any water pythons?’
In case you haven’t gathered, teasing Poms
is a national sport.
From here, the scenery changes, the red rock turning to black.
Hours later, we follow a corrugated track to Windjana Gorge. As the
cathedral-like cliffs glow pink in the sunset, the pale green spinifex –
crouched like pincushions below – take on an ethereal light.
Soon after dawn, the tranquility of our walk up the gorge
is disturbed by the deafening flapping of thousands of fruit-bats coming to
roost in the trees. In rock pools scattered amongst the slow-moving river, freshies vie for territory; thrashing
their tails at each other and baring their teeth.
Crossing the Gibb can take a few days or a few weeks. We spent
somewhere in between, but whatever you decide, you’ll wish you took longer. Covered
here are only personal highlights. The choice is infinite.
Strangely silent, we bump our way back to the Gibb for
the last time. Shortly it turns to bitumen, at the junction to a colossal
mineral mine. The feeling of anti-climax hits like a rock in my stomach.
‘What day is it?’ my husband asks.
‘No idea,’ I say. ‘But I wish it was yesterday.’
__________________________________________
Gillian Brown was born in Scotland. She lived in
several countries before settling in France, where she ran canal cruises with
her husband for several years. Her travel articles have been published in
various magazines and her short stories have won and been placed in competitions.
Sounds like an incredible trip, Jill. Love the descriptions of Pom-teasing being a national sport. Just as well we've won The Ashes!
ReplyDeleteAlyson
Wow, so much packed into so few words! Beautiful descriptions, and I felt I was there with you. Paola
ReplyDeleteVery evocative. Makes me want to go there and share your experience. What is a water donkey that needs to be fed with logs? Some kind of boiler? JR
ReplyDeleteHaving lived in West Aus for fifteen years and now reading this - I have the urge to return and discover this beautiful yet dangerous place you write about so well ! It sounds amazing. Thanks Jill.
ReplyDeleteAmazingly informative, along with the Pom-teasing. You took the reader on that trip - I loved it.
ReplyDelete