Heading north, the scenery is odd. Undulating, no bushes or trees. Few low shrubs. An ever increasing number of termite mounds. And this continues for 100 k’s. It only changes at Learmonth with Cape Ranges now in sight.
A spittle later we arrive at Exmouth. Late afternoon. What a lovely place. West of the ranges. Right on the gulf. Out of the wind. Just perfect.
Finding a camp site in one of the caravan parks after 5pm is a challenge. We end up at RAC Exmouth Cape Holiday Park. Recently refurbished. Pretty snazzy. And it is just across from Cadillac Bar & Grill. Guess where we are heading for tea! Music’s great. Lots of hillbilly country. The parmi is tasty and the beer is cold. Mind you, after more than seven hours on the road we are exhausted - properly. Could have dished up anything… We drop dead a short time later.
On the way to an early loo stop, I run into the resident emus. In the middle of the park. Seems they are checking out the cars. Or perhaps their own profile in the side mirrors. I grab my camera. Emu gives chase. Towards me. Shit! Better run. Slam the dunny door shut. Phew!
Johnny Blue Eyes, again, tried to organise a river cruise. This is a repeat of the Kalbarri experience. Should have known better. But the alternative program is as good. The town is home to 2,500 to 6,000 people, depending on the season. Used to be an important base for the US military. Now tourism is keeping it on the map: Ningaloo Reef, Cape Range National Park, whale sharks, humpback whales, turtles and pretty awesome diving. The variety of shops and eateries is astounding, so are the cultural offers. Loving the vibe and the diversity, this town is seriously cool. Mind you, it’s a whopping 350 k’s to Carnarvon and 550 k’s to Karratha. Pretty isolated, despite the airport.
Exmouth Gulf is beautiful with its turquoise waters. Check out Bundegi Beach and the really vibrant small café right on the water! And while there, marvel at the impressive VLF instalment. It’s a set up emitting very low frequency waves facilitating very long distance communication with submarines. Hence the American interest in this place.
The Mildura wreck off the top end, an old cattle transporter, was the key to establishing the picturesque lighthouse. Well worth the visit.
What really makes the region sing is Cape Range National Park. It occupies more than 500 square kilometres, the only limestone plateau on Australia’s west coast. The top is mostly arid with deep gorges. Some of the deeper ones house remnants of tropical rainforest from much wetter times. The expansive cave system is unique with hundreds of ghostly, endemic species. We take off into Shothole Canyon, a challenging drive up the dry river bed. And not a soul in sight. Breathtaking, the cliffs and wash outs. Like fossilised waves, carved out of rocks over thousands of years.
Bit further south, the Charles Knife Road offers complementary hilltop views towards the gulf. I can only imagine what the western side with Yardie Creek Gorge must be like! We already see ourselves living and working here, or at least visit once again with a bit more time up our sleeves.
Dropping into the Ningaloo Centre in town is a must. Get shaken in the cyclone room: Exmouth is smack bang in the middle of "Cyclone Alley” (so is Newman on its eastern end). Some of the most ferocious storms passed through causing utter devastation. The centre pays homage to the biggest ones. And to the American base that seeded the town in the sixties. VLF station and airport are visible reminders of a time gone by. The locals still refer to it as the glory days. The centre houses a two storey aquarium full of tropical fish which I could watch for hours. A special section of the museum is dedicated to the ghostly, creepy crawlies that live in the park’s lime stone caves, hardly visited by anyone but apparently pretty unique.
My favourite part of the museum is the story of the 1875 wrecked Dalmatian ship Stefano, destined for Indonesia. At the time maps of Australia’s West Coast were sparse, knowledge of its environment and inhabitants rudimentary and European settlements even more-so. A couple of young crew members survived. They ended up living with the local “cannibal” tribe until picked up by a trade ship connecting Cossack, then Tien Tsin (pearls), and Perth. Gustave Rathe, grandson of survivor Miho Baccich, turned his story into an extremely well researched page turner. Which eventually led to a meeting between the decedents of the survivors and their aboriginal hosts! Turns out the hosts were quite civilised and not cannibalistic at all. Minho’s stories shine an important light on how well indigenous tribes were adapted to their environment: always on the move, never to deplete sparse resources at any one place, giving the environment time to recover while the tribe continues its walkabout. Country - as I now understand - is like a vast family palace with rooms that have seasonal functions. Some rooms even house furniture: room specific or awkwardly heavy artefacts such as grinding stones and specialised hunting gear get left behind to be utilised again on the next visit. The Europeans were oblivious to that fact. Initially 13 of the Stefano’s survivors found edible berries around a sparse water source. After depleting them, most died of starvation. Miho lived on to tell the story. For more check out the book “The Wreck of the Barque Stefano off the North-West Cape 1875”. By the way, the wreck was located in the 1990’s and artefacts are now on display at Perth’s Maritime Museum.
We are leaving Exmouth heavy heartedly after a couple of nights early in the morning for Nanutarra Roadhouse and then Hammersley Gorge via Paraburdoo and Tom Price. The trip is long and uneventful. After the roadhouse coastal dunes slowly turn into the typical Pilbara rock formations. This nearly feels like home!
Paraburdoo translates loosely to “Feathered Meat” and relates to an abundance of Corella’s, a favourite aboriginal food source. Most family members of the parrot family were eaten, the smaller ones baked whole in hot ashes, the larger ones filled with hot stones for a good Sunday roast. Birds of prey were taboo to eat, budgerigars and cockatiels a delicacy.
Together with Tom Price, Newman and Mujina, Paraburdoo is one of Pilbara’s mining services hubs. Besides being a good place to top up supplies and stop for some munchies, it has a great piece of public art called “Resilience”. For almost a year, artist Alex Mickle researched what the locals thought the town stands for. He said “good design is an answer to a set of questions. When I had the answers to them, we had our design”: the taurus or ring symbolises eternity and the universe. It also stands for the mining truck’s big tyres, another symbol of the town, and the pressure wave after a blast. Analog to that, explosions shaped the 10 mm steel plates into the statues ring. Chains, used to protect mining tyres, were welded into place by local community members. So it was wholly assembled on site and the polishing of the banded iron ore on the top of the statue, the symbol of the wealth of the Pilbara. The artwork is impressive, the story of its genesis even more-so. Big thanks to Alex, the community of Paraburdoo and the WA Arts Fund.
We skip the town of Tom Price. The last 50 k’s are gravel road. Traffic is light but scary enough. The dust is intense when trailing another vehicle or overtaking. Nearly drove up a mighty trucks arse as that one stopped due to road works. My arse! Scary stuff!
Hammersley Gorge is phenomenal. The 120 stairs into the canyon are so worth it. The rewards are tiered waterfalls and a number of beautiful pools: complete with posing French nymphs (if you are into that kind of thing). After a long day of driving this is exactly what we need. The sun is already low, the rocks still warm and glowing in orange and reds. As we slip into the water, we let the spirits know that we are here and mean no harm.
I have tried to capture what makes the Pilbara interesting from a mining point of view: the banded iron formations. Similar to Kalbarri, the rocks are very old. The whole region was once submerged by a shallow ocean. Silt and iron deposits were layered on top of each other. Massive forces raised and folded the ocean floor into todays hills. The black lines through the rock are what miners are after - high grade iron ore, worth millions of dollars per day. A hot commodity. At Karijini, areas of outstanding beauty have been set aside for conservation. Unfortunately, the national park status is under permanent threat, still stalked by the ever so hungry mining industry.
The night we spend outside the park in typical spinifex country under a star dotted night sky. Soo quiet. Loving it.
We break our awesome wild camp at dawn and reach Karijini Eco Retreat at 8am. It is a cute set up with a great vibe. The retreat is a semi permanent structure, mostly sail shaded with nice communal decks. As quaint as it is, it is difficult to believe that this place offers room for 150 camp sites and eco tents. I am shuddering at the thought of what this place must be like during peak season. We check out the tasty breakfast and book a meeting with a crocodile for tea.
The gorges are spectacular! We hike down Weano Gorge to Handrail Pool and beyond. It is stunning! The sun radiates deep into the gorge, setting the cliffs on fire. As it narrows, it is now pleasantly cool. A stark contrast to some of the really hot iron rocks. The trail itself is a mix of stairs, flat rocks and narrow corridors, most with running water. It is exhilarating to climb and slip slide. The last part we clamber down a handrail towards the aptly named pool. It is glorious, set into the rock like a jewel. Water ripples project patterns onto the overhanging chasm. How beautiful. We pay our respects to the ancestors and take in the serenity. Could stay here for hours. I am taking time out just floating, while humming an unearthly tune - just happy to be. Bit further we swim and climb and swim deeper into the heart of Karijini into yet another series of narrow pools, equally as stunning. What a place!
The ancient ones may have heard my plea and let me trip. May have done something to my shoulder. The pain is excruciating! As I am trying to regain composure, Paul takes out our flask of coffee. Nothing that can’t be fixed with a good cuppa.
Hancock Gorge, our next hike, is narrower with deep, dark waters to navigate. “Not that deep”, says Paul as he disappears to his chest. I leave my backpack with the electronics behind. Just to be safe. I search for even ground with my toes while trying to keep my balance with hands on either side of the cliff.
Kermit’s Pool is small and mysterious. Nearly like an underground lake or a womb with its tight entrance. Needless to say, I have to go for a swim! The exit sits on a flat rock forming a shallow puddle. Different to the banded rock formations this one shows totally different colours: green and red swirls look like a dot painting. At first I think this would be some algae, but it is a actually part of the rock itself. Amazing how this ancient pattern repeats itself such as in spinifex rings in the desert and aerial shots of water holes. I hope you can imagine what I am describing as I was not able to take pics.
Unfortunately, the pool got a tad crowded and we swapped gorges with lookouts.
Back at camp I am starting to feel really sick. It is not so much the shoulder but the 40 plus degrees heat. I have got a screamer of a headache and actually feel quite nauseous. Dr Paul prescribes cold showers, lots of water and a mixture of Panadol and ice cream. Finally the sun is receding and with dropping temps I am starting to feel better.
Dinner at the retreat is awesome. My crocodile curry, mostly meat , is very tasty. Paul devours the Barra with a delicious native herb crust. The team looking after us is nice too. Mostly backpacker couples. And surprisingly no indigenous workers even though the retreat is owned by the Ashburton Aboriginal Corporation - but then again not.
What a way to celebrate our last night of holiday freedom!
Just after sunrise we head off to Joffre Gorge. The hike is a pleasant challenge with steep rock ledges to clamber down on all fours. Certainly not for everyone. I think this one is borderline for Paul. He is starting get a bit pale around the nose. Curiously some of the larger ledges are popular yoga spots.
We visited the gorge previously and had a peak from the lookout but it does not do it justice. The top end or falls area is like a massive cathedral with a nearly circular pool. Ideal for baptising I think while I take myself under water. Humming while floating seems like the right thing to do. As the sun climbs, I notice the rays slowly descending the western cliffs. What a sight! And the peace and silence. For once we are the only ones down here. Quite a privilege! And great timing. We sit wet on the rocks sipping coffee taking in the peace. So hard to put this into a picture.
The adjacent part of the gorge is different again with narrow cathedral like passage ways and the light and the reflections just right. Beautiful is not enough to describe this magical place.
After scrambling back up we have our last meal in freedom. The apple pancakes are perfect - our pet flies think so too (millions of them) as they descended on a drop of maple syrup placed a metre away. Took us only two weeks to find out how to have a pest free breakfast.
We are making our way to Karijini’s visitor centre, an architectural marvel. Made from rusty steel and rammed earth, it is toying with the language of steep cliffs, dramatic overhangs, grottos and narrow, water filled gorges.
The permanent exhibition is about education and reconciliation. I know the lady at the counter from our cafe and am excited to involve her in a deep conversation. I voice my disappointment that a lot of indigenous people, especially the more traditional ones, avoid contact with white Australians. Doesn’t help any meaningful conversation, I argue. She believes that the hurt and trauma of her mother’s and grandmother’s generation are still too fresh. Their first contact was with farmers, mostly amicable. The next wave of white fellas were the ones that took away their children and incarcerated family members.
The old generation is still hurting which makes communication difficult, yet so necessary. They are hesitant to talk about their culture as they feel ridiculed by well meaning clerics and taken advantage of by industry, locals and tourists alike, desecrating their precious dreamtime sites. What’s wrong or right, who knows. I strongly believe talking and listening is important as it builds awareness. And teaching manners as in how to treat country, to treat it respectfully and honour these temples of our ancient culture.
As we left Joffre Pool we saw three white Corella’s flying in. A lovely send off and a blessing by the Ancient ones.
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