Falls & Fuel

Saturday 25

The ute has really started feeling like home now. The ease of setting it all up, packing it up, cooking from it and getting the most amazing views from our mobile sitting room has become normal. The back of our rig is the kitchen/living room/dining room/bedroom all in one. The back of the cab is our wardrobe and the front is our transport. Its all working really well together and we have figured out a system that is really working. Cath gets up first and gets breakfast on while I pack up the bed. While Cath changes over freezer blocks and water from the fridge to the freezer, I pack away the chairs and towels and whatever else. We eat together, brush our nashers together then were set and on our way. It’s quite scary thinking about returning home and going to work, to pay bills and get into a rhythm called life. It’s a daunting worry that’s always there, knowing we have to get back home again. I really don’t want this trip to end!

I honestly think it has been the best decision we have made together.

We get to the turn off for Mitchell Falls and the ABS light turns off. “F*#K YEH!” I shouted. “What?” Replies Cath in a shocked voice as I startle her.

“The ABS light has gone out babe! I did it! I knew it was that sensor! I thought I might have needed to disconnect the battery to reset the computer, but it has reset itself. Woohhoooo”. I didn’t want to disconnect the battery as it resets my recorded odometer. I have two settings. One is to read the kilometres between services, and the other is to tally up the total kilometres on this trip so we can see how many in total. I know it’s anal, its just me.

The books about Mitchell Falls warn you of the treacherous road in. They weren’t wrong. Unable to build up speed to skim over the corrugations, you’re forced to go slow. Almost feeling every mound we juddered, teeth shatteringly slow over each one, winding in and out, up and down through each corner. It was painful having to shout to hear one another as the car rumbled along everything crashing against each other.

Before we left we had just under half a tank, roughly 550 kilometres left in her. Half way along the track I noticed the old Steed was guzzling it down. “Holy moly darl she’s thirsty, I’m not sure well have enough for the return? It must be these corrugations just pushing us back.” I explained.
“They don’t have fuel here babe, should we turn around?” She asked.
“No way babe, we’re not doing this track again. I’m sure someone will be carting spare fuel and we could buy it off them. Look, we may have enough to get back to Drysdale where they sell fuel, but we’ll be rolling in on fumes. Let’s just see how we go”.

The book warns of a two to three hour trip. We managed to complete it in an hour and a half, but it took its toll. Stressed, hot and hungry and the constant clattering behind me, it got to me when I could smell the distinct odour of brake cleaner. I had been carting a can of it behind my seat. Something had dropped onto it and it was spraying its fumes into the cab. Being one of the most carcinogenic things to a human being, I slammed on the breaks. Jumped out, ran around to the rear door, grabbed a water bottle that was sitting on top of it and hurled it. “Gosh this track is getting to me” I cried at Cath. I picked up the bottle and with some calming words from the wife, we continued on the brutal track with no relief as my brain bounced around in my skull.

Finally we made it to the Mitchell Falls campground, some 180km from the Gibb River Road. With the welcoming thought of sitting in my deck chair without my bones being shuddered against each joint, we set up camp and relaxed. But not for long… I had to find someone in camp I could buy fuel from! I did the rounds, no one was willing, so I made my way up to the rangers camp. Luckily, she was super friendly and managed to help us out. We got it for a premium price of $2.05 a litre, but we tipped her and gave her ten bucks extra as a thank you. What a lifesaver. With the peace of mind that we would make it back, our minds finally rested.

We spent the remainder of the day relaxing in the cool shallow waters of a local stream only two hundred meters from where we camped. Taking in the Mother Nature’s fresh air and cooling waters is one way to detox from the stress of life on the road.

Sunday 26

We booked in to get air lifted out of the 4.5 kilometre walk into Mitchell Falls by helicopter. Ticking another thing off of my bucket list and fulfilling Cath’s dream to see Mitchell Falls from the air. Pick up from the big bird was due for 11:00 sharp. “Rodger that” I said in my military voice. We left ourselves 3.5 hours to do the track departing the camp at 07:30. The wild dogs had kept me up last night, scurrying around camp looking for a scrap of food or the odd thong or shoe. They were not quiet in the scavenging; rustling leaves and snapping sticks as they made there way round the campgrounds. Being a national park there is no 1080 poison laid to minimise them, so they are rampant.

Tired and heavily loaded with water and supplies, we set off down the track.

Once again, the map for the track was terrible. It showed at the first falls, there would be Aboriginal art work along by the ridge edge. The path showed it made its way across the waterfall and down. By the love of me, I was finding it! I scouted the landscape up and down but could not see any tracks leading off. We were up on top of the falls peering over the edge and down. “There babe, foot prints,” I pointed out below us. “There must be a way down… come on this way”. We scurried along the ridges, clambering over huge boulders and finally we found what looked like a path down. Cath lead the way. She walked straight past a rock that had a small bit of red on it. I peered underneath. Low and behold there it was – the first ever bit of Aboriginal art work in the bush I had ever seen. “Woooooowwwwwww. Babe, babe its here, its here!” I shouted. Cath scurried back up. What looked like a women with three fingers and toes on each limb and a large set of breasts, possibly giving birth to a baby, was painted under the rock. Bold and clear it stood out. Slightly off the track and out of view, my adventurous wandering eyes had just picked it up. I don’t think too many people had seen this one as there was barely any footprints under the art work. Blown away with how amazing this ancient piece was, we took snaps on our cameras and searched for more. The path lead down into a cave with a low hanging rock at its entrance. On the front were more paintings, far more dull in appearance. Making our way inside the cave, we were amazed to find art work scattered across it filling up every reachable space on the walls. Pictures of hand prints, men hunting and their spears, white trees almost like Boab trees and a few other assorted art works. Some duller than others, possibly being a lot older, we gazed up whispering to each other how incredible and special this place was. I had never been interested in Aboriginal art before, but here in this cave, I reveled in its magic and wondered how old this could be. It was incredible, and who says Australia does not have any history? Well its right here for all to see. I hope its there in another 20,000 years from now for my children’s, children to witness. So sad once again for the way of the ‘black fella’ on this continent does not have a more powerful voice and their heritage more preserved and looked after than it is at current. The last true ancient culture of our ancestors seemingly lost in today’s ‘white fella’ and within such a short period. The old way of the first Australian’s that survived and lived on this brutal arid land is slowly being forgotten, such a sad thing to witness.

Back on the path, we continued traversing over rocks and boulders, following the white stakes that had been laid out for navigation.

Each different gorge we have visited has their own way of indicating the path ahead; Mitchell Falls is one of the better ones. The path opened up to a large bed of rock and the cliffs held a waterhole below. ‘Big Merten’s Falls’ – however as this is the dry season, the waterfalls were no more. It was a sheer drop to the bottom and as we peered over the edge, it was a fantastic site. The rocks hot and orange, always making for a dramatic view against the green shrubs and turquoise water. Apparently more Aboriginal art work was hidden around here and I was keen to find it. We looked for paths leading off but only more large boulders and rocks were to be found. I remembered a path that we had already passed, but we didn’t think it was the right one. In hindsight, I wish I had followed it!

As the sun progressively rose higher, and hotter, we made our way to the top of the falls. We’d made it! I remember reading at the beginning of the track that due to an Aboriginal dreamtime story of an evil serpent living in the waters below the falls, it would be bad luck to swim here. It would either be that, or the saltwater crocodiles! Cath was disappointed. We were sweating and still had an hour till our flight out. We climbed our way around the top of the falls so we could get a front seat view. Three tiers of pools with cascading waterfalls filled the site. It was beautiful. The pilot later would tell us that in wet season, the falls would fill so much that only one large waterfall poured over the pools making it the largest in WA. Families and Grey Nomads all sat on the rocks and took in the amazing view. It was almost our take-off time, so after a few snaps, we made our way to the helipad. “Git to za choppa naw!” I screamed to the wife in my best Arnie voice. We waited at the landing pad feeling like royalty as our private helicopter came in and landed on top of the rocks with the river flowing past it at the top of the falls. A pretty special moment as we climbed aboard. Door-less, we had a great view out. The strong smell of jet fuel from the exhaust wafted down into the cabin as the propellers span above us. Head sets on and buckled up we took to the air. The sound of the blades and the roar of the engine were electric. My hairs stood up all over my body. The smile on my face was huge I could feel it. Unable to control my excitement, I hid behind my camera taking snaps as we did a figure of eight over the two gorges. I got an absolute cracker of a photo mid air of Cath sitting with her head set on with Mitchell Falls flowing in the background. This pilot had one of the best jobs in the world, well after fighter pilots of course. The chopper banked over as I leaned out the side of it shooting away with the camera. Such a thrilling experience. With the trees nearing, we made touch down back in the bush next to our campground. Still unable to wipe the smile from my face, I jumped out thanking the pilot. What a blast! I always have told Cath I would love to get my helicopter license one day and maybe seek it as a career. Well, the dream is still there, and now never so strong.

Chatting to a fellow camper back at camp, he brought to my attention that I should check my air filter was not blocked. I had been doing this quite regularly and knew it was fine. But I had forgotten to check my uni filter I have on the top of my snorkel as a pre filter. Man it was chocker’s! No wonder we drank so much fuel. I ripped it off and put a new one on.

The drive out was just as brutal as the drive in. But with our new clean pre filter, our fuel needle was not moving. “That was our trouble babe, that bloody filter!” I said. With the excitement of the day behind us and at the forefront of our thoughts, we made for Drysdale to re-fuel. “Filler her right up please champ,” I said to the fuel lady at the bowser. They’re a bit old school here at the station, and as part of your $2.05 a litre service, they’ll fill the tank for you with a smile on their face. Especially when our tank holds 153 litres.

We unloaded our rubbish at the station in their rubbish pit. Thank god we did – we were starting to cart a fair bit and it was getting a bit concerning in the heat of the day.

A short drive on, we headed for a river crossing we had passed right down on the Southern end of the road, right next to the turn off that lead West again. Passing more foreigners in their hired cars, not having any four wheel driving or bush experience, sitting on the road without headlights on doing thirty kilometres an hour. I thought one was a push-bike at first as I spotted it on the horizon. Headlights off, it was not apparent what it was. We had passed a nutter on a push-bike a few days back trying to conquer the corrugated roads, I assumed it was him again. However, as we got closer, I realised it was a hired wagon with a RTT. They were going so slow over the corrugations they weren’t even creating any dust! Crazy! I wondered how long the Gibb River Road (720 kilometres) without de-touring off, driving that slow must have taken them? Its times like these I could see a potential in the market for a start up business where I could teach people with no off-road knowledge some simple techniques. Always coming up with ideas, we made it to camp.

Set on a sandy bank overlooking a dry river-bed with bulls grazing all around us, we set up camp. Only one other camper here, an old guy set up on the opposing bank to us reading his book. It was heaven. We were sticky from an epically, emotionally high, active day we really needed a shower. With the ute parked so only the cows could see our free bodies, we scrubbed ourselves down under our own shower. What a highlight day, what a way to finish it on a high still in the most stunning spot. I even had enough time to fling a few arrows.

Mitchell Falls, a must do! The road in, I pre-warn you is brutal, but the history and view is one not to be missed.

A real highlight day to the trip so far. Still with that smile on my face from the helicopter earlier, we took ourselves to bed and fell asleep to the orange glow coming from our camp fire and the roars of our neighbourhood bull with his mating call sign in the background. “Nite folks”.

The Cooks.