Gibb River roaders

Monday 27

We woke to a new day. With yesterday’s full itinerary, we were ready to take it a bit slower. I climbed down the ladder as the sun was peering out through the trees.

Our camp fire from last night was still burning – somehow seeing the red embers in the morning always gives you a cozy feeling, despite the sun already heating up.

With our major highlight ticked off yesterday, we’d forgotten what was next! We pulled out our maps and tracked through what was to come. We decided to make our way to Manning Gorge, a popular spot amongst fellow Gibb River roaders. But first, a little detour on the map was Barnett River Gorge. It’s located on a private station and the road access to the beginning of the walking track is closed between April and November. We parked up and filled our backpack with water and a few snacks, not knowing how long the walk would be. It doesn’t look too far off the map, so we set out for a short walk.

The sun got hot quickly and as we followed the path, the surrounding environment was black and red. Bushfires had been through the area recently and shade was non-existent. The path indicators of other gorges were missing here and we had no way of telling how long the track really was. Still, we were determined to find the gorge and have a quick dip. A rock wallaby bounded up the cliff with ease as we glimpsed at its strength. The view from above the gorge was again beautiful, and we decided to make our way down to get a closer look. Left and right, up and over, the path alternated from rocks to sand and dirt. After a few boulders and sandy rocks, the mind starts to tire from calculating footsteps; weary in the sun, I started to trip over small detours. “Shit.” My thong had broken. My trusty huarache’s I had left in the car as our short detour this morning I thought could handle with Havaianas. “Really?” Johny replied looking waned at my clumsy efforts. I re-attached the sole and kept going. Havaianas are a bit like cats, they can have a few lives and I was optimistic. “Shit.” My optimism wasn’t working. Johny picked up my thong and replaced it with his own, we were too hot for my clumsiness! The sand underfoot was beginning to resemble those fire embers and Johny was hopping-mad hoping the swimming hole was around the corner. Thankfully, it was. Big, deep and green, the ‘plunge pool’ was very inviting. Too inviting, we started to second-guess ourselves with no other travellers around, and the thought of crocs beckoned. We tentatively cooled our feet on a rock ledge, but we were both not brave enough to dive. The oasis was refreshing, but as time was getting on, we reluctantly started the walk back.

Sweating buckets, and now dressed in just my shirt and underpants, as my black skirt had proven too hot for the walk, we made it back to the car. “11.30!” I exclaimed. What we thought would be a half-hour lookout, turned out to be a 2-hour trip! With the car park situated 1km from the start point, the return journey must have clocked at 5km. Not a bad effort considering we didn’t even get a dip!

With a glug of cold water from the fridge and a couple of refreshing kiwifruits later, we were back making dust – air-con blasting.

Mount Barnett station was a short drive down the road and the entrance to Manning Gorge. Our supplies were getting low since stocking up back in Kunanurra, and as the station was known for selling groceries, we drove in. “$12.50 for oats!” Johny shrieked.
“Do you feel like Weet-bix for $7.50 a pack?” I replied. You pay the price for not being self-sufficient out here and we were feeling it. With the bare essentials topped up and paying $31 for 20 litres of drinking water, we quickly got out of there.

With our camping and day-site fees paid we collapsed into our chairs under the shade of our awning as the relentless heat was on again.

Tuesday 28

Another early morning as the sun beamed down on us. I dropped down from the tent letting Johny catch a few more slumbers. Swapping over the fridge/freezer ice blocks, making breakfast, refilling water bottles and packing away the chairs from the night before had become daily duties. Despite our filthy feet that would make any pedicurist run for the hills and my hair that would make any hairdresser shriek for mercy, I always like to make sure my skincare routine doesn’t drift too far. The extra 5 minutes in the morning that I steal from waking a little earlier than Johny reaps rewards as the men always generally fail to see why all the fuss is necessary out here.

With breakfast done and our bags packed, we’re ready for today’s gorge. We’ve heard fellow travellers have been lost out on this track and mindful, we asked the Ranger. “It’s all well indicated with white marks on the rocks. Took us only 45 minutes yesterday – just keep looking where you’re going” said the Ranger. Great, 45 minutes, a short one today! The start of the track began with a tinny that was on a pulley system across the river. Anything with water seems to freak me out; perhaps nightmares of some serious falls in my 20s travelling through South America are coming to hand. The boat was already full of water as I waded in, Johny already out with the camera to watch me falter. I sat wide legged across the boat to help me balance and grabbed the rope to start pulling. I wondered how people got across before someone had the light-bulb moment of a boat. It was easy pulling, until… “Woah, whatcha do that for?” Johny shouted. The boat suddenly stopped as Johny jerked forward. “I didn’t do anything, the boat just stopped moving,” I said. We both turned around to look back to shore. Perhaps we’re lodged on a rock I thought. Looking at the rope, there was a bloody knot tied that wouldn’t fit through the hole of the pulley. Awesome. Suddenly, as we sat damsel in distress, a young girl ran over and pushed the knot through the hole. “Thanks,” Johny and I yelled out, as we simultaneously were relieved either of us didn’t have to get out and swim. “No worries” she replied. Wow, that was fortunate!

As we walked the track, we began to see what both fellow traveller and Ranger were talking about. Clearly someone recently had been through and put large white dots and arrows on the rocks for direction. A little clumsily in my books; with all the reminders of ‘Keep Australia Clean’, spray paint probably isn’t high on the sustainable materials list.

The track was dusty and unsheltered, again mostly barren with a red and black palette.

“This feels a lot longer than 45 minutes,” Johny stated. I agreed with a sigh as we continued on. Finally the track began its descent and we felt like we were making progress. As we made our way to the edge of the cliff, we looked down onto Manning Gorge. Thank gosh this was worth it – the water looked extremely welcoming, and as others swam, we made our way to the rocks below. Always feeling a little safer with other swimmers in the water, we plunged in. What a relief!

The large basin engulfed us and all the reports were true – Manning Gorge was gorgeous.

Johny being adventurous climbed up to the top of the falls. He reported later that it was just as nice up on the next tier of pools as it was below, but without swimmers. A family was following in his footsteps and scoped the surrounds too. Being the guinea pig for everyone else in the gorge, he climbed out to an overhanging rock and jumped. I lay on the rocks watching and finally feeling blissful with a simple schedule, soaking in the stunning atmosphere. A young group of girls arrived to break the silence and as their voices echoed, we eventually made our way back to our bags. As I put my shoes on, I caught something moving in the corner of my eye, “Look, look, look!” I attempted to whisper to Johny. A black Monitor crept up onto the rock beside us. With arms and legs sprayed out, he warmed himself whilst keeping wary of us. He clearly was used to seeing humans around and was hoping we didn’t see him. Fascinating, I thought. He moved in such a prehistoric fashion, all legs and tail as he moved from side-to-side. As we continued to pack our bag for the trek back to the car, on our next glimpse, he was gone. Johny sat waiting for one of the young girls to finally jump off the ledge. She had the whole basin urging her on for the last half hour. “For some reason, I just want to see her jump,” Johny smirked. Finally, she put us all out of our misery and jumped. “Right, let’s go” I spurred, and with that, clambered back up the rocks to the heat.

Next stop, Silent Grove and Bells Gorge. Again, Bells Gorge had a good reputation and I was looking forward to another decent swim. With a short drive, we turned into the national park campground. The fees here are a bit cheeky, with both a camping and a day permit required. With the ATM back at Mount Barnett roadhouse unusable, we scrambled our money together and posted it in the drop box.

After a rather large bowl of pasta for dinner, and accidentally having a ‘slippery suckers’ moment with the half frozen chicken breast, we wondered what the scurrying noise was in the bushes. The Ranger arrived to check our permit and notified us of neighbourhood bandicoots and quolls. Shortly after, once the sun had set, sure enough little bandicoots came to say hello. “They look a bit like rats” Johny said, rather disappointed. “Hmm, perhaps more like possums, without the tail” I replied, hoping to give the little guys a bit more credit. And with that, we again hit the sack.

The Cooks.