Kimberley at last - the Gibb River road part 1

I can’t really believe that it is only 10 days since the last entry. The pace hasn’t been too fast and we have taken several “days off” when feeling a bit tired. Certainly we could have visited many places that we have heard are special, but we’ve taken the view that if we do everything now things could get repetitive and we would be knackered. So we have lots of “must dos” for another trip to the Kimberley. It is a most special place.

We to and fro’d in and out of Kununurra over the few days we were there and I commented to management when we finally left and headed west how good it was to be starting the Gibb River Road part of the trip. First stop was about 80 kms out along the rough unmade road, at Emma Gorge. This is a small but very smart part of the large El Questro station that covers about 1 million acres. It was good to be into the gorges again. We parked and H, in passing, asked if I had unpegged her underwear and trousers from the line at the Kununurra caravan park. Well, I was busy packing up the rig and it’s her underwear! (Objection – “she” was parked on an unused washing machine to get power to put up the ruddy blog and the chariot arrived all ready to go!) So of course I volunteered to return once again while Helen enjoyed the pleasures of Emma’s Gorge on her own. But oh! The brownie points! (Poetic justice resulted – “she” in the rush to get back from the delights of swimming to have a beer waiting for the sainted one came another cropper and still sports colourful bruises and grazes).

It’s only a small hop to El Questro proper, where there are many campsites set out along the Pentecost River, at about half kilometre intervals. Of course they are sought after and you can’t book them ahead, so first in best dressed. We arrived too late and set up in the main park, which was rather underwhelming. The wilderness experience was not helped by the main generator running all night! Yours truly fronted the organisation at 7am next morning and we got a spot on the river for the following night. It was a magic experience knowing you are in a “safe” haven but are completely on your own. El Questro has many delights that are well set out on information sheets. Accommodation comes in three levels, with the “Homestead” currently costing $1700 per head per night, two nights minimum. Yes. We couldn’t even get to within a kilometre of that place and I suppose if we were paying that much we wouldn’t want to be spied upon either. But I still think we might have had the best of the bargain! The 4WD trails take you to otherwise unreachable waterholes or lookouts, giving expansive views across the Chamberlain River Gorge and the Pentecost. The much promoted “Homestead” is built cantilivering out over the gorge edge, near the confluence of these two rivers. Walks up the El Questro Gorge and to Zebedee Thermal Springs are magical, particularly with the delights of dips in many beautiful and safe pools. There are quite a few people around and you do feel part of a major money making venture (it is now owned and run by Voyages Resorts), but there is no sense of overt commercialism.

The road west from ELQ worsens a bit, and there is quite heavy traffic especially mid morning when the travellers cross paths. The Pentecost River is traversed under the shadow of the Cockburn Ranges, where it is tidal. The crossing is about 300 metres and was shallow at 0.4 metres when we were there, but the word is it is thick with you-know-whats. One husband was seen this year shouting instructions to his wife who was dutifully wading many metres out to test the bottom. There was a unified cry from other drivers with something remaining between the ears, for her to “get the hell out of there”. She didn’t make the news, but people can be surprisingly silly at times! The Cockburn Ranges extend for about 40 kilometres to the north of the route, with land rapidly rising in the distance to the base of towering battlements about 50 meters high, and then rising and towering again after that, in several layers. The range is cut into by creeks so that a series of promontories edge the horizon, wave on wave disappearing into the plain.

The road now turns south of west, running along Bindoola Creek towards the Durack River. Past there we stopped briefly at “Ellenbrae” for scones and tea. Ellenbrae (another 1.0 million acres) was bought by the Myer family after the two brothers who had rescusitated it died in separate plane and motor bike accidents, and for the last year or so ago it has been held by Rino Grollo. Perhaps it’s de rigeur to own a cattle station on reaching Melbourne’s upper echelons. We drove 300kms that day, and pushed on to Miners Pool owned by Drysdale Station, having turned right onto the Kulumburu Road, heading north now towards the Mitchell Plateau. Thankfully the road here had been recently graded and we were much relieved after a long day on rough roads to be able to glide almost soundlessly to a good night’s rest at the Pool. The river paperbarks were flowering later here than at ELQ and provided good bird watching (for me, H, at least – he was fixing something), early next morning – blue cheeked honey eaters, lorikeets and the ever noisy correllas whose raucous calls herald the beginning and end of each day. That day we headed north just over 100kms before turning west onto the road to the Mitchell Falls. Seven kilometres after the turn you sweep around a turn and are presented with the fast flowing 50 metre wide King Edward River.

There are no other people around, but you know that people do cross this, about a hundred crossings a day at this time of the season. Nothing for it but to take the plunge! Low range, second gear. The steep drop into the flow is compounded by the weight of the Tvan behind, but you know you’ve to get on the power quickly in case there are stubborn boulders in your path, and to generate a reasonable bow wave. This prevents too much water accumulating under the bonnet and the fan from pulling itself through the radiator as it becomes a propeller. There’s nothing quite like the trepidation you feel doing this. The rig just sinks deeper and deeper as it mounts successive rocks, and lurches from side to side as first one mirror dips under then the other. The amount of water you are now pushing out of the way is substantial. The cross flow builds up against the side of the vehicle. Is the Tvan still there?! It’s almost floating across. You are focussed intently on the throttle setting (a bit more, and more again), the surge of water ahead of you, the movement sideways, and at the same time this monkey on your shoulder is whispering in your ear saying “you’re a stupid bugger aren’t you...this’ll bog down any second now!” The next boulder starts a climb out, and you know it will all be alright and we’ll put the kettle on, and perhaps go for a walk, and think of sunsets and nice things like that. But hold on, we’ve got to go back again in a few days! Part of feeling alive isn’t it.

We settled down on the banks of the King Edward – so lovely (and free!) we didn’t leave for four days, unhitched the trailer and went searching for rock art. And that is another – wonderful – story.

PS More pics loaded at link, up to Kakadu.