The first day of the month became required ‘rest’ before taking to the road and the overcast sky, high humidity and sudden downpours remind us that rains have started early. Ten minutes before departure the next day, George decided on the Arnhem Highway via Kakadu to Katherine on the grounds we’d covered the next particular section of Stuart Highway often over the last few months.
It's always good to return to recognizable places of the past and see what change has transpired or simply enjoy the memorable again. In a surprisingly green landscape Humpty Doo, Fogg Dam, Window on the Wetlands, Adelaide River Crossing with its croc jumping, Mary River and Bark Hut Inn were all ticked off and reminisced over, as we swept past. At the boundary of UNESCO’s World Heritage Listed Kakadu we expected to pull up at the old Entrance Station to pay the re-introduced Permit Fee but NO, it was gone and the onus was now on the entrant to stop and pay either at Aurora Kakadu Resort, Bowali Visitors Centre or Cooinda. Fortunately we were stopping for a night in the attractive camping grounds attached to Aurora Kakadu Resort, better known as South Alligator River, so paid up. George further learnt from the receptionist, that driving to Jabiru or Pine Creek via Arnhem Highway didn’t necessitate a permit, it was only if you used any of the federally run Park facilities.
Australia’s largest national park is a difficult place to appreciate fully in a short visit hence the present going rate of $25 per head for a two week entrance permit – doesn’t seem excessive. Yet for many of us travelling folk it becomes a ‘stinger’- $50 over three or four days on top of camping or resort fees. We overheard grousing that the late rains of last season had delayed the opening of many places and now the early rains of a new season had closed places making the permit hardly justified. Exactly what we found! Half of Merl Campground was closed and the better equipped caravan-park at Mardugal, completely closed. Light rain throughout our journey had relieved the normally intense heat and humidity for this time of year. A powered site at South Alligator River at fair price ensured our batteries weren’t depleted without the sun to keep us topped up.
George went off on the Gungarre Trail, where he was chomped by mosquitoes and almost ambushed by golden orb spiders! Approaching Mamukala en route to Jabiru next day, the cloudy sky suddenly filled with flocks of magpie geese – Kakadu films always portray the wetlands as humming with bird life that take to the wing in spectacular fashion which can be disappointing, as that is rarely seen. Had we struck lucky? We drove into Mamukala, parked and rushed along the walk to the bird hide overlooking a wetland. Very little to be seen other than a good display of pink lotus lilies and sedges that we decided height probably shielded the magpie geese within as we could hear their honking.
First stop in Jabiru had to be the Bakery for a couple of carrot cakes loaves for teatime treats along the road- we have always enjoyed their recipe chock full of carrot, fruit and walnuts. A quick ‘recce’ round the town followed before we headed on to East Alligator River, leaving Getaway in a site at Merl Campground. No sooner had we parked in a parking lot at East Alligator than an unexpectedly loud and consistent rumbling sounds emanating from Cahill’s Crossing had us rush down to the boat ramp to see what could be going on – a road train traffic jam! We were further enlightened by a couple, that due to the rain – the traffic flow into Aboriginal owned Arnhemland’s vast wilderness had been completely cut off for a good few days. We happened to arrive just as the water levels across the causeway had dropped sufficiently combined with the normal tidal dictates, to cross. Having watched, with excitement these monster ‘trains’ push through the outflow of the causeway, along with a couple of Aboriginal owned Toyodas’ confidently crossing as water flowed past their doorways; we continued on our way taking the Mangarre Rainforest Walk alongside the East Alligator River. We have taken this pretty hour’s walk many times, even waited quietly in obscured view-points of the river, in the hopes of a mere glimpse of the infamous predator who makes swimming so hazardous in the Top End. Nothing! Until this day, when Lea spotted a youngster of some 2 metres edging its way upriver- disappear briefly, yet fortunately reappear for George to confirm her sighting! We avoided the cultural site of ‘women’s business’ keeping eyes peeled for a colourful yet furtive pitta next. We failed in that respect. However, we saw a couple of strikingly blue and yellow moths that characterise the Monsoon forests of Kakadu. We returned ‘home’ for lunch, waiting out the afternoon in our camp before heading off to Ubirr to take in the sunset atop the rocky outlook that offers superb views over the Nadad floodplain.
Dull lighting and cloudy skies interfered with our hopes for a beautiful Ubirr sunset. Although we were tempted by fond memories to visit Nourlangie; even take the 40 minute walk to Gubarra’s shady monsoon forest pools, next day – humidity put us off and we decided time at Cooinda would be infinitely more pleasant for no effort. It was the cost of a caravan site that turned us away, $40 a night - what a rip off! We moved on to Mardugal only to discover it was closed. Lea knew she wouldn’t cope with the very steep and steamy climb up to the magnificent infinity pool of Gunlom making that 80km round trip of gravel, hardly feasible. So, in next to no time we were leaving Kakadu. We couldn’t help think of that catchphrase “Kakadon’t... rather do Litchfield”. Litchfield IS impressive value. Perhaps Kakadu should rethink its entry permit – implement it only during the peak season, when everything is open to the tourists and maintain numbers.
Harriet Creek Rest Area gave us a rather neglected camp for the night. Well off the main road we were given a peaceful night, it was the flies that drove us mad during the afternoon and kept us confined to Getaway. If we had recalled the quaintly named Pussy Cat Flats not much further on, we may well have stayed there on the local Pine Creek horse racing track instead.
George had Edith River bush camp down for our next stop yet when we arrived at the bridge, nothing was as he recalled having seen. We retraced the road back to the Ferguson River in case he’d mixed up the rivers in his mind’s eye. Again, there was little indication of a bush camp and we decided to push on to Katherine and Red Gum Caravan Park. Here, not only had prices dropped radically the once verdant park was virtually empty and very dry looking. We relaxed there for the weekend making use of the ‘cool’ Katherine Spring close by. An alcohol free zone ignored by a few beer swilling and smoking men spoiled things a little on the Sunday afternoon. Irritating Lea further, one bloke left his empty bottle balanced on the river ledge! Add insult – Police turned their vehicle around specifically to pull George up with a siren squawk after we’d left and breathalysed him. The copper sounded most disbelieving when George said he’d had nothing to drink while Lea’s tongue itched to say stop wasting time with us get to the “Hot Springs”.
A flawless blue sky, parkland savannah dotted with the typical red ‘witch cap’ shaped termite homes and the shrill, ear drilling, steady call of cicadas remind us – it’s hot! We have rejoined the Savannah Way to continue westwards and even though the sun is rising at our backs, we keep our windows well down. Road works detour us close to a fence and we are surprised to see dried out bat carcasses hanging along the second and third rungs – a bad ‘flight line’ for these unfortunate creatures. More so, we had been told that by replacing the top strand with white plastic coated wire, bats would be saved from accidental entanglement.
Some 86kms from Katherine we turned off to the Flora River Nature Reserve coming across not a soul on that 46km stretch of dirt road. A pretty drive, with bright green foliage set against the red earthed road to an empty Lorrngorl Campground. We set ourselves up in the shade of a bauhinia tree. Bauhinias turned out to be a strong feature of this area – Aboriginals suck the nectar from the red flowers and a clear gum along the stems is eaten like toffee. Although well into spring there wasn’t a single blossom to be seen on the bauhinias making us wonder if the atypical season is the reason, as we thought back to midwinter across the Territory and the blaze of colours we’d come across.
George first visited Flora River Nature Reserve while doing a ground truthing exercise after mapping wetlands of the Daly River Basin from aerial photography and soil maps. This was the first time he had seen tufa dams and he had always been keen to return and show his wife. In the meantime, we had found them at Lawn Hill National Park in Queensland and even more spectacularly at the Cotton Castles of Pamukkale in Turkey. From our camp we could hear the roar of the Djarrung and Kathleen Falls, some 900 metres apart. As evening came we set off down to the river hoping it would be a little cooler. For the effort and perspiration the obstructed views of the tufa cascades came as somewhat of a disappointment after what we’ve seen of other tufa dams. A calcium carbonate suspension in the water creates a clear strangely hazy blue colour or emerald depending on the way light is absorbed. – this cool swirling liquid the same height as the bank, enclosed in dense riverine vegetation was incredibly inviting but unlike the swims we’d enjoyed at Lawn Hill – these waters were strictly off limits thanks to lurking Territory terrors -“salties”.
Tufa forms when calcium carbonate becomes solid and precipitates from the water onto rock bars, fallen trees and similar debris. Kathleen Falls were at least two metres high and will continue to grow as the process of deposition continues. We awoke to an overcast sky and not wanting to risk a muddy red road or the river crossing out we decided it was safer to leave. No sooner thought than the clouds moved on leaving a perfectly hot day thus we stayed put. On returning from a drive that took us some distance down river that evening with wallabies racing us or dicing with death, George laid a fire in readiness for our barbeque before we took ourselves off for a fine shower in the particularly good (and newly cleaned that morning) ablution block. Flush toilets and solar driven showers for camp fees of $6.60. In the midst of shedding the sweat of the day a distinctive tapping on the tin roof began, easily recognized as rain. Scantily clad bodies dashed about trying to protect our proposed cook-out. Thank goodness we “owned” the place. Although clouds swirled, lightening flashed and thunder rumbled far off throughout the night we actually had little more than drops on and off that didn’t affect our sausage sizzle at all.
Continuing along the Victoria Highway, a road that leads us through ever changing environments we arrived a couple of hours later at Sullivans Rest Area – a previous lunch stop that George remembered was set along a pleasant creek. What passes for a lunch stop may not be suitable for a night and this was the case- barely any shade and flies galore so we moved on.
The Victoria Roadhouse had a great setting and its sense of humour appealed to us, that we made camp there in good time for lunch.
Close by, flowed the Victoria River – proclaimed to be the largest waterway in the Northern Territory. It arises south of Wave Rock in the desert, flowing 800km to the Timor Sea. We’ll have to look into this and compare Rivers Daly and Victoria! A scorcher of a day, we remained in air-conditioned comfort within Getaway well into the evening before venturing out to walk and seek out the pleasures of this particular area. River level markers left us in awe of the heights Victoria River possibly reaches.
From the old bridge we were entranced by the last rays of sun on the red siltstone cliffs, reflections on the river
and two joeys honing their boxing skills down on the sand.
By the time we returned to the roadhouse we felt completely dehydrated and easily tempted by the ‘flashiest pub in the scrub”.
Boy! Did a chilled XXXX Gold go down well.
Bearing in mind that the first time we drove the Victoria Highway we were very agitated about our non working fridge – no one had been able to even look at it between Derby and Darwin. We recalled the road as a long, dry, hot journey that winter! Travelling east, the rising plateaus of Gregory National Park had appeared soft and well treed. Travelling west we found ourselves viewing impressive craggy escarpments one after another forming a splendid amphitheatre. We’re often asked “Haven’t you seen everything yet?” So too, we are perceived to be covering the same ground again. All we can say is first impressions give-way to richer detail each time we return...
Passing through Big Cattle country – with massive stations dating back to the 1800’s now run by multinational corporations, we certainly didn’t see sign of livestock. Never the less, It seemed fitting to stop at the Patsy Durrack memorial- as this patriarch from the past began his big family history up in the Top end; an Irish family that battled against formidable odds. Alongside his memorial was a Bronco Panel set up as a Tribute to the Past... ‘New technology’ that grew out of a need to make cattle branding, castrating or earmarking easier. We hit a rain belt 50kms from Timber Creek that required a regular swish of the wipers. That definitely put paid to the dirt road into Jasper Gorge and we decided instead, to do the Victoria River boat trip on reaching Timber Creek.
We’d missed the ‘boat’ by 11 days- season reopening next April! Far too long to wait and we continued to Big Horse Creek Campground! Lea looked forward to returning to this spot in the west section of Gregory National Park with its boab groves. Most surprisingly, George had no recall of the place – not even on arrival. No wonder we need to keep on going round Australia! Attached to the Honesty Box was a sign saying ‘No Payment required during the Wet Season”. Only $3.60 per adult, yet what a pleasure to see that kind of thinking, hats off to Gregory Nat. Park. We had the place to ourselves until late into the evening when a couple set up tent and even later, a motor-home drew in for the night. With Western Australia’s strict Quarantine Post looming Lea put together a mince hotchpotch to use up all our vegetables. Not the best choice on a hot night.
Escaping the heat of gas cooking we cooled off with sundowners outside with curious birds keeping us company - a whistling kite and a pair of corellas.
A short early morning stroll from our camp site took us to the boat ramp down on the mighty Victoria River.
Reluctantly we departed from another satisfying camping place with all the boabs just coming into flower. Shortly after, the land flattened out into the aptly named Whirlwind Plains. Despite the cross winds that arose to buffet us the countryside was remarkably green.
This is the hottest time of year to be in the Top End but it is certainly blissful to be travelling a road with so little traffic-
the odd road train zooms past and close to settlements we may see workmen plying their trade. Travellers are few and far between.
We finally pulled into Keep River National Park for the 18km dirt road to Gurrandalng (Brolga dreaming) Campground through a dreary, dry scrubland wondering why we were doing this. All was made clearer arriving at a pretty setting dominated by a weather sculpted cliff face and some sandstone piles eroded by the elements. Contrary to the designated sites we orientated ourselves to capture the breeze and keep the sun off the fridge since we were the only folk and there wasn’t much shade to be had amongst the spindly trees. Despite the heat, gusty winds maintained our sanity. Best- no flies, enabled us to leave our door wide open. As late afternoon arrived, George eager to get out and explore the sandstone area began badgering Lea to stop writing. Unable to cope with such fearsome sun, she refused to walk. Fortunately he held off another hour, AND just as well, as it was a magnificent 3km trail of scenery. How easily first impressions can come undone!
In a habitat of extreme seasonal change, we wandered through ancient sandstone formations and well worn honeycomb domes along a pathway formed from their ‘rubble’ and lined with prickly spinifex ‘cushions’ that imparted a nettle-like tingling should we touch up against them.
George clambers up a fine elongated sandstone formation.Once we reached the top of the rise we discovered a superb secret! Keep River National Park turned out to be in a transitional zone between wet tropics and semi-arid region.
This picturesque area made our day more than worthwhile with superb views in all directions.
We became more than curious to know what more The KRNP had up its sleeve.
Next day we decided to leave Getaway and travel further into Keep Nat. Park and take a look at the treeless (according to our Camp 3 book) Jarrnarm Campground. Not only did it turn out to have far nicer trees there was water on tap plus THREE different walking trails. Although it was only 8 in the morning we didn’t dare take these lengthy walks at the hottest time of the year. Instead we drove to the Keep River Gorge and took Jinumum walk, supposedly gentle and cooler for being in a gorge. HAW! Under the duress of a beating sun we were subjected to grasshoppers using our chests and necks as springboards or for transportation and green ants readily nipped us, should we accidently brush up against a bush as we walked an undulating and very rocky path. There was only one stagnant puddle to be seen down in the dry creek bed - use of the word ‘river’ seemingly inappropriate. Shortly after, a reminder of how easy it is to make a statement and risk being called a liar occurred. Hearing a strange rustle, Lea lifted her eyes from the intense duty of care required to each footstep, to see a snake slither over the rock ahead of her – she froze and insisted George lead the way... Only the day before as we neared the state borders, we had discussed how little we’d seen of reptiles during our travels across the Territory considering how much of it we had covered – one dead snake. No sign of any frilled lizards or goannas and as for cane toads, the culprits supposedly behind this, nothing either, bar an empty Toad Detention Centre. Now here was a snake and within hours, a goanna thankfully stopped at the side of the road to let us pass.
The lure of Kimberleyland Holiday Park with its lovely views over the sleeping Buddha rocky outcrop within Lake Kununurra had us decide against another night in Keep and we crossed over into Western Australia. After such an active start to our day we found ourselves quite thrown having to put our clocks back 90 minutes. With a ‘big clean’ required all round, we settled into one of our favourite parks, for the weekend.
After an evening stroll in Celebrity Park and back along the edge of Lake Kununurra, George captured this serene scene with sleeping Buddha in the background.
ANTS have been bothering us no end. We put it down to the heat and perhaps parking close to trees. However, this last week became too much with ants biting us as we sat or slept. Even congregating in large numbers in protest for the shakeup we have given them, after each lap of the journey. We checked through the cupboards and eventually found them under our seat. They had taken up residence within the insulating case around our hot water system- something rarely used! We had to resort to the ants obliterating themselves with liquid bait and stayed put for Monday to ensure we kill the blighters. Not complaining unduly, as our air-conditioning has been running since we arrived as temperature sits around 38- 39’C. At the supermarket we discovered ant baits that adhere in any position enabling us to set off better protected! These didn’t end our woes – midnight marauders, in the shape of large syrup coloured ants took over Lea’s nightly glass of water while minute black ants began appearing around our head board and biting us throughout the night...
Being a wetlands man, George was keen to visit the wetlands of Parry Lagoons Nature Reserve, listed as a “Wetlands of International importance” under the Ramsar Convention. For some forgotten reason we had omitted to visit the place en route for Wyndham in 2006. Thus a detour north was made through the rugged, dissected countryside and the special Kimberley feature the Boab or Bottle trees as they are sometimes called, growing in their generational and predominantly strange, sculptured clumps. You do spot the odd ones similar to Africa’s baobabs though, until we reached the endless expanse of wetlands comprising Parry Nature Reserve- which had Lea look askance at her husband. We based up for the heat of the day at Parry Creek Farm, a tourist resort and caravan Park serving folk to the Nature Reserve and the start of the Gibb River Road. Towards evening we set off for the bird hide stopping at the ruins of an historic 1914 wireless station, on top of Telegraph Hill, en route.
From the top of Telegraph Hill, wetlands stretched as far as the eye could see. In this pan we look towards the Cambridge Gulf, Wyndham and Five Rivers Lookout.
Marlgu Billabong, an Aboriginal name meaning wild birds, has been set up with a boardwalk and hide to assist visitors appreciate this important wetland area. Display boards of locally occurring water fowl helped Lea identify the large variety of feathered residents, while George enthused over all he could see of a wonderfully preserved wet landscape. All the more so considering that two million or more cattle, driven overland from pastoral leases right up to 1962, used to be rested and fattened right here en route to Wyndham meatworks. Then road trains replaced the last of the drovers. Returning to camp we stopped again on top of Telegraph Hill to watch distant lightning storms at locations across our panoramic vista.
Around two in the morning we were rudely awoken by a sudden and almighty jolt to our caravan followed by wildly flailing branches scratching across the roof as a wind storm of some 45 minutes duration arrived to knock us around, followed by a touch of rain. As dawn broke, our sleep was again disrupted by loud honking of magpie geese. We pondered why these birds, in their hundreds, chose to congregate near the homestead and amongst the mango trees instead of out on the plains. Taking a walk before breakfast we found them surprisingly nervous too. Perhaps they seek safe haven from Aboriginal hunters here! Perry Creek Farm had a wonderful walkway set high, linking private cabins nestled in tree-tops, overlooking a billabong – perfect for Twitchers! No-sooner had we reached the outskirts to the billabong than we found ourselves swotting away at mosquitoes, for someone who is rarely tormented by them – it was downright amusing to see George agitatedly dancing around as literally, handfuls of mossies clustered upon his arms, legs and neck. He insisted on beating a rapid retreat to the sanctity of Getaway. Laugh she may, his war wounds from the attack were staggering while she was relatively unscathed for a change. No wonder the cabin balconies were all encased in gauze!
We covered 200kms that day to put us well on route again and stopped at Spring Creek, the very rest area we had used to abandon Getaway back in 2006 while we took the rough road opposite, into the Bungle Bungles for two nights. We barely recognised the place in its empty state and chose the ‘top spot’ down by the dry river for ourselves. As evening fell we were joined by a camping family with two tiny daughters- who were delightful to watch especially when the birds began their raucous calls at nightfall and day-break. A glorious night followed, with the moonlight illuminating the white trunks of trees and during our sleeping hours a gentle rain cooled the air down, just a little. A fine black breasted buzzard flew low in front of Skiv in farewell, which in turn led us to remark on the benefits of our nomadic life, bringing as it does endless variations to each day.
Not far away was Leycester’s Rest just south of the Ord River. We had spent a night here last time round and as Spring Creek had looked so different without all the caravans we popped into Leycester’s Rest to see what we could recall without its equally busy contingent of campers. Nothing! However, we were touched by the story behind the name of this normally very popular rest area. A signboard with photo relates that Leycester had been a 13 year old boy from Halls Creek, home for the holidays from Hale School when he was killed in a single car accident at this place. A cairn and cross marked the spot. His ambition had been to play cricket for Australia and at his untimely death, an Australian cricketer gave his vest, worn at Lords, for Leycester’s burial. Below the story we added a 5cent piece to those scattered on the rock. Sweetly, this young lad had the habit of keeping an eye out for these in the park near school and his school bag was found to be littered with five cent coins hence when one turns up, his family believe this is Leycester’s way of popping up to say hello. George too, has an uncanny ability to spot lost money and golf balls so we added ours as a token of goodwill to Leycester’s spirit.
Halls Creek was our next port of call where we were keen to go and see China Wall. George popped into the Visitor Centre for directions and found himself being persuaded to take up a site in the town’s caravan park and make a day out, seeing all Halls Creek’s attractions along the unsealed Duncan road. We followed instructions to a Tee – well almost! Leaving Getaway to chill beautifully, we packed a picnic lunch, plenty of water and our ‘swimmers’ to bravely venture out during peak heat hours, to explore. Though its namesake stood as a land divider, this China Wall is a sub-vertical quartz vein protruding up to 6metres from the surrounding surface. Its length is supposedly a mystery although visible from here to the Bungle bungles.
We missed a sign thus didn’t actually do the sights in order along the twisty and quintessential rough Australian road with plenty of river crossings before drawing up at Palm Springs – an oasis, complete with palm trees, bird life and a lofty rock above the main, spring fed pool. Any thought of swimming was promptly rejected on grounds of muddy discolouration. As we drove up the steep hill beside the pool, Lea stared down upon its grubby waters when, to her disbelief and horror, the head of a crocodile rose to the surface in the centre.
Arriving at Sawtooth Gorge, we walked down to find a suitable picnic spot. Close to the first pool, Lea crouched, using her hands to balance herself and scalded them unexpectedly on the river pebbles that she promptly toppled onto her rear end and couldn’t get up. George, taking photos, took his time to come over and pull his wife back on her feet despite desperate shrieks for help. Those cheeks suffered severe burning! Penitently George went to fetch our cold bag and returned with Skiv, in 4 wheel drive, to ensure all comforts were to hand. George took a dip in the tranquil pool we overlooked but its murky waters didn’t have the same appeal as Territory water holes for Lea to consider even paddling. On the return journey, we quietly stopped to peer down on Palm Springs in the hopes of seeing the croc again- instead we found ourselves on arbour level with a colony of fruit bats grousing at our intrusion. We also stopped at old Halls Creek, the original town site and first gold discovery in Western Australia in 1885. The remnants of the old mud Post Office still stand – its bricks formed from spinifex mixed with crushed ant mounds soil. To better preserve this ruin, a roof and a fence were constructed in 2002. On perhaps the original and somewhat abused town Information Board, behind a shattered piece of Perspex, a newspaper article dated 1917 contained the fascinating account of the Post Master having to perform emergency surgery using a penknife and razor under instruction from a doctor, directing from a distant wireless station. His unfortunate patient tied down to the wooden counter.
The final attraction, closest to both ancient and modern Halls Creek was the very popular Caroline Pool, once the main recreational spot for the folk of the pioneering era with a refreshing natural waterhole. Our Information man told George it was ideal for wet season swimming but in the dry it becomes a pleasant picnic spot with a series of small water holes, shady trees and wide pebbly banks. We were caught between seasons and found the pool littered with beer cans, rotting flood debris and water that required a good flush. Even the fair sized goanna swimming across the pool seemed to think so! It was good to return our cool home and catch up on the world with a couple of TV stations.
We have to repeat ourselves and say how marvellous it is to be living on the road when we came across Mary Pool (Mary River) Rest Area. Being well hidden and off the road, we’d missed it in 2006. Thankfully, verbal recommendation in the course of camp exchanges- had us look out for it this time round. Coming across the causeway, below which is the pool that gives the rest area its name, we entered a large and beautifully treed campground backing onto the Mary River. Obviously popular whatever the season, with another caravan, a tent and a group of vehicles present. We settled well away from them overlooking the river, with large shady trees full of noisy corellas griping away. During the afternoon the air was suddenly rent with music from the far group! George’s eyes expressed total shock and disgust – it doesn’t matter where you live there is a likelihood of something upsetting your equilibrium! We could only hope this wasn’t to be a forerunner to a night of hoons. Yay! It was short lived. Travellers came and went and by nightfall – nature’s orchestra struck up in full as moonlight flooded the campground. We dined outside - it was so perfect.
Next morning we couldn’t help smiling when we were awoken by lowing cattle around our caravan
and thousands of shrieking corellas overhead – No ways could we drag ourselves from this setting, quite so soon.
The next evening we came across a Corella that kept losing its balance and even more surprising George was able to catch it, although he was given a painful bite for his concern. We could see nothing wrong with wings or feet and yet the bird made no attempt to fly- very odd!
Fitzroy Crossing required a fuel stop and we rather fancied staying at the caravan park where our ‘novice carelessness’ had set Getaway on the loose, almost wiping Lea out and tearing the electric cable apart, in those early days of caravanning. We didn’t recognise the place nor did it look as inviting as we recalled – much modification had taken place. We back tracked to the Fitzroy River Lodge, an upmarket looking resort and found it was perfect for a night. The 41’c sun beat down relentlessly forcing us to take sanctuary in the swimming pool for the afternoon. Understandably, every building has either been built on stilts or placed up on a large mound- even the swimming pool, due to the regularity and height of the river’s flood waters!
Fitzroy Crossing required a fuel stop and we rather fancied staying at the caravan park where our ‘novice carelessness’ had set Getaway on the loose, almost wiping Lea out and tearing the electric cable apart, in those early days of caravanning. We didn’t recognise the place nor did it look as inviting as we recalled – much modification had taken place. We back tracked to the Fitzroy River Lodge, an upmarket looking resort and found it was perfect for a night. The 41’c sun beat down relentlessly forcing us to take sanctuary in the swimming pool for the afternoon. Understandably, every building has either been built on stilts or placed up on a large mound- even the swimming pool, due to the regularity and height of the river’s flood waters!
With many miles to cover before reaching our next word of mouth bush site, supposedly just after the Willare Bridge, we were on the road early. The track proved elusive and nothing else was to measure up that before we knew six hours on the road had brought us to Broome.
Cable Beach Caravan Park, with its 450 sites, large shady trees and wonderful pool was pretty empty and we gleefully signed in for a week. Walking the renowned Cable Beach each evening; swimming/wallowing in the pool whenever our bodies became a humidity mess – we decided we must be on holiday! One morning we drove north, up the Manari road to Prices Point, prominently in the news due to a highly controversial location for a proposed Gas Project. We were keen to see the area and gain an understanding of what the fuss was all about. Remote and as yet untouched despite being 60kms from Broome, we travelled along the sandy road, excavated below surrounding ground level until we broke out onto a coastline of red cliffs eroded by masses of gullies bleeding down onto pale pink beaches washed by an azure blue sea.
The pindan cliffs and one of many signs protesting against development at Prices Point
Back some 14kms, we called in at Quondong Point, to check out the bush camp listed in our Camp 3 bible and found it much the same as Prices Point, with a lone caravan perched on one of the many promontories – wild and special and a place we’d like to come back to one day, if it’s still there! Finally we popped into Willie Creek and the Pearl Farm – not that we went into the showroom, simply enjoyed the surrounds. Broome has a delightful atmosphere and low season is definitely the time to be here!
Just outside Broome the famed “Barefoot Bushman” and original crocodile hunter (before the late Steve Irvin rose to top position with his exuberant popularity) lived until his recent and untimely death on the 23 September 2010. Yet another loss of an Australian wildlife character, adventurer and conservationist in a freak accident. Malcolm Douglas was sadly found dead after he reportedly, started his land-cruiser from outside and it lurched forward, crushing him against a tree, while doing an early morning check of his animals. We find it hard to understand quite how that happened but ‘life is stranger than fiction’. Although Malcolm wasn’t given to the extravaganza of his counterpart he never the less had a strong following, as he documented his adventures of over 40 years across the outback beginning with his first success on TV – “Across the Top” in 1976. He opened a Crocodile Park just off Cable Beach in the 1980’s before establishing his Wilderness Wildlife Park – 10kms outside Broome, specifically as a breeding program for endangered Australian nocturnal animals. We have been particularly interested in his dingo work- a dingo hunter in his youth he was over time, to become the saviour of pure-breds.
A fine entrance way to the world of the late Malcolm Douglas - We weren’t to see any crocs,
although signs on each croc pen, unwittingly seem to reflect as a criminal sentence much to our amusement.
We arrived promptly on opening time, to ensure we didn’t suffer unduly from the heat and found ourselves disappointed by the confined enclosures particularly for the dingoes, cassowary and a lone Big Red kangaroo. Almost all the animals appeared to be suffering from heat, long before the day was done which didn’t improve our impressions of the place, even given that the Park is grieving and probably in a state of flux.
Closing a glorious week in Broome and the month of November on Cable Beach at sunset with the camels in red.
