Broome to the border

Travelling east from Broome, we made tracks for Fitzroy Crossing along the Savannah Way. Another place made famous in song and legend, and home to the Geiki Gorge (Darngu is the aboriginal name). We spent two nights in a park on the banks of the mighty Fitzroy River and used up half a day taking a boat trip up the gorge with a guide from National Parks. Here we sighted our first freshwater crocs (Johnston River Crocodile) in the wild.

Freshies catching some rays

Geiki Gorge Fitzroy River

The Fitzroy during the dry is a gentle flowing stream.
In the wet this river swells up this bank and across to the far shore.
In one hour as much water courses between these banks as fills the Sydney Harbour.

Mike will follow up with some interesting anecdotes on our stay at the Crossing Inn, in one of his unique pub entries in an upcoming blog.

From the Crossing we drove through Hall's Creek, stopping for a coffee and a look around before reaching a farm stay in a park situated on the Mabel Cattle Station, a few ks outside of the Purnululu National Park and the awesome Bungle Bungle Range. We took a 4WD day trip into the NP and drove along and within the Range. It just happened to be my birthday which was pretty special and a birthday I won't forget. We did the southern Cathedral Gorge walk which took us through striped domes, towering cliffs and honeycomb rocks that lead to an amphitheatre. Then we drove to the north of the range to narrow and rocky Echidna Chasm walk. All in all a great day, but we were a bit foot sore by the end of it.

The track to Cathedral Gorge



Cathedral Gorge

The Cathedral.

Echidna Chasm.

Echidna Chasm - a tiny Mike!

The cool upper reaches of the Echidna Chasm.

We continued east towards Kununurra, driving through some great countryside, with many ranges in the distance and to our left and right. Kununurra lies only about 36 or so km from the border with NT. We stayed there for four nights in a great park in the Hidden Valley, surrounded by large, red, rocky hills. We caught up on washing, cleaning, blogging and reading (and a bit of sleeping in too). It was great just to relax and do nothing much around camp for a few days.

From there we visited the Ord River Dam and Lake Argyle, famous for its diamond mine. My uncle Barry Gale was the resident engineer on the Ord River Dam when it was first built, so I had to go and check it out.

The wall my uncle built!

You can't see it very well, but Uncle Barry's name is at the bottom on the right.



A few kms into the Territory, we turned south to an operating zebra stone mine, which had camping facilities and operated tours on the upper reaches of Lake Argyle through some very beautiful wetlands accessed through a cattle station on private land. These tours have only been going for a short while, and it was amazing to go to a place that very few have seen. It was pretty special.

Upper reaches of Lake Argyle - NT  side.

Lots of fresh water crocs in the Lake.

My first Jabaru in the wild.

As the sun begins to set we wend our way out of the wetlands. 

A divine sunset ends a magical afternoon on the Lake. Now home for dinner.



Mike and I have loved our time spent in the Kimberley. I will never forget the landscape as we drove through it in its dry season. The colours of the wattles, grevilleas and other flowering trees and shrubs abloom in bright yellows, oranges and reds, the washed out yellow of the dry grass, and patches of green where systematic burning of spinifex and savannah grasses makes way for new growth for cattle feed. The smell of smoke pervades the landscape right across the Kimberley.

Here is a taste of the Kimberley in song by the Pigram Brothers from Broome.

And what can be said about the boabs that line the highway and evoke images of wizened crones and aged wizards, always watching the way - keeping an eye on us people relentlessly coming and going from year to year. I found them enchanting.

They say that this tree is over 2000 years old.


Be careful young lad!

Goodbye WA. NT here we come!!

Victoria River! Matter of fact I've got here now!

While on the road through the Pilbara and the Kimberley we jotted down the odd poem. We haven't had much time to refine them, but we thought we'd pop them in anyway.

PILBARA/KIMBERLEY POEMS

Alana:


Arm's Length

So many miles as the crow flies
much further than the arm's length
the distance yawning wider
than my grief would wish

You over there in a sphere
too small to cross by borders
me over here, in a place unfamiliar
changed by time and wisdom

Our history laid down in tenderness
set and shaped by happenstance
still bound by a stronger cord
stretching way beyond this passing sorrow

Haiku (with apologies to the masters)

Bloated bovine corpse
Big yellow signs warn of strays
pity cows can't read


From West Kimberley
Along the Savannah Way
Boab, she watches

Bungle Bungle hike
On the day that I was born
Was it a mistake?

Roadside sentinels
Over ancient Pilbara tracks
Eagles on their watch

Mike:

Stopping at rail line
The two speed economy
Ore cars are endless

Capricornia, camels and (getting) crabs.

We crossed the imaginary line 23 degrees 2' 16" south of the equator, the tropic of Capricorn: the dividing line between the southern temperate zone to the south and the tropics to the north.



Driving through the red dirt of the Pilbara, the temperature began to creep up during the day but remained cool at night, perfect for sleeping.

Pilbara red dirt.

Stark beauty.

The dry season in the Pilbara was evident in the many wide, sandy, dry river beds we crossed as we pushed our way toward Broome - town of legends and rich with history.

One of the many dry river beds we crossed.

We spent two nights at a spot between Port Hedland and Broome called Eighty Mile Beach. A great caravan part nestled behind the dunes and bustling with school holiday makers. Kids riding their bikes around the park and over-heard conversations between grey nomads on tips for fishing or how to fix this thing or another - these greeted us as we opted for an unpowered site and settled in. The park was located on a point somewhere along an eighty mile stretch of wide, white sand, and a beach graced with beautiful and unusual shells, and sunsets that drew the campers onto the beach for happy hour.

Sunset at Eighty Mile Beach.



Eighty Mile Beach.

We came into Broome hoping for a site in a park at Cable Beach. Everyone we had spoken to said all the parks were booked full for the school holidays, and that the most we could hope for was an overflow park at the PCYC or the pistol club. But we decided to front up and try our luck. Sometimes having a motor camper is in our favour, as we can fit into smaller sites. The Cable Beach gods shone on us and we managed six nights. It was a short walk to the beach, pub on one corner and a coffee shop on the other. We couldn't believe our luck.

By now the days were reaching 30 degrees and higher, and that Beach made famous in song and story became our preferred destination each day. I'd often leave Mike still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in the mornings while I ventured onto the rock pools at low tide; the beach already littered with joggers and dog walkers, and families getting some sun on their white bodies before it got too hot. I caught the early morning camel safari as it made its way along the beach. During the day we took our towels, drink bottles and boogie board (Mike calls it his shark biscuit) and spent some lovely time in the water and on the beach. And then just before sunset we made our way to Zanders cafe on the cliff overlooking Cable Beach; we spread our picnic rug on the grass, poured a shandy for me, a beer for Mike and some chicken salad to nibble, while all around us French, German, Irish and Pommy accents mingled with other nomads of various persuasions to watch the sun go down over the Indian Ocean for another day.



Cable Beach sunset.

View of Cable Beach from the Cliff.

Rock pools at sunset.

Camel safari.

Crusty old lead camel.

July on Cable Beach.

Cable Beach shells.

Broome town was chockas with tourists, this being the busiest time of year. But instead of bemoaning this state of affairs, Mike and I entered fully into the holiday vibe of the town and mixed it up with all and sundry as we wore our thongs thin on the retail strip pavements of Chinatown and eyed the South Sea Island pearls gracing many a shop window and side-walk stall. We visited the Sun Picture theatre, the world's oldest operating open-air picture gardens.

Sun Picture theatre.

Taking some therapeutic moments out of our retail therapy in town.



We found an Egyptian kebab joint that made the best kebab wraps, and I quietly forgot my gluten free diet so I could salivate alongside Mike and enter into the spirit of the kebab.

Saturday morning found us rubbling shoulders with the holiday mob again as we wandered around the market in the courthouse grounds (remember the series 'The Circuit' with Gary Sweet - it was set here in and around Broome).

I have fallen in love with the boab trees. They are so quirky and have such character.

Boab in the courthouse grounds.

After leaving the park at Cable Beach, we re-located to the PCYC (police and citizens youth club) to spend our few remaining days relaxing, reading and preparing for our exit, when we leave the Indian Ocean (forever? Who knows) and head east toward Fitzroy Crossing, Kununurra and toward the NT.

One last adventure we took before leaving Broome was a four wheel drive trip up the Dampier Peninsula to Cape Le Veque.

AFTER MY SCABIES EPISODE I'M GLAD TO SAY THAT I DIDN'T CATCH ANY CRABS!

The photo above was taken pretty much at the end of our day trip to Cape Le Veque, which started at 6.45am when Adam from Chomley's Tours picked Alana and myself up in a Toyota Troopie that was probably on its last trip before being pensioned off to the old Troopie home (or the scrap yard).

After picking up some more people we made our way out of town up towards the Cape. Leaving the bitumen behind we drove on red pindan sand, it was a dusty rutted road which we drove on for 2 hours or so. Alana and I were sitting right over the rear wheel and as such  we were feeling every bump and constantly bumping and pushing our arm and elbow against each other just like a full forward and full back waiting for that high ball to come on down from the sky.

Adam our fearless, young, confident driver pointed out some red tailed cockatoos on our left and proceeded to take the Troopie in off the dusty red road to a track (barely a track!) that ran along side. As we came to a stop the cockies flew off laughing and screeching all the way at our expense as we ended up being bogged. The three grey nomad guys sprang into action with advice on how to get the Troopie out and how they wouldn't have come in or what gear he should have used. Adam the driver took all this in his stride and wasn't fazed in the slightest about all that older experience and wisdom coming his way. After a bit of digging and pushing and a little walking we were all back in the Troopie and on our way.

Cockies, waiting to hit and run.

The first official stop was at Beagle Bay Aboriginal Community. We saw this amazing old church famous for its alter made from and decorated with shells.

Now Alana! don't you be getting any ideas about decorating the house when we get back home with all those bloody shells you have been collecting!.

" To the Lord that praises be, it's time for dinner now let's go eat!"



After that we continued on our way down to East Beach, passing another Aboriginal community called Lombardina. This place also had a church that was quite special in its own way. It looked like a big square colonial verandahed building with a high pitched corrugated tin roof. On the inside the roof ceiling was lined with stripped bark and the trusses looked like they were made from axed branches coming off the surrounding trees. There were no windows on the side of the church just open frames for windows allowing for a refreshing breeze to keep the congregation cool and calm. All in all the community at Lombardina looked very tidy.

Hows the roof line!

Soon enough our little expedition found its way down to East Beach past some really special camping spots on the beach bluff. We all stripped off and cooled down in the refreshing waters of East Beach. Adam was preparing lunch under the canopy of the 4 wheel drive's trailer, which to our fellow grey nomie men's minds was parked a little too much in a precarious position. Alana went and, you guessed it, fossicked for more shells while I mused on the splendid serenity of my immediate surroundings. Actually that's a lie! I've been reading this 1000 page novel, and I just couldn't put it down.

Where do you want to sit.

Hey Adam, do you have a contigiousy plan.

After we had lunch, we packed up, getting ready for our next leg of the day. We got bogged again. So with some unhitching, some pushing, some digging, we got going again back up the beach. We came to a bit of a sweeping incline, Adam went to slow down and change gears, the grey nomie men collectively groaned and said, "don't slow down" yep, we got bogged again.

After passing an army camp, an air strip, we came to our turn off for Mudnunn, a perfect name really for a place to catch mud crabs. When we arrived we meet our man sitting there nonchalantly, waiting for us. His name was Vincent Angus and a more expert mud crabber you could not hope to find.

It was about 4.00pm and the tide hadn't completely ebbed out to sea. So armed with our steel wire hooked poles we waded out into the out going tide that at places was still up to your knees. Looking back over my shoulder after 20 minutes you could see almost all the water drained out to the sea leaving nothing but the bare carpet of sand. We started looking for crabs in earnest as we neared the other side of the mud flats close to the mangrove edge. A few crabs were being caught, Alana caught one but had to let it go on account of its size. None of us were catching too many so it's as if Vince called in the Calvary and his grandson and nephews came bounding  in across the mud flats laughing and carrying on to help us get some more crabs.

I didn't care so much about not catching any crabs but enjoyed immensely the calmness and stillness of nature doing its thing. I found the experience of trawling through the mud flats and watching the sun sinking into the horizon very meditative.

Back to where the Troopie was parked a fire was being prepared to cook the crabs. We all stood around the fire watching the sun go down feeling pretty good and in awe of our surroundings. One of the guys that came on the tour with us said "Did anyone think about crocodiles while we were out there near the mangroves?" I said "No, and I'm glad I didn't" then he said "Vince, any crocs around here?" to which Vince replied very casually, "Crocs! oh yeah, they're around here."

The crabs were cooked and we all hooked in for a feed, feeling really satisfied with our day.

After good byes to Vince and his boys we headed back, this time Alana sat on the back seat away from being over the rear wheel and I settled in with the help of a head lamp to getting stuck back into that 1000 page novel that I couldn't put down, bumping along like a marionette as we drove back down that pindan sandy rutted road to Broome. Alana and I got dropped off at 9.30pm, an end to a grand day.

Vincent and his boys.