Nature at its best

After all the waiting and sitting from the previous day, most of us felt raring to go, but also out of our usual active routine of walking and hiking through the gorges. We were in for a treat as we began our walk to Manning gorge, which began with a swim across a small lake to reach the start of the trail on the other side. It involved numerous crossings with a plastic box and our shoes, clothes and cameras bobbing precariously above water level. It was a refreshing start to our walk, which usually didn’t ‘reward’ you with a swim until you had climbed down into the gorges themselves.

From desert rubble and uneven rockery, we walked on and then down to much wider rocky plateau’s and followed them around the river to the deeper water of the gorge itself. It was here that a select few climbed up the side of the rock face across from where we sat, and jumped the 50 feet down into the water. It was nerve-wracking enough for the observer to watch their slow ascent to the top, the time of hesitation, quickly and silently fall into the water followed by the delayed noise of the plunge, and then that slight panic as you scanned the water hoping to see them resurface!

Following a drive to Mount Barnett, we stopped at a waterhole (Galvans Gorge) for a dip in the waters, or if you were feeling more energetic, could swing from a rope that had been hung from a branch of a tree on the banks. You would, however, have to share the precarious walk to the edge of the branch with another inhabitant, a monitor lizard. He seemed perfectly settled there, and was certainly not going to budge for a bunch of strange two-legged creatures.

It was another haven of complete nature, and also the spotting of the first snake I’ve seen in the Australian outback. A sizeable specimen we later discovered was a Northern Territory bandit snake, was nestled in one of the rock crevaces. We all gazed up with intense fascination intermingled with just that little bit of fear, wondering if it was going to move at all, and at the same time hoping it wouldn’t…

From the waterhole we travelled on to our camp site for that night, Silent Grove. The evening started with some scary drama, when it turned out a couple had been separated while walking in bell gorge close by, and the wife had returned to the camp site distressed at having lost sight of her husband, and no sign after 4 hours. The police had been called, and the ranger, but being in a fairly distant area, help was not as speedily at hand. Thankfully it was a false alarm, and the husband, completely unaware of the frenzy that had been called up at his expense, ambles into the camp and asks whether people had been looking for him!

That evening, everything in the vicinity was wide awake and completely alive. The wildlife could tell the rain was a-coming, and were singing their hearts out. The most adamant of them all were the frogs, who maintained an ongoing throaty undertone late into the night. The fruit bats were attacking the mangos in the trees, and the bush rats were munching food scraps beside our camp. The craziness was in the air, and it was incredible. If any of you have read the stories in the second jungle book, you may remember one in which the jungle, slowly but surely, takes over a community, which eventually ´lets the jungle in´. Nature is a powerful force, and I was reminded not to forget it! (especially with the ribbet chorus on repeat until the early hours of the morning)

The rain did come, but only in the form of a few huge wet splatters. After months of heat and dry though, perhaps even a drop or too is enough to get excited about!

Day 8, and our final gorge swim for a good while. We walked down into Bell gorge, and enjoyed the waters for as long as we could. The most amusement was actually the effort involved at crawling, squirming and/or very ungracefully heaving yourself out of the water via the slippery rocks along the edge. It was almost impossible not to laugh at how ridiculous you must look sprawled and sliding all over the place, but the slightest giggle also meant you would slide right back into the water all over again. those sitting on the rocks enjoyed taking ungainly shots with their cameras.

A few hours later, and the fresh water of Bell gorge seemed something of a faint memory, as I found myself donning a head torch and standing in some truly foul-smelling water,  Inside Tunnel Creek. It was very much a case of mind over matter as we waded through the entrance trying very hard not to think of what we may have been stepping on, or what could have died in the meantime in the dark and murky water.

With the light on my headtorch dying a slow and painful death, I kept as close as I could behind the others in front, and walked through the tunnel, in and out of streams of water and onto sandy areas. Inside the tunnel itself was not a huge amount to see, and as I was barefoot, the jagged edges of the rocks meant I wasn’t too keen to stand around in the same place for too long. Nonetheless, it was wonderful to see the sunlit outside world get closer as we reached the mouth of the tunnel at the other side. You had to be a little prepared when entering the light, however, as bats hung in mass clumps both in the inside of the cave and from trees outdoors, not to mention taking flight spontaneously from one to the other!

The Aboriginal Bunuba people who inhabit these areas have an extensive knowledge of the tunnel, the oldest cave system in Western Australia, and on the other side we were able to see paintings on the rock from the community, displayed in their male and female areas respectively.

This cave, and the entire area of Wanjana gorge is particularly famous through the outlaw and/or warrior tale of Jandamarra, who used Tunnel Creek as a hideout for literally years before meeting his demise in a spectacular gorge stakeout and spear vs gun battle. After hearing some of the story from our guide, I was surprised his story hasn’t been made into a feature length film – it certainly has all the qualities and resonances of a very good story!

http://www.iearn.org.au/fp/art/heroes/jand.htm

We walked through Six Mile Creek the next day where the final shoot out took place, and tried to imagine the ensuing mayhem. No flying spears or gun shots rang in that place, just some ‘salties’ lazily banked on the side or settled in the water.