10 April 2013 - Walardi Camp, Purnululu National Park, East Kimberleys, Western Australia

We did go for a little wander about the camp yesterday evening before night fell. Our path was obstructed by a very large bull who looked like he were better not challenged. Returning we disturbed a large flock of green budgerigars before encountering the camp manager watching the helicopter returning to camp.

From Letitia, a lady of stout build and obvious business acumen, we learned that she and two others were in their third year of developing this camp and related tour business here on Mabel Downs. The station  covers about 1.2 million hectares, now incorporating the stations of Alice Downs and Springvale, stretching from south of Warmun to just north of Hall Creek. We left her, in admiration of their entrepreneurial talents and appreciating her quiet honesty, rather than our initial impression. Just another instance of why first impressions can frequently be so wrong.

We were up and ready early, parked the caravan across the other side of the camp and headed off on our adventure into the Purnululu National Park. The road from the camp through to the Visitor Centre in the National Park crosses the Maud Downs Station. The fifty three kilometres of rough road is currently under repair; a large grader clearing the vegetation that has sprouted during the wet and moving trees and rocks that have landed on the road driven by flood or other inclement weather. Most of the creeks are now dry although the entries and exits remain steep and require attention; only seven of the forty three fords still held water today. We passed herds of brahmam cattle early on in the piece however as we passed on through the hills and ranges, all very beautiful, there were only the circling hawks and green budgies, the latter rising in front of us in great flocks. Open woodland of eucalypts such as silver box and desert bloodwood cover an understorey of grass.

As we neared the park, we could see smoke rising to the south and soon we could see the controlled grass fire over several hills. We stopped and I alighted to take a photo. The crackling of the flames was quite unnerving and as I stood there with my camera, I considered the idiocy of what I was doing.

After an hour and three quarters, we arrived at the Visitors Centre, encountering the rangers we had met up with in Kunumurra. They took our $32 for the two nights camping and gave us excellent advice as to how to structure our time in the park. Chris said he thought one night would do it, I insisted we would need two to really make the most of the walks available, all of which were open now even though the northern camp was still closed. Unexpectedly we were told that we could have a refund if we decided to stay only one night and of course could pay the extra if we did stay longer.

It was only 11 am when we arrived at the carpark for the Echidna Chasm walk, twenty kilometres north of the Centre. The road out to this was just brilliant particularly after having covered that across the station. We walked up to the Osmond Lookout first from where we enjoyed views of the range of that name. Tucked deep in the range’s gorges are the most southerly pockets of monsoon rainforest in the Kimberley.

From here we walked up the two kilometres to the Echidna Chasm, a 180 metre deep chasm, cut knife-like into the sandstone. The first part of the track is over a very stoney river bed and out in the hot sun, quite gruelling in the middle of the day, however we had been advised that this was actually the best time of the day to do it. As soon as we were within the narrow walls of the chasm, the overhead sun shone down on the walls of varying hues. I tried to capture the wonder of it all on camera but the brightness of the light made most of my photos seem like those into the headlights of a vehicle at night, if you know what I mean.

Returning to the car park we were disappointed to note that the shade sails over the picnic area were still missing. This was, after all, still the first few days of park opening and one had the feeling of being part of the work in progress. We decided we would drive up to the carpark of the next walk on our agenda; perhaps there would be a shady spot to lunch there? Alas no, the northern areas of the park were obviously taking the back seat to those in the south, and this was later made clear to us. We ate our lunch sitting in the shade of the landcruiser interior.

The Mini Palms walk, signed with a temporary sign as “Mini Plams” which is probably quite confusing to the mainly German visitors to the park, is certainly one of the best we have done in our time in Australia.

The walk is five kilometres return and is promoted as being moderately challenging because of some steep slopes and negotiating of large rocks. It starts as a gentle wander through a gap in towering red rocks then turns up a creek bed, but this one much easier than the Echidna. Then comes the hard bit which we later learned has given rise to the local name for the walk; the Jenny Craig walk. There are huge fallen rocks of sandstone and conglomerate barricading the entry to a narrow gorge. In two places one is required to squeeze through gaps between these rocks and we just managed to do this. Chris had to take the backpack off and pass it through while sucking his extremities in and passing safely through. Anyone more portly than us would not have a show in hell, and quite frankly, most people of our age from this part of the world, generally are. And if they are not, they may well have niggly hips or knees and they too will make other parts of the walk less than comfortable. Which is very sad or to change the spin, all the better for us; that we should be of that small elite group of people who get to the end of this amazing walk. One reaches an ampitheatre filled with palms and light, all quite breath taking but then there is more! Beyond this, after negotiating some rather smart new steel stairways, one arrives high above a secret ballroom. Below on the otherwise bare floor stand a few palms. One feels like a complete interloper in this almost sacred place.

We had been a little disappointed that we had seen nothing of the banded beehive-like domes the Bungle Bungles are renowned for, but then we were in the northern region of the Bungle Bungle range and here there are different wonders to behold.

Returning to the car, we headed south, back to the turn off to the Visitors Centre, then over twelve kilometres of rougher road including one ford, south to Walardi camp. We had been allocated a camp site  and soon joined the dozen or so other camping parties in the quiet end of the camp, where no generators are allowed. Most were Germans travelling in 4WD hired campers making us feel like their poor relations.

Bearing in mind that it is about eighteen months since we gave the tent an airing, we were rather green and slow to set up. I did have the edge on Chris because at Christmas I had supervised or rather, erected my grandson’s new tent, impressing his sister, his mother and him, but they would not have been impressed with our efforts this afternoon.

In the process of setting up camp, Chris broke the water jerry can, not the new one but the reserve which should have been replaced as well. The rangers at the Visitors Centre had expressed concern that we were only carrying forty litres of water, now we had somewhat less. We rushed around in an attempt to rescue some of the liquid in an array of dishes and containers, none of them adaquate for the job.

The next little joy was the discovery that the margarine I had decanted into a Tupperware container was now a greasy liquid leaking into the eski and anywhere else it could. I wondered what we were doing here playing at camping under canvas.

Under canvas; least favoured

Chris started cooking at 5 pm but even then it was almost pitch black by the time we were washing up. We changed into long pants, sprayed the entire can of repellent onto any remaining exposed skin, donned our green mosquito head nets and sat watching the bugs crawl over and into the lamp. Chris said it was much like watching goldfish in a bowl, which set us off into fits of laughter.

Eventually we headed for bed as most of our fellow campers had done, not much after 8 pm. The air mattress did seem it would hold for the night.