There is an urge you get…

To throw the swag in the trailer and head North. Leaving the dismal winter behind, seeking blue, warm skies, wide-open country and big red sunsets. 
Red pindan, blue skies, tranquil days. The birds sing in the still air of dawn and dusk and the magic of the Kimberley seeps into your blood, your bones and your spirit…

Five Grumpy old men loaded their trailers and set off for the long drive from Perth. North through a thousand kilometres of rain and winter cold. Would the swags on the roof get wet inside? They pushed on regardless. North of Newman, there was still uncharacteristic rain as they pushed on through the night. By midnight they arrived at Munjina Roadhouse and as the light drizzle continued they elected to spend an uncomfortable night snatching an awkward sleep sitting in their cars.

Tossing and turning, their cramped sleep ended with the pre-dawn light. Breakfast in the Roadhouse cheered grumpy spirits and they resumed their northerly journey.  That afternoon they motored into Roebuck near Broome. Patches of blue had appeared in the sky and jumpers were shed. A spectacular sunset promised that the Kimberly warmth was soon to be enjoyed.

They pushed on, laughing at each other over the UHF radios and arguing over what speed was best. The debate was between best fuel consumption verses swiftest travelling time. Sometime after midnight they found an isolated truck bay a hundred kilometers past Fitzroy. The joy of a proper sleep laying out fully was anticipated by all. Swags were laid on the ground, a cold beer enjoyed and by 1:00 am the Grumpy Old Men were snoring peacefully in their swags.

At 5:30 am a rather noisy dawn chorus from an isolated and strangely annoying bird roused them from their slumbers.

A hundred and fifty kilometers on they enjoyed breakfast at Halls Creek. Grumpy Kevin was in his worst form by this stage. Two days of solid driving had worn his middle aged patience somewhat thin. His aching joints and lack of proper sleep  had eroded Kevin’s usually chirpy character into his alter ego –Kevin the Grumpy Old Man. Steve, his travelling companion exchanged a worried grin with his travelling companions in the other vehicle. Stomachs and fuel tanks were topped up and with Kevin looking a touch surly they pushed on towards Purnululu.

A bumpy, slow two hour trip peppered with thirty wash-outs and one wide creek to ford saw them roll into a warm and sunny Purnululu National Park by lunchtime.

The Perth winter was left far behind. Cold beers were enjoyed under the shade of welcoming trees. Later in the afternoon there was a stirring. Four grumpy old men were packing backpacks with sleeping bags and provisions for an overnight trek. Their juvenile egos were enticing them into the great wilderness. Some had been training for this for six months. Hours of walking the Perth ocean pathways. Hours of cycling and exercise bike punishment. Well at least Gary and I had prepared ourselves in this manner! Steve’s preparation amounted to cortisone injections in his knees the week before. Sisto had been recovering from an ankle injury and was as similarly underprepared as Steve.

Next morning they rose in the pre-dawn light and ate a quick breakfast. Five or six litres of water were packed per person along with 2 day’s rations and a couple of bottles of red wine.

They drove to the start point of their walk. Into the magnificent beehive domes that Purnululu was renowned for. Red/orange stripes highlighted these spectacular domes and played a magnificent chorus in the cacophony of the Kimberley visual melody.

We walked on up Picaninny Creek, following this dry watercourse as it snaked its way like a dreamtime serpent through the bee-hive domes. Gary soon swung into a steady effortless rhythm at the front. I followed – grateful that I could trust his choice of path and just relax and take in the surroundings. We pushed on at a steady comfortable pace. Every half hour we stopped for a five minute breather. Unfortunately this extended to about 10 or 15 minutes as we waited for Sisto and Steve to catch up. Less than perfect knees and ankles were holding them up. Gary and I thanked our stars that we didn’t have such worries.

We pushed on “up the creek” enjoying wonderful vistas at each turn. Deep gorges, surrounded by big red/orange cliffs that bore the characteristic Bungles stripes. As the morning wore on the sun rose high in the sky and began to beat down on us. We drank frequently from our supply of water (5 litres each). Gary and I waited again and again for Steve and Sisto to catch up. Not a word of complaint from them, determined to stick it out and take in all the sights on this once in a lifetime experience. 

By close to 11 am Gary and I sat sweating in a small patch of shade. We drank greedily from our bottles and I glanced worryingly at my GPS. The Trip Computer recorded 1 hour 47 minutes of moving time and almost the same amount of stationary time! It seems our waiting for the slower boys to catch up had drastically slowed our pace. We had been on the track almost four hours, it was heating up and we were drinking lots of our limited water. Gary and I faced the possibility that we may only be half way to our destination and the boys were getting buggered. We started working on “Plan B” while we waited yet again for the boys to catch up. We thought about giving up on our plan to walk all the way to Black Pool just past The Elbow. Maybe we should make camp here?

The boys caught up again, you could see the pain in their faces, but not a word of complaint. They wiped the sweat from their brows, drank greedily from their water bottles and forced smiles. Gary and I discussed our concerns that we may only be half way after four long hours. We all decided to see what was around the next bend and then seriously look at abandoning the rest of the trek.

Onward we plodded towards that next bend. As we got closer I began to smile at Gary. “Don’t you recognize this?” I asked him excitedly. We rounded that bend and there in front of us was our destination, our end point! Hooray! I could not believe that about 400 metres ago we had almost “abandoned” our trek! Four happy and relieved trekkers laid down their packs in the shade of a cool rock overhang. We had made it!

 

Fact File:
Purnululu National Park

 

Best Time to visit:      
May to July. For a good look around allow 2 or 3 days. The park opens in April, some say this is the best time as there is plenty of water and greenery, however it can still be very hot and the creek crossings may be deep. The park remains open until December. There are two main Camping Grounds – each has generator and non generator areas along with fire rings, pit toilets and water taps. All rubbish must be taken out with you. We have found all water crossings to be firm underneath – always keep to the middle of each water crossing

What To Take:            
Everything. There is no fuel, fresh water, food or garage at Purnululu. Water is on tap, but should be boiled prior to drinking Take sunscreen, appropriate clothing, shade, hat and sturdy footwear. A decent pair of boots is much better than sneakers. Visitors are asked not to bring firewood into the park, nor to collect it there. The rangers provide a limited amount of firewood for cooking fires each afternoon. Fires may only be lit in designated fireplaces. The Visitor Centre is open daily from 8 – 12 and 1- 4. Vehicle and camping fees apply. The local Station owner is also charging fees to use his access track.

Getting There:
The turn-off is about 100 kilometers north of Halls Creek and from there it is 53 kilometers to the Visitor Centre. Take it slow and you should make it safely in around two hours towing a camper trailer.  Don’t contemplate towing a caravan in, however off-road camper trailers should be fine. Driving Times:
Day 1 Perth to Munjina (Auski Roadhouse) 16 hours

Day 2 Munjina to about 50 kms from Halls Creek   15 hours

Day 3 On to Halls Creek to Bungles Turnoff           2 hours
Track to Purnululu Visitor Centre                  2 hours

References:

Derby Visitor Centre	www.derbytourism.com.au
Department of Environment & Conservation	http://www.dec.wa.gov.au/hotproperty/property/national-parks/purnululu-national-park-bungle-bungle.html
Kimberley Australia Travel Guide	http://www.kimberleyaustralia.com/bungle-bungles.html
Willis’s Walkabouts Bushwalking Holidays	http://www.bushwalkingholidays.com.au/index.htm?page=html/bbos.htm
Blitto’s Travels	http://web.me.com/blitto/BlittosTravels
“The Kimberley – An Adventurer’s Guide”	by Ron & Viv Moon
Derby Visitor Centre	www.derbytourism.com.au
Department of Environment & Conservation	http://www.dec.wa.gov.au/campgrounds/
ExplorOz	http://www.exploroz.com/TrekNotes/Kimberley/Mitchell_Plateau.aspx
Gibb River Road website	http://www.gibbriverroad.net/mitchell-plateau.html
Blitto’s Travels	http://web.me.com/blitto/BlittosTravels
“The Kimberley – An Adventurer’s Guide”	by Ron & Viv Moon

Grumpy Old Men Kimberley Tour
Part Two – The Mitchell Plateau

I rose in the pre-dawn light to a chill in the air and the bubbling of the creek flowing in the gully below our camp. I stirred the embers of last night’s campfire and dropped some grass and twigs on the red coals. The smell of the smoke and the Kimberley dust hung in the morning air as I sat in silence. A flock of white cockatoos made a raucous chorus as they flew down the gully and perched en masse in a boab by our camp. There they hung, strangely serene and suddenly silent, like a hundred spirits of men who walked this land thousands of years ago. Maybe our Secret Grumpy Old Men’s campfire ceremony last night attracted these dusty white spirits to our camp to watch over us? I sipped my coffee as the light grew – welcoming another day on the Gibb. The silence of the dawn was deafening as my fellow grumps slumbered in their swags. Blue clear skies began to show as I sat enjoying the silence by the warmth of my small fire…

We are camped in complete isolation. Halfway down the Gibb River Road – at a secret spot 10 minutes off the road. Yesterday was a big day ending with a tough drive. We had made it to the Mitchell Plateau the afternoon before – something that I had yearned for for six years, but had been too timid to attempt. We rose at 4:30 am the next morning and packed our day packs for the big walk up to the impressive Mitchell Falls. Our good travelling companion, Steve, had the fire burning and the kettle on well before we rose. A quick breakfast was consumed and then we spent the compulsory 20 minutes trying to get Grumpy Kevin out of his swag. This was always a delicate part of the day. Grumpy Kev was usually at his worst at this hour of the day. Slow to move, grumpy and cantankerous. He would usually have some cock and bull story about how our snoring kept him awake half the night, but we soon came to the realization that Kev just wasn’t an early morning person. Come to think of it, Kevin wasn’t an afternoon person either and often after a long tough drive he wasn’t a late afternoon person either! He displayed this in his most obnoxious fashion yesterday afternoon (but more on that later).

 

By 5:45 am we were heading down the long walk trail to the Falls, eager with anticipation. The bush was still and silent as we wound our way down the track through the still dawn air. An hour later we were standing at the lower falls, in awe. A huge gorge cut through the sandstone cliffs and thundering over the gorge was a mighty torrent. Quiet pools above the falls were mirror-like – laced with water lilies which were yet to open in the early morning light. Every step opened new and breath-taking vistas as we gazed with amazement at the Mitchell Falls. Boots off, we waded across a shallow crossing and rounded a bend to stare back up at the mighty falls, looking back at the path we had taken across the gorge. We sat quietly and soaked up the grandeur in the morning sun.

By 8:30 am we were standing at the helipad at the top of the falls for our pre-booked helicopter taxi service back to camp. As I boarded the copter my heart was racing. Being a timid small plane flyer, I was petrified of my approaching experience. Seat belt tightened till it cut into me, I sat in trepidation. Headphones on and camera in hand I gulped as the helicopter rose smoothly from its rocky roost. I waited for the panic to grip – but it did not. We rose smoothly and floated like a magic carpet, higher and higher above the falls gazing down in awe. What a sight from the air! Two laps of the whole falls gave all of us ample opportunities to shoot our cameras frequently. A few minutes later our gentle bird hovered peacefully to rest back at Mitchell Base Camp and I emerged unscathed and a helicopter convert. What a magnificent way to travel!

 

After our Mitchell Falls experience we broke camp and drove long and hard that day. Two hours of bone-jarring rattling, bouncing drive along a dusty, rocky, corrugated track for eighty kilometers back from the Mitchell Plateau to the Kalumbaru road had sapped our energy and put aches in our aging bones. We had forded the King Edward River and then hit the Kalumbaru road. It was then another two hour’s drive back to Drysdale Station. Parts of this road were very pleasant thanks to the grader team who had been working. At times we were cruising at ninety kilometers an hour over the dusty red road, slowing occasionally to ford a small wash-out or bounce over corrugations. By 1:30 pm we had arrived back at Drysdale Station where we hitched up our campers that we had wisely left there. Those who didn’t leave their trailers had suffered various calamities on that rough drive into Mitchell Plateau including one set of trailer springs destroyed (having to be taken back to Drysdale for welding) and several shredded tyres. Before 1:45pm we were sitting in the Drysdale beer garden sipping a cold beer and tucking into that famous Drysdale Kimberley burger. If you go to Drysdale – you’ve got to try one!

 

We pushed on from Drysdale back to the Gibb over the worst road conditions we had ever experienced. Bone jarring corrugations, at times forcing us down to less than forty kilometers per hour had been a test of patience and concentration – not to mention vehicle standard. We had sixty kilometers of rough road back to the Gibb and then the road improved. The last seventy kilometers on the Gibb that afternoon were better, we averaged around 70 – 80 km per hour as the sun plunged lower into the dusty orange sky. By 4:30 pm my GPS told me it was time to look for the tiny track to our secret camping ground at Barnett River Gorge. We wound our way off the Gibb along the track into this special site. It was a 10 minute drive, crawling along a narrow and rutted track.

I soon knew that Kevin’s afternoon grumpy mood was brewing. You could tell. His usually jovial banter on the UHF radio had evaporated. As his vehicle hung further and further back behind me, I knew he was brewing a prime plonker. Kevin had obviously expected to drive a hundred metres off the Gibb to find an idyllic campsite – and this wasn’t going to happen! Finally we rounded a bend and Gary and I glimpsed the bubbling waters of the creek and the beautiful little campsite we had used in 2009. Kevin drove in a minute or two later in silence. Steve bounded out of Kevin’s car, glad to be released from the somber mood. By the look on Steve’s face, we knew the worst. Kevin was cranked up for a right plonker. Poor Steve grinned at us as a stony faced Kevin emerged and stretched his aching bones.

The boys bustled into action as the well-oiled team they had become. Swags were laid, firewood was collected, kitchen unpacked and soon a merry fire was crackling. Grumpy Kev was quiet, but a beer oiled his spirits. The hotplate was laid over the coals and soon steaks were sizzling. Jovial banter, some aimed at Kev, soon had the lad cheered up. As darkness fell, the boys sat by the fire, which cast an orange glow on the nearby boab and all was at peace.

After a sumptuous dinner and some of Andy’s Swan Valley plonk, the rare and secret ceremony of the Grumpy Old Men took place. Tapping sticks were in hand as some good didgeridoo music echoed from the iPod. The mood intensified – and transfixed by the magic moment, five grumpy old men performed their secret dance, stomping the dust around the campfire. The spirits from this ancient land were summoned, flowing their energy and goodwill into the grumpy men. They were at one with the land. 

Next morning, the same spirits visited again before dawn in the guise of dusty white cockatoos who perched in the boab above our camp. I shared this magical moment with them as the strangely hushed cockatoos stood watch in an errie silence during that magic dawn.

 

Fact File:
Mitchell Plateau National Park

Best Time to visit:      
May to August. Providing the track has opened after the wet season. The falls may dry up by October. The park is usually inaccessible during the wet season (December to March). Nearest fuel is at Drysdale River Station – about four hours, around 200 kilometres away.

What To Take:            
Everything. There is no fuel, food or garage at Mitchell Plateau .Water is generally available in the creek. Fire rings and good drop toilets are provided, camping and vehicle entry fees apply.

Getting There:
Turn off the Gibb River Road about 400 km from the Derby end or 250 km from  Kununurra. Take the Kalumbaru road north. Drysdale River Station is a friendly oasis 60 km up from the turn-off. You can camp at Drysdale or at their bush camp called Miners Pool about 2 km on . The drive from Drysdale to Mitchell Plateau takes around 4 hours. The last two hours are on a rough rocky track, where you may only average 40 km/hr. References:

Derby Visitor Centre	www.derbytourism.com.au
Department of Environment & Conservation	http://www.dec.wa.gov.au/campgrounds/
ExplorOz	http://www.exploroz.com/TrekNotes/Kimberley/Mitchell_Plateau.aspx
Gibb River Road website	http://www.gibbriverroad.net/mitchell-plateau.html
Blitto’s Travels	http://web.me.com/blitto/BlittosTravels
“The Kimberley – An Adventurer’s Guide”	by Ron & Viv Moon

More Grumpy Old Men Tales
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