Around the West in 90-Odd Days: Days 45-47 (17-19 Aug) – Karijini

Welcome to the Pilbara region, cradle of the Hancock/Rhinehart mining empire. The monotonous empty plains near 80 mile beach gave way to magnificent mountain vistas in incredible colours. Dave, a tad depressed to be leaving the Kimberley behind, was adequately consoled on catching his first glimpses of the Pilbara. South of here is the town of Newman, home to the world’s largest open cut mine. But we were headed to Karijini National Park, home to – you guessed it – countless more gorges. Remember the Dutch lady in an earlier blog post who broke her wrist here? After our visit, we decided that “Karijini” must be Aboriginal for “misfortune”. Read on…

On Thursday we climbed Mt Bruce, at 1,235m it is the second highest peak in WA. The temperature plummeted 10 degrees on this day (down to 22 degrees! Plus wind chill factor). On the approach to Mt Bruce, its imposing summit was deep in cloud, and rain splattered the windscreen. Rain? We’d barely seen a cloud in 6 weeks; rain was a foreign experience. It was heavily overcast with strong, chilly wind gusts as we started our ascent and we almost had second thoughts. But before you think this was all bad, it wasn’t. The scenery was spectacular, and most of the trail very enjoyable. Most of it. I don’t mind a bit of a vertical climb from time to time, but tend to freak out a bit when climbing sheer rock faces with nothing but a drop of hundreds of metres to the valley floor beneath me (don’t look down, don’t look down).

We made it to the summit, enjoyed some morning tea, took some photos, and then turned to start our descent. Did I mention the wind? My new Akubra was caught in a sudden gust and whipped off my head to teeter tantalisingly on the eastern edge of the summit cliff before dropping over the edge and disappearing from view. Did I mention sheer rock faces? The other side of the summit was a sudden straight drop of magnificent rock cliff, to a platform many metres below. Much as I like my Akubra, I wasn’t too keen on risking my life for it. Dave, however, had already taken off his shirt, torn it into strips and tied them together as a rope to abseil down the cliff after the stricken Akubra. Having seen it done on many a jail break movie, we just knew it had to work.

Actually, I wish he’d done that. Instead, he just disappeared over the cliff edge, sans safety rope (he’s always been a bit of a mountain goat, and now has the goatee to match). I kept calling over the cliff edge to make sure he was still alive down there somewhere, and to my relief he surfaced again some time later with my Akubra, a thermos cup, and a child’s eating implement. Apparently there’s a treasure trove down there of things that have fallen over the cliff. The thermos cup and eating implement were later discarded, but we kept the Akubra. But this reinforces my point that I should be carrying the emergency responder phone, as Dave is voted most likely to disappear off a cliff. Then I can still press the big red button and wait for the cavalry.

The Akubra, clearly not to be trusted, was strapped into my backpack as we started the descent on the western face. The first section was loose stones and dirt, much easier to ascend than descend. After a few foot slips, I finally went for a proper slide down the mountain and landed in a Spinifex bush. Locals will tell you that you haven’t met Spinifex until you’ve landed in one. I’d say we’re now properly introduced. Days later I still have countless microscopic needle-point shards embedded in every finger and the palms of my hands. You wouldn’t believe how painful it is to unscrew a milk bottle lid. I think we’ve removed most of the needles from my forearms and torso, but locals also tell me that the remaining spikes can take “several weeks” to work their way out.

But wait, next was Friday, Dave’s turn for misfortune. This day we climbed in and out of four different gorges, all spectacular, all with spring-fed crystal clear water in the base. Wearing a swimsuit here is highly recommended, as you’re very likely to end up in water - either voluntarily or involuntarily - at some point (though just for the record, swimsuits don’t provide adequate protection from Spinifex). The gorges were some of the most spectacular we’d seen to date, and all very different. Dave particularly enjoyed the Hancock Gorge which requires negotiating with hands and feet up against parallel gorge walls (the spider walk), along 20 metres, over a waterfall. Somehow he managed to stay dry. I swam through these rather than trying to balance on narrow ledges and walk on walls. Then came the Weano Gorge and the troublesome Handrail Pool. A steep descent down a solid rock wall is aided by a metal handrail attached to the wall. It was quite crowded – two tourist bus loads in there with us.

A moment of inattention is all it takes to lose your footing, slip over and go head first onto a rock. Dave’s moment of inattention led to his tripod – with camera attached – doing just this. It landed face first in a pool of water, the lens taking a heavy blow and top of camera compacting inwards. There’s nothing like having an audience for your misfortune. You know that awkward silence that follows the sound of breaking glass in a crowded restaurant? Well, there was a similar momentary pause as the sound of a crashing camera echoed up and ricocheted off the gorge walls, and about 70 pairs of eyes turned in the same direction to see Dave’s camera in the water, the tripod legs sticking up awkwardly like a dead cow. Oh dear.

Miraculously, all was not lost. The camera body is damaged but mostly still working. The lens was not so lucky. Dave is now in the market for a replacement camera. He’s still getting over this event, but one bonus is that he’s now far less worried about swimming with this camera across rivers (which, incidentally, also makes my camera far safer).