The Kimberly – Australia

The wind moves in packs. It can be heard in the near distance yet the trees and bush in the immediate vicinity remain unmoved. Sometimes a gust bolts past near to one side of the tent but the opposing side remains eerily quiet. This was a feature throughout our time in the Kimberly and although I’m far from spiritual, I’m more than happy to concede that the wind here can conjure up such feelings. Lake Argyle however, here the wind was nothing less than brutal as both nights we camped there we endured terrifying winds that battered the tent for half the night. Everything sounds worse when inside a tent but the howling outside was enough to disrupt a good sleeper like myself. The lake is manmade, and wow do the locals like to make a song and dance about it. It’s the largest manmade lake in Australia (except for one other) with a volume of 11km³ and sits surrounded by beautiful red cliffs crawling with little rock wallabies and infested below with 20,000 crocodiles. It’s beautiful, but not as impressive as the homegrown tourists were making it out to be. The largest manmade lake in the world is in Zambia and holds a slightly greater 180km³ of water and 70,000 crocodiles. Lake Argyle was built to provide freshwater for agriculture and is currently massively underutilised servicing just 20,000 hectares as finding something that grows commercially in such a harsh environment has been a tad difficult. Nature 1 – Engineering 0. But don’t worry, the Chinese are moving in and intend to make use of the resource with cotton finally bred to survive against local pests and the possibility of producing green hydrogen. As for the humble tourist, well we went on a sunset cruise with a jolly wonderful chap bearing a striking resemblance to Uncle Albert from Only Fools and Horses, who kept us fully entertained for several hours before parking up and encouraging us to go for a swim as he threw cans of beer from the boat directly towards our faces as we worried about the risk of croc attacks.

From Lake Argyle we made our way to the Bungle Bungles in Purnululu National Park. This is a region that had only been discovered in the 1980s and was immediately harnessed for its tourist potential. Obviously the locals, being the Aboriginals, had known the area for about 60,000 years but that’s beside the point. I usually try to steer away from such matters, but I found it interesting when our very ‘lefty’ guide kept referring to Aboriginals as ‘traditional landowners’. I can’t keep up, but from my studies over the past few years, the drive for more indigenous knowledge and thinking to be incorporated into areas such as climate change, land use, and biodiversity is centred around the concept of no one owning the land. Therefore, referring to aboriginals as landowners runs contrary to their traditional beliefs? In fairness, the official culture-washing line used by Qantas, Sydney Bridge Climb, and many other corporates use the word ‘custodians’ which, despite their intentions is a far more appropriate word I would argue. But less of me trying to sound like I have the answers, we need to move onto the cock fest. The drive into Purnululu National Park was on an atrocious non-paved road that eventually caused a front tyre on the truck to give up on life. This should have been a reasonably straight forward operation, especially considering the number of men (move aside ladies) queuing up to help. Annoyingly one nut appeared to be welded on and no amount of WD40 or bouncing on steel bars appeared to work. This of course caused a tsunami of speculation surrounding how we would get to the campsite, how we may survive such an ordeal, and an underlying feeling of passive-aggressive panic. It was another moment on this trip where I was more than happy to help but there was never going to be an opportunity to do so as a group of chaps had already taken control and claimed to know what they were doing, therefore better for me to grab a chair and enjoy the sunset as we had broken down in a particularly beautiful part of the Kimberly. Once the sun had lit the entire landscape a fiery orange, it set behind a ridge and almost immediately the sky began to fill with stars. The moon had been dominating every night at the start of the tour but as the nights wore on, the moon rose later thus giving more and more time to enjoy a glittering Milky Way overhead. Few sights in life are finer. Three hours after the tyre exploded the park ranger had found a steel bar sturdy enough to crack a stubborn nut, the tyre was changed, and we rocked up to what appeared to be a beautiful campsite that for once we had all to ourselves and not having to share with 1,000 caravans parked on top of each other. For somewhere so remote and sparsely populated every campsite was rammed with caravans and families and every swimmable hole had enough people to remove any sense of wilderness despite the millions of acres of apparent emptiness between everywhere.

A little like providing a paper straw to drink iced coffee from a large single use plastic cup or buying bottles of mineral water to fill up your reusable water bottle instead of using water from the tap, it’s also ironic that we hold various geological and natural features in such high regard and wonder; ultimately, it’s a terrible sign of the state of our planet. We are so disconnected from nature that we are surprised at the beauty it can provide. The rise of veganism is driven by a disconnect with our food sources. We are so sheltered from death that we’re constantly surprised when someone has the indecency to die. Of course, these are all problems for developed society. As I sat in one such geological feature, the Cathedral in the Bungle Bungles, writing these notes on my phone with the noise of tourist helicopters buzzing overhead, the sound of tapping stones was followed by the voice of an aboriginal tour guide that instantly melted my insides and provided an instant clarity. What became clear to me I have no idea, but her voice at least brought purpose and justification to why our own tour leader had told us to go and find a quiet corner and absorb the spirituality of a dead-end ravine with a pond. Later in the day I found myself walking through a rocky, dry riverbed with large red cliffs either side of me as the sun set creating an illusion of moving through a warm, silky, golden mist. As with the wind this could no doubt be described as spiritual, but what was important to me was that it was a comforting and spontaneous moment in time that felt unique to me. I don’t understand how people can experience anything good when under pressure to do so.

The Bungle Bungles summed up our entire tour rather nicely. They themselves are a unique rock formation of large, weathered domes striped red and black with large dried out riverbeds running between them that flood in the summer monsoons. We only spent a few hours walking among them disappointed not to get the opportunity to do the 10-kilometre hike which may have revealed more. The seven-day hike sounded even more spectacular. But why hike when you can jump in a helicopter? I caused ripples of concern through the tour group when they found out I was not going to participate on a 30-minute flight and instead would send the camera up with Rut. I’ve flown in helicopters several times over some spectacular places and loved every second of it, Rut was yet to experience such a ride hence off she went. I simply didn’t feel the need, maybe the song in the Cathedral earlier in the day had made me realise I don’t need such luxuries!? Regardless, the rest of the group appeared to feel sorry for me that I was too poor to afford the experience which deep down I found hilarious. Not spending money on luxury at every opportunity is not a sign of poverty, nor is doing so a sign of wealth. 

As we turned for Broome and the end of the tour we stopped at some caves to learn a little of their significance in Aboriginal culture. Our local guide was funny and full of energy, able to perfectly balance the realities of history with lighter moments and fascinating insights into traditional culture. We were told of one story in one cave that has the power to help women with fertility but upon exiting, I at least was hit smack in the face with the realities of life. A chap on another tour was showing severe signs of Parkinson’s disease, just managing to hold onto a ‘normal’ life as his body randomly convulsed like that possessed by a demon. He looked alone. Not a lot moves me in life beyond The Darkest Hour and Top Gun Maverick but this chap, battling the inevitable, apparently making the most of every moment, moved me more than anything supposedly spiritual that I’d seen over the past few weeks. There is no magical cave for this guy, no spirit, no religion, no amount of natural splendour or modern medicine that can help him. A lot like life the Kimberly is beautiful yet brutal, but to end on a lighter yet significant note, there were bugger all flies around! For anyone who knows how persistent the flies of Australia can be, you will appreciate how happy I was not to have to deal with them.

Check out the tour here.