"Derby!' not Darby asserted Rae, just as she had corrected me about the pronunciation of Albany and Pt Peron. "we're different in the west!" says she.Wasn't I coming to realise that? Where would I have been without my corrective muse? This reminded me of debates with my father ( he was even more stubborn than me) who counter-intuitively, insisted on calling England's Derby, Derby instead of the correct pronunciation"Darby".Rae was also right when she warned me that Derby was a "locked down" town as a result of the Federal Government's Aboriginal intervention strategy.
It was awful-its main industry seemd to be government hand out departments and its streets and roads were full of seemingly, aimlessly wandering aboriginals. It reminded me of my visits to South african apartheid townships.Its only redeeming feature was the nearby Prison tree-an ancient hollowed out giant boab tree that had functioned as a temporary lock up-used mostly for aboriginal tribesmen who had resisted white settlement.
DERBY PRISON TREE
Although late in the day, I guessed I could still 'risk" the only initially sealed Gibb river road to reach the Windjana Gorge National Park camp site by dark.Despite a few worrying moments on the final unsealed section of the 140k run,I made it by the skin of my teeth. The swag was the easy option rather than trying to assemble the big tent in the dark.
WALKING THE WINDJANA
The next day I set up my big tent in the shade of trees during the cool of early morning and set off to walk the gorge. Its walls were once(350million years ago) part of a giant reef of the same size as the great barrier reef and were worn down by rivers when the sea receded.
DON'T FEED THE CROCS!
At the gorge entrance was an early warning not to disturb the fresh water crocs.
I was to encounter many of them both sleeping on sand bars
CROC SIESTA
and floating in what was left of the Lennard river.
JUST DRIFTING
Whilst not being as inherently dangerous as the giant saltwater species, they would attack if cornered or harassed and at a metre long with impressive teeth, they looked very capable of defending themselves.
HOT SANDY RIVER BED
Walking, much of it on a sandy dry river bed that reflected the heat, became tiring sfter an hour and a half and so I turned back and returned to camp at a more leisurely pace, continuing to spot crocodiles in repose.
A PRIZE SPECIMEN
A siesta was called for on such a hot and windy afternoon, which was followed by a delightfully mild night and after dinner,I finished Tim Winton's Dirt music emcouraged by a few glasses of single malt whiskey ( great mosquito antidote)
Marie Dumais had recommended I read him and i was glad to say her insistance opened my closed mind about Winton. He was not just focused on southern WA surf drop outs and in fact his hero in that book paralleled my journey north to Broome and beyond, in search of himself and lost love. I agreed with many of his observations about the towns and country en route.
TUNNEL CREEK TO HALLS CREEK.
In November 1894,an Aboriginal tracker called Jandamarra(known as Pidgeon)shot two police colleagues and then led a band of renegade band of aboriginals on raids through the Napier Range area. he killed another 4 people but in 1897 he was trapped and killed at Tunnel creek.
Tunnel creek offers a 700 metre long walk through a dark and in places waterlogged tunnel. I entered it, without a torch and with no intention of wading, chest deep, in the dark, through icy water, to do the whole walk. First encounter with the most slippery, marble like rocks, shaky tree limbs and the immediate need to wade, confirmed my decision not to go there.A smartly attired German motorcycling couple, who had camped near me,came to the same conclusion.
TO CROSS OR NOT TO CROSS?
A Frenchman had warned me of water across the road ahead and the Germans were concerned for their smart BMWs. We agreed to help each other if we got stuck.The first crossing I encountered was easy but the second floodway looked decidedly tricky for a little Honda to navigate.I waded both to check depths and had horribly smelly feet for the rest of the day.the right hand side looked possible and the Honda jazz did it with ease and took in no water.
The rest of the dirt road across to the main highway was marked by the proud beauty of the numerous boab trees. they come in two modes, silky grey-skinned beauties,for all the world like perennially pregnant maidensand proud of it( no need for NGALA rescue mission here Rae)otherwise they are hugely fat and life-scarred, like deformed grannies. Such was the famous one near Derby which had been used as a prison lock-up.
SILKY-GREY BEAUTY
GUARDING THE RAMPARTS
TRULY A GREY, GNARLED, GRANNY
Many stood defiantly against the red rock escarpment like Tolkien's combative Ents, defending their own against the Orcs and evil powers out of Mordor.
it was bliss to be back on the tarmac but Fitzroy Crossing was another, uneventful, disappointing place. the mighty river was but a fraction of its wet season power. Mile upon mile of spinifex plain and savannah grasslands accompanied me all the way to Halls Creek-no wonder the pastoralists revelled on it in the 1840s. The Brahma cross cattle grazed by the road side-many of them a lovely milky grey colour and were more sensible than Roos when contemplating a road crossing.
Halls Creek was a gold rush town and its brief period of glory helped cement the infrastructure necessary to ensure the ultimate triumph of the cattle industry.At every roadhouse, I had to queue behind hordes of Aborigines who were returning home from a football game and restocking on coke and carbohydrates. No newspapers available!!
The camp site was stark but cheap($11 per night)Contrastingly the pub had stylish poolside dining(I barely qualified to enter, in a dress code sense.The main bar was more my go. Great counter meals(lamb shanks) and multiple plasma TV screens showing live Rugby League and AFL matches. it felt friendly,clean and safe(had to unlock car park gate to get out)and they let me recharge my mobile phone.
ROAD TO KUNUNURRA
Set off at 6:30am to the next small town as there were helicopter flights from there over the Bngle Bungles. Glorious morning and the road passed through lovely rolling ridges cloaked in lush post-monsoonal greenery and the plains were densely forested.A real garden of eden that would soon be dessicated and withered by the dry season sun. the next stop(140klms) was an aboriginal community with the very welcome Turkey Creek roadhouse. Managed,as ever, by a white family and with a very clean cafe.
Alas, I was the only prospective helicopter passenger and it was not economical for them to fly with but one. So much for arriving early on a slow day.Radio reception had been poor for some time-could barely hear the testimonial to the amazing John Cargah, but ofcourse, would you believeit?-there was no escaping the ubiquitous "Macca on a Sunday morning". Also, I picked up the great news that Boris Johnson had toppled "red" Ken Livingstone from the Mayoralty of London and Gordon Brown's discredited and morally bankrupt Labour party had been trashed in local council elections. Goodbye nanny state?
CDS are a saving grace in such remote places and the interaction of the heat,scenery and certain types of classical music is both soothing, refreshing and stimulating, especially when it's 380klms to the next stop and cool drink. Peter had burned a few composite CDs for me and the cello concertos of Elgar and Dvorak and the crystal clear, English tones of Dame Janet Baker were far from out of place in this tough terrain.Also, they took me back to happy memories of the lush green English countryside on summer evenings, when I was savouring the thought of a pint of real ale at the next pub-a mere 10klms away!
KUNUNURRA
With its huge reservoir, which contains ten times the volume of water in Sydney harbour, Kununurra is clearly the heart beat of this area. But here was the perennial problem of stupified aboriginal men prostrate on the grass, in the green spaces and others grouped around public amenities-supermarkets, tourist centre etc. I camped for one night and having been warned that my Honda could not cope with the unsealed kimberley roads, weighed up the cost of tours-especiallly those based on flights, I decided to hire a sturdy 4 wheel drive.
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