Zippin' up my boots, goin' back to my roots.

As soon as we’d eaten and packed, we headed towards the mechanic, hoping to get the exhaust issue fixed so we could go back to holidaying. The drive seemed easy going, especially knowing that hot battery acid wasn’t spewing over the engine. Once there we told him our issues, and he said he didn’t have a strong enough solder iron to fix the exhaust, but said he could get some rubber to help secure the batteries and stop them sliding around. I had to fit it myself as he was busy talking to other people, and when I asked how much we owe him he said there was no charge, however if we wanted we could buy a $10 stubby cooler.... so it cost us $10 bucks and we got a shitty stubby cooler we didn’t want that someone is getting as a gift. To be honest, he didn’t seem that interested in helping as he’d had a busy year and couldn’t be fucked anymore. He said the exhaust should hold, so fuck it, we’ll wait until Broome. We chatted for a bit after we’d paid for him to watch me put rubber under the battery, and he told us how he’d fallen out with the Imintji community down the road several years ago and had to move his business, but kept saying he wasn’t bitter, because they were total twats and he was better on his own anyway, so fuck them… yeah, not bitter at all.

It was finally time to start having a holiday again. A few kilometres down the road, we stopped briefly at a waterfall to have lunch. We decided to have a wander first, although it wasn’t the best we’d seen and I was hungry so the wander lasted about 10mins.

This ain't worth my time

Back at the car two couples had turned up and were prepping their kids for the walk. We both needed a piss, so decided it was probably polite to wait until they’d left before we left our scent mark. One of the couples had a very young kid, and they were coating it in sun lotion for what felt like 20mins. We sat there staring at them until after applying the third layer to its left foot, and then putting on its shoes, they left for the walk. What the over-protective fuck, it ain’t gonna get cancer and die if the sun hits its skin for 10 fucking minutes. With them gone, we sprayed, ate and left quicker than it took them to prepare a six-month baby for a 10-minute walk.

We had three more NP we wanted to visit before we could leave the Gibb behind. The first on the list was Bell Gorge. We had thought we’d spend two nights at the nearest campsite, Silent Grove, however it wasn’t a particularly nice place and as we pulled up I found the mid-part bracket of the exhaust had also broken. WHAT HAS THIS ROAD DONE TO OUR CAR! Feeling a little down spirited, we thought we’d drive the 10 kilometres to the gorge and have a swim before we set up. That way we could try and find the most secluded spot, after all the other fuckers had turned up; a new tactic of ours.

As we entered the gorge car park, the only three other cars there were leaving. One father commented that we’d have the place to ourselves… AWESOME! The walk in was short and rocky, but we’d gone for the thongs, small amount of water and camera sans bag look, attempting a grade 4, leading to a grade 5 walk. When we reached the top of the gorge, realising it was quite a steep climb down to the bottom with only 2.5 hours until sun down, we started to worry that with our choice of attire we may have underestimated the conditions.

It's only the wrong gear if you don't make it out

We cautiously headed towards the bottom, and only kept moving forward because Becky did not want to come back the next day. We'd realised that if we got stuck the headlines would be “daft foreigners ignore warnings, get airlifted out, dehydrated and in thongs from gorge”. It turns out, as with most signs, the warnings were a load of old bollocks and it was easy as piss to get down. We were glad we'd ignored the warnings, as we got the place to ourselves, and it was lovely.

Celebrating our decent in flip-flops by striking a pose.

As we were heading out, a German family and an Aussie couple had arrived at the top of the falls to swim. We stopped briefly to enjoy the view, and as we started wandering out several other couples started turning up. By the time we’d reached the car park there was another 5-6 cars there. How lucky we’d been, and this was some comfort when the exhaust rattled against the frame as I started the car and headed back towards the campsite. 

Our lovely experience at the gorge wasn’t enough to make us want to stay two nights, as the single cubicle toilets, that stood isolated and surrounded by campers, meant we all knew when someone was having a shit. The next morning we packed up and headed for Windjana Gorge NP. It wasn’t that far, so we arrived quite early and to our dismay found the same bathroom set up as Silent Grove. I was feeling very low at this point. I’m not sure if, finally out of the worst of it, I’d started to mentally collapse, but I was struggling. We hadn’t spoken much on the drive, as Becky had laughed at me and my continued unresolved guilt when I’d asked some bikers, who’d obviously just stopped to have a rest, if they needed help, putting me into a child like huff. We picked a site we thought looked ok, and I just slumped unable to muster the energy to do anything but stare into the middle distance. Becky asked if I wanted a beer, and I said no. At this point she knew something was seriously wrong and leapt into action. She opened a gold and got some peanuts, forcing them down my throat. As soon as the first was empty, she cracked another and finally my mood started to lift… Hello, my name is Tom and I have a problem.

We decided to use the same tactic as Silent Grove, and visit the gorge before setting up the tent. This time we went a little more prepared, I had a few more lenses for the camera.

Better prepared, camera wise at least.

The gorge was fantastic, a real gem. It was all under the sea back in the long-time-ago period, and was a coral reef or something. Again, don’t remember, but it looked amazing.

Beautiful, and nothing fell off the car to get here.

We both were enjoying the walk, particularly the nooks and crannies that formed along the wall, and looking at fossils that had formed when it was under the sea.

Hideaway

There was also a lot of freshies along the bank of the creek that ran through the gorge.

Who's a pretty boy

And Becky lost her shit when we stumbled across a colony of fruit bats

An artist at work

I guess she has a point.

The finished result

She also went mental with her selfies again.

At least someone's having fun

We both agreed that this place was a bit of a highlight of the Gibb, and far better than that shitty, car-wreaking waterfall, Mitchell Falls, which was shit. On the way back to the site, Becky spotted another snake! This time I had my camera and got a few shots. As others walked past we all started speculating what sort of snake it was, with the consensus being brown snake. However, a local guide said if a brown was getting this much attention it’d be getting well agro, whereas this one was keeping its head down, so it was just a small olive python. I’d wanted to see one of those for ages, but a proper big one, not a little ‘un. Becky said I was never happy. I said I thought it was dead cool, but I just wanted a bigger one. She said so did she.

Wish you were bigger

By the time we’d got back to the camp, it’d properly filled up. We found a corner, by a water tap and table, and set up for the night. As we set up the stove, the gas regulator was leaking quite a bit of gas. We’d lost a small bit of plastic that held the o-ring in place a few days ago, but until now the leak had been so small as to not pose a huge risk. I had noted we needed to fix it ASAP, however Becky didn’t seem to give a fuck, and seemed very unfazed by it. It was now a lot worse, so I turned it all off, and started trying to work out a fix. While I was by the car I heard a small explosion and Becky screamed. I turned to find a very shocked Becky, with slightly singed fringe, standing by a flaming regulator attached to the gas bottle. Being a qualified bush-fireman, I quickly turned the gas off and blew out the flame. Becky said she didn’t realise that the gas we used to cook our food was so flammable, and thought the only reason I was worried was because we were wasting $4/kg gas. We had a chuckle about it, and after I fashioned a fix, we had some delicious eye-fillets cooked on our now non-leaking stove.

They need to put a warning about gas being flammable.

The next morning we headed for Tunnel Creek NP, a short drive down from Windjana, but with no camping. We’d decided not to spend another night at Windjana, as not only were the toilets terrible, but they’d been blocked that evening and were in the process of being cleared as we left. Probably a combination of all the frogs and poop.

The caves at Tunnel Creek were also formed by the ocean, in the long-time-ago period, and were made famous by an aboriginal freedom fighter, Jandamarra, that’d hid in the caves from the law, before being killed by another aboriginal tracker working for the man. It was an interesting story, but this blog is already very long and you can google it.

Anyway, as we’d got there early it wasn’t very busy. The walk requires wading through some cold water, which can be quite deep in places and you need a torch. Becky geared up by wearing socks with her “trendy” crocs, a look that she carried off quite successfully.

Cave fashion 101

The walk itself was a lot of fun, and our last few days on the Gibb had uncovered our personal highlights.

Wade in the water

As we waded through the cave, we stumbled across some amazing rock formations, a small colony of fruit bats and a single freshie, sitting in the dark. Unfortunately the battery on my camera had died, so we only had Becky’s phone, but this held its own.

Excuse me, could you give me directions to the bat cave.

Becky even snapped a nice shot of some tree roots that’d come through the cave ceiling and some bentwing bats we found hiding in a crevice.

Tree root 

Little bats

 Yep, this was a real highlight, and far better than those wanky Undara caves that cost a fortune for some lame guided tour that was full of toss-buckets. 

As we approached the end of the caves, we’d almost reached the end of our Gibb adventure and in around a hundred kilometres we’d be on tarmacked roads again. We could see light at the end of the tunnel, both metaphorically and literally.

End of the line

I’m a fucking wordsmith!