Driving to Karijini National Park
Trip Start
Mar 14, 2009
1
21
34
Trip End
Ongoing
Karijini National Park, Western Australia, Australia
Saturday, October 17, 2009
The further inland we went, the redder the soil became until it was the burnt umber of all those picture postcards of the Australian bush. Despite the fact that we were now technically in the tropics, the land was as dry as a desert. We crossed huge gullies that were labelled as ‘Such and Such Creek’, but the riverbed was cracked and dusty and there would be cattle wandering aimlessly along it.
A word about cattle-farming in Australia. It is a stupid idea. Although, in theory, the outback seems designed for the wanderings and grazing of millions of cows, in fact the ecosystem is so delicate and the earliest farmers were so greedy, that over-grazing has all but destroyed the viability of any farming in the area. I know that this is true because I read it in Bill Bryson’s ‘Down Under’. Ranches the size of Belgium exist in the interior of Australia and for the most part, the cattle are free to roam in search of food. You can see them all over, usually scrawny and bony, in the shade of whatever trees they can find, although most often, they can be found being torn to shreds by crows or staring you out through your windscreen as they meander across the road. Most of the ranches are unfenced and cows stepping unexpectedly into the paths of oncoming vehicles are a seriously problem for motorists.
Rhiannon and I came up with a solution to this problem. Australia, you need to abandon the bovine and embrace the…kangarine. Kangaroo is a healthy and lean meat, abundant in Australia. There’s no need to farm it - kangaroos multiply like rabbits to the extent that they’re considered pests in some areas. Wap a kangaroo steak on the barbie with the shrimps, jobs a good’un, Bruce and Sheila are happy.
So anyway, the journey to Karijini was largely uneventful, with the exception of our first break-down in Australia. We were chuntering along quite happily, when suddenly, there was a big ole bang, followed by high pitched and very loud beeping coming from the engine. We pulled over sharpish and had a look at the engine, which is conveniently located under the passenger seat, so should it ever blow up, yours truly would be a goner.
Forgive me, but the terminology of cars escapes me somewhat - let’s just say that the little white thing where you put the water was bubbling away merrily like a witch’s cauldron. From waiting an hour for the pot to boil to make spaghetti for last night’s dinner, we now had enough boiling water to make afternoon tea for a whole Ashes-winning cricket team.
Luckily, we were on a major(ish) road, so it wasn’t long before a car full of cheery Irish backpackers pulled up. A guy got out and moseyed over for a look-see. Although, as I say, I know nothing about cars, I could tell from the way he said ’Shit man, that’s not good’ that the situation wasn’t good. He had little in the way of suggestions but promised to call in at the rangers’ station at Karijini to get some help sent out to us.
There seemed to be little to do but wait. Now, we have travelled to some desolate spots in Oz but thankfully, this was not one of them, and before long the side of the road where we’d stopped looked like Tesco’s carpark on Christmas Eve morning, so many people had pulled over to see if we were alright. This included a party of good Aussie blokes who took over authoritatively and poked around for a little while in the bowels of the van. After some minutes, they declared that there was some sort of blockage and water wasn’t getting to the radiator, which they duly filled up to the sound of hissing and gurgling. They turned on the engine to check it, and Rhiannon and I were a little embarrassed to have the Prince of Pop blaring ‘Beat it’ out of the tinny little speakers. And then, after telling us to top the radiator up every morning, they left waving away our thanks, and we were good to go.
Slowly nursing the van into Karijini meant that we arrived later than we’d anticipated. We were hot and sweaty and I was at my irritable best until Rhiannon bought me an ice lolly which cheered me right up. After a chat with a very helpful - if slightly surly - lady at the visitors’ centre and with the van in the state, we decided it would probably be unwise to attempt to drive on the dirt roads that make up most of Karijini’s transport infrastructure. We were left with little choice but to book onto a tour, since most of the highlights of the park are not accessible by 2WD. We then made our way to the campsite, where a very jolly camp host gave a very strict warning about dingos and snakes (eek!) and advised us to wander down to Fortescue Falls to cool off. I’ll never know that lady’s name but she may just have saved my life that day.
Fortescue Falls lie at the bottom of a rough, rocky stairway which takes you down to the bottom of a dramatic gorge. The red walls form a sheer drop and the cracks and crevices of the strata cast darker shadows along the cliff face. The gorge opens out at one end into an amphitheatre of stone steps with a waterfall running through, feeding a clear pond which is full of reeds and sunlight, where tired, sweaty travellers can cool off and rediscover their sense of humour.
Back at the campsite, we realised that the batteries of our torch didn’t work and that, with sunset at 18.30, we faced a very long evening of darkness. Luckily, Mother Nature and Wicked provide, and with the stars out in force, we climbed onto the top of our van, lay on it’s roof and talked for hours like the true boho, free-spirited traveller types we are.
