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Touring the Kimberly the easy way! Story and photos by: Kevin
Pampling Accessing the
magic and majesty of the wild Kimberley Ranges can be an experience of
considerable measure. Its remote and
rugged terrain requires any venture within to be a cautious one. As a landscape photographer working from
the limitations of a dirt bike for transport, I found fuel and provisions to
be a scarce commodity in the far northwest of Australia. I decided to join Rugged Red’s
Kimberley Trail Bike Tours for a six-day adventure. The journey up the Gibb River Road into the
heart of the Kimberley was a reconnaissance mission for me to get a “feel” for the place. The adventure was not so much measured in
the degree of difficulty, but rather in the experience of getting out there
and discovering one of the world’s last remaining frontiers. Eric Bermingham was our host and
he catered for all our needs superbly.
His extensive local knowledge and his ability to find the best way out
of a jam without losing his cool proved to be a great asset. The ten riders who gathered to go bush
turned out to be a great combination.
There was plenty of laughter and good times provided with never a dull
moment among them. Feeling eager and invincible, we
set out from Broome and took a ride along the Fitzroy River spotting
crocs. We picked our way through
uncharted river country to where we had a picnic lunch on the bank beneath
the majestic gum trees at Willare. We
then had a visit with the ancient Prison Boab Tree near Derby before heading
on to Windjana Gorge to camp for the night.
The rangers there were very helpful by providing us with a top spot
and supplying us with a load of firewood.
As one of the rangers was pointing out where the showers were, I asked
him: “Is the water in the showers
heated?” His rather dry and comical
reply was: “It’s thermal. It comes out the
ground. If it’s too hot, just turn the
cold on some more!” “Beaudy,” I thought to
myself. “No rush then!” We ate like kings as we dined on
Barramundi beautifully prepared by Eric.
The food was first class the whole trip, and the beers kept
coming. We ate, drank, and told tall
tales around the campfire before rolling out our swags to sleep under the
clear night sky lit by a full and glorious moon. Peaceful and relaxing away from town, it
doesn’t get much better than that. I eventually made my way to the
shower at a very late and crisp hour.
I was spewing when I found the presence of only one cold-water tap on
the wall. As the ranger’s words again
rang through my head, I could picture him having a chuckle to himself out
there somewhere: “If it’s too hot,
just turn the cold on some more!” Oh
well, it was very refreshing to say the least! The next morning we headed for
Lennard Gorge. This was a much quieter
place due to the ‘hell’ track leading into it. We arrived on our dirt bikes with ease, and
then wasted no time climbing down the natural staircase that led to the
refreshing pool below. Once in the
water we had our choices of four waterfalls to cool off under. Leaving was tough, but we dragged ourselves
out and back up the hill, lured by a superb picnic lunch awaiting us. During a scheduled fuel stop at
Mt. Barnett Station, it was discovered that the trailer towed by the support
vehicle had broken a spring. During
the course of head-scratching, tyre-kicking and arm-waving discussions on how
we might go about fixing the problem without the presence of the usual spare,
an elderly gentleman came over for a visit.
Now this old guy was pretty sharp, and by the looks on our faces he
could tell something was amiss. He
took a look at the spring and said confidently: “I reckon I’ve got a spring under the bed
in my caravan that’ll fit this!”
The guys all looked around at
each other and thought “Yeah… right!”
Sure enough he came back with a spring that slotted straight in. Dumbfounded looks soon turned to warm praise
and gratitude for his welcomed help.
The all-preparedness of the caravaner’s brigade turned out to be our
saviour! Without considering his own
risk of needing the spare spring himself, his unselfish gesture was a
blessing in such a remote area. Back on the road again we turned
off the Gibb River Road and followed a rough track through the back of Mt
Elizabeth Station towards the Walcott Inlet.
It was out there, deep within the Kimberley that the enormity of this
wild country impacted upon me. Untamed
and ferocious, the adventure lived!
Backsten Falls and Wren Gorge were our destination with stops along
the way to visit some Aboriginal art sites. This country took a tremendous
amount of effort to access with a vehicle, so we chose to go it alone without
the 4WD to back us up. We carried
spare fuel, food and bedding on our bikes for the nights camp. There was a serious “jump-up” that we had
to encounter on the way. This was like
a hill of loose rock steps that separated one level of country from another:
only it was no ordinary hill. Imagine
water finding the easiest path downhill by following the track, while
removing all presence of soil that ever existed before. Make the distance about a kilometer with a
gradient that looks at first glance like riding in a flat dry riverbed full
of soul-destroying rocks and boulders.
Only the relentless strain on your arms and shoulders indicates the
steady ongoing climb; and I do mean “ongoing!” Upon arrival at Backsten Creek I
walked to the falls and gorge alone while the others chose to ride on to Wren
Gorge first. I was rewarded with an uninterrupted visit with Nature in her
absolute power and rugged glory. The
view from the edge of the gorge is one of magnificent and overwhelming
remoteness. There was no evidence that
man had ever set foot near the place before I arrived. Our camp that night was a simple
one, though very comfortable. Rested
and feeling refreshed, we left the camp with warnings from Eric of an
horrendous “jump-up” to negotiate only minutes down the track. The only consolation with this one was that
we were going down it and not up it!
The general consensus was a gasping statement from each rider’s first
impression to the tune of: “Ohhh… Shit!” This one was more of a drop-off
leading into the typical rocks and boulders synonymous with the Kimberley
Ranges. With much relief, the journey
from there was of a gentler nature across plains country with a few river
crossings to negotiate. We survived
without major incident and came out through Beverly Springs Station to our
awaiting 4WD supply vehicle. We then headed for Old Mornington
Bush Camp and settled in for the evening at their Bush Bar. With a warm and welcoming atmosphere, it is
definitely an oasis for the weary
traveller. The makings of an
entertaining night of rest and relaxation were under way, so it was well
received when Eric declared: “Cook’s night off!” Since it was his shout and we weren’t goin’
anywhere, we were happy to stay and oblige.
The feed was fabulous! The next morning was a casual
ride out to visit Sir John Gorge and Diamond Gorge from our camp. Canoes can be hired and paddled along the
4km of the gentle Fitzroy River as it cuts through Diamond Gorge. Bell Gorge was our next visit,
and on the way we stopped at the Imintji Community who ran a roadside store
for fuel and supplies. This was a very
colourful visit with the Aboriginal kids who took to us with great admiration
for the motorcycles and our talents. There were many requests for donuts,
wheelies and any thrilling maneuvers that could be conjured up. It’s amazing how 1000 km on a dirt bike can
knock the edge off the “ego” in a bunch of guys. Without any takers the kids soon had the
ringleader of our entertainment committee picked and moved in on him for
sport. Lance was “up for it,” and since
his features were “large and jovial” he was renamed “Humpty Dumpty,” much to
our amusement as well as the kids. Moving on from our sidesplitting
escapades with the kids, we travelled on to Bell Gorge. After a short walk we
were soaking in one of the most soothing waterholes in the Kimberley. A very popular destination for many, yet
even in the midst of “rush hour” it was still unquestionably tranquil with
plenty of room for all to share.
Photos rarely do the energy of this peaceful waterhole justice, and it
must be experienced to appreciate the benefits of taking “time-out” there for
a while. The next day was a huge one! We had many kilometers ahead of us to reach
the west coast of the Dampier Peninsular for our night’s camp. Eric doesn’t usually combine the Gorges and
the Coast together on the same tour, but we got a custom job! After another 200km of bum-numbing road
miles we were eager to see bush again.
This presented as one of Eric’s secret short cuts. It began pleasant enough, though it soon
became a masochistic track from Hell!
Apparently too well kept a secret as the further we went the less the
track had been used since the wet season.
Without much vehicle use the young encroaching bush had many
outreaching branches eager to greet us.
We were whipped wildly by the regrowth for 40km as we rode hard into
the setting sun, eager to reach the main track again before dark. It was a relief to be on a dirt
road again, though we remained grateful for having been saved 200km of a
boring road section. Shortly after
dark we arrived at Middle Lagoon just south of Cape Leveque. Our camp by the ocean had a wonderful and
relaxing atmosphere that was in complete contrast to the ruggedness of the
interior. After the laughter had died
down in the evening the peaceful sound of waves on the beach serenaded us off
to sleep. On our last day Eric guided us
through sandy forest tracks and across fast open tidal mudflats where to our
relief there wasn’t a rock to be seen.
We were eventually led out onto the beach from where we travelled down
the coast. Once on the beach the
scenery took on a whole new perspective!
Wide open spaces of clean white sand meeting the tranquil blue ocean,
with deep red pindan cliffs and rocky points all adding to the spectacular
contrast. As we came out onto the beach at
the mouth of an estuary I could see the potential for a great photo. Beside the creek was a sand bank and the
idea was for four bikes to hit it with speed to get a little air and I would
take their picture. Well it didn’t
work out as planned, and they all ended up ploughing over the bank and going
down in quicksand. If looks could kill
I would have been struck dead where I stood.
It looked to them like it had been a “set-up” by myself at their
expense. The look of horror on my face
at the shock of it all going wrong, coupled with my eagerness to go in and
help them out (after I took a couple photos of course!), was all that saved
my hide. Once we were all over that little
shocker we headed on down the beach.
There is no feeling in the world like riding on an open beach without
any sign of a living person having ever been before you. No tracks ahead, just Nature in her
refreshing purity from tide to tide.
After our final refueling we began the last leg of our tour down the
famous Cable Beach at sunset. This was
the most amazing feeling of heart soaring energy, boosted after many miles
through varying country. Riding through the mass of people
parked along the beach in their 4WDs for the sunset, marked our return to
civilization and “tick-tock world.”
Our procession of dirty grubby “chook chasers” rode up the beach ramp,
onto the bitumen road, past the line of resorts and into Broome the back
way. I couldn’t help but to think in
reply to all the stares from onlookers:
“You couldn’t imagine where we have all been!”
______________________________ Story and photos by: Kevin Pampling P.O. Box 3138 Broome W.A. 6725. Ph. 0417 094671 email:
pampspictorials@hotmail.com |
