It was time to take the more rugged path as we turned the car left off the Gibb River Road and headed North up the Kalumburu Road. We made it to the first homestead at Drysdale as we’d read about their delicious burgers but alas, they were only served at lunch and we’d arrived for dinner! As expected at the end of the Dry, camp was a dust bowl. My scaly legs now resembled something that would look more at home on a reptile, I was beginning to get a little over the dryness and dust, I was becoming itchy! After a fun packed 2 weeks with the Perry’s we were all more than a little exhausted and the kids were asleep by 7.30pm and us adults not far behind.

We were on the road by 9am the following morning, not bad for us. The road was certainly harder and slower going up to Kalumburu, about a 4-hour drive, the longest spell we’d done in the car for a long time. While the terrain had not changed significantly, there was a stretch where to our left, the spinifex was red, a dust covering like icing sugar on a cake, and to the right, lush green low-level bush. It looked strange, and fabulous, like the aftermath of the dry and wet in unison. Cows and horses were randomly spread across the land and every time we saw one Reo whopped with joy. As expected the area is extremely dry around here and we witnessed first hand the devastation that can be done by thoughtless or deliberate action as a fire raged through a homestead. Heat beating at our car as the fire ravaged everything in its path.

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Honeymoon Bay was our journey’s end, another pristine coastal beach, with tempting cerulean waters, yet with the gnashes potentially looming underneath it was again a no-swim zone. Torment at its best. The family who own the land swim in the sea with their 3 kids and they do have strict guidelines for fishermen with regards to no gutting near the water or throwing remains in the sea, to help with keeping the sea creatures at bay. But still, we kept our feet dry. The sea breeze took the edge off the heat which helped somewhat. The separation from the Perry’s was still weighing heavy on the kids, yet as we entered camp, another family were nearby and suddenly the melancholy was forgotten as Lexi & Reo went off to play with Ruby, Sam & Billy, doing gymnastics and hunting for cane toads. I’m sure out of my two you can guess who did which activity!

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We hadn’t decided how long we’d stay when we arrived so paid for 3. We were enjoying the relaxed atmosphere, fishing and getting back into a school routine after being a little slack over the last fortnight (it was hard and very messy!), so we decided to extend by a couple more. One afternoon we took a meander to the neighbouring camp a few KMs away for a recce where they have a resident croc and lemon sharks swimming around in the bay, just in case we were to return to the Gibb another time. 😉 Shower time was fun with the Donkey. The kids had never seen one and enjoyed making a fire to heat the water. Our neighbours Jez & Rebecca had managed to get their hands on some rather large oysters of which they kindly donated some and enjoyed by Alex (heated up on the donkey coals no less). In the end it was the mini critters that drove us away, the sand flies. Normally its poor Lexi that cops the bites, this time they didn’t discriminate, they even managed to scavenge through Alex’s hairy legs.

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It was on to Mitchell Falls, of which we’re heard a myriad stories regarding the road conditions in. Again, we learnt to take opinions with a grain of salt. If you believed the travelling grapevine, tow ropes, double suspension and extra gaffa tape would be required to ensure everything was stuck together. I managed to type on the laptop while Alex was driving over these ”catastrophic” corrugations. It was certainly bumpy and you needed to take it easy on a few sections, but I was again surprised at how polarising opinions could be.

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We thankfully arrived intact and set up camp. There were 3 choppers stationed on their pads and we ventured over to take a look and got chatting with one of the pilots, Aaron. On our walk to Manning Gorge, I’d got chatting with a lady who’d just returned from here. She was quite a miserable spirit and her response to us coming up here was, “the road was dreadful, there is no water running in the gorge and the noise pollution was so bad from all the helicopters, you might as well not bother”. However, we did, and we were. Again, I was thankful we’d come out of peak season, as Aaron was sharing that in the peak, they had 7 helicopters stationed, running tours from 8am to 4pm, 7 days a week. Helicopters aren’t quiet and I can imagine the whole reverie of this place would be shifted on its axis with the noise. We were lucky and saw only 2 on our trek.

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We saw a tour return, showing first hand how noisy they were and then Aaron showed us round the helicopter. As we were chatting, it transpired that Aaron was also from Cremorne and had gone to the same school as Lexi and Reo! Small, small world. Although the waterfalls weren’t running, he told us a good spot to swim in when we did get to the Falls. That night we eagerly packed our bags, filling water bottles, kids excited and helping. We had an early night ready for an even earlier start.

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The plan had been to leave by 6.30am so I was impressed as boot hit ground at 6.45am. I was interested to see how the kids would go as this would be the longest walk they’d done on the trip. Lots of treats (read bribes) had been packed and we were on our way. We set off with enthusiasm and vigour and once again we used the track markers to play games and keep us entertained. With the low sun, we had lots of shade as we walked the path and clambered over rocks to get vantage points of the gorge. We passed Little and Big Merton, spectacular in their own right, before reaching the Main Act itself.

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The top of Mitchell Falls is a vast area. As you walk to the edge, you can see where water has undercut the rock, like upside down steps, over millions of years. At one point, Reo got way too close to the edge giving us a fright, and as we shouted for him to come back, he stormed off as a well-practised belligerent 6-year-old does. After coercing him back, (the treats came in handy), we continued to explore the top of the falls. We found the tucked away water hole Aaron had told us about and cooled down as there was no shade to hide behind now. You’re very exposed on the top.

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As we began the return journey, the afternoon clouds which we’d been seeing on a regular basis now, started to form, taking a few degrees off the 38-degree humid heat, making a smidgen of difference. Lexi’s face was beetroot red and Reo’s legs were slowing down as the kilometres slipped by, so we stopped by the Little Merton pool for a rest and dip. A quick climb up some rocks, we found some art work. To us, they look like a bunch of random pictures but hold so much story and significance to the Aboriginals. Once rested, we completed the last of the walk, very happy with ourselves. It had been a great day and we’d completed 11km, the kids had done well and very proud of themselves. Boy, we’ve come a long way in 9 months haven’t we? The door locking and “I’m not going for a waaaalk” are now ancient myths, ‘embrace’ may not be the appropriate word to use as there are certainly sporadic ululations from both kids, yet it’s a far cry from our first walk up Mt. Kosciuszko.

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We drove back towards the main road south and camped near another area of rock art ready for a sticky beak the following morning. The Wandjina drawings we’d seen at Wunnamurra Gorge were an insignificant 1000 years old, we were on the hunt for older drawings still. Whilst we were searching, there were little caves that Alex was coercing the kids in, Reo was keen until Alex remarked that if the cave swallowed him up, he’d throw a rope in to rescue him! We’d read about other artwork in the area and among others, we found the Gwion painting, dynamic, ornate, intricate human figures depicted with a range of weapons and cultural objects and dated to be an astomishing 17,000 years old. It’s incredible how they have survived all the floods and fires that have ravaged the area.

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It was time to head south again and we timed it perfectly for the Drysdale Homestead burgers. It was a hop, skip and a jump along the Gibb now. We popped into Ellenbrae Homestead, renowned for their mango smoothies and scones (not as good as Alex’s lemonade ones) and ended up at El Questro Homestead, the last station on the Gibb, nestled at the foot of the Cockburn Ranges.

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There’s quite a bit to see around here, so we booked in for 4 nights, coincidently lining up my birthday with a nice on-site restaurant 😉 However, the first morning we were aimless and unfocused trying to decide what we wanted to do when. Then, in a sudden rush we decided to go to Zebedee Springs. Tantalising warm water on a hot 40 degree day, may not seem like the best combination, but under the cool palms as the water engulfed our bodies, it was bliss. That was for 15 minutes, then the ranger came to spoil the fun. To be fair, it was very clear that they shut the springs at midday and we did arrive at 11.55am, so we actually had an extra 10 minutes of fun than we’d planned.

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The next couple of days were exploring the gorges. Firstly Emma Gorge, a short walk to this amazing gorge with water still trickling from way up high. The water was refreshing and once we’d cooled down, there was a warm water spring at the edge to warm us up again. A beautiful sunset at Branco’s lookout, overlooking an amazing view as Chamberlain’s river wound its way down the valley, ended the day. It’s hard to put into words the true colour we’ve seen around the Kimberley, there’s such a richness and variety of hue in these ranges.

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The following day was the most important day of the stay – my birthday 😊 We celebrated walking El Questro gorge, not such a long walk but quite technical, given the size of the boulders needing to be climbed after the midway point, versus the size of Reo’s legs. However, now a seasoned walker, on he traipsed, rewarded with an oasis of the mid-way swimming hole and waterfall as the finale. The return journey was slow-going, less of the rock-hopping monkey we’d had on the way up, Reo’s endless mutterings of,“I hate this stupid, silly, muddy walk” pervaded the scene.

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The evening just put the finishing shine on an already fabulous day. Guided to the restaurant by the kids, a corner table awaited us, decorated with “Happy Birthday” bunting dangling above. Steak was the order of the day, with the perfect accompaniment of our last 20-year-old bottle of wine. Delectible. The kids then snuck off and returned with a cake, sparkling with candles as the whole restaurant burst into song. A fun family night and a great way to celebrate the end of this iconic road.

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We’d done it!! 4 weeks, 2000km on a dusty track with varying levels of corrugations, insignificant breakages compared to the horrors we’d heard and truly indoctrinated into the red dirt, dust, culture and magnificent beauty we’d had the privilege to explore. The biggest surprise, there hadn’t been a long drop in sight! I don’t remember flushing toilets 13 years back when we last set foot on the Gibb, nor remember requiring cash machines for dolling out money for places to stay, we didn’t spend a dollar then. However, times have progressed. With cattle farming a tough gig, even more so with the drought, the homesteads have turned their hand to hospitality and tourism, some better than others. Who knows what untold tales this track will hold in another 13 years, whether tar will continue to invade dust, changing the iconic Gibb River Road forever? Me for one, am grateful I’ve had the opportunity to experience it not once, but twice and it will always hold a special place in my heart.

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Whilst the Gibb adventure was accomplished, there was still more of the Kimberly to explore. We’d almost completed the search, waterfalls, remote cattle stations and big rivers had been unveiled. Big fish were still eluding us, yet I wasn’t confident these illusionary creatures even existed!! The hunt would continue…..