I had long maintained that, many years ago, I flew over the
little town of Wyndham at 2,500 feet and that was as close as I ever wanted to
go. Now here we were in Wyndham confirming that thought. It’s a hot, humid
little mudflat clinging to dear life as a port of a sort. Enough said. El
Questro Station on the other hand sits on the Pentecost River and is a nice
place to just hang out. We booked for four days and chose one of the more
remote, private campsites spread along the river away from the other campers. Mindful
of a heavy rain event unfolding at the other end of the Gibb River Road (GRR) and
after further checking of the same we extended another two nights.
The campsite was not only picturesque and serene; it had its
own entertainment channel. There were at least two resident crocodiles
(freshwater for the most part, but possibly a small salty in there too) and, on
the opposite bank to us, a colony of bats. Every morning the bats would settle
into their Pandanus tree perches just above the water line and sleep for the
day. Unfortunately, bat families being what they are, little disputes would
break out and occasionally, some pushing and shoving would occur resulting in a
hapless bat losing its grip and plummeting into the river. Instantly there
would be a splash and a wily old croc would have his breakfast. We could sit
and watch for hours! And no shortage of bats on the menu! It was hard to feel
sympathy for the bats as they were in the habit of conducting night-bombing
missions over our camp, showering our campers with guano and keeping us huddled
under cover as well.
Gus and Cheryl at Zebedee Springs. Best hot springs we've seen on this trip.
There are some wonderful gorges and places of interest around
El Questro. After a stop at Zebedee Springs to luxuriate in the thermal waters
we went on to tackle the El Questro Gorge. It was not an easy amble by any
means with some challenging sections to scramble over (Maurs in fact lost her
grip at one point and fell, wedging herself between two large rocks until she
got herself out. She was bruised but not bloodied and got home under her own
steam). Next we tackled Amalia Gorge. Halfway up the gorge is a swimming hole –
irresistible to Cheryl and Maurs – they had to take a dip. I climbed up to a
rock ledge to grab a photo of them, which I did, but when I looked down to the
pool below, looking up at me was a nice sized freshwater crocodile. “Worried
who you’re swimming with?” I shouted. “I’m not too bothered” called back the
croc, “they seem okay sheilas to me.”
Water hazard at El Questro Gorge - a trifle tricky but worth the effort
Maurs and Cheryl having a dip in Amalia Gorge (with a friend)
"Bluddy women spoiling a guy's peace!!"
Back at the campsite, night time activities included cane
toad busting (yes they have invaded as far as El Questro and we managed to hand
in a couple for, er, processing), and snake spotting (we saw a beautiful black
and white banded variety one evening). Despite the peace of the camp, the bar
and restaurant at the resort itself and the bats, it was time to move on and
tackle the GRR in earnest. The road out to the Pentecost River is sealed now
but after crossing the Pentecost it was a little bone-jarring as we got
personal with the famous corrugations and ruts that make the GRR some sort of
rite of passage for over-age, over-testosteroned males (“you’ve got your 4WD
mate, but have you done the Gibb River Road?!!”)
In the country it is traditional for driver to wave to fellow
driver as one sails past. It is also fair to say the (usually) female passenger
never waves in this situation but looks impassively ahead. Not so here; at the
impending end of the GRR, the female passengers in passing vehicles were joining in, waving frantically
as we passed them, such was their obvious relief to be nearly over the ordeal
and back to smooth roads with bitumen, shops, mobile phones working, electricity
and television, and thinking “Thank god he’s got this out of his system!”
Our journey was just beginning...
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