It ain't over til it's over (Ellery Creek and Standley Chasm, Alice Springs, Northern Territory)

The 6:55am breakfast call came for the last time. It was a more relaxed beginning to the day and we had until 9am to pack up. We gathered around the fire pit to cook toast over the coals and enjoy a cup of tea. Finally, the wind had dropped and, what was supposed to have been a relatively warm evening, turned out to be the coldest so far. Clear skies and an eternity of stars. Marcus’ swag was fringed with ice as were all the tents. The interior sparkled with ice crystals from the condensation, as did many of the tent tops.

An icy morning.

Dave and I packed up quickly and Dave was appointed Camp Inspector, required to check all tents before we departed. In the meantime, we went in search of the bower of the resident bowerbird. Another Western Bowerbird with the usual pink mullet. He was a frequent visitor to the kitchen to steal food and items for his bower. We had been watching him for days, trying to work out where his bower might be hidden.

What's for dinner?

Ultimately, after discussions with Jonny, we decided on the ridge line behind the camp site and set out to find it. We were partly correct. It was on the ridge, but the second ridge.

The kitchen.

Again, we watched and followed and were led on a merry chase. Divide and conquer, Machiavelli advised and so we did. We explored either side of the scrub line. While Dave was conducting a ground search, I kept watch of the skies. Eventually, he returned to the tree near his bower. Gotcha.

Discovered.

We backtracked and found the bower. Given all the items stolen from the kitchen, I expected more. The most amusing was a post it note reminding someone to "take the T-shirts to Ormi". A few photos were snapped and we returned to camp. Dave returned with Jonny so he was aware of where his nemesis resided.

Our transport.

The final event at camp was the surprise presentation of T-shirts to all the trekkers. Words of thanks were spoken. We were grateful for the experience and Trek Tours Australia were grateful we had chosen them. In all seriousness I could not recommend them highly enough. They are a totally professional outfit. The guides we spent time with were all passionate and knowledgeable.

Ellery Creek like you've never seen it. Dave's photo.

Bags stowed in the trailer, we boarded the bus for Ellery Creek. It was too early for a swim. The temperature was in single digits. However, it was a beautiful scene with trees reflected in the water. We admired the view, nailed a few classic photos and marshalled ourselves for a team photo before heading to Standley Chasm.

Beautiful,  but Dave's photo is better.

We arrived shortly after midday when the sun is almost directly over the top of the walls. Visitors were few in number and we strolled the path down to the chasm and shared the space with another couple as we made the most of the excellent unpopulated photo opportunity. Obligatory photos taken, we returned to the trail and the climb up to the lookout where we would be enjoying lunch.

Ellery Creek ... again.

It was a reasonably short climb, but quite steep. The view from the ridge allowed you to look back over the chasm in one direction and out across the range in the other. Lunch was as good as ever and everyone was in a celebratory mood. The end was in sight and we had achieved what we had set out to do.

Budgies.

And then it was over. We were back on the bus heading to our respective hotels. Not that they were far apart. It was agreed we would meet for pre-dinner drinks at the Double Tree.

A White necked Heron.

Before that though there would be showers. Showers! And phone calls home.

Standley chasm.

Drinks were great and Jonny and Lucas turned up unexpectedly. The other surprise was, it was Alice Show Day, a public holiday, the second that week. This one apparently necessitated a 15% surcharge on all drinks. I’m so glad Malcolm Turnbull got rid of penalty rates when he was PM - it stopped price gouging. The bosses win again. Anyway, we sat around chatting and reliving past glories until it was time for dinner.

The view from our lunch spot.

And that was pretty much it. There is no need for a separate post for the transit day. It went as expected. The plane was late. The Qantas lounge wasn’t open when we arrived so we were forced to breakfast in the public café. The guy behind the counter was not having a good day and my ham and cheese croissant was served up looking like road kill from the Larapinta Drive. It was ever thus.

Two of our guides: Jonny and Lucas.

Lenny Kravitz sang "it ain't over til it's over" but we know it's over. For now. Until the next adventure. 

 

We're already discussing the Tarkine in '25.

King of the mountain (Mt Sonder and Glen Helen Gorge)

The moment we had all been anticipating since we first hit the trail. No, not the 2am wake call, the climb up one the highest peaks of the Larapinta Trail. At 1380m, it is fourth highest. Breakfast was highly recommended, not just to supply energy, but also to help your body combat the cold. It was another clear night and the wind had not let up. The climb up Sonder, we had been warned, is extremely exposed in sections. No one appeared particularly tired as we chatted at breakfast. Perhaps it was just nervous talk. Certainly I was worried about my knee lasting the distance, even with the walking poles.

Not quite at the summit.

There was no scenery to see on the drive to Redbank Gorge and while there were cars in the car park, we didn’t see anyone outside our group for quite some time. We started the ascent around 3am. Before I joined the trail, I knelt down and picked up a handful of dirt and made myself known to the spirits and asked them to keep us safe. It is a custom used by Indigenous people when entering country not their own. And then we were away.

Comfortably wrapped in a sleeping bag, waiting ...

It is difficult to describe the climb because we really couldn’t see anything. Declan had explained the changing terrain, the saddles and ridge lines, exposed rocky outcrops, the gradual climb to the peak, but all we could see were the feet in front of us in the light of our head torches. Or the slow climb of other walkers behind us as we watched their lights when we paused for a break. Lucas led the group and maintained a constant, if slow for him, pace. Some of our number talked of feeling 'car sick' from constantly looking down at the feet of the person in front.

Here comes the sun.

The wind did not abate. If anything, it grew in strength and was at times, ferocious. A mistimed step could see you blown sideways. Extra strong gusts pulled at the pack on your back. Jackets were put on and then removed in more the protected areas. Until finally, we reached the open part of the trek and wind protection was a must. I was warm and comfortable except for my fingers. The gloves I chose were actually inners and with my hands clamped firmly on the walking poles, my unmoving fingers felt like they were going to freeze off. More than once I thought of the Arctic and Antarctic explorers – what possessed them to do what they did?

The shadow of Mt Sonder.

Uncharacteristically, Dave began to drop back to the rear of the group. We were nearing the summit, it was in fact in sight, but he wasn’t feeling well. We were now protected from the wind, but it was still very cold. As we emerged from behind one peak we could see over the valley below and the colours in the sky were changing, a crescent moon floated above the horizon and there was one star left in the sky.

The colours changed quickly.

My description of that sky and the sun rise that followed are inadequate so I’ll let the pictures speak for me.

The range below.

Dave was still hypothermic, after a cup of coffee, despite being wrapped in the sleeping bag we brought for just this occurrence. A quick chat with Lucas produced a down vest for him to put on and a cup of warm water. Re-wrapped in the sleeping bag he sat and watched the vista change as the sun rose. Once Dave warmed up again he was fine and was one of the frontrunners in the descent to the car park.

It was agreed by most of the group that it was best to climb Mt Sonder in the dark because, when we saw what it looked like in daylight, it was decided most of us would have gone yeah nah and remained at the bus. It looked unsurmountable.

Heading back down.

The walk down produced some unusual sights. One girl jogged past us. The same one who was searching for Counts Point in the wrong direction days earlier. Clearly she survived her geographic embarrassment. Then there was the guy wearing sandals. I accept they are made for bushwalking, but before the sun arrived, it was freezing. Interestingly I did not require the walking poles on the walk back to the carpark. It appears the spirits looked after me and Dave just as I had asked at the beginning of the day.

Wide open spaces.

Back at the car park, we sat in the sun and waited the arrival of the others. The bird life kept me amused, particularly the quarrelling of the Hooded Robins.

The robins.

The chatter on the way to camp was anything but nervous as we relaxed into the triumphant glow that comes from achieving something momentous. Each of us had been King of the Mountain, an excellent song from Midnight Oil.

The view from the carpark.

Jonny had prepared a beautiful brunch which was enjoyed by the campfire before a few of us headed to our tents for quick nap.

Boots in hand. Time for a rest.

In the afternoon, we drove across to Glen Helen Gorge for a wander around. It is another beautiful area but was missing any abundance of wildlife that afternoon, so it was back to camp for afternoon tea. Dinner that night was lamb chops and roast veggies. 

Glen Helen Gorge.

Jonny joined us at the firepit for a while. This resulted in his apologising for some of the chops being a tad more chargrilled than others. Lucas described the barbecue during the cooking process as being ‘a mountain of fire’.

The endemic ghost gum.

Marcus decided the last night was perfect for a sleep out under the stars. We left him to his swag and we retired to our tent content in the knowledge that we had conquered the mountain.

Sunset after a long day.

Until next time.

You ain't seen nothin' yet (Ormiston Gorge via the Finke River, Northern Territory)

The breakfast call came at 6:55am although Dave and I were already awake and had rolled out of our swags. I brushed the sand off and walked the few steps to the tent to remove my thermals and dress more appropriately for the day ahead. We were soon sipping tea and munching on toast by the fire pit. The reluctance I had shown last evening, when Dave suggested sleeping under the stars, was unfounded. It was, as Bill and Ted would say, truly excellent.

Finke River campground.

Today was another walk of around 15km but it was relatively easy to ensure we were all fit and able to tackle Mt Sonder the next day. We began at the Finke River. There were a number of campsites set up with everything from tents to caravans. The road in was a maze of tracks that had been carved out to avoid boggy sections or deep sand drifts. There were no signs, so to find the camping area first time would be a process of trial and error unless you were a regular visitor.

There was no shortage of water.

Our first stop today involved tracking another resident Western Bowerbird. The bower was a reasonable size and was discovered quickly. Declan knew where it was from previous trips.

A well used bower.

We made our own pace once again today and I was becoming more adept at using the walking poles. As a trade-off I handed the camera to Dave so I could focus on walking. I need to be comfortable using the poles before attempting the climb up Mt Sonder tomorrow, in the pre-dawn dark.

Mt Sonder.

The trail was undulating of course, but there were no major climbs involved. The area was far more open than yesterday and the colours were as stunning as they have been everywhere else. The backdrop to this walk was Mt Sonder, majestic in the distance in the washed-out colours that Namatjira has perfectly captured in his paintings. Aside form the white-out climb to Counts Point, Mt Sonder has been visible at some point everyday.

A controlled burn in the distance.

Being able to choose your own walking pace is a real bonus. It allowed those with a long stride to disappear over the horizon. Those who were not so fast, did not feel pressured to keep up. It also promoted a quiet time for reflecting on the landscape that surrounded us. Before the final trek into Ormiston Gorge, we gathered together in the sandy river bed and rested in the winter sunshine. It was delightfully pleasant laying on the sand listening to the sounds of nature and distant chatter of other members of the group.

It was surprisingly green.

Muscles refreshed, we returned to the trail and Ormiston Creek where Jonny had set up lunch and was waiting for us. The braver souls of our group went swimming in the extremely cold water. I didn’t feel the need. It was a most relaxing day and we covered the distance efficiently and had time to rest at the gorge.

A comfortable place to rest.

We were back at camp early to attend a briefing on tomorrow’s trek: the pre-dawn ascent of Mt Sonder. Our wake-up call would be at 2am. Declan had sketched out the walk on pieces of cardboard and walked us through what to expect as far as terrain and weather conditions. It was recommended we carry a sleeping bag to ward off the pre-dawn cold and the usual 3 litres of water and extra snacks.

Declan in the classroom.

Dave and I re-organised our day packs, complete with a sleeping bag to share. We were advised to sleep in as much of our walking gear as possible. Our thermals kept us very warm around the fire that night as we enjoyed our afternoon tea of damper and an early dinner of risotto.

The swimming hole at the gorge.

There was no loitering around the fire tonight. The early dinner ensured everyone was tucked into their swags by 7pm. A good night's sleep was important for the focus walk of the entire trip. Tomorrow promised to be one of those moments. 

Lunch.

Everyone has enjoyed the trek but as the Bachman Turner Overdrive song goes, "you ain't seen nothin' yet". The climb up Mt Sonder in the morning promises to be something special.

Until then.

Shooting Stars (The Ochre Pits and Inarlanga Pass, Northern Territory)

The morning began in the usual way, dear reader, with a 6:55am breakfast call. Today it was reminiscent of Pride Rock and the Lion King. Apparently, I was unaware. Amusing, if not musical. Everyone has settled into the routine and preparations for the day were well underway before Jonny’s cry scared the local wildlife. The night had been similar to the previous one. The wind continued to gust and shake the tents and rustle the trees but it remained dry.

Splendid Fairy Wren

It was about a 30-minute drive to the starting point of today’s walk. As we were milling around the carpark at the Ochre Pits, Janelle spotted a Splendid Fairy Wren and his harem. We don’t see such brilliant colours in the wrens in NSW and the sun shimmered as he hopped from twig to twig. A couple of Zebra finches came to join him but were no match for his show of colour.

The trail heads up to the ridge.

The ochre pits were striking in the soft early morning sun and begged to be photographed. We were coming back here in the afternoon but the light would be harsher by then. The group continued on the walk as I paused for photos. Frustratingly the camera would not work. Cold weather had destroyed the moment. The battery would need to be removed and warmed up before any photos could be taken.

Mt Sonder is always in the background.

My left knee had seized up as I sat around the campfire last evening. To participate in today’s walk I would need to use walking poles or have it strapped. I opted for the former. This provided its own level of difficulty. I am used to walking with my camera in hand to facilitate any perceived photo opportunity. Today the camera was on my shoulder.

Spinifex pigeons.

The use of walking poles requires another level of concentration. As useful as they may be, they are not made for this type of environment. The rocks and stones of the river bed and the trail side spinifex made planting the poles challenging at times. Aside from watching my feet, I now needed to be mindful of where the poles were going. Time and again, they glanced off rocks and smacked against my legs or the camera bounced from my shoulder into a pole.

Cycad palms were everywhere through the pass.

In another first, Dave removed the orthotics from his boots to see if that was contributing to his blisters. It turned out they were and, while the blisters would remain with him for the rest of the trip, the lack of orthotics meant they were not exacerbated further.

Can the sky get any bluer?

The trail gently undulated towards our turn around point. Beyond the ochre pits was the Aranda walk. It came with information boards provided by the local Aranda people who are sometimes known as the Arrernte. The well-spaced information sites covered animals and plants and their uses. We had a brief rest at the entrance to Inarlanga Pass where a pair of Spinifex Pigeons bobbed and danced for us.

Creek beds are not always easy walking.

Inarlanga means echidna in the local language although we didn’t see any. We walked through the pass to our end point where we could look back down the pass and also out to Counts Point, yesterday’s white-out destination. It is such magnificent country and there were views in every direction.

The ochre.

The Larapinta Trail is quite popular this time of the year and we came across many other walkers, solo and in groups. As we made our way back to our packs, we encountered a solo traveller. “Where are you heading?” Jonny enquired. “Counts Point.” came the American-accented reply, as she pointed off into the distance. An awkward silence descended on our group; we knew Counts Point was in the opposite direction. When Jonny informed her of this, she shrugged and said, “Well, I guess I’m going for a day walk.” and continued in the direction she had indicated.

More ochre.

We traced our way back down the pass to a sunny, protected place where Lucas had prepared our lunch. It was the usual wraps with fresh veggies. While we were enjoying the sunshine another solo walker appeared, a Melbourne local. As we had eaten our fill, Jonny offered him lunch. He was very grateful to join us. It was his 8th day on the trail and he hadn’t had fresh food since he commenced. The trail is an amazing experience but I’m not sure I’d want to do the full length, eating high protein dehydrated food.

No idea. Growing atop the ochre wall.

The walk back to ochre pits happened at our own pace and in silence to ensure we immersed ourselves in nature. Back at the pits, Jonny talked to us about the spiritual significance of the area for the local people and their relationship with the land. He mentioned the ochres from this site had been found in artworks 1000km away in South Australia, such was the significance of this space. 

The fire pit at our campsite.

Then it was back to camp and afternoon tea. Dinner that night was prepared by Declan. It was kangaroo loin, couscous and veggies baked in a pot covered in coals from the fire. The stars were out tonight and we decided to sleep outside in our swags.

Our swags outside for a night of stargazing.

Sleeping under the stars in our swags was a magic moment. We sat around the campfire waiting to see a shooting star before retiring. Hence the title, a Dragon classic from 1977. Thankfully the three of us searching the inky sky were rewarded by seeing the same sight, a shooting star with a long tail. Ok, so it’s probably space junk burning up on re-entering the earth’s atmosphere. Whatever. It was still beautiful.

One of Dave's photos.

And so to bed. "Just drag your swag onto the river bed in front of your tent," said Declan. On reaching our tent this proved to be a more complex task than imagined. The river bed in front was strewn with rocks. Too far to drag a swag in camp booties. However, there was a space a few metres away from our tent and so the tarps were laid down there and the swags placed on top.

One of Dave's friends from the pass.

While the night was clear, the wind remained, ensuring the temperature wouldn’t reach zero. Dave and I snuggled into our swags, while the others retired to their tents. The wind kept up, blowing sand onto my swag but thankfully not into it. I found it claustrophobic to zip the swag up completely, so whichever way I rolled I had a view of the sky as I moved. And every time I bothered to look skyward I was thrilled to see another shooting star. One was so massive it covered a third of the night sky. The only drawback was the gusting wind which occasionally threw the flap of the swag up and over my face.

Until next time.