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.

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.

Above the Clouds (Serpentine Gorge to Chalet Dam via Counts Point)

It was a 7am start for a breakfast of porridge or muesli for those who wanted it. Or toast cooked over the fire pit for Dave and me. It had been a wet and windy night which kept the temperature up and everyone in their tent. In the morning, the breeze was still fresh around the fire.

Mountain Hakea.

Lucas was to remain in camp today to prepare dinner under Jonny’s tutelage, as we headed off to Section 8 of the Larapinta Trail. It was a 30-minute drive to Serpentine Gorge, the beginning of today’s walk. Much like yesterday, the trail undulated but climbed slowly into the cloud. The view was soon lost and we walked in the ‘not quite rain’ of the cloud. Despite the loss of the view, out over the Larapinta, spirits were high and we chatted as we slowly ascended towards Counts Point.

Clear views to begin.

The wind was a constant companion and consequently, I had issues with my camera battery. The cold weather not only causes the power to drain more quickly than usual, it also results in the intermittent functioning of the button that allows the photo to be taken. It is frustrating. In the first instance, I removed the battery and placed it in my pocket. At least it would work first time when reinstalled.

The plant used to make 1080 poison.

We paused occasionally for snack breaks and to enjoy the ‘white out’. There were plenty of plants and flowers to be photographed, just no views back across the gorge. Packs were dropped for the final ascent to the signposted Counts Point. Apparently, it is a sign that is regularly vandalised to rename the lookout. Ah, so witty.

What a view.

The wind dropped as we closed in on the Point. The rain, or mist was unchanged. The seat, strategically placed to ensure the view could be enjoyed, was covered in water and looked out on more mist. Somewhere out there was Mt Sonder, the highest peak on the Larapinta Trail and our destination for a sunrise walk, later in the week.

Enjoy the view? Yeah, nah.

The cloud cleared once, albeit briefly on the descent and stayed with us until we were below the cloud line. That didn’t stop us seeing some unusual sights. At one point a walker appeared out of the mist and stood aside for our group to pass. He was a picture of sartorial elegance in a singlet and shorts, wearing a headband, walking stick in each hand and full pack on his back. Madness. ‘How are you going?’ Dave greeted the wacko walker as we passed. ‘Slowly,’ he grunted in reply.

Pretty, but I have no idea.

Finally, out of the cloud, we paused for lunch and a well-earned rest. Declan prepared the feast: wraps, fresh capsicum, carrot, beetroot, ham and assorted spreads like hummus and relish. Rumour has it Dave even ate something green after the regular wraps were snapped up, leaving only the spinach-infused variety. Back on the trail, we continued on a gently undulating descent to the junction of Sections 8 and 9. The self-guided walkers had set up numerous tents and at least one group was camping in the shelter.

Today's title you ask dear reader. Above the Clouds by Paul Mac. Although in reality we were in the clouds not above them.

Not so much above the clouds as in them.

We had some time to kill because we hadn’t spent much time at Counts Point so Declan walked us up to the Chalet Dam. It was about 500m from the campground. The dam was built in the late 1950s/early 1960s to service the nearby Serpentine Chalet. Improvements in the road from Alice to Glen Helen Gorge meant it was no longer necessary to break up the trip and the Chalet fell into disrepair from lack of patronage. Or a lack of water. Turns out the bright sparks who installed the dam did so at a small cliff-side rivulet that only runs when it rains. The majority of the year it is a dry wall that filled nothing. The ‘dam’ wall remains.

The Chalet Dam.

The road into Serpentine Gorge was quite rough and we required 4WD pick up in a troop carrier. We dawdled the 1.5km to the pickup point, discussing the day’s events. Despite the weather closing out the view, everyone was positive and had enjoyed the walk. Dave may have been an exception as his blisters were making themselves felt, despite his feet being heavily taped. My knee was also reminding me that it wasn’t happy with the descent.

The cloud cleared.

We were back at camp by 5pm and sitting around the fire pit, enjoying afternoon tea. Dinner tonight was goat curry with curried veggies, rice and papadums. An excellent way to finish the day. The cloud was clearing and a smattering of stars teased us as we drifted off to bed.

The team at the top.

 

The Sound of White (Simpson's Gap, Ormiston Pound and Gorge, Northern Territory).

At the risk of this being a Missy Higgins love in she scores the title for two consecutive posts. This time The Sound Of White. Why? Well dear reader that will shortly become apparent.

We were in the foyer by 7:20am with a number of other trekkers. That’s trekkers, not trekkies. There appeared to be 3 or 4 different groups, too many people for our maximum capacity of 10 walkers. We decided to wait outside on the driveway and were soon joined by others. The convoy of Trek vehicles soon arrived. There were three different groups in all; the 16-day hard core crowd, the 9-day explorers expedition and the sensible 6-day trekkers. The last group included us and three others.

The path to Simpson's Gap.

We met our tour guides, Jonny and Lucas, as we stowed our luggage in the trailer. Jonny, despite his relative youth, is the old hand of the pair. Lucas is a trainee on his second trek. Both of them are from Tasmania, where the company was founded. When the NT season closes, they will return to Tassie for the commencement of the walking season down there.

Hmmm. Reflective.

First stop today was Simpson’s Gap which gave us plenty of time to talk with the other trekkers. It was quite cool at the Gap and we wandered down the gorge, until the water blocked our progress. The black footed rock wallaby that inhabits the area was sensibly nowhere to be seen in the cold weather. The group meandered back to the creek bed where Jonny and Lucas were waiting for us. Jonny had set up a visual presentation of the Chewings and Heavitree ranges and provided us with an overview of the next six days.

The gap.

Our group, which could have numbered 10, suffered a couple of late withdrawals and there were only 8 of us. As Lucas is a trainee, another guide had been allocated to us - Declan, who was at base camp organising, among other things, dinner.

Our classroom.

It is a beautiful landscape and even under a leaden grey sky the contrast of the reds and greens as they shift shades in the light is quite magical. Back at the car park there was a Collared Sparrowhawk that I originally thought could have been a Peregrine Falcon. It was collecting nesting material and moving rather lethargically. Back onto the bus, we turned towards Ormiston Pound and Gorge and the first proper walk of the trip.

The hawk.

We arrived at the car park in light misty rain that cleared as we alighted from the bus and organised our packs.

The walk is a loop, commencing and concluding at the Gorge and traversing the range to get an overview of the Pound enroute. Strictly speaking this is not a part of the Larapinta Trail. The trail undulates in a steady climb to a ridge overlooking the pound. 

And off we go.

The Pound walk is rated one of the best walks in Australia and the view is certainly worth the walk. There were few other people on the trail and the conditions improved as we climbed. Our group strung out along the trail as Jonny and Lucas dropped to the rear of the group to make observations about each of us and our level of fitness and ability to cope with the conditions.

We stopped at the Lookout for a snack break, overlooking the vast bowl that is Ormiston Pound. The variety of colours on the walls continued to change with the strength of the light which was regulated by the height and depth of the cloud that shrouded us. At times, it descended and we were surrounded by light mist.

The Pound.

To this point we had seen small flocks of Zebra Finches. Before we reached the lookout, a few Painted Finches took flight from nearby low scrub. They were too quick to be photographed.

Back on the trail, Jonny strode out before us to ensure lunch was set up and waiting for our arrival down by the river. David and I kept out in front of the others. David because he has young legs. Me in the hope of snapping some birds. I was soon rewarded by a pair of juvenile Painted Finches.

Painted Finch.

As we approached the lunch spot in the river bed, the chatter of the budgies carried to us on the breeze. Flocks of them were swarming from ground to tree to river to tree. I dropped my pack quickly and went off in search of the perfect photo.

Following lunch, I had walked a little way down river when the movement of a Western Bowerbird caught me eye. Such a bogan bird with its purple/pink mullet. He disappeared from sight quickly. I set out unsuccessfully in search of his bower. As I was about to turn back, I heard his metallic, scraping call. He was sitting in a dead tree above his bower which was just beside the river bank.

Western Bowerbird.

The grass walls of the bower were about 30cm in length. One end contained multiple green berries. The other end was a collection of white objects; bleached bones, shells and small rocks. Before we set out again, the group came down to inspect the bower while we were supervised by its owner from a nearby tree.

Spinifex Pigeon.

The rest of the loop continued uneventfully. We crossed and recrossed the river before we settled down to walk the rocky river bed. As we neared the end of the walk and the deeper pools near the kiosk, we met another walker, totally drenched and dripping from chest down. He had reached the deeper pools and rather than retracing his steps and crossing to the other side of the river to access a dry path, he had plunged right in. It was late in the afternoon and the breeze was quite chilly. Fires are not permitted so I have no idea how he was going to dry off or warm himself up.

We continued on and crossed at the sandbar for the climb to the lookout, overlooking the gorge. Sadly, the sandbar revealed a number of dead fish which Jonny explained was caused by a parasite in the gills which dulls a fish’s ability to process enough oxygen from the water.

The swimming hole.

We were soon back at camp, selecting our tents. Dave and I opted to share a tent and he chose one in the front row with a view across the dry river bed. Our swags were placed on a stretcher and came with a sleeping bag and inner. Dinner, barramundi and vegies with a dill sauce, was served by Declan at 6pm. Everyone was in bed around 7:30pm. What party animals.