Kicking Up Dust
During a road trip there are plenty of long driving days through the middle of nowhere. After a while every song on the radio sounds the same, and eventually it is just white noise complementing the endless drone of the engine. The only thing that breaks it up is something to look at.
As we approached the border between the Northern Territory (NT) and Western Australia (WA) I noticed a change in the endless loping red dirt hills and scraggly trees. Rocks rose from the earth, giving it form, structure, and depth. Bulbous, leafless, grey trees stood like solitary sentries watching over the Outback. I had an instant fondness for those trees and even asked Looci to pull over so I could snap a picture with one. I didn’t learn their name until a few weeks later, baobab.
The first notable city across the border was Kununurra, despite being eager to end the day we took a detour to see Lake Argyle. It was pretty, and if we’d had money for a tour, I might have liked it better. At the time it just felt like an unnecessary dent in petrol consumption.
Our campsite was surrounded by rocky red hills that glowed with the setting sun. A friendly neighbor pulled his camp chair over to strike up a conversation. He was travelling the opposite direction and eagerly shelled out advice on what would be worth our time. As the stars consumed the heavens, Looci and I settled in for a night of sewing and guitar.
In the morning we set out for El Questro, a wilderness park not far out of the city. Since Hagrid was lacking in the 4WD department, the only place we could access was Emma Gorge, even then there was a bit of tricky maneuvering. After driving for five minutes down an unsealed road we came to a river crossing. It was shallow by the looks of it but there was no way to be certain. Looci offered to hop out and walk across but before her hand reached the handle I revved the engine and dove in.
The water didn’t even reach the bottom of the doors, although from the driver’s seat I thought we were goners for sure.
El Questro required a day permit, which was available at the visitor center next to the Emma Gorge trailhead. The receptionist warned us to bring proper footwear as the journey required lots of “rock hopping.” It was a good thing too because half of the time Looci and I wore flip-flops while hiking.
The sandy trail wove its way up into the gorge, broken up by boulders, stream crossings, and a sprinkling of trees. A sign warned visitors of an increase in difficultly beyond that point and encouraged those unprepared for the trek to turn back. We scrambled up ledges, dodged spider webs, and ventured deeper into the ravine.
The foliage thickened into an oasis as we came to the first of two watering holes. Its unbroken surface invited us into the clear depths. We respectfully declined and continued onward.
Water tinkled down like rain into the deep pool nestled in the crevice where the canyon walls converged. Ferns covered one side like a grand tapestry. Children laughed and splashed about in the shallows. In the middle of the lake a solitary rock rose from the surface. Neither of us swam out to it, instead we kept to the waters that were bathed in sunlight.
Thoroughly cooled we grabbed our clothes and started back down the trail, which felt way shorter on the return.
That first long day of driving in WA was one of my favorites because the terrain remained diverse. There were jagged hilltops, rock formations, and all the baobab trees. The one unpleasantry were the dead cattle, swollen with the heat and mere hours from bursting. Their stench was potent enough to penetrate our closed windows and chase us down the highway.
Shortly after arriving at our rest stop for the night, an Australian couple walked over and invited us to join their campfire. Their hospitality was beyond measure and their banter had a way of suspending time. They talked of their children, asked us countless questions, made us tea, provided advice, shared recipes, and laughed with us till the fire was nothing but embers. Together we scanned the Milky Way for shooting stars and before long it was half eleven and time for bed.
About two hours outside of Broome we pulled off the road and headed down towards a cattle station to visit our friend Pieter. We had started our road trips around the same time but he was stopping along the way to work and save money. Like much of the north there was no reception and all we had to guide us were some rough directions.
Pieter’s boss had given us permission to camp in a gravel lot on his property. Dusk was stealing the last rays of light as we barreled down the dirt road. By the time we found the turnoff night ruled the skies. Neither of us were certain we had found the right place, but a few minutes later a neighboring farmer drove by and reassured us.
Looci and I prepared dinner while we waited for Pieter to finish work. His boss had flown him back from the fields so he would have more time with us so it wasn’t terribly long before he arrived, and had fire blazing to ward off the spring chill. As the stars thickened in the darkness, we discussed our respective trips, life on the station, and future travel plans. Eventually the yawns became too frequent to ignore leading us to bed.
The sun woke us early, reminding us of the full day ahead. It had been a nice visit, though brief. Like with Sarah, Lorena, and all the friends we met along the way, we said goodbye not knowing when we would next see each other. Pieter packed up his rooftop tent and with a final wave we drove off in opposite directions.
