Getting to Jarlmadanga, Western Oz

Two Weeks of Australia, #4

Jarlmadangah

It’s raining so much we can only see the road when the windshield wipers have just swept across the window. Out the side windows, I see acres of photographs, filled with whimsical boab trees, giant termite mounds and sprinkles of wattle trees. My camera is in my lap, feeling like a useless limb. Downpours and digital cameras are not handmaidens. Like the Aboriginals see a landscape such as this as food, shelter and waypoints on an internal map, Marc Banfield, my guide, sees the landscape as elements of a garden. When Marc’s not on Gibb River Road adventures with journalists, he’s a landscaper, and as he relates, more and more people are looking to landscape with endemic trees, shrubs and flowers. So, all along the road Marc sees ideas and each bit of flora he names with the Latin name. It’s a momentary realization that life is truly lived individually, we all see a tree and our thoughts about that tree hardly converge. But, he's savvy on the local lore and tells me that the Aboriginal god on Wandjina came with the rain, and is responsible for it. What the what, Wandjina? Enough already.

We reach a turn-off after about two hours. I say a turn-off, but it’s really just a barely discernible double track road, that only reveals itself after we part some bushes. It’s meant more for pack animals than a car, even a 4WD like ours. There’s a gate after about 800 feet, which we open and enter, but on either side of the gate there’s no fence. Bumping along the road, it’s as if the road builders followed behind a snake through the bush. The road winds and turns for no reason other than going straight would mean missing a bump or hole or thump and this road seemed to exist solely to thud my spine through the floorboards. This road leads to the Jarlmadangah Aboriginal settlement, which sits in the shadow of Mount Anderson, the highest point on this plateau. After an hour of this pleasure path, we arrive, almost as if it erupts from the ground in front of us, in Jarlmadangah.

I meet Rob, Marc’s father who will join us. We're due to go on Camel trek. I’ve come all this way, so no rain’s gonna stop me if the camels are willing.

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Two Weeks of Australia, Photo Essay

Just felt like we needed to mix it up a bit with a few underwater images posted just for the pure joy of looking at them. Enjoy!

The Most Romantic Place in Australia

The Most Romantic Place in Australia?

It was my girlfriend’s first helicopter ride. She’s my fiancé now, so the helicopter must’ve been really impressive. We flew out of Townsville on the Queensland coast, over Magnetic Island, the Aboriginal-only Palm Island, and about two-dozen other’s I’d be happy to call home. But, as soon as Orpheus Island came into view … I felt that certain ripple that breeds romance without trying. And, let’s be honest. Arriving almost anywhere by helicopter makes an impression.

But the arrival was only the first light caress of romance. The resort sits on a quiet beach and even though resort was full, it felt like we had the island to ourselves. And, whatever they put in the breeze at Orpheus has an immediate impact on stress, eliminating it immediately.  We checked into our one bedroom villa on the beach, complete with private outdoor shower, then quickly headed up the hill for afternoon tea with a view meant to melt the knees. We could see whales passing in the distance, manta rays sweeping past just under the surface and in the distance, the hills of the mainland dusted in the orange and yellow and purple’s of the sunset.

Then came a series of coup de grace moves. Candlelight dinner at the end of the dock — the warm-cool breeze swirling around us like touches of silk. Firelight from the torches and the fierceness of the stars in the night sky. Although dinner, fresh caught local seafood, was mouthwatering, the setting was so exquisite that they could have served burritos and beer, and my heart would not have swelled any less. My love, across the table from me, had a light in her eyes and I didn’t want the moment to end.

The next day, we grabbed a tinny, a small boat to head off for a private beach picnic. Along the way, two mantas circled our boat like graceful angels. The picnic picked up where the dinner left off. The beach, perfectly framed with granite rocks, felt like we were at the far edge of the world. After a day playing out a real life Blue Lagoon moment, neither of us wanted the world to change.

I’ve been all around Australia and this land of endless adventure has always fired my imagination and curiosity, but Orpheus made me feel expansive. And, few places in the world have so effortlessly wrapped me in romance and nature and swept me away fully. The overused term travel writers employ, “pure magic,” does not even begin to capture the experience.

My digs: Orpheus.com.au.

Helicopter service: Nautilus Aviation, nautilusaviation.com.au

Australian Daintree Immersion

There’s nothing quite like waking up in a UNESCO World Heritage Rainforest., a primeval place that’s 65 million years older than the vaunted Amazon. In the Daintree of Queensland, Australia, the business day starts early, in the coolness of predawn. Even before the sun begins to press against the darkness, birds, such as lorikeets, black bitterns, fairy wrens, lesser owls, metallic starlings and bee eaters rouse the day with song … and screech. Sleeping in will quickly become a lost habit here, especially at a place like the Daintree Eco Lodge at Spa, which perches you firmly in the middle of action in their treehouse-style bungalows. Most mornings, it sounds as if all 430 species that come and go throughout the year are busy chattering, wooing and calling, as if you need to be in on all the avian gossip. It’s best to just give in and step out into the spectacle, which is exactly what my fiancé and I do.

We’re on road just as the first fingers of sunlight lightly touch the top of the rainforest canopy and push into the shadows of the rainforest in beams of misty light. We’re off to see salties, the big crocodiles that would gladly make us a breakfast snack, that line the Daintree River, along with the river birds that share their world.

As painful as early morning is to us, once we’re on the water, the early morning light and peacefulness on the river is breathtaking. The water seems soft. But, soon our guide is covering the action that would go unseen without expert eyes. We see the blood-red eyes of a Papuan Frogmouth, Azure Kingfishers, Rainbow Bee Eaters, and a jet black Cormorant with wings wide.  Sulphur-Crested Cockatoos raise a commotion in the treetops. The crocs are hiding today, but the birds celebrating a new day.

Back at the Daintree Eco-Lodge, we take a wet hike up to the sacred woman’s waterfall, with a Kuku Yalanji guide, our lungs swelling with the thick oxygen of the forest. Then we settle in by the pond, immersed in the sounds and silence of the rainforest, and learn aboriginal dot-art and the story-telling traditions contained in each dot of paint.

It was time then to just enjoy the stillness. To sit in the hot tub on the porch, idly talking about the world around us, drinking wine, and feeling as is we were being held in the arms of the rainforest.

Where I Stayed: daintree-ecolodge.com.au

Hit the River: daintreerivertours.com.au

Australia — The Hike to Mitchell Falls

OK. I’m relentless. Once I get ambulatory, I don’t slow down except to take a photograph, which happens with frequency. Or…step behind a tree because I drink too much coffee to keep up my crazy pace.

Couple things to know: My camera backpack and tripod add about 28 pounds to my body.

So, that brings us to Mitchell Falls. My guide and I drove to the trailhead from the Mitchell Falls Wilderness Lodge early in the morning, arriving around 7:30 am. Proper hiking boots, water wicking socks and plenty of hydration. We were headed to one of the Kimberly Region of Western Australia’s top attractions, which like most top Australian attractions, is in the middle of a pristine wilderness. Most people hike in and take a helicopter out. But not us. The last chopper leaves the park at 3 pm, long before the sun sets, and I didn’t want to be rushed for photography reasons. My guide, by the way, was accustomed to leading hikes with “elder” individuals as a “leisurely” pace.

Off we go. Along the way we pass through lovely woodlands of livistona palm trees and lots of fragrant eucalyptus. My guide shows me mermaid aboriginal rock art and rock art behind a waterfall called Little Mertons Waterfall. After shooting images for an hour, we swim in the pool at the foot of the falls, following the cooling off traditions that began thousands of years ago with the local Wunambai people that first inhabited this plateau. The water felt perfectly cool, not cold. I indulged as long as I journalistically needed, then we had to move on. We had several miles still to go.

We next hiked right over Big Mertens Falls. Now, for all the American travelers reading this, note: no hand rails, no handicap access, no safety rails. And, Big Mertons falls several hundred feet over a sheer  cliff that I precariously, and probably insanely, dangled myself from to get the shot you see above.

The rest of the hike went at a furiously pace so that we could see Mitchell Falls, the main attraction. My guide had a secret place to show me. We hiked through two rivers and up cliffs to a lookout spot that was absolutely perfect and remote and offered almost a birds-eye view of the massive and I must note, stunning falls. The only problem was my guide had misadvised me about the way the falls would be lit in the late afternoon. They were in complete shadow. Yikes! Sometimes this happens in travel journalism. When it does it’s not good for photography. I took a few shots to make my guide feel like she’d done good, while inside I fumed at her misinformation. Oh, well. In the end, I actually like the drama of Big Mertons and the delicacy of Little Mertons better. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

On the way out, since the light had dipped low and we couldn't stop to shoot in order to get out of the part before dark, we rushed out at such a pace, that my guide had to stop several times to catch her breath. 

My digs: Mitchell Falls Wilderness Lodge, aptouring.com.au

Australia — Bungle Bungles

Dingo, as in, "...a dingo ate my baby!" from the Meryl Streep movie, A Cry in the Dark.

Mini Palms Gorge, Traditional Aboriginal Birthing Cave — see two male hikers on bottom left of  the image give the massive scale of the cavern.

Bungle Bungles

Bungle Bungles

Mini Palms Gorge

Echidna Gorge, see hiker at bottom

Entrance to Echidna Gorge. Again, two hiker at bottom give scale.

Some of the mini palms and Mini Palm Gorge.

Mini Palm Gorge.

Australia — Bungle Bungles

I really just like saying Bungle Bungles, weaving it into normal daily conversation, as in, “I remember when I was in the Bungles and we happened upon a wild dingo …” Which, my guide and I did. It was her first dingo, and all I could think of when I saw it was the line from A Cry in the Dark when Meryl Streep wails, “A dingo at my baby!”  And, as cool as I was told it was to see a dingo, it looks a bit like a lean German shepphard. The aboriginal name certainly makes it cooler and more authentic: Warrigal or Noggum or Boolomo, depending upon dialect. When I read up on dingos, the Dog Breed Info Center said they didn’t make good companions because, “untrained dingos … cannot easily be obedience trained.” Um, duh, right? Anyway, we saw one on our way to the Kungkalahayi Lookout.

The lookout was nice, but I wanted to get into the unique rock formations, which are abundant in this park, which also goes by the proper name of Purnululu, almost as much fun as saying, bungle.

We zipped off to Mini Palms Gorge, with its red rock canyon and giant palms. Yes, giant. After a stunning walk into the canyon, the trail ends at an overlook of a traditional aboriginal birthing place, a cavern. The crevice in the rock that leads to the cavern leaves no doubt to the female reference. It was hard to see the scale until two MEN can out of the dark slit in the rock. Check it out in the image. The place was massive. 

But, as cool as that was, the more surreal was Echidna Gorge, a narrow slot of a canyon, that glowed an ethereal orange for the entirety of the hike.

After that, with light running out, we hurried around the range to the beehive dome shaped rocks that make up the proper bungles. They’re sandstone that has been sculpted by water through the centuries. The light and dark striations, and otherworldly mounds make them particularly dramatic. I was only in the park for once day, which was about two weeks to few from my camera’s perspective.

Where I stayed: Bungle Bungle Wilderness Lodge: kimberlywilderness.com.au