The Kimberley is the northernmost of the nine regions of Western Australia and the last area for us to explore before crossing over to the Northern Territory.  With the Indian Ocean to the west, the Timor Sea to the north and Great Sandy and Tanami deserts to the south and east, this is an area of rugged beauty and remoteness.  It is three times the size of England, almost as big as California and, with a population of less than 40,000 - an average of one person per 12.5km square - one of the more sparsely populated regions on earth. 

The first European contact in the region was made from the coast in the mid 1600s, but it wasn’t until the early 1800s that the coastline was mapped with any degree of accuracy.  This was followed by land-based exploratory expeditions that eventually opened up this vast, remote region.  European sheep farmers were amongst the first to attempt white settlement in the mid 1800s but were mostly unsuccessful due to the challenges of climate, distance, the harsh nature of the land and hostilities with indigenous inhabitants.  Although sheep farming was struggling, a favourable report on pastoral potential of the land for cattle, as well as the abundance of cheap, or free, labour to be found among the local indigenous people, was made by WA Government Surveyor Alexander Forrest in 1879.  He then went on to appoint himself land agent and leased out over 50 million acres of terra nullius to eager cattle ranchers from other parts of Australia.  Over the next few years he was strongly criticised for his dual roles as both an entrepreneur and an elected official with accusations of favouritism, corruption, bribery and nepotism, particularly as Government surveyors were not supposed to benefit from their work.  If you thought the surname was familiar, yes, he is the great-great-uncle of Andrew “Twiggy” Forrest who today owns more than 1.5 million hectares of WA. 

Recognition of this good pastoral land and the enthusiastic uptake of the leases led to a couple of notable drives by ranchers from the eastern states.  Durack left Queensland in 1885, eventually arriving in the Kimberley two years and two months later with 4,000 out of the original 8,000 cattle surviving the 4,500km.  The MacDonalds left New South Wales in 1883, a journey of nearly 6,000 km, arriving in the Kimberley more than three years later with 327 cattle out of the original 700.  These families were some of the original pastoral pioneers.

When pastoralism was first introduced to the Kimberley, indigenous inhabitants already living on the, now allocated, land often had to leave to make room for the white settlers or remain as station workers.  This was not an easy transition and what followed over the next 40 or so years were a number of noted massacres of the Indigenous population.  The original inhabitants on this land fought against the encroachments of the white settler who retaliated disproportionately, often burning bodies to conceal the evidence.  Incoming pastoralists often already had a history of violence in protecting their claimed properties, supported, no doubt, by articles such as the one written by the editor of the Northern Territory Times (18 Aug 1888) who wrote that police in the Kimberley should disregard any laws and “simply admonish them and disperse of them in the Queensland fashion” i.e. kill them.  “It is the only way to make the natives respect the lives and property of white men.” 

A compelling read is ‘Every Mother’s Son is Guilty’: Policing the Kimberley Frontier of Western Australia 1881`-1905 by Chris Owen.

Jandamarra’s War is a 2011 Australian drama style documentary that tells the story of Jandamarra, a famous Aboriginal Australian warrior and his years of conflict in the Kimberley.

The ability to stay on their country and care for their land and cultural sites and to pass on cultural knowledge to the next generation was, and still is, very important to indigenous people and many remained despite poor working conditions and maltreatment.

Huge cattle stations were steadily established and the need to get cattle to port for live export necessitated two unsealed tracks, one linking to the port of Derby in the west, the other to the port of Wyndham/Kalumburu in the east.  These tracks were hand hewn roadways, wide enough for bullock wagons and drovers with their cattle herds, and essential connections for the outlying stations to get their cattle to the ships for live export to Asia.  These two tracks are now superseded by the infamous Gibb River Road which was constructed in the 1960s as part of the Government funded initiative the “Beef Roads Programme”.  This 660km track only partially follows the original tracks, making its way right through the wild heart of the Kimberley.  It is constructed of dirt and gravel corrugated roads with multiple water crossings.  Continual upgrades are ongoing as the tourism industry grows and although not the wild ride it once was there are still plenty of opportunities for mishap and a 4WD vehicle with high clearance is essential.  Travel along the Gibb River Road is only accessible during the dry season which usually runs between March and October.  There is one alternative route through the Kimberley, a sealed, straightforward drive along the National Highway of just over 1,000km.

The attraction of making this iconic Australian 4WD journey, apart from the kudos of being able to purchase an “I did the Gibb” muscle tee, is the plethora of natural wonders that can be accessed along the deeply corrugated and pot-holed side roads and the opportunity to stay at one of the many million-acre cattle stations that are now cashing in on this bucket list adventure.

We were keen to experience the Gibb despite negative commentary regarding travelling this route with a dog.  We knew that most of the highlights were to be found in the various National Parks which was going to be a bit tricky and many of the stations did not welcome dogs.  Despite this, we felt the trip was still worth embarking on and were optimistic we would have fun regardless.

Broome is the gateway town to the Kimberley region but Derby, a small town 250km further north, is the last chance to stock up before heading out along the first 100km of straight, sealed road.  The sky is as big and brilliantly blue as we have come to expect and the landscape is greener than we have seen so far, despite the region being more than half-way through the dry season.  The Napier Ranges can be seen as a backdrop, superimposed to the point that they almost don’t look real.   None of the cattle stations along this initial section offered accommodation for dogs and so our first night was at a free camp spot alongside the Lennard River, where we spent the afternoon swimming and planning our tactics for the following day.  Leaving camp early next morning, we drove 24km down a side-track to Windjana NP where we parked under a shady tree, locking Leroy in the car.  We walked about 1km beside the sheer, towering rock walls of the Napier Range before reaching the Gorge, over 3km long with 300 metre-high walls.  Deep freshwater pools were surrounded by native trees and a few basking freshwater (freshies) crocodiles.  This place, like many others that we were to come across, is difficult to put into words.  Amazing in its natural beauty with a strong spiritual peacefulness.  It is easy to understand why the native Aboriginals hold such places as important sacred sites, it does feel such a privilege to be there.  As we were there early in the morning there were only a few people around which enhanced the experience even further.  This is one of the main attractions of the Gibb that we were not expecting to be able to visit, so far so good.

Driving on and the landscape slowly changed to pastoral country with the King Leopold ranges taking over the backdrop.  Herds of droughtmaster cattle could be seen gathered around.  They are quite beautiful cows, doe eyed and floppy eared with soft short-haired coats.  They all looked pretty chilled and extremely well fed, so I guess Forrest was correct in his observation of good cattle country. 

The next Gorge along was Lennard Gorge and although we did drive into the parking area we gave the actual Gorge a miss as we arrived at midday and decided the 3km return walk was too long to leave Leroy hiding in the car.

Still not coming across any station accommodation that extended to dogs, we spent the second night at another free camping spot, which we had all to ourselves, giving us an opportunity to set up a make-shift shower and run through a few yoga poses.  Another early start the next day saw us heading to Bell Gorge, 30km along quite a gnarly side track.  Much of the track was badly corrugated and the short creek crossings were up around 1m deep.  Like Winjana, there was a NP campground just before the Gorge which was quite busy and, had the car not been as dirty as it was, we might have been a bit more concerned about someone spotting Leroy through the back window.  Fortunately, the Park fees are operated on an honesty system and so we paid the $15 day rate and drove the last bit towards the Gorge.  The walk in was about 1km with a bit of rock scrambling and as it wasn’t yet 10am the temperature was good both for us and for Leroy (again hiding in the car).  The Gorge itself was huge.  It opened up to reveal a number of rock pools at different levels, each fed by sparkling white waterfalls.  The sides of the gorge offered great slabs of rock where it would have been too easy to lounge around for the rest of the day.  It was magnificent and another of the highlights that we were not expecting to be able to visit.

Next up was Adcock Gorge which was not only free but also open to dogs.  Fantastic.  The walk in was less than 1km and after some rock clambering we suddenly found ourselves at this eerily picturesque rock pool.  We had the luxury of being able to spend some time there and enjoyed splashing around in the cool water and getting rid of all the GRR dust that clings to everything and everyone and is impossible to avoid.   We only saw 4 people the whole time we were there – where was everyone?

Our next camp was in a huge area in amongst the eucalypt trees, where someone had kindly slashed the grass which was much appreciated after the dusty gravel surfaces that we were becoming used to.  A couple of other vans pulled up for the night, after first driving past and apologising for any dust they were generating.  They then parked so far away that they may as well not have been there.  Nights such as these are great as Leroy doesn’t need to be tied to the car and the areas are not used anywhere near as much as the NP campsites so they are cleaner and quieter and you can really relax into everything that is the Kimberley.  It is also arguable that they attract a better standard of considerate travellers.

Galvans Gorge is another free, dog friendly, spot and we spent a while the next day encouraging Leroy with his swimming.  I now know exactly how a parent must feel watching their offspring learn to cycle/swim/play footie – lots of over the top side-line cheering (from us) and a constant watch to make sure we are fully engaged and appreciating the efforts involved (Leroy).   Sharing the gorge with half a dozen or so people was quite fun as we watched them utilising the rope swing with varying degrees of competency.  This Gorge was a bit more inviting than Adcock being more exposed to the sun and so lacking the dark, forbidding depths.

Reaching the half-way point, the one and only road house Mt Barnett, is an obvious place to refuel, refill the water tanks and stock up at their decent shop.  This was also the entry point for Manning Gorge and is probably the hub of the GRR.  The Gorge is dog friendly but as we were there midday and seeing how many people were around we gave this one a miss and concentrated our efforts on finding a peaceful camp for the night.  Many years ago, we spent a week in Penang, Malaysia and in yet another attempt to broaden our philistine minds we determined to visit as many temples, mosques and churches as we could – this Island being well known for its many, many religious buildings.  Each religious site we visited was worthy in its own right and far more deserving than the 20-30 minutes we had allocated.  Well, the Gibb River Road is a bit like that.  Each gorge is stunning and easily a stand-alone attraction but with another one waiting just around the corner it is too easy, even with the best of intentions, to become a bit blasé. 

The next couple of nights we set up camp at the Gibb River Day Area, supposedly not for over-nighting but no one had got the memo.  Alongside a creek, complete with small waterfall, we manoeuvred Bob through the soft sand and parked in the most idyllic of spots.  Other overnighters were dotted about but none had risked driving down to the sandy shore.  It occurred to me as I sat by the side of the creek the next morning, that the only niggling concern I had prior to selling up and hitting the road, was saying goodbye to my morning routine.  Without fail, I would take my breakfast and coffee and sit outside, looking out over the Adelaide Hills.  This I would do regardless of the weather and it was, without doubt, my favourite time of day and the thought of not being able to continue this ritual did make me a bit sad.  Fast forward, and I am sat on soft white sand alongside a narrow, clean water, creek with a mug of freshly brewed coffee, stewed fruit and yoghurt.  The only sounds are the varied bird calls, the trickling of water and the rustling of the wind in the leaves of the eucalypt trees.  The birds are numerous, and not more than 6 metres away a hawk is swooping and diving, no doubt enjoying his own breakfast routine.  And the best bit?  No attachment, no maintenance and no knowing what is round the next corner.

There was a reason no one else ventured down to the water’s edge – Bob was stuck!  No problem!  A bit of digging and strategic placing of the maxtrax and we were soon back on solid ground.  The funny thing is, that the more time we have on our hands, the quicker and easier any challenges are dealt with.  As soon as time becomes an issue, the most minor of unforeseen events seems to take on massive proportions which are usually accompanied by short tempers and an unhealthy desire to win the blame game.  Fortunately, not that day today!

The spot where we camped was also the turn off for the Mitchell Plateau and Falls which is one of the larger attractions in the area.  The drive to reach this is about 180km each way along said turn off and really requires 2-4 days to do it justice.  Also, it is not dog friendly.  60km along the turn-off is a well-known station stay and talking to people returning from this route we were told numerous times that the track up to the falls was ‘rough as guts’ with many stranded vehicles and vans.  We had never intended to make this side trip but did discuss the pros and cons of doing so.  The state of the road was not really an issue but our food carrying capacity tends to be around 6-7 days and although we could push this out by a couple of days by utilising our back-up stores of Heinz baked beans, Leroy is not quite so flexible - we have three compartments in our 70lt fridge and Leroy permanently takes up one third.  Before leaving Broome, we did chat to a couple towing a van who claimed to be able to manage for 6 weeks without needing to purchase extra food.  While impressive on the one hand, I’m guessing that fresh fruit and veg didn’t play a large role in their dietary requirements.  In the end we decided it was a no from us.  Instead, we headed to the next station along for ‘the best scones on the Gibb’ (as far as we are aware, the only scones on the Gibb). 

Apart from the challenging side roads, the main Gibb road had been ok so far.  That was until 320km in, when the surface changed colour from deep red to light grey and the soft dirt was replaced with quarry rubble.  There is no doubt that the grey stuff is the most bone rattling and also takes the most concentration due to the many large rocks and piles of rubble that suddenly appear in front of you.  This section of road took us right up to the scones which were pretty good and then on to the Durack River where we spent another free night high up on the river bank.  This whole area is croc country and not just the uninterested, smaller, 2-3m freshies.  There are also saltwater (salties) crocs in many of the rivers and they are an altogether different beast.  With a bigger, broader head and growing up to 6-7m in length, these crocs are the largest reptiles in the world and known to be aggressive predators that will attack and eat a person.  We had heard reports of salties being sighted in the Durack River just a few days ago and as inviting as this place looked for a swim we decided to comply with the ‘Do Not Feed the Crocodiles’ sign that we hadn’t actually seen but must surely have been around somewhere.  Crocs aside, we have this place to ourselves and again easy to forget just how many people are travelling along the GRR. 

We did come across an interesting, French/Canadian/Australian 78 year old, at around the 280km mark.  He was walking the Gibb pulling a hand-cart in a style a bit similar to a rickshaw.  His name was Dominic Fischer and he told us he was famous?!  Being without any internet we were unable to look him up but he was certainly a strange sight.  We were keen to contribute to his efforts and asked whether there was anything we could help him with.  He said he had everything he needed with the exception of champagne, sex and tin foil.  Delighted to oblige, we were able to reduce his wish list by a least a third.

Having spent every night so far doing our own thing we were reluctant to finish the trip by staying at one of the two remaining, dog friendly, stations.  Home Valley is well established and provides a number of walking trails and a range of accommodation, including bush camps at the side of the Pentecost River.  We called in for lunch and caught up with a French/Belgian couple that we had camped with at the Seventh-Day Adventist Church in Broome.  They had decided to help out at the station for a few weeks which must have been much appreciated as, ever since leaving Kalbarri, the shortage of staff was evident at every place we visited.  It was great to see them and interesting how quickly friendships are formed on the road.  Leaving the station we drove further down the road and camped alongside the almighty Pentecost in peaceful solitude and free of charge which is always a bonus.

The last station was El Questro, which is huge, and has a monopoly on a number of Gorges.  You could easily spend a week here exploring the property, either on foot, 4WD or horseback.  They offer scenic flights, accommodation ranging from bush camps to lux 5 star cabins, cultural tours and nightly entertainment.  On the side-road into the station we visited Amalia Gorge.  Leaving Leroy guarding the car, we clambered and climbed over large rocks for a couple of km before reaching another breath-taking Gorge and much needed cool swim.  This Gorge was understandably not open to dogs as parts were only negotiable with the use of railings and chains secured into rock walls.  We continued into El Questro where we had lunch, made good use of their cell service and contributed to their bar takings.

Emma Gorge was the last opportunity for a rock pool swim and turned out to be the prettiest 2km walk through lush ferns, flowering plants and trees.  We visited late on our last day on the Gibb enjoying the cooler temperatures and peacefulness of this beautiful place.

The Gibb really offers something for everyone.  With no furry friends along for the ride, you could hop from station to station enjoying showers, toilets, good food and accommodation.  Alternatively, you could free camp from one end to the other and have a completely different experience.  There is no doubt that the Gibb is busy.  The stations that we visited were packed and all the campsites within the NPs were also well occupied but depending on how you travel it is easy to feel that you pretty much have the whole place to yourself and just revel in the vastness of it all.

Once off the Gibb we spent the next few days lazing around Kununurra, eating way too much cake and sampling some excellent rum at the Hoochery brewery.  Before leaving town, we rocked up at Hairy Dog’s Fishing Adventures to try our hand at some barramundi fishing.  An hour outside Kununurra, situated on the banks of the Ord River, we jumped into a small boat with Mick the Skipper and Phil a semi-retired farrier before puttering our way down one of the most beautiful rivers that we have ever been on.  The river's ecosystem is rich in all manner of wildlife with many bird varieties and plenty of freshwater fish.  We were thrilled to spot our first saltie (3-4m) basking on a sand bank.  As we progressed downstream we spotted a few more smallish salties and the occasional baby freshie, all of which seemed unperturbed by our presence and pretty chilled. 

UNTIL …  I KID YOU NOT!!!!!

Just as we were watching a group of cows, gathered at the side of the river taking turns to have a drink, the most enormous croc (6-7m) launched itself out of the water and clamped its jaws around one cow’s head and dragged it into the river.  OMG – we couldn’t believe our eyes.  Mick quickly steered the boat over to where we last saw the cow and we could just about make out the croc underwater, jaws still clamped around the cow’s head, holding the entire cow underwater waiting for it to drown.  There was blood oozing out of the cow’s head and the poor thing was waving its tail around in distress.  We watched until the cow’s tail stopped moving, relieved that the gruesome ordeal was over and struggling to compute what we had just witnessed.  Mick had only seen a croc attack twice during his 5 years on the river and we couldn’t decide whether we were lucky or unlucky to have been right on top of the action.  We felt like we were taking part in a David Attenborough documentary.  Ian’s subsequent catching of a 50cm barra paled a little in comparison and was further dampened by the fact that it had to be thrown back as 55cm is the minimum size for keeping.  The morning wasn’t quite over though and on our way back to camp we again saw the croc, still attached to the cow, but now on the other side of the river.  The cow was getting dragged to some still water where it would be left to rot for a few days before consumption.  What a mind blowing experience.  Needless to say, we now have a completely revised view on waterways and crocs.  Up until now, we had been cautious but not overly concerned, that has definitely changed.  All we have to do now is get the message across to Leroy who is becoming increasingly more obsessed with the water and swimming.  Undoubtedly, we need another water sport for him to enjoy (see below).

Not quite ready to leave the Kimberley, we drove the 70km to Lake Argyle, Australia’s largest mainland freshwater lake.  On average, the lake is around 18 times the size of Sydney harbour with an ability to hold 10.7 million megalitres of water, however, in 2011 the water level rose by 9m increasing the holding to 45 times the size of Sydney harbour.  The Lake was formed as part of the Ord River Irrigation Scheme, a bold plan to develop part of the nation’s tropical north for intensive irrigated agriculture by harnessing the waters of the Ord River.  The Ord River is 650km long and one of Australia’s fastest flowing rivers with a catchment that covers over 55,000km².  The idea of the Irrigation Scheme was first motivated by the severe drought between 1935 and 1942 which affected the Kimberley Pastoral Industry, further justified with the proposed growing of cash crops such as cotton, sugar and rice for export to China and other parts of Asia.   Work on the Scheme started in 1961 with construction of the Diversion Dam which was designed to divert and regulate the flow of water into the irrigation areas. The dam consists of 20 radial gates mounted within a concrete framework and spillway structure which gravity feeds the water into service channels.  Lake

Argyle was formed in 1973, 55km upstream from the dam, and this massive body of water has a surface area of over 1000 square km.  Like so many experiments in tropical agriculture, the desired export crops failed, falling victim to hungry birdlife, insect pests, the soil and the climate, although there is much optimism at the moment with a new strain of improved pest and disease resistant cotton which is looking promising.   As ever, there is some concern about the environmental impact of the irrigation scheme, with an argument that after the formation of Lake Argyle the ecology of the river has been seriously impacted, damaging riparian vegetation, affecting fish numbers and introducing exotic weeds. 

Cruising out onto the Lake, it was very quickly apparent that the water we were able to see from the caravan park and boat ramp was but a tiny fraction of this enormous catchment.  Home to over 30,000 freshies, 240 species of birds and 23 different kinds of freshwater fish, cute rock wallabies and Golden Orb spiders, there was plenty to see and we were wowed by the vastness of it all, the water stretching away from us in every direction with barely a ripple on the surface.  As experiences go, it was right up there, but the best bit?  Just as the sun started to make its descent we all grabbed a noodle and jumped into the 24°C water before being handed our drink of choice.  The nibbles were then despatched, bobbing along happily on a floating tray.  We sat on our noodles, drinks held aloft, captivated by the ever-changing colours of a Kimberley sunset.

Despite now being only 9km from the NT border, we still had one place left to visit in the Kimberleys – The Bungle Bungle range in Purnululu NP. Driving back towards Kununurra and then south for 250km, the park entrance was about 50km along a dirt track turnoff.  This was definitely the worst road we have been on so far.  Apart from the loose surface, potholes, corrugations and creek crossings, this narrow track was a switchback of twists and turn.  In fact, it was so bad that one of the yoga mats worked its way loose off the roof rack (never to be seen again) and a seam on one of the water tanks separated, meaning that our water carrying capacity is now reduced by 15lt until we can find a tig welder.  However, once inside the park, the sight of the spectacular “beehive dome” karst sandstone formations is something that you would never forget.  Rising 300m above the grass-covered plains that surround them, the orange and black sandstone domes, known as the Bungle Bungle (never Bungle Bungles), are one of the world’s most fascinating geological landmarks.  This range, thought to have been forged more than 350 million years ago and of significant importance to the traditional inhabitants, was only “discovered” in 1987 when a documentary crew turned its cameras onto the astounding orange domes.  In 2003 the area was inscribed as World Heritage and is now a major attraction.  Parking under the only bit of shade we could find and with strict instructions to Leroy to stay out of sight, we wandered for a short time amongst these unusual rock forms.  Yes it was hot, yes it was busy, yes we detoured over 500km to spend about an hour in the park.  Are we losing our sense of perspective?  Probably!