I didn't have enough room on the last page to show you all the pictures we wanted to show you. Here's some more.
This Short Eared Rock Wallaby peeped at us through a forked branch. She was on a cliff ledge above Lake Argyle - we were on the lake. The tour guides had trained her to come out of her hole when they called her and offered food.
They had also trained these Lake Argyle fish to come when they ran the boat aground in a certain spot. The fish kept squirting jets of water into our faces so we'd feed them. Only afterwards did the guide tell us it was their urine.
Who can see a horse drinking? Who can see a person's head?
El Questro, in a nutshell, was a one million acre cattle station which realised it could make more money as a one million acre tourist destination. It's rather like Kakadu National Park in that it has a multitude of spectacular features but they are spread over a vast area. The cattle were sold off but there are still a lot scattered around.
Where is El Questro? Head fifty kilometres out of Kununurra on the Victoria Highway as if you were going to Wyndham. Ignore the Halls Creek turn-off and carry on a little further. Turn left onto the Gibb River Road. Tighten your seat belt, close your windows and hang on. The Gibb River Road is a dirt road, quite corrugated in places and extremely dusty. Periodically there are dips through creeks and rivers. Most were dry, some were still flowing. We encountered cattle, donkeys, a wallaby and a snake. There are five camels somewhere but they have not been seen for a while. El Questro is only fifty kilometres down the Gibb River Road which carries on a further six hundred bone-jarring kilometres to Derby. That part of the road is still closed after the wet season and not due to open for several weeks. As far as we're concerned, driving the length of the Gibb River Road would be a great experience as long as it was in somebody else's car. Did I mention we went to El Questro in a tour bus?
Where did the name of El Questro originate? Our guide told us that a previous owner of the property had dreamed up a good name for his cattle station so he saddled up and set off for Wyndham to register it. He was a little too fond of the bottle and when he arrived in Wyndham he was both the worse for wear and too late to catch the registry office open. So, naturally, he spent the night in the pub. Next morning he was feeling none too good when he went to register the name of his property and he couldn't remember it. He sat down to think and all he could come up with was El Questro - he was a keen fan of old cowboy films and comics and El Questro had a good sound - so he registered the name. What does El Questro mean in Spanish? Well, actually . . . nothing at all.
Once on El Questro property our first stop was at the Emma Gorge Resort which is situated at the entrance to Emma Gorge. We were invited to don swimming apparel under our clothes, ensure our water bottles were full and then follow our leader on what was described as a 'difficult' walk. We had heard enough about this short walk to worry us and Pam stated her intention of setting off with us and turning back when the going got too rough for her. Using an automobile analogy, Pam was not designed for high speed or rough terrain. She was made for smooth, gentle roads. Her tyres and suspension were intended for comfort rather than performance.
Meanwhile the going was getting tough. We were walking up a creek bed consisting of jumbled, tumbled, assorted rocks. Sometimes the creek occupied the bed and we walked alongside it, other times the creek took a different course. I checked out my walking partners; most looked fit but two were children, one was a man who didn't look very strong and another was the children's mother who was carrying a fair amount of surplus ballast. I felt reassured and pressed on. The first problem I encountered was my balance. Hopping from rock to rock, sometimes with a drop onto more rocks below and sometimes crossing the flowing creek, I was already in difficulty. Time after time I nearly fell or needed a rock or tree to steady myself.
Next I discovered that I was wearing 'trainers' that would not grip a sloping stone surface. One foot slipped and down I went, turning the ankle on the other leg. Everybody stopped to pick me up; it was so embarrassing. The gorge was on a slight incline and soon my heart was pounding and my legs were protesting. I couldn't believe it, everyone else was fine.
We finally reached the source of the creek, a pool of very cold water fed by a waterfall. The two walls of the gorge came together in a deep, circular chamber. Water cascaded from the top into a pool below. It was really beautiful but I was a wreck. I kept wondering why the roar of the falling water was pulsing, it didn't make sense. Then it dawned that the pulsing was caused by the blood surging in my ears, it wasn't caused by the water at all.
That's the sort of surface we'd been scrambling over.
I sat on a rock, a little away from the others, some of
whom were swimming. I was feeling very sorry for myself. This short walk
had nearly killed me yet eighteen months ago I could have done it in my
sleep. Was this a wake-up call, I wondered. Was I being warned that if
I wanter to live another fifty years I'd better get my act together? I
think, perhaps, I was.
After a while my heart slowed. I heard Pete give the swimmers a two-minute
call and I decided to set off back ahead of the others to avoid holding
them up. I told Pete and he said okay but be careful. My legs were like
jelly and I had to keep resting. I was drenched in sweat and though the
temperature was in the mid thirties, I felt cold and nauseous. The track
was marked with blue ribbons tied to bushes and blue squares glued to
rocks. Even so, after losing my balance crossing the creek and filling
a shoe with water, I couldn't find any markers on the other side. There
were two possible routes so I selected the third option and sat down on
a rock. Soon the others caught up and I tagged on behind. The rest of
the return trip was a nightmare made worse by the two children dropping
behind and then running past the group, as fresh as daisies. I didn't
even have the strength to wring their scrawny little necks.
Prior to that day I had believed that my only physical problems due to
age were:-
• My failing eyesight.
• My supposed failing hearing. (Probably just an assertion
by Pam to cover her inability to speak clearly.)
• A dead area in my brain revealed by an M.R.I. scan.
(The area that writes this web site.)
• My bladder's autonomous decision to disregard instructions
from what's left of my brain.
• Increasing dementia. (Useful to entrepreneurs and
politicians."I don't recall, your Honour". )
• My cholesterol level. (Cholesterol: noun.
A fabrication by doctors to enhance their mystique and income.)
• My receding hairline. (It passed over the horizon
some years ago. Present location unknown.)
• My alcohol addiction.
Sorry, delete that last one, it's not a problem, it makes me forget all
the others.
Now I find I can't walk up a bit of a hill! Life is altogether too hard.
But back to the story. Once safely ensconced around tables at the the
Emma Gorge Resort we all had morning tea and I started to feel just a
tad human again. We were next going to bathe in the Zebedee Hot Springs.
That warm healing water was exactly the panacea that my aching bones needed. It was wonderful. All too soon it was time to get back to the bus and go for lunch at El Questro Station (station as in cattle, not railway). And, as well as delicious food they served ice cold beer. We sat under some shade near a waterfall and ate tender steak and tasty barramundi.
After lunch we returned to the bus for a trip to the Chamberlain River where a boat was waiting to take us on a slow two hour cruise up yet another gorge. However this one involved no climbing over rocks, just sitting, listening, and sipping chilled champagne. It got my vote. The water was very deep and while it was a river in the 'wet', the flow was rapidly drying up. Soon it would become a water hole until the rain returned at the end of the year.
El Questro has many other walks and attractions, and you can camp there if you wish. I would not advise taking a caravan down the Gibb River Road unless it is of an off-road design.
Of course, this isn't all there was but the rest was faded and hard to distinguish.
The Prison Boab was fascinating but there was no plaque to give visitors any information. Picnic tables had been provided but they were in need of some T.L.C. and were overgrown with vegetation. The tree was defaced by many previous visitors carving their names into its bark which, I imagine, would be very soft.
The Wyndham Museum was interesting but contained more literature and pictures than old artifacts. We stayed about an hour and then slid across the road to visit the Wyndham Hotel for some liquid refreshment before heading for home, only stopping to top up with diesel at Wyndham prices.
And that's that for Page 71. See you on Page 72.
