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The new jetty at Success Hill on a foggy morning
this week
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LOOKING BACK
Kimberley Expedition
# 4
Retracing George Grey's 1838 Expedition
In the early morning darkness, toilet
duties took me along the beach, while Ken busily hauled his
gear off a rock ledge in the torchlight. There was a slight
chill in the air and the dew had dampened the sand and grasses
around me. I dug a hole in the sand, squatted and day dreamed.
We had just finished retracing George Grey's 1838 overland
expedition and we were the first to do so. It was so satisfying.
Now after 6 weeks of exhausting paddling and walking we had
only 24 more days left to paddle to reach Broome our final
destination. A tinge of sadness streamed through my veins
at the thought of leaving this unique wilderness. As I quietly
gazed out over Hanover Bay, studying the stars and the faint
shadows of the cliffs, my tranquillity was suddenly shattered
by a loud cry.
Ken gave out a big yell. Terry I think a snake has bitten
me.
Expecting the worst, I quickly pulled up my pants and rushed
over to him. As I went through the first aid snake bite procedure
in my mind, I wondered if Ken had been bitten by a deadly
King Brown snake common to the area.
If he had been bitten how long had he got to live, I thought.
With 2 ½ hours to go before I could contact the flying
doctor on our radio, I was praying that it was just a dream.
But it was no dream, I could see a huge snake coiled in a
cavity below the rock ledge that Ken had stepped down from.
Ken was calm and he said he felt no pain or discomfort. With
my torch beam I scanned his leg, which was riddled with infected
mosquito bite scars, and tried to locate any possible puncture
marks hidden among them.
I couldn't find one and when I was able to see the snake properly
in my torchlight I identified it as a giant non-venomous python.
Ken sighed with relief so now he could leave the shores of
this unique and beautiful country with found memories of Grey's
and our own epic overland expedition in mind.
George Grey's Kimberley Inland 1838 expedition kept me in
suspense for three years. I always wanted to retrace his route
but it wasn't until 1987 that I could interest anyone in joining
me. Then came along Ken Cornish, another Ascot Kayak Club
member.
Ken Cornish having breakfast
after having a brush with a giant snake
Grey's expedition started from Hanover
Bay near the Prince Regent River and meandered southwards
towards and across the Glenelg River. His three month ordeal
was plagued with problems from the beginning. He had small
unbroken ponies from Timor that deteriorated because of the
lack of feed, severe weather, steep cliffs and difficult terrain.
Grey also became wounded by an Aboriginal spear and lived
with his wound throughout the expedition. He also made some
remarkable discoveries, including being the first white man
to see and record spectacular Wandjinas Aboriginal paintings.
If you ever get to read Grey's diary it is fascinating reading.
Our plan was to retrace Grey's route, find the caves, go to
his furthest point and finish the expedition on the same date
and place that he did, but 149 years later. This meant we
had to tackle the Kimberley in the wet season.
To reach the site of Grey's expedition Ken and I had to drive
2300 kilometres north to Derby and then paddle for three weeks
along the treacherous Kimberley coast to the Prince Regent
River area.
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It was early March and the wet season brought very high temperatures
and unsettled weather conditions. A cyclone had recently deluged
the area and another could strike at any time. Derby, one
of the original Kimberley pastoral towns and the gateway to
the beautiful gorges, is situated at the bottom of King Sound
some 130 kilometres from the open sea and surrounded by mangrove
lined shores indented with tidal creeks. The King Sound area
can boast of the highest tidal range in the southern hemisphere,
and the second highest in the world. It has a 11 metre rise
and fall at the wharf at Derby. The effect of the massive
tidal range controls shipping movements, creates swift currents,
rapids, whirlpools and boils.
At 7.30am on Monday 9th March 1987, perpiration was already
pouring down our faces as we paddled away from the wharf and
followed the thickly lined mangroves for 35 kilometres towards
Point Torment. We landed on the only beach that afforded us
safe camping away from the rising tide but crocodiles were
a concern. The mud flats of the low tide stretched 600 metres
from the beach. Our daily ritual started. One hundred and
forty kilograms had to be carried to the safety of the beach,
taking two hours to complete. Menacing mosquitoes, sandflies
and the heat made us very welcome on our first night out.
Fitness was crucial on the second day
as we had to cross a 45 kilometre bay with no landing spots.
The wet season heat caused our fluid intake to escalate. Huge
tidal movements threatened to push us back to where we had
come and the low lands shimmering in the heat haze disappeared,
leaving us to the solitude of the perilous sea. For 8 hours
the mystery and movements of the ocean kept us in suspense.
In that time Ken consumed 7 litres of water but we finally
scurried up a shelley beach happy to be on firm ground.
As we crept closer to the brilliant blue open sea, ten metre
tides created swift currents as our route threaded between
hundreds of islands which form the Buccaneer Archipelago.
Large and small bays caused the coastline to zig-zag for thousands
of kilometres. Orange sandstone cliffs towered down to the
water's edge preventing beaches from forming.
After weeks of paddling along the Kimberley
Coast, facing crocodiles, being hit by sharks and pushed around
by tides and tidal rapids we rounded High Bluff and recognised
all the land features that Grey described in his diary.
The entrance to the Prince Regent River was only a few kilometres
away and as we turned out of Hanover Bay’s opposing currents,
huge cliffs lifted out of the calm waters of a large channel.
Walkers Valley was now in our sights and within 30 minutes
we were passing a small pocket of tropical rainforest that
was being fed by a cascading stream of water from the cliff
top. Huge cliffs narrowed our passage to the bottom of Walkers
Valley where a welcoming crocodile leapt into the water. To
escape from the narrow channel it swam beneath our kayaks
to a forest of mangroves further down stream. Dozens of large
mullet also greeted us. Within minutes the tide receded, leaving
our landing spot void of water.
The light faded and as we prepared dinner a thunderstorm struck,
sending us scrurrying for cover. I threw my tent fly over
our gear and squatted in a small cavity as streams of water
drenched me as it ran down the rock face. It was pitch black
except when spectacular streaks of lightning exploded above
the gully. My left leg became entangled in a thick spiders
web as I tried to squeeze further into the crevice. I became
very cold so I retreated under my tent fly for extra warmth.
Ken was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared along the valley
when the rain started. Inbetween the noise of thunder, the
spectacular streaks of lightening, a weird and mysterious
howling cry echoed from the cliff top most of the night. When
the rain stopped Ken appeared.
By the time we were fully packed for the overland trek the
morning sun was beating down and the fresh smell of the evening
storm had faded with the heat. Our packs were heavy. We calculated
them weighing around 40 kilograms. I only weighed 60 kilograms.
Leaving the mullet to advance with the rising tide we stumbled
beneath the huge paperbarks, the lush vegetation, big boulders,
vines and stepped into potholes full of water that were covered
with spinnifex.
On reaching Grey’s main camp site we found the landscape
being exactly as he described it in his diary, except the
vegetation was really overgrown and we had little hope of
finding any discarded equipment.
Already weary and tempers frayed from our ¾ kilometre
trek, we were faced with the difficult task of spiralling
our way up the rocky slopes of the cliff. Rests were frequent.
Ken wheeled his machete around, trying to slash the tangling
vines, but with little effect. We had achieved little by nightfall,
the terrain, heavy packs and the heat made us stop regularly.
We rose early in the morning but the terrain still forced
us to stop every 200 metres. Ken had his first brush with
green ants which gave him an insight to what was to come.
Their attack was deadly, as their nippers pieced into his
skin, causing severe jabs of pain and angrily he threw his
pack to the ground and rested again, our packs were just too
heavy.
We turned the Flying Doctor Radio on for the morning sched.
Distressing news came over the radio. A women, Ginger Meadows
had been taken by a crocodile only a few kilometres away in
the Prince Regent River. A search was on to find her body,
but no other details were released. We wondered how the news
would affect our wives.
After struggling a few more kilometres we decided that something
drastic had to be done with our heavy packs. The radio, battery,
solar panel and safety gear had to stay. So we decided to
half our 22 days of food hoping the lighter packs would help
us keep on schedule. We hid the food under a big boulder hoping
it would still be there and animals wouldn't have got at it
before we returned. By 2.15pm we were in the Lushington Valley
at a spot where three small streams merged. Beneath my shadow
I noticed a rusty, worn axe head blending in with the coppery
coloured rock. It was difficult to believe that we could find
a piece of civilisation in this vast wilderness where very
few people have trod. Did it belong to Grey’s expedition
or was it used by Aboriginals that could have been in this
area once?
Following Grey’s route we ascended out of Lushington
Valley moving through some large sandstone pillars and Liverstonia
palms. The top of the pillars gave us a magnificent view of
the Prince Regent River, Mount Trafalga and Mount Waterloo.
By the time we had reached another gully we were totally exhausted,
so we camped close to a small cascade. In 8 ½ hours
we had only walked 8 kilometres. We were getting to know what
problems Grey had and he had unbroken ponies with him.
This was difficult country to walk through
As we headed towards the Glenelg River
we descended the McDonald Ranges leaving the sandstone country
for the plain below. With the plains came the long grass that
towered over our heads, scub cattle, donkeys and millions
of flies that annoyed us every minute of the daylight hours.
We couldn’t eat, write or relax unless we were locked
inside our mosquito net.
At last Grey’s first major discovery, the Glenelg River
was reached. Climbing a hill gave us a terrific view of the
extensive mangroves, sand flats and the wide Glenelg River
that meandered it's way to Doubtful Sound and the ocean.
It was below our present position on the mudflats of the Glenelg
River, that Kingsford Smith had to make a forced landing in
his Southern Cross aircraft. On March 31st, 1929 he and three
other aviators were on their way to Wydham and their ultimate
goal England. extremely bad weather and a misunderstanding
forced them to fly miles in the wrong direction and finally
run out of fuel. They landed on the mudflats. A search was
mounted and on 12th April 1929 the Southern Cross was found
by Les Holden in the plane Canberra.
Following donkey tracks we marched on to some tidal rapids
15-20 kilometres upstream. We had been on half rations for
several days and although we still felt heathy, we did have
hunger pains. Ken was feeling the pain more than me as he
was much bigger than me and needed more food. As we ploughed
past Mt Stewart through the long grass, with hidden boulders
to trip us over, the heat was unbearable and I was beginning
to feel sick and dizzy. The humid heat and with being couped
up inside a kayak I had developed boils on my legs so I was
taking antibiotics. My energy level eventually faded so I
let Ken lead and push down the long grass and I followed in
a daze. I finally had to stop as the blistering heat was intense
and I was feeling faint. A large boulder cast a short midday
shadow. I tried to hide from the heat behind it without much
success.
The following morning I felt fit enough to make tracks towards
the Glenelg River where giant paperbark trees grew prolifically
on the southern side. The shallow water glistened as it flowed
over the sandy river bed. Downstream a deep pool gave us our
first opportunity to fish. Within minutes seven black bream
were being prepared for our evening meal. For 8 days we have
been on half rations so this would be our first substantial
meal in that time.
For the next 2 days we
followed Grey's route from the river and arrived at the 26th
March Cave, the first important cave that Grey had found.
Grey had discovered Aboriginal art never before seen by white
man. Inside the cave Wandjina figures dominated the ceiling
with other paintings, including a native carrying a kangaroo,
further inside. We believe that we were probably only the
third party to see the paintings.
We retraced Grey's journey
and found the 26th of March Cave
Leaving the tick infested
cave we forged on for 2 more days to reach our ultimate goal.
Along our route a gorge with pools, small cascades and a four
metre waterfall, flanked on the left side by a vertical cliff
that stood in our path. With ribs protruding, I posed for
a photo in front of the picturesque falls. The days on half
rations and hard physical exercise had eaten away the little
fat I once had.
A food pack was broken open and our rations of nuts and dried
fruit were placed on our stone table. We counted them to make
sure our measly lunch was equal. The one muesli bar was broken
in half and measured. We sat on the rock admiring the scenery,
eating each nut and dried fruit individually, savoring their
excellent taste.
Later we moved on and crossed the headwaters of the Glenelg
River to find Greys 29th March Cave which contained a controversial
mysterious figure.
From Greys Diary.....
The principle painting is a figure of a man, ten feet six
inches in length, clothed from the chin downwards in a red
garnet which reached to the wrists and ankles; beyond this
red dress the feet and hands protruded, were badly executed..........
Only a few kilometres south of the cave Grey was forced to
retrace his steps. The Elizabeth Range became so rugged and
precipitous that Grey could no longer move forward and with
food running low he decided to return to Hanover Bay.
When we reached Greys turning point on the 10th April 1987
we celebrated Kens 41st birthday with some staminade and dried
fruits. With lighter packs and extra enthusiasm our daily
walking milage increased. Greys meandering return journey
took us back over the sandstone ranges to Lushington Valley.
As a cyclone moved along the coast rain developed add more
frustration to our demanding walk. Our once overheated bodies
were now cold and longing for the hot days to return. Dry
gulleys suddenly turned in rivers. It was hard to believe
the change.
Near Lushington Valley we moved through extremely difficult
terrain and entered a chilly gully. Just before dark we reached
a junction of 2 streams but the ground wasn't suitable to
afford a campsite. We were soaking, our boots were waterlogged
and my trousers were chaffing around the belt. At last as
the light faded, a small flat spot was found and boulders
and spinifex removed to form our bed. As we feasted on normal
rations for the first time in 18 days, the moon reflected
on the rim of the gorge and its steep sides. How did Grey
get his ponies through this country we thought.
In the morning our clothes were still wet, our boots still
sopping and our trousers soaked up the wet vegetation. It
was early so the sun hadn't penetrated the depths of the gully.
Pandanas palms and other vegetation blocked our way. Vines
caught on our packs leaving us in a tangled mess. Our hands
and clothes were lacerated by the spiky palms.
After collecting the food packs that we had left behind we
struggled through the undergrowth of the upper reaches of
Walkers Valley and reached Greys first campsite making us
the first people to retrace Greys 1838 expedition. We felt
great but there was no time for rejoicing, we had to get moving
as the tide was receding leaving rocks wet and slippery. Ken
who had been the target of more green ants earlier in the
day, slipped and lacerated his knee on the razor sharp oysters.
As the tide streamed out, our kayaks were continually left
high and dry but after winning the race against the falling
tide we paddled along a thirty metre pool that became blocked
by sandstone boulders. Beyond the boulders the water was 300
metres away, leaving us with the formidable task of dragging
our kayaks over the mud and oyster laden boulders that were
once covered by the water.
Nothing seemed to be in our favour, the hours of portaging
over the trying conditions left us face to face with a crocodile
that blocked our route. In no mood to be intimidated we paddled
straight over it and headed towards a beach north east of
Walkers Valley entrance.
At 4.00 am the following
day before Ken had an 8 foot snake slither up his legs.
We left the same beach
on the same date April 15th, but 149 years later that Grey
finished his expedition. With our excess food we celebrated
with triple rations.
Ken having breakfast
over-looking Hanover Bay and where Grey left 149 years earlier
to the day
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