Pilgonoman Gorge

NOW, it has a name. The day before it looked like a shadowy gateway into the unknown, inaccessible only to the brave and the foolhardy. Treking through dingo infested tundra across ancient coral ridges seemed the only way to reach this mysterious portal. And maybe that innate curiosity we all share, got the better of me, but whatever the reasons, I wanted to get there.

The next morning, with a backpack complete with a field hospital in the side pocket, I set out to the main road and then crossed over heading for the line of hills about a kilometer away. The Cape Range runs parallel to the reef, and the contrast between the constant waves crashing on the coral and the immutable hills, like a wave frozen in time, is quite beautiful. From a distance the landscape looked difficult to navigate, but I was able to pick up animal trails through the grass. Occasionally, the tracks led past a bush where underneath,scattered with bleached bones, a dingo had sought some shade to devour it’s prey. The first ancient coral shoreline was about 2 metres high and after scaling that, I started to walk parallel to the hills. I was a kilometre from the sea and still walking on fossilized coral outcrops. It was slow and patient walking helped once by a startled kangaroo that bolted away leading me to a way around a gully.

Finally, I clambered over the last ridge and looked down to find……a sign. Funny place for a sign in the middle of no-where. Maybe some recognition for the intrepid adventurer. No, turns out the gorge was inhabited by a rare species of pygmy rock wallaby, and this was a do’s and don’t’s advisory. Then, I noticed shoe prints leading into the gorge. A “Livingstone I presume” encounter illuminated my fetid imagination as I followed them through the dense undergrowth as far as they went, but no, I was alone.

I had a good look around, clambering up the rock face to find that the gorge was not a gateway to the underworld but merely snaked it’s way back into the hills. Back at the sign, I noticed the footprints again, this time leading away from the gorge through a gully and back to, you guessed it, a car park. Kinda took the edge of the whole Burke & Wills shtick, but I was quietly relieved to have an easier route back and the dirt track finally bottomed out onto the main road and I trudged home.

An unexpected highlight was the chance discovery of The Galah Tree. Clearly the goto spot for the locals, this noisy fruit, the only sound in another wise silent landscape.

Tamika must have sensed my impending return as the mugs were out and the water on the boil for a much appreciated cuppa. This adventure had satisfied something in me, maybe as simple as reassuring me that I can still do these crazy things or that I still even want to. Stiff and sore the next day, but there ya go.