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

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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

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

Two Weeks of Australia, #4, 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!

Two Weeks of Australia, #3 — Getting to Jarlmadangah, 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, #3 — Rain and Boab Love, Western Oz

Two Weeks of Australia, #3

My Boab Obsession Begins … but First My Life at the WaterMan!!

I checked out of my posh room at the Pinctada Cable Beach (pinctadacablebeach.com.au) and drove to the Broome airport to return my rental car. I arrived amid a waterfall storm (way more water than a simple deluge of rain). I sat in the car at 5 am waiting for it to abate. The rental car return was actually closed, and the only dry spot was just under a bus stop sized canopy. I was meeting Marc Banfield from Kimberly Dreamtime Adventure Tours (kimberlydreamtimeadventures.com.au) to drive down the famed Gibb River Road and straight into the desolate heart of the Kimberly. He and his father, Rob, were first taking me to meet the elders of the Jarlmadangah Aboriginal Community to see local rock art sites and hear the dreamtime stories of the first occupants of this land. Here, as in much of Australia, the Aboriginal communities are beginning to open up their lands and share their knowledge of bush tucker, their stories and myths and their sacred places with outside visitors. For the next two days we would camp in “mozzie domes,” tents made of mesh, and sleep in a swag, which is a crossbred bed that combines a sleeping pad and bag.

But first, I have to negotiate the rain. And get my cameras, gear, and bags from the car to the 1 X 1 foot dry space to wait for Marc to pick me up. Of course, there’s no one else about at this time of the morning, and it quickly becomes clear that the rain is not abating, in fact it’s increasing it’s fierce defiance of the Dry versus Wet season here in Western Oz.  I grumble to myself that this is one of those glam moments in the life of a travel writer and photographer and that it could be worse, I could be in an office. Only slightly buoyed by my middling pep talk, I open the door and within 5 seconds I’m not just soaked, I’m actually a moving human tower of a hundred waterfalls: from my nose, each fingertip, my earlobes, eyelashes, chin, down the center of my back to the place that a rivulet of water feels downright eeek.

I feel like one of those misguided superheroes that decided WaterMan was a good idea. Splashing about in drenched and heavy shoes, soaking bad guys with the stream of water that just passed through the narrow canyon of my butt cheeks. That would be my superhero move. Yes. But, the romance of being WaterMan dissipated and I hurriedly moved my bags to the 1 X 1 dry spot and placed my rental car key in the after hours slot and tried to stay less wet.

About then, the only other human being awake at this time of the morning drives up in the essential outback ride, a 4WD with the exhaust above the roof. Marc rolls the window down, introduces himself and says that line, “G’day. You must be Ty. You know, I haven’t seen it rain in the Dry ever. I heard it last rained in the Dry 33-years ago.” Obviously Marc is not old enough to remember rain in the Dry.

“Well, hopefully, it’ll pour itself out.”

He laughs uncomfortably.

Stuffed into his 4WD, the water evaporating off of me forms a cloud in the car. We get gas, a flat white coffee and egg and bacon sandwiches at a petrol station while I change. Then, we’re off. About a mile down the road, I fall in love.

It’s still raining, but all along the side of the road are these trees with big, bloated trunks and stubbly branches, set amid the 12 foot tall termite mounds that abound in Western Oz. They’re boabs. Magnificent trees. And I now have to have light, so that I can make a memorable image of these incredible trees. Yes, it’s just a tree, but despite the rain, I’m already excited about this part of my journey.

It has been said that, “adventure happens when things go wrong.” And these big trees are the standing sentinal to the next to days of our adventure.