Bunyip Chasm: In a Gammon Gorge
Standing in the small car park at Loch Ness Well, I had some misgivings about what we were doing. It was dry, hot, dusty. The surrounding low hills had little in the way of vegetation, and the few trees were small and provided minimal shade. The summer just gone had left the grasses dead and dry. Could we really survive out here for five days? Would I be able to find water1?
While I knew there was a spectacular gorge just a few kilometres away, it was hard to believe it standing here. LS seemed to believe it even less than me.
After a quick lunch we prepared to set off. Our packs were unusually heavy, loaded up with as much water as we could carry. More than any other time I’ve been camping, finding and carrying water would be critical to even have a chance at completing what I’d planned.
The remoteness of this area means it receives few visitors, but if any part of our walk could be said to be popular, it would be this first section to Bunyip Chasm. As we walked along the dry Balcanoona Creek there was a vague foot pad to follow at times, and I could see occasional footprints in the loose earth. The only navigation required today was to ensure we stayed in Balcanoona Creek, bearing left where the larger Escalator Creek joins in from the right. Beyond that the creek would lead us into the gorge.
Setting off along Balcanoona Creek there was no hint of what was to come.
Balcanoona Creek narrowed as we approached the gorge, and the scenery began to improve.
The patches of dried grasses and flowers were prickly, though they were merely a taste of what was to come. We passed a few red gums, thriving despite the harsh conditions. There were native pines too, though it appeared more were dead than alive.
As we walked we disturbed many kangaroos in the creek valley. It was amazing how they survived out here with such meagre feed and no reliable water. From the hills above we heard the bleating of feral goats a few times, though they stayed out of sight.
Despite our loads we were making good progress along the dry creek bed. The landscape was slowly becoming more scenic: the hills got taller, the valley walls more rugged. Their sharp outlines were softened by a covering of dry grass. A few rocky cliffs appeared above us. Attached to one rock wall LS found a collection of mud wasp nests, though we saw no inhabitants.
Mud wasp nests under a rock overhang.
It was a warm day and we’d been working hard in the afternoon sun, so we stopped for a break in the shade. A wedge-tailed eagle briefly circled low above us before gliding onwards. In front of us, above the rim of the creek valley, rose the impressive cliff-guarded summit of Mt John Roberts2. All going well we’d be up there tomorrow. It was a little hard to believe I was here after planning this walk for so long.
The summit of Mt John Roberts provided a dramatic backdrop to our rest break.
We soon reached our first little waterfall, or rather, what would be a waterfall if there was any water3. The next waterfall had a massive prostrate red gum growing in it. Then the walls sprang up to become sheer orange cliffs, and we had reached our first Gammon gorge.
Within the gorge it felt more alive. The vegetation seemed healthier than we’d seen earlier, particularly the pines. Red gums were plentiful, as were shaggy-looking grass trees. Their leaves glowed and glittered with the sun behind them. Scattered along the floor were dead branches and tree trunks that had been washed down by floods. LS’s earlier skepticism about the walk seemed to have vanished.
The gorge was spectacular, and a complete contrast to the start of our walk.
One of the many waterfalls in the gorge.
Near a large waterfall I spotted a couple of tiny seeps from the rock, which brought our water problems to mind. I’d hoped to find water in the larger holes below the waterfalls, but so far all had been completely dry. These mirky little seeps were the first water I’d seen, but were of no practical use. All my hope rested on finding water up at the chasm. This was the first indication I had of how dry it was here, and it left me worried about the viability of the walk.
It felt vibrant and alive in the gorge.
Shaggy grass trees were a feature of this walk.
My target for the day was Bunyip Chasm, but being enclosed within the gorge I had no reference points to judge how close we were. As we progressed I began to think about finding a campsite. From what I’d read we should be able to find a spot near the entry to the chasm, but in case that didn’t work out I looked for alternatives as we walked along, and there were plenty.
The walls towered above us, some smooth and straight, others rough, some slumped down in landslides of loose rock. A wall appeared to be rising up directly ahead of us, which led me to think we must be approaching the end of the gorge. Then to my right a slot opened up in the gorge wall: we’d reached the start of the climb to Bunyip Chasm.
Deep within the gorge.
Close to the end of the gorge and the entry to Bunyip Chasm.
My concerns about finding a campsite were allayed as there was enough space for a couple of tents right near the chasm. We chose a nice flat spot amongst the red gums and pines, with convenient logs for seats.
We only pitched the inner of the tent, not feeling the need for the fly. The ground was too rocky for pegs, so we used stones to hold the tent down. Some people don’t bother with tents in the Gammons, but we both preferred to use ours, in part to keep any dust or dirt at bay. As it happened, the damp night air caused us more trouble.
I wanted to make the side trip up to Bunyip Chasm4 before dark, so we worked quickly getting our gear ready for the evening. Half an hour after arriving we were ready to set off, with sunset two hours away.
The climb started in a chasm so narrow we could touch both walls at once. A short way in we reached the first obstacle: a sheer climb of a few metres where a large boulder was wedged between the walls. There was an old log propped against the boulder, and a few small notches had been cut into it. It was awkward at first, but once we’d got the idea of it, it was easy to use as a crude ladder and climb up.
Entering into the darkness of the chasm.
Climbing the log ladder at the first obstacle.
Inside the chasm it had become as dark as night. Looking back where we’d come from, the walls of the main gorge glowed bright orange. We continued climbing in the narrow space between the walls, and reached the second obstacle. This was similar to the first, with some boulders again blocking the way. Directly below them was a small rock pool filled with clear water that was overflowing to a second pool. That one wasn’t as clear, but I didn’t care. What excited me was the overflow: that showed the pools must be fed, albeit very slowly, by a seep. Our water supply for the night was secured, and a weight lifted from me: our walk would continue for at least another couple of days.
This time we climbed the boulders directly rather than trying to use the log that was leaning against them as it didn’t seem helpful. As we continued the walls opened out, and we found ourselves in a magnificent natural amphitheatre. Straight in front of us orange and black cliffs soared up higher and higher beyond sight. I couldn’t begin to imagine the amount of time required for the infrequent rains to carve such a tremendous place from the solid rock.
This was not the end of our adventure, however. The continuation was directly up the waterfall to our right. I spent a while looking at the layers of rock on the face of the waterfall: it didn’t look terribly hard to climb, but it was easier to pick out a route while still at ground level.
The scale of the amphitheatre could be appreciated from the top of the waterfall.
The start of the climb was awkward, but after that wasn’t too bad other than the growing feeling of exposure as I climbed, which was accentuated by the poor handholds. The worst of it was the top. The rock was not only tilted downwards, but had been polished smooth by the flow of water. Even with the rock dry I could barely stop from sliding back over the edge; it would be treacherous if wet.
I clambered up to a ledge where I could see back down into the amphitheatre. It looked a lot more vertical from my vantage at the top than it had from the base. LS began her climb, but went too far to her right and got stuck — unable to go forwards, and not feeling confident to retreat.
At the top of the waterfall.
I’d been dreaming of reaching Bunyip Chasm for years, and was fortunate to have made it past all the obstacles this far. Which is to say, nothing was going to stop me now. Leaving LS perched on the cliff, I promised to be back in a few minutes (in the end it was over twenty), and hurried further up the chasm.
Five minutes of scrambling had me at Bunyip Chasm, and it was every bit as awesome in real life as I had imagined. The towering vertical cliffs had a weird blocky appearance. Where they converged there was a shallow alcove in the rock that was decorated with ferns. Looking upwards I could see a narrow gap between the cliffs where the chasm continued. Scattered across the ground were big chunks of rock that had fallen from above.
I stood there for a while, admiring the incredible scenery. It was as silent as a church. I had the impression of being in an ancient and timeless place.
To enter the true Bunyip Chasm requires climbing the righthand wall, where a narrow slot leads to the final dead end. The climb was riskier than I felt like attempting today, particularly alone and with my wife stuck halfway up a cliff. The final section would need to wait for another day. But I’d got as far as I’d hoped to, and was feeling elated at having achieved my most treasured aim already on the first day of our walk. Happily I’d brought my tripod with me, so I was able to take some selfies to preserve the moment.
Selfie time at Bunyip Chasm. The final end of the chasm is the dark gap above me and to the right.
Looking straight up the cliffs at Bunyip Chasm.
I hurried back, and was relieved to see LS had found her way down while I was gone. Now it was my turn to descend. I didn’t like the idea of trying to go over the slippery edge of the waterfall, so I found a spot to the side where I could climb down more safely, then worked my way back down the rock face in zigzags.
We set off back to our camp, looking forward to a meal and a rest. The two drops over the boulders blocking the chasm weren’t difficult, and we both got down without trouble. A cool breeze was blowing down the chasm behind us, and the sinking sun had dropped below the gorge wall, leaving our camp in shadow.
Back at our campsite in the main gorge.
We had less than an hour till sunset, so I started dinner without delay. The stove was reluctant to start, and didn’t seem to be burning cleanly. Luckily it continued working well enough to get through the rest of the walk. Dinner tonight was soup, ramen, and a hot drink. By the time we were done it was dark. What a long day it had been, but a great one! So far the walk was going beautifully.
Continue to Part 2: Mt John Roberts
Footnotes
- In the Gammons water is usually obtained from waterholes. These are most commonly filled by the rains that arrive in summer, but by ill fortune the previous summer had been virtually dry. Finding water would be particularly challenging on this walk. See: Heard, Adrian (1990). A Walking Guide to the Northern Flinders Ranges. State Publishing. p 23. ISBN 0724365745. ↩︎
- Mt John Roberts was named after an early pastoralist who owned Yerilina just north of Umberatana station. ↩︎
- This set the tone for the rest of the walk, as every waterfall and creek we found was dry. ↩︎
- What C. Warren Bonython referred to in his writing as Fern Gorge is what is nowadays called Bunyip Chasm and not Fern Chasm as might be expected (see day 4 of this walk for Fern Chasm). Evidence for this is his description of Fern Gorge as being located on Balcanoona Creek (where Bunyip Chasm is) rather than on South Branch Italowie Creek (where Fern Chasm is). And his photograph captioned “Entrance to Fern Gorge” is clearly the first obstacle in Bunyip Chasm, mirrored left to right — compare with the photograph in this story. See also: Bonython, C. Warren (1974). Walking the Flinders Ranges. Rigby. p 133, 135, 137. ISBN 0851792863. ↩︎
