Worturpa Pound: In a Gammon Gorge
Walked May 2024, Posted Sunday 17th November 2024
I’d set an alarm for an hour before sunrise, but I was awake before it went off. There were a few disturbances during the otherwise silent night. I heard the thump, thump, thump of a passing kangaroo, and the clonk of one rock on another in the creek bed. From the scree slopes above us there was an occasional rockfall, and not long before we got up there was a minor landslide, perhaps triggered by a rock wallaby. A few times I heard terrible shrieks which I eventually decided were quolls1, though at the time they sounded like the death cries of some unfortunate animal.
We rose in the darkness and began packing up our gear. Thankfully there had been little condensation overnight. I boiled water for our breakfast and a thermos of tea, then finished packing.
We were off walking by an hour after sunrise. The gorge was still in deep shade and the air was cold. The high ground to the west was lit by the morning sun, which gradually crept down the gorge walls. Initially we were back to the difficult creek bed walking that we’d had yesterday, but as the gorge opened out wider the braided creek provided more islands where we could escape the rocks.
Where the low sun broke into the gorge it accentuated the shapes of the trees and stones.
Like yesterday, the valley walls stayed high and provided us with one last section of great gorge walking. The trees along here were among the most prolific and healthiest we’d seen. Best of all were the large groves of native pines that were magical to walk through. The early morning sun sparkled in their foliage, and illuminated the webs of the giant spiders that were strung between the trees.
Delightful walking in a grove of pines.
Up at the top of a scree slope we saw our last rock wallaby, but not for long as it vanished as soon as it became aware of us.
When we’d been walking for about an hour we stopped for a tea break, sitting on the fallen trunk of a big red gum in a grove of pines. Red gums are resilient trees: right in front of us was a huge old tree that had fallen over almost horizontal, but was still growing sideways.
There was something about the scene that seemed to capture the essence of Australia. Back home in Victoria I’m more used to mountain ash and ferns, snow gums up in the Alps, scrub-covered sandstone, or granite coastlines. All of them are beautiful in their own fashion, but none of them feel as uniquely Australian as red gums and pines in a dry sandstone creek.
Red gums, pines, and sandstone.
I came across the pungent minty scent again, and this time I hunted around and found its source. It was a small plant that was nothing special to look at, but brushing against the leaves released a smell out of all proportion to its size.
At last the walls of the gorge started to subside. The creek followed a course that wound back and forth across the valley, so I decided to shortcut the loops where I could. I was able to find animal pads to follow through the grass and light tree cover. Once again trusting to the sense of the animals that made the tracks paid off.
The walking was rougher where the creek opened out and the gorge walls dropped.
Taking a shortcut across a loop of the creek.
Quite unexpectedly we found an old wire fence in the creek bed, an old station boundary presumably, and then kept tripping over its fallen remains — literally — hidden in the grass.
We were forced back into the creek bed again, which made for difficult walking. North Branch Italowie Creek joined from the left, though with the creek now so spread out it was easy to miss. I was watching the low ridge on our left: where it ended would mark the spot for us to strike out across Worturpa Pound back towards Loch Ness Well and our car.
Grass and flowers in the dry creek bed.
Comparatively lush vegetation at the end of the ridge before entering the arid Worturpa Pound.
The end of the gorge signalled the return of spiky plants. A couple of times I pushed past a variety of acacia that had large (and very sharp) thorns before I learned my lesson.
The ridge ended, and it was time to leave the creek for the gibber plain of Worturpa Pound. Although the creek itself had been dry, the gorge had felt alive. When we left it for the pound, the land felt parched. There was virtually no shade, so we made use of our trekking umbrellas, which did a good job of shielding us from the heat of the sun.
Trekking umbrellas provided relief from the sun.
The ground was rocky with a low covering of grey, dead flowers. The flower heads looked soft, but I should have known better than to touch them: they were extremely prickly, like miniature barbed wire. They were so prolific that I wished I could see them in flower: they must light up the landscape.
From a distance the pound had appeared flat, but once on it we discovered our route was crossed by small but annoyingly deep gullies draining the hills to our left. Often we had to detour to find a way into and out of them. On the flatter parts I tried picking a distant tree as a target to help with the navigation, which wasn’t so easy now without a gorge to guide me. We’d spent so long walking in rock-filled gorges that being back in the open was almost a novelty.
Although we’d lost the scenery of the gorge, we did gain some views: to our left rose the cliffs of Mt John Roberts. Behind us was Mt McKinlay Bluff with its distinctive landslide scar. To our right was the well-named Red Hill, which slowly drifted behind us as we walked.
The distinctive Red Hill.
We found some shade under a big gum, and took a break out of the hot sun. Nearby was a listless kangaroo family of two adults and a juvenile. Once again I marvelled at their ability to survive out here.
The country became more hilly when we continued, and we variously walked up gullies and over the hilltops. There was a maze of animal tracks heading off in all directions, mostly quite faint but some very well defined.
From a distance Worturpa Pound seemed flat, but up close it was hilly and scored by gullies.
It was coming up to noon. From a hilltop I could see a dirt road to my right, the one we’d driven in on four days ago. Then below us I saw our car, and was filled with a mixture of relief and melancholy. But even though the walk was ending, I knew it would stay with me forever. The ancient beauty of the scenery, the landscape stripped back to its essential nature, had left me with the feeling of having found a true wilderness.
Our adventure draws to a close.
Footnotes
- When I talked to the rangers at Balcanoona they said they’d recently released dozens of western quolls (Dasyurus geoffroii) into the park as part of an attempt to reestablish the species. Sounds made by quolls include hisses, growls, and (what I heard) screams. ↩
