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Published: August 28th 2021
Water in the Desert
Reflections in Simpson's GapLook at any map of Australia, and your eye will immediately be drawn to a name in the very centre of the continent: Alice Springs. Although only a fairly small town by most standards (population: 30,000) it appears on every map of the country for the simple reason that it is the largest settlement for a very, very long way in any direction. Historically, at least as far as European settlement is concerned, Alice Springs' greatest claim to fame is a telegraph station just a few kilometres to the north of the current town centre, which served as a relay point on the Overland Telegraph Line between Adelaide in the South and Darwin to the North. It is from this telegraph station that one of the most famous and iconic of Australian hiking trails begins: the legendary Larapinta Trail. Tracing a route from east to west for approximately 230km through the ancient West MacDonnell Ranges (known as Tjoritja in the local Arrernte indigenous language), the trail is renowned for being rugged, isolated, hot, dry and hauntingly beautiful. For much of it's length the trail skirts the base of the mountains; in places it crosses over from one side to the other;
Narrow Gap
Approaching the waterhole at Simpson's Gap and in some of the most spectacular (and challenging) sections it tip-toes it's way along the very crest of the range, offering views that seem to stretch out into eternity.
And it is an eternal land, out here in the fabled Red Centre of Australia. Not only geologically speaking: for this is after all one of the oldest mountain ranges on the oldest continent in the world. But also from a human perspective: this land has been inhabited for at least twenty thousand years by the Arrernte people, just one of hundreds of Aboriginal tribes who together make up the oldest surviving culture on Earth - a race of people who have, like almost all indigenous cultures the world over, found in the land and it's various native inhabitants not only shelter, food and warmth; but also a spiritual connection that flows through every facet of their culture. Landmarks like mountains, rivers and waterholes are the home of guardian spirits; different animals represent ancestors from whom knowledge has been passed down through countless generations; and the land itself is considered sacred, and is thus treated with reverence and respect, so that each generation takes only what it needs to
Red Rocks and River Red Gums
Outback sentinels reaching for the sky survive and acts as custodians of the land, ensuring that it will continue to impart it's gifts of life to future generations, as it has to untold thousands of generations in the past.
It is perhaps this combination of nature and culture - both ancient and inextricably tied to each other - that serves as the greatest drawcard for visitors to the region; and the opportunity to explore this timeless landscape slowly, on foot, draws walkers to the Larapinta Trail like moths to a flame. For all of Australia's natural treasures, none are as quintessentially Australian as the Outback - that great, vast, indefinable region that stretches unbroken for thousands of kilometres across the centre of the continent - and no part of the Outback captures people's imaginations like the Red Centre. If the East Coast has been the cradle of European culture in Australia ever since the first settlers arrived from England just over 230 years ago, then it is out here in the isolated outposts at the heart of the country that the indigenous cultures burn brightest. Nowhere else are the red earth, black sky and yellow sun featured on the Aboriginal flag so visible.
As
The Starting Point
Eastern trailhead for the Larapinta Trail, not far from Alice Springs Telegraph Station with most deserts, there are two main dangers with any extended exploration in the Outback of Australia: heat exhaustion and dehydration. Having seen the temperature plummet by 33 degrees during my sixteen-hour coach ride south from Katherine to Alice Springs, I figured I could probably rule out the likelihood of heat exhaustion; but starting from a town where the riverbed resembles a sandpit for most of the year, the threat of running short of water was very real. In fact one of Alice Springs' most famous annual festivals is the Henley-on-Todd Regatta - the world's only dry river regatta - when the townspeople construct makeshift 'boats' that they then carry and race Flintstones-style along the dry riverbed! Only once in the 60-year history of the event has unseasonal rainfall caused the cancellation of the regatta... though even then two groups refused to accept the officials' decision, putting their boats in the water and completing the course as a protest! They sure breed 'em differently out this way...
Small-town frivolity notwithstanding, water is the one thing I have always sworn I would never run out of on a hike (closely followed by food). And if ever this theory was likely
All loaded up and ready to go
At the Telegraph Station trailhead, with eight days' worth of food and three litres of water to be put to the test, it would surely be on the Larapinta Trail, where the only guaranteed water sources are the water tanks (regularly topped up by National Park rangers for the benefit of hikers) at each of the dozen or so main campsites. Generally these are spaced about every 10-15km along the trail, though there are sections as long as 30km between water tanks - meaning that a significant amount of water needs to be collected and carried between campsites, whether the section in question is split over two days or condensed into one long day. For this reason I had decided to take four 1.5L water bottles with me, giving me up to six litres' worth of storage capacity. I would need all of that and more.
The problem of how to carry enough food for such a long walk I had overcome - like virtually every other person who attempts the trail - by arranging a food drop to be left at a designated storage facility at the Ellery Creek South campsite, which roughly corresponds to the halfway point of the trail. In this way I only had to carry around eight days' worth of
Houston, we have a problem...
One hour in and already my sunglasses are stuffed food to start with, before re-stocking my pack for the remainder of the walk. Unlike the vast majority of hikers, however, I had chosen not to organise a transfer from Redbank Gorge at the far western end of the trail back to Alice Springs, for the simple reason that I refused to pay the truly extortionate asking price of $300+ for what is no more than a 1.5 hour drive along the highway (you can fly pretty much anywhere in the country from Alice Springs for that amount of money). This would also allow me to retain maximum flexibility for my walk, given that I was prepared to take anywhere between two and three weeks (though the latter would require a certain degree of rationing) to complete the trail.
So with my preparations finally complete, I woke at dawn on Monday morning (9th August) feeling well rested, though decidedly sluggish - no doubt a result of my having spent a full five days resting and relaxing in Alice Springs (the first time I had spent more than two nights in any one place for over a month) combined with the fact that it was a chilly 5° outside at
The easy way to travel
Crossing the Darwin to Adelaide railway line that hour of the day! Fully loaded underneath 23kg worth of gear, food and water, I followed the sealed Riverside Trail north for three kilometres to the official trailhead on the grounds of the Alice Springs Telegraph Station. And then, with a full belly and three litres' worth of water, I set off toward the first campsite at Wallaby Gap, some 14km away - not yet knowing whether this would be my overnight stop or just a lunch break on the way to Simpson's Gap, a further 10km away. On first impressions the trail seemed to have been both lovingly created and faithfully maintained - a purpose-built walking track barely half-a-metre wide blazed mainly through solid earth and clear as day to follow, the trail was easy on the eye and easy on the mind. What the Larapinta Trail wasn't, however, was easy - but it would take me the best part of a day to figure this out.
Having covered 5km in the first hour, I stopped to take a break in the shade beneath the Geoff Moss Bridge that carries the Stuart Highway across the (dry) Charles River. As I took my sunglasses off and put them
Knife-edged Ridge
Approaching Euro Ridge on day one on the ground beside me, I made a mental note to be careful not to step on them when I got up to leave. You can probably guess what happened next. Not only did I absent-mindedly step on them, I trampled them right down into the loose gravel, so that only one bent arm could be seen signalling for help. The frame was badly bent, one lens had popped out, and they were badly scratched. I wasn't sure what to be more upset about - the fact that I had only bought them four days earlier (for $13 from a discount store) or the fact that, when deciding what to do with my other pair of sunglasses - which I had bought only six days earlier to replace the pair I had broken and then lost in Nitmiluk NP - I had chosen NOT to bring them with me OR put them in with my food drop in the likely event they would be needed by then, but simply to leave them back at the hostel in Alice Springs to collect after I was finished on the Larapinta Trail. Epic fail. And as if to add insult to injury, while
Ridge-top Views
Following the crest of Euro Ridge all of this was going on I managed to swallow my first fly of the walk. I was sure it wouldn't be my last.
Eventually I was able to contort the frame of my sunglasses enough to get them to sit more or less comfortably on my face - after briefly considering backtracking all the way to Alice Springs to collect reinforcements - and so I continued along the trail as it crossed the Adelaide to Darwin railway line and weaved it's way towards the base of the mountains. Just as I was looking forward to a much-needed drink break, I came across a group of fifteen hikers on a guided trekking tour, who were just gearing up to rejoin the trail after enjoying their own rest break - which was all the motivation I needed to put my head down and charge straight on past. Few things can ruin the peace and solitude of a solo hike like being stuck behind a large group of guided hikers. When one woman made a smartarse comment about the small person I must have inside my over-sized pack, I very nearly countered by pointing out that some of us are actually
Welcome Sight for the Weary Traveller
First glimpse of the shelter (with water tank) at Wallaby Gap, halfway through day one capable of carrying all of our supplies without the need for a support vehicle, but I managed to bite my tongue.
Putting a gap between myself and the group, I managed to squeeze in a brief water break before tackling the incredibly scenic climb up Euro Ridge (Euro being the most common species of kangaroo in Central Australia), where the trail follows a knife-edged ridgetop, with a 45° slope on one side and steep cliffs falling away to the plains below on the other side. Offering a full 360° panorama of rust-red mountain ranges separated by sparsely vegetated plains, this would prove to be the undisputed highlight of my first day on the trail. And no sooner had I made it to the far end of the ridgetop than I spied the roof of the shelter at Wallaby Gap campsite, where I had been looking forward to enjoying an extended lunch break. Unfortunately I had barely had enough time to scoff down a single bread roll when the unmistakable sound of that same large group of hikers approaching roused me from my torpor, and having decided that solitude was more important than a protracted rest, I stuffed a second
Nearing the end of a long day
Undulating trail leading towards Hat Hill, late on day one bread roll into my gob and hightailed it out of there.
At first it seemed I had pulled the right rein, as the continuing trail was mostly flat and I didn't feel overly tired. Then with 20km down and only 4km to go the climb to Hat Hill Saddle began in earnest, and it was at this point that I suddenly hit the wall. Despite not being particularly steep, the constantly undulating trail on the lower flanks of the Rangitjurba Ridge had me gasping for air and questioning what exactly I had gotten myself into!?! After taking numerous rest breaks along the way I finally emerged on the low saddle between Hat Hill and Rangitjurba Ridge, from where I could already see the location of my overnight stop at Simpson's Gap. Twenty minutes later, at just after 5pm, I was there... and I was (pardon the expression) absolutely rooted!!
After dumping my pack at the first campsite I came to (officially a group campsite, though there was only a lone female hiker in residence) I continued on to the 'official' Larapinta Trail campsite, but seeing as it was further away from Simpson's Gap (which I'd not yet had
Red Rock Gateway
Finally at Simpson's Gap, after a 28km day time to go and see) I headed back and set up my tent at the group campsite, not far from a young woman named Bree. Eventually I managed to drag my tired, sore body down to see Simpson's Gap, which is just one of a number of north-south gaps in the West MacDonnell Ranges where creeks have carved a narrow channel through the mountains - which seems all the more incredible when all that's left of most of these creeks in the dry season is a bone-dry expanse of sand - flanked by soaring cliffs of rock covered in iron oxide (rust) that glows a fiery red whenever the sun is low. If only it weren't for the infestation of tiny mice around the campsite it might have been a lovely place to spend the night, but given that only a couple of days earlier at my hostel in Alice Springs a tiny mouse had chewed a hole in the hip pocket of my backpack to get to an energy bar I had left inside, I was determined not to take any chances - so I managed to hang both my backpack and all of my food (inside a dry
Mice 1 - 0 Matt
My cooking pot after mice had chewed through it on the first night sack) from the roof of the small shelter beside my tent.
The only things I had decided not to hang up were my foldable cooking pot, bowl and cup - all of which I had washed and dried to remove any food smells from - which were folded up one inside the other. I could scarcely believe it when I woke the next morning to find that those pesky little mice (which were no bigger than a golf ball) had chewed multiple holes straight through the silicon wall of my cooking pot! The only saving grace was that they had chewed through the outer fold (at about the 850ml mark) and not the inner fold (at about the 400ml mark) so that I could still potentially boil up to about 750ml of water before it would start draining out the side! I tried to look on the bright side - that at least now my cooking pot could be used as a strainer - but in reality I was furious! Presumably the attack on my backpack in Alice Springs had been intended as a warning shot, and I had failed to take heed. The war between mice and Matt
Narrow Defile
The short but deep waterhole barring access through the mountains at Bond Gap had begun, and clearly the mice were winning.
Getting away just before ten o'clock that day, I punched out the kilometres fairly quickly to start with - which was relatively easy to do given that there were no significant climbs or descents, but was also entirely necessary as I had this time set myself the challenge of walking all the way to the campsite at Jay Creek (26km away), stopping only at the intermediate Mulga campsite for lunch. With none of the ridgetop views from the day before (and very little shade, which was just like the day before) the scenery was somewhat less compelling - with the notable exception of Bond Gap, where rugged cliffs plunge down into the earth on either side, separated by no more than two metres at their base, where a permanent (and reportedly quite deep) waterhole bars passage through the mountains. Further on, the Western face of Arenge Bluff offered further visual appeal (Arenge being the Arrernte name for the Euro - an animal that is deeply ingrained in their Dreaming (creation) stories as an ancestor who created and named a number of nearby natural features). But all in all I managed to
cover the 16km to Mulga Camp in good time, where I then took advantage of my extended lunch break (and the cooling breeze that had been soothing me all day) to dry my sweat-soaked clothes as I cooked up a feed.
Leaving Mulga Camp shortly after 3pm - having fully replenished the three litres' worth of water I had downed up until that point - I still had 10km to cover to my overnight stop, which meant that I would again have the pleasure of walking in the low, soft light of the late afternoon... even if that light was shining directly in my face! Crossing through the Chewings Range for the first time at Spring Gap - where a rare waterhole offered sustenance to all manner of plants and animals, including stately River Red Gums and freewheeling flocks of Budgerigars - I then found myself climbing ever so gently but continuously up a low ridge, looking back at the northern face of the range to my left as the various spurs and gullies were set off to dramatic effect by the alternating light and shadow. And though I was once again suffering the effects of the cold I
Desert Oasis
The waterhole at Spring Gap had picked up in Alice Springs, my horrible dry cough from the day before seemed to have largely gone, and it was with far more of a spring in my step that I finally arrived at the Jay Creek campsite just twenty minutes before sundown.
Passing first Bree (whom I knew from the night before at Simpson's Gap) and then another two ladies whom I had seen during my lunch break at Mulga Camp, I continued on to the large, new shelter which I was surprised to find completely unoccupied. Given that the sun was already setting I took this as an omen that I should avail myself of this comfortable abode, and so (purely for insulation purposes) I set up my tent on one of the raised platforms underneath the spacious shelter. I also noticed the two steel cupboard doors that upon further inspection offered shelves for safe food storage (I cursed myself for not having noticed this feature at the previous night's campsite shelter) as well as, wait for it, solar-powered USB charging points! Of course I was only able to get them working the next day once the sun was up and shining (presumably they are
Sturdy, Steel Shelter
The shelter at Jay Creek campsite, at the end of day two unable to hold any charge) but I couldn't help but marvel at the lengths the National Park has gone to in an effort to make walkers' experience on the Larapinta Trail more comfortable. I just wonder how long it will be until WiFi hotspots are introduced...
These shelters are a feature of each of the ten 'official' trailhead campsites (which divide the trail into twelve official sections, including the return trip to Mount Sonder and back on the last day) except for Standley Chasm, which falls outside the National Park and is owned and managed by the local indigenous community. And it was to Standley Chasm that I would be heading on my third day on the Larapinta Trail, after having passed a leisurely evening in the shelter at Jay Creek, before waking around 7:30am to discover that all three of the women who had been camped nearby had already left! Honestly, sometimes it feels like I'm operating in a different time zone to everyone else on the trail!
With the section of trail between Jay Creek and Standley Chasm measuring about 14km - just over half the distance I'd covered on each of the two previous days
Comfort and Convenience
Making myself at home in the shelter at Jay Creek - I had been looking forward to enjoying a nice, leisurely 'half-day' on the trail, so that I could rest and recharge before tackling the following two sections, which were both rated as 'difficult' in the official map guide. I had even considered taking the 'alternative high route' that branches off the main trail and climbs 300m to the ridgetop above, before eventually dropping back down and re-joining the main trail further on. But having ruled out the possibility of carting my full backpack up this 'suicide mission' of a trail - and with no way of dumping my large pack at the base of the climb and just taking my daypack with some water and snacks in it, without having to later backtrack along the main trail to retrieve my pack - I had subsequently decided to simply stick to the 'low route'.
How deluded I had been to even consider taking the 'alternative high route' - and how wrong my expectations of the ordinary low route would turn out to be - will be the subject of a public enquiry some day. It all started off innocently enough, with a straightforward (though frustrating) trudge through the coarse
Sandy start to the day
Following the dry creek bed of Jay Creek sandy bed of Jay Creek to arrive at the sacred Aboriginal site of Ilapa Karta (better known simply as 'Fish Hole'). After winding up a side valley and climbing over a low ridge, the trail then headed out across open country before climbing to Millers Flat, where a single glance in the direction of the High Route confirmed just how ludicrously ambitious my initial plan had been. The next forty-five minutes were spent slowly but surely climbing to a saddle, before the trail dropped down into a largely monochrome landscape of introduced buffel grass the colour of straw, after which it climbed in fits and starts through a boulder-choked dry gorge where at one stage I was required to scale a small cliff. This led in turn to another prolonged if straightforward ascent to a saddle, where all at once I was greeted by the most incredible view of the Chewings Range rising abruptly to the left, with the deep gash of Standley Chasm (known to the Arrernte as 'Angkale') clearly visible about halfway along.
For the next twenty minutes the trail gently eased it's way down one side of a narrow valley, with the line of rocky peaks on
Decision Time
Thankfully I took the low route. I mightn't have made it to Standley Chasm otherwise. the other side of the valley seeming to grow in stature with each step. And all the while the narrow defile of Standley Chasm grew closer and more intimidating. Entering this shaded underworld felt like passing through a secret portal into another dimension - suddenly instead of looking out at this world of rust-red rock and jagged cliffs, I was deep inside it. It was at about this time that the words in the map guide came back to me, pointing out that 'Standley Chasm itself is difficult and dangerous to descend, so the Trail heads up around the western side'. It also mentioned that 'this last part of section 3 can be quite taxing with more steep ups and downs over rocky ground'.
Unfortunately the accompanying elevation chart of the walk showed only a 50m climb followed by a 100m descent, with a barely discernible dip in between. So you can probably imagine my surprise (and horror) when, after climbing a relentlessly steep ridge and then dropping halfway down the other side, I spotted a large marker (always a blue triangle on a white square) nailed to a tree at the base of the ridge... pointing straight back
Rocky Slopes
Boulder-hopping through a narrow gorge on day three up the next ridge, which was at least as steep and high as the one I had just negotiated! I actually stopped in my tracks and said aloud "no f_cking way!", then followed the direction of the offending marker to find another halfway up this next slope, and then another even further up. As far as I was concerned the elevation chart should have looked more like a capital M than an inverted V, with the M presumably standing for 'Masochistic'. If I'd not been so determined to retain moisture - having by this stage drunk all three litres of water I had brought with me from the water tank at Jay Creek - I would have slumped to the ground and wept. As it was I simply stood there slack-jawed, trying to comprehend what sort of hatred for humanity must have possessed the builder of the trail to have chosen this route.
Eventually, after much huffing, puffing, resting and swearing, I made it to the top of the second slope, and then ever so slowly and painstakingly picked my way down the interminably steep set of rock steps on the other side, until I emerged beside the immaculately
Wall of Rock
Approaching Standley Chasm on day three manicured path leading into the base of Standley Chasm from the nearby carpark. And then I slumped, lifeless, onto a fallen log beside the trail. As tourists who had driven to within 500 metres of the chasm in the comfort of their air-conditioned vehicles sauntered past without a care in the world, I tried desperately to avoid both eye contact and conversation by simply pretending to be a corpse. It wasn't difficult. After regaining some semblance of composure and dousing myself in a cloud of Lynx body spray, I staggered down the path towards the kiosk/restaurant at the car park where I immediately ordered a burger with chips and an ice cold bottle of powerade. If anything good had come out of the day so far, it was that I had arrived - about two hours later than expected - at 3:45pm. The restaurant was due to close at 4pm. When asked the next day by a fellow hiker what I would have done if the kiosk had been closed when I arrived, I was only half-joking when I replied "haul myself back up to the top of the cliffs, and then throw myself off".
But then, after paying
Shady Underworld
Looking out from Standley Chasm my combined entry and campsite fee (and picking up an ice cream for good measure) and heading over to the little grassy patch beside the car park that serves as the camping area for Larapinta Trail walkers, something truly magical happened. There already with their tents set up were the three ladies who had been camped at Jay Creek the night before - Victoria and Stacey were the older pair; the younger Bree I already knew from Simpson's Gap. Joining in their conversation about the day we had just experienced, it soon became apparent that each of them had suffered just as much as me, if not more so. This came as a welcome surprise - not because I derive any sort of perverse pleasure from the suffering of others, but because up until this point I had suspected that it was just me who wasn't up to the challenge.
All day I had been searching for answers about why I was so exhausted - this was supposed to have been my 'easy day' after all - and left wallowing in self-doubt, questioning whether or not I would be able to make it all the way to Mount Sonder
Towers of Rock
Steep cliffs in Standley Chasm at the far western end of the trail. Now suddenly I realized I was NOT the only one - we had ALL had our arses kicked by this section of the walk. And nothing makes a person feel better about the suffering they have been through than a good old-fashioned bitching session... the more expletives used, the better! Thankfully any families who were camped nearby had retired to the comfort of their campervans by now, as the language used to describe our trials and tribulations became increasingly 'colourful', but what was even more noticeable was that as all of this unleashing of frustration was going on, laughter had begun to infiltrate our conversation. In fact I wish that someone had been recording our banter, as by the time we had all exhausted our supply of swear words - and run out of breath in doing so - we all had wide smiles on our faces, and were determined to return the favour by showing the Larapinta Trail who was boss the next day. Never underestimate the value of moral support. Or a good laugh.
Another benefit of staying at Standley Chasm - aside from the camaraderie with my newfound
The walls are closing in
Down in the depths of Standley Chasm at dusk 'Trail Sisterhood' - was the opportunity to have a shower and wash the sweat-stained clothes I had been wearing for the past three days. For this I decided to kill two birds with one stone, walking straight into the shower wearing my boxers and t-shirt, then proceeding to scrub myself as vigorously as possible in order to wash my clothes; before eventually peeing them off and doing the same with my skin. My socks on the other hand I didn't need to get clean; I simply wanted to get as much red dust out of them as possible - five minutes of soaking and wringing later, they weren't looking too bad. The shower floor, on the other hand...
It was over our reydrated dinners that night that I
discovered Bree had spent the past month working as a trekking guide on the Larapinta Trail. Despite having done most of the trail, she had not yet walked the entire route from end-to-end - much less with a full backpack - so when Covid-related lockdowns in the eastern states had caused the cancellation of a recent trip, she decided to throw caution to the wind and tackle the full trail in
Crinkles and Folds
Late afternoon light over the Chewings Range only twelve days. She also confided that it was her 25th birthday the following day, and so she was looking forward to walking her favourite section of the trail (this was music to all of our ears!) from Standley Chasm through to the Section 4/5 Junction campsite, before indulging in a swim in the aptly-named Birthday Waterhole. When Bree sheepishly admitted that she had originally planned to continue on from Standley Chasm to Brinkley Bluff (10km distant and over 400m higher) but had been too exhausted to keep going - despite having walked this whole section of track before - the redemption for Victoria, Stacey and myself was complete. Hell, if someone who was significantly younger than the three of us and walked the trail FOR A LIVING could be so knocked around by today's section, then what chance did the rest of us stand?!?
Still, if I wanted to have any chance at all of not only finishing this walk but enjoying it, then three things would need to change. First, I had to accept that maybe the Larapinta Trail really was more difficult than I had anticipated, and adjust my expectations accordingly. Second, I had to get
The Sun Slowly Sinks
The golden glow of sunset at Jay Creek shelter started earlier in the mornings - particularly if it was going to be a hot day - so that I could get as much of my walking done as possible before the temperature soared. And third, I needed to carry - and drink - more water. I had always sworn that I would never run out of water on a hike. Hell, I had brought six litres worth of water storage capacity for this very reason. It was time to start practising what I preached.
To be continued...
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D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
Shade
How exciting that you found some shade!