Through The Desert Dreaming

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Waking long before dawn on Thursday morning - my eleventh day on the Larapinta Trail - I'd not even gotten out of my tent when a group of guided hikers strode through the campsite sounding like an army battalion marching into battle. With no vehicle access between Serpentine Gorge and Ormiston Gorge 30km away, they would have to knock off that entire distance in one long day. But for those of us that were fully self-sufficient, the opportunity to split the walk in half by spending the night on the crest of the Heavitree Range at a campsite unofficially known as 'Hermit's Hideout' was simply too good to resist... even if it meant having to carry even more water than if we were tackling it in a single day. With a fellow hiker who had just completed that section having cast doubt on our intentions to fill up on water at Waterfall Gorge halfway along, I had formulated a plan that I hoped would give me the best chance possible of completing the section over two days, without getting dehydrated. Firstly, I would force myself to drink 1.5L of water before I left Serpentine Gorge. Then I would fill all four of my 1.5L bottles, with one to get me all the way through to Waterfall Gorge 14km away; a second to rehydrate my lunch and get me up the steep climb to the ridgetop; a third to provide water for dinner and breakfast in camp; and the final bottle to keep up my sleeve for the remaining 12km to Ormiston Gorge the following morning. Well, that was the plan anyway.

Leaving Serpentine Gorge the trail followed the base of the range until it arrived at the sublime Inarlanga Pass (Inarlanga being the Arrernte name for 'echidna'), a narrow passage through the mountains that has been used for thousands of years by local Aboriginal tribes, and which is still considered a sacred site. The further I proceeded into the gorge, the more I was overcome with a feeling of deep reverence. The gorge is not just a thoroughfare for humans, but a vital oasis providing shelter and shade to countless species, from Black-footed Rock Wallabies to flocks of Budgerigars, whose wingbeats would echo off the cliffs like bullets with butterfly wings; and, much like a jet fighter, by the time the sound of their passing echoed down to me they would often already be gone. The feeling of being swallowed up by the mountains; the peace and serenity of the place; the glowing red cliffs towering up on either side; and the knowledge that I was following in the footsteps of countless generations of indigenous people made me felt humbled to be there in a way that I couldn't really explain. But clearly I wasn't the only one who felt it - when Belinda caught up to me while I was perched on a rock watching a pair of Firetail Finches flit about, we spoke to each other in hushed tones, as though we were afraid to break whatever spell had been cast over us.

Eventually emerging from the far end of Inarlanga Pass, I crossed a low saddle to be confronted by a long linear valley walled in by parallel ridges - much like the one I had looked down upon from Counts Point the day before - and knew that the trail would take me all the way to the saddle at the far end. For the next hour-and-a-half I made my way through that valley, wishing for a change of scenery or a cooling breeze - maybe an unexpected waterhole to frolic in and fill my water bottles from - but none of these things eventuated; so I simply kept putting one foot in front of the other until FINALLY I crested that second saddle... only to look out and find another, similar valley stretching out towards a third saddle. And even after crossing that saddle the scenery didn't change much, until eventually the trail led down towards a gap in the northern wall of the valley into the constricted confines of Waterfall Gorge. And after weaving my way up, down and around, it ultimately deposited me beside the plunge pool at the base of the eponymous (dry) waterfall. And of course, sitting there already reading his book was Francisco the solo Spaniard.

One look at the water in the plunge pool told me I didn't really want to be drinking it, but having just emptied my first bottle of water I decided it would be best to refill it anyway, dropping a couple of water purification tablets in it and making a mental note to only use it for cooking rather than drinking. After enjoying a leisurely lunch break at Waterfall Gorge, I knew there were only 3km remaining to the campsite at the end of the day. Unfortunately that would include a 200m climb up the side of the Heavitree Range, and this climb - at the warmest time of day - would prove to be an absolute killer! At first I managed to keep my legs ticking over reasonably strongly, but by the time I got about halfway up I was wrecked. Those 6kg of water were weighing me down badly, and before long I couldn't walk for more than two or three minutes without having to flop down on the first rock I could find that would take the weight of my pack, while I tried not to think about how badly I wanted to drink some of my water. But eventually, somehow, I reached the top of that infernal rock staircase, to be greeted by a stunning view out across the Alice Valley towards a section of the the Chewings Range that included the area's highest peak: Ltharrkelipeke/Mount Giles at 1389m.

Despite sitting beside a sign advertising a '3G hotspot' (presumably placed there for emergency purposes) I had no phone reception, which was the third time this had happened in the past week. So Francisco, who had been following me slowly up the side of the mountain range, opened a mobile hotspot on his phone to allow me to quickly check the latest weather forecast - this was the first opportunity I'd had to do so since leaving Standley Chasm over a week ago. As had been mentioned by a couple of other hikers, the next three days would be significantly hotter (up around 30°) but with my plan allowing for plenty of rest and relaxation in the coming days anyway - once I had knocked off the section to Ormiston Gorge - I couldn't have been happier with the timing of this mini-heat wave. After taking a prolonged rest at the Mount Giles Lookout to recover from the exertion of the climb, the rest of the day's walk was as easy as it was scenic, walking along the crest of the ridge with uninterrupted views on both sides. And there at the 17km marker, as promised, were a few scattered clearings marking the site of Hermit's Hideout. With a layer of uplifted rock on the northern side of the ridge offering both shelter from wind and the perfect perch from which to enjoy the boundless views, I couldn't have asked for much more (well maybe a water tank and composting toilet...) and before long I had my inner tent up, my sleeping mat inflated, and was enjoying a hard-earned rest while waiting for the sun to go down.

Sunset that evening was a just reward for the effort that had been expended along the way, though I ended up enjoying it alone as Belinda had still not yet turned up - she had deliberately waited until the hottest part of the day was over before beginning the steep climb up to the ridge - while Francisco was, in his own words, "tripping balls all night" after eating ten magic mushrooms to give the sunset an extra dimension! But if the sunset from Hermit's Hideout was impressive, then sunrise the next morning was truly sublime, with the cliffs of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder glowing a fiery red that had to be seen to be believed, while all around it the land was still cloaked in darkness. This was what I had been missing out on by spending each of my previous nights at the official trailhead campsites, though I'd had to give up the comfort of shelters with rainwater tanks and compost toilets for the privilege - and the price I had to pay for that sacrifice would be high!

As with all hikes in wilderness areas, the guiding principle is to 'Leave No Trace'. But what to do if there's no toilet within fifteen kilometres? Ordinarily the accepted wisdom is to dig a hole at least 30cm deep (and at least 100 metres from the nearest watercourse) and then bury everything once you're finished. But how do you do that in a place where the ground is so hard you can't even get a tent peg in? The simple answer is: you don't. Shitting into a doggy bag made from corn starch is perhaps one of the less glamorous aspects of multi-day hiking; and so too is having to then carry your own steaming bag of turd tied to the outside of your backpack while an ever-growing legion of flies hovers ever closer, whilst doing everything you possibly can to avoid a) inhaling while you're downwind of it, and b) puncturing it on a low-hanging branch! Needless to say, the 12km walk from Hermit's Hideout to Ormiston Gorge wasn't my most enjoyable, though thankfully I wasn't so distracted by the latest addition to my backpack that I wasn't able to stop in time when I found a brown snake sunning itself beside the trail.

Just over three hours after leaving my ridge-top campsite, I arrived at the shelter and campsite for Larapinta Trail walkers at Ormiston Gorge ('Kwartatuma' in the Arrernte language) where my previous day's lunch was finally given a proper send-off before I bee-lined it to the Ormiston Gorge Kiosk for a thoroughly-deserved (and highly-anticipated) toasted foccacia and mixed berry smoothie! I'm pleased to say that toastie tasted like victory. And melted cheese. The scone with jam and cream that followed for dessert wasn't half-bad either. But the truth was that just about anything would have tasted good at that point. I'd made it through the longest waterless stretch on the entire Larapinta Trail, and now I could kick my feet up and enjoy the fruits of my labours. I could also enjoy my first shower in nine days. And though the older gentleman who emerged from the one shower in the men's room before me lamented the 'frightful dirtiness' of the cubicle, I couldn't have cared less. In fact I very nearly replied with "mate, if you think it's dirty now, wait until I've finished in there..."!

Suitably clen and refreshed, I strolled down to the waterhole at dusk to enjoy the silence and coolness in the depths of the gorge, but still couldn't manage to spot any Black-footed Rock Wallabies or the Dingos that are their main predators. I also found the trail logbook for Ormiston Gorge, which confirmed that Bree was now a full four days ahead of me; though there had been no sign of Victoria's or Stacey's names since Serpentine Gorge. I had noticed by now though that all of the names on the last page or two of each logbook were people I had met along the way, all of whom had since gone on ahead while I had taken my time. The exceptions were Steve and Sheree, whom I had bumped into a couple of times previously and who strolled past my tent site at Ormiston Gorge. It turned out they had stayed at Hermit's Hideout the night before me, where they had celebrated Sheree's 50th birthday with a bunch of friends they had made along the trail. I didn't ask whether any magic mushrooms were involved in the festivities.

Having scheduled in a rest day for the Saturday (my thirteenth day on the trail) I was able to leave my backpack hanging from a tree beside my tent and enjoy the freedom of hiking with just my light daypack. This was just as well, since my backpack had been nursing a minor tear in one shoulder strap for months - without getting any worse - until I'd heard a 'pop' as I made my way along the ridge towards Hermit's Hideout when more stitching gave way. Unfortunately when I arrived in camp not long afterwards I absent-mindedly swung my pack off as quickly as possible... and immediately regretted it when I heard a large tear ripping through the fabric - one which a liberal application of gaffer tape the next morning had failed to fix. By over-tightening an attached strap I seemed to have counter-balanced the pack sufficiently, so that for the remainder of the walk to Ormiston Gorge it had not felt particularly uncomfortable. But I was well aware that I still had another 35km to go to Redbank Gorge and that any further tear might just render my pack unwearable. In that case I would be, to put it mildly, screwed.

But that was a problem for future Matt; for now I was free to enjoy a leisurely 8km loop on the Ormiston Pound Walk, which took me out through rolling hills and then over a low saddle to a lookout with a stunning view over the aforementioned Ormiston Pound. Marking the collision point between the Chewings and Heavitree Ranges - which had been dancing at arm's length ever since Alice Springs - the mountains formed an almost-complete circle ringed by red cliffs, with the only visible break in the wall of rock coming where Ormiston Creek emerged from the northern wall, before looping back around in a lazy horseshoe and then disappearing into the depths of the gorge that it had carved through the western wall. It was an incredible sight, but better was yet to come after I crossed the floor of the Pound and closed the loop by following the creek bed downstream through the silent chasm of the gorge. With a couple of extensive waterholes still lingering in it's shaded depths - backed by red rock cliffs soaring hundreds of metres high - this was one of the most spectacular sights I had come across so far, and having a free day to enjoy it in the relative cool of morning well and truly vindicated my decision to take the day off. Plus I could enjoy a return visit to the campsite kiosk afterwards, where I was able to compare the relative merits of their iced coffee and iced chocolate. The verdict was a split decision.

Finally tearing myself away from the delights of the Ormiston Gorge kiosk on the Sunday morning, the irony wasn't lost on me that I'd managed to get away to my earliest start on the trail (8:30am) on the day that I was tackling the shortest section: just under 9km to the campsite at Finke River! In just under an hour I had made it to the first of the Hilltop Lookouts (the next I would encounter the following day) where the strengthening winds launched a relentless assault, before continuing on to the base of the hill where a squadron of flies were happy to take over as soon as the winds dropped off. Within another hour I had already reached the campsite shelter at Finke River, at the ridiculously early time of 10:30am. Not knowing what else to do with myself, I brewed up a cup of tea, cooked myself some lunch, and then wondered what the hell I was going to do for the rest of the day!

But the truth was I had wanted to follow the Finke River down to the nearby Glen Helen Gorge. You see, the Finke River is really quite significant in this part of the country. Starting at the point where Ormiston Creek and Davenport Creek meet - just upstream from the campsite - the Finke River is the largest river system in Central Australia, flowing for 700km all the way to Lake Eyre (Australia's largest lake) in South Australia. Except, this being the arid Outback and all, the Finke River very rarely actually 'flows' anywhere. Nor do any of the other rivers that feed Lake Eyre. Which is why it is a very rare occurrence indeed for Lake Eyre to have any water in it. The Finke River, however, does have permanent waterholes that never dry up, and in these waterholes can be found representatives of nine different species of fish (all of which are native, thankfully) which manage to survive the dry periods and then rapidly repopulate the rest of the river system whenever rains do fall and cause the river to start flowing again (which rarely happens for more than a few days at a time).

These waterholes are just as vital for countless other species - birds, marsupials, plants, all thrive in the presence of these permanent bodies of water. Humans too have long relied on the waters of the Finke River, though the local Arrernte aborigines tended to avoid it altogether in times of plenty, viewing the Finke's waters as a sort of last resort, to be relied upon only in times of drought when all other water sources had been exhausted. In this way they knew there would always be enough water for them when they needed it most. But with many of it's waterholes being open and exposed to the sun - as opposed to every other waterhole I had come cross on the Larapinta Trail, which were all sheltered within the restricted confines of cliff-lined gorges - the Finke's waters tend to evaporate quickly, leaving a high concentration of salts and other minerals, which makes it generally unpalatable to human tastes. It is for this reason that the Arrernte have always known the Finke River as Lhere Pirnta, meaning 'salty river'. And this, in turn, has given the Larapinta Trail it's name. It is a fitting one. Not only is the Finke River the largest river in Central Australia; it is considered to be one of the oldest river systems anywhere in the world, having followed the same general course for around 100 million years.

Despite knowing all of this, it was still a shock to the system when, after following an offshoot of the Larapinta Trail south for a couple of kilometres from the campsite shelter, I arrived at the edge of a wide, blue, and truly beautiful stretch of water lined with reeds that positively shimmered in the sunlight. On the opposite bank was the Finke Two Mile vehicle campground, and it wasn't hard to see the attraction for car-based campers. But I had my sights set slightly further afield, so after climbing up through a hole in a prominent rocky ridgeline, I followed my side-trail out onto the wide bitumen expanse of Namatjira Drive (the first main road I had encountered in a fortnight) and then took the turn-off to Glen Helen Gorge ('Yapulpa' in the Arrernte language), where the Lhere Pirnta/Finke River has carved a gap some fifty metres across (and at least as high) through the sandstone of the Chalet Ridge.

After enjoying a slice of Mississippi Mudcake from the recently re-opened Glen Helen Lodge next door, I was able to enjoy my first proper swim of the entire trail - a moment I had been waiting fourteen days for - in the wide waterhole that filled the entrance to the gorge. And though the water was cold, it was nowhere near as butt-numbingly frigid as at Ellery Creek Waterhole a week earlier, so I was actually able to swim a quick lap across to the other side of the gorge and back. I cannot even begin to describe how invigorating that water felt. I'd walked through the desert dreaming of a waterhole wide enough and warm enough to indulge in a soothing swim, and here on the banks of a sandy river that almost never flows I'd finally found what I was searching for.

After starting the trail under a new moon two weeks earlier (I'd never seen so many stars in all my life as I did in those first few pitch-black nights) it was a full moon that rose to greet the three of us at the Finke River campsite that night. I had Chris and Rose (an older couple from Western Australia) for company, and it seemed we would probably be keeping the same schedule for the rest of our walk. Of course I wasn't surprised when they hit the trail at 7:30 in the morning, just as I was starting to think about preparing breakfast! It was close to two hours later that I finally set out after them, and as I crossed the bed of Davenport Creek (just upstream from it's confluence with Ormiston Creek) I was startled to find another extensive waterhole stretching for hundreds of metres upstream. After two weeks of walking through this parched landscape, the sight of so much water in one place was truly astonishing; and when soon afterwards I passed through a flat almost completely covered in spinifex grass and mallee trees with their multiple stems, I couldn't help coming to the conclusion that despite no rain having fallen in months the land definitely seemed to be getting greener the further west I went. This was as unexpected as it was welcome.

At the 7km mark the going got tough, as the trail led up the side of the Heavitree Range, for what would be the last climb of the walk with a full pack. But unlike my torture test from Waterfall Gorge to the Mount Giles Lookout four days earlier, this time around it was earlier in the day, significantly cooler, and there was a howling wind blowing from the southeast that ensured I wouldn't overheat - on the contrary, I had to be careful not to stop and rest for too long or I would start to get cold. And so, in less time than I had expected it to take, I emerged onto the crest of the ridge and followed it to the second (and most impressive) Hilltop Lookout, where the east-facing cliffs of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder loomed larger than ever, intimidating every walker that passes by knowing that their finish line lies at the very top of that striking mountain. Well, almost. The actual (Northern) summit is off-limits, so it's the slightly lower Southern summit that marks the official end of the Larapinta Trail. Though even then, you obviously have to GET BACK DOWN the mountain to the car park at Redbank Gorge before you can genuinely say your work is done.

All of which was the furthest thing from my mind as I set about building a little wind-proof shelter in which to boil water, so that I could rehydrate my lunch and enjoy a nice hot cup of tea to wash it down. The tent sites at Hilltop Lookout would surely offer a stunning perch from which to watch the first light of day strike the nearby cliffs of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder, but not on this night - it was just too damn windy to want to be stuck up on top of an exposed ridge like that. Plus, the memory of having to carry my own shit down from the last ridgetop campsite I'd stayed at four days earlier was still, pardon the expression, fresh. If it meant having a guaranteed water source and a proper toilet at my disposal, then I was more than happy to take a few quick snaps and then be on my way.

An hour later I passed through the dry creek bed of Rocky Bar Gap (the latest in a long line of 'Rocky' locations along the Larapinta Trail, including Rocky Cleft, Rocky Gully, and of course the illustrious Rocky & Bullwinkle...) to emerge at the small and simple campsite at the southern end, where I wasted no time in erecting my tent and diving inside to finally enjoy a break from the relentless winds that had been battering me all day. Later in the day we were joined by a young woman named Kristy who had come all the way through from Ormiston Gorge (about 24km), though I was surprised to find that noone had turned up from the opposite direction; in fact other than a group of eight guided hikers that I'd passed on the way to Hilltop Lookout, I'd not passed anyone walking from west to east in two days.

The following morning I woke to a most startling sight: clouds! After five weeks in the Northern Territory and sixteen days on the Larapinta Trail, this was the first time I had seen anything more than about 20% cloud cover, and with the wind once again growing in ferocity I lingered long in my full thermals, warming up with hot cups of coffee and soup, before finally hitting the track just after 10am. But with only 11km to go and not much in the way of views - now that I was contouring around the foothills at the base of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder, rather than facing the striking cliffs on it's eastern side as I had been for the past couple of days - it didn't take long to knock off the remaining distance, and shortly before 12:30pm I emerged from the dry  bed of Redbank Creek to find Rose, Chris and Kristy kicking back under the shelter at the Redbank Gorge campsite, just over a kilometre from the trailhead car park that would be our portal back to civilization.

This was the first of three finish lines I would cross to mark the end of my experience on the Larapinta Trail, as I had now completed my through-walk carrying all of my provisions, and provided I could find someone to give me a ride back to Alice Springs in a couple of days' time I need walk no further. The second finish line (and the official end point of the Larapinta Trail for westbound walkers) lay at the (Southern) summit of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder, which I would aim for the next day; while obviously what goes up must come down, so the third and final finish line would be crossed when I RETURNED to the campsite at Redbank Gorge after climbing the mountain. Still, as Rose pointed out, it felt like a bit of an anti-climax arriving at the campsite... as though it was a case of "oh well, that's that then". But if anything it did set things up nicely for the grand finale atop Mount Sonder the following day, and in any case there was still Redbank Gorge to be explored before then.

After enjoying a little afternoon nap, I was just brewing a cup of tea when the same young female ranger that I had met at Ormiston Gorge turned up to service the toilet and top up one of the rainwater tanks - a job she said they aim to do at least once per week. When I asked whether there is any true 'wet season' this far south, she dispelled any such notion by mentioning that the last dump of rain they'd had was back in May... and that they were expecting another one sometime in DECEMBER!!! Incredibly, she also confirmed what I had heard from other repeat visitors to the area - that this had been a wetter than usual year so far, with more greenery and thriving animal life than in previous years. Some years the area gets barely any rain at all, which makes those permanent waterholes in the Lhere Pirnta/Finke River that I had passed over the previous couple of days even more incredible.

With an hour of daylight left I set off to explore the surroundings of my final campsite on the Trail - where, like Rose and Chris, I planned on spending the next two nights - and soon arrived at the car park trailhead where the logbook confirmed that Bree (who had started on the same day as me) had finished the trail in just ten days (though I don't think that included Mount Sonder)! Meanwhile Victoria and Stacey had completed the walk (minus Stacey's two skipped sections) in twelve days; Steve and Sheree had finished a couple of days earlier with sunset on the summit; and even Francisco the Psychedelic Spaniard had managed to navigate his way to the summit and back the day prior! I would have many newfound friends' footsteps to follow up the mountain when my time came...

But first I still had Redbank Gorge to explore, and it would prove to be one of the highlights of the entire walk. As I made my way up the sandy creek bed at the base of Mount Sonder, the red rock cliffs began to slowly close in around me, until eventually I emerged at a beautiful semi-permanent waterhole that blocked access to the narrowest gorge I had so far encountered in the West MacDonnell Ranges, with no more than a metre separating the opposing (and sometimes overhanging) walls of the gorge from which the waterhole emerged. It was a truly stunning sight, and as had so often been the case over the past fortnight, I had it all to myself.

While the majority of end-to-end walkers on the Larapinta Trail - particularly those finishing in the west - favour hiking to the top of Mount Sonder in time for sunrise, I had no intention of joining Rose and Chris in getting up at an ungodly hour (3:30am in their case) and staggering up the side of a mountain in the dark, cold, pre-dawn hours. So I had come up with the compromise of waking at 6am and aiming to hit the trail sometime around 7am, just in time for to watch sunrise from the base of the mountain. Unfortunately I had forgotten to actually set my alarm the night before, though it was only another half-hour before I awoke naturally anyway - and had just emerged from my tent in time to see the clouds above the summit glowing a bright pink! Getting down to the business of cooking up a hot breakfast to fuel myself for the climb, I was soon joined by both Kristy and Alicia (who had each climbed the mountain separately the previous day) and at one point we were in mid-conversation when the strangest thing happened... it actually started to rain!!! It only lasted about sixty seconds and was nothing more than a drizzle, but it might as well have been a category 5 tropical cyclone for the sheer bewilderment it illicited from us!

True to form - and despite my best intentions - it was 8:45am by the time I finally got going. Yep, that's over TWO HOURS that it took me to finish breakfast and get going, despite the fact I had no packing up to worry about! But then, I'd been operating on a separate time zone to everyone else on the trail (well, except for that one girl at Rocky Gully...) for the past two-and-a-half weeks, so why should my final day be any different?!? It would almost have felt dishonest to have gotten away any earlier - as though I was pretending to be someone I was not. And just as had been the case throughout the previous sixteen days, it meant that I would virtually have the trail to myself... once I had passed the twenty or so early risers (Rose and Chris included) who were on their way back from the summit just as I was starting up.

With the trail up Mount Sonder climbing close to 800m in just over 8km, it wasn't a particularly steep climb to begin with - particularly with only a small daypack on my back rather than the usual behemoth - but the middle 2km was so gentle it felt like nothing more than a walk in the park! With the early clouds having cleared and the wind behaving itself for the first time in days, I couldn't have wished for better hiking weather - the sun was warm without being hot; the breeze cool without being cold; and there was not a soul on the top half of the mountain other than me, contentedly striding out along the spine of the ridge that led ever onwards and upwards towards the summit. And after just two hours of blissful walking, I was there: the (Southern) summit of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder, at 1380m the fourth-highest mountain in the Northern Territory; and both the highest point and the western end of the Larapinta Trail.

At first I was just glad to have reached the end of the day's climb, but then after gazing out at the view to the east and retracing my route throughout the whole of the past week - I could see back as far as Count's Point, which I'd passed exactly seven days earlier - and then signing the summit logbook and reading all of the other names (and seeing the associated faces) that I had become so familiar with over the past 17 days, it started to sink in: I'd actually finished the Larapinta Trail. I had walked every step of it's 224km, not to mention another 50km or so worth of side-trips off the main trail. And for all the doubts I'd been consumed by way back on that awful day when I staggered into Standley Chasm on my last legs on day three, I'd ended up coasting to the finish line with energy to spare. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for my gear - my backpack had threatened to tear itself in half in protest at the weight it had been asked to carry; my cooking pot had been chewed through by mice on the very first night; my sunglasses had been stepped on by some brainless idiot (me) in the very first hour; my comb had disappeared to the bottom of a waterhole; and every item I owned had at some point been dropped in that bloody red dust that seems to infiltrate EVERYTHING at a molecular level, right down to your very soul.

But still I'd made it. All the way to the end. And I'd loved (almost) every bloody second of it! But there was something else that I had become acutely aware of. For whatever reason, I'd had a more intense emotional response to the landscapes of the West MacDonnell Ranges - and the challenges of exploring them - than on any of my previous adventures during this trip. I couldn't help feeling that even after the last of the red dust had been washed out of my clothes, traces of the Outback would remain embedded in my soul.

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Photos

Follow the Mountains West...
Exposed rock strata of the Heavitree Range leading towards Rutjupma/Mount Sonder

Sacred Thoroughfare
Red rock cliffs and West MacDonnell Cycads in Inarlanga Pass

Bent and Buckled Rock
The mesmerising cliffs of Inarlanga Pass

The Route Ahead
Traversing the first of the long valleys between Inarlanga Pass and Waterfall Gorge

Scenic Valley
Looking back from the first saddle on the way to Waterfall Gorge

Breathtaking View
View of Mount Giles (1389m) and the Chewings Range from atop the adjacent Heavitree Range

Sunset Silhouette
The cliffs of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder outlined in the last light of day

Rocky Glow
The cliffs of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder lit up at sunrise

Sunbathing Serpent
Brown snake beside the trail

Refreshment Break
Spoiling myself at Ormiston Gorge Kiosk

Secluded Oasis
Cliff-lined waterhole in Ormiston Gorge

Red Earth, Blue Sky
View downstream in the depths of Ormiston Gorge

Outback Dreaming
The view from Ghost Gum Lookout

Back on Track
Hitting the trail again on day 14

Nearing the Finish Line
View of Mount Sonder from the first Hilltop Lookout

Oasis in the Desert
Semi-permanent waterhole on the Finke River

Beautiful Swimming Hole
Cliff-lined waterhole at the entrance to Yapulpa/Glen Helen Gorge

Paradise for Birds
Semi-permanent waterhole in Davenport Creek

The Garden Getting Greener
Spinifex grass and Mallee trees on day 15

Another day, another gruelling climb
Heading for the top of the Heavitree Range for the final time

The Mountain Beckons
View from the second Hilltop Lookout

Shady Campsite
Tent site at Rocky Bar Gap

Contours and Clouds
Negotiating the foothills of Mount Sonder

The End of the Line
Reaching the shelter at Redbank Gorge campsite on day 16, the end of my through-hike

The Lonely Mountain
View of Redbank Creek and Mount Sonder, with the campsite shelter visible below

Narrow Chasm
Enjoying the silence at Redbank Gorge's waterhole

Pink Skies
Sunrise view of Mount Sonder's summit

The Final Climb
Approaching the saddle on the trail to Mount Sonder's summit

High Point & End Point
Summit cairn atop Rutjupma/Mount Sonder, the official end point for the Larapinta Trail

Happy Hiker
Taking in the view from Mount Sonder's summit, 17 days after setting out from Alice Springs

Ridgetop Campsite
My tent site at Hermit's Hideout

Dawn Panorama
Sunrise view from Hermit's Hideout - take one

Dawn Panorama
Sunrise view from Hermit's Hideout - take two

Dawn Panorama
Sunrise view from Hermit's Hideout - take three

Dawn Panorama
Sunrise view from Hermit's Hideout - take four

Dawn Panorama
Sunrise view from Hermit's Hideout - take five

Summit Panorama
View from the (southern) summit of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder - take one

Summit Panorama
View from the (southern) summit of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder - take two

Summit Panorama
View from the (southern) summit of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder - take three

Summit Panorama
View from the (southern) summit of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder - take four

Summit Panorama
View from the (southern) summit of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder - take five

Summit Panorama
View from the (southern) summit of Rutjupma/Mount Sonder - take six

Comments

[Home and Away]

Congratuations upon completing the Larapinta Trail!!!
I've followed you every step of the way...which was much easier for me!

[Backpackermatt]

Taking the easy way
And no need to wash the red dust out of everything you own!

[D MJ Binkley]

Enjoy
Nice hike.