Tossed Around in a Pinball Machine

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We set off for an early morning hike up Emma Gorge. We’re told that it’s only 1.6 kms each way, but that we should walk within our capability and not be too ashamed to crawl over rocks with our backsides on the ground. Hmmm. That doesn’t sound too encouraging. It all starts off easily enough - "what were they on about" we ask each other; this is like a gentle Sunday morning stroll in the park. It seems we may have spoken just a tad too soon. The trail takes a sudden and unexpected turn for the worse. We're now scrambling over boulders on our hands and knees with no shame at all. We ask hikers coming in the other direction what the rest is like. One woman has a look of terror in her eyes; it seems she turned back when it all became too horrific. We cross a stream and start to scramble up over yet more boulders. Issy says it might be alright for my long legs, but her dodgy hips are struggling to cope. She reluctantly surrenders and starts the slow crawl back to our lodgings. I reach a sign telling me that the trail is about to get a lot worse, and that if I've got any doubts I should turn back now. It then immediately gets a lot easier. The only explanation I can come up with for this is that someone with a particularly poor sense of humour has moved the sign when no one was looking. The easy bit doesn’t last for long before it's back to boulder scrambling. I pass a man with his arms covered in blood. The staff at the resort assured us they’d come in to carry us out if necessary, which seemed like a joke at the time. It doesn’t seem quite so funny now. Issy's not here to turn me around so I press bravely on.

The gorge scenery is spectacular, with massive sheer red rock walls on both sides of the trail. It ends at a large crystal clear pool surrounded on three sides by towering cliffs. Water's dripping into the pool from cracks in the fern-draped rocks. I join others for a cooling dip. It seems that we're not swimming alone. We’re told that it’s more than likely that there are freshwater crocs in here down near the bottom, but apparently that’s OK, because they don’t usually come up for food during the day. Don't "usually"?

I get back to find Issy with a fearful look on her face. I fear the worst. She's tripped over a rock and broken her leg? No, worse! They’ve unearthed a COVID case in the Northern Territory and Darwin’s gone into lockdown. We were due to fly there the day after tomorrow, but the hotel we’ve booked into has now closed itself to guests. I don’t think we’d be allowed to sleep in the street during a lockdown, and even if we were we’d still have to quarantine for two weeks at home afterwards. So it looks like it's back to the drawing board with our itinerary. We feel like we’re being tossed around in a pinball machine that’s getting forever smaller. If we want to keep holidaying in freedom it looks like we've got virtually no choice but to stay in Western Australia, so we resolve to go back to Broome. We spend a frustrating afternoon on the Google machine and on hold to the airlines trying to get flights, accommodation and car hire cancelled and re-booked. There’s three or so hours of our lives that we’ll never get back.

We decide to cool off in the resort's pool. Cool off's right; it can’t be this cold in Siberia. Why do they do this? Is it perhaps a feeble attempt to make sure that we stay awake for dinner.

We retreat to our tent for the night. “S**t” shrieks Issy from the bathroom. It seems that another giant frog has made its way in there and has now taken up residence in the toilet. It looks like it's struggling to get out. We don’t particularly want to flush it away, and anyway it’s probably too big and would just block everything up. We search for a lifeline; a toothbrush, that should do it. The giant monster grabs onto the end of it, but before we've got a chance to catch it it lets go and hops off into a dark corner. Where did it go? Hmmm. This isn’t good. We close the toilet lid to stop it getting back in. A couple of hours later it’s my turn for an “oh s**t” moment. It’s back in the toilet; either it or one of its cousins. How are they getting in there, and how many more of them might invade during the night? I'm already having nightmares of giant slippery green creatures crawling all over the bed, and I'm not even asleep yet....

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