It was a very rude awakening this morning when the crying of the alarm awoke us at a touch before 8:00AM. Apparently it had gotten down to almost -2^oC overnight and when I checked, it had yet to rise into the positive end of the scale, which made for a truly icy cold to resonate, even in the confines of the van. I ramped up the radiator to its max, but even that struggled to take the biting chill out of the air, as we dressed warmly before releasing the hounds for their morning walk. I can only imagine what our two poor pampered pooches were thinking as they dragged their feet through the frost encrusted blades of grass.

There was naturally a method behind our madness, because never would we wantonly arise at such an uncouth hour otherwise. Having toured the East MacDonnell Ranges the other day, we were heading out west today, with an appointment to make. As per the east, there is a series of natural wonders to view in the West MacDonnell Ranges, but we have selected just two to visit today, the first being Simpsons Gap, which we hope to arrive at in time for the guided walk with a local ranger. The informal session commences at 10:00AM though and I don’t want to be late.

Into The Gap.

Thus, we departed at 9:00AM, giving us plenty of time to take the leisurely ½ an hour drive out to the gap. As it evolved, I need not have fretted. The drive was briefer than anticipated, and Mark, the ranger was in no great hurry to begin his tutelage anyhow. When he did, he spoke to the small amassed crowd very knowledgably about the local flora, fauna and ecosystem. He clambered up and down, pointing out different species of trees and other plants, explaining their habitat and significance with the local indigenous tribes who used many of the examples for either food or medicinal purposes.

The highlight of the walk was as we neared the permanent waterhole at the narrow of the gap, between two towering rusty rock edifices, where for the sharp eyed, there was the chance to spot a rare black-footed rock-wallaby or two. It unquestionably required a bit of effort to spot one of the critters, and as soon as they did make themselves visible, they would adroitly take flight and hop off out of sight anyway. We managed to spot a number of the cute little creatures, often hiding laconically between the rocks of the boulder strewn hillside that is their habitat, only a small head poking out above the rocky ridge, eyeing off the humans standing agog at the nether regions of the tor.

The Rare Inhabitant Of The Gap.

It was only a short walk back to ‘The Beast’ where the slowly rising sun beamed down, thawing us out to some degree. As cold as it was, within the confines of the gap, where direct sunlight rarely reaches, the temperature was a couple of notches colder again. Accordingly, the warmth of the sun was a welcome respite.

Chilly Morning.

Standley Chasm

Our next stop was a further ½ an hours drive west, at the indigenously managed Standley Chasm. As this is not a national park, it has been set up as a commercial venture, with gift shop, café, accommodation and entry fee just to walk through the bush. We payed our fee, although suspected that many didn’t, before starting out along the hard packed, well worn red dirt path leading to the chasm itself. The dirt path soon gave way to a track of well worn loose, scrabbly rocks underfoot. It seemed we were traipsing through the bed of a dry creek as we worked our way towards the object of our fascination. And all of a sudden, as the final bend in the path was turned, the Standley Chasm opened up in a great fissure through the rock, creating a narrow gap between the edificial russet rock walls that loomed loftily above us.

Lunch? Check.

Back in the car park, we were thankful that we had remembered to pack our lunch today, sitting casually on the tailgate of ‘The Beast’ to enjoy a couple of freshly constructed rolls topped with ham, tomato and cheese, accompanied by a refreshingly cold drink. That would see us through until dinnertime at least.

We hit the road shortly thereafter, navigating our way back towards Alice Springs, stopping just briefly for a photo opportunity at John Flynns grave. If you don’t know who John Flynn is, take a lobster out of your wallet (IE: Have a look at an Aussie $20.00 note), as he features on there. Known as the man that opened up the outback and helped significantly in getting the Royal Flying Doctor Service up and running, it was his pedal powered radios that allowed for long distance outback communications. There is a back story that goes with the precariously balanced boulder that marks his final resting place that I won’t go into here, but it’s worth reading up on if you get the opportunity.

Flynns Grave.

From there, it was barely a 10 minute drive back to the caravan park, where we spent the remainder of the afternoon. Still not quite warm enough to call into play my earlier assertion that I would go for a swim, I reclined in the shade of the annex, tapping away at the computer, while Bec took respite from the warmth in the van, having an afternoon nap. Neither option lasted too long, as we were soon preparing an early dinner before heading out for a night of entertainment.

We were off to Alice Springs own didgeridoo show. When I think of didgeridoos, my mind wanders to visions of a cross legged aboriginal fella, a long hollow tube of wood attached to his jowls, making sounds reminiscent of a snorting pig. Far from that image is what we witnessed at this show though, a range of contemporary free didging arrangements, accompanied by a backing track of haunting harmonies, played against a backdrop of scenic photos flashing across the stage was the order for the night. At the conclusion, we could have stayed on for a lesson in playing the didgeridoo, but we both declined on the basis that we might have severely embarrassed ourselves.

Didge.

Until next time, have fun, stay safe and don’t forget to write.