TCP A 45 PG 1 - The Coastal Passage Home Page

The Kimberley
in Reflection
By Peter Giller, SV Tryphena seen quite a few crocs along the way, A week or so ago we were anchored we heard the gentle kissing of dinghy
we had our initiation when we went at Round Bluff, Port George IV. I was oars on water as Wally, from Nakara,
“Hold this moment,” I thought. And I ashore and strolled the Cape Talbot up early to watch the sun rise with a nudged his little craft alongside the
have. Simple, beautiful and at peace. beach. cup of tea in hand. I sat entranced. rocks. Rob and Tess of Night Moves
Some might say it's been hard won - Time seemed suspended. The soon roared in to join, what was for
given that we'd sailed the best part of When about a kilometre from the towering escarpment behind the the Kimberley, a virtual throng. It was
two and a half thousand miles from dinghy we noticed a very large croc beach dunes groaned under the great to have company after the rare
our base on the east coast to get here. offshore, head raised above the fairly torture of the twisting and folding crossing of tracks in such a vast
Tryphena was anchored off significant chop, watching our landscape. The ancient plateau cruising ground. We might have seen
Freshwater Creek, Vansittart Bay in leisurely progress. White water broke cracked and hung suspended in another yacht only once a week, and
the Kimberley. A bumper wet season off his “chest” while he considered impossible shapes at its edges. then often just passing on the horizon.
had left the creeks and rivers running options. It was clear that by the time The breeze touched feather light while
through June, July and even August. we'd hastily covered ten metres awakening birds in ribbon bushland The others had left to fix lunch on
We had worked our way up through toward our dinghy he'd decided welcomed the sunrise. “How like our their boats while we lay back in the
the gorges of the Berkeley, King following us may prove productive. own lives” I thought. If we live long cool water. There was my beautiful
George, Mitchell and Prince Regent As we increased speed, so did he. enough we fold and crack. There's no wife of thirty five years, eyes shut to
rivers. We'd nudged our way through We couldn't keep up the pace on the shame in that. Like the Kimberley, it's the filtered sunlight, floating on her
Swift Bay and the Admiralty Gulf, soft sand so we slowed and so did he just what life and time does. It takes back with her glorious (if thinning)
Montague Sound south to Camden falling about 100m behind us and a few months without TV, without long golden hair streaming out in the
Sound - stunning landscape revealing about 5m off the beach. We reached radio, without telephones, without crystal flow. We'd fought storms and
itself at each leg of the cruise. But the dinghy and got it into the water shops, without noise to feel this whorl pools together, dodged reef and
here in Freshwater Creek, the rock ahead of his arrival and made a total peace. It takes a few months in the run from crocodiles. We'd sailed and
pools and shimmering cascades were mess of getting away, but did so in Kimberley. motored in calms. We'd loved and
intimate rather than majestic. The time to watch him reach our footprints fought.
forest was familiar rather than foreign. and haul his massive four metre body Two other yachts were anchored in
The tumbling waters cool in contrast out onto the sand. He lay on those Freshwater Bay during our stop over. We each carry our twists and cracks
to the harsh exposures of stony footprints until dusk then left. As they The rock bar in front of Freshwater like the Kimberley, evidence of time
escarpments and ridges often say, nobody knows how scared we Creek was well covered now by the and life lived. It's OK. “Hold this
experienced. were except us and whoever washed rising tide, so it wasn't long before moment” I thought.
our underpants.
At Freshwater Creek we had threaded
our little dinghy through the narrow So being “croc wise” by the time
mangrove lined channel and came we landed at Freshwater Creek, we
alongside a likely looking rock ledge surveyed the small tub sized pools
to disembark. Out came the laundry, and when all was clear, lowered
buckets, soaps and shampoos. Last ourselves into the delicious water.
to heave up was our shore survival Shady Melaleucas and Casuarinas
bag tarp, insect repellent, bit of food, draped the bolder strewn creek line.
VHF hand held radio etc. We always Monitors and birds went about their
took this bag ashore and left it 100m business but remained curious about
or so away from the beached dinghy. our splashing antics. And out came
Things can happen. Dumb things our shampoo!
we'd heard about, like having the
dinghy float away through
Being mindful of nutrients in streams
miscalculation of the sometimes eight we were using a small pool known to
to ten metre tides in the Kimberley. cruisers which drains into the
Or scary things like a four metre mangroves soon after a suds up. A
crocodile staking out a beached small tumbling water shoot above the
dinghy waiting patiently for the crew pool provided the perfect rinse off
to return. We thought taking the bag site. Our Kimberley cruise was
was a simple precaution but didn't see drawing to a close and there was an
any one else doing it. Although we'd ache to be leaving it behind.
Peters first mate, Shannon
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The Coastal Passage #45 2010 Page 5