We Drove 9½ Hours to Look at a Rock

We drove nine and a half hours inland to look at a sandstone rock.

That sounds a little ridiculous when I write it down.

It also sounds a little negative, which it isn't meant to. Because after driving nine and a half hours inland to look at a sandstone rock, I can confidently say it was worth every kilometre.

Impressive doesn't quite cover it. Magical might be closer.

It's not very often that Jason gets a weekend off, so we decided to make the most of it and head to a campsite perched on a ridge overlooking a landscape that felt prehistoric.

It was a spontaneous decision. The only planning we really did involved food and what we were going to eat.

Menu sorted, we found ourselves lining up at Coles with a trolley full of supplies when we ran into a friend at the checkout. A few hours later it was confirmed – they were coming too.

A spontaneous adventure with mates. Perfect.

Packing the car always feels stressful. I wonder what we'll leave behind this time? On one camping trip we completely forgot utensils. I'm pretty sure I ate pasta with a pair of tongs.

Up at the crack of dawn.

Coffee — check.

Breakfast — check.

All the pre-made meals Jason had prepared — check.

7am. Let's go.

The drive started out like any good road trip: music, conversation and endless kilometres rolling by.

We stopped in the first town for a mid-morning sausage roll smothered in tomato sauce. Nothing fancy. Just a traditional bakery sausage roll, the kind I ate as a kid from the local corner store. No frills, just how I like it.

The scenery was mostly farmland punctuated by small country towns, each with its own character and charm. The sort of places you want to slow down and wander through.

We arrived just as the sun was beginning to set.

Spectacular.

Carnarvon Gorge feels like a desert, but not the desert most people imagine. A tropical desert, perhaps. Towering red sandstone cliffs rising above palms and lush vegetation. We'd wanted to come here for a long time.

After a long day on the road, we pitched the tent, cooked burgers and crawled into bed.

Sleep was... interesting.

The wind rattled the canvas all night. Dingoes howled somewhere down in the valley. A bright blue moon meant the sky never really got dark, so at 2:30am I convinced myself it was morning and time to get up.

It wasn't.

I repeated this process every hour until about 7am.

Coffee — check.

Breakfast — check.

Explore — check.

Change campsites — check.

Yep, after spending an hour setting up camp the day before, we decided we liked the other side better.

An hour packing up.

An hour setting up again.

Totally worth it.

The views were breathtaking.

Our friends arrived just in time for a late lunch. Jason had marinated chicken thighs before we left home, so we made a delicious chicken Caesar salad. Well, Jason made it. I helped by taking photos and locating utensils when required.

The rest of the afternoon was intentionally uneventful.

Sit by the fire.

Eat.

Chat.

Look out at the view.

Sometimes that's enough.

The campsite was part of a working cattle station. That night the moon lit up the landscape once again and the dingoes resumed their chorus in the valley below.

Then a cow wandered over and started rubbing itself against the tent.

A few moments later it settled down beside us and began chewing grass right next to my head.

It was quite surreal. Not unnerving or annoying. Actually kind of wonderful.

Just a thin layer of canvas separating me from the outside world.

The next morning we were up early.

I made coffee and oats with grated ginger and turmeric.

Jason made bacon, eggs and shokupan toast.

We ate both breakfasts.

We knew it would be a big day.

Lunch packed, water bottles filled, we headed to the visitor centre and began the Big Bend walk. In a rare moment of restraint, I took only one camera and one lens.

I'm still proud of myself for that.

The walk was spectacular.

Seventeen creek crossings on the way in and another seventeen on the way back.

We explored every side track we could, except for Ward's Canyon which was closed due to a landslide.

Each section felt completely different.

The Art Gallery was particularly special. By pure chance, we arrived just as a guide was explaining the Aboriginal artworks and their meanings. Listening to the stories behind the images transformed the experience.

It was one of the most spiritual places I've visited.

The towering sandstone walls, the colours, the flowing water, the ancient landscape – it was all incredibly beautiful.

I'm not entirely convinced my photos do it justice.

By the end of the day we'd clocked around 40,000 steps.

My legs certainly believed it.

We arrived back at camp just as the sun was setting.

Completely exhausted.

Jason, the cook amongst us, somehow found enough energy to make lamb tacos that were next-level good.

Sorry, no photos.

It was dark and we ate them too quickly.

That night everyone fell into a deep coma-like sleep.

The next morning we woke with that familiar soreness that follows a full day of walking, packed up camp and began the nine-and-a-half-hour drive home.

As we headed back towards reality, I couldn't help but think how good spontaneous adventures are for the soul.

A weekend of laughter.

Nature.

Good food.

Good friends.

A lot of walking.

And one very impressive sandstone rock.

See you out there.

Belinda