The Kimberley Walking Epic (Part 1)

Finally after 15 months in the Kimberley I managed to catch a fish !! After the three week tour of Kimberley with Mum and Dad I headed off to Drysdale River National Park, Western Australia's largest and most northerley national park, for a 6 day hike. Curiously WA is littered with national parks and conservation reserves (and heaps more are being planned) but there is no money allocated to doing anything on them. Thus Drysdale has no management plan, no access road and no staff, but plenty of feral cattle from the neighbouring cattle stations. They were our only companions for the six days - along with a few skittish crocs.
During the revious three week tour the trusty steed (dubbed Esperanza on her maiden voyage without a hint of irony) had developed a little mechanical trouble, nothing that a quick bit of bush-mechanicesque canvas and wire fashioning couldn't fix. However when consulting professional help in Kununurra, the Italian mechanic told me that Esperanza, she no good , So after frantic last minute ringing around Kununurra I managed to hire a ute to get up to the park. Leaving Kununurra before dark I managed to belt along the Gibb River Road, knowing that its endless corrugations and drift would feel like a runway compared to the Kalumbaru Road. As the ute was a hire car the constant vibrating caused by the corrugations didn't cause quite so much angst and I could put my Corrugated roads are best taken at 100 kilometres per hour theory in to practice. (It was only later when I returned the car and found out that insurance runs out at the Pentecost crossing, only the first 100 kilometres of the 1200 kilometre round trip) The Gibb River Road, as rough as it was did seem likke tarmac as soon as we the Kalumbaru road and its seemingly endless road wide corrugations. Somehow the car made it to the Carson River Station turnoff using rough details I had got off the internet. (Even the Department of Environment couldn't tell me where to go) However arriving at the small camping sign near the old cattle yards I took a right instead of a left and then started following dust from a car. It seemed to be going at great haste, and a small fire with the leftovers of a killa (a deceased cow) explained the apparent hurry. (Carson River is a station owned by an aboriginal corporation/community supposedly run as a business. Sometimes the efficiency of the business is challenged by community members going out on country and surreptitiously helping themselves to a stray killa here and there, though to the perpetrators this makes perfect sense because being members of the community they are the owners of the cattle.) As darkness fell swags were brought out and a dry river bed formed a very comfortable mattress.