Mystery of Alligator Gorge

The Ring Route that Didn’t Ring True

I’m still trying to figure out where we went off track. Were we off track? Was I that slow that the whole trek was taking twice, perhaps three times as long as the initial map instructions suggested? Four hours they promised us. Only 8.9 km, the sign said.

Mistake number 1: The map of Alligator Gorge my dear husband had printed from the internet was then forgotten to be loaded into his backpack.

Six hours into the hike, deep in some tributary of Alligator Creek (according to the map-less husband), and no sign of the Terraces, nor the steps, nor the Narrows. Did we miss a turn off? Did we stray into a neighbouring gorge? Signs to direct our path were ominously absent. So were people…except us, the K-Team comprising of his brother P1, two Swiss relatives (Mother A and Daughter E), Hubby and me with my bung knee.

Now that we’d descended into the gully, I had kept up with the Able-Bodied four. My knee no longer hurt, but for some weird reason, although we walked along a narrow path and negotiated the stony creek, at a fair pace, we seemed to be getting nowhere fast. The red slated walls to our left, and occasionally to our right, just kept on going.

Four-thirty in the afternoon and we stopped by a bend in the dry creek.

‘Are you sure this is the right way?’ P1 asked.

‘I reckon if we keep on going, we’ll get there; this gorge will eventually lead us to the start of Mambray creek,’ I said. ‘What does the map say? Oh, that’s right, my hubby’s forgotten the map.’

The K-Team decided to send Hubby and E down the creek for any signs that we were on the right track. Off they went at a cracking pace now that they weren’t hampered by the “cripple” (me).

The remaining three, P1, A and me, waited in the cool of the native pine trees common in these parts of the Flinders Ranges.

P1 was not impressed with Hubby’s, much boasted and legendary navigational skills. In silence, I began to reflect. I had been this way, surely. Way back, some forty years ago with my friends from youth. The landmarks, the endless rock walls, the keeled-over gum trees, and the native pines resonated faint familiarity. Even the trek that seemed to take for eternity took me back to when our youth group had hiked from Alligator Gorge to Mambray Creek starting with the same ring route.

I had asked the same question to one of the leaders, ‘When is this going to end?’

‘Soon,’ he replied and as if by magic, we reached the Terraces. My brother, and his friends lay in the creek and cooled their tired muscles.

My second cousin reclined on a fallen gum tree and had a nap.

But…maybe the mists of time had warped my memories. Maybe they were false memories. I have photos of that time. Will check photos if we ever return.

I began to wonder if we hadn’t been swallowed up in some dimensional impasse. Had our trek led us into a parallel universe where Alligator Gorge has no Terraces nor Narrows and we’d be lost on some distant and forgotten planet? Or had we stepped into the past before the Terraces and Narrows had formed?

Either way, my phone had no signal.

Hubby and E were taking eons to return. Had some errant neutrino activity swallowed them up into another place and time?

The hike had begun in a mundane fashion. Hubby strode ahead up the fire track from the Blue Gums campground.

I marched behind the Able-Bodied K-Team like a demented zombie with trendy hiking poles. The Able-Bodied stopped at the sign, the first of many waits for their knee-challenged companion.

I glanced at the sign, and remarked, ‘This way is an8.9-kilometre ring route.’ Nothing wrong with my eyesight.

‘Yes,’ Hubby sniffed with an air of arrogance. He implied that if I didn’t like the distance, I could sit back at the car in the campground and wait for them.

Glad I didn’t.

So onwards and upwards on the fire track we trekked. Judging by the position of the hills, the terrain and the fact that we’d left the Mambray Creek-Alligator Creek junction, and behind, (Mambray Creek running to our left and Alligator Creek to our right), I summised that we were walking the route clockwise.

Hence Mistake Number 2.

So, for the next two and a half hours we (or should I say, me with the group having to make frequent stops for me) laboured up the rise. I don’t do uphill at the best of times and had to stop and rest for my breathing to catch up. The Able-Bodied with their superior fitness would wait for me, and then as soon as I caught up, they were off. Like racehorses.

On the way we encountered a couple, smiles wide on their faces, tramping down the fire track.

As they approached, I asked, ‘Are we there yet?’

‘Not far now,’ they replied.

Another couple, Grey Nomads, also with grins rivalling Alice In Wonderland’s Cheshire cat’s, passed us.

‘How far to the top and then into Alligator Gorge?’ I asked.

‘Nearly there,’ the man said.

‘But the walk is quite difficult,’ the lady said. ‘It’s more like nine kilometres.’

‘Yeah, thanks.’ I remembered the dodgy distance estimations from the previous hike 40-years ago. Seems as though nothing had changed in Alligator Gorge.

By this time, we had stopped at a Eaglehawk Dam campsite where we ate our lunch and rested for thirty-minutes. An oasis after a long hot thirsty uphill hike.

Ten minutes from the dam, we reached our goal, the long-awaited sign; the virtual “top” and fork with directions. Signs and map indicators were scarce on this ring route. One sign pointed to a path leading to Alligator Gorge, about 3.1km hence. The other to the lookout.

We opted for the gorge. After all, it was only 3km away, an hour’s walk at the most.

Confident we were on the “homeward” stretch, we trundled down the slope and into the gorge. The time, around 2pm. Now that we hiked downwards and the path appeared well-worn, I kept up with the Able-Bodied. In fact, they held up my progress by stopping to photograph lizards, flowers, and birds.

An hour and a half later, we still hadn’t reached the Terraces. Nor had we completed the circuit that would have taken us back to Blue Gums Campground. Hubby was adamant that we were in a tributary of Alligator Gorge and thus missed all the interesting features. There was talk of camping the night in this so-called tributary. After all, we did have an emergency blanket. However, the fire-danger season having commenced, we would be banned from lighting a campfire. Hubby had stressed that even lighting a match was “verboten” (forbidden).

Hubby and E emerged through the growth that glowed emerald and gold in the late afternoon sunlight.

‘The creek just goes on forever,’ Hubby said.

‘Best to go the way you know,’ I said. ‘We’ll just have to go back the way we came, to be safe.’

This we did. Uphill again, but this time steep rises. Hubby helped me negotiate the uneven path and rocky terrain. He pulled me up and over fallen logs and big boulders. He told me off for hampering the progress of the group.

‘I feel faint,’ I replied, and he softened. Besides, he needed to pace himself too. Hubby looked pale and exhausted.

Within an hour we’d reached the signpost and were hiking with happy faces down the fire track. I named the tributary we’d been lost in, “Deviation Gorge” as it had led us astray.

We arrived back at Blue Gums Campground just as the sun set at 7:30pm. The back tracking taking us just two and a half hours to complete.

Most of all, by the end of what we calculated to be a twenty-kilometre hike, my knee didn’t hurt at all. My feet did, but not my knee.

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Friday, we revisited Alligator Gorge. This time, we parked at the more populated carpark and took the steps down into the gorge.

I wasn’t going to do the two-kilometre circuit with the Able-Bodied through the Narrows. But I just had to know, just had to discover for myself what went wrong the previous Tuesday.

So, after a slow descent owing to my knee, I hobbled over the stony creek bed and down the narrow gorge. My frequent cries of “Ouch!” heralded my presence to all and sundry. Hubby marched ahead oblivious to my defiant presence and will over pain to be there and see for myself.

The drama of the Gorge was rewarding. Red rock walls and stunning reflections all in this ancient peaceful setting. Another pair of Grey Nomads sat in a shallow cave, absorbing the tranquillity and beauty.

Hubby and the Swiss relatives tramped through the Narrows as if it were a race.

P1 rested at the Narrows’ entrance and said, ‘I don’t know what the rush is.’ 

Once through and on the short, I stress, “homeward” and upward trail to the road, Hubby scolded me for holding up the group. In his estimation, “cripples” like me are not allowed to attempt the two-kilometre circuit of Alligator Gorge. ‘Now we’ll be late getting back to Adelaide,’ he warned.

Just so I wouldn’t impede the Able-Bodied further, I parked myself at Blue Gums Campground, and waited for them to return with the “royal” Toyota Hilux Carriage to pick me up.

While waiting for the Able-Bodied crew, I discovered a sign that directed the ring route in the anti-clockwise direction—through the Narrows and onto the Terraces. If only we’d ventured this way, we could have seen the most interesting parts of Alligator Gorge first and then decided to return the way we came…or not. To this date, Hubby has never witnessed the Terraces. At least we would’ve had happy, smiling faces walking down the fire track and taken less time.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

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