To say they are mountains is a bit deceiving, it would better be describe them as the White Gorge System, but I guess that's not as catchy. Base camp was located at the end of an 50 km stretch of dirt road, 300 km West of Townsville, QLD, making it one of the most remote parts of Australia.

Time spent at base camp, on the plateau above the gorges, was pretty ordinary. Tents, dining area, and a very dry landscape dominated by a 50 - 100cm scrub vegetation and a sparse 10-15m crown.

One of the botanists, Bruce Wannan, and I made use of a 4WD ATV's and explored a track that ran 12 km to the east of camp. We came ended up at the top of "Sandstone Wall" where we could see over a good portion of the White Mountain gorge range. (IPIX)

The area gets it's name from the very light colored sandstone that lines the crest of the gorges and is mostly void of any sort of vegetation. So seeing it from the air, white dominates the landscape.

On the morning of the third day we had an early start to load the truck and drive out to meet the helicopter to fly us in to the gorge to establish our gorge camp where I'll be exploring for the next three days. Such was the plan at least.

It was a small chopper, two seats, specifically a Robinson R-22. So it was either gear or one person. It took us a few trips to get all seven of us and our gear to the gorge camp. The group included Tim Daniels, our camp manager; Bruce Wannan, Botanist; Steve Wilson and Mike Swan, Herpetologists; and Entomologists Ted Edwards working on Butterflies and Moths; and Tom Weir researching aquatic beetles and semi-aquatic insects.

The entomologists had to have a small generator and gas can flown in to run their mercury vapor light which they shined on a white sheet in the evening to attract the moths and other flying insects. They also needed a small table for the delicate and fine work required to catalogue what they collected by pinning the dead specimens into a shallow box to label them and keep them safe until they get back to the lab where they can continue their research.

The flight in was only about 7 km, but the gorges drop off so steeply that it would have been very tricky to hike in with just a pack, and more so to bring in the required collection and research equipment for the scientists. A round trip flight took about 10 min, so there was plenty of time to work on getting camp set up while more loads were brought in. I actually ended up on one of the last flights into the gorge so most of the set up was done when I got there. All that was really left to do was eat lunch and head out.

My first outing was with Steve and Mike, the reptile guys. We just headed down the main river bed that camp was set up on and marveled at the our new surroundings.

I had what turned out to be my usual adventure/photography kit with me. My Mountain-smith bag which is basically a huge bum bag loaded up with a sandwich, two liters of water, 10 meters of 7mm rope, some webbing, knife, extra sunglasses, brimmed hat, bandanna, first aid kit, binoculars strapped on the external belt, and 3 cameras. Nikon loaned me one of their latest digital cameras to put stuff directly on the website, a company called hyro.com sent a special IPIX camera with me (which weighed a ton!) and my own personal Pentax point and shoot which dad gave me a few years ago, loaded with my own print film.

The IPIX camera is basically a special 180° fisheye wide angle lens on a special rotating tripod mount. I had this same setup while hiking in Tasmania. In order to be able to take a picture and move on quickly I had to keep the camera and lens attached to the tripod and carry it in my hands. Getting it in and out of my pack would have been a bit of a hassle. But at times I found it best to break the system down and store the unit in my pack, disassembled, to give me both hands to make it up some of the steeper and more treacherous accents.

This really wasn't the case on this first excursion with Steve and Mike, rather, we found an end to the mostly dry river bed we were following and the deep pool before us beckoned to stop for a dip. We stripped down to our knickers and made the plunge. The river continued further on, and instead of being bothered to go back and get dressed again, we chose to move on just as we were. There were a few times we said, "we'll just have a look around the next corner then we'll head backƒ" before we actually did turn back up stream towards our clothes and camp beyond that.

As we wandered along, huge sandstone cliffs and carved rock forms were revealed looming over us as the tree canopy either thinned out or broke away completely in various sections of the river bed. Each of the stone walls and towering rock columns of rock above us begged to be climbed and have every inch explored. I did my best, there is so much to see.

When Steve, Mike, and I got back to camp, we had a little snack then the warm afternoon sun and full tummies put a spell of drowsiness over us and a siesta was in order. We rolled our sleeping pads out on the pure white sand in the comforting shade from a tree in the middle of the dried river bed, and easily dozed to bliss.

When I awoke, Steve and Mike had left their sleeping pads and me in the sand. I got my boots back on and Bruce Wannan and I decided to explore the landscape south of camp, perpendicular to the run of the river I had wandered earlier.

We walked up a short slope to get out of the last of the river flood plateaus and onto the base of the talus slopes populated with scrubs of Wattle trees, native grasses, and the thin trunked lancewood forest. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the sparse canopy and gave the thick spinifex grasses an angelic glow covering the rolling terrain.

After crossing a small creek, the slope became steeper as we got closer to the rock walls looming above us. The ground was becoming disjointed from the scattered boulders the size of small cars and arm-chair size rocks scattered along the steepening slope.

Again, I have my IPIX camera and tripod in my hand, weighing in at about a kilogram, rendering one of my hands useless as the up hill hike transforms into a scrambling climb. That word makes it sound rushedƒ it wasn't. We took our time as we continued on the up and up, stopping to enjoy the view as we begin to gain height over the tree tops reaching up from the first plateau around camp where we started.

Bruce and I finally reached the top of the talus debris collected at the base of the vertical stone wall. The wall that was the foundation for what we later named Frog Rock. It was our guardian frog, he sat perched above our camp looking out over the river and gorge valley below him.

We worked our way up a narrow slope that rose between Frog Rock and his sister rock, a small narrow pass between the stone structures around us. The sandstone had bizarre erosional patterns to it. Small caves and tunnel type gaps gave the sandstone a liking to Swiss cheese. It was amazing eye candy and made my job of shooting IPIX photos a full time occupation. When shooting an IPIX image, it captures 360° by 360°, so everything I can see by rotating my head around will be in the image. So I want to set up photos where someone looking at the photo will have an endless task of visual exploration in just the one photo. Maybe they'll turn out like movies where you don't catch everything the first time you look at it.

A gap in the rock behind Frog Rock led us to the other side where we found yet another tunnel. This one had a spectacular golden glow emitting from deep within the passage. The warm glow of the sun faded to a cool blue tone towards our end of the tunnel. It was an amazing sight, our cameras were again busy trying to capture the moment as the earth quickly rotated the light into new angles.

There is very little twilight in this part of the world. Sitting relatively close to the equator, only 20° South, the sun has a more perpendicular motion relative to the horizon. So instead slowly winding it's way down to set, as it does when viewed from higher latitudes, the sun drops straight to the horizon. And on top of that, we're in a gorge where the surrounding landscape has elevated our horizon 200 meters above our head in cases.

We knew dinner time was approaching by the groans of our stomachs and the ensuing short lived twilight. Bruce and I reached camp just as dinner was starting to cool off and the others were starting dessert.

A retired Australian Army officer, Tim Daniels, was the camp manager for the expedition. He came down into the gorge camp to get things set up and running. He is so laid back about everything. He makes dinner at around 6pm and if you're there to eat it warm, good on ya, if not, you get a cold dinner. As far as camp maintenance was concerned, the group of us down there was pretty considerate, so there weren't really any issues that would even bother the pickiest of camp managers. Tim's calm demeanor made for a very productive yet relaxing time at gorge camp for the scientists. We were able to come and go as we please with out any check out or check in, requirements. Just the common sense of just letting someone know where you're off to, especially if you're going out on your own, which some did, but it was only a short distance from camp.

On the second day in the gorge we had our usual lazy morning start and the majority of the group decided to head up stream towards a distinct sandstone formation called the Breadknife. Bruce made various stops to collect more plant samples, and I would stop and watch at times or explore up the talus hill sides that lead from the river bed to the vertical stone walls above.

I had a stack of empty film canisters and would collect beetles, bugs, dung, fungi, and what ever else looked interesting to take back to camp and show to the scientists and learn about it and things related. They'll often share how it fits into the ecosystem, and it may spark up conversation about other related topics.

That's what turned out to be one of the greatest results of this trip. To spend some time with people who have a great wealth and depth of knowledge and are able to sustain thought provoking discussions. It takes me back to my discussions with Laurance Doyle and Paul Robinson and other great minds. There are really no limits to the conversation and there is great confidence in the facts and ideas stated which improves the momentum and interaction among participants.

Bruce and I continued up river, removing our boots as the sand gets boggy or deeper water is confronted. We had packed our lunch and had a food break in a nice fork in the river where there was a deep pool of water allowing for a refreshing swim and short sun bake. This is the point where we split off the main valley and headed up a side gorge. The idea was to go up this little gorge and climb out to the top of the plateau, and make a small hop over the dividing knob and then pick up the start of another gorge which, on the map, looked like it would lead us back to the main river just down stream of camp. A full day's walk, but that's what we were out there for.

Our first real drama was when we found the gorge we were heading up suddenly took a very steep jolt upwards and it became somewhat of a climb outƒ then when we finally pulled ourselves out and traversed our way over to the other gorge to head down and back to camp, we were encountered by a 200 meter drop into a gorge no more than 50 meters wide! Our jaws just about hit the bottom of the gorge in awestruck wondering how we were going get back down to camp. Going back the way we came was an option, but not an attractive one.

After sitting down in the sparse shade provided and reapplying our sunscreen, we pulled out our map, which was a 1:100,000 scale blown up in the color photo copier to 1:50,000. Blowing up the map helped some, but it still lacked the detail bushwalkers are used to on a real 1:50,000 or even 1:25,000 scale map (like it didn't tell us about the 200 meter drop into the second gorge). With the help of a GPS unit and the good ïole compass we figured we could traverse along the ridge line and that would take us to the bluff above camp near Frog Rock where we were exploring the day before and a known route was available back down to camp.

The sun was intense, beating down on us and reflecting back off the patches of white sand stone. The views from the top of the gorge were amazing as the gorge opened up next to us while we hiked along. The 50 meter width spread to 100m, then 150m and it kept dropping out, getting deeper as increased volumes of water runoff from the past left a deeper impression. The crown of tree tops was no longer crowded as they were in the younger and narrower section of the gorge. They were evenly spread into a beautiful carpet of green and occasional patches of yellow wattle decorating the valley floor.

At one of our regular orientation stops, Bruce noticed the soul of my boot was falling off. A bit of a concern at first considering we were already on a secondary route that we weren't 100% sure would work out, and having to walk all the way back around the way we got out of the gorge still sat uneasy in the back of our minds. I wasn't looking forward to going back with a flapping boot soul. I put my gaiters back on, which has a heel strap and would provide some extra support to hold the wounded boot together.

We finally came to a ledge looking down into the main river system where camp was located. It was a refreshing sight to see the meandering white line of the river bed drifting through the sea of green in the valley below us. Shouts and arm waiving established contact with our expedition colleagues back at camp, most likely enjoying dinner already.

It was a quick 15 - 20 min. scurry down the slope we had familiarized ourselves with the day before and dinner was still warm in the pot as we drifted into home sweet home, Gorge Camp.

That evening, as we did most evenings, we settled down to a boiling billy a stack of tea bags and instant coffee mix and a glowing camp fire. The conversation would range from science (duh) to history, evolution, world politics, and what ever else drifted into the conversation.

I would like to say the sparks from the fire drifted skyward mixing with the glowing stars in the heavens aboveƒ but the wood was so dry from the endless hours of baking sunlight, so it ignited easily. I did however get to enjoy the stars once I climbed into my evening accommodation. My bivouac sack and sleeping bag on my foam pad turned out to be a touch warm. Most of the others were in tents, so they couldn't enjoy the pristine night sky as I did.

The next morning, it was the same lazy routine of getting up and getting the day started. Lazy might be a bit misleading, maybe better described as comfortable. My boots were really out of commission so Bruce and I decided to explore barefoot up the gorge we had planned to come down the day before. It was actually pretty easy going, and Bruce wanted to stop now and then to gather a few more samples as we trucked along. We came to a fork in the river and we were keen to get our soggy feet out of the water for a while so we climbed the rock dividing the two water inlets. We could tell through the canopy of trees from the waterway that the cliffs were getting very tall above us, and that the width of the gorge was starting to narrow substantially. But it wasn't until we climbed up and onto the rocks, out of the stream, that the curtain of trees was drawn back and the immense structure of gorge walls loomed all around us. Our enthusiasm was far from dwindling, but common sense chimed in as we considered exploring the gorge deeper. We neglected to pack a lunch this time because we didn't have any shoes, and food would really be our only leash back to camp. It was tragic to think that we were due to fly out the next day, but we continually expressed gratitude for the opportunities we've had so far.

Back at camp, a lazy lunch and renewed energy prompted us to climb the rock right before us. It had been dubbed the "Transformer" because of it's angular shape giving it similarity to the famed robot-car toys of the 80's. I borrowed a pair of canvas shoes from Steve Wilson, which turned out to be great for this sort of thing. There wasn't much scrub to scrape my ankles on and walking through any water wasn't an issue either.

Close to the top, or rather, close to what would be the top of our climb, the geology improved upon the show it had given so far. A massive chunk of rock had sheared away from the main column. The departing rock was like a big piece of pie, leaving a 90deg wedge gap in the remaining rock and had only moved about 5 meters at the base where it looks like the rock just took one step back. It left a narrow maze like path between the two rocks, towering above us. This breakaway also revealed a massive structural fault and crack in the main rock. Geologically speaking, it was about to go.

Climbing this rock, was not the easiest thing to do, nor was it particularly safe. But one ledge was just begging us to visit. And it was a good thing I did. This ledge stuck out into the main valley over looking camp, directly across from frog rock and where we emerged from our all day adventure. What made a this side so amazing was it was on the outer zenith of the arc of the valley, giving me a full view up and down a major section of the main gorge. To the west, the side we climbed up and had been exposed to until now, the sun was sinking behind the northern walls of the gorge in a burning ploom of pink and orange clouds. Blue and violet skies peeked through small gaps while framing around the edges, giving perfect contrast of the entire event, as only nature can do. When I came around the bend in the ledge, exposing me to the east for the first time, a tingling sense of excitement shot through my body as the winds kicked me in the face and small spats of rain pierced my skin like small needles. A storm was barreling this way, filling and consuming the valley with it's dark gray rolling clouds and quenching rain. The bright orange and pink of the heli-pad marker caught my eye and brought my attention to our camp, unsuspecting of the coming onslaught. I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled: "TAKE COVER!!" then pointing up valley I transmitted that this massive storm was screaming down the valley and that they should start covering their gear from the approaching rain. Then I realized, I think I had some gear lying out, and hollered down in a voice of semi-startlement asking them to cover my stuff as well, hoping they would. I had disassembled my IPIX camera to get up the rock wall guarding the ledge I was now on, so I took cover in one of the many "Swiss cheese" holes in the rock to reconstruct the camera to capture in 360° this amazing scene of contrast with the sun setting to the west and the storm raging in the east. I haven't seen the pictures back yet, but if they turn out, there'll be a link from here.

The storm didn't hit as hard as I thought it wouldƒ but it did rain and bluster some. I packed up the IPIX camera and Bruce and I headed back down to camp for dinner.

The next day we had planned to fly out and head back to the main camp. However a cyclone system up near Cairns was developing and affecting the weather around the gorge and the helicopter pilot said it was to gusty for him to fly safely amongst the gorge. So we had a bonus day and made good use of it.

After a relaxing sit in camp, and some what restless, for a few reasons. There was the expectation of being picked up that day and having to head out. It was sort of a mental set we had all accepted. Also, we didn't know the ride was canceled until about 1pm, three hours after we had expected the chopper to be in the gorge to pick us up. And I still didn't have any boots to truck around in. Steve offered to let me use his canvas shoes again, which I graciously accepted. I unpacked my main bag and repacked my adventure pack with the daily requirements and set off for a look around myself.

With only half a day left, keeping relatively close to camp was the plan. I headed up one of the smaller creeks that let into the main river gorge. It was a pretty average, average for out here remember being stunningly beautiful, grasslands and a deep trench meanders where raging waters once flowed, and will likely do so again when the wet season returns. But now there is just a trace of water, sometimes knee deep, but hardly flowing.

Finally thorough the soft soils of the grass lands, I start a gentle climb as things become rockier and I get closer to the stone wall closing in on me from three sides. The stream bed curled under an overhang of the soft sandstone and formed a small pool, just further up, bordered by the steep slope of talus, covered in the soft leaves and humus from the trees above stands an old twisted tree, porter to the small gap in the rock where from the stream emanates.

This tree was one of the most twisted I'd ever seen. It looked like a giant had grabbed it by the crown and tried to wring it out. After a good look at the tree, and a few IPIX shots, I decided to explore the chasm lurking behind the tree, continuing to chase the origin of the steam. The water only started ankle deep, but once I got in past where the ambient sunlight from the front of the crevasse yielded to the few streaks of light trickling in from the opening, roughly 50 meters above me, the water got as deep as my chin. I had taken my pack off and was holding all my camera gear over my head, keeping balance with my elbows on the smooth, rounded stone walls next to me spanning no more than half a meter.

As I continued on, the water level emptied back out, a patch of dry land was comforting, yet upstaged by a beautiful configuration of a lone fern sitting on a small ledge. Where somehow, by the miracle of nature a soil base had developed and enough sunlight reached it for the photosynthesis process to occur. And it was at just the moment that I was there that a single bold beam of warm sunlight illuminated the small fern, and the moss which was practically dripping off of the small shelf, where they both eked out a living.

I set my bag and camera equipment down on a rock, well out of the waters reach, and pulled out my head lamp to continue exploring the dark chambers beyond the fern's perch and reach of natural light.

The water lever remained low, no more than ankle deep, and large rocks that had fallen from above made me cautious with each step. As I passed through an even smaller gap in the rock, entering the second chamber beyond where my bag was, my headlamp suddenly went dark. As I shook my head as a natural reaction to jiggle it back to life, I noticed movement right in front of me. A small bat had swooped down towards me and gotten close enough to block all of the light coming from my torch. I took a cautious move back, as he flapped away from me and around in the large space that this second chamber turned out to be. The crack in the rock I had stared down had now tuned cave on me, and it continued around a corner to the right.

Keeping a watchful eye on the flying mouse, I eased my way around to have a look at where the adventure would continue. Unfortunately, that's just where it ended. I could see where the cavern once continued, but was now filled with debris and masoned shut.

I retreated back, grabbed my pack, and returned to camp. I was quite fulfilled with the adventure of the day, considering it was only a half day adventure. The usual evening relaxing and story exchange was in order as we reconvened around the camp fire. The radio sparked to life and told us that we should be ready to fly out at 7am the next morning. The weather was calmer earlier in the morning.

We did fly out, now our 5th day in what was dubbed Rugged Gorge, back to camp for the rest of the day which was filled with interviewing the scientists so I could submit my story to Australian Geographic Online and packing up camp because in order to catch our plane the next morning, we had to start driving tonight, and stay in a motel half way, once we reached any sort of civilization again.