With weary feet, I start climbing the ladder, passing a sign telling me to come back down backwards for my own safety. Who walks forward down a ladder anyway? The first ladder leads to a metal platform, then another shorter ladder, and then another.
When I finally reach the top, loudly proclaiming that I’m not built for uphill, a cool breeze washes over me from a gap in the sandstone wall. I stop and let it cool my hot, sweaty face. I’m usually quite partial to the kind of holiday where someone hands me a cold drink beside a pool, but right now, standing at the top of a ladder with aching feet, this feels pretty luxurious.
“Oh that breeze feels so good” my 11-year-old daughter pipes up from somewhere in front.
Inside the narrow opening, the dry heat gives way to cool, damp air. My eyes take a moment to adjust before I spot another short ladder further into the crevice. This is Carnarvon Gorge’s Amphitheatre, a 60-metre-deep chamber carved from the sandstone by running water over tens of thousands of years. I haven’t even stepped inside yet, and I already understand the fuss.
I turn back to look at the way I came and see my husband pop up the ladder and start walking slowly through the cave towards me. His dodgy knees give him a distinctive side-to-side shuffle. Backlit by the entrance, he reminds me of Mr Burns emerging from the forest in The Simpsons, announcing, “I come in peace.” I stifle a giggle.
“What are you smiling at?” he asks, as he gets closer and transforms from silhouette back to the tattooed man with the salt-and-pepper beard that I know. I don’t know how to explain without sounding like a crackpot, so I simply reply, “just you”.
We head up the final ladder, thankfully it’s short. The kids are already inside so we sit down on some wooden chairs and take in the coolness of this natural cathedral. It’s not lost on me that we are sitting high in an opening of sorts inside a gorge wall in Outback Queensland which can only be reached by a series of ladders and a large crack in the sandstone. From outside, there’s barely a hint that a chamber this enormous is hiding behind the sandstone wall.
As a former singer, it’s hard not to notice the acoustic properties. Although I’m a bit rusty these days, there’s no one else around so I don’t pass up the opportunity to have a crack at Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” before the kids ask for something more modern. Afterwards, I sit back down on the chair and simply enjoy the greenery growing in front of me, which is much more fern-like than the drier flora you find outside this secret gap in the gorge.
I’d like to stay a bit longer, but we are all a bit weary having just visited the Art Gallery a couple of kilometres further up the track. With over 2,000 engravings, ochre stencils and free-hand painting adorning the 62m sandstone wall of this significant Aboriginal site, it’s one of the best examples I’ve ever seen.
The kids want to stop at the Rock Pools before we get back to camp, so we start the hike back to the main walk entrance but not before stopping at the Moss Garden which we visited a decade earlier when the kids were much younger. By the time we return to the car, we have hiked 15 kilometres, which is by far, the most the kids have ever done. I’m not getting any younger so when I haul myself up into the car, it’s not without a weary ache in my lower legs from the days exertion.
Luckily, the rock pools are cold enough to work as ‘cold immersion therapy’ and we all force ourselves in, letting the freezing cold water soothe our tired muscles.
Back at Sandstone Park, we cook up a simple meal of bacon and eggs and rest up, ending the day with marshmallows around the fire. I particularly enjoy this caravan park. It’s well set up for those who can camp a few days without power, boasting the largest campsites I have ever seen (around 16m x 25m) and the cleanest port-a-loos I have ever experienced.
We are travelling in an off-road teardrop camper with the kids sleeping in a tent under the awning, so the toilets and distance between us and our larger caravan neighbours are much appreciated. As is the view of the gorge from the campsite and the stars later that night when they make an appearance.
The next day we’re up bright and early for our 4WD tag-along tour with Azure Nature Tours. Our guide Christian takes us through his family’s property, Nyanda Station, a 38,500-acre working cattle station found at the gateway to Carnarvon National Park.
It’s pretty easy going as far as 4WDing goes and we follow Christian in our own vehicle along dirt tracks, through herds of cows and across shallow spring-fed creeks. We stop often as Christian explains fascinating bits of information about the property and finish at a spot called Flat Rock by a creek for morning tea.
For me, the most fascinating part is the property’s geological history. Christian talks us through a landscape that has held cold seas and lush forests, survived a mass extinction and preserved fossils older than the dinosaurs. It’s a lot to get my head around while standing in a cattle paddock. He shows us some fossils that pre-date the dinosaurs and says they are working on a hands-on fossil experience that they are hoping to launch in 2027.
The tour only goes for three hours, which if I’m being honest, is the right amount of time for the kids. I could happily stay longer, though. I’m thoroughly enjoying learning about Nyanda’s history while devouring the homemade slice on offer for morning tea.
Back at Sandstone Park we don our bathers and head back to the rock pools for one last swim before we head home the next day. We’ve given ourselves a few days to drive home, knowing full well that a road trip is much more enjoyable if we cap the driving to three hours a day.
We camp on an island in the middle of Lake Nuga Nuga at Nuga Nuga National Park in the Arcadia Valley and boulder hop our way down and around the Auburn River at Auburn River National Park.
I’m still quite partial to a luxury stay. A holiday in the camper hasn’t changed my feelings about a comfortable bed or someone else doing the cooking. But on this trip, I’ve found myself appreciating other things: a cool breeze through a crack in the sandstone, cold water on aching legs and enough space between campsites to feel as though we have a little patch of Queensland to ourselves.
There’s no power at our campsite, and dinner is whatever we can rustle up. But the kids are nearby, the view stretches well beyond our little camper, and there’s nowhere else we need to be.
Sometimes, seeing so little evidence of anyone else is a luxury in itself.
Where to next?
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