Waking long before dawn on Thursday morning - my eleventh day on the Larapinta Trail - Id not even gotten out of my tent when a group of guided hikers strode through the campsite sounding like an army battalion marching into battle. With no vehicle access between Serpentine Gorge and Ormiston Gorge 30km away, they would have to knock off that entire distance in one long day. But for those of us that were fully the opportunity to split the walk in half by spending the night on the crest of the Heavitree Range at a campsite unofficially known as Hermits Hideout was simply too good to resist... even if it meant having to carry even more water than if we were tackling it in a single day. With a fellow hiker who had that section having cast doubt on our intentions to fill up on water at Waterfall Gorge halfway along, I had formulated a plan that I hoped would give me the best chance possible the section over two days, without getting dehydrated. Firstly, I would force myself to drink 1.5L of water before I left Serpentine Gorge. Then I would fill all four
of my 1.5L bottles, with one to get me all the way through to Waterfall Gorge 14km away; a second to rehydrate my lunch and get me up the steep climb to the ridgetop; a third to provide water for dinner and breakfast in camp; and the final bottle to keep up my sleeve for the remaining 12km to Ormiston Gorge the following morning. Well, that was the plan anyway.
Leaving Serpentine Gorge the trail followed the base of the range until it arrived at the sublime Inarlanga Pass (Inarlanga being the Arrernte name for echidna), a narrow passage through the mountains that has been used for thousands of years by local Aboriginal tribes, and which is still considered a sacred site. The further I proceeded into the gorge, the more I was with a feeling of deep reverence. The gorge is not just a thoroughfare for humans, but a vital oasis providing shelter and shade to countless species, from Rock Wallabies to flocks of Budgerigars, whose wingbeats would echo off the cliffs like bullets with butterfly wings; and, much like a jet fighter, by the time the sound of their passing echoed down to me they
would often already be gone. The feeling of being swallowed up by the mountains; the peace and serenity of the place; the glowing red cliffs towering up on either side; and the knowledge that I was following in the footsteps of countless generations of indigenous people made me felt humbled to be there in a way that I couldnt really explain. But clearly I wasnt the only one who felt it - when Belinda caught up to me while I was perched on a rock watching a pair of Firetail Finches flit about, we spoke to each other in hushed tones, as though we were afraid to break whatever spell had been cast over us.
Eventually emerging from the far end of Inarlanga Pass, I crossed a low saddle to be confronted by a long linear valley walled in by parallel ridges - much like the one I had looked down upon from Counts Point the day before - and knew that the trail would take me all the way to the saddle at the far end. For the next I made my way through that valley, wishing for a change of scenery or a cooling breeze -
maybe an unexpected waterhole to frolic in and fill my water bottles from - but none of these things eventuated; so I simply kept putting one foot in front of the other until FINALLY I crested that second saddle... only to look out and find another, similar valley stretching out towards a third saddle. And even after crossing that saddle the scenery didnt change much, until eventually the trail led down towards a gap in the northern wall of the valley into the constricted confines of Waterfall Gorge. And after weaving my way up, down and around, it ultimately deposited me beside the plunge pool at the base of the eponymous (dry) waterfall. And of course, sitting there already reading his book was Francisco the solo Spaniard.
