She suggested I call the post "Red Plains"...which really set my brain turning. I stood at the cafe counter with Louise, watching a slideshow of past lush green grasses and the Pilbara bush at its most abundant. The bush is still apparent but the green is gone. Cheela Plains has minimal rainfall at the best of times, so the grasses are faded and the country in survival mode.
Which doesn't mean that the scenery is any less dramatic. Cheela Plains is an extraordinary location. Recommended to us by the Paraburdoo volunteer firies a year ago whilst stopped at the Beasley River free camp, Cheela was on our list for our 2019 Northern Jaunt.
The statistics of Cheela are just mind-blowing. Forty-seven kilometres long by forty-seven kilometres wide. Low and unpredictable rainfall. Fragile eco-systems. Sustainable cattle grazing. And stunning natural features, that even during dry times, sing with an unbelievable colour palette.
Robin Pensini is a former Texan gal. She fell in love with the country and her husband Evan nearly thirty years ago. Her accent is soft and barely discernable. Cheela Plains was originally part of the larger Whylo Station to the west, which Robin and Evan took over as a new pastoral lease. They have diversified into contracting and tourism and have hopes for potential carbon farming.
Anyway, I digressed. Yesterday, with the gate key and the map to Perentie Falls, Mussell Pool and the Wall, we ventured onto parts unknown of this vast station. Brilliant.
The Pilbara scrub is at its greenest following the edges of the seasonal watercourses. However, the vivid hues of the soaring ridges all around us more than compensated for the duller shades of the grass. I have come to realise that leaving my mouth open in wonder for a lengthy period of time does lead to a stiffness of jaw. I actually had to remind myself to shut my mouth...
Perentie Falls wasn't falling. However, the challenging walk required us to keep our eyes downwards. Which allowed us to fully appreciate each and every smooth pebble through to the huge slabs of rock. Every colour of the spectrum was represented in the formations. They were tiny rounded coin-sized pieces through very solid and heavy specimens through to layered slabs looking like they had been through a giant's paper shredder.
And we were delighted by a remaining very clear pool the size of a largish fish pond brimming with life at the base of the falls. Tadpoles, tiny molluscs, underwater bugs and a smatter of plants were thriving, despite the current climatic odds. We watched their very busy antics for quite a while before reluctantly leaving.
Mussell Pool was a larger watercourse and appeared to be permanent. We dallied for a few minutes before moving on. We still had to visit the Wall...
The closer we drove to the sheer sides of the Wall's gorge, the further open my mouth fell. My camera had chosen to run out of battery so I was reliant on Michael's somewhat unfamiliar pocket Canon. Parking Lily in the shade, we clambered along the creek bed closer and closer...
The Wall delivered beyond our wildest expectations. A place of awe and outstanding beauty. Colours that stretched the imagination. Giant sheets of shiny slate. Huge red rocks at gravity-defying angles. A cool oasis with two beautiful pools, wildflowers, ficus clinging to cracks in the Wall's face and remnants of lush vegetation last seen in the Karijini gorges. On an East Pilbara station that has only had a hundred millilitres of rain for 2019.
Finally, I walked to the top of the hill behind the camping ground to photograph the last of the daylight. I had run out of superlatives. I decided to allow our images to tell the full story.
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