Time changes everything

I knew Karijini National Park was an ancient landscape. I had seen images of claustrophobic canyons carved by raging floods. Satellite views of rolling plains broken by fractal-like gorges. And paintings of arthritic ghost gums clinging to cliffs.

But it wasn’t until I was standing on Country that I truly felt the deep time of the landscape. 

Only after scrambling down scree slopes did I see the creeks that created the gorges. Sometimes they tumbled, sometimes they trickled. Yet they flowed ever onwards, ever down. Making their mark, grain by grain, rock by rock.

Only after pausing (and catching my breath) on distant ridges did I notice the rich web of life around me. The tiny wildflowers etching out a living in the stony soil underfoot. The calls of distant parrots and cockatoos. The gums scarred by endless cycles of fire and rebirth.

As the traditional home of the Banyjima, Kurrama and Innawonga people, Karijini is a landscape that ought to be appreciated in millennia, not minutes.

In August 2022, I spent a week photographing the region with my father. Each year we go on a photography journey. From chasing fleeting autumn colours in Tasmania to hiking amongst the snow-capped peaks of New Zealand.

This year was the furthest we’ve ventured. And after experiencing Karijini’s timeless wonder, I’m certain the trip won’t be my last. Here’s what I saw.

A trip without an itinerary

I met Dad in Perth. And after a stroll through Kings Park—the native wildflowers were exploding in a patchwork of colours—we flew into Paraburdoo in WA’s Pilbara region. With Karijini our sole destination, we were one of the few FIFO tourists in a plane of FIFO miners.

We picked up our hire car and that’s about where our holiday plans ended.

This was our first photography trip where I hadn’t researched and prepared a list of potential scenic spots for each day. I knew Karijini had many, of course. Yet I took a more fluid approach to see where the roads and ridges would take us. Why?

My father has an oft-used saying: People don’t plan to fail. They fail to plan. 

(He loves a good spreadsheet and uses them to draft trip itineraries, expected daily kilometres travelled and packing checklists.)

And for the most part, I’ve taken that piece of wisdom on board throughout my life. So for this trip, we planned our flights, car and accommodation well in advance. Then in town, we stocked up on fuel and food—banana bread, coffee and chocolate have become trip essentials—before going bush.

So why change things up for the core purpose of our trip—like knowing the most picturesque lookouts and hikes for photography? 

Perhaps I’d developed a deeper trust in my photographic abilities to pursue scenes as I found them. Perhaps I recognised that weather conditions often change so rethinking locations on the fly is necessary. Perhaps I’ve simply become more comfortable with uncertainty, as many of us have, these past two years. 

Scoping and searching

On our first sunrise session, we drove out to Knox Gorge well before dawn. We walked out to the lookout and fired off some shots down the gorge. 

But I was more taken with my surrounds than I was with the central gorge. The rich red cliffs glowing in the twilight. The smooth bark of the ghost gums standing in contrast to the harsh scrub. The not-so-fluffy puffs of spinifex. So I left the lookout and walked up the gorge to see what other scenes awaited. 

And through a dash of fortunate happenstance, I stumbled on what was to be one of my favourite frames from the trip. 

Back up the gorge were three ghost gums perched on a ledge below the cliff line. In the cloudless sky, the morning glow illuminated the arthritic limbs against the crumbling rocks. Click. I was off and running.

We had booked six nights at the Karijini Eco Resort. On previous trips, Dad and I would stay two or three nights at one location and then move on to the next to see as many sights as we could. 

This time, we allocated more time to scope and search the landscape to develop a deeper appreciation for the place. We’d check out the main gorges and lookouts during the day. Then, once we knew the lay of the land, we made note of what caught our eye to return again under better light.

So early on, we walked the circuit through Weano Gorge and scoped out Hancock Gorge. We scrambled down loose scree into Knox Gorge to see the glowing eye of Sauron awaiting at the end. We drove to the park's eastern side to take in Dales Gorge and the lush reflections around Fern Pool. 

But awaiting beyond the main attractions were the scenes—and memories—I value most.

Finding beauty beyond the beaten path

Our days followed a familiar rhythm. As Dad drove through the open country, I’d spot a striking gully or a gum and ask him to pull over. 

Armed with knee-high gumboots to push through the scrub and a personal locator beacon (just in case), we went bush to inspect the scene more closely. 

With the country open in every direction, we threaded through the patchwork of spinifex, grevilleas, wattle and wildflowers too numerous to name. We tracked down dry riverbeds and scrambled up ridges where slate and stones passed for soil.

We’d head towards the shapely tree or the boulder-strewn ravine thinking we had a hidden gem of a frame on our hands. 

Yet half the time, our high hopes of a stunning photo fizzled out. 

Often the vantage point was too low, leaving the tree set against the bright sky. Or charred stumps distracted from the man subjects. Or, upon closer inspection, the scene was average, not amazing. 

(Our oohs and ahhs on day one to this new landscape soon faded into meh come day six. We had seen the vast beauty this land had to offer and too soon nice became normal. There’s a more profound life lesson there, I think.)

But the other half the time, our wanderings struck gold.

With headlamps on, we’d return the next day in the pre-dawn light, set our tripods and frame the shot. Then we’d wait in position as the rising sun sent a soft glow across the land and we’d be there waiting to click the shutter.

Planning played a part

While unnamed gullies and distant trees were the scene of many memorable frames, we also found a few successes at the main gorges.

And this is where planning and preparation helped us produce compelling images beyond casual snapshots. 

Arriving early and scoping the scene in daylight allowed me to locate the best vantage points and select the optimal focal lengths. (I rarely used my 16-35mm wide-angle, often reaching for my 70-200mm telephoto to shoot distant details.) Likewise, I used apps like Photopills and Windy to predict the sun's angle down each gorge and track incoming cloud fronts. 

Using these tools to plan our photos, we knew which gorges to visit at sunrise and which to visit at sunset. (And on which day, with an incoming cloud front passing—and lingering—overhead midway through our trip.)

And right on cue, the conditions unfolded as forecasted. 

Knox Gorge produced one of the most intense sunrises I’ve seen. While the evening view looking down Dales Gorge had it all: leading lines, twisting trees, tranquil reflections and a dreamy sky to match.

Finding balance in the smaller moments

Beyond the grand vistas, the smaller moments are what I’ve come to value. Like when my sixty-year-old father and I climbed many a steep ridge before dawn together. 

And witnessing the sheer variety of the wildflowers we stumbled upon. Fluffy pink-purple mulla mullas. Golden wattle blooms. And vivid magenta paper daisies all stood in contrast to the not-so-lifeless scrub around us. 

And the quiet moments between the photos. Like when Dad and I would escape for a barista coffee (or two) back at reception, soaking up the sun after a crisp sunrise session.

The trip highlighted the importance of finding balance in that Goldilocks zone between methodical planning and cavalier winging it.

If we had stuck to a strict schedule, we’d have missed many smaller scenes. While if we left things to chance, we’d be in the wrong place at the wrong time when the sky exploded in colour.

I still like to know what’s around the corner. But when surprises do occur, I try to take them in my stride. (The joy of stumbling on unexpected discoveries and overcoming challenges is far more memorable anyway.)

Karijini, you were an unplanned delight.

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