Our planned passage to Koolama Bay included an overnight stop at Seaplane Bay and then a day stop at Gallery Bay to view some rock art. Unfortunately the 10 knot breeze that had given us a lovely, gentle sail for the first day and a half ramped up to 15 to 20 knots, just as we were trying to anchor in Gallery Bay. With the swell picking up and threatening to push Cool Change onto the nearby rocks, there was no way we were going to leave her to go ashore. So we abandoned our anchoring attempt and sailed onwards. The weather is always the boss. Plans are only ever plans.
We were securely anchored in the shelter of Koolama Bay by early afternoon. The bay is surrounded by stunning cliffs and we watched the colours of the rocks change in the magical twilight light before being treated to a magnificent sunset. Three other boats, including a huge cruise ship shared the large bay with us. But when we woke in the morning, we were all on our own again. That is, until another massive ship arrived. Because Koolama Bay is so sheltered and deep it is a safe and convenient spot for the large ships to anchor. They then ferry their passengers into the King George River on powerful tenders to see the famous Twin Falls at the end.
We had a day to kill in Koolama Bay so we sailed slowly over to Calamity Bay on the western side of the bay. Both Koolama Bay and Calamity Bay were named after the bombing of a passenger ship by the Japanese in 1942. Four or five bombs struck the M.V. Koolama who was carrying 90 crew and 100 passengers. Luckily no one was killed, but the ship was badly damaged. The Captain headed straight for land, beaching the ship in the large bay now known as Koolama Bay, and lifeboats then transported the passengers and crew ashore at Calamity Bay. They were able to send out a call for help which arrived after several days. Sick and injured passengers were evacuated by a lugger, whilst the majority trekked overland to the Drysdale River (Pago) mission with the help of Aboriginal guides. A smaller number of crew and passengers remained behind and it would be around two weeks before the final crew were eventually rescued. The Koolama was sailed to Wyndham where she eventually sank.
Calamity Bay had a small sandy beach with a very pretty lagoon and waterfall cascading over chunky rock ledges. We searched the beach and the rock ledges but didn’t find the plaques commemorating the shipwreck. We did spot Mr Croc lurking in the water however, and it was a reminder that no matter how inviting the water looks, it’s always a no go if you can’t see the bottom. The most frustrating part of the Kimberley; the spectacular, crystal clear water that is just calling out to you for a refreshing dip for some respite from the intense heat, and you often can’t so much as dip a toe in it!
The reason we needed to wait a day here was for enough tide to be able to cross over into the King George River. The entrance to the King George is also through sandbars similar to those in the Berkeley, except that the entrance channel here is deeper, much shorter and with only one small dogleg. The large bay also provides protection, meaning that the entrance can still be negotiated in strong winds. Our information showed that we wouldn’t have enough tide to cross until the following day, and even then it would be touch and go.
We took our tinny out to survey the depths, first using a plumb line that Matt fashioned from a piece of rope with knots tied into it to mark depth and some sinkers tied to the end. There was some strong wind about and the water was very choppy. The plumb line proved unsatisfactory as the current was flowing too hard, so that the line was not sinking straight. We returned a little later for take two, with our telescopic boat hook that Matt had marked at 2.1 metres (our draft is 2 metres). Matt drove the tinny slowly towards the entrance as I kept my eyes glued to our tablet, guiding us to the waypoints that we’d inputted. Every so often, we’d stop and Matt would reach out with the boat hook, feeling to see if he hit the bottom.
It appeared that we had found the channel. Our calculations showed that it would be close, very close, but we were cautiously confident that we could do it. We had an anxious and nervous wait the following morning, restlessly occupying ourselves until we could head off at our calculated time. In the end, we couldn’t take the tension any longer and headed off twenty minutes earlier than planned. We passed the True North tourist boat who’d powered into the bay late the previous night. At least we can ask them for help to pull us off a sandbar if we get stuck, Matt said, only half jokingly.
Slowly, slowly we edged our way towards the river entrance and into the channel, our eyes glued to the depth sounder. The wind had picked up to 19 knots, but at least it was straight in front of us, not pushing us from the side. So far, so good, we had good depth on our sounder. And then the numbers started dropping. And dropping. Hearth in mouth, we held our nerve and steered to our course, the sounder dropping alarmingly to 0.1 metres several times. But we had been expecting this and pushed on. And then we were in, back in the deeper water, sighing with relief. Then it was just a matter of sticking to the deep water and avoiding the sandbars in the first part of the river as we made our way all the way upstream.
The King George is another incredibly majestic and beautiful river, the water a deep blue-green colour, lined with the iconic, towering red cliffs of the Kimberley. The famous Twin Falls at the head of the river rose to meet us in spectacular fashion. Even with just a trickle of water running over them it was a sight to behold. Once again, we were lucky enough to have the whole river to ourselves and we spent the afternoon soaking it all in.
We did some jobs; running the generator and watermaker and washing laundry. True North flew its passengers over the falls in a helicopter, doing run after run. I waved to them as I hung my washing out on the lifelines. I hate to think how many photos my line of undies are in!! Matt was up top when the pilot came over for his final run, zooming low, like a scene out of a 1980s TV show. A mix of Magnum PI and the A Team, the helicopter appeared out of the gorge about 50 metres above the water and about the same distance from the top of the gorge. Blades reverberating off the walls, it banked and flew over the yacht, leaving Matt in awe of the pilot’s skill. Then they left us to enjoy the river in silence as the sun set.
The following morning we ventured over to the falls in the tinny. Approaching the towering cliffs in our tiny tender, and gazing straight up the sheer walls was quite incredible. There was a fair bit of water still running over the falls in the left arm, and sitting at the bottom, staring up, we could just imagine the power of the water that would cascade over in the middle of the wet season.
We were sitting on some ledges opposite the falls when the tourist boat The Kimberley Pearl motored in. The Captain nudged his boat right up under the falls and the delighted passengers had a shower on the bow.
We hiked up to the top of the falls, where we were rewarded with incredible views back down along the river, Cool Change dwarfed by the towering cliffs lining the riverbank. The rockpools up the top were only tiny, but we managed a bit of a splash to cool off.
When the tourist boat left, we put up the drone to get another perspective.
Heading back downstream, we anchored midway along the river, just upstream of the East Arm Falls. Our guidebook suggested that it was possible to climb up the 15 metre high vertical sandstone cliff from the base of the falls. We dinghied in to the falls which were at the end of a small and pretty cathedral like cavern. There were several ropes hanging from the top of the cliffs, but no rope ladder as depicted in our notes. Tying the tender up, I glanced around for the four metre croc who was said to live here. There was no sign of him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, stealthily watching us.
We began to climb, and straight away could see that this was going to be far more difficult than we’d expected. There were very few handholds on the sheer slabs of rock, and it was quite a reach between the cracks or ledges at each level. We both managed to get up to the first level, relying heavily on the rope to assist with pulling ourselves up. Matt went ahead then, up a few levels, and although I couldn’t see him from my position tucked under a rock ledge, I could hear him straining loudly as he climbed. Then it was my turn, but try as I might I just couldn’t get enough purchase on the rope with my foot to haul myself up. I tried a number of ways, but I just didn’t have the reach or the strength. I was scared. If I misjudged or slipped, then I would fall, either landing heavily on rocks or splashing into the deep pool where a crocodile possibly lurked. Neither was a particularly enticing option.
Matt was too far above to be able to give me a hand up and I was beginning to shake from both the effort and from nerves. I’m usually pretty good with heights, but I’m also much more accustomed to be climbing or abseiling with a safety harness and helmet. Without these, and considering our remote location and distance from any help, I thought it just too risky to push myself any further. With a crushing sense of disappointment, I called up to Matt that I didn’t think I could do it. No problems, he immediately called back, don’t push yourself, it’s not worth the risk, and he slowly climbed back down to join me.
I was hugely disappointed that I hadn’t been able to make it. The swimming hole that was purportedly at the top sounded absolutely divine. It turns out there is another route to access the top of the falls, up a gully about 130 metres to the north, but we hadn’t read the instructions properly and didn’t find it. We spent the afternoon relaxing on the boat and met Adam and Monita from The Big Kahuna, the only other boat in the river with us, when they popped over to say Hi. They were also heading west like us and it was lovely to chat. It turns out that Adam had a rope wrapped around his prop and was searching for somewhere to jump into the water quickly to free it. Matt suggested that there would be less risk of crocodiles outside in Koolama Bay and lent him one of our shark shields, with sharks being the other danger to consider.
That evening we watched an amazing array of colours glowing on the cliffs around us, and saw the reflection of the almost full moon in the glassy waters below. It was an incredibly beautiful farewell to this incredibly beautiful river.
We were headed out of the river the next morning, easily crossing over the bar this time in the higher tide. After lingering in the bay to make sure Adam managed to free his prop safely, we were off, waving goodbye to Adam and Monita and promising to catch up for drinks further down the track. Our destination was for Butterfly Bay as we decided to skip Glycosmis Bay and the ‘Lost City,’ due to concerns over water depth.
Chilling out on the boat in the pretty little bay, we were surprised to hear ‘Cool Change, Cool Change, Cool Change….’ on the radio. It was Dave and Michelle on Luna Sea, they were heading back east and invited us over for farewell drinks. We had a lovely afternoon and evening with them, and it was dark when we finally returned to our boat. Cape Londonderry, renowned for its lumpy seas, turbulent water and strong tidal flows was on the agenda for the morning; we were on our way to the Kimberley proper.
Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.
EB White
Cool Change 
Good reading, good photos, Keep safe and thanks for sharing. How come the cliff face is in layers?
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