Wallaman Falls in the wet.

So we’ve pitched in Ingham, and the bar’s shut. Obviously. We’re booked in for the night so we hit the Hinchinbrook Hotel for a countery. We are down south to have a look at the 268m Wallaman waterfall in Girringun National Park.  In the Warrgamaygan language Wallaman means ‘big water’. They’re not wrong. 

It’s 50km and worth every bend, river crossing and stubborn cow. The car is tearing up the bitumen as we zig and zag through Trebonne and across the Stone River crossing. They must know it gets tasty as they leave a JCB at the top of the road into the crossing to shift flood debris. And crocodiles. 

As we approach the escarpment a creek has spilled across our path. We stop. I see the double line all the way across, about 50m, and take the plunge into 50cm of water. And a log. Which I drive over. That gets lodged in the undercarriage. Great.

I reverse out and manage to drag the errant lump of gum tree with me. It’s wedged. So out we get and give it a yank. Yeah nah. I jack the car up to get it out. It’s 35°C and I’m perspiring like a villain in court. Log is disengaged, and we tread warily through the raging torrent.  Next up COWS!!  Well it is cow country. And did I mention cane? Every turn has a railway sign, as narrow gauge tracks crisscross the flooded plains.

It’s stunning scenery, flat as a pancake and covered in green fields, punctuated by the steep dark green mountains at the back. Rain belting down, clearing, then coming again making the windscreen wiper stick the most important aspect of the car.  

The twisting, winding ascent through rainforest opens onto the Atherton Tableland plateau. Scored by ancient river systems, this land of the Warrgamaygan is literally as old as the hills. The rainbow serpent Yamanie’s tracks are boldly visible as we view the gorge and river valley below. Sheer cliffs enclose the fall, whose mist creates its own micro-climate, and punishing humidity for sightseers. 

It’s breathtaking. Thunderous water cascades vertically from a swollen creek into the bowl created over eons. You can hear it before you see it, and you can feel the force vibrating under your flip-flopped feet. The land that would have been viewed by the first peoples over 60,000 years ago still holds a draw over the newest inhabitants of this ancient land. 

The trek to the bottom, 300m down to the Herbert River, is no temptation for our old bones, but several keener of eye and sinew forge their path down into the vapours from the pool with a cheery g’day, we rejoinder with a knowing ‘good luck’. We head along the road to the campsite and the bridge over Stone Creek. Cassowaries are nearby, but are heard and not seen, as we pause, hoping for a glimpse of this ancient of birds. We tramp down to the creek in the light drizzle and today it’s racing. Trees and logs give evidence of its power in spate. 

As the rain starts again we dash back to the car, AC on and head back down the to the Lee’s Hotel, of ‘Pub with no beer’ fame, in Ingham.

Visit. Do it in the wet season. If you’re bothered by insects, humidity and sweat this is not for you. I’m sure the dry would be okay, but not as good and you’ll only try this road once. Enjoy.