Day 16 – 5 August 2025: Crawl Up Mount Shiela
This morning, we bid a fond farewell to our peaceful hideaway on the Fortescue River—a place that had quietly crept into our hearts and earned the title of “new favourite.” With not a soul in sight for days, it had gifted us serenity, birdsong, and the gentle hum of distant iron ore trains. But adventure calls, and today it called us back to one of our most beloved campsites of all time: the majestic Mount Shiela.
The fridge, after its dramatic flair for breakdowns, seemed to have finally settled into a cooperative mood. Spirits were high, snacks were packed, and we hit the road with a mix of excitement and cautious optimism. Our route followed the Pilbara Railway roads, permit in hand—thank you, internet!—and the drive itself was a joy, with red earth stretching endlessly and the occasional train rumbling past like a steel serpent.
As we neared Mount Shiela, we braced ourselves for the possibility of crowds. It’s a popular spot, and we weren’t the only ones who’d fallen under its spell in years past. But hope lingered. Maybe, just maybe, we’d get lucky.
At 1:30pm, we reached the base of the climb. The sign was still there, unchanged: “No caravans beyond this point.” The next 2km may be sealed, but it’s no Sunday drive. We dropped into 4WD low range, second gear, and began the ascent. And wow—it felt steeper than ever. Either the mountain had grown, or we’d grown more cautious (or more dramatic). Probably both. Cue laughter, a few mock groans, and Steve muttering something about “gravity being heavier these days.”
The climb stretched on, winding and steep, with each bend teasing us with “almost there” vibes. But finally—finally—we crested the top. And what did we find?
Absolutely no one.
Just us. The mountain. The sky. And that view.
It was like stepping into a memory and finding it had been lovingly polished in our absence. The air was cool and crisp, the horizon endless, and the silence deep and delicious. We pulled out our snacks and drinks, flopped into our chairs, and let the moment wash over us. The view was even better than we remembered, which felt impossible—but there it was, proving us wrong in the best way.
We sat back, grinning like kids who’d found a secret treehouse, and let the joy bubble up. There’s something magical about returning to a place that once held your heart and finding it still does. Mount Shiela hadn’t changed—but maybe we had. A little older, a little more grateful, and a lot more aware of how lucky we are to share these moments.
Day 17 – 6 August 2025: Resting on the Rooftop of the Pilbara
Today was officially dubbed a rest day, though our legs might file a formal complaint. With Mount Shiela all to ourselves and the world sprawled out below in a sea of ochre and spinifex, we decided to stay put and soak it all in. No packing, no driving—just a day to breathe, stretch, and let the Pilbara do its magic.
The landscape up here is as raw and beautiful as ever. No trees, just low scrub and tough-as-nails spinifex grass, clinging to the rocky slopes like nature’s version of velcro. It’s a place that doesn’t try to impress—it just is. And that’s exactly why we love it.
One thing, though, has changed since our last visit: the night sky. Still vast, still starry, but now peppered with more lights than we remember. Satellites, distant mining glows, maybe even the odd plane blinking its way across the heavens. It’s a subtle shift—a reminder that even the most remote places aren’t immune to the world’s creeping glow. Still, the stars manage to shine through, stubborn and brilliant.
We kicked off the day with our morning walk, followed by a bit of travel admin—booking more hotels for our upcoming Thailand trip. It’s a strange but delightful contrast, planning tropical escapes while surrounded by red dust and silence. The mind wanders from tuk-tuks to termite mounds in a single breath.
Then came the real challenge: hitting our 10,000 steps. With no gentle loops or leafy trails, we took the only option available—down the steep access road… and back up again. Sounds simple. It wasn’t. That descent lulled us into a false sense of ease, but the climb? Oh boy. Low range legs required. We puffed, we paused, we laughed, and we may have invented a few new swear words for steep inclines. But we made it. And we earned every one of those steps.
The rest of the day was blissfully slow. We lounged, snacked, journaled, and gazed out over the scrubby expanse, watching the light shift across the land like a slow-moving tide. The wind rustled through the spinifex, the sun dipped low, and we felt that familiar joy of being exactly where we’re meant to be.
Day 18 – 7 August 2025: From Peaks to Petals & Gorges Galore
Well, all good things must come to an end—even a blissful stay atop Mount Shiela. So today, we packed up, dropped into very low gear, and began the slow, careful descent down the mountain. Let’s just say we weren’t in a hurry. The road may be sealed, but it still demands respect—and a bit of white-knuckle concentration. We crept down like seasoned mountain goats in a 6.5-tonne truck, laughing at how cautious we’ve become. Age, wisdom, or just a healthy fear of gravity? Who’s to say.
Once back on level ground, we set off to explore the surrounding country, and wow—what a treat. By lunchtime, we were surrounded by Sturt’s Desert Pea flowers, their vivid red petals and black centres popping against the rich Pilbara earth. They’re like little botanical fireworks, scattered across the spinifex like nature’s confetti. The land here is a painter’s dream—deep reds, golden grasses, and endless sky.
By 2:30pm, we arrived at Hamersley Gorge, one of the true jewels of Karijini National Park. It’s been years since we last visited, and while the gorge itself hasn’t aged a day, the visitor numbers certainly have grown. The folded bands of ancient rock still ripple with colour and texture, and the pools shimmer like liquid opals—but we did have to share the magic with a few dozen fellow admirers. Still, it’s hard to complain when you’re standing in a place carved by time and kissed by sunlight.
After soaking in the scene (and dodging a few selfie sticks), we headed off in search of solitude. Our destination: Rio Tinto Gorge, a lesser-known spot that promised peace and quiet. And it delivered. We found a perfect camp with views of the railway line, and settled in just in time to watch one of those monster iron ore trains glide past. Surprisingly quiet for something so massive—it was like watching a steel ghost slip through the landscape.
As the sun dipped low, we kicked back with a couple of drinks, surrounded by spinifex and silence, grateful for the contrast: crowds and colour by day, calm and quiet by night.
Day 19/20 – 8/9 August 2025: Bee Gorge Stillness & Thai Daydreams
After the drama of Karijini’s gorges, today’s short drive to Bee Gorge felt like slipping into a quieter rhythm. We found a peaceful nook to set up camp for two nights—just us, the rustle of spinifex, and the soft hush of country that’s seen fire and renewal.
The surrounding landscape bore the scars of a recent bushfire—charred trunks, blackened earth, and that eerie stillness that follows nature’s cleansing. Yet even here, signs of resilience were everywhere. Green shoots poked through the ash, and the air carried that faint, smoky scent that lingers long after the flames have gone.
With the truck settled, we traded wheels for walking boots and set off to explore the gorge on foot. Twisted gums stood like sentinels, and rocky outcrops offered quiet places to sit and reflect. No dramatic vistas—just the intimate charm of a land slowly healing.
Back at camp, we turned our attention to planning more of our Thailand adventure. Between swats at persistent flies and sips of tea, we browsed jungle stays and island escapes, dreaming of elephants, temples, and turquoise waters. The contrast between Bee Gorge’s earthy stillness and Thailand’s lush promise made the planning feel like a bridge between worlds.
Evenings were quiet—no campfire this time, just the soft glow of dusk and the stars blinking into view. We watched the light fade across the gorge, grateful for the solitude, the space to breathe, and the gentle reminder that even burnt country holds beauty.