Solitude and Sandstone: My Annual Pilgrimage to Nambung National Park
Every year, I carve out time to wander alone in a place that feels stitched into the fabric of my soul: Nambung National Park. From May 21st to 24th 2024, I returned to its otherworldly landscapes for my annual solo retreat—a sacred ritual of reflection, renewal, and reconnection with the raw beauty of nature.
Day 1: Arrival & Letting Go
The moment I steered my trusty 4WD expedition vehicle, 4WDaus, into the outskirts of the park, the weight of everyday life began to dissolve. Every year I camp just beyond the park’s boundaries, parking 4WDaus in a secluded patch of scrubland—a decision that gifted me both solitude and a subtle shift in perspective. My mobile basecamp, with its cozy setup and familiar comforts, felt like a bridge between worlds. From here, I could hear the whispers of the Pinnacles at dawn and watch the park’s silhouette deepen under a star-strewn sky. The air was mild, carrying a gentle warmth, and as I brewed a cup of coffee at my kitchen table inside 4WDaus, the silence was broken only by the rustle of wind and the distant call of the Carnaby Cockatoos.
That first evening, the horizon bled into hues of amber and rose—a sunset so vivid it felt like the land itself was welcoming me back. Dinner was simple: a hearty lamb curry I’d prepared and frozen weeks earlier, reheated in 4WDaus’s compact kitchen. The convenience of pre-made meals meant more time to soak in the view, spoon in one hand, camera in the other.
Day 2: Traversing the Shifting Dunes
I rose at dawn, lacing up my boots to wander the sandhills as the first light painted the dunes gold. This year, the landscape felt different—alive in a new way. The dunes, I realised, had migrated farther than in previous years, their crests reshaped by winds into sharper, more dramatic curves. It was as though the earth itself had stretched and sighed, leaving fresh patterns for me to trace. For hours, I followed these new contours, my footprints the only mark on the wind-sculpted ridges.
The Pinnacles stood like ancient sentinels, their jagged forms casting intricate shadows as the sun climbed. Occasionally you could see a curious kangaroos that was checking me out, and the tracks of large group of feral goats vanishing into the scrub and dunes. Returning to 4WDaus that evening, I reheated a fragrant thai curry from my freezer stash, its warmth a comforting contrast to the cooling desert air. Sitting at my kitchen table, bowl in hand, I watched the dunes blush pink in the fading light.
Day 3: Whispers of Time
This park holds stories older than memory, and on my third day, I let myself sink into its quiet rhythm. The shifted dunes had revealed new pockets of the park—hidden alcoves where the stone pillars clustered densely, creating a labyrinth of sun-baked art. Here, I sat for hours, camera in hand, daydreaming thoughts and gratitude. The heat of the day softened into another flawless sunset, this time a palette of lavender and tangerine that melted into the Indian Ocean.
Back at 4WDaus, I reheated another frozen curry meal, its spices mingling with the crisp outback air. The ease of these pre-prepared meals meant less time fussing over camp chores and more time lingering over sunsets or scribbling reflections by torchlight. As stars emerged, I felt a profound kinship with this land. No crowds, no noise—just the earth’s heartbeat and my own.
Day 4: Carrying the Silence Home
On my final morning, I walked slowly, savoring every step. I like to explore eachsectio of the park slowly and carefully. The dunes’ new formations made familiar paths feel fresh, as if the park had quietly reinvented itself. I revisited my favourite pinnacle, a single column I named the Passfield as I found years ago a photo of it with the original park Ranger Alf Passfield proudly standing beside it.
As I packed up 4WDaus, a pair of emus strutted past, their feathers catching the light like brushed steel. Breakfast was a weetbix and coffee, eaten while sitting on the steps on the vehicle, the morning sun warming my back. It struck me then: this place isn’t just a destination. It’s a mirror. In its solitude, I see my own resilience; in its timelessness, I’m reminded what truly matters.
Why I Keep Returning
Nambung is more than a park to me—it’s a sanctuary. For four days, I didn’t see another soul, and that’s precisely the gift it offers. Camping in 4WDaus just beyond its edges this year added a layer of quiet reverence, a reminder that some boundaries are meant to deepen respect, not limit wonder. The dunes, the stone, the sunsets… they don’t demand anything. They simply exist, asking you to do the same. Prepping meals in advance was a game-changer—less time cooking, more time being present. As I drove away, the red sand of the outback still clinging to 4WDaus’s tires, I felt lighter. Clearer. Ready to carry that quiet strength back into the world.
