IT’S 4AM ON A MILD MAY MORNING at the western end of the Gibb River Road, just outside Derby, Western Australia. It’s a little earlier than most would get here, but we’re not most people.
Slicing through the remote Kimberley region in the state’s north, the Gibb (as the road is often called) is a 660km stretch of predominantly gravel that acts as a gateway to untouched landscapes, picturesque gorges, waterholes and challenging river crossings. Your average traveller cruises the Gibb in a 4WD from campsite to campsite, looking forward to the next incredible location. However, on this particular morning, we are not setting off in cars; we are attempting to run it.
The Gibb has always held a certain magic over me. As a previous resident of Broome, I remember sitting in my office, staring at a map of the Gibb that took up an entire wall. I sent many an intrepid traveller on their way there, and even packed up my own vehicle and hit the road at times myself. It feels like one of those last true wildernesses—cared for by Traditional Owners, but barely touched by industry or agriculture, and isolated, vast and unapologetic. Anything in nature with this kind of wonder instantly moves me to want
