Do I love you, my oh my
River deep, mountain high
If I lost you would I cry
Oh how I love you baby, baby, baby, baby
'River Deep, Mountain High', Ike and Tina Turner
Pillinginni was a pretty little creek, but it was pretty nasty to walk down. At one point we got to a dry waterfall, which we had to navigate by me climbing down, Scott then handing me the packs, and then him coming down. The only problem was that the climb down, a good few metres, required you to get a hand grip on a crack, and then effectively jump off and let yourself dangle, as there were no footholds; only then could you drop to the ground.
No problem, I thought, and in my reckless disregard for personal safety that a sure foot and a climbing background give you, I hopped down. Scott, however, was seriously scared of heights, and it took some persuasion to get him to swing out. He made it, all credit to him, but it just shows what a pain some of the terrain was. It took us some time to get to the wider parts of the creek, and then we started to pick up speed, heading for a waterhole at the bottom of the creek, where we'd meet a four-wheel-drive track, camp the night, and then have an easy but long trek back to the cars.
That was the idea, anyway. The only problem was that the waterhole we were going to camp by turned out to be completely dry, so we had to make a decision: walk back to the last one, or push on down the track to the bottom of the George River. We opted to push on, making very good time, and by nightfall we were camping 10km from the cars, on a silted area right below the foot of the Chichester Range. The river was still flowing, the swimming was excellent, and the hues on the red cliffs as the sun set were just amazing.