Places visited in the park
Driving to the park
When I started planning my trip through the NSW outback, I’d never even heard of Mutawintji National Park. ChatGPT put it on my radar alongside Mungo and Kinchega, describing its gorges and walking trails. About 130 kilometres northeast of Broken Hill, it felt properly remote: the sort of place that takes a bit of effort to reach and can become inaccessible after rain. Naturally, I wanted to go.
Then the rain came, the park closed, and I thought I’d missed my chance. Miraculously, it reopened just as I arrived in Broken Hill. I was driving a little two wheel drive Volkswagen Polo and felt anxious about what the roads might be like, but I decided to give it a go. I stocked up on plenty of extra water and food, and off I went!
Not long after I left the highway for the dusty road to Mutawintji, I came across this beautiful horse grazing beside the track. Isn’t he gorgeous? After all the rain, there was fresh green grass everywhere, and he seemed to be making the most of it.
Further along the road, I came across a sizeable flock of Black Kites. I stopped to watch as they wheeled and swooped overhead, sometimes even tussling with one another in midair. What an awesome display to encounter on the way to the park!
I was following Google Maps. Just before leaving, I’d learned how to download a map for use without a mobile signal. Thank goodness I had.
The route took me past a remote farm and around a bend. Until then, the gravel road had been remarkably good, but suddenly it turned sandy. I edged forward, then stopped. In my little Volkswagen Polo, this was starting to look like a very bad idea. I got out and tried to judge whether the sand was firm enough, but I was worried about getting stuck. So I left the car where I could still turn it around and walked ahead to see whether this was just a short patch.
About 150 metres on, the road became a cratered nightmare. There was no way I was taking the Polo through that, and if I’d driven on to find out, I might not have been able to turn around. I trudged back to the car, relieved I’d checked, but disappointed. It seemed Mutawintji wasn’t going to happen after all.
I asked Google Maps to take me back to Broken Hill. It chose a different route. I made it through one sandy stretch, then came to a gate across the road. Oh God, please don’t be locked. Thankfully, it wasn’t.
After another 25 minutes of driving, Google Maps told me to turn left onto the highway. I looked to my left. There was no road.
By now I’d lost my bearings and was beginning to panic. I turned around and drove, hoping I was heading towards Broken Hill. Forty minutes later, I felt an enormous rush of relief when I spotted a sign: Broken Hill, 140 km. At least I knew where I was! Then I noticed another sign: Mutawintji, 20 km.
I looked at the downloaded map. This route into the park seemed far more direct, so I decided to give it one more try. Twenty-five minutes later, I reached the entrance. I was elated! If the road Google had invented had actually existed, I would have gone straight back to Broken Hill, none the wiser.
That little adventure taught me three valuable lessons:
- Download an offline map before heading into the outback. Without it, I would have felt far more lost.
- Don’t follow Google Maps blindly on remote roads. It led me towards a route my car couldn’t manage. I later met other travellers at the park who’d been sent the same way and, thankfully, had also turned back before getting stuck.
- Check the official park directions before setting off. I now mark the park entrance, visitor centre and campground on my map, so I know exactly where I’m trying to go.
 |
| The wrong way! |
Hiking into Muntawintji Gorge
Mutawintji Gorge is the walk I’d been most excited about. In the photos I’d seen, towering red cliffs enclosed a peaceful pool—a startling sight in such dry country. After all the trouble I’d had getting to the park, I could hardly wait to see it for myself.
The walk is six kilometres return, with the gorge waiting at the far end. At first, the trail led through open scrubland dotted with trees. The recent rain had brought out plenty of flowers, and here and there the rich red earth showed through the greenery. I loved seeing the outback looking so alive.
Gradually, the scrubland gave way to rocky terrain. Oh, how I love those red rocks, sculpted by wind and rain into all sorts of wonderful shapes. I kept stopping to look at them, noticing new colours and textures each time. I never tire of landscapes like this.
And then I was in the gorge. Towering walls of red rock rose on either side, with pools of water nestled among the boulders. After the rain, the gorge felt full of life. I wandered slowly, watching the light play across the rock and the reflections shift in the water. I was mesmerised—and so elated that I’d made it here. To think I’d almost turned back! I stood there for a long time, taking it all in, grateful that a wrong turn had somehow led me to exactly where I wanted to be.
And then, at the end of the gorge, I came upon one of the most beautiful pools I’ve ever seen. The colour of the water, the textures of the red rock, the cliffs towering above it all—I was in photographic and spiritual heaven. I took photo after photo, trying to capture the way the light and stone and water came together. Then I put my camera down and simply sat there. I was the only person in the gorge. I had this magnificent place entirely to myself. The longer I stayed, the more I noticed: the colours reflected in the pool, the curves worn into the rock, the extraordinary stillness.
At the far end of the pool, I spotted the entrance to a narrow canyon. I wanted to see what lay inside—and, of course, photograph it. I edged along the rocks as far as I could, then slipped into the invigoratingly cold water and swam the rest of the way, iPhone in hand!
The canyon was narrow and beautiful, its rock walls closing in around the water. I had the feeling that few visitors venture this far, given the freezing price of admission. I was so glad I’d paid it.
Emboldened by the offline park map I’d downloaded and the markers I’d saved, I took a different, unofficial route back along the riverbed. The sand was a glorious red, and I found myself stopping to admire it as I walked. I was still elated from the gorge—on a kind of spiritual high brought about by its beauty and peace.
Hiking up Homestead Gorge
Most of the park’s other hikes follow Homestead Creek for varying distances. They begin with the 400-metre Thaaklatjika Mingkana Walk, a short, easy section suitable for wheelchairs that leads to Thaaklatjika Mingkana (Wright’s Cave). The rocky overhang contains paintings, stencils and engravings that speak to Aboriginal and European history. But even before I reached the cave, I was mesmerised by the start of Homestead Gorge: rugged red rocks rose beside the path, glowing in the light.
 |
| Thaaklatjika Mingkana (Wright’s Cave) |
Beyond the overhang, the easy path gave way to a sandy creek bed. I followed it deeper into the gorge, with beautiful trees lining the way and the red rocks rising beyond them.
Birds were twittering and flitting among the trees as I walked along the creek bed. I stopped to photograph a Grey Fantail and a White-plumed Honeyeater—two lovely little companions on the way into the gorge.
As I wound my way up the creek bed, the walls of Homestead Gorge grew more imposing. The rugged red rock was even more spectacular than it had been at the start, and I kept looking up to take in its shapes and colours.
And then I came across some of the largest boulders I have ever seen. I tried to photograph them, but without someone standing beside them for scale, the pictures couldn’t begin to convey their size. I stood there looking up at these immense slabs of rock, quite in awe of them.
Further up the gorge, I came across the first of many lovely pools. They would become a feature of this walk and the others I did in the park. What a gift it was to arrive after the rain! In drier times, the pools can be few and far between, but now they seemed to be everywhere, adding another layer of beauty to the red rock and sandy creek bed.
Hiking the Rock Hole Loop for incredible views
Further along Homestead Creek, I reached the turnoff for the Rockholes Loop Walk. The sign described a steep, 5.6-kilometre excursion past Aboriginal engravings and a series of rockholes, with views along Homestead Gorge and across the Bynguano Range. After the beauty I’d already seen from the creek bed, I could hardly imagine what it would look like from above. I set off up the trail—and the views proved to be incredible.
From higher up, Homestead Gorge opened out beneath me and the Bynguano Range stretched away beyond it. Only from up there could I begin to grasp the scale of the place: ridge after ridge of rugged red rock, with the creek winding through it all. It looked so ancient, so vast, and so wonderfully wild. I kept stopping to look back, hardly able to believe I was standing in the middle of it.
 |
| Entrance to Rock Hole loop |
 |
| A view of a rock hole down below |
 |
| Photographic heaven |
An invigorating swim at Homestead Gorge
The Rockholes Loop brought me back to Homestead Creek, but I wasn’t ready to stop walking. I followed the creek further upstream until I reached a gorgeous pool enclosed by steep rock walls. It fills after rain, so once again my timing felt wonderfully lucky. I slipped in for an amazing swim and, for a while, had the place to myself.
Then a lovely couple arrived—the first people I’d seen on the hike. They were friendly Aussies on a road adventure, and it turned out they shared my love of Africa and its wildlife. We had plenty to talk about!
Hiking the Byngnano Range Walk for more sublime views
On my third day in the park, I woke early to tackle the Byngnano Range Walk. The 7.5-kilometre loop branches off the Homestead Creek trail, climbs into the range for spectacular views, then returns to the creek. The morning light was beautiful as I set off. At first, the route followed a side creek lined with gorgeous trees and pools of water. I was already stopping to take photos before the climb had even begun.
After a while, the path left the creek. I took an optional side track and climbed a steep rock to a lookout with spectacular views. It seemed the perfect place for my morning meditation, so I sat down and took in the landscape around me.
Back on the trail, I squeezed through a narrow little canyon and used a rope to climb up the rock beyond it. The gentle walk along the creek was behind me now. The climb to the top of the ridge had begun.
And then I reached the ridge. Wow! The views were epic—somehow even more expansive than those from the Rockholes Loop, if that was possible. Huge valleys opened up below me, their floors dotted with trees and, after the rain, astonishingly green. Against the rugged red ranges, they looked almost lush. I turned slowly, taking in the gorges and ridges stretching away in every direction, trying to grasp the sheer scale of it all.
It can’t get any better than this, I thought. And then it did. An enormous Wedge-tailed Eagle flew past me, astonishingly close. I managed to take a few photos as it approached, but then it swept so near that my telephoto lens was too powerful to fit it in the frame! For a moment I forgot about the camera and just watched it soar past.
As if the eagle weren’t enough, a Nankeen Kestrel gave me a show of its own. It rode the wind with astonishing control, hovering and shifting direction so effortlessly that I could hardly take my eyes off it. What a morning for birds!
I was still on an elated high as I made my way back down towards Homestead Creek. I hadn’t seen a soul all morning, and then a figure appeared on the trail: Jenny from Cairns, a fellow solo adventurer heading the other way. She was travelling during her long service leave, and we fell into conversation. I felt a real connection with her.
I later discovered that Jenny is a sublime artist, drawing inspiration from nature to create extraordinary paintings and weavings. Adventurous, deeply connected to nature and abundantly creative—what beautiful qualities to find in someone I’d met by chance in the middle of the outback!
You can see some of Jen's art below plus links to see more and even a link to purchase online. I'm sure you'll agree its absolutely incredible.
Hiking up Western Ridge for a magical sunset
Later that evening, I set out on the Western Ridge Walk. I’d heard it was wonderful at sunset, and after the morning’s hike I couldn’t resist one more climb. The six-kilometre loop was steep in places, but the views from the ridge made every step worthwhile. The vast desert plains stretched out on one side and the Byngnano Range rose on the other. I was armed with my head torch for the return journey, so I could stay up there and enjoy the last of the light.
 |
| Walking along a plain towards the ridge |
 |
| Lots of red earth poking through |
 |
| Climbing up onto the ridge |
 |
| Looking down into the valley |
 |
| So many colourful flowers on top of the ridge |
 |
| A flat section at the top of the ridge |
 |
| A flock of Galahs added a dash of pink to the landscape |
The sunset was gorgeous. I sat on the ridge taking it all in when about thirty magpies landed in the trees around me. Their beautiful calls filled the evening air. I could swear they were looking out at the sunset too, as mesmerised and contemplative as I was. Sitting there together as the light faded was one of the most special moments of my whole trip.
The camp site and its delightful, feathered residents
The campground was wonderful, especially for such a remote park. There was plenty of space and hardly anyone else around. And, my goodness, it even had hot showers! I could hardly believe it. After days of hiking dusty trails and swimming in cold pools, I made full use of them.
The campground had its own welcoming committee of birds, all wonderfully comfortable around people. While I was napping on my mattress beneath the trees, a group of Apostlebirds wandered so close that I could have touched them if I’d reached out. The bare-faced cockatoos were raucous and certainly not shy either! Most delightful of all were the Mallee Ringnecks—beautiful parrots and a new species for me. Even when I was resting at camp, the birdwatching carried on.
 |
| Apostlebird |
 |
| Apostlebird |
 |
| Bare-faced Cockatoo |
 |
| Mallee Ringnecks |
Revisiting the sublime Muntawintji Gorge
On my final morning, before driving back to Broken Hill, I decided to end on a high and visit Mutawintji Gorge once more. One visit simply hadn’t been enough. Perhaps I also wanted to check that it hadn’t all been a dream!
On the drive to the trailhead and along the first stretch of the walk, I spotted several kangaroos enjoying the early morning sun. They were a lovely welcome back to the gorge.
This time I walked in along the Mutawintji riverbed. The red earth glowed in the early morning light, and I took my time, enjoying the colour and the quiet on my way back to the gorge.
And then I was back in the gorge. It was every bit as extraordinary as I remembered—definitely not a dream! The morning light was quite different from my first visit, revealing new colours and textures in the rock. I was thrilled to see a place I already loved looking fresh through my camera lens.
At the pool, I had another gorgeous swim, then settled down for my morning meditation. Swallows darted around me and skimmed low over the water. Every so often I opened my eyes to watch them, delighted to be sharing this beautiful place with them.
On my way out of the gorge, Mutawintji had one last surprise for me: a gorgeous, vividly coloured Rainbow Bee-eater. It’s one of my favourite birds, and seeing it there felt like the perfect farewell. All right, this really must be a dream. When was I going to wake up?
