Kununurra to Purnululu: Swimming Holes, a Hidden Waterfall and a Morning on Country
- Adventure Lifestyle
- Jun 27
- 7 min read
Kununurra is one of those towns you mean to pass through in a day and end up circling for a week, and the Kununurra swimming holes are a big part of why. Most of them are a short drive and an even shorter walk off the highway, and we set out to work through as many as we could before turning south for the Bungle Bungles. What we didn't plan on was a locked gate, a borrowed key, and a morning on country that we'll be talking about for a long time. This was all new ground for us, so come along for the ride.
The Kununurra swimming holes
These first four sit within an easy drive of town, each a short detour off the highway, and we picked them off in a day on the way south.
Black Rock Falls
First up, just west of town, was Black Rock Falls. It's a 300 metre walk from the car park to a huge rock face, and we had it to ourselves. There was only a trickle coming over when we visited, which surprised us given how recently the rain had been through. The falls sit deep in shade, so even in the middle of the day the water was freezing, and between that and the freshies that are pretty much everywhere up here, we gave the swim a miss. Still well worth the stop. If you're in Kununurra, don't skip it.
Middle Springs
A short drive and a fun little four-wheel drive track got us in to Middle Springs. The car park sits right next to the water, but the good bit is up top. We scrambled over the falls and found a run of pools sitting right on the lip, with a cracking view on the way back down. It's wild how flat the country is in every direction. Kununurra was just over the rise and you couldn't see a thing.
Valentine Springs
Next, literally on the side of Valentine Springs Road, was Valentine Springs. Little waterfalls, rock to clamber over, and tracks running off in a couple of directions to explore. It's the kind of place you'd want to reach early so you could actually spend some time there.
The only blot on it was the rubbish. Some grubs before us had left a pile of cans and plastic behind, so we pulled out an ox sack and spent five minutes filling two thirds of it. Six cans and a bottle, plus the usual junk. So here's the gentle reminder: take your rubbish with you, and if it isn't yours, take it anyway. Carry a bag and a pair of gloves. It really isn't hard.
Molly Springs
Last stop before camp was Molly Springs, three kilometres off the road, well signposted with toilets and an easy clamber in. The water was crystal clear and you could happily lose a whole day there, in and out of it.
You can tell it gets popular, and fair enough, but it's set up well for the crowds. Our only complaint was not having longer to sit around. From there we pointed the rigs at Doon Doon and rolled in after dark.
A locked gate and a key
The next morning we wandered over to the Doon Doon Roadhouse and picked up a key. It opened a gate onto a four-wheel drive track running across the station's land, out towards a waterhole we'd been told about but couldn't quite picture. We left the Hilux at camp, took the 79 Series, and set off with a rough set of directions and a fair idea the water was going to get deep.
It got deep. The track dropped into a crossing with a hole in the middle that came up to Paul's chest, on a sandy base you couldn't see through the murk. The line was to ride the edge, turn back, and thread the pinch, but one wrong move and the 79 series slides into the hole and sits there on an angle, filling up. With a second vehicle behind us we'd have hooked the winch on and given it a crack. On our own, with no way to pull ourselves out, it just wasn't worth it.
So we called it. We reckon we'll have to hand our YouTuber card in, because the real move would've been to send it, flood the car, and bank the clickbait and the 200 comments calling us idiots. Instead we parked up sensibly and walked. A quick note on that part: wading the rest of the way in our undies and thongs, through long grass in the remote Kimberley, is firmly in the do as we say, not as we do basket. Boots and long pants would have been the smart call.
What we found at the end was worth every bit of it. A waterfall tucked into a hidden pocket of country, the kind of unspoiled, untouched spot we came up here hoping to find, and we had it entirely to ourselves.
We're keeping the name and the directions to ourselves on this one. If you want it, do what we did, ask at the roadhouse and grab the key. There's a small access fee and a key deposit, and that fee is exactly how the station looks after the place.
The waterhole nobody marks on a map
Back at Doon Doon the next morning, one of the maintenance blokes at the roadhouse tipped us off about a faint track a few kilometres up the road that leads to a waterhole. It barely looked used, which is usually a good sign. It opened up into a little oasis, and we'd been warned there were around twenty freshies living in it.
They weren't wrong. We parked up on the high bank and stretched the legs from there rather than driving down along the river, partly to give the place some respect and partly because crocodiles lay their eggs in the sand along the bank.
It was beautifully kept, clearly a spot the locals know and look after, and one you'd drive straight past if nobody told you it was there. We're leaving this one off the map too.
A morning on country with Bruce
From there we tracked south to Violet Valley, an Indigenous-run campground on the Bow River that we found through Camping with Custodians. We had the whole place to ourselves, right on the water, with more wildlife than we knew where to look. Birds everywhere, baby freshies in the creek, wallabies, dingoes, the odd cow wandering through, and in the morning two very friendly camp dogs who adopted us for the day.
After we checked in we met Bruce, a Gija traditional owner who runs the place, and he offered to take us out on a tour the next morning. We jumped at it, and it turned out to be the thing that stuck with us most from the entire leg.
Bruce walked us across the property and opened up his country one piece at a time. He showed us marked rocks that work as waypoints in the songlines, the same markers repeating across huge distances so his people always knew where they were in the land. We visited a kangaroo dreaming site and an ancient boab carved with emu tracks. He talked us through the bush tucker, the boab nuts you can crack like a peanut and the white fibre inside you can chew for clean water, the plants you can boil for tea, and the leaves you crush and rub on your skin to keep the flies off. The kind of knowledge that would keep you alive out here and that we'd never have picked up on our own.
He also shared the harder history. In a cave with a snake painting, he told us about Hector Kneer, a returned serviceman who managed the station, and how he hid Bruce's stepfather and others in those caves to keep them safe and on country before the welfare came through. It didn't last. They were rounded up and moved to the mission stations, different tribes from different country pushed together, and the cost of that is still being carried. Standing there and hearing it from Bruce, on the country it happened on, was humbling in a way that's hard to put into words.
If you're heading through the East Kimberley, look up Camping with Custodians and book a night somewhere like Violet Valley. A morning on country with Bruce or one of the other traditional owners is worth more than any lookout, and your stay helps keep these places going.
That night, between a camp feed and a fair bit of stargazing, Bruce came back over for a yarn like he said he would. There was too much moon to pick out the emu in the Milky Way, so that one's still on the list for next time.
Onwards to Purnululu
The next morning we packed down and rolled out of Violet Valley with the windows down. From here the road bent south and east, towards the Bungles and the world heritage country of Purnululu. But that's a whole episode of its own, so we'll leave it there for now.
Watch the full episode here 👇🏼
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