Rock and a hard place

Rock and a hard place.

Susan Cochrane

My fault! My own stupid, f…ing fault. I broke the fundamental rule of bushcraft, “Always alert someone if you’re heading off on your own”.

The small cruise ship had been hired by the University for a week in the off-season as a floating base for a field trip for researchers in the otherwise impenetrable region of the Kimberley. We were of diverse disciplines – geology, anthropology, biology and marine sciences, for all of us this excursion was invaluable for collecting specimens, photographing sites and recording data in situ.

I shared a cabin with my friend and colleague, Steven, better known as Cimex (the Latin word for ‘bug’) because his slightly bulbous eyes were magnified by the strong lenses of his glasses. Cimex was given his name by a science teacher who complimented him on his skills with capturing and mounting insects. He was a genial character with a ready smile and humorous take on any subject Cimex was now a renowned entomologist who had given his name back to a species of burrowing ant he discovered in the desert off Western Australia.

We had been friends since high school, where I was nicknamed Rock Hound, or simply Rock, because I was always scanning the ground for any interesting bit of quartz, shard of mineral or agate to add to the precious collection I hoarded in 2-litre plastic ice-cream containers. My career as a geologist started young.

The University had chartered a small cruise ship for the annual week-long field trip of its science community. We dropped anchor in Vannisart Bay on the far northern coast of Western Australia’s Kimberley region. Billions of years ago the collision of huge tectonic plates had thrust extraordinary twisted rock escarpments, then succeeding paleolithic eras shaped and re-shaped the landscape. Dinosaurs had walked in this primeval landscape evidenced by footprints visible in the rocks at a low tide. For some 40,000 years this was, and still is, the traditional freshwater and saltwater land of the Bardi people, the most remote Aboriginal tribe in the Kimberley region.

This landscape, with its extraordinary rock formations in hues of red, delighted tourists in the passing parade of small cruise ships and yachts. For me, it was a geologist’s paradise.

Our base camp was established high up on the wide sandy bay out of the reach of even the Kimberley’s tides, notorious for their range between low and high of 12+ metres. One part of the campsite was littered with specimen boxes of various shapes and sizes, nets, shovels and other tools of trade used by the scientists. The cooking area was set apart, surrounded by folding chairs and tables shaded by a large tarpaulin. This was more convenient for quick lunches, or more relaxed evening rundowns. Those studying the strip of reef outside the bay and other marine life would go back to the ship after dinner because their oxygen tanks and diving gear were kept on board. The scientists on land-based expeditions usually chose to sleep in swags on the beach, especially those who wanted an early start.

Cimex and I had chosen swags on the beach. I woke up in the pre-dawn glimmer and decided to set off immediately on my rock hound’s quest. Cimex was snoring gently, looking so comfortable in his swag that I decided not to wake him and alert him that I was going on a ramble. Bad mistake.

The day before, as we approached the bay, I had noticed a remarkable deep red slash on the rocky coastline - it looked like there had been a recent rockslide, maybe caused by a massive lightning strike. The Kimberley’s wet season features spectacular storms with explosions of thunder and gigantic flashes of lightning. The site was about four to five kilometres back, west of the bay where the ship was now anchored. On the higher ground above the coral rubble and sand of the beach it looked like there was only scrub and spinifex, so it would probably be a quick walk and I should be back by breakfast. I quickly checked my mini backpack for essentials- small tools, sample pouches, mobile phone, water bottle- hitched it on my shoulders, pulled on my boots and headed off.

I arrived at the top of the escarpment just as dawn lit the landscape and found the site where the slippage had occurred a couple of kilometres further on. The land was dry and dusty, even the spinifex was brittle, signs of a long drought which also made the sedimentary basins along the cliff top prone to erosion.

The artist in me was always fascinated at the colours of the Kimberley earth, tones impossible for the manufacturers of chemical artist’s paints to imitate. I collected the ochres, clays and agates that nature provided to grind and mix my own palette. That morning I was irresistibly drawn back to where I had seen the slash of deep rust-red ochre in the cliff face.

I took my back back off and crouched beside it on the ground to get a couple of pouches out and have a swig of water. As I stood up again the ground gave way and I slid down the cliff a couple of metres along with a ton of rubble until my feet hit some kind of rock platform that stabilised me.

F>>K and double it! No way back, and my backpack with the essential phone and water were unreachable a couple of metres above me.

Calm down and carry on, as the saying goes.

Think logically and work out the most likely scenario.

Firstly and most importantly, I was not hurt, I could wriggle all my toes and fingers, feel the weight of the rubble on me up to waist height. Perhaps I could free my hands but don’t think it's wise to move my feet. The platform that I’m standing on may be small and could give way. So I was stuck and could not save myself.

I would soon be missed. Cimex would notice my absence first and check the kitchen and surrounding camp before asking if I was on the ship. Now that it was light the camp would be well and truly stirring, getting breakfast– don’t think of food! Then there would be a roll call and I would be found missing. Had I just gone walkabout, foolishly without telling anyone, or worst case, gone swimming and drowned?

Most of the crew and the researchers who could spare a few hours would set out on search parties, one on land and the other in a zodiac to scour the coastline. Most likely they would work to a timeframe of three hours maximum so they would be back by lunch time.

I calculated that I was approximately four kilometres westwards along the escarpment from the beach camp. It would be difficult to see me as I was covered in reddish rubble and dust. Let’s hope that Cimex has some idea about where I may have gone. I shut my eyes and try to connect with him by mental telepathy.

The sun was rising, glaring directly at me. It would soon be unbearably hot. Luckily I had not lost my cap and glasses in the fall so my face had minimal protection from the sun’s full blast.

Breath deep, again, and again. I need to slow down my mind from racing through possible disaster scenarios and come up with the best solution. I imagine that by now the captain had a couple of divers ready to check the reef and deep water, and crews for the two zodiacs were ready to take off, and a land search party assembled on the beach. Fingers crossed that Cimex would be on one of the zodiacs.

If I could wipe the red dust off my glasses I could check the time on my watch– if it was not broken– and get a clearer view of my surroundings. Tentatively I moved my left hand up to grasp the frame and released a small chute of dust and rubble. Phew! Now move my right hand to somehow wipe the lenses. Another chute. My God! The least movement could be the end of me.

Then I had a brainwave. I could use my glasses as reflectors and flash continuous SOS messages using the now brilliant sunlight. I started a slow and rhythmic pattern of S . . . O… S . . . Just keep it going, however long it takes to catch someone’s attention.

The hum of a zodiac’s outboard became louder and louder. Finally I could see the boat and its crew of four, two men searching the cliff with binoculars. I wanted to jump and wave, but had to stay absolutely still. Screaming Help! was probably futile as the sound wouldn’t carry far enough.

I could now make out Cimex’s broad form, he seemed to be peering straight at me through the binoculars, then he waved. Bingo! The zodiac made a couple of tight circuits and I could see another man using a walkie-talkie as they took off again. A wave of relief swept through me. All I had to do now was wait to be rescued.

Some time later the sound of boots crunching came closer until they stopped above my head.

“Hey, mate!” said a familiar voice, “What the f…k are you doing down there, just getting your rocks off or something?”

“I’ll do anything for a cold beer, and even one for you if you get me out of here pronto Cimex.”

“Raise your arms slowly above your head, then don’t move an inch. We’re going to lasso you and haul you out. You’re about three metres directly below us.”

A rope snaked down the cliff face. I grasped it with my hands and slid the loop under my arms.

“Ready! Haul away!” I shouted, and a few moments later I was lying on my back looking up at several smiling faces.

“Thank you, guys. You literally saved my life”, I gasped. “Did you see my SOS message I flashed with my glasses?”

Cimex grinned at me and said,

“ No, you idiot, that’s old boy scout stuff. We tracked you with the GPS on your mobile.”

Then, with his usual sense of humour he added,

“I think we could say that Rock’s been to a hard place”.

© Susan Cochrane

March 2026

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