One of the most unusual things about the King George River is that it wasn’t named by any of the best-known maritime explorers. In fact, it was relatively late in proceedings when a Western Australian zoologist and author, Charles Price Conigrave, named the 112km waterway after the reigning monarch in 1911 when on a privately-funded expedition.
Of course, the traditional owners of this territory, the Miwa people, have known about the river for millennia as part of their 5,700 sq km domain.
When Seabourn Pursuit dropped anchor at the mouth of the river in historic Koolama Bay just after dawn, we had arrived at yet another significant point in recent history. In February 1942, just as wartime activity in and around the Timor Sea was becoming hectic, a brand new coastal vessel, the 106m MV Koolama, sought refuge here after being damaged by Japanese aircraft while en route to Wyndham. The event sparked one of our lesser-known stories of naval heroism and controversy, leading to the postwar name change from Rulhieres Bay. French mariner Nicolas Baudin had previously named the eastern point of the river mouth on June 12 1803 after his countryman and poet, Claude Carloman de Rulhieres.
After boarding our fleet of Zodiacs in blustery conditions, we soon found calmer waters on the river itself, sheltered from the elements by towering Wharton Limestone cliffs, formed more than 1800 million years ago. With great blocks stacked in randon order like some prehistoric Lego construction, we marvelled at the architectural design of nature’s own engineers.
All along the rock shelves, weathered and reformed over time, we kept watch for tiny Short-Eared Rock Wallabies while in the skies Brahminy Kites and Osprey wheeled overhead.
Of course, the traditional owners of this territory, the Miwa people, have known about the river for millennia as part of their 5,700 sq km domain.
When Seabourn Pursuit dropped anchor at the mouth of the river in historic Koolama Bay just after dawn, we had arrived at yet another significant point in recent history. In February 1942, just as wartime activity in and around the Timor Sea was becoming hectic, a brand new coastal vessel, the 106m MV Koolama, sought refuge here after being damaged by Japanese aircraft while en route to Wyndham. The event sparked one of our lesser-known stories of naval heroism and controversy, leading to the postwar name change from Rulhieres Bay. French mariner Nicolas Baudin had previously named the eastern point of the river mouth on June 12 1803 after his countryman and poet, Claude Carloman de Rulhieres.
After boarding our fleet of Zodiacs in blustery conditions, we soon found calmer waters on the river itself, sheltered from the elements by towering Wharton Limestone cliffs, formed more than 1800 million years ago. With great blocks stacked in randon order like some prehistoric Lego construction, we marvelled at the architectural design of nature’s own engineers.
All along the rock shelves, weathered and reformed over time, we kept watch for tiny Short-Eared Rock Wallabies while in the skies Brahminy Kites and Osprey wheeled overhead.
Even though the King George River is not particularly renowned for crocodiles, the eagle-eyed among us were able to spot several of the scaly reptilian carnivores luxuriating on rock platforms and mudbanks. Reports of dugongs and Snub-Finned Dolphins were also received by guests in the Zodiac flotilla.
The King George River is well-known for the iconic Twin Falls that plummet around 100 metres from the clifftops into the basin below. Even as late as July, there was still a significant flow and certainly enough for us to enjoy a cooling spray in the shadow of the mist-sculpted cliff faces. But just in case, our hotel team had set up a floating champagne bar under the watchful gaze of a sleek water monitor. We toasted our experience with bubbles, savouring yet another ‘Seabourn Moment’ before motoring back to the sublime comforts of Seabourn Pursuit.
Text: Roderick Eime
Images: Harry Rogers, Roderick Eime
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