This part of the Wilson River runs clear and strong over its massive rocks, water-worn to resemble submerged hippopotami.
Its still sections are like amber-tinted mirrors. I see a catfish swimming about but I cannot photograph it through the reflections.
Where it falls and meets obstructions, it rushes around them with a constant murmur that is almost a roar.
And it is evident that this river will brook no obstruction when it is in full force, as there is a whole other dry riverbed, edged with piled-up tree trunks, to show that the river has changed course.
In the current river run, some small trees cling desperately to rocks midstream, their roots grasping for purchase like long bony fingers.
In this world of stone and water I see little wildlife, so I am delighted that this small skink has managed to make a home.