Kevin Explores

Kevin Explores Most people miss the bigger picture in landscapes. Kevin Explores provides aerial images and interpretation for deeper understanding and connection to place.

Exploring and reading the Mulgrave River from the air.Yesterday I used the drone to explore the Mulgrave lowlands. It’s ...
05/10/2026

Exploring and reading the Mulgrave River from the air.

Yesterday I used the drone to explore the Mulgrave lowlands. It’s easy to see a broad patchwork of cane fields, river, rainforest and wetlands. But there is another story in the landscape.

The mountains around the Mulgrave are the source of much of the sediment that has gradually built the lowlands. The river carries that material downstream, depositing and rearranging it as it goes. The broad flat country around Gordonvale is therefore not simply a valley floor — it is a landscape built by water.

From the air, some of the clues become easier to see.

The mountains build the lowlands — The sudden change from steep mountain country to broad, flat land marks a change from bedrock to the younger sediments deposited across the valley.

The river is still building the landscape — Look closely at the river and you can see sand bars, benches and islands — places where sediment is being stored and rearranged.

The floodplain isn't all the same — Subtle differences in elevation and drainage create different channels, wetlands and areas of vegetation. What looks flat from the ground can be surprisingly complex from above.

Vegetation can reveal what lies beneath — Changes in rainforest, riparian vegetation, palms, Melaleuca and wetlands aren't random. They can tell us something about the soil, drainage and flooding of the land.

Then we changed the landscape — Much of the fertile lowland has been cleared and drained for sugar cane. From the air, the regular geometry of agriculture sits in striking contrast to the irregular patterns of the river and wetlands.

And eventually the river meets the sea — Further downstream, freshwater lowlands give way to tidal wetlands and mangroves. The river is becoming an estuary.

So when you look at these images, try looking beyond the obvious.
Don't just ask “What am I looking at?”
Ask: “Why does the landscape look like this?”
That question is often the beginning of understanding a place.

Out and about this weekend: Mt Emerald The ridges between Walsh Bluff and Mount Emerald are built from the Walsh Bluff V...
04/10/2026

Out and about this weekend: Mt Emerald

The ridges between Walsh Bluff and Mount Emerald are built from the Walsh Bluff Volcanics, layers of rhyolitic ignimbrite laid down by explosive eruptions roughly 280–300 million years ago. When this super-heated ash settled, the hotter layers welded into very hard rock, and those layers now stand out as the cliffs and ledges stepping up the hillsides. Because this tough rock wears away more slowly than the country around it, the range still stands high above Walkamin and Mareeba.

The Savannahlander, threading through the Mareeba Granite country on its way home today to Mareeba.
03/10/2026

The Savannahlander, threading through the Mareeba Granite country on its way home today to Mareeba.

Out and about: birdsFour species on two kinds of grevillea.
03/10/2026

Out and about: birds

Four species on two kinds of grevillea.

While clearing space in my photo library, I found myself back at Big Red, near Birdsville, in July 2024.We’d been flying...
30/09/2026

While clearing space in my photo library, I found myself back at Big Red, near Birdsville, in July 2024.

We’d been flying over the dunes, watching their long lines sweep across the Simpson. Then, at sunset, we finally got to walk on one. I expected the scale to take my breath away. I didn’t expect to become so absorbed by the sand at my feet.

The wind had written the surface in different rhythms: fine ripples, longer ridges, and delicate lines bending around each other. These are little records of moving air. Wind nudges grains along—rolling or bouncing them across the surface—until they gather on the sheltered side of a ripple. A tiny change in the breeze, slope or sand supply can redraw the pattern.

The low evening light made every ridge stand out. Sunlit crests glowed; the hollows fell into shadow. Around the stones and that small flowering plant, the sand had shifted into eddies and sheltered pockets. The plant interrupts the wind and catches grains, helping build a small mound around itself.

I could have stayed there watching those patterns for hours. Big Red was the beginning of the desert crossing we’d seen from above, but walking across it made the landscape feel wonderfully close: wind, grains, light, and time, all visible in the sand.

I still want to go back. And I will go back.

Out and About: Herberton Range railwayToday’s outing took us along the old railway line over the Herberton Range. The li...
27/09/2026

Out and About: Herberton Range railway

Today’s outing took us along the old railway line over the Herberton Range. The line reached Herberton in 1910, built to connect the Tablelands with Cairns and serve the region’s tin-mining and farming communities. Passenger services ended in 1989, and the line officially closed in 1990.

The rails, cuttings and tunnels still tell the story of the work it took to cross the range. And what a journey it would be if heritage trains could once again climb through this country, bringing visitors to Historic Village Herberton and Herberton Mining Museum. The Atherton-Herberton Historic Railway is working towards restoring tourist train services; the line is not currently open for a through journey.

The Savannahlander is a lovely reminder of how rail journeys can connect people with the history and landscapes of the north. It travels a different route, but shares that same sense of discovering a place by rail.

There was plenty to notice on foot, too: She-oaks, Bloodwood, Stringybarks, Red Gum, wildflowers, and the rock faces exposed in the cuttings. The geology here is complex. Next time, I’d love to bring a geologist along to help interpret the rocks—and perhaps video the key features to share.

Oh! That sounds like another project.

Out and about this morning, scouting locations for a local project.The weather didn't help. Flat grey skies aren't kind ...
26/09/2026

Out and about this morning, scouting locations for a local project.

The weather didn't help. Flat grey skies aren't kind to drone photography, but they do bring out soft colour, and a few other subjects caught my eye anyway.

Rainbow Bee-eaters. A small group was working the fence line beside a bee hive and picking off bees as they came and went. You can see one bird holding its catch up high. The overcast light was a bonus here, with no harsh highlights on those greens, blues and ochres.

Woodland. Bleached, twisted limbs over dry red grass. It's a quiet study in texture and form. Still trying to ID the tree! Any suggestions?

From above. Red basalt soil and orchard rows. An irrigation channel curving through dry country, running alongside the road that services it. A highway intersection set among granite boulders, with a few burnout marks on the bitumen for good measure.

Not the conditions I was hoping for, but it was a productive scout. I'll be back when the light is better to capture a few features located today.

You can drive across interesting geology without knowing it.Along Chewko Road west of Mareeba, the landscape begins to r...
25/09/2026

You can drive across interesting geology without knowing it.

Along Chewko Road west of Mareeba, the landscape begins to rise and the hills start appearing around you.

But those hills aren't just scenery. They're part of a much older story — the story of the Mareeba Granite.

Rainbow Bee-eater — Reading the Landscape from the AirYou might think the Rainbow Bee-eater belongs to the sky.It doesn'...
21/09/2026

Rainbow Bee-eater — Reading the Landscape from the Air

You might think the Rainbow Bee-eater belongs to the sky.
It doesn't.

It belongs to the relationship between sky and ground.

It hunts insects in the air, uses trees and wires as hunting posts, and excavates its nest deep into the earth.

Its presence connects insects, vegetation, water, soil and exposed geological surfaces.

And in North Queensland, those connections can sometimes be seen from above.

A riverbank isn't simply a line on a map.

An exposed patch of soil isn't simply bare ground.

A cleared area isn't necessarily biologically empty.
Somewhere in that landscape, a Rainbow Bee-eater may be reading the same country we are—just differently.

No flying today. Bit windy for photography. So I'm exploring from the ground — and from a geological map. ☕️Yesterday I ...
20/09/2026

No flying today. Bit windy for photography. So I'm exploring from the ground — and from a geological map. ☕️

Yesterday I drove out of Mareeba along Chewko Road towards Granite Gorge.

As I approached, I noticed the country rising — a broad area of higher ground, with a lookout offering views back towards the east.

It triggered a memory.

I remembered the way the Mareeba Granite seems to form a broad belt of higher country, running from around Walkamin northwest to and including the Hann Tableland, with Granite Creek cutting down through it towards Mareeba.

So I had a question:

Was the topography I was seeing actually related to the underlying geology?

This morning I opened the Queensland Government's Detailed Surface Geology map.

And yes — there did seem to be a relationship. Although, as it turned out, working out what kind of relationship is where things get interesting.

Because this is where geological maps come into their own.

At first glance, the map looks almost like someone has thrown a paintbox over North Queensland. But each coloured area is a mapped geological unit. Tap on one and the map tells you what that colour means — the geological unit, the rock type, the age.

Suddenly, the colours start to mean something.

And once you start looking at the patterns, more questions appear.

One thing that immediately caught my attention around the Mareeba–Granite Gorge area is a series of roughly parallel features trending southeast–northwest.

Why?

Are they geological structures? Faults, fractures, lineaments — or something else? Do they have any relationship to the shape of the country, or to the drainage?

I don't know yet.

And that's actually the point.

(Although I'll say this much: one of those lines has already turned out to be more than just a line on a map. But that's a story for later in the series.)

This is increasingly how I explore North Queensland.

I don't necessarily start with a destination.

Sometimes I start with something I notice from the ground — a change in elevation, a strange ridge, a bend in a river, an unusual pattern in the landscape.

Then I form an idea about what might be happening beneath the surface.

A geological map lets me test that idea.

And often, answering one question simply produces another.

The map doesn't give you the story. It gives you clues.

The fun is working out the story.

So over the next few weeks, I'd like to work out this particular story with you — from the birth of the Mareeba Granite in Permian times to the boulders I scrambled over yesterday in Granite Gorge.

Starting with a simple question: what actually is the Mareeba Granite?

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Mareeba, QLD
4880

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