Exploring the Top End, part I

Florence Falls at Litchfield NP.

In mid-September, I spent 10 days in the northern part of the Northern Territory. I flew into Darwin, but only spent two days there. I don’t have much to say about Darwin itself. If you know how to calculate the volume of an arched oil tunnel, let me know. There could be a prize for it. Also, go to Mindil Beach Markets and see eMDee, the didgeridoo+drums duo.

On my second day in the Top End, I went on a day-tour to Litchfield National Park. Our guide was called Joey. He was awesome. The only hiccup was that the company neglected to tell Joey that there was a vegetarian on board, so my lunch was late. However, there was vegetarian lunch and it was tasty and plentiful, which is not always the case with veggie food on a tour, so I'm not complaining.

Litchfield doesn't have any phone reception, but it does have wifi...

I specifically picked a tour that didn’t include a jumping crocodiles river cruise. I’m interested in crocodiles, but not in a circus. Instead, we went to three beautiful swimming holes. I had been warned against swimming anywhere, even if the guide says it's ok. There could still be saltwater crocodiles, and there are stories of lives lost in 'safe' swimming holes. However, with 20 other people in the water I figured the risk of there being a saltie was very low, and the risk of me being the victim if there was a saltie only 1/20. A risk worth taking for the experience - those waters were beautiful.

At our last stop at Buley Rockhole, Joey took the more adventurous passengers on a barefoot adventure. Originally - Joey says - it was a barebum adventure, but he'd had to tone it down. People are so conservative nowadays. "Barefoot is the Aboriginal way," Joey said. "The reason for it is that if you step on a snake, you'll feel it." We headed off the path and into the creek, where we swam and crawled ("like a crocodile - not like a monkey") among little jumping fish, water dragons and king fishers. At the end of our swim we ran back along the scorching path, burning our soles, to jump into the swimming hole and massage our shoulders under the waterfall.

Baiting crocs at Wangi Falls.

A few days later I hopped on a tour to Kakadu. It turned out to be easily the best tour I've been on in Australia. Three reasons: Kakadu is innately awesome, I was lucky, and our guide, Justin, and the tour company, Kakadu 4WD Safaris, did an excellent job.

Kakadu National Park. Some people call it Kaka-don't and reckon that Litchfiel-do is better, but I really don't understand why. I suppose they are the ones with a 2WD, a fear of crocodiles and a dislike of wilderness. What they are doing in the Top End in that case I can't fathom.

Kakadu NP, all 20 000 sq km of it, is jointly managed by local Aboriginal communities (the traditional owners) and Parks Australia, a federal body under the Department of the Environment and Energy. Because half of Kakadu is owned by Aboriginal land trusts, access to many parts of the park requires special permits. Some of these are easy to obtain; others require considerable merit in the eyes of the local communities and years of applications. Entering these areas without a permit carries a hefty fine. Just like other private landowners can refuse entry to their land and - perhaps a more appropriate analogy - just like states can refuse visas to visitors, so do Aboriginal communities have the right to decide who enters their country. One excellent reason to join a Kakadu 4WD Safaris tour is that they hold special permits to visit some amazing places in Kakadu.

I thank Luck for having put me on this tour. I tried to book two other Kakadu tours, both of which were refused as 'not available', before I booked the Kakadu 4WD Safaris tour. I then tried to change the date of that booking, but it didn't work out. Seems like Luck wanted me on this tour, and I thank Luck for their kindness.

The tour I was on was an overflow tour with only 4 people + the guide. We were all like-minded when it came to hiking, swimming and adventure, packing up camp and making dinner. In other words, we worked as a team and were all up for hiking up to the top of waterfalls. Except when it rained, but more on that later. Apart from myself and Justin, the guide, there was Diona, from the Netherlands, and Matt and Jo, from England.

Our first day was a cultural day. We visited Ubirr, one of the largest Aboriginal art sites open to the public. A Bunidj Elder called Bill Neidjie had the vision to preserve traditional culture by increasing tourism in Kakadu, thus bringing employment to people who would otherwise leave their communities in search of work. Bill Neidjie, also known as Big Bill, also wrote a book, called Kakadu Man - another way of preserving his culture. My reading list of Australian books just keeps growing.

An 'x-ray' drawing of a white man: wearing clothes and smoking a pipe.

The rock art at Ubirr is fabulous and made even more so when explained to us by someone who has actually studied Aboriginal cultures and rock art, such as our guide, Justin. Some of the stories that go with the art have been lost and some are secret, but a few have been revealed for us to know. There was a story of two girls who turned themselves into crocodiles and the story of a clan who died because some of its members stole some fish. Small transgressions from the ancient law can have far-reaching consequences. It's a harsh conception of justice for a modern lawyer, especially one from a lenient justice system. "The law was harsh but it needed to be," is always the explanation. No one ever says, though, what or whom the law needed to be harsh for. I'm sure the tyrannical autocrats of 17th century Europe would have said the same if they'd been asked.

Mabuyu with his dilly bag, barbed spears, spear thrower and goosewing fan. One version of his story: when his catch of fish was stolen, he followed the thieves to their tribe's cave. Being too shy to confront the entire tribe about the theft, he waited till night and then blocked the cave with a huge rock. The entire tribe perished.

Two girls who liked to turn themselves into crocodiles. One day, they planted their teeth on the river bank and turned permanently into crocs. The teeth grew into pandanus palms. This story is told to remind Aboriginal girls of the area that where the pandanus grows, there be crocs. Beware. 

In the afternoon we went on the Guluyambi Cultural Cruise also featuring crocodiles. These were not of the jumping variety that get fed pieces of chicken for the benefit of ogling tourists (although of course these crocodiles can also jump), and our boat did not have a metal grate to protect people from crocodiles that have been taught to eat anything hanging outside a river boat. Not that crocodiles have to be taught that - whether or not crocodiles are used to bits of meat being dangled outside a boat, it is wise to keep oneself completely within the confines of the boat. Basically, if you get on a cruise with things you'd like to go home with, such as hands and elbows, don't dangle them in front of a crocodile's snout. The boat did have security features, such as lifejackets, though with up to eight salties visible in the water and on the banks at any one time (and probably another eight out of sight somewhere close), one is mystified as to what protection lifejackets would provide in case the boat sank. Apparently crocodiles like bright colours too.

The cruise was excellent. Our captain and Aboriginal guide pointed out a paperbark tree that can be used for just about anything - medicine, clothing, wrapping the dead in. His one stop shop, he called it. He showed us how to make a paintbrush from a reed of some sort, and - because Justin who was a good mate of his whispered a special request in his ear - did a spear throwing demonstration. Using a spear thrower, his spears almost reached across the river, an impressive distance for an old technology.

So close.

"So what animals would you like to see while you're out here?" Justin asked as we sped along the gravel road towards camp.
"Brumbies," I said.
"Brumbies?" said Justin in a voice that said, "You're a nut. Why would you want to see wild horses that don't belong here rather than native Australian animals?"
Too many bush stories, I suppose. I've been reading everything I can get my hands on from an author called Kerry McGinnis, who has written fiction about life on cattle stations as well as a memoire of her life droving (driving cattle over long distances) with her father and siblings. To the young children, brumbies were like mythical creatures and they waited eagerly for their first glimpse of them. That was me.
Diona wanted to see turtles.

Our first night's camp site was not busy. There were only two other camps, a third one that cleared out late in the evening, plus the ranger. One of the other mobs was a father with his young son. They became very memorable, first because they had a swimming pool on the back of their truck, and next because the poor kid screamed his head off in the middle of the night. The swimming pool was a big plastic tub filled with water. We regarded it with envy as the muggy tropical heat of the Top End in September oppressed us. Only Justin, wearing long sleeves, long trousers and boots in contrast to our t-shirts, shorts and trainers or thongs (flip flops), was used to it.

In the middle of the night I was woken up by a shrill cry, "Daddy, I need to pee!" Daddy was asleep right next to the boy, but did not stir. I got out of my tent and wandered over to their camp. Matt, who hadn't slept because of the heat, joined me. Unable to wake the dad or make any connection with the child (who might have been asleep for all the reaction we got out of him), we wandered over to Justin's tent. Because that's what tour guides are for, of course, to take care of problems one can't be bothered to solve oneself. Justin took some waking up, but once he was awake, I went back to sleep and was no longer bothered by the screaming kid. Matt kept walking.

Dawn, at last.

Day two was the best. Anything could have happened that day, but as long as we got to the top of Maguk, it would have made up for it. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First we went to Jim Jim Falls. We were lucky with our timing to Kakadu. Some weeks earlier there had been a storm that had closed the track to Jim Jim, one of the most famous if not the most famous waterfall in Australia. However, Jim Jim had just reopened for viewing. No walking to the plunge pool or to the top, no swimming, but viewing. Due to the storm, Jim Jim was flowing, too, which is unusual considering it was technically still the dry season.

The road to Jim Jim involved 50 km of unsealed road and 15 km of 4WD track. On the road, Justin was driving like an Aussie, that is, with skill. I would have been going at 30 km/h, half the speed limit, but then, I'm not an Aussie who knows how to drive on the dirt. Going faster than that on the dirt takes some practice, so don't try it at home - or in Australia. It was bumpy, and so loud it wasn't conducive to conversation. Matt slept.

We saw it, Jim Jim. More exciting, though, was the golden tree snake that slithered away almost from under our feet. There was a rustle in the bush that Matt had just been standing next to, a moment of alarm and then Justin's excited voice telling us it was a harmless tree snake. We all tried to get closer to have a better look and a better photo, but the poor frightened snake couldn't wait to get away from us.

Jim Jim.

Golden tree snake.

There was a polystyrene ball in the water that had the teeth marks of a small saltie - one way of checking if there are crocs around, and of what type and size. Inquisitive creatures that they are, crocs will come and bite things that float in the water, especially things covered in fish oil. Of course, a negative result on the bite ball shouldn't be trusted. There was also an empty croc trap. Only a dum croc swims into a trap to get a leg of pork. Their brains may only be the size of a walnut, but most crocs are not dum. Just as well we didn't see the croc (although it might have seen us), because we were separated from the water's edge only by a metre or two and a flimsy orange plastic fence.

And then we went to Maguk.

Maguk, from the top.

Maguk, or Barramundi Gorge, is a steep-sided gorge in the southern part of the national park. Access is by 4WD only. Most people only get to swim in the large gorge at the bottom of the waterfall. We walked to the top, to series of deep plunge pools, with beautiful water to swim in. "100 % no crocs," Justin said, "because crocs can't climb cliff faces." We took some great photos and had a shoulder massage under a little waterfall. Matt and I tried in vain to climb a rock (Justin did it twice with no noticeable difficulty), before clambering the long way round to explore further up the gorge.

At the top of Maguk.

"I could spend the rest of the day here," I said. Then corrected myself, "Hell, I could spend the rest of my life here."
"It is one of those places, isn't it," Justin said.
To be fair, we did pretty much spend the rest of the day there. Darkness wasn't far off by the time we got to our camp that night. As we tore ourselves away from that little piece of paradise, I felt like a baby whose mother is going away. I wanted to scream.

As we drove away from Maguk towards our campsite at Gunlom, another waterfall, I sat in the back looking glumly out of the window. Matt was asleep again, lying across the seats. He got a fright and jumped when I suddenly yelled, "Brumbies!" There were three of them, walking among the trees. One turned to look at us as the others trotted away; maybe a stallion thinking, "What are you doing on my land? Get out of here!" Then another four came into view, cantering after the others. We watched them until they disappeared from view. I felt a lot better then, almost forgetting my grief at having had to leave Maguk.

I got my wish, seeing brumbies. After my trip I read McGinnis's fictional novel Out of Alice and laughed at a scene where Sara, a city-bred governess at a remote station, is thrilled at having seen some. Helen, a retired woman who married a cattleman and spent her life on the land, remarks drily, "They're a pest." I could have been Sara. Except with a bit more knowledge of the bush lingo (language) from all those bush stories. I know they're a pest, but they're still beautiful.

Not long after that I interrupted sleep and conversation again with a much more muted, "Buffalo." There were two, a black and a brown, with horns that would skewer anyone who tried to get too close. As we sat in the vehicle watching them, a bush by the side of the road started to shake and out came a dingo pup, small and skinny.
"What's it doing alone?" we asked each other.
"I've never seen one so young without its mother,"Justin said.
"Maybe mum is on the other side of the road?" someone suggested.
We drove a little way up the road to be out of the way, but the mother didn't appear. We will never know the fate of that little one or its mother.

We stopped on the way to collect firewood, Kakadu being one of only two national parks where collecting wood is allowed. When we finally got to camp, we got a fire going and made burritos. All our food was cooked on the fire. The team worked perfectly again, cooking took 20 minutes from start to finish. We had the tents up in no time, too. There was a light drizzle, so we put the outer flies on as well. Hopes that the rain would fizzle out turned out to be laughable. After dinner I threw a couple of bigger branches on the fire and we went to have a look at the waterfall. We couldn't see it through the rain, but we could hear it. After the storm, it was flowing well. We were standing on a sandy beach (yes, all natural), and I could imagine that in better weather and the light of a full moon, the place would be magical. Not that I'm overly fond of sand.

We weren't far from camp when it suddenly chucked it down. Not a full monsoon where you can't see past your nose; we could still see the vehicle and the light ahead of us. That is, until the transformer blew and the light went out.

The heavy rain didn't last long. The others sheltered under the open trailer doors, but for me there was no point. I was soaked already, and the rain was actually nice and cool - the sun might have set, but the heat lingered, kept in by the thick cloud cover. Everyone was in surprisingly good spirits. It was part of the experience. A taster of what nature would throw at you in the wet season. Except that in the Wet that campsite would not even be open.

Sheltering under the trailer doors in the morning. All smiles!

When the rain eased a bit, I blew the fire back to life and stood near it, on the earth warmed by the blaze. The rain didn't bother me - I had strong faith in Justin's vehicle (and his driving skills) to get us out along the dirt road, the rain and the swim had cooled me down and there was nothing I could do about it anyway. And I had a fire. And a drink in my hand. And after all, I was used to cold rain in a cold country, where wet footwear is a serious issue. So actually, the rain was rather exciting; another face of Kakadu.

We had three very wet tents. Matt had had the initiative and foresight to do some earthworks around his and Jo's tent, so they were spared the worst of the soaking. My tent was in a little lake. We had one spare tent which we pitched on a well-drained bit of ground. Not that it made much of a difference - they were fair weather tents and the outer flies leaked. It took me ages to fall asleep. It got hot inside the tent with the outer fly on and I kept playing the days events over in my head. The bumpy ride to Jim Jim, the snake, Maguk, the swim, the rain. I was happy.

The proud and slightly less wet engineer.

The camplake.

In the morning we faced a changed itinerary. We were supposed to climb to the top of Gunlom, to another fabulous swimming spot at the top of a waterfall. Of course, there was no way to do that now; someone would have slipped and died climbing on the wet rocks of the path that wound around the edge of a precipice. In the evening, we had used a wash basin for washing our feet, filling it ankle-deep with water. In the morning, the basin was full. Some 166 mm of rain had fallen overnight, they reckoned, and the rain was still falling. Kakadu was getting closed: Jim Jim was no longer accessible and even Ubirr, which is accessible by a sealed road, was closed for a time. The campsite at Gunlom was emptied and closed for the season. Our timing had thus been impeccable.

We went to see the waterfall that morning. It was a raging torrent and half the beach had disappeared. Pretty lucky, really. We may have missed out on climbing to the top, but the waterfalls that day were beautiful.

The drive back to the main road was interesting. The rivers and creeks we had crossed the day before had swelled ten-fold, making us drive through them rather than over them. We stopped for a short walk but got no further than the creek: a flood had swept away the bridge. The rain kept falling, and I spotted another brumby, standing forlornly among the wet trees.

Warning: attempting to cross may end up in a dunking.

We went to yet another waterfall and swimming hole, in one of the secluded areas of Kakadu. "No sunscreen," Justin said, "this is one of the most carefully conserved waterways in Kakadu." He need not have warned us - I doubt any of us had even thought about sunscreen that morning. The water was colder this time, with a heavy current. Swimming against it kept me warm, but I was unable to power myself right up to the waterfall. It didn't look like a big creek with a strong flow, but after all that rain it defeated me.

By this time the only dry clothing I had was a shirt and my pyjama bottoms. When we stopped at the Adelaide River Inn to have a look at a famous stuffed buffalo (while still alive, 'Charlie' had featured in Crocodile Dundee), I started feeling a little self-conscious. I had previously returned to civilization in various degrees of dirtiness and smelliness, but never before in my pyjamas. Although when I walked into my hostel in Darwin, I doubt anyone even noticed.

Those days in Kakadu have been the best three days I have spent in Australia. Whatever was left of my heart since New Zealand, Kakadu has now stolen. I will never forget it.