Raptors, crocs and other wild things

Nimulik National Park gorge

Timber Creek is a small town in the Northern Territory with the three most common remote town signs; to the roadhouse, police station and medical centre or hospital. The roadhouse is typical, providing all manner of services including bar, bottle-store, restaurant, service station, and caravan park to locals and travellers alike.

ATM held hostage

We arrived on Saturday, and the roadhouse was doing a roaring trade in beer destined for a party up the road. Carloads of locals drove up, piled into the bar, emerged with slabs of beer, and yelled to other carloads of locals doing the same. The Eftpos machine sat silently trapped in a cage at the front door, and a cheery bunch of international staff buzzed about.

Travellers under 30 years of age to Australia can extend their tourist visa by one year, if they work for three months in a remote area. This means you can generally guarantee the people serving you in many small town pubs and roadhouses are a cheerful array of intrepid young people with exotic accents, seemingly well out of context, yet curiously at home.

Timber Creek raptor feeding

The caravan park behind the roadhouse offered the twin attractions of crocodile and bird feeding. At 5pm, an eager bunch of kids, a couple of elderly folks, a handful of freshwater crocodiles, a varied flock of airborne raptors, and W and I excitedly gathered for feeding time. When the English girl from the pub dangled raw pieces of meat in the creek, the crocodiles looked a bit bored, but the birds were somewhat theatrical, and the kids and I were thrilled.

Croc feeding - a little less enthusiastic

Croc feeding – a little mangy looking and a little less enthusiastic

A whiteboard on the wall in the bar listed names of people banned from the bar, and the date they were allowed back in. Every now and then, a whiteboard person wandered in and attempted a purchase, or sat at the bar and charmingly argued why they should stay. Both the Chilean and the Kiwi behind the bar were barely 25, yet managed to deliver the bad news, wave farewell to the banned, and order a Barra and Chips at the same time with a smile. I wanted to suggest the publican run a detox program for city adolescents, currently gaining life skills from a screen, but he didn’t appear to possess the same charm as the gals.

Local Wyndham artwork in the saltpan

Local Wyndham artwork in the salt-pan

We had left Kununurra at the break of day, and foiled the guy with the wheel covers, awning OCD, and dawn leaf-blower routine next door, determined to wake us. I like to ensure we have plundered the depths of local attractions, squeezing in The Mini Bungles and Kelly’s Knob at sunset the night before, and planning to swim at Valentine Springs, Black Rock, Marley Billabong and a handful of other watery delights on our way east. Alas, the swimming holes were in varying states of dehydration, but the backpackers were up for it, shrieking and smoking while splashing about the murky green water. We ventured to Wyndham where local artists had crafted an alien message into the saltpan, looked at another grey harbour, and deemed our work done.

Our search for fresh caught local fish takes us to all sorts of places

Our search for fresh caught local fish takes us to all sorts of retail outlets

From Timber Creek we drove straight through Katherine and north to Nitmulik National Park, a gorgeous park full of gorges and swimming holes just 30km from town, managed jointly by traditional owners and Department of Parks and Wildlife. Edith Falls is one of the beautiful camp areas within the park, offering shade, and , watered grass, wildlife (both two and four-legged), and a swimming hole replete with fish eager to nibble off your callouses. I am never at ease in fresh water, but became excited at the prospect of a pedicure of sorts. I watched the cute little fish dart about my legs until one took a wee chunk of my thigh.

Edith Falls swimming hole. the fish are cute until they nibble your bits.

Achtung! The crocs at Flora River National Park say ‘come on in, the waters fine.’

Nitmulik is atypical for National Parks, with quirky personal touches. Edith Falls greets you with quirky quotes on a sandwich board, and the main caravan park features a rockstar-style lagoon pool, and resident 4 metre python (harmless but freaky all the same), that hung out at the pool in daylight, and on the path to the toilets at night. Moving to the main camp, we set up with haste, eager to make it in time for our Gorge Dinner Cruise, the only tour with vacancies. Waiting under the trees for our cruise to depart, a man approached enthusiastically and said “Saw you at the camp ground. You’re next to us. In the camper trailer. We’re in the Winnebago.” Pausing to reflect, I couldn’t remember anything about our fellow campers except the fact I thought there was no-one around as I changed into my bikini beside the car.

Edith Falls Camp sunset

Edith Falls Camp sunset

Edith Falls camp visitor

Edith Falls camp – sandwich boards, tibetan flags, sprinklers and marsupials

Sunrise walk to another swimming hole where we disturbed a naked man taking a morning dip.

Sunrise walk to another swimming hole – in the far distance a bearded nude man bathed.

Fly blown bush camping at its best

Fly blown bush camping at its best

Boat ramp in the Flora River National Park.

Boat ramp in the Flora River National Park.

Our next destination was Karumba. The promise of abundant fresh fish and prawns, a fantastic azure vista, and location bang in the middle of the Gulf of Carpentaria took on a spiritual quality, and got me through two bush camps. To be clear, bush camp means off-the-grid, no loo in any form, no water, coverage or rubbish bins. Of course, a sweet little shower faucet in a box, some cigarette lighter power, and a bucket of pre-boiled water convinces you temporarily you need never live a civilised life again. Until you see yourself in a roadhouse bathroom, and realise your husband is not a details guy, and you need an intervention.

A fire makes it all worthwhile, even if it is 37 degrees.

A fire makes it all worthwhile, even if it is 37 degrees.

Karumba is all about fishing, just like the rest of the north. You cannot swim because of the crocs, it is hot as all get out, and the Barra run freely. At night the sunset pub hosts thousands of hermit crabs as they march about, pile up, then march again. At every point the road or a boat campmates the water you see signs warning of croc activity.  They read “Achtung! Attention! Crocodile activity in this area”, and show a no-swimming icon. After a while we simply referred to these river crossings as Achtungs. Australia’s largest saltwater crocodile, ‘Krys the Savannah King’ met an untimely end at nearby Archer’s Creek in 1957, but the legend lives on in a life-size replica, over 8 metres long, in the main street of Normanton, where people take photos of their babies in its mouth.

Road to Karumba. March of the Termites

Road to Karumba on the Gulf Savannah. March of the Termites

Karumba’s Hotel offered two kinds of experience; the open air Animal Bar and air-conditioned Suave Bar. Alone in the Suave Bar, we were schooled by Maddie and Tae on the Country Music Channel, on being a ‘Girl in a Country Song’, which seemed to prescribe smiling over speaking, daisy dukes and cowboy boots, and a lot of admirable hair.

Karumba camp, awash with fishing boats, dust and a camp policeman on a quad bike ensuring you didn't step a mm over your campsite boundary

The best of Karumba camp, awash with fishing boats, dust, and a camp host on a quad bike keeping on top of campsite boundary infractions.

We had to stop at Mt Surprise for name alone. This is another small town with a tiny local population, residing in fields rich in ancient history and semi-precious gems. We made sure the pub could receive the AFL Grand Final transmission, then settled into the caravan park with resident Johnny Cash, miniature ponies, exotic birds, an emu, and another resort style pool. Always a fan of a gem, I convinced W to grab a prospector’s license, treasure map, and shovel from the gem store and we set out for the field of dreams. Before we left, I had probed the expert for tips, amongst which was the theory that good things lay two metres down. When I said we could easily dig that far, I saw a flash of focused attention pass across the eyes. It’s a look I have only seen in opal fields, carried by people living in corrugated iron lean-to’s for decades and in possession of an unshakeable belief that tomorrow they will find the mother lode. Three hours later, having dug over the well ground in the allowed areas other tourists has already toiled over, bitten by March flies, and with dust in very crevice, we departed in possession of a few small pieces of Topaz, unsurprised by the appraisal they were too small to do anything with.

The crowd goes wild for AFL at Mt Surprise

The crowd goes wild for AFL at Mt Surprise

NRL at Mt Surprise. The joint was going off.

NRL at Mt Surprise. The joint was going off.

Mt Surprise souvenir - XXXX enamelled gifted by the publican

Mt Surprise souvenir – XXXX enamelled gifted by the publican

Hanging up our prospecting boots, we investigated a once vast farming property owned by the entrepreneurial Collins family, the first white settlers in the Gulf Savannah, and who have owned the property since the 1860’s. Featuring caves formed by ancient lava tubes, and numerous unique geological features, the family decided to partner with National Parks to create the Undara Volcanic National Park, and developed a slick tourism venture on the property, called The Undara Experience, which thrives today.  Of course the only way you get to see them is to take the tour.  W and I spend a lot of time in each others company, so whenever we go on a tour I am freshly reminded that we walk at twice the pace of anyone else, and how I need to develop a more Buddhist outlook when it comes to that person in every crowd that dawdles at the back with their camera/eternally fusses in their back pack/stares into the distance/is last on the bus.

Swimming, anyone?

Swimming at the lush spring fed gorges! Anyone?

The next day we eyed Cooktown, at the base of the Cape York Peninsula, a new corner of Australia for us.


The Eternal Dry

Road to Fitzroy Crossing

Road to Fitzroy Crossing

As a fan of lists, spread-sheets and Gantt Charts, you could reasonably expect an itinerary for our trip, but my companion is far looser in this regard, providing me with a growth opportunity. We usually head off with a rough destination in mind, and I call out attractions as we go. It goes something like this:

“In 23 km we will arrive in [insert name of town]. This is a great base to explore [insert region]. Gazetted in 1876, this is the quintessential outback Australian town. Drop a line from the wharf, eat a meal at the historic pub with unique memorabilia, walk the main street and soak up the rich history…Hey! They have crocodiles, lets do the crocodile tour!”.

It will depend on blood sugar levels but I can accurately predict that if it is lunchtime and near a river, or a town made famous by a country singer, a Barra at the local pub inexplicably festooned with underwear items from passing travellers, could be goer. If none of the above, forge on.

Road to Fitzroy Crossing

Road to Fitzroy Crossing

In the north, the year and all activity within it is generally referred to by three seasons determined by prevailing weather. They are The Build Up (around November to January), The Wet (roughly February to April) and The Dry (May to October). Several people have told me if you can live through The Build Up in [insert name of any north WA or NT town] without going around the twist or I suspect, committing a felony, then you are worth marrying/belong here/are a local. During The Dry, bushfires are common, and apparently 90% of them are deliberately lit.  Great numbers of Birds of Prey circle above grabbing the rodents and locusts that flee in waves.

We wanted to do an overnight houseboat stay at the Horizontal Falls near Derby, around 220km from Broome, but the girl on the phone told us it was booked out and the next time we could book was 10 months from now. We also intended to do the Gibb River Road, a largely 4WD road joining Derby and Kununurra featuring a number of marvellous gorges, and privately owned wilderness park, El Questro.

Caustic bush- touch this pretty little shiny pod and it burns a hole in your skin.

Caustic bush- touch this pretty little shiny pod and it burns a hole in your skin.

We were travelling at the end of The Dry, which meant the road, at best corrugated and awash with superfine bull dust (yes, it is an actual thing, not just a euphemism), was in the worst state of the year. The dire portents from travellers just arrived, and the general disintegration of the camper trailer, assisted in our decision to avoid a 500 km test of both trailer and personal limits. We would take the Great Northern Highway from Broome to Kununura, (around 1100km) via Fitzroy Crossing and Halls Creek – a hop, skip, and a (maybe not so fictional) psycho away from Wolfe Creek crater. “He was a quiet neighbour. Kept to himself. Wore a lot of Camo.”

Largely uneventful, the Great Northern would provide us with ample opportunity to amuse ourselves with roadhouse ‘cheese and beef’ sausages, a food item suspiciously devoid of both, and a gift that keeps giving for hours after ingestion.

We were warned at Willare Roadhouse (good spot to pick up some Yeeda Station Grass Fed beef) that the road to Fitzroy Crossing may be closed due to a bush fire. Driving toward some pretty awesome smoke, we found ourselves diverted to Derby after all.

Derby wharf for sunset, a local tradition

Derby wharf for sunset, a local tradition

Making a campground decision based on the comments based on Wiki Camps is like reading between Real Estate Lines. ‘Adequate facilities’ means I will be displeased with cleanliness. ‘Sociable campground’ means the Sundowner drinks crowd will talk about you if you don’t join them. ‘No good for big rigs’, ‘Bins emptied noisily at 8:45am’, Didn’t have pool or children’s playground’ means probably awesome (for crying out loud people, its $20 a night!), ‘Rude reception’ means send in W, it will be his demographic.

Resident camp owl

The campground had an eclectic collection of folk, including a crowd from Mapua, a mere 10 km from my sister in the Abel Tasman region of New Zealand’s South Island. Given the size of Mapua and distance from origin, this is statistically significant.

Camp chat is such an education. I had noted with interest that an inordinate amount of women at campground Sundowner drinks drank Coca Cola, and always in a stubby holder. I had mused upon this, and marvelled at the popularity of both Coca Cola and the high proportion of tee-totalling women. Then Sandra From QLD let the cat out of the bag; “This? Oi’ve put me Bourbon in it already.”

Derby foreshore - its all about the fishing

Derby foreshore – its all about the fishing

By this stage of our trip, temperatures are regularly late 30 degrees celcius, mosquitoes, midges and March Flies simply feral, and estuarine crocodiles (the ones you don’t swim with) own every waterway. This is why glamping is a term devised by tricksy partners to convince those smooth of complexion, and fond of an unbroken nail, to get out bush. No. Unless you are travelling in a mobile home, your signature composure will be unattainable. Sure, I started out with wonderful West Australian, organic, chakra-balancing natural repellent, bio-dynamic sunscreen, and positive affirmations. But when my skin started looking like something you would fashion into a High Street tote and the high-pitched whine of a Ross River Virus-carrying insurgent made me wonder if I had tinnitus, I went full Agent Orange. It’s not all Akubra’s, glossy hair and honey coloured tans. Imagine a face and neck of bites gathered together by a rash worthy of a communicable disease, and similar in shape to a map of Europe.

Welcome to Camp Cow Pat

Welcome to Camp Cow Pat

Back on track, we headed for Kununurra, around 900km away. While there are notable Gorges worthy of stopover (Geikie, Windjana), we found ourselves relentlessly pushing forward, as if the gold lay at the end of the Great Northern. The campground options on this route generally boil down to roadhouse dust-bowls, or free camps labelled ‘gravel pit’ on Wiki-Camps. We usually start our hunt for a spot around 3.30pm, I reject the first six, then as dusk falls, we end up in said gravel pit, lulled asleep by the symphony of a road-crew generator, road-train refrigeration unit, or bore water windmill. The upside to this scenario is that you generally get motivated to go at 5am, giving you a grand start to the day.

No swimming for me at Ngamoowalem Conservation Park

No swimming for me at Ngamoowalem Conservation Park

On the final stretch to Kununurra, we decided to use our early start to check out Mollie Springs, a spring fed pool with a waterfall, and a ‘favourite with locals for swimming and picnicking’. W got in out of tradition, and turquoise dragonflies darted, while I chose a campground in Kununurra on the basis of its pool. W checked in for vacancies, and was given a very special site under a giant boab tree next to the pool that ‘everyone wants’. Uniformed staff buzzed about everywhere, tweaking pool chemicals, mowing lawns, erecting signs with rules, and manicuring the landscape. At 5.30pm on the dot, a staff member made their way to the pool enclosure to evict anyone still comfortable in loungers at the rigidly enforced pool closing time. Strains of 1960’s music drifted from the rear bank of permanent residents, and sprinklers circled relentlessly.

Under the Giant Boab

Under the 300 year old Boab

Kununurra is close to the West Australian/Northern Territory border, and sits on the banks of the Ord River. Everyone fishes, and Barramundi is on every menu. I like to investigate all local attractions in the limited time we have, so after a swift recconnaisance of the town environs, we headed to The Pump House, a great little restaurant/bar overhanging the river. At night, hundreds of creepy catfish pile up under the deck to dine on leftovers from Pump House guests. Far cooler than that however, is the eternally patient crocodile that hangs off the edge of all the catfish which annoying failed to launch into the frenzy.

Collective noun for Catfish?

Not convinced that one is real

Still not convinced that one was real

The next day, buoyed by the lush descriptions of swimming holes in the Springs Circuit, we set off to explore. It quickly became apparent we were about four months too late.  With enthusiasm fading we opted for a river cruise. Roaring up the Ord River, things were looking up. Three metre freshwater crocodiles (the harmless ones!) appeared on cue, and a back up one for tourists I am certain was rubber, sat unmoving on the rocks.

Riverbank bushfires filled our lungs and raptors soared. Tomorrow we would continue east.

Ord River.  80% of bushfires are deliberately lit

Ord River. 80% of bushfires are deliberately lit

Rod River rocks

Ord River rocks

CUTE! Comb crested Jacana - Jesus bird with chicks

CUTE! Comb crested Jacana – Jesus bird with teeny chicks


Bungled

Bungle Road

The Bungle Bungle National Park is one of those places I’ve saved up. It hasn’t been on the way anywhere, and was part of the decision to take the route we did back to Perth. I envisaged much photography, angles, light changes, vistas, dawns and dusks. You know where this is going. We arrived at the entrance to the National Park, and barely slowing to 40 to dump the trailer, hit the dusty trail to the Bungle Bungle World Heritage rock formation, Purnululu. A brain rattling 90 minutes later we met sunset at the park. At these times it is a blessing W sets an 8km walking pace. We had 60 minutes of daylight left and about 8km of trails to walk. Breaking into a breathy jog, I kept pace with the diminishing sherpa who had the camera and the keys, certain my brain was now pinballing around my skull with every footfall.

The face of Another-Incredible-World-Heritage-Listed-Natural-Wonder-Fatigue

I admit right here that that was all the time we gave the Bungles. Even as I look back now I think perhaps the heat got to me. Maybe I need to return.

Meanwhile, the driver fidgeted, revved, and Broome called.

.

I love spinifex. Its ability to grow in rock, without water, to bounce back when flattened by fire. For such a soft looking plant, it is strikingly spikey. Between Purnululu and Broome I plotted to introduce a mass planting to our home garden. If anything could make a home between concrete tiles and arid sandiness, spinifex would be it.

spinifex regrowth

On the approach to Broome I once again discovered the paucity of available campground sites in NT campgrounds. Thundering past a newly established place 20 minutes out of Broome, I ordered the unthinkable. A u-turn. Brand new, modern, groovy, ablutions, kilometres of washing line, neighbours far enough away to be spared their symphony, and a communal fire-pit surrounded by generous characters offering education and home-made liquor (I learnt the difference between a bourbon and a scotch was simply the ‘flavour’ you add), made Broome’s Gateway unforgettable. And then we went one better.

We can thank friends living in Broome for recommending one of the best tours I have done hands down: Greg Quickes Astro Tour. I don’t hitch my wagon to tours as a rule, but this rocked. It wasn’t quite dusk as we enthusiastically make our way to a spot near a quarry a few KMs out of Broome. Luckily Greg had spotted Saturn and peering into the telescope, I saw what appeared to be a cut-out of Saturn. Checking the outside of the lens for a sticker, I looked again. Back to Greg. Back to the telescope. And here is where my artistic brain strains to wrap around the idea that the sky is blue but in the telescope it is black. I blame the 4WD brain air hockey. As other people arrived for the tour, they took turns peering at Saturn. Without fail, every person looked. Pulled back. Asked if it was sticker. Looked again. And the tour began. Multi-coloured jewels, millions of stars filling the viewfinder, navigating south by the southern cross, the Milky Way. No horoscope sign omitted, no question left unanswered. As the mercury plummeted to an eerie 14, (Broome was still 26) coats appeared and hot chocolate administered, I realised the best tour we had done hadn’t actually moved from one spot. Do it.


Where the crowds go to get away

Authentic industrial design, dangling in a tent near you

You know it is time to head to the big smoke when your Sauvignon Blanc is warm because your fridge has gone flat.

Darwin’s waterfront development had a stroke of the Docklands about it. Right on the harbour, the main restaurant area appeared to offer little more than ridiculously overpriced food-court fare, the neon yellow deep fried tidbits glowing radioactively under the fluorescents. A perfectly balmly night, the wharf cried out for a jug of sangria, some coastal peasant fare, light banter, and a surfeit of dangly earrings swinging from tanned lobes.

Perhaps my expectations were heightened after days without a shower block, and time spent calling every camp ground in Darwin trying to find a powered site.  We gave up and drove to the campground with Darwin’s last tent site. The campground was enormous, and upon closer inspection, appeared largely inhabited by permanents. Charging the most we have ever paid to rent a piece of grass, the owners took an entrepeneurial approach to satisfying our energy requirement. Magically discovering an extra powered site they didnt have earlier, they directed us to a spot behind the toilets, motioning to set up there and plug into the toilet block. Thankfully, the affable resident in the nearest canvas structure had the requisite 100 metre extension cord so we could reach along the building, up the wall, and through a cavity into the powerpoint in the laundry.

Buley Rockhole: multiple spots for refreshment

Litchfield is only 130km from Darwin, and a wonderful alternative to Kakadu. All the beauty and wonder of its more popular sister, but all the better for its more rugged exterior, the 4WD camping weeding out anyone in possession of a generator. Waterhole upon waterhole beckoned, monitor lizards scowled at the edge, and I simply did not want to leave. That is, until tiny bitey black slugs attached themselves to my person, as I swam in the Avatar style pools. It was all I could do to get the leech scene from the movie Stand by Me out of my head. A snake whistled by, and I levitated.

Greenants. Best left out of your hair.

As two full days drew to a close, we had one last place to discover. Tjaynera Falls at Sandy Creek, fringed by paperbarks and palms beckoned from the end of a challenging 4WD track. Campground conversation warned against taking a trailer, or even the Prado down there, due to the depth of river crossings. Undeterred, we drew up to the first crossing where seven vehicles had stopped, and a clutch of sleeve tattooed men in boardies and singlets stood at the top discussing the approach options. A shirtless young guy cast off his flop flops, and stubbie aloft, waded past the crocodile warning sign, to find the deepest spot for the benefit of the clutch. Silence fell, a flurry of nylon, and all bounded for their vehicles to be first over the lip.

Intrepid

I don’t care how stuck we get. I’m not leaving the vehicle.

Bourke St

When the headcount at the Falls made 20, we gathered ourselves and made for the car. It was lunchtime, and we would make Lake Argyle by sundown.


Kakadu North

Seed pods, Merl Campground, Kakadu

Our time at Club Croc drew to a close, but we felt we had not plundered the full depth of Kakadu. We ventured North to the Merl campground where countless people told us we would be carried away by mosquitoes.

Palm seeds, post fire, Kakadu

Thundering along the road we heard a thump around the trailer. I was pretty certain no animal had met an untimely end so we concluded investigation would be in order. We paced around the trailer mystified, until I found a chain protected by heavy duty fabric dangling jauntily from the frame of the trailer. “What’s this for?”, I asked, swinging it around my finger. W said he hadn’t noticed it before. At about the same time we realised it was dangling from the spot where the spare tyre used to be, and 2 seconds later noted a black scrape on a corner of the trailer. Clearly suffering the same brain rattling experience I endured on the 4WD roads, the spare had made a bid for freedom, glancing off the metal case where the fridges live, and bouncing off into the underbrush. We immediately jumped in the car and retraced our steps, drawing to a halt at the point of ejection, behind a guy in a minivan beating a hasty retreat. We never recovered the tyre but were richer for the knowledge of where the wrapped safety chain should have been employed.

Ubirr rock plateau kakadu

Out of our remote camp ground we realised Kakadu is teeming with gorges and swimming holes filled to the waterline with backpackers, parents, and peeing youth conveyed via bus. Worse than Bondi on a filming day, all I could think about was the poor little freshwater crocs hiding at the bottom waiting for everyone to go home. I realised THIS was the Kakadon’t people talk about.

Undeterred, we took off up north where Kakadu borders Arnhem Land and an “All hands in the boat!!” cruise up the East Alligator River, allows you to appreciate the watchful golden eye of many a saltie at close range. At nearby Ubirr, rangers tell stories, and hundreds of people climb the nearby rock plateau in the movie footsteps of Crocodile Dundee who took Sue up there to show her ‘his territory’. Rounding off the day with a feast of unexpectedly fabulous authentic Thai food from the Border Store, we repaired to the campground to erect the tent just after sunset, when the mozzies were at their zenith.

Waving not drowning
East Alligator River, Kakadu/Arnhem Land

Emptying a can of pleasingly noxious flyspray into our sleeping quarters, I remained there until the inevitable odyssey to the ablutions block was upon me. Blithely wandering off into the dark without a torch, I spent 30 minutes circumnavigating the frustratingly organically planned campground. By the time I found our spot again, I had benefited from ribald snatches of german and french conversation as I passed, and lost the battle with mosquitoes the size of small birds.

Mamukala Wetlands Kakadu

The next morning, we squeezed in a trip to the Mamukala Wetlands, which I realise are what I have always thought Kakadu would look like everywhere. Swathes of water lillies and water birds were just too far away for me to get a great shot, but it certainly made me want to jump in a tinny and putt around.

Palm Seeds, Kakadu


Feel the Fear

I can thank Renner Springs for a blonde discovery. Turns out those iconic rural windmills are not just ornamental, they put them where the wind blows to pump water. Cue another flappity night of unsecured canvas, and crotchety camper inhabitants.

Natural hot springs can be found about 110kms south of Katherine, just off the Stuart Highway. Choosing Mataranka, we picked our way around the bunch of people that make a career of finding public hot pools, clinging to the entry and exit steps, and giggling nervously about not being able to swim. Taking our place in the pool next to all the other sardines, we pretended not to hear blush-worthy conversation, fought the urge to stare at others body parts, and scowl at those amongst us Most Likely to Pee. I lasted about 1 second longer than W, threatening to transform the tranquility into a wave pool by fidgeting, for a grand total of 5 minutes. Hopes still high, we decided the much lower profile Bitter Springs was worth a visit. The brief summary of Bitter Springs in our tour guide ill-prepared us for our visit. Stepping into a narrow creek fringed by palms, the warm, crystal clear, deep teal, water slowly flowed, carrying us along with it. Small turtles slept on the exposed tree roots. A water monitor lazed warily on the bank. It was like that Theme Park water ride where you float around in a current on tubes, but without the screaming, garish tones, and fibreglass.

On the sterling recommendation of friends J and L, we booked one of the permit-only 4WD camp sites at Koolpin Gorge in Kakadu. Picking up the key to the gate, the ranger warned against swimming in the two pools nearest the camp, as saltwater crocodiles were known to inhabit them. The pools that ascended from these, linked by waterfalls, were not known to have any saltwater crocodiles in the house, due to the difficult access. I took it that the likelihood of actually seeing one was slim, and although the Rangers are careful not to condone swimming outside the hotel pool, taking a dip in one of the countless waterholes was business as usual.

We took one of the unmarked paths to the first croc-free pool, and boiling hot by the time we got there, popped into our own outdoor swimming arena. I’m a beach girl, and a confident swimmer, yet I’ve never developed the same love for fresh water; rivers, ponds or gorges. As I doggie paddled my way from one end to the other I observed that I wasn’t really enjoying it, and in fact, may have found my kryptonite. The black below me, silence around me (once W stopped thrashing), and my over-fertile imagination conjured up scenarios at odds with the sparkling surface fringed by perfect palms.

 

In standard operating mode we spent a full six minutes out of the water before eyeing off the climb to the next pool (to the right of this picture). Recalling a great summer holiday 20 years ago at Anakiwa Outward Bound with my cousin and her instructor hubby R, I channelled R’s calm and encouraging tones as I grabbed for foot and hand-holds. I found myself flat against the rock face, with a single finger wedged in a crack above me, and both feet below me claiming ownership to two small ledges via my big toes. Stuck. My right leg independently started a sewing-machine-like action, and from somewhere within, sobbing ensued. W offered a knee to stand on and once foot was transferred added, “You have to move, I cant hold you there forever” and other useful things like “Focus. You’re being silly.” Once the shrieking had subsided, I recommended he never volunteers to talk someone down from a ledge.

The next morning we decided to tackle the gnarly looking unmarked ridge to the upper pools. The view back to the camp and along the pools was stunning. To the left, the croc pools, and immediately underneath, the first pool we swam in. I looked a little closer. In the middle of the pool was a crocodile spread out like a starfish, sunning himself, and taking in the serenity. I cursed not bringing my long lens! The wide angle lens I had with me reduced the scene, and detail of the croc along with it, but I managed a Yeti quality snap all the same.

By the time we reached the pool, W hissed in exasperated tones “what are you doing back there? Get over here! You won’t get a good shot from there”. A gold beady eye at waterline caught W’s, and slipped under. We spent the next half an hour watching Colin the Croc’s progress trip around the pool, bubbles breaking the surface where we went in the day before, along the edge, and everywhere we swam. Spurred by fears that a family would lose a child if we did not report the sighting, we used the emergency phone at the campsite. One hour later a helicopter circled overhead. A couple of hours later, a Ranger appeared and concluded it was probably a ‘Freshie’, the shy and non-threatening Fresh Water Crocodile. Given that they were present IN MOST POOLS in Kakadu, he felt this was the most likely conclusion. Wishing I could turn back the clock to when I thought they existed only if you could see them, from a boat, I learned the Freshies are in most of the pools, just waiting for you to leave so they can do their own thang. Later that day, I went for another swim, in the highest pool I could climb to, and talked myself through a panic attack. I’m not brave all the time.


Freaky Food Award

Hot on the heels of the Zombie Cookie…

….I found myself staring at a tiramisu-flavoured (it WAS Melbourne after all) Puppy Cake. Bypassing the noodle-like quality of its coat, I felt the tongue and wet nose were podium material for this weeks Freaky Food Award.