Nourlangie and Jim Jim

We rose at 6.30 and the campsite was soon bustling with the sounds of stretchy yawns, the rustling of sleeping bags being stuffed, swags being rolled and general packing away. Debden had the fire going in seconds to heat up water for drinks and washing up. We made quick work of breakfast - cereal, raisin bread and juice for me. Before we knew it, we were loading up the truck to the sound of sizzling embers as Debden doused the coals with the dirty water, ensuring that it wasn't us starting any unplanned fires.

First glimpse of Nourlangie

We hit the road fast and powered onto the unsealed roads as soon as we could, the occasional dust storm from oncoming vehicles neither perturbing, nor slowing Debden in his steadfast desire to get out of the truck and into the open air. Traffic was fairly frequent as we were still driving through the more popular parts of Kakadu N.P. and we arrived at Nourlangie Rock to find a fair few cars and trucks parked up. However, as it is an open site, we were able to pick our own route around the place, which allowed Debden to skilfully avoid the crowds of tourists. I noticed though that quite a number of independent travellers latched on to our group as we went around, obviously impressed by Debden's knowledge and realising, as we already had, that he was both well-informed about and invested in the culture of the Aboriginal people.

Ancient teachings

The first thing that I learnt is that the Aboriginals refer to themselves simply as 'the people'. I guess 30,000 plus years of isolation does give you the impression that you are the only people around - living on a massive island surrounded by oceans will do that to people. The People were a nomadic culture, roaming vast tracts of land in order to hunt and gather available food depending on the seasons and the weather. Nourlangie, with its rock shelters and height above the surrounding forests, would be a place that was used during the rainy season. We learnt that the People had six different seasons, compared to our four - attaching significance to the subtle differences in conditions that allowed for different food sources to dominate. 

Namarrgon

The signal for them to move to Nourlangie would be the appearance of lightning bugs (actually a species of grasshopper) - the children of Namarrgon the Lightening God - which would always herald the arrival of the dry thunderstorms that preceded the beginning of the rains. Nourlangie became a favoured place, primarily due to the abundance and reliability of food. The shelter provided by the huge rocky overhangs and the ready supply of water tumbling from the rock face meant that they had everything they needed. No more, no less. Just water, food and shelter. This was a people living in harmony with the land, caring for it in a way that a green-fingered gardener may understand in our cultures today…but with encyclopaedic knowledge of, not only the flora and fauna, but also the terrain and its significant locations. Harvesting what was required, taking no more than could be used and always leaving enough for the crop to recover and supply their needs at the next visit. This idea of maintaining a balance is central to Aboriginal culture and something sadly lacking in our 'modern' society. One of the key reasons behind the devastating bush fires that periodically sweep parts of Australia is that the indigenous people have been encouraged (some say 'seduced', others 'forced') to adopt our ways of living - fixed homes, sedentary lifestyles, welfare state, shopping for food etc.. - meaning that these caretakers are no longer there to manage the natural dangers and prevent these conflagrations from getting started.

Mysterious messages, repainted over time...

Of course, one of the main reasons that thousands of visitors come to Nourlangie is to view the rock art - some estimated at 20,000 years old. Debden explained that the rock art was never intended for decoration or as a simple product of culture or creative expression. The pictures had a very specific purpose and could only be drawn by a few privileged elders in each aboriginal society. You must understand that our term 'aboriginal' is a catch-all phrase for many different, separate but connected groups, each having their own territories and ranges. While they share common features and, of course, ancestry, each group would respect the boundaries of their neighbours and permission would need to be sought for access to another group's territories, except during the occasional gatherings where local groups would come together to trade valuable commodities such as the ochre pigments used for painting. The elders from each group would use the paintings to teach the young men of the tribe important life skills and history. A painting would not be completed and then discussed - rather, it would be drawn in stages with vital knowledge passed on through traditional stories, expressing the essence and spirit of the skill being taught. Much as we teach practical skills in schools these days, after the imparting of the theoretical knowledge, the students and teacher would then go off and turn this knowledge into practical application, sometimes disappearing into the bush for days on end, while the requisite skills were honed. Then returning for the next stage and the next layer of the painting. I was intrigued to learn that the same painting would be re-used, time and time again, with the images traced over the top of the originals as succeeding generations of young men were schooled in the traditions of their group. The paintings are the only visible record of what is, essentially, a narrative culture. The use of myths and legends to retain and pass on cultural information is a common thread throughout the history of the world…but this ancient custom still survives today in the indigenous peoples of Australia and the desire to preserve and celebrate these customs is as strong now as at any time since the 'balanda' arrived and began helping themselves to aboriginal lands. As with so many of the corners of the world 'discovered' by our forebears, we have inflicted an horrific level of physical, cultural and moral violence upon a culture that, naively, expected us to share its civilised and egalitarian attitude to life. In many respects, one could say that the damage is irreversible and that the nomadic, custodian existence has been forever squashed by the endless march of consumerism and individualism. Aboriginal lands that have been 'returned' to the People or are co-managed as National Parks are mostly in the harsher, less-productive inland environments where they were forced to take refuge from invading settlers. The more fertile, coastal lands are conveniently forgotten about….but any move that helps to preserve the history and traditions of this, most-ancient of living cultures has got to be a step in the right direction. Talking to Australians, one can discern an undercurrent of guilt and responsibility…but still, there is no doubting that Aboriginals feel like outsiders in their own country and there is a long way to go before this feeling will be reversed.

The rock-art images were arresting and visually striking but I did feel un-enlightened by just seeing them. I felt a strong desire to immerse myself in Aboriginal culture and to have just one of these paintings explained, or to be taught the traditions associated with them by an old fella who had the authority to do so. The aboriginals are happy to re-produce these images on canvas for tourists to take away with them because that is all they are: images. The essential knowledge, the secrets of their culture and their successful relationship with then land, can only be divulged through the narrative tradition that goes with the paintings…and these are the preserve only of the People.

Forest...plus bushfire smoke...

St Andrew's spider - eight legs arranged into 4 pairs to
sit astride his cunningly designed web.

We continued on around and up the escarpment to a view point, looking over vast tracts, endless acres of dry forest - treetops spreading like an endless ocean towards the horizons, interrupted only by the craggy outcrops of rock that have their own spiritual and historical significance to the peoples that have used these lands for twenty centuries and more. On our way back down, Debden kept up a constant commentary on the local flora and fauna, introducing us to the 'Walking Tree', pointing out the few bright splashes of colour in the muted greens and browns of the bush and the striking pose and incredibly-engineered constructions of the St. Andrew's spider - so-called for it's Saltire-resembling pose with a central design that contains elastic properties (produced by thick, fuzzy coils, tensioned by the spider's legs), thus allowing it to catch and contain far-larger prey until the owner has a chance to inject his anaesthetising venom.

Billabong - sans croc

Back onboard, we took a short trip down to a local billabong for a spot of lunch. According to Debden, he'd seen crocs here only the previous week and there was a ripple of excitement through the group, as we considered the necessity for caution whilst wandering the long-grassed margins of the water. John was the only person to spot a croc, basking at the water's edge and even had a photo to prove it….but by the time we all arrived, the crafty old fella was long gone - most likely watching us from under a lily pad, biding his time for one of us to get stupid!

It was time to buckle up and move on to our next destination: Jim Jim falls. Unjim is the Aboriginal name for the pandana palm and doubling-up of any word simply means that there are many of them. Therefore Jim Jim Falls take their name from the preponderance of these palms. On our way, Debden explained the significance of the South Alligator River system, into which the Jim Jim Creek flowed, as the only complete river system to be protected throughout the whole of Australia. This meaning that there was no agriculture or development in the catchment area, nor along the whole length of the actual river, nor in the tidal estuary, nor the coastal area into which it emptied. This high level of protection had ensured the thriving of indigenous species and promoted a vast bio-diversity, not to be found in any other part of Australia - and it also meant the possibility of crocs (both salties and freshies) all the way up to the base of the first cascades. There were very strict guidelines about where we were allowed to walk and swim and we needed to remain vigilant at all times.

The road into the Falls was by far the roughest we had seen yet and included the fording of a river that, in the wet season, would have completely submerged our truck with a few metres to spare. The road and this whole area are only open for a few months each year and even then, you need to have some serious wheels and a lot of cojones to use them. Debden guided us through the narrow track with well-practised ease, gliding past the enclosing trees and branches nonchalantly, even though they were, at times, only inches from the windows. Great ruts, pot holes, dry river-beds and sudden crests and drops were negotiated at a pretty relentless pace and, although it was far from comfortable, we all wedged ourselves in and enjoyed the ride. We tumbled out of the truck at the parking area, nursing a few banged elbows and heads and stretching out the stiffness of holding oneself in a seat more akin to a bucking bronco than place of repose.

JimJim Creek 

Water-smoothed rocks and pandana palms (Jim Jim in the local aboriginal dialect)

Honey-coloured rocks reflected

We then took a precarious hike across the huge, unstable boulders and vicious, hungry crevices of a dry river bed that would be full of churning, frothing water for several months of the year. Eventually we came upon the shallow waters of the remaining river and soon our river bed began to form the base of a deep, vertically-sided canyon, carved from the same ancient red rock that had dominated my Australian experiences to date. The still waters provided a perfect reflection of the walls above and the warming effects of the late-afternoon sun made this sheltered spot a very pleasant place to be. Approaching the plunge pools of the the fall, great white sandy beaches had formed - the pounded remnants of once enormous rocks and boulders that had tumbled long ago into the racing waters, to be ground back into the dust from which they had been originally formed. The falls themselves were a very unprepossessing trickle - barely a mist in places - dwarfed by the massive scale of the landscape they had created. I found a pleasant little spot for a swim, although the water was pretty chilly and I was soon sat on the beach, with my shirt drying on a tree, while I soaked up the warmth of the sun on my pasty chest. I was surprised to see just how brown my legs had become in the 10 days that I had been in Oz and had to double-check that it wasn't just engrained dirt from my time in Karijini. After an hour or two enjoying the nothing but the sound of the falls and the local birdlife, it was time to rejoin the group and head back up the track to the night's campground.

The view from 'my' beach

What's left of the falls in the Dry - not much to see!

Rather large rocks

Stratification 

Evening approaching

Once again we were in swags and I made sure to place mine well away from the rest to ensure the continued good-will of my fellow travellers. I then made an impulse decision to have a shower and shave before dinner, forgetting how quickly the light faded - and how utterly pitch black nightfall is in this isolated place. Entering the shower block in semi-dusk, I emerged into inky blackness and realised that, unlike the previous night, I hadn't marked the specific location of my swag amongst the scrubby bush beyond the camping area. I spent several minutes wandering around in dark, searching for my bed, looking to my compadres like a lost gloworm. Eventually, however, I found it and made sure I knew exactly where it was to return to when the time came.

Dinner was a little more subdued this evening - there were a few tired punters and we were all fascinated with the stars, which had yet to be spoilt by the rising moon. Debden did the hard-sell on an early start the following morning, suggesting that we undertake the hike to the top of Twin Falls, best accomplished in the early morning, before the sun got too high in the sky. He needn't have tried so hard though, as everybody readily agreed to a 6:15 departure, necessitating a half-five reveilles. John, I think, was a little concerned about the gradient on the climb but was more than happy to join us to the base and then see how he went on. With the prospect of this early start, everyone was more than ready to turn in before 9pm. I read for a while by torchlight and then rolled over to stare at the skies until I nodded off, soundly in slumberland until my alarm brought me round.