This blog was a journal on my first solo-trip, travelling around South-East Asia and Malawi in Africa. Now I'm based in Turkey with new stories and places to share.
Well, from a sunny Brisbane, it was disappointing to see clouds and rainy squalls on my arrival at Hamilton Island airport. The landing was pretty bumpy due to (as I later found out) the necessity of having to catch a braking cable to stop the plane before the end of the short runway. We then had to walk the short distance into the terminal building, getting steadily pissed on by a light, warm rain, which was surprisingly effective at soaking my bags and clothes. My luggage came quickly and, as a result, I was able to catch an earlier ferry than planned for, speeding across slightly bumpy seas for Abel Point Marina just outside the town of Airlie Beach. I took a slightly circuitous and hilly route into town on foot, getting another soaking from the clouds being hurried along briskly by a stiff breeze, and arrived at Nomads Caravan and Camping park, slightly damp, slightly sweaty and slightly tired.
A bright and breezy Ash checked me in and gave me the lowdown on places to eat, drink and shop. At 10 dollars a night, the camping here was by far the cheapest I'd come across in Australia and I was more than happy with a flat pitch with plenty of grass and soft earth for pegging and about 20 metres from the toilet / shower block. I found my bearings by taking a walk down the main strip to find the supermarket and check out the day trip options on offer in the multitude of travel agents and backpacker hostels. Back at Nomads, I had a good chat with Ash and took some brochures for boat trips amongst the islands and out to the Great Barrier Reef. I had a quick phone call with my friend Dave (one of my best friends back home, who had moved out to Australia over 2 years ago to try a new lifestyle and to be with his Melbourne-based girlfriend, Danielle) about which tours and trips he'd like to do and we both felt the excitement of anticipation ahead of our reunion the following day. When I was travelling in Asia back in 2004, Dave had come to join me in Thailand at Christmas time and it was great to be meeting him on my travels again…the circle being completed once more. We agreed to book a boat trip on the 'Mantaray' to do some diving around Hook Island and visit the world-famous Whitehaven Beach.
Admin sorted, I made my way to 'The Shed', which is the open-air bar for the Nomads resort. I sat and used the wifi to do a little blogging and drank a couple of schooners of beer (mostly unappetising pish, I'm sorry to report) and got talking to the English bar-manager, Olly. Olly was well-travelled and interesting to chat to - urbane and entertaining, but also self-effacing and well-informed. For the second time in 24 hours, I felt a rapport with a complete stranger and I decided I'd have to make sure we got more chance to chat over the coming days. He was mostly positive about his many travel experiences and we chatted with enthusiasm about some of the places we'd both been to, including Kathmandu where he had worked for a voluntary organisation, much as I had. He spoke too, with frustration, of his growing ennui with the 'anything goes' backpackers that were beginning to dominate the travelling scene in Australia, desperate to find any way they could to save a few dollars, including swindling, defrauding and even stealing from fellow travellers. He was soon to be returning to Melbourne where he'd been living, en route to Blighty to see family and friends and I could sense that he'd had enough and was ready to move on. He also talked about future travel plans and of the friends (including many close ones) that he had made all over the world. Some people just need to keep moving , not from a lack of commitment or attention span but purely from a desire to soak up new cultures, alternative interpretations of life and to see the world from many perspectives, rather than one. Olly was / is very much a traveller…I still can't make up my mind about myself. I feel the pull of home very strongly sometimes - a need to be with people that I love and who love me…but the thought of not continuing to explore our planet does not sit well with me and I'm going to have to find a way to satisfy both these urges if I'm going to be happy in life. Olly's parting shot was a warning to look after my stuff as a few things had gone walkies over his time there. He had, that very evening, found a t-shirt of his, that had disappeared from the laundry room, in a pile of someone else's clothes! Duly forewarned, I resolved to look after my stuff carefully and was already feeling pleased with myself for padlocking the zips on my tent and carrying my various electronics around with me in a daypack.
After a long day and little sleep (don't forget the overnight flight), I allowed myself the luxury of another meal out, opting for the cheapness of the 13 dollar meal + pint deal at the neighbouring Down Under bar. The clientele made me feel fairly old, as well as reminding me of Uni days, as there was an Incredible Hulk Party going on for someone's birthday. A couple of dozen lads and lasses in bright green body paint and torn clothing was pretty amusing although I recollect a friend's bath still having green stains from my costume some three years down the road. I wouldn't want to have been cleaning the rooms or the bedsheets of these guys. I headed back to the safety of the Shed, only to be made to feel even older by a 21st Birthday party - this time populated with Smurfs! I decided that I'd cut my losses and headed to bed, cuddled up to my backpacks (yep, no car again so everything was back to being under canvas with me) and oblivious to the nocturnal activities of my mammalian and avian neighbours.
Our pre-dawn wake-up call and a rushed breakfast left everyone a little shell-shocked and on the quiet side. Nobody was nearly as subdued as Marten and Amelia though, who had unfortunately slept in and were very near to missing the truck. Debden had promised us the previous evening that he would be quite happy to leave anyone there for a lazy morning round the camp (the truck would be returning the same way en route to Darwin so they could have jumped in then)…but this hadn't been the Swedes' intention - they had genuinely slept in. Without even a breakfast in their bellies, it was going to be a long morning for those two.
The journey to Twin Falls was every bit as 'interesting' as the bumpy ride to Jim Jim the previous day…but this time, we were driving in near darkness and Debden's skills were even more severely tested. Later, once the sun had come up, we even had to ford a river that would, no doubt, contain crocodiles.
Naturally, he was unfazed by this and seemed eager to get to our destination as quickly as possible - as he later let on, it had been over 4 years since he'd had a group that was willing to undertake the hike (most preferring a lie-in and a gentler morning, before boarding the boat that ferries travellers from the croc-prone creek to the safety zone above the first falls). I could see how much this state of affairs pained him so it felt good to allow him to join the fray once again.
Morning sun catching the rocks on the Twin Falls plateau
Looking back across the National Park towards Nourlangie (straight between the two escarpments)
The hike was pretty rough: a lot of unstable boulders and overhanging brush, combined with the steep ascent and the growing heat of the sun to give us all a healthy glow by the time we reached the top. The views down into the gorge were spectacular and there were some picturesque little pools and rock formations up on the plateau, although I didn't feel inclined to take a swim, preferring instead to lean back in a natural rock seat, enjoying the views, the sound of tumbling water and the otherwise peaceful surroundings. When the rest of the gang came back, I got someone to take a photo of me standing on a rock spire that had started to cleave away from the rest of the cliff top. Sometime in the next hundred years, it was clearly going to tumble down into the gorge, to be pounded into tiny pieces and returned to the ocean to form new strata and, eventually, new rocks. As soon as my photo had been snapped, I realised that the little hop onto the spire had now become a slightly more formidable leap back up onto the cliff face. Before I had time to panic about it, I simply threw myself up and forward, deliberately landing on my knee in ungainly fashion, rather than trying to make the hero-leap to land on my feet. One slip on that jump would, at the least, have led to a scary scrabble to drag myself up or, at worst, an unpleasant plunge into the crack between spire and cliff-face, probably ending in my being jammed in the gap or, worse, serious injury. Debden and I exchanged a look that said "Phew!" and he was quick to suggest that nobody else should be trying to get the same photo.
Debden leads the way across the dried-up falls
Imagine the force and volume of water that carves this up...
Beautiful tones and silhouettes
Tom, Nengs, Lieke, Inge and Jasmin peering over the edge of Twin Falls
The rock spire
Foolhardy chap sits on rock spire...
The hike back down was a lot warmer and it was a relief to get into the shady recesses of the gorge, where we boarded the ferry boat for the short trip up the sun-dappled water. Our boat guide pointed out various signs of animal life, including croc- tracks and freshwater turtle signs. He directed our attention to some rather large fish and made a joke that my brother, Don, would have been proud of. He was explaining the habits of the barramundi - a fish that changes sex halfway through its lifecycle and lives in both salt and fresh water. The Aussies have a habit of shortening the names of all people / things and the barramundi is often referred to just as 'barra'. He explained that there are seven varieties of barra: barramundi, barrtuesday, barrawed…. :-D which drew a wry smile and a chuckle from most of us.
Once disembarked from the boat, we trekked through more bouldery scenery and out onto a floating walkway, which only resided in the water during the dry season - being broken into parts and helicoptered out onto the plateau during the rains. The Twin Falls had a little more water flowing than Jim Jim had the previous day and there was the same sandy beach and large swimming hole, although again, I chose to find somewhere peaceful to sit and contemplate the gorgeous honey-toned rock and enjoy the serenity and sense of ancient mystery.
Are we all clear on this?
Inviting but deadly Twin Falls Creek
Twin Falls
We returned to the truck and crossed back over the river before enjoying our final meal before the marathon journey back to Darwin. We were at our furthest distance from the city, in the very heart of Kakadu N.P. and there were over 100km of unsealed roads and as much again on tarmac to negotiate before getting back in to the city. I had a busy evening ahead of me (laundry, packing, flights) so decided to get a little shut-eye on the way back. We stopped a couple of times for toilet and drink breaks and rocked back up on Mitchell Street just after 6:00pm.
I spent a couple of useful hours washing clothes and repacking my bags in preparation for my flight to Queensland. A helpful European-sounding chap kindly watched my bag while I went off to get a shower. After freshening up, I went with my bags to the shuttle bus terminal and bumped into my erstwhile friend again there, where I discovered that we were both going to be heading to the airport at the same time at 11:15. There was an easy rapport between us and, on the spur of the moment, we agreed to go for a meal together and have a few drinks. It wasn't like breaking into a group of people drinking at a bar and it allowed for the pleasure of some company whilst eating and drinking - usually preferable to eating alone. I had had a growing curry urge throughout my trip to Kakadu (don't ask me why!) and I enjoyed a delicious Chicken Malabar with garlic naan, at Garam Masala on Mitchell Street. Michael was from Germany and was returning to Australia for some work and travel, having travelled here previously back in 2008. He was going to be based in Melbourne and, after a pleasant couple of hours chewing the fat, we exchanged phone numbers and agreed to catch up on my way through there in a couple of weeks time.
When I arrived at the airport, I found a frighteningly long queue to check in for Jetstar flights. I could see instantly why they'd got a name for themselves as the Ryanair of Australia, cutting corners to save money and provide a true 'no-frills' service. Eventually, after a sphincter-tightening wait, my flight was given priority for check-in and I made it through security just in time for boarding - with the added bonus that my 27kg bag (7kg overweight) was allowed through without charge - probably because the added time involved in charging me would probably have delayed others checking in and, ultimately, the flight taking off on time.
The 3hr 40min 'hop' to Brisbane passed uneventfully, although the time alone should serve as a reminder of the sheer size of Australia. Flying from London to Istanbul (pretty much the Western to Eastern extremes of the continent of Europe) takes four hours…I was flying across less than half the width of Australia in about the same time! We landed in Brisbane at 5:30am, where I had a 6 hour wait before my flight to Hamilton Island. This, of course, left me plenty of time to catch up on blogging and connecting with the universe via the media of free wifi and Facebook.
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.
I finally woke up after my alarm had gone off the fourth time (every 5 minutes), thus ensuring my enduring popularity with my three room-mates. Starved of sleep and still with plenty to do (breakfast, repacking bags, withdrawing cash) before my tour pick-up, I sprang stealthily, panther-like, into action…precipitating the kind of sound one might expect from the demolition of the Eiffel Tower. The squealing, tortured-metal protestations of my bunk easily outshone the laboured air-con unit and made sure that all of my roomies were wide-wide-awake at 5.45am. The racket continued for a further minute as I removed boots and phone-charger into the corridor, followed by three bags and bedding from the metal torture-device…and it was no surprise to see all three disgruntled chaps stomp out of the room in fairly quick succession to answer nature's call, while I was putting on socks and tying up my laces in the corridor. To be honest, if Lars Ulrich had played me out with a full, extemporised drum solo, I don't think I could have disturbed these guys any more. But there wasn't a great deal I could do about it.
I made a breakfast of porridge, discovered on reading my e-mails that my prepay card had finally been credited and was thus able to withdraw cash and purchase internet time to upload blog entries.
At 6:45, I wandered two doors down to the Adventure Tours office and loitered with intent along with a couple of other guys, who were also joining the same trip as me. Shortly, a truck pulled up, which was basically like a 7 tonne light-goods vehicle from the front, but with a double cab, high ground clearance and the load area basically converted into a minibus with windows and coach seats. There were various compartments under the seats and a luggage loadspace at the back…and this 4WD drive beast was to be our transport for the next few days.
I found a space in the second cab, joined by a rather garrulous 50-odd-year old Canadian, called John. When I say garrulous, what I meant of course is that John talked a lot. Almost like a nervous tick, a lot. On finding out he was in IT back home, I came to an early conclusion that he didn't get much chance to talk at work and so saved it all up for holidays. Later on, I decided that he just allowed whatever was in his mind to come out, free-flow. And I realised after a bit that this didn't require listening or responding to…which came as a great relief! He had a heart of gold, was very helpful and would have been hurt to be told that he talked too much…but after a week of travelling independently, I found that first morning sharing the back seat of the truck a little wearing, to say the least.
Our guide, Debden, was the complete antithesis of John. Laconic, laid-back, a man of few words - and yet, highly knowledgeable about the locality and its flora and fauna. He was a Kiwi, who had settled in Darwin almost 15 years ago and had been working with Adventure Tours for the past 14. I could tell within 5 minutes of his terse commentary, that we had landed on our feet with this guy and I knew that I was going to love the tour.
We drove due south of Darwin towards Litchfield National Park. Interested in learning about what Debden was telling us, I managed to fight off the urge to sleep and listened while he explained the history of the local human geography. How Darwin had grown with the expansion of the mining industry, recovering both from Japanese bombing in WWII and a Force 5 cyclone in 1974 to become the modern city today with a population of about 130,000. Vast tracts of industrial and light-industrial land had replaced the bush surrounding the city in Debden's time here and you could hear his regret and love for the land in the simple, honest way he told us of the coming of the Roadtrains and mining companies. The most noticeable impact - as felt by everybody in our vehicle - were the exorbitant prices for everything, brought about by the massive inflation that accompanies imported, overpaid workforces the world over. I'd seen similar disparities between local and expat earnings in places like Cambodia and Nepal before and the problems it brought, such as locals struggling to afford basic goods and equipment. This same issue was affecting Debden, not to mention the whole tourist trade in Darwin, which was half the size it had been a decade previously - money-conscious backpackers voting with their feet and heading to cheaper destinations.
The environmental damage caused by the expansion of mining activities and the concomitant support services were also themes that Debden informed us about - including his outrage that Darwin was the only city where road trains were able to come all the way into the city (elsewhere they are broken down into normal one or two trailer loads), which had resulted in several nasty accidents, including two fatal, in the last two years. Darwin Airport is also the only airport in Oz that allows flights 24/7 - obviously a great convenience for mine owners, shipping in skilled staff from anywhere in the world…but not so good for the ozone layer hole, steadily growing above Australia, nor the local birdlife in this bio-diverse corner of the world.
The dead centre of the Northern Territory?
A fairly decent sized dwelling
Battlements
We stopped to take a closer look at the Magnetic Termite mounds that dotted the bush like a graveyard alongside the main road - I had no idea that they were found in Australia but I did know that their orientation was to do with temperature control, allowing them to absorb warmth on only one side during the morning and late afternoon, but absorbing minimal heat in the midday sun, as they presented their narrowest side to this harsher radiation. Debden explained that we weren't scheduled to stop by the highway like this as there was an official Magnetic Termite viewing site at the National Park…but that you were fenced off from the actual mounds and that there would be loads of other people there too. No chance to get up close to see the construction or feel the rough texture of the mounds. This only confirmed my belief that Debden was the kind of guide everybody wants - the kind that knows where the best stuff is and is prepared to change the programme to get to it.
Evidence of a recent managed burn
On the way back to the truck, he pointed out evidence of managed burning, deliberately started by rangers (majority of aboriginal backgrounds) at the start of the dry season to reduce the amount of tinder-dry material lying around by the time lightning season comes at the end of the Dry. This ancient technique of land management has been practiced by Aborigines for centuries but, with the move into towns and cities, valuable knowledge of such skills had been lost. Only in recent decades had the old practice been brought back, leading to a huge reduction in the number of out-of-control wildfires within National Parks. Unfortunately, as Debden pointed out, most other landowners (eg. cattle ranchers) did not practise the technique, leading to huge destruction in land around the National Parks and, occasionally, fires leaping over the boundaries and damaging the parks. Back in the truck, Debden stowed the microphone and I allowed myself to drift off until we reached our morning's destination - as much from exhaustion as to avoid listening to John witter on.
Cathedral termite mound
We did stop again to get some close-ups of the enormous Cathedral termite mounds and, bounding off through the bush, I finally spotted my first live marsupial - a wallaby, rather than a kangaroo. It made a pleasant change from all the furry corpses I'd seen by the roadside up until this point…and, now that the hire car was safely returned, I hoped to see many more.
We pulled up at a place called Florence Creek and Debden explained that a short walk would bring us out to a series of small cascades and swimming holes, which would continue downstream for about 1.5km, ending in Florence Falls, a spectacular 15metre-high double falls, with a deep plunge pool. He told us to take swimmers, sun lotion and water and arranged to meet us at the picnic grounds at the bottom in three hours time for lunch. Perfect…now this really was my kind of tour, being left to our own devices where possible.
Swimming time
A shady spot
Florence falls from the lookout...
...and from the plunge pool
I headed off to find some peace and quiet in the warm, late-morning sun but soon found that I had a tag-along…yes, you've guessed it, John. I didn't get much peace and quiet, although I did have a very pleasant couple of hours, moving slowly downstream diving, bombing and swimming in pools of various depths and sizes. They were all full of the same beautiful, crystal-clear (and relatively warm) water and equally bathed in warm sunshine. John kindly took some photos of me in the water with his underwater camera, promising to send them on to me if I gave him my e-mail address. I'm not sure the German girls in their bikinis (part of our group) appreciated the offer or the photos quite so much but John had a little transatlantic rhino-hide quality to him and, sure that he was entirely innocent, I'd have to put his lack of awareness down to minor social ineptness.
As we neared the bottom, I have to admit to ditching him as I couldn't bear to stop and look at another inconsequential oddity that he'd noticed in the bush by the path. I pleaded a need for shade and continued walking while he stopped to peer at some unfamiliar plant or insect. Shortly afterwards I arrived at the picnic spot, well ahead of schedule and found a nice shady rock out in the stream to perch myself on and be surrounded by the merry, gurgling burbling of the water and the soft whisperings of the trees in the gentle breeze. Twenty minutes of this was enough to restore my equilibrium and cool down, so I continued on down to Florence Falls, had a swim in the plunge pool, which was a little cooler than the upper pools and then took the Shady Creek walk back up the hill. This alternative return route instantaneously brought rewards when a loud screeching directed my attention to a bunch of fruit bats roosting in a tree by the path. They were far bigger than I'd imagined - probably the size of a kitten let's say - and their wingspans were a good 2-2.5 feet across. The path continued to bring pleasant surprises, including a range of butterflies and birds that Darwin would have had difficulty in cataloguing. I arrived back at the picnic spot in perfect time to get stuck into barbecued hotdogs and salad. So far it had been an excellent day.
Don't be scared...I don't bite...honest!
Shady Creek
Debden (left) with the first barbecue meal of many :-)
Back in the truck,. we drove on to the Corroboree Billabong, part of the Mary River system. Here in Australia, rivers are not simple, linear entities with regular flow and predictable positions, as one is used to in Europe. In the wet season they become raging torrents, widespread deltas and, basically, floods over extremely wide areas. So 'river system' is how the vast area affected by this seasonal, fluvial activity is known. A billabong is a body of non-flowing water that has become disconnected from the main body of the river when the wet season water levels have dropped. Over the course of the dry season, this water will shrink due to seepage and evaporation, concentrating all manner of wildlife into a smaller and smaller area, united by the universal need for water. And, of course, where life concentrates, predators gather. Specifically, crocodiles!
We were given a tour of the billabong by Jim in a covered skiff and we were treated to an enormous variety of birdlife. But there wasn't a single one of us aboard that didn't thrill at the merest hint of a croc, of which we saw five of the saltwater variety and one 'freshie'. The salties are not, as their name suggests, to be found only in saltwater. In fact, due to an ability to purge excess salt from their system, they are able to survive in saline water, but are just as at home in fresh water. The freshwater crocs, on the other hand, are limited solely to non-tidal rivers and streams and freshwater lakes. At this time of year, most of the crocs were pretty lethargic - sitting in the sun, in order to build their body temperatures up to operating speed, when they become a deadly predator. However, there was one fella lurking in the lotus water lilies and, judging by the size of his head, which was roughly the length of my arm, according to Jim he was probably in excess of 5m! As Jim explained, even smaller salties will attempt to take chunks out of anything that moves…having been at the top of the food chain for millions of years, in their tiny walnut-sized mind, anything that moves is automatically food. I could see everybody in the boat mentally moving crocodiles up past the snakes and spiders on the list of 'Things Most Likely to Kill me in Australia' inside their heads. I certainly did. Due to the changing nature of the waterways in the Northern Territories, it was clear that these archaic beasts could be found in almost any location near fresh or saltwater…and we would need to be vigilant in their back yard. The highlight of the non-crocodile fauna was definitely the jabiru - an enormous, bright-legged stork with beautiful iridescent blue plumage…but it was the crocs we were all talking about as we trooped back onto the truck for our final journey of the day.
Young Saltie - as evidenced by its lighter markings
Another, slightly older chap about 2.5m long
Getting bigger!
Lurking...
Now you see me, now you don't!
...and a harmless little Freshie
Plumed Whistler Ducks
Magpie Geese
Comb-crested Jacana - also known as the Jesus Bird for his apparent ability
to walk on water (lily pads!)
White-bellied Sea Eagle
Eastern Great Egret
Glossy Ibis
Darter - also known as Snake Head bird due to swimming mainly
submerged except for this snake-like head
Lotus lilies
Jabiru!
Our final destination was a campground about twenty minutes away and it was here that Debden informed us that we would be camping out under the stars using traditional Aussie swags. I was both delighted and annoyed with myself because I was keen to sleep in the great outdoors…but had left my Exped Synmat (the height of inflatable, portable, bedware) in Darwin, mistakenly thinking that we would be sleeping in camp cots in tents. My understanding of a swag was basically a divvy bag - a heavy-duty, canvas pocket in which one slept inside a sleeping bag. However, as I soon discovered, the swag also includes a foam rubber mattress…and the one in my swag was thick and comfortable. :-) Out of respect for my as-yet-unfamiliar tour buddies, I set up my swag a couple of hundred metres away from the campfire in a small clearing with uninterrupted views of the southern skies.
A Dutch girl called Lieke and I walked the short distance to the viewpoint to find that we'd just missed sunset, although there was still plenty of colour and light in the sky for a few good photos. We went back to the campfire where I took it upon myself to find out everyone's names and to introduce us all to each other. Considering the overwhelming number of British accents I'd heard in Darwin, I was surprised to find myself the only Brit out of our group of 11 (plus Debden making 12). There were three German girls: Jasmin and Annike (early twenties, at a guess), who were travelling together, who had good English but were shy of speaking it; and Inge (mid-twenties), who was travelling independently and was, by far, the chattiest member of the group (dare I say, after me!). There was a young Swedish couple Marten and Amelie (both 20); Nengs (from Hong Kong) and Tom (from South Korea) - a very sweet couple who had met whilst both working in Oz and who were on their final holiday there together before Tom had to return to Korea; Lieke, a tulip-heiress on a gap-year; Raphael, a Swiss architect; John and me. Everybody else was comfortably under thirty, apart from John and I, which I guess was why he had gravitated towards me, as his nearest peer. Everyone was very pleasant, although the two couples were inclined to being more insular (understandably) and the German girls tended to be most comfortable conversing with each other in their mother tongue. Raphael was very reticent, although perfectly interesting in conversation - perhaps someone who preferred his own company but had joined the tour for convenience's sake. So, the majority of the conversation was amongst Lieke, Inge, John and myself - with Debden keeping his hand in when not busy with dinner and logistical matters. Inge was the most entertaining and had a particularly non-Germanic sense of humour and a penchant for a beer or two. She had been studying in Sydney and was coming to the end of her year in Oz, making sure she went out with a bang before heading home via New Zealand.
After a long day and with another early start at 6:30am, we all went to bed shortly after 9, to enjoy a bit of star-gazing as we were surrounded by the millions of bright pin-pricks of light - and even treated to the faint, wispy glow of the Milky Way, before this was smothered by the bright glow of the full moon. With earplugs in, I slept like a log and knew nothing more until my alarm woke me (at the first time of asking) in the morning.
