Week 30 (16th - 22nd October)

Normanton is home to the “Savannah King”, a mammoth croc. A life sized replica sits outside the offices of the Carpentaria Shire Council. Measuring 8.63m (28ft 4inches) it is reputed to be the largest crocodile killed in modern times. It was shot by Krystina Pawloski, the first full time woman croc hunter in Australia in 1957 and makes Darwin’s “Sweetheart” (5.1m) look like a shrimp! George walked away shaking his head, unconvinced. Maybe it is simply the proportions of the model, the abnormally large head and gigantic feet that make it look unrealistic. Using the indirect methods of estimating the length of crocodiles George used while working on the Lugenda River (in Mozambique) the Normanton croc would work out to be 10.5m!

Replica of Krys outside offices of the local Shire - Normanton

Our next stop was the local library to use their internet facility. Yet again, we suffered frustration sending off two weeks of blog, this time returning to Getaway to load everything onto a disc to see if that would make a difference with the photos. Using a call box to confirm their arrival with Saxon we discovered all had been in vain. No matter, she was at bursting point at this contact to share Keith and Colleen’s momentous news of their baby due early April 2007. Our spirits rose three-fold, we stopped fretting about technology, resorted to posting the disc express to Perth, and retired to wallow in the caravan’s park Jacuzzi, fed by artesian water, while savouring the sheer joy of new lives to come, not only in Australia but South Africa too, six weeks apart. We are blessed.

Normanton is a bit of an anomaly as it was established in 1868 as an important port and yet it is 50km upriver from the Gulf and 70km by road. However, it has a railway line of great historical and technical importance (something that would greatly interest our only train buff friend Piet Smith in Durban). The Gulflander is a significant tourist attraction delivering mail between Normanton and Croydon. Affectionately known as the “Tin Hare” which tickled our fancy! As a result Lea wanted a ride but our timing is out as it leaves Normanton on a Wednesday. We enjoyed looking around the station, a classic example of Victorian architecture and seeing the Gulflander rail-motor parked within. Out in the 2006 prize-winning business garden we made the acquaintance with Gregory and Mrs Peck! Two tame brolga cranes that roam the station grounds.

After our visit to the station we called in at the Bakery before leaving Normanton. As we crossed the Norman River we could see some impressive waterholes and wetlands, full of wading birds, including Brolga and Black-necked Storks. Although we are making our way to Karumba we didn’t travel far as we were happy to spend the rest of the day in a bush camp beside Walker’s creek. We had pick of the sites and chose a prime spot above the river which proved to be an ideal viewing platform to watch a variety of herons (night heron included) stalking along the banks. At lunch time a Winnebago pulled in with a Canadian couple. Once they had ascertained we were staying overnight – they were happy to follow suit.

Unlike the rest areas in the other States and Territory covered we have been surprised to find Queensland’s rest areas in the northern outback poorly signposted and hardly conducive to stopping over for long. Taking a walk around Walker’s Creek in the evening we found its littered condition a dreadful indictment to fellow campers / picnickers and the local Shire. Although toilets had been provided the amount of faeces and toilet paper lying in the open was an embarrassment to us as Australians, especially with Canadian tourists in the bush camp. Despite being within an alcohol restricted area we came across beer cartons and piles of cans left without a care beside the bridge. Not to mention the VB and XXXX cans we have noticed growing wild along the Savannah Way in general.

Closing up Getaway in readiness for departure to Karumba we were amazed by the grey clouds gathering overhead. Even during our 40km journey our eyes were drawn upwards to this unexpected cloud movement after being so used to cloudless blue skies. On booking into the Karumba Point Sunset Caravan Park George commented on the cloudy day. The owner said it was most unusual so George couldn’t help asking whether it had anything to do with “cloud propagation”. Nonplussed! She thought fast before saying “do you mean the Morning Glory”? And with that she fetched a photo of this incredible natural phenomenon. Lea was called in and we finally learnt that the Morning Glory is a massively long, cylindrically-shaped cloud that forms inland and rolls towards the Gulf before breaking up at sea. It happens seasonally – normally at the start of spring although this year it happened in July. Her eye-witness account describes this rolling cloud roaring like a noisy train as it moves overhead, whips up dust and debris as it passes over the land and once over the water the sea becomes choppy. It sounded amazing and we feel better for not having gone to Burketown specially to see it, as its season had already passed.

The Morning Glory - propagating roll cloud

Finally, we look upon the Gulf of Carpentaria. Whew. It has been quite a journey! The flatness of the terrain means that one literally has to walk to the shore to see the massive stretch of flat water with a hint of green in colour. At least it is not muddy like the Cambridge Gulf or King Sound or so we thought! There are two parts to the little town. Karumba Point, where we are camped, faces onto the Gulf whereas the town itself is on the Norman River.
Ceremonial time for the sun took us straight from our camp over the fore-dune onto the sandy Point, only to find the tide out and the flats covered in mud. The sea was now rough and highly turbid, quite different from the morning. On the river side of the Point we found a string of fishers (men and women) as Karumba is another fishing heaven. They stand well back on the beach as on the opposite bank is a dense fringe of mangroves, ideal for salties.

Boat trailers and trucks rattling down to the boat ramp woke us at an unearthly hour. As a result of the fisherman’s dawn patrol we found ourselves backtracking to Normanton far earlier in the day than normal. From there we took the road to Croydon keeping our eyes peeled for The Gulflander returning to Normanton. At the critical moment Lea changed position in her seat when it flashed by, partly obscured by trees. Croydon, once the fourth largest town in Queensland, was full of the quaintest little buildings made of corrugated iron, a legacy of its gold-mining hey-day. Just out of town is Lake Belmont, water supply to Croydon. A gem of a place tucked in amongst some hills making it a perfect place for our lunch and a swim. After leaving Croydon the landscape changed noticeably from huge flat grasslands to more broken terrain covered in pure stands of Acacia. We thought we’d have one last bush camp in the Gulf savannah at Gilbert River rest area. If it wasn’t for our travel bible we would have no idea of this 48hr stop-over. No signage – just little dusty clearings that could easily be missed, as indeed we did.

In the early hours of the morning a far-carrying sound we’d not heard before broke the silence, giving Lea the creeps wondering what could have disturbed some birds at that time and tried to memorize the sound to tell George in the morning. However, he recognised the calls that came again at first light as that of Brolgas. Neither of us could begin to mimic what we had heard so we checked the bird book to see how the experts described it and came to the conclusion that we had heard cranes.

Passing through the little Outback communities, this time Georgetown and Mt Surprise, is like stepping back well in time. Even the main road reminded us of the days we used to travel on strip roads in Rhodesia as kids. Strange to come across it all these years later - almost as if the Outback has been forgotten or comes off second best. Mt Surprise was surprising! Just prior to entering Lea read out a sign Help Protect our Environment to which George muttered “What a stupid comment”! Following on from this sign were others …. Help Prevent the Spread of Weeds … for the sake of a minute’s delay you can help ….. By now we were most curious and there at the entrance to the village was a pull over directing us to a Wash-down Facility. We watched a truck first to see what to do. Lea leapt out to take a photo of Skiv and Getaway going through an automatic under-carriage spray. A first time for everything!

Wash-down facility outside Mt Surprise - to prevent spread of weeds

We had Undara Volcanic National Park as our next destination. We had no sooner read about it in a book than our hitch-hiker Ed furthered our interest. We found the Undara resort to have been skilfully developed, particularly in the way old railway carriages have been utilised for accommodation. Their long narrow form fitted into the corridors of the woodlands and obviated the need to cut down any trees. Six generations of Collins family have lived on this station, exploring the strange formations beneath their land before having it gazetted a National Park and scientists arrived to study the lava tubes. The only way of visiting the tubes is with a tour group led by the acclaimed Savannah Guides. Bookings recommended but we managed to get onto a two hour afternoon tour. We were fascinated to learn of 164 small volcanoes in this region. Undara volcano erupted violently about 190 000 years ago with its molten lava flowing quickly through low points of the landscape. The tubes formed as “the top outer layer cooled and formed a crust, the fiery magma below drained outwards leaving a series of long, dark, hollow tubes”.

The Archway at entrance to lava tube with rain forest in background - Undara

We gained access into two tubes in the area at one of the many places where ancient roof collapses have occurred. Using a network of board-walks to preserve this natural geological wonder we were shown the different lava level lines and the dangling roots of vegetation above us (in fact our bus had parked close to these trees). Walking down the dark tubes with the aid of our guide’s torchlight reminded us of our Tunnel Creek experience. Roosting in the many cracks and crevices were tiny Horseshoe Bats (small enough to fit into a matchbox) which in turn attract many creatures preying on each other. February is considered the best month to do a sunset tour as snakes hang from the branches of trees at the tube entrances where fertile pockets of rain forest have developed, waiting to grab the unsuspecting bats as they emerge for their nightly feeding.

Our evening in the van park was punctuated by a variety of bird calls, some not heard before and others a good while ago. Best was to hear the Laughing Kookaburra again. After dinner we walked down to the Evening Campfire held in front of dining area - a choice of eating outdoors or in carefully restored dining cars all under a domed roof replicating a railway station all looking out onto a campfire backed by the woodland. Free evening activities are held at this campfire by the Savannah Guides. This night it was a slide show on Undara fauna with a northern bettong (a small rat-like kangaroo) gate-crashing and stealing the show. Despite the big campfire we were cold! George insisted on having his “Skehely blankey” removed from storage.

Next morning we took the walk around the rim of the Kalkani crater - a scoria cone with panoramic views across the Undara Volcanic National Park. Delineated by the trees within it we could visibly see the path of the lava tube winding across the landscape. It is amazing to think that this is the longest flow (160km) from a single vent known anywhere in the world. Heading on east we arrived at Forty Mile Scrub National Park and took the short walk into this rare semi-evergreen vine thicket before having our lunch. A male Brush Turkey with his bright yellow wattle encircling his neck like a scarf joined us. We were put off spending the rest of the weekend here as it was so close to the “main” road (rough, steeply edged strip road) and the wretched road trains that we pushed on through Mt Garnet and Innot Hot Springs until we reached Archer Creek. A most attractive place and the first well maintained, signposted rest area we have come across in Queensland. We were happy to drop anchor for the weekend. With the foothills of the Great Divide approaching the evenings are much cooler and it is not only us that can feel the difference. We noticed the other campers here put on jumpers and long trousers.

STOP PRESS EDITION

*** STOP PRESS EDITION ***

Well we have just received news that we are not only going to have an Australian grandchild but an African grandchild too. Due April 2007 - Congratulations Colleen and Keith.

First trimester scan of baby Begg taken on 12th October.

Week 29 (9th - 15th October)

We are in the “woop-woop”! Since leaving Mataranka we have had no phone signal or lap top access. Our hopes that Borroloola, being an administrative centre with government offices, would enable us to send off our blog before heading towards the Queensland border were in vain. “A laid back atmosphere, colourful history, and stunning Gulf, make Borroloola an extraordinary community in the outback”. There is no doubt the atmosphere is laid back, there are plenty of empty beer cans strewn in the bushes. A visit to the pioneer museum housed in the old police station (established in 1886) portrayed a once lawless outpost full of weird and wonderful characters. We can’t verify the Gulf statement as we have yet to see it! Nevertheless, we impressed to find that the estuary is just as wide here, 90kms inland, as it was at King Ash Bay. Much further upstream the McArthur River Mine, sitting on 10% of the world’s zinc resources, is the life blood of the region. Much controversy presently surrounds the mine’s need to divert 5km of the river in order to access the richest of these deposits. As the Savannah Way now reverts to a dirt road we went to the police in an effort to ascertain its condition and have decided we are doing it. The reasons are we don’t have to cover the same ground twice when returning from Queensland, it’s 700km shorter and it’s more adventurous.

Route map

We were up earlier than usual to tackle the road. Ahead lay 600km of dirt road and river crossings. Taking it slowly over the bad stretches and enjoying the time granted to look around when the road permitted, the occasional Leichhardt trees reminded us that the route we were taking was almost identical to that taken by the explorer / botanist Ludwig Leichhardt in 1845. Lea began a traffic census but within an hour of leaving Borroloola had nothing more to record! The river crossings and the jump-ups gave us a change of scenery at regular intervals and at one point, with a minding eye for crocs, Lea waded through the river ahead of Skiv to get a photo.

Crossing the Robinson River

The Borroloola policeman had told us of a popular campsite at the Calvert River crossing. We made it there by lunchtime and so liked the spot it was easy to extend it into an overnight stay. That evening George went down to cast a line in Calvert and Lea followed once supper was ready. Just as she was trying to ease her way down a steep bank the sight of a metre long olive brown snake slithering away froze her in her tracks.

“Up with the parrots” we put a few hours of travel behind us before stopping for breakfast at the Queensland border. Just as well we didn’t count on staying at the Wollogorang Station on the Territory side of the border as it had ceased trading. Nevertheless the presence of cattle wandering throughout the bush were much in evidence – one section of the road was so heavily mined with glistening cow pats they were impossible to dodge. We recognised the Brahmans but wished we had Joe and Mona to identify the others. For our sanity we broke our journey into parts – breakfast at the border (80km); a break at Hell’s Gate roadhouse (50km, never found out why it is so named and were very tempted to stay in its camping ground); lunch at the Lawn Hill Station turn off (80km) where we were fortunate to find a billabong. The long, hot dusty road gave us an ever changing variety of conditions - one section as wide and smooth as a bush airstrip can be; others full of corrugations and stones; patches of bull-dust; steep descents into creek beds; even some unexpected small sections of bitumen. At the turn off to Lawn Hill Station, the road became nothing more than a farm track for over 100km and the signage at forks in the road left us with a lot of uncertainty. We found driving through Lawn Hill Station particularly interesting with its huge tracts of grassland, cattle (many with young calves) and mustering horses; one really beautiful, strong flowing creek with towering paper-bark trees and lots of wallabies bounding around. We’d loved to have camped there!

Our final destination was Adel’s Grove a campground situated 10km from the Boodjamulla National Park. A park we had never heard of yet comes highly rated. What a relief to reach Adel’s after a long day’s hard driving, to be free of rattling and shaking, and immediately go for a cool shower to rid ourselves of all the bull-dust and sweat. Adel’s Grove has an interesting history. It derives its name from Albert de Lestang, a French botanist commissioned by the government in 1930 to experiment with the growing of tropical trees and fruits. He developed his nursery alongside Lawn Hill creek and by 1939 had over 1000 different species of trees and shrubs from all over the world growing here. Sadly, in the 1950’s a fire destroyed his buildings, taking all his written records of the plants and their hybrids and a large percentage of his grove. This broke his spirit and he died in 1959. Hence this property is often known as “Frenchman’s Garden”.

Savannah Way links five World Heritage Sites, of which Boodjamulla National Park is one. Now, we have come to realise that, unlike Kakadu, only a small part of the park, Riversleigh, famous for its fossil deposits, is a World Heritage Area. Yet another 100km of dirt simply isn’t worth a visit there. Irritatingly, we also found in the same pamphlet that we had to pre-book a campsite in Boodjamulla National Park. A further determinant to remaining another night in Adel’s Grove was adding an unnecessary 20 kms to Getaway now that we had found two damaged drawers, missing screws, even the sink plug had come apart and a shelf inside the fridge door had been broken in half. Arriving in the Park we found two sets of campers, that is all! The requirement to pre-book in October seemed unfair.

After yesterday’s confinement our day visit to it the Park stretched our limbs and gave our hearts a good pounding walking several of the trails available and swimming in the creek. George was delighted to find “tufa formations” to show Lea. He had first seen them in the NT’s Flora Nature Reserve which we had been unable to visit thanks to the fridge! Here were some unexpected examples in this park. Tufa is a porous rock comprised primarily of calcium carbonate that forms small delicate “dams” across rivers, building up in much the same way as coral does in the sea.

Tufa forming the Indarri Falls (created from calcium carbonate rich water)

Although we are glad to have seen the Boodjamulla National Park, and it is spectacular in its own right, we have seen such similar sights in the Northern Territory that we felt a little disappointed. Particularly for Lea as we by-passed Burketown to come down here and she has missed “The Morning Glory”. The latter is something that has intrigued her ever since reading about it. Supposedly a spectacular “propagating roll cloud” and one of the world’s most exotic and interesting meteorological phenomenon. Strangely, we have not had a cloud in the sky until arriving in the Burketown region. Are they propagating clouds?

Friday the 13th is a day gremlins come out according to George! We left Adel’s Grove in some trepidation with 100km of dirt ahead of us. We rattled along with not another vehicle on the road for the first 50km until we reached the turn off to the Century Mine. Thereafter came warnings to be aware of road trains and ominous signs warning of hazardous dust appeared on the ultra-wide road. Grasslands almost like wheat-fields stretched to the horizon on either side of us and in the distance we’d see a white billow of smoke drifting; then it would change to ochre before erupting into red. By then we’d realise it was dust from an approaching vehicle, wind up our windows and almost come to a halt. In quick succession three massive road trains bore down on us and rumbled away leaving us engulfed in their bull-dust. It was a scenario twice repeated before reaching Gregory Downs.

Crossing the Gregory River into Gregory Downs we felt a measure of relief to have arrived unscathed. Glancing down from the bridge we noticed two caravans camped below and after seeing there was little else than a hotel and a store to Gregory Downs we returned to find a site of our own alongside the river. Perfect! A swift flowing river of clear water snaking its way through a wide pebbly river bed, lined by paper-barks and Pandanus, providing us with a week-end hideaway. Getaway was parked to maximise the solar panels as a result we required many dips to keep cool by day. During one of our swims we surprised a little wallaby quenching her thirst. She looked far too young to be a mother yet peeping out of her pouch was a joey. She didn’t dash off, just watched us curiously. The strong current made us wish we had noodles or a tyre - nevertheless we had lots of fun struggling upstream and floating down with it.

Our swimming hole on Gregory River

Birds surrounded us - a flock of crimson finch skipping around, the piercing call of whistling kites overhead to others we battled to identify even with our bird book. In the last of the evening light while waiting for wood on the fire to be reduced to coals, we washed down our rig, drawing buckets of water from the river, to get rid of all the dust. Other travellers continued pulling in, some arriving as late as 11.00pm!

Sad to leave Gregory River, however, curiosity to see around the next corner always gets the better of us. We had a selection of five rest areas for an overnight stay between Gregory Downs and Normanton (350km) but not one matched the standard we are accustomed to. The bitumen road constantly varied in width from single to double and the number of cattle lying dead alongside were extraordinary (44 en route). Black plumes of smoke could be seen ahead of us. It didn’t appear to be a bush fire prompting Lea to voice the hope it wasn’t our much needed fuel stop. By the time we reached the crossroads we were engulfed in smoke with scores of kites reeling above the flaming grass. Burke & Wills roadhouse was scarcely visible. Our fuel attendant, a Brighton back-packer, told us that the roadhouse had lit a fire that morning for rubbish and it had escaped. He mentioned it had been a fearful first hour with the sun blackened out followed by a strange golden glow. At least we had diesel to continue our journey to Normanton. By late afternoon we had a shady site in a caravan park and facilities to do our laundry. No mobile signal and we can only hope Normanton library internet will be able to send off two weeks of blog tomorrow.

Week 28 (2nd - 8th October)

Monday morning we moved into Katherine and phoned a number we had seen on the laundry wall advertising the servicing of vehicles. They could take Skiv within the hour. Going to the address, George was somewhat surprised to find himself in graveyard of cars. Amidst all the wrecks was a workshop with a most pleasant mechanic ready waiting to welcome Skiv into place. Having expected to wait for a couple of days for an appointment it was prompt attention, best price and personal service to date. This wrecker’s yard actually rebuild cars and fit in oil changes in between.

We decided we would only “shop up” as we pulled out of Katherine next day and being in such close proximity, chose the hot springs as a perfect location to relax and enjoy the soothing water for the afternoon. While here a month ago we stayed in the same spot chatting. On this visit we gently floated down the stream until it came to a weir, slithered over the crest and found ourselves in a mini-plunge pool of tiny effervescing bubbles before a strong current pushed us on downstream.

Eureka – the books for Lea are finally in her hands! They left England in late March and finally caught up with us in Katherine, six months later, after criss-crossing Australia a good few times. After singing the praises of the internet café we had discovered in Katherine on our first visit, this time round the server had collapsed and we had no alternative but to return to the nightmarish one at the Art Gallery to send off the blog. We hadn’t been able to send our photos from there successfully and it happened again. Frustrated and hot we set off down the Stuart Highway only to encounter a strong headwind slowing our progress along the 100 odd kms we had to travel.

Mataranka, land of the Never-Never – supposedly you reach this country and you never, never want to leave. Jeannie Gunn’s classic We of the Never Never tells the story of her arrival as a young bride to this harsh area and her experiences living on remote Elsey Station. Previously we had come to Mataranka’s thermal pool on a whistle-stop Easter weekend and now look forward to exploring this area. The little town of Mataranka proved worth stopping in. Not only were we able to send the photos easily, George was able to sample one of Kelly’s home made meat pies! We would never dream of going to buy a meat pie from a Mobil service station. Yet that is where we were directed for Kelly’s legendary pie. Since our first visit, Elsey National Park has opened up another section known as Bitter Springs. It was so close to the town it was worth going to peek and have our lunch there. The pie definitely proved good value for money in flavour and content and Bitter Springs was wonderful, so much so we spent the afternoon in the thermal waters. Elsey Station encompassed Bitter Springs and over a 100 years ago Jeannie Gunn described them as “a chain of clear crystal pools with emerald green mossy banks…”. We found the Springs lying within a tract of tropical swamp-forest predominantly made up of tall cabbage palms and paper-bark trees. The hot winds gusting at the time, rattling the palm fronds and sending the odd one crashing down only served to heighten our sense of arrival in this lush oasis. National Parks have left the Springs in a remarkably natural state by limiting the infrastructure to a circular path winding through the forest, a short boardwalk, a viewing platform and a bridge over the stream and, to prevent damage to the banks, have provided two access stairways into the water. On reaching the first stairway our breath was taken away by the clarity of the water; the strange shapes of natural debris on the floor of the channel were artworks in themselves; the greenness of the fringing bulrushes and floating algae; orb spiders in their webs suspended across the channel. With the place to ourselves, although not for long, we slithered into the surprisingly deep tepid waters with a current that wanted to pull us downstream. Blissful is an under-statement.

Bitter Springs

In chatting to a fellow bather he told us of adjacent Mataranka Cabins and its camping ground within easy walking distance of the Springs. We made haste to book in at this place with its un-prepossessing name. It was quite the opposite with wonderful un-powered sites hidden on the edge of the Roper River.
We resisted the temptation to return to the Springs until after dinner. Making our way there that night we walked back through the main camp Lea stopped to use the toilet, moments later calling out to George to come and see a pale little frog ornamentally perched on a wall brace. The caretakers proceeded to show us how each toilet cistern was full of frogs. These little fellows get into the toilet bowl and climb up the flush pipe into the cistern.

We had no need for our torch as we made our way to the Springs, moonlight lit the way, clearly defining and accentuating the shadows on the gravel path. We had entered another world - fireflies flitting about; the sight and sound of flying foxes; the silent water, mirror calm and very inviting. Nature had orchestrated a most memorable night for us.

Reluctant as we were to leave Bitter Springs we were keen to see our original destination – the thermal pools at Mataranka homestead. A sign to the cemetery had us call in there to see the graves of Aeneas Gunn (Jeanie’s husband who died so early into their marriage) and “Fizzer” the mailman from her book. Neither was buried there but, while looking, George pointed out a dead flying fox hanging on the back barbed wire fence. Perplexed by yet another example of a dead bat hanging from a fence we realised it was still alive. On approaching it George found that the bat was hanging from a barb that had penetrated its top lip. In its panic it had ripped holes in its wings. Lea was dispatched to get a towel to enwrap the bat, preventing further damage while George freed it. We left it to clamber up a tree and recover.

Arriving at Mataranka Homestead shortly after, we were confronted by a scene from a Wild West Show with gunshots ringing out in all directions from the swamp forest. Swarms of flying foxes above the canopy, displaced by the uproar, gave us an indication of what was happening. The Park rangers were displacing bats, using gas guns, hoping they would relocate to another roost. No doubt this is another act of futility occurring due to public pressure. Unfortunately for the bats their daily roosts were in huge trees directly above the thermal pool polluting the area with noise and faeces. George remembers a strategy used at the same site five years ago to engulf the roosts with fire in a desperate effort to eradicate them. Rather than adopting a “live and let live” approach they have a never ending problem. Walking down for a swim in the thermal spring mid-afternoon we found a notice at the entrance warning of water sprinklers being used intermittently along the length of the boardwalks to disperse bats. Considering all the harassment and alternative roosting sites within the forest we wonder why the bats chose to stay in such close proximity to the pool.

Sprinklers over boardwalk to disperse flying foxes (bats)

A weir was constructed during World War II below the Mataranka Thermal Springs to create a pool for the recreation of soldiers stationed in the area. Its original R&R function has not changed as many people come here now. As a result a boardwalk leads you through the dense forest, the pool is partly surrounded by stone walls and paving. Nevertheless, it is a picturesque setting and ideally suited to families. We learnt from our first visit that if do not want to swim with the crowds – swim at night. That’s what we did that night and virtually had it to ourselves. With the bats out foraging it was incredibly silent bar the odd crickets.

After our swim we took the trail along the Waterhouse river to Stevie’s Hole. Walking along the dusty red track through eucalypt woodlands with the sun beating down on us; big march flies buzzing around; wallabies and a kangaroo going about their business, sulphur-crested cockatoos breaking cover unexpectedly, sometimes with a squawk sounding as if a cat’s tail had been stood on, making Lea’s heart miss a beat! All epitomising a very Australian storybook scene.

Our intention was to try the Elsey National Park campground at 12 Mile. As we pulled out of the Homestead we couldn’t resist a last swim. Walking down the boardwalk a shot rang out and George, uttering blasphemous explicatives, nearly fell into the swamp! The bats above us didn’t even flinch. They seem to have become habituated to the sound. After a glorious bathe we made our way to the 12 Mile campground only to find it has been closed. We had no option but to head back to “the Track” (Stuart Highway) and continue southwards. We picked up a hitch-hiker at the Roper Bar junction. Ed was better than a radio keeping us entertained all the way to Daly Waters. He spent his first 15 years in Germany collecting broken bones on the ski slopes. Then his family migrated to Australia and here he began collecting snake bites! His worst, from a Taipan, put him in the national snake bite register. Along with his jokes he proved a veritable compendium of information from medical matters to climate statistics, road conditions, places of interest along out forthcoming route, fire management in savannah woodlands, geology and even caught George out by asking if he knew what mecology was! Coined by Dr David Suzuki it apparently means the science of ecosystem restoration???
Leaving Ed on “the Track” we turned of to Daly Waters, the site of Australia’s oldest international airport. Our travel-bible “Camps 3” author recommended site let us down for the first time since leaving Melbourne. The Daly Waters Pub Caravan Park in the heat of the day was not the place we wanted to be. Bill Bryson Down Under felt it was a place only for drinking and got “motherless” here and most only come here to see the classic outback pub.

Not being drinkers we moved on the Hi-Way Inn’s campground on the turn off to Borroloola where we found ourselves a teeny bit of green to camp under. We used our pail of water trick to attract a surprising variety of birds. Full of character and in the majority were Apostle birds delighting us with their antics.

Heading east along the Carpentaria Highway, following the narrow strip road that rose ahead of us into the Gulf Country, we encountered little traffic. With each subtle change in elevation or soil type we would notice corresponding changes in the savannah woodlands. Savannah Way is regarded as Australia’s “adventure drive”, a meandering route from Broome to Cairns linking five World Heritage Areas. It first came to our attention outside Halls Creek and again near Kununurra. While chatting to a fellow traveller after leaving Kakadu he gave us a pamphlet of the Savannah Way route. 200 km down the road we stopped for lunch at Goanna Creek rest area. Well off the road we found ourselves on the crest of a ridge with wooded slopes gently falling away to give us distant perspectives. Beautiful! But we were taken aback by the sight of masses of feathers strewn everywhere, not to mention a bird’s head suspended from a twisted plastic packet in a tree! George immediately went to inspect. His detective work surmised that three unfortunate Australian (Kori) bustards had been turned into bush tucker. Lea was assured there was no smell and in the course of our lunch we decided this was a perfect place to spend the night.

Head of Australian bustard at Goanna Creek

During the afternoon we noticed friar birds, bower birds, butcher birds and honey-eaters trying to get a drink from the water tank in the rest area. George filled the plastic bottle found carved into a suitable bird trough that a thoughtful traveller had wrought. The birds must just wait for someone to arrive because we filled it three times during the afternoon. On sunset a van rattled in with a couple our age from Como in Perth on their way to visit their son in Airlie Beach. To George’s consternation, on spotting the feathers around him the lady sweetly asked whether he’d been hunting for the pot! A full moon throws Lea’s sleep patterns out and this night she had the company of a butcherbird suffering from the same complaint. By 3.00 am he had steadily sung himself into exhaustion. They managed some shut eye before dawn broke.

It was hard to leave “carnage corner” but curiosity got the better of us. Mid morning we set off for King Ash Bay boating and fishing club. A confusing name as it is not on the Gulf. It lies 30km inland amidst the delta of the McArthur River. The club allows non-members to camp along several kms of the McArthur estuary frontage. Pulling in for a late lunch we took the first bit of shade alongside the boat ramp. 4WD’s and boat trailers uniformly parked everywhere. In the very next campsite was Dave the caravan repairer with the barra tattoo on his back! He recognised the buffalo horns on Skiv and came to greet us. Later George did a recce and found a magnificent site well away from the boat ramp and fishers. Perched on a high bank overlooking the main channel we counted ourselves lucky to have such a prime spot, even with firewood and rod holder courtesy of the previous camper. Rising fish soon tempted George to wet his line nicking the fat off our steaks for bait. Excitement reigned when the rod began bending violently. In his dash to get back to rod George nearly fell over the tow hitch …. reeled in what assuredly was a good sized barra, yelling for Lea to take the rod while he climbed down the bank to collect it. Confucius would say “Use trashy bait – you get trashy fish!” Back into the river went the catfish.


Campsite on McArthur estuary (King Ash Bay)

Sunday is a day of rest – we decided to stay put, buy some bait and do serious fishing! Driving around the informal settlement of King Ash Bay to find the mini-mart (a tin shed) we drove out to Batten Point where two major channels of the McArthur delta converge. George walked down to take a photo and Lea was about to follow when, to her horror, a huge wolf-hound hurtled noisily out of a tent hell bent on eating George alive. Reassured by the owner that the dog’s bark was worse than its bite! We nervously noticed that another three pit-bull like dogs were caged in the back of his ute. Glad to return to the safety of Skiv we were intercepted by the owner who had come to enquire about our buffalo horns. He turned out to be a feral pig-hunter. He gave us a vivid account on how the dogs, wearing breastplates, hunt down and catch pigs for him to despatch with a knife. Returning to Getaway with a packet of costly bait sized mullet George began fishing in earnest. With each bite came snapped line. Big fish too large for the line! Our final evening could have been a scene out of On Golden Pond. Instead of loons serenading us as night closed in we had coucals, owls and kookaburras.

Week 27 (25th September - 1st October)

HOT! We are feeling the effects of Gurrung…. George’s hat, left on the dashboard almost burnt his skull when he put it on. As Bill Bryson aptly put in his book it’s “the kind of heat that hits you when you open an oven door to check on a roasting turkey”. Lea struggles with the oppressive conditions and as a habitual troglodyte has been forced to garner any breath of air by leaving the blinds up, and twisting and turning herself every few minutes in search of a cooler spot.

From the East Alligator region we moved into Jabiru, the town in which we started life in the Northern Territory. First port of call was a very necessary taste bud stop at the bakery to buy a couple of carrot cake loaves (they taste as good as we remember and have been a daily treat all week). Then a quick windscreen survey of the town followed before settling into the caravan park. We noticed that most of the big African Mahogany trees (albeit exotics) that were so much part and parcel of the place have been reduced to piles of wood chips due to Cyclone Monica. Generally, the trees were considered a problem in Jabiru as the fruit bats would roost in them causing noise and mess and, in the school grounds they were regarded as a risk, tragically proving correct recently, when a 9-year old Darwin schoolboy died after a branch fell on him in the playground. Happily, flocks of white corellas still abounded, causing us to stop and watch one flock’s antics under a sprinkler on the banks of the rugby field, rolling onto their backs and clowning around.

Relief from the heat may have come from having a powered site close to the lagoon-like pool. However, as the day progressed we found ourselves hemmed in by new arrivals and noise from the pool rose steadily. We looked at each other wordlessly thinking we could hardly compare this regimented situation with the informality of our last few nights. We needed to move! Before we could leave Lea was keen to make arrangements to see the few remaining staff along with her former students at Jabiru Area School. Looking at the clock, the school day had ended and we dashed off in hopes of catching the only teacher left from Lea’s time. She struck lucky! Not only was Fay there, she had most of Lea’s old pupils in her class this year. A time was set for 13:20 the next day.

Tuesdays bring the “veggie-man” in his refrigerated truck to town. When we found him down at Lake Jabiru it was like old times purchasing some fresh fruit. Parking on a vacant stand near the lake we immediately set about making ourselves a fruit salad lunch. Time came for Lea to go to the school while George re-visited the Gadudju Crocodile Hotel. This hotel is a remarkable crocodile shaped two-storey building where guests enter through the jaws, sleep and dine in the belly! The circular car parks outside represent the crocodile’s eggs; the ventilation units are housed in its eyes; the pool and barbeque area represent the heart; the walkway the spine and the winding stream that emerges from the pool is the animal’s alimentary canal! It is a rather bizarre design, but eye-catching and refreshingly different.

Gadudju Crocodile Hotel

Four hours later Lea climbed back into Skiv, bending George’s ear with an account of her afternoon as we left Jabiru. Three & four year olds memories of a teacher who is with them for a year, disappears from sight and returns six years later can hardly be expected to remember Mrs Begg… Yet for Lea, it was heart warming to see how they had developed and of course, grown. In sharing her stories of them as tiny preschoolers, Lea’s mere accent seemed to pull threads from the past and a child would suddenly share a recollection of its own. As a bonus, The Darwin Youth Orchestra had been there to perform for the whole school giving Lea the chance to see everyone.

In error, we pulled into the Malabanjbanjdju campsite reserved for tent camping. Its attractive wooded surrounds and nearby billabong, the lack of any tents and the welcoming noisy flock of corellas decided us to stay. Before long both Skiv and Getaway were being covered by a steady rain of leaves being stripped by the corellas in the trees above us, some moaning others squawking like chickens that have just laid an egg. This seemingly destructive behaviour of cockatoos is yet to be explained. Once the sun has set, we were prepared to venture out and do a quick exploration of our vicinity. We crossed over the creek below the billabong and discovered the caravan camping area.
It was set in a thicket of large paper-bark trees; different, yet equally as attractive as our tent camp and a good choice for our next night.
Walking back in the gloaming we encountered two cane toads on the path and their presence gave us pause to think about the latest theory we had read in the paper concerning their impact. Should the goannas, as major predators of crocodile eggs, be depleted by eating poisonous cane toads there will be explosion in the crocodile population. Just one of the possible “swings and roundabouts” that can occur in nature.

The dreaded Cane Toad

The Nourlangie area has always been one of our favourite spots in Kakadu and we looked forward to spending a full day around there. The big outlier, often erroneously referred to by balanda (white people) as Nourlangie Rock, is actually Burrunggui. The word Nawurlandja (anglicised to Nourlangie) refers to the whole area. This huge rock formation contains overhangs and shallow caves, known as galleries, which are rich in Aboriginal art of deep spiritual and cultural significance. Of these Namarrgon (Lightning Man) and Nabulwinjbulwinj (the spirit that eats women) are the most famous. Higher up is the Gunwardewarde Lookout where one may gaze out on the woodlands that extend across the plains of Kakadu, to the escarpment of the Arnhem Land Plateau. There, the distinctive pillar-like sandstone blocks where, reputedly, Lightning Man resided in the Dreaming. We took the more circuitous and natural route winding through the outcrop rather than the paved, more direct way taken by the majority of tour groups.

Burrunggui - “Nourlangie Rock”

Getting on for midday we found a shady spot for Skiv and Getaway alongside the Anbangbang billabong. The noise and activities of the bird life (ducks, geese, jacanas, Jabiru storks, cormorants, corellas and black cockatoos) prompted us to walk the periphery of the wetland, the margins heavily disturbed by feral pigs compelling the Parks to set traps at either end. Magpie geese present on the billabong reminded George of an interesting account he had read about the hunting strategies employed by dingoes. They begin agitating and spooking the birds by repeatedly walking round and around the geese. This so distracts the geese they forget to keep an eye out for avian predators above them. Should a sea-eagle swoop down to take a goose out, the dingo makes the mad dash to steal the eagle’s goose as it rises with its hefty prey. In the shade and comfort of the caravan we were glad to spend the rest of the day alongside the billabong, reading and writing.

As the sun began dropping in the west we climbed the steep rocky expanse of the Nawurlandja lookout, a smaller outlier overlooking Anbangbang, and watched the Arnhem Land escarpment in the east steadily becoming illuminated and the softening light spreading across the plains. Returning in the dark to the caravan site at Malabanjbanjdju we heard what sounded like a couple of two-stroke motor bike engines being tuned up. The cane toads were announcing their presence. We had this strange droning until all “engines” were abruptly turned off around midnight! The silence was almost deafening amongst the paper bark trees.

The Yellow Waters wetlands are a major draw-card for tourists with its boat cruises operating all year round and boardwalk into the swamp. This actually disappears under water in the “Wet” as does the car park – an amazing event that is hard to imagine in the “Dry”. We strolled out along the boardwalk and George was appalled to see a herd of cattle! After all the concerns expressed about feral water buffalo damaging wetlands in Kakadu we could hardly believe we were seeing these well fed bovines in the middle of a World Heritage Site.

When it came time to escape the worst of the heat we slipped into the Warradjan Aboriginal Cultural Centre. The building is designed in the shape of a pig-nosed turtle (warradjan) and is an outstanding display by the traditional owners of Kakadu. At the end of our visit Lea noticed a list of videos that can be shown on request. We were delighted to see Last of Nomads was available. We had been dying to see this film having so enjoyed the book. No better time than now in an air-conditioned room! Disappointingly, after many stops and starts thanks to a faulty sound system, we ended up watching the film without sound.

We had a pleasant night at Mardugal camp with a short sweet dingo chorus to fall asleep to and pushed on to Gunlom the next day. We felt a measure of concern to have 40km of corrugated dirt road ahead of us but decided we could not let past mishaps discourage us. Much of this region is known as “sickness country” by the Aboriginals and quite wisely so because it is a location of potentially harmful minerals, especially uranium. As we drove we began thinking of the jumbled mixture of seasons “Down Under”. Some trees winter bare. Others with the fresh flush of spring leaves and some in autumnal disarray. More, among blackened woodlands with stumps still smouldering, looking decidedly wilted but summery. As we set up camp blustery “willy-willys” hurling dust and leaves in all directions confused us into wondering whether it was winter, summer or autumn.

Featured in the film Crocodile Dundee, the main attraction at Gunlom is the large plunge pool below an 80m high waterfall. However, for us it is undertaking the steep climb to the top of the falls and there being able to cool off from the strenuous effort in a magnificent pool between water worn rocks that have a marbleised sheen to them. Floating in the clear water on the very lip of the falls with a view second to none of southern Kakadu is a truly heady experience. We shared this with no-one and at sunset the cloud reflections across the water were superb.

The lip of the falls taken from within the top pool, Gunlom

That night, while collecting camp fees, the ranger told us that four years ago Gunlom had been the cane toad’s first point of entry into the Park and in the last two years or more he has not seen a single goanna, olive python, king brown snake or quoll.

A wonderful week in Kakadu soon came to an end as we exited the Park’s southern boundary on Saturday making our way through very Rhodesian-like countryside before ending up at the Springvale Homestead not far from Katherine. Springvale, dating back to 1878, is the oldest original station homestead in the NT. A 20 month long epic drove bringing the first livestock of 12 000 sheep and 3 000 cattle to the station from Adelaide all adds to the sense of history here. We have been happy wallowing in the swimming pool alongside a picturesque billabong with some very odd looking guinea-fowl calling continually like old rusty gates and wallabies all roaming around.