The last few
days of May are being tagged on here for the continuity of those of our friends
who use Google Earth or maps to plot our way. George reckons it is like having
‘Big Brother’ along on the journey!
High winter
temperatures make the Top End ideal for those escaping the cold and wet of the
South. As we pulled out of Broome across Savannah Way (a coast to coast route
across the top of Australia) we became very aware of just how wet The WET had
been! Thus, it was of no surprise to read in the latest Broome visitors guide
that the recent wet season had made headlines around the world thanks to
‘extraordinary quantities of water across the land form’. It had been the
biggest wet season on record in the Broome / Kimberley region. Helicopters had
taken tourists on scenic flights across Anna and Roebuck Plains to see ‘inland
oceans’ created by the abnormal dumping
of Summer’s Tropical lows and the number of late cyclones. We had noticed Anna
and Roebuck Plains as we drove north and guessed it was the result of cyclones.
We’d had no idea of the magnitude of this season’s ‘Wet’. The road was badly damaged and resources to
mend are obviously not available so we bounced about erratically. An abattoir appeared
out of no-where. A huge ‘going concern’ that caught us by surprise, as cattle
generally seem to be sent off on cattle trains to the ports for live export
trade. A huge controversy that rears its ugly head every so often and divides the
country. As for the nomadic fraternity
and those that have set aside time for the great trek to the north – we became very
aware of an increase in numbers travelling from the East. The Season was building fast.
Termite heaps became
commonplace and a flock of red-tailed black cockatoos gave clue that we were
approaching a much loved region; yet our eyes were pretty much focused on
SKV’s odometer about to turn a journey milestone - 300 000 km!
We pulled up for
photos to be taken with a celebratory drink of water and a sweet! Most unfortunate, SKV turned over 300 000 right next to the carcass of a very
smelly cow!
Kimberley is
boab country; so reminiscent of Africa that a mighty thrill coursed through us
as we soaked in the incredible variety of shapes, ages and positioning! The sun
blazed down making it unpleasantly hot (35⁰C) and naturally, we were drawn to partake in lunch beside a good
monster boab roadside stop before deciding to spend the night there and moved below
the boughs of the boab.
After a
relatively peaceful night, disturbed by the occasional road train, we were on
our way once more and passed a spot where brake marks and the shattered remains
of a 4x4 told a silent story of hitting a cow during the night. The dead cow
lying 20m away. The noise and drama too
awful to contemplate that we were relieved not to have been within earshot.
At the Tunnel
Creek (Leopold Downs) road we turned off to go find a “ticked site” in CAMPS 9, Australia Wide, known as RAAF
Boab Quarry. Twelve years ago we’d travelled the Tunnel Creek road (August
2006) with corrugations so bad, George had vowed never to travel it again. This
time the road was not in bad shape and as we neared the camp (11k down the
track) the vista of boabs and limestone outcrops gave rise to an exciting new
camp awaiting us. Sure enough, a wide range of sites were available in the
campground; no one there except for some young backpackers about to leave after
a swim in main attraction, the water filled quarry.
We chose a
lovely site, surrounded by rugged limestone outcrops dating back 350 million
years, to the Devonian period, when it is said the Kimberley region lay at the
bottom of a warm, shallow sea. At the top of the outcrop nearest to us was an
arched rock that George climbed up to and, looking through the archway, took
the photo below.
There was nothing
to indicate why this was an RAAF quarry – we could only surmise it dated back
to WW2 when, after the bombing of Broome by the Japanese, the RAAF were
building airstrips nearby? As another hot day began to cool slightly we took a
late evening walk along the rim of the quarry looking down into the depths of
the enormous lake that lies within, the water very clear and, at that time of
the day, filled with lovely reflections of the surrounding outcrops and boab
trees. Even the rising moon, almost full,
was reflected in the water.
This was truly a
‘find’ and we decided to stay another night.
We were up well before breakfast to catch a cooler temperature of 18⁰C and explore further afield. We found large amounts of material
piled up for road building purposes, obviously untouched in years; large numbers
of young boab trees growing in the bush with
an obvious association along the stream courses (suggesting the seeds are
carried / distributed by water during the wet?
We questioned what was so special about the type of rock being quarried?
We did not know – only the terrain in which the quarry is set was different to
the limestone outcropping on either side. The quarry occupied flat ground
between two limestone outcrops and underground lay a great deal of water. Later,
George noticed a smaller, but similar feature, lying
in the headwaters of a stream behind where we’d chosen to camp. A type of
wetland perhaps? Within an hour our
temperature had risen to 29⁰C and steadily
rising that we were glad to return for breakfast and spend the rest of the day quietly
sweltering in the heat. Waiting for shadows to fall across the quarry area in
late afternoon to enable us, once again, to walk further into the un-quarried
headwaters region. It turned out to be a magical area with groves of boab trees
and the multi-layered outcrops of limestone provided an exceptional sight.
How many people
have pulled in for a ‘freedom camp site’, seen the quarry (perhaps put off by
the decaying filamentous algae floating on the surface at the only accessible
entrance to the water) and the surrounding rock hills and left next day never realising the true
beauty of the place. We were hooked by
RAAF Boab Quarry Campground!
After a
refreshing “bucket bath” and hamburgers for dinner, night fell and all was blissful.
Only to have the peace and quiet shattered by the arrival of three cars drawing
to a noisy halt beside us – voices and engines disrupting our game of scrabble.
We fully expected them to move on once a joint decision had been made. NO!
George took a walk outside and found a girl putting up a tent almost against
the end of our caravan. Too shocked for words he returned to report to Lea.
Sure enough, when she went out the three cars were barely five metres away with
men talking together, while woman set up tents – one, placed a hairs breath from our caravan and in view
of our front door. This invasion was just too much to tolerate in such a
spacious campground and it took a few minutes before the girl heard Lea’s
“excuse me…” as she scrabbled for things inside the nearest car. Eventually, the French girl realised there
was a voice coming from the dark and Lea was able to politely ask Why, with so
many possible camp spots available - they chose to stop on top of us. Silence followed, until one of the blokes
came over to see what the ‘voice’ wanted. Once again Lea explained how unnecessary it
was to break our peaceful bush camp by stopping so close and then putting up a
tent beside us. He apologised saying the one car had broken down and was being
towed and now they were unable to turn around. Fair enough, only put this tent
the other side of their cars… With that, a highly irritated girl picked up the
tent and strode off into the night.
Under the light of the moon and flashing torches the men worked on cars
until close on midnight. George’s deafness definitely an advantage!
After last
night’s invasion of our campsite, the next intrusion came early morning in the form
of three huge, noisy Roads Dept. water bowsers coming in to pump water from the
quarry into their tanks. It was more than clear it was time to leave!
Fitzroy Crossing
(40k away) and its Visitors Centre was our next destination in order to book a tour
of Mimbi Caves. On enquiring about the history of RAAF Boab Quarry, the girl at
the visitors centre explained it was nothing to do with the War. During the
1970s the RAAF became involved in building roads to access various airstrips in
the region, in the event of the Flying Doctor being summoned for medical
reasons.
A driver of a
motorhome having passed us earlier kindly advised George he’d noticed one of
our solar panels was loose. With a
booking for Mimbi Caves, George thought he would undertake the repairs at the
Mimbi Caves campground. However, upon seeing that one corner of the hindmost
panel had come right off, after crossing the mighty Fitzroy River, we stopped
by the side of the road, and with the aid of his collapsible ladder he secured it there and then, before noticing
several other self-tapping screws and pop rivets were coming loose
elsewhere.
90k east of
Fitzroy Crossing, at the Ngumpan Ranges, we turned off on the Mimbi Caves / Mt
Pierre Station road and slowly made our way to the small Jarlarloo Riwi * campground 3.5k away. Established last year and
equipped with modern amenities (barbeques, hot showers and toilets) provided by
the local Gooniyandi Aborigine Community. We were impressed and glad to be
supporting them since we turned out to be the only campers. The rest of the day was given over to solar
panel maintenance followed by a beautiful evening walk …
*
Jarlarloo - Aboriginal name for the Coolamon (helicopter seed tree) – riwi,
meaning camp.
George was
taking the 8.a.m Caves Tour – not only beyond our budget paying for two - the
brochure indicated a rough passage and that was enough for Lea to cry off doing
it. With no one turning up at the camp we anxiously wondered if the tour would
go ahead next morning since it required no less than four people.
Fifteen minutes
before tour time, George took off in
SKV to be at the gate to Mimbi Caves. There, he fully expected a cancelled tour
finding he was the only customer. However, Harris, a slimly built, very
pleasant young Aboriginal duly arrived on the dot of eight. Unlocked the gate
and George followed his 4WD through the thick clouds of powdery bull dust through
to the caves, an area that had served as his playground throughout his youth.
The first thing Harris did was give me a small stone
to keep with me for some reason. My mind distracted by the limestone ramparts
and jagged pillars that surrounded the site being beautifully lit at this time
of day. The walk in was nothing short of breathtaking. Truly spectacular!
Before reaching the caves there was a small display of rocks bearing Devonian
fossils of various forms to see but, as we neared the entrance, Harris warned
he was going to let out a call (a loud yell) to advise the spirits that he was
bringing a visitor.
At one of the cave entrances, shaded by a large fig
tree, was a pool of clear water in which I was told the rainbow serpent lived
and in order to alert the serpent to my presence I was to put the stone he’d
given me earlier under my armpit before throwing it into the pool. The idea was
to let the serpent know what I smelt like … so, choosing the armpit of my
damaged arm, normally the smelliest of smelly armpits imaginable, I much
enjoyed participating in the whole ritual. That done I was now eligible to
enter the caves the full extent of which Harris told me is unknown. Apparently,
some cavers (speleologists) once claimed it would take two years to map the
system. It is still ongoing 13 years later.
Just as well Lea never came as the floor of the caves
was treacherous, especially in the dark. Uneven and covered by rough slabs of
limestone, sometimes loose underfoot. Where pools of water occurred small
catfish could be seen and hanging from the roof, a number of micro bats
(possibly the dusky leaf-nosed bat?), so small it was almost unbelievable.
Harris believed they always “camp” (as he would say) by themselves in exactly
the same spot. There were Aboriginal
etchings to be seen and many examples of calcite deposits “flowing” over the
surface of the rocks below forming features said to resemble everything from
tiny Christmas trees to huge candelabras. In what was known as the “master
bedroom”, a large flat rock (the “bed”) and a pool (private “sauna”) and at the
apex of some of the narrow passages we followed, the black coils of the rainbow
serpent were to be seen, while elsewhere the tail of a mythical blue-tongue
lizard (shingleback) associated with creation of the cave system was just as
evident. At one spot was a rock shaped like a camel, legs folded, humps and all
ready to be mounted – a “nice” camel, Harris told me, that does not bite, spit
or even fart!
And how had Harris found his way through the caves as
a kid? Had someone guided him? No, he claimed to have explored the caves on his
own, always carrying a fire stick which, when he did not know which passage to
follow, he would light and go in the direction the smoke drifted. Apparently
the smoke would always be pulled by the drafts created by external openings to
the underground labyrinth of caves below.
Back outside Harris showed me where two uninvited
German geologists had lived in the 1980’s until being kicked out by the
Aboriginal custodians of the Mimbi Caves.
The chess board and chess pieces they had carved were still in place on
a slab of rock beneath an overhang in the limestone cliffs. I was shown the
tools and grindstones used by Aboriginals for grinding bush walnuts and the red
and yellow ochres used for face painting; the purple flowering shrub below
which yams are dug; the berries of the cherry bush that they harvest and the
leaves of an aromatic plant (that Lea had drawn my attention to yesterday)
called “Bush Vicks” – that’s rubbed onto the chest and used to clear blocked
noses. All in all, I had an interesting
few hours and felt very pleased to have finally visited the Mimbi Caves one on
one rather than struggling to hear in a tour group.
We both had a
shower before departing a 10km short distance to the crest of a sandstone
cliff, The Ngumban Lookout 24 hour Rest Area to spend the night. A decision
made all the more meaningful now that Harris had told George how the Great Northern Highway happens to have
been built on a transition zone – at the interface of the limestone outcrops
(to the west) and the sandstone outcrops (to the east). In the past, the
Aborigines from the desert area (in the east) used to trade with the river
people (from the west) at the same interface. His mother having come from the
desert “mob” while his father was from the river “mob”. We chose a good campsite
overlooking the hills, and the first thing George noticed were the feathers of
a slain Australian bustard lying amongst the clumps of spinifex. A sure sign Aboriginals
had camped there themselves not long ago!
By nightfall the
Ngumban Rest area was packed full of people camping in a variety of rigs and
tents all over the places. The trick is to arrive early, as we had done and
then watch the place fill during the course of the afternoon. Always
interesting to ‘sticky beak’, watching the comings and goings of other nomads,
including the buses and commercial rigs that pull in to provide a pit stop for
their passengers. On our arrival we had noticed a campervan with window open
and curtains closed. Throughout the day no movement. That night no lights
…which led us to wonder whether the occupant had died inside… It was a measure
of relief to find the van had gone in the morning. Probably one exhausted
driver yesterday!
By 9.30 next
day, we had done our 80k “quota” and were contentedly parked in a sunny spot at
the far end of the spacious (near empty) Mary Pool rest area. The Beastly
Easterly was now a benefit helping to keep us cool; a large mob of cattle rested
up in the shade close by, chewing the cud. Again this very popular free camp
steadily filled - each taking their time over choosing where to park. The
latecomers finding it increasingly difficult with over 30 vans in place by
5.00pm, and yet still more continued to arrive well after dark.
During our
evening stroll along the causeway across the Mary River (the original access
into the rest area) the drying carcasses of cane toads came to our attention.
They suggested the infamous “toad busters” may have been at work fruitlessly
killing them in their effort to stop their inexorable spread into WA (the
Kimberley in particular) Once it grew dark, George returned to the causeway with his torch to see
how many toads may be present and saw dozens of them! Cane toads of all sizes. Three
sitting around one of their squashed mates as if bereaved. With no camera George
returned with Lea to get some photos. Walking back, the full moon rose in front
of us casting its beautiful orange glow over the campground which, with twinkling
lights, fires burning and sound of people chatting created a delightful
ambience.
With a perfect
site away from the congestion at Mary’s Pool we decided to stay another day.
After breakfast, traffic began pulling out and we took a walk along the sandy river
bed, staying clear of the muddy edged pools back to the causeway before
settling down with computers. During the
course of the morning our thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice calling
“knock, knock” - A large, jovial bearded fellow arrived at our door to ask if
we had any spare diesel! A rather desperate family from Canberra taking their
two delightful children on a ‘rite of passage’ Big Lap around Australia. The
‘Beastly Easterly’ headwind (we’ve complained about since Marble Bar) had
created merry hell for them towing a walloping big caravan behind a comfortable
vehicle without adequate fuel capacity and, probably underestimating the
distances between fuel stops in Western Australia. Panic had set in when they realised there
wasn’t enough fuel to reach Halls Creek and they pulled into Mary’s Pool hoping
someone would rescue them. George gave them the 20l of diesel he carries for
emergency. Being credit card people they had raided piggy banks to put together
some cash towards costs, hugging us in relief and insisting upon a photo, as
their saviours! Time was of the essence for them and the young girl and boy
(estimated 12 and 10) were literally bubbling with excitement – Scheduled for
today was Wolf Creek and then on to the Bungle Bungles! The two were very comfortable
in the presence of us strangers; helpful and obviously so enjoying the
adventure of it all. It gave us, unexpected pleasure speaking to them.
George could barely
wait for dusk to do a cane toad count on the causeway – 76 of the critters
hopping around. Some still attending the funeral of the same dried old carcass
of a toad – three others sitting around a freshly deposited cow dropping! This
led to the ‘think’… and the development of another tentative hypothesis … if
cane toads are eating cow dung (George would not put that past them, being
omnivores), in cattle country such as this, has cow dung as a food source
indirectly aided in the spread of the toad population? Using an infra-red CCTV
camera he would dearly love to watch and see what these toads get up to after
dark.
It is worth
noting that the many crevices and cracks in the plinth of the causeway across
the river provide ideal dark, damp places for the toads to hide in to avoid desiccation
during the heat of the day. Seepage from the beds of water bearing sand
accumulated on the upstream side of the causeway almost certainly assist in
maintaining the moistness required in the toad’s refuges down below.
Friday
1st June.
We too fought
the dreaded easterly headwind with only just enough fuel to reach Halls Creek
(108 k away from Mary Pool) where, before booking into the caravan park we filled
our two tanks once more. We stayed in the Caravan park to enabled us to top up
with drinking water, do our laundry and have a decent shower – catch up on a
bit of correspondence, internet banking and the news on TV!
With access to
the internet, George checked on the current distribution of cane toads in WA. They
were first found crossing the WA border in 2009, 74 years after being
introduced in N Queensland (1935). By
January 2015 they had been found in Halls Creek after entering the Fitzroy
catchment (via the Ord river). By now (2018) we know they are another 100km
west of Halls Creek living very happily in the Mary River … and heading, in all
likelihood, for Derby and Broome? A real survivor is the cane toad and, in
spite of being an “invader” everyone loathes, it has proved to be most
successful and the full extent of its impact is yet to be fully understood.
Map (dd 2008) taken from Dept. of
Agriculture’s website.
Undertaking our
journey northwards in short (two hourly) hops at a time, as is our custom, we
left Halls Creek and it wasn’t long before we were camped 100k
north, at Leycester’s Rest on the Ord River, with a small battered boab outside the door and
three big bulls for company. Nor did it take George long to walk down to the
now disused causeway over this river to look for any signs of cane toads. The
dried remains of one dead toad confirmed they must be present. Tonight will
tell even though there is scarcely any water around – the bed of river completely
dry.
Welcoming
committee at Leycester’s Rest
Exactly four
years ago, camped here awaiting Alison and Amanda’s arrival from Tasmania via
Broome to explore the Kimberley together; a memory was triggered in George’s
head. It related to concern for our deep freeze when he locked up the truck for
the night all those years ago. So very similar to what we’ve encountered on
this trip. After looking back with the aid of our written account of the
trip, we realise, in hindsight, that
the faulty lead we replaced in Broome last month also contributed to the
problems we experienced four years ago!
During our
evening walk over the causeway and along the old road we decided, at one point,
to take a well-used cattle path. Fully expecting it to return us to the river.
It soon petered out and we forged our way through spear grass, flushing quail,
a few kangaroos and sleeping cattle as we went – all giving Lea heart
palpitations as she swotted the long grass with her stick nervous of wretched
pepper ticks; thoughts of Lyme disease and tick fever flourishing in her head. Snorts of
disapproval from her husband who laughed at her agitation. No doubt … He, who
laughs hardest usually gets his just rewards… Three days later the itches began
as the unseen blighters feasted and grew on him! Not Lea, although like the
word lice, she was very sensitive to any creepy sensation!
Cane toads? Just
as George visualised … he spotted 20 emerging from the culverts beneath the causeway and
flood debris washed up against it, at nightfall.
We certainly
hadn’t expected to put a winter sheet back on our bed in the Kimberley region. Last
night we went to bed feeling the heat until well after midnight before
temperatures dropped and our rug pulled up as we snuggled down for a few more
hours of wintery sleep. This morning it was cold – so cold the top sheet felt
icy. George got up at 6.15 to check the temperature. It was 10.3⁰C! Two hours later it was 19⁰C steadily rising. The temperature normally reaches 32⁰C and easily rises to 35/36 before the sun sets. In the course of 24
hours the temperature range we experience is in the order of 22 degrees.
We continued
north east of Leycester’s Rest – or as we more often refer to as ‘Five cent Boy
– Leycester’ [Blog – November 2010] No matter how many times we do this route
we forget what an attractive drive the
Great Northern Highway is around here, winding its way through the Carr Boyd
and O’Donnell Ranges. We probably suffer from the same problem as Disraeli … “Like all great travellers I have seen more
than I remember, and remember more than I have seen”. Whatever the case,
spear grass country with black kites wheeling like vultures on the thermals
overhead, baobabs of all shapes and sizes to feast one’s eyes on, large rivers
and rugged hills … make us so happy to be among once more. It is not an easy “highway”
to travel in peak season. It is in a sorry state as far as the Bow River, badly
weathered and so narrow there is scarcely room for a road train to pass, and
when it does dust and stones fly everywhere as the trailers, swaying as they
do, proceed to churn up the verge. The highway is also characterised by narrow
one way bridges – all thankfully destined to undergo a major upgrade at some point
in time.
By mid-morning with
cuppa in hand, we were camped in the 24 hour rest area alongside the Dunham
River, itself carrying a surprising amount of water. All the other rivers
including the Ord have been bone dry. There we spent a quiet day reading and
/or writing in between watching the little masked finches flitting around our
doorway or nimbly playing tag among a many branched tree.
Dunham River
Next stop
Kununurra, with a large grassy site in the Kimberley-land Waterfront Caravan Park
on the shores of Lake Kununurra (aka
Lilly Creek lagoon) not 30m away, with a
number of long legged purple swamp-hens (gallinules) wandering around. Immediately,
with electric power Lea began baking for the road ahead while George went into
Kununurra to find a garage to book SKV in for an oil change. Only to find the
town closed for “WA Day” - originally Foundation Day. We cursed our inability
to follow a calendar! We could so easily have stayed another day at Dunham
River if we had known! We tried not to think of it as a pricey wasted day.
Muffins went into the deep freeze and Lea fractioned out Di’s Slice recipe for a second time. She halved it the first time
in Broome and forgot to add the sugar so it became Healthy slice- fortunately
still edible! Second time round Lea had
it taped and remembered the sugar…
With no shortage
of water in the Park George had little else to do than give SKV and Getaway a
wash, and enjoy a long shower himself. Much later a piece of belly pork was left
to slow roast in the convection oven outside, while we took a walk through
Celebrity Tree Park that adjoins the caravan park. Had to laugh when a lady further along anxiously
told us about the ‘flame’ that kept lighting up outside our caravan. Pork was
cooked to perfection and an absolute treat!
George was away early
to find someone to service SKV. He managed to secure a booking for 7.00am the
following day, enabling us to be out of the park before incurring the cost of a
third day. Another day stretched before us other than the ‘fresh shop’ required
to see us through the next ten days at least. Kununurra is a beautiful area and
we decided to spend the morning seeing galleries. Taking the Ivanhoe Crossing
downstream of the Ord diversion dam to find ‘Kimberley Stone Craft’. It reminded
Lea of ‘Coastal’ in Cleethorpes … with the same friendly and creative
atmosphere. The owners have two zebra
rock quarries in the east Kimberley (only small deposits remain after the
filling of Lake Argyle in 1972/73) Their shop had a marvellous display and
range of artworks they produce. George has had a strong desire to work with the
stone ever since we came across it at Zebra Rock Tearoom [Blog – August 2006 -
This property recently sold for its fine lakeside setting, the owners closing
their zebra rock workshop there] Having
chosen a piece of stone George asked about
tools to use. We were sent to visit the workshop. Norrell willingly showed us around the range
of saws, blowers (for dust), rock drills, bench grinders, lathes, polishing
equipment and tumblers that are employed. Just the sort of place George would
spend many happy hours! Norrell explained the variation in the colour and
banding of the siltstones used which, having formed 600 million years ago, may contain
as many as 30 different elements. Another form of the stone (the primordial
variety) was even older, carbon dated from the fossilised algae embedded within
it, at 1.2 billion years! Entrained in some of the other pieces were drops of acid
rain that had fallen during a period of intense volcanic activity. We were
entranced and could not resist buying a small piece of jewellery quality zebra
rock for George to “play” with.
Nearby, another
gallery specialised in metal art with predominantly a boab theme. However, this
large property took most of our attention due to the number of small baobabs
the owners have propagated and planted on the property, some had even been
bonsaied.
Of course, being
camped on the edge of Lake Kununurra with cane toads on George’s mind – it
raised the curious question - why was there a lack of cane toads? Having invaded the Ord system, George expected
the diversion dam, with all its peripheral vegetation and lights of the
campground to attract insects, in turn to be a cane toad haven- yet there was
not a toad to be seen. Quite different to places like Kakadu and Katherine.
“The alien may have landed” as the poster warns but toads do not seem to have
made their presence felt to the same extent in Western Australia?
George was away before
light had penetrated the caravan. The first person through the door at Top End
Motors for the oil change and back in next to no time to hitch up and have us on our way to Lake Argyle, 90km
away. Once again, travelling through spectacular mountainous landscape
seemingly wiped from our memory banks! Since
we were last here, the caravan park appeared to have been rearranged… We were
horrified to find lines of caravan – cheek by jowl. Busy, busy, busy! Not our
scene, and reception suggested we take an unpowered site on the oval as they
were bigger sites. No power and no signal! Our eldest grand-daughter became a teenager
today and we couldn’t speak to her. Since George had always wanted a trip on
the lake to see much more than the islands allowed from land and, this time
round, seats on a Sunset Cruise were available to make an occasion, celebrating
Kiki we took them. A stroll around the
park to see the changes… a beautiful infinity pool. Cold as ice… Not Lea’s
complaint, everybody!
We ate lunch
early in order to attend a documentary on the construction of the dam. Built
across the Ord River gorge during 1969 – 1973 (not long after Kariba). A 98m
high rock filled embankment with a central clay core, leading to the creation
of a lake 70km in length, 42km across at its widest point, 45m deep, with a
surface area of 1 000 sq km and a 900 km long shoreline. It is the largest
man-made lake in Australia built principally for irrigation of the fertile
flood plains of the lower Ord that lie 50km downstream. An hour later, Larry our
coach driver, took 50 of us (mainly old timers) across the wall and down to the
harbour where we boarded the Kimberley
Durack and set off on a four hour long tour of the lake in the care of a
cheerful young girl called Tracy, acting as our informant, and Paul the skipper.
Living and
working on Lake Kariba gave George his deep interest in lakes. The first thing
that struck him about this lake was the nature of the shoreline – steeply
shelving and rocky, it looked distinctly unproductive with the number of
islands (former hill tops) everywhere. It wasn’t long before we came across the
first freshwater crocodile basking on the shore, a very co-operative croc, as
it allowed the boat to beach right next to it. The lake is said to house 30 000
“freshies” … proof of which, George would like to see. Beneath the boat at this
spot were thick beds of what looked like the aquatic plant Lagrosiphon. We were told how pelicans wait until a cormorant
catches a fish then holds the cormorant by the neck underwater forcing it to
release the fish it has caught … George’s face said enough! Another story…
black kites (fire brand birds) carry burning sticks around to light fires so
they can feed on animals, like lizards and locusts, escaping the blaze. Sometimes
scorching their own feathers in the process! Then to be told the discharge of
the Ord during the wet is second only to that of the Amazon, George was shaking
his head! Finally, on being told the ancient super-continent of Gondwana broke up
165 million years ago and the Australian land surface was once as high as the
Himalayas …his scepticism was visible. What’s a good story without some embroidery?
A barramundi
fishery had been developed in the lake and failed because they never realised
barramundi needed access to the sea to breed blew him away. We stopped at one
point to feed catfish and archer fish with stale bread and heard how good the
largest of the fish species, the silver cobbler, was for eating - growing to a
weight of 40kg.
An ‘Operation
Noah’ type of exercise conducted by the late Malcolm Douglas in an effort to catch
animals stranded on islands as the lake filled followed a visit to an island
where a small group of wallaroos gathered for a feed immediately the tour boat
drew in. Tall “tombstone” ant hills characterised a particular hillside on the
lake shore and with the sun beginning to set. Sundowners were served, allowing
folk to leap from the roof and cool down in the clear waters, aided by
“noodles” while they sipped a beer! Despite exaggerations, it was a good trip
that George was glad to have finally experienced.
After a quick
supper in the caravan we returned to the Beer Garden to watch State of Origin.
Throughout our nomadic wanderings we have always been sucked into the
competitive nature of the Blues (NSW) and the Maroons (Qld) best of 3 rugby
match. Doesn’t matter where we are you can be sure a big screen will come out –
Observing the spectators is an added attraction.
Next day, as we
returned to the Victoria Highway, we stopped to take photos of the river used
as the main spillway for the Argyle Dam. During the Wet of 2011 and 2016, residents had
held their breath in fear of rising water within the lake topping the
wall. 2016, the lake had risen by 11m
and the scoured bed of the spillway still very much in evidence. Pandanus palms became evident – their
familiarity indicating we were close to the state border into the Northern
Territory. No sooner across the border
than we were watching for the Duncan Road turnoff (back towards Halls Creek) to
stay at Zebra Rock Mine campground – a place listed in our new Camps Australia
book. It turned out to be a gem of a place, run by Ruth Duncan (hydrologist by
training) and her husband Kim (short for
Kimberley) Walker a skilled bushman / bull catcher / conservationist; son of
former chief stockman on the cattle ranch Argyle Downs, prior to its inundation
by the lake). A smallish informally laid out unpowered campground (developed in
June 2011), with toilets and showers; a gallery filled with another remarkable
display of zebra rock. The outside area contained huge slabs of polished zebra,
firestone and primordial rock in the form of tables. Free tea/coffee available
all day with scones coming out of the oven at intervals tempting people to buy.
Next to the reception desk, a tank contained a couple of black headed pythons
available for handling by anyone interested.
A campground with a difference.
As always, time
change throws out our body clocks. NT
time advanced our watches by 1.5 hours and doing so, threw us out for the rest
of the day. George had struggled silently with a bad back since lifting the
deep freeze out of the truck while camped at Kununurra, hoping it would
promptly dissipate. It hadn’t … rest, anti-inflammatory pills and ointment were
dispensed by his wife over next couple of days before he was sorted.
We awoke with a
shock next morning – we’d overslept NT time - George had minutes to get going
and join a tour out to “Zebra Rock Mine” with Ruth. It turned out not to be the
mine but an exposure of a horizontal bed of zebra rock from which the
overburden had been carefully removed to show people what it looks like in the
raw. The real operational mine (and workshop) were elsewhere, the location they
were obviously not keen to disclose (Mining is cut throat and no drones allowed
on the property. Signs advised the property was also under camera surveillance
and No Fossicking allowed on the access road. This is said to be the only site
in the world where zebra rock occurs and the family are understandably, highly
protective of it.
Ruth explained
how Kim, who had grown up in the area as a boy, had discovered the site after
all the original mine sites, now under Lake Argyle, had been lost by
inundation. She spoke about the lack of any agreement among high profile
geologists from all over the world on the origins of zebra rock, the lack of
any scientific explanation for the weird bubbles and precise banding that
occurs, and briefly touched on the major influences she thought may account for
its occurrence.
·
Its age (1.2 billion) which suggests it was
formed when the super continent Pangaea had not even yet started to dismember.
·
The upwelling of molten rock from beneath the
Earth’s crust causing the concentric patterns one can see.
·
The influence of electro-magnetism as all the
crystals in the rock are so perfectly aligned in the direction they were
pointing when the molten rock solidified.
·
Volcanic influences (especially with the nearby
Argyle Diamond Mine, the world’s largest, not
simply a coincidence)
and
·
The presence of iron as an obviously strong
influence.
Their property
is 500ha in size, on which they run five leases (renewable every five years)
from which they hope the sale of large table and bench tops will be their main
source of income. They have no intention however of marketing their products
overseas and sometimes feel so awe struck by what they find underground do not
even wish to disturb the exposures concerned! In the ugly, cut throat world of mining, it is
a conservative attitude one does not often encounter and all the more
admirable.
Zebra rock exposure at the mine
Before leaving
the mine site, George had developed what he can only describe as a dose of
“zebra rock fever”. Each person was invited to take a piece of the stone and
shown how to polish it with gritted papers and water. George will wait until he
is back in ‘his’ workshop in the UK to work the material. Meanwhile Lea, trying
to keep focussed on her book back in the caravan, had enjoyed watching a
juvenile whistling kite sitting in a tree. She had heard the constant bouts of
whistling the previous afternoon but was unable to locate it. When the
insistent whistles began next morning, the position of the sun revealed its
presence on a branch close by. It seemed big enough to fly yet made no attempt
to go anywhere the entire day- just caused a ruckus as soon as it spotted its
parents coming in to feed it in turn- non-stop!
One time, Lea noticed something fairly large delivered to the youngster which
it mishandled and dropped. Parent swooped down and returned it to the juvenile.
This time, it appeared to tear at it from its talons. As evening fell, it disappeared from the
branch unseen.
We both attended
a most entertaining free talk given by Ruth outside the gallery that afternoon
– giving a delightful and humorous insight into their family background and how
their lives came together while their young daughter, Opal darted about. Aside from scones, the tiny kitchen served up
fresh fish and chips. Keen to discover what Lake Argyle’s silver cobbler (freshly
caught by husband Kim) tasted like and give Getaway’s cook a break, we treated
ourselves to fish and chips for supper. Lovely thick chunks served up with a
mixture of potato and Kumara chips. Lea mentioned the whistling kite to Ruth
and she was delighted to hear where the lazy rascal had got to. The nest was in a tall gum tree inside camp
and according to her, the parents have had a devil of a time persuading it to
leave home!! We were reluctant to leave
the Zebra Rock Mine campground, rapidly filling with more visitors. However,
knowing that Ruth and Kim are busy building another campground not far away,
realised that from a small beginning it won’t be long before the place becomes an
immensely popular destination on the NT shores of Lake Argyle. They already run Wetland Safaris along the
shoreline and take people on sunset cruises on the lake – so hats off and good
luck to them both.
Our next stop
was to be Saddle Creek another 24 hour rest area, 60km away. We were there by
mid-morning, grass fires burning not far off which we needed to keep an eye on,
otherwise the place with its escarpment backing us was perfect. George was keen
to climb up to the ridge until he found thick, long grass on the foot slopes
that required pushing a way through.
Ticks? Computers were preferable
and we began putting together June blog instead.
The temperature
steadily climbed and sun beat down relentlessly with more and more travellers,
like us, settling in and seeking shade under the picnic shelters. By nightfall
the place was full – and even then others continued to arrive after dark. We reckon over 75% of the vehicles we see on
the road up here are travellers. Towing caravans, trailers, boats; 4WDs with
roof top tents, Winnebago campers and hired vehicles or cars packed to the hilt
with young people and their tents.
Today, was
Justy’s day- the first anniversary of her passing. All our lives have moved inexorably
on since that dreadful day, 10th June 2017, and even though we have
continued with our day to day living, there is still a dark void inside us
where Justy resides. We recalled how she had chosen to live her life putting
others before herself, her infectious smile, her ever ready laughter, her
unbridled enthusiasm for sport, especially basketball, her cheekiness, her
friendship, her courage in facing down her lethal cancer and most of all, the
overpowering love she displayed for her family.
For that and much more we salute her …
In recognition
of all the joy she brought to our lives we had chosen to reach the baobab
filled campground of Big Horse Creek in
the Gregory National Park, one of our favourites - alongside the mighty
Victoria River. An ancient land so reminiscent of Africa we know Justy would
have loved it. Luck was on our side, arriving early, we were able to secure the
camp spot we’ve always used with a large family of baobab outside the door; many
bowerbirds flitting about even the kookaburras broke out in a chorus of welcome.
We were amazed to have sporadic phone signal from Timber Creek, the first town in
the Territory since crossing the border and still before us… numerous messages
from close people alerted us.
Living at
Tongaat Beach, Justy had always been moved by the Indian families she watched
coming down to the edge of the ocean to cast flowers and the ashes of their
relatives into the surf. Tea lights lit along the rocks. Sometimes lengths of
sari fabric floated through the breakers. In the ghastly weeks trying to pin
down an exact diagnosis; Justy was to recall this Tongaat memory with her
father, her husband and sister-in-law Sue, as they sat together in the Leeds
Sarcoma clinic, awaiting a meeting with her oncologist. She expressed a wish
for similar when her time came. Consequently, as the sun began to set, we took
a multi patterned African candle and bougainvillea blossoms (gathered in Broome
for another African connection) down to the edge of the Victoria River. Lit the
candle we stuck into the mud and released the petals in her memory (watchful of
course, for any saltwater crocs that may have been lurking around) and there,
watching them float away on the outgoing tide, with sundowners to hand; was one
of those very poignant moments in our fifth journey around Australia that will
live with us for ever. Comforted in the knowledge that elsewhere in the world
Justy’s close relatives and friends would do the same. In the midst of pathos comes humour. Just as
we were lighting her candle a curious fellow came down to see what we were
doing and asked whether we were lighting a flare! In the peace of the rose and gold of the
after- sunset we rose to leave only to have a raucous cacophony of corellas
fill the air. The large flock flew overhead, indelibly marking the
occasion. A “fly past”, as Lea said, of
special note!
We opted to
spend another day among the baobabs quietly reading and writing and watching
the birds. Bower birds with their ungainly hop-skip and wheezing call. We had a
male searching for treasure around us. According to the Aborigines He loves to make his ‘bower’ look pretty
enough to get a female in there, if she doesn’t like it, she breaks everything.
George popped down a pink bit of plastic
hoping to capture male attention. These
birds remind us of American Road-runners with their cartoon antics.
A Great Bower Bird’s Love Shack…Aborigines call
the bower ‘Lost and Found basket’
The day passed peacefully
enough until some idiot pulled in driving a huge purple bus with a Jeep in tow.
A campground far from suitable for large rigs. Their travelling companions drew up in an
expandable Cell caravan and unable to find anywhere to park asked George to
move forward a bit so he could reverse in behind us. In that instance the
“magic” of our baobab camp evaporated … Never mind there was a site ahead of us
closer to the mate. They preferred to literally squeeze in at an angle
centimetres behind us and then sit in the shade almost below Lea’s window-
every sound they made crushing in on us. It was time to move on; by nightfall we could
only move into the next site not to be in such close proximity.
90km north of
Timber Creek lay the Victoria River Roadhouse, a spot we had enjoyed staying at
once before. Passing through the Gregory National Park, we followed parts of
the Victoria River winding alongside the highway. The cliffs on the escarpments
on either side of the gorge this fine river passes through, make for a
marvellous sight. The large, informal, grassed camping area behind the
roadhouse, with power and water laid on at many different spots, together with
the numerous masked lapwings (plovers) strutting around, was most appealing. Once
settled in, as far away as possible from anyone else, it was time to charge up everything
from phones to computers, camera and caravan batteries (one of the wires on the
Anderson plug charging the caravan batteries had come adrift), fill our water tanks
and give our bodies a through wash down.
The Victoria
River (named after Queen Victoria in 1839) is the longest river in the Northern
Territory. The catchment area extends over 70 000 km² and after receiving the inflows from numerous tributaries, the
river eventually spills into the Timor Sea (via the 25km wide Joseph Bonaparte
Gulf) 560 km from its source, the last 100 km of the river being tidal.
Although hard to believe at first sight, since the roadhouse and its caravan
park are elevated well above the River. They lie on the floodplain and both
have been inundated in the past.
Flood markers
demonstrate the vulnerability of the campground and roadhouse…
Later in the
afternoon two caravans in convoy took up position quite near us only to have our site totally spoilt
when an eccentric looking, be-whiskered
old fellow narrowly parked between us - his pop-top A-Van, feet away aside us… no power, no water required! He reappeared with a
camera and lens the length of his arm, dressed like a camouflaged bird-hide and
placed himself at our tap/power point on a collapsible stool. Such was his
determined stance and flagrant invasion of our patch of turf, we were forced to
take a calming walk… In all our travels
we have not experienced the blatant behaviour of fellow campers as endured at RAAF
Boab Camp, Big Horse Campground and now here.
All situations that did not require encroachment!
A power out-age
added to our discomfort. We retired to the ‘Flashiest Pub in Scrub’ to improve
the mood and enjoyed a cold beer along with a very reasonable, well cooked
meal. Once power returned, we came back
to air-con and a video to block out sound. Next morning, we awoke to find our
twitcher back on his perch at our power point. He moved to the tree at our
front door totally ignoring Lea baking just behind him. The campground emptied
and eventually, he took off too…
Panoramic Bluff
to the west….
Curiosity led to another night here due to
evidence of diggings and scratching in damp areas. ‘Our’ tree provided a perfect post for the
camera trap. George gave the area a
thorough wetting at nightfall, to encourage diggings within range of the
camera.
Golden Bandicoot – rather grainy B&W photo of a nocturnal, very territorial species within its solitary home
range.
Moving on to Limestone Rest Area on the
Vince Connolly Crossing, we passed a huge number of Brahman cattle
picturesquely illuminated in the morning sun. A vision dashed later in the day
when we enjoyed a good walk along a fence line at evening time with curious
young Brahman arriving to peer over the fence at us beings! Five cattle trains
rumbled past us loaded with Brahman – leaving a distinctive smell of dung in the air.
9 km west of
Katherine we turned west and pulled into the Manbulloo Homestead caravan park –
a destination we thought we had once camped at with our Hilux and roof top tent
as Darwin residents many years ago. It was unfamiliar. A lovely spot with large
grassed, shady sites under huge Pod Mahogany trees. Signs that the water was undrinkable-
contaminated by PFAS, intrigued George with his interest in water quality. He
checked with ‘Dr Google’ and accordingly found the contaminant concerned perfluoroalkyl substances, are unable to be removed by standard water
treatment methods. The sources are sometimes industrial processes and
fire-fighting foams used by the military. The health effects – higher rates of
cancer and weakened antibody responses!
The story behind
Manbulloo (Murnburlu-Aboriginal word
for crested pigeon) is an interesting one. It was established by the Vesteys in
1917 when the idea was to rail cattle to the newly established meat works in
Darwin, a plan doomed to fail yet by 1934 they were running over 9 000
shorthorn cattle on the station. Using drovers, stock were walked to the meat
works in Wyndham or sent to Queensland via the Barkly stock route. Then came
WW2. In 1944, a thousand acres of the station were acquired by the Army to construct
an air strip, an army camp and an abattoir (operated by the 3 Field Butchery!)
… necessary to feed and care for the troops stationed in the NT. Manbulloo’s long pastoral history finally
came to an end in 1993 when the station was split into three separate titles –
one of these to be run as the cattle station and tourist enterprise - the facility we were enjoying.
The Katherine
River bordered the campground and we enjoyed a stroll along the bank. Come
evening, a muso, Phil King, entertained the campground with “guitar sounds of
the 60’s” using the back of a decrepit old truck as a stage.
Another day at
Manbulloo was pronounced worthwhile. While
Lea baked again, George took a long walk along the edge of the river – noting
with interest the way the mats of adventitious roots of the paperbark trees grew
carpet like, over the sandy lowermost terrace; with five terraces at different
flood levels in evidence - from catastrophic levels (the flood terrace on which
the caravan park and homestead are situated) to abnormally high; severe; major;
and minor levels. Hearing a splash as he
neared a large, still pool (whatever it was having leapt from a semi-submerged
log) George sat behind the trunk of a paperbark for a while watching. The glare
of the sun off the water prevented him from being 100% sure a croc surfaced on
the far bank, with only the head showing. The fact, it slowly moved upstream
(against the current) was fairly convincing. No spoor anywhere on the sandbanks
yet evidence of feral pigs coming to drink and wallow in isolated back
channels.
It was “a hop
and a 70k skip” from Manbulloo to the Edith Falls campground in the Nitmiluk NP.
It was worth arriving early to see whether we could grab a site without
booking. The clusters of sites available are often a trifle difficult to get
into when towing a caravan but Edith Falls has always been a pleasant place to
stay, with small shady lawns dotted around the campground, drinking water on
tap, the main pool only a short distance away.
Late afternoon, George took the steep walk
to the Upper Pool on the Edith River (a kilometre away) just to remind himself what
it looked like and sat there enjoying views.
Next
destination, Douglas Hot Springs required a longer drive than the norm (160 km)
with a number of stops on the Stuart Highway due to road works as well as a lot
of traffic; again, the number of caravans was quite staggering. Shortly after
Hayes Creek, we were only too glad to
pull off the highway and head southwards into the Daly River region … all the
river names encountered, reminded George of times spent exploring, while mapping the
wetlands of the Daly catchment twenty years ago.
Douglas Hot
Springs campground was not as frenetic as it can be and we chose ourselves a
quiet, private spot on the back boundary. George could scarcely wait to visit the river,
wading along its sandy, Pandanus /
paperbark lined channels in search of the hot inflows that feed into it –
looking primarily for somewhere away from the most popular spots in which to
soak in peace. Once located, he lay in the shallows delighting in the
sensations associated with lying at the interface between a stream of hot water
flowing along the right hand side of his body, and cold water flowing along the
left hand side … and being able to roll from one to the other whenever required. Shoals of small red-tailed rainbowfish,
barramundi and banded grunter, added to the pleasure. An experience so good he returned
to the caravan to collect Lea for this experience, in spite of it being 3.00pm,
the hottest time in the afternoon for hot water! After an hour long soporific
soak all we wanted to do was to go to sleep!
(Greg Miles, 2000).
Douglas River is
a much loved spot of ours. Since first coming, the campground has not only been
made more orderly there are now well kept ablution blocks. New water points
under sculptural instalments have just been put in. Perhaps to make them
noticeable and protect taps against accidental collision. We have always chosen
to bring guests here on a full moon, as there is nothing more magical than the
hot springs on a winter’s night in the moonlight. George delights in the hot water and spends
hours in the river observing the banded grunter feeding on rafts of filamentous
algae drifting down from the springs above … doing little else than meditate in
the shallows. Lea finds the water too hot to cope with nor does her dry skin
like long soaks. Her book and the antics of birds more than keep her happy in these
surrounds. Late afternoon, she savours her one long dip where heat bubbles up
through sandy shallows and the gentle river current cools. The
moon is still too new for night swims. The pangs of departing this special
place proved too great when it came to moving on down the road to the equally
meaningful Douglas-Daly Bush Resort two days later. We decided to stay just
where we were, especially as a big exodus of campers took place.
Come afternoon, we
returned to our favourite spot and in time began chatting with a young couple
(he from Manchester and she from Lapland) both working outside Townsville on a solar
panel project. A six week on, one week
off, cycle of work. This enables them to explore Australia. This last week they
flew to Darwin. The hefty price of internal air travel and the great
disappointment of Kakadu especially the entrance fee of $40 per person followed.
As is so often the case on a rushed visit, the ‘Kakadon’t’ scenario reigns and
Litchfield NP remains the most popular bet.
It is run by Territory Parks as opposed to the Commonwealth Government.
Another of the
great rivers was our next destination; (150 km away from Douglas Hot Springs) the
western bank of the Daly River and Perry’s
on the Daly. A beautifully quiet ‘oasis’ we have never forgotten since chancing
on it, in August 2010. Run by Carol and Dick Perry, who have the 500 acre farm
up for sale now. No longer turning off
to the settlement of Daly River and the causeway crossing, we took the newly
opened Bul Bul Bridge, part of the upgrading of a road to Port Keats (where
Dick Perry runs a cadet training camp for Aboriginal kids). This single lane
high level bridging of the Daly river has brought Perry’s closer yet it was our
impression that the 14km dirt road leading to the campground was much rougher
than we recall. Especially two mighty steep ‘jump ups’ before the road became
little more than a narrow, overgrown farm track. Carol thinks these ‘jump ups’
(sharp blind rises) put people off at that point, as booking often don’t
materialise.
Contentment… A
large salt water crocodile cruised brazenly below our private Perry’s-on-the-Daly
camp site, seated as we were on our river bank edge, high above the Daly with
an icy mango smoothie in hand. We had
power and water plus the shade of huge riverine trees, even phone signal. A
swimming pool, hot showers; private barbeque with firewood laid on … even
fishing tackle and boat available for hire! A nice barramundi would go down
very well? Dick Perry is registered fishing guide with over 30 years of
experience fishing the Daly and conducts fishing safaris throughout
Australia. Previously, George caught a
Sooty Grunter here, the only fish ever caught on our travels. Sometime after
that, George dispensed with all fishing gear as a waste of space, time and
money!
Towards evening,
with agile wallabies bounding away in every direction we took a walk through
the plantation of African mahogany trees that Dick has planted for sale as
timber; went to inspect the very rough “golf course” he has developed on the
property for entertainment during the occasional family reunion, and we admired
the huge multi-branched rain trees that were to be found growing elsewhere.
Dick Perry told
us a lovely story on why this tree is called a rain tree. It expels excess
moisture from its leaves like rain. Having never heard of this, we googled and
could find nothing to suggest any truth. We have heard of trees ‘spitting’ ….
Generally sap sucking insects.
For the record –
it was 13.3⁰C when we got up at
8.30 in the morning at Douglas River – cold! At the Daly, it was 19.5⁰C – a six degree advantage thanks to the canopies of the trees above
us?
Taking advantage
of power and well away from other campers George took out his Dremel knowing
the whining noise would bother no one but the wife. He began carving another
peanut from his small stock of Huon pine and redwood – the creation of which
with wood dust flying everywhere and the smell, he always finds most satisfying. Lea also took advantage of power, to trial
a vegetable croquette recipe for lunch (Sue Ramsden influence) and set a slow cooked
dinner underway in the convection oven – all done while keeping a freshie under observation as it lay basking on the
mud bank below us. As the tide falls it exposes gradually shelving banks; a
large (3.5m) saltie did the same thing directly opposite our campsite, the
colour of its body and heavily serrated tail changing from dark to light grey
as it dried in the sun. In between regularly checking on what crocs may be doing
we enjoyed lazy days doing what we enjoy around camp and walking. The high
cliff-like banks of the Daly are an indication of the high volume and velocity
of the flood waters- Lea flatly refused to allow George to clamber down a
slippery slope to take a photo of the croc imprints after a boat had disturbed
it. We walked to the boat ramp we recalled – and found it no longer in
existence, the entire length of it washed away. A mere hint of its previous
formation.
A saltie (top photo) and a freshie (above) lying below our camp
Three nights
later, with the expectation of blowing our budget next month and drawn by a
ballooning moon; we decided a return to the Douglas Hot Springs. Bought more sliced
mango (frozen at $8 a tub) from Carol Perry and set off on the two hour drive
to ‘our site’ at the hot springs, arriving by midday. Site was waiting… closely
surrounded by big parties of young camper who thankfully left late afternoon. Since
we were going to be there for the next four days George was keen to roll out
the awning for the first time in well over three years and check its state. The
cover we had fitted to protect the new awning after sun had totally destroyed
the first one some years ago - had worked perfectly. Still like new … the
struts and supports required lubrication though.
An hour soak in
the river, a cold shandy and the tents have gone. It’s a tough life us grey
nomads lead.
Butterfly Gorge
is closed and we took the opportunity to walk the quiet road in that
direction following the spoor of a
water buffalo and some dingoes. No sight of them though. After morning tea, George
headed upstream of the hot springs and came across a pair of rainbow bee-eaters swooping over the
surface of the river snatching up their prey (often at the water’s edge where
one expects insects to be found). He was amazed to discover that beneath each
of their favoured perch sites (in this case dead branches left stranded on a
sand bank) were small black pellets containing the exoskeletons of the insects
they had been catching. The pellets lying ahead of the spot stained white from
their urea filled faeces. George had never heard of bee-eaters disgorging
pellets, as does an owl for example, and after picking up a few specimens could
hardly wait to examine them in more detail back at the caravan. Even without
the aid of a microscope or magnifying glass he could see the bulbous eyes of
dragonflies, the thorax and legs of a water beetle together with the legs of
numerous other insects, but no wings (thinking that perhaps these were removed
when prey is pulverised before swallowing).
Later, watching
through binoculars, he saw one of the bee-eaters catch and swallow a dragonfly
– obvious because of its bright colour, tried to establish how often the bird
took to the wing in pursuit of prey (roughly every minute) and how many such
excursions met with success. George was in research mode … without a notebook,
stopwatch or assistant as a scribe! Little
did Lea know, reading her set book ‘My friends and other Animals’ sixty years ago that her life would be
enriched by her own Naturalist Scientist, out in wild spaces.
Day trippers
filled the hot spring surrounds and George suggested we didn’t venture down to
the river until much later in the day.
Our favourite spot was well taken and we returned closer to the popular
area. As we crossed a hot spot George picked up a little Spangled grunter
breathing his last. We decided he had ventured into water that was too hot and
tried to revive him. Too late! We decided to settle right there for a shallow
soak, only to be treated to a fantastic live show provided by a small Merten’s
water monitor who appeared swimming down our channel like a tiny Loch Ness
Monster. Saw us and swung into a tangle of submerged roots barely a metre from
us. For the next half hour or more, we were riveted by ‘Merten’ searching for
and catching fish. We soon realised Merten had possibly been disturbed by us,
hence the dying spangled grunter. He was remarkably successful finding fish
hiding beneath the overhanging roots the paperbark tree. Interestingly, because
he was hunting in super-warm water ‘Merten’ appeared to become overheated in
the process and periodically came out to cool off on the river bank. Perhaps
too, the fish are more lethargic! A natural wonder of life on the Douglas river,
missed by many people soaking in the river.
George re-walked
the dry back channel downstream of the hot springs, determined to find its
confluence with the mainstream. He didn’t have to walk far before there was no
trace of humans – the sand bearing only the tracks of wallabies, water buffalo,
goannas and birds; a dead cane toad lying on its back having been picked clean
by something - probably a white-headed heron; sulphur crested cockatoos
overhead screaming in defiance at his presence; blue-winged kookaburras calling
and then, to crown all, the drawn out wailing of a pack of dingoes howling on the
opposite side of the river. It was the sort of place one feels like, and is, an
intruder. When George finally reached the confluence he sat beneath the
paperbarks, creaking and swaying in the wind, and imbibed the special ambience
of the place.
In the misty
moonlight….seeing flickering fire light, we walked down to the hot springs to
take our last soak in Tjuwaliyn. A photo
was most troublesome. The light of the moon only fell across the shallow water
and trees above. Camera flash was unable penetrate the deeper water. While George
battled to see through the lens … the high-pitched whine of mosquitoes
buzzed around Lea and viciously fed off her… So much for a relaxed
romantic hour…
Returning to the
Stuart Highway we decided to try out Coomalie Creek RV Park. It was a
delightful spot with green lawns to power sites and very well priced. We were
about to take up a power site when George noticed a lovely setting away from
people overlooking the Coomalie Creek with plenty of sun to keep the solar
panels happy. We went there instead with its carpet of dried bamboo and
bird life adding to our scene. We would like to have stayed longer but we needed
to be closer to Darwin to catch up with local friends, seek medical advice for
Lea’s right arm and have our flu jabs before the 'Howman Family Indaba'. In Coolalinga, we accomplished everything smoothly and easily.
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