Crocodile Rock (Arnhem Land, East Alligator River, Hawk Dreaming, NT)

I know you've been waiting for this title dear reader, it was an inevitability given all the references to crocodiles. At some point I had to go with the obvious and reference Elton John's classic song from 1973. You know you love it, enjoy. And yes, I'm pretty certain I've used it before but with almost 400 posts I'm not backtracking to see where or when.

Before I dive too deeply into today's exploits I just wanted to make an observation or two. Firstly, some of my commentary will probably be overtly political in the remaining few posts. Yes, I know, my long suffering reader, I have always been political. I'm just flagging it. If you don't like my politics, well, too bad, it's my blog, write your own or go watch Sky News.

Secondly, since we crossed the border into the NT, one of the major differences between here and WA has become blindingly obvious. In the NT, the legacy, the history and story of the first peoples of Australia are put right to the fore and celebrated. In WA it appears as an afterthought or at best, tokenism. Except in Durack country. Nothing existed before the Duracks. I'm sure I read that in Genesis.

As supporting evidence of my previous assertion, I tender the expected announcement, as reported by the ABC this week, from the WA Government (Labour ... shame) to repeal the Aboriginal Cultural Heritage Act 2023. It was enacted in July 1, 2023. Last month. They are reverting to the previous act that allowed the destruction of Jukkan Gorge by Rio Tinto. Cool and normal.

Anyway ... you've been warned.

We had something close to a sleep in, a 7am breakfast. Luxury, particularly after the excitement of our smoke alarm. The local blue-winged kookaburras were hanging around hoping for some kitchen scraps. It was not to be.

They are so much more colourful in flight.

Today we are travelling from Kakadu, across the East Alligator River, into Arnhem Land. Our regular guides were getting some well deserved downtime and we were punted to a "local" guide. Local is an interesting word. He was local to the extent that he had lived in the NT and was available, but not local in that he now lived on the NSW north coast and was born and raised in Sydney.

Like most of the guides we had come across, he was well versed in information to share about the local wildlife, the indigenous art works, the geography of the area and so on. He was also happy to share his thoughts on the upcoming Voice referendum as well as his perspective on the Aboriginal people. While everyone is entitled their own twist on how they view the world, it never ceases to amaze me how many people in this country want to make money out of the Aboriginal history and culture of this land and yet are happy to deride them. I've seen and heard it so often before. It is tedious. And generally ill informed.

It's the same with the misinformation being spread about the Voice. No really. OK, not now.

The truck/bus we were spending our day in, was not as big as our regular vehicle so two of us had the fortune, good or otherwise, to travel upfront. The roads in Arnhem Land weren't any better than any others we'd been on recently but being in the front cabin made the ride marginally smoother. Greg, my co-passenger and I decided we would coordinate our body/head sways lest we collide and give each other concussion. We rocked. We rolled. We bounced. We survived. Unharmed. Greg (not the driver) is a champion.

Sandstone worn smooth by the original inhabitants.

We crossed the East Alligator River at Cahills Crossing, a causeway that notoriously attracts tourists who are keen to be crocodile bait. I would have waited to watch that, but we were on a timeline. The river is so named because explorers were often stupid, oh sorry, poorly educated. This incorrect naming of the river system because of a lack of knowledge has remained unchanged. Why? The usual bureaucracy. When it was realised that the animals in the water were crocs, not alligators, some bean-counting desk-jockey said it would too difficult and expensive to change the name. So it remains. Gotta love Straya.

It's very different country in Arnhem Land.

First stop after crossing the river was to view some indigenous art. This country is so different. Sandstone cliffs and plains that go on forever. Waterways that look tranquil but harbour hungry locals. Real locals, not those visiting, armed with a rote-learned script. It's best not to ask too many questions, going off-script can induce panic. Or bullshit. Or both.

I'm just pretending not to notice you. Come closer.

There is an obvious shift in the style of painting from the Gwion Gwion art of the Kimberley to what is often referred to as x-ray art because of the incredible amount of detail included in the work.

Barramundi. Yum.

Arnhem Land, like most of the country we have travelled through, is stunning. It is home to an amazing array of flora and fauna. It is also home to burgeoning numbers of feral animals. I mentioned the cane toads earlier, today we saw wild horses and buffalo. While we didn't see any feral pigs, although the damage they cause is evident everywhere and has a major impact on the condition of the roads.

Are you looking at me?

It seemed like there were artworks on every rock surface, telling the story of generation after generation of the first inhabitants of Australia. Around 65,000 years of continuous association with the land. Absolutely amazing and yet we dismiss it out of hand. We get more excited about pyramids or some aqueducts built by the Romans. It is high time we recognised our own people and the contribution they have made to the world. A population that lived in harmony with the land and the water, until Europeans arrived. They have much to teach us still and we have so much to learn.

One area we visited had been tagged as the Indigenous Olympic site because it was where spear throwing contests were held. I can't vouch for the validity of this, but the rock they aimed at had multiple spear points embedded high up in a crevice. It might not have been the Olympics, but it would have taken skill, talent, athleticism and strength to leave a spear point behind in the rock.

Look closely. Truly amazing!

Around us, as we travelled in different areas of Arnhem Land, the cool burns continued and smoke rose lazily in the distance to remind us that land was still being cared for by its original owners. 

We stopped at Gunbalanya to check out the art gallery and to have lunch by the river. It was a beautiful spot and the water was enticing on such a hot day. While we couldn't see the crocodiles, we knew they were there and were probably watching, as we enjoyed a meal of Pad Thai noodles, again provided by the talented Rung.

Not as tempting as it seems.

Back on the road, we visited more art sites on the way back to Kakadu and Hawk Dreaming where we were staying.

Speaks for itself.

While I enjoyed Arnhem Land immensely, I would have been much happier had our guide been indigenous. I don't know why this tends to be a rare occurrence, but an indigenous guide adds so much more to the experience. Their reflection, their thoughtfulness in every response, the fact that they are not just parroting a learned script, makes such a difference. If you doubt that, ask a guide a question that takes them off-script. A good guide will admit their deficit of knowledge. Most will bluster, bullshit and carry on. I've travelled with both. The latter is more common. Sadly. However, you can't challenge them, no, no, no. That's how the system works. You just sit quietly and know they are wrong.

A grindstone below one of the artwork overhangs.

Our day was not done yet. After a brief respite we were heading to the rock formation that gave its name to the lodge, Hawk Dreaming. Before that, Rung decided to put some food out for the Blue-winged Kookaburras. That got me very excited. And, just quietly, pretty happy with the photos below.

Is that the dinner bell?

Watch your fingers.

Brilliant colours.

Hawk Dreaming, the lodge, was named after the Whistling Kites that constantly circle the nearby outcrop of sandstone. There are areas of rock art around the region, reflecting the indigenous habitation and involvement in their country. One more recent piece of art depicted the plane from a Qantas advertisement from the 1950s, clearly demonstrating continuous association with the land.

Not a hawk, or a kite in sight.

The photo doesn't capture it very well. Qantas.

We then moved to a nearby rock platform to enjoy the changing colours, as the sun went down. And a couple of glasses of wine. It is just such special country. Seriously, if you get the opportunity do it. 

Nice place for a sunset drink. Swimming not advised.

Then it was time to head back to the lodge for another sensational Thai dinner prepared by Rung. After dinner, it was time for some formalities. Tonight, while not the final dinner, would be the last occasion when our tour group would be together in a venue that was exclusively for our use.

Our elder statesman, Ken, spoke eloquently on behalf of us all, acknowledging our guides as well as our fellow travellers. After this, it was time to retire to prepare for tomorrow and the final leg of our adventure, heading into Darwin and back to civilisation.

Bobo.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life (Bell Gorge/Dalmanyi, WA)

The morning commenced with a most raucous racket, dear reader. The likes of which we had never heard before. I thought it was the end of days. It continued for a number of minutes, ensuring everyone at the lodge was awake. "What is that?" croaked Jayne from her side of our king bed, sometime around 4:30 am. It was a bird, or more accurately birds, but I had no idea what variety. Needless to report, sleep did not fully return. Breakfast was at 6:30 anyway and the light arrives later up here in the north. So we dozed for a while until breakfast where the disruptive bird was named as the Blue-winged Kookaburra. It's like our Kookaburra in the east except it just can't get the laugh out and keeps repeating the beginning sounds. A veritable cacophony of squawking. Not quite music to my ears at that time of day.

A juvenile pied butcherbird near the food tent.

Although we did not spot them at Bell Gorge they made their presence felt regularly. Today we headed for Dalmanyi, the gorge area and swimming spot after which the wilderness retreat is named. It was back into the truck searching for our seats after the daily rotation.

Resting on the drive to the gorge was not on the agenda due to the corrugated nature of the Gibb River Road and the fact that, Kylie, one of our guides felt compelled to provide information about the area.

Debris in the tree from the wet season.

Of course there was the regular hyperbolic description of the walk to the falls. Except the word 'walk' was replaced by 'hike'. This was accentuated, significantly and unnecessarily, ad nauseum. While I understand the reasoning behind the exaggerated description and overt warning, I don't believe it is effective. The people it should apply to always believe the warning is for someone else. I've seen it previously. Besides, everyone on this trip was capable of completing this walk, sorry, hike.

How blue is a Kimberley sky?

Dalmanyi is part of Bell Creek and is located on Silent Grove Road. The creek system is fed by water from the Wunaamin-Miliwundi Ranges and it is a beautiful spot to swim and relax in the dry season. There is a pool above the falls for those who feel the 2km walk, sorry, hike, from the car park is sufficient exercise on a hot day.

The pool above the falls.

For the more adventurous, me, there is a short walk across the escarpment and a bit of a rock scramble to access the pool below the falls. The water in both pools is quite refreshing, or cold as it was described by others.

The falls and pool below.

The walk from the carpark, although quite picturesque, was challenging in parts, not because it was particularly arduous, but because you were walking on the creek bed. It was predominantly river rock, unstable, difficult to negotiate at times, and hard on the ankles.

A Kimberley Rose or Sticky Kurrajong.

After admiring the view and enjoying an energising swim, our time in Dalmanyi ended all too quickly. It was back along the rocky creek bed to the car park and lunch at Silent Grove (Dulmundi) Camp Ground.

A Rainbow Bee-eater. 

This is an APT tour where too much food is barely enough. Lunch was wraps, fruit and juice. I snapped a few bird photos while Kylie led us in a name game to ensure that we all remembered each other's name. Any teacher would be familiar with this game where everyone sits in a circle and the first person says their name and the next person repeats it and states their name. The variation to this was the requirement to attach something to your name. For instance, we had Ken who became Ken and Barbie, and Brian who became the Life of Brian and Teresa who became Mother Teresa. You get the picture and now understand today's title. It became a bit of a them for us. Remember it, from the Monty Python movie of the same name.

Peaceful Dove

After lunch, it was back to the wilderness lodge to rest for a while before dinner. We arrived around 4 pm and dinner was set for 6:30 pm, a pattern that became quite familiar over the next few days. Dinner was a typical APT affair, three courses although, unlike the overseas tours, wine was at your own cost.

The morning light comes late and the night arrives early in the Kimberley. After a lovely dinner, it was time to return to our tent and get some much needed sleep.

Until next time.