Kakadu Day Two: Arnhem Land

I woke early on my second day in Kakadu. The morning air was heavy with humidity as I heated instant porridge on my camp stove. I was booked into a group tour headed to Arnhem Land. Just before 8am, I joined a handful of other guests waiting at the front office of the Aurora Kakadu Lodge and Caravan Park.  The 4WD bus arrived–our tour guide, Brett, reminded me of a young, Gallipoli-era Mel Gibson, with a ponytail and a tan which spoke of decades in the outback. We picked up more people from the Mercure Kakadu Crocodile Hotel (a hotel literally shaped like a crocodile). A family group joined us there, featuring a husband named Dave, whose personality was as big as his build. His two teenage children already looked bored. Once all guests were accounted for, Brett officially welcomed us to the tour. He announced the day would be full of visits to scenic locations, rock art, and other sacred sites.

From Kakadu, we crossed the East Alligator River via Cahill’s Crossing into Arnhem Land. Brett pointed out a brolga’s nest: perched high at the top of a tree, it reminded me of an eagle’s nest.

Brett turned the bus turned off the main dirt road, and his driving was careful and calculated as he navigated the rises and dips in the rough, uneven track.

We arrived at a shady area close to the banks of the Inkju Billabong. Brett warned us to keep a close eye out for crocodiles, and not to venture too close to the water’s edge. As we walked, we were careful not to tread in the large piles of water buffalo dung.  A gentle breeze blew through the treetops as we followed Brett into a shaded forest clearing, the location of a sacred ceremonial site of the Yolgnu people.

Brett pointed out a rocky escarpment in the near distance beyond the rich green, grassy plain. He explained that in Yolgnu tradition, it was the resting place of Guliambi Anjiman, the Earth Mother. Since time immemorable, the Yolgnu people have known this was buladjang–sickness country. If the site was disturbed, trouble would result and people would become unwell. In the modern era, scientists have discovered have potentially harmful mineral deposits, including uranium, at the location of major ‘bula’ sites.    

I studied the group as Brett shared Dreaming stories about the area: the collective was made up of retired couples, one young couple around my age, and Dave’s family group. These guests were holiday makers seeking a surface–level cultural experience. The elderly husbands had been dragged along by their wives, the teenagers by their parents. They had no real interest in the spiritual aspect of the Indigenous culture.  Dave commented that there was a deep sense of peace here. He seemed pleasantly surprised, as if witnessing a state of enlightenment he had never experienced before. He didn’t appear to have a spiritual bone in his body, but it was apparent he was having a spiritual experience, perhaps his first. There was magic in this place.

Amongst the leaves and twigs on the ground, a brown and white feather caught my eye.
‘What bird is this from?’ I asked Brett, holding it out for him to see.
He studied it closely.
‘I can’t be sure,’ he said. ‘Sorry. It could be a hawk or an eagle of some kind.’
I took a photo and left the feather where I’d found it.  

Back at the bus, we ate lunch with a view of the billabong, keeping an eye out for crocodiles looking for a bite to eat. I chatted with Dave’s family; he asked what had brought me to the Northern Territory, and I told them about the writer’s festival. They asked about my writing, and I told them about my books. They were particularly interested in my first book, The Wilted Rose, and I gave them one of my business cards.

After lunch we boarded the bus and moved on to Nadab Lookout. The group scattered around the rocky outcrop, taking in the views of another green, grassy plain. A billabong snaked its way along the edge of the lookout, and we spotted a crocodile resting under a shady tree on the other side. Brett caught up with me as I explored the escarpment.

‘I heard you’re a writer,’ he commented.
‘Yes, I am. I was at the NT Writers Festival in Darwin before this.’
‘What are you working on at the moment?’
‘A fantasy short story.’
‘Set in the Northern Territory?’
‘Not this one. But I’m sure I’ll have plenty of stories to tell from this trip.’

The tour ended at the Injalak Arts Centre. Inside the gift shop, I purchased a copy of The Complete Adventures of Blinky Bill by Dorothy Wall, a souvenir reminiscent of my favourite childhood cartoon.

I passed the bus, where Brett stood smoking a cigarette.

‘So, are you doing anything after the tour?’ he asked.
‘Just going back to my van,’ I replied.
‘Do you want to come to the golf club for a drink?’
‘Sure,’ I replied, my voice pitched with surprise. ‘Sounds great!’

‘Okay,’ said Brett. ‘I’ll give you a call after I drop the rest of the group off.’

I didn’t know what I had expected from the day tour to Arnhem Land, but being asked out for a drink wasn’t it.  

To Be Continued…