Scratching at the surface

Night time in the wilderness releases an entirely different palette of sounds to that of daylight or even twilight. The diverse chatter of birds, croaks of amphibians and buzz of insects are replaced by the most unfamiliar, and at times alarming sounds from the other side of that thin ‘protective’ canvas. They’re all the more disconcerting as you’ve no idea whatsoever as to the size, position or indeed intention of the owner. You don’t really want to think on it too much, only for it to stay out there and go about its nightly business as if you’re not there. In fact the irregular but frequent bumps and scratches from the stirring wallabies occupying the space beneath your floor for the night, becomes a reassuring and welcoming ‘hello’. ‘You know who we are and everything’s OK down here mate. Will soon enough be saying g’day, so snooze easy and catch’ya at sunrise’ .

We forced ourselves to rise with the sun and hiked down to the nearby billabong. We’d been advised when visiting such places to leave at least one ‘salty unit’ of length between ourselves and the water’s edge. Whilst this was fresh water, the salties are unfortunately at home in both sea and river. The freshwater croc is also common in these parts, albeit shorter and no real threat to us due to its smaller and softer teeth. So we sat at a ‘safe’ position on the river bank and watched a host of birds, egrets, geese, waders, herons, storks, kingfishers, humming birds, to name but a few, commence their daily routines. Wallabies came down to drink cautiously from the water’s edge, ever alert, although clearly comfortable in our presence. After all, we had just slept together. Soon a colourful mosaic of water lilies opened incrementally, as if players in a stop motion animation. Dragon flies and unfamiliar brightly coloured insects hovered across the surface, creating that relaxing and hypnotic buzz with which I was familiar from childhood summers and prohibited trips to the river with rebellious mates.

Then as if at the drop of a hat, all seemed to stop. Birds previously swooping and diving for fish over the water’s surface took to the trees. Wallabies ‘mannequined’. Large storks and egrets stood motionless with beaks pointing in the direction of their collective concern. ‘I wonder what’s spooked them?‘ Francesca mused aloud. Then almost as one, we involuntarily whispered – ‘that’s what’s spooked them’. We also sat transfixed, as if in awe of the beast that moved silently through the waters in front of us. Its 4 to 5 metres of length and likely half ton of weight, created only the slightest ripple and disturbance to the water through which it drove itself. Steady and purposeful movement as graceful as it was menacing. The creature’s smooth, silent procession through the hushed and respectful congregation was almost majestic. Only when the salty had passed into the distance did business return to its beautiful normal. A scene played out just for us.

We eventually drew ourselves away from our billabong bank, temporarily satiated by nature’s early morning performance, and returned to Wildman Wilderness Lodge for breakfast. Sustenance ahead of a day crossing Kakadu, trekking, climbing and simply looking and wondering. Apart from the tiny town of Jabiru in the heart of this immense National Park, we made little contact with other people. Jabiru is positioned at the end of the Arnhem Highway which runs west to east across the NT. This highway does continue to the north east of the NT, but is a strict no go for the normal traveller without permit. Beyond that junction the road leads to two highly restricted destinations. One is the 34000 square kilometre wilderness of Arnhem Land, which is the Traditional Land of the indigenous Yolngu people. These aboriginal people generally live in small settlements scattered across vast Arnhem Land, which is one of the last regions in Australia that could arguably be considered a separate country. The other is the controversial Ranger Uranium Mine which sits incongruously just within the Kakadu National Park and has been in operation for over 30 years. The mine has been dogged by leakage incidents and in 2009 was reported to have been leaking 100 000 litres of contaminated water on a daily basis. At the end of 2013 a tank collapsed releasing over one million litres of radioactive acid over the site. The Australian government’s decision to overrule the rights of Kakadu’s Traditional Owners and impose such a potentially toxic industry in a World National Heritage site receives continued criticism and challenge. We didn’t go there! But instead now headed south through wild and mysterious Kakadu, taking time to detour off road at as many of its special places that our day would allow. We stood in the middle of dry lakes circled by red sandstone ridges, and looked out from hilltops around a 360 horizon of endless forest entirely free of human imprint. At one point in the hot mid-afternoon we stopped off for a cold drink break. A dog appeared and ‘tamely’ licked Francesca’s feet under the trestle picnic table at which we were seated. It then calmly skipped off on its merry casual way. We watched the canine as it departed. There was no doubt. Francesca had just had her toes licked by a dingo. And that dingo had firmly rejected them. The wild dog clearly recognised a unicorn jockey when he licked one.

It was time for the long twilight drive back to Darwin, to join the road trains powering unstoppably north up the Stuart Highway. We’d peered into the wilderness, scratched at its surface and marvelled at what even that faintest glimpse revealed. We left no trace behind, other than perhaps those few droplets of Francesca’s sweat on a dingo’s tongue. We, the unicorn jockey, the croc whisperer and the free spirit. And of course Sam the Driver.

For now we needed our beds. We had a special train to catch in the morning.