After a false alarm that had us delayed at the Katherine hospital for a day, and a trip back up to Darwin to get the windshield on the Fiat replaced, we headed back on Highway 1 pointing due south towards Tennant Creek.
I thought I'd seen the last of straight unrelenting roads for awhile but I was wrong. But unrelenting straight roads can still offer up some gems: Talking to our mad Collingwood supporting host at Mataranka, bemoaning the tyranny of distance in regards to lack of decent AFL coverage on the TV. "All you get up here" she says," is Gold Coast and Greater Western Sydney games, maybe the odd Crows game but there is no joy in that either"; sucking on frozen mango that has been peeled for you was a real treat in the hot nights; Bitter Springs, how sweet it was to let the current drift you gently down the stream in the warm mineral waters; meeting a man with a troubled soul at the spring who was trying to sort himself out, his story although sad was a real gem; the Daly Waters hotel, you could be forgiven if you thought you had walked into an Opp Shop; Chilli and his wife, talk about true entrepreneurs out here in the back of beyond; paying $24.00 for a six pack of XXXX Gold at Elliot, well that was a gem I could do without; the Renner Springs Desert Hotel and Caravan Park, possibly the most rustic in Australia (Lyndhurst in SA would give it a good run for it's money); Tennant Creek where I'm lazily scribbling a few notes as we speak, in Jacksons Bar at the Tennant Creek Hotel, a real gem of a pub!
So while I'm champing at the bit for the smell of sea air and friendly waves along the East Coast, I'm mindful of more gems coming our way before we hit the Pacific.
Alana floating on by
Bitter Springs, how sweet it is.
the Daly Waters Hotel
Cold beer and easy conversation
Now what size bra was that?
a lot to see in here
Where Chilli hangs out when he is not performing at the pub
Southwards
The Renner Springs Desert Motel and Caravan Park
Pretty rustic Huh!
Alana taking advantage of the magnificent facilities here!
Jacksons bar Tennant Creek
This hotel looked like it really pumped! in years gone by.
The Classy Shaft Night Club (which has long seen a customer)
The towns slip by us one by one, each home to its own, and only a blink to travellers like us. In some we stop for coffee and supplies or petrol, smile and nod to the locals and take in the localities uniqueness - whether waterhole, chasm, gorge or museum. We take them in with our eyes and some of them remain: a memory of wading a crisp pool at the base of a dry season waterfall, still leeching out the wet season's gift, and greening small tracts of monsoon forest amidst this dry and yellowing landscape.
Michael cooling his feet at Florence Falls, Litchfield NP
Swimming at Wangi Falls, Litchfield NP.
Walking through the remnant monsoon rainforest at Florence Falls.
Having fun at Buley Rock Pool, Litchfield NP.
On a walk around Wangi Falls.
Other memories linger too; a conversation with Barb, a non-conformist seventy year old ukulele player from Narooma in NSW, who wears her bluebird tattoo proudly along with her eastern turquoise pendant and Turkish earrings; splashing and playing like kids in the wave pool at Darwin waterfront; camping alongside the eccentric Mike from Russell Island in Morton Bay via New Zealand and the Kiwi defence establishment; eating the best ever dark chocolate and mango sorbet in the world; learning for the first time the reality of the bombing of Darwin during WWII at the military museum; and catching a sunset at Mindil Beach with my old mate, Liz, after exploring the market.
Mike from Russell Island in Morton Bay.
Mike and Mike playing F n C, G again.
Having dinner at Mindil Beach Market in Darwin.
At Mindil Beach the locals and tourists alike come down from the market to watch the sun setting.
Mindil Beach sunset.
A happy coincidence catching up with my old mate Liz in Darwin.
Michael soaking up our military history at the War Museum.
A new purpose for the old WWII search lights.
Mindil Beach.
And other impressions, deeper and more elusive, play upon the mind. The unspoken line drawn between blacks and whites in towns like Darwin and Katherine, and the rare, but welcome, moments when a smile, a handshake, a nod, or a friendly conversation reaches across the gulf and reminds us that we are fellow countrymen after all, and help to push past these deep and painful rifts between us.
We southern city folk hold easy opinions, informed by commentary that fits our ideology and political persuasion, left or right, yet have no real experience or understanding of the realities - we think we 'know' the answers and offer them glibly - yet we do not know.
I look up at the stars and moon at night and send my hopes beyond the opinions and answers and it seems all I can do is wish.
I will listen to opinions, but I will not offer my own. They have been pummelled to red dust and left behind on the black tar of highway number one.
Being out here for us was never about seeing every great sight or visiting every place the travellers talk about around the fire or camp kitchen. We get tired of hearing "you should see this or that". We are happy to nod and ooh and ahh and thank them kindly, and sometimes we take their advice and are glad we did, but now after seven months of our journey there is a certain travel weary rhythm that we dance to. It is slower, more measured and as we set our sights toward the east once more we're looking forward to the fellowship of friends and family right down the east coast. We look forward to seeing their faces and being in their easy company once more. Talking and laughing and exchanging the mere joy of each others lives.
Someone asked recently, "are you still excited to walk those beaches and hike those trails and see those wonders as when you first began, or have you become desensitised to them?" I think it is partly true, however, something else kicks in when you're setting your sails for home and that is 'I must take all this in yet, I must still be present while I canoe Katherine Gorge and be in awe as I let the cool waters of the Wangi Creek wash over me.
Nitmiluk NP (Katherine Gorge)
Early morning cruise on the gorge at Nitmiluk.
Mike dreaming of canoeing down the gorge.
Early morning on the gorge.
Canoeing the Gorge.
We leave our canoe and take our paddles to the next leg of the gorge.
Just awesome!
I won't let my weariness rob me of these times that may never come again, on the contrary, I will savour them even more, slowly and gratefully.
Wangi Falls reflections.
Wangi Falls.
Florence Falls.
Wangi Falls, which we loved so much.
Mike and Alana suffering sensory overload - 'should we have another swim dear?'
Alana and I weren't planning to spend an overnight at Fitzroy Crossing but we read about this "Crossing Inn" which is the oldest continuous licenced pub in the Kimberly. It has a caravan park attached to it and is on the banks of the mighty Fitzroy River. So we said "may as well" and stayed a couple of nights, making sure we visited the Geiki Gorge while we were staying there.
Looks kind of non descript
The opening hours of the pub were between 1.00pm and 7.00pm and pretty much at about 1.15pm Alana and I could hear the sound of the juke box wafting across the van park. At about 2.00pm we decided to go over and have a drink or two.
I found this pub to be interesting to say the least and as such deserves a mention. It caters to the locals. The opening hours, the restrictions on what take aways you can have, where and when you can get a drink is all about harm minimisation. The pub employs this security guy and his job is to check everyone's ID as they come in through the wire grilled sliding door. On the surface this may look a bit confronting but I can see why it's done this way. Inside and outside the pub there are all these signs that spell out the rules including one that I found amusing which lists a banning time of 1 to 7 weeks depending on the offence committed.This pub being off the main road, the community built a foot path along the way with solar panelled street lights and signs painted in red, black and yellow, saying "Walk safe!", or this classic, "Turn on your lights or you might bump into someone."
note the paintings on the outside walls
The point of entry for some
'sign, sign, everywhere a sign'
Anyway back to the pub, Alana and I, rather than find a quiet corner of the pub to go by unobserved while we engage in our favourite past time of people watching, decided to sit on the bench next to one of the pool tables where all the action was taking place.
A guy in a cheque shirt, dusty jeans and thongs, wearing one of those 10 gallon cowboy hats with a smile nearly as broad came over and said, "Hello!, you are welcome, welcome to my country." He snaps out a few words to the fellow sitting beside us saying. "Move across a bit Bro, make some room for these people, say hello, make them welcome." He shook our hands and went back to playing pool. He seemed to have some clout around here, with the authority of an Elder or a pit boss, I couldn't quite tell.
Alana and I had a game of pool each and were approached each in kind by a few of the locals, all wanting to know who we were and where we were from. While having a slash in the pub's urinal, I was standing elbow to elbow with a fellow, we were encased in this concrete block and there was no standing apart from each other with legs splayed out in that unique male way, no we had to get cosy and be comfortable about it. I noticed him in the pub, I found him to be a unique sort of dude! He had this American style baseball cap pitched low over his forehead, black wrap around sunnies, chain flashing in the light draped around his neck and a colourful hoodie on. He looked like a cross between Ali G and Snoop doggy dog. I looked up to him when I heard him mumble something.
"What was that" I said
He replied with, "You know the big fellow upstairs," and proceeded to tilt his head skywards in conformation in case I still didn't get it. I've got to say that this pub is special because no one in any other pub I've been to has ever wished me a blessing from God above, "Hallelujah", especially in the toilets.
The take away bottle shop
The next day I went back to the pub by myself to catch a little footy on the big screen. This part of the pub had an airy feel to it. There was this big tree growing in the middle off to one side and a mixture of sack cloth sails, corrugated tin and wire completing the interior and structure of the place.
Where it all happens
No chopping trees down around here
I walked up to the bar and the Irish barmaid (they are everywhere up here) got me a can from what seemed like a 200ltr ice box. The only beer on tap here was light beer and you payed a premium for the canned heavy and midstrength stuff. To my left facing the bar was the big plasma TV. Two fellows were casually talking to each other and watching the game. I took my beer and sat down at a table back a bit so I could get a good view of the game without getting square eyed. One of the fellows from the bar came up to me and asked if I minded if he sat with me. I said I didn't, so he sat opposite me with his 2 cans of beer.
"You follow the Eagles mate?" he said.
"Nah! I don't." I replied. There was a bit of silence as we both gazed semi interested at the game on the TV.
He was a big fellow and the first thing I noticed about him, apart from the smell of old sweat affronting my nostrils, was him wearing this kind of heavy wool type coat, the kind that looks like a lumber jacket. It must have been 28 degrees in the shade of this pub. He had this beanie pulled down low on his head and sounded very congested and didn't look particularly well. The whites of his eyes were yellow and his teeth crooked and rotten disrupting an otherwise easy and gentle smile.
I said, "Are the Eagles your team?"
He shakes his head and says, "Nah! mate, my team is the Bullaba Bulldogs."
I had to have a second take on that. "What was that!?" I said.
" The Bullaba Bulldogs, them my team," he reiterated.
I worked out that The Bullaba Bulldogs must have been the local club. He proceeded to tell me that a footy carnival was coming up soon and all the local competition were included. He then asked what my team was and I said that my team is the Frankston Dolphins, he gave me the same confused look that I had given him and I continued with saying that I follow Essendon. He broke out into one of those easy smiles of his.
" I follow the Western Bulldogs," he says.
I came back with, "Is that because they wear the same colours as your Bullaba Bulldogs?"
He continued with that easy smile. "And the West Coast Eagles," he added.
I replied with, "You strike me more as a Dockers man."
"Nah! them bloody hopeless." he clarifies.
He asked me for a spare cigarette, I told him that I don't have any on me as I don't smoke anymore and if I did, that I would bot off someone else these days if I felt inclined to have one. He got up from the table and told me to mind his can of beer while he went to the toilet. He came back with a cigarette in hand and after a couple of draws offered me a puff, I declined.
"Have you ever been to Darwin?" I enquired. He told me that he hasn't, that in fact he has been living around this area for his whole life. He told me that his Papa and Dad used to bring him here to this very pub when he was a kid. He mentioned that there are a lot of different communities living in and around Fitzroy Crossing, and that work over the years has been a fairly random thing.
I went and got myself another beer and he told me more about the history of Fitzroy Crossing in between bringing up phlegm and spitting it into an empty can of tinned fruit, which has its new use as an ash tray. We talked about my trip to Geiki Gorge and how he knows every part of it and some of the cultural stories that go along with it. He told me about this part of the gorge that's kind of out of bounds for fellows as it's a 'womans secret business area'. It's where this little stream finds its way out on a narrow opening into the gorge, he told me, apparently freshies (fresh water crocs) line up at the entrance with their mouths wide open, (there is room for only three) and wait for all the little bait fish to slip on into their mouths as they flow into the gorge entrance. The crocs munch them up but don't swallow on account that it makes good burlie, which attracts far bigger fish from the gorge proper and then those crocs have a real good time of it.
"Smart buggers," I say.
"Yeh! them buggers smart alright," he affirms.
We continued to talk about what brought me here and what places I would be going to before I returned home, when he suddenly said that he was a hunter. I looked at him for a second like I was looking at a drunk in a pub reliving former glories long gone.
I said, "pardon?'
He reiterated, "Yeh!, I'm a hunter. That gorge you went to, I take my kids there sometimes, and I hunt, show them a thing or two, you know! One day I saw this roo kicking at this big, fat snake."
As he told me this I changed my posture from sitting upright, leaning backwards and doubtful, to forwards, leaning in and interested. He picked up on this and his eyes livened up, his posture straightened up proud and continued with, "Yeh! I got close and this big snake is strangling this roo. I kill them both, wrap this big snake (he emphasises how big with hand gestures) around my shoulders and carry the roo in one hand and hold my kid with the other hand as we walk home."
He told me that he hunts sometimes, to supplement his income, that he needs to do this and I can see a little sadness in his demeanour.
"Any ways" he said, "it's good to show the kids how to do things, as one day they will be looking after me."
He mentioned, as I got up and shook his hand in readiness to leave, that he was now staying at a community out of town on the way to Halls Creek. He told me that I won't miss it, that I will notice a big hill on the right hand side of the road.
"That's where I live, that's my home," he said.
The Crossing Inn
The next day as I drove by that part of the road with the big hill on the right, I was thinking of that fellow I met yesterday. I was thinking about this place of his, and of his part in it, and whether or not that hunting story was true or not. Despite any doubts I may have had about it, the telling of it nourished my soul as much as the snake and roo would have nourished his kids.
P.S. A little foot note for you; The Pigram brothers are a family of very talented musicians and songwriters. I've been listening to them ever since they did a sound track with Alex Lloyd called 'Mad Bastards'. a recent CD I bought when I was in Broome (they hail from around those parts) is called 'Under the Mango Tree'. Listen to 'Thirsty People'.
I couldn't get 'Thirsty People' on you tube, but Alana and I have had this Pigram Brothers song on high rotation, especially while driving across the Kimberley. Hope you like it.
