Gulf Savannah - 1/9/12

Is it an unconscious human need to quest for meaning? I've read somewhere that we take our cultural cues to draw together elements that give meaning to our lives. Culture is the pantry from which we draw the raw ingredients in making meaning and the end result is our identity.

A culture which draws its meaning from what is consumed will be a pantry full of products, lifestyles and ideas which can be purchased to create an identity. A culture which draws meaning from connection to the natural world, of sacred knowledge and complex family and kinship bonds, draws its meaning from deeper realities; a pantry full of soulful, earthy and spirit orientedd ingredients that are experienced to create an identity. All of these ingredients are elements of the imagination, how we picture ourselves in relation to others, family, community, society and planet earth.

These ideas drifted in and out of my thoughts as we left the oasis of Gregory River and headed north once more toward the Gulf Savannah. Like the towns we travelled through across the Kimberly and in the West, the towns of Normanton and Croydon have also taken on mythic status in my imagination, but for completely different reasons.

The ideas of identity and belonging, of origins and place began to excite my imagination as we neared Normanton and continued on to Croydon because for the past thirty years, I have heard stories of this part of the top end as this is Jasmin, Carly and Jack's grandmother's country. And these links stretch back to the ancestral homelands of her people, way before whitefellas changed their history for ever.

Family and historical connections still exist through distant cousins and through an amazing old man in Croydon whose enthusiasm for the history of his town and region has to be seen to be believed.

We'd spent an afternoon wandering  around Normanton, doing all the usual touristy things - take photos and check out the places of interest, in particular the old train (the Gulflander) which has been in service since the 1800s. We'd heard about the train form Ivy, my ex-mother-in-law (now 90 years old) and were urged to take the trip to Croydon, but we decided to keep heading east. We stopped at Leichardt Lagoon for the night, doing battle with swarms of bugs and left early the next morning for Croydon.

The Purple Pub, Normanton.

Model of a famous salty in the area, Normanton.

A Variety bash outside the Purple Pub.

Normanton Railway Station - The Gulflander Train.

Leichhardt Lagoon x 3

Croydon is where Ivy was born and grew up, so as we drove into town I was all eyes, taking in the scope of the town and trying to imagine how it might have looked 90 years ago. We went into the Information Centre and to my surprise and delight I met with Chris, the historian Jasmin had told me she was in contact with. I sat for over an hour listening to his stories of the family and the town and as he spoke, a picture of what life may have been like began to take shape. We saw photos and a video display of the town and its people from days gone by, and I gleaned a little more insight into Ivy's life and subsequently my children's heritage.

Old house in Croydon.

Historic Court House, Croydon.

The old school house that Ivy attended.

Another historic building.

Me sitting with Chris as he took me through some family history documents.

Jack and Jasmin will be making the trip up here in October sometime and are meeting with family members and getting a feel for their ancestral country. For years now they have voiced their desire to return to their Nana's country and it is a strange coincidence that the three of us will have been here in just weeks of each other.

Connection to their indigenous roots has been paramount for my children in their search for identity. Each in their own way and own time has answered a deep yearning to understand and experience this connection through dance and literature and the arts. Through new connections they have forged links with both traditional and urban communities in both remote and urban settings.

Because I've had the children on my mind so much I thought I'd include some photos of them.

Jack, Carly and Asha.

Jasmin and Carly.

Jack and Asha.

Jas, Jack and Carly.

Carly Jane.

Jack in a performance of Lu'an (St Kilda Festival).

Jas, second from the left with Bangarra.

Jas and Jack.

Carly and Asha at the Rock.

Jas, front left, with Bangarra.

Jack Boy.

Asha and Uncle Jack.

* * *

From Croyon we hit the highway once again with Innisfail in our sights. We loved the Gulf Savannah that took us through Georgetown and Mt Surprise - driving through very similar country to the Kimberley.

As if someone drew a line in the landscape, one moment we were in savannah and the next we were winding our way through lush green paddocks and fat dairy cows into the pretty town of Ravenshoe. We collected supplies and then took a turn off toward Milla Milla through lush tropical rainforest  and beautiful green rich pasture. We were headed for the Palmerston Highway which wends its way from the Atherton Tablelands down toward the coast and the town of Innisfail.

The sensory experience was overwhelming, and I went into a strange state, trying to take in the visual changes and trying to process them. I immediately felt as if I'd come home even though we were still well over three thousand kilometres from Melbourne. Being surrounded by tall trees and green pasture and rainforest, even though my childhood was spent in temperate rainforest, it made me realise how important connection to place really is - and how much landscape shapes our identity as much as any thing else.

View from the tablelands across to Bartle Frere.

Short cut from Ravenshoe to Milla Milla through rainforest and pasture.

Bulldust, Bulldust and more Bulldust, or to Lawn Hill Gorge and back. 3-9-12

After a couple of sublime days of lazing on the banks of the Gregory River, Alana and I decided it was time to take a canoe trip at the Lawn Hill Gorge. Initially we were installed with a sense of adventure and wonderlust about the canoe trip by the 'Innisfail Girls' who we met way back at Whale Bone Bay on the Denham Peninsula. But bringing us back to this present point in time we have felt a certain apprehension along the way from all the advice we have been given on how best to tackle the 80kms or so of dirt road. Before this point, 10kms of dirt has been the longest stretch that we had driven on. One thing about driving a motor home on dirt roads is that you feel every vibration and rattle, no matter what speed or tyre pressure you are on. You come out the other side feeling quite shell shocked.

                                                         I've gotta get my eyes checked!



So with all this in mind we set off down the road to Lawn Hill Gorge. At the the start of the trip a fine carpet of bitumen has our Fiat's wheels humming along beautifully. At about the 10km mark the red dirt looms as a barrier right across the bitumen road's horizon. With bated breath Alana and I cross the threshold with a big thump. To our surprise our wheels are still humming beautifully. We drop the speed to 50kms and wonder   what all the fuss was about. The dirt road seemed superbly graded.

This whole area leading up to the national park is one big cattle station. We saw Brahman cows everywhere, even on the side of the road in single file. Call me abstract or out there if you like but the sight of 4 cows  crossing the road in single file looked as cool and as significant as the Beatles doing the same thing on the cover of the Abbey Road album. When we saw no cows we saw plenty of cow pats, flattened like pancakes in the middle of the road.



Cows re-enacting the Bealtes' Abbey Road  album cover.

After about 40kms we noticed a turn off to the left heading for a zinc mine. Soon enough after that, our up to that point beautifully graded dirt road became a moto cross track, all be it in a straight line. We drove at speeds of 10 and 20kms, riding the ruts and bumps like we were overweight Titans, too heavy for our chariot.



At about 10kms to go we dropped in for a break at Adel's Grove. We went for a swim in the creek, floated around on rubber tubes, snorkeled the shallow banks looking for Archer Fish and Black Bream, rested and read our books on the shady banks and generally chilled most of the hot afternoon away. We were told that we should stay at Adel's Grove and go out to the gorge in the morning on account of the better camping facilities here. We decided to save a few dollars and after taking advantage of the amenities here, headed off late arvo to camp at the national park.

On arrival at Lawn Hill Gorge we quickly decamped and walked the 1km to Indarri Falls. Here we found  a great swimming hole with two water falls. On top of the falls you could see the water level of the upper falls. I have to say that I didn't expect to see any bums hanging around here and I don't want you to think that I was too disappointed when I saw three bums belonging to women of various size, shape and dimension mooning, all bent over wiggling their cheeks, whooping and hollering from their vantage point on top of one of the falls to some lucky bastard or loved one on the other side taking a photo. I said to Alana  who had the camera out "take a shot!, take a shot!".

                                                                   Missed by that much!





Alana and I went to bed early that night, no cooked dinner, no watching the next instalment of Being Human (again!). I couldn't even get under the sheets, we were buggered. The heat, the vibration and dust of the road had all conspired to send me off to La La land. With the certainty of a submerging submarine I was  going to have a deep sleep.

The new morning sees us in our tandem canoe paddling up the lower gorge. There is something very calming about being on the water early in the morning, watching the sun slowly reign its soft rays on the water, reflecting the gorge cliffs and vegetation, all muted through the flowing rippling water. The multitude of different bird noises, all rising to a glorious early morning symphony. You just have to take a deep breath and sigh, taking it all in.



                                                                                 





Unlike the Katherine Gorge, when you take the next level of this gorge you need to drag your canoe a few metres or so to re-launch it. There is a bit of old green carpet strewn along the path to help facilitate this. After paddling around a bit at the next level we came back to where we re-launched the canoe and had a swim. Right at our feet where we lowered our bodies into the water fish came up to investigate. There were Archer fish, Sooty Grunters and other little tackers all having a ball as we fed them the crumbs from our nut bars.We paddled our way back to the start with the help of the water flowing the same way. Our arms were heavy but we enjoyed a feeling of satisfaction of a morning well spent.

                                                                      

                                                                                 
 

                                              "Right, who want's to go again."                                

  

So we headed back to the moto cross track all 80kms of it, contending with the red bull dust all the way back to the sancturary of the Gregory River. We had barely got back there to decamp when both of us plunged into that magical river.

                                                                        

                                                                    

                                                                             

We went for a final drink and hopefully a meal at the Gregory Downs pub which was a short stroll from the river but lucked out on the meal. After a few drinks we ambled back down to camp. Once again we were too stuffed to cook and just managed to turn the doona down before we both crashed. The nights are getting hotter but as if to calm us we had the running waters of the Gregory River flowing slowly away down stream, willing and lulling us to sleep, just 2 metres away.

Plenty of parking at the pub.

                                                                                                                                                                                        

It's not all peace and beauty out here!

                                                                      



                                                                         

Cloncurry to Gregory Downs 31/8/12

The sun is pushing up past the pandanas and the paperbark trees, rising over Gregory Downs. Isolating sounds, I make out about a dozen or so different bird calls, the crow always the loudest and most dominating - early morning chorus with bass notes. But the sound under all other sounds is the river - about two metres from our camp. The Gregory River flows fast and constant - a lullaby for sleepers.

Willie Wagtail.

Double-barred finch

Restless flycatcher.

Peaceful dove.



I've woken early this morning to sit alone with my cup of tea and thoughts right by the water's edge. Other campers are stirring and I can hear road trains already on the main road above us. A little black fish lives in the embankment beside us and darts back and forth in a loop, feeding I suspect, carried someway down stream by the strong current, then swims his way back into the same spot each time.



As Michael joined me and sat drinking his coffee he looked up and saw a wallaby on the opposite bank who had come down for a morning drink.

Yesterday some local indigenous people came down the river with a wallaby they'd caught and asked the campers here how they liked their country. They said the river contained healing  waters and I doubt them not.

When we arrived yesterday we saw folk floating down stream at a steady pace and wasted no time donning our togs yo have a go. The water was not cold, and after a few floats down stream, we simply sat beside the river until it was time for dinner - just being beside the river is soothing in itself - so immersing ourselves in the water felt like a healing draft for the soul as well.



Healing waters.

Gregory River was to be an overnight stop on our way to Boodjamulla National Park (Lawn Hill Gorge) up here in north west Queensland, but we'll just sit here another day to float down stream and let the river work its magic on us.

We came up here from Cloncurry after spending two nights there where we caught up with my very dear friend Lee and her lovely fella Colin and their travelling mates, Chris and Rex. Colin and Lee live in a small town outside of Mackay called Nebo. Colin works in a local mine and is taking some long service leave to go gem fossicking for five months. They showed us handfuls of garnets, peridot and moonstones, and when they were leaving us were heading for the amethyst gem fields.

Seeing Leanne is always a blessing for me. You could say we are old campaigners. We've been true friends through some very dark days and have both inspired and counselled each other to look to our better selves as we've negotiated the rough passage of divorce and disappointment. When I speak of my woes, Leanne just knows, and has always had the right words to say when I've needed to hear them most.







We left the fellas and took off with water, fruit and our cameras. We had the most splificatious afternoon, laughing, talking, sitting, walking and taking photos. We waited for the shadows to lengthen and the sun to sink lower in the sky before we wandered back to camp. Then followed an evening with Col, Lee, Chris, Rex and Mike and I, sharing a few sherbs and conversation well into the night. I wish that they could have followed us here to this magic spot instead of digging in the dirt.

The sun is higher now, and the early morning shadows have moved, replaced by shade from the awning. Breakfast well passed and yoga finished, we decided to fish out our snorkeling gear and have a look for life beneath the surface. In a previous blog we talked about drift snorkeling at Ningaloo Reef, well this is similar except the river's current is much swifter than that of Turquoise Bay. We let the river take us and off we went. I spotted four or five different species of fish, striped, spotted and fish the colour of the river rock bed, mostly small and feeding on the river bank, but others long and skinny with a snout or plump and dark swimming against the current in the centre of the river...

...mid afternoon and a beer at the Gregory Downs Hotel later, we are in that beautiful river again and feeling pretty bloody terrific, let me tell you. This stopover has rejuvenated our bodies and spirits and just as well as tomorrow we head across 80ks of dirt road to Lawn Hill and a rigorous canoe up and down the Gorge.