Australia

Now that we finally have a little bit of signal to send and receive messages via this SSB and this service called Sailmail, I want to do a retro-blog about the beauty of the Northern Territory of Australia.  In fact, to leave out a section regarding the times had there and the people met -- I would feel like I would have betrayed both.  I wrote in an earlier blog that when I was in Queensland, the Aussies there are a bit like the good frontiersman of our western states, similar to the good folks I've met in Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho.  The Aussies of the Northern Territory take that same independent spirit and connection to the land and multiple it by a factor of ten.  These are the real Aussies, that live with the threat of drought, flood, venomous snakes, monster salt-water crocodiles that occasionally kill their brahman cattle and four or more times a year their kinfolk as well, and the logistical difficulties of the every-day life of living in a remote, yet beautiful region.  This is the Australia I've wanted to breathe in, soak up, and relish for years.  Kakudu National Park, the Adelaide river, Yellow Water river, and the lands surrounding did far from disappoint.

The trip up the Arnhem highway to Kakudu National park takes one at this time of year through some very dry scrub growth regions with billabongs (small water holes) that seem to dry before your very eyes.  This is a positive, of course, to game-viewers like me who know that when you find the water in times like these, you find the animals.  Dingos, water buffalo (feral and now being eliminated by the Aussie Fish and Game for the damage they do to the undergrowth), monster salt-water crocs,  kangaroos, one dead eastern brown snake (now salted and frozen in the bench-freezer of the BEG), gouanas, pythons, and myriad bird species were observed, including the painted kingfisher.

Our first stop, very commercial but not too be missed, was the river tour of the Adelaide river aboard "The Adelaide River Queen" to see the famous jumping saltwater crocs.  I'm not sure if feeding 17 foot crocodiles with chunks of pork attached to a line dangling from a pole which is lowered to the water and then quickly raised to tease the croc to propel itself out of the water is exactly a good way to keep Crocs from associating humans with food, but without doubt it has saved the population of crocs in this region.  Crocs are now big money alive, rather than little money dead as their extinction was almost realized by over-hunting in the 1950's and 1960's.  There is no doubt that the sound of the boat brings these bruisers to the boat.  In fact, we watched these territorial creatures race each other to the boat to be the one to get their daily hand-out.  If tours like these prevent the Australians from going on wild killing sprees any time someone is taken by one, then I'm all for them.  The bottom line in Australia:  Don't swim in freshwater or wade across streams at night determining if your rented 4x4 will make it across without being swept downstream (more on that later).

Next we headed to our cabins within Kakadu National Park and took several nice walks on site to their billabong where we witnessed a stand-off between a wallaby and a gouana, which is a large lizard native to Australia.  Wallabies hopped around the grounds and fed on the more succulent green-grass being watered next to the swimming pool.  For a sunset-vista we headed to a famous rock outcropping adorned with aboriginal art dating from 1,000-6,000 years of age.  Paintings made from iron compounds and other organic material have weathered the ages and scenes depicting aborigines hunting crocodiles, kangaroos, and paying homage to "Lightning Man", who brings the rainy season, were there to teach life lessons.  We even observed a positive imprint of a hand.  As we scaled the hill,  we reached the summit just as the sun was falling.  Vibrant purples and oranges shined through clouds resting on the horizon and painted the land and made the iron rich rock out-croppings seem a little less harsh.  The beauty of that sunset quickly faded and we made our way down the hill.  Into the car we hopped, and my heart felt content with the prospects of what we may see crossing the road in the darkness of this frontier. Several snakes were spotted, but the one spotted by the Skip was the second highest on our list: the eastern brown.  Unfortunately, it had been recently killed but we still approached it with great care.  Mom is no fan of snakes, unlike Dad and me, and convincing her to let us take the snake back to room where we could properly skin and salt it and get it cooled down took some careful verbal maneuvering.  It took Dad, some smooth talking, me whacking the snake with a stick several times and holding it, and Dad taking out an empty gas container (a way to detain the dead snake) which assured her that the dead snake would not be able to escape.  As Dad proceeded to stuff the snake into the gas container, red and blue lights light up the night and a police truck pulled up and two bush cops jumped out with puzzled looks on their faces.

"Yeah, that's a bad one I reckon.  Eastern Brown or King Brown from the looks of it.  Not to be mucked with.  Careful the Rangers don't see you with it.  Have a nice night", the taller cop said giving us a bemused look as if he were thinking, "crazy Americans."  Off they went and we still had the snake.  I love the Aussies.

The next day found us on the Yellow river doing another boat tour.  It had a truer feel to it than the Adelaide tour.  Crocs were seen in great numbers and very close but they weren't the highlight of the trip.  The guide's vast knowledge of the bird species we were abundantly seeing gave us more appreciation for this wild river ecosystem we were privileged enough to see for two glorious hours.

Back to that whole deal about not wading into rivers at night.  Deciding how to make the most expeditious way back to Darwin, we were told of a shortcut that would easily save us "30 minutes" (cost us at least an hour) but it would be on a dirt road.  We didn't mind that as we had a nice 4x4.  We even spotted a dingo and two water buffalo and one very large snake that slithered off the road before we could jump out and see it. What we didn't expect to see about an hour down this "shortcut" was a river running through it (the South Alligator-known croc fatalities on it).  So it was dark, we were at the point of no return, and I decided to jump out as Dad followed closely behind in the rental with high beams on and a plan of running a croc over if he saw a v making its way through the water.  I tested the depth, my switch-blade in hand (because everyone knows how effective those are on 1,000 lb. beasts) as we both kept a look-out for Crocs.  The water never got more than knee-deep but then again our reptile friends don't need much water to obscure themselves in the hunt.  The river was quickly deemed passable and I gladly jumped back in.

In retro, we should have turned the vehicle around.  We wouldn't be Metzes if we had. As always, love and miss you all.  Te amo, Merce.

"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...