Around Oz the First Time - Chapter 18 - Another Day in Kakadu

Today was always going to be full of sights. We had a breakfast cruise on the Yellow River and we drag ourselves out of bed as the alarm goes off at 5.55am. No one is moving quickly even though I find out later no one really slept waiting for their alarms to go off so they ensured they were in the designated area on time.

Gathered at the assembly point we are ushered onto busses for the 5 minute trip to the boats. Its cool and crisp (and dark) but the beckoning light suggests the morning will not require anything more than the light clothing we have one. Just as we left the van, I remembered the monoculars. I think they will be invaluable as most things will be at a distance (but I was wrong), we were about to get up close and personal with a significant amount of the wildlife.

We are lucky to get a Kiwi sounding guide – Damo. He immediately enamours himself to everyone by making the safety check humorous but still importantly pointed. He jokes his success rate at bringing passengers back alive is well over 70%. So its off into the fading darkness. The sun is starting to come up in the east and the smoke from fires in the area mean the sky is lit up with redness. The phone runs hot with pictures as I capture the moments between twilight and morning.

Robyn and I are at the front of the boat, 3 rows back. The front row was wet from the condensation dripping on the seats and the second row offered a stauntion to partly block any view. In trotting terms we are one out and one back – the perfect position. Damo takes to the microphone asking if anyone sees anything to simply point. In the morning mist a Jabiru takes flight and I capture it before and during the take off. Very proud of myself.

All of a sudden someone calls “croc” and sure enough the head of one is just across the water from us. Damo suggests it’s a female as the alpha males are very big in this area and unless this one is stupid its one of the harem of the alpha. So this is going to be what its like, we will get glimpses of crocs as we roll on down the river. No, not true as not much further we see one swimming along in the water. Damo guides the boat alongside it, and we move along together. It is so close you could almost reach out and touch it – not bloody likely – the croc is at least 3 metres long and its eyes seem to be firmly fixed on what it perceives as its next meal, us.

It’s like this the entire trip, between seeing crocs warming themselves up on the bank or crocs swimming along in the water, we identify and shoot various other forms of wildlife, from ducks, geese, herons and Jabiru. There are birds that walk the lilies, there are cormorant type birds sunning themselves to warm up, there are kingfishers flitting in and out of the vegetation. All along the river there are swirls of either fish or crocs. There are even eagle type majestic birds ready to take flight on their daily look for food.

There is a call from another boat that there are water buffalo adjacent to the river a bit further down, but we are engrossed in birdwatching. The passengers seem to be engulfed in this pastime. We get to the spot and they are no longer drinking at the river’s edge but can be seen well enough to snap some clear shots.

Damo exclaims that he is running behind schedule and we turn back, but not ridiculously quickly. If we see something interesting, he is more than happy to slow to allow for pictures. On docking we all give him a rousing round of applause; we did not see an alpha male, but we certainly saw enough. Damo in fact, drives the bus back to the park where I ask him about sightings of alpha males and he suggests there are times when you see them all the time but not just lately. They will be out there watching, forever watching because although they have small brains they do observe repetition. A man was taken recently having set his crab traps, was taken on day 4 as he was retrieving them, mainly Damo suggests he retrieved them at the same time every day, the croc got to know this and sat in wait.

Being a breakfast cruise, there has to be some breakfast. When we arrive back at the park the promised full breakfast is ready. Most line up immediately for the hot breakfast and the line is large. Robyn and I hit the cold stuff first at the suggestion of one of the staff for a croissant and cold meats (she suggested a croissant with Bree filling was to die for).

By the time the cold breakfast is consumed the hot stuff line is somewhat lessened and we join it. We were told they would keep bringing food until everyone was fed and they were right. Bacon, sausages, mushrooms, poached and scrambled eggs, cooked tomatoes, baked beans and hash browns all on the menu, and lots of them. Completely full it’s time to decide when and where the next part of the day might take us.

I ask for a 45 minute lapse before we leave as I need a shower and the phone a recharge. The almost 200 shots, and accompanying sending to all and sundry, has taken its toll. It also gives me a chance to recharge.

There are significant rock-art paintings at Ubirr. Whilst not as far from the park as Gumlom it is a drive, past Jabiru and almost to Arnhem Land at the point where Cahills Crossing joins the two areas. The drive to Jabiru has only one incident, Robyn sees some Brumbies grazing but she calls it too late and we speed past. From Jabiru to Ubirr we stop numerous times, taking pictures of rock formations and water holes, still blessed with significant water.

Silver Leader and Forbsy have both been here before but have been less than forthcoming with their impressions of the place, saying only the rock art has to be seen to be believed. We park and we head on in, along a well made path, much like the commencement of the path yesterday that went from a stroll to a goat track in an instant. Silver Leader calms us saying this one is much easier. The rock art is truly spectacular. We catch up to a Ranger doing a tour with some tourists and we tag along for a while. She is happy to have us with her listening to the stories of the dream time and her reminiscences of her childhood in the area. She is certainly not aboriginal looking. A blonde with Caucasian features, she speaks like a local and her telling of the dream time stories is steeped in the lore of the legends. I want to inquire of her about whether she calls herself simply a local or a member of the nation or a member of the local tribe. All of which I would have happily accepted. Unfortunately when the time is right she leaves her group and speeds off into the distance, unable to be caught and interrogated.

Before that escape we leave that group and keep heading up. Silver Leader is right, this is much easier than yesterday and Robyn is handling it OK. There is a well defined track to follow and when there is not there are reflector arrows leading us onward and upwards. Upwards until we reach a plateau that simply takes your breath away.

The scene is that where Crocodile Dundee shows off his home – Rapid Creek. It is 360 degree panorama. The look down to the billabongs where he is said to have been poaching crocs takes up maybe 33% of the view. There is a view north south east and west. Breathtaking in all directions. From here you can see fires burning and smoke rising. You can hear and see the geese the aboriginals hunt. Even this far into the dry season you can see water filled billabongs and you can see rocky escarpments and bush.

You could sit here all day and not be bored. Panoramas, telephoto compilations, shots with people gazing in amazement and videos do not do this place justice. It’s a shame to have to leave, but it’s hot and we have been told of the libations available at the local store and are eager to cool down.

The short drive to the shop is negotiated quickly and we wander up to the desk and order. Mango smoothies, lime and coriander crushes but for me an iced chocolate. I trust it’s not as I have had some in the past, crushed ice in chocolate milk but I order it anyway. Forbsy suggests there is a nice breeze around the outside tables rather than the fanned ones inside, so we follow him out. The breeze drops immediately but the drinks come soon enough, and we stay, marvelling at the photographs we have taken and the vistas we have just experienced.

Cooled by the refreshing drinks its time to view one of the more “iconic” fishing spots in Australia – Cahills Crossing. I have seen pictures of this place. One shot will show people all fishing away happily then they all disappear as a croc strolls over the causeway, then the people return. Crocs often lunch here, a man was taken recently but still they fish.

Rather than head to the causeway proper we go to the viewing area. Along the way we are passed by another who when asked are there any crocs replies with a shake of the head. She was having a piece of us, or simply was blind. The first thing you see as you fall into the viewing area is a monster laying no more than 3 metres from the causeway. There is another perhaps larger one on the bank on the other side of the river and three downstream of it.

OK you would suggest that fishing here would be more than a little out of the question. Now a fisherman comes down the road ready to fish, sees the one lying just off the causeway and checks his step. Perhaps sanity will prevail. Maybe not as two more, a husband and wife this time come down determined to fish the famed spot. What the husband does next is ludicrous in our combined view. After a couple of casts to the middle of the river, he casts his line and lure deliberately over the croc. The lure snags the croc and it heads away, the line screaming. The lure comes free and the croc dives. The husband and wife continue to fish and the first fisherman now seeing the causeway is “clear” joins them.

The croc on the other bank slips into the water and disappears whilst heading towards the causeway on the other side of the river. It reappears and returns to the bank but not more than 10 meters from the causeway. It’s a monster, 3 metres plus, and it just sits there looking towards our side of the river sunning itself.

The monoculars are good here to see the other potential hazards. Downstream the crocs are also moving. One on the bank which has had its mouth open has obviously gotten too hot and scrambled into the water and disappeared but only just after another had joined it. There was one laying in the water in the middle of the river which has now planted itself on a rock closer to the causeway, and the one that had joined the sunbaking one on the mudflats has also gone all of a sudden.

The large croc moved on by the lure seems to have returned but well back from the causeway.

Robyn cant watch this, three potential dinners for the crocodiles, at times snagging their lures and moving ever closer to the edge of the causeway in attempt to retrieve them. But wait there’s more, we return to the car park to see a family from Western Australia unloading fishing gear, two young boys with fishing lines (looking at if they are going to bait fish), a wife and a pram suggesting an even younger family member is yet to alight.

That is just too much, we have to leave. Should we have said something to them – maybe. Did we, no we didn’t but surely this is a DOCS issue in the making if not an emergency call waiting to happen. Try not to think about it, lets simply move on.

On the way back I keep a keen eye out for fauna, particularly the Brumbies of the morning. But other than a stop to take a picture of the Jabiru town sign we see nothing all the way back. Not that those others not driving had 100% concentration, at times all nodded off, leaving me to enjoy the driving.

Just shy of our final destination there was an Aboriginal Cultural Centre that we all talked about visiting. Its late  but we wander in to see if it’s still open and we are in luck, it’s open for another hour. This is an amazing building. The stories of the dream time, the stories of the “development” of the aboriginal within the structure of the white occupation and beyond are told. All the presentations are impressive but unfortunately no photographs are allowed. Some of the presentations are backed by voice and sounds of the bush particularly the thunder and lightning. There are replicas of fish traps, there are saddles and replicas of sacred sites to see and marvel at. The stories on the walls tell of the dream time, tell of the tradition, Kirsten would love this place. Our daughter does the aboriginal tours at the Sydney Observatory and is proud to talk about her Wiradjuri heritage.

We had only done 183 kilometres today, but we are beat. Our time in Kakadu has seen us rack up in excess of 400 kilometres of non-caravan towing distance. The Cruiser will have enjoyed that, for tomorrow we hitch to back on and head to Darwin.