Here We Go Again - Chapter 59 - Cooinda Day 2

Anyone remotely familiar with the Kimberley will have heard of Cahills Crossing. The gateway from Kakadu into Arnhem Land is a place of its own. A weir slowing the flow of the East Alligator is legendary.

Here on the top of the king tides of the area, crocodiles wait in ambush for barramundi. Being activity efficient predators tend to congregate. Last time we were here we saw almost 20 of them in plain sight of the viewing platform. As we head past Ubirr and into the crossing area we take a poll as to how many we might see today.

Given the amount we saw last time I start the bidding at 15, Robyn suggests 14 while Silver Leader takes a conservative 10 and Rose 6. We park in the adjacent car park, well away from the river and hasten to the viewing platform vantage point. Someone who could not be bothered to park in the car park and set down just shy of the crossing and simply left it there while they took in the view. The walk is only a few hundred metres but obviously too far for them.

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There is quite a crowd on the platform but it is by no means overloaded. The crossing is different from last time. The appears to be a band of large rocks on the tidal side, not impeding the flow of water but perhaps a deterrent for the reptile or even more prudent a barrier for vehicles caught in flooded waters.

A family is marvelling at the sight. Dad and son go for a moment, brag the car and get videoed by the wife and daughter, crossing into Arnhem Land and back. I was fully expecting at least a stop and wave or a Forbsy door opening checking the water level (seeing it was not his vehicle in the water), but no. Just a drive there and back, obviously to see how far it is as my father would say. Discretion obviously the better part of valour in this case. I too video the incident.

There are the fishermen, or madmen perhaps, sheepishly trekking onto the causeway and launching lures into the high side water. Yes there are crocs, not as many as we had thought, but they are there. Below the barrier there are three basking in the noon sun or moving between exposed rocks. Last time there were ten or more there.

Upstream there appear to be very few. Only 2 in view. One of which rises to the top only to submerge in the merky water and re-emerge. There are videos on Youtube of fishermen fighting Barramundi onto the causeway only to have them taken by crocodiles as they attempt to walk them to safety. Add to that the reports of people being taken here and the picture expose of the locals fishing, disappearing for a moment as a monster croc meanders across the road, and returning to continue fishing. 

This is a dangerous spot, and yes I have been rock fishing in places where the rogue wave can always be an issue but any rogueness is right in your face here, not maybe on the seventh of a set. Yet they fish here, hoping to catch the elusive Barra. Yep not this little balck duck.

These are all female, there does not appear to be a dominant male present. When we were here last a 5 metre monster sidled down the river, finally setting himself up adjacent to the crossing, thankfully on the other side.

It looks like Rose is going to win the poll (or at least be closest). We have brought our lunch, and settle down at a table to eat it. A young boy and his father are looking over the fence next to us and the boy exclaims – that is the biggest one dad. Sure enough the dominant male is “at our feet”, thankfully several metres below. Its a sobering thought, that all that is between us and the crocodile is a couple of metres of sheer river bank (certainly not enough to stop any jumping croc anyone has seen) and a ringlock fence.

The viewing platform is not the real reason for the trip here. We have booked into an East Alligator River Cultural Tour. We need to slightly up the river at the boat ramp just after lunch to meet our boat.

Administration at the boat ramp is apparently confirmed to the bus tours. We seem to be left to work out if they have us on the paperwork, along with others stranded in confusion, wondering if we should follow the marauding herds to the boats. Better to ask for forgiveness we believe and head on down the ramp.

Ushered onto a boat we cast off, with the obligatory safety warnings. If we end up in the water throw your life jacket at the crocs and swim like hell in the other direction.

Our cultural guide is Neville. He is a local, born in Arnhem Land. He is unnervingly personable. His underlying formal education he tries to hide but his articulate presentation gives him away.

We start by heading back to the crossing,counting numerous more crocodiles, camouflaged on the bank and pass the dominant male who lunched with us, or at least close to our proximity. Neville notes this croc has a particularly cranky disposition and we will be giving him a wide bert. Yes we lunched in sight of this animal.

At one point he stops the boat nosed up to the bank under a Pandanas tree. He picks a piece and perches himself, cross legged on the bow. Thinking he is going to talk culture, I turn on the video and capture his story about the shopping centre that is the Pandanas Tree. For 10 minutes he goes on about the variety us uses his people have for the tree, from raft struts, to bedding and lastly, with the flick of his finger on the piece that he plucked from the tree, to a paint brush.

He talks of stories, about how his father and grandfather told stories of the past. Stories written in the sky handed down generation after generation is the oldest culture in the known world. 

We continue up and into Arnhem Land, hear the story of a lady photo journalist attacked by a croc. She survived the encounter, but the story is quite horrific to hear, visualising the struggle between her and the monsters we have seen and the time, injured and motionless waiting for rescue.

Stopping again we are at a sacred site. A site he is not allowed to go more than the edge of the river for this is Secret Women’s Land. He was born not far from here, giggling at the only time he has “set foot” in the sacred womens spot.

Gathering everyone around he talks of the equipment of his people. He holds a woomera, but its not called a woomera in his language. In this small presentation he talks about the dangers of life, the dangers of this equipment. Normal things strapped together with one singular purpose, to kill. Anyone beginning to doubt are quickly silenced when he turns and hurls the spear effortlessly well into the river. The river is about 300 metres wide here and the spear is closer to the other side than its launching spot..

Just to show it was not a fluke, he reloads and does it again.

It’s time for us to leave this spot. We need to retrieve the spears, and because they are made from Pandanas and tipped with hardwood (not stone or metal as one might have thought), the implement floats. Jokingly he suggests, on previous trips some have offered to dive in after the weapons. Pointing in the direction of 2 crocs on the far side of the river, no one volunteers. The spears are easily picked up as we pass them from the boat.

I spend some time with Neville talking about the stories of his people and how our daughter and one of my cousins are trying to keep stories alive for Wiradjuri people. We agree to exchange email addresses so I could introduce him to them. I am sure both will enjoy the stories of the other.

Heading back several charter fishing boats have just commenced their tours. Lines trailing, the boats meander along the edge in search of their prey. Sharks of the heads of skippers and fishermen alike is all we get to the question about their success to date. Neville laughs at them suggesting the weather is not right.

Back into the car, we realise the temperature. The air on the water and in the shade of the boat we had been experiencing was nothing like the hades like temperature of the Cruiser. The airconditioning screams into action and in time reduces the discomfort of the furnace.

There is one way to fix this – ice cream – and the Urbirr shop is not far out of our way. Sprinklers misting the sitting area greet us, along with several people from the tour. The Aborignial Art here is extensive, beautiful and expensive. I take some pictures of it and send to my cousin, a connoisseur of Abroignal Art. He thinks the pieces are exquisite and well worth the up to $2,000 price tag.

The internet has just gone down so no eftpos for the moment. I shout Silver Leader and Rose an ice cream each, otherwise they would have gone without, having no cash on them.

The heat and the trips had been somewhat debilitating but there is still more to do. On the way in we had seen many rock formations that required snapping with the cameras. Just as the temperature seemed to have been under control in the Cruiser we would stop, roll down the windows (note here I do not say get out of the Cruiser) and take numerous shots as I manoeuvred it into position. 

Really suffering for our art aren’t we!

One of the places of interest was a lookout we had seen signs for not long after we pulled out of Cooinda this morning. Approaching the sign, I enquire as to the need to take up the opportunity. Whilst the reaction could have been said to have been not as warm as the outside of the Cruiser, we venture in anyway.

What we find makes us squeamish. There is no apparent look out in eyesight, only trees. A sign we can see on the side of the road suggests its a 2 kilometre round trip, but glaring right at us from the console of the vehicle is the present outside temperature. 34 degrees – yeah, no. We don’t even get out of the vehicle. It is turned back to the main road and in the direction of Cooinda.

Happy hour beckons. Pims and lemonade is becoming the drink of choice. Not wanting to cook again, we order and share a pizza, then drift back to the van and a peaceful sleep amongst the screaming of the wildlife in the bush.