Instalment 11 - Darwin, Kakadu, Savannah Gulf

We rolled into Darwin with every intention of staying in a nice room for a couple of nights and having a slap-up seafood dinner to celebrate getting engaged. After spending about an hour on the phone we still hadn’t found anywhere, so in the end took the last camp spot about 5km out and reserved a motel room for the following 2 nights. Battled with the last of the squid, took a look round town and had a BBQ, were we met a couple, the chap resembling Erlie from Kalifornia (thanks for the reference Prys) who introduced himself as the campsite “Enforcer”. This title was further accentuated by his nervous tick, stories involving baseball bats and full body tattoos. They fed us prawns and we yarned famously for a couple of hours, and I believe they found us as out of the ordinary as we found them.

The next morning we dropped the Toyota in to get greased and have the tracking sorted out. Meanwhile a young German/Scottish couple next to us were sweating over a list of repairs required for their truly knackered Ford Falcon.

These cars are bought, by backpackers straight off the plane, from adverts in hostels, thrashed around the country without a thought of maintenance, and sold on again at the end for the same amount, or more than they originally paid for it. (A free tent, pots and pans and an old sleeping bag seem to clinch the deal.) As you’d expect they eventually fail, as this one had in spectacular fashion. Over a thousand dollars worth of work would get the car back on the road, just. The dilemma seemed to be that they only had to get to Melbourne where they could flog it on to the next unsuspecting generation of owners. My trusty 30 dollar toolset came into play and we figured out a way to get the essentials down to nearer 700 bucks. Helped by a campsite local ship’s bosun complete with bluey, akubra, can of VB and stogie hanging out of his mouth.
I am of course no stranger to the occasional pre lunchtime beer, circumstances prevailing, but I must confess that at 10.30am I was surprised that under the pressing conditions the owners of the vehicle were sucking back cider. I was less surprised when they bought a bag of marijuana off the bosun as I lay under their car connecting a tow rope.
We left them to it and moved into our motel room for an injection of pizza and TV.

Our romantic meal took place the next night at ‘Crustaceans’. The restaurant perched at the end of pier, we were subjected to a sunset with dolphins playing beneath us whilst tucking into a giant mud crab and other seafood.








Next up was Kakadu, we drove in and took a look at a billabong, some really spectacular aboriginal rock art and the visitor centre.



We pulled into a camp spot, setting up our tent as far away as possible from the waters edge, which was taped off as a warning of crocodile attack.

We are now in Salty country, and a couple camped next to us had seen a monster that day a metre wide just 2 rivers along. It got dark and we were immediately attacked by bloodsucking mosquitoes. Everyone else in the camp had disappeared into their tents as soon as it was dark, but we hadn’t cooked yet, and were trying to listen to Richmond V Melbourne on the radio. Eventually with Richmond about 5 goals down we were driven away as the bugs were biting through our clothes. Siobhan’s jeans were covered in blood spots from squashing flies that had already feasted on her.

The next morning we went to another aboriginal rock art site. This was really detailed with several stories being depicted at a number of sites.

We then attended a talk by a ranger from Melbourne. He went a long way to explain the workings of the local aboriginal communities together with land management for the NP and Arnhem land further to the east. It is startlingly obvious around here that in a place where they have not been displaced from the land the aboriginals live a hybrid mix of ancient and modern times in harmony with the land, and interestingly also with the tourists and european Australians. The ranger used his own Greek heritage really effectively to demonstrate examples of some of the cultural differences he had assimilated after 10 years living amongst the communities. One that I was to use later was the fact that shaking hands does not feature in their culture, and whilst they will offer to shake hands out of politeness to white fellas, not to expect anything but a soft shake, and not to take too firm a grip as is the european way.

We drove up to Jim Jim falls, a wet and sandy track, and swam in the splash pool just upstream from a crocodile trap with a whole chicken hanging at one end.

Twin falls was unfortunately closed due to excess water and crocs. From talking to people it seems that the wet season has stretched on considerably longer than usual and the sheer volumes of water everywhere and the fact that it rained 2 days ago seemed to highlight this.

We camped nearby and the next day set off to see Maguk Gorge some more falls up a 4x4 track. Despite thick sands I hit a creak crossing with a “boggy” sign in 1st gear in high ratio, and as we ground to a halt was forced to go into Low 4 to get out the other side. We spent a really enjoyable morning swimming above the waterfall in a long series of connecting pools diving through underwater arches.

As we returned to the road we were forced to stop as a middle aged couple coming in the other direction had bogged their Jeep and trailer. Another couple towed out the jeep, and continued on, leaving the trailer stuck in the middle. We were then joined by an older guy who resembled a slightly younger six-packed Keith Richards with his young German girlfriend driving a flash Mitsubishi camper van.

He sauntered over to the river, stopped and surveyed the scene, a bogged couple in the water struggling to push out their trailer as a Spanish father and son on the far side span their wheels as they tried to tow them out.

Reading from the side of the trailer he addressed the people in the water,

“hmm, the ‘Ultimate Off-Road’ trailer” , and seemed content to just stand grinning watching the melee.

The owner of the trailer, a middle aged pom, seemed more concerned with being gentle so as not to scratch the trailer than actually do anything practical to clear the river and let the growing queue get past. I crossed the river and explained to the driver of the hire car the snatch technique and ignoring the cries from the waterlogged pom, we got the trailer out in one go.

Siobhan and I then bounced our car through the crossing.

Steve Tyler followed close behind and emerged unscathed.

“How many reverence points does that earn?” he yelled to his young companion.

“Oh, ten at least!” she clapped, and hopped into the van.

We were busy putting air back in our tyres, being the cautious souls we are, as he pulled up alongside. Still grinning he looked over, caste a pile of orange peel into the bush, winked and drove off.I must find out which Aussie band he actually belongs to, the incident will go nicely with the ever growing list of Tim Roger stories that Joel and myself have been collecting.

On the way to Katherine gorge we stopped for fuel and the engine cut out after pulling the hand break on. This would seem strange until I remembered the modification made by the previous owner, a security device in the form of an on off button designed to cut the ignition when parked in dodgy places. We bought the car deep in the Mornington Peninsula and so were curious to find out where on earth he considered dodgy. His answer led us to christening the device the “Frankston Switch”. Anyway, it had come loose and we were miles from Frankston, so the trusty 30 buck toolset came out and we cut the switch out and off and continued.

We poked our heads into Katherine gorge and swam to a croc trap and back, then drove into a bush camp near Mataranka.

We got up early and went for a dip in the famed hot springs, following the path past the main spa area to a ladder into a river. Just near to the ladder was were the hot spring water poured into the main river so we climbed down and swam across a broken tree to sit in the hot estuary. The steam rising from the spring was hanging close to the river, and with the palms and vine like tree roots made the whole river look like a set from Tarzan. We had it all to ourselves for about 30 minutes before some grey haired nomads turned up and started calling down about crocodiles swimming nearby. As they were only fresh water crocs we ignored them, but the couple were convinced otherwise and stood poised with their video camera clearly hoping to profit from our imminent demise.

We spent most of the day driving east and eventually pulled up to Borroloola. The hotel there had a spot to pitch the tent out back by a duck pond and we had a feed in the Pub. As we were leaving a girl introduced herself as Amanda and her mum Chloe. We spent another 20 minutes chatting with them and their friends, and one of them came from Woollagarang 100km along in the direction we were going. At this point I felt our choice of vehicle was completely vindicated when the whole table agreed that the trip could only be made with a Toyota, though I’ve got a feeling that the word Toyota is just the generic aborigine translation for 4 wheel drives in this area. I also made use of my previously gained knowledge and limply shook everyone’s hand as we bade good night.



The plan today was to get up early and head towards Lawn Hill national park, taking in about 600km of unsealed road, although it is highway 1 so we didn’t really expect too much trouble. The road started off rough as guts.

We passed very minimal traffic and had made a number of small creek crossings when we came to one about 20 metres across. Being highway one we didn’t think too much of it, but couldn’t help thinking that the last 4 metres or so looked ominously dark and was flowing at quite a rate from right to left. We dropped into the water that was about half a metre deep and got a good bow wave going, but the river just seemed to be getting deeper and deeper and as we hit the last 4 metres the water was actually coming over the top of the bonnet. Steam was pouring of the radiator, but before I realised we should have attached the tarp across the front we were out the other side.

We continued to rattle ourselves to pieces when we came to another river crossing. This one was considerably shallower and you could clearly see the bottom all the way across. Siobhan persuaded me to use low 4 and we set off. We quickly discovered that the bottom was not just visible but actually made up of really big boulders which lifted the front and back of the car high out of the water and dropped it back down again. Oh, just a note, we were back in Salt water crocodile territory, so the last thing we wanted to do was stop, which is exactly what happened as we were lifted onto a large hidden boulder with a mighty crunch. We quickly threw it into reverse and ground off our perch and with another few teeth grinding moments traversed it and came out the other side. And so it seems, crocs or not, one should probably walk these rivers first.



After a tough day we eventually camped in Adel’s Grove, a beautifully arranged private camp deep in a botanists delight due to it originally being an experimental station testing various flora in the outback habitat. Early the next morning, we canoed up the gorge at Lawn Hill, the waters being entirely green and warm to the touch, the paddle taking us past small water falls and a turtle sunning itself on a log.



We climbed to another lookout and headed up to Riversleigh to look at the fossils.

On getting there along a pretty corrugated road we noticed that the previous day had taken its toll, and the bull bar had snapped 2 of its contact points, and rattled a screw free. We looked at the fossils and tied a rope to the bar to stop it wobbling against the remaining bolt and limped back to the campsite that had a small workshop. A chap from the campground bolted the bar back as a temporary measure, but as we lifted the bar back on the radiator started leaking, and on closer inspection it was obvious that the previous day we’d virtually put a hole in it that had now opened up. This was beyond the workshops expertise, but luckily I had some sealant with me and after emptying it into the radiator and running the engine the leak stopped.

Thanks be to Wayno who gave me this magic powder 18 months ago and it looks like it’s really saved us, as we were about 300km from a proper workshop.

We limped out the next day checking the levels every 40km or so to start with until it became clear that the bind had stuck for now, and late Thursday afternoon pulled up to a garage in Normanton. The mechanic explained that the best we could do short of going to Cairns and getting the radiator properly fixed would be to fit a new one and the earliest he could do it was next Weds.

“Try the BP garage and ask for Barry”

We drove over to the BP, and after a couple of minutes loitering I caught the eye of who I presumed was Barry.

He continued to fill a giant road train tyre with air, but it looked more like he was just entertaining himself deliberately making loud hissing noises to sabotage my line in questioning. Certainly the 2 or 3 other people around the joint were all looking over in mirth. First I asked him about welding the bull bar and got.

“Now come on” , HISSS, “boy, you kiddin’ me, or you genuine? Is it a big weld or a small one?”

“Well I’m”, HISSS, “um, not sure..”,HISSS, “define, larg..”, HISSS

He stopped his hissing and he asked “Anything else?”

I asked about a new radiator and got, “Well that’s easy, ‘cept won’t be done till next Wednesday. Where you headed next anyhow?”

We had planned to go up north and up the Cape York peninsular, though reports about there being too much water were starting to make us think twice, so I answered the Daintree rain forests.

“Well no point you going up north from here. Why don’t you head to Cairns, get it all fixed, drink a beer, have a party then head north, it’d be quicker anyhow with rain coming in tomorrow, and don’t take any grog with ya cos it’ll all be confiscated”

HISSSSSSSSSSS……

I threw my arms up as I walked away and could definitely hear banjo music, “Siobhan, we’d better look at the map”

We drove to Karumba, about 70km, and checked out the artesian bore, the boat ramp and the live cattle export plant. Unfortunately the 4th attraction, the burnt out wreck of the prawn trawler, was not visible since the tide wasn’t low enough. We also got a good look at the Carpentaria Gulf, and drove back to Normanton to check out the cast iron gutter covers, the stone pitched gutters, the town well/light pole and of course Krys the Savannah King a life size model of a 28’4” salty caught locally.

We set off on a mini pub crawl in the evening and started at the purple pub, an “Outback Pub”. We were served by an English girl presumably doing remote service and the rest of the hotel was run by Kiwis. The next pub was empty and the bar woman explained that it was the aboriginal pub, and despite it being pay day which normally filled it to bursting with an indigenous rock band in the corner the instruments and tables were bare. As we left she yelled across the bar smiling.“Goodbye tourists”, I did like her directness.

We moved onto the last pub which was full of cowboy types watching TV over the bar, had a pot and slunk home. It soon became obvious why the second pub was empty as the noise of a really lively party could be heard across the town. In fact when I woke up at 6am the next morning the party sounded like it was still in full flow.

Time to limp across the peninsular…..