I do, and so it was that I was introduced to ‘the Duracks’ for all of $2.
I had never heard of this family. I had heard of the Kimberley’s, Kakadu and Arnheim land and had a vague idea that they were all ‘far up there’.
With the Sons in the Saddle, the Duracks and that land ‘far up there’ were brought together.
I read about hours and hours in the saddle, the mustering of cattle from almost one end of the continent to the other.
I read about their sleeping rough, eating even rougher, breaking bones, dying cattle, injured horses. I read about them having to swim rivers and through it all, cope with the extremes of climate with a wet wet season filled with mosquitoes and fevers.
“the day they got into the paddock it rained sixteen inches at Ascot. Parry’s Creek became a torrent, flooding the plains to a depth of about five feet and all the rivers were swims….. Next evening we were attacked by myriads of flying ants which crawl all over you and leave their wings behind. Anywhere there is a light is soon about two inches deep in wings. This is not exaggeration. It’s a fact..” (Sons of Durack, Roy Phillips letter to his mother 21 Jan 1912)
I read about the dry dry season when the grass would burn if you looked at it ‘the wrong way’
1904 “terrible bush fires devastated hundreds of square miles of country destroyed fences and yards and had all hands out fighting the flames for several weeks.”
I read such stories – they are fascinating and endless.
Constable Henry Parker disappeared suddenly. “last seen strolling down the Wyndham jetty to visit a friend on the S.S. New Guinea.” This was solved a few weeks later when Jacob Kuhl made the following deposition:
“Yesterday I caught an alligator in a trap I had set up on the gulf. I shot him and took him down to the jetty and skinned him. Then I opened him up and found some clothing like portions of a uniform…. and some human bones. I put them all into a bucket and took them to the Police Station……”
Poor Constable Parker.
And to clear the record, that alligator Must have been a crocodile as alligators are not, nor ever were found in Australia. They, the 4 legged swimming ones, and the Alligator Rivers were so named by Phillip Parker King, the first English navigator to enter the Gulf of Carpentaria. He had previously travelled in S America, knew the alligator and assumed these were them (doubt he even knew there was a crocodile) and in his wisdom he named the rivers the Alligator Rivers (South, East and West Alligator Rivers).
Well give him a break – can You spot the difference?
Crocodile – or is it the other way round?
Despite the length and small print of this book, I have persevered precisely because the stories are to interesting.
And then suddenly I found myself ‘up there’ looking at a local map with all the names that had become familiar in the book.
I was going to ride through the very plains they had ridden through so long ago.
I do, however feel the need to acknowledge some minor, okay, perhaps not so minor, but rather fundamental differences between me and them. I knew where I was going. Correction.
Like them, I had no idea where I was going, but unlike them, my guides did know what lay ahead. Poor MP and his ‘mob’ – look what they missed out on. No roads, no phones, no google maps, no back up vehicles; just their wits and physical strength.
Regardless of these advantages, this was an adventure which was greatly enhanced by having read about those who went before me. (photos: Sons in the Saddle, Mary Durack)
It was also enhanced by all that I learnt on the tour to Kakadu and Arnhem land. So much gained in such a short time that I would love to share with you, but that feels almost like a different story there was so much.
The concept of justice, punishment and restoration, the knowledge of genetics thousands of years before we had even thought of it, and so it goes on.
Not really that surprising when you think I was in a land with rock faces 1.8 BILLION years old and a people who had lived, the same way, (until we arrived) for about 65 000 years.
But as usual, I digress.
Here we were in Kununurra the night before our ride. Some of us had met at Darwin airport hopping onto the only flight into Kununurra so by the time we landed, needless to say we were old friends.
Alcohol rules are strict in this part of the world so our first stop was at the bottle shop, driver’s licence in hand. This, it would appear was more important than money, because without it, money is useless as you could buy not even one can of beer.
Mind you, with it, you could buy only a few more cans than one; there is a strict limit on the volume of alcohol allowed per driver’s licence per day!
But gleefully, as you can see from the video, we had our ‘stash’ and
A pretty little town, growing in leaps and bounds, situated in the middle of nowhere.
Well actually that is not true, it is on the Ord River which means there is heaps of water – and accounts for its growing agriculture development and tourist industry.
We explored that water, with a Fabulous dinner cruise on Lake Kununurra.
And then it was all over, our cruise came to an end and we were delivered back to our respective hotels, all weary and ready for bed. That is, until we looked at our watches, it was 6.45pm and Pitch Dark!!!!! There was some debate about how can we possibly go to bed so early versus, it is very dark and we are very tired. A very strange feeling.
But bed won over in the knowledge that an early start awaited us.
and driven to the start of our ride – Doon Doon Station.
The names of all these places intrigue me –
they conjure up images of another era and I love them.
Wished I could remember the names of our horses and perhaps more importantly the names of the riders on those horses.
This, you understand is particularly important since they would be my companions for the 6 days, and knowing what to call them, or more accurately, what they call themselves would be most helpful.
I practiced things like, green shirt, Jen, (she better not change her shirt); 2 girl friends, Deb and Naomi (hope they don’t have a fall out and separate); couple Paul & Fiona, ah, but there were 2 couples, so that complicates things….. you get what I mean.
I am proud to say that by day 6 I was pretty certain I had the correct name attached to the correct person. Not so with the horses.
Truth be told, I didn’t take my brain that far and didn’t even try.
I have been on trails where, even after 5 days I have had to ask someone which horse was mine.
They kind of all look similar, or at least to my novice eye.
Usually dark; generally with 4 legs, a head at one end, tail at the other, and of course two ears which tell one so much about where they are at right at that moment and the eyes. Those melt your soul eyes, but which can also blaze with a look that has kept me well away from them, waiting for someone better equiped than I to approach them.
always easy to locate
I had a tiny horse, the smallest by far of the group, so easy to see if I looked between the legs of the rest of the mob.
A Brumby, the real deal.
Or perhaps not, because I have just researched the Brumby and it is described as “a free-roaming feral horse in Australia.” (wikipedia) but there was nothing feral about My Brumby.
Tinker – easy to remember thankfully, (from Tinkerbell I am guessing as she belongs to 6 year old Maddie who kindly let me ride her) was not feral at all but very well behaved.
Well mostly, but more about that later.
And so before we knew it we were in the saddle, and distracted from names by what was around us.
The scenery varies, the people change,
but the rhythm of a trail ride is essentially the same.
Hours in the saddle, exploring the landscape.
Sometimes single file, walking.
Sometimes alongside, talking.
Often in silent contemplation.
The sound of the horses and the creak of the saddle somehow perfect company.
We pause along the way,
to marvel at a view,
learn some history,
look at the intricacies of nature.
And we stop, in this case, to sleep out in the open.
In ‘swags’ (rolled up canvas beds).
Just the most comfy mobile home ever.
Find yourself a spot, unroll your swag and Bingo.
Home sweet Home.
My less organised Home Sweet Home
My socks and swag
And that trail riding rhythm includes caring for the horses.
There’s unsaddling, brushing, washing, checking over, feeding and
of course, loving.
Without the latter, none of the former would every happen.
These horses are SO loved.
Don’t think it is only the horses that are cared for.
Oh no, on these trail rides our food is delivered with equal care and love.
Whether it is lunch on the road, being met by the truck with a delicious meal, drinks, and smiles, or sumptuous dinners round the fire : we do not go hungry 🙂
There was ‘girl’s time”
There was ‘boy’s time’
We had time too, to soak our bodies.
In a wonderful billabong, minus the crocodiles, right beside our camp.
There was private time, each in their own heads, with their own thoughts.
There were fun times,
crazy as only people who have camped out together can be….
comfortable with one another
There is so much to see, from memorials to those gone before us,
To that which will be here long after we have gone.
And endless other adventures.
Goodness me, we did So much.
There were rivers to cross
with or without a rider. In my case, it was with me on her back, without any warning!!!! So one learns
And of course the ‘serious’ river crossings- no photos. Too busy keeping dry (I had a tiny horse remember) and staying on!
There were gorges to climb. In this case Emma Gorge
There were springs to swim in.
And suddenly, a helicopter ride and it ‘was all over’
No photographs or words can even closely match the wonderful memories of this amazing part of our country. The sights, the friends, the horses, all are such that
Well, there I was, on a BUS, almost bringing the average age down significantly – or that is how it felt!!!!!
Who would have though – 3 day explore – Kakadu & Arnhem land.
BUT, despite my doubts this 3 day trip into Kakadu and the tip of Arnhem land was better than anticipated.
A very early start from Darwin took me into Kakadu. On a great road past great places like the Humpty Doo Hotel.
Don’t ask – the name could be from one of so many origins, but I like the derivative from the cattle station Umpity Doo. Slim Dusty clearly was intrigued too (Humpty Doo Waltz) And it was quite a lively spot as the following quote indicates:
“But it’s not just the proud men and women of the Territory who can sink a Darwin stubby, or two.
If you were around Humpty Doo in the 1980s, you might have come across Norman, the 600 kilogram Brahmin bull who could knock off a Darwin stubby in 47 seconds, and then wash it down with six tinnies and a meat pie.” Rae Allen 2008
We passed miles and miles of mango trees – all neatly groomed into ‘squares’ to facilitate easier harvesting. 40% of Australia’s mangoes come from this area which relies very heavily on backpacker workers and provide 4.8 mill trays annually
The name Kakadu may come from Gaagudju, the name of an Aboriginal language spoken in the park. Or it may come from the Indonesia (kakatuwah)/Dutch (kaketoe)/German (kakadu) word. Any or all anglicised into cockatoo. You decide.
Regardless, Aboriginal people have continuously inhabited this area for more than 65000 years – before the last ice age! Which interestingly enough is not as long as the crocodile has been there – try 200 million years – ‘unchanged’ – hows that for a fact. But more about crocodiles later.
The park is located within the Alligators Region of the Northern Territory. It covers an area of 19,804 km2, apparently the same size as Slovenia and half the size of Switzerland. Half of Kakadu is Aboriginal land and the other half is under claim by them. It is a UNESCO Heritage site and leased to Parks Australia by the Aboriginal people.
Why Alligator Rivers when there is not an alligator anywhere in Australia? Well blame the explorer Phillip King (first English navigator who entered the Gulf of Carpentaria) who has seen alligators in South America and assumed these were they – not having any idea that crocodiles even existed. He wrote
“ On our course up and down the river, we encountered several very large alligators and some were noticed sleeping on the mud. This was the first time we had seen these animals, excepting that at Goulburn Island, and , as they appeared to be very numerous and large, it was not thought safe to stop all night up the River“.
Crocodile – or is it the other way round?
Kakadu is vast with according to the indigenous people 6 seasons.
Yup, 6. Forget spring, summer, autumn and winter. Try:
Yekke (cooler (May-June) when the drying winds and flowering woolybutt tell the locals to patchwork burn the woodlands to encourage new growth.
Bangkerreng (April) harvest time when the floodwaters recede and skies are clear. Plants are fruiting and animals caring for young
Kudjewk (December – March) monsoon rains with spear grass over 2 metres high and high heat and humidity
Wurrkeng (June – August) early dry season, floodplains dry out; magpie geese fat and heavy after abundant food crowd the billabongs.
Kurrung (August – October) hot and dry means good hunting of file snakes and long necked turtles
That long necked turtle
A Jabiru with file snake
30 000 year old painting of a turtle
Kunumeleng (October – December) pre-monsoon sees streams running, waterbirds everywhere and barramundi move to estuaries to breed.
So much more interesting and meaningful if you live in that part of the world than just 4.
Okay so with 6 seasons, why not for symmetry’s sake, 6 landforms here too.
Promise, I won’t go into detail;
Stone Country: Savanna Woodlands: Monsoon Vine Forests: Southern Hills & Ridges: Tidal flats: Mangroves & Coastline and finally Floodplains, Rivers and Billabongs.
I did not get to see all 6 landforms, but what I did see what beautiful, enormous and inviting to return.
history both modern and ancient
trees that tell a thousand tales
There are some that believe it is brooding, because for millennia this land had been called ‘the sick country’ by the indigenous with rock art showing people with misshapen limbs and ‘swollen’ joints.
It turns out, it was in truth ‘ a sick country’ if you spent too much time there. Radiation from the uranium beneath the ground (which causes swollen joints) was found and hence confirmed their label. And with that came the Ranger Uranium Mine – and you may recall the protests. At the time, one of the largest uranium mines in the world. It is now closing down, incurring losses for several reasons. The 2011 Fukushima disaster and related market slump and the waste management costs. The mine is being shut down with rehabilitation costs expected to be $800million!!!!!
And that is not taking into account the town of Jabiru which was a thriving small town supplying the mine and is now almost deserted. Apart perhaps from the hotel – the famous Croc Hotel built as a 250-metre long, 30-metre wide giant crocodile.
It will be interesting to see the restoration when complete.
And ALWAYS worth a visit – this amazing part of our country.
Names like Kakadu, Arnhem Land, Jabiluka, the Kimberley
have been just that, names, to me,
tucked away in Melbourne.
Names slightly mystical in feel, often emotive in use and always, definitely remote.
Which in a sense they are of course, ‘tucked away’ in the far north eastern tip of this vast continent with me, in the deep south so to speak.
3 573 km apart according to google maps.
So when a spot was offered me on a horse trail through The Kimberley’s, well you can see why I had no choice. 😉😉🐴🐴
Interestingly, anything that involves local travel, is quite expensive and a trip up north dents the bank balance almost more than if I was going off shore. So I felt obliged to ‘do more than just the ride’ and of course dent that balance even more!
But so worth it – every cent.
Darwin, the capital of the Northern Territory is closer to Timor than it is to Melbourne and it feels that way too. In so many ways.
A million miles from Melbourne (okay I know, 3 573 km to be exact) but you get my meaning!
The climate which thankfully is less oppressive than I had anticipated creates ‘a look’ that is distinctive: shorts, sandals of varying descriptions or none at all.
Casual, slightly dishevelled, wind blown, sun swept, almost Californian but without the ‘bling’. Not that there isn’t bling in Darwin, some of the jewellery shops show quite a bit, but the general feel is more frontier town than high end holiday space. A deliberate facade I felt.
Based on The Esplanade, I wandered around the city and took an evening cruise in the harbour.
There was So much to see and learn.
Such as, NASA had a Darwin airport runway which was particularly long, earmarked as a potential shuttle landing spot if ‘things went awry’ internationally and they didn’t want to or could not land in the USA. History shows it wasn’t used – but a good trivia question.
The Aviation Museum has 1 of the only 2 B52 bombers still on show. (lent to us by USAAF)
Amy Johnson was the first female pilot to fly alone from Britain to Australia. She flew from Croydon, south of London on May 5th 1930 and crash landed in Darwin, 18 000km and 21 days later. (crash landing after flying safely for such a distance – another blog awaits !)
Darwin was given the name by a British expedition arriving in 1839 in honour of Charles Darwin who had sailed with them on a prior expedition.
It has a small resident population (101 000?) but fills up during the winter with tourists passing through to a staggering 1.38 million spending over $1.5 bill.
It has a crazy climate of almost only 2 seasons, hot and hot and humid when the rains come between December and March. The hottest month is November, just before the onset of the main rain season when the heat index can rise above 45 °C (113 °F).
It is one of the most lightning-prone areas in Australia. On 31 January 2002 an early-morning squall line produced over 5,000 cloud-to-ground lightning strikes within a 60-kilometre (37 mi) radius of Darwin alone – about three times the amount of lightning that Perth, Western Australia, experiences on average in an entire year!
Darwin has been destroyed and rebuilt 4 times in modern history (who knows how many times before ‘the white man’ arrived).
In 1897 a cyclone destroyed Darwin (estimated cost UK pounds 150 000 in 1897 terms)
2) In 1937 another cyclone with estimated costs of UK pounds 100 000.
3) In 1942 Darwin was bombed by the Japanese and the military was taken completely by surprise. Most of the ships in the harbour were anchored near each other, making them an easy target for air attack and it would appear no plans had been prepared for how the ships should respond to an air raid.
Interestingly more aircraft were used and more bombs dropped on Darwin than on Pearl Harbour.
Interesting snippet I read:
At 9.35 am Father McGrath of the Sacred Heart mission on Bathurst Island, who was also an Australian coastwatcher, sent a message using a pedal radio to the Amalgamated Wireless Postal Radio Station at Darwin that a large number of aircraft were flying overhead and proceeding southward. The message was then relayed to the Royal Australian Air Force Operations at 9.37 am.No general alarm was given until about 10 am as the RAAF officers there wrongly judged that the aircraft which had been sighted were the ten USAAF P-40s, which were returning to Darwin at the time after reports of bad weather forced them to abort a flight to Java via Kupang, West Timor. As a result, the air raid sirens at Darwin were not sounded before the raid.”
4) Cyclone Tracey devastated Darwin in 1974, killing 71 people, and causing A$837 million in damage (1974 dollars).
And then there is the harbour. And a lovely dinner cruise with strangers who were friends by the end of the evening.
And so a quick visit to an interesting town ended.
But little did I know What an adventure awaited me.
And just like that, the horses and riders worked together.
The first day was,
for everyone, a surprise,
requiring much energy, patience and self control.
But here, on day two,
it felt as though we all knew what was required
and were confident we could survive
and even enjoy the seven day ride.
It is true they were long days in the saddle.
It is true it was hot.
It is true we had tiny tents and no ablution facilities.
And it is also true that I loved every moment.
with a hot sun most of the day
our very tiny ‘homes’
Someone made these barriers – miles and miles of them.
The long stretches of silence as I absorbed the vastness around me
The companionable times I rode alongside someone and we shared our thoughts
The kindness of “D”‘ Mohammed, the guide who ‘adopted’ me
The responsiveness of my amazing horse, Zeina,
her kindness, generosity, strength and endurance.
My flea bitten gray – Zeina and I. The sweetest soul in the Sahara…
the guide “Da” Mohammed who took such care of me “Da” old lady (da apparently meaning ‘old/wise’ 🙂
My flea bitten gray – Zeina and I. The sweetest soul in the Sahara…
Perhaps these photos will illustrate where words cannot,
what was a most remarkable experience.
Some played while others watched…..
‘Da Mohammed’ Whose kindness gave me courage. Whenever I looked around, there he was, keeping pace, watching out for me – and it wasn’t just me he cared for He loved the horses passionately and was always working. – I shall forever remember him with fondness
And of course there was the necessity of feeding ourselves as well…..