Northern Territories
The northern coast of Australia is truly in the tropics. The thick, sweet smell of frangipani drenches heavy, humid morning air that bathes the body in sweat by 9am. Nothing I know could please my senses more, not the best glass of Spanish red wine or the sight of a thousand orchids. If I have a personal heaven, this is surely it!
Cloud banks start gathering early, around 7am, pink and gray/blue billows that will turn almost black before giving in to unbearable pressure to release torrents of monsoon rain.
The rain doesn't break til around 5pm, when every scrap of sound in the atmosphere has been sucked up to be released all at once, as loud and as sudden as the snap of a crocodile's jaw closing on unsuspecting prey. The brown muddy rivers are full of these prehistoric beasts, so a dip in the water to cool off is definitely out of bounds.
There is all day to sweat before lightning picks out the bushy black clouds parading across the twilight sky. Sometimes it brings rain and sometimes not. The river beds are dry somewhere south of here. In the build up to the wet season, sometimes a thunder storm is only a promise of what is yet to come. But here on the coast there is plenty of water to go with the 43C heat. When its not cloudy on three days out of six, sunsets burn red streaks across the evening horizon.
Birds are up early in the morning to scavenge the remains of last night's takeaway meals, and better still, the huge ripe mangoes just fallen from a tree at the end of Darwin’s town centre esplanade. Fruit as big as footballs are scattered all over the grass. Ants, birds and the occasional tourist (i.e. moi) work hard to clean them up. Joggers slow to a walk as the heat starts ramping up.
The beach, uncovered at low tide, shows no signs of the imminent danger in the water. Box jellyfish are beautiful to behold, clear, pulsating inch square bodies with elegant, foot long, trailing fringes. Silent and deadly, their sting can kill a human in just three brief minutes. Stone fish, an impossibly ugly design in a sea full of gorgeous tropical fish, mother of pearly oyster shells and a thousand and one delicate, living corals. Standing on one is said to be more painful than giving birth.
Starfish, jellyfish, tasty fish and sometimes poisoned fish, abound in these tempting waters. Saltwater crocodiles 20 feet long, great white sharks and tiny biting lice all tell the same story, no swimming here – hot as it may be!
The inland rivers and rock pools are a safer bet, though not quite guaranteed. The tour guide commando crawling upstream in front of me got a powerful shock from the water swimming in a thunder-storm. No damage done though, a fabulous experience sitting under a waterfall in a pool the colour of tea, and only a clan of drowsy flying foxes high up in the trees, idle scary spiders and cute wee dark green frogs for sightings of resident wildlife. Things brush past my legs in the water, rousing not the slightest desire to know what they might be!
Heading west, away from the coast back towards the red centre are miles of living and fallen gum trees, muddy creeks and massive termite mounds. Kakadu and Arnhemland are too far for day trips and tours don't run in the off season. Lichfield is far enough in this country where all distances are vast.
Occasional jumping animals, can't say they are kangaroos because they are small like wallabies, and could be one of a hundred other species that are built to travel in the way of the outback. Boing, boing, boing, pushed up by strong back legs, projected forward by strong, thick tails, wee short front legs and sometimes a joey in the pouch. A wild black pig foraging in scrub, some horses standing in water, cattle gathered in the shade under trees remind me of groups of aborigines scattered around town landscapes. As displaced as any race I ever saw transposed on a fundamentally different cultureal landscape – maybe more so. More on that - and Darwin's 1974 distaster in the next post.
Cloud banks start gathering early, around 7am, pink and gray/blue billows that will turn almost black before giving in to unbearable pressure to release torrents of monsoon rain.
The rain doesn't break til around 5pm, when every scrap of sound in the atmosphere has been sucked up to be released all at once, as loud and as sudden as the snap of a crocodile's jaw closing on unsuspecting prey. The brown muddy rivers are full of these prehistoric beasts, so a dip in the water to cool off is definitely out of bounds.
There is all day to sweat before lightning picks out the bushy black clouds parading across the twilight sky. Sometimes it brings rain and sometimes not. The river beds are dry somewhere south of here. In the build up to the wet season, sometimes a thunder storm is only a promise of what is yet to come. But here on the coast there is plenty of water to go with the 43C heat. When its not cloudy on three days out of six, sunsets burn red streaks across the evening horizon.
Birds are up early in the morning to scavenge the remains of last night's takeaway meals, and better still, the huge ripe mangoes just fallen from a tree at the end of Darwin’s town centre esplanade. Fruit as big as footballs are scattered all over the grass. Ants, birds and the occasional tourist (i.e. moi) work hard to clean them up. Joggers slow to a walk as the heat starts ramping up.
The beach, uncovered at low tide, shows no signs of the imminent danger in the water. Box jellyfish are beautiful to behold, clear, pulsating inch square bodies with elegant, foot long, trailing fringes. Silent and deadly, their sting can kill a human in just three brief minutes. Stone fish, an impossibly ugly design in a sea full of gorgeous tropical fish, mother of pearly oyster shells and a thousand and one delicate, living corals. Standing on one is said to be more painful than giving birth.
Starfish, jellyfish, tasty fish and sometimes poisoned fish, abound in these tempting waters. Saltwater crocodiles 20 feet long, great white sharks and tiny biting lice all tell the same story, no swimming here – hot as it may be!
The inland rivers and rock pools are a safer bet, though not quite guaranteed. The tour guide commando crawling upstream in front of me got a powerful shock from the water swimming in a thunder-storm. No damage done though, a fabulous experience sitting under a waterfall in a pool the colour of tea, and only a clan of drowsy flying foxes high up in the trees, idle scary spiders and cute wee dark green frogs for sightings of resident wildlife. Things brush past my legs in the water, rousing not the slightest desire to know what they might be!
Heading west, away from the coast back towards the red centre are miles of living and fallen gum trees, muddy creeks and massive termite mounds. Kakadu and Arnhemland are too far for day trips and tours don't run in the off season. Lichfield is far enough in this country where all distances are vast.
Occasional jumping animals, can't say they are kangaroos because they are small like wallabies, and could be one of a hundred other species that are built to travel in the way of the outback. Boing, boing, boing, pushed up by strong back legs, projected forward by strong, thick tails, wee short front legs and sometimes a joey in the pouch. A wild black pig foraging in scrub, some horses standing in water, cattle gathered in the shade under trees remind me of groups of aborigines scattered around town landscapes. As displaced as any race I ever saw transposed on a fundamentally different cultureal landscape – maybe more so. More on that - and Darwin's 1974 distaster in the next post.
posted by Cathy Gunn at
December 26, 2008
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