The writer of this diary, posts on an investment forum, that I used to visit. Quite a character.
makes me jealous of having a life of real experiences. How shallow the world of the mind seems sometimes.
Been an eventful day so far. Gravy, one of the river Patriachs cruised past the camp as I was having coffee. The early sun prevented him from seeing towards the camp so he was huffed up and the smaller crocs could be seen disappearing as he headed down stream. The big cod also turned up as I fed my "chooks" black bream and waited patiently til I gave him a barra carcase for breakfast, Then on to the markets to see ATV and RAU doing good. Next a couple of young blokes turned up ,one with a large lure hanging off his hat. The hooks had penetrated the hat and pinned his hat to his head. I wrapped the other treble hooks in some tape and cut a large hole in the hat to pull the lure through. The hook hadn't got into the bone so I put a loop of nylon over the lure and pressing down on the eye of the hook gave the loop a sharp jerk and hey presto! . A dab of betadine a nip of rum for the patient's mate, who was the perpetrator, and was looking a bit seedy, and away they went to their fishing. What next?
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Heard the flying doctor was visiting the mission so decided to pay a visit as my back has been playing up and the pain stops me sleeping.
Took some fish for the sisters and was given a seat in the midst of the daily action whilst waiting my turn.
There was a busy trade of urine samples and pills ,babies were coddled and weighed .Blood samples being taken and kids having there sores dressed, having been escorted to the clinic by a schoolteacher.
All this was conducted with giggles and witty commentary flowing freely between patients and staff.
My turn came and after a discussion about the impending demise of the yankee dollar and a few hot tips had been exchanged we got down to business. I had the benefit of three doctors, as a couple of trainees were present.
Consensus was I needed some pain killers and some blood would be taken for further tests. Returning to the clinic area the two new chums took turns at getting blood .
After several unsuccessful efforts, the clinic sister, seeing I was looking a bit dodgy, came out with a cup of tea and a lamington after which new more prospective veins were found much to the amusement of the onlookers, particularly the truant having his boil dressed.
I got back to the camp and took the Brufen as prescribed. I had the best sleep in weeks but the second night woke to the sound of an aircraft flying over.
I walked around the camp trying to find the source of the noise which drowned out the chronic tinnitus I have. Eventually blamed the Brufen. Pity about the side effects .Oh well, no gain without pain....
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Took up an offer to do a bit of bush bashing yesterday.
Left the camp as the first streak of dawn washed out the "duck" or Orions belt. The river was like glass as the south Easters have given away to the calm days prior to the northerly season.
Milkfish have moved into the river and you could feel the bump as they shot out of the path of the boat.
As we dropped anchor at the landing the mate was waiting in his new toy, a $7000 eBay 1986 Toyota Ute.
Travelling along the Gibb River road, I understood why the tourists arriving at Kalumburu seem to spend more time under their vehicles than they do fishing. The station track was a great relief after the pounding, although lots of washouts after the big "wet". The country looked good as the late rains had kept everything green.
We saw lots of wild cattle mostly nasty looking part Brahman mickeys and bulls.
The place was terribly run down and the stock associated motor cars with bullets.
A recently severed leg laying on the road confirmed my thoughts.
Further out through the basalt ridges we came to the sandstone country upstream from my camp. Beautiful country with the orange blossom of the woolybutt on the sand and the golden flowers of cottontrees along the ridges.
Across the river the Drysdale escarpment forms the boundary as it follows the river to the rugged gorges to the north.
The riverine scrub provided sanctuary for the nervous stock we saw apart from old bulls who seemed to know they were too tough to be considered barbeque material.
Sad to say, but everywhere we went we saw feral cat tracks and few ground birds such as bronzewings and quails. The mate is going to do a 1080 program soon using meat from the old scrub bulls.
There were still a few trees smouldering from recent fires and we shared a few thoughtful moments after a huge tree smashed across the track directly in front of us.
After a circuit of the place we picked up a few stores at Kalumburu and the mate took us to back to the landing.
We arrived at the beach about sundown to find the dinghy high and dry. A couple of old codgers wandered down and offered to give us a push off but to no avail.
My back was playing up so, after cadging a couple of panadols I lay down while the grandson lit a driftwood fire and warmed up the survival rations, couple of tins of baked beans.
A few moments pining for a stiff whiskey and I dozed off under a blanket of smoke which kept the sandflies at bay.
We got underway about 9 under the light of a few stars almost obscured by smoke from a wildfire, the glow from which we could see over Mitchell plateau way.
Across Mission Bay trailing a bright phosphorescent wake we skirted Lost City ,ancient weathered stacks of sandstone black against the skyline, over the reef at Galley Point and another half hour across the shoals found us at the Drysdale River.
The tide was streaming in and we picked our way through the sandbars mangroves and gorge to the camp.
On switching on a light, the first thing I noticed was a bottle of rum that some seafarer had left a few days ago. Just enough in it for a decent nightcap.
Getting out of the cot this morning required a bit of planning to avoid an incredible spasm so I decided to give these Brufens another go in spite of the "ringing ears" syndrome they gave me a week or two back.
Hope things improve healthwise before CatDog arrives next week.
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Yesterday arvo went upriver so the kids could have a swim while I throw netted a few blue tail mullet.
The tide was low and clear fresh water spilled through the last rapids. Taking a spot where I could get a good swing, I waited.
There were five crocs intent on a feed of mullet too, and as they are accustomed to us, I had the chance to watch them. They like to lie in the shallows and snap at fish as they attempt to swim past. The mullet are usually being crammed up to the water's edge by bull sharks ,groper and barra.
I could see a big barra lying in a pothole waiting for a school to pass over.
Every now and again I saw fish rolling around or swimming head down. Maybe they become intoxicated by the fresh water. Whatever it is, they are soon taken by predators either in the water or from one of the large sea eagles that also gather here.
I cleaned my fish as the grandkids kids finished their swim and noted the fat and full golden roe, one of my favourite seafood’s.
The schools of fish began pushing their way through the rapids as night fell and the rising tide gave them a brief respite.
Another two days and its mud crab time....no rest for the wicked.
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Tried some mullet biltong at Eland Bay .Think kudu is the favourite of the locals. Surprised at the variety of game meat available from farms. I am going to make some in the next few days now I have a few "bearers" out for school holidays. Did you visit any of the fish factories on the Atlantic Coast?
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Eaten green turtle, a tasty white meat with green nutty fat not cloying like mutton and dugong also oily with a flavour like lamb when young and beef when older. Without refrigeration we would keep the meat near a smoky fire and cut a slice off when hungry over the next week or so. Of course all the offal is eaten fresh as well and each has its own attributes.
On special occasions the islanders would do a whole turtle in aground oven. After cleaning and cutting up the entrails everything is put back into the shell with some aromatic leaves and grass. Some large red hot stones are also included and the whole turtle is placed on its back and lowered into the pit after the fire has died down. Several layers of banana leaves are placed on top and sand covers the leaves. After 4 or 5 hours the turtle is done and the gravy in the shell is eaten as a soup with the meat .
No, damper in the gulf or taro and yams in Torres Strait. Of course these animals are protected in most states these days. Green turtles were an item of trade from the Barrier reef and the West Indies and this almost caused their extinction. Dugongs were rendered down for their oil.
The Fly River cannibals were particularly keen on satay. The satay was a combo style where a base of sago which is reminiscent of sticky rice is pushed on to the bamboo stick, similar to the Balinese duck satay stick, to hold the sago better. The meat, which ideally has a pork belly texture is then skewered on top and the whole lot is grilled so the fat and juices are absorbed by the sago.
Substitute pork....there's got to be a dollar in it.
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Grand kids back to town tomorrow so we had a special lunch today. Krupuks made from barra skin and air bladder ,some crispy fried whiting, steamed rice and yard long beans and I have just started to make a boiled fruit cake to have after the "sop buntut" tonight. The youngest wants "customer" with the cake, which I assume to be custard.
Got to check out the new outboard this arvo before the trip back to Kalumburu. It's been missing a bit and I’m starting to regret having traded the old two stroke in on the four stroke to save fuel. This thing is a nightmare to work on and to change a spark plug requires the dexterity of a brain surgeon and a vocabulary of a shearers cook.
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Carbon emission going full ahead for past three months visibility down to a few hundred metres as millions of hectares destroyed yet again. The worst of it all is the destruction of perennial forests and the increase in wattle Spinifex systems will aggravate the problem. these systems recycle carbon every 3 to 5 years and they like hot fires.
If we want the eco systems present when Captain Cook arrived, we need to reintroduce the fire practises that were present then. Fires were used every day for hunting, communication and to allow access on foot through scrub and cane grass. Early accounts from various parts of Australia describe the country as open timbered and with native grasses. Pastoralists up this way do their bit but the public lands get only a pitiful amount of funding for the multi million acreage that they are supposed to manage. Look no further than Mirima National park on the edge of Kununurra town site. An absolute disaster. Five minute's drive from the Conservation and Land Management office. Up my way a few incendiaries chucked out of a chopper in May and that’s it.
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Another horrible day. Last night the skyline across the was silhouetted against a red sky. The sun disappeared about an hour before sundown because of the smoke. The fire front should reach the opposite bank today and I hope to hell it doesn't jump the river as, although I have patch burnt this side during the wet there are some sensitive areas that will be destroyed. There has been no rain since April and the dry southeasters have turned the country into a tinderbox. A few birds are starting to cross this morning.
As I said earlier, if an individual landowner neglected his fire prevention responsibilities as the various public agencies are doing they would be prosecuted.
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Well here she comes.....Flames cresting the ridge across the river ..lots of birds driven along in front ...either black cockies or burnt white cockies lots of songbirds, wind strengthening and the crackle of burning scrub, thick smoke smelling of Spinifex....
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Dead calm this morning and the cicada season is gathering strength. Our refugee bush flies show their affection for us each time we step outside. No sign of anything dangerous on our side of the river and the other big one is still a week or so away. Hopefully we will get a storm to douse it before it gets here. Cheers.
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Off to the billabong early to gather peat for the garden. Surprising what you can grow amongst the rocks at the camp but the soil is washed sand and its hard to get seedlings started. The peat holds the moisture, but its a bit of an ordeal to get it at the end of the Dry, what with the heat bush flies and loose rocks. This year we had radishes, cherry tomatoes, coriander long beans entsai a, few basils and mints, sweet potatoes, eggplant, chives, peanuts, zucchini, jap pumpkins, squash, pak choy. The tomatoes stop setting once the temperature at night gets to the high 20's. We'll dig this peat in and leave every thing until April to start again. Now we have bush tucker until the Wet starts in a couple of months. We collect gubinj, make syrup and freeze some. The size of almond, it has more vitamin C than 14 oranges. Next month we'll have darloong or bush mango ,geebungs, cocky apples and kalumburu almonds at Christmas time.
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Well, could get rain any day now so i'm going to try to boost the beef supply before the scrubbers disperse to greener pastures. A nice fat dry cow is the target and for the next few hours they'll be lying down in the scrub along the mangroves and with a strong sea breeze blowing, stalking one should be possible. Note to self. Put six pack in fridge before leaving camp....could be a long afternoon.
We went around in the tinny with the last half hour of the incoming tide and got as far up the creek as we dared . Managed to spear the rifle into the mud as I scrambled up the bank requiring a bit of cleaning before setting off. The tide last night was huge and the flats were wet and slippery . We got into higher ground and moved upwind, The storm we had seen a few days ago had obliterated old tracks and apart from a few fresh bull and donkey tracks there was nothing of interest. We followed up the donkeys and found two jacks fighting over a jenny and as they were less vigilant than usual, destroyed them at close range with the rimfire.
Try over towards the big fire heading this way tomorrow, There’s a bit of spring country there.
I will kill an animal to feed my family when necessary but have never "enjoyed" killing feral animals but in Australia, man has to take the place of the major predators that other continents have otherwise much of the country would be destroyed along with its wildlife.
In 1977 I was stone broke, living in culvert near the Broome Airport after losing all my capital due to a cyclone that destroyed a little oyster farm we had started in King Sound.
Anyway, the shire clerk asked me would I take a job culling dogs and cats around the town.
I accepted with the proviso I worked my own hours.
I would start out at midnight in the council ute a spotlight, two rifles and a pump action shotgun.
The dogs would leave town in packs and head out to the dairy farm and others would move into Waterbank station where they would hunt in packs, tearing the udders of cows and take down weaners not just calves.
I also collected dogs that had moved into Aboriginal camps after being abandoned. The old people have a soft spot for dogs and would share their meagre rations with them.
One old bloke asked me to help him with his cat problem. The fisho arrived while we were having a yarn and Locky went out with a tray which he filled with small trevalley. He put the tray on the table and turned to light the stove.
In the few moments his back was turned the fish disappeared under a blanket of cats. Locky had three fish for his wife and himself.
Next morning I arrived early ,all the windows were shut apart from one faceing a steep dune with a patch of scrub on top. Locky got busy inside with his walking stick and Topsy sitting on her favourite chair, drafted out the cats as they shot out the window and headed up the dune." That one! Not that one! That one" and so on. Fourteen cats later not including the keepers we had a cuppa .
A few days later I saw Topsy again. "You bin kill my favourite pussy cat. You know that big eye one? I bin tell you wrong way and you bin shoot him, I bin cry all night".
The tally of dogs was nearing six hundred and I was mopping up the remnants of a pack of wild dogs holed up in scrub at Gantheaume Point when the shire clerk called me in ."We've had a helluva run on dog tags and run out. There's a cook's job going with the Anna Plains gang if you're interested"
Sad to see so many lovely animals being dumped as well as those neglected by their owners.
I think Broome had about 3000 residents but the town had become a mecca for hippies who squatted in the scrub all along Cable Beach. Of course when they moved on they left their pets behind to fend for themselves........
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Thank you. I also like the country arond Cape Leveque and spent a couple of years at one Arm Point with the Bardi.
From the back door of my shack I could watch and hear the massive flow of the tide through the reefs and islands across to Cockatoo Island where BHP were mining iron ore.(A bit of a magnet when my hide started to crack.)
Lots of Rotinese fishermen would come to the offshore reefs in May and September. They would gather trepang, trochus and catch a few sharks.
I became firm friends with many of them and visit Roti whenever I get the chance.
The Fiheries Director flew in one day a few days after the airstrip was built. Someone bought him to the shack and introduced us. "Your the bloke who reports all these Indos?"
I took him out the back and counted fourteen perahus.The crews could be seen picking the reefs.
"Jesus!" was all he could say.
Navy and Fishery patrols increased substantially after that.
The old traditional sailing fleet has all but been annihilated and Papela village in Roti is a decayed ruin.
Hey!, starting to run off at the mouth again!
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Just checked the Wyndham radar 256km chart for the first time since the Wet finished in April. We woke this moring to a clear sky hot and humid and could hear a distant low rumbling.
We have just had an electrical storm with a few lightening strikes. Thankfully no sign of a bushfire yet.
Yesterday, we walked east of the camp to see if any cattle were about.
There is a large area of spring and swamp county there, and we got well downwind of this before entering.
The country is heavily cluttered with cyclone debris and rank grass and "devils guts", a creeping vine that constantly trips you up.Worse still were the dried bogholes obscured by the grass. I disappeared into several of these much to the amusement of my offsider.
We could see where the cattle had been rubbing themselves on the banksia and ti trees to get relief from the ticks and flies.
The swamp fed into a dry creek and in the distance we heard doves and whistlers which indicated water. Sure enough, we came to a narrow waterhole overhung with screw palm and freshwater mangrove.
On the opposite bank there were fresh tracks of a huge bull. We decided to head back to camp passing a dust bath of white kaolin so fine you could see the imprint of the hairs of the donkey that had recently been rolling around in it.
It wasn't long before we found a small mob feeding on rushes and water lillies around the large billabong behind the camp.
These were terrible, inbred looking scrubbers, mostly cows and weaners, with some brindle and black showing some Brahman influence in years gone by. We picked our way around the mob, but the only animal we could see that looked half reasonable was wading around with a couple of bulls and we couldn't get close enough without alerting its mates.
We'll try again tomorrow but I expect they'll all head off tonight chasing the rain into the sandstone country where a few showers fill the rock holes and there will be feed and less ticks to bother them.
Might have to take the dinghy out to the salt marshes near Cape Talbot as it will be a month or so before it rans out there.
My grandson has just reported a puff of smoke a few kilometres to the north .Things coulg get nasty tomorrow.
Cheers.
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All you can eat sounds right. Don’t think he'll complain. There's a little tree goanna that comes by every fortnight and culls them and the huntsman spiders. In fact this gecko has just started to grow a new tail so he knows he's on a good thing.
My wost fears are confirmed with that fire. There's a red glow upwind of us tonight and this time we'll cop it as everything is so dry even the firebreaks will be overrun. Cheers !
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had a phone call from a lady doing research on forgery of Aboriginal art. To be expected I suppose as my old wardo's (brother in law's)work has exceeded $1,000,000 in recent years.
I went to Melbourne with him shortly before he died and was surprised at the number of forgeries he pointed out at the various galleries. He seemed pleased that people would copy his work contrary to what you might expect.
In the late seventies I used to visit stations and communities throughout the Kimberley as a Commonwealth employee.
Abut that time the government set up Aboriginal art outlets in the capital cities. It wasn't long before I was asked if I would collect art from these places and as I was going to these places anyway, I agreed.
The main items were traditional artefacts, boomerangs, woomeras spinifex gum, clubs, shields, sandals ,ceremonial items, hair belts and in the north, carved boab nuts.
One day at Warmun I saw wardo and his uncle Jampatji painting some "boards which they used as props for coroborees, there were a dozen or so of these, each displaying a separate theme of the dance.
I asked if they wanted to sell them to the missus from the art mob in Perth after they had finished with them.
A few weeks later I collected them. Noting the dog tracks from Jampatji's dogs over quite a few of them.
My wife wrapped them and stitched them up in hessian and I sent them off on he weekly truck. The two old blokes became famous in time and with that others joined, amazed that the wider world could find their culture interesting.
Warmun was a collection of humpies and car bodies that the people, mainly Gidja, had moved to when they were evicted from the various cattle stations. The site was both a stock route reserve and the rockbar on the creek and an important Dreaming plce for the Gidja. The old mens corroborees were a great morale booster.
One day a French couple came to see me and said they would like to meet the artists so we drove to Warmun and as luck would have it caught wardo painting more boards.
They asked a lot of arty questions....
"Are you teaching the young people about their culture?
"No more they rubbish!"
" When you paint are you trying to capture feelings of your Dreamtime?"
"No more! That missus, he bin pay us big money"
And so on.
The old blokes passed on. Jampatji had a stoke, but kept painting, blind in one eye and the wrong hand and the corridors of Wyndham hospital were decorated with his work.
Years later, I was surprised to receive an invitation from the French government asking if I would bring a group of Warmun artists to Paris to commemorate Rovers life. and accepted. But that's another story....