Arnhem Land, NT

Happy Birthday Muriel

Having missed out on the Jim Jim Falls and Twin Falls Tour, we opted for the Arnhem Land Ultimate Experience instead. Arnhem Land for those not familiar with how things work up here, is a restricted area which belongs to and is populated solely by the indigenous owners. To get in you need a permit  potentially available from the NT Aboriginal Land Council in Darwin, or link up with a tour operator who has already greased the wheels. So, getting in for a look is considered a bit special, and of course the major attraction is the rock art, which from all reports is extraordinarily fantastic. The snip you always see is of a square rigged sailing boat and Europeans, assumedly from the 1600 - 1900 period.

We had to drive up to Jabiru to meet the tour-bus that had left Darwin at 5am. (now there's one trip i am glad i missed, it's 300km). From Jabiru we travelled out along the road to Ubihr, where we saw some pretty good rock art and scenery last year, and then turn east and cross the croc infested East Alligator River. Depending on the tide, this may be under several feet of water (in the wet, it's under 7 metres of water).

Half a kilometre into Arnhem Land we stopped on the side of the road to 'adjust to Arnhem Land time'. Odd. A bit further on we stopped to look at a flock of some 70 or so Brolga even though stopping here was not permitted for our bus.

Shortly we reached the community known as Gunbalayna, where about 1500 aborigines live, still mostly nomadic as they wander across the top end from one families 'country' to another. Our guide commented that there was a shortage of housing despite 50 new homes having been built in the last year and that it was common for them to have a family in each bedroom, 10-15 people per house.

We then took the first of what would be many, many stops, this one at the Injalak Arts Centre, to use the Tourist Only toilets and to find or native guide, who may or may not be there at that time. Once he was securd in the bus, our destination was the Injalak Hills, basically the mountain range on the other side of the billabong, which we reached in 10 minutes. Then we all (18 of us) piled out and waited for something. We ate a muesli bar and eventually started up a path following our apparently mute guide.We stopped after 20 metres climb and sat for half an hour. The guide did his best to explain something, I have no idea what as his English was limited to key words: Emu, Wallaby, tree etc. And 'grinding' which indicated a round smooth depression in a flat rock, which we know to be where they ground grain up using another round rock, but as he was adamant that they didn't live here even during the wet, we have to assume was for grinding the dirt and stones to make the colours. Red, yellow, white and black.

Eventually we climbed a bit more and then sat again, this time in the broad sunlight, albeit in front of a rock face covered in art work. He may have been trying to explain in single words some of it to the one person who had asked: Fish, Egg, Turtle, baby... We sat and stood in the sun a fine old long time, at least 45 minutes, then we literally turned the next corner under a huge rock ledge overhang into a cool pool of shade, where we sat some more. This story seemed to be something about spirits and a billabong that if anyone or any animal went into they would immediately give birth.   

Finally we climbed a good bit more into another huge cavern where there was a rock 'table' as the centre piece on which were artefacts. He was able to convey that some of the shells were salt water and some freshwater, but there were heaps of other chits of broken stone and the like which may have been tools. Who knows. He held up a slip of paperbark tree and said it was 'brush', one assumes with which to paint the rocks.   This was for me way past tedious. We would all just stand there looking expectantly and waiting for something, anything, and it would go on for 20 minutes at a time. He surprised us this time by pointing to a painting of an outstretched arm and hand, unusual in itself, which was horizontal and with the hand to the right. He then blew us away by shining his torch into the darkness of the rocky space the hand was pointing to and illuminating a skull and bones! He conveyed that this was his ancestor and that it was very special and that he and his 'brothers' (not brother as we know it) and his children should keep coming to visit this place.He was able to tell us that they once had a choice of burial, in a cave like this one or upright in a hollow tree trunk. Nowadays, since the missions and general European legislative interference the normal method is 'under', ie burial. We felt privileged to have seen this even if we weren't too sure what the story was.

From here we clambered a bit more, sat some more, then clambered again, this time on hands and knees or sliding on our backsides and skirting a fair old precipice to one side, to emerge on a ledge way up high where our bus driving guide was waiting with lunch. She had carried this all up here in a huge backpack and even if it was simple: ham salad, bread rolls, it was very welcome. And that view. (My walking mates: think of lunch at Square Rock, only higher).

After lunch we clambered back past the gap, (one fool dropped his camera lens and was just going to drop down after it!) took in some more views, this time from the 'lookout', out over the flood plains, the billabong and the Gunbalayna township. We then descended pretty well straight down to the car park and the waiting bus guide who presented us each with a really cold wet face towel. Nice touch.

This whole exercise had taken about 5 hours and I don't think I was alone in feeling just a bit over it by 2.30pm. Nonetheless, we still had to endure the Arts Centre tour, which our bus guide gave personally. First the men,  one younger ones at a table painting on French what looked like a 1m square canvas on board and totally ignored us and her attempts to engage him in conversation, and a few other younger ones sitting back in a corner smoking. There were two older men, sitting on the bare concrete in metal cage, painting on cardboard. They did completely ignore us. Then inside to the workshop where they did screen printing, from time to time. Only a white fella who wandered in to see what we were doing showed any interest in us and soon wandered out again. Then a stop outside the back door to admire the billabong and Injalak Hills where we had just been. Then the women. One old lady and a youngish looking white lady, sitting on rags on the concrete, weaving panadas leaves into baskets and the like. The guide tried to show us how the leaves were collected and then stripped. The the old woman chimed in by standing up and did it in two fingers in a flash. Some discussion about how and where they gather the vegetable matter to make the dyes and how it was getting harder for them as they had to go further and further away into the bush to find the right plants.

Finally we were allowed inside the Art Centre Itself. Here is the product of their activities in all it's glories. Outside you can see the artist at work, takes a week to make a big painting, inside you can buy it for a lazy few thousand dollars. I have to stress that they say themselves that there is no cultural significance or any story associated with any of it, it's purely art for arts sake, and an art form that has evolved only over the last 50 years. Personally I thought that the art on the outside walls of the Centre was at least as good as anything we had seen that day, and that the rock art wasn't as good as that we had seen previously at Kakadu, and there were no sailing boats or pictures of white fella. I went and waited under a cool tree, marking Arnhem Land time, until the bus guide had relented and we could all go home. Eventually we left at about 3.30pm for the short drive (for us, not the Darwinites) back to our car.

But wait, one last stop, taken at the East Alligator River to see if there were any crocs lining up to gorge on the fsh as they spilled over the concrete causewa. There were not, and none snapping at the people fishing from the banks and rocks neither.

We were glad to get home and take a long cold dip in the pool.

A snap:

Rock art. Injalak Hills, Gunbalayna, NT