Our journey of discovery Down Under continued with a trip to Kakadu National Park, a World Heritage Area and home to many Aboriginal people. The name 'Kakadu' comes from an Aboriginal language called Gagudju, one of the languages spoken in the north of the park at the beginning of the 20th century.
Covering almost 20,000 square kilometres, Kakadu is jointly managed by its Aboriginal traditional owners and the Australian Government's Director of National Parks. We were well aware that time constraints wouldn't allow us the luxury of seeing every possible site worth seeing, so we had to choose our stops very carefully indeed. With the departure of some of the holiday-makers, we were reduced to four people. We decided to camp in the outback.
The drive to the first camping site gave us a glimpse of the varied habitat of the park, which includes Savanna woodlands, monsoon forests, hills and ridges, tidal flats and coast, sandstone escarpment and floodplains and billabongs. The last mentioned had us singing our version of the famous Australian folk song Waltzing Matilda. Needless to say our rendition of the same involved a lot of humming as the words eluded our memories.
Of the four of us, two were seasoned campers. I'm sure you can guess I was not in this exclusive category. These two veterans were adamant that roughing it out was the whole idea of camping. Not completely convinced by this logic, the others who were new to this kind of experience approached the camping site of Merl with some trepidation. En route we happened to stop at a place called Jabiru and the sight of tents pitched so close to visible signs of civilisation made the novices' hearts soar with joy. But the leaders of this expedition scoffed at the idea of settling for something so pedestrian and before we knew it we were in a remote area with a secluded area of wilderness set aside for each camping party.
Looking around at the surrounding scrub and rocks, the faint-hearted two expressed their dismay at being so out of their comfort zone. Were they really going to camp here, they asked in querulous tones, only to be told not to be such ninnies and that one couldn't really call this outback.
According to these knowledgeable ones, this could, at best, be called semi-outback. Sensing the palpable isolation, the timid duo were in no mood to appreciate the fine distinction. However, in the interests of fellowship, they decided to stop whining. The search for firewood began and soon the tents were set up and a decent blaze managed to coax the dissenting twosome into a semblance of jollity. The delicious smell of dinner lightened the mood further. But this didn't last long. Somehow, that night, the heat seemed to have been turned on full strength and the lack of any kind of breeze made the evening weigh heavy on us.
A thoughtfully placed lantern soon had a host of all kinds of insects hovering above our plates, threatening to commit themselves to a watery grave. Last but not least was the symphony of mosquitoes, seemingly trained by a maestro. Unable to bear this for long, the food was hastily eaten and we escaped into out tents although it was much too early to retire for the night.
Interminable night
Through that long interminable night we could hear strange noises all around but were too scared to investigate. We let our imagination run wild and in our mind's eye we could see wallabies and dingoes circling our flimsy accommodation. Morning couldn't come soon enough. And sure it did. We were up with the lark, or in this case with the kookaburra. Somehow by the light of day our surroundings seemed much more benign and our considerably dampened spirits soon recovered. Of course, I speak only for myself and a kindred soul who felt much the same as I did. The other two also woke up bright and bushy-tailed as if the previous night had been a ball.
Having managed to regain our joie de vivre, the night before the morning after seemed but a distant memory.
