Kakadu National Park

Although we were told that the most popular attraction in Kakadu, where we spent three days, is its "Yellow Waters" boat cruise, the biggest draws for us were the several outstanding Aboriginal rock art sites. Although so easily accessible that they were often overrun with tour groups, these sites--sometimes dramatic, sometimes subtle or faded--were nevertheless well worth visiting in person. Ancient and recent, prehistoric and historic, the art is one of the best reminders that this has been a continuously conserved cultural tradition for thousands, even tens of thousands of years. Unlike ancient rock art in much of the world, these images still have stories attached to many of the images--the Dreamtime stories of the Rainbow Serpent, the Lightning Man, and the above fellow, a spirit being said to strike dead any human women who violated taboos, using the remarkable weapon of a yam, after which he ate his victims. Which Sarah finds particularly funny (the yam part not the eating of his victims part!)

Having spent the first few days in the Darwin area (the "Top End" of Australia) in a rented sedan, we moved into this LandCruiser 4x4--not without some trepidation that almost found us renting a bigger motorhome. Here the beast still looks shiny. It looks considerably less shiny now.

At several points in Kakadu, as elsewhere in the Top End (see previous post below), the bushfires approached the road. We could feel their heat through the windows as we passed. They held a mysterious, sinister but cathartic appeal that drew us to stop often at their margins.

The blue and orange Leichardt grasshoppers, justly famed for their beauty. The Aboriginal Dreaming considers them the offspring of Lightning Man, whose own body looks remarkably insectlike in the rock paintings, probably because they swarm at the approach of the Wet. When the grasshoppers are on the move, it means they are seeking the Lightning Man, seen on the horizon, and people should move as well.

One of the oddities of Kakadu is that the first European survey misnamed the abundant local crocodile species, fresh and salt, as "alligators," and somehow the names have stuck. The park is filled with "Alligator" rivers of various geographic designations. These alligator rivers, in turn, are often filled with crocodiles.

Nothing seems to stop people from risking their lives to go fishing, however. Where a river marks the border between the park and the vast, Aboriginally owned regions of Arnhem Land, a group of white men fished on one side of the causeway with rods & reels, while Aboriginal folk fished with nets on the other side . . . .

And a two or three-meter long crocodile sat in the middle of the river, keeping an eye on all of them!

Mark at one of the larger rock-art panels.


One of the most fascinating aspects of the rock art is that it records many of the comings and goings of species and cultures over the millenia, from extinct Thylacines (marsupial "tigers") to more recent arrivals such as dingoes, pigs, snake-necked turtles, and European men with hats, pipes, and rifles . . . .

Our favorite totemic animal at the rock-art panels was this beautiful black wallaroo, a local wallaby species. He grazed under panels that featured paintings of kangaroos and wallabies, (here he is under a panel featuring a scene of dancers) and from time to time came up close enough to us that he seemed to be enjoying our company before he hopped off swiftly into the brush and vanished.

And at night, the fires along the roadsides became even more dramatic. It seems astonishing to think of this as ordinary seasonal management by local populations of humans, but it has been for thousands of years.

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