WHEN RAIN STARTS FALLING on Kakadu, it’s as if a
sky-bound Buddha has broken his prayer necklace, sending
delicate, clear beads dancing over the hills, dirt tracks, rivers
and billabongs. Next, the wind picks up. It inhales and
exhales with force. Colours shift in the sky. Blue tones turn
steely. Then, when things get real, lightning percussion
booms and the main monsoonal act arrives. Rolling sheets
of water break like waves, colliding mid-air and crashing
southwards – and, as it happens, across my head and
shoulders. I’m midway along the 7.5-kilometre loop walk to
Motor Car Falls in the southern part of the park. I’m soaked
and quietly freaking out about my camera getting drenched,
despite its position six layers deep in my backpack. But I feel
high. Ecstatic even. What’s wrong with me?
During the wet season, which descends on the Northern
Territory’s Top End between November and April, Kakadu
National Park – 150 kilometres east of Darwin – is
inhospitable. Or so the grapevine holds. This idea has clung
to the collective travellers’ consciousness with tenacity.
Roads that cut through Kakadu, Australia’s largest terrestrial
national park, are clear, hotels yawn with extra space, and
friends further south sound perplexed when I tell them
where I’m headed. “Isn’t it rained out there? Is it even open?”
Kakadu, in fact, stays open all year round. And while access
to some sites is affected by rain and many waterholes remain
un-swimmable, there’s no shortage of things to do while
those prayer necklaces in the clouds sporadically scatter
beads. I’m here to scratch at the adage that the park is a
lesser beauty in the wet than it is during the dry season and
discover what holds true. 1GETAWAYS | Kakadu
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