1WALKING IN WATERFALL COUNTRY
Recalling her words a few days later, as I stand soaked and stressed
about my camera, I have mixed feelings as to whether or not she’s
right. A parade of gnarly horse-flies have feasted on my legs, my
hat is heavy with moisture and I have a kilometre or so to go until
I reach Motor Car Falls. I look for cover. There’s none to be found.
Frankly, I’m surprised. I expected Kakadu, especially in the wet, to
be one dense thicket of trees and grass – genuine, proper jungle.
“You OK there?” shouts a passing traveller. “Will be once I
reach the falls,” I reply, wiping my sunnies to see him. Pete is from
Alice Springs. He’s staying at Cooinda Lodge, located on Yellow
Water Billabong. “Yeah, I thought I’d be bush-bashing all the way
to the falls,” he says. “But instead, the landscape is so open and
exposed. It’s such a super-charged shade of green, too.”
He’s right. The green that engulfs us is neon. And while the walk
starts on a rickety footbridge, it soon transforms into corridors
of spear grass, and then into rocky outcrops flanked by hills.
Though knee-height right now, the spear grass will grow taller
than a human – though it doesn’t stay upright for long.
‘Knock-’em-down’ is the name given to the current season by
Jawoyn people, Bessie had explained, noting there are six seasons
in her calendar altogether, and this is when the grass is flattened.
I bid Pete farewell and push on to the falls. Water pools inside
my shirt and my pants adhere to my skin. In the midst of all this
indignity, though, there is something about the rain’s intensity that
has buoyed my mood – that odd ecstatic feeling I mentioned
earlier. I’m physically uncomfortable, yet strangely at peace. The
storm brings with it a reminder of nature’s might. I’m acutely
aware of being alive: a realisation that’s hit at the exact moment
my photography gear might be deemed cactus. Ace.
Finally, a sign directs me to Motor Car Falls. I barrel along
a narrow track just as the clouds open up. “Holy wow,” I whisper,
stepping onto flat rock to view a fan-shaped sash of water careen
down the cliff face. Mist floats off the pool’s surface like chiffon.
I imagine I’m a tiny, frozen figurine trapped in a terrarium. This
spot, a million miles from urban life – and uninterrupted by the
presence of other tourists – feels as if it’s a paradise lost and found.
I burrow through my backpack, cross my fingers, and extract
the camera. It’s wet but it works. I take my lens off, let the
condensation clear, then snap away in celebration. When I return
to the trail, my sopping boots carry me back to the car park where
my mind drifts to hot showers, fluffy towels and solid sleep.
Back at Kakadu’s ‘Croc Hotel’ (it’s shaped like a giant saltie),
I manage the first two goals, but save sleep for later. I’ve booked
a late afternoon scenic flight to better map the park in my mind.FLYING THROUGH STONE COUNTRY
My pilot, 26-year-old Anthony agrees with Bessie that the wet
season is the best time of year to be here. “You get to see the
waterfalls in full flow, and that’s pretty epic.”
I assume shotgun position beside him and soon we’re gliding
above my hotel. “Its ‘eyes’ turn red at night,” he says, pointing to
the yellow lights on the building’s roof – another kitsch flourish
from the town’s resident croc.
Leaving Jabiru in our wake, we trail along a green valley. Clouds
cast shadows over the land in cookie-cutter shapes. Streams snake
through trees that resemble broccoli florets. So far, so flat.
Then the escarpments appear. In orangey coral columns, these
sit tall above the country’s floor like teeth or giant thrones.
They’re breathtaking. I can sense Kakadu’s seduction routine
starting up all over again.
Our plane circles Twin, Jim Jim and Gunlom Falls. Each gushes
white water. Over the engine noise I shout: “The park doesn’t look
as wild from up here; it’s so serene!”GETAWAYS | Kakadu