Aye white fella, you got some change Part_2

The photo revealed a group of young men, dressing in nothing more then a modest loin cloth. I don’t think they were much concerned with clothing back then as the materialistic world is today. But what is most noticeable about this photo was the men’s build; a wiry type fitted out with a stiff set of abdominal muscles which would put some of our modern day athlete’s to shame. Now I’m no scientist but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t from the gym they were attending, or the protein whey extracts they were drinking. No, something tells me it may have been something to do with the lifestyle.

And as Ian explains on the Thursday night; the men and women of these tribes spent much of there time hunting and gathering seasonal fruit’s, nut’s, roots and an assortment of fish, turtles, birds, snakes, lizards, crocodiles and kangaroo’s. A diet which is proved to be extremely healthy and for those who can remember, a food group which would fit nicely in to the two lower half’s of the Healthy Diet Pyramid. . This was the contributing factor, to the life style which would ensure the men and women stayed lean and fit an aspect of life which in latter years would be lost as the need for hunting dissipated and was replaced with fatty meats and other modern foods.

By late on Saturday afternoon we were busy scaling large granite rocks, in search of some rare flowers which had been reported by two elderly naturalists to be in the vicinity a few weeks before hand. This was only weeks after a wild fire had burst through the area clearing all the long grass. The perfect time I’m told for wild flowers to sprig and do there thing. I, of course had no idea what I was looking for but still trudged along happily, enjoying the feeling of the rough stones grating the bottom of my tender feet raw. A decision to loose my trusty (now covered in mud) Dunlop volley’s in a bid to feel nature between my toes so to speak. The young boy scattered up the hill finding his footing momentarily as he bounded for the next rock. With a grin on Ian’s face, he explains that young boy; Goyma was in search for the tallest rock to do his best Lion King impersonation. Sometime around here in my discussion with Ian we brushed on the subject of the remaining traditionalist’s, and what the future might hold. A grim look of desperation came across his face, a saddened look which I knew the meaning of all to well. “Unfortunately teenagers are teenagers, preferring the new Nike clothes and hanging out at the Casuarina mall”.

It’s no hidden secret to the rest of the new Australian people what an epidemic cultural influence is having on the Native Australian’s. It’s on the news regularly enough, especially in the northern reaches of this country where it can’t be hidden form the public eye. I guess some would argue it’s a matter of there own personal choice, but I gather being uneducated in a lower social economic environment hasn’t helped there social behaviours flourish. Totally misunderstanding the capitalist world they now find themselves living in. I guess this is where Ian find’s his niche, meanwhile when the government are frolicking about with ideas (look how long it took to say sorry to the stolen generation) on what they can do, Ian does. You see, he spends much of his time working with different groups promoting the understanding of Aboriginal culture an natural wonder to a wide variety of audiences though different mediums. Eco tour’s, teaching in Californian universities, ABC documentaries and published books just to name a few. He is certainly a man with an intense purpose of life, with an eye for natural beauty.

What would make the biggest profound impact on me this weekend was to learn much of what the aboriginal people did is what I want to be! Too be rich without money, and to be satisfied without material excess. Sounds like I’m turning into a dirty rotten hippy by now, but I assure you I don’t stink to bad..

Aye white fella, you got a Cigarette? Part_1

He gingerly places his foot amongst the long grass, which towers well above his head. He feels patiently with his bare foot, sure to not step on anything too sharp, especially the dreaded Pandanus fronds. Ian hangs back as he lets the aboriginal boy feel his way though; he follows the trails of what is an unknown animal. Well to my uneducated eye’s it is anyway, to the boy it is a Wallaby. The two casually chatter amongst themselves, a language which I don’t understand but isn’t foreign, quite a contrast perhaps as in fact it is the local tongue of the indigenous folks throughout these parts. I’m the foreigner here, and I have much to learn.

Occasionally Ian clues us in to what they are saying, usually about the many animal tracks which he is encouraging the young fella to identify or “track”. This tradition of tracking was one the most praised skills of the local people in the early days of European settlement; they could follow animal activities for miles on end, day after day hunting for rewards, or too find stray cattle. Every print or broken twig would tell the tracker a story and a keen eye could probably tell you more about the animal then if you had seen it for yourself. Something Ian would later explain to me as a dying art form like many of the traditional practises of the Aboriginal people, as the need for hunting is invalidated with the take over with modern European society. The young kids now prefer to buy a stale piece of meat from the rack then to take something which used to be for free.

Well I better back up and explain how I ended up here, a dense jungle growing over an underground spring. What can I say I love to eat, and it’s better when it’s free! Well that’s what drew me to the small meeting on Thursday night, when I heard Ian Morris was presenting a talk about the plants used in the traditional Aboriginal life. At the time when I heard about this talk I was browsing though a book on the Kakadu National Park while waiting for Miss H to get ready. Her Aunty was strolling though the room I sat in when she noticed the book in my palms; “I’m going to a talk presented by the author of that book tonight”. I eagerly questioned for more information.

From here it escalated and that is how I found myself deep in the Black Jungle of Kakadu National Park. How I ended up here is rather bizarre, but more so how I ended up here with the Top End Plant Growers Society is stranger. A modest group of middle aged people who commit countless hours to the research of plants, they are at the forefront of documenting rare and even unknown species of plants which exist in the diverse ecosystems of the top end. Some are Botanist, while others naturalists and entomologists. Sounds kinder dull, maybe even geeky to most, but for me my interest leaned heavily towards the understanding of eatable plants more then anything else. But as I would soon learn, it was hard not to be drawn into the member’s excitement and passion for the wild life, especially Ian and his intermit knowledge of just about anything to do with the bush.

But what Ian also brought with him was the ability to enrich our walk with the history and knowledge of Aboriginal culture and how they coexisted with such a harsh environment. To them though this was the land of plenty, and in a biblical sense, you could be mistaken for this to be the Promised Land. At one point Ian told us of a story from when he was a younger lad. He and the tribe he was with at the time were informed of a Greek man attempting to cross Arnhem Land in a V-dub. The man had gone missing after being warned not to attempt such a crossing by local authority. Anyway as the story is told they followed the man’s tracks in circles until he eventually withered and died. And as Ian explained to us, the Elder’s of the tribe mourned for days on end, as they could not comprehend how someone could die in the land of plenty, to them is the equivalent of a supermarket to us.

“They’re a useless bunch, they didn’t even invent the wheel”.. It’s true that I once associated with this statement, shameful as it is to admit. Ignorance and the lack of education had me making such foolish accusations. I never realised what they had going was good, in actual fact probably a better way of life then what I have.

To be continued…

To wake up 25 years old..

“You keep this up and you’ll never live to see 21”, her bark echoed across the yard. There was a time when I wondered why she never bothered applying for a public relation position with the government. Distilling fear and loathing in the minds of those gullible enough to listen..

I didn’t.

Aching bones and a body bloated with booze the sure sign of years gone by, viciously consumed in a raging drunken stupor. No regrets, it was all in good fun I refreshingly reminded myself as I wearily crawled out of bed. At least my soul’s intact.

Kakadu... The beer wrangler

Well as it could be expected on a long weekend, I found myself busy packing the car and boat on a quest for another alcoholic raged fishing and camping spectacular. Two weeks ago I was approached by a lady from work, with the notion to take myself and another work affiliate out fishing in the world famous Kakadu National Park. I was keen as mustard with the invitation and accepted immediately. Kakadu if you’re wondering is exactly the same place where Crocodile Dundee was filmed. If you can remember the scene where he stands on a rock and proclaims “This is my backyard”, yeah that’s the joint!. On top of this, it was also the home of one of my favourite autobiographies, Hell west and crooked – written by Tom Cole. So to see this landscape in person, and even live in its harsh unforgiving environment for just a moment was like a dream come true.

I guess most people would be happier sipping fruity cocktails in a high end resort by the sea shore, while being waited on by a hot French south pacific islander, then battling it out with nature in this Jurassic park. So do I, but hey who doesn’t like getting feral either? Just picture billabongs full of prehistoric animals which hate you, wild horses and buffalo graze lazily over the grassy flood plains and a profusion of colourful birds shelter under the shrubs in the in the scorching heat of the day. I can’t even begin to explain what it feels like to be engulfed in these elements, an untouched ecosystem adapted over many years to form a natural equilibrium.

So the fishing trip was on, the boat was packed and we made the relatively short 3.5 hour drive out to Yellow waters. We set up camp, and quickly set about making our way onto to the water for the first fish for the weekend. I won’t bore you with fishing jargon and the minor details of the trip, but we did well and it was ascertained early that Barramundi and beer was on the menu. My new found friends, as I would quickly learn were avid drinkers. A great characteristic for camping trips! A final count after that first night was 17 beers on my tally, funnily enough a tempo which wouldn’t ease up until we had basically raped a pillaged all that remained in the two huge eskies. As you can guess it was a pretty good weekend had by all.

Although I was having a great time, I couldn’t help feeling a slight bit of disappointment. Not with the weekend itself, but more the fact my good friends who I usually road trip with weren’t here to enjoy it. For a while now I’ve been promising that I’ll be home soon. But reality is that I’m not really sure where home is anymore, and by the looks of my housing situation I could still be up here for close to two more months. So to those guys who read my blog… Sorry.

But what this got me thinking about more is the “Alby Mangles Gun Safari” Zac and I have been jabbering on about for some time. Most of the readers are probably not aware that I’m planning to travel around Australia with a good friend called Zac. This Monkey boy (who has been a large part of my previous adventure blogs), and myself have planned to setup a Van with a boat and drive up the west coast and eventually all the way back around to Tasmania starting around October this year. The idea being that we will live off the land as much as possible to save money by eating things like fish, goats, camels, ducks, snakes, lizards, Chinese etc. It probably sounds pretty sketchy, but that’s the challenge which has been set.

My first baby barrra... Note; 24 beer caps on the hat before my first fish!

Frisbee action

So sunday I suggested that a few of us visit the beach for a little frisbee/rugby action. A few things to point out about Darwin beaches though.. Cocodiles, Box jelly fish, Sharks and an abundance of other creatures which don't like you, and in the words of Dylan Moran "Swimming knives". Yes, all of these plus more populate sneaky hidding spots scattered along the scenic coast line, just waiting for another ill-informed traveller to make a mistake. But being dry season the locals assure me , that I'm over zealous and a swim shouldn't see me dangling from the mouth of these deranged killing monsters any time soon.

So with the new found confidence the beach trip is a go..

Beer, wine and sun.. What else could we ask for? I'll admit that I would prefer the beaches at my home town, but given that it's the 1st of June... I think this is a pretty good substitute considering it would be pissing down at home and fairly miserable.

Proof that I went in! On the left is Nancy a dutch backpacker we met the other day. Later in the evening we moved around the bay to the next beach for the evening markets and played some more frisbee!! I swear frisby is the ultimate sport for those of us to unco to kite surf, or to cheap to wake board..

Disco dancing was involved!

Well with the arrival of my house mate after two and half months sailing the south pacific ocean, the weekend was destined to be a alcoholic shakedown like no other.. For some reason I felt the need to warm up to the event, like some sort of athlete before the Olympic Games I found myself chugging copious amounts of delicious beverages in a feeble attempt to gain legendary piss fitness status. Drinking Monday, Wednesday, Thursday.. And as should be expected, the day Sailor boy and Co arrived home, Friday.

What followed was a serious session of hard drinking. It all started the second I arrived home form work. My house mate had fitted a few eskies out with beautiful golden oat soda’s on ice and was already half tanked. I had no objections in following suit and soon found myself staring into the bottom of a few empty glasses. A few phone calls later had a swag of delightful characters waltzing up the stairs (Don’t you hate it when the lift breaks down, your drunk and you live on the seventh floor!). At this point I’ll mention included a couple of female backpackers I had met the night before while on the town with Miss H. So maybe Miss H has reason to peruse my phone from time to time, but hell she was there when I asked for these girls numbers.. Anyway we get to drinking in a fashion met with great enthusiasm, and before long we are all slurring away with immense chatter of god knows what. Probably my man beard..

A few shot’s of Mescal Tequila feed the hungry faces as they depart from the entrance of our unit, high spirit’s flaming like the coals on a great Aussie barby, we prepare ourselves for the dangerous decent down seven flights of stairs. It’s hilarious as we trip over ourselves, taking periodic breaks at each landing (Appropriately named) to catch a sense of balance. It’s a unanimous decision that “The Vic” will be the local dive for this evening’s entertainment, Air guitar championships hot on the agenda, with a mix of bar dancing cow girls to take care of any boring interval.

It’s not unreasonable to assume at this stage we are all completely loaded, it’s clearly going to be one of those nights which our brains will find hard to comprehend in the morning.

As soon as we make it through the entrance we line the bar for our first Jacks and coke, then beeline to find a place on the table where we can dance, shout, hug, make out, look good.. you know, what ever really. Within what seems like seconds we are flinging ourselves over the surface, precariously dangling on the edge of the table as we master the beats with well recited dance jingle jangle. Who would have thought I look so good performing party favourites like the sprinkler, head bobbing, arms pumping… Styling like chocolate yogo on a toddlers face!

The night carries on in fabulous fashion, as we run around the complex taking pictures with just about every patron possible. I have never been to such a friendly venue, which is just so down to earth. It makes the word pretentious seem some what mystical, not common place. I look around the room as everyone intermittently gargles the last of there appetizingly tasty potion.

The air guitarists are nothing but completely abstract, well placed to fry the little remains of my sane mind. At one point, a KISS like creature snarled out across the stage, prancing faster then that devilish looking demon from the hellish depths of middle earth. I found myself in a state of hysteria as the alcohol played ferociously with my mind. I fumbled carelessly though my camera function’s in a state of panic.. as the pictures keep showing up with a fire like appearance… I proceeded to scrawl thought the camera function’s… NORMAL, the letters read across my screen, in a state of intensive fear I press enter button.. Then began to laugh, how ironic the word normal seemed at a time like this.… I need another drink!

Before long it seemed that everyone had realized there maximum capacity had been reached, if lot exceeded, and soon started to drift off in separate directions. Surely some would make it back home.. I myself, headed in the opposite direction though with the intentions of a midnight Hoover of disgusting over priced Chinese food! And that’s what I got!

The walk home seemed to take the best of five hours, my legs drooped under my weight as I considered the possibility of finding a quite spot under a tree for the night.. But lucky or unlucky I found some sense in making it home. On arrival I was only disheartened to find I was locked out of the complex…But I guessed all was not lost, and wearily climbed up behind some pot plants and fell to sleep…

I’m not sure how long I was out for, long enough for some flea’s to set in and bit the hell out of my legs though. I was shaken awake as my house mate stood over me. Not sure if he was out looking for me or not, but he found me all the same. Time for the trek up the stairs again!

The next day I awoke, with the feeling of razors grinding in my throat… Shit I was still alive! We gradually gathered the guys up from the night before and headed down to Bennies Bakery; a pie would surely settle this belly I thought. It was some hours later when I realized that it fell terribly short of the saving grace I had originally hoped for, as it toiled in the back of my mouth. I slowly gathered myself together, and decided to head out the to the national park.. The thought of crawling up behind a warm fresh water waterfall and dying sounded all too appealing.

I fell in love with this girl.. If only I knew more then that she's from North Ireland!