I woke up very early to the smell of camp fires and got
organised for the long and arduous trip into Kalumburu. I was looking forward
to it and dreading it at the same time as I knew how bad the track is having driven
on it many times in the past.
Our driver (Cresta) slept in. She was taking her son and three
other kids into Kalumburu to attend school each day, and we got underway around
07:45. The track was rough as guts and it was hard to hear each other talking
as we bounced around with four aboriginal kids hanging out the windows, hanging
from the roof, sitting on our laps, fighting, laughing and singing all the way
in.
It took about an hour to cover the thirty-two kilometres and
we rolled into town around 09:00. Right away the kids got stuck into the
takeaway from the community store and we got a couple of ham & cheese
toasties to munch on under the shade of a tree.
The town had changed little since I was there twenty years
ago. There were a few more new houses, a new diesel power plant, new water
tanks, a new medical centre and an old age care facility and there was a heap
of gringo’s in town building a new swimming pool for the kids.
Up until now the kids have always swum in the King Edward
river that’s full of crocs. One thing that really stood out was how much
cleaner the town was compared to the last time I was here. They had really done
a good job to clean up all the rubbish laying around town.
We had an hour and a half to kill, so we did our shopping
then walked around town checking things out, then headed down to the river for
a look. All the huge mango trees were in bloom and covered in small mangos,
remarkably, some fell off and landed into my back pack.
I got cornered by a couple of dudes selling some crappy
paintings and I politely declined. Unfortunately, the art centre was closed as
they were doing an exhibition out of town and we didn’t have enough time to go
to the mission museum.
Cresta came back around 10:30 and took us to the fuel
station and I bought one hundred litres for around $3.00/litre. She was very
upset as her son had wagged school and done a runner and she didn’t know where
he was hiding.
During the ride in I just happened to mention that I met her
grandfather twenty years ago when I stayed at their park and so she decided to
drop me off at Less’s house for a visit while she went hunting for the boy.
We sat in the front yard on a couple of bustard arse chairs
amongst all the scattered car parts, six sleeping dogs and one dead rotten
festering stinking dog and waited for Less to finish eating, then he came out
and greeted us and we talked for about an hour and a half about all sorts of things.
Less had hardly changed in over twenty years, but he was now
77 and retired and his wife had died and he was shacked up with a chick half
his age much to the disgust of his granddaughter.
Less told us all about his childhood, how he obtained the
land for his camping park and lots of other things like the town politics etc.
The funny thing was, the cruising guide said the park had been
sold to a French couple (from France) after being destroyed in cyclone Ingrid
in 2005, and I thought that’s funny as the aboriginal managers don’t look
French at all?
Turns out, Les retired around 2005 after cyclone Ingrid and
his grandson & granddaughter Lancho & Joy Davey had taken over the
management roll. Joy is French, that is Les French’s granddaughter and has
never been to France.
So, the park is still owned by Les French and is managed by
the French family. It’s funny how things can get so screwed up by word of
mouth.
The trip back was full of fighting, screaming then three
kids sleeping all over Putu, and two boys in the back of the ute banging on the
roof.
We rolled into Honeymoon Bay with a flat tire and half deaf,
then one of the boys gave me a hand to drive the fuel drums down the beach on
the quad bike, and as he was interested in our boat, I took him out for a look
and a soft drink and he was blown away.
The aboriginal folk up here are all super friendly, a little
lively and rowdy, but extremely generous and I wish I had more time to spend
with them. There was a huge celebration taking place in Kalumburu tomorrow with
a carobbery in the evening with tribes from far away coming to attend.
I really wanted to attend the carobbery, but without transport
we would have to spend the whole day in Kalumburu waiting for it to start, then
have no transport to get back to Honeymoon Bay. The other concern was there had
recently been some riots in town due to family disputes, and this would also be
a major concern with rival tribes attending the carobbery, so without wheels we
decided to give it a miss and take off tomorrow while the weather was good.
My plan was to head to the Drysdale River tomorrow and as
it’s a very hazardous river to navigate, I spent all afternoon planning the
passage while Putu made some popcorn to take into shore for the kids. The kids
(and the parents) were all blown away and loved the popcorn which was a special
treat for them.
After hours of planning, I decided not to venture up the Drysdale
as I have been there many times before and it was not worth stressing out and
taking the risk of running aground or bending a rudder this late into the trip,
so I decided it would be more fun to catch up with Lizard and spent the time we
would have spent in the Drysdale, having fun with Bruce & Luke in the King
George River.
Around 17:00, I went into the beach, first to say our
goodbyes to the French clan, Cresta asked if we would like some turtle or
dugong meat to take with us, but we politely declined and then we headed off to
join Peter & Daniel for another camp fire and a lovely camp oven stew that
Putu made earlier.
We chatted until around 20:00 and then we said our last
goodbyes and headed back out to Sirocco in the dark.
Track Sirocco’s progress
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