The Northern Territory Diaries: In which two musos, a failed writer and a cynic drive more than 1165 miles.

Day One: July 30th

As we start the drive to Kakadu National Park Kate smiles broadly and announces to the car:

'I'm really looking forward to having a shit outdoors again.'

Keir doesn't even lift his head from the map.

'Yeah sweetie, but this time remember to dig the hole first okay.'

'Good point,' Kate agrees.

We stop off in Litchfield to see the Termite mounds and have a swim in a place called Buley Rock Hole. One of the mounds is called a Termite Cathedral. Huge and impossible to believe that its basically spit and shit. There is a field full of smaller ones and from a distance they look like hundreds of headstones lined up. Every single insect seems to want to enter my head via my ears and nose.

Buley Rock is stunning. I sit paddling and looking at the trees whilst the other three have a proper swim. We continue on our drive and stop at our first Road House. There is a sign advertising Bikini Car Washes. I soon get the picture. We eat Barra Burgers and continue our drive. An hour or so later we're bored.

'Will we be there soon?' Kate asks. 'Why aren't we there yet?' She adds.

'It's a road trip,' Keir reasons. 'There will be some driving.'

Kate sighs. I know how she feels. In the end we have a nap. When we wake we are in the middle of nowhere driving along a straight road with bush on either side. The sun is setting and the sky is spectacular. But there's nothing for miles and miles and miles. I'm told you need to be one of the three M's to live out here: Missionary, Misfit, Madman. Kate says that when you read some of the letters to the editor of the NT News the theory rings true.

Its dark when we arrive at the lodge in Kakadu National Park. It's like a mirage and so much more than we'd expected. There's a bar, a restaurant, a pool, and oh delight, an open mike night.

'Keir I'll give you my first born if you get up and perform as Franky Walnut,' I say.

'Absolutely not,' Keir says. 'They probably don't have an amp anyway and I'd need to plug the guitar in.'

Kate and I check.

'They have an amp Keir!'

'Ah. They probably don't have a mike,' he says.

We check.

'They have a mike Keir!'

Keir goes to buy a bottle of red wine at the bar.

'You want that chilled or room temperature?'

'What's room temperature?' Keir asks.

'About what its been all day,' the girl answers.

As 35 degrees doesn't seem like the ideal temperature for a fine red he buys it chilled. It's a lively drop.

And then its a trifling matter of two bottles before Keir dons his Franky Walnut disguise (a hat) and staggers to the makeshift stage. The audience are delighted. Franky is funny. And the only other person to perform that night was some dude with a didgeredoo.

After Kate and Dave head off to bed we stay and chat to Joel, a friend of Keir's who is a park ranger of sorts and grew up around here. He's a gentle soul and offers to show us some 'off the beaten track' places the following day. 'Off the beaten track' has become synonymous with 'perilous, long and steep climb' for me and I feel a shudder of dread.

A woman who works on the bar comes over to clear our table.

'Hey, I hope I don't sound creepy but-'

'You sound creepy,' Keir says. Keir is drunk. I love drunk Keir.

'Ha. Yeah, well I hope I don't sound-'

'But you already do.' Keir is grinning.

'Ha! Yeah. Is your friend who I think she is?'

We neither confirm nor deny it.

'Is that Kate?' She persists.

'Yeah,' I say.

'Why didn't she get up and sing?' She sounds incredulous.

'She's on holiday,' I say.

'Aw.'

'Another drink Thea?'

'Yes Keir, yes please.'

Day Two: 31^st July.

We head out in the morning to see some Aboriginal paintings on the nearby cliffs. They are fascinating and mostly instructional. Here's good to fish. Here's how to separate the fish up. Others are stories. This is an angry spirit. He eats women. Women stay away. We catch a bit of a tour in one of the caves that would have been a living area.

'You can see here some round indents in the table rock. A mortar for seeds to be ground up in with a pestle to make the cakes they ate.'

The Aboriginals back then led a busy life. Fishing, cooking, telling stories, hunting, learning the lessons they learned from an elder at each stage of their lives to take them to the next part. The lessons continue for their whole lives becoming more informative, more expansive, bit by bit.

Dave tells me that nowadays if an Aboriginal person leaves their home, for example to complete a sports scholarship, they lose that chunk of learning completely. And their parents then have no one to pass it on to and so it is completely lost. I've seen completely lost looking Aboriginals wandering the streets in Darwin. When you learn about the customs and rituals of their lifestyle its amazing they have survived as a race at all in the face of overwhelming odds. And then there's the booze. It's so sad to see such an interesting and rich culture laid so low. We drive past a few lying on the side of the street in the burning sun. Or sitting around smoking and staring in to space.

Keir observes that when you take away the hunting and the gathering what's left is downtime.

In the afternoonthe boys finally get to put the 4WD to test. More than an hour off road. Rough terrain doesn't begin to describe it. I think my arse bone is going to come out of my mouth. Kate and I are thrown around like puppets and its slow progress.

'This is like the slowest roller coaster ever,' I observe.

'With no end,' Keir adds.

We finally arrive at the Jim Jim Falls parking area which starts a 900 metre walk to a swim hole. It's so hot I feel like the sun has crawled in to my head.

I get out of the car and see a Crocodile Safety Sign. “There are Saltwater Crocodiles living in this area. Enter the water at your own risk.”

'Yeah, we can't swim here,' I state and start heading back toward the car.

'Aw it'll be fine,' Kate says. 'I checked online and its a really beautiful and popular swim spot.'

I'm in no way convinced but we start the trek anyway. It quickly becomes less a walk, more a climb. You have to focus on every step around the rocks.

I know that to my friends this place seems beautiful, but to me its the set of a horror film. You know the one: Four friends set off for a weekend of hiking and high jinx but something evil is watching them from the cover of the trees.

The silence, to me, is not peaceful, its portentous.

Around three hundred metres in I realise I'm not haivng fun. We bump in to a woman coming back from the Falls. She says its worth it, it's lovely. She then points to the river next to us where a huge crocodile trap has been set. A sign tells us to stay away from the waters edge but its impossible to continue along without being right next to it.

A further 100 metres and my courage gives out. I'm certainly not going to swim in the water when I get there and at this point I really don't want to catch a glance at the natural predators who's home this is. I get the keys off Dave and head back to smoke and read whilst the others press on, Kate in a very fetching pink bikini.

I decide to have a nap in the car but every five minutes or so I notice a man stood nearby staring at me. I close my eyes and when I open them again he's stood closer though I never see him move. This dance continues for about fifteen minutes until I open my eyes to find him stood right by my window giving me a toothless grin. I open the door.

'What's the time?' He asks.

'It's half three.'

'Hot innit.'

'Yep.'

He then rubs my arm, a bit like a child would, and says:

'Friendly? Friendly.'

I take a closer look at him. He's a bit older than me. He has two fingers missing and he's childlike.

'What's your name?'

'Kevin.'

'Are you on your own Kevin?'

'Mum's gone to look at the crocs.'

'Alright, shall I get out of the car and get some fresh air with you?'

'Yeah.'

We sit on some rocks and I roll a fag, which is no mean feat as Kevin is hugging me from one side with his head resting on my back.

We talk a bit about rocks and crocs and why his brother hates him and why his mum, Tammy, is an angel.

We stay like this for twenty minutes or so until he sees his mum approaching. He rubs my arm again, in what I think he has been taught is an 'Appropriate Manner' and tells me I'm nice and beautiful and thank you for being kind to him. Which makes me a bit sad.

Day Three: August 1^st.

We collect Joel the Ranger and head in to Arnhem Land.

We visit an Aboriginal Settlement called Gunbalaya. Its a pretty barren landscape with stray or wild dogs lying about everywhere in the sun looking bloody awful. Dave worked here for a while some years back and says its one of the best in the Norther territories and its improved a lot since his last visit. There's a beautiful billabong next to the housing area but its full of crocs. We go to the Art gallery which is incredible. An old man is sat on the floor painting. Some women sit in the shade weaving baskets whilst one of the older ladies explains the process to us. She occassionally says something in her own language and the younger girls try to cover their laughter. I'm pretty sure she's taking the piss out of us tourists and I don't blame her. She tells us its fine to take pictures which I do but I feel intrusive and basically like a bit of a twat. You know what I mean; “Oh yah I met some fascinating indigenous people! Yah. Yah. I could see the ancient wisdom in their eyes and yah I think I captured it here on my Instagram....”

Nearby there's a pot on a fire and some grey indeterminable meat boiling away. The outside walls are covered with brilliant paintings of local animals. My favourite is of the bats.

We visit the local mini supermarket. The sign outside is painted in bright colours. Dogs lie around there too. They don't even beg, they just hope you might throw something their way.

Inside the shop is well stocked but fresh fruit and veg are very expensive and I assume they have to be flown in. The staff wander about barefoot and there's a sign that says: Don't humbug staff for discounts please.

Dave says they are supposed to share everything they have, food, money etc equally amongst their family so it goes against the grain to work in a shop and not provide.

There's also a sign that says: This is a nice place. Don't spit on the floor please.

The Aboriginals don't have a word for 'Outside' – They never needed one before.

As we leave I see another sign, this one in the window on bright yellow card:

Shop workers needed. Must show up every morning from monday to friday.

They don't really have a concept of time. How long will it take to finish? A while.

How many kids do you have? Too many.

Joel tells me that growing up with Aboriginal kids has given him a different way of thinking and speaking. He says that if you ask an Aboriginal person a question they will think about it properly before they answer. No fear of silence.

Joel takes us to Ubirr where we can see some more rock art and then watch the sunset from the top of the rocks. Its high up but easy to climb. He tells us a few Aboriginal stories he's heard based on bits of the landscape. There never seems to be a conclusion. Joel says this is because you never get the whole story from one person. They'll tell you a bit and then leave you to mull it over until you bump in to some one else who knows a different part of the story and is willing to share. it.

We go for a walk through the Monsoon Rainforest and I see fat bats in broad daylight hanging from the trees like pendulous fruit. There's an area that only women are allowed to walk so Kate and I head off alone to see the rock where an animal became an old woman and menstruated on the rock. O-kay. I imagine women thousands of years ago making this story up just to get a break from the men. 'Oh yeah, its bad luck for men in here...yup...you just stay righhhht here. We'll be back in a few hours. Come on Mavis, fuck this.'

Over lunch at a croc spotting area (why oh why) I tell Joel that people have really enjoyed telling me horror stories about crocodiles.

'Ah well they're not all bad. They can be quite cute,' he smiles.

'Uhuh. How so?'

'Well sometimes the male ones swim underneath a female croc they quite like and blow lots of tiny bubbles around to impress her.'

We have dinner at a deceptively basic looking place called The Border. There's a Thai woman in the kitchen and she's a genius. We gorge.

On the way back we see the night sky and stop dead in our tracks. I won't even try to describe it to you. The milky way though, its reallllly milky round here.

Day Four: 2^nd August.

We leave the Lodge in Kakadu and head for Katherine and our first night camping.

'Keir, what's the name of that swim hole we're going to?'

'Crocodile falls.'

'Seriously.'

'Fatality Falls.'

'Keir.'

'Oh alright. Not Too Many Deaths Falls.'

We check the map Joel has given us. Maps around here are usually the name of a place with a very long straight line followed by the name of another place. Everything is: Drive 200 k's then take a right and drive another 300 k's and you'll probably see it.

We get to Katherine and find the campsite. We set up and head in to town for drinks and dinner.

As we get out of the car Dave says;

'Ahhh fuck, here we go.'

I look around at the perfectly pleasant street and wonder what he's harping on about. Then we walk in to the pub. Or we try to. A man with dead eyes asks Kate for ID and spends far too long checking it. The pub is full of Aboriginal people and the security is massive and quite scary. Also strangely attractive to me but that's another story.

The toilets are labeled: Gents and Sheila's.

We go for dinner at a great restaurant, we always seem to be able to find the finest of fime dining no matter where we are.

Afterwards we drive back through town and watch drunk aboriginal people fighting. I see one girl punch another in the head. Little kids are sat around watching. We have to drive slowly as some stagger in to the road. There's police everywhere trying to reason, trying to stop them. We end up doing three circuits of the town centre. Its both fascinating and horrifying to watch.

Day Five: August 3^rd.

I'm walking through the bush alone at night and I can hear animals chattering unseen all around me. A man dressed as a butler steps from behind a tree and hurries up to me with a letter on a tray. I open it and inside in old courier typeface it says 'Wake up Thea. Its not night time anymore! WAKE UP.'

I wake up in my tent and it takes me five minutes to crawl out and get all my limbs in working order.

Keir has fucked his back and every time he gets in or out of the car he screams.

We drive to the local hot springs which are incredible. And hot. And we float around for ages, all happy, all refreshed.

We drive to Timber Creek our next camping spot a few hours from here. On the way we buy a gas stove, coffee and lots of non perishable food. Keir gives me a look and we head off to the Thirsty Camel Bottle Shop and buy half a dozen bottles of good red wine.

'We'll have to ration it so we don't run out,' Keir observes.

'We can try,' I say, already thirsty.

In the car we listen to an Audio book called Batavia. True history of a Dutch ship crashing off the rocks of western Australia in the mid 1600's. Its gripping but badly written, which in itself is delightful.

Timber Creek: Population 70.

We find a lovely camping spot next to the river. There's a sign announcing 'Croc and Kite feeding here at 5pm!'

yay.

We watch the Kite feeding which is swooping and fast and fun. They wander down to the croc feeding. I see a croc. I leave.

We go for dinner at the only food place and are served by a man from Cambridge. A fireman who is having a year out.

'Why are you here??' I ask.

'I have no fucking idea,' he responds.

We head back to our tents at 9pm and as we can no longer see each other we decide to call it a night. The sky at night just gets more breath taking and as the mosquitos don't seem too bust around here I lie with my head outside of my tent and watch the stars until I fall asleep.

Day Six: August 4^th.

There were a lot of animal sounds in the night. Things running. Things scratching. Things screaming. Dave farting really loudly from across the other side of the camp site. Me laughing.

I make coffee on our little gas stove and we all slowly come to life and head off for the drive to Kunanurra.

We listen to more Batavia. Keir makes up an excellent example of how badly written

it is:

“They were poor in four ways. Poor in that they had very little. Paw like the vulnerability of an amputated animal paw. Paw like the Paw Paw fruit unavailable on this ship. And pour like the tea liberally laced with ginger to aide the mal de mer some suffered so terribly. Although of course the first 'poor' may be the most pertinent.”

I think Keir is a comic genius.

We drive through a never ending landscape of arid rocks and parched trees. Every ten minutes or so it is punctuated by a place name sign that serves no real purpose as far as I can make out.

Quart Pot Creek.

Lily Creek.

Pint Pot Creek.

Keep River.

Newry Station.

Basalt Creek.

Battle Creek.

Moriarty Creek.

Glenarra Creek.

Butler Creek.

Dead Horse Springs.

Beta Creek.

Black Flag Creek.

Cheese Tin Creek. (I'm not making it up.)

I look up to see Keir eating instant noodles dry, straight from the pack.

We enter Western Australia. The Last Frontier Sign makes me feel like a cowboy.

We go through quarantine and I sadly hand over a dozen apples, bananas and some tomatoes and watch the lady put them through a shredder as we drive on.

We drive to El Questro Camping Wilderness. Its a million Acres of camping land. Its basically Belgium.

I ask Kate if she thinks this landscape is beautiful.

'Of course! It looks like another planet. Its been like this, unchanged, for hundreds of millions of years. You can almost visualise the tectonic plates crashing together.'

I look out of the window. I see an arid inhospitable terrain leached by the sun. No shade anywhere, no water.

'Just think,' Kate says. 'This looked the same when dinosaurs were here.'

This sparks something in me and I take another look. I see that its not dead, maybe just a bit abandoned by the things that thrived here once. I can't see it through Kate's eyes but she makes me appreciate it more. I've certainly never seen anything like it.

It's impossible not to acknowledge how easy it would be to dispose of a body in this part of the world.

The WELCOME TO EL QUESTRO Sign has been shot through with a rifle.

El Questro is, as I mentioned earlier, really big. Really, really big. We arrive at Reception and are allocated a part of the Bush to ourselves. Its another twenty minute off track drive to find it. Its within a circle of old trees by a river. Which we definitely can't swim in. We all try and set up our tents behind each other, steadily moving further and further away, so that whoever is at the front will get eaten first if the crocs decide to use the bank in front of us as an access ramp.

Someone has arranged some rocks in a circle for fire making and the boys head off to find twigs. They return looking sheepish with the best part of a tree.

There isn't a soul in sight for forever. Just Bush. Kate and I have never been anywhere so remote.

Keir and I sit in the red dust and share a bottle of wine whislt he doodles on the guitar and we chat about the immediacy of youth. He says he can still attain that feeling for about ten minutes every morning after his first coffee. A world of possibilities.

Kate reads. Dave stares at the river leaning against a tree.

We have a reservation for dinner at a restaurant back by the reception area. Its five star dining and we, feet caked in mud, sit on the verandah in the middle of the wilderness eating fish tacos, calamari, chorizo, steaks, feta, garlic mash, barramundi and hot bread. We drink cold beer and good wine and there's a hot mustard that makes our eyes water. We are so relaxed and happy we can't stop laughing. Kate's hair is turning in to chunks like dreads and she looks beautiful. I can't resist planting at least three kisses on her head as we stagger back to the car.

I thought I'd be nervous, sleeping alone in a tent in so remote a place but the booze and the starry sky and the sound of birds bitching in the trees cocoons me and I fall asleep staring at the sky once again.