Kalkarindji (now labelled Kalkaringi) NT, 13 July.

We are camped at an aboriginal community called Kalkaringi, way up on the Buntine road in the Northern Territory. It’s the settlement closest to Wave Hill Station, about 15 kilometres away. The Land Rights Movement and the path to Native Title began at Wave Hill when in 1966 the native stockmen led by a Gurindji man, Vincent Lingiari, went on strike, not for equal wages so much as wages (aboriginal stockmen were paid one sixth or less of the white man equivalent, and regularly instructed to take that meagre pay in tea and tobacco).

1966 walkout

When the manager refused Lingiari quickly upped the demand for their ancestral lands to be returned to them. “No one’s gonna go back – no women, no men are gonna go back to the station to do work”. He led a walk off and all the indigenous workers moved to a creek some distance away. Wave Hills’ owner, Lord Vestey, doubtless directing matters from a well stuffed Chesterfield at his club, not far from Pall Mall, conceded the need to pay up, but having done so sacked all of his aboriginal stockmen on the basis he couldn’t afford the bill. Their lives had been spent on station for some generations. So ended a support system that had worked in the main for both parties and could have continued if not for some understanding by the owner; and a pyrrhic victory for aboriginal communities on many stations who found themselves without tea, tobacco, wages and a roof. The story is a lot more complicated of course, and you will surely know of it. The strike took place at a time when mechanisation was increasing all over those northern properties. Contract labour was brought in and mustering took place from the seat of a Kawasaki, not a horse saddle. The aboriginal people waited until 1972 before the Federal Government recognised the claim, 1975 before Gough Whitlam handed over leasehold deeds to part of the Wave Hill land, and 1986 before Bob Hawke handed over “inalienable” freehold deeds. Lingiari died in 1988 but his action at Wave Hill was the catalyst for the aboriginal land rights movement that eventually led to the historic Mabo judgement in 1992. Have we made things better? The indefatigable Penny at the Arts Centre was a great source of knowledge and sold us some books we look forward to sharing about the history of Wave Hill; the walk off had its 50th anniversary last year. 

Welcome smoking ceremony

Two days ago we camped at the Mimbi Caves, that are between Fitzroy Crossing and Halls Creek, about 400kms west of here, and thought to be the largest and mostly unexplored complex of caves in WA. The caves are part of a Devonian reef that rings an area of some 10s of kilometers. We camped with modern, architect-designed camp facilities as part of a tour run by the Gooniyardi people. The tour, led by Rose Nuggett, one of the traditional owners, was an informative and fascinating journey into the local aboriginal laws and customs, bush tucker and medicine, some art, and includes a tale of an horrific massacre on Christmas Creek station of a family, Rose’s people, in the women’s birthing cave (which only Helen and the other women in the group were allowed to see). Rose pointed to some recent grafitti above the entrance to the cave system, and to our surprise she explained that it was put there by the adjoining young tribe members who were making claim to the caves as their own. Since Native Title, a supposed success and step forward, Rose explained that where the boundaries between groups were always known, accepted, and passed on through the teaching of elders through their traditional stories, now there is open conflict between families. Native Title has given aboriginal groups rights at law to obtain access to their traditional lands providing a strong connection with that land can be clearly demonstrated.

In the Mimbi Caves Rose was able to connect her family along with others (archaeologists have dated carbon from hearth remains there to 45,500 years) through the rock art in the caves, one piece done by her great grandfather. But the strength of the connection can rarely be as assured as in her case and her view is that some things are now worse than before the Wave Hill days, not better. Everyone wants to tell you what the answer to the aboriginal problem is, some of it unhelpful, but the reality is, is that it is an enigma. That said though, there is a lot of recent investment in tourism going on up here and some of it is targeted at aboriginal communities with a strong connection to their land, and that is beginning to enable them to share their story and bringing with it hopefully a better understanding by us lot. We just need to listen.


I get ahead of myself. It was the 5^th of July when we drove back to Broome and set up camp at the Broome Bird Observatory on Roebuck Bay, about 30kms from the town. This is a famous wader bird migration site in the wet season, and is regarded as one of the most significant, with birds migrating from as far as northern Russia. We had two nights there but moved in to a rough caravan park in Broome to avoid 15kms of bad corrugations twice a day (and had to get flat battery replaced). Graeme and Annie hosted a wonderful week for the family offspring at Sea Shells resort, where there were separate suites for each family and a range of hire cars available, large swimming pool,

Granny Helen with Evie and her Dad Andy

and BBQ evenings laid on.

The ankle biters got to meet each other – all cousins, some for the first time. A memorable and generous gift for the whole family.

Broome is lovely but we prefer the bush! We spent a small fortune on clothes and had a seniors’ moment when someone stole the car. It took us fully five minutes of contained panic before we remembered we had moved it before stopping for a mango smoothie that jumped out at us.

We dropped our daughter Katie at the airport in Broome on the Monday and left next morning after having the trailer fully greased for the return journey. A lunch at the Mango farm on the way out seemed a good way to go, and we made a free camp that night out just west of Fitzroy Crossing in the south Kimberley. You may have realised by now that instead of heading south into WA we changed our minds and headed north-west to avoid the rain and cold in southern WA. It was the Wednesday (11 July) morning then when we left our free camp early and were toddling along at about 80kph just commenting to each other what a thoroughly pleasant day it was, when we were slammed out of our euphoric state. A Prado was seemingly locked onto the back of the trailer. Realising we might have a situation that could impact the holiday we coasted slowly to a halt and stepped out to confront the perpetrator. A tiny Asian lass, confused, saying “I just close my eyes”. She had fallen asleep at the wheel at 110kph on cruise control. If she hadn’t hit us she would have gone off the road, down the bank and rolled. So being as polyanna-ish as one can, things worked out and she is still alive! The Prado, owned by Kimberley Pharmacy, brand new with 600kms on the clock, was a replacement for a previous one which hit a cow a month earlier. This one now has its bull bar rammed into the grille with bonnet crumpled and all undriveable.

The camper trailer? It has a bent post and hinge a bit out of line, and lets in more dust we think, but it all still works! Believe it or not, Fitzroy Crossing has a paleo café where we restored ourselves somewhat, topped by a relaxing boat trip up Geike (Dangu) Gorge. 

We’ve driven hard since Broome, and enjoyed some fine evenings at remote locations. One at Sawpit Gorge outside Halls Creek, near the Black Elvire River with its lovely Palm Springs

Palm Springs

where an old Afghan grew vegetables for Halls Creek and planted the palm trees.

After Kalkaringi, two days on the Buchanan highway and crossing the Barkly Tablelands over the Barkly and Ranken stock routes. Long straight dirt roads in good condition for the cattle road trains, alternating between red sand or gravel and cracking grey clay with dust like talcum powder, the only sights amidst endless plains of Mitchell grass being mobs of glossy cattle clustered around turkey dams and bores.  

The attraction for us is the isolation with no caravanners who stick to bitumen highways! Helen remarks that it feels like the whole of northern Australia is covered in cow shit. It was a telling contrast to stop last night in Connells Lagoon (no lagoon) Conservation Reserve with no cattle, seeding grass and and many more birds, such as button quails, and apparently rare marsupials. After 2160km from Broome we have pulled up today (14^th) in Camooweal, just inside Queensland, to blog under a shady tree. This morning early on, we heard a strange sounding thump we took to be a stone under the car. I have just opened the rear door to find that, behind the rubber protection mat that is strapped over the back window to stop stones bouncing off the trailer and hitting the glass, we have a shattered rear window! Oh, the many joys of this trip are equally tempered by “events” not on the agenda. However I have been in touch with the dealer in Mount Isa two hours up the road, who have one in stock and will be fitting it about 11:00am. They will be rubbing their hands together delightedly, thanking DOG for grey nomads who have brought butter and jam to their otherwise boring breakfast!