{"id":163184,"date":"2021-01-13T10:55:55","date_gmt":"2021-01-12T23:55:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.australiantraveller.com\/?p=163184"},"modified":"2023-02-17T11:29:41","modified_gmt":"2023-02-17T00:29:41","slug":"east-arnhem-land-4wd-cultural-tour","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.australiantraveller.com\/nt\/arnhem-land\/east-arnhem-land-4wd-cultural-tour\/","title":{"rendered":"East Arnhem Land: the ultimate cultural odyssey"},"content":{"rendered":"
East Arnhem Land\u2019s vast and remarkable wilderness is alive with indigenous culture, where a traditional way of life is thriving. Half the journey is getting there, like an ultimate Australian cultural odyssey, writes Steve Madgwick.<\/h5>\n
Camping in paradise: Dhuluwuy, north east Arnhem Land (photo: Elise Hassey).<\/p><\/div>\n
A lonely squiggly line, like a toddler would draw on an Etch A Sketch, is about the only sign of civilisation in East Arnhem Land, at least according to the Land Cruiser\u2019s GPS. But the GPS lies. In its defence though, without the Yolngu people\u2019s local knowledge here, you are effectively wandering blindly around 97,000 square kilometres of inconceivably hued fecund wilderness without a paddle.<\/p>\n
The Central Arnhem Highway, 710km of sheer adventure.<\/p><\/div>\n
A seven-day road trip adventure<\/h2>\n
For seven days on Venture North\u2019s debut \u2018cultural safari\u2019 through the rarely traversed East Arnhem Land \u2013 the Yolngu homeland and heartland \u2013 we bump and squeak along quicksand-esque tracks, past nonchalant herds of wild horses, buffaloes and donkeys.<\/p>\n\n
We\u2019re in search of a handful of positively microscopic communities, which even by Northern Territory standards are ridiculously remote.\u00a0Our guide, Dave McMahon, who has bucket-loads of bush sense beyond his years, navigates.<\/p>\n\n
From Darwin, we head through Katherine, skirt around Kakadu, then throw a massive dingo-leg north-east along the perpetual outback of the Central Arnhem Road.<\/p>\n\n
We\u2019re bound for the de facto capital, Nhulunbuy, the Gulf of Carpentaria\u2019s western gateway on the Gove Peninsula.<\/p>\n\n
We cross tawny rivers and crystal streams, which would have been idiotic to traverse even in a rubber ducky a few months later in the deluge of the wet season.<\/p>\n\n
Monsoon forests and expansive eucalypt woodlands flicker past, filtered through the tinted glass of our air-conned Cruiser.<\/p>\n
Bridge too far: River crossings are all part of driving through east Arnhem Land, even in the dry (photo: Elise Hassey).<\/p><\/div>\n
Immeasurable acres of scrub sluggishly smoulder from \u2018firestick farming\u2019, the practice of torching\u00a0the land to revitalise it and make hunting easier when game such as kangaroos move in to feed on the new shoots of grass. It\u2019s a cornerstone of the traditional owners\u2019 ancient conservation and hunting philosophy.<\/p>\n\n
Each Yolngu community is its own \u2018country\u2019, as different from each other as they are from Australia\u2019s big cities \u2013 with distinct dialects, complex cultures and unique ceremonies \u2013 yet inextricably linked to the next by \u2018song lines\u2019 that course along the landscape.<\/p>\n\n
The Yolngu will open their doors and multi-millennial knowledge banks to us and in return we will have to open our minds to their ceremonies, dreaming stories, tales of struggle and their often-confronting bush tucker. Here everything is governed by gender, tradition, season and, sometimes it seems, pure whim.\u00a0Come meet the people of East Arnhem Land.<\/p>\n
The art of the pop-up ceremony<\/h2>\n
\u201cThey are watching us now,\u201d says Lazarus Murray. He stares dead ahead into the untamed bush, past dusky silhouettes of stocky cathedral-like termite mounds, seemingly at nothing. I can\u2019t see anyone.<\/p>\n\n
\u201cThe country speaks to you,\u201d he exhales and looks me directly in the eyes. \u201cI\u2019m over the moon we can share this with you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n
Lazarus sits in a row of equally proud fathers, brothers and uncles on a woven pandanus mat on the earth of Bagetti Homestead outstation, 30 bouncy kilometres from his house in Bulman, not quite halfway up Central Arnhem Road. The extended Murray family are the traditional owners of all of this.<\/p>\n\n
Lazarus has rallied Bulman\u2019s young dancers, including his son, to narrate his homeland\u2019s story. One by one, bush-bashed white Toyota Troopies pull up; Lazarus hears them coming minutes before I do.<\/p>\n
The next generation perform their ceremony, Bulman, East Arnhem Land (photo: Elise Hassey).<\/p><\/div>\n
A sandy circle raked clear of twigs and nasties becomes a pop-up bush stage. White clay and scarlet red costumes transform shyly giggling young boys into storytellers; glimpses of footy shorts underneath give an anachronistically modern twist.<\/p>\n\n
Bulman\u2019s daughters will dance today too, but strictly on the periphery of the circle \u2013 storytelling in this style is mainly men\u2019s business. Lazarus\u2019s eyes grin as he sharply cracks his clapsticks. A yidaki (didgeridoo) player sets the beat, its end sitting in a rusty tin: a bush subwoofer. The troupe of young storytellers circles slowly, imaginary spears in hand\u2026 the pace picks up.<\/p>\n\n
The boys explode with screams when they land the mythical barramundi. Dust hangs ethereally in the dusk light that makes it through the growth. In-jokes and cackling giggles ricochet between the Murrays as each dance begins.<\/p>\n\n
\u201cWe teach them this from the day they were born,\u201d says Lazarus. Two persistent kids drag me into the circle. I mimic their movements, appallingly. We become\u00a0a whirlwind, circling around chaotically.<\/p>\n\n
I rejoin Lazarus. Why have this gathering out here, so far from your house I ask? \u201cA Dreaming kangaroo planted a sacred object just across the river there on its journey,\u201d he says. \u201cIt came from up in the islands and created all the country \u2013 rivers, billabongs. It makes this spot sort of like the White House of all the ceremonies in Arnhem Land.\u201d<\/p>\n\n
While this ceremony is unique to this country, it is integral with song lines flowing through surrounding homelands. Bulman\u2019s full ceremony is only performed every five years, and the young boys must first be initiated (at around 10), when their father or uncle deems that they are ready to represent the people.<\/p>\n\n
\u201cWhen anyone sees us with our paint they know we run the area \u2013 it\u2019s sort of like our brand. Like Toyota has a brand,\u201d he says motioning towards the Troopies. \u201cBut way, way more than that!\u201d<\/p>\n
The outback megamall<\/h2>\n
\u201cThe old fellas used to wrestle crocodiles to eat,\u201d says Lazarus\u2019s sister Cynthia. There is no punchline.\u00a0It seems just about every plant and animal at Bagetti, except for clan totems, is on the menu \u2013 \u2018seasonal\u2019 out here is an essential, ancient philosophy.<\/p>\n\n
The extended family relax on a shady finger of land that juts into the Wilton River, perilously close to the \u2018sacred\u2019 side of the river \u2013 a definite no-go for balanda (white fellas) like me, as I\u2019ve been reminded at least three times.<\/p>\n
Spear fishing lesson, Bagetti Homestead, east Arnhem Land (photo: Elise Hassey).<\/p><\/div>\n
Freshly butchered buffalo ribs hiss on the open grill \u2013 last night\u2019s hunting bounty. One of the men catches a watermelon-sized turtle and prepares it unceremoniously on the spot \u2013 with a snap of the neck \u2013 and plops it straight into the coals.<\/p>\n\n
We spear for mud cod at a nearby natural spring enclosed by fulsome pandanus palms that make it feel otherworldly, closer to a children\u2019s book illustration than reality. The clear water stirs brown under my clumsy footsteps.<\/p>\n\n
I\u2019m knee-deep, four-pronged spear poised in my hand, when Cynthia matter-of-factly mentions that baby freshwater crocs and 1.5-metre (aquatic) file snakes call this paradise home. It\u2019s OK though, she reassures me, as each snake \u201cwill feed five or six of us\u201d.<\/p>\n\n
Nearby, down by the river, the men fish with spears and hand-lines, keeping a look out for salties which are apparently even higher up the food chain than the river\u2019s bull sharks. Cynthia adroitly collects river mussels with her hands from between rocks in shallow rapids. She repeatedly surfaces with rolled-up T-shirts full; one dish for tonight\u2019s feast sorted.<\/p>\n\n
Cynthia tells me about a less hands-on way to fish: dropping ironwood bark into small ponds, which starves the fish of oxygen, \u201cpoisoning them\u201d. They then simply return later to collect the catch of the day, which is already floating on the surface.<\/p>\n\n
Protein options abound, from the ubiquitous buffaloes (usually hunted with rifles) to the piquant lime-and-chili-esque taste of raw green ants. The vegetable aisle is stocked to overflowing.<\/p>\n\n
A few metres from our camp Cynthia introduces me to the white apple (great as a preserve), the green plum and the frustratingly small yet succulent bush peanut.\u00a0Plants that aren\u2019t palatable often stock the bush medicine cabinet instead \u2013 everything from bellyache to mozzie bites can be sorted out. And if you\u2019re thirsty, simply tap a bulbous knot on a riverbank paperbark tree, the Yolngu equivalent of the office water cooler.<\/p>\n\n
I reach the limits of my bush-food sampling adventure after a quick bite on a morsel of fresh river turtle (or rubbery river chicken).<\/p>\n\n
Luckily former fine-dining chef Dave cooks up an-over-the-fire gourmet storm (as he does for every meal on Venture North\u2019s trip) that my city palate is more comfortable with. As we drive away heading towards the coast though, I feel like I should proceed to the nearest bush checkout.<\/p>\n
Bush verandah to big city gallery<\/h2>\n
A cyclone would struggle to distract Kathy Wirrpanda. She answers my questions, but her eyes don\u2019t meet mine for long, a mix of cultural etiquette and \u2018my-god-I-need-to-finish-this\u2019 focus.<\/p>\n
Kathy Wirrpanda paints a masterpiece, Baniyala, East Arnhem Land (photo: Elise Hassey).<\/p><\/div>\n
Kathy sits cross-legged on the ground in her \u2018studio\u2019 \u2013 the verandah shade of her house in Baniyala \u2013 a handful of pre-rolled roll-your-owns within easy grasp. She applies white, mustard and rusty coloured local ochres to a termite-hollowed stringybark trunk with an ultra-fine brush, made from her daughter\u2019s hair.<\/p>\n\n
She glides millimetre-perfect, cross-hatch lines onto what is traditionally a ceremonial burial pole, over the top of totemic animal carvings.<\/p>\n\n
\u201cIt might just look like patterns, but we can read it,\u201d she says. \u201cI will finish tomorrow maybe, maybe later. When I do, maybe then I will rest.\u201d\u00a0Kathy is a renowned painter, but despite all of her efforts over the past few days, she will not be credited as the main artist on this work.<\/p>\n\n
Her husband, community elder Djambawa Marawili AM, who carved the pole\u2019s animals, will get the crocodile\u2019s share of the accolades.<\/p>\n\n
A few days later, I serendipitously bump into Kathy at Buku-Larrnggay Mulka Art Centre at Yirrkala, many kilometres away. Family members struggle under the weight of the pole, while a visibly more relaxed Kathy directs, everyone\u2019s eyes darting between her grin and the enchanting work of art.<\/p>\n\n
This not-for-profit gallery has already agreed to buy the pole, as it does most of the community\u2019s pieces, but there is no worry about Kathy\u2019s masterpiece collecting dust on its shelves. It is destined for a place far, far away, in a big city on the east coast.<\/p>\n
Country is where the heart is<\/h2>\n
A rollicking tune from local bush band Garrangali beckons Baniyala\u2019s school kids back from lunch via a PA. Most of this community\u2019s low-lying homes are within a cooee of the modern school, but there are few children in town today. Funeral business up country, apparently.<\/p>\n\n
Brendan Marika, Garrangali\u2019s keyboardist, walks us around his adopted Blue Mud Bay homeland, the place where the saltwater crocodile, referred to as \u2018Baru\u2019, first came ashore in creation stories.<\/p>\n\n
This \u2018dry\u2019 settlement is a product of the Homelands movement, when indigenous people moved back onto \u2018country\u2019 in the 1970s, away from dysfunctional towns and missions, the alcohol and cross-cultural disputes.<\/p>\n\n
In doing so they revived many of the old ways. \u201cIn towns there are a lot of temptations,\u201d says Brendan. \u201cOut here there\u2019s more freedom, and a much stronger culture \u2013 it\u2019s better to bring up kids.\u201d<\/p>\n\n
We shelter from the dry-season sun under a noble tamarind tree, planted by the great, great, great grandfather of elder Djambawa (Brendan\u2019s father-in-law). It is evidence, he says, of the clan\u2019s trading with the Macassans, Indonesian seafarers who long ago traded commodities like knives and tobacco for spears and labour on their trips to stock up on precious trepang (sea cucumbers).<\/p>\n\n
Brendan proudly takes us to a giant stingray sculpted out of the sandy rock nearby; a surrounding fence hints at its importance. He is tasked with its protection, one of his roles as IPA (Indigenous Protected Area) Ranger, but he gladly unlocks the gate and walks us around the compound.<\/p>\n\n
He tosses sand into the air, vibrates his lips, like blowing an ancient Yolngu raspberry, and chants the names of places where he wants abundant stingrays. How does Brendan feel about balanda like me walking over this sacred place? \u201cThis land is who we are as Yolngu, that\u2019s for sure, but this is all about sharing knowledge, culture \u2013 and bridging the gap in the 21st century!\u201d<\/p>\n
With perfect weather and absolutely no risk of rain, camping at Bukadal east Arnhem Land is glorious.<\/p><\/div>\n
Sleeping under the Morning Star at Bukudal<\/h2>\n
Young Tony Mununggurr expertly etches the shape of a turtle into the hard sand with a stingray barb he\u2019s found by some huge marble-like rocks at the end of Bukadal\u2019s main beach.<\/p>\n\n
He draws 26 eggs underneath and counts them out loud with gusto. Tony loves to devour turtle eggs \u2013 everyone here does. Consuming these animals may be seen as controversial, but it\u2019s an important cultural practice.<\/p>\n
Tony Mununggurr draws turtles in the sand, Bukadal, East Arnhem Land (photo: Elise Hassey).<\/p><\/div>\n
Not even a teen yet, he has already absorbed lifetimes of culture about his homeland, Bukadal, a remote soul-cleansingly picturesque settlement on Caledon Bay. It\u2019s not a place you happen upon by accident, but one you dream of. It\u2019s a challenging drive through hungry sand from the main road; the Mununggurr family has to drag us out of one particularly treacherous part.<\/p>\n\n
Tony points out a couple of \u2018croc slides\u2019 (the only reason I\u2019m not swimming right now to cool off) on our impromptu beach walk.<\/p>\n\n
We rejoin generations of traditional owners, the Mununggurrs, as beach campfire replaces daylight in the \u2018Land of the Morning Star\u2019. Elder<\/p>\n\n
Kevin Mununggurr performs an uncomplicated \u2018Welcome to Country\u2019 and then I set up my swag in the dunes near the Knowledge Tree, central to the Djapu people\u2019s narrative. There\u2019s zero chance of rain tonight, it\u2019s the \u2018mini-dry\u2019 season \u2013 Yolngu believe there are between six and eight seasons in Arnhem Land, not just the usual wet-dry dichotomy.<\/p>\n
Hard-won right: Waka Mununggurr digging for turtle eggs, East Arnhem Land (photo: Elise Hassey).<\/p><\/div>\n
The charismatic Sean Mununggurr leads the fireside conversation, telling stories with theatrical aplomb. Unsurprisingly, he sometimes goes \u2018off country\u2019 to do some acting.<\/p>\n\n
Sean recounts stories of his \u2018bad boy\u2019 life, when the temptations of towns far away saw him stray, before he followed the way of his ancestors.<\/p>\n\n
He played a troubled teen in the 2001 film Yolngu Boy \u2013 life imitating art. \u201cMe and Kevin are living here on this land in our father\u2019s footsteps,\u201d he says. \u201cThe knowledge has been passed on to us \u2013 so now it stays forever.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sean Mununggurr launches his spear at a barramundi, Bukadal, east Arnhem Land (photo: Elise Hassey).<\/p><\/div>\n
Watching him spear fish along the beach you\u2019d swear he has spent his whole life in Bukadal; the crouched intuitive stance when he\u2019s about to launch the spear, the way he sprints after a school of barra, his wild whoops after he makes a catch.<\/p>\n\n
The calm conversation slowly drifts into the bay breeze before it whistles through casuarina trees. The Morning Star and the full moon shine like stadium lights; it\u2019s almost too bright to sleep.<\/p>\n\n
Two indistinct birds ping back and forth just above the sound of waves rolling onto shore.\u00a0I\u2019ve seen evidence of wild buffaloes, snakes and crocodiles out there in the darkness, but I feel safe in our camp for the night, watched over by more generations of my hosts than just those I can see in the firelight.<\/p>\n