As the sun set, we watched those magnificent straits vanish behind us. We glided into the Gulf and night simultaneously. The Arafura sea lives up to its reputation – the dull green waters beckoning a quieter and more relaxed passage. Bernardus runs around the boat optimizing everything, and soon discovers, as many have before him, that Mr B&G steers better than most humans, most of the time…
We decide to head for the Cumberland Straits, which bisect the Wessel Island group. We arrive about 40 hours later, after a glorious sail, just in time for the tide. The eddies are wild and magnificent, the coastline barren and forbidding. Greetings, Northern Territory!
We’ve heard about Maningrida, an indigenous township sitting in the Liverpool River. It sounds like a show-case for indigenous communities, and as we get closer, Telstra’s signal allows us to do some pre-reading. The satellite pictures look so encouraging – an airstrip, school for 400 students, ordered streets and houses, a large football field, a community swimming pool. Wikipedia talks of the cultural centre and local artist community. Encouraged, we ail up the river just after dawn, hoping to slip ashore, even though we should really have permission first.
As soon as the anchor is down, we’re greeted by a couple of guys in a speed boat. One is a white school teacher, responsible for the cultural programs. He proudly talks of the 4 different indigenous languages supported at the school, but then mentions that quite a number of the students are currently on walkabout. The other is a former senior ranger. He looks at least part indigenous, and enthusiastically talks about the employment opportunities in the ranger community. They tell us it will be ok to go ashore and look around, but when I ask if we need to lock the dinghy, they shrug their shoulders and say, ‘yes, well, kids will be kids’….
And so we head ashore. It is HOT! First impressions take our collective breath away – rubbish everywhere, broken down and smashed cars, stray dogs under every tree. There is seemingly no gathering place – no piazza – and people are mostly sitting in small groups either in the houses or under trees. It is spookily quiet. We finally find a part of the town that has gardens and manicured gardens – presumably the white community section. Barbed wire fences tell their own story.
We keep walking. Our first impressions become lasting and haunting memories. The swimming pool is empty, the sun shade that covers it in tatters. The shops are all closed and shuttered up. I find myself deeply saddened, and in the days that follow, we’ll keep returning to the topic, trying to stay open minded, wondering what we can’t see.
Back on the boat, we decide to head on. Up goes the spinnaker, and we’re off like a scalded cat, arriving before sunset at North Goulburn Island. A full moon and a riot of stars keep us company as we enjoy our first night on anchor, Karsten’s classical music in the background. Wilderness at this scale quietens us. It is a raw, wild and spectacular place.
We’ve sown our way up the coast these past few days, spending last night at Crocker Island – the most northern part of the Northern Territory. Now we’re headed to Cape Don. We’ll be up at 1:00 am to catch the tide through the infamous Clarence Strait. Darwin, here we come!
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