Buffalo Billabong (cont)

I turned the 4wd toward the billabong and pulled up near the waters edge. Thirty metres away stood a juvenile, male water buffalo. Juvenile he may have been but he was still one big unit. He probably weighed around 300-350 kilos and stood around 180cm tall at his head. A set of fierce looking horns crowned his head. Each horn was around 30cm in length.

Now seeing a water buffalo standing in a billabong isn't that strange at all, actually it is relatively common in the Northern Territory. What set this buffalo apart was the fishing net he had wrapped around his head and horns. Now this wasn't the light fishing net you see weekend fisherman using but a costly, commercial grade fishing net that would have been lost from a fishing trawler.

The buffalo on hearing our vehicle and voices thrashed around in the water and turned toward the noise. Every now and again he would let out a bellow that really didn't have much ooomph to it. There was no telling how long that buff had been in the water struggling to get the net off. Tendrils of the net cascaded down either side of the buffalo and into the murky water. The net in its entirety must have been 10 metres long.

Everyone poured out of the vehicles and stood looking at the struggling beast. What should we do became the topic of conversation. One of the Aboriginal's said he wished he had his rifle as a young buffalo is good tucker. Someone else suggested we just leave the buff and let nature take its course. He said that there is probably a big crocodile lurking and waiting for the buffalo to tire itself out and when that happens it will strike.

But the general consensus was that we had to try and do something.

I suggested that I drive my car around to the opposite side of the billabong and try to herd the animal ashore. What we would do then, who knows?

I took off around the billabong and approached the water buffalo from the opposite direction, the buffalo was close to this bank, probably 10 metres away. As I came to a stop the buffalo turned to face me.

I got out of the vehicle and stood on the bank facing the group on the other side. The buffalo snorted and shook his head violently trying once again to rid himself of the net. His actions had no effect whatsoever.

"See if you can grab the net and pull him towards you," shouted someone from the opposite bank. Great advice, thanks that's exactly what I wanted to do, wade into a murky billabong and haul on a heavy fishing net that had a buffalo on the end of it.

"If you grab one end of the net, I'll wade across and grab the other and see what happens," Barry shout across the water. What a brave soul and a public servant to boot.

"Shit." I said to myself as my companion started to wade across the billabong. If I didn't do my part I would look like a real coward. As often happens in life the chance of shame overcame fear, so I took four or so strides through the water to reach the net. The buffalo must have seen this through a haze of thick fishing line and moved towards me.

"Damn!" Shouldn't I cut and run back to my car, afterall I was a government employee and this wasn't in my job description.

But as often happens in such situations, things just happen. Before I even realized what I was doing I had grabbed the buffalo by the horns. He shook his head and almost threw me off my feet. I was starting to wonder how good the government medical compensation package really was when Barry grabbed onto the opposite horn.

The buffalo hadn't seen this one coming and now he had a human hanging off either horn and a heavy fishing net over his head.  It just wasn't his day it appeared!

Barry and I then went on a merry dance as the buffalo tossed his head and frantically bucked. Thankfully he headed for the bank instead of going back into the billabong as I was still worried about a lurking croc.

Around and around we went, neither the buffalo or human getting an advantage. Once or twice either Barry or I lost our grip or were tossed aside only to quickly regain our feet to rejoin the fray. As fate would have it the buffalo was bought down by a slice of luck. It tripped. Simple as that. Somehow the buffalo's rear legs and my legs got tangled and it fell to the ground. In an instant Barry and I were on top of it.

It was now a matter of who was the most buggered by the wrestle, the buffalo or us.

One of the Aboriginals shouted across the billabong, "grab his tail and pull it towards you." I was the one who was furthest down the buffalo's flank so I reached back grabbed the tail and yanked it toward his head. The buffalo let out a bellow and shook his head a horn grazing Barry's arm.

"Hold onto the tail, don't let it go." Barry shouted. I had no intention of letting the tail go, the alternative was a mad buffalo and the safety of a vehicle that was 30 metres away.

All three of us lay there panting on the edge of the billabong, covered in mud with flies buzzing all around. It appeared that the buffalo was near the end of its tether and was prepared to accept whatever may happen to it.

There was no hope of untangling the net from around the buffalo's head and horns. "Someone grab us a knife and bring it across." There was a flurry of activity on the other side as Peter jumped in the vehicle and sped around the billabong to meet us.

"Nice day," Peter said conversationally. "Yeah, bit hot out in the sun though," I replied.

It seemed to take forever for Peter to get to our side of the billabong. He pulled the vehicle up in a flurry of dust and then realised that he had no idea where the knife was.

"Where's the bloody knife? He called across the water. "In the back, near the esky." Peter pulled open the doors at the back of the Nissan and started tossing items out in search of the knife.

"Who do you reckon will win the footy this year?" I said to Barry tring to take both of our minds off what maybe lurking in the muddied water. "Which do you mean the AFL, NRL, or Super 14?"  I was about to answer when Peter yelled out, "I got it."

Somewhat hesitantly he approached the prone buffalo who sensed his presence and gave a snort and a small toss of his head. I yanked hard on his tail .

"Pete, there is no way we can get this net off him unless we cut it off. Can you do that?" Barry said this in a quiet and measured voice which was admiral in the situation.

Peter bent down in front of the buffalo, his white jeans quickly taking on a muddy hue. The buffalo gave another small toss of his head in protest as Peter started to hack away at the heavy, nylon fishing cord. It was slow work, even with a sharp knife but bit by bit more of the buffalo's head was exposed.

"I reckon that should do it," Pete said. He looked at both Barry and I and we nodded agreement.

"How are we going to do this? I said. This would be the trickiest part of the operation because if we were successful  we would have an unbound and cranky water buffalo on the loose.

"Pete, you head back to the car." Pete didn't need a second invitation he got up and moved back to the safety of the vehicle. "Barry on three, just let go and head back into the billabong, okay?"

"Yeah, no problems."

I started the count, both Barry and I getting into a position to launch ourselves towards the billabong. "One."

And that is a far as I got as the buffalo must have realised that his head was free and he decided to take charge of the situation. The buffalo just got up and tossed Barry and I aside. Rather than worry about us the buffalo saw open plains ahead and bounded off without a look back. Barry and I looked at one another and laughed and then got out of the water real quick.

We cleaned up as best we could and then it took the three of us all of our strength to pull the fishing net out of the water and stash it behind a tree where it should be safe from wandering buffalo.

When we got back on the other side Barry asked the Aboriginal fellows why they hadn't come across to help. Without a hint of embarrassment he replied that he wasn't stupid, them buffalos can kill a man and anyhow you whitefellows had the situation under control. We couldn't argue with that wisdom.

We also asked him if he knew of any crocodiles in this billabong. He thought about that for a while and said he only knew of one and that was an old grandfather crocodile that lived over near that old gum tree. He pointed it out. It was no more than 50 metres away.

"Shit."

"When was the last time you saw him." We were hoping that it was a long time ago.

"Oh, 'bout twenty minutes ago when he slid into the water."

With that news three whitefellows just got a whole lot whiter!

akmacca08@live.com.au

BILLABONGS

My desk is positioned in such a way I can look out a large picture window that allows a vista that includes a sparkling lake and snow-topped mountains. I often sit and ponder what a difference this is from my immediate past life when I lived in a remote Aboriginal community in Arnhemland, Northern Territory, Australia.

Often I think back to that stage of my life and wonder how I ever came to reside there and what a lucky person I am to have had such an opportunity as when I lived in Ngukurr I had an amazing number of adventures and met some really interesting people.

These days when I am stuck for something to write about I can always revisit that time to come up with a good yarn.

The people of Ngukurr and the surrounding area believe that one of the ways to bring jobs and enterprise to the area is via tourism. The Roper River that runs through Ngukurr has some of the best fishing in the world and the local area is full of magical scerery and wonderous places.

Ngukurr is an untapped tourist market as the bumpy, dirt road that winds its way into the small community is a major deterrent to all but the hardiest visitor. If tourist ventures can be started in the region, infrstructure and local jobs will follow. This is the want of the local people.

With that in mind a small goup of government employees and Aboriginal Traditional Owners set out on a two day drive to discover and explore potential tourist attractions in the area.

On our travels we found rivers and billabongs everywhere overflowing with bird and wildlife. Unfortunately, many of the serene looking billabongs provided an ideal refuge for a monster saltwater crocodile or two. In one such billabong, far from saltwater we found a four metre crocodile baasking on the banks in the sun. The billabong was covered in a lush layer of purple lillies and once in the water you would never know where the croc was. You just can't take the risk to swim in any body of water in Arnhemland however still and isolated they may appear.

Jagged, dark ochre-coloured hills rose from the plain. Gum trees grew at impossible angles from the hillsides. The sun beat down. The traditional owners showed us a set of hills that house a collection of rock paintings. These paintings whilst important to them weren't sacred and they were prepared to allow tourists to come and view them.

The paintings were hidden from the elements under rock overhangs, some were faded and barely recognisable. You had to squint at the drawing's to make out the kangaroo, birds and fish. Stick figures ran all around the walls and ochre-blown handprints adorned the rock. The sheltered, shallow caves came alive with the forgotten action the drawings represented.

At different locations the rock drawings were much clearer and we were told that over the years they had been re-touched and repainted by decendants of the original artists.

One felt a sense of awe and wonder at being in such a place.

That night we camped under the star's. It was hard to sleep as the star's threw out so much light and effervesence. It is a well worn cliche but all the same a true one in that it appeared that you could almost reach out and touch the stars in the sky, they were that close. I just lay there for an hour or more just looking towards the heavens taking it all in and committing the sight to memory.

The next morning we visited the local billabong in time to witness the coming and goings of a multitude of birds who made their homes around the waterhole. Fishing lines were thrown into the water and good sized barramundi were caught in quick succession. Everyone kept an eye out for crocodiles.

After a delicious brerakfast we were on the road again heading for the coast. We picked up a local Traditional Owneer who was going to take us to his land on the coast to see if we thought it had any tourist potential.

The road to his coastal lands could be best described as a bumpy, twisting, dusty rut, but perhaps I am being too kind. This was the type of 4wd that affectionados lust after. All the while and Elder in the back seat told us about the country we were travelling through and what it meant to him.

After almost two hours of hard driving we were rewarded by the sight of clear blue ocean. The waters were so clear that from a hilltop vantage point we could see large sharks cruising off shore. From the same vantage point we could see golden beaches heading off in the distance for kilometre after kilometre and there was not one single person in sight. The Elder said that we were probably the only people to have been to this place since he was last here four or so months ago. Amazing.

But he still had more to show us and we mounted the vehicles to continue our journey, this time down the golden beach.

We had gone several kilometres when my passenger said, "isn't that a buffalo in the billabong? What's he got around his horns?"

I slowed the vehicle and had a look. It was a buffalo and he did have something around his horns. I turned the vehicle toward the billabong.

That's it for now folks if you want to know the rest you will have to come back. I know not fair!

akmacca08@live.com.au

HITCHIKING - NORTHERN TERRITORY STYLE

Before I came across to Canada I worked for the Australian Government in remote Aboriginal communities in the Northern Territory of Australia. It is a different world. This is just one encounter.

And not under any circumstances are you to carry civilians in your government vehicle, nor will you transport goods or animals. Your vehicle is to be used expressly by you for government business. Does everyone understand that failure to comply with this directive can result in immediate dismissal from government service?” The facilitator glared at the class daring any student to challenge his meager authority.


“Do you all understand?”

The class provided him with a few nods and a couple of yes sir's.


So why was I driving down a pool cue straight gravel road in the Northern Territory of Australia, in a government vehicle occupied by three Aboriginal passengers as well as their four hunting dogs?


I can say that I really didn’t have that much of a choice in the matter as the trio had planted themselves in the middle of the dirt road and basically demanded that I drive them and their dogs to their community.


Unfortunately this scenario was never discussed in my training to be a government worker in remote, Australian Aboriginal communities. Reluctantly I allowed them to climb on board.

“Hey, what does this one do?” asked the Aboriginal man sitting beside me in the front seat as he leant forward to press a button on the car stereo system.


He did not wait for my reply, he pressed down on the button and the music was cranked up to its maximum warp factor of sound.


The music boomed and filled the vehicle.


His buddies in the rear seat thought that this was a fantastic replacement for silence and they started to pound on the back of the front seat.

“I am stuck in Folsom Prison,” they sang along with Johnny and with each uncoordinated bang on the back of my seat my entire body was thrust forward.


It was around the time of “I hear a train a coming,” whilst trying to stave off concussion, mingled with dread thoughts of losing my job that the dogs in the far back of the vehicle began to fight, no doubt thrown into a web of excitement by their master’s off-key singing.


I was looking in my rear view mirror at the sing-a-long in the seat behind me, and the dog fight in the back when the bloke beside me said ever so calmly, “watch out for that big roo.”


“What roo?” I said flicking my eyes back to the road to catch sight of a large red kangaroo bounding across the road in front of the vehicle.


Now kangaroos are notoriously stupid. Cute, but plain out and out dumb.


This particular kangaroo must have been the cream of the crop because he had hundreds of thousands of acres to roam in. Within that acreage there was just this one single-lane road and on that one small road just was just one vehicle and this kangaroo had to launch himself across the road there and then.

There was a large thump as I hit the kangaroo broadsides. Nothing could survive that blow.


The music was forgotten and the dogs stopped fighting.


“Hey stop, stop,” the man beside me said urgently as he put his hand towards the steering wheel.


I bought the car to a sliding halt.


“You guys worried about the roo?” I said feeling pleasantly surprised at their act of concern.


“No mate we wanta get that roo and take him home for dinner, he’s a big one and will give us a good feed.”


“Oh,” is the only reply I could muster.


Later I drove into the Indigenous community with the large kangaroo tied to the roof of the vehicle, the unfortunate animal having bled all over the car on the way. The combination of blood, dust and wind had turned my formerly pristine white government vehicle into something that belonged on a cheap and nasty slasher film.


My passengers got out of the vehicle without a word, untied the kangaroo, placed it over a broad, black shoulder and wandered off.


I looked at my gore splattered government vehicle and tried to recall if we were warned about the carriage of dead animals and bloodied and battered vehicles.


No such warning sprung to mind which meant that my first day, of my last job wasn’t a total disaster.

ROCK AND ROLL

Around this time last year I was living and working in the remote Aboriginal community of Ngukurr, which is located in East Arnhem Land in the northern part of Australia. It is a wild and beautiful place that is isolated for around five months of the year due to the heavy rains of the wet season.

The road that leads into Ngukurr is the same road that leads out. To get to Ngukurr is somewhat of a task. Usually you would approach Ngukurr from the Northern Territory capital of Darwin and head south 400 kilometres to the town of Katherine. From Katherine you travel down the Stuart Highway for a 110 kilometres or so until you reach the Ngukurr turnoff.

At the turnoff you have a 190 kilometre single lane road all the way to Ngukurr. The last 60 or so consists of rich, red earth, filled with potholes, corregations and creeks. Beside worrying about the road conditions you have to be on the lookout for the abundant wildlife that appear hell-bent on jumping, slithering, flying or in the case of water buffalo's standing in front of your vehicle.

My personal record for wildlife hits on this trip is three kangaroos and a flock of gallah's.Not nice at all! In this part of the world bullbars aren't for decoration, they are a necessity.

I usually did this trip at least every two weeks, either to Katherine or all the way to Darwin. It was a hard drive, hot, dusty and tiring but a privilige all the same.

But I digress.

I was returning from Katherine after picking up personal effects that were stored there. I had also done my grocery shopping for the next fortnight so the car was laden with all manner of things. The wet season had just started though the sun shone as I dodged various critters along the tarred road.

Music was blaring from the stereo as I approached the section of road where tarred road gives way to dirt. Just a 100 metres or so before I hit the dirt the heaven's opened up and heavy pellets of rain cascaded from the sky. Visibility went to almost zero.

I hit the dirt at around 85kph, with no visibility I wanted to slam on the brakes to slow down but I knew if I did the car would start to buck and slide. I had no idea where the road was it was basically hold onto the steering wheel and hope. 

Well, hope doesn't always suffice as the surface of the road became like an ice rink and the rear of the car started to slide. I tried to correct the slide but this only encouraged the rear of the car to tailspin. Soon I was going done the road sideways just waiting for gravity to take over.

And it did.

All the while this was happening I couldn't do anything, it was out of my control. I knew the car was going roll over, it was just a matter of when. I wasn't scared, the thought that was going through my head was, "I am going to be in deep shit now." The my Government vehicle was almost new, it had less than 3000 k's on the clock.

It all happened in slow motion as the vehicle had arrived at a point where it couldn't sustain traction and balance and it just rolled over. Once, twice and then a third time.

Slow motion it may have been but it also felt as though it was over in a milli-second. The thunderous roar of metal tearing and things breaking was replaced by the sound of rain and heavy breathing.

I felt okay a bit shaken but nothing too terrible. I was alive so it seemed. Wait. There was blood. Now where was that coming from? I checked myself over......it was coming from a cut at the top of my ear. Nothing too dramatic at all, just lots of blood.

Luckily the car had come to rest on its wheels some 25 metres off the road. I looked through the shattered windscreen that barely hung in place. Rain pelted me and helped me regain my senses.  All around me lay chaos.

I undid my seatbelt and had to put my shoulder against the drivers side door to open it. The door clunked open with a groan. I climed from the car to survey the damage. The first thing I noticed was the trail of personal belongings that lay strewn about the place. A sodden pillow over there, a shoe there. Someting shinny poked from the mud, I bent for a closer look. It was my iPod.

I turned to survey the damage to the car. One tyre was blown whilst the other three looked okay. There were dents and scrapes all over the front of the car though the main damage was at the rear of the car where the roof had been badly dented and most of the windows were blown out. The words 'write off' sprung to mind.

So here I was, wet through, bleeding with belongings strewn everywhere with a vehicle that looked like its wheels would never turn again. I was 60 or so kilometres from Ngukurr on a road that on some days may only greet a handful of cars. It was late, pouring with rain and would be dark soon. Shit!!!

(to be continued)
akmacca08@live.com.au