Being a chronicle of an expedition to the wilds of the Northern Territory, accompanied by the lovely Susan.

Book 1.

Chapter 1.

So, there we were, relaxing a week into the new year, and Kathy calls up to ask if we’re free for a bit.  There’s a job going at Bullo River Station in a fairly remote corner of the Northern Territory, as home tutor to a child doing year 7 by School of the Air, and if we’re up for it, it’s probably mine. No rush, but there’s a little over two weeks before we need to leave.

Two days later I’m talking to the boy’s mother, Marlee and it’s on.  We need to get ourselves to Kununurra and they’ll pick us up from there.

A mad scramble to organize flights and an overnight stay in Darwin, sort out suitable clothes, a briefing from Kathy (whose done a couple of stints there) and we’re just about ready.

Jetstar to Darwin.  Overnight at the airport hotel.  Small jet to Kununurra on Sunday morning where we meet Franz, the  boy’s father who shows us to the airport shuttle.

Then it begins.  I have a fear of heights and Susan distrusts aircraft, but Franz immediately impressed us with his cool, competent mastery of the helicopter.  The most startling thing was probably the realization that the pilot was wearing rubber thongs.

He uses this thing for routine transport, and for feeding and mustering the cattle, so guiding it precisely over the airport to head off home looked effortless.

Even with no doors on, it felt secure all the way.

The flight of a bit over 100k to the station was a revelation.  The expected expanse of desolate outback country was replaced by range after range of rugged ridges and escarpments, with a fairly constant tree cover. and once we’d cleared the town there was little or no sign of human activity until we got close to the homestead.  No tracks, no fences, just rugged ridges and valleys with meager streams.   

There are lots of waterfalls and cascades that look like they are in places nobody goes.  There were no roads or tracks anywhere about.

  

The Bullo River

The homestead

We met the rest of the family and a couple of staff, and settled into our corner of this magnificent house  (more on that in a later edition). Teacher’s accommodation is a comfortable bed-sit with aircon and a generous ensuite.

The morning commute is going to be a problem.  The classroom is 2 metres away.

It’s supposed to be the Wet season up here, but the drenching rains, due around Christmas, haven’t shown up yet.  People are starting to worry.

During this first week we’ve had just one decent bit of rain, but it’s supposed to happen every day.

There is rain most evenings….. you can see ie sweeping past on the horizon.

 

School got underway the first week.  Franzie is a pretty normal bright 12 year old with a fairly unusual set of skills, and a background uncommon in city kids.

One afternoon he was setting off on a quad-bike with Alex, a 20 year-old German backpacker on the back to collect some stones for a terrarium, and I heard his mum call out, “Take the .22, there might be dingoes about.”  No fear, just an ordinary day…..

I had a half-holiday on Thursday while the family (Mum, Dad and 2 kids) went on an excursion to try to locate a tree reputedly marked by an early Portugese explorer.  They found it, but had trouble reading it.

In the evening, sometimes we get a cool breeze, sometimes a (mostly dry) thunderstorm, and often the most wonderful light.

More next time.

Mike and Sue