Travels to WJ

I woke up this morning in Kununurra and am going to bed tonight in WJ.

This part of the world is so tempting, so wild, so red, so.. oddly named.

I love Kununurra, and while Vas’s place is terrific, life in a community is quieter, easier.

And it isn’t all that far from Kununurra to WJ.

The main highway out of town can either take you over to Broome, on the west coast, or north and east to Darwin, in the Northern Territory, which is incredibly confusing at 7 in the morning! Sadly, signage is something that Australia doesn't put too much emphasis on.

I was sure I was lost when I reached for the map book we keep behind the passenger seat: wrong vehicle. I was in a rental, and in a no service zone. But no worries.. I backtracked a bit and ‘searching’ changed back to ‘Telstra’, and I called Vas.

“Did you go over the bridge?” he asked.

“That was way back.” I replied. I had driven over the big dam: the huge lake (Aussie standards folks, no need to get too excited) Kununurra that they had created in the 70’s on one side and the Orde river on the other.

Heck, I was a couple of dead rabbits and a road-kill kangaroo past the bridge!

“Then you’re ok. No worries! The turn off is clearly marked.”

And sure enough, just a few kilometres past where I had given up and turned around, among the boabs and gum trees, there was the sign: Halls Creek/Derby/Broom. This was it: the Great Northern Highway of Australia.

The highway snaked along naked ‘mountains’ that reminded me of the Nizwa area in Oman, except red. Red dirt, red rock, all was revealed, even in areas where the trees and brush were thickest; underbrush around here is almost nonexistent.

Almost nonexistent.

I got out of the car to take a picture of one of the bushes, heavy with brilliant scarlet-coloured bean pods, and was virtually attacked by the burrs. I had simply passed by a single, innocuous appearing piece of grass and it reached and out grabbed my calf, and bit me and held on tight until I swatted the little suckers off. I thought I’d been stung!

Safely back in the Pajero, I took picture of the boab trees: standing alone, in groups, twisted together, hollow, green.

Termite mounds peppered the landscape: at first just a few little ones, then fields of them, wider and taller than me. Some were red, others brilliant red, and still others almost scarlet.

Small mountains turned to hills, foothills I guess, except those are usually at the base of actual mountains. Soon there are just piles of rubble which then opens up onto a landscape that goes on forever. The ever changing scenery and an A.M. country and western radio station, held my attention until Halls Creek, where I stopped for breakfast.

Halls Creek is one of the larger centres around here. I imagine the population may be as high as 3000. There is at least one good Road House and I know that because it is where I ate: Australian bacon (back bacon) and eggs and toast (white bread) cooked over an open fire: or at least that’s what it tasted like: wonderful!

The landscape doesn’t change much after Halls Creek. The boab trees are gone, but there are emus, eagles, dead kangaroos, and I watched a couple of blue tongue lizards running for their life off the shoulder-less highway in front of me.

Everyone waves to you on the highway: everyone including a couple of silver haired tourists with their caravans and cameras, a lone TAFE vehicle, a few government 4WD’s, a bus, a bike and a few locals. There aren’t a lot of people in this part of the world. But those that are here are pretty friendly.

I like the people here in WJ. Aboriginal people know how to be still.

They can speak with their bodies: their hands, their bodies, their heads.

They sit outside and watch the sun go down in the evening, and as the sky turns purple they swat at the mosquitoes and swear.

I can hear them, talking quietly on their porches and listen to their music and the children laughing: someone’s birthday. They had taken the bus to town, Fitzroy Crossing, earlier in the day to pick up the enormous cake.

I can hear the dogs barking, squealing: there are always dogs in communities.

Time for bed in Wangkatjungka.. never thought I'd say that! Didn't think I even knew how!