Croc Country

by Kerry McGinnis

  ‘What?’ Almost as soon as the words left his mouth Luke was out of the cab, striding over to the blackened stump. He bent to examine it, then eyed the fallen bloodwood, scratching reflectively at his neck. ‘No hollows, so it’s not the traffickers. Damned inefficient way of getting birds anyhow. If it was young corellas say, or galahs, you’d be more likely to kill ’em in the fall.’

  ‘When was it done?’ Tilly had rejoined him. ‘Before the rains? There’s no sign of fire except on the stump.’

  ‘Not so long,’ Luke disagreed. ‘Weeks, maybe a couple of months. Looks like they built a fire beside it hoping the stump would catch and burn to disguise the saw work. Only it was too green. There’s shoots coming out at the back there, and that doesn’t happen overnight. Well, nothing we can do here, so let’s go.’

  A kilometre further on, they left the vehicle and walked towards the forest of brilliant green vegetation that hugged the foot of the cliff. The dark trunks of the pandanus lifted their spear-sharp tops of vivid green above the duller clusters of sandpaper fig and myrtle clumps. Bare sheets of rock glinted ochre and orange in the early morning sun, seamed by cracks and shallow horizontal declivities, which were in turn intersected by the bare roots of the occasional stunted trees clinging to the face or top of the cliff.

  ‘See that big bulge over there just below the dead finish?’ Luke nodded to the right at the mass of flowering native boronia clinging to the rock. ‘There’s a heap of Aboriginal paintings under it. Hand prints mostly, but there’s barra, and wallaby, and human figures in corroboree. Very old – almost gone, in fact. The colours have faded back into the rock. Old middens too. You can see the bits of chert and the holes in the sandstone where they must’ve mixed the ochre. There’s a bit of an old fence – the station must’ve put it up, though God knows why, there’d have been nobody round back then. Maybe it was to keep the stock out.’

  ‘Can we have a look?’ Tilly asked.

  ‘Yeah, why not? But it’s something else that’d have to be protected if we opened the site.’

  Tilly, listening to the silence broken only by the piercing ring of bird calls echoing back from the cliff, and the soft squelch of their boots on the sodden soil, said, ‘Shame really to disturb it. Places like this – they’re sort of like church, aren’t they? Not something to be trooped through as if it was a sideshow.’ She stopped to watch a pair of kite hawks gyring overhead until the brilliance of the sky dazzled her retinas, forcing her to shut her eyes against the blazing light. The scent of the land came to her then, damp and flowery with base notes of dust and her own sweat. She sniffed deeply. ‘What’s that smell, Luke?’

  ‘Some of the scrub’ll be flowering. Wattle, maybe, or the myrtle. There’s always something in blossom here. It’s the water does it. Careful now, the rocks get slippery from this point on.’

  Here the water had broken through the soil in little runnels trickling endlessly through mossy stone, spreading into shallow pools over which coloured dragonflies hovered. Tiny ferns uncurled in the damp and a hum of myriad insects – everything from water beetles to march flies, as Tilly discovered when she felt the red-hot wire of a bite on her wrist – filled the air. A deep crack several metres up the cliff face disgorged a slow stream of water that fell into a deep rock-fringed pool where young pandanus were clustered amid thigh-deep bladey grass. A mass of vegetation surrounded the whole area: thickets of wattle, and spring bloodwood, wild plum and ti-tree, some overgrown with wild passion vine, their foliage alive with birdcalls and the occasional glimpse of fluttering wings.

  Tilly stared about her, entranced. ‘Oh, look at the flowers, they’re so tiny! What are those little red ones, Luke?’

  ‘Where? Oh, sundews. They’re carnivorous. See the little sticky beads of moisture on them? That’s how they trap insects. The bodies dissolve, and the plant gets the juices.’

  ‘I see.’ Tilly rubbed her burning wrist. ‘I wish they’d eat a few more march flies then.’

  She squatted, laving her wrist, then cupping the hand to lift water to her lips, finding it sweet and cold. A glimmer of movement caught her eye within the depths and she saw an angler fish, just as Luke had said. ‘How did the fish get in here?’

  Luke shrugged. ‘Washed in as eggs, or maybe babies. The whole valley would run water in the Wet.’

  ‘I suppose. No crocs either. I can see it would be an ideal camp site – and very quickly loved to death. That’s an awful lot of water, Luke.’ The pool had to be five metres across and she could see smaller ones dotted about. ‘If it were to open, you’d need kilometres of boardwalk to protect it all. Which way to the paintings?’

  ‘Follow me.’ He led the way, heading back towards the dry ground.

  ‘Is this as far as the track goes?’ Tilly asked.

  ‘Nope. It takes a loop around to the caves, but that’s too far for today. They’re a bit out of the way, and there’s nothing much to see, really. Just holes on the cliff. I daresay we wouldn’t get there more than a couple of times a season. Though somebody’s been poking around – there’s old vehicle tracks under ours.’

  ‘Didn’t Connor visit? I’m sure he said something about it,’ Tilly replied.

  ‘Well, I can’t see a botanist chainsawing trees, even if it wasn’t done months back,’ Luke said dryly.

  ‘No.’ He didn’t know and she felt obscurely guilty that she couldn’t tell him, so changed the subject. ‘Look, it’s well past noon. Why don’t we take our lunch over to the paintings and eat it there?’ She slapped wildly at another march fly. ‘Hopefully there’ll be fewer insects away from the water.’

  ‘You took the words outta my mouth,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Over dinner that evening, Sophie, apprised of the chainsawed tree, frowned and said, ‘Probably the traffickers, Luke. It’s another good argument for opening the spring country to paying customers. Less opportunity for clandestine operations if we had a ranger stationed there and people coming and going. Thieves need isolation to work in.’

  ‘Whoa back, boss. Now you want to add a residence to the list? The WPA will never go for that!’

  Sophie sighed. ‘I know. But are you going to volunteer to live in a tent? I think not. Protection comes with a cost. Either we’re willing to pay it or . . .’ She trailed off.

  ‘It’ll be a one-off,’ Matt said dismissively. ‘Ain’t worth spending a fortune on. If you were to open the joint you gotta think of the road as well – keeping that up won’t come cheap.’

  ‘I know.’ Sophie sighed. ‘Nothing does.’

  ‘I think I’d rather see them stay as they are – the springs,’ Tilly said. ‘It’s so beautiful there. Unspoiled, you know? That would all change with people and their noise and rubbish. You’d have to have smelly engines for water and light—’

  ‘And of course you’d rather live in a cave,’ Luke teased, ‘and flog your washing on the rocks.’

  ‘Well,’ she said spiritedly, ‘at least I’d hang it properly, not just chuck it at the clothesline. Shirts aren’t meant to be pegged up by their cuffs, you know, Luke. And speaking of caves, when do we get to visit them?’

  ‘Huh! Who’d want to? Chuck us the butter, will ya.’ Matt reached a hand to receive it. ‘Ta. It’s a hole in the hill crawling with wallaby ticks. Good place to keep away from.’

  ‘They can’t be much worse than march flies.’ Tilly eyed the red lump on her wrist. It burnt and itched still, but only if she touched it.

  ‘That’s what you think,’ Luke supported Matt’s argument. ‘Tick bites irritate for months, especially if you just pull the body off and don’t get the head out. They’re tiny and damn near transparent so you never notice ’em till they’ve latched on.’

  ‘And they live in caves?’ Tilly quizzed, suspecting her leg was being pulled.

  ‘No, but wallabies hang around dry, shady spots like the country around the caves, so Matt’s right. It’s a good spot to pick ’em up.’

&nb
sp; ‘So – how do you avoid them?’

  ‘Don’t go there,’ Matt offered. ‘Knew a bloke once had a allergy to ticks. Damn near died from a bite.’

  ‘Just wear boots and tuck your pants into your socks,’ Sophie joined in. ‘And if you get a tick, don’t try to pull it off. Dab a bit of metho on it instead.’ She glanced around the table with a little smile. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you. I tried my hand at a pudding today. Who wants some?’ A silence followed as everybody waited for someone else to respond. Made cross by their hesitation, she snapped, ‘Well, don’t all speak at once.’

  ‘I will, Soph,’ Tilly said. ‘I’m sure it’ll be great. What did you make?’

  By midnight Tilly had cause to regret her loyalty. The pie pastry had been almost inedible, resulting in a ferocious bout of indigestion that woke her and prevented further sleep. Despairing of it passing, she switched on her torch, found her slippers and made her way cautiously through to the kitchen in search of a remedy.

  There were antacid tablets somewhere in the pantry cupboard, but the tidy shelves that she had maintained were now a jumbled mess. With a hand pressed to her burning chest, Tilly peered between cornflake packets and sauce bottles until she located what she sought, then moved to the sink for a glass. A mopoke called from the darkness, the sound drifting on the wind, and she shivered in the icy air of the kitchen.

  She wondered dolefully how much of the pie remained and whether she could tactfully get rid of it. It was Luke’s turn to cook tomorrow, so she would be doing the camp by herself again. Maybe she could take a huge slice for lunch and ditch it somewhere? It was probably Sophie’s first attempt at pastry, and Tilly devoutly hoped it would be her last. Turning away from the sink, she caught the faint sound of a motor and cocked her head, wondering if it was her imagination. But no, there it was again, a quiet, steady hum below the soughing of the wind.

  Flicking off her torch, Tilly stared through the closed louvres, hoping that it wasn’t another emergency. Calling the flying doctor in at this hour would necessitate lighting up the strip, but it was very late for any traveller to be abroad. Then, still waiting for the headlights to appear, she glimpsed the dark shape of a vehicle creeping past the homestead. Only the brief shine of starlight on the duco gave its presence away as it slid gently between the sheds and vanished into the night. The sound died with its going, and for a brief moment she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. She briefly considered waking the others, but whoever it was she could find out for herself tomorrow just by checking the regos in the camp. And it was too cold to stand around now. Her body shaking with chill, Tilly hurried back to the warmth of her bed.

  Over breakfast Tilly told the others about the midnight traveller to a mixed reaction. Sophie simply tutted at her description that the traveller had ‘crept past like a thief’.

  ‘Somebody probably had a breakdown, Tilly. Should have made it in daylight and was just being considerate about not waking us. You can see whoever it is this morning.’

  Luke frowned. ‘Yeah, but why would they drive without lights? Having them on’s not gonna wake us. I reckon Tilly’s right – it wants looking into.’

  ‘Well, I can’t today. I’m off to Darwin, remember? And you’ve got kitchen duties.’

  ‘’S’okay,’ Matt said. ‘I’ll check it out. If he ain’t in the camp, I’ll find him. The grader’s at Kileys’ Yard and I’ll be bringing it back today. If someone’s heading through on the back roads, our paths oughta cross.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘Do that. You’ll be right for the camp chores this morning, Till?’

  ‘Yes, of course. What’ll I do after that?’

  ‘Take the rest of the day for yourself – do your washing, teach Luke some culinary skills.’

  ‘Huh!’ he muttered sotto voce. ‘There’s more than me that needs ’em.’

  So she wasn’t the only one to have suffered last night, Tilly thought. She had forgotten her cousin’s upcoming trip. Subterfuge was no longer necessary – she could just dump the whole pie, if Luke didn’t beat her to it. Unexpectedly then, she remembered her mother’s favourite saying: ‘There’s an upside to everything, pet.’

  She hid a smile, reflecting on how true that was.

  Sophie left immediately after breakfast, slinging a modest bag into the front of the vehicle. ‘I’ll ring from Alloway,’ she told Luke, ‘so you know I’ve got that far. Once I hit the bitumen I’ll be right – plenty of traffic if I have a breakdown. With a bit of luck I’ll be back by Thursday.’

  ‘You’ve got the costings, boss? Five dollars says they’ll nix the idea.’

  She tutted. ‘I’ve got ten says they’ll come out for a look first.’

  ‘You’re on. Safe trip.’ He watched her drive off, then grabbed the bottles and bird feed. Both cocky chicks seemed to be thriving under his care, and the larger of the two joeys no longer used his bag. He nodded at Tilly. ‘Time you weren’t here.’

  ‘I know. Matt’s just coming.’ He would drop her off at the camp on his way to work. ‘Hang on – he’ll be gone all day, so how do I get back?’

  ‘If somebody’s leaving, they might give you a lift,’ Luke suggested. ‘Otherwise I guess you’ll just have to wait. Connor would probably drive you, if you asked.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll do that, so expect me when you see me. Have fun, and Luke, if you’re going to use the oven today, it needs cleaning first.’

  Matt dropped her at the gate and Tilly, carrying the cooler containing her lunch, walked into the camp, heading straight to the ablution block to begin the daily cleaning. It was just after dawn with the first glow of gold visible above the river timber. Most of the tourists were still abed, so she had the shower and toilets to herself. The ashes below the donkey boiler were cold; she raked them out and as before, when she turned from the task, it was to see Connor, this time with a towel slung over one shoulder, ambling around the corner of the ablution block to greet her.

  ‘Morning, Tilly. Alone again today?’

  ‘Luke’s turn to cook,’ she said, ‘and Sophie’s off to meet with the WPA directors, so there’s only me left.’ She cast an eye over the diminished wood pile. ‘I don’t have a vehicle, so I hope that wood’s going to last till everyone’s showered.’

  ‘How did you get here then? Surely you didn’t walk?’

  ‘Matt dropped me off on his way out to the grader.’

  ‘I see. Well, we can take my vehicle and get a load if you like. Just let me wash and get my breakfast first. You fancy a cuppa when you’ve finished?’

  ‘Okay. That would be great. I must admit I didn’t give the wood a thought – besides, Matt was in a hurry. There was a vehicle that sneaked past us in the night, and he wanted to find where it went. The tracks didn’t come through the gate so whoever it was is probably up to no good. He thinks it could be a shooter, or shooters.’

  Connor shook his head. ‘Never a dull moment out in the boondocks, eh? Come to my camp when you’re ready.’

  The tea was welcome, as was the folding seat Connor had set out in preparation for her. Tilly, with the mug warming her hands and her face turned up to the early sunshine, drew a satisfied breath. ‘Lovely. Funny how you forget how chilly the nights and early mornings are.’

  ‘You should try the desert in July. I camped at Chambers Pillars once and woke up with frost in my eyebrows. God, it was cold! So, this vehicle that went through last night – did anyone see it, or did they just notice the tracks?’

  ‘I was up.’ Tilly told him about her indigestion and what it had led to, adding, ‘Luke didn’t seem that concerned, and Sophie’s concentrating on her plan to get another section of the country opened to camping – she’s been burning up the phone lines for days costing things. Anyway, whoever sneaked in set me thinking.’ She told him about her visit to the springs and discovering the chainsawed tree. ‘It just seemed a bit too pat where it had been felled. I mean, right beside a gully with no way across with the road blocked? Of course, we had the winch
and just pulled it clear, but your average camper would’ve had to turn back. And I wondered if maybe that’s why it was felled?’

  Connor frowned. ‘But you got through and went to the springs, and presumably Luke didn’t notice anything different?’

  ‘If he did he didn’t say.’

  ‘Okay, so does the track end there or . . .?’

  ‘It goes on to the caves, Luke said. And back behind them’—she waved a hand in the general direction—‘are the old mining tracks that run into the sandstone formations they call the “Lost City”. It’s half a kilometre of rock pinnacles, or so they tell me. But that’s beside the point, which is that these same tracks can take you south into the national park, or east to link up with the Savannah Way, the highway that runs across the top all the way to Darwin. Of course the tracks are terribly rough and overgrown in places, but it is doable, and the wildlife traffickers apparently know it. They could,’ she said, frustration plain in her tone, ‘be stripping the place of anything – birds, reptiles, possums – and we wouldn’t have a clue about it.’

  ‘I didn’t see any caves marked on the map,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe it’s something I should be investigating. How far away are they?’

  Tilly drained her cup. ‘Luke didn’t say, only that there wasn’t time to go on the day we went to the springs because the track was rough, and it was well past noon at the time.’

  ‘I see. Maybe it’s worth checking out all the same. What else do you have to do this morning, Tilly? Do you fancy guiding me out there? It’s just past eight, so there’s plenty of time. We could scrounge a bit of wood first, and you aren’t going anywhere without a vehicle, are you?’

  ‘Nope. I either catch a lift back with someone leaving, or wait here all day for Matt.’ Anticipation stirred in Tilly. ‘I’d love to go with you. There’s only the pump and the wood left to do, and the day is mine.’

  ‘Good.’ He took the two mugs and his breakfast plate, rinsed them off with the remaining tea in the billy and set them aside. ‘Let’s get started then. Oh, and bring your lunch, it could take a while.’