Mitchell River National Park

Early on in my Australia travels, I started writing down my top three moments at the end of each day, a habit I picked up from my Otesha friend, Libby.

Here are a few of the daily highlights from the past two months: driving up the west coast for 2.5 weeks with my friend, Jean. And 5 weeks of quolling around at Mitchell River National Park.

25 Aug.: 1- Zebra finches, a huge flock of them. At the Mullewa ‘waterfall.’
2- Mr. Roboto dance on side of the road (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UxGizBmcmpo) and (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCbvarEidso)

26 Aug: Snorkeling at Ningaloo Marine Park. Fshhhh!

29 Aug: ½ nudie ocean swim. Beach all to myself. Dancing in the sand.

31 Aug: 1-Swimming in Jubura Pool. Dunking my head under. Refreshing after hiking in the heat.
2- Weebills. XOXOXO Flutter like hummingbirds.

2 Sept: Making it out of Hancock Gorge and the spider crawl area alive.
3 Sept: Tooting at bicycle tourist on highway towards Port Hedland. His big wave and grin. Yay.

4 Sept: Hitch-hiking to the Broome Bird Observatory
6 Sept: 1- Shorebirds in flight. Wow. Hundreds, maybe thousands, sitting on beach. Watching tide come in. Flock of gulls, terns (4-5 species), and black winged stilts. Mangroves getting covered by turquoise water. Red cliffs in the distance.
2- “dinner” with jean. Mud/caramel cake dessert.

7 Sept: Mango smoothie and ½ price chocolate muffin, sitting in café writing Libby a letter as the café closed. Felt like a refuge from Kununurra.

8 Sept: “So, In the last 5 years since graduating Uni, I’ve been working different field jobs, traveling, and doing other random things.” -Kelsey
“So, in other words, that’s a very pleasant way of saying you’ve been bumming around for the past 5 years?” –Richard, Annette’s other field tech.

9 Sept: Heat delirium at Mitchell River National Park…while it was still funny.

10 Sept: 1- Last night’s shooting stars.
2- sunset
3- watching my first quoll run away.


Sept: Mango fruit pop. Brought by Ranger John. After nap on floor of hut. After radio tracking de quolls.

15 Sept: Talking to WombatsRus on phone. I like her a lot.16 Sept: Annette cutting my hair. “This will be interestingggg…” 2 mins later, “hmm, these scissors are hacking more than cutting.” But she did a good job nonetheless. The mullet tail is gone!

17 Sept: 1-Dingo poop by Annette’s bed. Hehe.
2- Ranger John dancing like an Egyptian at the end of “Slum Dog Millionaire.”
3-DeAR RanGEr JohhhN. I savE yoU oNE PEECE cAKE. I’m SmArT!! AnD NIcE! LuV, QUoLL18 Sept: 1- Dance hall dance hall every day dance for Annette.
2 – Dancing to Old Crow Medicine Show before leaving for Heliwork BBQ. “Are you two ready now?” –John
3- “Noddy’s a show pony today.” –Annette

19 Sept: 1- Looking at massive amount of stars at Surveyor’s Pool. Talking to Bryn about: our families, pot/alcohol, random stories.
2- Journaling on my own for an hour. Poems. Good thing cause I thought I was going to lose my head from moodiness/heat irritability/etc.

21 Sept: 1- Freshwater crocodile sighting. While sitting and feeding bread to the fish by the Heliworks part of the creek.
2- Bryn saying, “I’ve got a new weapon for you.” “To give me or use on me?” “Use on you of course.” Then, when I was leaving, I went into the kitchen as he was making dinner and said, “So. Where’s your weapon?” “Oh yeah!” and he turned to the sink. That was enough to send me sprinting out the door. I was a good 10-15 feet ahead of him and he still got my back soaked. “The water bottle classic! Lid with a hole in it!” Plus one for Bryn in the MRNP weapon war. That 30 seconds of glee made my day. And got me out of my heat/internet induced funk.

22 Sept: 1- Suflur-crested cockatoo that flew to the tree right behind where I was having my snack. So beautiful! Even though they are everywhere in OZ practically, they are still one of my favorites.
2- Collecting Annette after she walked 6km to find CH. 16. Long day in the field today!
3- Napping, not sleeping though, under the fan. I imagined Pete coming to the doorway and me motioning, ‘come here.’ And giving/getting a giant cuddle. I just want a giant cuddle.

24 Sept: 1- Pete splashing/squirting me in kiddie pool. Feeling cool. Practicing our crocodile stealth tactics.
2- “Are you sure you don’t want a milo? Even if I twist your arm?” –John. Putting my arm out, “Okay, twist my arm?” Mmm, milo.
3 – Moon in the sky tonight.

27 Sept: 1-Mitchell Falls hike. Sitting at Little Merten’s after sunset. So many birds. Beautiful and peaceful, except for damned flies.
2- “How was your hike today? Hot?” -Paul. “I sat in the shade by the lagoon until it cooled off.” -Kelsey “Lagoon?” -Paul “Yeah….what? oh you don’t call it a lagoon?” -Kelsey “No, a lagoon is at the edge of a sea.” -Paul
3- Tim tams! In tea. After napping. “She’s so sweet when she just wakes up, isn’t she?” -Annette

29 Sept: Frogs on toilet seat.

30 Sept: Talking to Mr. Ew Sheep on telephone. I love my Be.
2 Oct: John pretending to be a quoll with buck teeth. Crawling up to the trap and scratching on the sides.

4 Oct: 1- “You’ve got to see the dingo poo I got today. It’s a ripper!” –Annette
“I’ve got to process those poos!” -Annette
2- mom/dad phone call
3- Driving home from Yalgie site after 7pm. Tree snake, owlet nightjars, bats, bandicoot, massive grasshoppers…all darting into the road causing Annette to swerve and or slam on breaks.

6 Oct: “So did you go out howling at the moon last night or what? It sounded like a baby elephant on the steps.” -Annette

7 Oct: Sitting in doorway and our friendly quoll, on the wood 5 feet from me. On his hind legs, waving like Spike. Sizing me up, reconsidering, scampering away.

8 Oct: 1- Morning yoga. Sun. Birds. Chanting.
2- Aboriginal art site at little Merten’s. Crawling around rocks barefoot. Quolls and eagles and swimming.
3- Pete pushing me in the heliwork swimming pool when I went to splash water on my arms.

13 Oct: 1- Aboriginal Art exploration with John and Annette. Dancing bradshaws. Special cave dwellings. Little boy at Kununurra backpackers running past me four times.
First time: He waves, I wave back.
Second time: He waves, I wave back. Smiling.
Third time: “I’m Tom!” “I’m Kelsey.” “Hi Kelsey! We’re playing hide ‘n seek!”Fourth time: “Hi again!” A still hand in the air.

From Mitchell River National Park to Perth

15 Oct.

Fast asleep by 8pm, awake at 5:45. I like that schedule. I slept fully, completely. In a large, blanket covered bed, with blinds to keep out the sun. Alone. With doves cooing – a sound from PHX, AZ. Another place I have once been. I’m glad I’m not there now. I’m glad to be here. I’m just needing – Rachel, Katie. A friend who wants to sit across from me. Listen and share for a very long time. Kim is busy. Everyone is so busy. I understand, I’ve been there too. But right now, my life is so simple. My days are so free. I just need to get on Goat, move my legs in circles. Not get trapped by staying in one little spot. A backyard full of dog-dug holes, roses growing up against a tin wall. Orange trees, lemon, and a cross between lemon and mandarin.
The view! From the hut doorway as I’d read or write – to myself or a beautiful friend far away. I’ll miss that view. Transition time. It hurts. A body with so much feeling. Every inch of my skin. The hairs that stand on end. Stomach aches. From morning hunger, mild anxiety. Soul gardening friends. Hands reached out. I borrowed a shirt from the closet of Kim’s guest room. The room I am sleeping in. The neckline has been cut away. Leaving shoulders tanned by a northern sun, bare. Begging for gentle touching. A resting hand. A little care. Innocence. In Tash’s hand-made skirt, that fits me so beautifully. When I suck my stomach in. Try to dance gracefully. But when I stood naked in front of the mirror, I saw collections of fat, unevenly tanned skin. A belly extended. Not even a baby in there. Criticism. But like I told Pete, there are better things to do with a life than spend 6 hours at a gym working out. Too much cake to eat.

Depression. That lurks around cement corners. Is this what’ll happen when I get back to Bellingham? The shock of not being on the move anymore. Will the friends I’ve been missing fill the gap of not traveling? I want movement. Exploring. In my body. On this planet. “How was your trip up North?” Already those 5 weeks have become a “wow, really good, such a special place up there.” No! It was not a one sentence, to be summarized, experience. It was the smell of rain on sandstone rocks. It was spotting quolls in the daytime – at Little Merten’s and down by the river while looking at crocodile tracks. It was Annette putting her hair up before getting in the shower, gasping at the first shot of cold water. It was her in a sunhat, laptop rested against her hip, walking back from the office or Ranger John’s hut. It was that night sky. The tiny bats and the silhouette of eucalyptus trees, shooting stars zipping by in the background. It was a cuddly man occasionally climbing into my tent after 8:30pm. It was letting my body feel everything it needed to feel – fear, anger, hope, joy. It was the beauty in someone asking me to say exactly what I meant in each line of a poem. It was the sound of helicopters. The blades whirling. Our fan, the one I spent so much time laying beneath, mimicked it so well. That place, in the Northern reach of the Kimberley. It was finches. Their chip chip chirping. Magnificent crimsons. Cuuuuute double barred ones. Long-tailed finches too. Even if no masked or Gouldians. It was the smell of fires that had jumped the King Edward River, and then the main road leading to the park. It was waiting, sometimes impatiently, for John – always jumping between all the things he wanted to get done. It was coming in late from the field and the phone immediately ringing, “do do doo di di.” Ranger john offering me and Annette a movie, a cold drink, some humorous company. Because that’s what we became. A make-shift, blurred role, quirky as all hell, temporary family. It was watching the dirt rinse off my body and down the shower drain. It was Annette cutting my hair on our porch. Me saying, “no, it has to be shorter, cut more.” The way it’d go all floppy and flippy every morning and Annette would exclaim at 5am, “wow, what a groovy hairdo!” It was tea leaves tossed out the doorway from a kettle Annette filled half a dozen times a day. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I find it so heartbreaking when someone asks how something so amazing has been and all I say is, “good, incredible.” Maybe two or three other things. I don’t know why I don’t say more. And I know they’re satisfied. Free to walk away. In my mind I see green ants digging into my shoulders. Serves me right for crawling through tangles of monsoon vine thicket, just trying to get to those dang quolls. “You are a really feeling person aren’t you?” “Yeah. That’s a truth.” No, it was not GOOD up there. It was hot. Oppressively hot. It was peaceful. It was full. It was moon watching. It was barefoot rock climbing and feeling hard soil on the pads of my feet. It was a brief visit from weebills, all the others I missed. And a new bird species to admire, write down, nearly every day. It was Bradshaw figures dancing on the underside of a massive piece of rock. In my first ‘real’ conversation with Pete, he asked if I ever wished I had someone to share all those special moments with. He was referring to Tasmania. I said no, at that time, it felt right to be alone. I should have said, “the other night, 45 minutes before sunset, I went out walking down a slowly disappearing road. When I turned back, the colors of the evening making their final show, 2 red-tailed black cockatoos cooed and flew where moments ago the sun had just been. For the tiniest second, then, I wished someone stood next to me to see them go. But then I knew it didn’t matter. Because with or without someone, we are each completely alone.
I let those beautiful people under my sweaty skin. Ready to go or not, I’m always leaving. Looking for my country. When will I ever be home?

Kimberley Poem Writing

The days creak by. Baking cakes in the morning heat. Today's variety was carrot without a recipe. My mind is slow, wavering with silliness like the heat waves in the distance. It came out of the oven, melted in our mouths. Happy little dances I danced, standing by the door with the days hundredth sweat moustache beading upon my skin.

"A message from the old people through the flames of a bloodwood campfire. that too much town life, hunting in the supermarket, deep-freeze fishing and grog drinking ain't no good for your spirit. keep the homeland movement firing..." -Pigram Brothers

Bare feet on the dusty ground
With spiders and quolls, stirring in the rustling grasses.
The view through the doorway is one I would keep.
As the afternoon wind tousles gum tree leaves
The branches drooping just enough to say
you, you can look at me.
Close my eyes on a dry creek bed.
In the shade, cowering away from the critical sun.
Ants. Red ones. Tiny black ones. Green ones in a line on the trunk of that pale tree.
Lighter. Just me with the sound of birds calling.
This beautiful land. Mysteries I'm happy to know little pieces of.
The ants carry their dead. I don't know where.

My hair's grown thick and wild.
Curling erratically with the early morning humidity.
I try to pull it from my face.
Keep it from clinging to me.
I look out the doorway and all I see
is this place. Walking for 24 years before the power of space finally sunk into me.
In a country that will never be mine.
8 months wandering doesn't offer full belonging.
"I might fall in love with my country again, that's the only thing that could happen." A lie, one dancing on the string of a baby's star mobile.
One that such tiny fingers were miles away from grasping.
I think of home and dart to that South Bellingham beach. It has a name I can't remember.
And in the colder part of the year, no one is around. Only me, islands in the distance. And hidden, beautiful creatures. My fingers dip into grey water.
Being who I am now. I'd take my clothes off and wait for the thrill of my head going under.
Sense of space. The area my body fills.
Treading water lightly. My hands cupped full.
Full moon or the tiniest remainder.
It pushes and pulls. Dips my energy until I dance barefoot down a dark stretch of Chuckanut Drive Road.

(September 16, 2009)