World Australia Northern Territory Kakadu National Park

Kangaroos are Not Kosher - Howie & Debbie Down Under

Crocodiles 'R Us Nov 2, 2009

Monday November 2, 2009 - Kakadu National Park

Crocodiles 'R Us

The fact that I'm writing this note kind of gives away the ending. She tried - oh how she tried! But as Dr. Frankenstein noted: "It's alive!"

In planning this journey it was necessary to provide Nicky the travel agent with at least some idea of where we wanted to go and what we wanted to see.

I pored over maps, read books, and consulted with friends and family. In the end, I went with a tried and true method - look for silly names. And so, here we are in Kakadu National Park.

As you will understand, this was actually an easy choice for a destination. After all, to get to Kakadu you first have to drive through Humpty Doo. Honest! Yup, it's still fun to say that.

The speed limit in the Northern Territories is 130kph. That way you can cover the vast distances faster. This theory works well except when you encounter a 12 mile long "road train" barreling down the "other" side of the highway at 180 kph (you pull over and pray for the best).

Or, as in our case today, except when you are stuck behind a 12-mile long convoy of army trailers carrying tanks to the 16,000 sq km army base and firing range which borders Kakadu.

Tour bus drivers are chock full of interesting facts. Here's a good one: If the tank shell passes through you it can still travel for another 30 km. I understand that this is what they use to keep the feral pig population in Kakadu under control.

Kakadu (I dare you to say it without smiling if you're a 12 yr old boy) has been continuously inhabited by "the original owners" (this is the euphemism currently deemed to be politically correct, apparently) for 20,000 yrs.

These original owners are different from Ulurus original owners who are different from the next places original owners.

To sort things out over the past 60,000 yrs or so that original owners have been in Australia overall, they developed an intricate Land Titles system and about 180 different languages that have nothing to do one with the next.

Frankly it's all quite complex and made almost impossible to untangle because no written form of any of the languages was ever developed. But, we get glimpses of things from rock art and from Dreaming Stories (the oral traditions).

Frankly, somebody was definitely having his dreams "enhanced" (if you know what I mean) to come up with some of these stories.

We visited Nourlangie Rock to see their artwork. Very neat. I enjoy hearing about their culture and Dreaming Stories. They are long and convoluted and usually involve a moral that reminds you to be afraid of something like, oh, say, crocodiles.

We had a buffet lunch at Cooinda Lodge and shared our picnic table with 2 sisters and a nurse. Sister 1 from Sydney was cranky as all get out. We told her that we were enjoying this great adventure. She told us she hated the bush and would never come back. And this was BEFORE the crocodile boat tour!

I considered this to be "The Final Supper" (or Lunch, in this case) if you know what I mean. Let's just say that the smile on Debbie's face was taking on a maniacal tone and that her mood was becoming overly chipper for my taste the closer we came to the moment of truth: The Yellow Water Billabong cruise on the (misnamed) South Alligator River.

Turns out that the Brit who named the 3 rivers in Kakadu spent time in Florida first and thought the crocs here were gators. Obviously a fellow who needs to go to remedial shoe identification school.

Even better, he then used his ample imagination powers to name the 3 rivers, in turn, the South Alligator, the East Alligator and the West Alligator. I did not make any of that up.

The cruise boat turns out to be a shallow draft pontoon that a fly could tip over. Debbie "graciously" suggested that I take the outside seat and feel free to drag my hands in the water as we made way.

I knew things were getting dicey for me when she started methodically scanning the river for crocs - with pinpoint accuracy it turns out - the moment we got on board.

When Margaret the guide told us that there was 1 life jacket on board for each of us and that they'd only be useful as bobbing beacons to help the crocodiles reach us faster, Debbie became positively giddy.

Well, dear friends and family, you can certainly guess that the next 90 minutes were "exciting". Every time she spotted a pair of eyes and a snout just sticking out of the water (and that was about 50 times I'd say) my lovely and loving wife of 28 years politely asked if I wanted to stand up and maybe lean over a bit for a photo.

Let me sum it up this way: When we tied up at the dock 90 minutes later, the only thing Debbie had to say was (and I quote): "I don't want to get off this boat". I think we all know what that means.

But wait, there's more! Following my escape from sure death in the vise like jaws of a "Salty", we were offered the option of staying on the tour bus for the 1 hr drive to our destination for the night in Jabiru or (and here's where my dear wife almost pushed me off the bus in her rush to volunteer me) we could take a 1 hr scenic flight in a small plane from Cooinda in order (allegedly) to see the wonders of Kakadu and the Arnhem Land Escarpment from the air.

Mark, the pilot, was 14 yrs old. The plane was almost as big as my Camry but, and I was assured of this, with fixed wings. Silly me, I always assumed that it was a good idea that the wings always be fixed.

I sat in the copilots seat (it's always nice to be able to spot the potential crash sites in advance) after I promised that I wouldn't never ever under any circumstances touch the steering wheel thingy or either the gas or brake pedals on the floor. He made me Magen David my heart and hope to die on that. Like I didn't know.

After a 16 second "safety briefing" and an inordinate amount of time showing me where barf bags were located, Mark took off.

Well, let's just say that I took some amazing photos from up there. Sure, the landscape was astounding but that's not why the photos ere amazing.

Personally, I think it takes a special photographic ability to take quality shots while motion sick. While I didn't actually require the baggy, I did think it was nice of Mark to (ever more insistently it seemed to me) try to foist it on me.

Well, as you can imagine, my adoring wife was really "pleased" to see me safe and sound back on Terra Firma. She immediately told mc that she's arranged for us to go on another crocodile river boat cruise tomorrow. Then she cackled.

We are staying overnight in Jabiru in the heart of darkness at the Gagadju Crocodile Holiday Inn. I get points for staying here.

I snapped a photo of the pool. I have a new goal. I want to go swimming every day. Debbie says she knows a good river for tomorrow.

The hotel is shaped like a - well, you guessed it. In between moments of nausea, I took an aerial view of it as we landed. Amazing - she's even trying to get the hotel to kill me!

More tomorrow.... Maybe!