Two Weeks of Australia, #3
My Boab Obsession Begins … but First My Life at the WaterMan!!
I checked out of my posh room at the Pinctada Cable Beach (pinctadacablebeach.com.au) and drove to the Broome airport to return my rental car. I arrived amid a waterfall storm (way more water than a simple deluge of rain). I sat in the car at 5 am waiting for it to abate. The rental car return was actually closed, and the only dry spot was just under a bus stop sized canopy. I was meeting Marc Banfield from Kimberly Dreamtime Adventure Tours (kimberlydreamtimeadventures.com.au) to drive down the famed Gibb River Road and straight into the desolate heart of the Kimberly. He and his father, Rob, were first taking me to meet the elders of the Jarlmadangah Aboriginal Community to see local rock art sites and hear the dreamtime stories of the first occupants of this land. Here, as in much of Australia, the Aboriginal communities are beginning to open up their lands and share their knowledge of bush tucker, their stories and myths and their sacred places with outside visitors. For the next two days we would camp in “mozzie domes,” tents made of mesh, and sleep in a swag, which is a crossbred bed that combines a sleeping pad and bag.
But first, I have to negotiate the rain. And get my cameras, gear, and bags from the car to the 1 X 1 foot dry space to wait for Marc to pick me up. Of course, there’s no one else about at this time of the morning, and it quickly becomes clear that the rain is not abating, in fact it’s increasing it’s fierce defiance of the Dry versus Wet season here in Western Oz. I grumble to myself that this is one of those glam moments in the life of a travel writer and photographer and that it could be worse, I could be in an office. Only slightly buoyed by my middling pep talk, I open the door and within 5 seconds I’m not just soaked, I’m actually a moving human tower of a hundred waterfalls: from my nose, each fingertip, my earlobes, eyelashes, chin, down the center of my back to the place that a rivulet of water feels downright eeek.
I feel like one of those misguided superheroes that decided WaterMan was a good idea. Splashing about in drenched and heavy shoes, soaking bad guys with the stream of water that just passed through the narrow canyon of my butt cheeks. That would be my superhero move. Yes. But, the romance of being WaterMan dissipated and I hurriedly moved my bags to the 1 X 1 dry spot and placed my rental car key in the after hours slot and tried to stay less wet.
About then, the only other human being awake at this time of the morning drives up in the essential outback ride, a 4WD with the exhaust above the roof. Marc rolls the window down, introduces himself and says that line, “G’day. You must be Ty. You know, I haven’t seen it rain in the Dry ever. I heard it last rained in the Dry 33-years ago.” Obviously Marc is not old enough to remember rain in the Dry.
“Well, hopefully, it’ll pour itself out.”
He laughs uncomfortably.
Stuffed into his 4WD, the water evaporating off of me forms a cloud in the car. We get gas, a flat white coffee and egg and bacon sandwiches at a petrol station while I change. Then, we’re off. About a mile down the road, I fall in love.
It’s still raining, but all along the side of the road are these trees with big, bloated trunks and stubbly branches, set amid the 12 foot tall termite mounds that abound in Western Oz. They’re boabs. Magnificent trees. And I now have to have light, so that I can make a memorable image of these incredible trees. Yes, it’s just a tree, but despite the rain, I’m already excited about this part of my journey.
It has been said that, “adventure happens when things go wrong.” And these big trees are the standing sentinal to the next to days of our adventure.
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