Pearl buttons to be precise and the town was born in 1883 and rapidly developed into an area filled with Chinese, Japanese and Europeans along with local aborigines ‘blackbirded’ into forced labour aboard the pearl luggers like the perfect model you see in the picture. The industry of pearling was a dangerous one and thousands of lives were lost when the fleets were caught in storms and divers were lost in the watery depths. We descended on the excellent Museum established and run by the Historical Society as soon as we arrived in Broome, thinking our room at the Kimberley Travellers Lodge would probably not be ready for a few hours.
As always there were many stories told within the walls of the museum which themselves started life as a general store in the 1890’s owned by pearlers Newman and Goldstein and were The Customs House from 1910 until 1979. I thought you might like the story of the DC3 known as the Diamond Plane.
Marine archaeologists are using advanced sonar to find some of the seaplanes destroyed in the 1942 Japanese air raid that still rest in the waters nearby and it was ironic that the local Japanese who had for years been an essential part of the cheap labour force in the pearling industry, were imprisoned in Broome as soon as their countrymen started aiming their wartime attention into the area around Broome.
With the advent of plastic the bottom fell out of the pearl fishing market and all that remains in the business is the local cultural pearl industry for the making of jewellery sold commercially. But there is plenty going on in Broome which includes both ‘new Australians’ and the indigenous population and the future looks good for both groups as tourism slowly returns after Covid 19 and the many WA folk from the south migrate here for the warm, dry climate away from the cold season back home.
The permanent population is sufficient to support a growing and diverse infrastructure in this tropical paradise. It seems that in this place, diametrically opposite across the landmass from Canberra, the improving relations between the two distinct population groups is far ahead of the counterpart relations in Canberra, where the bastion of political power is more resistant to change for the better of everyone, allowing of course for the unseen efforts that are being made back east.
We explored the peninsular near Broome and found a very quiet boatyard where an old magenta steel wreck was home to a pair of Ospreys raising their young. A little further around beneath kites and falcons darting above us we came to the Gantheaume Point Lighthouse named after the French Naval Admiral Joseph Gantheaume by Nicolas Baudin in his 1801/2 expedition, (during which he met our Matthew Flinders in Encounter Bay near where we moored at Kangaroo Island before crossing the Bight).
As you can see it is an airy lighthouse providing a perfect nesting spot for another osprey nest half way up and for peregrine falcons to nest on the top level. The rock formations were incredible with different types, colours and shapes all crushed together in a veritable geological workshop.
Having feasted for lunch on a delicious sweet orange, from Christine’s garden, a juicy WA apple, two soft ‘ginger kisses’ biscuits and water we decided we’d go to our lodgings, booked for three nights which became four, and see if they were ready for us.
Bojack and the Boab Tree
The Kimberley Travellers Lodge has been through many guises since it was built over 23 years ago as a ‘Party Resort’ and judging by the grin that erupted on my informant’s face when she told me that, its initiation was one of the hippy, risqué type. Two years ago the same couple, James and Jen who own Kimberley Wild Adventures also bought the little gem along with the boab tree of unknown age, a fine old lady who likes to dress up in Her diamond lights for the evenings; if only she could speak, what tales she would have to tell.
When we arrived fragrant, leafy frangipani trees greeted us either side of the entrance and I picked up a fallen white blossom just to remind myself of that glorious perfume, and a dog burst forth in pursuit of his blue ball. So we would get our daily doggy fix to boot.
Scruffy was on duty and Bojack is his Blue Heeler, one year old cattle dog. They were originally bred from the Australian wolf or dingo and an imported breed possibly of the collie, hound or terrier type. They are called Blue because the mixture of white and black hairs creates a blue hue similar to the Roan of the Spaniel world and Heelers because they round up cattle by nipping their heels. Bojack wasn’t in to nipping but if the youngsters became too noisy he would bark once to restore peace and order. A very affectionate fellow, I got a face wash more than once and remarkably settled for a one year old. His coat was silky soft, possibly from his early morning swims in the sea before Scruffy started work and the photos show him standing longingly at the gate leading to the pool. There is chlorine in there that would not be good for this little feller.
The original design of the place is kind of Balinese jungle style, two floors of rooms with linked balcony around a central courtyard open to the skies where Mama Boab lives, with an outside terrace by the pool. Our room was ground floor with a nice settee Rob is modelling in front of our room at the side of the eating area. The design is instrumental in creating a very cool and relaxed atmosphere. The icing on the cake was the company and it certainly plays to one’s advantage to be a female of classic years because the courtesy, opening of doors, willingness to chat and lovely manners made me feel years younger.
This is the outermost point of our planned trip bar the day adventure we had yesterday into the Kimberleys and tomorrow we start to head west around the coast, slowly making our way south to chilly climes. We would have loved to spend another two weeks exploring more of the Kimberleys, in particular the Durack area my mother introduced me to many years ago with a paperback book, ‘Kings in Grass Castles’, by Mary Durack who was the granddaughter of one of the original cattlemen, Patsy Durack from Ireland. An incredible story of struggle, determination, drought, flood, immense wealth, shortly followed by bankruptcy; a compassionate man who loved and respected the aborigines and at one stage owned cattle stations bigger than his home country. But no worries, we have the DVD of the story and I bought her sequel, about Patsy’s sons, one being her father, ‘Sons in the Saddle’ while I was in the Museum.
Luxuriating in a day off, a day of writing blogs and an afternoon swim, of wondering if we were late or early up because the communal area was deserted when we emerged at around 8.00.am., we were early! There was a complimentary breakfast laid on of all kinds of fillings for toast or pancakes, fruit juices etc which was nice and unexpected.
We learned in the day that Cocos Keeling is open to visitors from Western Australia so our progress on the circumnavigation looks more likely, just hold out hope we may get to Mauritius and be able to explore and mot just sit on Zoonie. We shall see.
The Road to Windjana Gorge
(We arrived back at Te Opu yesterday, 26th July, after three weeks on our road tour of North Western Australia and 6897 kilometres under our wheels. There is much to write about, as you can imagine but this morning our priority was to send off the two forms to La Reunion Island, kindly sent to us by Jeremy and Kathy, to prepare our paper trail across the Indian Ocean. We hope to sail around to Fremantle at the beginning of August and clear Zoonie out of there before the end of August, heading for Cocos Keeling. Both places are currently open to visitors from Western Australia provided they have been in WA for at least two weeks. I think we qualify, don’t you………..)
There was an air of excitement amongst our small crew as we set off with Sean and Sabine to the first of our two sites of interest for the day. Speeding southwards towards the Kimberley (s), I have heard it referred to in both the plural and singular, was something remarkable considering the closed borders and raging global pandemic, but for us it was in the satisfaction that we were about to enjoy what would have been the highlight of our Perth to Broome 10 day camping tour we started four months previously – Pre-Lockdown, when we had to turn back to Perth after two days.
Looking at the map we headed from Broome to Derby where we visited the Prison Boab Tree (those trees look so cuddly) and the longest water trough in WA that can quench the thirst of 500 cattle at one fill. Then it was on to the western part of the Gibb River Road, a real outback trail across the Kimberley that we could not do in our saloon car because of the numerous rocky river crossings, and on to Windjana Gorge and Tunnel Creek that I think you may just be able to make out on the map, before our pink road re-joins the main highway a few miles west of Fitzroy Crossing. From Tunnel Creek we returned to Broome along the same Gibb River route.
So, from the beginning, our first stop was for hot drinks and cake at the Willare Bridge Roadhouse, where Sean confirmed our numbers with the staff for when we returned for supper. Then on to the Prison Boab. Here aborigine ‘prisoners’, who had done nothing wrong to deserve being kidnapped by Blackbirders from their villages, to be consigned to a life of slavery in the dangerous pearling industry in Broome and other north coast towns, would spend their last night in country. A traumatising experience in the extreme considering the tree was a sacred place to them where they would normally pay their respects to their ancestors and instead they suffered the humiliation of being chained together by the neck and unlikely to ever see their families again. The warning of snakes within the tree should ensure its survival better than the polite request to stay away from it.
Boabs are incredible little store houses. Their native name is Larrkardiy. They have no tree rings and so telling their age is a matter of guesswork; some ‘experts’ reckon they can live to over 2000 years. They provide food and medicine to the knowing aborigines, plus their fibrous centres make excellent rope. But beware of ever staying in the solid shade of one if there is thunder and lightning around as being struck by a stray bold flips them out of the ground and is the main cause of their demise. They are resistant to drought and fire and just shed their burnt bark when the flames have passed through.
Just behind the tree was a Jillkarr or plains termite cathedral mound. These bountiful little bugs do the same job all over the savannah flood plains as earthworms do at home; aerating the soil and providing a mesh of underground waterways for when the monsoon rains come. The little hills are temperature controlled and waterproof and in them the termites store grass and make life perfect for the busy queen. All along the roads were signs that flash floods can submerge the roads and floodplains in 2 metres of water very quickly, so the mounds disappear underwater too for the wet season but not to any detriment. They are reckoned to grow in height by one metre every ten years so the one Rob is inspecting is around 20 years old.
Two pictures on from the water trough is a photo of the savanna with a tree near the centre. If you have been to a good optician lately you may be able to see two long necked black and white birds beside the tree. They are the beautiful long necked stork or Jabiru and we have Sean to thank for telling us their neck is an iridescent black/blue. In the pic about the Archer fish there is a much better illustration of what they look like, but I needed the first photo as evidence!
The Kimberley is a vast region, 421,000 square kilometres and 600 kms from North to South, bigger than Victoria and Tasmania combined and it would swallow the UK in one point seven tasty gulps. With enormous cattle stations on the top and a wealth of mineral ores and oil and gas deposits down under the clamouring for rights to export live animals and extract carbon fuels is not going to end any time soon. However, that having been said, it soon became obvious to me that the residents from all origins are much further down the long and bumpy path to reconciliation here in this part of the nation than in its diametrically opposite Capital Territory. The 2760 square kilometre Roebuck Plains Station was handed back to its indigenous owners in 1999 amidst a scandal of cover ups, over-valuing the land and silencing people who spoke out against the obvious fraud and since then 40% of the Kimberley is now back in ancestral hands. Knowledge of cattle farming methods in this part of the country against extremes of weather is something that is shared mutually between owners from different race and cultural backgrounds. The rich red soil and its abundance of flora including the boabs and yellow flowering Pindan Wattle trees on the blonde grass savanna is known as Pindan country.
Speeding on we passed numerous signs to indigenous communities that are closed because of CV. Aborigines make up 2.5 to 3% of the Australian population and are ten times as likely to get heart disease and 2.5 times as likely to get diabetes, so like many Aussies, they were self-isolating at the expense of their small businesses that would otherwise have welcomed a visit from the likes of us. Sean told us of the many ‘good people’ who are helping the indigenous population with courses and programmes that give a future to the younger generation, those that haven’t made it into the modern mob that is, and many have from the interviews we hear on the radio. There are many reasons for optimism.
Shall we smile at a Crocodile? Well yes, but more about that later.
Yesterday was ‘Black Monday’ in Kojonup at Dr Emily’s Medical Practice because her internet was down and she struggled with it while trying to hold consultations. After one and a half hours Rob and I left the surgery, Rob clutching his essential prescriptions and I with the knowledge that my hernia may be hereditary and is certainly operable, plus the promise that she would print off a copy of the report from Dr Tom Bowles in Albany for me to show a doctor at home when we finally get back, hoping it doesn’t grow too much in the meantime.
We then shopped and returned to Te Opu to get on with our pleasurable tasks of sorting the gear and writing blogs. The wind grew in strength as predicted and the rain, glorious rain started falling in earnest around mid-afternoon. Malcolm and Christine phoned for a chat as they headed for Karijini National Park, Christine’s first time in that pretty place; remember the Circular Pool, Fortescue Falls and the exquisite Fern Pool? A few minutes after their call I started cooking supper on Christine’s lovely black range when the funniest thing happened, the gas ran out, and we were back to our single burner camping stove. That’s given Rob a task for the day……!
Wedge-tailed Eagles and Whistling Kites circled above us as we crossed the blond savanna dotted with boab, eucalyptus bloodwoods and pindan wattle trees adorned with their yellow blossom when in the distance we saw the flatland rose to the grey limestone cliffs of the Napier Range, our destination. Often tours are led by the local Bunuba guides and are much enjoyed by visitors. The universal warmth, intelligence, pride and humour of the aborigines are invaluable traits when it comes to the interface with inquiring tourism and combined with their imaginative and beautiful arts and crafts give them a unique industry that is much in demand in non covid times.
We followed Sean into the gorge and occasionally he would stop and explain the fossils in the rock for example and where to spot the ‘Freshies’. But the landscape talked to us itself. The steep overhangs of water worn rock and the residue of foliage stuck over branches way above our heads told of how deep and fast runs the Lennard River through here during the wet season, and how impossible it would be for us to visit then.
The permanent waterholes in the river bed came into sight, bathed in warm sunshine and we saw our first Freshie, the sunlight illuminating his legs as they dangled in the pale green water beneath him. “Stay 5 metres away and smile and you’ll be fine.” Sean had said, so double that for me as we eyed another lying in the shallows. They have fine long snouts and their scaly streamlined bodies are quite beautiful. They were motionless, and I was glad they remained so. They are well mannered and unthreatening compared to their lumbering and deadly saltwater cousins, mutual respect is all that was needed. So yes, we definitely smiled at the crocodiles.
Sean left us to return to the truck and set up lunch. We wandered further along the riverside, freshies all the way, past the mid river wedge shaped rock sacred to the Bunuba people and gradually made our way back hoping as always to retain some of the images of this peaceful place in our mind’s eye forever.
Jandamarra – Ned Kelly of the Aborigines
Visiting this short stretch of the Napier Range one must mention the legendary freedom fighter and advocate for the rights of the Bunuba people, Jandamarra, who from 1885 to 1897 wrestled within his relationship between his Bunuba origins and the arrival of the land grabbing settlers and their police protectors.
He was an intelligent and gifted man who became an outcast from his people because he ignored their ancient skin colour marital laws designed to prevent in-breeding and took whichever woman he fancied at the time. He learned English and worked on sheep stations and as a police tracker for a while, capturing Bunuba cattle stealers and imprisoning them at Lillimilura Police Outstation, the ruins of which you can see in the photo I took as we drove past.
He became fascinated by the secret life of the Bunuba male world of ritual, mythology, and the laws and spirituality of Bunuba country – he acquired a cause to protect. The Bunuba elders successfully gained his support in their fight against the malngarri, the European Settlers.
On the night of October 1st 1894 at the police outstation he shot his friend and work companion, police constable Bill Richardson as he lay suffering from malaria, released the Bunuba Prisoners and turned his back on the new world of immigrant farmers to fight the Bunuba cause.
The powers that be were now very worried because the aborigines were armed with guns and so Jandamarra’s fate and that of his warrior friends would be sealed in their blood that soaked into the hot ground. For three years he waged successful guerrilla warfare, ambushing cattlemen and police camps to get arms and supplies. Police troopers said he took on a ghostlike quality, seen only in his tracks. He knew Windjana Gorge and Tunnel Creek like the back of his hand and it was as if the water eroded rock had formed caves and crevices solely for him and his warriors to hide in.
Present day elders remember him as a great warrior and as a courageous and clever leader who defended his people and country against growing and overwhelming odds. They also remember him as a Jalgangurru, a man with spiritual powers that flowed through him from the timeless law of their country. His ability to disappear, transform himself into a bird and protect himself from deadly weapons was legendary until along came a fellow tracker and Jalgangurru, Micki who was recruited from the Pilbara area to track him down because he had no fear of him.
Settlers could no longer recruit aboriginal guides and cattlemen because they were afraid of Jandamarra, so the settling of the area was on hold until he could be stopped.
In 1896 Micki wounded Jandamarra who managed to escape through the long grass to his hide out in Tunnel Creek where his wife and mother nursed his wounds.
The following year Micki spotted his adversary on a rock at the entrance to Tunnel Creek. They exchanged fire and Jandamarra fell 30 metres to his death. Thus started the long road to reconciliation.
While in Broome Museum I spotted a DVD of the film about Jandamarra on sale and bought it to add to my collection of indigenous history and so that I have something to show people who might be interested in the story of this native warrior and freedom fighter.
Cooling Down in Tunnel Creek
None of us knew how deep the water would be, Sean hadn’t been out this way since Lockdown, so when he said the water might be up to our waists, I thought, well, that could be up to my chest, being of short stature, so should I take my snorkel? I’m joking and after a fun scramble over the rocks to the entrance and past a welcoming committee of one solitary freshie we were off.
Our neighbour back in Port Smith campsite had said that when she did the same subterranean walk she hadn’t been warned about the eels, so I was kind of ready, although I was not sure how I would react if one started squirming around my legs!
But it didn’t happen and the walk was gradual and very pleasant. We took our time and Sean would stop and tell us about rock formations and how the water here is permanent, even in the dry season. The break in the roof half way through shows how easy it was for Jandamarra and his fellows to evade capture.
Through the 750 metre tunnel beneath the Napier Range to the other end you can just make out a pool where visitors can usually have a swim, but on our occasion there was meningococcal algae present in the water, so we stayed on the banks and studied the Aboriginal wall paintings instead.
A most unlikely place to make new friends but our return wade through the tunnel was in shared company with two lovely young professional ladies from Perth who had just moved in to their newly finished home, built to their own design, and shared with their dog and cats.
Sean brought the truck to a decided stop soon after we set off to let a pretty little Agile Wallaby get up from where it had been sitting in the middle of the road and move to safety. We saw more on our way back to the roadhouse but they all got away safely. I hate seeing roo roadkill and wish there were local numbers we could call should a roo escape injured and alive.
We had a tasty banquet back at the roadhouse in the company of our new friends and Sabine decided she was going to buy the picture of the green coloured honey eaters as soon as the staff could find out what the artist wanted for it. I like her choice – don’t you?