We have truly arrived in the tropical north. The weather’s
been humid since arriving in Port Hedland and Broome, but the Top End increases
that factor by 10 – or at least so it feels. It’s common to write the weather
up here: ‘actual temperature: 30 degrees; feels like: 40 degrees’. And so it
does.
We stop for the night at a commercial caravan park at Mary
River. The grounds are lush and green and the cabins and décor remind us of
Bali. So does the dripping air – and the mosquitoes. As soon as sundown hits,
so do the mozzies, to a factor 10x what we’ve had so far. Or so it feels.
We make our way via torch to the pool. The temperature and
humidity don’t feel much different inside the pool than out, but at least the mozzies
can’t swim – though our heads are covered in them any time we surface. We race
back to the van and douse ourselves with Deet. The small spray can we bought at
the beginning of the trip, meant to last for two weeks, is finished already.
But we have a store of mosquito coils, which we burn throughout the night. The
mozzie hazard is too high to leave the hatch open so we turn the fan on
ourselves and hope for the best. It feels very claustrophobic after two weeks
of sleeping in the fresh open air.
In the morning we make our way to Litchfield National Park,
favoured playground of Darwin locals and our last bush adventure before heading
in to Darwin. Like much of the Kimberley and Kakadu, the roadside view is
nothing spectacular, but the pull-outs take you to some marvelous sites. We
drive in to Wongi Falls, reminiscent of Edith Falls with a rock canyon circling
a clear pool. The falls is three times as high as Edith however and creates
quite a current in the pool. Because of this and the risk of crocodiles, signs
are very clear: no swimming. But standing on the viewing platform, the distant
spray from the falls and the strong breeze they create feels cooling and
refreshing.
We hike up through the tropical rainforest, a tangle of
trees, vines and greenery that condenses the moisture in the air even further.
I spot a strange looking sight, not far off the track and we investigate. What
at first looks like a giant slug, turns out to be a giant snake, possibly a
python or a boa constrictor, coiled around itself with some strange black plastic-looking thing protruding
from its centre. Johan wants to agitate it to satisfy our curiosity but I’m
still feeling jittery and tell him to leave it alone.
The trail is closed across the top of the falls so we turn
around and descend the way we came up. I stop and peer over at the snake as we
pass. He’s partially uncoiled and his head is slithering around the
circumference his giant body makes. I step closer, trying to make out what the
strange black thing is still sitting in its centre but larger than it appeared
earlier. Is it a trap? Some horrible wound extruding from its body?
The snake senses me and turns its head, its slippery little
tongue jutting out at me. We sit frozen in a mutual stare until the heebies get
the better of me and I step back on to the trail. That seems to satisfy the
snake as it goes back about its business. I watch, curious, fascinated. The
snake pokes its head around the black thing protruding out of its centre.
Slowly it wraps its body around it, molding and compressing it into some sort
of tube. He’s not in any hurry. Four seconds of action is interrupted by two
minutes of absolute stillness. Whether he’s sensing the possible danger of my
presence or he’s just taking his time, it’s not clear. But it requires patience
and persistence on my part, fed by my curiosity.
Then I get it: he’s killed a fruit bat, the size of a large
seagull and preparing to eat it. I watch transfixed as he opens his mouth,
unhinges his jaw and begins to ingest this gigantic morsel of food. It’s
grotesque and utterly fascinating. Slowly, slowly the bat disappears inside the
snake, its form clearly visible inside the snake’s relatively smaller body. The
whole process takes ten maybe fifteen minutes, interrupted by repeated periods
of absolute stillness. As the last wing-tip goes in, the snakes head morphs
back into its normal size and he starts looking around, tongue slithering. I’m
quite sure he’s too full to come racing after me for a delicious desert, but I
can see he’s got his eye on me again. I stand partially hidden by a small tree
trunk, only three metres away from where he’s just consumed his dinner. Time to
leave him be.
The public area around the falls is empty. Johan’s either
gone hiking up the other trail or back to our camp. The sun is low and the
solitude is inviting. I sit on the bench watching the hypnotic tumble of the
falls, hoping for and fearing another wildlife experience. Maybe a croc sighting?
As long as it’s not one jumping out of the water at me.
A large raptor, maybe a kite or a kestrel, flies low
overhead and alights on a branch not far from me. We watch each other for a
while.
Back at camp, nursing a twilight beer, the fruit bats, hundreds of them, start
their nightly silent soar across a sapphire blue night sky.
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