Day 27 - Butterfly Falls

Friday, 25 June 2021

Rain drops thrumming on the canvas roof. A muted dawn, the sky covered in clouds. Two sick people.

We lie in bed late. Quarter to nine. Which means we’ve been in bed for 12 hours.

It started with Johan a few days ago, though it was a day before he admitted he was coming down with something. Then I understood all the sneezing. For three days he soldiered on, declining my offers to drive so he could rest.

This morning a scratchy throat turns sore, and I grizzle and complain, sure that it would pass me by, as it has before. I haven’t been sick for two and a half years.

We pull ourselves out of bed, brew a strong coffee and decide to stay an extra day at Butterfly Falls. It’s beautiful here, warm despite the clouds, a quiet campground mostly. And we can swim. The only place in the national park, the sign says. Up north is crocodile country.

After breakfast we climb the hills that surround Butterfly Falls. Johan’s aim is to find the source of the water that feeds the falls. Halfway up, my throat and a fear of snakes get the better of me, and I sit on a rock overlooking the valley while Johan climbs further. Screeching yellow-crested white cockatoos circle in patterns across the valley. A single eagle crosses their path but they pay no attention. The world here is full of bird noise.

The waterhole beneath Butterfly Falls is void of people. Too early or too cool to swim. Yet what a delightful sanctuary! Drips and chirps and screeches and wind and smells as fresh as a tropical paradise. Green water, flowering water lilies, paperbarks that open their trunks like ancient books. I sit in the splendour and take it in.

Later, we’re back in bed, giving into the tiredness and runny noses. I read Merton’s diaries. Johan snoozes. It’s rare that we accomplish so little in a day. It feels indulgent and we have to remind ourselves that we’re sick and that’s why.

Still, we go on an afternoon walk. Enjoy another swim in the still-vacant sanctuary of the waterhole. Then, like so many of the other campers here, we light a fire in the iron ring, enjoy our wine and cheese, eat dinner by its light. The evening is as still as the day. The world’s gone quiet with this big blanket overhead. Even the giant fruit bats that flitted around in the moonlit sky last night have disappeared. Just darkness and a cloistered ring of firelight.