It’s interesting how a singular activity can become an obsession. Sometimes with good outcomes. Sometimes not. My particular obsession provided all things positive. It was born in 1988 and was a personal challenge to reduce the time it took me to reach the top waterfall of Edith Falls, south of Darwin.
After four years of unrelenting work pressure, my partner and I departed Darwin in June, 1988. We stored the furniture hoping it would not go mouldy, and set out in a sassy-red 1979 Toyota Hilux four-wheel drive. Off on a working holiday around Oz for an indeterminate time, or as long as our savings lasted. Relinquishing the harness that had been my job, I dived into a world of freedom, exploration, and renewal.
First stop out of Darwin-Edith Falls, in the Jawoyn language- Leliyn, and located in the heart of the Nitmiluk National Park, some 20 kms off the Stuart Highway. These falls were only three hours south from Darwin (about 290 kms) and about 60 kms north of Katherine. You didn’t get very far on day one was the inevitable critique from friends back in Darwin. But this didn’t matter. We were on chill time.
We arrived at the camp site around midday, set up the tent, which was to be our bedroom for the next couple of years. We took advantage of some shady eucalypts when positioning our cooking space. June is early dry season in the Territory. Searing hot cloudless days when everything seems painfully sharp on the eyes. Nights in contrast are quite chilly, requiring a camp-fire and rugs.
Close to the camping area people swam and snorkelled in a crystalline pool bounded by tall eucalypts, pandanus palms, rocky outcrops, and of course a small waterfall fed by the Edith River. This pool boasted a resident fresh-water croc, about two metres long, affectionately named Bazza. This species of Johnston River reptiles is vegetarian but he could still inflict a nasty bite. I respected this little fellow and gave him a wide berth. Snorkelling was a joy because of the abundance of aquatic life: fresh water prawns, yabbies, delicate transparent fish fingerlings and long-neck turtles.
The track leading to the middle and upper pools was steep and challenging. The top pool captivated me because it was small, intimate, and less frequented by hikers than the other two pools. During the five weeks I was obsessed with climbing to the top pool. As a personal best project, I committed to shaving off a few minutes every day from the climb. This was not an enterprise for a slacker.
Near the camp site, it was possible to leap and romp along, my legs devouring the flat, grassy track as I made my way upward. My pace slowed with a passage of narrow, unstable, flat man-made steps that serpentined across the escarpment with the increasing gradient. Over time, I learnt the best way to negotiate this section was to become light as a puff of air, tip toeing, floating centimetres above the ground. Negotiating a path to the upper waterfall was a very different challenge.
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