Bill Harney moon dreaming.

A gaggle of female figures spilt out of the well-worn white Toyota “troopie” as it come to a halt under the shade of a bloodwood tree in northern Australia. “Ugh, it’s like travelling in an abattoir” was one comment as all sucked in the warm morning air with its distinctive tropical savannah woodland flavours. The night before the same vehicle contained the carcasses of three steers, colloquially termed “killers,” that had been culled from the roaming herds of cattle to feed a large gathering of Aboriginal custodians and land management experts from across the top end of Australia.

A small, sprightly figure jumped out of the driver’s side of the troopie, the deeply etched lines on his weathered face crinkling under a wide grin as he asked the ladies if they had enjoyed the ride. The trademark broad brimmed stockman’s hat shaded two sparkling mischievous eyes as Yidumduma Bill Harney began the day’s work of showing his country.

We were on Innisvale Station, 250 km (150 mi.) west of Katherine in Australia’s Northern Territory. This most sparsely populated of all the Australian states has more cattle than people and half its 180,000 inhabitants are Aborigines who hold direct ownership of nearly 50% of the land.

Innisvale Station is owned and run by the Wardaman, and their traditional lands extend well beyond its boundaries entailing some of the most spectacular and remote gorge, river and sandstone country of the vast Victoria River District. This is the land of the Lightning Brothers and a host of creation spirit figures, including the Rainbow Serpent whose deeds and lore are visually presented in a host of spectacular rock paintings and etchings throughout the landscape.

Bill Harney Wardaman elder, storyteller, artist, master didgeridoo maker and player, and chairman of the Wardaman Association is the chief custodian of this land, its culture and spirits. Bill spent his early years in the harsh, demanding life of the cattle stock camps, at the same time learning the intricate cultural traditions from his Aboriginal mother.

A man of two worlds

He easily straddled the two cultures, black and white that both competed and cooperated in developing one of Australia’s last frontiers. Blessed with the special gift of the Irish blarney from his white father the legendary Bill Harney senior, first ranger at Ayres Rock (Uluru), Bill has never been short for a word. On later tourism and promotional trips he easily took on the role of unofficial cultural ambassador, showcasing his Aboriginal heritage to the great cites of the world.

Paul Taylor, a U.S.-based roaming Australian storyteller and didgeridoo player who has presented the wonders of “Down Under” to American audiences for over a decade, has been the instigator of this trip into Bill’s ancestral country. This time it is not the usual battery charge and bush rejuvenation with the old master that Paul was seeking, but rather the start of an ambitious project to record on film Bill’s stories and the land and art that binds all three.

Add to this mix Mike Keighly, tour operator extraordinaire, founder of the Mavericks, an exclusive and very small collection of extraordinary operators and characters dedicated to showing the less travelled and sanitised aspects of Australia. In Mike’s keeping is a group of well travelled ladies, mostly Aussie specialists from the U.S., enticed by the prospect of experiencing something very different from the usual offerings. They have bonded together as the “Divas.” mixing tourism business with pleasure.

As they escape the cloying confines of the stench ridden troopie and follow Bill, Paul and Lenny the cameraman to the next cultural location, they are only just starting to come to terms with the unstructured happenings of the previous few days. Our opening day started with a cruise along the Victoria River gorge looking for some rarely visited art site high up on the red rocked battlements of the escarpment. Bill had especially wanted to start the film story with what was a significant site depicting a large rainbow serpent.

After scrambling up the rocky scree slopes to the burnished cliff rim, garlanded with the slender trunks and feathery canopy of the Livistonia palms, we were greeted by blank rock walls – no art. Bill, sensing the boat drop-off had misplaced us, bounded around the cliff base with the agility of the local rock wallabies. The film team and Divas were left scattered along the way as a frenzied search for the art site took hold. All to no avail and the clatter of a passing sightseeing helicopter was a reminder that there are hard and easy ways to travel this country.

The late evening sun cast magnificent reflections of the surrounding cliffs and tall paperbark trees lining the banks in the still waters as our boat collected the scattered rock art hunters from various locations along the shore. Bill was unperturbed that we were dropped off at the wrong spot, making our afternoon effort a fruitless excursion from a film and story perspective but a spectacular introduction to the scenic grandeur of the land as well as a reminder its mysteries are not unravelled easily. Much food for thought as the boat cruised back in the fading light, and we set off for the campsite into the sudden death twilight of the tropical north.

Amenities appear miraculously

Bill expertly guided our vehicle convoy to an old abandoned cattle yard by the edge of small stream fed by a permanent spring. Only the light of the headlamps and a million stars served to guide us into a good flat spot. The Divas wondered about the true nature of this tour as magic materialised – campfire, a cooling glass of white wine, pre dinner nibbles, camp chairs, red cooked soy chicken, stir-fried vegetables, steamed rice and tents all materialised in no time at all. A cluster of candles lit up the banks of the trickling stream as a place to refresh, flares blazed by the dining table and the hum off Paul’s didgeridoo set the mood for a memorable dinner that was to set the tone for the following nights.

This was the first camping experience for most of the guests, and an interesting introduction into living in the Australian bush, maverick style. The campfire discussion highlighted some strong concerns about the nature of the afternoon’s events. The unstructured way things happened, failure to find the art site, exposure to the dangers of the bush – of course there are snakes, wild steers, buffalos and the odd crocodile, to mention just a few – it all seemed more than disconcerting and a worry – was this the tour from hell, or what?

The next few days quickly dispelled any such thoughts as the filming rolled on and the Divas were inculcated into the art of letting loose and enjoying the moment rather than worrying about what was next on the agenda. We shared with Bill some superb art sites and sat enthralled as he reeled off non-stop a machine-gun blast of intricate story and connections that told of the very formation of the landscape we were privileged to visit. The lightning-rayed head dress of the central figure in the moon dreaming site was typical of the powerful art style of the Wardaman ancestors who had imbued the images of their creation, lore and law into the many sandstone outcrops.

In between sharing the stories, and whilst Paul and Lenny captured the details of each site, we, the accompanying crowd, indulged ourselves in swimming and bathing in a number of varied waterholes. We especially savoured the deep long pool flanked by smooth rock walls and shelves of Winbrow Gorge rock hole and the shaded waters of the Moon Dreaming waterhole, sipping a wine under the silvery canopy of the paperbarks. 

Each day brought new surprises and a special treat was to watch the young Wardaman boys, trained and body painted by Bill, perform an excellent series of dances to an assembled crowd from a land care meeting that was taking place nearby. This was a no easy task to present your culture to a group of Aboriginal people from all over the north – the boys did it well, dancing with authority and attitude.

Our last night in camp, once again punctuated by a gourmet bush meal materialising from seemingly nowhere, turned into a major jam session. Paul recited and acted out a classic poem and played haunting didgeridoo. Mike, who had proved no slouch on guitar and mouth organ, reeled off classic songs and Bill Harney all fired up improvised verse on verse to different tunes as we all carried on late into the night.

It had been an eye opening special experience sharing time with Bill. The Divas were sold on the merits of unstructured tourism maverick style – not predictable and not what one expects, but immensely satisfying, informative and relaxing once you let go and became absorbed in Aboriginal time – nothing is as it seems. The next trip is already being planned.