Chapter 3: White Cliffs to Tibooburra

While driving to Paroo-Darling National Park, I realized that I’d spoken to a python in Louth. I didn’t think I was hallucinating. Nor that I was having a break-down. Patrick must be important to the Great Serpent. There was no other explanation. The Visitor Centre was easy to locate. The sign said it was open from 8:30 to 4:30, but that it might be “unattended.” It wasn’t. There was a youngish woman talking to a bearded man wearing a Park Service uniform.

He started as he looked at me. “Professor Hollister! How are you? Are you surveying our insects?” I had no idea who he was. “You don’t recognize me? It must be the beard. I’m Gerry Dunne. I was in a graduate class you taught in ‘07-’08. I took a Master’s in Zoology.”

“I didn’t recognize you. But I’m glad to see you. I’m not working, but I’m travelling about and thought I’d look at the park.” We shook hands.

“And this is Sally McAdoo. She tends the exhibits, explains things and tries to prevent the tourists from trapping wildlife or setting fires.”

I shook hands with her. “I trust you’re successful. I saw the old ‘alert’ signs.”

“We’re fairly safe right now, but it gets very dry in high summer.”

“I didn’t see many tourists as I came over from Bourke along the Darling to Wilcannia and up to White Cliffs.”

“It gives me an opportunity to see which pamphlets and maps are running short and to straighten out the exhibits.”

“Are there any bands in the Park right now?”

“Why, yes. I think there are two groups. There’s one of Paakantyi and one of Ngiyeempaa people,” Gerry said. “There are about three or four dozen near Lake Peery.”

“I doubt whether there are any Paakantyi,” I remarked. “There were under a dozen last census.”

As a permanent and secure source of water, the Lake Peery springs were vitally important to the Ngiyeempaa and Paakantyi Aboriginal people living in the area and are considered culturally significant. Peery Lake features in stories such as Kuluwirru Dreaming, which chronicles the creation of the Peery landscape and Darling River and describes the reasons for the lake being emptied at various times. [Kuluwirru was an ancestor god who lived in a sandstone cave and was angered by the weakness of the people, setting out to teach them a lesson.]

The water for Peery Lake comes primarily from the Paroo River whose source is more than 600 km to the north in Queensland. Along the way, the Paroo River fills a floodplain of more than 780,000 ha which, with the Warrego River floodplain of a similar size, remain the most extensive floodplains of any catchment in the Murray-Darling Basin. Once this vast complex of wetlands is filled, water usually then fills the Paroo River overflow lakes of which Peery Lake is the largest.

“Kingsford spoke about the lakes at the Museum,” I remarked.

“Professor Hollister’s the Director of the Australian Museum,” Gerry said to Sally.

“I’m on leave, no ‘Professor’ necessary. But the Paroo’s our last free-flowing river in the Murray-Darling basin. Kingsford’s afraid that our insatiable desire to divert water for irrigated agriculture –- this time in Queensland –- hangs like the Sword of Damocles over the entire Paroo River, including Peery Lake.”

“I know,” said Sally. “We’ve a pamphlet with Kingsford’s speech. He says: ‘Recognition of the Paroo River’s status as the last free-flowing river in the Murray-Darling Basin and its incredible biological diversity holds some hope that we will not follow history’s well-trodden path of declaring another river ripe for water-resource development without acknowledging the inevitable ecological consequences.’”

“Full marks, Sally,” I laughed. “Anyway, might I drive up to the lake and speak to the chief of the band?”

“Easily,” said Gerry. “I’ll show you the track to follow.”

I bid Sally adieu and followed Gerry.

“The next fork is Wilcannia-Wanaaring Road. Bear left and it will take you up the west side of the lake. There’s a track down to the shore.”

“Thanks. It was nice to actually meet a successful student. I may be back tomorrow.”

I followed the instructions and came to the track to the lake, where I turned right. I could see a few utes and several humpies. So I stopped and got out. I started towards the settlement, but the omnipresent dogs began to bark and several men came towards me.

“I come in peace with empty hands,” I said when they were near.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Gordy Hollister. I was born in Queensland.”

An older man caught up to the first ones. “You are Holli-man?”

“My father was Holli-man. He is no more.”

The elder thought. “You father of Carpet Python?”

“Yes.”

“Will you share with us?”

“It will be my pleasure.”

“I am Thomas.”

I walked back to their encampment with them.

“We are not allowed this fire.”

“I’m certain the Park Service would understand.”

“Gerry-man is a good man.”

“He was a student of mine years ago.”

“You must have been a good teacher. He cares for the land.”

“I tried.”

“None can do more.”

[In 2007, Dr. Beryl Carmichael an Aboriginal elder, traveled to the NSW Parliament with recommendations on restoring Murray-Darling water flows, from an indigenous perspective.

Her trip followed a meeting in the Darling River town of Menindee where black and white voices called for action at the Ngiyeempa Nation corroboree in western New South Wales. The gathering of more than 30 people was prompted by concerns indigenous knowledge has been ignored in the search for answers on river health.]

By the fire I was offered a bark dish of yabbies and honey ants. I ate of each.

“Thank you. Is there anything I can bring in the morning?”

Thomas spoke to a man behind him.