Chapter 2: On the Murray

Sam lazed about for a day. People greeted him, he greeted them. They knew he wasn’t a tourist – he had no camera. They were aware that men like Paul acknowledged him. He was offered food and thanked them for it. On the second morning, Paul approached him:

“Have you rested from your trip, Sam Bunjil?”

“Yes, thank you, Paul.”

“Would you view the canoe-bark trees?”

“Very much.”

“There is a tour and a talk today. The Aussies won’t understand what you are doing. But you may ask questions.”

A visit to Ngaut Ngaut Conservation Park, not far from Nildottie will reveal a unique insight into the traditional landowners, the Nganguraku people. This culturally and historically significant conservation park can only be accessed through a guided tour with an experienced guide from the Mannum Aboriginal Community Association Inc.[from Discover Murray River 2018]

Sam nodded. At about ten a camper-van pulled up and a half-dozen Europeans got out. The driver was an aborigine a few years Sam’s senior.

“I see you Sam Bunjil.”

“And I see you. What are you called?”

“I am Eddy.” Sam nodded.

“OK, folks. This is Sam, he’ll be joining us on the trip. We’re going to drive about three clicks north and then walk a bit to the river bank. For a great many centuries the red gums along the Murray were harvested for their bark. Just as the birchbark canoe was the principal form of transportation of the Eastern Woodlands people of Canada, the red gum canoe served the eastern peoples of Australia. The red gum is a kind of eucalyptus.”

Eddy went on to explain how the tree was scored and the canoes built.

“Does this hurt the trees?” a woman asked.

“If you mean, does barking kill the tree?, the answer is no. We’ll see several that are just fine, though we know they were – uh – harvested over a century ago.”

The explorer Edward J. Eyre, Protector of the Aborigines 1841-44 at Moorundie, near Blanchetown, described one canoe as formed from a single piece of bark 4.5m long 0.9m wide and about 20cm deep. The bow was pointed, slightly more than the stern and the craft had a flat bottom. Construction was seemingly simple, but required patience and much skill. Bark was removed from river red gums only during summer, when the sap ran freely. First the required size and shape of the canoe was cut, with a digging stick, through the bark to the hardwood core. The bark was then slowly prised from the tree by the use of numerous smaller sticks.

The whole slab was held in position by forked branches or hand-woven rope. When finally separated from the tree the slab was lowered to the ground. Flat on the ground, small fires were lit on the moist inside of the bark, which evaporated the sap and made the bark curl upwards. The ends were then pulled together and stitched with hemp and plugged with mud. Stretchers were inserted to hold the open shape. After tying it was allowed to mature when it was constantly rubbed with grease and ochre. Such a craft had a life of about two years. [from Discover Murray River]

“The best examples are in Adelaide,” Eddy said.

“Yes,” Sam added, “Along with many other artifacts.”

“Do you live there?” another tourist woman enquired.

“No. My home is in Sydney. My uncle works at the South Australia Museum. But in Polynesian anthropology.”

They were chivvied onto the bus and Eddy drove them for about five minutes. “Just a short walk,” he said. “But step carefully. There are frogs and snakes. Toads and lizards, too.”

“There,” said Sam, pointing. “There’s a python stalking a frog.” The tourist grasped his arm.

“That’s a big snake!”

“No. Not really. It’s a carpet python. Less than two meters. There’s he’s got a rocky river frog! We must be right by the shore.”

“How did you see them?”

“It took me time to learn to see. And my dad helped me learn.” Eddy looked at Sam, but made no comment.

The Murray was not in flood. But it was raining both in the north and in the east, and it would all be coming downstream. Eddy gave a good talk about the hundreds of kinds of eucalyptus and the uses of several kinds. He showed where several of the trees were scarred over.

They all walked back to the bus. Sam saw a small tiger snake, but didn’t mention it. Though highly venomous, it wasn’t interested in people.

Back at the “village,” where the tourists used the services and were given snacks (including some bush fruits), Eddy spoke with him.

“You saw that tiger.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t interested in us.”

“You saw both the frog and the carpet python.”

“Yes.”

“What are you?” Sam was a bit surprised.

“I am Bunjil. My father is a Carpet Python.”

“I am honored.”

“I am still learning. But Bunjil sees everything in detail.”

The next day Sam accompanied a fishing party. Two days later he was asked to “come ‘long” on a hunt for tingka [Gould’s monitor]. They were a party of three, walking east across Hunter Road to a more arid region further from the river.

“You like tingka?” Steve asked him.

“Suppose so. I had perentie in Queensland.”

“Mmm.”

Bungoo, the other lizard hunter, was older. He bore the scars of initiation. After a few hours he stopped, raised one hand and sniffed. “Nearby.” He pointed at a hole beside a rock. “Steve wait there. Bunjil come.” Sam went with him. He walked north east to an outcrop. “Stand here. When I wave hand, you stamp foot hard many times.” Sam nodded.

Bungoo walked towards Steve and waved. Sam stamped his foot. “More.” After a minute, Bungoo said: “Nobody home.” Steve sat on the warm outcrop and drank a swallow of water from his skin, offering it to Bungoo, who then passed it to Sam.

“tingka hunt during day, sleep at night. We sleep here, hunt early in morning. tingka sleepy then.”

“Bungoo name from ‘bungarra’?”

“Sam smart bloke. I’m a good lizard-catcher.”

“I am Bunjil, catcher of frogs, snakes, lizards.”

“Can that be dinner?” Bungoo pointed. It was a wallaby.

“I’ll get him,” Sam said, picking up a small stone and taking something from his hip pocket. The wallaby just stood, looking at the ground for seeds or succulents. Sam loaded the pouch of his sling, looked at the wallaby and felled it with his shot. He looked at Steve. “Got your knife? Bungoo saw him, I killed him.”

“Right, gotta earn my keep.”

“Good shot, Sam.”

“Thank you. Tomorrow will be your turn.” He began gathering brush for a small fire.

They filled up on fresh red-necked wallaby, then walked about 100 yards, not to be too near the remains, which would certainly attract carrion-eaters.

In the dawn Bungoo found another [?] set of holes. This time a monitor emerged where Steve stood, and he clubbed it. He bled it out and picked it up.

According to Jennifer Isaacs, in the north, south of Arnhem Land and in the Simpson Desert, groups of women and children hunt the various types of goanna. “Goannas and all manner of lizards caught in the desert are cooked briefly in the coals of the fire. The meat is tender, rather tougher than chicken and rather oily.” Bush Food (Sydney, 1987), p. 149

“Enough,” said Bungoo. They walked back to the village with dinner – roast tail, fish and fruits.

Tired, Sam bathed in the river and lay down in his hut. He soon heard a noise and felt a body next to his. “I hear about you. You smart hunter. You like Meena?”

“Meena fine. But Sam won’t stay here. Sam travels on.”

“That’s OK. Meena like Sam.” With only some help from Sam, Meena demonstrated her liking repeatedly. When Sam awoke in the morning, Meena was gone. But she was back after dark. And gone again in the morning.

That day Eddy showed up with another load of tourists. “Wanna tag along again?”

“Sure.”

“I guess you’ll be gone nex’ week.”

“Why?”

“New Moon. Men go on walkabout. Older boys and young men get initiated. Women taboo. Women have their own ceremony. Men taboo.”

Native women did not see their use of their bodies as anything unrespectable or immoral. In fact, it seems likely that they saw it as the complete opposite. (University of Victoria)

“I see. So if I’m here, I’ll be cut.” [“At the age of 16 or 17, cuts are made on the chests, shoulders, and bellies of both men and women. Without these scars, “clean skin” tribe members were traditionally not permitted to trade, sing ceremonial songs, or participate in other tribal activities.” National Geographic, 20040724]

“Yes. But you can even borrow a wife if she’s willing.” Eddy laughed. “You’re a good looking young guy. You can have ‘em all.”