Reluctantly we left Western Australia via the Victoria Highway stopping at Timber Creek in the Northern Territory, where we signed up for the evening cruise of the Victoria River. It was certainly a different experience from the other tours and was conducted by Geoff - a straight forward bloke originally from Walgett in NSW. A feature of the trip was our first encounter with the large and dangerous salt water version of the crocodile. They were fearsome; indeed, and when one disappeared into the water as the boat approached I moved well away from the edge. Geoff had also trained some kites and a sea eagle to swoop for morsels of food. There was no gorge just the banks of a large Packer property on one side and a military area on the other. The cruise terminated when the sun set, so part of the return was made in the soft remnants of the setting sun light reflecting off the still waters then almost complete darkness. A feature of the late return was the opportunity to witness the arrival at the river of mobs of wallabies to drink and hopefully avoid the crocs.

Geoff who was on the local council had some firm views about aborigines whom he found friendly and generous, but conceded they were totally overcome by drinking no matter what rules were attempted. Moreover even though they owned vast tracts of land they neither farmed nor hunted any more: indeed they almost never did work of any kind. The Government on the other hand provided enormous support, for example in his town of 500 there was a well staffed hospital and a school. When wet weather makes access to their communities difficult, supplies and medical assistance were flown in often on a daily basis. His personal account was in vast contrast to the politically correct version of events in our guide book about Wave Hill - a local pastoral property - where a strike in 1975 won equal pay for aboriginal farm workers. Now there are no such farm workers.

After a night next to the croc infested river in a camp site where a feature was evening croc feedings, we pushed on towards Katherine. Noticing a grumbling noise occasionally emanating from the engine, we contacted Maui and after many calls and after two days were lost, we had our van exchanged for a similar though older unit. Needless to say unpacking and repacking was not trivial.

For the first night we once again had the company of Jeff and Karyn and after that John and Chris from Melbourne.

A three night stop turned into five but it was a pleasant camp with tall slender ghost gums and luxuriant palms. Near the pool, there was even a bistro under a spreading fig tree.

We eventually did get to see the famed gorge, though without crocodiles it lacked a little of the buzz. There were also warm springs locally, a pleasant fishing and swimming spot in the river and even the small homestead Spring Vale, the first pastoral property in the area. Sadly it made the owners a loss of some hundred thousand pounds in the mid 1800s even though the land rental at 6 pence a square mile each year seemed attractive. Many of the early attempts at settlement in the Territory suffered similar fates.

I had visited Kakadu in combination with a business trip to Darwin some twenty years ago, and still had fond memories of the Yellow River trip and spotlighting for crocodiles but less positive memories of twenty thousand year old paintings. But it was a must see, and we drove the extra 500 kilometres and paid our park fees to enter the world heritage area - a national park though owned by an aboriginal tribe.

We arrived at Cooinda after driving a huge distance through savannah woodlands scarred by extensive recent burning and fire still smouldering. The site offered accommodation and a camp ground, and importantly was the setting out place for the Yellow River cruises. With an hour to spare, we booked in for the 4:30 pm two hour cruise then proceeded to the camp ground. There, we were parked in the full sun while savouring the aroma of fresh bitumen from the extensive resurfacing operations underway. The air conditioner struggled for an hour but did not budge the temperature below thirty.

However a courtesy bus took us the few kilometres to the boat wharf and with more optimism, we settled in with camera, hats, sun tan lotion and mosquito repellent. The cruise took in the billabong, the main river and views over wetlands as well as a pleasant wander through a paperbark swamp. It was a magnificent experience including sightings of many of the birds (e.g. Night Heron) for which the area is home during the early part of the dry (in the wet there is too much water for water birds). We saw Brolgas, Jabiru, Magpie Geese, Herons, Egrets, Jacanas, various ducks, several kingfishers and kites. All were discussed with some knowledge and enthusiasm by the guide despite some annoying clichés. Of course crocodiles were everywhere albeit smaller: resting on banks, hunting ducklings, disguised among water lilies or swimming casually past the boat. As a final treat we witnessed a sunset over a lake filled with water birds and a couple of watching crocs. We should have left then.

After an uninspiring sleep - with the bitumen for company - we were awoken by a roaring sound as the tar spreader heated up his load for another day's malodorous activity.

We left in search of culture - to whit - aboriginal rock paintings for which the park was famous and was one of the main reasons it received world heritage listing. At Nourlangie an impressive rock outcrop we were to see our first set partly protected by overhangs. Despite the fact these painting were continually used as evidence of the long and glorious period the aborigines have been custodians of the area, the fine print in our guide book mentioned the rock art had been completely repainted by "Barramundi Charlie" in the 60s in accordance with the aboriginal tradition of reworking all the paintings at regular intervals. This seemed not to be mentioned at the site and indeed was denied by the ranger. Moreover the pigment of ground rock or pipe clay mixed with natural resin, which had been exposed to the weather, was not consistent with ages of millennia. Undoubtedly such painting existed and this site may have been used for thousands of years but we were not looking at those paintings. Ubirr was somewhat more credible but did include paintings over a range of styles up to the present.

Against this was set a continual barrage of propaganda about aboriginal culture and its harmony with nature. We were told how the fires cleaned up the forest, how they did not farm because that would disturb the earth, how they were brave and resourceful hunters and food collectors, even that they fought heroically to overcome the evil pastoralists but were overcome militarily. All of this was presented in a torrent of emotional language without attempt to provide any factual evidence. The sad reality as I understood from reading elsewhere was that their lives were short and at the mercy of the elements as they had no system of food storage or shelter, many larger marsupials were eliminated by hunting and many smaller ones by burning, and although the current woodlands had adapted to burning many luxuriant ancient forests had been destroyed.

Fires were used everywhere and with the current flora (particularly the harsh spear grass that grew to two metres by the end of the wet) perhaps were now necessary, but the unanswered question was what was here before. Even though the policy now was to burn every two years, CSIRO research stated that biodiversity and the establishment of replacement trees needed several fire-free years.

After a short visit we left, driving on in the evening to escape from the fantasy. We were not the only ones to feel as we did. The numbers now entering the park were dwindling and an expression had entered the tourist vernacular of Kakadon't.