How did I spend my 27 hour train ride from Xi’an to Ulumqi, China? By finally putting into words the greatest tale I can tell…
WARNING: If you’ve been in a long distance car ride with me during the last decade you may want to skip the following.
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It was sometime in November of 2001, after the world had decidedly changed forever, when I found myself as far from Ground Zero on the globe as one can get without using a boat. It had taken me some twenty days but I had hitch hiked from the southwestern most tip of Australia to a tiny forgotten town called Kununurra in the northwestern corner of Oz. Hitching up the west coast of Australia is not as hard as it might sound. In fact it’s remarkably easy. There is but one road that stretches from Perth in the south to Darwin in the north (the same distance from New York to San Diego) and it has but two lanes. One heading north, one heading south. Like I said, easy.
When my temporary work visa expired in October, thus ending my illustrious career as an American Express credit card salesman in Perth, I bought a tent and a one-way bus ticket to a town called Augusta. Augusta, in the state of Western Australia, has the distinction as being the most southwestern settlement in the country. A thirty minute walk further south and further west from Augusta down a deserted road you come to a magnificent lighthouse at the very end of the continent called Cape Leeuwin. Its here you’ll find a small sign with four words and two arrows. The arrow pointing to the west is labeled Indian Ocean while the one pointing to the east reads Southern Ocean. With the confluence of two beautiful yet angry bodies of water before you, and the knowledge that Antarctica is the next solid landmass over the horizon, Cape Leeuwin lighthouse delivers a truly marvelous End-of-the-World feel.
The reason I digress here is that Cape Leeuwin holds a much greater significance than serving as the commencement point of my freeloading road tripping escapade. Its significant relevance to me (and in reality a large portion of you reading) was completely unknown when I strolled into the tiny lighthouse gift shop and found a news article hanging on the wall from….the Washington Post!?!? The Post had apparently sent one of their junior reporters on a mission to locate and write a piece on the antipode of the U.S. Capital Building. Every point on the globe has an antipode, a corresponding point you’d reach if you ran a perfect axis through the Earth. The two most famous antipodes: North Pole and South Pole. Make sense? As this junior scoop’s research revealed the antipode of the U.S. Capital Building is in fact a watery point several thousand miles off shore between Cape Leeuwin and Antarctica. This obscure geographic factoid thus gives Cape Leeuwin the distinct honor of being the further point on land from Washington, D.C. on which one can stand. Given that I grew up just up the road in Baltimore I quickly purchased a postcard, scribbled “I’ll never be further from home than I am right now…and it feels great!”, and dropped it in the mail to my parents. I share this as an intro to this story in case you ever want to get really far from home.
Some twenty days, thirty rides, and 3,300 kilometers later I found myself jumping out of shotgun from an oversized white pickup truck onto the streets of Kununurra in the northern Australian outback. To properly tell this tale I need to explain two things. First, a word on geography. The Australian outback as its most commonly thought of consists of the remote, empty, and arid interior of Australia. I’ve been there and its remote, empty, and bone dry. It’s also breathtaking, friendly, and home to one of the world’s strangest natural sights: Uluru (or Ayers Rock if you’re not an Aborigine). Western Australia, the country’s largest state, enjoys all these physical attributes. It’s empty, flat, and dry as a desert. There is however a strange geological anomaly in the northwest corner of the state known as the Kimberley region. In this far flung corner of Oz the land rises up into a Seuss-like mountain range (just Google “Bungle Bungle”) and the desert yields ever so slightly to allow greenery to flourish. I’ve often referred to the Kimberley as the outback of the outback. It’s as far from cosmopolitan Sydney as one can be both physically and culturally.
Second, a word on crocodiles. It’s in the Kimberley’s latitude, north of the Tropic of Capricorn, that you enter the realm of the Australian crocodile. There are two types of crocodilian living in the wetlands of northern Australia, the fresh water crocodile and the salt water crocodile. If you’ve ever seen a National Geographic special on Africa or an Indiana Jones movie, you’ve seen the salt water crocodile. It’s massive, powerful, and vicious, with a grill of teeth on par with Terrell Suggs or Sloth from The Goonies. “Salties,” as they are known, are the ones that snatch wildebeest from the river’s edge without warning and chomp the bad guys at the conclusion of Temple of Doom. Freshwater crocodiles on the other hand are the opposite of their notorious sibling. “Freshies” are smaller, have two symmetrical rows of teeth, and are surprisingly docile. If you don’t mess with a freshwater croc, you can assume it won’t mess with you. They are not aggressive and will mind their own business as long as you don’t provoke them or mess with their eggs. With that said we can begin…
In the Kimberley, and the far north of Australia, populated towns and settlements are few and far between. During the eight hours I spent in that white pickup truck getting to Kununurra I passed but two towns and two hotels. The next town I was hitching for after Kununurra was Darwin, a lazy 15 hours away. With such a great distance and unpredictable transportation to follow, I figured I’d hold up in Kununurra for a few days before setting off again. I found a hostel and set in for some downtime. Upon my arrival the hostel contained no more than a dozen guests at best, so it was with great surprise and pleasure when a tour group of some twenty internationals suddenly descended on my accommodations. The group had originally intended to traverse the Gibb River Road, a famous 4×4 dirt track that cut through the Kimberley, but recent rains and adverse conditions made the passage impossible. Suddenly my hostel was overflowing with activity as the tour organizers scrambled to formulate a plan for their disgruntled clients.
By early evening the organizers had their temporary solution. While waiting for conditions on the Gibb Road to improve the clients were presented the opportunity to spend the next day boating around nearby Lake Argyle and camp overnight on a remote island in its center. Transportation, accommodations, and food included. No one turned the offer down, and neither did I…for something like $20usd.
The following morning our group set off early for Lake Argyle. The ride lasted roughly an hour, the majority on a bumpy single lane dirty track. Where are we going? I was twenty-two at the time and pretty well versed at going with the flow, so I embraced my good fortune to be included in the spontaneous mini adventure. Big lake, strange people, overnight camping? Right up my alley.
Lake Argyle is the largest man-made lake in Australia, with its backwater and branches extending for kilometers. Landlocked and separated from the ocean by hundreds of miles, the lake is a freshwater body. The tiny barren islands that dot the interior are actually peaks of a submerged mountain range. We’re not talking about world class beauty here by any means, but the remote setting was terrific.
When our caravan arrived at the water’s edge we were greeted by a glistening white 75 foot motor yacht. This is what I’m talking about. The yacht, and the accompanying ten person pontoon boat, were owned and run by three local good-old-boys in their thirties (aka The Kimberley Boys). Their business was running tours on Lake Argyle, but from what I could gather business wasn’t exactly booming. Our itinerary for the day was to cruise the lake on the yacht and use the pontoon boat to access hard to reach waterfalls and hiking trails. With all aboard the music speakers quickly came to live, with the flow of alcohol not far behind.
Before pulling away from the dock our loose cannon captain announced that if anyone was interested in a swim, a jump from the third level sun deck was the best way to go. Myself and Jamie (a fisherman from Perth) quickly jumped on the idea and donned our swim trunks. As we were making our way outside I casually asked the captain, expecting a different answer, to confirm my belief that there were no crocodiles in the lake. To my shock and amazement however he replied instead that the lake was “teeming” with freshwater crocodiles, yet he stressed the safety of the situation and reassured me that the Kimberley Boys themselves routinely swam in the water. With that startling discovery in mind Jamie and I made our way to the sundeck and positioned ourselves precariously on the railing. Below was the greenest, murkiest water I’d ever seen. SPLASH!
We were in. In short time Jamie proposed a contest. We would both swim straight down into the murky depths and the first to turn around would lose. I of course accepted and after taking deep breaths we both sank like stones head first. Within a few kicks, the sun’s light near completely gone in the green world, we both panicked and made for the surface. It was too much. It was too scary. And with the knowledge that somewhere in that green realm lurked supposedly friendly crocodiles, we both lost our nerve and quickly scampered back onto the boat’s deck.
The late morning and afternoon played out as promoted. We sunned, we hiked, we swam under a waterfall. Nearing dusk we made our way to the tiny treeless island we’d call home that night. As dinner was being prepared Jamie and I descended down a rock staircase to the water’s edge. Jamie wanted to throw a line in the water and try his luck. By this point nightfall was well upon us and the assistance of a flashlight was necessary. After several minutes of unsuccessful casting we lost patience and went for a stroll. Within minutes Jamie’s light landed on sometime strange up ahead. When we arrived we were amazed to discover the severed and rotting head of a large male crocodile. With the sale of croc skins normal business in Australia, the discovery made sense to us, but all the sense in the world couldn’t reduce our shock at the size of the head. After all, we’d be swimming in the water.
We quickly went to work trying to extract a souvenir tooth. At this very moment one of the Kimberley Boys, named Ryan, arrived on the scene. He quickly went into a lecture on respecting the creature and instructed us to leave the head be. His words became ironic as the evening unfolded. After Ryan left we went back to work and were able to extract a shapely and well preserved tooth, which I carefully placed in my pocket. With that we rejoined the group.
With dinner over and the camp fire roaring the three Kimberley Boys presented an unexpected opportunity on the group. “Who would like to wrestle a live crocodile tonight?” In my twenty-two year old, fear nothing, go-with-the-flow mentality I quickly raised my hand without needing further details. Details did follow though as the Boys explained that their version of crocodile wrestling included stripping naked and covering oneself in Aboriginal paint. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the absurdity, but I figured When in Rome (as said in the voice of R. Burgundy). I apparently wasn’t the only one intrigued by this idea and in no time, guys and gals alike, started losing articles. A truly ridiculous spectacle ensued, aided in no small part by a few cocktails, as complete strangers began applying brown, yellow, and white okra (a ceremonious Aboriginal paint) to one another’s naked bodies. Don’t get me wrong this wasn’t a scene from Caligula or anything, but it was overly surreal with male and female anatomy on full display in the firelight. As the pontoon boat was only large enough to handle roughly ten people, it was announced that more than one trip would be needed. After naturally securing a spot in the wave, I descended the staircase to the waterline. As our group motored away from the tiny island it occurred to me we hadn’t received a single word of information or instruction on what was to follow.
Within a few minutes we were out of sight of the island lights and engulfed in blackness. Just when it would have been appropriate to ask What Now? one of the Boys flicked on a high powered flashlight and brought it to the horizon. The vivid image that appeared is one I’ll never forget. Staring back at us was the light’s reflection as reflected in the red eyes of what seemed like hundreds of freshwater crocodiles. Apparently the lights reflection could be seen up to 0.5km away in the reptile eyes. Talk about an eerie sight. Endless pairs of stationary dinosaur eyes beaming back at you. A most unsettling visual given the fact Jamie and I had voluntarily placed ourselves in their world only hours earlier. What was to happen next was anyone’s guess.
The boat began motoring towards the closest pair of eyes. When we pulled up alongside the eyes dropped below the waterline and our first croc disappeared from sight. Strike one. The Kimberley Boy at the wheel turned the boat and headed off towards the next pair. When we pulled up alongside our second croc Ryan, the other Kimberly Boy on the boat, reached overboard and scooped up a foot long baby croc much to the excitement of the female contingent on board. Following a few minutes of Pass-The-Croc Ryan dumped our catch overboard and we headed off again. In no time we found ourselves approaching our third pair of eyes. I took it to mean we were in business when the captain let out an Ooooooh, as he slowed the boat to a crawl. Our third croc was roughly three feet long and perfectly stationary as we inched to within eight feet of it.
Suddenly, without announcement or warning, Ryan dove naked from the bow of the boat hands first into the water. The unexpected explosion of action and water startled everyone. Within seconds Ryan reemerged from the waist deep water holding his prize, head high, with his right arm. In one swift motion he had dove from the boat and using both hands grabbed the neck of the unsuspecting croc. Now, standing upright, Ryan held the crocodile firmly around the neck with one hand as the croc aggressively snapped its jaws and haphazardly threw its head from side to side. Everyone onboard was taken aback by the demonstration and fixated on Ryan as he stood firm. But something wasn’t right. The look on Ryan’s face wasn’t quite right. And then, without warning, blood began to run down Ryan’s neck…
What no one onboard had been able to see was that when Ryan leapt into the water with his upper body leading, he landed not only on the croc but a submerged stick. That fateful stick had entered his throat and punctured his windpipe. So here is this naked painted man standing in waist deep water holding a meter long crocodile by the neck with a ghostly pale look on his face and blood now beginning to stream down his throat and onto his chest. The feeling and atmosphere on the boat rightfully changed instantly from pleasure cruise to life or death situation. The captain immediately jumped overboard, threw the croc, and managed to pull Ryan back to the boat. We pulled him onto the deck and propped him upright on a bench seat. His eyes were open but he was non-communicative. He quickly began uncontrollably vomiting blood onto the pristine white deck floor. With that you’ve never seen people lose their sh*t so quickly. The women onboard retreated as far away as the boat’s surface area allowed. The men just stood in shock. No one knew what to do. How could you?
When you’re traveling in a remote and captivating place like Australia, let alone the outback, you tend not to appreciate just how far removed from relative civilization you in fact are. I certainly hadn’t up until that moment when my mind began rapidly assessing the scene before me. Here was a man in a clear life or death situation who without serious and timely medical attention was likely going to die. Then you look around and it hits you. The real severity of the situation lay in our surroundings. Here we are on a tiny boat in the middle of a massive lake, some 5km from the dock where we began. That dock a good hour from the closest town. And backwater Kununurra having limited medical facilities at best. It all hit me quickly. This was bad. Real bad.
I thankfully had never been faced with a situation like that before in my life, so I had no idea how I’d react. I’d never had a real Fight or Flight moment until then. It was strange. The initial reaction of most everyone on board was to flee. Flight. My instant reaction, after we had Ryan seated, was to put my hand on his throat and stop the bleeding. Fight. I’m by no means trying to make myself out to be something I’m not, simply telling the story how it happened and how I remember. There happened to be an Australian nurse on board, rather buxom too as I recall, who quickly pushed me aside and took over. As this was going down the captain gunned the boat in the direction of the island and camp. Within a minute or two, having arrived back at the island waterline, the captain ordered everyone to get off. You’ve never seen women disembark a vessel so fast. Men too. I had already made up my mind I wasn’t going anywhere. I was fairly fit at the time and figured at the very least I could add some value down the line when it came time to move this large and incapacitated man. Whatever was going to happen that night I committed myself to see it through.
With that the captain gunned the throttle and bombed us across the lake at top speed. At this point the characters included the captain, Ryan, the nurse, an Israeli, and myself. With the boat on course to the dock the captain used his satellite phone to contact Kununurra hospital and gave instruction where the ambulance was to meet us. Meanwhile the nurse and I could do little more than hold Ryan tightly and tell him help was on the way. I’d never had to reassure someone that they were going to live before. It was all surreal. In a night of images I’ll never forget, two stand out. Crouched, naked and covered in blood and paint, one knee on the deck floor and one arm around Ryan, I recall looking up at a near full moon and thinking Is This Really Happening? as the pontoon boat sped across a black Lake Argyle.
It must have been sometime after midnight when we arrived back at the boat dock. Nothing but a long strip of wooden planks and an empty two-door pickup truck. We lugged a still-conscious Ryan down the dock and hoisted him onto the pickup’s flatbed. The captain told the Israeli to stay with the boat. The nurse and I wrapped Ryan in a blanket from the truck and joined him on the flatbed. The captain started the engine and gunned us off down the bumpy dirt road. I recall not being able to sit still as the heat from the steel flatbed was unbearable hot on my bear backside. After no more than thirty minutes we were met head on by the ambulance’s headlights. As I’ve said many times when recounting this tale, God only knows what those two ambulance drivers must have thought when they laid eyes on the four of our bloody, naked, painted bodies. No time was wasted on questions as they quickly transferred Ryan into their ambulance and hastily took off in a cloud of dirt.
With that the three of us caught our breath and exchanged names. There was nothing more we could do at this point than shower, dress, and make our way to the hospital. The drive to the captain’s house, a shower, and a borrowed set of clothes went by in a blur. When we finally arrived at Kununurra hospital my original fears were confirmed. The hospital, a single story building no larger than half an end zone, was eerily quiet at 3am. No reception, no waiting room, no people. We literally had to follow the sound of distant voices to locate the lone doctor and two nurses who had been called in to work on Ryan. When we arrived the doctor took us into an adjacent room and said surgery was needed to save his life. Surgery, however, that could not be performed in Kununana with the limited manpower and equipment. He explained they were going to knock Ryan out and transport him on the Flying Doctor to the Northern Territory capital city of Darwin (Australia has a government sponsored airline, the Flying Doctor, which literally flies patients in need of medical attention from remote locations to medical facilities around the country). After nonchalantly dropping the words “it doesn’t look good” the doctor led us in to say goodbye before the nurse administered anesthesia. I remember standing at the foot of the bed and looking into his bloodshot eyes as the captain said a few assuring words. With that we walked out.
For a reason I can’t remember the nurse and I rode on the pickup’s flatbed back to the dock. The second image from that night, which stands clear as day in my mind, is from the hour long ride back to the dock. I remember looking at the horizon as the black night sky gave way to a yellow dawn, a sleeping nurse in my arms. Is This Really Happening? We arrived at the dock and informed the Israeli of what had happened. We boarded the pontoon boat and took off across the lake to rejoin the others. I spent the trip seated on the bow, legs hovering over the water. No words were traded between the four of us. Adrenaline had been replaced by exhaustion. We reached the island shortly after the sun broke the mountain line to a flurry of nervous inquiries. A somber breakfast was had before the entire party (yacht, pontoon, and all) retreated back to the dock and our waiting transport vehicles.
We arrived back at the hostel where twenty-four hours earlier we had set off. I ate, slept, and composed an email. The next morning I checked out early, walked to town’s edge, stuck my thumb out, and hitched a final ride up to Darwin in an 18-wheeler.
In Darwin I wrote a letter to my younger brother recounting the stranger than fiction story. In the letter’s envelope I included a single croc tooth which had been strung on a leather necklace band. I signed it Merry Christmas.
To this day I have no idea what became of that Kimberley Boy.
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Ulumqi, are we there yet?
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