They walked back to their vehicle, avoiding the gazes from a group that had assembled near the Land Cruiser. ‘G’day, Mister,’ said a boy of about ten, as they walked past. ‘Got any smokes?’
Malcolm ignored him, and Wally said: ‘Buy yer bloody own.’
The youngster grinned. ‘See you next time, Mr Bright.’
‘Cheeky little shit,’ said Wally, as they climbed into the vehicle.
As they drove away, Wally said, ‘I don’t know why the hell we have to let them lay down the law to us. You know there’s another waterhole they could be using?’
Malcolm glanced over. ‘There is? Where’s that?’
‘About five miles to the east. Over near that rocky hill.’
He pointed towards a prominent outcrop just visible on the horizon. ‘The creek comes past that big mesa—almost circles it, actually. On the other side, there’s a deep gorge with water at the bottom. It’s deep as hell and cold as a nun’s tit, but sweet and clear.
‘The old fart told me it’s a bad place. None of ‘em will go anywhere near it. They reckon some sort of water monster lives there. Eats kids for breakfast, apparently.’ He punctuated the last with a laugh. ‘Stupid, stubborn black pricks. They prefer drinking outta that muddy puddle back there.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
‘Can we go and have a look?’ Malcolm asked. ‘If it’s as good as you say, maybe we should try and talk them around.’ ‘Sure, I can show you tomorrow. Won’t do any good though, they’re shit scared of the place.’ Wally explained that the gorge in question was at least a three-to-four-hour walk from the camp, and there were no roads in the area. Their best option was to set out after breakfast with some supplies and swags, and spend the night there before returning the next day. They could drive part of the way, about a half-kilometre, but would have to hoof it from there.
Malcolm considered declining the offer, but decided they may as well make the trek. He needed to learn all he could about the area, and the land covered by the lease. After all, Wally wasn’t going to be around forever. Malcolm would see to that.
The Gorge
Mid-morning of the next day, they set off. At Wally’s suggestion, they followed the path of the creek. It was longer than a more direct route, but he explained there’d be very little climbing involved. The creek bed was dry for most of the year, only flowing in the wet season. There were some parts where a boulder or two blocked their way, and the occasional shallow pool remained where the watercourse dipped and there was shade, but generally the walking was relatively easy. They reached the ravine at around two o’clock.
‘I don’t know about you, Wally, but I could really do with a swim,’ Malcolm said, scooping some of the cooling water and splashing it over his face and hair. ‘You’re right about the temperature, though. Even near the edge here, it’s icy cold.’
The reddish-brown walls on either side of the water were almost vertical and must have been thirty metres high. The gorge itself ran roughly north-south, so the sunlight only reached the surface directly for about two to three hours each day.
That—and the depth, Malcolm assumed—would have accounted for the iciness of the water. There was a shallow section at the southern end, where they stood; the clear water showing the bottom sloping away until it disappeared from sight a few metres out. The water continued around a bend about a hundred metres to the north, obscuring the far end of the billabong.
‘This is as far as we can go without getting wet,’ Wally said. ‘The water ends just around that bend. I’ve swum it once, in the middle of summer. Not sure if I’d try it today, though.
‘We can go for a dip, no problem, but we’ll need to stay close to the edge. Cold water like this can bring on cramps, and before you know it, you’re in deep shit.’
‘Well,’ said Malcolm, stripping off his shirt and trousers, ‘I guess if we’re going in, it’d better be before we eat. And I’m starving!’ Stripped to his underwear, he dove headlong into the water. ‘Holy fuck!’ he exclaimed on surfacing, ‘You weren’t kidding about the cold. It’s bloody freezing in here!’
The biting cold of the frigid water took his breath away. He made to swim back to the edge, struggling to fill his lungs. Wally waded in, not waiting to undress. He reached out and grabbed Malcolm’s hand. ‘Better take it easy, Mate. Come back to the shallows until your body gets used to it.’
Malcolm accepted the other man’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled to where he could touch the sandy bottom. His feet and legs felt as though they were gripped by icy hands. His heart raced, shocked by the sudden cold and he felt a headache coming on. Stumbling up the rising floor he managed to make it to where the water actually felt warm. This was the same water he had just minutes ago described as icy cold. The warm caress of the sunlight reflecting from the western rock wall onto his body felt like heaven.
Wally helped him out of the water and guided him to a smooth rock. ‘That wasn’t the smartest idea you’ve ever had,’ he said. ‘Sit for a bit, let the sun warm you.’ Then, pointing to Malcolm’s left calf, he said ‘You’re bleeding. You must have caught your leg on a snag or something,’
Malcolm looked at the three parallel gashes on his lower leg. ‘I didn’t feel a thing. Must have been a sharp rock, or a branch, or …’ The deep lacerations looked more like claw or teeth marks, Wally thought. ‘Maybe you pissed off a croc,’ he said with a grin. ‘A croc?’ Malcolm made to rise to his feet, suddenly alarmed.