Garma Festival Arnhem Land: Everything You Need to Know

Join the Yolngu nation in the NT’s remote North East Arnhem Land to feel the heartbeat of the country at its most important cultural event, Garma.

Where it all began

Australians pride themselves on being an intrepid mob. As travellers we hanker for republics and cultures afar, places with ‘real’ history and cultures that corroborate our wisdom, our worldliness, our wokeness.

Yet, inscrutably, most of us fail to appreciate that one of the oldest and most complex cultures on Earth is right under our noses. So why is it that so few of us have sat down in the red dirt of North East Arnhem Land, home to the robust Yolngu nation, and arguably the most significant cultural event in Australia?

Perhaps many non-Indigenous Australians genuinely don’t know how and where to begin to engage with First Nations culture. Perhaps, subconsciously, the cultural divide feels too titanic, the multifaceted historical baggage and societal inequities too hard to reconcile.

At a great cultural crossroads of history, when our national identity is as fluid as ever, perhaps Garma has the ability to collapse all these ‘perhaps’. The stirring four-day festival is an unabridged cultural bridge, anathema to the terra-nullius-tainted version of ‘Australian history’.

“Too often in Australia we talk about this Indigenous problem or that Indigenous problem," says author Richard Flanagan. “We never talk about the Indigenous gift, the great gift of knowledge, of understanding."

This gift softly, subtly and slowly unfolds as you walk into Gulkula festival ground because the Yolngu nation is one of the most dynamic of all of Australia’s original storytellers.

“When you come here, it’s still alive – very much alive," says long-time Garma ambassador Jack Thompson, fresh from leading his morning tai chi class.

Garma Ambassador Jack Thompson. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

Late last night he recited bush poetry by the campfire. “You are surrounded by people speaking their language, doing their ceremony. The whole country must have been like this. That’s why Garma recharges my batteries."

Jack Thompon reads bush poetry. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

Why is it that so few of us have sat down in the red dirt of North East Arnhem Land, home to the robust Yolngu nation, and arguably the most significant cultural event in Australia?

Some might say it’s disingenuous to introduce an Indigenous festival through the voices of (albeit compassionate) white Australians. But unlike generations before them, they are not trying to ‘white mansplain’ Indigenous culture. They are simply imploring you to listen to the stories of Yolngu because doing so has incalculably changed their lives for the better.

The Welcome

You can leave your passport in the shoebox under the bed, but in countless other ways North East Arnhem Land feels like a sovereign entity. Aided by relative isolation from Australia’s all-consuming metropolises, the Yolngu’s 50-millennia-old manikay (song) and miny’tji (art) exude poise and confidence: an unwavering cultural backbone that launched far-reaching land- and sea-rights movements.

Djali Ganambarr dances the stories of the Yolngu.(Credit: Elise Hassey)

“We have maintained, protected and enhanced our world view since the first outsiders appeared in the 1930s and tried to kill us and take our land," says traditional owner Dr Galarrwuy Yunupingu, senior leader of the Gumatj clan. “Hear our words, watch our ceremonies, place your feet in the sand with us and enjoy our hospitality. We will exchange ideas, make friendships, learn from each other. Go feed your brain!"

Dr Galarrwuy Yunupingu, senior leader of the Gumatj clan. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

Garma’s opening ceremony is as inclusive as any you will see on this continent: dark faces, darker faces, Islander faces, and white faces beading under hats and sunscreen, perch together on plastic chairs facing unfettered monsoon forest. Tieless, unbuttoned politicians squirm uneasily, aware that people on the Dhupuma Plateau won’t stomach any vacuous, business-as-usual rhetoric.

The official opening of the Garma commences with the arrival of the Gumatj clan. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

Bilma (clap sticks) pulse from the bush. Heads swivel, eyes chase the sound. Generations of Gumatj clan men stealth from the trees like wary sentinels, ceremonially led by the Minister for Indigenous Australians, Ken Wyatt, draped in a ritual roo pelt. Intense yellow and red paint covers their torsos like divine armour. Eyes fall on a bubble-cheeked youngster at their feet, at one with their totems in dance, while stringybarks sough mystically.

Joevhan Burarrwanga, the next generation of the Yolngu. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

At the lectern, ubiquitous Jack’s speech is received well as always. Long ago, he was brought into the Yolngu fold. They call him Gulkula now, after this sacred place. Even the magpie geese hush when Dr Yunupingu informs the gathered that he will throw Australia’s constitution into the nearby Arafura Sea if his people are not recognised in the document. And with that, Garma is officially open.

Ken Wyatt AM, MP, Minister for Indigenous Australians, is led into the opening ceremony by senior Gumatj clan men. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

The Voice

Eloquent, tough-talking hard-act-to-follow follows eloquent, tough-talking hard-act-to-follow at Garma’s Key Forum. Speech roams free, discussions dive unapologetically deep into the irrefutable inequities between white and black Australians, from educational outcome disparities to reprehensible gulfs in life expectancy.

The next generation talks about the future in Garma’s Youth Forum. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

This is not the place for either trolls or ‘poor us’ navel gazing with some of Australia’s deadliest minds on hand to fact check ignorance and fly-kick generalisations. Professor Marcia Langton pays homage to the profound Indigenous knowledge systems taught to her by Yolngu elders that will be invaluable in the nation’s curriculum. Noel Pearson sermons his trademark intricate metaphors, championing “radical hope" and “unfounded opposition".

The word Makarrata (a Yolngu word that synthesises treaty, peace-making and justice) flows from the mouths of key speakers naturally, then ripples organically into the festival lexicon. The Uluru Statement from the Heart, that poetic path forward for Indigenous constitutional recognition, binds disparate subjects together into a singular hope-filled trajectory.

You can leave your passport in the shoebox under the bed, but in countless other ways North East Arnhem Land feels like a sovereign entity.

Restless minds rumble as loudly as their hosts’ bellies in the notoriously long communal lunch buffet queue. Apart from being a killer spot for celeb-spotting, the sluggish, snaking line is dotted with impromptu mini-forums where well-qualified strangers debate serious stuff with smiles on their faces. One old fella tells me that Uluru shouldn’t be closed to those who approach it with an open heart. Not a popular idea here, but the people listen to such diverse thoughts without ‘cancelling’ him – then counter with a learned rebuttal.

Djalinda Yunupingu dancing at Garma. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

The Heart

Back in 1999, Garma began more or less as a ‘backyard barbecue’. If you ignore the relative formalities of the Key Forum, it is still very much a bush festival for and by the local community as it is a platform for parachuting powerbrokers. Expect peak-time shower queues, sporadic power outages rescued by snarling generators, and a long wait at the merch stall, which is denuded voraciously (unless you’re XXXL).

The Bunggul is Garma’s geographical and metaphorical thumping heart, a sandy circle where the sacred becomes normal, and the normal sacred. A place to hang out, connect and reflect. The Gumatj spiritedly welcome other clans to perform (and visitors to join in) on their hallowed ground.

“I just called the people from the Gulf [Groote Eylandt] again – they’ll be right over," explains the MC, shrill speaker feedback sending community canines into tornadoes. A fourth hurry-up draws a posse of vivid red and white across the oval. Traditional dress is accessorised with sunnies, trucker caps and t-shirts with off-country allegiances.

The Groote Eylandt mob takes to the Bunggul. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

A string of stage-front yidaki (didgeridoo) players sparks the Morning Star dance to life. Clap sticks crack an enduring atavistic heartbeat. Two aunties in tropical-strength dresses that are stories in themselves sway on the outer edges, bare feet rooted into the sand, while the men dance their stories. The MC tries to decode the hyper-dynamic action for the thousands of out-of-towners.

Gumatj women dancing. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

The Gumatj dancers hover in next, branches and water bottles in hand; smokes in the mouths of a couple. The women’s yellow skirts with sharp red flames licking high are a sartorial highlight. The energetic ‘quest for the sugarbag honey’ explodes; fast feet slice through and spray sand. Meanwhile, a joyful woman on the Bunggul’s grassy periphery pulls mad doughnuts in her motorised wheelchair.

Ladies at Garma’s opening ceremony. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

The Wisdom

“The cycle of a day can be very different when experienced through the Garma lens," says event director Denise Bowden. “You are on Yolngu land, living with Yolngu people, under the authority of Yolngu elders."

Yes, understanding Arnhem Land’s cultural nuances can be a challenge, but the Yolngu struggle to comprehend outsider culture equally. Today and for much of his life, Djalu Gurruwiwi has sought to bridge the new and the old worlds, at least for those willing to cast aside their Western World lens (and baggage).

The sage elder sits in a shady camp chair, a mop of a dog curled at his feet. His storm of grey hair, blue iridium sunglasses, striped polo shirt and black Skechers strip 40 years off the 89 year old. Thought bubbles sporadically burst from his mouth in Yolngu Matha (Arnhem Land’s lingua franca) through a dinky PA system that is more trouble than it’s worth. His hands swoop like hunting falcons to illustrate what his ancestors have passed on.

From learning Yolngu Matha (Arnhem Land’s lingua franca) to decorating yidakis, there is plenty of culture to absorb at Garma. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

Djalu believes that the sound of his yidaki has the power to heal, that it transcends cultures and can connect all people to this earth. His daughter Zelda Gurruwiwi translates into English. She eagerly injects her own experience and self into the narrative.

“When I was a little girl, the ancestors, old tribal people, used to bring their cultural sacred therapy to ceremonies," she says. “These days, it’s a bit lacking. That’s why my dad stands here – bringing people to one unity, one nation.

“This yidaki is bringing culture and people together, leading to a doorway to our culture, our ceremonial ground. People in the Western World, it’s time for you to come into the spiritual world. Some people call me crazy. I am not crazy. They are crazy. They are not looking at the gateway to nature. My dad, he’s the last knowledge. Old people will take that knowledge back to the ground."

Djalu blows into the trunk. The soft, profound timbre immediately usurps the festival’s clamour. Jack Thompson wanders by, plops himself in a camp chair opposite. Djalu offers him the yidaki’s end. Jack delicately shuts his eyes, receives the vibrations willingly.

The Family

“See all the people here; we’re all related," says Brenda ‘Mutha’Muthamuluwuy, gesturing at the various clans camping in the bush. She seeks signs of understanding from those congregated under the bough shelter, rewards us with earnest smiles and a motherly “manymak" (good) before moving on. She knows that the Yolngu kinship system is a foreign matrix to those from nuclear families.

A young Garma-goer gets into the spirit. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

“In your world, you are related only in immediate family, right?" she asks. “Well, ours is different, it goes down and it spreads. For example, my mother’s sister’s children are also my brothers and sisters from another mother. We can still call each other sister even if we have different parents. Some of our grandkids’ children can also be sister and brother."

She references a photocopied schema of the gurrutu, which shows a multi-directional cascade outward from ‘you’, featuring 23 relationship titles. She introduces the concepts of ‘skin names’ and the two ‘moieties’, dhuwa and yirritjia (each Yolngu must marry into the opposite moiety). Then comes Mutha’s mic-drop moment.

“It’s not just a person either," she says. “The land, sea and nature – trees, birds, snakes, fish – are related to us in kinship, too. The whale is my grandmother’s totem, so I am related as a granddaughter to the whale in Dreaming."

The Expression

Northern Australia’s darkest night cannot stop the miny’tji (art). By torchlight, at 10.30pm, second-year art student Dylan Mooney dabs his final touches to a portrait for the ‘Great Wall of Garma’ (aka Art Build). The day before, Archibald Prize-winning artist Ben Quilty tentatively swiped a final stroke on his contribution to the communal mural.

Art student Dylan Mooney paints on the ‘Great Wall of Garma’. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

Artists and visitors alike can contribute to the Great Wall of Garma. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

“[Being up here] is the biggest imposter syndrome that I’ve ever felt," says Ben. “[I’ve] had the honour of meeting some of my greatestidols, like Ai Weiwei, but the best painters in the world are living in Australia’s remote communities. I don’t say that lightly."

Behind the mural, down a bush avenue, single paintings hang from Gapan Gallery’s lofty gums. Stalls stocking stunning ‘fibre art’ from community art centres such as Bula’bula at Ramingining, 400 kilometres west, encircle the open-air cultural microcosm.

Fibre art by Yolngu women master-weavers

Fibre art on sale from the Yolngu women master-weavers at Garma. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

Intricate, naturally dyed pandanus leaf baskets, mats and dilly bags from Arnhem Land’s women master-weavers are in high demand. The more experienced aunties’ masterpieces justifiably command top dollar. They take lifetimes of skill and time.

One of Muluymuluy Wirrpanda’s dense black, white and grey linocuts hangs from a whitewashed display tree. It is a privileged close-up of Yolngu existence, both the story of a day in her life and of the culture that has nourished her. She describes the piece sparingly, through an interpreter, a few words of English mixed in, as if the ‘bulwatja’ story is self-evident. How long did it take?

“Not too long, just doing the outline mainly," she says. Our eyes never meet. “The bulwatja is a billabong plant. When we went hunting, we’d always get bush food, too. I get to eat it and make art from it."

Muluymuluy Wirrpanda
in front of her artwork at the Gapan Gallery. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

Traditional or modern style, I ask? She doesn’t answer. Probably because it is neither and both. It just is and has always been so.

The Exhale

Final-day Garma is a wholly different animal to its frenetic first few days. Politicians have returned to their far-away constituencies; corporate-sponsor bigwigs have fled back for their high-rise Monday-morning meetings. Those who remain magnetically contract into the Bunggul.

Lithe-legged kids kick footies back and forth with grinning cops and giggling ambulance officers. The dancing rolls on unstoppably: less formal, more freestyle, the line between crowd and performers hazy. “Copy what everyone else is doing or just do your own thing," says the MC. Thongs on thighs make for modern pliable clap sticks. Each song is full-stopped with a booming, community-wide “Yo! " (yes).’

Dan Sultan summons a storm on stage; he admits he’s been nervous performing at his first Garma, then shares a few private demons. “All the way from Stone Country" Black Rock Band and Southeast Desert Metal momentarily spike people out of their descent into end-of-festival chill. The choral notes of all-female Spinifex Gum’s Dream Baby Dream cover draw people to their weary feet for one last time in the darkness.

Watching a band in the Bunggul on the final day, when all the visitors join in and everyone relaxes. (Credit: Elise Hassey)

One by one, clan flags are lowered. “You can stay if you want or you can go," croaks the MC. “I just hope you’ve spread the good karma at Garma."

The doors of 2650 guest tents flap empty in the dry-season morning breeze. Tomorrow the snakes and water buffalo that volunteers shooed away will slither and clomp back to claim their piece of Gulkula until next year.

Physically spent but spiritually stirred first-timers reluctantly cram into airport-bound mini-buses. Minds whirl with cultural epiphanies and inequities reimagined. They are like human message sticks, keen to spread what they’ve heard, seen and felt.

“Every Australian should come; every Australian schoolchild should have it as part of their curriculum," says Jack Thompson. “Otherwise, for many, your only experience of Aboriginal people is as the fringe-dwellers; people in the cities disinherited from their culture."

Generations of misinformation and ignorance don’t stand a chance when you come face to face with the people of this strong, alive country at this great Indigenous festival. Sorry, make that at this great Australian festival.

A traveller’s checklist

After being cancelled in 2020 due to the COVID-19 pandemic, the annual Garma festival, run by the Yothu Yindi Foundation, is due to take place this year from 30 July to 2 August.

Getting there

Airnorth and Qantas have flights to Nhulunbuy; transfers from Gove Airport to the festival site are included in the ticket price.

Staying there

The ticket to Garma includes camping accommodation in an assembled tent with sleeping bag and air mattress, all meals, and basic tea and coffee facilities.

Exploring there

A Garma ticket acts as a permit to enter Aboriginal land, however, if you wish to visit other Arnhem Land communities outside of the festival proceedings, permits are required.

From Country to coast, Arnhem Land offers an invitation to connect with the spirit of an ancient landscape.

I’ve been told more than once, by people who know a lot more about it than me, that if you just listen, Country will speak to you. Floating on this large tinnie with the engine cut on a ‘side street’ of the Arafura Swamp near Murwangi, I can finally hear it – even if I don’t yet understand the language.

It’s too hot for cicadas, but the waterbirds of Arafura are providing the soundtrack to this experience. The mad cackle of blue-winged kookaburras. The high-pitched calls of plumed whistling ducks. The majestic cries of various kite species as they circle overhead.

And the resonant honks of magpie geese, totems of the local Ganalbingu People and allegedly very good walle (eating), although you’ll need to go through the correct ceremonies to find out. All the while, wind has become a telephone to the elements, rustling through the gum trees and Arafura palms.

There aren’t many crocodiles right now – recent flooding has made their territory a whole lot larger than the usual 700 square kilometres of freshwater ecosystem they have to wallow around in. But they’re still here to join in the cacophony of life.

Murwangi guide, Graham Gunurri. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

In fact, our first crocodile makes itself known just as our guides – Ganalbingu man, Graham Gunurri and adopted Indigenous man, Lachlin Dean – stop at a significant landmark that relates to a local songline. We only get the topline version – the rest is only shared during ceremony – but what is clear is that a crocodile spirit was trapped under the water below us for stealing fire during the Dreamtime. No sooner has this been shared than the thrash of a tail and the whip of a pointed, scaly nose indicates that a free-roaming crocodile just caught itself a juicy fish for lunch.

Arnhem Land with Outback Spirit

Enjoy a cruise of Arafura Swamp. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

This is only day four of Outback Spirit’s 13-day Arnhem Land Wetlands & Wildlife wilderness adventure from Cairns to Darwin. Starting with a flight from Cairns, in Tropical North Queensland, into the Northern Territory’s Gove Peninsula, spending the first few days exploring Nhulunbuy and Yirrkala.

Before we’d even touched down, it was immediately clear that Arnhem Land stands apart from the rest of Australia. Looking out my window, I was struck by how untamed the landscape is. In most parts of this country, you only get glimpses of this sort of ‘wild’ before farmland or buildings tear it apart. But not here.

Nhulunbuy is known for its beautiful beaches. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

“Just wait until you see the golden dirt,” my seatmate, Lisa, leaned over to tell me. “It’s so red.” Lisa is a local, returning from a quick trip to Sydney – a very long way for a doctor’s appointment. But she was relieved to be returning home. “I just want a peaceful life. It’s a peaceful life here,” she shared.

Outside my window, the dense, dark-green blanket spread out over the land continued untouched until we flew a little lower, when that red dirt Lisa prepared me for breaks through. In the last of the day’s light, the winding roads glow like the veins and arteries of the Earth.

“This has to be the most beautiful airport I’ve ever seen,” I exclaimed. Lisa just smiled, satisfied.

Welcome to Gove Peninsula

A member of the Galpu clan in East Arnhem Land. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

The next day, our group of 15 heads out to Wirrwawuy Beach where we receive a Welcome to Country by the Traditional Custodians of the land, the Galpu clan of the Miwatj (north-east Arnhem Land), part of Yolŋu Country. The joy we are privy to is infectious. Following the lead vocals of Lita Lita Gurruwiwi (born performer and, I suspect from his endless jokes, larrikin), we trace the songline of a spiritual man searching the land for food and water. It’s a family affair. Clan leaders play clapping sticks and yidaki (the Yolŋu word for didgeridoo). Three-year-old children pay close attention to the hands, feet and cries of the adults around them. They join in for the promise of a lolly and then abandon the show in favour of their own games.

A soft breeze rustles the leaves of the tamarind trees we sit under, bringing with it the gentle scent of ocean, just metres away from our shady patch. Excitement ripples through our group and the performers alike when a dolphin and her baby are spotted playing in small waves, connecting us further to the natural world around us. This is about sharing.

To close the Welcome to Country, jilka leaves are used to create a cleansing smoke. This same smoke is used to cleanse the belongings of the deceased, and then the loved ones of their grief. It’s also used to help connect new generations to Country. Today, it is used to make us safe on our travels through Arnhem Land.

Spotting wildlife at Arafura Swamp

an aerial view of Murwangi Lodge, Arnhem Land

Murwangi Lodge is exclusive to guests of Outback Spirit. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

It’s a safety I’ll be especially thankful for on day four, sleeping at Outback Spirit’s exclusive Murwangi Safari Camp on the banks of the Arafura Swamp. While earlier in the day I heard Country, the message it’s sharing becomes loud and clear in the night.

While curled up in my comfortable safari tent – reading a book by lamplight with the zips tightly closed against the mosquito population – the nightly soundtrack of cicadas and birdcalls is suddenly, and violently, split in two.

A large splash, a low, primordial growl, one desperate squawk and then silence. The most eerie silence I’ve ever heard. The birds, geckos and cicadas don’t start up again for a good five minutes. I’ll never know for sure, but I feel confident the world stopped to honour the lost. I’ve seen a lot of crocodiles before, even in the wild. But something about this aural encounter feels more visceral than anything I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I’ve spent plenty of time on different lands around the world, but I’ve never witnessed the breathtaking busyness of such a remote one before. And this is only our second stop.

a waterbird in Arafura Swamp, Arnhem Land

Arafura Swamp is home to hundreds of species of waterbirds. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

Dropping a line at Maningrida

a luxe safari suite in Barramundi Lodge, Arnhem Land

Barramundi Lodge is in the remote reaches of Arnhem Land and features 12 luxe safari suites. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

The next day, we head to Barramundi Lodge, another safari-tented stop just outside the small community of Maningrida. Typically, we’d be driving for hours along red-dirt roads, but flooding as a result of record-breaking rain has rendered many of them closed. None of us complain as our 12-passenger aerial caravan flies us overhead instead. Showing off more of this beautiful country and keeping us oriented.

Sunsets at Barramundi Lodge are otherworldly. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

Here, swamp banks are swapped for the privacy of stringybark and woollybutt gum trees that surround each tent. The main dining cabin boasts sweeping views of the plain below, transformed each evening under the vibrant oranges and reds of sunset.

The name is no mistake. Every year, Barramundi Lodge attracts guests hoping to catch themselves a juicy barra. A metre-long club plaque hangs proudly near the kitchen. And, while some members of our group do have luck with their fishing rods out on the nearby Liverpool and Tomkinson rivers, it’s again the wildlife that captures my attention.

a saltwater crocodile in Liverpool River

A large saltie near the mouth of Liverpool River. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

Mud skippers turning muddy mangrove banks of the mid-tide to silver as they scuttle around. Egrets stretching their long legs as they wade along the edges of the water. A white-bellied sea eagle circling overhead. And of course, crocodiles. Dozens lining the banks, soaking up the morning sun, proving completely unbothered by our existence, while tiny waving crabs dance all around them. Pandanus and towering paperbark trees indicate where the salty mangrove water stops and freshwater begins.

Keeping culture going

Admire the artwork of local Aboriginal people. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

With all fishermen satisfied, we head back to shore and over to Maningrida Arts & Culture centre – the oldest and largest of its kind in the Northern Territory, with all profits going back to the artists – and the Djómi Museum.

Doreen Jinggarrabarra is our guide to both, a leading fibre artist whose work has been shown in galleries around the world. Doreen shares with us the basics of her art form, weaving pandanus leaves into magic before our eyes. Although a full dilly bag would take two to three weeks to complete, the large installations she exhibits take even longer.

an Aboriginal artist weaving a dilly bag in Barramundi Lodge

Artist Doreen Jinggarrabarra weaving a dilly bag. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

Despite her huge success as an artist, it’s not until Doreen has finished walking us around Djómi that she allows a modest sense of pride to enter her tone. But it’s not for herself.

“We don’t forget our culture,” she tells us. “We teach our kids. We keep it going.”

And that’s what the museum is about. Keeping it going, even outside the community. Doreen walks us around artefacts and artworks, meticulously explaining the materials and use of each one. Or, at least, those of the Eastern clans to which she belongs. For the items collected from further away, Doreen sits down. They’re not her stories to tell.

The intricate details of a dilly bag. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

We learned back at Buku-Larrŋggay Mulka Centre in Gove Peninsula that this is essential to local culture. Songlines are held within every artwork and every artefact. The Yolŋu don’t deal in numbers, we were told. But it’s safe to say that tens of thousands of years of knowledge and history are written into these artworks. Sharing a songline that doesn’t belong to you is a huge offence, the traditional punishment being death.

Exploring the rock art of Mt Borradaile

lily pads by the creek near Mt Borradaile

A lily-clad billabong near Mt Borradaile. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

It’s an education we take with us into our next stop, Mt Borradaile, famed for being home to the largest outdoor rock art gallery in the world, some of which dates back as far as 55,000 years. It’s impossible to count the number of artworks across the 700-square-kilometre area where the remote safari lodge is nestled against the Arnhem Land escarpment.

Escarpment country is different again. Gum trees still abound and water isn’t far away, but we find ourselves in the middle of dusty, rocky land. Deep red and brown tones take over here.

Mt Borradaile has the world’s largest single collection of rock art. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

A buffalo hunter turned environmentalist who opened eco lodge Davidson’s Arnhemland Safaris here, Max Davidson was granted permission to use the land by the Amurdak People who own it, and his friend Charlie Mangulda in particular – the last man who can say he belongs to this Country. After stumbling on one of the largest known depictions of the Rainbow Serpent in Australia, they decided to share the art instead.

While modern artworks are more detailed, showing everything from mythical figures and local animals to guns and boats, it’s the oldest, simplest displays that really get under my skin. Grass strikings and handprints are believed to serve as the original mark on Country. I can’t help but wonder who that person was, with a handprint so like mine, leaving signs of life tens of thousands of years ago.

Hundreds of birds fly above the ancient landscape. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

The afternoon is spent out on Coopers Creek. Once again, I’m struck by the beauty of Arnhem Land’s waterways. The way they teem with life, making them at once the busiest places I’ve ever seen, yet somehow also the calmest. Wild rice lines the banks, where hundreds of magpie geese fill the air with their honks. And then with their bodies as they occasionally take flight, creating a spotty blanket against the clear sky.

Nearby, a whistling kite swoops a dead fish floating in the water. He eventually gives up and flies away, possibly in embarrassment. Crocodiles tease us from along the lily pads lining the edge of the creek, dipping below the surface when our boat gets too close.

Meanwhile, the sculptured cliff faces of Mt Borradaile itself change colours as the sun moves lower in the sky. And our little tour group, in the middle of it all, is the only sign of human interference.

Ending in luxury at Seven Spirit Bay

the wilderness lodge at Seven Spirit Bay, Coral Bay.

The wilderness lodge overlooks Coral Bay. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

It’s almost a shock when we find ourselves at Seven Spirit Bay on the Cobourg Peninsula the next afternoon. While the earthy tones are not entirely gone, they are mixed with a white ochre and the vivid green of native plants recently treated to rainfall.

Our lodge sits above the pristine sands and calm waters of the bay, cruelly enticing guests to dive right in even while crocodiles and sharks make that impossible. Like one of our guides will later say: “I don’t like going in the crocodile’s bathtub.”

Crossing the Arafura Sea at the top of Australia, we explore Victoria Settlement, the third, ill-fated attempt at British settlement in these parts and the motivation for many in my group to join this tour in the first place. Remnants of buildings and graves remain crumbling as plants slowly reclaim their territory.

the structure remains of Victoria Settlement

The crumbling remains of Victoria Settlement. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

We head back onto the water the next day to fish. The unsheltered water is rough enough to have us bouncing like we’re on a roller coaster. Wide, open ocean is replaced by striking, corrugated cliffs, eroded over the years by rainfall and leaving trees desperately clinging to red and white ochre with their exposed roots. We find a place to drop a line in.

Upon return to the lodge, we notice lemon sharks circling the pier, hoping to feast on the remains of our freshly caught fish as it’s prepared for tonight’s dinner. This last stop of our Arnhem Land journey feels like another world entirely. One where the gentle lapping of the ocean lulls us to sleep each night, and elevated accommodation offers more space than we’ve had in two weeks.

an aerial view of Seven Spirit Bay in Garig GunakBarlu National Park

Seven Spirit Bay is set amid the marine sanctuary of Garig Gunak Barlu National Park. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

Our 13-day journey will end tomorrow with a sunset cruise along Darwin’s famous Mindil Beach, but the emotion of leaving Arnhem Land hits me tonight. This isn’t a journey all Australians will take in their lifetime. But it is one that will never be forgotten by those who do.

A traveller’s checklist

Getting there

Fly direct to Cairns Airport from all major cities with Virgin, Jetstar and Qantas. Outback Spirit and Airnorth will take it from there.

Playing there

Outback Spirit is the only tour operator to take guests across the entire top of Arnhem Land (from east to west). Join the Arnhem Land Wetlands & Wildlife tour between May and September, from $11,795pp twin share. All accommodation, transportation, permits, food and drinks included.

termite mounds in Murwangi Safari Camp, Arnhem Land

Termite mounds reach for the sky. (Image: Jess Miocevich)

Experiencing Garma Festival in Arnhem Land, NT

Join the Yolngu nation in the NT’s remote North East Arnhem Land to feel the heartbeat of the country at its most important cultural event, Garma.

Where it all began

The Welcome

The Voice

The Heart

The Wisdom

The Family

The Expression

The Exhale

A traveller’s checklist

Getting there

Staying there

Exploring there

Australia’s most beautiful beach: a culturally significant hidden gem

The top 3 wilderness lodges in Arnhem Land

Everything you need to know about The Garma Festival in Arnhem Land

Arnhem Land: everything you need to know about visiting

The tour that journeys through one of Australia‘s most remote regions

From Country to coast, Arnhem Land offers an invitation to connect with the spirit of an ancient landscape.

Arnhem Land with Outback Spirit

Welcome to Gove Peninsula

Spotting wildlife at Arafura Swamp

Dropping a line at Maningrida

Keeping culture going

Exploring the rock art of Mt Borradaile

Ending in luxury at Seven Spirit Bay

A traveller’s checklist

Getting there

Playing there