I have just come into the camper after a fruitless attempt at trying to provide for the table. I have always felt that I have never quite made it as a fisherman. Nowhere is a photo of myself proudly displaying a trophy fish, I lose at least one lure every time I fish, and am bored to death within half an hour of my first cast.

There were fish in the water all right. By directing the beam of my spotlight into the water I could see the bloody things. There must have been enough to feed the population of a small African village, but not one would bite my Poddy Mullet (a little slimy, and smelly dead fish for you non fisher people out there) on the hook.

Currently we are camped by a billabong in the Gregory National Park. We drove for five hours after entering the park this afternoon on what rates as a 4x4 track up here to get a feel for the place. Not another bloody soul and this was a big park. What a pleasant change from the crowds in the Kimberley and better scenery to boot! On the way we passed two large bulls having a permanent lie down by the side of the track. I took this as evidence that the parks rangers were doing their job and reducing their numbers, although we did see another that had escaped the fate of his mates. The deceased ones had bloated to an enormous size would be nice and ripe in another week so. Just as well we passed this way when we did!

Have I mentioned the weather up here? They bang on about it all the time on the local radio. Another day in paradise and all that ********. I taught P – 12 at an Aboriginal community up at these latitudes near Burketown in Qld some fifteen years ago. Before I came to my senses and left, for various reasons that I won't bore you with here, I had gone through one wet season and countless slabs of beer in the mistaken belief that I would acclimatize even if it was to cost me my liver. In the wet season it was common practice for the Queenslanders up there to crank up the air conditioner at night and sleep under a doona. Now, does that sound normal to you? Does that sound like paradise?

The other night just outside of Timber Creek it got down to a low of twenty four degrees. Now don’t get me wrong, with the low humidity at this time of year it’s quite pleasant at night. But by high noon it’s nearly already close to the max of thirty three to thirty six degrees. Nearer to Katherine, the temperature dropped to twelve degrees. These places are under two hundred klm’s apart so the nightly fluctuations are pretty great. They call it a dry change in local parlance.

I must say that the sun sets and sun rises are to die for up here. No complaints in that department. WHAT, I hear you say!

We called a rest day at a place called Flora River Nature Reserve between Victoria River and Katherine. A small campground on a very picturesque- although unfortunately for anyone wishing to cool off- salt water crocodile infested river. Regrettably I don’t appear to be able rest, so I spent the day fiddling with the truck and even resorted to scrapping the sticky label of a plastic jar so that it could have a new life storing flour. I looked on with envy as Gael seemed to effortlessly set herself the task of reading a book. I am reliably informed that some people can in fact sit in a place for longer periods than a few days. However I have never actually observed this because I am mentally programmed to keep moving.

Katherine the town, being the gateway to Katherine gorge was our next stop on the way north. Katherine and the gorge of the same name mark the point where you are firmly back on the tourist trail from southern to northern Australia. The Katherine supermarket is the place where tourists congregate like blowflies on a caravan park hot plate. Essentials like soft drink and muffins are the first stocks to be depleted in the mad rush to restock the Jayco’s pantry.

After briefly visiting the gorge we retreated to a track just before the National Park boundary to secure our own private campsite away from the crowded camping ground or more accurately the dustbowl in the park. We had no sooner popped the roof on the camper than b***** me a park ranger turns up. After confirming that I was indeed outside the park boundary and not about to be moved on, the ranger explained that he was in the area to check his croc traps on the Katherine River. We had set up camp on his access track.

Unfortunately it was Friday night, and although over a kilometer from the Katherine road the local boys burnout competition did not go unnoticed. We always avoid driving at night where possible, anywhere. These ********s get ****** early and they are everywhere, particularly in regional areas!

We welcomed Saturdays dawn with the nervous anticipation that only a cruise up Katherine gorge can engender. For me things reached fever pitch when we lined up for the headcount at the jetty. The excitement amongst the grey nomads assembled was palpable. Once on board the boat however, things got a little uncomfortable as the assembled were forced to wait for late arrivals. To add insult to injury they were tourists not Aussies, and not Anglo Saxon. Things settled down somewhat when the Honda outboard propelled us gently down the gorge.

I have no one to blame but myself for the excruciatingly boring two hours that were to follow. To be fair, Gael did suggest that I do anything other than ruin her day by sailing on the good ship Pride of the Gorge. But, true to form I thought I should give it a go. I mean how bad could it be? Why should I miss out on all the fun!

Why the inane prattle that went on unabated for the duration of the cruise? Can’t people just observe nature? How many photos of rocks do you need on your digital camera memory stick? How much footage on your video? People spend so much time looking through a view finder and talking that they fail to see what bought them there. The timelessness of the place is easily lost when technology takes over.

From the head count on the jetty to the loading and unloading of the boat, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the live sheep export trade. Organized, "must do" activities fill the national park brochures up here in the Territory. Do the able bodied really need to pay someone to motor up it, fly over it, quad bike it, etc. Let’s just improve ground access for all.

Next, the area known as Kakadu comes in for close scrutiny on our push north to Darwin! This is a world heritage area that attracts campervans full of humanity from all over the world. Gone are the homegrown Gibb River Road hoards. In Kakadu the Aussies are clearly out numbered. Not enough of a challenge for the locals is all I can put it down to. Not enough **** pounding corrugations unless you take some of the side tracks to the innumerable plunge pools. Even then the plunge pools are mostly filled with lithe Euro twenty something’s dressed more for a day at Bondi beach with a smattering of obese aging locals bobbing around like apples in a barrel just for balance. In the main they are deposited for short periods in large numbers from the day tour buses that thunder around these dirt roads causing most of the corrugations.

Parts of Kakadu have to have the best rock art and bird wet land system we have seen. For these two reasons alone it deserves its World Heritage status. Ubirr with its art and iconic escarpment view is also a must see.

But Kakadu on the whole, we feel, is over regulated, and over rated on the world scale of memorable experiences. Africa without the animals! Let’s bring in a few hippos. Bloody hell the place is big and wet enough for most of the year and the crocs could do with the extra food.

Speaking of crocs. We did spend probably our most memorable night in the park by a billabong called Red Lilly. This one is of the tourist trail, evidenced by the fact that we were the only ones in the area at the time. Camped in a clearing near the water’s edge we were briefly entertained by two crocs having a territorial dispute. They are very agile for such large critters aren’t they. We increased our viewing distance from the water’s edge!

A short visit to Point Stuart was necessary, – the destination for Stuart and his party, noted for their first successful south to north crossing of our continent in the 1860’s – where we and another aging couple were the only Australians to bother making the detour. I’m sure that if Garry Ablett was signing footballs on the point for the day there would have been a bigger crowd.

A couple of pleasant enough days were spent in Darwin seeing the sights. After our last experience in a city - Alice Springs camp ground firmly rooted in the back of my mind - I insist that we stay in “accommodation”. A little outer suburban B&B is chosen that suits our frugal nature, and we crank up the air conditioner for the night. The aircon serves two purposes in that it not only minimizes fluid lost through the skin in this climate, but it also goes some way to muffling the sound of any burnouts, rap or doof doof, being undertaken by the local numb nuts.

Travelling south through Litchfield National Park down the less travelled western boundary gets us away from the Britz and Hertz mob who we leave bobbing around in guess what, yep, more bloody plunge pools. Gael finds the variety of shapes that the termite mounds take in this area fascinating. No five star hotels are necessary for my girl to have a great time. I am somewhat less enthralled by the termite’s high rise housing, but what determines the shape chosen by the termites will require further investigation. Now, don’t you wish that your partner could be so easily entertained?

What is it with the tissue trail that women leave on walking tracks and in car parks? What did women do to dry their front bums after a pee before the tissue was invented? There has to be a better way to manage this apparently, necessary after pee activity and yet prevent the eye sore. Who do these people think picks all these tissues up? They stay there for ever.

We have started to travel east from Katherine along the Savannah Way, as it is known up here, as far as Doomadgee in Queensland where we will turn south.

Gael has heard me talk of Doomadgee and my teaching experiences there many times, so I thought it would help her put things in context if she actually eyeballed the place and its geographical isolation.