On a glorious day, in a remote community in East Arnhemland, a fishing expedition was being planned.
Grandmothers and ‘guthera’, brothers and ‘yapa’, spears and ‘galpu’, cooking pots and hand lines, biscuits and picnic blankets, troop carriers and 4WDs set forth.
The 30 km drive to the coast, ‘as the crow flies’, was negotiated through a maze of buffalo mud wallows and a respect of passage diesel exchange, as well as the occasional road block of remembrance and detouring impassable tidal rivers.
This journey across the land to the ocean culminated in a visit to the ‘numi numi’ spirit for successful fishing.
As soon as we reach the bay, a Yolngu man jumped out of the car, got his spear, sighted a fish, and with great skill and precision, got the first catch. Amazing – and how wonderful to see the big smile on his face.
While the community settled in the shade of a tree, two Yolngu men continued spear fishing.
Back at camp, Yolngu women made a fire in no time, the fish got cleaned and cut, and put on the hot coals. Only soft murmurs were to hear; effortless efficiency was at work.
The younger ‘djamarrkuli’ played cheerfully in the warm water of the bay.
Out of nowhere, a boy started shouting. While I took it as crocodile warning, it was directed at the ladies who just caught a fish with a hand line.
‘Balanda’ men headed out to find the Yolngu fishermen, returning with another big fish.
At camp, big green leaves were collected to serve as plates, and the ladies started distributing fish to the whole family. While we all sat down in the shade, the fourth fish, caught by the ladies, got put on the hot coals.
What a joy to see everybody happily eating delicious fresh fish.
A few more happy smiles were shared as we flew a kite before heading back to the village.
