North of ordinary

 I think I just rinsed half of the Northern Territory down my drains. That fine, rich, red sand was ingrained in our towels, clothes, cooking gear, hair. I try to see it as a poetic reminder of an amazing holiday in Australia's far north, but instead it just annoys me as it means more soaking and washing. Irritation which is only amplified when the washing machine breaks. 

But the holiday, oh my goodness, the holiday was brilliant. We were drawn to the NT for a dear friends wedding. A wedding that had been postponed a year already and was again threatened by COVID uncertainty. Five days before the wedding, Darwin, our host venue, went into a snap lockdown. We hovered outside the lockdown zone, uncertain as to where to go. The bride and groom vacillated between cancelling, hoping to go ahead and redesigning the event into a backyard-covid-friendly-celebration. It was a tenuous, uncertain and a tad stressful few days. But I get ahead of myself.

For our winter school holidays, we spent three weeks adventuring through the Northern Territory. We flew into Alice Springs, rented a campervan and had a loose itinerary that lead us northwards towards the pinnacle of the trip, a tropical wedding in Darwin. From there, we would fly home to Newcastle. In the lead-up to our trip, Mountain Dad had spent hours on the phone researching and booking to sketch a plan for our time. I have a hunch that he spoke to every National Park ranger in the NT, one of whom, on a hot, sunny afternoon, we happen to meet on the trail by a swimming hole. He'd stopped to chat with us while the Mountain kids gambolled in the water and I wonder if he regretted it as Mountain Dad peppered him with questions. At one stage, the Ranger paused and asked,

"What's your name, mate?" And after Mountain Dad dutifully provided it, the Ranger recalled speaking with him on the phone. And listening to a number of Mountain Dad's phone messages. And exactly what campsite he had booked us into. As I said, Mountain Dad had spent hours on the phone to the NT planning this trip. He thinks that we're not appreciative enough of his efforts, but without them, we wouldn't have had such a diverse and rich experience. I hereby officially thank him. 

Landing in Alice was exciting for all of us, partly due to the novelty of the red desert stretching out to the horizon, partly due to the airplane parking lot that greeted us. Hundreds of planes are parked at the airport, from Qantas ones to Cathay Pacific and Singapore Airlines. There were smaller passenger planes right up to the A380's. We reckoned there were easily a hundred planes parked up in the desert. Lox was certain it was 105. 

With COVID entry permits cleared, we made our way to the rental van lot and collected our sweet camper that was to be home for the next three weeks. Before the sun set on our first day and the cold of the desert in winter settled in, we stocked up on groceries and marvelled at how the town felt a little like Whitehorse. The town has none of the beauty of an old city; it is unlovely and feels young, but is perched on an ancient land where the visible presence of First Nations is confronting. It reminds me that my ancestors are but transplants here and I envy the deep roots of the Aboriginal culture that grow here.

From Alice we journeyed to Uluru and Kata Tjuta, those iconic monoliths that I was nervous wouldn't live up to expectation. I've grown up with images of Uluru emblazoned on anything Australian. It's as familiar to me as Vegemite and I thought it was just a big rock in the desert. In real life, however, it did not disappoint. It's immense and extraordinary. And being close to it you can understand why it's such a sacred place for the First Nations. We visited it at sunset, at sunrise and wandered around its base until another sun set on our weary selves. 

From Uluru we moseyed northwards, hiking our way into the warmer latitudes. The desert coolness gave way to a dry heat that sapped our good spirits. We are definitely a family of cooler climes. Besides the wedding, we had a hard commitment to hike a famous NT route, The Jatbula Trail. This one-way, permit-managed trail is booked out months in advance and we'd missed the opportunity to hike the whole thing. All was not lost, however, as your canny Mountain Dad cottoned on to the fact that there is a campsite at the end of the trail that many hiking groups skip through on their last day. After numerous calls to Parks Rangers, he managed to book us into this 'backdoor' access to the Jatbula. We began the hike in the afternoon with the temperature sitting at an exhausting 32°C and a trail that started with a steep incline. Accordingly, Little Laide's mood entered a steep decline, with rhetoric along the lines of, "why do we always have to hike? Why can't we just stay in the van? Why do I have to carry a pack?" She then flounced into indignant silence and marched herself up the trail. Mountain Dad and I have discovered that the secret to our hiking success (beyond bribing them with quantities of lollies that would thrill our dentist's accountant) is to distract Lox with jolly "would you rather" questions, and to piss off the Little Laide. She stomps ahead of us all, determined to remain in front and mercifully allowing us a break from her prattle. At the halfway point of the 4km hike to the campsite, we came across the most idyllic-looking pool imaginable. Fresh, cool water of the clearest type imaginable. Within seconds, Little Laide had her gaiters, boots and all her clothes off and plunging into the water she transformed like Mr. Hyde into Dr. Jekyll. Happy, smiling and reasonable, she frolicked in the pool. More slowly, the rest of us followed and reveled in the reprieve from the dust and heat. That swim made the final push to camp infinitely more cheerful; spirits that were amplified on arriving and discovering that the Sweetwater Pool by which we would camp, was bigger and deeper and  more beautiful than the last. 

We spent two nights in this camp, hearing whispers of a Darwin lockdown as Jatbula hikers passed through, but unconcerned as we happily swam our way into the good life. It was only on hiking out that the seriousness of the situation hit home and we realised that not only was Darwin in lockdown, but so too was Alice and the WA border to any fellow travellers. Our pleasant journey northwards was halted. Stumped as to what we do, we holed up in Katherine, a city of 6000 people and numerous caravan parks. Like Mary and Joseph, we could not find room in the tourist village, as hundreds of caravanner's like ourselves, became grounded and stuck. To heighten matters for a somewhat stressed Mama, our fridge stopped working, we ran out of water in the van and the grocery store resembled the panic preceding the apocalypse. With nowhere to stay for the night and trying to fathom just what we would do next, the heat irritated our tempers and made it hard to think. In recollecting the NT trip to friends, the Mountain Kids recently described this as, "another day when Mum was really cranky."

A tip from a local led us to the Katherine Showground, which the town had opened up for folk like us; COVID campervanning refugees. It was a real saviour, to have a home while we nutted out what to do, and a community to brainstorm options with. Meanwhile, we took the opportunity to explore the nearby Katherine Gorge and find local swimming spots for our Mountain-Kids-turned-Water-Babies. Darwin's lockdown lifted after two days and we were pulling into my old friend's driveway three hours later. It was decided the wedding could go ahead and Adelaide and I were asked to step in for the Maid of Honour and a Flower Girl who were unable to attend due to the recent COVID restrictions. Indeed, many out of territory and international guests could not make it and my heart broke for my friend who stoically accepted the conditions. Determined to represent all those who did not make it, Mountain Dad and his Little Laide dance companion, tripped the light fantastic until the wee hours. It was a party like we haven't seen in a while as the mango (fresh from Darwin) daiquiri's flowed and the revelry continued until dawn. 

There may have been some tender heads the next day. 

Our NT time was wrapped up in some slow days with Eline and her beautiful family, sailing and SUPing and croc-spotting. The Newluks had one more campervan adventure through Litchfield National Park, hiking into yet more glorious waterholes during sweltering hot days. I believe there was one day when our part-mermaid, Little Laide spent four solid hours in the water. 

We were all sad to come home. Because it meant saying goodbye to good friends. Because it meant a return to work and school. Because of the easy access to wilderness. Because we'd had such a marvellous adventure and it was over. And maybe, a little because the NT felt a bit like our Yukon home; isolated, prone to weather extremes and quirky characters. You might say that we found our fit in the NT.