We are a community, nestled in the Queensland rainforest. As a community we tend to the adage, ‘it takes a village to raise a child’ and today, I’m doing my bit. I’m taking the kids down to the river for the afternoon. We gathered at the amenities block after lunch. There were the B brahs, brothers Ben and Brent, 8 and 10 respectively. With them, their neighbours Amy 9 and Jess 11. Brent and Jess, as the oldest, tended to lead the group. Then came May, our youngest at 7. She’s new here, unsure of herself in an established gang. She needn’t worry though. Shy or not the others were happy to sweep her up. May was escorted by Johno, 8, another quiet one. Johno lived with his dad, carrying the wound of an absent mum.
Rounding out the crew was the very original and very odd Celeste, age 10. Celeste’s parents had named her Geraldine but when she was 6, she announced they’d made a mistake. Her real name was Celestial. Celestial never took with the locals though, so she settled for Celeste. The kids shortened it to Cel, and Cel is perfectly happy with that.
The community is set in high country, surrounded by rain forest. At one end the land slopes steeply down to a river valley. There’s various ways down to the river, ravines carved by thousands of years of rain. Each ravine is an adventure ltrail of rock pools and water falls. It was hot that day so we skipped the adventure trails in favour of the quick way down. There’s a path, well worn, that gets you to the river in half an hour. The path was wide enough for the gang to walk in twos and threes, chattering and galloping down the steep bits.
Out here, where the bush is left alone, wildlife is abundant. We passed a couple of wallabies, calmly chewing and curious. We came up on a goanna, lying in the sun. He was facing away so the B brothers tried to stalk him. He spotted them over his shoulder though and in a flash, he was up a tree. We passed a carpet snake draped over a log, a fat lump in his belly.
The land levelled out. We could hear the water now, rushing over rocks. The kids left the path and crashed through the long grass toward the sound. Snakes? Who cares about snakes? I followed. I figured they’d have scared the bejeezus out of any thing in the grass already, clearing the way. We met the river where it tumbled over and around a collection of rocks and boulders. We turned left, walking under the trees along the bank to the fairy pool.
The kids had named this place the fairy pool, as they’d named other spots we all knew. Like the black hole and the secret cave. The fairy pool was gorgeous. The river tumbled and rushed around the rocks when we first came upon it, but here it fell into a deep channel and was subdued. Between the boulders, where the river dropped into the pool, it’s passage had worn a slime slippery slide. I like to imagine the slide was also worn by a thousand generations of aboriginal kid’s bums.
On one side of the deep channel, the fairy pool opened wide and shallow. The pool spread over course river sand and rounded pebbles, the ground down remains of rock and centuries of rain. The whole area was shaded by ancient gums that reached over the wide space to just touch in the middle.
After a cool off swim in the channel I took to the shallows, to relax and absorb the place. The pool was set in a grove of palms, tree ferns and tall gums. Elk horn and stag horn ferns grew on the trunks of trees, crows nests ferns attached themselves to moss covered fallen trunks and boulders.
The boys were climbing up the big rocks on the far side of the channel to yell and leap back in. Johno wasn’t one for yelling but he was happy to join in bombing the girls below, who squealed and splashed the boys in return.
Celeste gathered little May, who wasn’t up to swimming in the channel, and took her to the slide to whoop and giggle their way down, sometimes with May nestled in Cel’s lap.
They had no need of me now, or me of them, so I wandered off through the grove to a big old fig I knew. Here, in the rainforest, the yells and squeals of the kids were muffled, the bush still but for the occasional flit of a bird. Perfect for some quiet time.
After a while I wandered back to the fairy pool where the kids were all gathered in the shallows, applying war paint.
The river was full of ochre pebbles that could be ground on a rock. With a little water added they make a pasty paint. The colours ranged from white and grey, through yellows, browns and reds. The boys concentrated on their skinny boy chests, while the girls worked on each other’s faces. A few stripes across the ribs was enough for the boys to be warriors and they were off into the grove to hunt and make war.
The girls took the making up seriously. Amy and Jess mirrored each other with two parallel lines of white across the forehead, two more on the cheeks in red, and one thick white line down the middle of the chin. Celeste went for a thick paste of white caking her whole face. It was little May who got the most attention. She too was painted white except for the eyes which the girls had circled with red. Around her mouth was another smear of red, bush lipstick.
My return meant my turn. The girls approached my face like professionals. I applied warrior marks to my chest then we moved to where the sun warmed the rocks, to dry and set the ochre.
After a while, the boys came back and I joined them for another swim in the channel. That washed off the war paint so we took a few minutes to reapply. Meanwhile, the girl sat in the shallows, protecting their faces.
It was time to wander, so we set off along the side of the river to visit the black hole, further up stream. The black hole was beautiful, clear, still, deep, with a huge old gum leaning over it. He was called ‘the guardian’. It was spooky here, not scary so much as demanding respect. No kid ever swam in the black hole. Me neither. We instinctively knew this was a special place, probably the home of a naga spirit. We sat on the rocks peering into the deep crystal clear pool, the rocks, grey black and green, descending into darkness. The kids, for once, were very quiet.
Then we were off roaming again, continuing up stream. We were well into the afternoon when a distant rumbling began, the beginnings of an afternoon rain. I should have taken note. I didn’t.
That was a mistake.
Soon the clouds began to come over, the rumbles and cracks not so distance. It was time to head home. We had a council. We’d come quite a way, which meant quite a way back, then the hard climb up the steep hill path to get home before dark. Or we could take a short cut, head straight up the nearby ravine. This route would take us back to the top of the path and a short walk from home. We chose to go that way.
The ravine, with its pools and little waterfalls, was lovely. I’d climbed it before and knew there was nothing ahead the kids couldn’t handle. It would be a fine adventure to top off an excellent afternoon.
That was my second mistake.
By now the clouds were overhead and a light rain began to fall. This is nothing in the warm subtropics. The rain was nice. However, we hadn’t gone far up the ravine when the thunder started to crack overhead and the dark clouds opened. This was no warm shower, this was the cold edge of a thunderstorm and it erupted over us like a waterfall. Even in the tropics these storms can drop ice. The temperature plummeted. The kids began to shiver now, soaking wet T-shirts sticking to their wiry little bodies, sucking out the warmth. We had already committed to the ravine and begun the climb. It was too late to turn around and go the long way back to the path. We’d end up stumbling in the dark. From here the ravine climb would take us a half hour, tops. We’d be home within the hour, warm and dry. The kids agreed. It was cold and the climb was tricky, but hey, they were warriors.
So we continued up.
Soon the little pools I remembered were getting bigger, deeper, as the ravine channelled the rain. The rocks we should have skipped across, were now submerged. The trickle falls were becoming actual waterfalls. It was cold hard work, but no kid complained. When we came to an obstacle we’d huddle, the kids draping their arms over each other, agreeing on the best way forward and up. And all the time the rain hammered down.
Little May was struggling. We all were, but she was so small. The bigger kids and I took turns piggybacking her through pools that were getting waist high. At obstacle we made chains, reaching for and helping each other. Adventure had turned to determination and still no child complained. Myself, I was worried.
The initial bucketing of rain was wearing off, but the water pouring down the gully was steadily increasing. Every rock was a slippery challenge, our progress painfully slow, and the light was fading. This was serious. Every step risked twisted ankles, a leg could jam in a crack, a fall could break a little arm. If we lost the light before we reached the top … it didn’t bear thinking about. Little May was exhausted now. And try as she might to do what she could, she reached her limit and began to cry. I took her now, clinging to my back, sniffling and sobbing by my ear.
The rain stopped. On and up we went in a world of growing shadow, till just near the top we met an appalling sight. The one spot I remembered as an actual waterfall, with a path around the side, was now a raging torrent, the path obliterated. Water extended to an impassable rock wall on one side and a steep bank of dirt, in parts vertical, on the other. The dirt bank was the only option. We’d have to climb. At the top of the falls, I knew from past explorations, the ravine would open out. From there, a quick cut through the bush would take back to the path, and home. If we could scale the now muddy wall.
In the dimming light I calculated a route, with saplings and roots for hand holes. It could be done. If the saplings and roots held. The kids were exhausted, but I’d get them up, over, and home.
But then, suddenly, Johno collapsed in a heap on a rock and burst out howling. I made my way to him, through a pool, as fast as I could. He was moaning and crying. I sat with him, rubbed his arms, his back, tried to get some warmth into him. The others grouped around us, faces scared. Johno was gone, lost in some internal horror. I held, and I rubbed. Slowly, slowly, the howls retreated to sobs and he began to make sense. He was terrified. Terrified of the climb. Terrified of the dark. He shouldn’t have come. He didn’t belong. His dad would be worried. He had no mum …..
The kids soothed, better than I could. Even May had stopped crying, her face nothing but concern for Johno. I let him go and Jess slipped between us, throwing her arms around him. He buried his face in her sopping hair and cried himself out.
We couldn’t wait any longer. It was getting dark. I left the kids to their huddle and started the climb. I could still make out the hand holds, where to put my feet. It was slippery, the dirt turned to slime mud, but every hold held and I reached the top. And came straight back down. I called for Brett, showed him a spot a quarter way up where he could hold solid and reach for the next kid. I climbed past to the next secure spot and locked on. Next came Ben, climbing the first section to where Brett reached for his hand and helped him past for the next section up to me. I showed him the holds and he pulled himself up and over the top. Next came the younger sister, Amy, who scampered up. No fear. Celeste the same. I called for Jess, who had remained with her arms around Johno. She kissed him. On the cheek. Then she made a quick climb of her own.
That left Johno and May. In the gloom, I couldn’t see how Johno was coping. I called down.
“Has to be you Johno, then I can come back for May.” Johno stood. He was reluctant.
“Come on Johno, home soon.” It was Brent, reaching down, coaxing.
A few more moments, then Johno committed. Once he started I saw his face set, his moves calculated and smooth. The was soon up and over the top.
Brent scooted past me, and I went back for Amy. I gave her a big smile,“fun hey,” and she grinned back at me. I turned and hunkered down. She was straight on my back, little arms around my neck.
“Lock on girl. I can’t hold you.”
She did indeed lock on and I accepted I’d have a crushed throat by the time we reached the top. I could hardly see now, but I knew exactly where to reach and where to put my feet. We joined the others at the top.
The sun was behind the trees now. It was growing dark with one glorious blessing. As darkness descended, a full moon rose, lighting up the shallow ravine. We made a fast pace now, along the broadening valley, bathed in silver light. One last cut through the bush and we joined the path just below the farm. Excited again, energised, the kids were yapping and laughing as we strode the last section. And there ahead, the light of a half dozen torches coming our way.
Next day I did the rounds of the parents. Not one reprimand for my poor decisions with a storm coming. The kids had all covered my arse and in retelling the tale, had made themselves heroes. I knew, for sure, not one child would tell an adult about Johno’s breakdown, and neither would I. What happens in the gang, stays in the gang.
I knew I’d be giving Johno a lot more of my time though.
I knew too, that Jess had fallen a bit in love.
We got this.