The Red Coast

by Di Morrissey

  ‘And they got money from somewhere to do all this,’ added Maggie.

  ‘Why? So what are they doing? What are they after?’ asked Lydia impatiently.

  ‘Trying to get all the local people on side to do what they want them to do,’ said Maggie crisply.

  Webster elaborated. ‘We reckon this so-called “Trust” is an advance party for some government push to, quote, “acquire and improve land to enhance the quality of life and opportunities for indigenous people”, unquote,’ he said.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ asked Lydia. ‘Isn’t that what should happen? Why does a plan to help the local people sound dodgy?’

  ‘Because it is,’ said Webster flatly. ‘I don’t trust them. Just because they come round in fancy four-wheel drives, wearing suits and carrying briefcases, doesn’t make what they’re telling our locals any more correct.’

  ‘They had nice shirts and shiny boots on, love. Not suits,’ corrected Maggie.

  ‘I meant the suits figuratively,’ said Webster.

  ‘Sounds like it could be another pending native title claim. Have the people out your way put in a claim? And even if they have, why would the government be interested in a title claim in that part of the world?’ wondered Lydia. ‘Mabo or no Mabo.’

  ‘How did you find out about all this?’ asked Jacqui.

  ‘Odd thing, y’know,’ began Webster. ‘My niece, she’s studying geology at university. She was staying up the coast at Dampier on her break and had to look something up, I forget what it was. She went to a mining company website for information and suddenly saw all these dots on a map where dozens and dozens of exploration licences had been taken out.’

  ‘Then she heard from the tourism boys that all these engineers were coming in and hiring their boats,’ Maggie continued. ‘Imagine that.’

  Webster picked up the story again. ‘She smelled the proverbial rat. It seemed something big was going on, so she told us to get down here and talk to people. We have to talk to Wally, seeing as he’s the custodian of many stories from Elsie’s country.’

  ‘Wasn’t he writing things down, love?’ asked Maggie suddenly. ‘Like, in a book?’

  ‘You mean an autobiography?’ asked Jacqui with interest. ‘Yes, he’s mentioned once or twice that he was going to write down some of the things that had happened to him during his life.’

  ‘When I went out to see him a while back, he told me that he was so concerned about the number of elders that were passing away that he had decided to write down the stories that Elsie had told him,’ said Lydia.

  ‘Oh, so the book can’t be published?’ said Jacqui.

  ‘Not if it’s customary lore and law,’ said Lydia. ‘The stories of the land and how it came to be, the legends, those are a different thing.’ She turned to Webster. ‘So why did you feel the need to come to town about all this?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘The local people told us there’ve been trucks driving around for the past eight months, ever since the “Trust” was formed. Surveyors and the like,’ said Webster. ‘Then I got a call from a mate. His wife’s family have a big pastoral lease. I mean, a really big one. Anyway, he was starting to get concerned about the intrusion of yellow trucks he started to see around their area. Took his plane up to have a bit of a dekko and was shocked to see grid tracks criss-crossing sites on his land, almost all the way to the coast.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’ asked Jacqui.

  ‘It means they’re doing potential mining exploration,’ Lydia explained.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Back in the seventies and eighties, mining exploration was welcomed. Many big mining companies used to acquire the pastoral leases. Some of them, especially around the Pilbara, went on to become big mines,’ explained Webster. ‘Bit before your time, Jacqui, but old Lang Hancock bought out pastoral leases all over the place.’

  ‘Same thing happens these days,’ added Maggie. ‘The mining companies hire a manager and run stock, as required by the terms of the pastoral lease, but carry on their mining exploration and development at the same time, under the exploration lease, which has a time limit on it. If they do find anything worthwhile, then they apply to convert the lease from an exploration to a mining one.’

  ‘What are they looking for?’ asked Jacqui.

  ‘Oil, gas, iron ore, diamonds, uranium,’ Lydia said with a shrug.

  ‘Some of the stations have been turned back onto the market as profitable and improved outfits,’ said Webster. ‘The mining companies poured capital into them, what with infrastructure, roads, airstrips. But some pastoralists didn’t hang about. They got out straight away and walked away from their leases with bulging pockets. Mind you, things are a bit different now from thirty and forty years ago. There’s environmental issues and native title, now.’

  ‘There’s one thing that hasn’t changed, though – money still talks,’ said Lydia.

  ‘I kinda enjoyed the visits we had back in the early days from the mining people,’ said Maggie reflectively. ‘They sent out the bit of paper by registered post. Mining exploration lease, wasn’t it, love? Then a couple of young geologists and their assistant, and a jack of all trades, driver bloke, would come with all their equipment. Interesting young fellas to talk to.’

  ‘Well, things changed in the 1990s,’ said Webster. ‘By then the mining companies had to deal with native title issues. Some very funny things used to happen after that. We heard about representatives from a group a bit like the New Country Leadership Trust flying around in choppers with whitefella anthropologists doing some sort of a site survey to see what heritage stuff was there. Then the trust group would get money as compensation for an agreement to explore their land,’ said Webster indignantly.

  ‘One of our friends told us one mining outfit had to pay a quarter of a million dollars to a tiny community for an office building on their land before the mining company could explore! Office building . . . it was an old campsite, hardly a building there! And an Aboriginal person had to accompany the geologists out in the field and be paid five hundred dollars a day!’ said Maggie. ‘Isn’t that so, love?’

  ‘Indeed so. It all became quite farcical at times. Sometimes, the local Aboriginal people didn’t show up when they were supposed to, which cost the mining companies money. So they all came to an agreement where the geologists could go out on their own but they still had to pay the locals five hundred smackeroos.’

  Jacqui looked at Lydia. ‘Good heavens. Is it still going on?’

  ‘Maybe. It’s been a bit quiet lately, although I’m getting the feeling things might be ramping up again.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘Us?’ asked Jacqui, wondering what any of this had to do with her.

  Lydia spoke up firmly. ‘We need to start asking questions and find this Leadership Trust mob. See if they’re being paid by mining money to persuade local people to side with them on the promise of payment and benefits for whatever it is that they’re after,’ she said. She stood up. ‘You get a good night’s rest, Webster and Maggie. I’ll try to catch up with you tomorrow. Thanks for the meeting venue, Jacqui.’

  ‘Any time,’ said Jacqui, flashing her friend a smile. ‘And keep me posted if you find out anything.’

  *

  As time passed Jacqui was happy that Jean-Luc had been swept up by the boys to play soccer – ‘le foot’ as he told them it was called in France, in the afternoons. He hadn’t mentioned Annabelle and he seemed less despondent and more himself. When Jacqui told him that Lydia had invited them to join her and her relatives on an evening out, he seemed excited.

  Jacqui and Jean-Luc watched the end-of-day sunlight melt into the late afternoon sky as they bumped along the corrugated dirt track towards the beach at a place called The Point.

  The tide was about to turn. As they parked o
n a patch of wild grasses, Jacqui caught her breath at the endless swathe of blinding, untouched gold and silver sand, which lay in front of them as far as they could see. The shining sand was strewn with russet boulders, and small rocks rested around the base of the ragged low cliffs beside the red desert sandhills which splayed out onto the beach.

  ‘The tide is still out. Fishing will have to wait,’ said Jacqui. ‘But it’s a good time to go exploring. One of my customers told me that they’ve found more dinosaur footprints out here.’

  ‘Yes, Palmer told me about that when we saw the other ones at Star Two. There was a mother and baby’s footprints there. That was pretty cool. Palmer said there are lots of footprints around the coast, but they’ve been kept secret.’

  ‘Yes, a secret guarded by the custodians of the land. But then tourists started to find these places, and they have to be carefully protected. There’re a lot of special places round here.’

  ‘Look, there are some other people here already. Let’s go, Maman.’ Jean-Luc grabbed their sports bag and loped across to the edge of the rockpools lying above the tide line, sheltered by the cliffs above them.

  Some local boys appeared from behind the dunes, dragging dried wood behind them, and Jacqui could see a group of women sitting on the sand in fold-up chairs and perched along a driftwood log. Several girls were digging in the sand.

  When Lydia, who had a few days off, had suggested Jacqui and Jean-Luc come and join her mob to fish, watch the sunset, cook a meal and sleep under the stars at The Point, Jacqui had jumped at the chance.

  ‘It’s such a special spot for local people. It’s a part of the coast that the sleeping serpent created in the Dreamtime,’ said Lydia when she issued the invitation. ‘Swimming is usually safe and the fishing is great. The place has been used for generations.’

  Jacqui recognised some of the boys who greeted Jean-Luc. Her son dropped his bag, nodded to the women, and hurried off with the group to explore the rockpools.

  Lydia waved and Jacqui joined her, sinking into a small collapsible canvas chair beside her friend. Lydia introduced her to all the aunties and cousins, and pointed to the men who were strung along the shore, looking for bait. Jacqui had no idea who was related to whom or in what way, but as everyone was called auntie and uncle it didn’t matter.

  ‘This mob has come down from Dampier and Cape Leveque, so we thought it’d be a good thing to have a get-together,’ explained Lydia.

  ‘Is there a special occasion?’ asked Jacqui, taking the cold drink Lydia dug from the ice in the big cooler.

  ‘Just being here is special. Don’t need any reason,’ said Auntie Maud.

  ‘That’s for sure,’ sighed Jacqui. ‘Sixty kilometres from Broome, a thousand miles from care. Or something like that. Anything else planned for your break, Lydia?’

  ‘I’m heading up the coast late tomorrow. Might stop in at Red Rock Bay and Beagle Bay. Part family things, part holiday break. But I might also start sussing things out for Maggie and Webster. See if my people have heard about this New Country Leadership Trust they mentioned. Our people generally hear about these things first as the oil and gas people like to get them on side quickly. But right now, I’m chilling.’ She held up her bottle of beer.

  ‘Chilling sounds like a good idea. I’m starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by what I need to do for the festival. Such a shame Miriam won’t be here for it, being a founding member, but Nat is a very capable replacement for her.’

  ‘Nat’s getting things under control, is she? I can plug things on the radio. The management have finally agreed to my request to let me do a live broadcast from the festival on the first day.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ Jacqui leaned back, closing her eyes. ‘Hmm, the salty air, the gentle sound of the waves. I’ll sleep like a log tonight.’

  ‘Let’s get that fire going,’ suggested Lydia. ‘Call the boys, they love making the campfire.’

  Several of the boys went off looking for driftwood for the fire while others decided to go fishing, collecting their rods and heading down to the water. One of them, Toby, grabbed a bucket, and started to follow the others.

  ‘What you got in that bucket, kid?’ asked Auntie Vi.

  Toby grinned. ‘My secret burley recipe, Auntie. It’ll bring in the bluebones for sure.’

  ‘Phew. What’s in it?’ Jacqui waved a hand under her nose.

  ‘Ah, just old bait, shellfish and some chicken pellets mashed together. Can’t tell you my other secret ingredients.’ He grinned.

  ‘Make sure you get one good-size bluebone or two, eh, boys?’ added Auntie Vi.

  ‘What’s a bluebone?’ asked Jacqui.

  ‘Type of groper,’ said Auntie Vi. ‘Real tasty fish all right. Cook him over the coals, some oil and a bit of onion. Real delicious.’

  ‘Go with the potatoes and corn we got to put in the hot ash when the fire dies down,’ added another auntie who was setting up a folding table.

  Jacqui smiled at Jean-Luc as he came up the beach.

  ‘Toby said we need more wood. I’ll go look for driftwood before it gets too dark,’ he offered.

  ‘That’s a good idea. We won’t eat until we have the fire just right,’ said Lydia.

  As Jean-Luc took off along the sand, Jacqui said to her friend, ‘I’m so glad you suggested coming out here. It’s just the distraction Jean-Luc needs.’

  ‘Still moping about the girlfriend?’

  ‘Maybe. He’s hiding it well. The other boys have kept him occupied. They’ve re-established the friendship they had from the last visit. Each time Jean-Luc comes, he’s changed a bit and so have they. Not that they know about Annabelle, I don’t think,’ she added quickly.

  ‘Ah, a place like The Point gets you back to basics. To what’s real and important,’ said Lydia, flinging her arm in an arc to take in the amazing setting. ‘Make the most of it. The festival will be full on soon enough.’

  They sat quietly, enjoying the peace. After a while Jacqui remarked, ‘Boy, for a remote place, it’s as busy as Pitt Street.’ She pointed towards the sea. Two men were strolling along the water’s edge.

  ‘More fishermen,’ said Lydia.

  Auntie Vi shaded her eyes. ‘Holy moly . . . that looks like Eddie Kana.’

  ‘Goolarabooloo man, Eddie Kana?’

  ‘How many important fellas you know called Eddie Kana, eh, Maudie? He only one fella. This important one, this one,’ said Auntie Vi.

  ‘Yeah, he’s Senior Law Boss for this country,’ said Auntie Maud. ‘Other one fella is Victor Rourke. He used to be on the Land Council. Good man.’

  There were warm greetings and handshakes all round when the men reached them. The men settled down on the sand while the aunties sat respectfully to one side. Jacqui faced the beach, keeping an eye on the boys at the water’s edge. She listened as Uncle Bob and Lydia told the two senior men they were camping overnight.

  ‘Just chillin’, Eddie. Doing some fishing. Show the new ones this special place,’ said Uncle Bob.

  The two men nodded.

  ‘Good fishing here. Be careful out on the rocks. I lost a monster bluebone on an eighty-pound line one time,’ said Eddie. ‘Just pulled in the head.’

  ‘You weren’t quick enough for them sharks,’ said Victor with a grin.

  ‘Are you fishing now?’ asked Lydia.

  ‘No, we driving back to Broome. Been out on the trail. Just walking, doing some business.’

  ‘That’s the Lurujarri Heritage Trail,’ said Lydia to Jacqui. ‘You should take Jean-Luc. Walk with the traditional owners. It’s the only way to appreciate the significance of this country. Unchanged for thousands of years. The knowledge of every bit of landscape has been handed down for generations. They say it wakes you up to country. And it certainly opens your eyes.’

  Eddie nodded. ‘It’s special, all right, so we got to keep our country
safe. There’s talk, you know.’

  ‘What’s happening, Eddie?’ asked Lydia, glancing at Jacqui.

  ‘The fellows from out of town, city boys, they going round our people, saying this, promising that. Waving lots of money.’

  ‘Signing people up,’ added Victor. And Auntie Vi nodded.

  Jacqui listened to the slow to-ing and fro-ing as Lydia patiently drew out information from the law men. Lydia finally let out a long breath and turned to Jacqui.

  ‘It’s what Maggie and Webster suspected. The mob from the New Country Leadership Trust have got a heap of funding so are making big promises to the locals.’

  ‘In exchange for what?’ asked Jacqui.

  ‘Their vote. Their approval. Make sure they tick the “yes” box for the big companies t’come in here and take over our land for mining,’ said Eddie. ‘They call it negotiation. More like bribery.’

  ‘They been talkin’ to my mob,’ interjected Auntie Maud. ‘Told them there’ll be plenty money t’build new schools, new facilities out in the communities. Even a hospital. That’d be good, I think.’

  ‘And who gonna run them things? Who gonna work out there? Where we going to live if they take our country?’ demanded Auntie Vi.

  ‘What sort of mining?’ asked Jacqui.

  Eddie shook his head. ‘This one is gas.’ He pointed to the ocean. ‘Out there.’

  ‘What! Just out there?’ asked Lydia in shock.

  ‘Nah, more than that. They want to build big hub to process the gas on shore. Big setup with everything. They still arguing about where it goes, here or other side of Broome, mebbe.’

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Jacqui. ‘I mean, not in this beautiful place!’

  ‘There’s a lot been going on behind closed doors, I’d say,’ said Victor. ‘I reckon them Trust people brought in some long ago relatives to sign agreements. But they’re outsiders, some even from far away parts of the country, even Queensland. These outsiders give permission to the Trust people to negotiate with the company and the state government on their behalf. Lots of big promises to local people if they sign away country, then big bucks, but we don’t think it’s right. Not up to the Trust; up to us what happens in country.’