There’s a dozen of us, ankle-deep in the mangrove slop, a low tide about to turn. There are echoey calls between the mob, someone finds a rich haul, and there’s general, light-hearted banter. I hear deep, chesty laughter.
It is a torrid time of year: the ‘build-up’, November and each afternoon heavy dark clouds roll in, towering cumulus nimbus, ominous but rarely delivering rain. Distant thunder rumbles, and in the evenings, the clouds become huge lanterns, spectacularly lit from within. Sometimes, dramatic electrical forks are deafeningly sparking out across the sky.
Hot, humid, and the sandflies are welcoming as we clump through the mud. We each have a tomahawk and a billy can, carefully stepping through the tidal forest, inspecting the old rotten timbers exposed by the tide, looking for the telltale ‘bore holes’ where the molluscs have burrowed.
It’s Kurukurari – Yuli-harvesting season, and gatherers are out in force, harvesting this seasonal bounty. Yuli, a 60 to 90 mm wormy-looking treat, joins with the huge ‘milky’ oyster as prized local seafood delicacies. My facial expression causes peals of delighted laughter as I swallow my first Yuli.
I thought they were Telescopium. But for millennia past, long before somebody first classified ‘shipworms’, my Tiwi companions sought these Yuli.
Anastasia Puruntatamirri is instructing me in the finer points of Yuli gathering. A telltale hole in rotting Mangrove wood, fingers inserted to confirm a prize, and then whack, the axe exposes the shell and the treasure inside. I have three in my billycan, most of the women have already filled theirs, and are heading for the beach.
Clementine Tipungwuti, inspects my can and quips, “Hey mamanta, you goin’ be hungry!” A hot fire is rapidly morphing into a glowing bed, and we settle, short sticks suspending Yuli briefly over the coals before the kids and we snack. There will still be plenty for the family back home.
Strong, sweet tea, Yuli and chatter. My rudimentary Tiwi language skills catch occasional words, suggesting salacious gossip but without the knowledge to garner the juicier details. Laughter, the antics of the kids, and the successful morning’s work sit warmly, a memorable and instructive outing.
There is a loud yell from somebody. We look back into the mangroves and see the glinting yellow eyes, the sparkling row of teeth, the distant swaying of a tail. It is still thirty metres from our campfire, mostly mangroves between it and us, but we all stand, the kids are corralled, and all eyes are on the croc.
There is no discernible panic, but like clockwork, we each gather our gear and move back towards the Toyota. I think it is Anastasia who mysteriously produces a haunch of wallaby from the back of the Ute. She speaks quietly, but respectfully to the animal, and throws the meat over towards the fireplace.
We climb into the Ute. Anastasia explains that Yirrikipayi is an Important totemic figure in Tiwi cosmology. “We always gotta share some tucker with ‘im”. We drive off.