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Western Australian culture walk a treat

By Terry Carter and Lara Dunston- LONELY PLANET

4 March 2007 - While scores of tourists wait knee-deep in Monkey Mia Dolphin Resort's inviting waters, awaiting the arrival of its namesake dolphins for breakfast, we opt for a bush walk instead -- with Darren "Capes" Capewell, an Aborigine from the Mulgana tribe.

Capes, a thirtysomething former football player, entertains some young Japanese travelers with his didgeridoo. Within minutes he has a girl amusingly acting out the movements of the animals he's sounding out on the didgeridoo. Our walk turns out to be no less engaging.

Capes has been running his "Wula Guda Nyinda" (you come this way) cultural walks at Monkey Mia, on the shores of Shark Bay in northern Western Australia, since late 2004. His father is Mulgana and his mother, Nardi, so he's an expert on the aboriginal country around Monkey Mia and the Shark Bay World Heritage area. He leads us from the beach and guides us through the sandy scrubland.

"Take soft steps," Capes advises us. "Today you're going to learn how to respect country."

We hear a familiar whistle. Capes stops dead in his tracks. "That's the Chilli Chilli, the Willie Wagtail," he whispers. "Don't talk when they're around. Never tell a Willie Wagtail anything; they're big gossips."

We keep walking. Capes is alert to every sight and sound in the bush. He looks down to the ground, studying the tracks, looking up when he hears a bird call or rustle.

"Today," Capes continues, "you're going to learn how to let the bush talk to you." We're all ears.

"The welcome swallow, he'll tell you when rain's coming. The thick-billed wren -- two calls, he's telling you you're in danger. Could be a snake. Look down at the ground. Look at the kangaroo poo. The bigger the poo, the bigger the kangaroo. Look for his tracks. If he's moving slowly, there'll be three, two paws first, then his tail. No tail: He's jumping; he's moving fast. He's in trouble or he's found water."

Capes teaches us how to find water, how to tell a python's track, where to look for food. We learn to identify the nanya tree with its beanlike fruit with sweet peas inside. The bimba bush is for dessert. It has a sweet toffeelike sap. We chew on salt bush, sucking the salty juice.

We take an instant liking to some tiny red berries growing on the "Charlie tree," named after a tribe member who used to enjoy taking naps under them. They're sweet and juicy. We can't believe that what appears to be arid bushland is a wild edibles supermarket.

Capes spots some rather innocuous clouds on the horizon and proclaims it's going to rain tomorrow. We think he's eaten too many berries.

He hands us a thick green bean, calling it "pigface," to rub on our skin to soothe sunburn. He shows us some coastal myrtle. "It's like Vicks VapoRub. Put it under your nose if you have a cold." We try it.

He's right. It's like eucalyptus. Forget the pharmacy. We know where to go when we get sick.

In three hours we'd walked just a few kilometers, but dipped our toes into thousands of years of aboriginal knowledge of the land. We've learned about bush nutrition, bush medicine and bush survival -- with some Malgana language thrown in -- but most of all we'd experienced firsthand that special connection that indigenous Australians have to the country. We could see Capes as a one-man aboriginal Australian embassy in Monkey Mia. Except this is his country -- Mulgana country.

The next morning, Capes greets us like family. It's raining, we point out. "Well, what did you expect?" Capes grins.

Source: Contra Costa Times (CA)

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