Today I happily accepted comfort and company. After breakfast my friends drove me along a rollercoaster-like road to Alligator Gorge, the naming of which escapes me, for there are no Alligators, crocodiles or even goannas near the place. Situated in the northern section of Mt. Remarkable National Park the bottom of the narrow gorge is accessible via a steep track and steps. Parts of the gorge are only 2 metres wide, while vertical walls rise about 20 to 30 metres. NOW, in winter, some sections were not getting any sunlight at all.
Even more than Mount Remarkable itself, the rocky sides at Alligator Gorge introduced the ruggedness found in abundance further north, while its ground held on to the dampness and lushness of the regions further south. A walk to the “Terraces” (terrace-like formation of eroded rock forming the ‘floor’ of the creek bed) revealed plenty more patches of sandripple stone. Every corner had its new surprises. What a place for a walk! What a place for plants and wildlife! The Nukunu and Ngadjeri tribes must have had a great time hunting and gathering food around here. I was sorry I had not brought my tent for I did not really want to leave. Today, we only went for a leisurely stroll, but most definitely, the area of the National Park, and even just Alligator Gorge on its own, would require another visit.
One missing item of “high-tech” in my cabin, the reversible air-conditioning, was the perfect invitation to gather some firewood and settle for an evening outside. There were, of course better wilder, more remote places to come, but … . And very soon should this decision find its exciting reward: Not too long after total darkness had set in, did the trees around me come alive. Leaves were rustling, from behind their cover came the occasional hiss and a sharp, explosive cough, now and again the thin branches in the crowns of those young trees were leaning over to reveal a dark shape, about half the size of a cat. They were possums, Common Brushtail Possums (Trichosorus vulpecula), if I am not mistaken. After returning from the pub late last night we had heard them for a short while. Having run around between ceiling and roof, chasing each other and fighting, they had obviously set out to test the efficiency of our aural senses against the efficiency of the “liquid-sleeping pills” of our respectably high blood-alcohol-levels. Little had they known as to how well prepared we had come for that kind of a test! More than likely had they finally searched for alternative dormitories in an understandable attempt to escape from our Fosters-induced snoring. Tonight things were different. Obviously well accustomed to the procedures on a camping ground, they were determined to investigate the food-situation.
Sitting by the fire, equipped with a torch, I had initially followed their climbing adventures along swaying branches in the tops of small trees, probably eucalypts. Apparently the Brushtail Possum’s liver can detoxify the poison of the eucalypt leaves, however, it is unable to handle a diet consisting exclusively of these leaves. Well, when I fetched a cup of tea from the cabin, tonight’s ration of eucalypt leaves had apparently reached its limit for three possums: very easily were they persuaded to climb down the wooden poles of the cabin to get some fresh vegetables. The three were jealously guarding each other and what amount of food they were receiving from my hands. A number of fights broke out along the horizontal beam of the low roof, as well as on the ground. Winning the battle of the access route meant winning the battle for food. Victory for one meant the fight was over. They never started chasing the one who had run away with a piece. Instead, they wisely let him flee and then utilised the “free road” to ask for something themselves. Of course, the cheeky one got most, while the more frightful one, after taking only marginal bites, decided to keep a safe distance, sit on the beam and peep down with a sulky face, watching its fellow “piggies of possums” gobble up all of my salad-ingredients. Strangely enough, they all had their likes and dislikes. All three adored carrots, for which even the timid one was prepared to hiss, cough and fight the others off. Cucumber was loved by one, hated by another and one went just mad on mushrooms. Luckily, I still possessed some tuna and toast, for tonight’s portion of “my” salad had been nibbled away as a digestive counterbalance to partly poisonous eucalypt oil.
Those cute, furry little fellows had certainly found a perfect place for settlement. In the wild, they like wood-areas, particularly open forests, where they spend their days sleeping in hollow branches, tree-trunks of fallen logs, coming out at night to feed on a variety of leaves as well as flowers and seeds of some trees. Close to human settlement, they will occupy anything which offers some dark shelter, certainly liking the space between ceilings and roofs. Sharp claws enable them to climb trees easily, but they also travel extensively on the ground.
Around the caravan park there was plenty of shelter at buildings and trees, there was plenty of food from both natural sources, as well as provisions offered or left by campers, and, if the possum should finally get fed up with those flocks of tourists they would easily make their way over to the, creek and its charming little pocket of open woodland, making their way along a number of sheltering buildings and trees. In the wild, dingoes, carpet pythons and lace monitors prey on possums. Here, they were presumably safe from those, but l would imagine that foxes and dogs, given half a chance, would have a go at them, too.
I was very surprised to read in an excellent book on Flinders Ranges mammals, which was only published about one year after my journey took place that the Common Brushtail is presumed extinct in the area of the Northern Flinders Ranges.
“This possum was once present in large numbers in the northern Flinders Ranges, as well as in the southern areas. It is not in the north today, however, though the last sightings were as recent as 40 years ago. … traditionally possums were a very important mammal in the Adnyamathanha economy and spiritual life.”
Tunbridge, D., “The Story of the Flinders Ranges Mammals”, p. 54
It should be interesting to find the cause for the animal’s extinction from the northern area, particularly since “… population characteristics and variability allow the Common Brushtail to use a variety of habitats and rapidly colonises new areas or build up its numbers”. (How, R.A., in Strahan, R., (Ed.) “The Complete book of Australian mammals” p. 148). From an age of one year onwards, over 90% of females breed annually, quite often twice a season. And although death takes a huge toll when the offspring start establishing their own territories at an age of about three months, such a high reproduction rate should leave enough possums alive, anywhere. So, why can they survive here, while they have disappeared from the northern Flinders Ranges?
Before it vanished from their area, the Common Brushtail was valued highly by the indigenous people of the Northern Flinders Ranges, both for spiritual reasons, as well as a source of juicy meat. It was hunted by use of a ‘wirri’ (hunting waddy), which was either thrown or utilised as a club. Also used for clubbing was the ‘atha’ (digging stick). The hunter had to be careful to kill the animal immediately, otherwise its tail would clamp tightly around the branch forcing the hunter to climb up and cut it off. For the same reason shooting was not a preferred method of hunting.
Each hunt started with a song “… to ‘sing in’ a good catch for the night”. Tunbridge, D., “Flinders Ranges Mammals”, p. 54) and after a successful hunt the possum was singed, had its gall bladder and intestines removed, was skewered and cooked for an hour in the ashes of a ground oven. While the animal in general lived on leaves and flowers of a variety of eucalypts, acacias and Needlewood (Hakea leucoptera), the leaves of the River Redgum (Eucalyptus camaldulensis) added particular taste to the meat.
“People commented that you could smell the gum leaves in possum meat – it made it particularly tasty.”
Tunbridge, D., Flinders Ranges Mammals”, p. 54
That night at my small campfire at the caravan park, I knew nothing about a possum-cooking- recipe, I had not even found out yet that the animal is protected on mainland Australia, and I would not have dared to club and roast my three salad-guests, anyway. l finally just ate a few tuna- sandwiches and then went to bed.
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