Stilwater
The names of animals, people, and places in this book have been changed to protect privacy.
© 2014, Text and photographs by Rafael de Grenade
All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher: Milkweed Editions, 1011 Washington Avenue South, Suite 300, Minneapolis, Minnesota 55415.
(800) 520-6455
Published 2014 by Milkweed Editions
Cover design by Brad Norr Design
Cover photo and interior photos by Rafael de Grenade
Author photo by Jaime de Grenade
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First Edition
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Grenade, Rafael de, 1980–
Stilwater : finding wild mercy in the outback / Rafael de Grenade.
pages cm
Summary: “Set on an abandoned cattle ranch in Queensland, Australia, this memoir explores the power of a beautiful coastal landscape, contrasting this place with the brutality of modern ranching, and exploring the tension between wildness and human efforts to create order from it”—Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-1-57131-888-6 (ebook)
1. Ranching—Australia. 2. Feral cattle—Australia. 3. Grenade, Rafael de, 1980—Travel—Australia. 4. Australia—Description and travel. I. Title.
SF196.A8G74 2014
994.3’8072092—dc23
2013043098
Milkweed Editions is committed to ecological stewardship. We strive to align our book production practices with this principle, and to reduce the impact of our operations in the environment. We are a member of the Green Press Initiative, a nonprofit coalition of publishers, manufacturers, and authors working to protect the world’s endangered forests and conserve natural resources. Stilwater was printed on acid-free 100% postconsumer-waste paper by Edwards Brothers Malloy.
To Soraya, with love.
Contents
Chapter II
Chapter III
Acknowledgments
Stilwater
Stilwater Station
Gulf Country
I LANDED ON STILWATER in the dry season. I arrived by air, sweeping across white savanna mottled with sand ridges and the speckled green of vegetation. From above, the upper reach of the gulf country was a painting—tracings and patterns with vivid colors and no distinct shapes, the future and past laid out below all at once, temporal paths cut by countless spirits on walkabout, here and gone.
Trees took shape as the plane descended, tall, with blue-green willowy canopies, and then a small station rose up, a compound with a few rectangular scattered buildings, a few corrals at the end of a long white line of road leading in from the east. The pilot veered, dipping one wing, and then a long dirt strip appeared and there was no avoiding the ground. The small wheels jolted against hard-packed earth and yellow grass blurred past the windows.
When the pilot opened the curved door, I climbed down over the wing. I had arrived alone, the sole passenger. The searing white earth rose to meet me.
Australia is an island between two oceans, a landmass isolated for some fifty-five million years. Most of the twenty million people there today choose the tranquilizing lip of deep blue water at the eastern rim. But farther inland, farther north, red earth and black earth, hot savannas of eucalyptus trees and bronze desert reveal the continent’s heart. This subtle expanse reaches for days of flat nothingness, the creases of thin drainages like wrinkles of skin—parched, leathered, endless.
Hours from the cities on the coast, across the barren sweep, a horn juts upward on the northeastern corner: the spiked protrusion of the Cape York Peninsula, which reaches almost to Papua New Guinea. Here the earth begins to green again, just the palest tinge of tropics clawing onto the flattest land on earth. In its farthest domain, the horn cuts between the Arafura Sea in the Indian Ocean and the Coral Sea of the Pacific Ocean. Retreat a little to the south and west and the Arafura Sea bleeds into the Gulf of Carpentaria. Stilwater Station is a rectangle that borders the sea and covers a swath of the coastal plains.
The gulf country is alternately, and sometimes all at once, a rippling savanna, a salt flat, and a scrub whose edges endlessly change and play at the wide silk of the sea. Rivers snake across it in broadening oscillations, resisting the moment they become one with the glittering ocean, trying to slow down time. Shallow channels cut between the major conduits, where, depending on rain and the direction of storms, water can flow in either direction. Salt arms reach inward like the limbs of an octopus, their tentacles fringed in mangroves.
This
