Gorge.

Katherine Gorge, Northern Territory.

“In the floods they were shooting crocs from the rooftops,” says Tracey, our fixer. “They were coming down the flow and feeding from the flooded shops.” I dimly recall this. The 1998 floods that hit Katherine. Grainy footage of floodwaters and flashing lights. A once in a lifetime Perfect Storm. Tracey points out the railway bridge that spans the river in Katherine. “The waters reached right the way up,” she says. “Twenty metres.”

It’s hard to believe. I try to think how many double decker buses that is. Today, the avenues and boulevards of Katherine seem to serene and peaceful. And croc-less. There are no marksmen on rooftops I am happy to report.

We’re on our way to Katherine Gorge, the highlight of the Nitmiluk National Park. We pass a sign that happily declares ‘Katherine is Gorgeous!”. The Gorge is actually a network of 14 gorges, each one stepping up form its predecessor, kind of like a network of locks on a canal. Our first view of it is from the water: we hire bright yellow kayaks and are decked out in regulation flotation vests, pick a paddle and wobble very unceremoniously into position. 

“Yeah, there shouldn’t be any salties,” we’re told by the girl handing out the kayaks. “But ya never know.” We’re pointed out red bouys along the side of the gorge: these are salt-water crocodile detectors. They work pretty simply and effectively; if there are tooth marks on the buoys, there are salties present. 

A word about crocodiles. There are two basic types apparently; salties and freshies. Salties eat people. They eat dogs. They eat anything. They are eating machines. Fresh-water crocs are a little more laid back. Not to be messed with, but not quite as ravenous. They keep themselves to themselves. It’s the salties you need to mindful of.

I am being very mindful of salties as I nudge the kayak out into the water. Not being a keen kayaker – have I ever kayaked before?, I suddenly think to myself, as the shore drifts away from me – the first ten minutes are spent going round in circles. But then with a bit of coordination, we’re off. Down the gorge. 

The near vertical cliffs are fantastic. Fruit bats lift from the trees and swirl around, screeching, before settling back down, and we pass them hanging like small sacks from the branches. There’s something quite elemental about canoeing down the gorge:  the sound of paddle on water, the slosh of water against hull, the sun glinting against the river. The echoes. We stop and let ourselves go with the current and take a breather. It’s so peaceful. 

Ahead, we can see other yellow lozenges of kayaks heading deeper into the linked gorges. Here and there, it’s possible to pull over and rest a while on a beach. There are even safe-swimming areas, and if the season is right, waterfalls. It is very like paradise. Populated by people in day-glo life-preservers.

You don’t have to take to the water, of course. You can keep dry and walk the cliff tops if you have a head for heights. The cliff-walls are steep, mind. But the views are spectacular. 

Or for a real thrill, take a helicopter ride. 

For once, our pilot is not called Michael. He’s Luke. Luke lifts us into the air, and with a swift turn we rise and race towards the gorge. The chopper threads along the ravines, and it feels like you’re in one of those nature documentaries. Or Skippy. From up here you get a sense of the scale of Katherine Gorge. It stretches for miles: the cliff-walls sheer-dropping almost 100m at points. The gorge a deep, beautiful, green ribbon through the sunburned outback. 

We twirl around waterfalls and bank this way and that, always chasing the shadow of the helicopter way below on the gorge walls. Too soon, we head back to the helipad. Luke’s next ride is already waiting expectantly as we land. I catch the eye of one guy, looking a little hesitant. 

“My first time in a chopper,” he says.

“You won’t like it,” I lie.