Marsupial lions and carnivorous kangaroos roamed the luxuriant rain forest at Riversleigh but they had long gone when we arrived there.

In the intervening 20 million years the forest and pools had turned into rock with a smattering of grass. Barren it might look but Riversleigh, about 50 km south of Lawn Hill, is one of the most significant fossil sites in the world.

Curious people began scratching at white shapes in the rock on the cattle station just as the first federal politicians were getting together in the new city of Canberra. They started uncovering fossilised bones of more than 300 prehistoric species, some unknown to science before Riversleigh cattle station gave up its secrets. Scientists started work there in the 1960s. The fossil site has now been incorporated into the Lawn Hill National Park.

We had skipped Riversleigh when we had visited Lawn Hill 27 years ago because the road was pretty bad but I had always been intrigued by what is known as Site D.

Because of its grand reputation I had a naively romantic notion about what would be found at the great archaeological dig, envisaging a grand display of reconstituted bones or at least a dozen eccentric archaeologist types – possibly in pith helmets – digging in pits.

Nothing like that is on offer. A sign on the road says you have arrived at Site D and a path wanders off the dusty but not-too-bad road into an unprepossessing hill.

No one is in site but another sign warns you will be fined $3000, thrown in jail and your first-born not be allowed to nominate for the Australian Senate if you take even a wee rock from the site.

An information shelter harmonised into the landscape tells you what it is all about and then you wander around the rocks to see tiny bits of bone sticking out. The unusually hard limestone in the area preserved the bones of unique Australian prehistoric creatures, including a giant python with a girth about the size of a dinner plate.

Big Bird is the star.  You can admire a rather nice exposed fossil of his leg and the contents of his guts.

Big Bird is also known as a thunderbird. Remains of thunderbirds were found only in Australia. They stood about 2.5m tall and weighed between 250 and 300kg. Their leg bones were honeycombed to help support their weight.

The impressive leg bone poking out of the rock sits over a little cascade of pebbles, gizzard stones that helped Big Bird grind up the dirt and grit he absorbed as he pecked his way around the rainforest.

Apparently the archaeologists don’t work that particular site any more. They turn up in July each year and blow up another section, taking the large manageable chunks of rocks back to Mt Isa and Sydney. Lumps are dropped into acetic acid, which dissolves the limestone but not the fossils.

Fossils are outstanding in quality because the ancient spring-fed forest pools and lakes had a high concentration of calcium carbonate. The forest apparently formed a deceptive crust over the water, so the poor wildlife dropped through in big numbers to be quickly coated and buried in the hard limey mud. Chemicals in the ground water gradually altered the composition of the bones and teeth, turning them to stone.

Riversleigh’s marvellous menagerie disappeared when the climate cooled and dried out the rainforest about 10 million years ago

Sadly, no coal-fired power stations were around to keep the climate warm. I wouldn’t have minded seeing that thunderbird.

 
BELOW: Not eccentric archeaologists, just Barb and Phil wandering past a Big Bird bone site.

BELOW BELOW: Big Bird's leg bone and cascade of gizzard stones.

Our old friend Ken Price from New Zealand has travelled much of Australia with his wife Noreen. When they are not searching for gold and gems they pick up jobs in remote area.

Ken reckons the best job he ever had in his life was being in charge of the canoe hire at Lawn Hill Gorge when he worked at Adel’s Grove a few years back.

Adel’s Grove is a pleasant, shady spot about 12km from Lawn Hill and, apart from running the canoe hire, offers accommodation in canvas-sided huts or at the caravan park.

I had wondered who Adel was and why her name was spelt oddly since we were there almost 30 years ago. We were also intrigued by the old bloke and his wife running the place, which was not much more than a store with no walls. Cans of food and sale items were stored in old pantry cupboards and the double bed was off to one side of the establishment.

With smiles to ourselves we learned that Burketown, with a population of about 200, had become far too busy for the couple so they had moved out to the quieter life at Adel’s Grove, catering to the tourists visiting the gorge.

Adel’s Grove has gone upmarket now. An open restaurant out the back (above) has a fairly expensive menu. Big posters on the wall gave me the answer to why the spelling of Adel was unusual.

She was not a woman. She was a Frenchman, or at least his initials. Adel is an acronym of Albert de Lestang, who was commissioned by the Queensland government in the 1920s to experiment with growing tropical fruits in a garden watered from Lawn Hill gorge.

Albert grabbed a shovel and dug a network of irrigation channels to water his fruit trees and a market garden so he could sell his produce to the community around the Burketown mines. By 1939 he had about 1000 botanical specimens transplanted to the arid outback from the dunes of Saudi Arabia and the forests of Asia, Africa and the Amazon.

Presumably the war fouled up the experiment and Adel’s Grove turned into a pretty tourist stop. It’s a lot more expensive to stay there than at the national park site in the gorge itself. The gorge is heavily booked in the winter but there you are on-site, albeit with cold showers and no green grass.

“It wasn’t like this when we were here last time,” I said to American companions Ed and Rita as we arrived at the Lawn Hill Gorge camping site. “It was all green then.”

“There’s a reason for that,” said a friendly but sombre voice behind me.

Tony and I had been to Lawn Hill Gorge 27 years ago with our two pre-schoolers and Tony’s mother Daph. We had memories of lush grassed campsites and the spectacular gorge of green water and thick green foliage lining the steep ochre-red gorge.

Lawn Hill this time had a dry carpet of rocks and dead leaves in the camping sites. The voice behind me came from Ranger John Prince. He said they used to water grass three times a week at Lawn Hill but the trees started dying. The trees in that part of the world need six months of dry then six months of rain. Twelve months of wet kills them. He gestured to a stunted dead tree.

“OK,” I said, “but is it true you don’t have any hot showers now?” True, said Ranger John. They used to have a donkey boiler but there were problems with wasps building nests and then kids would play in the fire because their parents didn’t look after them.

OK. Cold showers and swims in the lovely fresh water. “Are those huge catfish still there?” No, said Ranger John. Seems the local Aborigines had a sit-in protest at Lawn Hill when the giant Century mine was about to open up. He wasn’t specific but said 150 or so Aborigines had to eat something.

Despite the changes, Lawn Hill was still a brilliant oasis at the end of a dusty 100km run from Gregory Downs.  

I learned from a poster that the water is such a striking shade of green because it actually isn’t green at all. All colours are absorbed into the water except the colour that is not present, in this case green. So green bounces back because it’s not actually there, a bit like Kevin Rudd.

We swam, lounged canoed and went for a walk along the edge of the gorge up to the lookout (above).  A fit looking young couple passed us and were taking photos at the top.

With heavy German accents they told us the view was incredible. They were from Zurich. I suggested their homeland of Switzerland had even more spectacular scenery – the frosted mountains, meadows, cute chalets and expectations that Heidi would come skipping down a track with her goats.

Yes, they said. Switzerland had nice scenery. “But not like this,” they both emphasised, gesturing to the gorge below.  Majestic rock landscape blazed red and all shades of gold. Startling emerald water was fringed with jade foliage. Higher up, stark white trunks on gum trees contrasted with clustered leaves straddling 50 shades of green, from lime to sage.  Brilliant blue in the sky backdrop emphasised the 3D view.

They sat and soaked it in, entranced. Heidi, eat your heart out. 

No caravans or motorhomes past this point.....ummm....

A Christian friend once told me the answer to everything was contained in the Book of Revelations. That may be so but as we drove to Gregory Downs Hotel we found revelations that raised more questions that were answered.

First off the road itself south from Burketown was a revelation. After more than 800km of gravel, dirt and corrugations it was sealed. Lord love us, it wasn’t like that when we were there 27 years ago and it didn’t appear that was on our maps but sealed it was.

Tony and Phil are not that fond of bitumen. They fear too much of Australia is being made too accessible and soon it will be hard to get away from it all to anywhere. Tony likes to tell of exploring unmarked tracks along riverbanks in lonely areas of Australia, looking for a secluded hideaway known only to a few locals. You crawl down a rutted and barely visible goat track and, lo and behold, at the end of it is a Victorian in a caravan.

The Gregory River Downs pub is a must-do stop on the way to Adel’s Grove and Lawn Hill. Jo Start owned the pub when we were last there but I didn’t get to meet the lady then. I did this time and was fascinated.

Jo is a cross between Hetty of NCIS Los Angeles and Audrey of To The Manor Born. She appears to be somewhere on the other side of 70, tiny, ramrod straight, wearing a light tailored suit among the ultra-ultra casual style of clients.

She probably makes Hetty and Audrey look a wee bit soft  as she keeps a gimlet eye on staff and clients. She spared me a few minutes.

She bought the Gregory Downs Hotel in 1984 when she was based in Mt Isa. She lobbed up weekends for now and then for a few years, apart from a few years spent in Townsville. Sixteen years ago she took over full-time.

“The wet season is the best time here. It’s beautiful in the wet with all the wildlife. You can relax a bit and enjoy the company of locals.”

So the tourists keep her busy in the dry season? Not so much the tourists, she said. Consutrction camps.  One lot had moved out that morning and another crew would be arriving tomorrow.

Still, the tourists seemed to be pretty steady. A carton of Northern cost $62, which wasn’t too bad for that area. Certainly better than Burketown where there is none to be bought at any price. Ed bought a carton and we decided we had enough to get through. Bad move. We weren’t counting on the vagaries of licensing laws at Hell’s Gate and Borroloola.

I decided I wanted a photo of Jo Start so trotted back to ask if I could get one. “Well, hurry up girl,” came the imperious reply. I snapped two frames and she marched off. Jo Start was finished with the interview by this scruffy tourist.

Another revelation awaited us a few hundred metres away at the lovely Gregory River. We had camped there when the kids were little almost 30 years ago and had been disappointed to learn campers were no longer allowed to relax there.

That’s was the books and the signs say but another revelation was waiting at the bridge. Dozens of caravans, motor homes and camper trailers were parked there, blithely ignoring council signs. Everything was neat and tidy. A camper said a council truck came around regularly to empty the rubbish bins.

Apparently the council has a cunning plan to put up a barricade that will mean only tent people can camp there. Interesting. The Grey Nomads perched on the Gregory bank all appeared to have well set up and self-contained travelling arrangements. Tent people, on the other hand, are often not as scrupulous about their footprints.

But it would take more than a Book of Revelations to give clues about the wonders of council deliberations around the world.