Dugong and Turtle Hunting

Evening Star, Issue 20020, 10 November 1928, Page 18

Dugong and Turtle Hunting

A Night Club Orgy in Australia’s Far North

A Wild Revel and a Turtle Supper

[By Donald Thomson, B.Sc., Dip. Anthrop.] [All Rights Reserved.!

Dugong . and turtle have been abundant about the reefs during the last week or so, and evening lias witnessed some wild orgies when _ the hunting has been good. The Yinjinga are expert boatmen, and depend largely for their food supply on the sea. In small, leaky canoes, or little dinghies of Oft or 10ft, which have long ago seen their best days 11 presents given to the younger men by the Japanese trochus and bcche-dc-raer boats at tho end of their terms or service—they make long trips out to the islets and reefs inside tho Great harrier. Curiosity us to their fishing methods prompted me, much against my better judgment, to accompany one of these dngong parties out to the reels, up the coast above the Stewart—an adventure I shall not repeat. The craft was so frail that one bad to sit in just the right spot to trim her. She leaked badly, and while I was still in a condition to take an interest in small things of this world, ( made many calculations as to the number of miles wo were from tho shore, and speculated on tho possibility, always providing one eludes the myriad sharks, of swimming. And yet, in these tiny craft the natives are quite at home. Water came aboard in bucketfuls, and drenched us repeatedly, and they had to bail like demons. The. great tail flukes of a dugong are quite equal to smashing tho craft to matchwood. But all through the day, in which the fishing is carried out, they speak scarcely a word—their whole concern is to keep the little cockleshell bailed and their pipes alight. Both turtle and dugong are harpooned with a huge wooden pole, tipped, if possible, w'ih a short iron point. To this point a rope is attached. The method is a simple one enough, but nerve and skill of no mean order are required to carry it out. To assist him in his work—though whether effective per se, or merely to bring good luck I

■ cannot say—the harpooncr, who is always tho oap’tuin, may “ sing the death of • e dngong before bo goes out. Then, as my informant, a very expert harpooncr, pub it to me, “ the dugong must die! ” It is not quite clear what explanation they give if tho “spell” fails to work, and ! forbore to ask, for one must take these pieces of information, often hard to win, very gravely. To laugh would be to lose tho confidence of your man for ...11 time. The barpooner stands in tho bows, bis great harpoon, 10ft or 15ft in length, poised ready. Just how ho maintains his balance is a mystery to me, for in spite of tho idyllic picture of an unrippled calm within tho reef, 1 have not yet seen tho water perfectly quiet. During tho morning we saw seven or eight dugong, or “ sea cows ” as they arc ometimes called. The faarpooncr directs his boat entirely _ by means of signs or grunts. The sail is lowered and tho paddles used to steal within striking range of the victim—which lies basking on the surface—a huge grey bulk. The harpoon is poised, and suddenly tho liarpooner leaps bodily overboard, his entire weight following his great harpoon. The creature, in spite of its vast bulk, is helpless, its sole protection a heavy hide mid blubber. It sounds; tho harpooncr secures a rope about its tail. It is difficult to picture the risks involved in this hunting, and yet the accidents in these shark-infested waters are comparatively few. The head of the dugong is singularly hideous, but to this creature is sometimes attributed the origin of the mermaid myth! Now follows tho return —the prize being either cut in two and loaded into the boat, which by some miracle still keeps afloat, or, if a very large one. towed behind. Turtle—" green,” “ loggerhead ” and hawksbill—the “tortoiseshell ” turtle —are also secured in the same way with the great harpoon. The liarpooner then dives and secures these still alive, on the islets about the reefs, where the turtles go to deposit their eggs, they are easily captured, simply by turning them on their backs on the sand. Under water a really big turtle is very powerful, bub once on his back on tho sand lie is quite helpless. A GHOULISH FEAST Wild scenes are staged about the Stewart Estuary when a successful expedition returns, alter the camp has gone hungry for a day or two. Save at high tide, the river estuary is too shallow to allow a loaded boas to come to the camp—placed up in the shadows, where “ alligators ” are less likely to venture. Towards dusk the men may bo seen leaving tho camp for the beach —and the men only, for they alone attend the “ night club "—intermediate between a Masonic gathering and a wild party. Returning to our canip very Jato 'one dark night, wc noticed a blaze down the river. It was a strange hour and place for a bonfire, and we walked slowly along. Suddenly a weird scene lay before us. Uninvited guests, an awkward silence greeted our entry. It was like tho awkward hush which one imagines greets the entry of the police who arrive, i ninvited, within tho hallowed precincts of a two-up school 1 Nobody spoke. They were all otherwise engaged; but, for all that, it was no Quakers’ meeting! They were in deadly earnest. A blazing lire lighted up the beach—•liming fitfully on tho bodies of the natives clustered around it. Most of them wore the dress of their ancestors; they were stark naked. Still nobody spoke. At first I thought that we had happened on some weird initiation ceremony. But no! In the shadow on the other side of the fire a monster green turtle lay on its back. Here, then, was the real guest of the evening—the guest of honour—already in process of dissection. The Stewart River Night Club was holding a little supper—an informal affair, for men only! It was, indeed, a gruesome hight. . The carving of the feast is always a, horrible sight. Turtles are notoriously difficult to kill, and the natives’ methods of dissecting them but ekes out the death agonies of the victim. Often they commence by carving off the front flippers at the joint—a slow process, with a knife only remarkable for its bluntuess. The victim writhes and utters a sound like a great sigh. Then tho creature is opened up, and gradually carved in such a way that none of the blood is lost. The blood is one of the richest prizes of the evening—turtle soup par excellence! So, after all, your alderman is not alone in his relish for bis turtle soup! Your clubmen the world over are brothers under the skin! The guests, now unmindful of our cramping presence, uubent. They entered into the spirit of tho thing; they let themselves go! The har-pooner-captain, one Ngongorli, _ officiated. He carved, and apportioned tit-bits; there was no need to tempt tho appetites of tho fcasters. Sometimes a “ father ” or elder relative of the harpooncr may preside on his behalf—a kind of “oldest member ”

touch. The stomach and part of the intestines are the parts most relished; they were removed, the contents of the stomach emptied, and, the muscles still contracting and expanding, thrown for a few minutes on to the fire, and pulled out with eager fingers, regardless of ash and sand. Masses of meat, dripping, were brought out of the shell, and vessels filled with the blood. One could not but wonder what it must be like to be the chief guest at just one such evening! The Yanjinga, however, have never been cannibals, despite these ghoulish orgies—their midnight revels. In fact, they have a term of contempt for cannibals: “ K’ta “ Ho stinks ”> —one informally told rne. A big blue dingo-dog, about the only fat dog in camp, took his place in tie circle as a matter of course, and exacted bis toll. With deepthroated growl, and bared teeth, he cballengedf all who dared to interrupt him. Few dared to dispute old Wantu’s, the master dog, claim to a share. Suddenly the possibility of a flashlight photograph of the turtle dinner occurred to me. But as the camera arrived the party broke up. As if by magic, the fire died down. No haste; no noise—each just had seized What be could carry and melted into the outer darkness. A curious sight they presented in the starlight, wading across the shallows—the spoil of the feast balanced on their heads. Once more wo were alone, save for a few dying embers, an upturned turtle shell, a few bones. Nothing more. And to-morrow comes Wata, the little black scavenger! But unlike other revellers your Blackfellow does not sneak in by the back door! Not a bit of it! He has

long ago settled the question—metaphorically speaking—as to who wears the trousers in the camp, if necessary, With the aid of his spear-thrower, an implement which ranks, on the male Side, like the “ rolling pin ” in the oppoaite camp! But, again, the results of his revelry carry no ill-effects on the morrow—no headache, no “ liver,” no hectic temper. Nothing suffers—nothing, that is, always excepting his waistline !