Water is life, it must be shared, no one can solely own it

Since European colonisation in 1788, the relationship between Western culture and Dungalaba (Saltwater Crocodile) has been characterised as one consisting of conflict and misunderstanding. In contrast, the Indigenous people of the Top-End (Northern Territory) have lived alongside Dungalaba for more than 20,000 years (Webb & Manolis, Reference Webb and Manolis1989), building a relationship built on rights and responsibilities for the health of Country and the abundance of Dungalaba. The abundance of Dungalaba was kept in the balance through traditional hunting and egg collecting. Although the practice of hunting and harvesting of Saltwater Crocodile is more common throughout Arnhem Land (Webb & Manolis, Reference Webb and Manolis1989).

Dungalaba’s population before 1945 was noted to be prolific, but the species experienced a substantial decline during the 20^th Century on account of mass unregulated hunting (culling; Butler, Reference Butler, Webb, Manolis and Whitehead1987; Webb & Messel, Reference Webb and Messel1979). Some one-hundred and forty thousand individuals were killed during a twenty-six-year period spanning from 1945 to 1971 (Webb, Manolis & Whitehead, Reference Webb, Manolis, Whitehead, Webb, Manolis and Whitehead1987). Fukuda et al. (Reference Fukuda, Webb, Manolis, Delaney, Letnic, Lindner and Whitehead2011) and Fukuda et al. (Reference Fukuda, Manolis and Appel2014) alongside Webb and Carrillo (Reference Webb and Carrillo2000) have spoken to the period of intense unregulated harvesting of Dungalaba for their highly valuable skins. Although the hunting was not just for skins, as with a string of attacks occurring alongside a growing population of Dungalaba, public perspective became misconstrued through past real-life encounters, stories, and fantastical narratives (Butler, Reference Butler, Webb, Manolis and Whitehead1987; Webb et al., Reference Webb, Manolis, Whitehead, Webb, Manolis and Whitehead1987; Fukuda et al., Reference Fukuda, Manolis and Appel2014). Australia wide protection came into the picture during 1972, and the modern perspectives regarding Dungalaba continued into today’s society, placing the species in opposition to humans, with both vying for the position as the apex predator. Moreover, it is worth noting that over past 50-yearsFootnote ¹ the Saltwater crocodile population has grown from a few thousand to well over one-hundred thousand non-hatching individuals (Baker, Campbell, Udyawer, Kopf & Campbell Reference Baker, Campbell, Udyawer, Kopf and Campbell2024).

Since colonisation modern Western masses and land managers have historically held the upper hand within human–crocodile relationships through the vessel of management (Webb et al., Reference Webb, Manolis, Whitehead, Webb, Manolis and Whitehead1987). Humans in modern Australia have devised plans to mitigate and manage Dungalaba’s lifestyle, for the perceived benefit of their own. This overtly anthropocentric practise has created an ever-pressing Dungalaba versus human conflict which has influenced how humans, and Dungalaba, are distributed (Butler, Reference Butler, Webb, Manolis and Whitehead1987). In these modern scenarios, the default position often places humans first, with strategies for coexistence rarely prioritised by Western land management.

As time has progressed, the general population have shared mixed feelings and relationships with Dungalaba, ranging from fear to fascination. Meaning human entanglements with Dungalaba will only continue to proliferate, not only because the common link between us and Dungalaba is water, hereby providing space for interaction to increase, but because water is something that cannot be taken away from either relationship (Ligtermoet et al, Reference Ligtermoet, Gumurdul, Nayinggul and Baker2023; Webb et al., Reference Webb, Missi, Cleary, Bomford and Caughley1996). Our interactions with Dungalaba have become more prominent and unavoidable within the Northern Territory’s waterways, and the time has come when we should start to accept that our relationship with the species will directly affect our position within the landscape (Poelina et al., Reference Poelina, Wooltorton, Blaise, Aniere, Horwitz, White and Muecke2022). Which is to say, all humans are at the mercy of their own intentions based on how they frame their relationship with Dungalaba. Naive public too often place themselves within immediate danger — within Dungalaba’s habitat — for the single minded and careless pursuit of using a waterway, often for recreational pursuits (Stringer, Reference Stringer2017). It is imperative for Northern Territorians to recognise and accept that Dungalaba are a part of their daily lives and that interaction frequency with Dungalaba is at the hands of our own intentions and choices (Webb et al., Reference Webb, Manolis, Whitehead, Webb, Manolis and Whitehead1987; Fukuda et al., Reference Fukuda, Manolis and Appel2014; Ligtermoet et al., Reference Ligtermoet, Gumurdul, Nayinggul and Baker2023; Poelina et al., Reference Poelina, Wooltorton, Blaise, Aniere, Horwitz, White and Muecke2022).

It is due to this inevitable entanglement between people and Dungalaba that we explore what educational approaches might better inform people of how to respectfully co-exist. Furthermore, due to the historical harmony between Indigenous people of the Northern Territory and Dungalaba, there is an undeniable case for considering Indigenous knowledge practices for considering how we might (re)learn to co-exist.

It’s their world, we are just living in it

There is no denial that Crocodiles are part of the Northern Territory lifestyle. Every individual (Aboriginal or Non-Indigenous) that has some form of engagement with crocodiles will tell you a different story about their interactions and the behavioural flaws regarding the so called ‘dangerous’ predators. The German word ‘Achtung’ is printed across warning signs in large bold lettering, and more visible than the outline warnings in English. Why? Because interaction with water in the NT is paramount to daily life. One would assume that locals are comfortable in croc country, and the real danger is reserved for tourists, as it is new and often unfamiliar. However, we recognise that it is sometimes the Top End locals that feel over-confident (Archer, Reference Archer2024). When this occurs, not only are they luring themselves into a false sense of security, but tourists see this as well and thus assume this is how to interact around top end waters.

Water is a resource, natural habitat, recreational place, and for Larrakia people, home to our ancestors (a giver of life). Human engagement with waterways in the top-end is made up of a mixture of naivety, arrogance, and sheer stupidity, but you could also argue that locals and tourists can both have misguided judgement. Some may base decisions as a mode of respect for a species they feel to be God-like or their protector. From fishing along the banks of the NT’s many rivers, to standing on croc traps (e.g. see Loney, Reference Loney2024), to setting up a camp chair in Cahills Crossing to wash yourself in the flowing water, to jumping into Corrobboree Billabong after your sunnies – I (Lachlan) have seen it all. Not much surprises me with how people engage with crocs, and it is locals who commit such acts (e.g. see “Body pulled from River”, 2013 Footnote ² ; Hohne, Reference Hohne2023 Footnote ³ ), though we tend to see tourists in the firing line of ‘attacks’ in the media when an altercation occurs (Archer, Reference Archer2024). As Gary Linder, a ranger in Kakadu, stated in a news report in 2024 ‘Saltwater crocodiles are not the problem here at Cahills — its people, they cause the problems’ (Archer, Reference Archer2024, para. 5).

The people of the Northern Territory thrive on interactions fed by water, and with it comes the chance to interact with crocodiles in varying forms. People have a fascination with large dangerous animals, and crocodiles are no exception. As a Territorian, it is no secret that the top two largest sources of revenue relating to crocodilians entice interactions with the species: commercial harvesting and tourism ventures. But there has been a point where all forms of meaningful relationships and viable (successful if you will) management strategies have subsided, pushing aside the notion that a harmonic co-existence could lead the way for the future. Such incidents are ones to learn from, and a chance to challenge thinking. Past Indigenous relationships describe a world (expressed through anecdotal living history) wherein people can hold meaningful relationships with the planet’s largest living reptile, and that it exists beyond fear and personal gain. This relationship is defined through love and respect.

Though, unfortunately, as time moved forward from this harmonious stage of life, Dungalaba was pushed to undertake short-term survival strategies to survive as a species (Webb & Messel, Reference Webb and Messel1979). Modern humans have changed Dungalaba’s behaviour and attitude towards our own species, our humanised intentions led to a series of mistakes, one of which was luring the public into a false sense of security, and we blamed the animal for whatever followed next (Peterson, Reference Peterson2019; Wallace et al., Reference Wallace, Leslie and Coulson2011). Removing Dungalaba from the scene altogether seemed to be the only decision at the time, oblivious to thousands of years of knowledge and relationship forging that had occurred throughout the years beforehand (Wallace et al., Reference Wallace, Leslie and Coulson2011). A way forward may be to look back, through the vessel of storytelling.

The story can invite you back, sit still and listen, you might learn something

For this research, we have drawn upon the Indigenous knowledge practice of storytelling. The importance of the Indigenous knowledge protocol of storytelling, is to allow both of us as researchers, and you as the reader to identify the similarities and differences that emerge throughout the transfer of information. Storytelling allows for questions of relationality to emerge, to examine what has changed over time and acknowledge the entities that are involved. We do not split the subject and ideology, and we do not frame them differently from one another. Country has agency in this instance, though Western ideology would tell you otherwise (Bawaka Country et al., Reference Country, Wright, Suchet-Pearson, Lloyd, Burarrwanga, Ganambarr, Ganambarr-Stubbs, Ganambarr, Maymuru and Sweeney2016) — Western logics view Country as a singular object (Martin, Reference Martin2017). We prefer to see non-human animals as sentient beings (Reason & Gillespie, Reference Reason and Gillespie2023). In doing so, we are moving towards Indigenous ways of knowing, outlining that Dungalaba has a presence that does not rival our own, but instead is an equal — a being that we need to interact and communicate with on the same level of existence.

At this current time, we are positioned in a space wherein the human species is the determining factor of a species existence (Stewart, Reference Stewart2018). Meaning, we are diminishing the actions of species such as Dungalaba, as we deem them to be beneath us. Such actions are derived from hierarchical decision making, where we attempt to forge a relationship based on disrespecting non-human agency. It is a self-centred view — an anthropocentric one. We humans need to look beyond our own agency and acknowledge that we are no longer the centre of our story, but an actor in everyone’s (Jukes et al., Reference Jukes, Stewart and Morse2019). We humans are a contributing piece of the puzzle of life and cannot determine the outcome all on our own. Instead, we must reflect. Reflect on the changes we have produced over time, changes that are pieced together through story, created through important protocols, whose undertones may just hold the answer to restoring our relationships with the world’s most ‘dangerous’ reptile (Stewart, Reference Stewart2018).

Learning from the past — Learning from Country — Learning through stories

We aim to come from a space where if we speak of Country, we are telling a story of connections, with a purpose of linking ourselves intimately with Dungalaba (Lutts, Reference Lutts1985; Poelina et al., Reference Poelina, Wooltorton, Blaise, Aniere, Horwitz, White and Muecke2022). Story helps us be attentive and offers a mode of relating. In Indigenous ways of relating, storytelling can contribute to the wellbeing of Country, embodying our knowledge and relationship to place (Bishop & Tynan, Reference Bishop, Tynan, Sims, Banks, Engel, Hodge, Makuwira, Nakamura, Rigg, Salamanca and Yeophantong2022; Lutts, Reference Lutts1985).

We tell story from Country about Country. From one perspective you could say it is a means to rely on Country, but what we are really doing is communicating and informing. Communicating with Country and informing what Country needs, what past events Country has seen, and how to live alongside those who we share Country with (more-than-human kin). It is a development beyond Western thinking and beyond human-centric focuses, deliberately organised to focus on bringing messages from the past built on interactions for the benefit of planning for the future (Bishop et al., Reference Bishop, Tynan, Sims, Banks, Engel, Hodge, Makuwira, Nakamura, Rigg, Salamanca and Yeophantong2022).

We are seeking to show what has previously worked for Indigenous people and bring this to the forefront. Currently it would seem there are those who seek answers from an individual standpoint, whereas in this paper, we ask that those who make decisions consider connections outside of conventional comforts and hierarchal egos. Therefore, considering this methodology, considering these stories, we ask you to view Country as a living entity and learn from the landscapes we are already embedded with (Jukes, Stewart & Morse Reference Jukes, Stewart and Morse2022). There is no need to forge new information but instead take the opportunity that is being offered to us through past stories.

The choice of storytelling was deliberate. It unravels relationality and provides the opportunity to make connections and communicate with Traditional Owners. It outlines our positionality, shows our respect and is an appropriate means of allowing for knowledge transfer either based on past experiences, or for the purpose of teaching today. Ideally, in the case of this paper, it is being asked that we view crocodilians as a species that are inseparable to humans, a perspective long held by Aboriginal people. Crocodile stories, some of which we will share soon, show this indissoluble community, an insight into a co-existence that has endured for thousands of years.

We have chosen story as it is a narrative of understanding, a way of making sense of an event that has taking place before you. Story is meaning making. Story helps us is to accept that we are not the only entities, and other beings can intervene and disrupt our wants as humans. Malloy Murphy (Reference Malloy Murphy2024) explains this process of multiple entities (human or more-than-human) acting and influencing a narrative as a polyphonic story. Indigenous modes of storytelling have shown that harmony can exist, and was created through observance, the learning of patterns, and the collecting of knowledge (Yunkaporta, Reference Yunkaporta2019). Though it is entirely dependent on how we choose to act upon such knowledge and if we choose to observe what is told through the stories. This changes the perspective of the learner by reaffirming the knowledge and bringing belief to the narrative. Storytelling needs credibility (authenticity), reliability (of information) and a development in creating positive attitudes to Indigenous knowledge, Indigenous knowledge transfer and respect for how Indigenous knowledge is taught and housed. This is because Indigenous people are the ones who can tell the stories, speak local language, and say the words properly, and explain what they mean (Zeppel & Muloin, Reference Zeppel and Muloin2008). Our interactions are therefore based on the information provided in the story and only adds to its credibility and reliability making decisions based on past events and learning from what may have/not have worked.

To learn from Country is to learn the story — A pathway to our knowledge

In the following section, we share a series of short stories — narratives emerging from events shared in interviews with a select number of individuals with knowledge and experience working with and managing Dungalaba in crocodile Country. However, the stories are not a neat representation from interviews, Lachlan weaved in his own memories and cultural understandings, with a creative expression to layer messages worth considering.

Interviews were conducted with two relevant stakeholders within the Northern Territory. One in the realm of tourism and education, while the other sits in the world of both research and wildlife exhibit care. Such conversations have been used as a means to portray, include, and unravel contemporary approaches. The interviews showed a close relationship between Indigenous mob and Dungalaba. Though while explained from a lens of danger; both interviewees expressed vignettes reminiscent to the story of Koda; tales of Indigenous communities keeping an eye out for crocodiles, feeding the gatekeepers at certain times, or reading the weather alongside schools of fish movement to tell when it is safe to wash, swim and hunt. Lachlan used these interviews as inspiration to create stories, which also drew upon his own lived experience and the stories shared with him by his Uncles whilst growing up.

We invite you into these stories, to share in the relationship with Dungalaba, and to see if you might learn what Country can teach:

-i- It’s not our beach, its Koda’s!

“What are you doing! Stop!” yelled Pete over to Marcus, as he headed straight for the waves just off Tower Beach.

Pete is Marcus’ Dad, and he noticed him from where he was sitting atop of the cliff overlooking the beach and their little fishing shack not 50 m from the shoreline. Marcus was told to stay near the shack and not move down to the water just yet, not until Koda was spotted. Koda was Dungalaba – Saltwater crocodile – he was a big boy, just over 5 m, and probably close to weighing 1-tonne and nearly 90-years old. Koda knows Pete, and Pete knows Koda, and more importantly Koda knew Pete’s late mother Ivy. You see, Koda is very special to the Larrakia people, Pete’s families’ people.

Ivy used to live on Tower Beach, alongside Koda since they were both little ones. Ivy learnt when it was safe to swim, when it was safe to hunt and when Koda would come into the clearing away from the mangroves for tucker. Ivy used to feed Koda as a means to keep up regularity and trust in her totem, all while learning Koda’s very behavioural nature in order to allow for a harmonious existence between the two. This also kept other Dungalaba in check within the vicinity, Koda was big, meaning Koda was a gatekeeper of sorts, keeping other Dungalaba at bay through fighting and eating other Dungalaba. It is a natural cycle, and a means of keeping a healthy population and Ivy understood this. It also told Ivy she was safe, Koda was here, and depending on the time of day, or where Koda was, or if he were even in view from atop the cliff just to the left of the shack, Ivy could enter the water to swim or hunt just before it was Koda’s feeding time.

Pete knew all this; his mother taught him from when he was really young. But Marcus, he did not, well not yet. That is why Pete and Marcus were here. Pete had brought his son up from boarding school to take him out on Larrakia Country, his Country, so he could show his son all the places he had told him about over the years. To Marcus they were only stories, but to Pete, they were to become reality for Marcus, and nostalgia for himself. Pete knew what time it was, that’s why he was up on the cliff, he knew Koda could very well still be alive and well. Marcus knew of Koda, but never really understood the link between the big reptilian and his family. But, luckily for him, his dad caught him just as his foot hit the first small ripple of the Timor Sea. Grabbing the top of his arm firmly, Pete swung Marcus around, hugged his son tightly then spun him back around to face the water. Pete extended his arm out over Marcus’ left shoulder pointing to a dark shadow which began to move out from under the mangroves close by, saying in a soft tone “look, there he is, right on time, I told you this was Koda’s beach, and he is never late for tucker!”

The above short story offers fluidity in both purpose in meaning, holding room for subjectivity. Koda is an integral actant. Koda’s actions, habits and status holds as much sway as any human actor. Koda — from the word ‘Coda’ — serves as both something that rounds out or concludes (Merriam-Webster, 2023). I (Lachlan) as the author, needed to come to terms within myself as to what ‘Koda’ was to signify, while considering those who may read the passages in due course. The interests of Koda align with the interests of Country, to step outside these interests is to put both yourself and Country at risk. The story is a means to encourage respect. While individualisation of meaning will change the course of its understanding as they come to understand Aboriginal story-telling — such characters are personified in order to make sense of an event they seldom understand, it is meaning making (Jung, Reference Jung2014; Sakhnovskyi, Reference Sakhnovskyi2014; Telban, Reference Telban2008; Barthes, Reference Barthes1972; Morphy, Reference Morphy1990, p. 312).

-ii- Koda is the teacher (the keeper of knowledge) and our language is just the vehicle

“Come on, hurry up Dad, I can’t wait to jump in!” exclaimed Marcus to his father Pete.

“Oh, I don’t know Marcky, as much as that water does look clear, I just don’t know if I trust it anymore. It’s not like it used to be 20-years ago when I was here with Nana” said Pete, shifting his eyes across the slow rolling waves coming in against the mangroves that lay before them.

Pete knows Koda is in there somewhere, and Koda works on Koda’s clock, not theirs.

“Oh, but Dad!” yelled Marcus, “you’re not worried about that silly old croc Nana used to tell me about, are you? Surely all those stories are not real” he continued as he began to move down the small path that led from the cliff top, they stood upon down to the water’s edge.

“Marcus! I am telling you no. Koda is in there somewhere; I just need to lock eyes on him and then I can make my decision from there. Where there is one there could be another, regardless of Koda’s status in this area” Pete noted.

Pete continued on explaining to Marcus “it is not like it used to be I admit, there are not as many crocodiles in these waters but that is not to say they do not move and change river systems, we still need to be extremely careful where we enter the water.”

He continued by reminding Marcus, “Remember what Nana used to say; Koda is the big boy, he kills the young boys who are not careful, us or them, he kills the young ones who enter his Territory without asking, you may not see him, but he knows where you are and who you are, you are Dungalaba too. Just remember that we need to respect the wise ones.”

“Well!” Marcus blurted out, “I cannot see anything in the shallows, and I wanna swim, I will see him and be able to leave in time.”

He finished his sentence by turning and running down the path from the cliff top to the gentle crashing of waves below. Just as this began to happen, Pete locked eyes on something very big and very large moving through the shallow waves nearby to the mangrove forest edging protruding from the teal blue waters below.

“It’s Koda” he whispered to himself, “he really is still king of these waters.”

Pete knew what time it was this very instant, he knew Koda would come out for food if it lazily moved into his backyard.

He always meant for Koda to teach Marcus at this very time, but now it’s time to catch up to Marcus just in time to show him the big fella.

Stories are not created instantly, they take time, such as the second story, and we can use its creation as a framework for straddling two differing knowledge systems. A story needs to be a vessel by which we can place ourselves in time based on our actions with and on Country. It offers a means to accept and acknowledge a pattern that can change over time. This form of thinking disbands the notion of being linear, therefore laying out a path where we can acknowledge present values based on past knowledge, and that knowledge itself holds agency and is not tied to the singular but to the plural (Barcham, Reference Barcham2023; Martin, Reference Martin2017; Poelina et al., Reference Poelina, Wooltorton, Blaise, Aniere, Horwitz, White and Muecke2022).

-iii- It is not like it once was (Koda is not the same as he used to be)

The waves were slowly crashing against the soft white sand that is Tower Beach. The water as blue as you could get, contrasting against the green mangrove trees just offshore, acting as a jungle canopy to those who dwell just below the waters (and muds) surface. Above, dark grey storm clouds rolling in, just in time for the 4:17 pm daily downpours that occur during the wet season, it is like clockwork. But! At 4:21 pm, Pete knew who washed up on shore in their little alcove, something very big, black in colour, and as old as time itself it would seem, and that is why he is now chasing his son Marcus, as quickly as he can, to slow him down. Pete could not afford Marcus making it to the shoreline before, or without his father’s guidance. Marcus does not believe in Koda as such, he believes in the crocodile as a predatory being, as anyone with common sense would. He just does not believe in his father’s words, based off his grandmothers’ stories about a resident being (Koda), who arrives in the shallows like clockwork each day during wet season for a feed.

Pete’s mother supposedly used to feed Koda each day when she spent time out on Tower Beach during the wet. It was her time on Country, and she loved the rain season, to her it was her ancestors speaking to her, and providing Country the support it needed after long hot and dry months. Pete was there sometimes, mainly when his father wanted to head out fishing or pig shooting, and when he did, he would watch his mother and Koda in the shallows. His father shot the pig, and his mother would feed Koda, though he would never eat all of it, which surprised Pete. He always wondered what Koda did on the days they didn’t come out on Country, what did he eat then? And who did he interact with?

Pete was closing in on Marcus, but Marcus was quick. He was now barefoot and shirtless making his way to the shoreline. Pete cared not about taking his shoes and shirt off, if he got wet, he got wet. His priority was catching up to his son. He was now screaming at Marcus “Stop! Stop! Wait for me, do not go any closer!” But Marcus cared not for his father’s advice, he thought if he could not see anything he’d be all right, and besides Nana used to swim here all the time supposedly. Though, just as Marcus took his first step into the cool waters of Tower Beach, he felt a tug on his hair, lurching him backwards onto the soft sand below. Within a matter of seconds, he was dragged ten meters at least back away from the shoreline but not before he sighted something he could not believe. A monster had begun dragging itself ashore, in the exact spot he was standing less than a minute ago, and he did not spot him.

The above stories are a coupling of personal experience and knowledge that has been gained and/or created. Drawing upon Martin (Reference Martin2017), we believe in a need to consider that all beings have agency and are interconnected through a system of relationality. Therefore, it is vital to understand that agency suggests an inherent relatedness between things (participants, places and Dungalaba, etc.). Moreover, that all knowledge created within the project has agency (Martin, Reference Martin2017). Thus, as we invited you into the stories above, they will each have acted in different yet untold ways. You may have noticed that each story holds a particular pattern that has been observed over time, this pattern being the knowledge that we seek, and it sits with our old people. The knowledge being a built-up interaction with Dungalaba over many generations, a formed relationship built on observations, respect, and learning.

Stories are lived experience, not just a thought

Story integrates our experience and must be told with care, though as we speak to Country, we must be attentive to Country, and what Country means (Lutts, Reference Lutts1985). To speak of our Country, is to be involved in dialogue with Country. Through telling story we speak our language (or parts that are known), not only does it attribute to decolonising Country, but it brings presence to Country through linking ourselves intimately with totemic kin (Lutts, Reference Lutts1985; Poelina et al., Reference Poelina, Wooltorton, Blaise, Aniere, Horwitz, White and Muecke2022). By telling story, Indigenous people contribute their own well-being.Footnote ⁴ Which is to say, for future awareness of Indigenous knowledge practices, story is to be told from Country about Country to explain past events and successes, embodying our linkage and knowledge to place (Bishop et al., Reference Bishop, Tynan, Sims, Banks, Engel, Hodge, Makuwira, Nakamura, Rigg, Salamanca and Yeophantong2022; Lutts, Reference Lutts1985). From one perspective it is as if to say that we are relying on Country, but instead, it is telling us that we need to learn and work alongside those we share Country with (more-than-human beings). Beyond Western thinking and beyond human-centric focuses, we may instead focus on messaging from the past built from interactions with all entities on Country (Bishop et al., Reference Bishop, Tynan, Sims, Banks, Engel, Hodge, Makuwira, Nakamura, Rigg, Salamanca and Yeophantong2022; Jukes & Riley, Reference Jukes and Riley2024).

To learn from the past is a means of carrying what has previously worked and bringing it to the present. Answers cannot be found by an individual. Connections need to be made beyond our hierarchal egos. These stories speak to the need for us as humans to contribute and not subside from the material flow but instead learn from the landscape we are already embedded within (Jukes et al., Reference Jukes, Stewart and Morse2022). Offering us the opportunity to live with, not on Country, a living entity that can shape our lives. In doing so, we move away from potential current dangers wherein we perceive the landscape separate to ourselves as beings, therefore making it acceptable to dominate and appropriate (Jukes et al., Reference Jukes, Stewart and Morse2022). Resulting in the suffering of all non-human entities, which in turn, causing prolonged suffering for humans.

Story as a vessel of Indigenous knowledge

To speak through story is to fill in the gaps between the written form and oral knowledge protocol. Thereby presenting our research through story we are contextualising and creating a voice for a narrative that may otherwise never be heard (Prins & Wattchow, Reference Prins and Wattchow2023) — crocodilians are a highly misunderstood animal. Nonetheless, a relevant story can win back this space. Events are displayed to hold meaning through interpretations outlined by both the writer and the listener (and reader). Bringing forth a less interrogative application to what is the norm of research papers (Prins & Wattchow, Reference Prins and Wattchow2023).

Indigenous methodologies have demanded transformative change for some time now regarding how knowledge is created and transferred (Lowe et al., Reference Lowe, Tennet, Burgess, Moodie, Vass, Guenther, Moodie, Lowe, Dixon and Trimmer2023). During this project we grappled with the ability to follow some Western research processes in conjunction with Indigenous ways of knowing, being and doing. We do not discount the Western way in which research and investigative work is adhered to, it clearly has its worth in many ways. However, at the same time, traditional and ancient methods of collecting, managing, and passing down knowledge have also been effective for a very long time (Australian Indigenous culture is the oldest continuing culture in the world) and so can be valuable to bring into this equation, especially for a topic such as co-existence with Dungalaba.

In this research, we conducted interviews to yarn. While this yarning may not sit in the traditional realm, a conversation could still be had, and it holds rigour. Moreover, as an Indigenous boy learning as a researcher, Lachlan is locating himself within this niche network of relations. He is defined by his relationships and in turn this links him to this research. It enhances his belongingness to this topic and enriches the interviews, allowing us to adhere to Indigenous oral knowledge protocols (Yunkaporta & Moodie, Reference Yunkaporta, Moodie, McKenna, Moodie and Onesta2019).

The themes and events played out in our stories can be drawn from our yarning (the yarning occurring in the form of an interview in the case for this project). However, the knowledge must be credible, truthful and from a reliable source, this is why Indigenous people yarn in groups, it brings together more than one voice (Yunkaporta et al., Reference Yunkaporta, Moodie, McKenna, Moodie and Onesta2019). We yarn as a collective because it creates credible knowledge — to create information as a singular entity would not be seen as valid knowledge in Aboriginal culture (Yunkaporta et al., Reference Yunkaporta, Moodie, McKenna, Moodie and Onesta2019). To have the interview conducted with Lachlan in a learning capacity is a representation of knowledge transfer from those who hold the knowledge, to the young one’s learning. The interview participants shared knowledge through story, and it represents a deep connection to the topic, it is meaning and would be unattainable in other forms of representation (Prins & Wattchow, Reference Prins and Wattchow2023). Through the hybridity of this research, we have not only yarned and analysed our data alongside more than ourselves but have positioned ourselves within the research subject as both an Indigenous researcher (Lachlan) and learners (Lachlan & Scott) (Yunkaporta et al., Reference Yunkaporta, Moodie, McKenna, Moodie and Onesta2019). The stories tell us the similarities and differences between how we interact now (or how we are learning in our time) compared to the origin of the story in its first creation. This process outlines any overlaps not just through information but feeling within the participants; the listener, the reader, and us, the researchers (Prins & Wattchow, Reference Prins and Wattchow2023; Yunkaporta et al., Reference Yunkaporta, Moodie, McKenna, Moodie and Onesta2019). Story can be inclusive of entities, allowing them to speak to us. It is a means of interacting with our knowledge, it brings our lives to life, and it links all things together. Meaning the writing here is simply a translation of cultural insight taken from our spiritual home and turned back into a materialistic sense, written in the form of this research (Yunkaporta et al., Reference Yunkaporta, Moodie, McKenna, Moodie and Onesta2019).

We teach and learn through ‘we;’ our knowledge is of the collective and does not move in linear form. You cannot take knowledge and simply move forward without drawing on the past from our old people, it does not work that way, which is why people from Western culture do not understand our relationships with Country and its protectors. It is a way of characters coming to understand their relationships through the vessel of continuously living with Country, a lived experience that outlines our relationships within a journey that challenges ‘questions over superiority to Dungalaba’? (Braidotti, Reference Braidotti2019; Poelina et al., Reference Poelina, Wooltorton, Blaise, Aniere, Horwitz, White and Muecke2022). Ulmer (Reference Ulmer2017) argues that human identified characters within our stories are not the only characters imperative to the outcome of the narrative. As the stories above gesture, we must embrace the idea that we are sharing a world with Dungalaba; just as Lachlan’s people are sharing Country with Dungalaba. Which is to say, the Larrakia people, Dungalaba and Larrakia Country are all contributors to the relevance and factual nature of the stories told. Poelina et al. (Reference Poelina, Wooltorton, Blaise, Aniere, Horwitz, White and Muecke2022) asks us to consider such a topic under the mode of posthuman thinking, as it is a means to disband the notion that humans hold dominion over the planet’s beings and asks humans to instead consider how our voices can draw upon past knowledge built-up over approximately 65,000 years (Clarkson et al., Reference Clarkson, Jacobs, Marwick, Fullagar, Wallis, Smith, Roberts, Hayes, Lowe, Carah, Florin, McNeil, Cox, Arnold, Hua, Huntley, Brand, Manne, Fairbairn, Shulmeister, Lyle, Salinas, Page, Connell, Park, Norman, Murphy and Pardoe2017). Jukes and Reeves (Reference Jukes and Reeves2020) informs the idea that knowledge and story is co-produced, wherein, all beings specific to Country are contributors to the relationship and its outcome. Such stories may shift what is deemed to be relevant and displace us (humans) as the centre piece, allowing humans to consider the lives of other entities such as Dungalaba (Jukes & Reeves, Reference Jukes and Reeves2020). For us, this is how story can act as a vessel of important knowledge.

It’s a matter of sharing their backyard, don’t just jump their fence uninvited

In this research, we set out to explore how the Indigenous knowledge practice of storytelling can inform and improve human–crocodile relationships in the NT. This paper offers three main contributions. The first being that such relationships still exist to this day, knowledge on how to maintain and grow such intricate relations have been passed down through conversation and through storytelling. For it to still be alive to this day, the information that has been transcribed overtime must be credible, truthful, and held within a reliable source, more importantly its creation has involved multiple generations (Prins & Wattchow, Reference Prins and Wattchow2023; Yunkaporta et al., Reference Yunkaporta, Moodie, McKenna, Moodie and Onesta2019). The second finding is that we must remember that differing narratives will appear during our storytelling and is dependent on where value is assigned to the subject matter (Martin, Reference Martin2017). This being due to our world not portraying the typical linear model of thinking, it is based on relationality, and a need to recognise that the past relationships that have been held between Dungalaba and people were built from mutually beneficial ideologies, stemming beyond human centric focuses (Bishop et al., Reference Bishop, Tynan, Sims, Banks, Engel, Hodge, Makuwira, Nakamura, Rigg, Salamanca and Yeophantong2022; Martin, Reference Martin2017; Stewart, Reference Stewart2006). The final contribution this paper offers is that it reminds us that these relationships were built for the purposes of future development. A method beyond western thinking, focusing on messaging, wherein our information is transcribed with the purpose not only informing future generations but detailed in a way that enriches and creates not only new knowledge, but differing knowledge systems that may have been otherwise hidden (Bishop et al., Reference Bishop, Tynan, Sims, Banks, Engel, Hodge, Makuwira, Nakamura, Rigg, Salamanca and Yeophantong2022; Martin, Reference Martin2017).

We wish to convey the importance of this paper beyond conventional educational practices; contributions offering an Indigenous perspective that may be considered in future education (and even future management). As the knowledge that has been created and shared during this piece is non-linear and to be used beyond linear educational boundaries (such as a classroom, or sterile Western research). Modern practices lack a backing from an intrinsic build-up of first-hand knowledge based off lived experiences of Indigenous Australians, and as such, they seldom possess the retained and shared information created by and distributed from our older people. Much of the knowledge is secretive, sacred, and bound by a specific set of rules, thus the idea of forging a relationship with Dungalaba, based on both knowledge sharing and an intimate habituation is unheard of to those from Western Culture. Therefore, we would like to put forward the notion of an inclusive co-design process. We believe it would be a highly desirable development plan based on the appreciation that for Western strategies to succeed they need to be based off an Indigenous story-based knowledge system. One that is allowed to be shared outside the realm of an Indigenous worldview, and one that has been designed, informed, and passed down for benefit of future generations and suits a harmonious lifestyle alongside crocodilians. The purpose is to provide thought processes and a means of evaluating our position in the landscape in a way that causes us to manage ourselves more than being concerned with changing an animal’s behaviour, actions, or location. Furthermore, when partnered with the ability to read the conditions and the landscape it outlines the relationality between us, Country and the movements of Dungalaba as our ability to understand and read is heavily reliant on our interactions which is reliant on the location and therefore dependent on who we are with (our old people, Young ones (Lachlan who is learning)) or surrounded by (Tides, Waves, Rain, Mangroves, Dungalaba, Fish, etc.).

The Saltwater Crocodile can be scary, people have heard many stories; from Indigenous peoples, from local Territorians, and from tourists, even Lachlan can tell you a few hairy moments. But it does not stop people from coming back to see large reptiles and that is because scary stories do not deter people, it draws them in even further. The very same way that people are drawn to places such as Shady Camp (Mary River) or Cahills Crossing (Kakadu — South Alligator River), it is a thrill, an honour, and something oddly nostalgic or even fantastical (mythical fantasy) about being in the same spot as such a large animal. It makes you want to know more, see more, and we become complacent when you do not learn the full story. The hope for this paper is to demonstrate that Indigenous knowledge is useful and can lead the way in guiding us to co-exist through suggesting that we come to learn the story of crocodilians as told by the traditional owners before we implement any strategies designed to remove, relocate, or inform our current relationships and understandings of the species. It is a means to understand that the relationship can be both mutual and reciprocal. It allows agency to flow both ways, and each entity has the means to hold its own agency, bringing forth the understanding that all beings are interconnected through a system of relationality (Martin, Reference Martin2017; Poelina et al., Reference Poelina, Wooltorton, Blaise, Aniere, Horwitz, White and Muecke2022).