Bullo River Station: Australia’s Remote Wildlife Paradise | Images of Boabs, Salties, and More
A remote NT cattle station – with a 75km long driveway – has been transformed into a luxury wildlife paradise, complete with its own crocodile whisperer.
Josh the lanky Kiwi pilot is waiting outside Kununurra airport to whisk me to his helicopter for a 50-minute flight across the eastern Kimberley into the Northern Territory.
Passing over vast plains and rocky outcrops rising mysteriously from red sands like ancient lost cities, we close in on our target, sweeping up the Bullo River to Six Mile Crossing where the saline waters of the Victoria River push inland.
Large salties drift either side of the causeway, floppy-eared brahmin cattle scurry between the trees and from this vantage point giant boabs glisten like fat light bulbs.
Josh circles the homestead and cattle yards to put down in the home paddock, grazed by Bertha, a geriatric buffalo that sports horns of such immensity I’m surprised the old girl can lift her head. Janine is waiting at the garden gate with chilled towels and iced tea.
Whistling kites call from the Indian mahogany trees; wallabies and glossy ibis hop and stalk the lawns.
Welcome to Bullo River Station. The name will be familiar as the former home of Sarah Henderson and her family, but things have moved on at this remote outpost 800km from Darwin. Since purchasing the property six years ago, Alexandra and Julian Burt have joined with the Australian Wildlife Conservancy to rehabilitate Bullo. Cattle numbers have been reduced from 30,000 to just 3000, and much of the 162,000ha property set aside as wilderness.
After a day crossing the continent, Adelaide to Darwin, then on to Kununurra, passing over landscapes that might lie on another planet, I can readily understand the Burts’ passion for this place. Bullo is bewitching, the ultimate “big country”.
Epic in its sweep and grandeur, where steep chasms filled with palm trees slice through high escarpments, mysterious paperbark forests tiptoe through the marshes and wild rivers rage during the wet. Dotted here and there beside rivers and creeks is the enigmatic boab.
It’s a tree that entirely bewitches me, and along with a personal mission to spot the elusive Gouldian finch, it becomes a bit of a raison d’etre as I clamber into the 4WD each morning. Since 2018, AWC has been compiling a wildlife inventory on Bullo, and the biodiversity is remarkable: 32 mammal species, 67 reptiles, 20 frogs, six fish and 184 birds. In the style of an African safari, I have my checklist and spend each day studiously crossing off bird and animal species.
The African safari model is well adapted for this remote country, and like the best safaris, Bullo has creature comforts sorted, as I’m quick to discover. It’s been a very long day of travel, but nothing a piping hot shower and salty plum gin can’t put right before heading out for dinner al fresco.
We set out with guide and environmental research scientist Asitha to traverse Bullo’s riverside paddocks. There’s zero traffic, of course, except for obstacles in the way of wallabies and a white bellied sea eagle dropping from the sky to snatch a wild piglet from the long grass.
A pop-up bar and table have been set beneath an enormous boab where chef David is stirring a slow braise of station beef, brahmin/wagyu cross, over a large firepit.
The night is soft and warm, and we feel delightfully cosseted, drinking fine wine from the owners’ Margaret River vineyard. But I can’t help experiencing a little frisson as I picture all those enormous crocs lurking in the nearby river; my place on the food chain is surely dropping a rung or two as the night progresses.
Only the previous evening, guests observed one bolshie chap pull a large cow into the water. Sadly, for the croc, it had not been slow braised by David’s talented hand.
Despite my food-chain downgrade, I sleep like a top; the silence is vast. My guestroom (one of 12) is very smart and looks on to the swimming pool, where a pair of whistling kites spoon every morning.
Shearing-quarters chic might best describe the Sibella Court interiors, where each room has a traditional cast iron bed, stylish bush-themed fittings and some lovely artwork. A broad central corridor functions as a breezeway, and the sitting room is decorated with wonderful artwork and a diverting cabinet of curiosities.
There’s also a handy, help-yourself bar for an early morning cuppa or poolside glass of rose.
Bullo’s magic lies in its absolute isolation. You won’t see another traveller as you explore; no crowded waterholes, no phalanx of vehicles gathering around dozing crocs. Bullo’s team of young guides is central to this experience, and they are wonderful.
Crocodile whisperer Kyra (her stories of cleaning crocodile enclosures in Darwin make my hair stand on end), is taking me for a cruise on the Bullo River in a little electric boat. Pootling along at a snail’s pace, we cruise by dense forests of pandanus, freshwater mangroves and melaleucas. Flying foxes squabble, tiny iridescent blue dragonflies ride the boat’s wake, a crocodile slips silently into the water, rainbow bee-eaters dart overhead. It’s a prehistoric Eden.
Kyra points out dead and dying Passiflora vine, a highly invasive weed. The AWC dispatches teams of plucky gardeners each year to hand dig the vine along the heavily forested river, one member of the team posted to spot for crocs. Just the sort of gardening Bear Grylls might fancy.
Our day-long tour includes a climb up a lonely escarpment to view some astonishing rock art. (Next season, Bullo will introduce full-day cultural immersion tours led by Djarrany-Djarrany guides.) While I cool off in a little croc-free waterhole, Kyra grills steaks on an ingenious bushman’s barbecue fashioned from an old truck tyre rim.
Self-sufficiency is essential this far from town. Bullo’s “driveway” is 75km long and following the big wet, takes about 3½ hours to traverse. (Honey, I’m putting the bins out; see you next Wednesday.) The station has its own highly productive vegetable garden, supplying guests and staff, and chef David keeps chooks, which free range with wallabies on the front lawn. (The station’s foray into egg production stalled when most of the flock were consumed and regurgitated by a large python.)
The new owners have invested heavily in solar power, and the battery and back-up generator complex would not look out of place at NASA; five million litres of rainwater are stored near the cattle yards.
Every day is thrilling. I go cross country with Asitha to spot big crocs, taking lunch in a purpose-built eyrie on an escarpment high above a lake stuffed with great flocks of waterbirds.
Josh takes me on a big adventure in an open-sided helicopter that dips and weaves above sparsely vegetated country near the head of the Bullo before dropping into a deep chasm to land in the middle of the river.
A quick clamber over large boulders brings us to the magical Bullo Sands waterfall and pool. It’s croc-free, Josh assures me. We are high in the escarpment – too far for a saltie to climb, and the river is low.
I swim out into the cool, Champagne-like waters to find a sandy perch beneath the waterfall. Alone beneath towering red cliffs and cerulean skies, with just the sound of tumbling water, I have rarely felt so connected to the natural world. For lucky guests, life at Bullo takes on a relaxing rhythm.
Breakfast is cooked to order on the homestead terrace. Then they board the 4WD or helicopter for an adventure out bush (they might like to join a muster). Lunch is generally a picnic or barbecue.
Later in the afternoon it’s back to the homestead for a nap or dip in the pool before sundowners and dinner.
On my last morning, guide Ben and I head out at dawn with bacon and egg sarnies bound for the distant “Croc Hole” and a last chance to spot the elusive Gouldian. After an hour or so of false finch starts, Ben spies a small flock flitting shyly through the trees. Then a solitary bird pops down for a quick drink – just long enough for me to admire its astonishing plumage.
Sightings are rare, and we decide to cap off this heady morning with a final visit to my favourite Bullo denizen, the Dingo boab, likely 1000 years old, and so huge it’s deserving of a very big word: Brobdingnagian. In my happy snaps, Ben is a mere spec at the tree’s base.
It seems the perfect image to capture the immensity and otherworldliness of magical Bullo.
In the know
Bullo River Station opens to guests from April to September (closed for the wet season); from $1350 a person a night, including meals, beverages, daily activities, guided tours and a short scenic helicopter flight. Further helicopter tours are at an additional cost.
Christine McCabe was a guest of Bullo River Station.
