This afternoon we took a break from filming Anton took the men out to fish around the other side of the island. While they were hunting barracuda by boat, Steve’s daughters took me fishing for barracuda by hand. Juanita (15) managed to keep an eye on her little sisters Shanny (9) and Harriet (3) as they clambered over the sun-baked rocks and searched for bait among the tide pools.

Then, having stabbed bits of hermit crab onto mid-size hooks, they wrapped one end of the clear filament around their left hand and swung the fishing line lasso-style out onto the fiercely shimmering sea.

I stood on the rocks peering into the bristling blue waters seeing only the reflection of the sun and clouds, my eyes watering at the intensity of light and color. I asked if there were many fish in this area. Juanita looked at me confused. You don’t see them? she smiled. See the fish? I was perplexed. What fish? At that moment, Harriet, who was perched on a rock twenty feet away, snapped her elbow back and brought up a sizable barra, turning around to hold it up for Juanita to gauge its worth and for me to admire. Juanita nodded and turned back to me. There are scores just there, she pointed a few yards out, they are all around us. Big, too! I narrowed my eyes. But where? I couldn’t see a thing. She nodded and laughed. My dad says we all have bush eyes. You see that boat? she pointed at the empty horizon. I rubbed my eyes, straining. Ten minutes later the fishing boat roared into my view.

Steve Johnston and his son Anton came into King Ash Bay on the McArthur River to take us out to Vanderlin Island, their home and one of the Sir Edward Pellew Islands in the Gulf of Carpinteria. The islands sit at the mouth of the McArthur, and the Johnstons have reported that the oysters, turtles and fish in the gulf have been poisoned by the heavy metals running down the McArthur from the mine site near Borroloola.We boarded their fishing boats and headed out. Dave, Charles and I climbing in with Anton and Will, Dave W. and Toby filming with Steve in his boat.

As Anton steered us out the mouth of the river towards Vanderlin, he pointed out viscous sand clouds appearing just under the surface of the waves. These are the trails of the dugong, an endangered mammal related to the manatee or sea cow and now endangered due to polluted waters and commercial fishing in the gulf. Anton knows these waters well and, although there were no obvious markers to my eyes, he located a spot that he indicated was a dugong dreaming, a place known to his people for all of known history. We circled around and within minutes there were dozens of these elusive creatures surfacing and schooling nearby.

Charles shouted with surprise. He’d been studying and researching the McArthur River and the Gulf area for many years, and had become familiar with the plight of the dugong, but he’d never seen one in person. We followed their lines and suddenly saw a mother surface with her calf right at the bow of the light boat.

I stood on the bow, perched to photograph them, catching the shot just before they plunged beneath the waves, their presence erased in the churn of our wake.

When we tried to enter the McArthur River Mine area with Traditional Owner Harry Lanson, we were told we would be arrested if we didn’t leave immediately. When Harry argued that he should be able to visit his sacred sites, mine security forces called in the troops. Here is how close the chopper was to Jacky Green and his kids when it landed.

The McArthur River watershed floods during the monsoon, and perhaps the Aboriginal people keep track over tens of thousands of years, relating the severity and length of flooding to the health of the people and their land. When a mining company wants to put an open pit zinc, lead and copper mine in the center of the river course, build a giant 28-foot high earthen berm wall around the open pit to try to keep monsoon water out, and dig a 5.5 kilometer diversion channel to re-route the river away from its normal channel, the corporation is clearly rising to a major engineering challenge. Do the engineers care if it all fails?

Or is this another experiment in domination and control posing as science and certainty? In these aerial photos, there are two prominent sacred sites visible in addition to the channel of the river itself, which the local people revere as the dreamtime pathway of the Rainbow Serpent. The mining company has fenced off the sacred sites and threatens to fine any employee who trespasses or defaces the sites. Keep an eye on rainfall totals for Australia’s Northern Territory as we head into the wet season…

On our first day in Borroloola we were down by the McArthur River waiting for a group of Aboriginal women to arrive for a riverside interview. While we were waiting, I saw a beautiful white egret standing amidst the grass and I went down to the river’s edge to take a photograph. When the women arrived and were getting out of the car, one quickly yelled, “Get away from there!” followed by quite a commotion, with everyone yelling and waving their arms, until I finally heard one woman exclaim: “There are crocodiles here and they jump right out of the river and drag people away!”

We never did see a croc right there in that location, but just a little ways down the river on the very next day….

In June 2007 our film crew was invited to make a pilgrimage to a sacred mountain in the Ooch Enmek Nature Park in the Altai Republic of Russia. Before starting the three-day journey, the park’s founder, Danil Mamyev, was blessed by the local shaman, Arzhan, who offered milk to the fire. Danil then ascended the mountain in a wild rain, snow and hail storm to make his offerings and whisper his prayers.

Check out our first blog video, a three-minute film of Danil’s journey: Pilgrimage To A Sacred Mountain