THE BEST WILD WEST
he day begins with a whisper, the wings of a sacred kingfisher skimming the Hunter River for the briefest of seconds. The quiet is heavy, making everything else in the world seem insignificant. Or maybe that’s due to the surrounding immensity, our boat a speck between russet-hued sandstone escarpments dating back 1.8 billion years – almost half the age of the Earth. On the river’s banks, fiddler crabs looking like overripe oranges scurry among mangrove apples. Beneath, sharks and enormous saltwater crocodiles remind
