By the time we reached Bitter Springs, the crowds had gone.
Dusk was approaching and the last swimmers had already left. The springs had only recently reopened, yet the place felt strangely empty.
Warm water rises from deep underground before winding through the paperbarks on Mangarrayi Country. The swimming area is carefully managed, with signs marking where visitors can go and where they cannot. Beyond those points lies crocodile country.
In the water, however, those boundaries felt distant.
The creek carried us slowly beneath the trees, through clear water that reflected the fading light. Apart from the occasional splash, there was little sound. We drifted downstream, walked back, and drifted again.
For a place with warning signs at either end, Bitter Springs felt remarkably peaceful.
Warm water has flowed through this landscape for thousands of years. The boardwalks, designated swimming area and warning signs all feel temporary by comparison.
Later, we came across a saltwater crocodile trap hidden beside the creek.
A reminder that this is not a natural pool set aside from the landscape, but part of a living system where people and wildlife are constantly negotiating the same space.
The following week, the springs closed again following renewed crocodile activity.
Looking back, the trap seemed less surprising than the swim itself.