Christine Larsen
Noted volcanologists of our 21st century have discovered many truths hidden in mysterious legends and myths handed down through generations of peoples native to their own corners of the world.
Here is one proving that — ‘great rocks thrown far and wide by an angry god or an evil spirit’, were in fact, the natural explosion when super-heated lava broke through Earth’s crust and met cold ground-water; that the witch-doctor causing the air to fill with dust as he made an enormous pit in the ground, causing mass death and destruction, as dissolving gasses and magma formed great layers of volcanic ash; and the ‘rivers catching fire and racing down mountains’? They were, in fact, a myriad of molten lava flows on their inexorable path to the sea.
These ancient handed-down stories of native peoples around the world combine well with today’s scientific equipment and knowledge to provide more accurate dating of natural events, as experts learn how to translate and embrace the oral histories of legends as legitimate sources of information.
One such story belongs to my local area in the south-eastern corner of South Australia. Within sight, as I write, is the first ‘home’ of one aboriginal couple — the giant Craitbul and Lowanna, his mate. Mt. Muirhead is an isolated rock hill with a small, flat top, named by a surveyor in 1869. Although ‘embroidered’, the story meets the intentions of a traditional myth, to:
● teach a lesson
● explain a mystery of Life
● explain a phenomenon of Nature
● describe customs, beliefs, actions and reactions of an ancient people.
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“It’s the Bullin! I heard him.” Craitbul’s garbled words came from a voice croaky from the night’s disuse. But his fear was genuine. A living, writhing thing, twisting the name from his mouth, causing him great pain. He reeked of terror as every pore of his body broke out in a copious sweat. Twice now he’d had a personal ‘knowing’ of the evil spirit on mountain tops. Twice his family had fled before disaster engulfed them. He shook his head in despair. The Elders were never wrong. He’d learnt that as a small child, at his grandmother’s knee.
Her frightened face showing how much she hoped it was not true, Lowanna bent her head backwards until her neck hurt, peering up at her husband, the great giant, Craitbul, in the glow of the flickering flames of their campfire. Her voice was tremulous.
“A dream, Craitbul? Maybe just a bad, bad dream?”
Unwilling — perhaps unable — to stop his nervous pacing, Craitbul shook his head. The terror in his eyes and his next words removed all Lowanna’s doubt.
“NO! NO! A few nights ago, I thought I he grunted, just once. Later I thought that evil devil bird groaned… but then the wind tugged at my hair and I blamed that instead. But THIS time, there was no doubt. The Bullin shrieked as loud as I’ve ever heard. And you know what THAT means.”
“T-T-Tennateona!” Lowanna’s fear forced her voice into a shaky whisper. Tennateona was an evil spirit — not one that Man or beast could encounter and confront, AND emerge unscathed. Survival would take a miracle.
“He’s still on our trail.” The shudder ripping through her slim, black body forced her eyes to widen and shine with unshed tears. Lowanna’s usual stoic attitude to the fickleness of Fate shattered now she knew the bird spirit Bullin had cried. These primitive natives never questioned why the Bullin would give them warning of disaster about to strike, nor know gratitude towards this bearer of terrible tidings. Fear overwhelmed all else. Lowanna’s stiffened lips and gritted teeth showed despairing thoughts, now focused inwards. Her eyes flitted sideways; desperate to escape from yet another catastrophic movement of their world.
“NOT my children, too. NO-o-o-o! We must run, my man. NOW!”
Craitbul’s great shoulders shuddered with fear as he looked back over his shoulder. Once again, he remembered the fearful rumbling last time as they ran for their lives over ground beginning to shake and roll, worsening until they stumbled and came close to falling with each staggering step on an earth gone out of control. Again he had that familiar sting in his eyes and the all-powerful stench of those earliest sulphurvapours, making his throat constrict and near choke before ever the smoke began billowing from the mountaintop.
Then had come the explosions; a bizarre, unknown world for them, lit up by the towering fire, its flames licking high into the heavens. High enough to warm the toes of Altjira. Craitbul nodded to himself, confident that was how high those flames reached. He clung to his belief in Altjira, the most benevolent and all-powerful of their Gods - the only one to trust in this terrifying ordeal, now repeating itself! Altjira was the only one who could help them dodge the rocks, raining down as if they wore an invisible cloak of protection.
Craitbul grieved for losing yet another of their built shelters, such necessary labours of love representing the only home the pair could imagine and create for their small family. They travelled far to find one of those special mountains to find the magical oven hole they dug that stayed hot - all day and all night. The smallest bundle of dried leaves and twigs would burst into flame in mere moments. Lowanna was happier than Craitbul had ever seen her; children fed and warm through the freezing nights, comforted by the glowing coals. They never questioned this bounty; not knowing that was what they were… instead taking full advantage of its benefits. It was just the way it was.
Until the Bullin screamed. Bitter gall rose in Craitbul’s throat, as he remembered the terrifying need to flee a mountain that blew its top, leaving the fire still burning, despite their usual practice to ensure they extinguished every fire they made. They had no choice; the fire was too hot, the flames too high, with its strange rivers of fire creeping down in its menacing and unstoppable fashion, chewing up ALL in its path; spitting out millions of sparks… and those rocks.
A jolting tremor shook Craitbul as he tried to imagine what they had done to upset this Earth's evil spirit. Lowanna didn’t hesitate to gather their children in their sleeping pelts and flee. Nothing was more important to her than these two young sons and her giant husband, Craitbul.
As they began, the giant’s voice cracked with fear as he asked, “What have we done to upset Tennateona this time?” There was no simple answer for this couple. Although it was not the ground moving… YET,Craitbul’s nightmare made this time different. He found difficulty in controlling the words he knew would chill Lowanna’s heart and soul—the rest of his premonition… nightmare… whatever it had been.
Much later, when they hoped they’d made enough distance between them and what turned out to be nowhere as bad as they dreaded, Craitbul told his mate —
“This time, I saw water. Although we moved again and again, always digging new ovens, each time the water rose and put out the fires, threatening us with drowning if we didn’t move… FAST!” This vision confused Craitbul. Fire AND Water?At the same time? This was too far beyond his comprehension.
Lowanna moaned and cried out, “First fire and then water to destroy all we treasure? ALL that means the difference between life… and d-d-d-d-eath?” She shook her head in disbelief, as if to stop a return of the evil that had fallen upon them these several times. “It can’t be true. I don’t want to have to go… again.”
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Within a few generations, the legend would grow that the incredible blue of the biggest lake thus formed was because of the depth needed to hold and hide the giant Craitbul who lived far below, pinning down the water so the fire beneath could never again break through. Today’s people would prefer to believe this, considering their development of the surrounding rural area
It would take many generations after Craitbul and Lowanna and their family walked the Earth before another, pale and foreign breed of people would discover this ancient land; senses delighted as they pondered the impossible colour of the famous Blue Lake, and when they caused a city to grow around its beauty and wonder. After decades of doubt and inaccuracy as to the cause of its mesmerising blue — with long-held beliefs the lake was bottomless… hence the reason for its hue — modern technology provided the solution and its usual logical answer, with all romanticism removed.
A high carbon-dioxide content of the water results in the water becoming over-saturated with tiny calcite crystals. These fall to the bottom of the lake, trapping organic matter with them and thus cleansing the lake to an immaculate level. When the summer sun strikes the surface of the lake, the pure water scatters light in a brilliant blue range.
An interesting statement I found is that ‘massive calcite precipitation results in tannin removal’. My imagination turns to the questionable coincidence of the name of the spirit Tennateona.
And I think of MY mother’s words, learned at her knee, “... way before the earthquake began, roosters were crowing - in the small hours of a dark night. That’s what woke me before it began.” And I’m thinking of the Bullin and his harsh warning shriek. Bizarre...
Somewhere in time, they coined the phrase —
Fire and Water… Man’s Best Friend and his Worst Enemy
How true… throughout the Ages.
Christine Larsen is a writer, farmer, wife, mother, grandmother and rescuer extraordinaire of children (human and the knitted toy variety), plus countless animals, for more than seven decades. Always a creator, her passion for some years has been copious amounts of writing of genres including memoir, flash fiction/non-fiction and short-shorts, children's stories—and now her butterfly brain flutters around poetic fields, affording much pleasure as well as the regular blood, sweat and tears the hard taskmaster (the writing muse) demands of her chosen. Christine’s website is: ceedee moodling at http://www.cdcraftee.com/
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