The Boy Behind the Curtain: Repatriation Summary & Analysis

In 2008, Winton drives north from Perth to Mt Gibson Station through what used to be extremely biodiverse eucalypt woodlands. Over many decades, wheat farms, which had a prosperous two generations before succumbing to a devastating drought, destroyed the woodlands. Now, the current generation of farmers out here are being paid to replant the same trees their ancestors tore down.

Though some still consider the northern wheatbelt Winton is driving through a heroic piece of history, to Tim, the land is desolate and grim. As he drives toward the desert, the landscape seems to dwindle into utter lifelessness before, surprisingly, bursting into life again, revealing roadkill and flora and gnarled trees. As he gets farther from cultivated land, the wilderness’s fulness reveals itself.

Winton feels out of place this far inland, identifying strongly as a coastal person and feeling at home in “the littoral” (near the shore). Out here, the littoral is at the edge of the desert where life still flourishes. And he feels that something is changing out here—private citizens are taking it upon themselves to protect biodiversity. Australia’s record of mammal extinction is the worst in the world, mostly due to land clearing, which left native animals vulnerable to introduced predators’ attacks.

Over the past decade, non-government organizations have been purchasing land in Australia to preserve and protect it, including the Australian Wildlife Conservancy, which runs Mt Gibson Sanctuary. Winton is returning to the sanctuary for the first time in several years. He pulls in and drives along a road shadowed by small trees interspersed with abandoned mining materials. He reaches the gate at the State Barrier Fence and spots an emu carcass that has been caught in the gate’s wires.

Winton touches the earth and notices how fragile it is. The soil erosion and habitat loss caused by the introduction of hoofed grazing animals like sheep and cows is still evident. As a child, Winton never saw any of the marsupials he learned about at school—not because they were shy or nocturnal, but because they’d mostly died out. He reaches the homestead alone.

In the spring of 2001, the homestead and surrounding buildings were full of life, a hub of scientists and their vehicles and equipment. Winton arrived then for the first time, knowing only that the project was run by a wealthy philanthropist—and skeptical of his intentions. Accustomed to the general Australian attitude that, once you’d wrestled some kind of success from the cruel, inhospitable wilderness, you had no generosity for charity, Winton doubted that someone would set up a sanctuary like this with truly good intentions. But when he met Martin Copley, the philanthropist running the sanctuary, in 2001, he realized that this project was built on science and a true desire for conservation, and that it respected its scientists and their findings.

Back in 2008, Winton leaves the homestead and drives on to reach Lake Moore before the sun sets. He stops when he sees a mound that looks like a malleefowl’s nest, but when he gets closer, he realizes it’s been empty for a long time. He drives on and stops at the clearing where, seven years ago, he was shown some boodie warrens. Boodies are small kangaroo-like creatures which have been extinct on mainland Australia since the 1960s. The scientists that showed Winton the warrens were hopeful that one day the boodie would return to Mt Gibson.

Indeed, in 2004, Winton travelled to an offshore island to release boodies into the wild. He held one against his chest in its sack before releasing it and felt a sense of great attachment watching it scamper off. Since then, those 17 boodies have grown to a population of over 100. There are still none living on the mainland, but it’s a goal that seems within reach.

Winton notices how much more vegetation covers the sanctuary compared to his last visit. The flora and fauna spring up around him as he drives. He reaches the shore of Lake Moore, a lesser camping spot but one that attracts him with its ghostliness. He wanders up a slope to a quandong tree, from which he stares across the lake before heading back to his car. He cooks a meal on his stove before falling asleep for a few hours, and when he wakes up, he feels oppressed by the moonlight and can’t get back to sleep.

Winton reflects on the lives of three girls who trekked across this wilderness in 1931: Molly Craig, Gracie Fields, and Daisy Kadibill, whose escape from colonial cruelty was made famous by the film Rabbit-Proof Fence. Winton feels uneasy in his relative comfort, being a white man with a big car in the middle of the same place.

In the morning, Winton wakes to the sounds of pigeons and cockatoos. He walks along the shore until he sees a dark mass—a winding group of schist stones that looks like a fish trap, though it seems there were never any fish in Lake Moore. Though the groups of indigenous people once local to this area have long been scattered by colonialist policies, it’s generally agreed that this was an important meeting point for those different groups.

This gathering point is a protected place, but that protection is fragile, its custodian an old man living hundreds of kilometers away. Winton suggests it’s less of a powerful ancient presence and more a reminder of all that has been lost by the Aboriginal people—songs, stories, traditions, and the ability for self-determination. Now, Aboriginal Australians are disproportionately ill, unemployed, and illiterate; their most common gathering is at a funeral.

However, Winton notes that more and more frequently, Aboriginal people have been returning to this place, and in recent years they’ve been using the internet as a way to connect with each other and encrypt their shared knowledge. He finds it easier to be optimistic about the idea of return and growth now that the landscape itself is healing.

Winton sees hope growing in other areas. A nearby sheep station was also recently destocked and turned into a nature reserve, while land to the north has become an Indigenous Protected Area. Private groups, rather than the government, whose progress is infuriatingly slow, has done most of this work. Though fierce public protest is still deeply important to the protection of Australia’s wilderness, philanthropy is making large strides in this part of the world. In the beauty of this place, Winton finds it difficult to rein in his hopes for a flourishing future.