Chasing Sunrises & Saltwater Secrets

There’s something about October in the Top End that feels electric. The mornings are glassed off, the breeze disappears, and the water starts to hum with life. It's when life is breathed back into the Top End. It's when the fish come on the chew. And that’s exactly when we threw the lines in Darwin. With a few good mates and an attitude to match, Grace & I headed out to explore some of the Territory's most remote, ancient coastline.

The sun was just cracking the horizon as the lights of town disappeared from view, soft light spilling across the deck while we tucked into breakfast and brewed coffee under a sky full of promise. The sea was mirror calm, broken only by the wake behind us and the occasional surface bust-up.

Terry the Tinny being towed along behind the Cape Adieu

After breaky, we hoisted the sails and rolled out the hammocks. The rest of the world fell away. This is the part where you really get to switch off. Just the sound of lapping water against the hull and the rustle of the breeze in the sails. Time slows right down out there. You find yourself staring out at the water, watching the light shift, half-asleep in a hammock with nowhere to be and nothing to do. It's rare to feel that kind of stillness - the good kind - where your mind finally takes a breath and just... lets go.

Our Signature Smoked Mackerel along with a few oysters for smoko.

In the afternoon we trolled across the shoals, the rods started bending; tuna and mackerel, fat and feisty, flashing silver under the sun. A few peeled line like freight trains, and we landed enough for a feed at lunch.

Afternoon beers on the bow under sail.

By late arvo, we nosed into a quiet bay and dropped anchor just as twilight settled in. The landscape was mostly shadow and silhouette, with no hint of the magic waiting until morning.

But when we woke - well it was something to behold. Red cliffs glowing in the sunrise, ancient rock faces tumbling into water so clear and still it barely looked real. One of those views that stops you mid-step.

A quiet landing on a beach that time forgot

We launched the tinny and wandered ashore barefoot, the sand still cool from the night. As we strolled the beach we came across a huge set of crocodile tracks. Leading straight up from the water’s edge and disappearing into a dark, narrow cave at the base of the cliff. I've worked with plenty of crocodiles over the years; caught and relocated them, collected eggs and have spent plenty of time up close getting to know their behaviour, but I've never seen this... We stood there, quiet. Peering in, trying to make out the shadows. Neither of us felt the need to go any further in. It was the kind of moment that gets your heart thumping, even if you don’t admit it out loud. A reminder that out here, you’re not always at the top of the food chain.

Crocodile tracks in and out of a cave in the cliffs

Later that day, we took the tinny and cruised up a winding coastal creek, the water narrowing as it snaked inland through paperbarks and pandanus. Eventually, it opened out into a wide floodplain fringed with knee-high grass and soft mud banks. We spotted dozens of buffalo grazing right along the creek’s edge. Bulls, cows and calves, heads down, tails flicking. They spotted us, but didn’t spook. Just kept chewing, lifting their heads every now and then for a lazy glance before going back to business. We drifted quietly, engines off, letting the tide carry us.

Grace photographing buffalo on the floodplains

Each morning began with first light creeping over the horizon, painting the water in soft pinks and oranges. The boat would be still, the only sounds the gentle slap of water against the hull and the first stirrings of birdlife along the shoreline. Someone would put the kettle on, and we’d sit quietly with a coffee in hand, no rush, no noise, just fully present in the moment.

And then there were the secrets. The kind this ancient country doesn’t give up easily. Like the massive crocodile tracks leading into a dark cave, the kind of thing that leaves your heart racing and your imagination running wild. Or the hidden coves we stumbled upon by chance, where the beaches were untouched and the only footprints were ours. These places don’t shout for attention. You’ve got to be out there, looking, listening. That’s the magic of it all. The deeper you go, the more this place reveals, and the more it makes you want to protect it.

We spent our days hopping from cove to cove, each one more untouched than the last. Long stretches of empty beach framed by towering cliffs, their colours shifting with the light — deep reds, burnt oranges, and pale sandstone whites. Above them, the landscape changed again: pandanus palms clinging to the edges, blending into open timber savannah that rolled away inland.

Cliffs painted by time

The rest of the trip unfolded over the following days like something out of a dream.

We dived for painted crayfish in shallow coral gutters. Hauled mud crabs from the mangroves. Shucked wild oysters straight off the rocks. Watched on as dozens of manta rays frolicked in the shallows. We saw schools of yellowfin tearing through the surface launching clean out of the water. We landed a haul of whiting in one throw of the cast net. Butterflied, dusted in flour and lemon myrtle, then crisped up in the pan - they barely made it off the plate. Enough to make your mouth melt.

Manta rays frolicking in the shallows

The offshore islands out there feel like another world; remote, weathered, and completely untouched. We spent days weaving between them, pulling into sheltered bays with beaches so white they looked unreal against the turquoise shallows. The cliffs rose up behind them in layers of ochre and sandstone, with scrappy gums and pandanus clinging to the tops. The weather couldn’t have been better; warm days, glassy seas, and a light breeze just enough to keep the sails full and the sweat at bay. Each evening, as the sun dropped, the sky lit up in every direction. Towering clouds turned pink and orange, then gold and violet, casting reflections across the water so vivid you’d swear the ocean was on fire. We’d sit back with a cold drink in hand, a few laughs around the deck, the phones off and the world felt a million miles away. There’s something about time spent like that, living simply, sleeping well, and sharing it all with good mates. We came back with sandy feet, sore ribs from laughing, sorer arms from hauling fish, and feeling even closer to the good mates that we travelled with.

The Territory's palette in full swing

We’ll leave the rest of the story untold, not just because we like to keep a few things secret, but because some places deserve to stay wild. And if you're one of the lucky few who get to experience it one day, you’ll know exactly what we mean.

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2025 Safaris

We believe the best places are the ones that are hardest to reach. That’s why we go further - not just in distance, but in experience. Out here, you don’t just see the landscape, you feel it. The scale, the silence, the rawness of it all. It’s not about getting away, it’s about coming back to something real. The Top End has a way of staying with you, long after the tide’s gone out. Every safari is crafted with care, guided by local knowledge, and shaped by the land and sea. So whether you’re here to chase that trophy fish, unplug completely, or find something you didn’t know you were looking for - we’ll meet you there.

Our 2025 safaris take you deep into the Top End, across ancient coastlines and untouched islands. Designed for small groups and big experiences, each 7-night trip is fully catered, professionally crewed, and built around what the land and sea offer - not a strict itinerary that

brochures promise. You’ll fish hard, eat well, and travel far. Dive for crayfish, haul in trophies, explore hidden coves, and cook your catch under open skies. These journeys are for those who want to go where most don’t, with the promise of being totally unique.

Step away from the ordinary. Adventure is calling.

Ready to experience it for yourself?

Our remote safaris are now open for bookings — but spots are extremely limited. We only run a handful of departures from October through to Christmas, right when the weather is perfect and the fishing is red hot. These trips are filling fast and once they’re gone, that’s it.

If you're keen to join us, don’t wait.

📧 Email munro@capeadieu.com.au

📞 Or call 0438 051 387