Bigger Fish To Fry

The Age

Friday November 17, 2006

PAUL KENNEDY, with ANTHONY HOWARD

When the AFL recruiters went fishing for talent in the Northern Territory, they hooked a beauty, reports Paul Kennedy

THREE mongrel dogs follow Nathan Djerrkura through a river outlet wriggling into the Arafura Sea. If they could calculate the danger of nearby crocodiles, they wouldn't be yapping so freely through the receding water.

"You get one or two crocs, but not very often," Djerrkura said. "They take a dog every now and then."

Then he runs off, 174 centimetres and getting smaller, dashing past a group of children spearing fish in the shallows of the clearest, bluest water anyone has ever seen. Arnhem Land is not so much a paradise lost as one found by very few.

"People wonder why I get home sick," Djerrkura says later under a giant frangipani, bathing in its familiar perfume.

Right now the Top End is dry, but rain's promise adds natural urgency to the air he breathes. Up to a dozen AFL clubs have spoken to Nathan Djerrkura. Although he's spent the past two years in a Melbourne boarding school, he is back home counting the days until the draft.

"I can feel the nerves building but this is the best place I can be," he said.

Djerrkura's family, indeed the whole Yirrkala community (population 800), is proud of the teenager, as they were of his father, before his political career ended tragically.

Gatjil Djerrkura was one of the most prominent Aboriginal activists in the land. He devoted 54 years to advancing indigenous Australia. In 1984 he was awarded the Medal in the General Division of the Order of Australia. He served as ATSIC chairman from 1996-99.

In 2004, the reconciliation advocate died of a sudden heart attack. Like many Aboriginal men, he went in his prime, leaving yet another leadership void. A nation exhaled, a sorrowful wind washing over the territory.

His son, about to be schooled at one of Victoria's most prestigious institutions, pondered life without his father or the Arafura Sea.

Nathan Djerrkura was at Scotch College just weeks ago. Graduating. Boys wearing grey vests, red ties and tall socks moved about the school campus outside his lodgings.

He lifted dumbbells in his room for the last time. A whiff of rain came through the window and shunted his mind instantly home, to wet Christmases, bare feet, children, football, puddles, cackles, love and despair. Loneliness joined him and he summoned an image of his family's totem, the spirit carrier.

His is the Giant Trevally, a marauding prince of the territory's oceans and the Northern reaches of Nathan Djerrkura's soul. "It looks after me."

It swims through his art, more beautiful in paint than reality, and blows bubbles in the salt water buoying his ambitions. A photograph of his father was pinned above his study desk. Gatjil Djerrkura's image often tipped him into a well of sadness, before pride winched him out.

"He always wanted to help his people and I want to follow in his footsteps and help my people," Nathan said, his eyes resting thoughtfully on his words. "But he did it in a political way. I want to do it through the AFL because for the majority of Aboriginal kids it's their indigenous game.

"Hopefully they can see where I've come from, such a small community, and how far I've made it. Hopefully they can follow in my footsteps."

Nathan's graduation from Scotch was a remarkable achievement. Head of sport Robert Smith called it the highlight of his 20-year career. "I know how much hard work and struggle he has gone through to get there."

Smith bonded with Nathan halfway through his first semester, when he was ready to chuck it in and go home, away from the loneliness and the bloody cold. Sensing despair, he took his student to a cafe and the pair talked about living and smelled coffee and felt Melbourne.

Smith said he would support Nathan's next decision. It was an important latte; Nathan stayed and persisted and flourished.

Such was the student's appreciation for his teacher he invited Smith and his family home for a warm holiday. They went fishing and sought turtles. Smith was later adopted into the Djerrkura tribe. He is forever Nathan's honorary brother.

The Djerrkura family knew then Nathan was transformed. His mother Jenny was particularly moved. Cheeky and honest, she desperately wants her son to be drafted because she knows his sacrifices. She also knows footy and says her youngest boy can "break the lines".

Brother Damien Djerrkura empathised with Nathan's struggle. Eight years Nathan's senior, Damien trained as an athlete at the AIS and was once a charge of Cathy Freeman's coach. He was to run the 400 and 800 metres Sydney Olympics selection trials before homesickness chased him down.

Damien now works as a senior training officer in partnership with a bauxite mining company, helping young men earn. Nathan is carrying his brother's sporting hopes. They wear identical giant trevally tattoos.

At Scotch, Nathan (11 seconds in the 100 metres) resisted calls to run without a ball. He loves footy and art, which also blooms on the Djerrkura family tree. Sister Fiona is a talented painter, who worked with the team that designed the Aboriginal patterns on the Qantas 747.

Nathan's paintings are so impressive he's preparing to be interviewed for an elite university scholarship in Melbourne. His art teacher said he once painted traditionally flat patterns but now superimposes motifs, merging western ideals of space on canvas.

To the uncultured gaze, his paintings are calm yet lively, turtles swimming through the ocean, fish, serpents, goannas, rocks and coral. "People paint what they think," he says. "I'll never stop painting."

Talking to Nathan Djerrkura leaves you wondering what he will become. Could he be the next Michael Long? Is that too much? He has to be a hell of a footballer.

Kevin Sheehan, the AFL's talent guru, says Djerrkura may "go top 30" in tomorrow week's draft. Clubs will snatch taller kids first before measuring the rest on hunches and statistics.

Djerrkura popped eyes at the draft camp, particularly in sprint and endurance testing, a light aircraft with a jet engine. His under-18 national carnival made him the Northern Territory's only All-Australian. "You can't ignore that speed," Sheehan said.

To examine his chances one needs to watch on tape an exhibition game played by draft hopefuls in September. The finest teenage football is delightful. The kicking is instinctive, the handballing quicksilver, the passages of movement slick and unwashed. And there are snapshots of brilliance, played out like short trailers to blockbusters you just can't miss, no way!

It must be said Nathan Djerrkura wasn't the only boy dazzling. A Queensland hill named Kurt Tippett marked bombs as easily as he would mark time. Midfielders delivered passes as polished as church floors. And then Djerrkura flew like a spear through the centre.

He was still in defence when someone flipped him the ball. The lad chasing him died after Djerrkura's second bounce. Another opponent came from the side, but Djerrkura shimmied sideways and into more space.

If you watch the tape of the evasion with the sound up, you can hear the spontaneous responses from spectators (keep in mind there were only recruiters in the stands, men who were impressed by little, save for a truly exceptional athletic feat).

"Ooaaww," was all they said.

Djerrkura had another bounce and was now just beyond the goal square. He had run 100 metres. Without another soul to baulk, he kicked a goal. It appeared to be the least satisfying part of his display because it meant he could run no further with the ball. Captivating.

Back in the pristine saltwater of Nathan Djerrkura's backyard, the young man is spear-fishing the time away and saying goodbye to his eventful childhood forever.

"People can stand in one place all day waiting for one fish to come," he explained of the traditional hunt, his weapon and eyes paralleled and poised. "And then when the fish comes, you have to make the most of it." -- with ANTHONY HOWARD

© 2006 The Age

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