A long time ago there were those who camped by a clear watered babbling stream lost in the bush in El Questro of the Kimberley. In the evening they would climb the hillside and stand looking down on the cobbled river in the valley far below. The moon would rise and they would toast the Kimberley in wine. The birds squawked and the animals rustled in the leaves. The time passed, the landscape remained but the people had gone.