Discovering Dreamtime

Mt Borradaile's swamps and outcrops hide a stunning legacy of thousands of Aboriginal artworks

Beyond Kakadu, on the roof of a rock overhang in the wilds of Arnhem Land, a 6m-long rainbow serpent bares its hideous fangs to the wilderness. Outlined in hues of clay and rust, the painting of the mythical creation beast appears impossibly well preserved, considering it has been there for more than 20,000 years.

Max Davidson - a gruff "bushy" and former buffalo hunter - explains its preservation is due to three factors: its remote location; it was painted in haematite, which etches into the rock surface; and it was simply "forgotten".

Max and his wife, Philippa, are the leaseholders of Mt Borradaile, a 700sq km piece of Arnhem Land in Australia's Northern Territory, which they manage in consultation with elder of the Ulba Bunidj people, Charlie Mulgulda.

Mt Borradaile's rough scrub, paperbark swamps and rugged outcrops hide thousands of Aboriginal artworks that make up some of the most important and impressive rock art galleries in the world.

Max was probably the first white man to see the rainbow serpent and every time he and Charlie go exploring, they "discover" another priceless, pristine gallery.

"The Aboriginal people have been painting their stories on the walls here for around 50,000 years, but over the past few generations, the locations of the galleries have largely been forgotten by the traditional owners," explains Max, as he leads us through a sandstone catacomb, intertwined with huge fig tree roots, towards another hidden gallery. "Nobody knows just how many sites we have here."

We clamber over roots and through honeycombed rocks, trying to keep up with Max (who is surprisingly nimble for his middle-years and impressive girth), and emerge in a cavern suffused with refracted sunlight, its walls adorned with an intricate mural made up of thousands of individual paintings.

Over half a millennium Aboriginal people have made their personal marks, each generation layering their artistic efforts over those of their ancestors. The paintings range from simple hand stencils through to intricate "x-ray" style works depicting game such as barramundi, turtle and wallabies and, in more recent layers, depictions of the first white men - easily identified by their hats and corn cob pipes.

Max has prosaically named the gallery "Major Art" but it's more like the Aboriginal equivalent of the Sistine Chapel - it's certainly the most extraordinarily literal visual representation of history I have ever seen.

The sense of privilege is profound: few people other than the artists themselves have ever seen these breath-taking works. We are a group of six - and virtually the only people within 700sq km. There are no fences, no signs, no evidence of tourists gone before: this is true wilderness.

The number of people allowed to visit Mt Borradaile is strictly limited - out of respect for the traditional owners, the artworks and the environment - but while it's exclusive, it's not luxurious.

Max and Philippa operate Davidson's safari camp, which is the base for explorations. It is only accessible by light plane (chartered from Darwin or Jabiru) or via a long and arduous four-wheel-drive, which can only be done in the dry season. The camp consists of a dozen or so permanent tents with camp cots and communal ablution block. Meals are cooked by Max's staff and shared in a fly-screened dining tent. It's clean and comfortable but definitely basic.

The day's activities are carefully - but casually - managed. Max won't allow anyone to visit the art sites unless accompanied by himself or one of his trained guides, but there is a range of activities on offer and each day is tailored to the desires of the clients.

Most excursions involve heading out in battered Land Rovers left over from Max's buffalo-hunting days - and bearing the dents to prove it. Along the way there are frequent stops for Max to climb down and pluck a flower, leaf or unsuspecting grub from the bush and explain its medicinal or nutritional attributes. Green ants, for example, are great bush tucker - they taste like lemon drops, make a refreshing drink and, prepared correctly, act as a decongestant. Max likes to call this "drive-by supermarket shopping".

In the cool of the afternoon, we board oversize "tinnies' for an understated sunset cruise on a billabong reminiscent of Kakadu's Yellow Water. Flotillas of lily pads provide stepping-stones for jacanas - aka "jesus birds" - and shade for sizeable barramundi. Four-metre saltwater crocodiles slide into the water from river banks where pairs of long-legged brolgas perform their elaborate mating dances.

A flock of a thousand or so whistling ducks takes to the air en masse, joining magpie geese, corellas and others of Mt Borradaile's 270 recorded species, filling the sky in overwhelming profusion.

Apart from the birds, it's exquisitely calm - and heart-breakingly beautiful. The red sandstone escarpment glows red against a purple sky and is reflected in the mercury-smooth surface of the billabong. The last, low rays of the sun perform an act of alchemy, turning the lily pads to emeralds, the lilies to amethysts and the water to obsidian.

There's a sense of utter solitude and timelessness - of being at the beginning, when the rainbow serpent created the world.