It’s early morning at Finniss River Lodge, a family-owned working cattle station just 90 minutes from Darwin, on the fringe of Litchfield National Park in Northern Territory, Australia. Sprawling over 50,000 acres in Australia’s Northern Territory, the country’s most sparsely populated state, it’s a place where the land feels endless, unshaped by human boundaries.

Floodplains stretch out in every direction, edged by wetlands, pockets of rainforest, and wide sweeps of savannah woodland. The biodiversity here is staggering: flocks of birds in numbers I’ve only seen on television, flashes of wildlife in the undergrowth, plants that Indigenous people have used for thousands of years. Soaking in the lodge’s infinity pool, the landscape seems to breathe and shift with the changing light.

The main lodge is both rugged and refined with leather sofas clustered around a library and bar, windows framing the outback’s endless horizon. Six spacious suites each open onto private balconies, perfect for watching the sun drop in a blaze of orange and gold. But the real magic lies outside.

I join Lodge Manager Chase Johnson, and her retired working dog, Cash, for a morning on the floodplains. We set off in an airboat, its engine roaring so loudly we wear headphones to soften the din. The breeze rushes through my hair as we skim across water dotted with purple water lilies, baby lotus birds tiptoeing over leaves broad enough to cradle a child. Paperbark and melaleuca trees line the waterways, their reflections shimmering alongside mangroves and open pasture. Above us, magpie geese and whistling ducks fly in geometric formations, their wingbeats rhythmic against the sky.

We ease into a narrow inlet where Chase introduces me to Carlotta, a formidable saltwater crocodile who has lived here for years. She’s guarding her nest, still as driftwood but radiating watchfulness. Chase, known locally as the “crocodile whisperer,” has spent a lifetime in this wilderness. “They’re such intelligent creatures,” she says. “They have distinct personalities and will protect their families with everything they have.” Out here, the bush speaks in signs from dragonflies swarming to signal the start of the dry season, acacias blooming gold as another shift in nature’s calendar.

When Chase cuts the engine, the stillness is almost tangible. We drift in the middle of this swampland, surrounded by the calls of unseen birds, before heading back past a massive crocodile stretched on the bank, deceptive in its immobility.

Evenings at the lodge are a contrast, warm light, the smell of woodsmoke, and stories swapped around a bonfire with a drink in hand. Tonight, we taste gin distilled from the station’s own water lilies, a floral spirit that will soon be bottled for market. Chef Lachlan Raineri serves a dinner of grilled cauliflower and fish, beet salad, and honeycomb with fresh figs, ingredients either grown locally, foraged from the bush, or sourced from nearby producers.

The next morning, I head out with Pete “Fingers” Taylor (( his nickname attributed to him losing one of his fingers to a ferocious crab)  in a buggy across plains studded with termite mounds taller than me. Pete’s encyclopaedic knowledge turns the landscape into a living museum. He explains how termite mounds are pure protein, constructed from soil, saliva, and excrement, with internal temperatures kept stable even in the harshest heat. In the old days, gold prospectors would scan them for traces of metal. Kookaburras, he says, can smash straight into these mounds to get at the insects inside.

We pause to examine the pink turkey bush, used by Indigenous people as a natural insect repellent; the quinine bush, whose bark and fruit treat fever and malaria; and the many-layered paperbark tree, whose bark wraps and bakes food like nature’s aluminium foil.

Pete points out cycads, plants older than dinosaurs, and warns against their poisonous seeds, which Indigenous communities have learned to detoxify into cycad bread. We pass groves of pandanus, whose spiky leaves are woven into bags and mats, while the cabbage-like base is eaten. In a banyan’s hollow, blue-banded honey bees hum quietly. Overhead, sea eagles perch; rainbow bee-eaters flash past; and on the ground, the long-necked Australian bustard strides with measured grace.

As the sun drops, wallabies emerge, silhouettes bounding across the plains. We drive to the ‘Cow and Canapés’ experience, sipping bubbly in a paddock as Brahman cattle wander over for pats. Many of the cows are bred and exported to countries like Indonesia. Malaysia and Vietnam. Olivia Venturin, third generation of the family that runs the lodge, introduces us to Duncan, a calf born just hours earlier and Warty who ‘doesn’t know the meaning of personal space’. The tradition, she says, began as a family ritual: watching the sunset with a drink, surrounded by the station’s cattle. Now guests share the moment too.

Another day, I join Olivia and Brad, a stockman on a quad bike, for a cattle muster. The station’s 4,500 head of cattle are sometimes moved to fresh pasture or counted for records. Mustering here can involve helicopters or horses, but today it’s a slow drive, guiding the herd in the right direction, coaxing the stragglers to follow.

On my final morning, there’s one last surprise. We leave at dawn for a mist-covered field of giant termite mounds, called “the Cathedral”, where an alfresco breakfast table waits. Chef Lachlan is already cooking, the smell of fresh bread and sizzling bacon mixing with the scent of the damp earth. As we eat, Brahman cows stand quietly behind us, the mist lifting to reveal the plains in their morning light.

It’s a moment that feels suspended in time, the raw beauty of the Top End, the intimacy of a family-run station, and the deep connection between people, land, and wildlife. Out here, you don’t just see the outback. You feel it.

If You Go:

Getting There

Finniss River Lodge is about a 90-minute drive southwest from Darwin. Most guests fly into Darwin International Airport and arrange a transfer through the lodge. Private charters and helicopter transfers can also be arranged for a dramatic aerial arrival over the floodplains.

Best Time to Visit

The dry season (May to October) offers cooler temperatures, minimal rainfall, and prime wildlife-spotting conditions. The wet season (November to April) transforms the floodplains into lush, water-rich landscapes, with dramatic storms and fewer crowds.

Stay

Six luxurious suites with private balconies overlook the floodplains, blending modern comfort with outback ruggedness. Rates typically include all meals, selected drinks, and guided activities.

What to Do

• Airboat Safaris across the floodplains with the “crocodile whisperer”
• ‘Cow and Canapés’ Sunset experience with the station’s Brahman cattle
• Bush Ecology Tours with naturalist Pete “Fingers” Taylor
• Cattle Mustering alongside the station’s stockmen
• Alfresco Breakfast in the ‘Cathedral’ of giant termite mounds

Insider Tip

Don’t skip the lodge’s signature water lily gin — distilled on-site and best enjoyed around the firepit under a sky full of stars. Bring a light jacket for early morning activities, even in the dry season.

More Info www.finnissriverlodge.com