The Whowie

The first to share the story of the Whowie with Europeans was David Unaipon, a proud Ngarrindjeri man and the man represented on Australia’s $50 note.

He told of a fearsome beast from southeast Australia, seven metres long, that resembled a giant goanna, but with a frog-like head and six legs! They say its movement created the sandhills of Riverina.

The creature, he said, lived along the Murray River. It would hide in caves or bask on riverbanks during the day, and at night, it would hunt.

Every night, it would emerge. Not fast— it didn’t need to be.

The Whowie was stealthy.

It could sneak up on a tribe in the night when everyone was sleeping and devour thirty, even sixty people in one night— without anyone waking up.

Then it would disappear, and the tribe would live in fear of the next night—and the next raid.

The water-rat tribe knew something had to be done. They had suffered the most from the Whowie’s appetite.

They knew they needed to come up with a solution, or flee their ancestral home along the river. They came up with a plan.

Calling in the help of other tribes, the water-rat tribe established strict night-guard schedules, keeping watch for the monster’s approach.

By day, the water-rats searched for the Whowie until one day, they found its footprints leading into a cave’s opening. But the cave was many miles long. It would take a week for the Whowie to return to the mouth of the cave.

They had time.

They called in help from all over: from the kangaroo, eagle, platypus, magpie, cockatoo, lizard, snake, possum, and crow tribes, and many more.

They all held a corroboree and spent the night in celebration, dancing, storytelling—and gathering sticks.

Bundling the sticks together, they piled them halfway up inside the cave’s entrance. And then, when they believed it was time for the Whowie to appear, they set the sticks ablaze.

Smoke and flame filled the cave. The Whowie roared and coughed—but what good were teeth and claws against fire?

It took another week for the Whowie to reach the mouth of the cave, and after seven days, it burst through the flaming sticks, out of the cave, burned, blinded, and gasping for air. And the tribes attacked with spears, axes and nulla nullas.

But the creature wasn’t quite dead. It dragged itself back into its cave and was never seen again.

Some say you can still hear the Whowie sighing from deep inside his cave if you listen just right. Some believe he’s still dying. Others say he died long ago, and the sighing is his spirit, longing for the days when he had fleshly form.

But a few believe he’s waiting. Recovering from his injuries. Learning. Adapting.

And that, one day, the Whowie will return.

On that day, will you be ready?