Litchfield National Park, south west of Darwin

Florence Falls in Litchfield National Park are twin cascades that crash into a beautiful pool of dark rippling water, a reservoir of cool relief in the heat of a Territory afternoon. The change in climate from the arid, sun-baked campsite to this green sanctuary is stark. It’s only a short walk, but it’s another world.

I have observed that the gentle slope of a beach, the forgiving angle of the sand, allows the swimmer to enter the surf gracefully. Bathers stroll into the foam, sometimes flicking the water on themselves to acclimatise or jogging before elegantly diving under a roller and surfacing gleaming, rivulets of waters rolling down their backs.

Not so waterfalls.

Here, the sharp jagged rocks lightly coated with a slick, grease-like algae matched with the often frigid temperatures of the inviting waters provide the ultimate test of human agility, a trial that changes in difficulty based on the competitors age and body shape.

At Florence, the addition of a sturdy ladder counts for little. I spend a highly enjoyable hour watching hot tourists flop and crash as they try desperately to enter at a pace their brains and bodies are demanding of them. There’s a glorious incompetence to the entries, a repeating failure that these impervious cascades have witnessed for decades.

And oh, the bodies! Far be it for me to criticise as my middle age begins the inevitable droop and general rounding of the edges. No this not about weight or fat rolls, although it appears anecdotally that in the camping and caravanning community, those few mid-strength beers every afternoon from four might be having an effect. No, this is about the glorious variety that the modern human frame provides. There are shapes that are yet to have descriptors, somewhere between spherical and cubic, folds of skin hanging where anatomy should have been, legs that range from parallel to parenthesis and bums that have completely disappeared, rendered extinct by the march of time.

‘He’s not allowed to do that.’

I am whisked from my reverie back to the now by the voice of Frank who has swum up behind me and onto the rock on which I’m perched taking in the entertainment. He nods towards some young men, maybe 18 or 19 who have clambered up the cliff face and are clearly doing whatever physics their risk-hungry brains can manage before the certain jump.

‘The sign says no-jumping,’ Frank continues.

‘I know mate,’ I reply with a nod, just in time as the first rule-breaker cracks into the water, feet first but his arms slightly extended, just enough for them to slap against the surface and issue a crack like the first moment a huge tree starts is plunge to the earth after being felled.

The others in the group soon follow.

The jumping boys are just the next example of human’s insatiable need to walk away from the designated track. Throughout the trip there have been endless examples where people have decided that the rule doesn’t apply to them. From climbing mountains and evidence of people snaking off the trail, to hot springs where the source of the water is a small pool, notionally off limits, but of course, next to it is the earth-tramped evidence of those who have illegally plunged.

What makes us do this?

One could argue it’s the drive that has allowed humanity to walk to almost every corner of the earth, descend to the deepest parts of the ocean and bounce across the surface of the moon. A sense of wonder, a sense of possibility… the need to know what is around the next corner.

You could also suggest that it may be the desire for something truly unique in a saturated world of experience, as the ‘frontier’ opens up to air conditioned four wheel drives and microwaves that go ding when that night’s frozen meal is ready.

Or maybe it’s just because the easier rules are broken, the more likely we are to do it.

Whatever the case, Frank gives a reassuring shake of the head and dives off, like only agile, carefree seven-year-olds can, and I am left hoping that he survives the impending moments when he decides to break the rules himself.