The old man is watching intensely, while a group of young boys and girls, their faces and bodies painted with gapan white clay mixed with water, are dancing. It is of great importance for the old man. He wants them to dance, to practise, to learn the traditions. For their own good. He knows that time might be running out. Time has wreaked its vengeance on this dignified grey-haired Dilak-elder. It is unlikely those future generations of Dirramu - young men - will go through the rituals that gave him the four raised horizontal scars, which adorn his upper chest. His name is Albert Mathalu Munyarryun.

At first it needed a lot of coaxing to get these youngsters - Djamarrkuli's all together, to paint them up and then to make them step in front of the visitor with cameras dangling off his shoulders. The white paint is splashed over their young bodies and foreheads to identify them as children of the mainstream - the pure bloodline of this community. They are kids after all, with all their shyness, awkwardness and inbuilt natural resistance. Finally, Gayili, the woman who collected the white clay the day before and who painted the kids, sweet- talked them with eternal patience into performing. Timidly they form two rows, one for the boys and one for the girls.

Facing the dancers are three boys sitting on the ground, they are the young song men with a yidaki, the didgeridoo, and bilma, the clapping sticks. The three begin to sing, the deep throaty sound of the yidaki and the sharp but melodic clicks of the bilma give the pace, form the rhythm. And the kids dance - the White Cockatoo dance, Gumulu (the Great Billed Heron) High Totem dance. This is the story of their homeland, where the rain first came down. They dance the Archer Fish and the Mosquito Dance as well.

While the boys mimic certain actions and the movement of animals the girls sway with the shuffling steps of the women's dance slowly but deliberately across the dry ground. Their arms movements are similar to cradling a baby. And all the time the old man is watching, encouraging, commenting, requesting. He lets them dance again and again. The visitor with his cameras is long forgotten. What started as a little show for him turns into an intense and prolonged training session.

I'm in Dhalinybuy, the homeland of the Freshwater People, deep in the woodlands of north eastern Arnhem Land, approximately two hours drive along a dirt road from Nhulunbuy. Around 90 people live in this little village near the Dhaly River.

The person who made this visit possible is Noel Wright (54), former draftsman, designer, marine consultant, fisherman, park ranger, company director, ex-employee of the Nabalco aluminium plant in Nhulunbuy and now a tour operator with strong ties to the people of Dhalinybuy, established over 20 years. He is a "balanda", a non-Aboriginal who has been adopted by the clan and wears a skin name, Ngarratj.

"The community enjoys this opportunity to encourage the children to practice their Manakay-song and dance cycle. My kind of tourism is an example of how we can promote the positive side of cultural tourism," he says, after the kids have finished dancing.

"We are not trying to create a matinee. One day some of these children may join Bangara, or some other cultural dance company. Whenever I bring people here, the kids dance for us, and therefore get to practise."

Dhalinybuy is a community still holding strong traditional values. The erosion of these values, caused by the powerful influence of western culture, especially brought upon them through the enormous bauxite mine, the refinery plant and the establishment of the township of Nhulunbuy, is visible too.

Alcohol, gambling, problems with money management, junk food, fizzy drinks with the resulting health problems plague the communities closer to town, but compared to other communities in the area, it is not as severe. In Dhalinybuy the children still learn to dance and speak their language, they also learn the hunting and gathering skills.

This community was re-established by three grandmothers over 20 years ago, and they were the first ones to move back to their tribal lands from the Yirrkala mission. The three grandmothers are Gumatji clan women, their sons are Wangurri bloodline and so this whole community is a Wangurri community.

"At Dhalinybuy the people are all related to each other. You've got three grandmothers and then their children, out of whom there were two sons who are now the two Mala leaders for the community. Mathalu and Bawurr have their wives. Bawurr has one wife and he has four children, Mathalu has four wives and many children. The community now consists of siblings from this line who have grown up and married and now have their own children," explains Noel.

"Wangurri have always lived here. This is the most important place for these Freshwater people, it is the nucleus. The story of this place is where the rain first came down. Their high totem is Gumulu, which is the Great Billed Heron, and the Great Billed Heron only builds its nest in rivers that have permanent fresh water."

The term homeland not only describes the village but the area of land and sea that the people maintain custodial responsibility for.

"The area contains the full catchments of the Dhaly River all the way out into Arnhem Bay and right out to those islands out there. When freshwater flows, it flows over the top of saltwater and the plume of this freshwater, wherever it extends to, is regarded by these people as land and sea they have some custodial responsibility for. There are Wangurri stories about all of those islands right out there to Truant Island, which is 30 miles out."

It is to one of those islands we are planning to go. Yothu Yindi on high volume turn the interior of Noel's Landcruiser into a party room. On the back seats are Sarena (13) and David (7), displaying disarming grins. They are happy because of the music and because we are going camping.

The car follows a small winding track through woodland to the mangrove-lined Dhaly River. It is low tide when we arrive and we have to push the boats down a slippery mudslide to reach the murky water.

We enter Baru (crocodile) country. The sky is overcast; mosquitoes and sand flies are having a feast. The kids are in our boat, the other boat is manned by two men, Terry and Banul (meaning "placid") from Dhalinybuy. We are on a three-day hunting, fishing and gathering expedition. David who lives with his mother in a hostel in Nhulunbuy is so excited he can't sit still.

Arnhem Bay is a rich environment, full of fish like Balin (barramundi) and Nguykal (giant trevally). Along the shores Djinydjalma (mud crabs) build their burrows and Miyapuna (turtles) lay their eggs on the pristine beaches. But food is not only found in the water. As soon as our boat hits the beach of the small island, David and Sarena are off collecting beach peanuts. The shiny black seeds are found in bright red and orange seed pods growing on several bushes near the water. Noel says this tree, Stirculia quadrifid, is called Balk Balk and is very common around the coast," Noel informed me.

Terry and Banul are still out on the water fishing. When they arrive they present their catch - a big Nguykal. As soon as the fish is gutted and cut in pieces, Banul begins to build a fire. After that they take off to look for turtle eggs. With a steel probe it takes them only minutes to find the eggs. By the time they are back the fire has burned down to a pile of amber, glowing in the twilight of dusk. Chunks of fish are placed into the hot ash, turtle eggs gingerly laid on top of the coals. This is the first opportunity we've had since starting out to sit down and to chat. The world of problems and politics seems light-years away.

The next morning Banul invites me to join them on a turtle hunting expedition. The water of the bay is like glass as we follow the mangrove lined shore. Banul is standing at the bow, holding a large harpoon and a spear thrower in his hands. It is an archaic picture. His eyes scan the smooth surface of the ocean. Not a word is said. The movements of his fingers direct Terry.

Nothing in principal has changed how these people hunt today compared to the times before the Europeans arrived. Only the tools have advanced: aluminium boats instead of canoes, stainless steel harpoon tips instead of stone, hard wood, bone and stingray spines. The harpoon itself consists of a long straight wooden shaft, with a barbed steel tip attached to a long rope with a buoy. The tip is designed to bury itself into the back of the turtle shell and then detaches itself from the shaft. The objective is to catch the turtle alive and slaughter it back in the village or wherever the feast will take place.

We patrol the coast for the next few hours watching the sun rise higher and higher, turning from a mild yellow to a fierce white. There are a few turtle sightings, abrupt changes of direction demanded and a few sudden throws of the harpoon. In the end Banul gives up, his ego as a successful hunter bruised. A Miyapuna got lucky today. Not so the mud crabs he is focusing on now. They meet their fate in form of a four-barbed spear and end up on the fire.

On the way back on the Dhaly River, Banul suddenly stops at the banks of the river and climbs up to a wide floodplain. The grass is knee high.

"This is all our land," he says proudly, pointing to the distant tree line. He walks a few hundred metres into a sea of grass, standing there for a while, silently contemplating. Then, on the way back to the boats, he casually bends down, using a lighter to torch the grass. Behind us, the crackle of the grass fire grows louder, smoke starts to billow up into the cloudless sky.

Noel and I camp that night high above the Dhaly River near Dhalinybuy. Cycads grow everywhere, contrasting with the red flowers of the kurrajong. Again, we are surrounded by food: The seeds of the cycads - after carefully leaching the poison out of them - are edible and the karrajong bush has multiple uses. The seeds roasted in sand are called Yolngu popcorn, the tuberous roots contain water, the inner bark is used to make string, the dry stems make good fire sticks and the soft green stems are used as a brush to recover sugar bag or wild honey from trees and rocks. The bush is at the same time a supermarket, a hardware store, a pharmacy and a church.

The next day the children of Dhalinybuy dance for me, watched by Albert Mathalu Munyarryun. Afterwards, we all head down to a beautiful waterhole in the freshwater part of the Dhaly River to wash off the gapan and the sweat. Large paper bark trees and pandanus line the river forming a tropical oasis of great beauty. It is a joyful and noisy event with lots of laughter and plenty of splashing.

"Dhalinybuy as an independent homeland, one of the bigger ones," says Noel, while we dry off at the banks of the river.

"It's important for the people to live separately here, they learn their own song and dance cycle here. There is a lot of interaction and it functions as a big extended family."

Interaction, for example, takes place between the Freshwater people and the Saltwater people, whose territory encompasses the coastline of Cape Arnhem. This is where we are now heading, accompanied by Guruman and his daughter Binga. Guruman, a impressive quiet man with black curly hair, a beard with hues of salt and pepper and a serious expression on his face, is very much at home in the bush. And so is Binga, a very independent seven year old child with a mind of her own.

After driving along a densely wooded ridge, we descend down a steep track into forest dominated by stringy bark. From some selected trees the barks have been carefully removed to be used as canvas for paintings. This is the only visible sign that this forest is "in use". It is here that Binga finds a small inconspicuous grass-like plant. She begins to dig in the sandy soil and quickly finds the bright orange bulbous roots of the plant. It's Yirrinyaniny or Haemodorum brevicaule and is used as a dye. She shows me more of the plants and suddenly I realise they are everywhere. I remember the saying "you only see what you know". How true!

Further along the track, the environment changes. The forest stays back, grass, patches of vine thickets and stands of pandanus dominate the landscape now. After a steep sandy hill we arrive at extensive, mangrove-covered mudflats. Armed with the inevitable spear and a bucket, Guruman and Binga disappear in the mangroves to collect mud mussels. The large molluscs form an important and predictable food source in the region. It doesn't take long for them to fill the container with mussels the size of apples.

Later, at our camp on the coast, Guruman shows me how to prepare the mussels. He digs a shallow depression in the sand, places the musses inside and makes sure they are levelled. Then he piles a layer of casurina needles on top and lights the fuel. After a few minutes the ash of the needles begins to move, the first mussels open their shells exposing their sweet flesh cooked in their own juices.

It seems that leisure in our sense does not exist for Guruman and his daughter. A stroll along the rugged rocky shores at the cape is used to spear some fish; turtle tracks at a beach nearby trigger a digging frenzy. While we were having lunch at Caves Beach a bit further down the track, he is out in the water again chasing a school of big mullet, and while I'm climbing up a rocky headland for some photographs, I see him wandering off along the deserted beach, spear ready. Like Terry and Banul the days before, Guruman and his daughter don't put on a show for the visitor. They simply do what they would do anyway when out in the bush.

The next day at the sweeping shores of Dalywoi Bay, we come across Baru (crocodile) tracks. Nearby, under the weeping branches of Casuarinas, a German couple is camping. Guruman and Noel are concerned about their safety but it turns out that they are well aware of the danger.

While we walk along the beach Guruman points out goanna tracks and more crocodile tracks while Binga forages in the near bush. There is never just walking around for the sake of it. That's why we're heading to a nearby mangrove lined creek. Again it is food, mud crabs, we are after. The shallow sandy creek, which widens into a lagoon, is also a great place for hunting stingray.

"But we don't hunt stingray in Rarranhdharr, because the rays don't have the prized big liver yet," Guruman explains.

"This happens in Dhuludur, when the females are in breeding conditions and the liver becomes increased in size."

Dhuludur is the time when stingrays are hunted and when marandjalk is prepared, pink balls of boiled flesh mixed with creamy liver. Around here people divide the year into five seasons: Rarranhdhar (August, September and part of October), Dhuludur (part October, November, December), Barra'mirri Mayaltha (part December, January, February, part March), Midawarr (part March, April part May) and Dharrathara (part May, June, July). This is not an artificial divide of the year but ruled by animals, plants and climatic conditions. It is about the availability of food, about the changes of the land during the year and the behavior of animals.

Here in north eastern Arnhem Land, nature still follows an ancient rhythm and knowledge, compiled over thousands of years, is still valid. It is this incredible knowledge about the land, the strong ties with the land, the traditions, which form the identity of the people here. And the sum total of all this forms an armory against the onslaught of changes. It is the buffer that might enable the transformation of these people into a very different world, to find a compromise between the two cultures without losing their traditions. Albert Mathalu Munyarryun understands that and this is why he wants the kids to dance.