It is the dry season. Creek beds that flood when summer storms dump torrential rain are now full of sunburnt grass. Nearly four feet tall in places, this brittle lawn blankets the entire length of the watercourse’s path. Steel grey tombstones rise defiantly above its surface. Under a searing sun, they add to the oppressiveness of the scene.
But these monuments of soil are not shaped by eons of wind and floodwater. They are termite mounds and each holds a colony of many millions. Feeding off the dead grasses that surround them, they have only limited time to harvest and store sufficient food before the rains return. While their Queen lives, each tombstone will continue to grow and thrive.
The success of each colony depends on how well it controls the temperature of its home. They purposefully construct them in order to minimise their exposure to the baking sun. Broadsides facing east-west, they resemble compass needles pointing north when viewed from above. And they are rarely more than a few degrees off. These dry weather lovers are often called magnetic termites for that reason.
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