Jag Har en Tid Underbar

It’s funny how, after being out of the city for so long, you start to feel like you don’t belong. When we drove into Brisbane today, our anxiety and frustration levels rose uncomfortably. Too many people, too many cars, no parking spots. We have become so accustomed to a simpler way of life, one that, for the most part, doesn’t involve fashion, or time of day, or droves of people and 4 lanes of traffic. Coming from Fraser Island, driving on the beach with no roads, and hardly any people, it was quite a change. I’m sure it will take mere days to get back into the swing of city life, but it was just interesting to see how we all balked at the taste of it today.

Our journey to Fraser Island, the largest sand island in the world, started when we drove into Rainbow Beach for the day-before orientation. We had all day to spare so we sipped on a few coffees and used the internet at a quaint local café, and did some window shopping. Actually, Tim did a little more than window shopping – he bought a surfboard! We had all been toying with the idea, that maybe it would be more cost effective than renting one every time we wanted to coast a wave, but Tim put his money where his mouth was and bought a 7 foot creamy beauty, which we immediately put to the test on the beginner swells at the beach.

When the afternoon arrived, we decided to try our hand at some sand dune boarding. It was turning out to be an extremely active day! We rented some boards from the local shop and headed to Carlo Sand Blow. It was a beautiful walk, and when we arrived, the expanse of sand was vast. We found a decent spot to board from and laboriously hiked up the hill. After several runs each, we sure were tuckered out and it was almost time for our island orientation so we headed back into town.

At Dingo’s Backpackers we gathered with 70 other people in the bar and watched a chastising video about how to safely drive a 4WD on the beach and other regulations on the island. Afterwards, we were divided up to meet our groups. Looking around the room it was apparent that there were a lot of girls going – so it was no surprise that our vehicle was full of 20-something blondies from Sweden. Ironically, they weren’t all travelling together. As our day had been full-on, we politely greeted them and then retired early in the parking lot of the hostel (a much cheaper option than renting a room, with access to toilets and showers still, yay!)

In the morning we got up abnormally early to organize our bags and parking spot for the van, and grab the complimentary 2 pancake-per-guest breakfast running at 7am. After that, we shuffled all of our bags and things to the loading area, where our group was put to work, packing up our car. Our group was actually placed in the ‘Lead Car,’ which meant that it had a trailer of everyone’s coolers of food hitched on the back, as well as room for 2 extra people. Our guide, Christos, would always drive this vehicle and lead the safest path for driving for the 3 other pursuing trucks.

Everything packed, we joyously headed to the beach, where we waited for the barge to pick us up and take us across. The Swedes put on an iPod and we all sang and exchanged languages until we reached our first destination. The inland track was quite a shocker – there are no formal roads on the island. Bumping and jiving over rocks and steep inclines, we parked at Lake McKenzie and got right into our bathers.  The lake reminded us a lot of Canada, surrounded by trees and rushes; the only differences being that there was pristine white sand encompassing the lake, and the water was much warmer than any Canadian counterpart. After taking some funny underwater photos and having Tim and Steve launch me a few times, we made tracks for our main camp – K’gari.

K’gari is the Aboriginal word for ‘Fraser Island,’ or ‘paradise.’ The Swedes and us laughed and sang all the way into the dingo protected gate. Actually, the purest form of the wild dogs can be found on Fraser Island, and although they won’t attack you, it was made very clear that we keep our food in the trucks or how to make them know who’s boss if they came to sniff you out. Everyone picked out their tents, picked up their groups dish bundle, and set about making dinner. Over the course of the meal, a campfire, and more than enough boxed wine, we got to know Erika, Amanda, Malin, and the two Hannas very well. We indulged in our wine in the tin camping cups, and took them to the beach in search of a dingo without any success. We returned to our tent-city.

That night, K’gari went wild. It was probably comparable to a forested version of Cancun. People were stumbling, spewing, dancing, losing phones, sleeping in the wrong tents, and articles of clothing were littered all over the campground. There was an Irish guy who spent most of his night rolling around on the ground and was still up muttering to himself, alone at dawn.  The morning afterwards, I paid for the partying with a hangover reminiscent of Western. Everyone was feeling pretty rough, but the Swedish girls got up to make breakfast, wash the dishes, sweep out our car, and then subsequently make lunch for that afternoon. This is how they became dubbed ‘the Swedish Angels.’

 It was almost noon before I could choke down a peanut-butter and jam Sammie. By this time, we had seen the Maheno shipwreck in all of its glory, half sunken and rusting in the sea, and arrived at Eli Creek. This freshwater creek had a strong current and unsullied water that urgently ran to the ocean. We even filled up our water bottles with the liquid gold and drank without hesitation. Although it was cold, we all hopped in and let our hangovers wash away with the pull of the water. The Irish guy remained drunk.

After Eli Creek, our group, whom we had by now dubbed Swenada, decided that we wanted to try our hand at driving. The tag-along cars had all had a crack at the challenge, while we were in the lead vehicle. It was a difficult decision since we had really connected with our guide, Christos. Alas, baby birds must leave the nest and after lunch I hopped into the driver’s seat and took a deep breath. I drove our group to the Champagne Pools, avoiding the hazards with a thumping heart. We were all in great spirits – the sun was shining, the glorious sand squeaking under our wheels, the smell of the surf coming through our windows, Swedish pop on the iPod. We joked around with the walkie-talkies, and I must say I felt pretty badass behind that beast of an engine, driving through boggy sand in paradise.

The Champagne Pools are called so, because the rocks shielding the shallow water holes are constantly smashed with waves from the open ocean. Once the waves hit the rocks, they foam and bubble over into the pools, creating the boozy-like effect. We all frolicked in the pools, tanned, and toyed with the tiny creatures that were stuck to the rocks.

As if there wasn’t enough stunning scenery on display that day already, Christos took us to Indian Head, the most Easterly point on the island, getting its name from the red rock covering its face. Steve had his turn manhandling the 4WD over to the base of it, getting a taste for the adrenaline. A short barefooted hike brought us up to a stunning 360 degree view of dunes, beach, palms, and turquoise Ocean. We spotted sting rays and turtles from atop the lookout, and soaked up the last rays of the afternoon. We did not see any of the multitudes of sharks though; swimming in the ocean surrounding the island is prohibited due to the sheer amount of fins circling the land.

Tim drove us back to K’gari, the rest of us singing and banging the ceiling and sides of the truck in high-pitched melody. Suddenly, someone spotted a dingo scampering up the dunes. We radioed Christos and he turned us around to do a drive-by viewing. Although we didn’t get very close to the little guy before he warily trotted away, we had at least seen one before we left the island.

That night, it seemed that the rest of the campers and their convoys had toned down the partying. Everyone settled into their dinners while Swenada  set about dinner and drinking games. The girls taught us a great new one called Swedish Horse Racing, which all of you will learn when we get back. We moved onto Flip Cup after dinner and tried to rile up participants. Hanna #2 even choreographed a funny dance, which we all took down to the other camp to entice volunteers, but it just wasn’t popping off like the night before. On the way back to our grouping, we stopped in at the leader’s tents and kidnapped Christos. Eventually, we had an adequate amount of partygoers to play enough rounds of Flipcup to run out of beer.

I threw on a party playlist on my iPod and we took it over to the ‘club,’ called Winkies. Winkies is basically a gazebo with mosquito netting, a green light, and an iPod dock that the campers can use should they want to get a little cray – which we did. We stomped that thing into the ground; Christos even taught us all how to Greek dance! In time, the merry-making subsided and we towed our sandy bodies into the tent to sleep.

The next day, we awoke to eat a quick brekky and pack up our camp as we would not be returning that night. The small wild slice of paradise would become some new backpackers home after we left it in the dust of our deflated tires. Hanna, Erika, and Malin took turns driving us to Lake Wabby, where we hiked a breathless and sweaty 45 minutes through the forest. It opened up to a grand sand dune, which ran down to the water’s edge of the lake. It was the perfect thing to do on the last day on Fraser. We lazed around and then journeyed back to the trucks for lunch.

At last, it was time to part with wild, overgrown paradise. We drove our truck back to the barge docking and waited for it to cross back over to us. While we were waiting, dolphins leapt in the straight between us and the mainland, and as if by some phenomenon, a wily dingo sauntered right up to our awaiting cars, posing like a king for our cameras.

Once we got back to Dingos, it was all about obligations. Unpack. Laundry. Shower. Charge computer and phones. Exchange pictures. Do shotgun. Dinner. We supped on hostel- burgers and chips with Swenada and later on Christos joined us for a few final pints. We hostel-hopped over to Frasers next door to enjoy some live music. The guy who was playing knew Christos and peer-pressured him to get up and do a few songs. Chris got on the mic and informed the bar that he would only do this if he had his ‘dance group.’ We all joined hands in a circle and kicked up our heels while Chris strummed a guitar and belted out a few Greek jams to finalize the evening.

We were all dreading the next morning, as we knew it was time to say goodbye to the Swedish Angels, who had grown dear to us in the past 3 days. We awoke, and met them back in the hostel for another pancake breakfast. (I think the cakes were meant for the next group on expedition to Fraser, but hey, strike while the iron is hot!) Finally, there were big hugs and kisses all around as we promised that it wasn’t a ‘goodbye,’ but a ‘See-ya-later.’ We filled up with fresh water and struck out for Brisbane.

Like I already mentioned, Brisbane was so overwhelming, and we had no desire for city life, as we were all in quiet contemplative moods. Making the decision to pass through after groceries and beer, we landed at Knoll National Park on Tambourine Mountain where we listened to the lullabies of the crickets and the toads resonate through our screens. 

Too Much Barra

So where did we leave off?! (I feel like I’m writing the script for the Neverending Story.) After we tore ourselves away from the lurse of Magnetic Island, we drove to Proserpine to meet up with Steve and Vicki Large– Aussies we had met many moons ago at the Mackay airport. Steve and my Steve, hit it off, chatting about fishing and guy stuff, and ended up exchanging numbers. We thought it would be nice to stop in and catch up with the family, and Steve was hankering for a fish date. We arrived in the evening, shared Youtube clips over a cup o’ tea and a few ports with Mr. Large before we retired early since the boys were getting up early.

The clock had a 4 in front of it when Steve knocked on our door, rising the boys. I mumbled a ‘good luck’ into my pillow and returned to my precious extra hours of sleep. When I officially woke around 7am, Vicki graciously offered me a coffee and let me revel in my peace – writing this blog, catching up on some reading. Eventually, my phone beeped and when I looked at it, I saw this picture of Tim:

Yet another barra meal

That Barramundi (an iconic Australian fish) was the only nibble the boys had that day – but what a nibble it was! I am told that initially, Tim thought he was snagged on a rock, and then the beast lept out of the water shocking everyone. The hunters returned home to fillet the barra, and we drove away with 4 heaping Ziploc bags full of fish. We waved goodbye to the Large’s – a gold-hearted family who dared take us on for the night. Yet another example of gracious Aussie hospitality. Little did we know, the barra would last us longer than we bargained for…(Fish n' salad, fish tacos, barra burgers, barra in cream soup, fish and rice, fish sandwiches...I may never eat seafood again!)

I drove on that morning, as Steve and Tim had little naps, exhausted from their early morning expeditions. We stopped briefly in Mackay for groceries and were stunned when we were confronted with Christmas decorations and full blown wrapping stations. The heat, combined with a lack of enthusiasm over the holiday, makes us very unprepared for the season. I suppose living in a van away from civilization most of the time also disconnects us from social constructs. We drove ourselves to Yaamba Rest Area, which was situated basically behind a truck stop, so the nature was lacking, but hey, it was free! We put together another meal and rested our barra-filled-bellies  for the night.

When we awoke, we were pretty close to the town of Bundaberg – a town famous for Australian  rum and for turtles. We arrived in town, gleaning our information from the i-site lady, and then drove to the distillery. I didn’t partake in the rum tour, having distaste for the liquor. The boys saddled up for the tour and I read a book in the van, enjoying some quiet time (is this what it’s like to be a Mum?) Luckily, I didn’t pay the $25 for the tour, as it was disingenuous and overpriced (says Steve and Tim). The only saving grace of the tour was the 2 free drinks they had at the end of it all.

Regardless, we left the distillery and took up camp opposite of Nielson Park. We made yet another meal of barramundi and then it was time to rock. Steve and I had tickets for the turtle show on Mon Repos beach. During the season, Mama turtles come ashore to lay their caches of eggs. When the incubation time is up, tourists can come watch the hatchlings reach the surface and make a dash for the Pacific.

Under the cover of darkness (well, there was actually a bright, shiny big moon), Group 3 wandered the beach in search of our turtle. On our path to the Ranger who awaited with our shelled friend, we had to stop and wait for a Flatback Mama crawling up the beach. We thought we may be able to watch her lay her eggs, but she changed her mind and dashed back for the safety of the swells. The Ranger peeked under her armpit, where a tag should be if she had been to the beach before. There was no tag, so the Ranger hypothesized that she was a first time Mama, and probably hadn’t touched shore since she was a hatchling herself, scuttling down to the waters edge on this very beach.

All was still well, since there was still another turtle waiting further down the shoreline. When we reached her, Ranger Joe, he informed us that we were lucky/unlucky, depending on our perspective. The turtle we were waiting on was a very rare Green Turtle – a species that makes up only 1% of ladies who lay on the beach. However, these giants can take up to 4-5 hours to complete their labour. Just when we thought we were in for a long night, Mrs. Green was spooked by something (shadows, the full moon) and waddled back into the ocean. Seeing this turtle was really cool, it’s massive shell heaving up in the moonlight. It was also really, really big. After it departed, I measured the width of it with my feet, and it was 4 feet across! Ranger Joe estimated that she was probably 120kgs!

We were a little glum, thinking we had lost our turtle, when there was a call over the Ranger radio. There was another! We marched back down the beach and saw a large, endangered Loggerhead turtle. This girl was 99cm long, and mid-labour. It was fascinating and really special to watch her rear flippers swish and her shell rise while dropping her ping-pong ball sized eggs into her nest. It appeared she was crying! The Ranger informed us that she was actually just emptying her salt glands, probably not as painful as human labour! That Mama finished her mission, thoroughly covered up her nest, and bid them farewell and good luck, washing herself away with the waves.

The Ranger regretfully informed us that Mrs. Loggerhead had gone to such lengths, only to put her hatchlings in danger. She had made her nest too close to the water’s edge, where a king tide could easily wash them away. In the name of conservation, we must move the nest! Some volunteers dug a new nest hole farther up the beach, in the safety of the dunes, while Ranger Joe dug out the eggs. In total, there was 154! Steve and I both took turns relaying the unborn turtles to safety. The eggs were ping-pong ball sized, and were slightly leathery; you were able to gently push on them to create a dimple. The eggs were designed that way so that they could fall onto their brothers and sisters without breaking. After we re-buried the eggs, we left the beach, satisfied and full of wonderment yet again for nature.

The next day, we struck out for Hervey Bay, which turned out to be somewhat of a ‘dud.’ I guess we’re spoiled from all of the great sights and pristine beaches; but the beach was average and there wasn’t much else to do there. We ended up indulging in an ice cream and inquiring about 4WD tag-along trips on the nearby Fraser Island. Our inquiry led us to signing up with an island tour departing on Friday, leaving the next two days available to do some exploring and beaching. We decided on Noosa Heads. We drove in that direction in the afternoon, and stopped to free camp at Matilda Roadhouse. It was again behind a truck stop, but had a lovely little lake, and a haven for waterfowl, what we came to call “bird island.’

In the morning, we drove to Noosa and were delightfully surprised! It was a tidy, trendy town with a beautiful beach. In my mind, it's what I picture California to be like. We spent the day lounging around on the sand and in the ocean, playing paddleball, and window shopping. What makes relaxing on the beach so enjoyable is usually the people watching. 

This day was made even more interesting by the droves of freshly graduated high school kids participating in an annual event called “schoolies.’ Schoolies, is when your high school goes down to a beach to celebrate, holds events and activities, and non-alcoholic parties.  At one point in the afternoon, a guy with a boom-box waltzed into the middle of the beach and pressed play. Immediately, ~250 kids were running from all directions, to partake in a flash mob!  They all knew the dance moves, and continued to wiggle and flap in unison until the end of the song, where they all leaped up and let out a massive cheer. It was unbelievable, and hilarious – definitely made our afternoon.

As the sun started to go long, we left lovely Noosa for our campsite coordinates in the GPS. Only, the roads we were taking started to look suspiciously deserted, in the high hills of farmers fields and winding into the forest. What kind of campsite were we going to? Eventually, the lady on the GPS told us we had arrived. We looked around. We were at the top of a massive hill, on a dirt road, in the middle of the bush, with a bashed in and rusty old car in the overgrowth. What?!  Upon consulting the Camps Australia 7, we realized we had typed in the coordinates wrong! We actually were in the middle of nowhere! We then set out, racing the sun to our real campsite, Ross Creek Store Rest Area.

We saw the sun going down all crimson and magenta in the hills, and made it safely to our site.  Little BJ, on his two-wheeler harassed us, giving us tips about where to find firewood until he was called in for dinner. We cooked our last barramundi dinner (count a total of 6 meals!) and slept easy in the cool air.

Magnetized

After witnessing no cassowaries in the Daintree, we had one last chance to scope the prehistoric looking birds by camping at Mission Beach. Of course, we didn’t just camp there to find a bird, but also because we heard it was lovely. Indeed it was, but the ominous presence of croco-dillys ensured that there were no swimmers. On the beaches up North, if the crocs don’t get you, the Box Jellyfish will; so they put up these floating nets on some beaches that allow for safe swimming. I think it just loses its appeal and exoticness somehow when you have to swim in a small rectangle with everyone else.

That night we camped in Bingil Bay, a small inlet near Mission Beach. It was a good little spot, and we had our dinner and relaxed under the stars. People next to us actually made a small campfire on the beach and then busted out their guitars. It turned out that they were pretty talented and had great taste in music! We got a free show, since we were meters away in the darkness, listening and singing along softly under our breath at times. We called it a night (early, as usual) and woke up later to sounds of mini-Woodstock getting rained out under a strong shower that is characteristic of the wet season here.

The next morning, fisherman Steve rose at the crack of dawn, and drove Tim and I’s sleeping zombie bodies to the jetty. He went out solo to cast a line. When I woke up hours later, I walked to the tip to see if he had had any luck, but nothing. What was strange, was that the others on the pier were reeling up pretty decent sized fish all around him! I casted in a few times, which only resulted in smallies stripping my bait to the bone, so when I reeled it up, it looked like a fish carcass in a cartoon. It started to get mind-boggling! Finally we threw in the towel. With no fish, and no cassowaries (save for the gigantic road signage warning drivers about them) we moved South. We had bigger fish to fry!

Once back in Townsville, we bought our ferry tickets to Magnetic Island. While in Cairns, the three of us decided that we wanted to get certified as scuba divers with PADI. After utilizing the hotel’s internet, we researched businesses that held the course. The first hit that Google presented advertised Pleasure Divers.  I showed the guys and we all had a chuckle and skipped over the link to look at others. Everything was coming up way out of our price range. Finally, we decided to check Pleasure Divers out – and found it was a great deal! Plus, the course was held on Magnetic Island, which we had heard was beautiful and a must-see. We promptly called and signed ourselves up.

We locked up the Great White in the ferry’s parking and packed some small bags to carry across. Once we disembarked on the other side, we did a small grocery shop at the IGA and then waited for the bus. Only the bus wasn’t going to come for another hour. After enquiring about directions, we shouldered our bags and groceries and tottered around the island and showed up on the doorstep of Pleasure Divers dripping with sweat. The place was brightly coloured and set in the palm trees, but looked like it had seen its best days in the 80’s. We met the voice on the phone, Rob, a slightly David Suzuki looking character, very laid back in his Pleasure Diver’s t-shirt. The slogan underneath the symbol read: You always come up smiling! (We thought of many more euphuisms over the next few days, I’m sure you can imagine!) He told us where our accommodation was, and bid us farewell until the next morning.

Forest Haven, what can I say! Our first impression was sheer disappointment. The place was all dilapidated particle board, infested with ants and spiders, and had no lock or key to be found. When I asked the 70 year old caretaker about security, she laughed and said there wasn’t much crime on the island, “Where would they go!?”  We plunked our bags down and let the sweat dry, laughing to ourselves thinking, you get what you pay for!

Our roommate, Gerry, was in the same mindset as us. A city boy from Glasgow, Scotland, he had moved to the island leaving his friends in Sydney behind. Afraid of every living thing, he would sit out on the porch and chain smoke and talk on his phone. As his job as a bartender wasn’t starting for a few more days, he was counting down the minutes until he could sleep or leave the island. We all commiserated about our situation and then went to bed early since we had some big days coming up.

My new friend Bozo

The first day of our course, we walked into Pleasure Divers and were greeted with Bozo, the cutest puppy, and Berlin (the much older paternal-type dog). Tim instantly riled up Boz, and I mistakenly started to play with him afterwards, so that when Rob started talking to us about how to fill our paperwork out, he had to call off the dog from love-biting me to death. Our first day consisted of watching the cheesy PADI videos, having some relaxed lecture-chats with Rob about the material, and trying out our gear in the pool in the afternoon, working through some skills. When we hopped out of the pool and saw that the time was 5:30, we were shocked! What a long day.

We returned to Forest Haven and told Gerry about our day. Things were actually looking up. Rob was kind of like our Mr. Miyagi – very relaxed with a sarcastic sense of humour, yet a very good teacher and passionate about his course. The Haven wasn’t looking too bad either. We came to see the beauty of the surrounding tropical nature and its rustic has-been charm. Of course, the modern air conditioning unit in the bedroom was a life saver!

Steve blowing bubbles

The third morning on the island, we woke up excited and raring to go. We cruised through a morning of in-pool training and a few more video lessons, becoming pretty comfortable with our gear and our buoyancy control. In the afternoon, Rob took us over to Alma Bay for our first 2 dives. A cyclone had passed through some years ago and destroyed a bunch of the coral in this bay, thus making it a good starting point for noobs. Although the visibility wasn’t great, we got really comfortable in the water, and still saw some really neat stuff; fish mucous sachets, tiny nudibrachs, some massive crayfish, and coral that changed from maroon to lavender purple upon lightly stroking it. 

After another long yet successful day, we treated ourselves to $10 steak night at the pub, and stayed to watch the cane toad races. The invasive-species races had visitors ‘buying’ a toad in auction to support the local Life Saving club. The man running the bidding and races turned out to be somewhat of a comedian and we got a stand-up show as well as the excitement of the races. We didn’t bid on any toads, since their prices quickly exceeded our budget, but we laughed until we cried before conking out in our bunks that night.

Day four was our final day of the PADI course. Anticipation was instantaneous from the moment we opened our eyes and fueled up on eggs and toast for our dives.  This time, Rob took us to Geoffrey Bay, where there was slightly deeper water and a small wreck; a ship called the Moltke. We did 2 dives that morning, feeling more and more confident as divers, even navigating independently through the murky waters. We saw: schools of fish hiding amongst the rusty metal of the ship, lots of coral and beautiful ‘fields’ of sea grass, more crayfish and a few big tropical fish. We completed our last ascent into the sunshine and Rob exclaimed, “Ahh, another shitty day in paradise!”

Our mentor, Miyagi

In the afternoon, we simply ran through our exam review and then wrote the final test. We passed! And Rob sorted out all of our official paperwork. After all of the technicalities, we treated him to a Coca-Cola, and ourselves to a few pitchers in celebration! We were actually sad to part ways with Rob, as he had been a great instructor and an interesting person to get to know over the last few days. Nonetheless, we had partying to do, so we hugged-and-hand-shook it out, and headed back to the Haven.

Gerry couldn’t partake in the festivities as he had finally been called into work, but we met our next door neighbor, Carly, an American girl who had just started the same course we had just completed. The four of us got on the piss, and then went in search of our Scottish friend. After cruising by his hotel without seeing him, we discovered the immaculate pool and the other 3 couldn’t help but jump in! After a quick swim, we continued to the bar, and shared some jugs at the Base X hostel, which was more than a mission away.

 By the end of the night, we caught a bus back to Arcadia, much to the annoyance of the bus driver who didn’t appreciate us throwing up our hands and howling like we were on a rollercoaster at every wide turn. We got dropped off near Gerry’s swanky hotel, so we all indulged in another moonlit swim (as if we weren’t waterlogged enough after the continuous days of diving!) Pruney and soggy, we walked back to our accommodation and found Gerry had returned from work. After accusing him of not actually working since we didn’t see him there, we all had a good laugh cracking jokes, doing ‘magic tricks’ and mostly  trying to understand and teasing him about his thick accent before passing out.

Our last day on the island, we stayed in bed and in the A/C for as long as we could. Eventually, we couldn’t deny that our time was up, so we packed our belongings, said our goodbyes to Gerry, and donkey-ed our stuff back to the ferry terminal. We had other adventures to embark on, namely hooking a barramundi…

East Coastin'

Now that we’re East coastin’, life is like the Eagles; easy. The temperature has changed drastically, so while it’s still hot under the sun during the day, the temperature drops at night and is comparable to the hot days during Ontarian summers.

When we left Palm Cove on November 7^th, we aimed to drive to the Northern most point on the East coast that our non-4WD would allow. Cape Tribulation; this was the place where Captain Cook actually crashed his ship on the reef and “all of the trouble started.” I can only imagine what kind of trouble wild, unbridled Australia gave them as we have to be on our toes still in the 21^st Century.

To even get to Cape Tribulation, you have to cross a river on a small Ferry that pulls itself across the croc infested waters using cables. It’s such a short ride that its funny that the crossing even warrants a Ferry, but it was definitely more interesting than a bridge, and made the whole thing feel that much more exotic. We drove off the Ferry and up through the winding forested roads, into the Daintree Rainforest, passing the ferns and the palm trees, the ‘caution; cassowary’ signs, and the local tea fields.

We did a few short ‘hikes,’ I use the word hike loosely since they were only 700m – 1.2km in length and had a built in boardwalk. We did all of them in our flip flops. Even though the walks weren’t strenuous or spectacular, it was nice to wander beneath the shelter of the rainforest and listen to the peaceful sounds of birds and other unknown creatures poking around. There were signs posted over the creeks and even where the beach met the forest, warning of the Estuarine Crocodiles that will come and eat you, should you enter the water. If the crocodiles don’t get you, the Box Jellyfish will. They even have vinegar stations posted by the ocean, to curb the pain while you wait for the ambulance. (What doesn’t try to kill you in Australia?!)

 When we got up to the short Cape Tribulation walk, we wowed at the mangroves and took in the view, and then headed out to find a campsite for the evening. We ended up at Cape Trib Campground, mostly because they advertised wood fired pizzas.  Our choice couldn’t have been more on point for what we wanted. We cosied up on the verandah, under the porch lights and played some outdated Star Sign game, while we sank a few beers and amazing pizzas. Eventually, we graduated to Jenga and entertained the bar with our highly competitive rounds. 

After reaching our Northern most point of the East, the next day we started to descend the infamous coastline. We didn’t get too far before taking a small hike to the Mossman Gorge and swimming in the somewhat icy waters. Along the way we discovered that mango trees grow abundantly just about everywhere, and stopped to pick a few for our snacking pleasure. We ate one later that day for lunch, and it was delicious. Of course, anything you worked for always tastes better.

From Mossman, we found ourselves meandering back into Port Douglas and taking a peek in the shops there. We didn’t find any treasures, and hit up the marina in hopes of finding a vessel to take us on to train us in our PADI in exchange for work. No one wanted to take us (and who could blame them!) So we cut our losses and parked up in a hostel/caravan park called Dougies. The atmosphere there immediately made us feel at home. Backpackers hanging out on the lawn, sprawled on blankets beneath the palms by the pool in the late afternoon sunshine beckoned to us.

We checked in and Steve made his famous jalapeno-cream cheese burgers for dinner. Afterwards we went for a swim and then had a few drinks while watching Super Bad being projected onto a sheet in the garden.  I went to bed, while the guys played in a small pool tournament to scratch off the rest of the night.

Jumping on the bed with excitement

In the morning we took another swim before waving goodbye to Dougies and booting to Cairns. 

We upgraded our lives the minute we rolled into our parking sport at the Holiday Inn. Air conditioning, real beds, and a place to hang our hats. I don’t really have anything to say about the rest of that day since we just rolled around town and picked up some souvenirs and hit the hay early.

Today, we rose early to take the scenic train to Kuranda, a hippie village in the folds of the Daintree rainforest. Steve and I had a good day gazing out the old train at the waterfalls and hilly views, pursuing the village shops, and nibbling on a treat here and there. To be honest though, it wasn’t as original and as special as we had thought. I’m not sure if our expectations were just extremely high, or Kuranda was one of those gems that once held a unique secret in the universe, but has now been overexposed to tourism. That being said, they sure did have great ice cream! 

Tomorrow, the Great White gets an oil change and we cruise on down to Mission Beach in hopes of spotting a cassowary in the wild, and then onwards to the next adventure. 

True North, Strong and Free

It is with a great big smile on my face that I announce, we have made it to the East Coast! To those back home it doesn’t seem like such an impressive feat, but trust me, it really, really was. We only realized how strenuous the journey would be the day we were hung over and rotting in the air conditioning of a mall in Broome. Bringing up Google maps, we entered Broome to Cairns and clicked ‘Enter.’ This is what loaded up on the screen:

Our jaws dropped. 47 hours from coast to coast! We knew Australia was big, but we had no idea that this stretch across the Northern horizon would take that long! Everyone just started hysterically laughing. What had we gotten ourselves into?! There was nothing to do except start. So eventually, we kicked into gear and cleaned out the van, did a grocery shop (focusing on meals that we didn’t have to use a burner for), and struck out Eastward.

As we drove, the day shrunk and we arrived on our cliff top camping spot just as the sun was setting. Ngumpan Cliff Lookout was a breathtaking way to end the start of our trek.  In the distance, we noticed that the coral haze didn’t die away with the sun. It was an outback bushfire, blazing off in the distance.  ‘Tis the season for wild fires, as we had already seen scorched earth and vegetation along other stretches of driving. We still slept well; being in a safe place should there be a blaze near to us.

We literally woke up on November 2^nd with the dawn. Things had been too hot to handle during these past few days, and the first rays of sun shining into our camper instantly turned it into a toaster oven. We drove all day, only stopping for gas and to a few lookouts. At the Victoria River, we saw ghostly shapes of thousands of jellyfish haunting the waters. We were all baffled at saltwater fish in a freshwater habitat; it was a very weird and wonderful sight to see. Eventually, our time was up and we pulled into Limestone Creek at Vince Connoly Crossing. A few others were camping there – always a good sign of safety. We ended up talking to Brenden, a man travelling by himself, finding out he was a teacher on long service leave. The 4 of us sat around swatting bugs and eating our ‘cold’ meal until it was too buggy and we were too sweaty to do anything but lie in our ‘bunks’ and be still.  

Bad sleeps were catching up to us. We awoke as if in Groundhog Day – more sun, more heat, damp sheets and damp clothes. Now this was the real Australia. This was the kind of impenetrable heat that it’s become famous for. Not for wimps of any kind. Luckily, that day we were close enough to Katherine, and decided to reward ourselves with a big day of fun, and to explore the Northern Territory a little.

Tim, Steve and I did a small hike up to the Katherine Gorge lookout, where two of us decided that renting a kayak and exploring the gorge via its waterways was something we were interested in, and one of us decided they would read War and Peace in the information site’s air conditioned café.  

Steve and I hopped into our banana yellow boat and made way down the river. The gorge walls just got more spectacular as we twisted and turned through its folds. Steve threw a few casts out for Barramundi as we paddled. Finally, we reached the pass, which segued through into the second section of the gorge. We docked our kayak on the small beach, and took a short secluded walk through the bush to a second array of kayaks in a secret bay. We paddled around for a little, but decidedly it was too hot, and we found a great cliff jumping rock to cool off with. After a jump and a quick swim,  we had to tear ourselves away from all of the beauty since Tim was waiting, but we were rewarded with an up close and personal glimpse at a ~2m freshwater crocodile on the kayak back.  

The adventures didn’t stop there. As soon as the three of us were reunited, we sped towards Kakadu National Park with butterflies in our tummies. Earlier, we had called the Ranger at the park to make sure there was enough water at the Gunlom Falls to warrant a visit. She answered that there was indeed enough water, but that the site wouldn’t be open until after midday since they were waiting for a bushfire to snuff out. We drove into the park and reached the dirt road. Testing the waters, we decided the track wasn’t too tough for our Great White, and made slow headway. Turning another corner, the road just got rougher; the wash boarding nearly broke all of our dishes, and shook everything out all over the floor. There was no turning around at this point, though. We had invested too much time and the sun was on a short fuse.

We finally made it to ground zero an hour before sunset and scrambled up the still smoking and ashy-black hillside to the waterfall at the top. The whole struggle was worth it. We were rewarded with a spectacular view of rugged outback landscape, an ochre sunset, and beautiful clean water.  What a strange feeling of solidarity with yourself and each other. Our twilight swim was a short one, since we didn’t bring a flashlight and needed to head back down to the camp. 

Revitalized and now believing there is beauty in the N.T., we spent another hot buggy night cooped up in the camper. What was eerie about our camp that night, was that the air was still pungent with that ‘campfire’ smell. A few logs were glowing with embers, and looking up into the hills, what we thought were flash flights, turned out to be tiny burning fires that hadn’t been extinguished yet. We were literally sleeping in the midst of a dying bush fire. We were surely safe, since everything around us was concrete, or burned, but it was still a surreal realization.

The next morning, I braved a spider-ridden rusty shower just to stroke the sweat and campfire smell off. We once again crawled through the 4WDesque roadway and burst back out into Katherine. After a proper coffee and a fuel-up, we were off again. That day we broke up our driving by stopping at some ‘famous’ Outback pubs. The first one we stopped at was covered in pink paint and aptly named; The Pink Panther.

 I don’t know how the Pink Panther has anything to do with the Outback, but apparently the feline likes to indulge in a XXXX Gold just like the rest of us. The building was also a shrine of antiques and relics from Australian farms and general history– we marveled at the old posters, typewriters and farm equipment. What was most interesting, however, was the ‘zoo.’ 

The P.P. had a menagerie of Australian Outback animals in large cages. We wandered through it, beer cozy in hand.  We shuddered at the

snakes, squawked with the Emus, and finally saw the freshwater croc after it surfaced. (‘Sneaky Sam,’ the saltwater crocodile remained submerged – and I don’t blame him, living in this inferno.) The coolest part for me though, was feeding a kangaroo by hand. He was minding his own business, eating out of his dish, and we decided he might have a go if it was from one of us. I scooped up some of his feed in my palm, and offered it out to him. He reached over and gently ate the food, while licking my fingers and grazing my skin with his teeth. Steve had a go as well with our new furry friend! We drank our beers and moved on quickly after that, since the bloke behind the bar was clearly not concerned with customer service!

We only made it another 100kms down the road, when we found another cool pub – the Daly Waters. This one had bras and undies hanging all over the bar, along with different bills from countries all over the world. We found out that my Dad had likely been there, judging by these clues:

We met another kangaroo friend – this time, we saw the server walk by with a struggling purse. When I asked what she had, she pulled out a baby joey, whose mother had died in an unfortunate tangle with a fence earlier that morning. She was getting an Emergency Kit sent down from Katherine to keep the joey thriving until it could be sent to a rescue center. The lil’ guy was so cute that Steve and I started thinking up ways to adopt one back in Canada. Can kangaroos be litter-trained?

Pushing on, we continued through the Outback, as the sun set around us. Steve and I were lucky enough to see a dingo dash across the road and take safety in the scrub on the shoulders.  Finally, before nightfall, we arrived at our ominous campsite – Attack Creek. Minus the feral cats who watched me pee before bedtime, the spot didn’t end up being scary at all. The best part of this night was when Tim surprised us with a Bundagerg Ginger Beer for dessert that he had been hiding in the cooler all day. You will never know the joy of a cold drink until you travel the outback in a van. Pure bliss. 

The next day we, once again, spent all day driving. The only thing to entertain us were termite people and cyclones. Strangely, we started to notice that  large termite mounds at the side of the road had been dressed as people?! Increasingly, we saw more and more, and they became a part of the landscape. Once and a while, we happened across some small cyclones, twisting up the red dust into the cloudless skies. At first we were scared, but when we saw them dissipate, or drove through them with white-knuckles and came through the other side only slightly bullied, we eased. Eventually we just took to counting how many we would see in a day. Anyhow, we pulled over at dusk again, Oorindi Rest Area and reveled as the night slowly cooled along with our engine. We were slowly, painstakingly making our way across; earning every inch that we traveled.

On November 6^th, we finally made it across the Barkly Highway, and to the East Coast, passing through our first big city in a while – Townsville. Having more than one lane of highway was a little daunting at first, until we all wrapped our heads around civilization again. We haven’t stopped in Townsville yet; we had plans further up North. Sadly, this stretch of driving became akin to driving through a graveyard of kangaroos. We had seen so much of the road kill that we had started a tally at the beginning of the trip, unbeknownst to us, that there would be so many. While making far too many marks on our list, we drove up the right hand side of the map and found shelter just outside of Port Douglas at Palm Grove Caravan park. 

We had made it. We were dusty, dehydrated, sleep deprived, bug-bitten and agitated. Living constantly in the oppressing heat was certainly a challenge – think of doing Bikram yoga all day, every day. For the record, I don’t know how anyone does it for a lifetime, making a living and finding happiness in the sweltering heat waves. I suppose you get used to it. As much as I like to think that I hate the snow and cold of Canadian winters, I guess I’ve gotten used to it in my own way as well. I always brag about loving the heat, and certainly prefer it to a chill under any circumstance. I touted myself as a ‘bad Canadian,’ as someone who has left the True North Strong and Free to travel other lands, dislikes hockey, and hates snow. But, for the first time in my life I was actually too hot. I couldn’t get comfortable and I found myself wishing for home, where everyone is now bundling up in their fall jackets and boots.

I guess I’m not that bad of a bad Canadian after all, eh?