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.