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?

You Call That a Knife?!

*My apologies in advance for the quality of this blog, it seems the unremitting heat has turned my brain to mush…don’t judge!

November 1^st, here we are; halfway around the country, and not quite halfway through the trip! Today we head towards Darwin, and hope that we don’t melt into puddles before we get there. Many miles to go folks, so stay tuned for more of our zany adventures. Allow me to fill you in on the past few days…

We left Exmouth in good spirits, and did a little backtracking to visit Coral Bay. Rolling down the highway, we were impressed by the copious amounts of termite mounds dotting the landscape. The drive under the Australian sun was difficult to say the least. Being under the windshield is like being under a microscope. 

When we made it to our destination, we immediately strapped on our snorkel gear and swam about 50m offshore. The visibility wasn’t as remarkable as Turquoise Bay, and as we got out we looked over our shoulders to the white sand, blue skies and decided that we are spoiled. Seeing so many beautiful beaches and wondrous coral formations in the last week has somewhat desensitized us to the sights right in front of our eyes. Luckily, we usually are able to remind each other and reign ourselves in.

Something else that was remarkable, only in a bad way, was the smell coming from the fridge. I was all too quick to blame the boys and their berley/bait adventures (sometimes keeping it in the mini-freezer). I cleaned it out, only to realize once we were settled in Coral Bay,that the rancid smell was still there. We decided that the fridge, which intermittently cools and stops, must have leaked something which had seeped into some crevices – we drew up a plan of attack. However, all problems were sorted that night as we pulled out the steaks for dinner; the meat was green. Tim and Steve blew backwards as they opened the cling wrap and immediately threw them in the bin. We got fish from the local fish n’ chip shop that night, and the smell in the fridge was never more!

After one night in CB it was pretty clear that there wasn’t too much to do besides snorkel and relax. We had heard great things about Karijini National Park so we moved on. As we pushed even farther North, the sweat started to pour. By the time we set up camp in an overnight free camping spot, we were all soaked to the knickers and frazzled. The only consolation was the wild horses that were also camping at our site. The 5 of them, and their 2 foals steered pretty clear of us, but it was a beautiful sight to see amidst the dried up river and the gum trees. That night, another bug infestation hit hard – it left us taping up the windows and devising ‘catchers’ with duct tape. We narrowly survived this encounter, and sped off early in the morning for Karijini.

The park was beautiful. We decided to explore the Dale Gorge area, strapped on our hiking gear, and peanut-butter-n-jelly sandwiches in tow, descended the gorge switchback walls to the ‘Circular Pool.’ At the bottom, in a small clearing there was a clear green pool, to which you could see all the way to the bed.  No fish, no crocs, no sharks, no salt. Yippee! You can believe that there were a few cannonball competitions on the boys’ part, and a lot of floating around on mine.

Having our fill there, we gleefully sought out the Fortescue Falls, and dove right on in there as well. This one, quite obviously from the name, had a waterfall that we climbed up and sat under and let the cool fresh water invigorate us again. Time always ticks on so we hopped back into our toaster-oven on wheels and made tracks for Broome.

That afternoon was one of the hottest of my lifetime. I was caged in the back, with both windows open and sat in the roaring wind which only slightly helped my situation. It seemed that I had drunken litres of water, yet never had to pee. Licking my lips, there was salt. My hair was wet. My clothes were damp. The boys were the same. Pushing right through the mining country and Port Hedland, we eventually ran out of steam and pulled over at the De Grey River overnight camp. After a short sing-along with the ukulele, we ate our chicken curry (bad choice in the heat!) and attempted sleep. Sleep, which now holds new meaning = to lay down and sweat with your eyes closed. The nights here aren’t much better!

At the first ray of sun we were jumping out of our beds to escape the impending heat and get to Broome. No coffees or teas in the mornings these days, the milk in our cereals is barely cold!  5 ½ hours later, we squeaked into Broome’s i-site and reveled in the air conditioning. Sizing up our options, we thought a wee while longer in the Macca’s across the street, absorbing their air conditioning and 30 cent cones (that’s right, 30 cents!) Finally, our brains came back to us and decisions were made. We rocked up to the Cable Beach Caravan Park and wasted no time hopping into the pool. We stayed in until we were pruny, but eventually had to get out because Steve and I had a date.

A date with a camel on Cable Beach! We had booked our sunset walk with one of the local companies and promptly arrived at 4:20 as asked. Immediatley, a guide took us to meet a camel; sitting down, they didn’t look that big, and we patted one named Kadesh. When it came time to mount the coarse golden haired chariots, it became clear just how big they really are! With their legs running the length of my body, they are quite intimidating and wonderful standing at full height.

Mounting them is another story completely! Camels stand up with their rear legs first, and heave themselves into the air, to pin themselves on their gangly legs against the sand. We were besotted to a beast named Jarndah, which nobly means “owner of the earth.”  One of the guides filled us in that Jarndah was like a cheeky school boy and was a camel that always liked to untie his ropes. He pretty much ignored us the whole time until the end, when he allowed me finally to take his picture – I suspect only because he knew he was going to get a carrot at the end of it all.

The walk down the beach was lovely, and we watched one of our last sea-set sunsets atop a camel, lopping along the coast. I dare say it was romantic, but it was definitely a neat thing to experience. Of course, you may be thinking that something doesn’t add up here – camels, in Australia? Ah, yes my friends. Australia is home to the biggest wild camel population in the world! All that desert in the Outback, is ridden with those humpies! The owner of the company we went with actually rescues camels that have been caught on large stations in the country before they become dog food and trains them up.

Segueing into talking about the real wild animals though – yesterday was Halloween. A much loved North American tradition that we couldn’t help but partake in. We hummed and haw-ed about a good trio costume, and eventually found the best one of all; a trio costume that unites the tradition of Canada with the stereotypes of Australia. Can you guess what we were???

Crocodile Dundee and his crocodile friends, of course! The costumes were a hit, although Tim and I were cursing the choice since our onesies were fleecy – a material that is NOT sympathetic to Broome’s humid weather.  The funniest part of the night was, after drinking all afternoon at the campervan, we headed to the bar Oasis as it got dark. The tavern was eerily quiet for being such a recommended hotspot. We asked the bartender what time it was – 7:15pm! We were shocked! Looking around, people were still eating dinner while the three of us, in costume, were standing drunk and dumbfounded in the middle of it all. We spent the next 4 hours trying to maintain a buzz without going overboard until the place ramped up. And oh, it did. We had way too much fun dancing with crocodile tails and Steve with his “knife,” so much so that today, it hurts so good. 

Meet Fang

Well folks, the shark fishing frenzy didn’t die off. Not at all. In fact, it snowballed into a determination that consumed all of us. Steve’s half fear-half passion for sharks was the catalyst for our group and eventually, we whipped ourselves into a fury in hopes of achieving our goal. The all-nighter at Eagle Bluff left us empty handed and heavy hearted, and we hauled our gear up the rock face just in time to find Ranger Mat pulling up to our camper. Apparently, we didn’t see the sign for ‘no camping’ in the general area, but since Mat was a fisherman himself, he took pity on us and sent us off with a warning and some fishing advice. The day was anew and we travelled into Monkey Mia with bleary eyes, yet not wanting to miss the treasure at this special place; wild dolphins swim up to the shore every morning and can be hand fed.

As we approached the beach, we could already see the stormy-coloured fins cruising in the shadows, and many more family and friends of theirs just a little further out. We were right on time. With the biologist’s permission, our group of ~20 daintily stepped into the shallow water. He paced back and forth, talking about the magic of Monkey Mia. 

Ever since the 80’s, friendly dolphins have been coming in to score a treat or two off of the local fisherman. Eventually it became well known for the interactions, and people came from all over to feed the animals. Of course, the darker side of human nature prevailed and the porpoises eventually were getting over-fed and abused. Thankfully, research teams and the Department of Conservation have laid heavy restrictions and rationed the fish; now the dolphins are happy as are the tourists. Only 6 people got to feed a dolphin. Steve was the lucky choice of one volunteer and I was allowed to enter the slightly deeper water as well. It was over before it started, as Steve gently slipped the fish into the dolphins grin. Once the dolphins gobbled their last fish, they swam back out to sea to nurse their calves and hunt in the wild. I say hesitantly that this experience was extraordinary, since everyone seems to sway to the charms of dolphins, but it definitely was intriguing and unique, as the dolphins are undomesticated. We decided to stay the night, and buoyed the van amongst roving and cheeky emus in the caravan park.

The rest of the day we all spent lazing about; swimming, napping, reading. Steve and I took a walk and (surprise, surprise) ended up chatting up a lady fishing off the point. We gained some valuable bait information from her that we utilized the next day when Tim pursued his exotic dream to work on a pearl farm.

While he was out to sea, Steve and I dug for cockles in the sand with our feet while the tide was out, and broke them open with our hands. It felt like real natural living, like people must have used to behave in the not-so-distant past. This trip has recently really been reminding me about getting back to the simplicities of life and how beautiful nature can be. No-one is keeping up with the Jones’ out here; people have their tent and a radio and a cold beer and it brings them satisfaction – as it should. It’s nice to be removed from all of the wants and relish the needs for once. Anyway, Steve caught a small whiting and another fish we have yet to identify. As he was filleting them at the beach fish cleaning station, he went to throw the salivating pelicans some scraps, and a bandit seagull swooped in and stole our whiting fillets! Needless to say, we didn’t dine on fish that evening, but it was a fun day all the same.

When Tim returned from the pearl farm, full of more facts than interest for it, we packed it in and drove towards Carnavron. As the sun unhurriedly sunk down, Steve and I perfected a dual-wave to passing tourist vans and marveled at the abundant feral goats munching their dinner at the side of the road. Eventually, the goats became a point of anxiety, as do the kangaroos as soon as dusk approaches. We weren’t going to make it to Carnavron, but we found a quaint stop-over campsite chalk full of Europeans in campers akin to ours.

We had decided earlier on in the trip that after a few bevies, even simple games of cards went astray as we couldn’t remember whose turn it was, or who-laid-what. In a stroke of genius, I had found a knock-off version of Jenga in a Target in Perth – the perfect dim-witted game for nights like these. We lit a candle and drank wine and port, savouring a several-course meal and playing ‘Jumbling Towers,’ until I lost too many times for it to be fun.

The next day’s journey landed us in beloved Exmouth. Ever since our whale shark adventure back in May, Steve and I have held fond feelings for the small town. We were happy to return and show Tim around. Steve was keyed up knowing that the Ningaloo Reef resides on the outskirts, making it a prime fishing area, as well as being known for West coast shark varieties. Last visit, we had met some fishermen who raved about the sharks who stole their catches, and would have invited us onto their boat had we had any extra vacation days. We pondered: maybe we needed a boat to catch our shark?

While driving the dusty red roads into town, we passed several  4WD’s hauling boats adorned with rod-holders like ornaments on a Christmas tree. Much to Tim’s chagrin, we hung up a sign in on our window, “Honk if you will take us fishing!” in hopes someone with some extra room in their vessel would adopt us for the day. It was worth a shot, but in the end it didn’t get us any closer to getting on a boat, so that night, as we dined on quesadillas at the Big 4, we decided to see what we could scare up at the local Potshot pub.

As it was a Thursday, we didn’t end up finding too many serious fisher-guys to schmooze with, but we met a lovely couple from Port Hedland, a raucous group of burly men in the annual billfish tournament, and some hipsters playing a game of giant Jenga! With our newfound expertise, we joined in the games and had generous offer from Tom, a local spear-fishing hipster, to take us out on his tinny on Saturday. We skipped back to the caravan park and made lime and cracked black pepper popcorn on the mini-stove before falling into a buttery sleep, while visions of fins danced in our heads.

The next morning we went to the local tackle shop and stripped the boys there for information. They gave us some well-known spots for catching sharks and some other tips – like taking a gander at the marina’s fish-cleaning stations to score some berley/offal and some bait. We headed to Learmonth Jetty with dreams as big as Steve’s oversized flip-flops. Before we started into the big mission, Tim and I ventured out on to some smaller reef sites around the jetty to do some Hawaiian sling fishing while Steve, dead set on his shark, chewed the fat with others on the jetty who had lines in. Tim and I were sorely unsuccessful, but the visibility wasn’t great and the fish were too fast so we didn’t mind. Once we dried off, the fish-off began.

The guys put their lines into the water, and started catching small fish lingering around the shade of the jetty for bait. I even indulged in a little hand-lining myself and was rewarded with a small prize for our bait bucket. As the day drew to a close, the other fisherman threw in the towel and went home to hot dinners, while we were just getting started. Darkness arrived and the boys chucked in our set-up as well as fish remains to attract the fins.

Despite some close calls, our bait always returned intact, and the only fins we ended up seeing where those of dolphins. Only this time, we didn’t welcome the dolphins half as much as we did in Monkey Mia, knowing that the lot of them were probably scaring away the sharks in the area. Throughout the long night, the ocean recompensed us with many wondrous creatures and sights. Phosphorescents, glowing intermittently in luminous green sparks covered the surface. The Indian Ocean revealed her crabs, squid, turtles, and gigantic manta rays to us as the clocked ticked on towards the AM. 

The most exceptional event of the night happened while Tim was taking a nap shift and Steve and I made slow conversation by the light of the lantern. We heard the sharp and wet sound of a dolphin clearing his blowhole in close proximity to the jetty. With nothing else to do but wait, we were ecstatic to find the fins of a few doing some nighttime feeding beneath our feet! With our sense of sight almost unfeasible, our ears sharpened and located the dolphins when they surfaced to breathe. The phosphorescent in the water alighted their lean bodies as they soared through the water chasing after small fish. In one instance, Steve and I leaned over to witness 3 or 4 dolphins dash past us in a tornado of bubbles, flaming in neon green, drawing streaks on the surface like sparklers do in the night. This rare sight is so hard to explain, but it really touched us in a place where the best memories lay.

 The morning came, as it insistently does, and nature’s last spectacle exposed humpback whales breeching in the far off distance, sending up sprays of sea water into the sunrise. Once again, we were groggy, disheveled, and sharkless. In our near-drunken state of sleep deprivation, we haunted the tackle shop. The employees were shocked that we hadn’t reeled in a toothy new mate overnight. They shrugged their shoulders, not offering too much more advice – the sharks should come to us, they are basically a nuisance in the area instead of a goal for anglers.

In an attempt to not let our vacation get carried away solely by fishing expeditions, we laid plans for another night of shark-ing, but spent the day seeing some of the other sights Exmouth has to offer. Actually, we almost got ourselves and our van into another pickle, as we attempted to enter Cape Range National Park

via Charles Knife Road; not marked as a 4WD road, yet it should have been. As our great-white-van humped itself up gravelly hills in a mountain range, we all wondered if we were on the right track. Consulting the map (as should have been our first point of business) we realized we were on a ~10km dirt road of off-roading quality. We bridled our panic and turned around, arriving safely back at sea level on the paved main road. We then proceeded to take the long way around to the park, and arrived at the Yardie Creek Gorge Walk. Here’s a tip: never do a desert-hike at high noon. Trying, yet worthwhile, we climbed to the height of the gorge and the boys tried to hit the fish shadows below with pebbles. Boys will be boys.

Descending, we cooled off by doing a drift snorkel at Turquoise Bay. We strapped on our fins and masks and allowed the current to carry us across the reef. The visibility was crystal, and the reef rivaled the Great Barrier, on a smaller scale. We saw heaps of fish, and on our second run, we were enchanted by a black tipped reef shark.  (Obsessed, much?!)

Finally, the day shortened and it was time for round two. So far, the sharks were ahead of our game. We drove to the Mildura Cattle Ship Wreck in hopes this new spot would prove more lucrative for our efforts. Steve and Tim’s balloon-baits were quickly snagged on coral and as the precious light dwindled, we made a difficult game time decision: we would go back to Learmonth Jetty, braving kamikaze kangaroos during the twilight drive and praying a second visit would make the local advice true.  The boys anxious waded into the shallow water to save their bait, and we sped away (stopping at the local beer store for a quick top-up of course!)

Rolling up to the jetty a second time felt like coming home. Expertly, the boys set up their intricate system of balloons, hooks, metal line, scales, blood and zip ties and got their bait out to sea. Then, we waited. A local couple joined us on the jetty later on, fishing for squid. We entered some nonchalant friendly conversation with them, which ended up to be quite vital. Jared boosted our confidence saying that he’d caught sharks off of the jetty many a time and analyzed our rigging. He laughed when he saw our giant fish heads, their eyes boorishly poked out and zip tied onto massive hooks – what were we trying to catch, a 14 meter Tiger Shark? Being fresh-water kids from Canada, we had no idea of the meal portions of sharks, so we had gone big instead of going home. Jared brought us to the light. Steve deftly cut a small strip off of the frame of a massive Spanish mackerel and threaded it onto his hook.

We ate dinner in anticipation and I went to do the dishes after we supped, the boys doggedly manning their post. I washed up and returned to the end of the jetty, and immediately set into shock! Steve was adorned in the gundle, rod bent in exertion, the line peeling out into the night. Fish on! The boys worked in a synchronous manner, Steve guiding the shark towards shore, while Tim lighted the way. The 6 foot beast appeared under the circle of our torches and we spotlighted it as Steve balanced along the rocks, trying to beach it.

Can you spot the 'fangs?'

It became clear that they needed to get into the water, into the home of the enemy. The water was shallow, but the mood was hectic as they splashed down into the sand, guiding the fin into shore. I ran around the long way and met them at the waterline. With a warrior heave, Steve pulled the shark onto the sand and him and Tim leaped up in an ecstatic bro-hug. Our quest was over, our trophy was thrashing its gleaming body in the moonlight as we whooped our triumph. The agitated beast smoldered with rage in the surf as the bros tried to unhook the line, two fangs seeming to hiss at me while I aimed the camera. Meet Fang, our 6 foot Tawny Nurse shark.

After a few (safe) photo opportunities, we sent Fang back out to sea, watching her writhe powerfully over the shallow beach, and then smoothly fly into the darkness to hunt another day. Big hugs and beers were cracked in celebration. The moon unsheathed itself from behind the clouds, looking uncannily like the slice of an orange. We spent some more of the late evening fishing, but the ocean went eerily quiet. It seemed as if Mother Nature had conceded with our prize Fang, but she yielded no more. One mustn’t get too greedy regarding the balance of the natural world. We were able to sleep that night, in peace.

It seems that the spell is over, Fang released us from its clutches (thank God!) We left Exmouth feeling satisfied, and read to embark on new adventures – ones that don’t have anything to do with fishing!