Instalment 14 - Fraser Island, Brisbane, Lamington NP

We took a small detour into Bunderberg if nothing else to get a photo and send a text to Marnie. Funnily enough we passed Gin Gin on the way and thought of Mari. We’d seen signs of some museum dedicated to Bert Hinkler, the first person to fly from the UK to Australia. The museum was actually his Southampton home that had been transported brick by brick some 10 years previously. Presumably his flight had been a one way ticket. As we drove through the suburbs, which like most of Queensland was full of bungalows, often on stilts, I almost crashed as I wellied on the anchors after spotting a pebble dashed semi detached house in the middle of a park.



We got to Hervey bay about 3 o’clock, and just in time for the last ferry. We’d heard a lot about it as a 4 wheel drive heaven with miles of beach and tracks of sand, the general expectation is that you will bog yourself at least once. What we didn’t expect was for the ferry to get bogged. An exceptionally high tide had left it perched on the causeway, and the crew were trying various methods to try and push it off including using a Landcruiser.




Two lads were on the ferry with us, their ute loaded with fishing gear and each with a stubby in hand. From this point the people on the island fell into 2 categories;
Bogged back packers in old white hired land cruisers
Blokesworld blokes, away from their other halves to go fishing for Tailor – the seasonal sports fish, all in flash looking 4x4’s, and without exception all with a stubby.



We camped at the first eastern beach the first night as it was late and next day cruised up through the middle of Island to a western beach.








Here I caught my first edible fish, a small sand whiting. Although not sufficient for a full feed, fried it provided rather a nice aperitif.
The next day we headed as far north as we could. At India head there was a wide expanse of sand leading off the beach with 2 tracks. I mistakenly took the left one and we ground to a halt. A bit of shovel work, some more air out of tyres and help from a young lad racing around in his suped-up truck (‘Pig 22’) and we reversed out. A second attempt and we got grounded again but were able to back out unaided. The last time I went for the right hand side with about 3 times the speed and we skidded through. I was now a whole lot more nervy in the deep sand.




We pulled up to a camp spot and immediately Siobhan spotted a large stick poking out the back of the car. Somewhere through the morning a large branch had been pushed up from the back wheel jamming the hand break on and wrenching through the plastic rear cover. I was leant a hacksaw from the chap camped next to us. In the end I had to saw it into 3 sections before it was freed and the hand brake was released. Possibly the reason we got bogged? I’ll stick with that.
Our neighbour Hytel, there for his 15th annual 3 week fishing away from the family in Noosa (only about 100 km away) invited us to his caravan for drinks. Getting a caravan there seemed like an engineering feat in itself, and indeed he recounted that it took a tractor to get him through the section we’d got stuck for several years until he bought his land cruiser and developed his;
‘You hit it at about 70km/h and you pop out doing about 5km/h’
He’d caught so many fish that we provided the veggies and he provided a large pile of really tasty Dart.
He persuaded me to join him fishing in the morning so at 5.30 am we drove down the beach in the dark. We got to a spot were a huge line of fisherman with enormous rods were stood. Apparently everyone fishes the same spot due to all the cast bait acting as burley, and it was indeed a strange site seeing hundreds of pilchards flipping out to sea. Hytel gave me one of his rods and pile of Pilchards. He showed me how to put the 3 hooks through it and we squeezed into the line. On either side I could reach out and touch the other fisherman, so an exact casting method was required to avoid snaring everyone else. Unfortunately I don’t posses said skills and spent a fair bit of time walking side to side over and under the other lines. People where pulling out Tailor at quite a rate and soon after Hytel caught one a kamikaze fish pretty much took my line and I bought it home. On reflection, I’d fed about 12 pilchards to the flock of fish, my line regularly coming back with just the back bone and head left, and hence was probably down overall for fish thrown in against fish pulled out.
In the end the weed growing in that spot got the better of us and we spent another hour catching dart further up the island. Hytel showed me how to clean the fish and gave us an assortment to be going on with as we headed off to the far south of the Island.



The spot that had stopped us the day before now resembled a strange strip of fly paper with a number of vehicles trapped. Of course as an expert now I boldly advised on tyre pressures methods of exit and the like and exclaimed loudly about the lack of training that hire car companies give out.
Luckily we got through without any trouble.



A quick look at the wreck and a swim down Eli creek and we continued down the 75 mile beach passing group after group of Aussie blokes in circles boozing around fishing rods.



An uneventful ferry trip preceded us finding a wrecked valve as we tried to return some pressure into the tyres. The 2 garages were booked out and it was 4pm so a bit of gaffer tape and we drove to the beautifully named town of Gympie. We got lucky here and at 4.55 a Beaurepairs repaired it for a 10 buck back hander in about 3 minutes flat.
“You can get back on the beach now mate”, And indeed it appeared that we’d bought a fair bit of Fraser Island with us.
We battled on to Noosa a town described in our 6 year old Lonely planet as being still largely untouched by tourism. The builders have been pretty busy in 6 years I’d say.



A little friend came to say hello..


The next morning we headed for Brisbane and got there about 2pm and got a spot in a backpackers. For a Weds it seemed awfully quiet as we walked into town and eventually we realised there was some kind of bank holiday – Ekka day was taking place. We got the catamaran transport down stream and back, and I must say Brisbane is a pretty flash town. As we headed back up stream piles of young people done up to the nines and pissed to bits started to board, straight from the races Melbourne cup style.



We always said that on the gold coast we would take in a theme park and had decided on movie world. The kid in me dragged us up at 6am, showered and drove the 100km, stopping only for a McBreakfast which I felt under the circumstances was obligatory. Fuelled up and ready we got to the front gates to find out that it opened at 9.30 am. Only 2 hours to kill then.
We got in and took in the attractions, the superman ride being quite a thrill. I was disappointed to find the Scooby doo ride was broken and the Looney tunes ride wouldn’t console me. The Lethal weapon ride was very good, but I was struggling to think who would be buying anything from the shop dedicated entirely to lethal weapon merchandise. Siobhan suggested a lethal weapon shot glass in response to Mel’s recent booze fuelled escapades.
Siobhan forced me to stand and be photographed with wonder woman, an actress of similar vintage to Linda Carter. I don’t think I’ve blushed like that in a long time.



By now the Scooby ride was running again, and we ran around completing the attractions. Brilliant, but unlike as a kid when you could then sleep in the car as you were driven home we had to drive to surfers paradise. We both fell asleep to the wild whooping noises of the partying back packers heading out for the evening.
A slow start the next day and eventually we got up to Lamington national park, and had to have another early night. Clearly movie world had taken its toll.



Finally refreshed we put in a pretty good hike and then headed off to the legendary Nimbin.

Instalment 13 - The Aquatic Realm Townsville, Whitsundays

aka Steve Zissou

We drifted into Townsville after dark and went to the first campground without any real idea about how far out from the centre we were. It turned out to be the loudest campground in the world- caught in a neat triangle between a busy railway freight line, a main road, with the gates to hell making up the final trident. Whatever was behind the gates was quiet until about 10pm when some kind of metal grinding started. The bursts would last for 5 minutes and were loud enough to drown out the tv in the camp kitchen. As they repeated themselves every 15 minutes until morning I was glad we’d only booked the 2 nights. National radio had bought our attention to Townsville’s racist reputation with allegations of an active Klu Klux Klan. Indeed amongst the permanent sites that were in the majority we spotted a trailer proudly flying a rebel flag.
The reason to come to Townsville was to see the Great Barrier Reef and also a sunken shipwreck called the Yongala that was reputedly a top dive site. Killing 2 fish with one spear we elected to go on a live aboard boat. Prodive ran a trip that left the next day for 3 nights with 10 dives with everything included at a very reasonable price.
We got on board late on a Friday night and were introduced to the crew and introduced ourselves to the other customers.
It was a good bunch with Stu and Kerry, 2 dive instructors that ran a similar operation in the British Virgin Isles, a couple from Brisbane, Simon and Annie a couple of doctors from the UK, a Canadian Miner who resembled Tim Nice but dim and a Swiss student.
Another young married East German couple, Michael and Claudia, made up the group and it was their second trip on the boat in 3 weeks. It appeared that the couple had some kind of scheme going on between them as they had stayed with the owner of the company for free in between trips, had paid half price for this trip. The husband would deliberately make himself scarce whilst his wife would cause havoc blatantly flirting with 2 of the crew that were traipsing around after her. In fact it transpired that one of the dive instructors was actually working for free as it wasn’t his shift, and it seemed just to be with her. He was only 20 or so and normally I think he’d be confident and cocky, but was a dribbling wreck for the duration of trip and seemed entirely unaware how painfully obvious his yearning was to the rest of us.
I digress.
Siobhan and I were booked to do the advanced course, as part of the wreck was at 30 metres. The original plan was 2 days of reef diving gaining the necessary skills and then onto the wreck for 2 dives on the last day. Due to bad weather though we steamed overnight to the wreck and our first dive of the trip would be deep off the wreck itself. We were awoken at about 5.45 am and ordered into our gear. It was clear everyone else knew what they were doing as I wrestled with unfamiliar gear. The horizon was an incredible fiery red and in contrast the sea was pure inky black, and directly below us was the steam ship Yongala, 100 metres long having sunk with all aboard in 1911. The metre high rollers that rocked the boat on an otherwise still morning gave off an eerie feeling and were not helping my nerves at all.
Our dive instructor Brendan however was absolutely excellent and as soon as we were underwater the usual calm took over. We descended down the marker buoy tether and were immediately presented with an enormous variety and volume of fish. We sunk down to 30 metres and carried out a series of exercises then started to make our way along the keel of the ship. The visibility was about 20 metres and you could clearly distinguish the hulk. Brendan pointed out various aquatic life including a turtle munching on coral, however I was a bit surprised when he reached out and grabbed a sea snake, going against most of what I’d heard about them. We all had a stroke and continued on our way. As we ascended a 2 metre bull shark appeared and circled us several times. Suddenly all of the fish vacated the area as the shark gave off a sharp cracking noise and accelerated away.



The 2nd dive we took a good look at the superstructure and the inner workings of the boat were clearly visible. The Yongala sank in a cyclone with all aboard, together with the lack of radio and any discernable damage the exact reason that it sank remains unknown.



As we came off each dive a pattern seemed to be emerging as the German lad Michael was nowhere to be seen as his wife squirmed around in her bikini on the deck pretending to be stuck in her wetsuit allowing Kane (the love struck crew member) to step in and help her out.
Next we steamed over to the outer Great Barrier Reef. - Wheelers Reef






This time we were just allowed to wander off by ourselves which I hadn’t expected. For all I’d heard about the GBR I suppose I was expecting to see a largely dead and broken coral, and as a result was just blown away by the experience. It did feel a bit like swimming around in a china shop but the sheer abundance of, well, stuff was incredible. The night dive was different again as everyone set out with tight beam torches and glow sticks. The whole scene was akin to an aquatic rave. It was quite funny seeing so many fish asleep, with one in particular lying at a 45 degree angle against some coral and I definitely detected snoring.
Early the next morning we were guided to a spot and a squadron of Manta rays went over head, whilst a large shark was asleep against a wall of coral. It appeared to suddenly wake up, turn round, enquire as to what we were doing in his bedroom, flick us a fin(ger) and went off in a sulk.
The other dives included a drift dive which was rather like flying and I spent most of my time with one arm out superman style as the strong current flung us down a canyon and over coral sky scrapers.



The last night dive we set off alone and after pursuing a white tip shark in the gloom we proceeded to get a bit lost. It took almost the rest of the time to find the glow sticks marking the anchor point.



On the last day we were taken to another location to explore a bommie, a coral tower. Whilst swimming around there was a loud grating noise which I assumed was the dive boat’s bulk head breaking up. Siobhan thought it was something to do with her ears. On getting out of the water and stepping over Claudia flapping about on the deck we could clearly see a humpback whale breaching about 5 – 600 metres away, it turned out the noise was its’ song. Listening properly on the last dive it was instantly recognisable and I immediately wanted to light a joss stick, dread my hair and sell essential oils.



The steam back was uneventful as I supped on my first beer of the trip. Unfortunately I was by myself as Siobhan was lying green and inert in the cabin, whilst everyone else was either being sick or lying in various states of distress around the boat in the high swell.
Next on the list - The Whitsundays. Although I’d entertained ideas of hiring a boat myself it was clearly fantasy. We got to Airlie Beach at lunchtime we got ourselves a last minute deal for 2 nights on the Dream Catcher yacht.
Airlie beach itself looked heavily geared towards party party so we headed into the hills – Eungella National park, in search of the illusive platypus. Turns out not so in this park and as we stood on a little platform 2 of the duckbilled creatures put on a little performance. In the absence of clear signage we camped on the flats near the rangers hut and so were treated to an encore in the morning.



The trip on the Dream catcher was to be a bit more relaxed so we struggled aboard with a slab of beer and met our skipper and crew – Dieter and Lucy. Dieter looked the part, a real salty sea dog originally from Austria. He exuded confidence and had once come 3rd in a Sydney to Hobart race. He struck me as old school particularly when he described the shotgun he had bought when his daughter was born (from his now ex – wife) and had shaved off an inch off the barrel every year on her birthday. At 16 he said it was now the correct length for when his daughter bought home her first boyfriend.
‘Yes, it now fits nicely into my sleeve, and was short enough for him to make out ze red of the ze shells’



The sailing part was quite lively with 25 – 30 knot winds, and we were at a good incline as we got to meet the others onboard.
The next day we got dropped off at Whitsunday Island to try and get the picture you always associate with the Islands. I guess we’d been to enough remote places that the literally hundreds of others dropped at the same time made no real difference to us. I think some of the others had expected it to be a little more deserted and everyone was trying to take pictures at strange acute angles to try and get round the swarms of backpackers. I heard the words photo shop bandied around a fair bit. Actually it was pretty nice and no one seemed keen to get in the water so we had a pack of sting rays hanging out a swim away mostly to ourselves.



We spent the afternoon snorkelling and a pleasant evening beneath the stars. Early the next morning we were allowed to snorkel again, whilst Dieter kept an eye on us due to the currents. I was idling about when an enormous roar made me almost jump out the sea like a gaffed salmon. Dieter was sat laughing in his dingy about 3 feet away deliberately buzzing the outboard at my head.
We arrived back in an exciting dash with most of us crouched at the front as waves crashed over the bow into us. Despite it seeming like a random sort of sail back we arrived at the jetty dead on 12 – the allotted time, the skipper making the whole thing look effortless.





Time constraints meant we immediately jumped in the car and drove south for another 6 hours, camping and heading off early the next day.
Destination – Faser Island…

Installment 12 - Mission Bay, Cairns, Daintree

We set off with the vague notion that Cairns would be our destination, but soon realised that we wouldn’t get there until 4 ish on Friday, which wouldn’t leave much time to find a garage, and then nothing would get done over the weekend, so we elected to head for Mission Beach. ‘A haven set amongst a rainforest.’
We cruised across the peninsular stopping to read most of the ‘interpretation’ boards but as we got to the Great Dividing Range the sky turned black and we drove into a veritable monsoon. Having seen no real clouds, let alone rain since Pemberton over 2 months ago it was a bit of a shock.





Slinking down to Mission Beach we booked into the first backpackers we could find, Scotty’s - a fun hostel. It turns out that it hasn’t stopped raining here since February when the cyclone hit and the devastation everywhere is still obvious.
We are now officially on the East coast and the demographic of those around us changed quite significantly. We are now clearly the oldest people and swamped by huge numbers of Pommies and French people along with the usual German and Irish contingent. A swimming pool sat in the middle of the dorms and rooms, surrounded by sun lounges and straddled with a volley ball net, and had it not been for the absolute downpour of rain it looked like the place would live up to its reputation.



I knew of 2 people that lived on the east coast, one from uni that lived in Townsville and was into diving last I heard, and Lee’s sister who was running sailing charters in the Whitsundays. It seemed appropriate to try and make contact, but an email from Robin informed me that Andy R was now living in Tasmania, and a text from Lee told me his sister is now in Boston. Hmm, these transient types.
The rain let up enough for us to look at the rainforests and at the second location we got lucky and spotted a Cassowary. We’d been told that it was very unlikely we’d see one at all so our detour was rewarded.
Scotty’s had a long list of exiting activities and figured under the damp circumstances rafting would be the best option. I was pretty dubious as my previous experience 12 years ago in Nepal was a pretty dull affair.
We got picked up by a mini bus and shuttled to the top of the Tully River, where we were assigned to our boat, “The Dugong”. A few drills later and off we went. The river was flowing madly and Reese our guide was taking great delight in making it as bumpy a ride as possible. This was not at all expected. We were shown the art of launching water into the faces of other rafters and took every opportunity to engage the other rafts in open combat. On a couple of the really rough parts we lost someone over the side and it was a real scramble to get them back in whilst being thrown through rapids delightfully named “The Killer” and “Double D-Cup”. Siobhan and I were at the front and didn’t stop laughing the whole day.
We finished the day in the bar and already there was a CD of photos and a DVD of the day waiting for us. Pretty slick. So we clubbed together with Mick and Lisa with the intention of meeting them in Cairns and making a copy.







We rolled into Cairns for repairs and I called Mick from rafting as he’d offered to give us advice about where to get the work done, and he immediately said he’d come over and take a look for himself. On inspecting the hole in the radiator he suggested we bought some steel resin and had a crack ourselves. Leading us to Bunnings he pointed out the resin and some sand paper, and then took us over to the part of town where we could find a garage for the welding. Most of the garages either wouldn’t do the welding or were booked out for several days, but we chanced upon a panel beater who took a look and suggested that if we took the bull bar off ourselves, he’d do the welding. I think he thought we’d go home and do it, so when I said OK we’ll do it here by the road he insisted we bought the car into the workshop and gave us a corner. Siobhan and I got the bar off, and the PB’er did a really splendid job of the welding. On asking how much we owed him he picked up and empty carton of Carlton Middies and pointed.
“One of these mate, cold, very cold.”



The following day we took the radiator out and with a couple of calls to Mick and the help of the trusty Haynes manual got it sealed up and back in.



So, all repairs done for the price of a slab of beer and the bottle of Southern Comfort we’d given Mick.
Northern Queensland mate, ‘s how they get stuff done round here.
We checked out the backpacker nightlife briefly, but left before the pole dancing competition started, a sign of age methinks.
Heading up the coast to Cape Tribulation, we crossed into the Daintree rainforest on a chain link ferry, encountering a family of Cassowaries on the way.





Early the following morning I climbed Mt Sorrow for a view then we spent the day snorkelling. I got roped into a beach soccer match, where I truly disgraced myself - apparently fitness is no substitute for any modicum of skill. I took a couple of good marks though.
Just down the beach a salty crocodile was sunning itself, and while we watched it, a bunch of fish got out the water and started walking around on the banks of the river. Bit unexpected behaviour by fish, but they seemed content.




The next day we headed north along the famously steep road to Cooktown taking in an impressive waterfall at Wudjal Wudjal. Cooktown had a really good crocodile and snake display including a section on the (and this is for you Mr Newell) feared (inland flying) Taipan snake. Turns out we’ve been living with them for the last couple of months. A rough road north-west across a couple of rivers took us to a campsite in Lakefield NP. We shared this expanse of grassland and lake with an abundance of wildlife and once again no signs of anyone else.



This is as far north as we’re going. Originally we planned to go to the top end, but we’ve only got about 4 weeks left and most of the east coast left to cover. This crossed with the harshness of the track and the unseasonably late wet weather means we decided to turn south.
A long day of driving took us all the way down to Lucinda, the jump point to Hinchinbrook Island. This island is in the Great Barrier Reef, and as only 40 people are allowed on the walking track at any time it is usually full months in advance. Luck however was with us, and we suspect the awful weather contributed as we managed to get a spot.
A small tinny took us across to the island in about 15 minutes. I’m not sure how much business they are getting at the moment, but the boat owner seemed to be taking advantage of our fares and took his entire family for a day out. We stepped off and headed north up the beach and into the jungle.



After a couple of hours we got to a waterfall and cooled off for a swim. Continuing onto the deserted beach at Sunken Reef Bay it was time to get out the fishing rod. Using a bit of bacon I managed to catch the same fish twice, but because of its size (small) I ended up throwing it back, but not before accidentally dropping it down a crack in the rocks and having to rescue it with some pliers. Oops, there are clearly tricks to this lark.





We ended up sharing the beach with a small guided group of sea kayakers which seemed like a good way of seeing the island. The next day was overcast so we set off late and sauntered over to the next beach via a really nice waterfall and plunge pool complete with swing ropes.







A fair bit of the camp ground was taped off due to crocs, but it was Cane toads that seemed the real peril here. There were 4 people at this camp heading in the other direction, and we wondered exactly how many people are actually on this island. We made the next days hike slightly longer and it included wading waste deep through a swamp and some exciting cliff traverses, the guide book also advised us not to dawdle at one river crossing due to the estuarine crocs. We didn’t dawdle.









We eventually got to Nina Bay, a kilometre long sandy beach lined with coconut palms and after collecting water from a miniscule flow at the south realised we had the place to ourselves.
I won’t do it justice describing the severe mountain back drop against the sunset, instead I implore you, go there now.



An early sunrise and we climbed Nina Peak for an incredible view of the island and then dropped down to the pickup point.



We got a real shock swimming in the sea to cool off, when about 4 metres away what I thought was a human head and Siobhan thought was a surf board popped up. It turned out to be a Green turtle, and must have been around 2 metres in length.
The ride out was 70 bucks and we were dubious about why it should cost more than the ride in. A similar tinny turned up at the Mangrove jetty and dropped some hikers and day trippers off. We eventually boarded the boat which took us out to a large catamaran with complementary tea, coffee and biscuits. The biscuits alone would have been enough but we then headed out to another spot where the day trippers were dropped off and we were taken to 5 star resort at the other end of the island. Despite stinking of Deet and sweat we were effectively given the keys to the resort for 3 hours. A cold beer from the bar, a bit of a snorkel and we even took out a couple of canoes that were lying on the beach. Result.



Eventually the day trippers sidled back and we got a ferry to Cardwell were we caught a ride back to the car and headed off to Townsville.