15-27 June: Gili T, Padang Bai to Sanur

15-27 June: Gili T to Padang Bai to Sanur

Gili T looked great from the water: Turquoise shallows, white sand, waving palms, bamboo and thatch buildings and huts. Aesthetically positioned hotels and businesses. It is the physical manifestation of an imaginary tropical get-away. Much to our delight (and relief) it was as laid back as promised. Yes there are still people trying to sell you stuff, but they are doing it on island time. This place has not suffered from traffic loss. Everyone is laughing and joking most all the time.

We checked out a few places and settled on Dive Indonesia, one of a number of dive/bungalow operations. All shops on the island are PADI 5 star, all charge the same fees: US$30 per dive with a retroactive 5% discount after the 5th dive. The break is in hotel rates for diving with them. There is also a one-time 30,000Rp reef tax. This goes towards the bio-electric reef constructs, as well as to pay the local fishermen to not dynamite fish the reefs.

The place oozes island charm in the daylight, and Bacchanal excess after dark.

There are multiple businesses that have little DVD/TV huts set up. Buy some food or drinks, sit and watch one of about 400 DVD titles for free. One place has what we called ‘The Big Sheet”. A king size flat sheet hung in front of six rows of padded mats with an LCD projection unit. They have 7:00 and 9:00 features. Just buy something to eat and/or drink. During the week we enjoyed Shrek 3, Oceans 13 (just three days post-release), Babel, Four Brothers, and quite a few others.

We dove twice a day. Our regular dive master/guides were Apu and his brother Tam. Being low season, it was just us almost every dive. All dives are boat dives, with a typical depth around 20 meters (60+ feet). Visibility was awesome, usually at least 50 to 75 feet. The areas that had been dynamite fished still showed quite a bit of scarring and dead coral (The fisherman takes sticks of dynamite and tosses them into the water. Concussion kills everything in range and the fish float to the surface to be scooped up by the fisherman). Recovery was obvious, and was proceeding quickly. New growth was abundant and flourishing. The dives were all drift, going with the current. Apu was an underwater eagle, spotting well-camouflaged critters dozens of meters away.

Both crawlies and swimmers abound: Cuttlefish, tropicals, sharks, rays, nudibranchs, lobster and non-herpes turtles. We see lots of turtles in Hawaii, many of which have large tumorous growths from turtle-herpes. Soft and hard corals are food and board to uncountable legions of sealife. JD would burn through a set of batteries before a dive was finished each and every time. Inevitably the neatest thing to see would show up after the final flashing red battery indicator went out. Oh well. The few hundred shots he did manage to take will just have to do.

Around 6pm the assorted restaurants would set up the daily fresh seafood trays. Little barracuda, grouper, bugs (lobster & prawn), and such, all caught right of the beach. Your choices are then grilled to your specs as you watch. A little dinner, movie and ice cream becomes an easy habit. We have yet to find food anywhere that measures up to Ubud, but we are not starving either.

Gili T has no motorized vehicles at all. Transport is by foot, bicycle and pony cart. It is also primarily a party island. They take their parties very seriously. A daily (nightly?) roving party is pre-scheduled in 7 different bars. It is all but impossible to find lodging that does not have a nearby party at least one night. The party starts about 10pm and goes, no shit, to 5am or later. Full techno/funk/trance bass beat thumping to the wee hours. Indonesia Dive was strategically located between Tir Na Nog (“The Irish Bar”) and Rudy’s Pub. Rudy’s was, according to the locals, the best party. Tir Na Nog was second. Rudy’s hosted Friday nights. The Irish bar had Tuesdays. These were the soothing island sounds we got to sleep by… Sleep being a relative descriptor, for three of our eight nights. This place must be completely insane during high season. A small price to pay considering how excellent everything else was, especially compared to Lombok proper. In deference to the Islamic holy month of Ramadan, the parties actual stop. This is around October. The island mosque, like all mosques, has loudspeakers to give the five daily calls to prayer. The only tough one is the sunrise call. It is important to find lodging away from the broadcast towers…

According to the locals, busy season starts in about three weeks. Italians first, followed by the Germans, then the Ozzies. “Augustus” can get so busy it is impossible to walk along the street. People will show up and there are no rooms left at all. Sleeping on the beach is risky, mostly because high tide comes all the way in. The locals are laid back and relaxed. They are actually enjoying the last of the calm before the season. 1,500 full time residents live on Gili T, with another 1,000 or so between Gili Meno and Gili Air. Quite a few commute between islands. Meno and Air are much less party/activity oriented.

All manner of recreational substances are boldly advertised for those who partake. Don’t think it’s all kids ripping it up either. There was a family group from St Louis: Parents, parent’s friends and the kids. (Kids being in their twenties or so) The patriarch, whom the locals called Mr. Beer, though he preferred the moniker “Uncle Beverage”, would be up shortly after KK and having his first beer of the day. With his beer he would have a morning smoke. The type our Ozzie mate Gil calls ‘Wacky Baccy”. The bartender would twist up a big fat spliff and Mr. Beer would relax, toss back a few cold ones and get his first buzz of the day on.

We had a treat for our goodbye dinner. We decided to go to the “resort” waterfront restaurant, candles, music, waves, etc. The Maitre D’ had actually been to North Dakota on a restaurant exchange program. He seemed to think we were some kind of entertainers and tried to get us to perform. KK is often mistaken for Bonnie Raitt… The meal itself was different. JD had ordered a honey-roasted breast of chicken with veggies. What he received was a mangled de-boned thigh of unknown origin, tougher than leather and pretty much inedible. KK had a delightful sweet and sour fish. It’s all worth a good chuckle.

We have a 7 am departure to catch the private ferry in Sengiggi. It is also Friday Night Party at Rudy’s. Who needs sleep anyway?

There is not a lot of sunrise activity on Gili T. KK was usually the only one up and about for her morning walks/yoga by the beach. She did get approached by a “Kuta Kowboy” the first morning we were there. Kuta Kowboys are the Bali/Lombok version of a gigolo. He had offered to take her on a nice boat ride to see the sunrise. She mentioned her husband would really enjoy that as well… He paled a bit, mumbled some apologies and took off. The sunrises are indeed spectacular, if you can be conscious at that hour (6:35am along the equatorial region…)

For our O’dark thirty departure it was up at 6, packed and off to the boat landing by 6:45. JD had checked out the Rudy’s party until about midnight. He figured if it was going to keep him up anyway, he might as well see what was going on. It looked to be everything advertised. Two English blokes we had been diving with and he enjoyed some local coffee before the event to keep their energy up. One of the blokes was still up and waved goodbye when we headed towards the boat.

Interesting sidebar: The English blokes were both carpenters. They would work 4 to 6 months per year, then holiday the rest. Why? If they crossed into the next income bracket, even by a few pounds, their tax rate would go to almost 60% from 40%. So unless they could guarantee themselves enough additional income, it would cost them more to keep working.

The Lonely Planet guides are fantastic resources. Facts are as researched as they can be, Considering the shear volume of information, fluidity of businesses and ever changing political nature of many countries LP does a fantastic job collecting and updating their info. As a whole their editorial policy is to always try and say something nice. They do have “hazards & warnings” sidebars, though never as a focus of information. When Lonely Planet says the port village of Bangsal is a pit with no reason to exist other than to provide a home for the bottom feeding scum of Lombok, we do take notice. Bangsal is a fly-speck on the shore of Lombok onto which almost all boats leaving the Gili’s unload. The denizens that haunt this off-load point are the crème de’ la crème of the scammers, cons, pickpockets and rip-off artists. LP recommends avoiding this port if at all possible.

Of course, our boat-bus-ferry trip has us dropped here first. Even at 7am the scammers try to tell you the bus has left, there is no Parma boat, Boat is cancelled, they will happily drive you, etc, etc, etc. We had been prepared for that. What we did not expect was the ¾ mile trek to the actual transfer bus. Thank goodness we had lightened up our backpack load in Bangkok.

The Parma boat was great. It had about 30 people, including a couple from Ballard (Seattle). JD noticed a pair of Keen sandals and an REI backpack and made the assumption of Portland or Seattle which made him seem “spooky” to the unknowing couple. They being surprised that he could intuit where they were from. There was breakfast and lunch, and a section of deck covered in beach sand. All in all a pleasant trip, for 100,000 RP less than the trip over. And no puke on KK’s feet. This alone making it worth twice what we paid.

A night in Padang Bai seemed like a good idea. We didn’t want to hold a grudge against the place just because the transport touts are a bunch of manipulative shits. It is a quiet little place once you are away from the dock. We found a “rice-loft” style bungalow to call home for an evening. Fans and mozzie net. It had character, and it also had a hole in the mozzie net… On JD’s side. Still not awful. The used bookshop in town gave us our best trade-in rates ever. Traded two, and got a different one in return. We had a bite at a waterfront place. The host/owner asked where we were from. When he heard America he got a huge grin, waggled his thumb and pinky and growled “Whaaazzuupppp!” Sometimes it is OK to be embarrassed by our pop culture. Though I’d still rather hear ‘whaaazzzuuup” than anything about Paris Hilton…

Some of the mandatory tools of modern travel are ATM and credit cards. All good banks are paranoid about unexpected charges, especially from foreign nations. That is why you should always make sure your card issuer’s know your specific itinerary. Twice even. Inevitably, they will freeze your card anyway, at least once. For JD it was in Oz. Handled with a quick overseas call on a calling card. KK’s card was frozen here in Indonesia. We knew it had to be from the dive-hotel charge. Bank of America sent her an e-mail saying her account was frozen, and it gave an online system to confirm charges. It wouldn’t let her in. We had to call. Did you know there in no way to make a collect overseas call from Bali? Nor could we use any of our three calling cards. We didn’t have the cell phone (it was in Bangkok) so we couldn’t buy a cheap SIM. We had no intentions of picking up the tab for a direct dial call with the twenty-minute voice mail maze either.

Since we have more than one bit of plastic we were still fine. It was more annoying than anything else. We moved along to Sanur (“Snore” for the more active travelers).

Sanur is unique amongst the tourist resorts of Bali. All buildings are restricted to less than three stories, Touts are not allowed to roam free and piss off the tourists. The beach has a wonderful paving-brick esplanade that runs its entire length (again without the pestering type touts). Clean white sand, and a reef break about 50 meters out that keeps the water just offshore calm and serene. It is the only city that is still controlled by the priests. When the first tourist hotel went up in the early 60’s, they immediately saw the possibilities, both good and bad, of the industry. They laid down the rules quickly, and have not veered from them since. This doesn’t mean there are no shop, restaurant or transport touts, it just means they have stricter, enforced regulations concerning where and how they can annoy you…

We found an amazing organic foods and juice place, making KK’s weekly fast day so much easier, as well as an Italian restraint to die for. There was also a gelato stand attached to the Italian restaurant… ‘Nuf said.

There was a family from Hawaii staying at the Segung Agung. They had lived in Key West for 9 years before they got tired of the hurricanes. Fix your property up, get it all blown down, fix it up again. It gets old after a while.

The few days in Sanur where a pleasant way to end our Indonesia trip. We hooked up with “Jonny Gusti” for transport to the airport. The transport touts are still numerous in Sanur. Jonny Gusti figured out a niche. Once he was able to confirm our Americaness, he went full patriotic: He had a cap from a US warship based in San Diego, a US flag on his hip pouch which he took off and kissed, and a collection of John Denver memorabilia. Whipping out a harmonica he played Amazing Grace and that West Virginia John Denver tune. (He played both extremely well.) It completely endeared KK, and even impressed JD. We still figured he could do the same for two or three countries at least, but hell, you do what you gotta do to get business here. At least he was trying.

We had time to see Ulu Watu, Dreamland and a short driving tour of South Bali. Our departure day coincides with one of the two primary holy days. This one is Good & Bad Spirit Day. Appease the good, drive away the bad. EVERYONE is in ceremonial garb, with extra elaborate offerings being carried about, attached to vehicles, hanging from walls, plus all the normal daily offering locations.

We had been watching tall bamboo penjor being assembled and planted for the past couple of days. They are 20 feet tall with banana leaf frills and fronds, dried flowers and a hanging palm frond basket at the top. They are a direct offering to Gunung Agung (Mother Mountain). They stay standing for 30 days, are dug up and burned (in a ceremony of course), and the ashes are buried. As we have mentioned, the Balinese take their ceremonies very seriously.

Ulu Watu is one of the oldest temples on the island. It is built into the western facing Cliffside of South Bali. We are able to wander most of the grounds, however, being a holy day we cannot enter the temple courtyard or the temple itself. It is a spiritually powerful location, with a combination of rugged earth, crashing waves and a huge ocean vista. The sunsets are allegedly the most amazing on earth. We can see the possibility of that being an accurate statement. Next time we will show up in the evening.

Dreamland is development gone astray. The original plan was an upscale condotel/home community with golf course, shopping, entertainment, etc. The reality was a takeover by the indescribably corrupt son of the prime minister who spent more time lining his and his cronies pockets with developer kickbacks and less time actually building anything. There is a small surfer’s cove that actually does have a regular clientele, just not from the demographic envisioned.

Indonesia needs your last 100,000 Rupia as a departure tax. Indonesians also have to pay the same. This makes international travel virtually impossible for the typical Indonesian citizen. We pay our 200,000 Rp and head to the international gates. Even here the shop touts aggressively try to get you into their shops. We are off to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia!

Observations on Bali/Lombok:

Bali as an island is beautiful, lush, full of artisans and craftspeople, and has an impressive level of local spirituality.

There are an infinite number of crooks, scammers, cons and rip-off artists.

There are an equal number of people with a fierce pride and devotion to their island and way of life. (Yes some are from the above category)

A very large number of the island’s Hindu population (read: most of the island) are not real keen on Muslims right now.

The best rule of thumb: “Don’t Trust Anyone”

The economic desperation leads to aggressiveness, which turns off visitors, leading to more desperation…

After the political interference in 1963, resulting in a major volcanic eruption, the Balinese people are ever skeptical and wary of the government based in Jakarta.

The positive still outweighs the negative. We will be back, and intend to fill part of a shipping container with stuff.

Statistics:

Days in-country: 27
Photos taken: 1,860
Touts refused: 2,546,897
Touts used: 12
Wrong change: almost every time
Correct change: 16
Times “NO” said: 124,234,145,789.
Average Temp: 32 C (89 F)
Rainy Days: 0.5
Dives: 16 each

25 March- 7 April: Rocky to Cairns

25 March- 7 April: Rocky to Cairns

The trip to Rockhampton (Rocky to the locals…) takes us further inland. We end up 340 k or so north from Bargara. The land shows more signs of water stress as we gain a bit of altitude and distance form the sea. Still nowhere near as bad as in the south. Grass actually exists, as do a variety of gums and palms. This is cattle country. One of the two radio stations we can hear seems to be devoted to cattle. Prices at the most recent auctions, feed prices, farm equipment adverts, water conditions, repeat. JD listens long enough to learn there are differences in the price per kilo of different “meat” varieties, dairy and stud bulls sell per animal, some lower grade meat animals also sell per unit rather than by weight. Fascinating? No. Better than the local version of NPR? Absolutely. KK chooses to have a lie down during this portion of the drive…

This particular section of QLD is referred to as the Capricorn Coast. Stopping at a Golden “i” (local information center) while entering Rocky we find ourselves straddling the Tropic of Capricorn. One foot in the tropics, the other out. Our lodging options are somewhat limited. The best place we check out is on par with a country prison. Our cell is about 8x10 with a bare bulb light/fan and one heavily tinted sidelight type window by the door. We have been told that Rocky is the place for steak being the seat of cattle country and all. The Bush Inn is where the locals go for tucker. The place was reasonably busy, often a good sign, and did have atmosphere: Lots of wood, western pub-like interior, discreet lighting. JD orders filet. KK was not feeling beefy and orders the garlic shrimp entrée (In Oz, entrée’s are appetizers, Mains are entrée’s…). The meals were adequate, nothing to blog home about…

On the way out of town we keep our eyes peeled for the Big Bullock (with actual swinging bollocks!). We are unsuccessful in our hunt.

420 kilometers later we pull into the Golden “i” in Prosepone. The helpful info lady tells us about some available lodgings in Airlie Beach (eye-lee, or ahh-lee, depending on who is talking… Ozzies seem to misplace or soften random “r” sounds, replacing them with a modified “h” type sound) including some studio apartments overlooking the marina. There is also a huge backpackers called Magnums, as well as assorted other smaller b’pckers, hotels and such. After checking out Magnums (nice enough, but way too college in atmosphere: cheap food, drinks, live music, billiards, internet café, wet t-shirt contests nightly, etc- fun to hang out, not conducive to actually sleeping.) we decide to head up the hill to the studio apartments. We chose wisely. A wonderfully clean and quite facility with pool, a/c, and a phenomenal view of the marina and sunset. A short aerobic walk puts you back into the heart of town

Airlie Beach is the gateway to the Whitsunday Islands. A group of 74 varied landmasses ranging from low-tide sand spits to vast tracts of secluded jungle. Almost every backpacker passing through Oz goes on a multi-day, or minimally a single day, sailing excursion through the Whits. More than a dozen companies charter out multiple boats on regular trips. We had been hoping for a 3 day-2 night jaunt on one of four different boats. The sheer popularity of the cruises left us at least a week away from availability on any of them. Finding our sailing options minimized, we thought it prudent to check ahead on our dive plans in Cairns (Cahns- lose the “r”, substitute a very subtle “h”. more like Cans…) to decide if we could wait. This was a good thing. The company we had chosen was starting its last trip of the season on Sunday the 1st, today was the 27th. This definitely altered our schedule. We found a spot for a day-trip tomorrow on a 100-foot catamaran called Camira. It is also known as “purple”. You can see why.

The shuttle picks us up 7:30 on the dot. The boat sails at 8:00. It’s a big cat. The captain impresses KK. He fits her mold of what a captain should be like: Cropped white hair, tough tan features, and a casual competence handling his boat and crew. The boat itself has been in the water about two years. The actual designer himself was onboard for this trip. He was wooing a couple of potential Italian clients and was using the Camira as a working demonstration of his talents.

The skipper was not afraid to sail. We had steady 18-20 knot winds across the channels and he was able to squeak out a good 17 knots of speed. We toured around a few islands before anchoring at Whitehaven Beach. Whitehaven is classed as the whitest sand beach yet found. It is 99% pure silica sand, and never gets hot. Purple anchors about 75 meters off and we have the option of ferrying in the ribbie, or swimming. We swim. Stinger suits are required if you are going in the water. As flattering as they are, everyone looks the same. Everyone looks like a Super Hero minus a cape. Here in QLD it is part of summertime water fun. The sand is indeed incredible. We bob around, soak up some rays, bob some more, and then back to the boat for lunch. Free drinks began at 11:00, and food was plentiful and tasty throughout the voyage. Time to weigh anchor zip around another couple of islands to a protected section of a small straight. Snorkeling had poor visibility, however the water felt really good. Back on the boat KK had the opportunity to try and knock out the skipper… We were trying to get a picture with him and she solidly elbowed him in the head. He still managed to get us back to port. As we have been fond of saying lately: It Was The Best Day Ever!

We found a great little food court for our meals. Thai noodles both nights so far. In the center of the food court is a large projection TV, tuned into The Sport. “The Sport” is a global referrence, meaning sports of all kinds. Individually they are called The “…”. The Cricket, The Footie, The Rugby, etc. It is the world championships of swimming, broadcast live from Melbourne. A multi day event taken very seriously by the Ozzies (all sport is taken seriously here). In an amazing display, the US was kicking ass and taking names. Japan, Korea, Oz, a number of the European Union all had broadcasters and announcers present. Interviews, personality pieces, and just plain old-fashioned competition. What was wrong with the picture? Americans setting incredible new world records? Nope. Americans setting new championship records? Nope. Americans unseating previously unchallenged Ozzie champions? Nope. What was noticed, respectfully mentioned, and worked around was the complete and total absence of any American broadcasters. Of course I am sure ESPN (US) pulled some feed from their Ozzie syndicate and spread it around NBC affiliates. BUT, where was an American interviewer when Michael Phelps took 8 separate gold’s and set three worlds records? (At least 3 records, we had separated ourselves from news for almost a week following…) Mark Spitz was there… we both commented simultaneously “He’s still alive?” and spoke of his pride in the accomplishments of our swimmers.

We gave ourselves three days to travel the 500 kilometers to Cairns. We thought we’d split the trip, spending two at the halfway, more or less, point of the city named Townsville.

Townsville seems to be unique in all of OZ. Not because it is the 2nd largest city in QLD, nor because it is home to the biggest cash prize for a regularly occurring wet-T contest, and certainly not because the city is home to the Big Spider… JD feels Townsville is so unique because it does not seem to be called Towny, or Townsie, or by any other Ozzie name streamlining moniker.

As a city Townsville seemed pretty unremarkable. However, they have a waterfront Strand that boggles the mind. It runs about 3 kilometers along the beach. Two stinger enclosures, one large freshwater pool, one huge man-made saltwater “rock pool” swimming area, and countless pieces of sculpture, public art, barbies, and play structures. Good solid old-fashioned if-your-kid-screws-up-he/she-might-actually-get-hurt; play at your own risk structures. A modern version of Jungle Gyms- huge steel bar pyramids 5 meters (15 feet) tall! Climbing, sliding, crawling things, and a free water park section complete with slides, continuous fountains, water cannons, and regular dumping water bucket. Oh! to be a kid in Oz.

Just across the small bay is Magnetic Island. Nope- it is not made of iron, or anything cool like that. We take a ferry over and rent scooters. Yes- KK is driving her own. There is one road on the island, 12 kilometers long. Runs from the bottom to the top. KK has a day of new experiences… She is tentative at first (OK, she is driving like Miss Daisy…) getting her little scooter almost halfway to the posted speed limit of 60kph (about 40mph) on the all but abandoned road. JD zips ahead a few k and waits. She catches up. He zips ahead. Waits. She catches up. We hop our way to Horseshoe bay at the north end of the island. After a respite on the beach we head south to find lunch. KK is now becoming quite the accomplished Bikie Babe and almost hits the speed limit once or twice. JD has figured out how to make his little hamster wheel go ten to fifteen over…not bad considering his size to horsepower ratio. The island is definitely laid back. The water wasn’t inviting so we head back to the mainland to wander about the Strand.

The final push north. Cairns is the topmost major urban center in QLD. It is another recreational hub, launching a major portion of the Great Barrier Reef snorkel and dive adventures. While the GBR covers 1700-2300 kilometers of coastline (depending on your reference source), it is closest to the settled mainland along this section of coast, getting as near as 4 kilometers out. Cairns is also famous (infamous?) for its nightlife. A properly endowed fit young lady can live comfortably on winnings from the multitude of daily Wet-T and pole dancing contests. We are in town for just one night before heading to sea. There is quite a bit of wine left in our 4-liter cask, so JD offers it up to a table of younger folk at our backpackers. They are quite involved in a drinking game and invite JD to play. Needing to empty the cask, but not wanting to be miserable in the morning, JD cautiously agrees. No Worries. The kids are far enough into the game they don’t notice subtle variations he applies to the rules… They are also making up rules as they go, focusing on specific mates for drinks. Almost the entire table is from Ireland, with one Ozzie and one Swede, and an even mix between ladies and men. JD makes quick work of distributing his wine. We need to be ready for an 8:00am pick up. Our car and luggage can stay at the backpackers for our return.

The live-aboard is a motor cat called Kangaroo Explorer. It stays at sea while the day-trip cat Sunkist ferries out divers/snorkelers with the day-trippers. New live-aboards are dropped off in the late morning; those returning to port are picked up mid afternoon. The trip out on Sunkist was lively… seas were running about 2-2.5 meters across the channel to the reef. There were two other Americans on the trip out. Steve was a My-Gym franchise troubleshooter from California, and Alan was a Cornell grad student spending exchange time at RMIT in Melbourne. Steve was newly certified, and Alan was a snorkeler.

There are two dive masters on board: Fabian (Yes, he was too sexy for his body- very German, very competent) the senior DM and Lauren- a pixie bob-cut Irish lass who was in charge of the certification class. The support crew was also well versed, even though we may have had more dives under our belts than most of them… Fabian initially had a sit-down with all the arriving certified divers (there where 6 of us) to decide experience/confidence/competence levels. The first dive was a practical observation of the same.

Quick background: JD has 270+ dives, and KK is easily in the mid 100’s. There are two basic PADI certification levels: Open Water and Advanced Open Water. Advanced cert involves a couple specialty classes and a few more fees. We both have always chosen to spend our money actually diving rather than sitting more classes. Dive Masters around the globe (except on Maui) all look at our experience level and ask why we are not AOW. Technically OW divers should only dive with a DM or guide, and never deeper than 60 feet (18 meters). Most DM’s are intelligent and respect our experience levels. Fabian is one of those. When we wander back through Hawaii, we will just suck it up and have our favorite dive shop (Maui Dreams Dive Co) certify us. Maybe even go for Dive Master… Save us the hassle of demonstrating we know how to breathe… We had a good appraisal dive and were given free reign afterwards.

The old Kangaroo Explorer goes in for a major refit after this trip. It is time… There are a variety of smells in and around the passageways, especially the one to our cabin that would gag a maggot. We had been given the impression the boat moved through 16 or 17 different dive sites amongst 5 different reef sections. The reality was the boat moved between two dive sites, same reef (East and West Moore Reef). Further along in the trip Fabian confirmed that the boat does indeed use other sites, but wouldn’t be during this cruise… He also acknowledged we were anchoring in his two absolute least favorite locations. Overall visibility was mediocre. The coral was very stressed; lots of dead sections, and sea critters were not abundant.

Kangaroo Explorer does get credit for diving though. Six dive opportunities a day: 6, 8, 11am, 1,4 and 7pm. The boat typically moves after the 8am dive and again after the 1pm. JD has less than zero interest in getting up at 5:30 for the 6:00 dive brief… Sadly it is simultaneously the 8:00 dive brief. (Day two, KK gets up and fills JD in. Isn’t she the loving wife unit?) KK is not a fan of night dives, so JD partners up with Steve. There were a few extra feeders out and about, and the highlight was a cuttlefish hanging out just under the boat.

The second day we found ourselves under a tsunami warning related to the quake in the Solomon Islands, 600k north. This kept us at the initial site on West Moore, Fabians least favorite site of all, but it was the one with the largest mooring blocks. Winds had picked up as well, increasing surge and stirring up the water even more. Visibility was an optimistic 10 feet or less. KK likened the dives to gem hunting in a junkyard. We found a few gems, but looked at a whole lot of trash to find them. We did see a few new nudies (nudibranchs- little sea slugs), some really large angels, a cuttlefish, a number of giant clams and a stingray. We had been warned by a few diving mates these past couple of years that the GBR was highly overrated, and are saddened that we cannot yet dispute that.

Fabian did recommend a few dive operations that work the northern outer reef. These are liveaboards that carry working marine biologists who like help with data collection, tagging, and other reef health and research type things. He assured us the outer reef is a very different environment from our present locale. These would be six or seven day trips, not practical this time around, but definitely on the top of the list for our next trip to Oz.

Food was plentiful and tasty on this boat as well. Other than its desperate need for new inside carpet, a good air duct cleaning and a few coats of paint, the KE did all right. Since she was being refitted following this trip, we motored back to Cairns on her instead of Sunkist. Seas were “scrappy” and the ride across the channel was made longer by the need to keep the boat in one piece. No one “fed the fishes”, but everyone was tired when we hit port. Our luggage and car did well in our absence. After a couple of days to reset the sea-legs we head to the Far North- Daintree National Park: The tropical rain forest that touches the sea.

21-22 Diving Poor Knights

21-22 January 2007

Leaving Auckland on a Sunday was a great plan. Little traffic, daylight, and our hosteller gave directions that required only one turn, and no lane changes. We were on the Route 1 Motorway North. A multi-lane highway. Speed limit 100 kph (64mph or so…) strictly enforced. Doesn’t matter, the two gerbils and squirrel that power our little rental beastie can only go 110kph downhill with a tailwind… No speeding tickets for us in Kiwi country. (Kiwi, by the way, was a term started by Aussie soldiers during WW1. Probably initially derisive, but the New Zealanders attached to it, and consider it a proud moniker. Also, it’s the bird, not the fruit…)

We are heading north 160 kilometers (110 miles more or less) to the town of Whangarie (Fang-a-ray). About 30 kilometers out of Auckland the motorway becomes one lane each way… through towns and roundabouts. Mind you, the speed limit often stays 100kph until just before these traffic barriers. The road follows the lay of the land.

The land is lumpy… and twisty… and beautiful. Verdant just scratches the surface. The climate is considered sub-tropical. What this means is this: giant ferns surrounded by buttercups, palm trees are next to pine trees, grasses, shrubbery, giant kauri trees tower over cows and sheep, an explosion of flowering plants tall and short, areas of dry scrub bordered by dense forest. Microclimates change every few kilometers, and the flora changes as well. Even for this short distance we have Eastern Washington, Western Washington, British Columbia, Florida, Hawaii, and California all rolled into one.

JD has gotten the hang of the opposite controls. Traffic circles also are less intimidating. We found our way to our abode of the next two nights. Whangarie Holiday Park and Backpackers. Holiday parks are small to medium sized properties that have a few connected cabins, some tent spaces, and a couple of spaces to park campervans. Communal kitchen, central showers and lavatories, and indoor common areas with a small library, TV, and coin-operated email also seem to be standard.) All of the North Island is volcanic in nature. There are over 160,000 kilometers of volcanic rock stone-walls threaded throughout this region. They run along the road, across the fields, and sometimes are just standing all by themselves. Not too different than Scotland and the NE U.S., “gotta do something with the rocks…lets stack ‘em and make walls!”

We decided to check the dive shop out in person. It was about 20 minutes down the road in Tutukaka (yep, just like it’s spelled…) Along the way there were pee-a-boo views of the ocean. The dive shop measured up and we made our reservations for the next morning. We decided to take some side roads and check out the beaches we had viewed from above. It is hard to imagine the total lack of bodies… These beach parks were incredible, soft sand, blue-green water, minimal surge, stunning views, easy access, and it was a Sunday during summer break. The busiest beach had maybe a dozen people and a couple of blokart riders (blokarts are the sail driven go carts.) Most were just plain empty. Every small hamlet and town has at least one ice cream place serving a NZ ice cream called TipTop. It can be in an abundance of flavors, and it is a “premium” density. Costs about a $1 a scoop. KK & I both had boysenberry swirl. There is a flavor called “Hokey Pokey” which even the lady scooping didn’t know what it was. We haven’t tried it yet, more research is needed…

We arrived at the dive shop at 8:00am (JD has found the time, currency, and distance can be easily converted in your head by using the following formula: T or $=(((x/n3*c)/g2)r)/[Dd-yf/k8]c/t)-3. n=the age of your car, g is the gravitational constant, c is the speed of light, D is a yet to be discovered universal constant, and the other variables include latitude, longitude, inclination of Mercury and the theoretical month…) Anyway- it was yesterday 11:00am back in Seattle…

Kimberly got to put on her first heavy wet suit. A 7mm farmer john plus a 7mm hooded jacket and neoprene booties. The water has warmed up to a balmy 68 degrees. Not Midwest quarry or Puget Sound diving (both around 42 degrees) but close enough. The dive crew was excited because just a couple of weeks ago it was cold- low 60’s. The dive and boat crews were great. Friendly, knowledgeable, interactive. The Skipper, a younger Kiwi, gave quality dive prep with god local history and site knowledge. An hour here, then lunch and a short cruise, and an hour or so at the next site. We chose to dive with one of the guides for the first dive, and do our own thing the second.

Captain Cook had named the Poor Knights during a coastal trip in the mid-1800’s. No one is sure why he chose the name. Maybe he was running out of things after naming countless islands, shoals, bays, headlands, harbours, and who knows what else. (Here we are passing Edith’s Head, named for the scullery maid of the Earl of Gisbourne. The Earl had known Cook’s third cousin in prep school…)

I digress… The area has been a land sanctuary almost as long as Europeans have been around the country. It has been a protected ocean sanctuary since the late eighties. No hunting, fishing, or even setting foot on the islands. They are the only landmass that has not been infested with non-indigenous mammals. No rats, stoats, goats, sheep, etc. There are local flora and fauna found literally nowhere else on earth. A giant grasshopper the size of a fist, a giant 8-10 centipede that hunts lizards and small birds, and a lizard species that is older than sharks and crocodiles are but a few of the local denizens.

The sea life on the other hand all came from somewhere else. In Disney’s Nemo the EAC (Eastern Australia Current) was used by surfing turtles and Nemo’s dad. He exited at Sydney, however if your stay (or are stuck in...) the current it runs by a few other small atolls and then deposits everything at Poor Knights. Kelps and tropicals mix here. The hardier tropicals get BIG. Huge angels rule sections of rock to guard egg masses, and large schools of really big rainbow wrasses follow divers around, I assume just to see what happens. (We had a 6-inch rainbow wrasse in our tank, it was considered medium to large. These wrasses are all a foot and a half or so…)

The heavy suits did tweak our buoyancy control (the ability to float at one depth rather than float up or sink down) a bit. We figured it out though. Water was clear, minimal surge, no current, and lots of little critters in the nooks and crannies. Back on the boat you’re immediately offered a hot beverage (tea, cocoa, coffee) and a hot water rinse. The islands are the surviving lava plugs of an old volcano. Think Devils Tower (Wyoming, Close Encounters of the Third Kind) in the ocean. Weathering has set it up to be honeycombed like a big Swiss cheese. There are caves and pass-throughs all around. Many are large enough for boats. We entered one and had a little echo demonstration that was pretty superb. The Skipper tried to get the Austrians on board to yodel. They needed beer first…and it was a dry ship. So we all hooted and whistled for a bit.

Our second dive was through one of the aforementioned pass throughs. Called Blue Mau Mau arch, it has a school of Blue Mau Mau living inside… This dive was a bit chillier as it faced the southern pacific directly (pretty much all the way to Antarctica…) and there was a tad more current. All good fun though.

One of the divers was a South African in country to visit his brother. We had quite the information exchange about chiropractic, and some light politics. One of the Germans on board had been around the western states on a six week driving trip a short while ago. He gushed about our road system. He had driven close to 12,000 kilometers in 6 weeks, and he said there was no other country in which you could do that type of mileage in that short a time. (He wasn’t always on interstates either…)

On the way back to the marina a school of dolphins (the Flipper kind, not spotted or spinners) caught our attention. The Skipper motored with them for a bit as they surfed the wake and had a general dolphin good time.

A good day of sun & fun. Some wine, cheese and fruit appetizer and spicy chicken stir-fry for dinner. Afterwards we prepare for tomorrows trip to the northernmost point of New Zealand- Cape Reinga and 90-mile beach.