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.

21-25 March: Brisbane to Bargara

21-25 March: Brisbane to Bargara

“Madder than cut snakes”, “Looney, but in an endearing, laid back, down to Earth kind of way”, these are just a couple of descriptions of Queenslanders to be found. They have a rep for individualism and thinking outside the box. It might have to do with the largest concentration of the deadly critters living in this state giving people a higher sense of mortality.

For example: The only safe beaches have a containment area surrounded by a Teflon/Kevlar mesh “Stinger Net”, usually about 100-150 feet square. Stingers is the group description of the 4 or 5 types of jellyfish that can injure you in a horribly painful and nasty way, sometimes even kill you…in less than 20 minutes. All of which float the coastal waters of Queensland from October to May, all summer and most of the fall. The contained areas allow a person to risk a swim without a “Stinger Suit”. Anyone swimming outside a protected area during Stinger season will most often be wearing full body lycra dive skin type garment: Infants, kids, teens, adults, everyone. The beaches all have vinegar stations for immediate aid. Imagine every beach from Maryland to Florida being swarmed by mindless yet deadly sea creatures every single summer. For your average Queenslander, a family trip to the beach is the most common holiday. Not all beaches have nets, or lifeguards. Queensland was also the home of the late Steve Irwin (“Steve-O”, The Crocodile Hunter- Crikey!), who by all accounts was considered pretty normal for the region.

Queensland, like Arizona, does not participate in Daylight Savings Time. This alone is not weird; it’s a political choice. What does give it a quirky spin is a primary reason given for not changing clocks is: “The cows wouldn’t know when to eat” if the time is changed… Gotta love Queensland!

The state of Queensland itself is pretty large. It is the northeastern state in Oz. It equals the area of the NE quadrant of the U.S.: All of New England, NY, NJ, PA, TN, KY, WV, VA, MD, DE, NC, SC, OH, and part of IL. (If you need to look up the state abbreviations: www.usps.com) Almost all of it falls in the tropics, north of the Tropic of Capricorn to be exact. The coastal region is a strong combo of Hawaii and Florida. Big resort areas, little unknown seaside villages, and 1,000’s of kilometers of sugar cane, pineapple, banana, and a variety of other tropical fruits. It has two seasons, The Wet and The Dry. It is outlined by the Great Barrier Reef along almost its entire coast.

Brisbane, the state capital, is in the southeast corner of the state, a few dozen kilometers inland from the coast. It is built along the curves of a nice lowland river. Lots of bridges define its neighborhoods.

We are here between “seasons”; it should be the start of The Dry. QLD has the same drought issues as the rest of Oz. Similar to Seattle; they expect a certain quantity of rain. When it is only half, it is still a lot of moisture, but not enough for what the flora, fauna and people need to thrive. Southern QLD is in worse shape than the Tropical North.

Our arrival in Brisbane coincided with rush hour. Our skilled cabbie managed to get us to a car rental well before the office closed… Budget gets the double thumbs up! We not only received a free upgrade to a full size car, the rental itself will only cost a $1 more per day than the Tassie rental POS! We are cruising around in a nice Toyota Avalon, manufactured in this decade. V6, air, power windows, an actual stereo, and a really huge boot. JD maneuvers effectively through downtown traffic to our lodging. It’s mostly clean and has a pool. It works for a night.

The original plan was to blast out of Brissie that first night. As with all plans allowances must be made for change. There were significant unanswered questions about our Thai visa options. Thailand has recently begun to actually enforce its foreign traveler laws in an attempt to oust a few ex-pats. For decades you could wander in and out as often as you please, provided you wandered out for at least one minute every thirty days. Literally step over the border into Laos, Cambodia, Myanmar, Malaysia, wherever. Turn around, fresh Visa on Arrival stamp, and poof! You have another thirty days. The law actually states you must have an outgoing airline ticket dated within 30 days. The Sydney consulate was not very helpful. An ex-pat club website from Thailand did a decent job of clarifying the real visa rules, and also suggested if you can’t get help at one consulate, just go to another. We did. The Brisbane Thai consulate ROCKS! After we outlined our plans, the ladies told us exactly how to work the system… We applied for, and each received, a double-entry tourist visa. This allows for two sixty-day periods in the next six months, no outgoing air tix required. It is soooo much cheaper to buy tickets in Thailand to fly almost anywhere and we didn’t want to have to commit to time and destination just yet. After we use these visas, it is just a matter of having outgoing tickets each time we re-enter Thailand. This gives huge time flexibility as far as planning our Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Indonesia and Malaysia jaunts, as well as leaving plenty of time to meet up with family and friends taking holiday in Thailand this year.

Back to the Tropical North: Pleased with our morning accomplishment, we head north. The first stop will be in the happily named town of Beerwah, home of the Australia Zoo. This is the zoo Steve-O took over from his parents and turned it into a zoologist’s wet dream. Many zoos are depressing places. You can always tell when the animals are not thriving. The same passionate zeal the Irwin’s presented on TV has been physically reproduced in the presence of this zoo. The zoos residents are almost all Ozzie, some indigenous, some feral, and have habitats that truly let them be what they are. The habitats are also clever enough in design that patrons can actually observe without annoying the critters. A variety of lizards just wander around the place, posing for snaps and keeping the crawlies under control. Zoo staff also regularly walk about with cheetah, wombat, snakes, and other fauna to interact with people, especially kids. The primary mission of the facility is to reinforce the ideas of stewardship and conservation. Don’t fear animals- respect them.

It is impossible to walk the zoo without saying “Crikey!” over and over. There are a number of interactive habitats you can actually walk through. If the residents are in the mood, you can even touch them. (Roos, Echidnas, Koalas, and a few of the not-really-poisonous reptiles). There is the “Crocoseum” for large-scale demonstrations, as well as a memorial section were fans have sent a variety of well-wishing Khaki tokens. We enjoyed a snake-bird-croc show. It’s all good fun, however it is obvious the croc handlers do take their jobs very seriously- double gates, three constant watchers, two secondary handlers, and the primary handler. Crocs really do consider anything they can catch as food, and have had a few hundred million years to perfect the techniques.

I have set up a specific link for the Aussie Zoo photos. Fun stuff!

A quick aside: Political correctness has the same ridiculousness factor here in Oz. The morning news was discussing a dilemma faced by a primary school volunteer:

Poppa is a WW2 vet and grandfather to a six year old. His kids, the extended family, and of course, the grandkids, all call him Poppa. He decided to volunteer at his grandson’s primary school (approx K-3). There, all the kids, teachers and aides all call him Poppa. He even gets a vanity plate for his car- POPPA-6. All is good the first year. Kids and staff adore him, and he gives a more wizened spin to the school population. This year he returns to volunteer again. The school principle tells him there is a problem. A parent has made a complaint against him… She is upset that he is called Poppa. Her fear is that with her child calling a non-relative Poppa, some stranger might approach the munchkin and say ‘I’m Poppa, its ok, you can come with me”. The school policy dictates he can no longer be called Poppa on school grounds. All adults must be addressed by their legal names. His grandson freaked out, thinking he was no longer allowed to call Poppa Poppa. A lot of parents are pissed! A few are highly vocal about the total nonsense of this rule. One parent had just been so happy for her children to have a grandfather figure, as theirs had passed away before they were born. Doesn’t matter. Just one displeased parent dictates the policy for the entire school. I’m really not sure why the dozens of newly displeased parents don’t outweigh the original complainant, but I’m not a nervous school official.

Queensland smells and sounds just like Hawaii. Some of the same birds, the volcanic red dirt, similar foliage. It can be a bit disorienting first thing in the morning, hearing the infamous “car-alarm” bird, and then realizing we are not in Maui. We find ourselves in the seaside village of Bargara, home of the Mon Repos turtle rookery and conservatory. Our timing has been impeccable. It is the third to last day of the hatching season. For a very reasonable fee you have evening access to the Mon Repos National Park and a guided walk to the rookery.

Science Notes: Here is where assorted doctorates in Zoology, Biology, Animal Husbandry, Ecological studies, etc all become rangers in the Ozzie national park system. Dr Col Limpus has been studying, tagging, and tracking turtles from this same beach for over fifty years. His research is the foundation for almost all that is known about the breeding cycle of 6 of the 7 surviving sea turtle species. Here is the summary:

• 1 in 1,000 baby turtles make it to sexual maturity.
  It takes 35 to 40 years for a turtle to be old enough to breed.
  The temperature of the sand that the eggs are buried in determines males and females.
  Males- cooler sands of the outer islands
  Females- Warmer sands of the mainland
  Females will lay 4 to 7 clutches of 125 to 175 eggs each over the course of a month. (Yes, statistically entire breeding seasons for some females will result in no breeding offspring- negative amortization…)
  The hatchlings dig their way out exactly 8 weeks after laying.
  The waddle to the water sets an inner compass/GPS point. They will return to this, or a nearby beach when its time to nest.
  They will move towards the brightest light source. Urban light pollution, even dozens of miles away, has a strong pull.
  The hatchlings drift the south pacific between Oz and South America for the entire 30 plus years to maturity.
  Once of breeding age, the stay within a few hundred kilometers of the birth beach.
  They don’t lay every year. They repeat a personal breeding cycle over a decade: Year three, Year five, Year ten, repeat, or some other variant that they individually choose.

Turtles are another ancient species. They are essentially unchanged for at least 200 million years. They cannot think outside the box. If something is not part of their hardwired programming, they are stopped. A missing beach, bright lights near the nesting area, condos, retaining walls, jetties, and any other number of man-made (and sometimes nature-made: earthquakes, tsunamis, storms) changes to the breeding areas will eliminate successive generations as they return. The mixed blessing of the maturation and inter-breeding time windows is repairs can be made to the changed area. (A female will continue to return each time she is ready to lay, even if there is no place to lay. It’s the programming.)

During the breeding season, a large team of researchers patrols the beach every night, keeping wayward tourists off, and cataloging each nest. Visitors are allowed in controlled groups at specific times. Light pollution, even from camera flashes, is strictly monitored, and allowed only at certain times in the laying and hatching cycles.

We are in group two. Nature rarely considers the human clock as important, so some groups can wait for hours, or minutes. The baby turtles will hatch between dusk and dawn. Dark is dark. The first group was out at 7:30. The facility has a DVD presentation on turtle life cycles, marine trivia and geological history of the region to occupy the queued groups. We head out about 10:00. Light is VERBOTEN. The group follows the guide across the beach to whichever nest is showing activity. The ranger/biologists light the nest is very specific ways. Initially the sand moves a bit. Not to dissimilar to the start of a water boil. A tiny flipper, then head appear. A few more work their way out. These pioneers are encouraged to walk towards a waiting chicken wire enclosure by a ground level flashlight. Within minutes the ground is a seething mass of flippers, heads and shells. All steadfastly dry paddling towards the light. We witness about a 115 hatchlings make it from this nest.

Light is encouraged after hatching in one form: The Tunnel of Light. Volunteers from the visitors group stand in a line, legs spread, from the nest to the sea. Each person shines his/her torch on the ground between the legs of the person in front. The wire enclosure is lifted. The hundred plus group of hatchlings dry paddle their way to the sea, through the legs of the volunteers.

It was a moving experience. In the northwest we regularly experience the salmon cycle, but fish are not near as cute as little baby turtles…

We gave ourselves a couple of days in Bargara. The beach was excellent, and did not require stinger suits (that happens just a tad further north) and the water was bathtub warm, clear, and easy access. Crab balls cover it from end to end. Crab balls you ask? Yes- crab balls. Sand crabs need to dig their burrows out after each tidal cycle. The sand is formed into a ball and rolled away from the burrow entrance. Lots of crabs= lots of balls! Pretty neat to walk on. Nature’s reflexology session on the beach.

The larger town near Bargara is Bundaberg (Yep- “Bunddie” to the locals…), Home of Bundaberg Rum and Bundaberg Brewed Ginger Beer. The ginger beer (Non-alcoholic) brewery has a visitor’s center and tour in a Big Beer Barrel. It was very well done, complete with a 15-minute holographic video presentation. We skipped the rum distillery tour, they require closed shoes, and we were in sandals.

Dinner was snags cooked on the Barbie, accompanied by some really bad box wine. Tomorrow we hang on the beach for the morning, then head north to “Rocky” (Rockhampton), about 340 kilometers. Cattle country. Home of really good steak, and the mid point to our next true destination: The Whitsunday Islands.

15-21 March 2007: Tasmania

15 March – 21 March: Tasmania

Tassie lives up to expectations! Tassie is an island, a small teardrop of the lower right bulge of the upside down kidney bean. It contains a sample of all the geological and environmental climates present across the mainland in one manageable package: Lush rain forest, high plateau, a few rugged peaks, bush, angry shoreline, rivers, placid beaches and pastureland.

Tasmania was originally known as Van Diemen’s Land. Occasionally it would land bridge with the Oz mainland during particularly strong ice ages. The best current guesstimates have it separated form the mainland for at least the last 10,000 years. This isolation allowed for the survival of a number of species that didn’t make the cut on the mainland. The most famous of course is the Tasmanian Devil. Unlike our beloved cartoon Tazzie, the Tassie devil is a nocturnal opportunist, eating anything from eggs to roadkill. The latter often leads to a similar fate for the feaster… Tassie Devils do have a rep for poor social behavior when it comes to food or breeding. Think of your basic mid-twenties roadhouse drinking, El Camino driving, Marlborough smokin’ tattooed redneck mullet boy (or girl…) late Friday night when they think someone has looked at their partner, or worse, given them “The Eye”…

Aboriginals had been living there for millennia before the Europeans arrived. One of the darkest spots in the Empires history was the total intentional eradication of Aboriginals from Tassie. It was, sadly, successful. On the mainland, similar policies had been in place regionally, however the sheer size of the continent allowed some tribes to hastily relocate and survive to some extent. It is still a dark mark in the minds of the current citizens, and is a topic not openly discussed.

Enough depressing stuff. We have decided to focus on the east coast, and north central interior. The east coast contains the Freycinet Peninsula, home of the national park of the same name. A world-class destination trek is to Wineglass Bay, regularly ranked as the most beautiful unspoiled beach in the world by assorted travel writers and programs. We manage to nurse our rental POS to Cole's Bay, our home for the next couple of days. Cole's Bay is the oh-so-small village at the border of the national park. We stay in a well-maintained holiday park/ backpackers with an attached pub, store and ice cream place. It’s right across the street from a beach, and just a few kilometers from the park entrance.

The rental POS has no air con. Surprise! We should be happy it has an engine and doors and windows that work…Ooops. Not quite three out of three. The back windows had been opened an inch or so for circulation while driving. Evening showers are predicted so its time to roll ‘em up (Power accessories are for wimps after all…). Turning the handle for the rear passenger window resulted in the window becoming hopelessly depressed and leaping form its track, into the depths of the door. The front passenger window tried the same trick, but apparently got its foot stuck or something and couldn’t completely leave its track.

Fortunately, not only is JD mechanically minded, he spent all his college years driving the Datsun, and then later Nissan, cousins of this exact car. There is no repair job that cannot be handled with the right amount of cursing, duct tape, and a Leatherman tool. Our Leatherman travels everywhere with us. Affectionately referred to as “The Tool”, it has all manner of heavy-duty blades and bits. If it can’t fix something, you can certainly use it to hack the offending bit of machinery to pieces. JD disassembles the door panel to get to the window, reseats it into its track, and closes it. It stays closed for the duration of the trip. Time for a beer.

The trek to Wineglass we choose to take will be an eleven kilometer round trip, with a few hundred meters of elevation change. It will bring us east to the beach, then loop around the isthmus and up the west coast of the peninsula (named “The Hazards”) back to the carpark.

Trail maintenance here is a true art! They must have brought in stonemasons to lay the steps. The rockwork is incredible, and the rest stops are highly functional. The upper viewpoint gives a commanding panorama of the entire bay. The beach is a rounded white pebble, easy on the feet. We kick back, absorb some rays, and enjoy our lunch. A dolphin was lazily playing along the length of the shoreline, and a local wallaby successfully works the tourists under the “don’t feed the wildlife” sign. An easy place to spend a lot of time.

The trek is a good work out, and well worth the park admission of $20/car. There were minimal flies and other nasties, and the weather was perfect. A quick shower, and off to the pub for a refreshing beverage.

In Oz Big Brother rules. It is an odd dichotomy with the pioneering tame-the-land, your-responsible-if you-are-an-adventurer attitude. Lets say you are in a national park and decide to scale a nearby cliff and get stuck. You are an idiot, will be told as much, and will need to foot the bill for your rescue. If you are successful, well Good On’ya mate that was impressive. Want to hop on one foot across the Outback to Perth? Good On’ya, and be sure to bring some extra water. Wrestle some crocs for sport or cash? Remember any croc that ain’t dead will be happy to tuck into you at its first opportunity…On the other hand; speed cameras are everywhere, even in the bush. You can loose you license on the spot, forever, for going 20kph over (About 14mph). We take ten over for granted on the interstates in the U.S. Burning rubber, squealing tires, “Lighting ‘em up”, whatever you want to call it, here it is called “Hooning”. Hooning is slang for being stupid or goofy. There are laws against hooning. (Yes, technically an actual law against stupidity… Unfortunately it is just one specific application of stupidity, and not even an important one at that.) If an officer sees you spin tires, your car is impounded immediately for up to thirty days. If someone reports you have hooned, without an officer witnessing, you get a $200 fine. In Tassie alone almost 600 vehicles have been impounded since the law went into effect last July. You can choose to swim with Stingers, Blueys, Rip tides, Pointers (Great Whites) and walk amongst tai pan, tiger, and brown snakes, even live with funnel web spiders under your front porch, with no official warnings, pressures or governance. If you chirp your tires, even by accident (not sure how it would be accidental, but it could be…) you lose your car! Maybe it traces back to Oz’s original penal colony roots…

Tassie has a few destination motorcycle roads. Just like in NZ, lots of rhythmic twisties. JD again misses his bike, tempered by the fact that 30 bikes on the island have been impounded for hooning. We make it to Launceston (Lawn-cess-ton) for St Patrick’s Day. An Irish hotel/pub chain called Irish Murphy’s has a place in town. We stop in for a bite and a pint or two. We are in time for the live music, yet ahead of the queue. Kimberly makes friends with the Guinness Drinking Team during dinner… When we get back into the pub proper it is already packed, and the floor feels like Velcro, we hope from spilled beer. The band is local and has more than a few fans in attendance. It is supposed to be a U2 tribute band, but we seem to miss both Bono, and the tribute aspect… Good fun nonetheless. As we are old people now we are out by 10:30. The queue outside is halfway up the block. The hostel we are in has gourmet gelato… ‘nuf said.

North of town is a wine-growing region. This part of Tassie is a bit arid with the current drought. There is also a great climbing crag called Hillwood. Mostly bolted for sport climbing, one of the few in the entire country. A school group was using the wall within JD’s pay grade, so we watched a bit before finding a winery to visit. We stopped at a beach in the far north to check the water. As has been the case here in the southern portion of the country it was brisk. Must be the proximity to Antarctica… Back to town and the gelato. Wild Hogs is playing at the local theater. JD was curious if it would be subtitled. It wasn’t.

On the trip back to Hobart we find the very dry central plateau. It greens up about 45k north of Hobart. A distinct rain line runs across the land. Cadbury has a factory here as well. We figure we could skip the tour and just hit the company store (just like in Dunedin). No go: No tour, No cheap candy. We really didn’t want the tour again. Our home until we fly out is Montgomery’s Private Hotel and Backpackers. As said in Ozzie: “Monty’s”. It’s clean and the staff is helpful. It is a block from the waterfront, which happens to have a plethora of dining options: Floating take-away fish stands, seafood cafes, and posh dining establishments.

A consideration when booking in an older building: street noise. When we checked our room before booking, it wasn’t exceptionally loud. At midnight we might as well have been on the infield at a Formula One race course. Hooning, trucks, pub patrons, and crosswalk signals blending into a non-harmonious audio sludge that oozed around the cracks of our foam earplugs. It was not a perfect relaxation environment. It was also the last double or twin in the building. It was paid two days in advance. It was just another part of the adventure. It must be said that the room was large and clean. The clean part is always top of our want list in a room. We prefer places that we have no fear of the showers. This met the bill in cleanliness.

The last day with the rental POS was a trip to some thermal springs two hours south. Thermal, by the way, is not the same as Hot, or Mineral. Thermal springs in Tassie mean warmer than normal spring water. In this case 27 C (about 81F). It was set in a nice fern laden temperate rain forest, not unlike the greater Seattle area. As Oz hasn’t had an active volcanic system in the last million years or so, these springs are heated by deep earth pressure rather than cooling magma systems. It was a nice pool, just not conducive to long soaks.

The warning lights in the rental POS were becoming more and more insistent. The Love Bubble was engaged at full strength. We made it back to Hobart without incident. JD brought the POS back to the rental place. The gal was pleasant, and asked how the car held up. JD gave her the laundry list: Stroboscopic warning lights, dodgy brakes, stalls at stoplights, burning oil, stuck gauges and serious alignment issues. He forgot to mention the windows, and the less than 10k/liter performance. (The gerbil powered car in NZ got 15-17k/liter). She smiled and twittered something about older cars. JD is done with rent-a-wrecks for the foreseeable future.

Our parting dinner was at a wonderful waterfront café/restaurant called Fish Frenzy: A bottle of Four Sisters white wine, scallops, chips, barramundi, squid, and prawn. Mmmm Mmmmm good. Our airport shuttle will be picking us up at 8:50, about a block away from the hotel… In and of itself not too early, however we anticipate another evening of airport runway sound effects. Lots of time to sleep on the plane.

We reassessed our timeline during our Tassie exploration. Originally we had planned to rejoin Christine and visit more of Victoria and then on to Queensland in a week or so. Maybe we haven’t learned our lesson about believing everything you read, but then again maybe we have. We found some intriguing four-color glossy brochures in Cole’s Bay: They have affordable live-aboard sailing trips into the Whitsunday Islands and the Great Barrier Reef. After consulting our Lonely Planet guidebook we discover that the Whitsunday Sailing experience is virtually mandatory for all backpackers and travelers passing through Oz. To add a sailing trip we need to hit Queensland a week earlier than planned. Virgin Blue (Our carrier from Melbourne to QLD) was very accommodating with the ticket changes. Done online it was only a $60 (total) change fee. Our flights to Brisbane are still less than the ferry to Kangaroo Island…

Kimberly does a masterful job of stuff distribution. Our checked bags are only 0.4 kilo over. No extra charges. Thank goodness no one asked to weigh our carry-ons. They do that if the carry-on “looks” heavy. In Melbourne Virgin is at the opposite end of the airport from Jetstar. This was the scenario that makes the little push trolley worth every penny of the $4 rental. Virgin Blue has the same weight restrictions, however they give everyone a 5-kilo grace. Much more civilized. Our car for the next three weeks is NOT a POS. JD found a deal from Budget for AU$40 a day for a mid-size auto w/ air, unlimited kilometers, and includes the one-way fee. No matter what, it has to be made in this millennium. Here we come Queensland!