04-20 April 2007: Far North to Brissie

04–20 April: Cairns-Port-Brissie

Off the boat and learning to walk on solid ground. KK picked up a nasty sinus thing; we think it was a combination of nasty carpet and nasty A/C ventilation on the boat. Our hostel is across the street (and railroad tracks) from the “mall”. A mall like millions of others: Movie theater, food court, Scotch Tape store, etc. There is, however, a chiropractic clinic as well. We are excited to see it is a Gonstead practitioner (Gonstead is a type of chiropractic technique, one that we both use). We know there will be actual chiropractic tables. We wander in to introduce ourselves and borrow a few minutes of table time. The Doc is not in, but the staff rings him up to make sure it’s ok for us to intrude. It’s all good, and we get to adjust each other properly for the first time in weeks!

We are heading north to “The Daintree”. The Daintree North Conservation District is the national park rain forest section of the far north of the York Peninsula. It is where the rain forest runs right into (literally) the Coral Sea. We are staying at Crocodylus, a safari-tent hostel built into the rain forest. It is amazing; scout camp with much better showers and a pool. There is a self-guided 2.5k trail through the jungle. Every hour or so it rains about ten to twelve minutes. Good jungle rain. Heavy enough you need to pay real close attention to hear someone speak. The tents and awnings are in top shape, and no leaks to tinkle in your cheerios. The post rain susurrus (I’ve waited years to use that word in a sentence!) is accompanied by the plink and plop of the jungle canopy releasing the water that didn’t make it through initially.

The jungle is everything that movies and TV make it out to be and more: Chirps, whoops, screeches, clicks, crunches and any other number of sounds in constant flux. Dense greenery abounds. Liana vines can grow upwards of a foot a day, and individual vines can reach ¾ of a mile in length. The flora and fauna are not Disneyesque… Almost every plant has another that it will crush, strangle, poison, suck-the-life-out-of, or just otherwise prevent from using the resources it wants for itself. This is not Fantasia with fairy nymphs and dancing buttercups. It’s Little Shop of Horrors, complete with life-size Audreys, and others that make even her seem downright kittenish. Pitcher plants, saprophytes, and all kinds of opportunists co-mingle and compete. When one is trying to walk through the jungle one particularly annoying plant is the Wait-a-While, or Lawyer Plant. Let your imagination work that for a moment… OK- it is a living, or even dead, vine-like tendril. It can be as thin as a spaghetti strand or up to the thickness of a phone cord and be any length. (I know there are Gen X/Yer’s reading this that will have no idea what a phone cord even is… Google it.) It is LIBERALLY covered in tiny, incredibly strong sharp barbed thorns. These things will hook anything silly enough to touch them. Think velcro with attitude. Once one has you, you immediately stop, slowly back up, and delicately unhook whatever article of cloth, pack, hat, glasses or anatomy that has been ensnared. The real trick is too not draw too much blood while maneuvering a highly flexible bit of vine that will be just as happy to puncture you as much as your stuff. As mentioned before, even a dead one has the ability to grab on.

Then there is the Strangler Fig family. This particular tree-vine species is a special kind of nasty. It is beautiful to look at, and gives the illusion of symbiosis with its “support” tree. A seed will find a nice treetop and drop a root to find soil. This root will have shoots grow off laterally to wrap the tree. A vine may actually start in the earth and climb, usually in a spiral pattern. If it travels out a branch, or the tree leans, it lowers a tendril. Once this tendril finds earth, it thickens into an additional root-trunk. As the fig matures, it thickens and toughens. The python of the plant world, it slowly squeezes the host tree into nothingness. As the host tree decays, it continues to feed the fig. This might take decades, or even centuries.

Wild pigs and cane toads are noxious introduced species. Both are responsible for the elimination of untold indigenous niche species, and are all but impossible to control. Wild pigs were originally farm pigs. A few escape and a century later you have feral pigs that are completely in touch with their inner savage. Wild pigs have recently discovered the delicacy of turtle eggs. The nesting grounds on the Cape York Peninsula have been decimated this year (Luckily turtles run a regular breeding cycle. Unfortunately they already barely keep ahead of attrition. Check back a couple of posts for Mon Repos in Bargara.) Over 10,000 pigs have been culled this year with little obvious change in environmental impact. Our little walk in the woods passes over dozens of pig “routs” along the trail.

Cane toads are another bad idea gone worse… Originally from South America, cane toads had been brought over to Oz in the 1930’s to help control some sugar cane pest. Cane toads are so toxic that snakes die before they can swallow one. Crocs won’t eat them, and any other creature that tries, dies. The bug they were supposed to eat lives 3 to 5 feet above the ground in the tops of the sugar cane. Cane toads are big fat beasties that are as big as a grapefruit and live on the ground… Let logic direct you to the effectiveness of this particular biological pest agent. To make matters worse, cane toads eat anything, and I mean anything, that moves and will fit into their mouths: Frogs, birds, snakes, small mammals, anything but other cane toads. They have spread throughout Queensland, and are working their way into the surrounding states as well. It is not a good thing.

The toad population growth curve was held somewhat in check by an active, voluntary Queensland-wide eradication system. Nighttime drivers would aim for toads in the road. Gardener/golfers would walk their yards with a five-iron and practice their swings. Amateur (and I’m sure some pro) cricketers would practice batting skill sets. While sounding messy, the toads’ ends were swift. An animal rights group pushed for legislation making it illegal, and a finable offense, to intentionally kill a cane toad… and it went through. The only legal way to kill a cane toad now is to capture it, place it in a baggy, put it in your freezer, and then bring the hibernating toadsicle to a disposal center. Needless to say this has resulted in an incredible explosion in the toad population, and a proportionate loss in native species. Who wants a freezer full of toadsicles every night?

DEET is the tropical north cologne of choice. Is it good for the skin/body? Nope. Is it relatively harmless? Nope. Is it effective? Absolutely. We gave the natural repellents more than a fair go. They actually seemed to be attractants. Especially to sheep. Since dengue fever is still a regional concern (Two new cases in Townsville as we were passing through), and being eaten alive by any number of winged nasties takes the fun out of the outdoors, we broke down and used a DEET based repellent. A local one, made here in QLD as a matter of fact. It is highly effective, giving us each a personal cone of protection. Things will orbit, but never land. A little bit goes a long way. What went wrong with DEET environmentally in the 70’s was the “more-is-better” application of gallons repeatedly to flora and wetlands. A few strategic controlled-volume sprayings would have been more effective, and without the food-chain concentration disaster that occurred.

We traveled until the sealed road ended at Cape Tribulation. Still 130 kilometers short of Cooktown, the rest of the way is four-wheel territory. Our hire car is nice, but it doesn’t have a FWD or a snorkel, both of which are necessities for that particular trip. Snorkels are extensions of a cars air intake system; commonly capped black tubes the run up the edge of the windshield. This prevents water from getting sucked into the engine when driving through rivers, creeks, streams, ponds, puddles, etc. In the wet, any road in QLD can become one of the latter. We stopped off at Daintree Ice Creamery on the way back. They specialize in exotic local fruit ice creams like jackfruit, mango, lychee, mangosteen, etc. They also have a wonderfully rare mascot. A Golden Orb Weaver spider has built a nest on their porch. This is the one very big spider. Her abdomen alone was the size of a large plum tomato. In her defense she was pregnant. Five very tiny males were along the periphery of the web, waiting, and no doubt in quivering anticipation, to become snacks.

Kimberly discovered first hand (literally first finger or her kitchen finger as she loves to call it…) that even the little creatures are not interested in avoiding conflict. Our little tent-cabin was set up with bunk beds. She was bottom bunk. We had come to grips with the walnut sized cockroach we shared the space with, and even got used to the mystery scratching and skittering along the tent walls during the night. Kimberly is an active sleeper, and that was enough to annoy our here fore unknown bunkmate. In the wee hours of the morning JD is awakened by a loud clear pronouncement: “Honey, Something Bit Me”. JD, figuring mozzie or sandfly groggily looks over the edge of the bunk. KK has the headlamp pointing at her bloody finger. It was bleeding well, and KK was incredibly calm, all things considered. We washed the fingertip with JD’s peroxide based contact solution. KK had been dreaming her finger kept getting pinched in a sliding door, until the door slammed closed. While sleeping she stuck her hand behind the mattress, into the nest of a melomys. A melomys is a jungle mammal about twice the size of a field mouse. The poor little bugger, scared by the intruder, tried to give a hint or two by giving little nibbles at the giant thing that invaded its home. After that proved ineffective it gave a chomp. That worked spectacularly. KK, fully awake now, moved up to the dining area to read and have a coffee. JD unsuccessfully tried to sleep some more. Every time he was on the edge of REM, he would imagine something crawling along a limb… When KK came down to check on him, he had managed to completely mummy wrap himself in the top sheet, much to her delight.

Even with the bloodthirsty fauna, the jungle was a wonderful experience. We traveled back to civilization to enjoy Easter in Cairns- a nice traditional seafood meal on the waterfront. Oz, like NZ, has the public holiday surcharge. It also has the restaurants willing to suck it up. We chose one of those. Our servers were fun, and the meal delicious. A brief wander through the Night Market led us past the Chinese Massage businesses. You are touted in for the 30-minute full-body seated massage, only $15! Of course the therapists find a few really tight areas that need the special herbal patches, at $5 a pop. JD had four; KK had six, plus a pack to put on tomorrow. The aroma was Eucalyptus/Menthol/Camphor. Quite the bouquet in our little hostel room. Thai massage only two weeks away!

Christine flew in from Melbourne to join us at Mal & Leoni’s in Port Douglas. (Dougie, Port Dougie, or to the real locals: Port) Port is one of the last accessible bastions of civilization in the far north. It is a resort area, still in the growth phase: full time pop about 5,000. The residents have managed to keep building managed and controlled in such a way as to not lose the character of the town. Quite a few movies have been filmed here, most recently “Fools Gold” with Matthew McConaughy. Actor Heath Ledger, one of KK’s favorite voices, was from here as well.

Recreationally there is 4-mile beach, a great stretch of sand and surf, as well as a smattering of golf courses. Mal & Leoni have a great place on the top floor of a commercial building. Leoni welcomes many of the local critters: froggies, geckos, sunbirds and such make their homes on her lanai and porches. Cane toads have done such a number on the local tree frog population that a local woman has set up a protected breeding program. She provides fertilized frog egg clusters to willing participants to let hatch and set up residence in gardens and greenery. Leoni had a hatching of white-lipped tree frogs not too long ago. A few still like to visit the lanai regularly.

One froggy in particular seemed to be species confused… In the early morning hours Christine became aware of a rhythmic drumming on her abdomen. Assuming it was a moth or some other flying pest she turned on her light to deal with the intruder. Much to her surprise and dismay it was a large green tree frog using her belly as a personal trampoline! She maintained her cool, removing said froggy back to the lanai. She noticed the hole in the screen door it had used to gain entry and promptly barricaded it. Thoroughly. With tissue, paper towels, furniture, anything handy. The next day she took a needle and heavy thread and performed an admirable thatching job. Only the tiniest of frogs would be able to enter her sanctum at this point… The next night, on a whim, JD checked the lanai. Sure enough, a different little froggy was maintaining vigil outside Christine’s door! Much to everyone’s (except Christine and KK) delight, it immediately hopped into the room when the door was opened. It landed on KK who inexplicably went into girly-girl mode, she still isn’t sure why, she grew up in the woods after all… JD promptly rescued the poor little froggy, who happily climbed up his arm, across his ear, and perched atop his head contentedly.

The Wet has been overstaying its welcome up north. The rains continued to be frequent, and sometimes persistent, during most of our stay. It has limited beach time, however trips to the Tablelands and a hike through the Mossman Gorge are relatively dry.

One of the hotels in Port hosts a Monday night Hold ‘em poker tournament. JD and Mal decide to sit in. It was very casual… $5 buy in gets you a large pile of chips. Prizes were drink vouchers and food credit. It was a much more casual game than JD was used to. The people were fun, and there were more than a few characters in the bunch. JD lasted about an hour and a half. (Note to his poker buddies: He lost an all-in on an outside straight draw with a pair of sixes to a pair of eights… “Billing” at its finest.)

Chief amongst the local denizens are the salt-water crocs. These saurian survival machines choose to ignore (or maybe just don’t believe) that man is the theoretical top of the food chain. They are fairly common in the region, and you definitely don’t swim or walk along certain sections of stream and beach. In general, you respect them by staying out of their creek and off of their mud-bank, and they won’t eat you. Just like in Florida, a lost ball on the golf course should just stay a lost ball… Take the stroke and drop a freshie. Is your arm worth a $4 Titelist?

Driving the sealed roads through the cane fields also has adventure potential. Mal shared this little tidbit: He was cruising along and startled a large Tai Pan (Usually in position 1 or 2 as the most venomous and cantankerous snake, depending on your resource) lying across the road. Most snakes bothered this way would haul ass into the bush. This particular specimen opted to try and bite the “eye” of this most annoying mechanical beast. The snake, in the lightning fast way that they do, struck the driver’s side window, inches from Mal’s head… The blow was so loud; Mal had difficulty hearing for quite some time afterward.

This is apparently not an unusual story. Mal had another similar event with a different species of snake as well. In both cases the lesson was: “Always have you’re A/C on and your windows up when driving the far north”.

Not everything in the tropics tries to damage you. There are any number of critters that happily go about their business without caring about man, one way or another. In the bush (here read: Jungle) Lace Monitors, lizards only 2 meters long, will cozily walk through the lower level of your home and other creatures are truly just going about their business and trying to survive. Sometimes they end up in your house or garage. Just show them the door, and most will happily saunter/flap/hop/slither/ or crawl out.

While the weather was not optimum, the visit to Port was excellent. There was a certain calm before the storm. The “season” begins in the next few weeks. Port is part of Oz’s Florida. As the southern climes cool off, people head north to warm up (Remember this Antipodal thing, it’s all upside down) and Port is a prime destination. We have a few days in Brissie (Brisbane) before Thailand.

Gil is our host in Brissie. We met him and Vanessa on the ’04 cruise as well. Sadly he and Vanessa have parted ways since then, though we did get to visit with both of them during our stay. Gil was our master negotiator during off-ship forays during the cruise. He would regularly get taxis and shop keepers to inconceivably low rates.

Gil has a “groodle”, a cross between a golden retriever and a standard poodle. Her name is JD… When they got the dog, the breeder needed a name for the registration and they had just been looking at photos from the sailing cruise… JD is sure some distilled beverages were involved as well.

The plan is to see the Gold Coast to round out this Oz trip. Byron Bay was the top of the list. From all accounts we have heard, Surfers Paradise has lost all character and is just one long Oceanside hotel condo. Gil was gracious enough to lend us his car for the day. JD really enjoyed cruising around in a right hand drive BMW M3. JD figured it would be months before he drives again, and was happy/giddy/exuberant/thrilled to “circulate the fluids” in Gils car. Truthfully, driving Gils car virtually circulated JD’s fluids.

Morning coffee while walking the beach at Coolangata allowed an unobstructed view of Surfers Paradise to the north. SP could have been lifted from any part of the east coast of Florida. Coolangata is rapidly being developed, but it hasn’t hit saturation yet. Another 45 minutes down the road brought us to Byron Bay.

Byron Bay is home to the easternmost point on the continent of Oz. A lighthouse guards the bluff, and a few kilometer long trail takes you to the beach and rocks that are the currently boundary between land and sea. Geological tidbit: 10,000-20,000 years ago, the coast was another 75 or so kilometers out, during the last ice age… Sea levels were about 100 meters/380 feet lower than today.

It is another beach destination along the Queensland/New South Wales coast. There was a wonderful organic restaurant just a block off the beach. After a walk about amongst the shops we head inland to Nimbin.

I know I have mentioned Leavenworth, Washington before. Leavenworth was a logging/mining community in the eastern Cascade Mountains. In the late 60’s the tress were all cut, and the mines played out. The city council and businesses dreamt up a Bavarian theme village. It required EVERY business to participate for it to work. They all did, and it did work. Leavenworth thrives year round on outdoor recreation and tourism.

I mention this to set the stage for Nimbin. Pot (marijuana) is the focus of the entire community. There are hemp museums, any number of Amsterdam style cafés, head shops, oldddd hippies hanging out with a good buzz on, and festivals and parades throughout the year. Please remember pot is still very illegal in Oz, though it is my understanding that this particular community gets a good “Schultzing” (“I know nutink! I see nutink!”) from law enforcement.

Thursday is spent preparing for our Thailand departure. Rearranging of packed stuff, culling of unneeded kilos, and the hunt for books for the 9.5 hour flight.

Friday is flight day. Oz began the “100 mL fluids/1 liter baggie” rule this month for international flights. At least in Oz the officials walk amongst the international terminal announcing the rules and supplying a free regulation baggie. The gal at the counter was mildly confused by our Thai tourist visa, and had to check with her supervisor to make sure we did not indeed need an outbound ticket. After breezing through immigration control we had a bite and tried to spend the last of our Ozzie currency.

Next stop: Thailand.

Oz tidbits:

Kilometers Driven: 6,800+ (about 4,400 miles)
Kilometers Flown: 3,300
Kilometers Train: 1,000
Photos Taken: 2,642
Days in-country: 60
Gelato’s eaten: 46 (each)
Average UV index: 12
# of states visited: 5
Average gas price: AU$1.20/liter ($3.69/gallon US)
Percentage of Oz seen: Less than 10%
KK’s favorite (and only…) Ozzie word: Buggah!
Number of times mistaken for Canadian: Uncountable
Number of times recognized as from the states: ZERO

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.