RenDavevous at Crayfish Beach

I woke up early so that I could make a start on packing bags, as there was one to leave behind in storage before heading to the beach. I also needed to head back to Easy Cafe for  a bit more wifi usage and a bacon sarnie with their excellent coffee. Back at the campsite, I decamped and finished sorting my three rucksacks, tramping into reception with just a minute to spare in time for checkout. With my 10 dollar deposit safely re-acquired, I then went to the ATM and withdrew the last 40 dollars on my prepay card - in total I had 76 dollars to my name - all timed perfectly for meeting Dave who was bringing my new bank cards to me. I headed to the shops again - this time to buy sausages, eggs, cheese, bread and milk for the camping trip, leaving me with 55 dollars. Next stop, the bottle shop, to buy a bottle of bourbon as a belated birthday present to Dave and to give us something to warm our cockles on the camping trip. I now had 15 dollars and just needed to catch the bus to Shute Harbour where I was meeting Dave with a wallet-full of cash and my cards. 

I got soaked by the rain on the way to the bus stop but wasn't too bothered - far too excited to be seeing Dave again and looking forward to our tropical island experience.

Boat ramp at Shute Harbour

I arrived at Shute Harbour with just 11.50 in my pocket…and found Dave waiting with a big grin on his face. We still had an hour before checking in for our boat trip so we sat and had coffee and began the process of catching up on the minutiae of each others' lives. He had been working hard on a shift pattern and was much in need of a holiday, as well as a reset of his body clock (recent scientific research has shown that a few nights camping without artificial light is an excellent way to restore your body's natural circadian rhythm, which is continually eroded by our exposure to light and late nights). We were both glad to see each other and it brought back many amusing memories from our previous adventures together.

Eventually, we got around to money matters and Dave dug out my new card before explaining that, due to almost missing his flight, he hadn't actually been able to withdraw any money that morning. This might not have been a big deal, but Shute Harbour was basically a cafe and dock for boats - the nearest ATM facilities were back in Airlie Beach. However, we discovered that the cafe was happy to do cash-back so I tried my new card out to do just that. But it didn't work. I immediately got on the blower to my bank in the UK and found, to my annoyance, that they had issued a new PIN with the new card, despite the fact that I hadn't requested this. This new PIN had been sent into cyberspace and was not available to anyone, anywhere, anytime! The only thing they could do was re-issue the PIN to my parents' house, which would take 3-4 working days…leaving me still stranded without access to the plentiful funds in my account. I surfed the wave of disappointment and managed not to get dragged down and pounded into the shoreline - Dave was happy to sub me for the time being and we could sort something out when we came back from the island.

We headed down to the Scamper office to meet our boat and we picked up our supplies - camping chairs (a little flimsy looking for someone of my reputation), an esky (icebox), stove and mess kit and some snorkelling gear, including highly attractive and eminently fashionable all-in-one stinger suits to prevent any unfortunate encounters with the deadly irikandji box jellyfish (at only 2cm wide, these are impossible to spot before they've stung you with their deadly neuro-toxin).

We piled our kit and luggage up under the covered area at the back of the boat - a steel-hulled, flat-bottomed, shallow vessel, with a hydraulic ramp at the front for easy access to the sandy, shelving beaches of the Whitsunday Islands. The skipper asked me and a French lad if we could help him secure the ramp with locking pins after departure and release them on arrival at our next destination. Happy to oblige and aware of no reason why I shouldn't be positioned at the front for this duty, I grasped on to the bow rail and stood facing the gentle morning breeze with the sun on my back. We powered up as soon as we were safely away from the harbour and we were soon chopping our way out into the channel between the mainland and South Molle Island. In next to no time, the seas made their presence felt and we were soon skidding along on 3-4 metre swells, occasionally bellying flat onto the water with a resounding thud and, once or twice, pitching into the side of an oncomer, throwing spray over the bow to dampen our faces and Dave's hair. However, this was while Poseidon was playing nice. The skipper didn't back off any on the power and the swells, whipped up by an ever-stiffening breeze really began to roll. The next hour to Whitehaven Beach was a grim contest as the front end of the boat pitched and yawed through the growing walls of water. Each rise and fall necessitated a deep knee-bend to dissipate the shock of the flat bottom smacking the wave. All thoughts of enjoying the jade-green waters and azure skies were left far behind as I tried desperately to hold on to the bow and avoid being thrown into the water. Both Dave and I - and everyone else on the boat…and all our luggage - were pretty soaked by this point. I began to worry about my phone and camera, sitting in my drenched pocket but there was very little I could do, needing both hands to hold on to the boat and there being no room or opportunity to move back inside the relative shelter of the cover.

We arrived at Whitehaven looking like a pair of drowned rats and, although we'd laughed maniacally through some of the rougher soakings, we were both more than a little peeved that we'd been given no warning about the conditions. As soon as I'd completed my task of helping to lower the ramp, Dave and I took up positions at the back of the boat, right beneath the skippers wheelhouse, sitting comfortably on the padded bench…and watching smugly as newcomers were tossed around and soaked by the water. Admittedly, the seas were calmer now that we were heading in a northerly direction but we were more than glad to disembark with our soggy clothing and kit when we arrived at Crayfish Beach on Hook Island.

Desert Island Hideaway? Don't mind if I do...

The sun...if only we'd made the best of it when we had the chance...

Happy Campers!

Crow damage

Crayfish Bay, Hook Island

On arrival we were greeted by a couple who were leaving on our boat. They animatedly informed us that the snorkelling was 'the best in the whole bloody park, mate' before they and the Scamper roared off and disappeared round the bay. Dave and I looked at each other and, despite our near exhaustion (try doing squats for two hours and getting drenched in saltwater and see how you feel!), couldn't help but smile. We had a deserted, island beach all to ourselves for the next 24 hours! We explored quickly but then set-up camp so that we were prepared for the vagaries of the weather. In no time, our little one-man tents were pitched and we sat down to a simple lunch of cheese sandwiches and coffee. There were big picnic benches under the trees on the edge of the beach, so there had been no need for the camping chairs…but then, we reasoned, they would be perfect for sitting on the beach to do a spot of star-gazing later on.

After lunch, we packed most things away into the Esky, although I left the loaf of bread wrapped up on top - not wanting to get condensation inside the bag. We then went to take proper stock of our surroundings and we walked up and down the 200m length of the beach and inspected the rocks at either end, finding a cool little natural cave, facing directly towards the setting sun.

From the cave

After our torrid journey, we decided that, as it was getting cooler, we wouldn't bother snorkelling this evening, saving ourselves for the warmer weather that had been forecast for the following day. Instead, we set about the Wild Turkey and Coke that was our drinking supply for the evening (we did have 20 litres of fresh water too!) and continued where we'd left off on catching up on life. When I went to the esky to get the bottles, I found that our loaf of bread had been attacked by some thieving little critter…you'd have thought I'd learn my lesson after the first incident in Airlie Beach…but I hadn't figured on the opportunistic little buggers being EVERYWHERE. Judging by the utterly destroyed nature of the bread bag and the large quantity of bread taken (about 6 or 7 slices during just 15 minutes), we placed suspicion firmly on a large black crow that we'd seen (and heard) hanging around the campsite. We vowed to keep everything locked up for the duration of our trip and then set about getting pissed and enjoying our evening of splendid isolation.

Later on, we cooked up our risotto and found ourselves surrounded by small, furry, large-eyed little critters, who seemed intent on helping themselves to a portion. We later discovered that these were melamines, very common in tropical climes and determined little foragers for food of any kind. We left them disappointed and headed down to the beach to sit in our camping chairs and stare at the brightest starscape I have ever known in my life. The Milky Way was a great splash of cream across the inky blackness, studded by a million-and-one stars. Time and again over the next four hours (as we chatted and set the world to rights and re-affirmed the invisible bonds of friendship) we were treated to the sight of shooting stars, cutting across the heavens. We unpacked the macbook to listen to some trance as we whiled away a pleasant evening, toasting ourselves gently with the bourbon and enjoying each others' company. The only disruption to our entertainment was the sudden, unexpected collapse of my chair - a casualty of gravity. I simply threw myself down on the damp sand, reasoning that I could get a better view of more of the sky, without giving myself a crick in the neck. Dave soon followed suit and we laid cheerfully in the sand without a care in the world. Eventually, we both realised, begrudgingly, that it was time for us to hit the hay but were just waiting for a signal to get up and do it. At that moment, a fierce, blazing meteorite flashed across a huge arc in the sky, leaving an incandescent trail lasting for a good couple of seconds. Having both enjoyed the sight, we realised that this was the sign we'd been waiting for and we reluctantly peeled ourselves off the sand and headed off to our tents.

****

Day Two on Crayfish dawned promisingly, with several patches of blue sky and a good wind flinging the clouds across in a way that suggested we'd soon have the expected wall-to-wall blue skies. I hadn't checked the time but it was early enough for Dave to still be asleep and I took a wander down the beach to sit on the rocks and bask a little in the sporadic patches of sunshine. This little venture didn't last long as I began to be plagued by bitey little buggers - mainly mosquitoes but also something that looked awfully like a midge (the bane of any traveller to Scotland's West Coast). I finally stood up and took a look around me and realised that I was sitting on the very edge of the tropical jungle that obviously covered the rest of the island. The minute I walked a few steps away from the trees, into the slight breeze, the little gits had nowhere to ambush me from and I decided to head back down to the tents and see what time it was. I had a little sit and a read whilst waiting for Dave to roll out of his little tunnel.

Sunrise

Very funny! Where's my breakfast?

Fetching - I pray to God Dave didn't get any of me...I don't think the world is ready for that!

Snorkelling weather, for sure!

Eventually, the light stirred him (and me tripping over the guy rope on the way to answer a call of nature) so we fired up the stove for breakfast: pork sausages (fried these first, then cut them into chunks) mixed with a tin of Heinz Baked Beans (brought to a simmer then left with the lid on while I cooked the) and scrambled eggs, all knocked back with a cup of coffee. 

After this breakfast of champions, we were ready to get in the water, wearing our very attractive stinger suits. These sexy one-piece creations made us both look and feel like Olympic athletes and it was only the awkward nature of wearing fins (flippers) that stopped us from sprinting heroically into the surf. We found that the best way to move was to shuffle backwards and, once we reached the water's edge. we realised that the tide was actually quite a long way out. When we were about 30metres from the beach and about to dive in, I realised that I'd left my glasses on and had to return clumsily to shore to place them on my destroyed chair. Back in the knee-deep water, we flopped onto our bellies and threw ourselves under the surface. The first few moments were pretty disconcerting but our bodies soon warmed up the thin layer of water held in the stinger-suit material and began to get used to the cold. The sun was still shining strongly (although making ever longer forays into the cloud cover that was beginning to swallow up the blue skies) and this was helping us to fight off the chill, although my greater subcutaneous insulation (there is a reason why whales have blubber!) meant that I was better equipped to deal with this than Dave. 

It didn't take us long to reach the coral and it was only then that we could really appreciate just how far out the tide had gone. As we floated on the surface, we were no more than 30 cm's above the hard corals that could be damaged by the slightest touch or graze from our fins. We manoeuvred gingerly between deeper patches and did our best to make sure that we weren't going to cause any harm. One enormous advantage of our proximity to the coral was that we were able to see a huge number of Christmas Tree Worms. Normally, these little fellas are hard to spot - from a distance they look like a colourful spot on the coral, closely resembling a new coral polyp or something else of a slightly less significant nature. When you're diving, you often swim up to take a closer look at suspected worms and, nine times out of ten, you find that they're not what you thought. From our privileged position, we were floating right above hundreds of the little beggars with their beautiful, highly-decorative spiral feeding parts. I grabbed hold of Dave and made him wait over a couple until they emerged fully from their hidey-holes, then waved a hand near them to trigger their defensive response, sucking themselves instantaneously - almost magically - out of sight.

We paddled on, floating closely over the many species of hard and soft coral to be found in the bay. Flashes of sunlight lit the scene up magnificently and we were able to see a scarcely-believable array of colours and shapes - in all my time diving, I doubt that I have ever seen such a variety of corals in such a small area - they really were astounding. In terms of fish, this was a nursery area, sheltered and protected by the natural formations of the bay and corals. Most of the fish were juveniles: small, but still beautifully coloured. There were a few larger parrot fish but nothing to make your eyes pop out…this place was all about the coral.

At this point, the sun decided to make like a Christmas Tree Worm…and completely disappeared. Immediately, we felt the cold as our bodies reminded us that we were in 23C water and that stinger suits are nowhere near as good as wetsuits at keeping you warm. The thing to do would have been to swim vigorously up and down until warm…but this was a problem also, due to the remarkably low tide. I actually began to worry about whether we'd get cut off from the beach by the coral and, talking hurriedly to Dave about it, we quickly decided to cut our losses and head back in to wait for the return of the sun and the tide for our next snorkel.

Jungle Island

Bit bloody cold, mate!

Back on dry land, it was a chilly business peeling off the stinger suits, drying off and getting dressed but we were soon warm again and looking for something to do. We decided to explore the land while the sea wasn't open to us and set off into the bush behind the campsite, in search of something to hold our interest. We picked our way carefully, wary of unpleasant surprises such as snakes and spiders and our caution was soon rewarded when we spotted a large web stretched across an inviting gap in the trees. On closer inspection, we found a very unusual looking little chap sitting in the centre of the web. He was only a centimetre or two wide but he had an ornately-armoured carapace and a zebra-striped underbelly. We didn't have a clue what he was but were both agreed that we wouldn't like to have him crawling around our faces if we'd blundered into his web.
We skirted around our little friend and found a welcoming rock face - not vertical, plenty of handholds and of the nice, rough, grippy variety. We powered up it and in less than 2 minutes reached a rock-shelf, which gave us commanding views of 'our' bay and the rest of 'our' island. Although the sun couldn't be seen, the dark rock beneath us assured us that  it had been around already, radiating warmth at us as we sat and surveyed our territory. The island, with the exception of the beach and a few rocky outcrops, was covered in dense vegetation - thick with creepers, foliage and trees of all shapes and sizes. It is the nature of jungle to compete for every square centimetre of the sun's precious radiance - every gap filled with chlorophyll battery-packs, waiting for their chance to charge up at the right time of day. From the outside, it looked impenetrable but, as we'd just discovered, there were ways to pass through if you took your time. It still had a mysterious air, a hint of danger - perhaps that was just our imaginations running wild: the thought of venomous animals returning to worry our naive, northern-European softness. However, we both agreed we'd have to be pretty desperate to want to walk too far into it.

Interlopers! Man the guns!

Looking out to sea, we were aggravated, incensed even, to sea an uninvited vessel in our territorial waters. A small pleasure-craft had slipped into the bay and had stopped in the deeper water past the reef. We couldn't see what they were doing except for looking over the side and back of the boat but we wondered whether or not to charge, screaming down to the beach and chuck a few indignant rocks at them for daring to disturb our peace. We soon realised that the boat would have no chance of getting over the coral that we had barely floated over previously, so we deemed that they were no longer a threat and relaxed to DefCon 2 (which basically means 'Ignore'). Eventually they went away and we had the place to ourselves again.

We wandered back down to the campsite and ummed and aaahed about what to do. The cloud was showing no signs of dissipating, it was still a bit chilly and we were hungry…so I cooked up a tuna-melt mix (softened, finely-chopped onions, tin of tuna, 200g of finely-diced (we didn't have a grater) cheese and we slapped this between slices of breead (using what was left of the bread by the ruddy crow!). This tasty concoction was both warming and filling and, with full bellies, we then started to pack up our stuff. We were due to be picked up at about 3.30-4pm so we figured we'd getting everything done that needed to be done by when, hopefully, the clouds would have broken and we could enjoy a lovely, warm afternoon snorkel. Dave removed the fly-sheet of his tent and was surprised to find a 5cm ragged hole in the mesh of his inner lining. On inspection, he also found holes in one of his jumpers and the front of his first-aid kit! The only identifiable offenders had to be our little melamine friends from the night before. Little buggers! Whatever food they thought they'd discovered obviously wasn't where they expected it…and in the meantime, they'd knackered three separate items of Dave's kit. We had to laugh though…what else could you do?

I packed everything of mine away apart from my tent - just on the off chance that it started to hammer down and we needed somewhere to shelter. The weather hadn't improved much - if anything, it had turned worse - and I was starting to lose interest in the idea of snorkelling when I knew how much more I could see in a comfortable wetsuit when I went diving the following day. Dave, having travelled up from the wintry conditions of Melbourne, was determined to take the chance to snorkel while he could - the morning session had been his first time snorkelling and he was still getting to grips with techniques like clearing his mask and snorkel and was also keen to get used to just chilling in the water and breathing slowly and regularly…both important skills to prepare for his first ever scuba dive the next day.

Despite the chill he squirmed into his damp, clammy stinger suit, masked up and went in. I promised to bring him a towel and a jumper when he came out. It started to drizzle a bit while he was out so I made myself useful by stacking our things up under a tree, out of the rain. I did ponder the idea of going in the water, thinking that I should be making the most of our island time…but I couldn't quite bring myself to do it. After about 10 minutes, I could see Dave making his way back to shore and assumed that he had just got too cold and decided to give it up. I jogged down to the shore with his hoodie and a towel so he could warm up quick and, as he removed his mask, it really started to throw it down with the rain. However, far from giving up, he was trying to persuade me to join him, explaining that it was warmer in the water than out. After a second's thought, I realised the wisdom of his suggestion and ran off to put his clothes and my own inside the tent before they got too wet. With Dave safely back in the water, I then sprinted bollock-naked across to the washing line and grabbed my stinger suit, which although soggy and cold, soon felt warmer next to my skin than the thrashing rain and the wind. Duly suited up, I grabbed mask, snorkel and fins and rushed down to the shoreline, waddled awkwardly into about 2 feet of water and then realised that I'd left my glasses on…AGAIN! For the second time, I clambered back out, put them on the chair and raced to get back under the water, out of the rain.

Dave and I were soon floating over the reef, a good couple of feet higher than we had been in the morning and we were delighted to find far more variety in the fish life, since they obviously had more room for manoeuvre. The best spot was a 2 foot long box fish, its friendly face and big brown eyes, inquisitively following us as we drifted by. The variety and wonderful colours of the corals was once again very pleasing on the eye and we managed a good half-hour before the cold started to make its presence felt and we had to start thinking about getting ready to be picked up. The conditions were far from ideal - perhaps proper wetsuits would have allowed us to enjoy it more, without the cold - but it was still  a fantastic spot and I couldn't thank Dave enough for persuading me to get back in.

We were soon dried, changed and packed up and we had all our kit piled up ready to load into the boat by 4pm. The weather actually began to improve and we got a few minutes of sunshine and some warmer temperatures, while we sat waiting for our ride. Unfortunately, this proved to be a longer wait than we'd expected. By the time 5pm rolled round, we were starting to plan our survival. We only had a chunk of cheese, milk, tea, coffee and coca-cola plus about 2.5 litres of water. We began to confabulate all kinds of reasons for the no-show: boat crash, car accident, illness, breakdown. We speculated on who else might know we were there…and how many other people might know we were there in case something had happened to the Scamper team. We decided that we'd be better off staying the night, finishing our rations and sleeping in our tents and then either hiking out or at least up to a high point where we could set a signal fire. Just as these conversations were starting to get semi-serious, we heard the roar of the Scamper engines and we knew we'd be sleeping on the mainland that night.

It turned out that the boat had been delayed leaving Shute Harbour - most likely by the family of four who were invading our vacated island. They had every piece of kit imaginable, including kayaks and a full camping set-up from Scamper. It must have taken forever to load it all onto the boat and secure it all so we figured it was probably down to them that we were waiting for so long. We tried to warn them about the critters and the crow but they didn't seem to be particularly interested - like us the previous day, they were just filled with the wonder of having their own desert island to themselves.

Back on Scamper, we found the skipper making running repairs to a broken beam (the weld had sheered under the extreme forces of crashing across the waves) using duct tape. With this reassuring sight to welcome us aboard, Dave and I agreed that we would be sitting on the comfy bench at the back of the boat and letting the other passengers fight the pitch and roll of the seas. It was starting to get dark and our boat didn't seem to be blessed with lots of lights so I was hoping we'd get back sooner rather than later. More importantly, we needed to get back to the travel agent at the backpackers to ensure that our boat-trip (which I hadn't been able to pay for previously, due to the bank card situation) wasn't cancelled, leaving us with nothing to do the following day. We had a few more drop-offs and pick-ups to make but it shouldn't take us more than an hour to get back. All seemed to be going to plan until the skipper suddenly cut power when we were nowhere near any camping beaches. We looked around to see a small boat, stranded on a sandbank with three people waving us down. It turned out that they had broken down and we were the first boat to go past. The age-old laws of the high seas were applicable and our skipper was obliged to help them, even though we were running almost two hours late. He hitched them up with a tow-rope and, at painfully slow speed, towed them round a couple of headlands to a beach where they could camp and wait for a pick-up the following morning. Fortunately, we picked up mobile signal during this relatively calm, quiet part of the journey and we were able to phone the travel agent and give her some card details, thus ensuring that our trip wasn't forgotten about.

We eventually arrived back at Shute Harbour at 6:20pm, dumped everything, apologised for the broken chair (in the circumstances, they were happy to let us off) and sprinted to catch the last bus back to Airlie Beach.

Rescued.

We got ourselves checked in at the campsite again and then had a relatively quiet evening with dinner of barramundi and chips and a couple of schooners of beer. I spent about 45 minutes on the phone to my bank, trying to sort out the PIN number / lack of money issues and eventually bullied them into sending a free Western Union money transfer to me. There were a couple of places I'd be able to pick it up from within the area so I figured I'd do that after all my day trips were sorted out. Until then, I'd be living on the Bank of Dave - not ideal, but it meant we could keep on doing stuff and make the most of our time. Tomorrow we were heading out on the Mantaray to do a spot of diving, snorkelling and to see the incredible Whitehaven Beach.

Rainy Day at Easy Cafe

I awoke to discover, rather annoyingly, that some little critter had discovered my porridge oats overnight and had been helping themselves to them, along with my chicken stock cubes! The ragged hole in the plastic bag housing the oats didn't give too many clues to the culprits, and there were plenty to choose from, including rodents, marsupials and a range of birds including two scrub turkeys who were jousting for territory on my front doorstep. I threw the rest of the oats away, just to be on the safe side and resolved to find something more substantial for breakfast in recompense.

After a hot, powerful shower (= the two most important aspects of any shower experience), I put my electrics in a rucksack, added a raincoat and wandered back down the hill into town. This time I found the town beach and some promising patches of blue sky, although these were mostly being mobbed in an intimidatory manner by sizeable, threatening columns of cumulonimbi. I made a point of hunting down the bus-stop so that I knew where I'd be heading to get to Shute Harbour the following morning. This, however, proved to be harder than first expected, as most of the town's streets were in the process of being dug up for prettification. The main street was partly one-way, partly governed by the Stop-Go lady (what a shite job that must be…especially on a blustery, rainy day such as it was. I eventually found the bus-stop, which was cunningly disguised as a non-bus-stop - i.e. there was not the usual yellow sign to indicate it's purpose. The giveaway was the other sign that said 'No Parking - Bus Stop', which you literally had to be standing in front of to see.

Rain, rain, go away...

Airlie Beach

Having toured all of the little back-alleys and shopping centres, I plumped for the Easy Cafe and Deli to enjoy breakfast - it looked pretty relaxed, had free wi-fi and access to power points to charge batteries and laptops. I ordered a long black and pancakes with crispy bacon and maple syrup before sitting down at the window and watching the heavens open outside. Coffee arrived first and was the best I'd had so far in Australia - rich, smooth and bloody strong. This was the beginning of a beautiful relationship and I continued to be impressed with arrival of my pancakes: fluffy, chewy confections with just the right amount of crisp around the edges, accompanied by a boat of maple syrup, fresh  butter and bacon that was done to perfection - all the fat crisped up nicely but the meat still tender and succulent. I savoured each mouthful (not my usual style, I know!), washed down with delicious coffee and decided to treat myself to lunch in the same establishment.

Outside the wind blew and the rain fell, inside I was entertained with live music and making good use of the internet connection to add photos and stories from Karijini and Litchfield. In reality, I had wanted to travel out to Hook Island and stay there for a night by myself before Dave arrived. But with the shitty weather and lack of available boats, I had been semi-forced into staying on the mainland. Having such a productive day blogging was ample recompense…and the food was about to get even better.

Initially, I'd got all excited about the calamari salad, only to have my hopes dashed by a lack of calamari. Determined to enjoy seafood whilst on the coast, I opted instead for the garlic prawns. At only 15 dollars, I expected a starter-sized portion but was pleasantly surprised to be served up an enormous, mouth-watering bowl. On the side, were four chunky slices of toasted brioche and a smattering of salad. In the centre was a heaped mound of smaller prawns, accompanied by finely chopped shallots, garlic, parsley and a cream and white wine sauce - immense! On the other side of the plate were five gargantuan tiger prawns, cooked to perfection and with shells that came off without the slightest trouble (thus avoiding splashing the laptop screen nicely). I felt that I couldn't have chosen better food if I'd tried, the staff were friendly and helpful without being in any way pushy and, all in all, for a day lashed with wind and rain, I don't feel I could have done any better for myself. I ambled back to the campsite via the supermarket, where I bought ingredients for risotto once again, with a mind for something easy to cook that night and the following day out on the island with Dave. I spent the rest of the afternoon booking travel options and doing research about activities for Dave and I. 

Later that evening, I used the excellent cooking facilities in the kitchen and got chatting to a group of girls while I ate my risotto. There was an English one, a Welsh one and an Irish one…no, this isn't a joke…and we just exchanged the usual traveller info (Where've you been? How long are you here for? What do you do? etc. etc.). They were all lovely but I had common ground with the Irish lass, Sorcha (pronounced 'sir-ka'), who was also a teacher on her summer holidays. They were playing cards and I didn't want to gatecrash so I made my excuses once I'd finished eating and went off to do my washing-up. Some of my fellow backpackers' kitchen hygiene left a lot to be desired and I had to empty out the plughole and rinse the sink before I could do the necessary - but this was a small price to pay for being able to use a sink and not needing to boil up my own washing-up water ;-)

I headed out to the Shed and sat out to one side so that I could use the bench and the wifi, without stopping other people from having fun.

I'd barely started typing when I found that I had company - Sorcha had wandered over with a bottle of beer and asked if I minded me joining her. I was quite keen to get on with my writing but she was both attractive and interesting and I'm not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth…well, not too much anyway. We spent a good hour and more gassing about our travels and, inevitably, ended up doing what all teachers do: talking about our jobs. This was all well and good (if you love what you do, it's never a bind to talk about it) until we started to mentioning kids that we were going to be working with the following academic year…before we knew it, our travelling bubble was in danger of being burst by being forced to remember that we'd soon be heading home.

Judging by the forwardness of her approach, I was guessing that Sorcha might be keen on me - although I really wasn't sure. I didn't want to have a late night before meeting Dave the next day - it had been a long time since we'd been able to catch up properly and we'd no doubt be talking late into the night - so I didn't have the luxury of asking her to come out somewhere else for another drink to test my suspicions. In the end, I made a pretty blunt reference to bed-time and, somewhat deflated, we both went our separate ways. I had managed to glean from her that she'd be back from her Whitsundays boat cruise in a few days and I knew that I'd still be around then, after Dave had returned to Melbourne. I figured we'd have another chance to bump into each other if it was supposed to be so.

Arriving in the Whitsundays & Airlie Beach

Something's not right here!

Hamilton Island Airport from the ferry

Well, from a sunny Brisbane, it was disappointing to see clouds and rainy squalls on my arrival at Hamilton Island airport. The landing was pretty bumpy due to (as I later found out) the necessity of having to catch a braking cable to stop the plane before the end of the short runway. We then had to walk the short distance into the terminal building, getting steadily pissed on by a light, warm rain, which was surprisingly effective at soaking my bags and clothes. My luggage came quickly and, as a result, I was able to catch an earlier ferry than planned for, speeding across slightly bumpy seas for Abel Point Marina just outside the town of Airlie Beach. I took a slightly circuitous and hilly route into town on foot, getting another soaking from the clouds being hurried along briskly by a stiff breeze, and arrived at Nomads Caravan and Camping park, slightly damp, slightly sweaty and slightly tired.

A bright and breezy Ash checked me in and gave me the lowdown on places to eat, drink and shop. At 10 dollars a night, the camping here was by far the cheapest I'd come across in Australia and I was more than happy with a flat pitch with plenty of grass and soft earth for pegging and about 20 metres from the toilet / shower block. I found my bearings by taking a walk down the main strip to find the supermarket and check out the day trip options on offer in the multitude of travel agents and backpacker hostels. Back at Nomads, I had a good chat with Ash and took some brochures for boat trips amongst the islands and out to the Great Barrier Reef. I had a quick phone call with my friend Dave (one of my best friends back home, who had moved out to Australia over 2 years ago to try a new lifestyle and to be with his Melbourne-based girlfriend, Danielle) about which tours and trips he'd like to do and we both felt the excitement of anticipation ahead of our reunion the following day. When I was travelling in Asia back in 2004, Dave had come to join me in Thailand at Christmas time and it was great to be meeting him on my travels again…the circle being completed once more. We agreed to book a boat trip on the 'Mantaray' to do some diving around Hook Island and visit the world-famous Whitehaven Beach.

Admin sorted, I made my way to 'The Shed', which is the open-air bar for the Nomads resort. I sat and used the wifi to do a little blogging and drank a couple of schooners of beer (mostly unappetising pish, I'm sorry to report) and got talking to the English bar-manager, Olly. Olly was well-travelled and interesting to chat to - urbane and entertaining, but also self-effacing and well-informed. For the second time in 24 hours, I felt a rapport with a complete stranger and I decided I'd have to make sure we got more chance to chat over the coming days. He was mostly positive about his many travel experiences and we chatted with enthusiasm about some of the places we'd both been to, including Kathmandu where he had worked for a voluntary organisation, much as I had. He spoke too, with frustration, of his growing ennui with the 'anything goes' backpackers that were beginning to dominate the travelling scene in Australia, desperate to find any way they could to save a few dollars, including swindling, defrauding and even stealing from fellow travellers. He was soon to be returning to Melbourne where he'd been living, en route to Blighty to see family and friends and I could sense that he'd had enough and was ready to move on. He also talked about future travel plans and of the friends (including many close ones) that he had made all over the world. Some people just need to keep moving , not from a lack of commitment or attention span but purely from a desire to soak up new cultures, alternative interpretations of life and to see the world from many perspectives, rather than one. Olly was / is very much a traveller…I still can't make up my mind about myself. I feel the pull of home very strongly sometimes - a need to be with people that I love and who love me…but the thought of not continuing to explore our planet does not sit well with me and I'm going to have to find a way to satisfy both these urges if I'm going to be happy in life. Olly's parting shot was a warning to look after my stuff as a few things had gone walkies over his time there. He had, that very evening, found a t-shirt of his, that had disappeared from the laundry room, in a pile of someone else's clothes! Duly forewarned, I resolved to look after my stuff carefully and was already feeling pleased with myself for padlocking the zips on my tent and carrying my various electronics around with me in a daypack. 

After a long day and little sleep (don't forget the overnight flight), I allowed myself the luxury of another meal out, opting for the cheapness of the 13 dollar meal + pint deal at the neighbouring Down Under bar. The clientele made me feel fairly old, as well as reminding me of Uni days, as there was an Incredible Hulk Party going on for someone's birthday. A couple of dozen lads and lasses in bright green body paint and torn clothing was pretty amusing although I recollect a friend's bath still having green stains from my costume some three years down the road. I wouldn't want to have been cleaning the rooms or the bedsheets of these guys. I headed back to the safety of the Shed, only to be made to feel even older by a 21st Birthday party - this time populated with Smurfs! I decided that I'd cut my losses and headed to bed, cuddled up to my backpacks (yep, no car again so everything was back to being under canvas with me) and oblivious to the nocturnal activities of my mammalian and avian neighbours.

Twin Falls, Curry and Night Flights

Our pre-dawn wake-up call and a rushed breakfast left everyone a little shell-shocked and on the quiet side. Nobody was nearly as subdued as Marten and Amelia though, who had unfortunately slept in and were very near to missing the truck. Debden had promised us the previous evening that he would be quite happy to leave anyone there for a lazy morning round the camp (the truck would be returning the same way en route to Darwin so they could have jumped in then)…but this hadn't been the Swedes' intention - they had genuinely slept in. Without even a breakfast in their bellies, it was going to be a long morning for those two.

The journey to Twin Falls was every bit as 'interesting' as the bumpy ride to Jim Jim the previous day…but this time, we were driving in near darkness and Debden's skills were even more severely tested. Later, once the sun had come up, we even had to ford a river that would, no doubt, contain crocodiles.

Naturally, he was unfazed by this and seemed eager to get to our destination as quickly as possible - as he later let on, it had been over 4 years since he'd had a group that was willing to undertake the hike (most preferring a lie-in and a gentler morning, before boarding the boat that ferries travellers from the croc-prone creek to the safety zone above the first falls). I could see how much this state of affairs pained him so it felt good to allow him to join the fray once again.

Morning sun catching the rocks on the Twin Falls plateau

Looking back across the National Park towards Nourlangie (straight between the two escarpments)

The hike was pretty rough: a lot of unstable boulders and overhanging brush, combined with the steep ascent and the growing heat of the sun to give us all a healthy glow by the time we reached the top. The views down into the gorge were spectacular and there were some picturesque little pools and rock formations up on the plateau, although I didn't feel inclined to take a swim, preferring instead to lean back in a natural rock seat, enjoying the views, the sound of tumbling water and the otherwise peaceful surroundings. When the rest of the gang came back, I got someone to take a photo of me standing on a rock spire that had started to cleave away from the rest of the cliff top. Sometime in the next hundred years, it was clearly going to tumble down into the gorge, to be pounded into tiny pieces and returned to the ocean to form new strata and, eventually, new rocks. As soon as my photo had been snapped, I realised that the little hop onto the spire had now become a slightly more formidable leap back up onto the cliff face. Before I had time to panic about it, I simply threw myself up and forward, deliberately landing on my knee in ungainly fashion, rather than trying to make the hero-leap to land on my feet. One slip on that jump would, at the least, have led to a scary scrabble to drag myself up or, at worst, an unpleasant plunge into the crack between spire and cliff-face, probably ending in my being jammed in the gap or, worse, serious injury. Debden and I exchanged a look that said "Phew!" and he was quick to suggest that nobody else should be trying to get the same photo.

Debden leads the way across the dried-up falls

Imagine the force and volume of water that carves this up...

Beautiful tones and silhouettes

Tom, Nengs, Lieke, Inge and Jasmin peering over the edge of Twin Falls

The rock spire

Foolhardy chap sits on rock spire...

The hike back down was a lot warmer and it was a relief to get into the shady recesses of the gorge, where we boarded the ferry boat for the short trip up the sun-dappled water. Our boat guide pointed out various signs of animal life, including croc- tracks and freshwater turtle signs. He directed our attention to some rather large fish and made a joke that my brother, Don, would have been proud of. He was explaining the habits of the barramundi - a fish that changes sex halfway through its lifecycle and lives in both salt and fresh water. The Aussies have a habit of shortening the names of all people / things and the barramundi is often referred to just as 'barra'. He explained that there are seven varieties of barra: barramundi, barrtuesday, barrawed…. :-D which drew a wry smile and a chuckle from most of us.

Once disembarked from the boat, we trekked through more bouldery scenery and out onto a floating walkway, which only resided in the water during the dry season - being broken into parts and helicoptered out onto the plateau during the rains. The Twin Falls had a little more water flowing than Jim Jim had the previous day and there was the same sandy beach and large swimming hole, although again, I chose to find somewhere peaceful to sit and contemplate the gorgeous honey-toned rock and enjoy the serenity and sense of ancient mystery.

Are we all clear on this?

Inviting but deadly Twin Falls Creek 

Twin Falls

We returned to the truck and crossed back over the river before enjoying our final meal before the marathon journey back to Darwin. We were at our furthest distance from the city, in the very heart of Kakadu N.P. and there were over 100km of unsealed roads and as much again on tarmac to negotiate before getting back in to the city. I had a busy evening ahead of me (laundry, packing, flights) so decided to get a little shut-eye on the way back. We stopped a couple of times for toilet and drink breaks and rocked back up on Mitchell Street just after 6:00pm. 

I spent a couple of useful hours washing clothes and repacking my bags in preparation for my flight to Queensland. A helpful European-sounding chap kindly watched my bag while I went off to get a shower. After freshening up, I went with my bags to the shuttle bus terminal and bumped into my erstwhile friend again there, where I discovered that we were both going to be heading to the airport at the same time at 11:15. There was an easy rapport between us and, on the spur of the moment, we agreed to go for a meal together and have a few drinks. It wasn't like breaking into a group of people drinking at a bar and it allowed for the pleasure of some company whilst eating and drinking - usually preferable to eating alone. I had had a growing curry urge throughout my trip to Kakadu (don't ask me why!) and I enjoyed a delicious Chicken Malabar with garlic naan, at Garam Masala on Mitchell Street. Michael was from Germany and was returning to Australia for some work and travel, having travelled here previously back in 2008. He was going to be based in Melbourne and, after a pleasant couple of hours chewing the fat, we exchanged phone numbers and agreed to catch up on my way through there in a couple of weeks time.

When I arrived at the airport, I found a frighteningly long queue to check in for Jetstar flights. I could see instantly why they'd got a name for themselves as the Ryanair of Australia, cutting corners to save money and provide a true 'no-frills' service. Eventually, after a sphincter-tightening wait, my flight was given priority for check-in and I made it through security just in time for boarding - with the added bonus that my 27kg bag (7kg overweight) was allowed through without charge  - probably because the added time involved in charging me would probably have delayed others checking in and, ultimately, the flight taking off on time.

The 3hr 40min 'hop' to Brisbane passed uneventfully, although the time alone should serve as a reminder of the sheer size of Australia. Flying from London to Istanbul (pretty much the Western to Eastern extremes of the continent of Europe) takes four hours…I was flying across less than half the width of Australia in about the same time! We landed in Brisbane at 5:30am, where I had a 6 hour wait before my flight to Hamilton Island. This, of course, left me plenty of time to catch up on blogging and connecting with the universe via the media of free wifi and Facebook.

Nourlangie and Jim Jim

We rose at 6.30 and the campsite was soon bustling with the sounds of stretchy yawns, the rustling of sleeping bags being stuffed, swags being rolled and general packing away. Debden had the fire going in seconds to heat up water for drinks and washing up. We made quick work of breakfast - cereal, raisin bread and juice for me. Before we knew it, we were loading up the truck to the sound of sizzling embers as Debden doused the coals with the dirty water, ensuring that it wasn't us starting any unplanned fires.

First glimpse of Nourlangie

We hit the road fast and powered onto the unsealed roads as soon as we could, the occasional dust storm from oncoming vehicles neither perturbing, nor slowing Debden in his steadfast desire to get out of the truck and into the open air. Traffic was fairly frequent as we were still driving through the more popular parts of Kakadu N.P. and we arrived at Nourlangie Rock to find a fair few cars and trucks parked up. However, as it is an open site, we were able to pick our own route around the place, which allowed Debden to skilfully avoid the crowds of tourists. I noticed though that quite a number of independent travellers latched on to our group as we went around, obviously impressed by Debden's knowledge and realising, as we already had, that he was both well-informed about and invested in the culture of the Aboriginal people.

Ancient teachings

The first thing that I learnt is that the Aboriginals refer to themselves simply as 'the people'. I guess 30,000 plus years of isolation does give you the impression that you are the only people around - living on a massive island surrounded by oceans will do that to people. The People were a nomadic culture, roaming vast tracts of land in order to hunt and gather available food depending on the seasons and the weather. Nourlangie, with its rock shelters and height above the surrounding forests, would be a place that was used during the rainy season. We learnt that the People had six different seasons, compared to our four - attaching significance to the subtle differences in conditions that allowed for different food sources to dominate. 

Namarrgon

The signal for them to move to Nourlangie would be the appearance of lightning bugs (actually a species of grasshopper) - the children of Namarrgon the Lightening God - which would always herald the arrival of the dry thunderstorms that preceded the beginning of the rains. Nourlangie became a favoured place, primarily due to the abundance and reliability of food. The shelter provided by the huge rocky overhangs and the ready supply of water tumbling from the rock face meant that they had everything they needed. No more, no less. Just water, food and shelter. This was a people living in harmony with the land, caring for it in a way that a green-fingered gardener may understand in our cultures today…but with encyclopaedic knowledge of, not only the flora and fauna, but also the terrain and its significant locations. Harvesting what was required, taking no more than could be used and always leaving enough for the crop to recover and supply their needs at the next visit. This idea of maintaining a balance is central to Aboriginal culture and something sadly lacking in our 'modern' society. One of the key reasons behind the devastating bush fires that periodically sweep parts of Australia is that the indigenous people have been encouraged (some say 'seduced', others 'forced') to adopt our ways of living - fixed homes, sedentary lifestyles, welfare state, shopping for food etc.. - meaning that these caretakers are no longer there to manage the natural dangers and prevent these conflagrations from getting started.

Mysterious messages, repainted over time...

Of course, one of the main reasons that thousands of visitors come to Nourlangie is to view the rock art - some estimated at 20,000 years old. Debden explained that the rock art was never intended for decoration or as a simple product of culture or creative expression. The pictures had a very specific purpose and could only be drawn by a few privileged elders in each aboriginal society. You must understand that our term 'aboriginal' is a catch-all phrase for many different, separate but connected groups, each having their own territories and ranges. While they share common features and, of course, ancestry, each group would respect the boundaries of their neighbours and permission would need to be sought for access to another group's territories, except during the occasional gatherings where local groups would come together to trade valuable commodities such as the ochre pigments used for painting. The elders from each group would use the paintings to teach the young men of the tribe important life skills and history. A painting would not be completed and then discussed - rather, it would be drawn in stages with vital knowledge passed on through traditional stories, expressing the essence and spirit of the skill being taught. Much as we teach practical skills in schools these days, after the imparting of the theoretical knowledge, the students and teacher would then go off and turn this knowledge into practical application, sometimes disappearing into the bush for days on end, while the requisite skills were honed. Then returning for the next stage and the next layer of the painting. I was intrigued to learn that the same painting would be re-used, time and time again, with the images traced over the top of the originals as succeeding generations of young men were schooled in the traditions of their group. The paintings are the only visible record of what is, essentially, a narrative culture. The use of myths and legends to retain and pass on cultural information is a common thread throughout the history of the world…but this ancient custom still survives today in the indigenous peoples of Australia and the desire to preserve and celebrate these customs is as strong now as at any time since the 'balanda' arrived and began helping themselves to aboriginal lands. As with so many of the corners of the world 'discovered' by our forebears, we have inflicted an horrific level of physical, cultural and moral violence upon a culture that, naively, expected us to share its civilised and egalitarian attitude to life. In many respects, one could say that the damage is irreversible and that the nomadic, custodian existence has been forever squashed by the endless march of consumerism and individualism. Aboriginal lands that have been 'returned' to the People or are co-managed as National Parks are mostly in the harsher, less-productive inland environments where they were forced to take refuge from invading settlers. The more fertile, coastal lands are conveniently forgotten about….but any move that helps to preserve the history and traditions of this, most-ancient of living cultures has got to be a step in the right direction. Talking to Australians, one can discern an undercurrent of guilt and responsibility…but still, there is no doubting that Aboriginals feel like outsiders in their own country and there is a long way to go before this feeling will be reversed.

The rock-art images were arresting and visually striking but I did feel un-enlightened by just seeing them. I felt a strong desire to immerse myself in Aboriginal culture and to have just one of these paintings explained, or to be taught the traditions associated with them by an old fella who had the authority to do so. The aboriginals are happy to re-produce these images on canvas for tourists to take away with them because that is all they are: images. The essential knowledge, the secrets of their culture and their successful relationship with then land, can only be divulged through the narrative tradition that goes with the paintings…and these are the preserve only of the People.

Forest...plus bushfire smoke...

St Andrew's spider - eight legs arranged into 4 pairs to
sit astride his cunningly designed web.

We continued on around and up the escarpment to a view point, looking over vast tracts, endless acres of dry forest - treetops spreading like an endless ocean towards the horizons, interrupted only by the craggy outcrops of rock that have their own spiritual and historical significance to the peoples that have used these lands for twenty centuries and more. On our way back down, Debden kept up a constant commentary on the local flora and fauna, introducing us to the 'Walking Tree', pointing out the few bright splashes of colour in the muted greens and browns of the bush and the striking pose and incredibly-engineered constructions of the St. Andrew's spider - so-called for it's Saltire-resembling pose with a central design that contains elastic properties (produced by thick, fuzzy coils, tensioned by the spider's legs), thus allowing it to catch and contain far-larger prey until the owner has a chance to inject his anaesthetising venom.

Billabong - sans croc

Back onboard, we took a short trip down to a local billabong for a spot of lunch. According to Debden, he'd seen crocs here only the previous week and there was a ripple of excitement through the group, as we considered the necessity for caution whilst wandering the long-grassed margins of the water. John was the only person to spot a croc, basking at the water's edge and even had a photo to prove it….but by the time we all arrived, the crafty old fella was long gone - most likely watching us from under a lily pad, biding his time for one of us to get stupid!

It was time to buckle up and move on to our next destination: Jim Jim falls. Unjim is the Aboriginal name for the pandana palm and doubling-up of any word simply means that there are many of them. Therefore Jim Jim Falls take their name from the preponderance of these palms. On our way, Debden explained the significance of the South Alligator River system, into which the Jim Jim Creek flowed, as the only complete river system to be protected throughout the whole of Australia. This meaning that there was no agriculture or development in the catchment area, nor along the whole length of the actual river, nor in the tidal estuary, nor the coastal area into which it emptied. This high level of protection had ensured the thriving of indigenous species and promoted a vast bio-diversity, not to be found in any other part of Australia - and it also meant the possibility of crocs (both salties and freshies) all the way up to the base of the first cascades. There were very strict guidelines about where we were allowed to walk and swim and we needed to remain vigilant at all times.

The road into the Falls was by far the roughest we had seen yet and included the fording of a river that, in the wet season, would have completely submerged our truck with a few metres to spare. The road and this whole area are only open for a few months each year and even then, you need to have some serious wheels and a lot of cojones to use them. Debden guided us through the narrow track with well-practised ease, gliding past the enclosing trees and branches nonchalantly, even though they were, at times, only inches from the windows. Great ruts, pot holes, dry river-beds and sudden crests and drops were negotiated at a pretty relentless pace and, although it was far from comfortable, we all wedged ourselves in and enjoyed the ride. We tumbled out of the truck at the parking area, nursing a few banged elbows and heads and stretching out the stiffness of holding oneself in a seat more akin to a bucking bronco than place of repose.

JimJim Creek 

Water-smoothed rocks and pandana palms (Jim Jim in the local aboriginal dialect)

Honey-coloured rocks reflected

We then took a precarious hike across the huge, unstable boulders and vicious, hungry crevices of a dry river bed that would be full of churning, frothing water for several months of the year. Eventually we came upon the shallow waters of the remaining river and soon our river bed began to form the base of a deep, vertically-sided canyon, carved from the same ancient red rock that had dominated my Australian experiences to date. The still waters provided a perfect reflection of the walls above and the warming effects of the late-afternoon sun made this sheltered spot a very pleasant place to be. Approaching the plunge pools of the the fall, great white sandy beaches had formed - the pounded remnants of once enormous rocks and boulders that had tumbled long ago into the racing waters, to be ground back into the dust from which they had been originally formed. The falls themselves were a very unprepossessing trickle - barely a mist in places - dwarfed by the massive scale of the landscape they had created. I found a pleasant little spot for a swim, although the water was pretty chilly and I was soon sat on the beach, with my shirt drying on a tree, while I soaked up the warmth of the sun on my pasty chest. I was surprised to see just how brown my legs had become in the 10 days that I had been in Oz and had to double-check that it wasn't just engrained dirt from my time in Karijini. After an hour or two enjoying the nothing but the sound of the falls and the local birdlife, it was time to rejoin the group and head back up the track to the night's campground.

The view from 'my' beach

What's left of the falls in the Dry - not much to see!

Rather large rocks

Stratification 

Evening approaching

Once again we were in swags and I made sure to place mine well away from the rest to ensure the continued good-will of my fellow travellers. I then made an impulse decision to have a shower and shave before dinner, forgetting how quickly the light faded - and how utterly pitch black nightfall is in this isolated place. Entering the shower block in semi-dusk, I emerged into inky blackness and realised that, unlike the previous night, I hadn't marked the specific location of my swag amongst the scrubby bush beyond the camping area. I spent several minutes wandering around in dark, searching for my bed, looking to my compadres like a lost gloworm. Eventually, however, I found it and made sure I knew exactly where it was to return to when the time came.

Dinner was a little more subdued this evening - there were a few tired punters and we were all fascinated with the stars, which had yet to be spoilt by the rising moon. Debden did the hard-sell on an early start the following morning, suggesting that we undertake the hike to the top of Twin Falls, best accomplished in the early morning, before the sun got too high in the sky. He needn't have tried so hard though, as everybody readily agreed to a 6:15 departure, necessitating a half-five reveilles. John, I think, was a little concerned about the gradient on the climb but was more than happy to join us to the base and then see how he went on. With the prospect of this early start, everyone was more than ready to turn in before 9pm. I read for a while by torchlight and then rolled over to stare at the skies until I nodded off, soundly in slumberland until my alarm brought me round.