Townsville, Rugby and a Rufous Bettong

With the beer in the broken down fridge rapidly warming up and the veggies going off we made for Townsville a day early to find an auto electrician. Checking in to the Black River Stadium campsite just outside town we hit it lucky when, upon asking for a place to go for the electrics, Col the camp manager said “No problem, you get the parts and I'll do it for you.” A quick trip to SupaCheap and a good bottle of Merlot for Col and we were back in business again better than ever.

Apart from the fridge we were in Townsville to visit Kevin and Helen McCarthy who we met on our 2010 trip; to hopefully see nephew Calum playing a game of rugby; and because it is a really nice place where somehow the weather is always beautiful when we are in town.

The first two days were a rugby fest with five games of rugby to watch - somehow I suspected Sandra was going to have a hard time! Arriving at Kevin and Helen's house on Saturday afternoon, first up was the Australia / New Zealand test match on TV (the Kiwis wiped the floor with the Wallabies) followed by the Big Game – the North Queensland Cowboys vs the Rabbitos. This is Rugby League country and the Cowboys are the local Townsville team so everyone was delighted when they won. The main event though was on Sunday.

Sandra's nephew Calum from Darwin is a good rugby player and has been signed by the Cowboys. Just 17 he is continuing his education in Townsville and combining this with preparation for what will hopefully be a career in rugby league. He is still too young to play for the Cowboys and is getting experience playing for one of the local clubs – The Centrals. On Sunday the Centrals were playing three games – all against a club called The Brothers. The first game was at Under 18 level, followed by the Reserve Grade game (basically the Seconds) and finally the A Grade (the Firsts) The bad news, certainly for Sandra, was that Calum was playing in two games – the first and the last, so we would have to sit through all three games to see Calum playing – and we did.

Sandra's nephew Calum

Sandra did very well despite letting out small shrieks when bodies came violently together i.e. every few seconds and she was under strict instructions not to embarrass me, not to mention Calum, by bringing out her knitting. Calum's team won the Under 18 game but were well beaten in the A Grade game which was not surprising as they were semi-professionals.

Calum in Action

After the rugby there was no rest for the wicked as I searched through my by now pretty revolting and well travelled clothes for something approaching smart casual for a night out at the Townsville Jazz Club. With my off white trousers, a pink polo shirt, a reasonably clean pair of trainers and very subdued lighting I think I managed to pull it off. However I think Sandra must have a hidden wardrobe somewhere in our camping equipment as she managed a degree of sophistication that made me look even more tawdry than usual.

On Monday the car was in for a service so we were given a chauffeured tour of Townsville by Kevin before going out to Cactus Jack's Mexican restaurant for an early evening meal with Calum.

Townsville from Castle Hill - Magnetic Island on the horizon

Kevin and Helen are an amazing couple – now well into their 70's they have a tremendous knowledge and enthusiasm for sport, and not just as spectators. Their house in Townsville boasts not only a swimming pool but a full sized, flood lit tennis court which is not just for show but hosts weekly matches played, to my eyes at least, to a pretty good standard.

Our hosts Helen and Kevin

As well as playing a mean set of tennis Helen is still playing competitive squash. On the night Sandra and I were stuffing ourselves in Cactus Jacks she, in her mid-seventies, was off playing a squash match where her opponent for the night was a young man in his twenties. She beat him in 5 sets saying that young men tend to run about the court too much and try to thrash the ball too hard. And they are excellent hosts and we hope that one day they will make the trip to Scotland in order that we can repay their hospitality.

What do you mean it was out?

Of course it was out!

 

There was good news on the car front when I got it back from the service. Regular readers will know that we have had a number of problems with the Honda during our trip, the latest being that for the last few months there has been a judder usually at around 80 km/hour. Several trips to the Honda dealer in Darwin resulted in new rear shock absorbers being fitted, followed by new bushes (whatever they are) and a new differential vibration damper (again, whatever that is) When this didn't work Honda referred me to their wheel and tyre place where all four wheels were balanced, the front wheels re-aligned and several kilos of dried mud removed from one of the wheels. We were assured that this would b the problem cured – it wasn't, and it had cost us many hundreds of dollars and it has been getting worse.
 

I mentioned all this to the garage in Townsville and the problem now seems to be cured. It would appear that the transmission oil has never been changed. The oil, which should be a clear red colour, was a murky black gunge full of contaminants and it was this that caused the juddering. A 138 dollars worth of new oil and the car is now going pretty smoothly, although a further oil change to ensure the transmission has been fully flushed may be required.

We did consider staying on in the Townsville area and were keen on a trip to Magnetic Island 8 kilometres off shore. However, discovering it was Magnetic Island yacht race week we decided to give it a miss and instead headed west, planning eventually to get to Longreach in Outback Queensland.

Our first stop was for a couple of days at Porcupine Gorge about 60k north of Hughenden. The gorge itself was very attractive but required a steep rocky descent of over a kilometre. That in itself wasn't a major problem other than that it required an Ascent of the same distance!



Sandra in Porcupine Gorge

The structure behind is known as The Pyramid

On our second day there, as dusk was falling, we were having a few beers with some fellow campers when I noticed something hopping by our tent. Thinking nothing of it I later went to the tent only to find we had been invaded yet again – this time by a curious creature with an even more curious name – a Rufous Bettong. Looking like a cross between a kangaroo and a giant, long-tailed rat, the Bettong had not only rifled through some of our bags, but was still doing so as I went into the tent and was determined to keep on rifling whether I was there or not! As I tried to chase it away it ran further into the tent and refused to leave, eventually doing so under protest.

Our Rufous Bettong with very long tail

And then there were two

 

That however was not the last of our Bettong problems. Having prepared a chicken and pumpkin curry with brown rice for dinner we put the dirty pots on the floor whilst we ate and suddenly found that we had not one but two Bettongs for company. Once again they proved that, when food was at stake, they were not easily persuaded to move. Although we do not usually feed the wildlife, in this case let them lick the pots as it saved us doing the washing up!

Efficient little dishwashers - saves water too!

 

After a couple of pleasant nights at Porcupine Gorge we sallied forth once again going through Hughenden then on a mere 213k to Winton the next town of any consequence in the area – although the inhabitants of Corfield (population 3) might dispute this. Winton is known as “The Dinosaur Capital of Australia” and is reputedly the first place to hear the familiar strain of that well known Australian song “Waltzing Matilda”. We intend staying a couple of days before heading to Longreach.

Giant windmill in Hughenden

 

We are camped by a rather muddy looking waterhole in the Bladensburg National Park about 20k south of Winton. Unlike our trip through “The Wet Tropics” which certainly lived up to their name (despite it being the “dry” season) this area of Queensland is still suffering from drought. The land is parched and dry with what looks like pretty slim pickings for the livestock. Being a National Park we had to pay up front for the right to camp and are continually amused at the people who roll up as darkness falls, stay the night, then pack up shortly after dawn in an attempt to avoid the Ranger and paying the $5 a night camping fee.

Anyway – we are now off on the Dinosaur Trail to the tune of Waltzing Matilda.

From Fishery Falls to Wallaman Falls via the Banana Races at Innisfail

After a wet, sleepless night at Goldsborough Valley we had an early morning call from the friendly Park Ranger to tell us that it had been raining heavily overnight (as if we needed to be told!) and he advised us to have made the two rivers crossings and be out of the park by midday. We didn't need a second telling, particularly when he told us that he himself was already packed ready for a quick exit. Taking advantage of a lull in the rain we loaded everything into the car and left – even though we had already paid for another night we decided that the principle wasn't worth fighting for.

Thinking that we might dodge further rain if we headed inland we made the tortuous, hairpin bended ascent up to the Atherton Tablelands stopping for brunch in the neat little town of Yungaburra then heading on to Atherton itself. On the way we stopped at two of the areas “must see” tourist sites – the Cathedral Fig and the Curtain Fig.

The Cathedral Fig

Sandra inside the Cathedral Fig

We had visited the former about 15 years ago and it hadn't changed much although, as it is about 500 years old, that perhaps wasn't too surprising. Both are “stranglers” which latch on to a host tree gradually strangling it until it dies, by which time the fig is self supporting.

The Curtain Fig

A quick look at the weather forecast and we realised that we were unlikely to outrun the rain by going further west so it was back down the hairpins to the coast again to look for a berth for the night – and thus we ended up at Fishery Falls. This was a very neat, clean, well set out campsite which just happened to be at the back of the Fishery Falls pub. Arriving late on the Friday afternoon we were told by the camp hosts that Happy Hour was at five o'clock and we were invited to have a drink and nibbles with fellow campers. This sort of campsite, or to be exact caravan park, was not the type of place we would normally gravitate towards. Happy Hour was held in the camp kitchen and our attendance must have taken the average age down by quite a bit – and we're no spring chickens. The average age of our companions was probably between 70 and 80 - Sandra said it reminded her of the meetings she used to have with tenants in the sheltered housing and care homes she managed back in Scotland. Still it was quite a good base from which to explore the area for a few days and, low and behold, the sun came out.

First up was a trip to the races at Innisfail for which we were given free tickets by Di, our campsite hostess. The tickets were dated 2013 but they seemed to pass muster at the gate and we got in – saving ourselves $30.

The Banana Race Meeting at Innisfail

This is banana growing country and these were the Banana Races sponsored by the local banana industry. After studying form for the “Lamanna Group Benchmark Handicap”, Sandra selected Dazzle On but was too late to get a bet on – and it romped home. The next race was the “JE Tipper, Costa Bananas, Orora Fibre Packaging Handicap” and Sandra, feeling she was on a roll, fancied Skitter and managed to get a bet on – it came home 2^nd. Unfortunately she had backed it to win – and that was our last bet.

Sandra's nag coming second

I am not really one for the horses and am not a gambler but, as I heard Sandra telling someone later, I was more interested in the other “fillies” that were on the course. The was a $3000 prize for the best dressed woman and, as it was a hot day, some of the outfits were …. well enough of that!


We did a range of local local trips including the famous Babinda Boulders (no I hadn't heard of them either) Josephine Falls and Bramston Beach.

Sandra at Babinda Boulders

The beautiful Josephine Falls

On the Saturday night I entered the pub just as the Australia / New Zealand Rugby Union test was kicking off in a very wet Sydney and I sat drinking VB with the locals – all two of them. We had booked in to the campsite for one day and stayed for four – Sandra is getting a bit fed up of travelling and wants to have longer stops between putting up the tent and taking it down again.

Bramston Beach

A last lazy day camping at Fishery Falls

We are heading to Townsville where we plan to see old friends Kevin and Helen and hopefully take in a game of rugby watching nephew Calum (Gill's younger son) playing We travelled south through Tully (allegedly the wettest town in Australia) then Cardwell and Ingham on our way to Girringun National Park as we decided to give the national parks another go – we needed a change of environment after four days in an old folks home! Arriving at the campsite as the sun was setting we managed to get the tent up as darkness fell and then noticed a number of dark shapes scurrying around and breathed a sigh of relief to discover they were only harmless brush turkeys. Our encounter with the rat was still fresh in our minds – and then a dark, four-legged animal made its way towards us. We immediately thought “Rat” - but it was far too large and not in the least bit timid as it made directly for the door of the tent – a Bandicoot! Zipping up before it could get in and find the food we chased it away – but I didn't think we'd seen the last of him. We hadn't – during the second night he gnawed through a fresh plastic container of orange juice we had left under the awning of the tent and we lost the lot.

One of our neighbours at Wallaman Falls

Wallaman Falls, where we are camping, is quite genuinely famous – the falls are the longest, single drop falls in Australia and are mightily impressive. The total height of the falls is, in old money as it sounds even more impressive, over 1100 feet (338m) - the Stoney Creek cascades initially over 200 feet, then, in the single longest drop in the country, plunges a further 900 feet. As I said – impressive.

Wallaman Falls - 1100 ft from top to bottom - Impressive

Tomorrow we leave with a mission – the plug for the fridge has broken - this is disastrous. No cold beer! ... not to mention problems with inconsequentials such as meat and veggies.

The Reef, the Rain and the Rat

Well last night was not one of the best of the trip so far – in fact it was probably up there as one of the worst. I'm a tad hazy about the sequence of events - what came first the flood or the rat – on thinking back it was probably the rat …. but I'm getting ahead of myself.

On the day of our trip to the Outer Reef there was a most welcome change in the weather – the rain stopped and the sun at last decided to put in an appearance. Our trip down the escarpment from Julatten to Port Douglas was uneventful although with some fabulous views across the rainforest to the sea with Snapper Island, just off shore from our last campsite at Cape Kimberley, on the near horizon. We were to be travelling with a company called Wavelength who specialise in small group snorkelling tours to the reef. Unlike some of the bigger companies which could accommodate from 90 to perhaps a couple of hundred passengers, Wavelength had a maximum of 30 passengers ably looked after by Jon (who drove the boat) Eric (who led a snorkelling group and did lunch) and finally a young, slim, attractive, marine biologist from California called Taylor (who led the other snorkelling group, gave expert talks on fish and coral and looked very good in a snug fitting wetsuit – much to the disgust of every other female aboard!)

On the way to the Outer Reef

One aspect of the weather not to put in a big improvement was the wind. Although not quite as blowy as a few days earlier the sea was still choppy particularly in the open channels between reefs. Disdainfully turning down the offer of sea-sickness tablets and a handful of sick-bags we climbed up to sit with the driver for the 90 minute trip to the reef. Brought up on trips across The Minch from Ullapool to Stornoway – now that could be really wild - Sandra claims not to suffer from sea-sickness. I suspected a number of our grey faced co-passengers regreted not having been brought up off the west coast of Scotland. And then it was into our gear.

I went too

We had taken our own snorkels, masks and fins from Scotland – and had given them an outing in Bali – so we knew that they would fit us perfectly. However the same could not be said for the wet-suits provided by Wavelength and it took us several changes of suit before we could find ones we could just about squeeze into. Finally, looking like a group of over-weight seals, all 28 of us plunged into the waves.

Wet-suited and ready to Snorkell

In all we went to three sites. The first was a bit challenging with a choppy sea and strong current making it a bit uncomfortable, the second was better and the best was saved until last. Our final plunge was at a site totally protected by the reef, in fact with a very low tide a vast expanse of reef was exposed resulting in absolutely no wave movement and very little current with which to contend. Whilst the coral and marine life were good, the outer reef was different from our previous snorkelling trips and, to be honest, we both agreed later that we have probably been spoilt with some of our other  experiences particularly in the Maldives.

Very low tide on the Outer Reef. Good snorkelling conditions

Wavelength were excellent with good, helpful and informative staff who provided us with a more than adequate morning snack, a very good buffet lunch with fruit, biscuits and cheese in the afternoon. No wonder we looked like over-weight seals!

The trip back to Port Douglas was wet. Electing to sit on top again the wind and waves were exhilarating – although I did hear a number of other adjectives bandied around by some of our queasy, grey-faced companions. Back on shore we had an early dinner at a wharfside restaurant – prawns, calamari and french fries – then back to camp, where we had booked in for another night. However, as we had been advised that very heavy rain was due in the next few days, we decided to move on.

Bird watching - our last day at Kingfisher Park

After a final day birdwatching (Sandra) and reading (me) we packed up and headed south back to Cairns, where we took in a print-making exhibition, then further south to Gordonvale to look for somewhere to stay for a few days. Despite problems with the on-line advance booking system, we decided to give the National Parks another go and Sandra spotted a likely place at Goldsborough Valley in the Wooroonooran National Park. Not wanting to risk another “pig in a poke” we drove into the park, found the site OK, drove back to Gordonvale to get a phone connection, made a telephone booking, then back to set up camp – what a carry on and waste of fuel. The pain in the butt booking system does have one big advantage, it is such a hassle that people can't be bothered and consequently the parks don't seem to be well used and we were the only visitors. We booked in for three days and paid up front.

Sandra on beach on the way south to Cairns

The first night was uneventful and the following day we did a walk up through the rainforest to the bottom of Kearneys Falls, a small but spectacular waterfall which tumbled several hundred feet down from the Atherton Tableland. Later that day we had a visit from the Park Ranger who advised us that, with rain expected, the two river crossings on the way to our campsite were likely to become impassable and we should be prepared for a quick exit. Which brings me to where I started – the Rain and the Rat.

James at Kearneys Falls

As is our wont when camping we retired early at about 7.30pm – me on my campbed and Sandra on the floor – she knows her place. By this time the rain had started – and it was heavy. About an hour later we were woken by a screeching sound from the door of the tent – Sandra, experienced bird watcher that she is – assured me that it was a bird, and we went back to sleep despite the sound of rain battering against the roof. Shortly I heard the noise again and shone my torch towards the tent door. There, half way up the insect netting door, was a rat. Assuming it was trying to get in out of the rain I went to chase it away – only to find it wasn't trying to get in, it was in already and seemed intent on staying in.

Brandishing my head torch, I opened the door and tried to chase it out only to have it disappear further into the tent. A quick search found it under my bed near Sandra's head and, when it made a move towards the door, I assumed it had made a bid for freedom so I zipped the door behind it. It was then that Sandra (who hadn't actually seen the rat) announced “James, my bed's wet” - I didn't think the rat had been all that frightening! Then I saw what she meant, parts of the tent floor were awash with water and her bedding was a wee bit damp.

Waterfall by campsite - before the rain started

Thinking quickly I decided to get a spare tarp from the car to put on the floor to prevent, or at least limit, further water ingress. Stepping outside wearing only my head torch I realised exactly what the problem was as my bare feet sunk into several inches of mud and water. Water was pouring off the mountain above the campsite and making its way to the Mulgrave River just a few yards beyond our tent. Deciding to not to abandon camp in the wet and dark we prepared to tough it out. Putting the tarp down on the floor swimming with water and stripping off her wet bedclothes, Sandra and to a lesser extent I, settled down for a dampish night. It was then that Roland the Rat put in his next appearance – and this time Sandra did see him.

Unwilling to even try to get back to sleep with a rat on the loose with us in the tent, she leapt onto my bed (which was at least out of the water) and directed operations. Ordering me to move each of the bags from the floor, check for rat, then put the rat-less bag on the bed with her, I gradually reduced the number of potential hiding places. In the process finding much evidence od rat-like activity – partially eaten banana, nibbled bread and plenty of rat pee and droppings. Finally there was only one bag left sitting in a puddle by the door and there was the Rat – defiant to the end. Making sure the door was open and holding a torch in each hand I moved him towards the door – then, with a bit of a sprint, he was gone – back into the bloody tent.

Not wanting to give Roland the satisfaction of getting more food, I put all the rat infested bread etc into a plastic bag and threw it outside, shut the door, piled all our bags onto the table to get them off the wet floor and we settled down to make the best of what remained of the night. I like to think that the laughter I heard from Sandra was amusement – we will always remember that night – but I thought I may have caught a slight hint of hysteria, although assures me that it was the former.

Early next morning i.e. a few hours later, the Ranger re-appeared and strongly advised us to get out as soon as possible - the rivers were flooding - we left ASAP even though we had paid already for another night. I wonder if they do refunds?

We never saw the rat again but the food I threw out was attacked and a hole was gnawed in the side of the tent

A dream then reality plus bird watchers in Julatten

The Great Barrier Reef …. calm warm seas, clear as crystal competing with the cloudless sky for that perfect shade of tropical blue. Nearby the dazzling white beach of a desert island paradise with palm trees waving in the gentle breeze. Under the water a kaleidoscope of colour from a hundred different corals ... and the fish providing an amazing display - looking for all the world like a splintering rainbow … and …

...and then I woke up to hear the rain still beating down on the tent as we shelter for yet another day from what is constantly being described as “unseasonal” weather - the “Douglas Phenomenon” has struck once again. Of course we should have known – this is where the Rainforest meets the Reef, and the clue is in the name RAINforest!

Where the Rainforest meets the Reef and meets the Douglases

Port Douglas sheltering from the weather - probably not the best
snorkelling conditions!

We have somehow ended up at a bird watchers retreat at Julatten in the mountains above Port Douglas. Elderly bird watchers armed with binoculars, and cameras with lenses the length of bazookas, stalk the forests looking for the native birdlife. Setting off at the crack of dawn to scale mountain tracks looking for that “elusive” bird they return several hours later - soaking wet, birdless and covered in leeches, but not disheartened – they'd try again tomorrow. Sandra is slowly but surely being drawn into their circle and is thinking of taking a dawn tour herself – I somehow doubt it, she hasn't seen 6am for a long time!

I took a drive down to Port Douglas to suss out the weather at sea level for tomorrow's trip and was initially heartened to find the temperature 6C degrees warmer and with less rain. This enheartened feeling was firmly put into perspective when I arrived on the wharf to find tomorrow's forecast chalked up on the board “ROUGH”

I'll let you know how things work out – I'm now off to look out my snorkel and Quells.

Rants and Feral Pigs on the way to Port Douglas

As previously noted, trying to camp in Queensland National Parks is a pain in the backside as all camping has to be pre-booked. This can be done on-line, by phone or by using one of the touch screen terminals handily placed several hundred kilometres apart. Some of our problems (and the problems of many unhappy fellow travellers) were : limited internet access, the system is incompatible with i-Pads, we couldn't get phone reception to phone a booking and the touch screen terminals were not functioning. Stopping at the Ranger Station in Coen I had a bit of a rant at the Ranger (I suspect I was not the first – it was like water off a duck's back) however as is her wont, Sandra was a lot more conciliatory, not to mention productive, as she borrowed the Ranger's land-line phone to make a phone booking.

The other problem of course was that you had no idea exactly where the campsites were located, how long it would take to get there, whether the road was going to be accessible for your vehicle – and of course you had to pay up front before even seeing the place. You were in fact buying a Pig in a Poke – and that is exactly, in a very literal sense, what we did.

Leaving Musgrave Roadhouse we headed south for Lakefield National Park and were some way down the track before we realised that we should have been heading east – the sign posting in this part of the world is not always the best. A quick U-turn, back up the track and we were good again – or at least we were going in the right direction.

We decided to take things easy and to explore some of the many campsites scattered throughout the park. (Warning - another rant coming up!) First stop was at Annie River and one of the first things to strike us was the disregard many campers in Australia have for the environment – if toilets are not provided they crap anywhere and leave toilet paper scattered all over the place. Each campsite we visited was the same and the idea of either digging a hole and burying ones waste or even bagging it and taking it away doesn't seem to have sunk in. It was pretty disgusting and I know we are not the only ones to have been offended by the practice.

Some of the campsites were up pretty rough roads and those with deep wheel ruts required a much higher clearance than that provided by the Honda. On several occasions we had to turn around before we lost our exhaust. We were worried in case the track into Six Mile Waterhole, our chosen camp for the night, proved to be difficult and decided to get there early in case we had to find an alternative. With only room for a single camping party and us being the only people booked in, if things went wrong we knew help was unlikely to arrive perhaps for several days. The road turned out not to be too bad and the deep rut problem was solved by my driving with one wheel on the raised bit in the centre of the track and the other on the verge – a combination of accurate steering and good luck got us through.

View from our campsite at Six Mile Waterhole

Six Mile Waterhole turned out to be a beautiful lagoon surrounded by trees and with abundant birdlife and actually turned out to have two camping areas. Choosing the one with the least amount of toilet paper lying around we set up camp and spent a very pleasant afternoon communing with nature - whilst taking care not to sit too near to the water's edge in case nature decided to commune with us! Despite all the warnings there didn't appear to be much evidence of crocodiles. However, as dusk started to fall, we became aware of movement around the edge of the waterhole as a number of dark shapes emerged accompanied by splashing noises and grunting. Wild pigs - and lots of them.

Our camp at Six Mile Waterhole

We counted nineteen of the large, black shapes rootling about in the mud at the edge of the waterhole. I was encouraged by this and suggested to Sandra that, with such easy pickings about, there probably weren't any crocodiles in the lagoon for us to worry about. Not one to have her fears placated that easily she countered with that she had read that feral pigs are more dangerous than crocs – and then retreated into the tent with a glass of wine. Ironically we ate pork sausages for dinner as we watched the feral pigs getting ever nearer until they were very, very close.
 

Our companions at Six Mile Waterhole

After a thankfully uneventful night we got back on the road and visited the Old Laura Homestead where the house and out buildings, mainly constructed of corrugated iron, are still standing. I was particularly taken by a photograph of the family taking delivery of a new truck in 1947 and to find its rusting remains still there 67 years later.
 

The Old Laura Homestead

A new truck in 1947

The same truck 67 years later

 

We then headed for Cooktown where we replenished our supplies, had a mosey round the town (much developed since our last visit) and then went up to the Lookout. It was here that Captain (then Lieutenant) Cook looked out over the reef to plot an escape route for his ship which was being repaired below in what would eventually be known as Cooktown.

Cooktown from Cook's Lookout

Another view from the Lookout

The original lighthouse

Sandra above Cooktown

From Cooktown our plan was to head for Port Douglas from where we hoped to take a trip to the outer Barrier Reef to do a bit of snorkelling – we had after all lugged all our snorkelling equipment half way round the world from Eskbank and then half way round Australia – it would be a pity not to use it! The journey took us over the Bloomfield Track which started off well enough with many tarred sections and then deteriorated into a 4WD track, not because it was particularly rough but I wouldn't have like to have tried towing a caravan up some of the steeper sections. On one river crossing a group of motorcyclists were having difficulty and indeed one had fallen off their bike. Remembering my recent “Girl on a Motorcycle” encounter I got ready to help but then noticed under all the leathers a very masculine grey moustache and thought “You're on your own, pal!”

We found ourselves at a very low key and surprisingly under-populated campsite at Cape Kimberley about 50 or 60k north of Port Douglas. Set just behind yet another perfect beach -  it was pretty busy near to the sea. In Australia campers tend to congregate as near to the water as possible, but about 100 metres back it was virtually deserted despite there being plenty of shady, grassy sites and much less wind that the seaward sites. We initially booked in for one night but, after a trip to Port Douglas where we saw the over-crowded and over-priced alternatives, we decided to base ourselves at Cape Kimberley for a few more days.

We have also booked our trip to the Outer Reef for a bit of snorkelling. With the weather, and particularly the wind, not playing ball we have delayed our trip until next Monday by which time the winds will have dropped – hopefully. So we intend spending a few days exploring the Daintree area then moving on to somewhere nearer Port Douglas a few days before our trip. With a bit of luck we will find somewhere other than a crowded caravan park!

The Cape Kimberley campsite has been rather strange. We think it had been a good going site at one time but had suffered cyclone damage plus old age and had been closed - then recently been bought over by another company who are running it with minimal staff and advertising before doing it up (it needs it!) and re-launching it as yet another Wilderness Retreat next year. We have been here for six nights and there have been very few people using the place which suited us down to the ground. We realised that things were probably not going too well when Sandra noticed that several of the staff, who earlier this morning had been cleaning the ladies showers, had packed their bags and were hitching south.

We are moving on tomorrow to be a bit nearer to our snorkelling trip on Monday. We have arranged to stay at a bird watching retreat at Julatten on the tableland above Port Douglas. This has already cost us money as Sandra, who left her Australian bird book in Scotland, has felt compelled to spend another $32 on exactly the same book, but she feels she needs it as she expects to be seeing over 240 birds in the next few days. 

We made it - The Very Tip of the Very Top of Australia

A word of warning to any of you who might one day find yourselves taking the wee boat from Seisia across the Torres Strait to Thursday Island – try not to be the last passengers to board – all the good seats will be taken and you will be left, as we were, perched at the back and exposed to the elements. Not that it really mattered as it was a beautiful though bracing day, especially when subjected to frequent salt water drenchings. Sandra spent most of the 90 minute trip standing at the stern hanging on for dear life and looking for all the world like the figurehead of a 18^th Century man of war that had got “aft” confused with “fore”.

The Figurehead usually juts out proudly from the front end!

"I think that's Thursday Island coming into view now"

Thursday Island, the administrative centre for the North Peninsula Area, eventually hoved into view but our first port of call was to be nearby Horn Island. Making our way between the international yachting fleet – well there were two US flagged yachts – and the crocodile infested mud banks, we tied up at the jetty and made our way to the Torres Strait Heritage Museum. During WWII this was the first line of defence against the Japanese and in fact the most northerly of the Torres Strait Islands is only 5k from Papua New Guinea. The very interesting museum focusses largely on the war time efforts and experiences of both white Australians and the indigenous population. Both Sandra and I got independently lost and found ourselves last on the boat – again - and consigned once more to our rearmost perches.

Thursday Island

Inside the Torres Strait Heritage Museum on Horn Island - very interesting

Thursday Island was a surprise. I supposed we had anticipated a sparsely populated, poorly serviced tropical island scratching a bare living from visiting tourists and a bit of fishing. However, the Torres Strait Islanders seem to be a well organised and motivated bunch who run what appears to be a neat and well managed community. We spent about an hour wandering around the main town – we could have done it a lot quicker but lunch wasn't until 12.30. After a very acceptable fish and chips in the most northerly pub in Australia, with a couple of VB's to wash it down, we went on a taxi tour of the island – then it was back to our wee boat for the journey back to mainland Australia.

Oor wee boat

Maintaining our reputation of being last back onto the boat, and assuming our fellow passengers would yet again take their usual seats, we were in for a rude awakening. On the journey back to the mainland, the place to be if you wanted to avoid getting really soaked, was in the stern. When we finally got back on board all the “safe and dry” seats had been taken and we were consigned to the pointy end for a 90 minute battering as the boat thumped through the waves - and this time we got really wet. Mind you the constant thumping was good preparation for the next part of our trip up to “The Tip” as we had heard that the corrugations on the dirt road were particularly vicious.

Due to the rain we had put off our trip to the most northerly point of the Australian mainland – after our experiences of a few months ago Sandra has vowed never to venture on to a dirt road again if there has been rain. Two of our fellow campers at Alau beach had tried in the previous few days and both had come to grief. Kevin's story in particular had overtones of our disastrous trip on the Oodnadatta track – he had decided to avoid a water crossing by going around it and, in doing so, had knackered his shock absorber. He was now waiting for a spare part to be flown in, at great cost, before he could get on the road again.

This was the second time that Sandra and I had been within striking distance of The Tip and there may not have been a third – so we went for it! From our camp we were very close, only about 35k or so. As dirt tracks go it wasn't the worst but it got very narrow as it wound its way through tropical vegetation. At one point the jungle – there was no other word for it – completely enveloped the car and we appeared to be travelling through a dark green tunnel. Creepers hung down from above and one wouldn't have been surprised to have seen a loin-clothed super hero yodelling his way through the trees looking for Jane (who's writing this stuff!)

The Road to the Tip - yet another water crossing

"The road is here somewhere!"

We came to the water crossing where Kevin did for his shock absorber and, being forewarned, we gave the “chicken run” a miss and went for the water – absolutely no problem at all. At the end of the track we had to park the car and walk. Being a lazy bugger and not wanting to hike over a steep, rocky headland to get to The Tip we decided to go via the beach – skirting the mangroves, keeping our fingers crossed against crocs and then a short scramble over the rocks and we were there. Surprisingly all went well and we found ourselves at the top of Australia and took photos to prove it. This was in fact a significant milestone as we had been to the most Southerly, Easterly, Westerly and now most Northerly points in Australia.

The Very Tip of the Very Top - we made it at last

Getting back to the car however was not quite so straight forward. Tides come and tides go and unfortunately the tide, which Sandra assured me was going out, was in fact coming in and our exit round the mangroves was now cut off. Not really fancying a deep wade through the mangroves, there was nothing for it but to clamber up the rocky headland and make our way back to the car the long way.

With the exploring bit firmly between out teeth we decided not to go back to camp but to head further down the track to a place called Somerset Beach – remote, idyllic and with a mystery. Set back from the beach we came across several small gravestones. Whilst a couple were engraved in English, one was engraved with what I thought might be Japanese, perhaps a legacy from the Japanese pearl divers who operated in this area. Can any reader identify the language and what it says, I'd love to know.

Somerset Beach - Lonely and Lovely

Somerset Beach gravestone - Japanese perhaps?

The following day, Top End mission completed, we set off south again aiming for Bramwell Station a few hundred k's down the track. On the way we passed a sign to somewhere we had heard of but didn't know much about – Captain Billy Landing. Doing a quick U-turn we set off down what turned out to be a challenging wee track with several fairly minor-ish water crossings until we arrived at a vast sweep of sand. As it was blowing a gale and not suitable for our tent - we did yet another beach walk and got on our way.

Yet another creek to cross on the way to Captain Billy Landing

A fine figure of a man at Captain Billy Landing
Of course I'm holding it in!!

Bramwell Station (the most northerly cattle station in Australia) was excellent – good camping, good facilities, a bar and restaurant. Perhaps not the sort of place we would normally gravitate towards but an enjoyable change – particularly when I got into an argument. A man we had briefly met on our trip to Captain Billy Landing somehow got me into a conversation about rally cars – of which I know very little. He said he used to race a Datsun 240Z and was disbelieving when I said I had seen one recently in the Flinders Ranges being raced in the Sydney to London Rally (see blog of about three months ago) He was a rally fanatic and had personally taken part in three London to Sydney Rallies, the Panama to Alaska Rally and several other international events and didn't believe that the Sydney to London event I referred had taken place. When I showed him the photos on my i-Pad and the names of all the competitors he went both ecstatic and ballistic - “Why wasn't I told of this event” as he pored over the names of competitors he knew and cars similar to the one he owned.

From Bramwell 300k or so down the road back to the Musgrave Roadhouse for an overnighter before tomorrow setting off east towards the Lakefield National Park where we plan to spend at least one night.