Sunday, October 12, 2008
My 22nd Birthday Weekend at Mission Beach
I believe this post is relatively self explanatory, just scroll on down. If a picture's worth a thousand, then here's 27,000 more words about 14,000 feet up. Surprise!
Monday, October 6, 2008
A Python Cheered Me Up
So today was not a good day for the brain. I spent a whole lot of time being quite upset at my lack of self-discipline and actual progress with regards to the work I want to be doing - i.e. summing up summer data, applying to graduate schools, writing blog posts to describe the adventures I had a month ago... (still coming!!!) Just ask Laura. She got a really weird e-mail because of my zaniness; a bunch of heuristic questions with no answers. And to top it all off, I was hungry.
See, I was in the library reading (pleasure books, nothing for any of my imminent assignments) and typing strange e-mails to girlfriend. With grumbling stomach I waited for a calm dining session; dining hall dinner hours are from 6 - 7 PM and 6:00 PM is a social nuthouse which I try to avoid. The line is killer, too. Why wait in line when you could, say, write one more e-mail?
So 6:35 rolls around and I head out of the library to get food (I mention the word 'food' so often as I'm still hungry now at 8:00 PM while writing this because I missed dinner). While my feet dragged on the pavement between the library and the student center and the melancholic Charlie Brown melody in my head droned on, I casually cast glances around the darkened outdoors. Motion caught my eye.
See, in an upcoming post I'll tell you about how a friend of mine here, Shannon (a great future land biologist to be sure), and I often go on "nature excursions." He, being a terrestrially-focusesd man, is very reptile oriented. This is good, for I know I have a human reference to consult regarding some of the unfamiliar Australian land vertebrates. Because of this, I've been much more aware of my surroundings - eager to find and learn about new land animals...
With or without this newly heightened sense of awareness, I quickly noted that the eye-catching motion belonged to a five foot long python (boa constrictor). He was climbing a tree as I passed, or rather, as I came to a thrilled and joyful halt. Trivial human sadness gone, I was now happy.
But that was not enough. I've felt very close to wildlife since I was just a boy; therefore it was no surprise now that I decided I was going to hold this snake. I called Shannon (who would have killed me if I hadn't, as he'd not yet seen a wild Australian python) right away so that he could pluck it off the tree for us to hold.
We had a slew of inconveniences upon arrival. I couldn't get in touch with him for around twenty minutes while the python climbed higher in the tree. When I finally got a hold of him via telephone, and by the time he showed up, we had accrued a small crowd, all saying such phrases as "we should kill it," "we should leave it alone," "you're going to hurt it," "you guys are idiots," et cetera. And the python was about five feet over our heads, and climbing. I ran around to grab something to stand on and to find my camera while Shannon monitored the snake's progress and the increasingly concerned peanut gallery started throwing their two cents' all over the place.
Beating through the Australian bush (parking lot), I returned with something to stand on and something to photograph with, and through complex teamwork and assertiveness (and about ten minutes time, too long to hold the onlookers' attention after they realized their cautious causticisms were being ignored), we retrieved this four/five/six foot beauty from the tree. Did have to climb a bit, et cetera. Anyhow, looks to be a carpet python, a local species.
Shannon even demonstrated the proper method of handling (get head control so they can't strike) so that I could have a hold. Although, it was the first WILD snake either of us had ever grabbed before.
A succesful release left me a happy boy and much more cheerful!!!
Although additionally dismayed by the realization that the short dinner window had just then closed, the consequent necessity to call for pizza was well received by me.
See, I was in the library reading (pleasure books, nothing for any of my imminent assignments) and typing strange e-mails to girlfriend. With grumbling stomach I waited for a calm dining session; dining hall dinner hours are from 6 - 7 PM and 6:00 PM is a social nuthouse which I try to avoid. The line is killer, too. Why wait in line when you could, say, write one more e-mail?
So 6:35 rolls around and I head out of the library to get food (I mention the word 'food' so often as I'm still hungry now at 8:00 PM while writing this because I missed dinner). While my feet dragged on the pavement between the library and the student center and the melancholic Charlie Brown melody in my head droned on, I casually cast glances around the darkened outdoors. Motion caught my eye.
See, in an upcoming post I'll tell you about how a friend of mine here, Shannon (a great future land biologist to be sure), and I often go on "nature excursions." He, being a terrestrially-focusesd man, is very reptile oriented. This is good, for I know I have a human reference to consult regarding some of the unfamiliar Australian land vertebrates. Because of this, I've been much more aware of my surroundings - eager to find and learn about new land animals...
With or without this newly heightened sense of awareness, I quickly noted that the eye-catching motion belonged to a five foot long python (boa constrictor). He was climbing a tree as I passed, or rather, as I came to a thrilled and joyful halt. Trivial human sadness gone, I was now happy.
But that was not enough. I've felt very close to wildlife since I was just a boy; therefore it was no surprise now that I decided I was going to hold this snake. I called Shannon (who would have killed me if I hadn't, as he'd not yet seen a wild Australian python) right away so that he could pluck it off the tree for us to hold.
We had a slew of inconveniences upon arrival. I couldn't get in touch with him for around twenty minutes while the python climbed higher in the tree. When I finally got a hold of him via telephone, and by the time he showed up, we had accrued a small crowd, all saying such phrases as "we should kill it," "we should leave it alone," "you're going to hurt it," "you guys are idiots," et cetera. And the python was about five feet over our heads, and climbing. I ran around to grab something to stand on and to find my camera while Shannon monitored the snake's progress and the increasingly concerned peanut gallery started throwing their two cents' all over the place.
Beating through the Australian bush (parking lot), I returned with something to stand on and something to photograph with, and through complex teamwork and assertiveness (and about ten minutes time, too long to hold the onlookers' attention after they realized their cautious causticisms were being ignored), we retrieved this four/five/six foot beauty from the tree. Did have to climb a bit, et cetera. Anyhow, looks to be a carpet python, a local species.
Shannon even demonstrated the proper method of handling (get head control so they can't strike) so that I could have a hold. Although, it was the first WILD snake either of us had ever grabbed before.
A succesful release left me a happy boy and much more cheerful!!!
Although additionally dismayed by the realization that the short dinner window had just then closed, the consequent necessity to call for pizza was well received by me.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Fraser Island: Day One
NOTE: I HAD TO BREAK THIS POST UP. IT'S ALREADY BEEN DELAYED ALMOST TWO MONTHS, ITS JUST TAKEN SO LONG TO TYPE! AT LEAST ENJOY PART I, AND KNOW THAT THE OTHERS ARE COMING...
I must have spent about seven or eight minutes trying to think of a catchy name for this post. Some unifying theme that tied my adventures at this UNESCO World Heritage Site into a fun, funky, adventurous and intriguing header. I could not do it; Fraser Island was just spectacular in so many different ways; it defies classification. And it was like a month ago or something, so bear with any consistencies and obvious hindsights. To Fraser!
The above map shows Fraser Island, a UNESCO (?) World Heritage Site since 1992. The island is made entirely of sand, and the flat, straight eastern beach that you can see extends for seventy five miles. Another American marine biology student had asked if I was interested in going - nay, pleaded, for I was the only one old enough to actually rent a car. I had known nothing about the island. In hindsight, it would have been nice to know the following:
Fraser Island was so named after Capt. James Fraser of the Stirling Castle, a ship that wrecked there in 1836. He died, but his wife Eliza lived to be "rescued," either before or with an 1842 survey team. The island began to be colonized after that survey, and by 1850 settlers had seen plenty of conflict with the local Aboriginal tribe, the Butchulla. Consistent conflict and disease brought Butchulla numbers down from a thousand or so to about 250-odd individuals, who were relocated to various reserves on the island from 1897 through 1904, when the last reserve closed for use of the growing timber industry. Sand mining and logging were the large extractice activities that settlers brought in the 1900's, with sand mining being halted sometime in the 1970's and timber in the 1990's due to environmental concern. In 1992, the area was made a World Heritage Site and native title was recognized (see future post on Aboriginal land rights).
The above was a very brief history of this fascinating island, of which I learned most about after departing from its sandy shores. One of Laura's roommates had visited Australia just a semester ago for study abroad and had also visited Fraser - deeming the plant life fascinating. I also sheepishly failed to indulge in the knowledge surrounding these botanical wonders. In hindsight my trip was rather biologically unsound and as a naturalist I'm slightly embarassed by that. Even as a student of indigenous culture, which I have been trying to understand through one of my courses (Ecology and Australia's Indigenous Peoples), I had read relatively little about Aboriginal peoples and the island - another fascinating story:
The six clans of the Butchulla nation called the island K'Gari, loosely translated as paradise. Basically this goddess K'Gari helped a servant of the great god Beeral to create the land, with which Beeral was pleased and transformed her into the lovely little sand island walked upon today. Settlement of the Butchulla is dated from 5,500 to 20,000 years ago, a relatively recent settlement for the 40,000 year old colonization of Australia by Aboriginal peoples. Yet, 5,500 years ago was a long time - only around the earliest development of Mesopotamian civilization and still more than two thousand years before Egypt's first pharaoh.
But, alas, I knew none of this before going. I have no idea why I didn't read about the trip before attending, possibly because I was angrily applying myself to the computer model of whale populations that was due in a few days. Who knows. I just knew I'd be going, with four relatively sane girls from the College of William & Mary, on an overnight drive to a giant world protected island of sand.
I wouldn't mention the automobile rental as the start of this story if it hadn't made me famous. You see, the AVIS outpost in the city (just across from Reef HQ, actually) happened to be filming for a commercial as we entered the store. With fluorescent glory and camera rolling, the stage seemed set. A short Indian manager and cluelessly jovial forty-something front secretary lady in pantsuit were waving their hands over rental brochures like a pair of Vanna Whites revealing correctly guessed letters. They seemed to find our entrance terribly exciting, as if neither AVISperson could believe that there was a public interest in temporary vehicle usage before their sleek television advertisement had been released. The secretary looked like she might have been my 3rd grade teacher. "We're filming a commercial!" she said. I responded with a curt nod and a "very nice." The statement gave me an overwhelming sense of role reversal, and I felt I should also have offered a box of juice and a cookie. "Would you like to be in it?" She offered. Miram (William & Mary girl 1, or W&MG1) and I agreed, just wanting to get the car. The charmed woman proceeded to show W&MG1 how the optional GPS worked while the camera filmed and the Indian man took care of our reservation. We didn't linger long as I found myself inappropriately garbed - ripped shorts, a holey shirt, and a blue woolen skull cap - hardly a member of the usually chic business-traveler clientele. For all I know, me and W&MG1 are going to be all over Queensland TV, and skull caps will be the new fad.
Anyhoo, we returned to campus to pick up W&MG2, 3, and 4, then hit the road South. It was 1,160 kilometres along the coast to Hervey Bay, the site of the ferry terminal across from Fraser - a 14 hour drive. This time lag became immensely evident to me after realizing that we were leaving at 3:00 PM to arrive by 6:00 AM. Another great Australian adventure had begun.
Few things were quite so interesting on the road that I can remember. The size of Australia's sugar industry was evident in the sight (and sickening burning smell) of sugar processing plants...
I never thought sugar products could render such a rank taste in the air... I cannot well describe it; it is as if cotton candy or molasses could rot, maybe with some plant material thrown in too... Yuck. Driving away from some of these places alongside the road were locomotives hauling molasses tankers as far as the eye could see, and waving fields of sugar cane bordered the road for kilometres before and after these factories. Though I tried, I couldn't find any statistic on the impact of sugar industry in Australia, but the factories and fields are everywhere, not to mention the massive sugar loading dock at the Townsville port.
Splitting shifts into three hour segments for the driving was a smart idea, but it also put people asleep at funny times and the car ride dynamic itself was somewhat zany. Asleep or awake, things progressed in some kind of dreamworld. Random rest stops were somewhat intriguing with their own attempts at tourist traps - this giant crab brandished its pincers above a late-night combination gas station / seafood restaraunt...
The bathrooms there were even filled with splendid products such as "Horny Goat Weed" for enhanced male stamina, pleasing power, e.g. (Strangely I recently read a scientific article that compared molecules in this plant to sildenafil citrate [viagra], and found that one derivative was more effective and safer than the blue pill!)
But, by far, the best part about driving half way down Australia's east coast is the realization that the country is incredibly empty. For example, less than ten cities can be found on the map along this just over 1,000 km journey. That being said, a word of advice to my future Australian travelers - watch your petrol. I must apologize for the following, as I will seem like a total ignoramus (see failure to grasp travel time and destination itself in earlier paragraphs). I don't recall exactly why, but somehow we ran out of fuel. We planned it so that we would be in a town in time to get fuel at like 11:00 PM, but did not account for the fact that the only pump would be some bastardized version of a family run station, where selfish pump-running sheilas would tell us that the pumps shut off "just a minute ago," and that they wouldn't be able to turn them on until the morning... It was easy to pout about the fact that the nearest city was 100 km further south, and that we would miss our trip if we were late and have nothing to do in Hervey Bay... Yikes. A call to the AVIS hotline introduced us to the Royal Auto Club of Queensland (one in every state, RAC[Q, SA, NSW, e.g.)) and luckily one of the RACQ tow truck guys lived in this small place, and offered the option of 10 liters of fuel for $20. We were back on, with less than thirty minutes delay!
The rest of the drive was somewhat uneventful; we became considerably more exhausted. We passed through Bundaberg, home to Australia's eponymous rum, but had to pass it on by to arrive on time. I can't imagine much rum-laden fun at 4 in the morning, anyhow. So, at around 5:30 or 6:00 AM, we rolled into the hostel.
Hostels... backpackers, as often called in Australia, representing the name for both the youth and the location, is such a broad cultural wonder that has almost been completely ignored by the United States. Cheap living, cheap food, fun times and plenty of alcohol - a youth's dream. But this is not a post about hostels. When we pulled in to the parking lot where our rental would stay for the weekend, we noticed plenty of campervans - another phenomena I'll have to tell you about later (two person minivans with bedding and a kitchen) - evidence of global youth for sure; we must be in the right place. Oozing out of the rental car to stretch, we first noticed the museum of preserved (though not intact) insects on the front- er, all over our car:
Fun fun. Now entering the hostel, we ran into a hurricane, and I write it that way to confuse you so you can feel how I did. I can't remember all the details because it was such a bustle. Here we are, droopy eyed young people, and those at the hostel start rushing in to getting our food and alcohol lists for the weekend - no hello, no welcome - just sit down at a table with two never before met frenchmen, a girl from Hong Kong, and two siblings from Israel and have the hostel tell you that the Fraser trip 4WD is for ten people, and these will be our other five. We nod, tell a few jokes, and get told to shut up because we're supposed to be planning our grocery list and we should have had our alcohol list done ten minutes ago because half of your group which you should have already picked from is going to go to the grocery store and the other half will be driving the dropped off 4WD vehicles to fill out the paperwork for them at the rental place where we will rendezvous with the grocery shoppers and receive a tutorial on how to use 4WD. It was weird. Before I know it, half of our group - WG&M girls and these new people indiscriminately - had gone grocery shopping in one of the hostel's minivans and I was walking out to the 4WD vehicles out back.
Now when you read '4WD' you may be thinking of those Jeep Grand Cherokees with the nice chrome '4x4' label on them in the states, perhaps like me. But I'd heard Australian 4WD culture is far beyond this. My only possible expectations came from a 90's era Disney movie entitled "The Rescuers: Down Under," which I will analyze in a future post to point out its hilariously generic portrait of Australia. In any case, I was expecting something like McLeach the poacher's truck:
That thing runs over trees and has tank treads and defies the law. What I actually ended up behind the driver seat of on that morning was not tree-killing or tread-bearing, but still a behemoth:
This Toyota fits ten people; eight on back seats facing each other and two in front. A roof rack holds everything else - camping gear, food, you name it - there's plenty of space:
If you look hard, you can see Christy on top there (say W&MG2) packing up the groceries in the 4WD rental parking lot.
Oh, yeah - the rental place was swell. You walk in past the picture-plastered walls of 4WD accidents and issues - overturned, swamped, crashed, destroyed vehicles. My favorite was the one where you saw some confused looking tourists standing next to their 4WD which was literally on its side, exactly half buried in sand by the surf. While you think to yourself whether or not this is supposed to be safe, they direct your attention to a DVD about driving on Fraser with happy people telling you you'll be fine. You sign your life away and some paperwork and blah blah, then they hand you the primary driver (me in this case, the only one over 21 speaking good English) a massive envelope/packet that contains everything you'd need to know about 4WD if you only got a minute to read it. Then you follow them to the vehicle - the one you just drove over from the hostel - dragging your sack of knowledge that you just had time to pull out and get confused by - and give you a four wheel drive tutorial. If any of you have read Bill Bryson's In A Sunburned Country (and you really should), the description he gives about 4WD instruction is dead on. 4WD has to be activated separate from 2WD, and then you have the option of using 4H or 4L depending on road conditions, and then you must lock your differentials by twisting a piece on the wheel - and oh, under various situations you should get out and deflate your tires to aid in sand driving. Anyways have a good trip follow the map given to you get out of here you're late for the ferry Fraser will be great see you Sunday -
and now I'm driving again, responsible for nine other people in a manual transmission 4WD monster that sounds and feels like a Mack dumptruck.
We made it to the ferry all right, and loaded up just fine, though it was a very steep bumpy ride (nothing compared to what the future held, actually):
Amid crowded conditions of mainly other backpackers from all over the world on this one weekend:
Unloading on the island, you drive up the last bit of concrete you'll see at all until you hit a road - composed entirely of sand. It's the dry, bumpy sand you see from high up on the beach - lesser vehicles would cry and give up. Switching to 4WD low as instructed and letting some air out let us pass over it fashionably. How invigorating! We were only moving about 20 mph, but it was bumpy and exciting and manly! The road cuts through the island to get to the east beach, the Fraser Island travel hub (the only place you can drive "fast" - 50 mph). The interior of Fraser Island is a thriving rainforest, and its amazing to pass by all of this greenery when all around is just sand.
Sometimes the road drops off at the sides like an Indiana Jones-esque experience, and the placid drive was interrupted from time to time by lesser drivers crashing into trees or slipping off the road - initially a worrisome event, but later just apparently and embarassing one. You may have also noticed in the photo that the road is only one lane - if someone comes from the opposite direction, it is the duty of the better situated driver to simply pull off the road into the thicket for a minute until the other vehicle lumbers past.
We stopped for lunch (paperwork, shopping, ferry rides, instruction, driving to center took a long time) at a nice inner campground:
Other tours were there for all sorts of folk, and some neighboring elderhostel tour bus was kind enough to donate some of their extra beers and fresh fruit as they were just leaving, vastly improving our lunch session. A few more less awkward conversations with our international adventure sharers and we were off again to the east beach.
The beach was vast and long - something like 60 or 80 miles long. And really, obscenely perfect for driving. It really gave me the chance to open up the behemoth to 80 km/h and it was great. I was obviously having a blast.
On the list of dangers to beware while speeding on 4WD are washouts - areas you can't see when going so fast where a stream from inner Fraser has washed out down the beach, cutting a dip into the road you drive over. This effectively turns parts of the beach into speed bumps - or rather at 50 mph, extreme jumps that end in damaged vehicles and body-crushing pain. Still, at the right speed, they could also be plenty fun, and it was great to feel the whole topheavy beast sway as the wheels attacked differently compacted sands and dips. This one danger was compounded by others, natural and manmade. Manmade issues included competition for road usage with small aircraft, which use the beach as the only available runway (you had to make sure you weren't about to get landed on/in):
We drove for forty-five minutes or so and stopped to just enjoy the beach and play around and be happy. (We did not swim as you are highly warned not to do so due to presence of strong rip currents and large breeding tiger shark populations.) And from here I should introduce you to the crew.
From L to R, skipping me (the sole second row man), you have the Israeli siblings, Dor Shewenefeld (Matt) and his sister Leigh Nelkin (twenty and twenty two, I think - Leigh lives in NSW or something and Matt was visiting from Israel), Miram (W&MG1), Audrey (W&MG3, not yet mentioned), Kristen (W&MG4, also not yet mentioned), Adrien Falco from France (very bad English and manual transmission driver but hilarious to talk to, stories coming), Philippe Plessis (another French guy with better English who randomly met up with Adrien on a backpacker tour of Australia), Christy (W&MG2), and Rain Cheung (a mid-20's Hong Kong girl trying to understand the world before Master's degree). It was quite a dynamic, and I must say interesting trading stories from all different parts of the world in all different forms of English in the back of a spine-jostling 4WD vehicle in a foreign country - and sometimes while intoxicated. Stories will be coming in the next parts of this adventure if I can remember them...
From this early stop, we continued driving. We had to hit "Frasers at Cathedral Beach," about 3/4 of the way up north, by 4:30 PM according to our itinerary, forcibly planned out in the packet of plenty. And according to it, we still had three sites to make before getting there - Eli Creek, the wreck of the Maheno, and the colored sands of the pinnacles. We succeeded, each site being fantastic... We'll start with Eli Creek.
If you've not seen the Lord of the Rings movie trilogy, I suggest you do so. The third movie, The Return of the King, begins with an expose of Gollum's early life as one of the river people - Smeagol. The river he and his brother are shown fishing in is highly vegetated but well flowing and almost crystal clear - such a movie set. White sand bottoms in a freshwater stream? Which is bordered by dark black nutrient reach soil? Ridiculous. Eli Creek made me believe. White sand from high nutrient absorption by any plant needing it in this nutrient deprived environment turned the little creek into a movie set.
Being there just felt natural, and this nascent sense of Midsummmer Night's puck playfulness was intoxicating, as you can tell from my antics...
It was just such a beautiful clear stream, it looked like a wonderfully welcoming Disney World water park ride - except it was through a real rainforest, where real fish and eels swam placidly as clear, unmystical water flowed past - nothing was hiding from you, nothing to scare you, just a beautiful meter-deep wade-able creek that invited you to jump around, drink it up, and sleep on its grassy banks.
Plenty of people enjoyed this part of Fraser; it came right out on to the east beach, and all manner of 4WD visitors were seen there with their families having a great time - despite the loops and hurdles that are faced when applying for and paying for ferry fares and park permits. Since only 4WD vehicles can make it over, there is a fun sense of belonging or just adventure to see the tools necessary to make it through the jungle to such a pristine place.
Another great place to take a break, get to know each other, and play around, right? Amazing. Our group played a massively entertaining game of frisbee while sharing life stories. (I outwardly snorted at other groups of backpackers closing their eyes on the ocean side of this creek sunbathing - catching rays is possible in an American sandbox. Were there really groups of people who had dreams of sleeping all day under the sun on sand burning themselves all around the world?)
The next stop was the wreck of the Maheno. I forget the full story here, but its basically a rusting beached boat that's more than half buried in the sand. It washed up after being tossed here by a cyclone while it was being towed to a dump. Whatever company it was that was towing it back in the day (sometime in the early twentieth century) obviously decided there was no point to digging it out, and there were no laws declaring it necessary. The wreck was quite long, and right in the surf - it was impressive to think about how much of it must be in sand.
It couldn't be climbed on for obvious safety reasons, and was surprisingly not overgrown with marine life. I can only presume it was because the entire hull is exposed at low tide - not a very preferable situations for settling barnacles. Although it does make one think about the enormous forces that placed it there so high out of the sea. If you look at the following picture, you can see one of the tiny propeller planes coming in for a landing over the wreck:
Just before leaving we ran into several of the tourist buses showing large groups of people the wreck. These things were like garbage trucks that carried seating for ten instead of trash for 200 houses; big wheels and big diesel engines necessary to pull this many people through the sandy central crossing road. I don't have a picture, but if only you could have seen the thirty person buses... they were intimidating bruisers!
Finally we encountered the "colored sands" of the pinnacles, a site I'm surely geologically bastardizing by not giving you more information. Unfortunately, I don't really understand or know what the fascinating process behind their creation was and I don't really want to find out. They were cool layers of earth tones in sandstone form, but not stone yet - weakly held piles of sediment getting torn up by the wind, perhaps thirty feet tall. Fun to look at, kind of like one of those popular aquarium decorative stones...
...But more fun for the wooden railings we decided to race down.
The entrance to our campground area (Cathedral Beach) was at the base of a sandy hill, a road cut through dune grasses. Up we drove to find higher ground, and after about 1/4 mile, our campground. Upon arrival, we were quickly greeted by the campground caretaker, and instructed on how to use all the gear they had us pack on the roof rack that we had almost forgotten was there anyhow. Somehow we managed to peel all of the stuff off this massive truck...
...and set up a nice looking camp space to comfortably sleep ten. It was fun learning to set up those big tents again, and several times I was convinced that the rain cover had its fron door installed improperly. But we figured it out.
Next, the true blue ozzie caretaker gave us a rundown on facilities and campground rules (lights off at 9:00 PM and don't leave food out - that's it). The camping space was excellent, and there were four long tables that each seated perhaps twenty people. A huge propane tank provided gas for about twenty burners and a flat grill. Needless to say we had a perfect first night cooking snags (sausages) and sharing stories with our new found international buddies. After meal and dishes, the day was finally calm enough to share real stories - and out came the goon bags (boxed wine pouches sans box) and the drinking games, shared even with adjacent groups of ten-person 4WD backpackers using the same campground.
After 9:00 PM, for which I have no pictures, it was lights out in this cooking/table area - but we couple dozen backpackers just walked back down to the beach with our alcohol and ran around celebrating life and sharing stories from all over the world. This first night alone I learned about the French way of living, the German language, and the unfaithful womanizing prince Bernard of the Netherlands... A drunken happy adventure for day one alone!
I must have spent about seven or eight minutes trying to think of a catchy name for this post. Some unifying theme that tied my adventures at this UNESCO World Heritage Site into a fun, funky, adventurous and intriguing header. I could not do it; Fraser Island was just spectacular in so many different ways; it defies classification. And it was like a month ago or something, so bear with any consistencies and obvious hindsights. To Fraser!
The above map shows Fraser Island, a UNESCO (?) World Heritage Site since 1992. The island is made entirely of sand, and the flat, straight eastern beach that you can see extends for seventy five miles. Another American marine biology student had asked if I was interested in going - nay, pleaded, for I was the only one old enough to actually rent a car. I had known nothing about the island. In hindsight, it would have been nice to know the following:
Fraser Island was so named after Capt. James Fraser of the Stirling Castle, a ship that wrecked there in 1836. He died, but his wife Eliza lived to be "rescued," either before or with an 1842 survey team. The island began to be colonized after that survey, and by 1850 settlers had seen plenty of conflict with the local Aboriginal tribe, the Butchulla. Consistent conflict and disease brought Butchulla numbers down from a thousand or so to about 250-odd individuals, who were relocated to various reserves on the island from 1897 through 1904, when the last reserve closed for use of the growing timber industry. Sand mining and logging were the large extractice activities that settlers brought in the 1900's, with sand mining being halted sometime in the 1970's and timber in the 1990's due to environmental concern. In 1992, the area was made a World Heritage Site and native title was recognized (see future post on Aboriginal land rights).
The above was a very brief history of this fascinating island, of which I learned most about after departing from its sandy shores. One of Laura's roommates had visited Australia just a semester ago for study abroad and had also visited Fraser - deeming the plant life fascinating. I also sheepishly failed to indulge in the knowledge surrounding these botanical wonders. In hindsight my trip was rather biologically unsound and as a naturalist I'm slightly embarassed by that. Even as a student of indigenous culture, which I have been trying to understand through one of my courses (Ecology and Australia's Indigenous Peoples), I had read relatively little about Aboriginal peoples and the island - another fascinating story:
The six clans of the Butchulla nation called the island K'Gari, loosely translated as paradise. Basically this goddess K'Gari helped a servant of the great god Beeral to create the land, with which Beeral was pleased and transformed her into the lovely little sand island walked upon today. Settlement of the Butchulla is dated from 5,500 to 20,000 years ago, a relatively recent settlement for the 40,000 year old colonization of Australia by Aboriginal peoples. Yet, 5,500 years ago was a long time - only around the earliest development of Mesopotamian civilization and still more than two thousand years before Egypt's first pharaoh.
But, alas, I knew none of this before going. I have no idea why I didn't read about the trip before attending, possibly because I was angrily applying myself to the computer model of whale populations that was due in a few days. Who knows. I just knew I'd be going, with four relatively sane girls from the College of William & Mary, on an overnight drive to a giant world protected island of sand.
I wouldn't mention the automobile rental as the start of this story if it hadn't made me famous. You see, the AVIS outpost in the city (just across from Reef HQ, actually) happened to be filming for a commercial as we entered the store. With fluorescent glory and camera rolling, the stage seemed set. A short Indian manager and cluelessly jovial forty-something front secretary lady in pantsuit were waving their hands over rental brochures like a pair of Vanna Whites revealing correctly guessed letters. They seemed to find our entrance terribly exciting, as if neither AVISperson could believe that there was a public interest in temporary vehicle usage before their sleek television advertisement had been released. The secretary looked like she might have been my 3rd grade teacher. "We're filming a commercial!" she said. I responded with a curt nod and a "very nice." The statement gave me an overwhelming sense of role reversal, and I felt I should also have offered a box of juice and a cookie. "Would you like to be in it?" She offered. Miram (William & Mary girl 1, or W&MG1) and I agreed, just wanting to get the car. The charmed woman proceeded to show W&MG1 how the optional GPS worked while the camera filmed and the Indian man took care of our reservation. We didn't linger long as I found myself inappropriately garbed - ripped shorts, a holey shirt, and a blue woolen skull cap - hardly a member of the usually chic business-traveler clientele. For all I know, me and W&MG1 are going to be all over Queensland TV, and skull caps will be the new fad.
Anyhoo, we returned to campus to pick up W&MG2, 3, and 4, then hit the road South. It was 1,160 kilometres along the coast to Hervey Bay, the site of the ferry terminal across from Fraser - a 14 hour drive. This time lag became immensely evident to me after realizing that we were leaving at 3:00 PM to arrive by 6:00 AM. Another great Australian adventure had begun.
Few things were quite so interesting on the road that I can remember. The size of Australia's sugar industry was evident in the sight (and sickening burning smell) of sugar processing plants...
I never thought sugar products could render such a rank taste in the air... I cannot well describe it; it is as if cotton candy or molasses could rot, maybe with some plant material thrown in too... Yuck. Driving away from some of these places alongside the road were locomotives hauling molasses tankers as far as the eye could see, and waving fields of sugar cane bordered the road for kilometres before and after these factories. Though I tried, I couldn't find any statistic on the impact of sugar industry in Australia, but the factories and fields are everywhere, not to mention the massive sugar loading dock at the Townsville port.
Splitting shifts into three hour segments for the driving was a smart idea, but it also put people asleep at funny times and the car ride dynamic itself was somewhat zany. Asleep or awake, things progressed in some kind of dreamworld. Random rest stops were somewhat intriguing with their own attempts at tourist traps - this giant crab brandished its pincers above a late-night combination gas station / seafood restaraunt...
The bathrooms there were even filled with splendid products such as "Horny Goat Weed" for enhanced male stamina, pleasing power, e.g. (Strangely I recently read a scientific article that compared molecules in this plant to sildenafil citrate [viagra], and found that one derivative was more effective and safer than the blue pill!)
But, by far, the best part about driving half way down Australia's east coast is the realization that the country is incredibly empty. For example, less than ten cities can be found on the map along this just over 1,000 km journey. That being said, a word of advice to my future Australian travelers - watch your petrol. I must apologize for the following, as I will seem like a total ignoramus (see failure to grasp travel time and destination itself in earlier paragraphs). I don't recall exactly why, but somehow we ran out of fuel. We planned it so that we would be in a town in time to get fuel at like 11:00 PM, but did not account for the fact that the only pump would be some bastardized version of a family run station, where selfish pump-running sheilas would tell us that the pumps shut off "just a minute ago," and that they wouldn't be able to turn them on until the morning... It was easy to pout about the fact that the nearest city was 100 km further south, and that we would miss our trip if we were late and have nothing to do in Hervey Bay... Yikes. A call to the AVIS hotline introduced us to the Royal Auto Club of Queensland (one in every state, RAC[Q, SA, NSW, e.g.)) and luckily one of the RACQ tow truck guys lived in this small place, and offered the option of 10 liters of fuel for $20. We were back on, with less than thirty minutes delay!
The rest of the drive was somewhat uneventful; we became considerably more exhausted. We passed through Bundaberg, home to Australia's eponymous rum, but had to pass it on by to arrive on time. I can't imagine much rum-laden fun at 4 in the morning, anyhow. So, at around 5:30 or 6:00 AM, we rolled into the hostel.
Hostels... backpackers, as often called in Australia, representing the name for both the youth and the location, is such a broad cultural wonder that has almost been completely ignored by the United States. Cheap living, cheap food, fun times and plenty of alcohol - a youth's dream. But this is not a post about hostels. When we pulled in to the parking lot where our rental would stay for the weekend, we noticed plenty of campervans - another phenomena I'll have to tell you about later (two person minivans with bedding and a kitchen) - evidence of global youth for sure; we must be in the right place. Oozing out of the rental car to stretch, we first noticed the museum of preserved (though not intact) insects on the front- er, all over our car:
Fun fun. Now entering the hostel, we ran into a hurricane, and I write it that way to confuse you so you can feel how I did. I can't remember all the details because it was such a bustle. Here we are, droopy eyed young people, and those at the hostel start rushing in to getting our food and alcohol lists for the weekend - no hello, no welcome - just sit down at a table with two never before met frenchmen, a girl from Hong Kong, and two siblings from Israel and have the hostel tell you that the Fraser trip 4WD is for ten people, and these will be our other five. We nod, tell a few jokes, and get told to shut up because we're supposed to be planning our grocery list and we should have had our alcohol list done ten minutes ago because half of your group which you should have already picked from is going to go to the grocery store and the other half will be driving the dropped off 4WD vehicles to fill out the paperwork for them at the rental place where we will rendezvous with the grocery shoppers and receive a tutorial on how to use 4WD. It was weird. Before I know it, half of our group - WG&M girls and these new people indiscriminately - had gone grocery shopping in one of the hostel's minivans and I was walking out to the 4WD vehicles out back.
Now when you read '4WD' you may be thinking of those Jeep Grand Cherokees with the nice chrome '4x4' label on them in the states, perhaps like me. But I'd heard Australian 4WD culture is far beyond this. My only possible expectations came from a 90's era Disney movie entitled "The Rescuers: Down Under," which I will analyze in a future post to point out its hilariously generic portrait of Australia. In any case, I was expecting something like McLeach the poacher's truck:
That thing runs over trees and has tank treads and defies the law. What I actually ended up behind the driver seat of on that morning was not tree-killing or tread-bearing, but still a behemoth:
This Toyota fits ten people; eight on back seats facing each other and two in front. A roof rack holds everything else - camping gear, food, you name it - there's plenty of space:
If you look hard, you can see Christy on top there (say W&MG2) packing up the groceries in the 4WD rental parking lot.
Oh, yeah - the rental place was swell. You walk in past the picture-plastered walls of 4WD accidents and issues - overturned, swamped, crashed, destroyed vehicles. My favorite was the one where you saw some confused looking tourists standing next to their 4WD which was literally on its side, exactly half buried in sand by the surf. While you think to yourself whether or not this is supposed to be safe, they direct your attention to a DVD about driving on Fraser with happy people telling you you'll be fine. You sign your life away and some paperwork and blah blah, then they hand you the primary driver (me in this case, the only one over 21 speaking good English) a massive envelope/packet that contains everything you'd need to know about 4WD if you only got a minute to read it. Then you follow them to the vehicle - the one you just drove over from the hostel - dragging your sack of knowledge that you just had time to pull out and get confused by - and give you a four wheel drive tutorial. If any of you have read Bill Bryson's In A Sunburned Country (and you really should), the description he gives about 4WD instruction is dead on. 4WD has to be activated separate from 2WD, and then you have the option of using 4H or 4L depending on road conditions, and then you must lock your differentials by twisting a piece on the wheel - and oh, under various situations you should get out and deflate your tires to aid in sand driving. Anyways have a good trip follow the map given to you get out of here you're late for the ferry Fraser will be great see you Sunday -
and now I'm driving again, responsible for nine other people in a manual transmission 4WD monster that sounds and feels like a Mack dumptruck.
We made it to the ferry all right, and loaded up just fine, though it was a very steep bumpy ride (nothing compared to what the future held, actually):
Amid crowded conditions of mainly other backpackers from all over the world on this one weekend:
Unloading on the island, you drive up the last bit of concrete you'll see at all until you hit a road - composed entirely of sand. It's the dry, bumpy sand you see from high up on the beach - lesser vehicles would cry and give up. Switching to 4WD low as instructed and letting some air out let us pass over it fashionably. How invigorating! We were only moving about 20 mph, but it was bumpy and exciting and manly! The road cuts through the island to get to the east beach, the Fraser Island travel hub (the only place you can drive "fast" - 50 mph). The interior of Fraser Island is a thriving rainforest, and its amazing to pass by all of this greenery when all around is just sand.
Sometimes the road drops off at the sides like an Indiana Jones-esque experience, and the placid drive was interrupted from time to time by lesser drivers crashing into trees or slipping off the road - initially a worrisome event, but later just apparently and embarassing one. You may have also noticed in the photo that the road is only one lane - if someone comes from the opposite direction, it is the duty of the better situated driver to simply pull off the road into the thicket for a minute until the other vehicle lumbers past.
We stopped for lunch (paperwork, shopping, ferry rides, instruction, driving to center took a long time) at a nice inner campground:
Other tours were there for all sorts of folk, and some neighboring elderhostel tour bus was kind enough to donate some of their extra beers and fresh fruit as they were just leaving, vastly improving our lunch session. A few more less awkward conversations with our international adventure sharers and we were off again to the east beach.
The beach was vast and long - something like 60 or 80 miles long. And really, obscenely perfect for driving. It really gave me the chance to open up the behemoth to 80 km/h and it was great. I was obviously having a blast.
On the list of dangers to beware while speeding on 4WD are washouts - areas you can't see when going so fast where a stream from inner Fraser has washed out down the beach, cutting a dip into the road you drive over. This effectively turns parts of the beach into speed bumps - or rather at 50 mph, extreme jumps that end in damaged vehicles and body-crushing pain. Still, at the right speed, they could also be plenty fun, and it was great to feel the whole topheavy beast sway as the wheels attacked differently compacted sands and dips. This one danger was compounded by others, natural and manmade. Manmade issues included competition for road usage with small aircraft, which use the beach as the only available runway (you had to make sure you weren't about to get landed on/in):
We drove for forty-five minutes or so and stopped to just enjoy the beach and play around and be happy. (We did not swim as you are highly warned not to do so due to presence of strong rip currents and large breeding tiger shark populations.) And from here I should introduce you to the crew.
From L to R, skipping me (the sole second row man), you have the Israeli siblings, Dor Shewenefeld (Matt) and his sister Leigh Nelkin (twenty and twenty two, I think - Leigh lives in NSW or something and Matt was visiting from Israel), Miram (W&MG1), Audrey (W&MG3, not yet mentioned), Kristen (W&MG4, also not yet mentioned), Adrien Falco from France (very bad English and manual transmission driver but hilarious to talk to, stories coming), Philippe Plessis (another French guy with better English who randomly met up with Adrien on a backpacker tour of Australia), Christy (W&MG2), and Rain Cheung (a mid-20's Hong Kong girl trying to understand the world before Master's degree). It was quite a dynamic, and I must say interesting trading stories from all different parts of the world in all different forms of English in the back of a spine-jostling 4WD vehicle in a foreign country - and sometimes while intoxicated. Stories will be coming in the next parts of this adventure if I can remember them...
From this early stop, we continued driving. We had to hit "Frasers at Cathedral Beach," about 3/4 of the way up north, by 4:30 PM according to our itinerary, forcibly planned out in the packet of plenty. And according to it, we still had three sites to make before getting there - Eli Creek, the wreck of the Maheno, and the colored sands of the pinnacles. We succeeded, each site being fantastic... We'll start with Eli Creek.
If you've not seen the Lord of the Rings movie trilogy, I suggest you do so. The third movie, The Return of the King, begins with an expose of Gollum's early life as one of the river people - Smeagol. The river he and his brother are shown fishing in is highly vegetated but well flowing and almost crystal clear - such a movie set. White sand bottoms in a freshwater stream? Which is bordered by dark black nutrient reach soil? Ridiculous. Eli Creek made me believe. White sand from high nutrient absorption by any plant needing it in this nutrient deprived environment turned the little creek into a movie set.
Being there just felt natural, and this nascent sense of Midsummmer Night's puck playfulness was intoxicating, as you can tell from my antics...
It was just such a beautiful clear stream, it looked like a wonderfully welcoming Disney World water park ride - except it was through a real rainforest, where real fish and eels swam placidly as clear, unmystical water flowed past - nothing was hiding from you, nothing to scare you, just a beautiful meter-deep wade-able creek that invited you to jump around, drink it up, and sleep on its grassy banks.
Plenty of people enjoyed this part of Fraser; it came right out on to the east beach, and all manner of 4WD visitors were seen there with their families having a great time - despite the loops and hurdles that are faced when applying for and paying for ferry fares and park permits. Since only 4WD vehicles can make it over, there is a fun sense of belonging or just adventure to see the tools necessary to make it through the jungle to such a pristine place.
Another great place to take a break, get to know each other, and play around, right? Amazing. Our group played a massively entertaining game of frisbee while sharing life stories. (I outwardly snorted at other groups of backpackers closing their eyes on the ocean side of this creek sunbathing - catching rays is possible in an American sandbox. Were there really groups of people who had dreams of sleeping all day under the sun on sand burning themselves all around the world?)
The next stop was the wreck of the Maheno. I forget the full story here, but its basically a rusting beached boat that's more than half buried in the sand. It washed up after being tossed here by a cyclone while it was being towed to a dump. Whatever company it was that was towing it back in the day (sometime in the early twentieth century) obviously decided there was no point to digging it out, and there were no laws declaring it necessary. The wreck was quite long, and right in the surf - it was impressive to think about how much of it must be in sand.
It couldn't be climbed on for obvious safety reasons, and was surprisingly not overgrown with marine life. I can only presume it was because the entire hull is exposed at low tide - not a very preferable situations for settling barnacles. Although it does make one think about the enormous forces that placed it there so high out of the sea. If you look at the following picture, you can see one of the tiny propeller planes coming in for a landing over the wreck:
Just before leaving we ran into several of the tourist buses showing large groups of people the wreck. These things were like garbage trucks that carried seating for ten instead of trash for 200 houses; big wheels and big diesel engines necessary to pull this many people through the sandy central crossing road. I don't have a picture, but if only you could have seen the thirty person buses... they were intimidating bruisers!
Finally we encountered the "colored sands" of the pinnacles, a site I'm surely geologically bastardizing by not giving you more information. Unfortunately, I don't really understand or know what the fascinating process behind their creation was and I don't really want to find out. They were cool layers of earth tones in sandstone form, but not stone yet - weakly held piles of sediment getting torn up by the wind, perhaps thirty feet tall. Fun to look at, kind of like one of those popular aquarium decorative stones...
...But more fun for the wooden railings we decided to race down.
The entrance to our campground area (Cathedral Beach) was at the base of a sandy hill, a road cut through dune grasses. Up we drove to find higher ground, and after about 1/4 mile, our campground. Upon arrival, we were quickly greeted by the campground caretaker, and instructed on how to use all the gear they had us pack on the roof rack that we had almost forgotten was there anyhow. Somehow we managed to peel all of the stuff off this massive truck...
...and set up a nice looking camp space to comfortably sleep ten. It was fun learning to set up those big tents again, and several times I was convinced that the rain cover had its fron door installed improperly. But we figured it out.
Next, the true blue ozzie caretaker gave us a rundown on facilities and campground rules (lights off at 9:00 PM and don't leave food out - that's it). The camping space was excellent, and there were four long tables that each seated perhaps twenty people. A huge propane tank provided gas for about twenty burners and a flat grill. Needless to say we had a perfect first night cooking snags (sausages) and sharing stories with our new found international buddies. After meal and dishes, the day was finally calm enough to share real stories - and out came the goon bags (boxed wine pouches sans box) and the drinking games, shared even with adjacent groups of ten-person 4WD backpackers using the same campground.
After 9:00 PM, for which I have no pictures, it was lights out in this cooking/table area - but we couple dozen backpackers just walked back down to the beach with our alcohol and ran around celebrating life and sharing stories from all over the world. This first night alone I learned about the French way of living, the German language, and the unfaithful womanizing prince Bernard of the Netherlands... A drunken happy adventure for day one alone!
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