The alarm went off at 6. Normally never a good thing. But in this case, yeah! We were off to Fraser Island.
Let it be a lesson. We had breakfast, checked out and turned up at the office full of energy to discover that the office was shut, no-one was around, and it smelled like an animal had died. Quarter of an hour later the owner rocked up - claiming 'girls, i'm having a shocker! a shocker!' We smiled and forgot about it. An hour later, we were still there, as she told everyone 'i'm having a shocker!' yet again. The smiles were getting more forced.
Fraser Island tours are notorious for being big groups, where you get to drive along the fantastic beaches (more convenient than roads) - they lean towards the younger age groups, and involve lots of goon and singing. We had already shown our age by doing unthinkable things like not drinking (too expensive) and playing scrabble in the hostel bar. So we were (well, I was) a little apprehensive of 'hanging with the kids'. This worry turned out to be unneccesary. Our group was a little different. It consisted of us, (aged around 24), a father and daughter from France, and two fiftysomething Dutch women. Ok. This was fine. We then discovered we were only taking one car, and when I asked whether we should show them our driving licenses, was told it wasnt necessary as we wouldnt be driving. Hmmph. Grrr. The next issue to raise its ugly head was when we got to the 4x4 to discover that the back three seats were basically in the boot, very cramped and with very limited visibility of anything. The Dutch ladies promptly complained about their knees, and being the pushover I am, I initially offered to go in the back. So the three English girls ended up crammed in the back. And the others looked happily around, as if to say, ok, this will be how it goes then. Now, my companions are not cursed with my diminutive stature, and were very uncomfortable. I was also slightly annoyed. After a lifetime of always getting crammed into the backs of cars/car boots/tiny beds, I thought, sod this, we've paid just as much as the others - why should we get stuck here. Now it was just a matter of conveying this to the others without offending anyone. A task which filled our next two days. By the end of the trip I had successfully managed 4 out of the 19 car trips, not in the back! Erm, result!?!
I find it really difficult to approach this kind of conversation - it was clear that there was an age issue, and the younger members of the group were expected to sacrifice out of respect for their elders. Part of me caves immediately to this. But we are no longer children. We were all adults, paying handsomely for the experience, so surely some kind of equality could be established. Or was it because we were Brits - and the fiesty Europeans immediately realised we wouldnt be up for a fight? It was pretty awkward, to say the least.
Ok, enough complaining. It was a fantastic two days otherwise. The ferry was about 40 mins, followed by careering along a sand track across the centre of the island before emerging on 75 mile beach on the east side. As well as a beautiful expanse of white sand, this is also the main road. However, due to the very high tides in the wake of the storm, much of the beach was underwater, so going was a little hairy at times.
Our first stop took us for a 40 minute walk across a semi-wooded sand dune to a beautiful green lake, perfectly clear and cool, with little fish that would nibble the passing swimmers. We passed huge spiders, and coppery red trees that bled crimson sap. It was incredibly picturesque, but with a very wild, untamed beauty. It was during this walk that something terrible happened. My flip-flops, a present from my parents 6 years ago in Cape Town, snapped. Well the left one did. Doing the rest of the trip barefoot was not perhaps the best idea. I have been burnt, stung and left with many many splinters. But I could not face the indignity and clamminess of wearing trainers on a sand island! Even if it meant people calling me a mountain goat, and other such affectionate names. After attempts to find stray flip-flops on the beach (they were all right feet, damn!) I gave up.
We stopped off at the Maheno wreck, which suddenly loomed in the sandy distance. Having seen pictures of it all my life, it was amazing to be there in the flesh. Especially when our attention was called to what the boat originally looked like when it was stranded on its voyage to Sydney. It used to be huge! The remains now only resemble jagged teeth in some places, although you can still see an impressive amount of detail. It was very atmospheric with the clouds looming, and the waves crashing through the portholes. The foamy scum being thrown up all the way along the beach skedaddled across the sand like a scuttling crab, while we jumped to avoid it (pretty unsuccessfully).
I'll speed this up. We visited as many of the major sites on the Island as we could, give the conditions, and the amount of roads still shut following the storms. Indian Head (so named after Captain Cook saw Aboriginals there), the Champagne Pools (we couldnt swim, as the usual subtle ripples had been amplified to massive waves breaking over the pools), some amazing sand dunes etc. In the morning, after a fitful nights sleep and an amazing breakfast (bacon and pancakes!!!) we swam in an icy clean (and cold) creek, which carried you straight down towards the ocean. And three waiting dingos, who were fishing near the shore. We were overjoyed to see them - Fraser is known for having the most purebred dingos anywhere in Australia. Signs abound with warnings about them. Jokes about them eating babies are not appreciated.
Then on to Lake Mackenzie, were we swam and passed out in the sun. For the first time, we were also not plagued by the huge marshflies that had been ever present for the rest of our time on the island. We all developed our own dances to keep them off. Mine was a little like the funky chicken, but more twitchy... A last lunch, then we were off, back to the mainland bustle. On return to the hostel, a shower was definitely in order. Followed by a general comparison of bites. I have a perfect crescent on the back of my left leg. Strangely, all my bites are confined to my left leg. Random.
Now I must sign off, and give my full attention to our scrabble game...!
Let it be a lesson. We had breakfast, checked out and turned up at the office full of energy to discover that the office was shut, no-one was around, and it smelled like an animal had died. Quarter of an hour later the owner rocked up - claiming 'girls, i'm having a shocker! a shocker!' We smiled and forgot about it. An hour later, we were still there, as she told everyone 'i'm having a shocker!' yet again. The smiles were getting more forced.
Fraser Island tours are notorious for being big groups, where you get to drive along the fantastic beaches (more convenient than roads) - they lean towards the younger age groups, and involve lots of goon and singing. We had already shown our age by doing unthinkable things like not drinking (too expensive) and playing scrabble in the hostel bar. So we were (well, I was) a little apprehensive of 'hanging with the kids'. This worry turned out to be unneccesary. Our group was a little different. It consisted of us, (aged around 24), a father and daughter from France, and two fiftysomething Dutch women. Ok. This was fine. We then discovered we were only taking one car, and when I asked whether we should show them our driving licenses, was told it wasnt necessary as we wouldnt be driving. Hmmph. Grrr. The next issue to raise its ugly head was when we got to the 4x4 to discover that the back three seats were basically in the boot, very cramped and with very limited visibility of anything. The Dutch ladies promptly complained about their knees, and being the pushover I am, I initially offered to go in the back. So the three English girls ended up crammed in the back. And the others looked happily around, as if to say, ok, this will be how it goes then. Now, my companions are not cursed with my diminutive stature, and were very uncomfortable. I was also slightly annoyed. After a lifetime of always getting crammed into the backs of cars/car boots/tiny beds, I thought, sod this, we've paid just as much as the others - why should we get stuck here. Now it was just a matter of conveying this to the others without offending anyone. A task which filled our next two days. By the end of the trip I had successfully managed 4 out of the 19 car trips, not in the back! Erm, result!?!
I find it really difficult to approach this kind of conversation - it was clear that there was an age issue, and the younger members of the group were expected to sacrifice out of respect for their elders. Part of me caves immediately to this. But we are no longer children. We were all adults, paying handsomely for the experience, so surely some kind of equality could be established. Or was it because we were Brits - and the fiesty Europeans immediately realised we wouldnt be up for a fight? It was pretty awkward, to say the least.
Ok, enough complaining. It was a fantastic two days otherwise. The ferry was about 40 mins, followed by careering along a sand track across the centre of the island before emerging on 75 mile beach on the east side. As well as a beautiful expanse of white sand, this is also the main road. However, due to the very high tides in the wake of the storm, much of the beach was underwater, so going was a little hairy at times.
Our first stop took us for a 40 minute walk across a semi-wooded sand dune to a beautiful green lake, perfectly clear and cool, with little fish that would nibble the passing swimmers. We passed huge spiders, and coppery red trees that bled crimson sap. It was incredibly picturesque, but with a very wild, untamed beauty. It was during this walk that something terrible happened. My flip-flops, a present from my parents 6 years ago in Cape Town, snapped. Well the left one did. Doing the rest of the trip barefoot was not perhaps the best idea. I have been burnt, stung and left with many many splinters. But I could not face the indignity and clamminess of wearing trainers on a sand island! Even if it meant people calling me a mountain goat, and other such affectionate names. After attempts to find stray flip-flops on the beach (they were all right feet, damn!) I gave up.
We stopped off at the Maheno wreck, which suddenly loomed in the sandy distance. Having seen pictures of it all my life, it was amazing to be there in the flesh. Especially when our attention was called to what the boat originally looked like when it was stranded on its voyage to Sydney. It used to be huge! The remains now only resemble jagged teeth in some places, although you can still see an impressive amount of detail. It was very atmospheric with the clouds looming, and the waves crashing through the portholes. The foamy scum being thrown up all the way along the beach skedaddled across the sand like a scuttling crab, while we jumped to avoid it (pretty unsuccessfully).
Then on to Lake Mackenzie, were we swam and passed out in the sun. For the first time, we were also not plagued by the huge marshflies that had been ever present for the rest of our time on the island. We all developed our own dances to keep them off. Mine was a little like the funky chicken, but more twitchy... A last lunch, then we were off, back to the mainland bustle. On return to the hostel, a shower was definitely in order. Followed by a general comparison of bites. I have a perfect crescent on the back of my left leg. Strangely, all my bites are confined to my left leg. Random.
Now I must sign off, and give my full attention to our scrabble game...!
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