Easter Weekend Camping

We came to Cardwell to work, to put in as much possible work time for as many days possible over a two or three week period. The Easter weekend hurt our plans quite a bit by taking two perfectly good work days from us, or 1/5 of our planned income for this period. So now, given a four day weekend, we decided to make the most of it and explore the surrounding areas in a four day, three night camping trip. Little did we realize upon departing that we'd face storms, floods, multiple near-death experiences, and being stranded and left for dead atop a mountain in the middle of nowhere! And now, let the anecdotes begin!

We departed Friday afternoon after a much too slow start to the day. We enlisted the company of Sarah, one of our fellow prawn mutilators. Our first stop was the nearby Tully for much needed provisions. The Misty Mountains hiking trails 40km west beckoned to us. The name proved telling given the constant rainfall and foggy countryside. We passed the Tully River, famous for being Australia's top river rafting site. Sandy chugged up and down the hills and barely took us to our camp site. We arrived and it was deserted, a gate blocked the camp site and there was no pay box to be found. We let this deter us not, though we had little choice because darkess was swiftly approaching. After setting up camp, we huddled into a small picnic shelter and enjoyed dinner and a couple of beers while watching the rain fall around us.

Hanani and I went for a short walk to the river to investigate the area. Chatting away, we almost didn't notcie the snake right in our path! I saw it two seconds before Hanani's merely thonged foot came down upon it. He jumped back and the snake quickly scurried into the bushes. I don't know what kind of snake it ws, but for anecdotal purposes, we'll say it was deadly; they all are in Australia. We were lucky, 40 miles from civilization, out of cellphone range, and completely alone, any venomous snake bite would have proven fatal.

Hanani, Sarah, and I slept in the safety of Sandy's bed. It provided great shelter from the rain, but not the mosquitoes. It was also quite comfortable to cram three people into a twin bed. We made it work somehow. There is something soothing and beautiful about sleeping in the middle of the rainforest. So much life surrounds you everywhere, the plants, the birds, the insects. It fills the spirit with such energy and peace. We also had the peaceful sound of the flowing river to woo us to sleep.

The next day, we went for a 10km hike to Elizibeth Grant Falls. The hike itself was not too interesting, although we saw another of the same snake as the day earlier cross our path. We also encountered a small mammal, my guess is a wombat, but it ran to the bushes before I got too good of a look.

After arriving at the waterfal, the hike proved well worth it. Elizibeth Grant Falls has a stunning view of the water pouring from the mountain, only to drop 500ft into the rainforest below. We sat for a while and enjoyed the view until Eline spotted something lurking the bushes.

"Cassowarra!" she cried.

We had joked with each other for the past two days about seeing the elusive cassowary, so we didn't actually believe her cries. The Southern cassowary is a highly endangered bird that only resides in Northern Queensland. Standing six feet tall, with a yellow fin atop its blue tatooed face, the cassowary is the emu's bad-ass punk brother. It is more than just its looks that gives this description. It is equipped with giant sharp claws that can easily disembowel a person with one swipe. It runs at incredible speeds as well. Given that it is one of the few birds to have actually killed people, this flightless monster is ofter considered the world's most dangerous bird. Sadly, deforestation, hunting, and cars have reduced their numbers to under 2,000. They don't often attack people, only if you have food or if you prove a threat to their babies.

Crouching down low, eating my peanut butter sandwich, I saw that Eline's cry was true; just through the bushes a mere ten feet away stood two cassowaries. I looked at my sandwich then cramed it quickly into my mouth. Watching the cassowaries stilly and silently, I saw one move slightly to reveal three chicks. This got my heart pumping. We waited without moving or talking, making sure the park bench was between us and the birds, or dinosaurs by the look of it. The big one, probably the father creeped towards us, with an inquisitive look. It stared us down for a few minutes before turning around and heading deeper into the woods with its family. Relieved, we all pulled out our other sandwich and continued lunch.

Our day was much less excited after that. We drove 1.5 hours to the coastal town of Mission Beach. My friends had stayed at a campsite in town two weeks earlier that was quiet and basically deserted. We arrived to a full house. Four large local families converged at the site every Easter Weekend. They were a good grouple of people. It rained a bit and they helped us out by lending us a tarp and some rope. They introduced us to ghost crab hunting. At night, crabs take over the beaches. Armed with torches and a bucket, we roused them and caputured them. I didn't prove to have much aptitude for the sport.

The next morning, we headed to the Sunday markets where I decided to buy every fruit I had never seen before. The results of my random fruit sampling will be posted in a future blog.

Our original plan was to hit up Josephine Falls and climb Bartle Frere, the tallest mountain in Queensland, though we didn't trust Sandy to take us further North. Instead, we head South towards Cardwell and then to the nearby Wallaman Falls, the tallest single drop waterfall in Australia. The road to the falls was a continuous steep switchback up a mountain. Sandy started strong, but slowly started deteriorating. She climbed and climbed as hard as she could, but it didn't take long before she really started struggling. Then she died and wouldn't start again. We were stranded on a mountain on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

We rolled backwards down the hill for a kilometer to a parking area for overheating vehicles. After setting up an illegal camp and a pot of hot soup in the rain, we hit the sack.

The next morning, we decided to end our journey. Sandy started fine and got us home safe.

Cardwell

I have now been here in Cardwell for three days. It is a tiny little town that doesn't offer much activity, but it is surrounded by some of the most beautiful scenery I've ever seen. It is sandwiched between the ocean, in view of the nearby Hitchinbrook Island, and dense rainforested mountains stretching North and South as far as the eyes can see. Both are teasing me at the moment, because I am here primarily to work with prawns; I'm a prawnin' man now.

We wake up and six, go for a jog and watch the sunrise over Hitchinbrook Island, stretch, suck down coffee and toast, then hop into Sandy for our trip to the prawn farm.

Once at the farm, we put on a long sleeve shirt, followed by a white lab coat. We then put on our socks, then plastic sock covers, followed by big rubber gumboots. On our hands, we wear cotton gloves to keep our hands warm while handing the freezing cold prawns and protect us from prawns' sharp noses. On top of these gloves, we wear rubber gloves and some plastic sleeve covers. We wear all this with a white hairnet on top. The final look is of some brain-covered surgeon. I've happily dubbed myself Dr. Prawn.

Our job is simple, but crucial to the prawn processing operation. We take the prawn, rip off the head, being sure to remove all the brain. Next, we place our thumbs on the underside of the prawn, crack the first half of the shell with an upward movement of the thumb, do the same for the back half, then remove the shell and legs in one quick movement. It is imperative to make sure the tail and last segment of the shell remain intact. It sounds very simple, but is actually quite tricky. It took me nearly three days to finally get it down. The prawns are very cold; they just sit in a pool of ice. Sometimes the shell is hard and comes off easily, but most of the time, the shell is more like a slippery soft skin, resistant to all attempts at removal. We spend eight hours doing only this and cleaning. Thankfully we are allowed one ear of headphones for music and can talk to our fellow work friends while we conduct this mindless work.

On our first day, we just sang songs and merrily tried to figure out how to get the dang shells off. Hanani is having some trouble, given his disgust and complete lack of experience with all things prawn. At some point, we all broke out into a wonderful rendition of "Hava Nagila", complete with dancing. After a couple of minutes of this, Hanani dropped his smile and his prawn and uttered, "I think God shall strike me dead this very minute."

I quite enjoy it; it is meditative, pays well, is actually quite fun, and most importantly not in Cairns. The four of us all agree that Cairns is a bad place for the soul. All of us as happy for the relocation and happy to be making some money. With Easter coming up, we have a four day weekend to tour the many nearby rainforests and waterfalls. I can't imagine anything I'd rather do in this paradise than hike and camp for four days.

Great Barrier Reef

Let's travel back in time to last Thursday. Cairns was not a complete bust. In the end, I was the only one in our group willing to pay for a snorkeling trip to the Great Barrier Reef. Despite the eventual lack of interest by the others, I was not about to let this once in a lifetime opportunity pass me by.

I chose to take the ReefQuest boat! Yeah, I thought it sounded quite fantastic myself. It was also on sale. Unlike many of the world's popular snorkeling reefs, the Great Barrier Reef is located many miles off shore. Our tour took us to the Norman Reef, on the outer reef, near the open water of the Coral Sea. ti was only 60km from town. Literally, I was snorkeling in the middle of nowhere.

Before I sum up my experience in the reef, let me give a quick disclaimer. Seeing the Great Barrier Reef was the number one thing I wanted to see in Australia. This is the largest, most spectacular reef in the whole world! It can even be seen from space! So, let's just say I was quite hyped for this trip.

After nearly two hours of restless waiting as the boat headed to the reef, after flipping through every page of the fish and underwater wildlife guide, we finally arrived! I donned my stinger suit, flippers, mask and snorkel, then pushed off into the clear blue waters. What I saw, however, was not what I expected. Instead of a myriad of colors no crayon could duplicate, I was treated to gray, unhealthy dying coral. There were pockets of splendor scattered throughout the area, but the reef was quite sad. With global warming, pollution, and constant tourists, the Great Barrier Reef is in danger. The newly high acidity of the water will probably kill the reef in the next fifty years, resulting not only in the death of the largest living thing on earth, but the end of a billion dollar industry for Australia.

I wasn't disappointed by the reef, but more by what we as humans have done to it On the plus side, the variety of fish was outstanding! Hawaii had fish everywhere, but they were mostly the same kinds of fish. The Great Reef has different fish everywhere I looked. I later consulted a guide and identified 20 different marine animals I saw in four hours of snorkeling. Who knows how many more I saw that I couldn't find in the guide? Among the many highlights were barracuda, a sea turtle, a giant clam, some fish that were literally as big as me, and finally my first shark! At first, I thought it was huge, but after swimming by me a few more times, I realized it was a harmless, five foot long reef shark.

Overall, it was an enjoyable trip. Apparently, the coral further North isn't quite so damaged as by Cairns, but I just didn't have the time or money to get there. It was very fortunate that I had the chance to see it now how it is, because it will only get worse as we add more years of pollution and abuse to our oceans.

Enter Act Three

It is so wonderful to with Eline and Mirte again. I'd forgotten how much fun they were. I've wrote of them during my journey across Western Australia. Just having someone to help cook or simply join me on a walk is very relieving.

My first day of group travel was spent recovering from the previous night's debauchery. We decided to put our quiet day to good use. We embarked to the town lagoon for a while (skipping the pool on hot North Queensland day is not an option.), then researched snorkeling trips. Our day was truly made when we finally found a job. An ex-hostel manager from Cardwell heard our chatting and offered to find us work using one of his connections. One phone call later and we were happily employed!

"Hanani! We found a job!" I broke the news to my Jewish friend.

"Oh great! What will we be doing?" He enthusiastically replied.

I didn't know how to tell him that our job wasn't very kosher. "Uh, well Hanani, we will be shelling prawns."

"What's a prawn?"

"It's a shrimp Hanani."

"Oh, that's not good. Do I have to kill them?"

"Thankfully, they are already dead."

"As long as I don't kill them, I'll do it, but God won't be too happy about this."

Everything was set. We just had to be in Cardwell by Sunday. The trouble was just getting to Cardwell. Sandy the van was on her last legs. The half maroon, half white beauty just barely survived the trip from Darwin. Hanani too her to the shop to get fixed, but a couple days later on the way home from the shop, she died.

Although I had not even traveled in her yet, I already felt a strange affinity for her. She was beat up, old, broken down, kinda ugly, the exact vehicle I imagined myself backpacking Australia in my dreams. Her passenger seat is a lime green lawn chair tied by red nylon rope to a hole in the van. There are no back seats, just a naked mattress sitting atop a wooden bed frame we stole from another abandoned can. Instead of seatbelts, we have steel hooks that jam into the point where the wall meets the tinfoil and cardboard ceiling. There can be no better way to travel.

A jump start brought her back to the hostel, but once there, she would not revive. Our plan to see the heavenly Daintree Rainforest and Cape Tribulation were scrapped. Instead, we hung out, prayed, partied, and hoped Sandy would have enough in her to take us the 200km to Cardwell on Sunday. Terry had faith; upon his inspection, he found we merely had a dead battery. We slept Saturday hoping for the best. We awoke early Sunday morning, chowed down the hostel's free cornflakes and coffee, then prepared for our seemingly epic journey. First stop was the local supermarket. Cardweel, a tiny farm village has quite inflated food costs. We loaded up with bags upon bags of food, ignoring the possibility that Sandy would not start and we'd be forced to load up the Greyhound with half a supermarket. Next was a couple of cans of petrol. If Sandy starts, we'd be unable to stop for gas along the way in fear that she wouldn't start again. Loaded and gassed up, Sandy was ready for the moment of truth.

We enlisted the help of various hostel dwellers to help us push start the van. Sandy was our Little Miss Sunshine that day, bringing smiles to all those who got the see the sight of six backpackers trying to breathe life into a dead can. Chug Chug! But no go. Faster we pushed, Henani pushed the two wires together again (the only way to start the van is by hotwiring). Still no success. We then pushed as fast as we could, hoping to reach second gear. Sandy felt the wind in her...windshield. She tried to start, mustering up all of her willpower into a giant chunk, but fell silent once again.

We parked her on the side of the road, defeated. As we sat, figuring how we were to convince Greyhound that $100 worth of food constitutes one item of luggage, the owner of the neighboring car arrived. "Hey mate, could you try and give us a jump?"

The man agreed. Sandy still would not turn over though.

"Maybe you could just jiggle the cables around while you try?"

At that point, even smearing peanut butter and rice on the battery would have seemed like a good idea. I jiggled the cables. Eline and Mirte uttered some sort of Dutch incantation. Hanani brought the two wires together. Suddenly, Sandy sprung to life!

Minutes later, we were cruising to Cardwell, cars passing us ever thirty seconds. Sandy can't go to fast and with an unresponsive speedometer, we have no clue how not fast Sandy goes. With the wind from the broken window in my hair, book in one hand, hook in the other, I let the Northern Queensland scenery pass me by. Finally, I put the depressive waste of my two weeks in Cairns behind me.

Enter Act Three

Exuent Act 2

Cairns will always remain the low part of the trip from me. In many ways, it is an end of Act 2 so to speak: that point in the story when things aren't looking too positive for our protagonist, but only if the story has a happy ending. This is also the point where my stint traveling alone has ended.

My time in Cairns started with loneliness. After a week with a good friend, preceded by a few weeks meeting only really great, down-to-earth hippies, I wasn't quite ready for Cairns. By the time I reached town, I was quite burned out on traveling; I really just wanted to be with consistent friends and just have a home. Cairns instead proved to be a soulless, tourist wasteland, with a 24/7 party to help everyone forget how soulless the place truly is.

The first hostel I inhabited was a flashy, clean, super-hostel, or flashpackers as it is affectionately called. I chose it for its close proximity to the airport. Despite the large number of people, it wasn't very social. I ended up socializing with only the hostel employees, heading to the clubs every night, trying unsuccessfully to enjoy the company of somebody cool. My days were spent mostly alone, hung-over, and reading Dostoevsky. I don't think this was a wise choice of reading for my period of mild depression.

Thankfully, a random conversation over karaoke helped break my loneliness. I met Annie, owner of the Asylum Hostel. I was expressing my dissatisfaction with the social scene of my hostel. Annie assured me that her hostel was quite the opposite; this proved incredibly true. The Asylum or as the locals dub it "The Mad House" is probably the most crazy party hostel I could ever imagine. It is run down, dirty, everything is broken, but it is filled with lots of really cool people who are always willing to chat.

I got sucked into the crazy endless party of the town sadly. Now I wasn't quite as bad as some; many began drinking around 11AM and kept going until 5AM daily. I always waited until after dinner and I did take days off. Even though I quickly tired of this lifestyle, there I was most nights, joining the group just to avoid being alone. It only took a couple of days to forget many of the lessons I worked so hard to learn.

Not to say I didn't have fun...cause I did. I met some great people in the town. Once again, I found myself gravitating to an older Australian woman. Sandy was quite cool and we spent many days just sitting around talking for hours. I blame her for my lack of productivity. I also met Roman from Russia who was quiet sober but insane when drunk. Krissy from Canada proved to be lots of fun; we spent one night pretending to be Oregon hippies, straight-faced for three hours before we finally cracked up. Mostly though, I sat around waiting for my friends to arrive from Darwin. I avoided seeing any of the surrounding sites Cairns has to offer, because I expected to just see them with Eline and Mirte. A week disappeared into a pool of box wine and existential Russian literature.

Finally on Monday, Eline, Mirte, and our other travel mate, Henani from Israel arrived in their beat up hippie van Sandy. Their arrival ushered in the next phase of my trip: group travel. No more sitting alone. No more need to tell my life story nightly.

The send off to these dark days was of course a massive party. Every Monday, our hostel hosts the Mad Monday Party, where we all don matching t-shirts (which we eventually cover in writing), get drunk, then hit the town, scaring everyone who crosses our path. It was so much fun. The energy that 40 people in one giant group can generate is amazing and exhilarating. We won some bar games and with it free beer.

I arrived home at three that morning. I really took it easy considering, so I wasn't as partied out as the rest of the group. There were a few still awake in the common area and I talked of my loathing for the town and how it has dragged me into a depressive hole. Thankfully, Paul the Kiwi, snapped me out of my funk. "Look around you, bro!" (though the Kiwis say more like brew). "Look at the hills, look at the rainforest, look at the reef that surrounds you here. This is one of the most beautiful places on Earth. That's why it is a tourist wasteland. Just because the town has no soul, doesn't mean you have to lose your own."

I just smiled back at him. "I guess you can't control the town, only how you look at it."

"Exactly Brew!"

With the passing of that test, I headed to bed, eagerly ready to face the next phase of my journey.