Queensland & The Great Barrier Reef

Dive. Eat. Sleep.

We descend into the warm Pacific water. We float around peering at sharks, cuttlefish, and turtles. We rise from the sea, content as visitors in another world, shed the underwater breathing apparatus, and enter the cabin. Lining up like soldiers in a mess hall, our tired bodies confront piles of cakes, bowls filled with salads of every sort, scalloped potatoes, curried tofu, fruit, coffee, and many other assorted food items meant to pack our gullets full and raise our spirits.

Content as stray cats finding a dumpster filled with salmon, we waddle from the chilled eating room to the upper deck, where intense sunlight warms our bodies and sends us into a deep slumber. Lost in dreams of deep sea cities and mermaids, our aquatic fantasies are cut short by indifferent dive masters anxious to beckon us all back into the sea.

So, we begin again.

Dive. Eat. Sleep.

Thus is the life of the participants on a live-a-board dive boat.

Three days of early mornings, diving, eating, conversing about what one does and where one has traveled, and sleeping at every conceivable opportunity. Slumber comes easy on a dive boat. One moment you might be talking with a lively bloke from Liverpool, and the next your asleep in your chair – head cocked backwards, limbs splayed about searching for positions of comfort.

Regardless of the frenzied nature of the trip, the diving was quite spectacular.
Surprisingly, my best fortune occurred with the boat's cook – a young Frenchman. As Travis occasionally decided to take additional time for regenerative purposes, I found myself partnered with the chef during a couple of dives. We first descended into the darkness for a night dive, where we encountered a timid lobster and a friendly cuttlefish.

On the third day, I dove with the curly-haired Frenchman again. We floated along a wall covered with an incredible assortment of coral until turning inward along a short, steadily rising valley. Suddenly, the cook gasped and wailed through his regulator. Floating peacefully in a completely oblivious state, I turned to acknowledge the crazy Frenchman's exasperation. Finding the cook pointing with profound glee into the tapered valley below, I glanced over to see what was procuring so much excitement. A wave of terror and disbelief raced through my body. Gliding through the warm Pacific ocean was a monster of the sea. An enormous eagle ray – as large as a Volkswagen Bug with wings, coasting effortlessly and with much disregard. The creatures long tail stretched for fifteen or twenty feet behind a sleek, hydrodynamic body. An amazing encounter. Many eyes glistened with envy as we revealed our serendipitous contact with the giant ocean beast.

Other expeditions in Queensland included a tour of the Atherton Tablelands, where we swam beneath waterfalls, spotted a giant spider, and watched platypus feed at dusk. A short trip northward took us into the Daintree Rainforest, and across the Daintree River, were a large crocodile was observed and long deserted beaches were explored. Heading south before our flight into Western Australia, we jumped on a catamaran and sailed into the Whitsundays – a series of islands of the eastern coast.

Rain in the Outback

Supposedly is doesn't rain in Central Australia. Supposedly rivers run dry most of the year as the sun boils the arid landscape. Supposedly watching water fall from the alien canyons and crevasses of Uluru, formerly Ayers Rock, occurs once in every fourteen blue-moons.

Well, if you haven't already surmised from the sarcastic tone of this presage the inevitable situation that defined our stay, let me say that blue-moons in Australia look much like clouds and mud.

An adventure nonetheless, and one thoroughly enjoyed. We integrated ourselves into a tour that rattled across the Outback in a bus loaded with anxious foreigners and one lively tour guide. We slept in “swags”, a Australian concoction integrating a long canvas bag, a foamy pad, and an enormous “flap”. We encircled a campfire and dozed beneath the stars – that is, the distant balls-of-fire we occasionally observed through the dark blanket of clouds. We learned about Aboriginal culture and history, we hiked though rock formations mimicking those hardly fathomable in daydreams, and we consumed some of the most atrocious damn coffee this side of Columbia.

In regards to “hardly fathomable rock formations”, Uluru is perhaps the most bizarre mount of granite I've ever encountered. The accompanying pictures hardly expose the fantastical nature of the notorious rock. A “monolith” rotated, Uluru consists of layers of hardened sediment jutting vertically from the ground. Strange indeed, akin to virtually nothing. Apparently only a small portion peeks from the soil, leaving thousands feet buried in the earth. The shapes, rounded and smoothed from years of weather, dance with the imagination. Something from the “Alien” movies perhaps? Inspiration for H.R. Giger?

Kata Tjuta, another sacred Aboriginal site, belonged to the agenda, and levied her beauty to the water saturated group on the second day. Due to the unexpected dousing from mother nature, a dry night sleeping amongst the sand and bugs became three brave souls parked around the campfire and the rest sleeping in the campground laundromat. Jared, the guide, woke everyone before sunrise, and following a filling breakfast, hauled the lethargic crowd to the lesser known rock formations of Kata Tjuta.

While not quite as prolific as Uluru, Katajuru is an impressive littering of giant mounds of compressed river rock strewn across the desert. We wondered along the path looking upwards at cliffs extending into the clouds. Kata Tjuta seems to cover more ground than Uluru, but the formations have experienced more natural degradation.

The third day brought us the cliffs and waterfalls of Kings Canyon. A near heart-stopping dollop in a sub-fifty degree swimming hole kept the spirits high, and a blow-out celebration at a popular watering-hole back in Alice Springs involving absurd amounts of beer brought the tour to an appropriate end.

On a darker note, the Aboriginal people appear to still exist upon the fringes of the white population. The native inhabitants of Australia seem to roam the streets of Alice Springs as vagabonds, howling and screaming from habitual intoxication. Intolerance and violence brought about by early white settlers has brought an indifferent modernity against a culture thousands of years old. The Australian government is now much more sensitive to the Aboriginal culture, but full integration may prove a difficult task. A greater respect and understanding of Aboriginal heritage is desperately needed. Hopefully things will change.

The Great Coastal Highway

The folks down-under love their meat and dairy. While vegetarian options exist at most grub stations, flesh dominates. From kangaroo burgers to crocodile steaks, meaty concoctions abound for the giddy carnivore.

As Mr. Johnson and myself ventured east along the Great Coastal Highway, cattle stations, dairy lands, and sheep ranches stretched as far as the inquisitive eye could see. Opposite the ocean to the north, green pastures seemed to provide plentiful bounty to the animals – a smorgasbord of grassy plains to fatten the complacent creatures. (Our venture northward to Alice Springs confirmed the meat infatuation with million-acre cattle stations!).

It was the south that we were most interested, though. Here, the cold waters touching the icy antarctic shores at the bottom of the world meet the rocky, cliff-strewn southern Australian coast. Whales migrate through these cold waters, penguins frolic, and enormous swells pour into giant foamy waves for a multitude of surfing fanatics. Around every curve, views from the elevated lookouts would present tiny insulated bodies floating in the tumultuous sea, waiting for an epic ride. A brief meander into the water provided an adequate conception of the rather frigid temperature of the ocean, yet neither this nor the enormous waves crashing into the burning red walls dissuaded the persistent riders.

The Great Ocean Road hugs the coast for about 250 miles. It presents a winding road cut along cliffs, rock-outcroppings, and pleasant bays. Koalas abound. Arising from our attic-like dwelling at the forested YHA hostel, a couple of the gray fur-balls sat high in eucalyptus branches, looking lethargically and with near disregard at Travis and myself as our cameras fluttered with a multitude of exposures.

After contenting ourselves with the digital equivalent of rolls-upon-rolls of pictures of the fuzzy little bears, the Great Ocean Road brought us upon more Koalas, and over-priced lighthouse, bays, surfers, piers, and finally to some spectacular rock formations towards the latter end of the ride.

Hundred of thousands of years of erosion left the Twelve Apostles stranded from the coastline. They lumber from the rolling sea, standing tall and defiant while looking ever into the southern horizon. As natural wonders tend to decay with time, so some of the apostles have crumbled and fallen into the sea. Only five or six still stand guard, but their visual magnificence seems no less stunning. A well-timed visit left us swimming in a myriad of colors shown with great extravagance by the sky, the sea, and the rocks. Hours passed as we observed the sun plunge with fiery brilliance into the cold Antarctic Ocean.
Travis, privy with common sense, returned to the car following the exit of the sun. I waited in vain for penguins, foretold by the travel guide to waddle upon the shores beneath the Apostles. No “sea torpedoes” appeared, but I did confront either a dingo or a fox in the twilight. Not exactly a screwball, flightless bird, but a good end to a great day.

The following day we searched in vain for whales, spotted some wallabies in a lush volcanic crater, and raced back to Melbourne to return the vehicle.

Melbourne

Strangely enough, while Melbourne was thoroughly enjoyed, not too many pictures were snapped for posterity. Nonetheless, here are a couple to bring some complacency to those inquisitive of the southeastern Australian metropolis.

We had the good fortune to watch a “footy game” at the MCG in Australia – a stadium built to bring 100,000 frenzied Australian Rules Football fanatics together to cheer, chant, drink beer, and watch their favorite teams play a bizarre game similar to rugby, but faster and more peculiar. Having entered the stadium without a primer to the basic concepts inherent in the game, we were a bit dumbfounded as we watched the players prance about bouncing and kicking a football around a large grass field.

Apparently the goal was to punch or kick the ball between two tall poles located at either end of the field. Similar to kicking a field goal in American Football, but here the ball is kicked while the player is running. The ball can also be hit with a closed fist on the vertical end or tossed underhand. Strange indeed, but nonetheless entertaining.

We also biked around the city and checked-out a Tim Burton exhibit at the Australian Centre for Moving Images.

Our next stretch will take us along the Great Coastal Highway.