Hervey Bay, OZ
Born to be Wild
"Get your motor running,
head out on the...Beach.
Looking for Adventure,
or whatever comes my Way.
And like a true natured child,
I was Born,
Born to be Wild,
I'm gonna climb across the sand, push through the land, and I'm never gonna die!" (we'll see)
I am back from Fraser Island, Baby! Before leaving, I couldn't help but notice the abundance of sunburnt veterans of the Fraser Island tours and got myself some sunblock. And, of course, it rained. Quite a lot, actually. If it was the Heavens pissing down on us, well those angels pee like fire trucks then. Now before consoling thoughts creep 'cross your commentary thus far, let me,"Stop, and thank you, Baby. I just want to stop, and thank you twice." I had a Great Time! Arrr.... A Toyota Landcruiser 4x4 with muscle, Baby! And they let me drive, heh heh heh. Certainly, the ex wife can appreciate the sheer fun of tearing across Fraser in a beat of a very different color than Vacilando. And I pushed that mother through rivers that flowed down the roads winding their way amid the lush rain forest of Fraser's interior. A tree broke in the storm, crashing down cross our path 10m in front of us. I double clutched, dropped a gear and sailed over that bastard more smoothly than any speed bump back on the mainland.
I'm getting ahead in the tale. I joined a group of 9 on a self driving Fraser Island tour (one of many), for 3 days/2 nights. My group was the standard mix: 2 Pomeys (Jenny and Hailey, 2 Germans (Anne and Claudia), 2 Irish (Connor and Brina), and 2 Swedes (Eric and Petra). I was the token Yank. The other 4x4 in our group had a few Canadians in it (what do you call a noisy Canadian? A Yank, or in the Tank), so the noise level was about equal.
Pulling off the Fraser Island ferry, I was behind the wheel in my standard garb. I'd forgotten, or more accurately I didn't think about the fact, that I'd shown up that morning wearing my sarong. It was early and I'd forgotten that some people think me an odd nut for running around in a dress (as I'm writing this, I'm still clad in nothing more, I've just realized).
Some of the group I'd gotten to know a bit the day afternoon before as we went food shopping for the trip. We had $135 to spend (9 x $15) and we ended up spending $134.20. The last few items were scanned with mounting tension and anticipation. When the last item was swiped it was like winning, "The Price is Right." So, already we'd bonded.
The sand was soft as I pulled onto the island, but the 4x4 cut through hit like butter, sliding round corners, gliding before the tires bit, and the beast's horse power took over. Fuckin' A! I'm pretty sure we strayed from the recommended route, the Canuck wagon took a different fork in the road anyway. We hung a left and I had brief moment of getting bogged in the sand. The troops deployed and I assed my way out. But before I could drop 'er into low 4 (oh yeah, Baby, I can feel my balls growing just saying that aloud, pure testosterone), a coupla Ozzies appeared from the brush and proceeded to deflate our tires.
"What the Fuck?"the first thought passing through my mind, but I settled on voicing the second, "Who the Fuck are y'all?" For some reason I need to curse while writing this. Maybe it's the music that I'm listening to: Indigo Girls. The Ozzies assured me that there were no worries, and we had a lively exchange on how much air they were leaving us with. We settled on 25 psi (or whatever it was measured in) which was less than the 30 the dealer had told us to go to, but more than the 20 the Ozzies were gunning for. Also, they'd already let one tire down to 25, the feral bastards. Anyway, everyone left happy. I gunned it through the soft bit like it was nothing (too easy), and then slid her back up to high 4 as the troops loaded back in.
We made for a lake set in the midst of sand dunes sweeping inland, like a desert erg. The water was delightful, filled with catfish like Farm Pond which I grew up swimming in. And like the beaches there, I went buck, the excuse being that I'd forgotten my bathing suit. Those of you who know my bathing suit realize that I'm full of shit as the bathing suit's more embarrassing/offensive. But no one care, save I when the small fish, the fingerlength ones, nibbled on my nuts. Have to say, it wasn't bad, just surprising. I'd give it a go.
The gals in the rear were navigating. I broke onto the beach amid shrieks from the rear as I once again muscled through the deep sand. However, closer to the water I could open her up a bit, dropped into 4th and passed 30kph.
"I feel the need. The need for Speed!"
It was decided that it was already 3p and we were supposed to be off the beach by 3.30p that we should take the inland tracks instead. I didn't have the map and preferred driving the inland tracks so we took a left, back into the bush. Again, rolling over, around and through at 20-25kph. No one else wanted the wheel so I tore up those trails. Passing other cars managed to be a bit tricky as it involved inevitably someone throwing it into reverse, but it was just part of the adventure (plus, most of the other cars backed down, it musta been the cowboy hat).
After an hour, we again neared the beach and stopped at a fork in the road. At this point we paused to consider our options. After looking at the map it was realized that the inland route was 3x the distance of the beach and I could also drive 2 or 3x faster on it. And so, though it was past 3.30p we returned to the beach to try and get to camp before 7p. Jenny was wary of this move, and voiced her fears of being washed out to sea. I'm pause here to say that Jenny may well be a Nemesis of mine, in that if I were to say "up," she'd say, "down" and so on.
The tide was on the rise but there remained plenty of beach. I stuck to the soft stuff making for excited flurries from the fannies in the rear, but we sailed along with minimal bumps. There were several streams feeding into the ocean, each one bouncing those in the rear. At the largest of these, Connor went out to test the water depth. The troops also dismounted and decided to ford the stream on foot (I dunno why). I put up a spray of water as I gunned it through.
We stopped to admire the hulking wreck, rusting on the beach before pulling into Base camp, our home for the next two nights. The tour that I ended up on had its own campsite with toilets, showers, a BBQ and range set and covered picnic tables (bear that one in mind).
We set up camp and relaxed with some drinks and a smoke. Our first night was a feast: burgers, sausages, taters, corn, coleslaw, and sweet potatoes. Good, good feed.
As people were getting to know each other's name, rank, favorite sexual position a dreaded Dingo strolled into camp. The moment of confrontation! Every Aussie who'd cautioned me as to the dangers of Dingoes flashed through my mind (you know who you are). A cry of "Dingo!" went up from our table and the poor critter shat his pants, turned tail and ran for it. An hour later he slinked past my tent, within a meter or two of me, as I relaxed in it, clearly seeking solace and a place to hide from the flash photography that'd been hounding him through the woods. Poor bastard.
The next morning began early for me. Oddly, I've been rising early the past few days and was the first up from our group (I know!). We loaded up, leaving our flies open (stop giggling) on our tents in case a dingo came sniffing along (I mean it!). We set off North along the beach, myself stuffed in the very rear as to better experience what I'd put the others through the day before, "Now, you'll see what it's like, you sadistic bastard." I snoozed, waking when Jenny hit 90kph passing another car on the beach. The general censuses from the rear was, "Slow the Fuck down!" We stopped to hike up Indian Head, a jutting headland which marks the northern end of 75 Mile Beach. From there, I heard that people often saw dolphins and whales. Didn't see that. Did see 4x4 in the water, the surf washing over its roof. The story was some idiot was out at 1am drunk and bogged the sucker. Some people were having fun snorkeling around it.
We headed further up to the Champagne Pools. I'd heard that they were just alright so I opted to stay with the 4x4 and have a smoke while listening to Lionel Ritchie's, "All Night Long." Connor has a great mix on his ipod.
Eric drove us back South, me moving up to shotgun engrossed in the music selection. And the rain began. Heavy and hard, the visibility sucked and the beach was under water. Eric declined to drive inland so I retook the wheel. We were headed to some lake with turtles in it. Yay! Turtles! Val, are you excited? Turtles. I dunno.
And so we're back to the flooded roads, crashing trees, driving through a rainforest amidst a nearly tropical storm (just 200k south). It was muddy, puddly Heaven! A dream track for a 4x4: mud to slide corners in, the bumps soft with water, and big puddles, 20m in length, to kick up a spray in (yes, I used to jump in puddles as a kid too). "Cannonball!"
The rain continued when we finally reached the turtle lake. Some went swimming and we met up with the other 4x4. We drove back to the beach in tandem, having a tight moment when we had to squeeze around a passing bus. However, during the return, the rain abated and quickly the waterways sunk back into the sand.
We headed back to camp for lunch. On the plus side, no dingoes ravaged our tents. However, my tent now came complete with a small lake. I drained the lake and did my best to dry the floor. Sleeping bags were hung from the rafters of the picnic areas roof, which we were appreciating far more at this point.
That evening the group was determined to exhaust our liquor supply, mostly intact from the first night. The lights went out at 10pm, but the rain had restarted so we carried on as drinking with a roof overhead seemed preferable to the alternative, our rather wet tents. I guess the one's supplied along with the 4x4 leaked. The front windscreen leaked as well, so I'm hoping it's simply that they don't get much rain on Fraser.
I digress. There's a parrot or parakeet just overhead harmonizing with the Indigo Girls. Bit tone deaf though....Well, he's getting better. On the same branch there hung a bat last night, I love this campsite! Which I found out is $5 unpowered (which they don't seem to check whether I'm using or not).
Our numbers dwindled as the night carried on, people eventually going to bed and passing out or doing it in the other way around. Eventually we were down to the Pomey girls, Eric, and Matt and AJ from the other 4x4, a Canadian and a Dutch SOB, respectively. And their bottle of Vodka. Silly thing to leave out. Strip poker ensued. Eric was soon bare assed at the table, his cap on my head and and a pile of shoes at my side (I'd gotten a flush in a game of 5 card draw). The game ended as the storm shifted into high gear and some were getting a bit chilly in their various levels of undress. Hailey became "Dingo" after she cried "Dingo!" for the fourth time (like the Boy who cried Wolf). Nothing that came out of her mouth could be taken seriously, as she lied compulsively. I liked her, crazy bitch from Birmingham. Told me all about Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath. Told me she lived next to one of 'em back home too. "Dingo!"
Far into the night it was down to Dingo, Eric Jen and myself. And the empty vodka bottle. Silly other car. We plotted our own dingo attacks at this point, which involved creeping into the tents, and giving a hickey to some sleeping relative stranger. Some high stakes Rock, Paper, Scissor determined that Eric was our first Dingo. The plan failed due to the fact that no one was really asleep in the tents. Instead, we packed the food into the van (after waiting an hour to see if the rain would slacken, it didn't), and huddled in there for a bit. Petra eventually came looking for her, "Toy Boy" (her words) breaking up the party. I retired to my tent and the girls went to sleep in the back of the 4x4. My tent was still a bit damp but sealed so otherwise dry and I soon drifted off to sleep.
I woke groggy four hours later, and we broke camp, it being our final day. Connor drove us out as I nursed a small hangover and lack of rest. It took me a while to register that I actually got the best nights sleep as the others were getting dripped on the whole evening. We drove past two lakes and had lunch at the second: Lake Mackenzie (most popular beach on Fraser).
We spent the afternoon lounging, the clouds thinned and we were able to sunbake a bit. Finally, we sauntered back to the 4x4, finding Dingo asleep in the rear. We set off on our final drive back to the port. This road had been sand 3 days before now seemed like Green Lane, my home, but to a much more massive degree of pot holes, dip and bends in the dirt track. It was a veritable slalom course which I weaved our way through, enjoying my last chance behind the wheel.
We arrived early and the early ferry was late, so we rolled right aboard, reuniting with the other 4x4 which had left Mackenzie several hours earlier. There were a bunch of 4x4 tour groups on the boat back and arm wrestling ensued. I took on the other guy in a cowboy hat, in a North American showdown, "Bring it on, Canada." I got spanked. I was told later that he cheated, but it was with our right arms so I didn't think I had a prayer (I'm a lefty as is my whole family).
And so, we returned, muddy from the mire that I'll remember as Fraser Island.
"Get your motor running,
head out on the...Beach.
Looking for Adventure,
or whatever comes my Way.
And like a true natured child,
I was Born,
Born to be Wild,
I'm gonna climb across the sand, push through the land, and I'm never gonna die!" (we'll see)
I am back from Fraser Island, Baby! Before leaving, I couldn't help but notice the abundance of sunburnt veterans of the Fraser Island tours and got myself some sunblock. And, of course, it rained. Quite a lot, actually. If it was the Heavens pissing down on us, well those angels pee like fire trucks then. Now before consoling thoughts creep 'cross your commentary thus far, let me,"Stop, and thank you, Baby. I just want to stop, and thank you twice." I had a Great Time! Arrr.... A Toyota Landcruiser 4x4 with muscle, Baby! And they let me drive, heh heh heh. Certainly, the ex wife can appreciate the sheer fun of tearing across Fraser in a beat of a very different color than Vacilando. And I pushed that mother through rivers that flowed down the roads winding their way amid the lush rain forest of Fraser's interior. A tree broke in the storm, crashing down cross our path 10m in front of us. I double clutched, dropped a gear and sailed over that bastard more smoothly than any speed bump back on the mainland.
I'm getting ahead in the tale. I joined a group of 9 on a self driving Fraser Island tour (one of many), for 3 days/2 nights. My group was the standard mix: 2 Pomeys (Jenny and Hailey, 2 Germans (Anne and Claudia), 2 Irish (Connor and Brina), and 2 Swedes (Eric and Petra). I was the token Yank. The other 4x4 in our group had a few Canadians in it (what do you call a noisy Canadian? A Yank, or in the Tank), so the noise level was about equal.
Pulling off the Fraser Island ferry, I was behind the wheel in my standard garb. I'd forgotten, or more accurately I didn't think about the fact, that I'd shown up that morning wearing my sarong. It was early and I'd forgotten that some people think me an odd nut for running around in a dress (as I'm writing this, I'm still clad in nothing more, I've just realized).
Some of the group I'd gotten to know a bit the day afternoon before as we went food shopping for the trip. We had $135 to spend (9 x $15) and we ended up spending $134.20. The last few items were scanned with mounting tension and anticipation. When the last item was swiped it was like winning, "The Price is Right." So, already we'd bonded.
The sand was soft as I pulled onto the island, but the 4x4 cut through hit like butter, sliding round corners, gliding before the tires bit, and the beast's horse power took over. Fuckin' A! I'm pretty sure we strayed from the recommended route, the Canuck wagon took a different fork in the road anyway. We hung a left and I had brief moment of getting bogged in the sand. The troops deployed and I assed my way out. But before I could drop 'er into low 4 (oh yeah, Baby, I can feel my balls growing just saying that aloud, pure testosterone), a coupla Ozzies appeared from the brush and proceeded to deflate our tires.
"What the Fuck?"the first thought passing through my mind, but I settled on voicing the second, "Who the Fuck are y'all?" For some reason I need to curse while writing this. Maybe it's the music that I'm listening to: Indigo Girls. The Ozzies assured me that there were no worries, and we had a lively exchange on how much air they were leaving us with. We settled on 25 psi (or whatever it was measured in) which was less than the 30 the dealer had told us to go to, but more than the 20 the Ozzies were gunning for. Also, they'd already let one tire down to 25, the feral bastards. Anyway, everyone left happy. I gunned it through the soft bit like it was nothing (too easy), and then slid her back up to high 4 as the troops loaded back in.
We made for a lake set in the midst of sand dunes sweeping inland, like a desert erg. The water was delightful, filled with catfish like Farm Pond which I grew up swimming in. And like the beaches there, I went buck, the excuse being that I'd forgotten my bathing suit. Those of you who know my bathing suit realize that I'm full of shit as the bathing suit's more embarrassing/offensive. But no one care, save I when the small fish, the fingerlength ones, nibbled on my nuts. Have to say, it wasn't bad, just surprising. I'd give it a go.
The gals in the rear were navigating. I broke onto the beach amid shrieks from the rear as I once again muscled through the deep sand. However, closer to the water I could open her up a bit, dropped into 4th and passed 30kph.
"I feel the need. The need for Speed!"
It was decided that it was already 3p and we were supposed to be off the beach by 3.30p that we should take the inland tracks instead. I didn't have the map and preferred driving the inland tracks so we took a left, back into the bush. Again, rolling over, around and through at 20-25kph. No one else wanted the wheel so I tore up those trails. Passing other cars managed to be a bit tricky as it involved inevitably someone throwing it into reverse, but it was just part of the adventure (plus, most of the other cars backed down, it musta been the cowboy hat).
After an hour, we again neared the beach and stopped at a fork in the road. At this point we paused to consider our options. After looking at the map it was realized that the inland route was 3x the distance of the beach and I could also drive 2 or 3x faster on it. And so, though it was past 3.30p we returned to the beach to try and get to camp before 7p. Jenny was wary of this move, and voiced her fears of being washed out to sea. I'm pause here to say that Jenny may well be a Nemesis of mine, in that if I were to say "up," she'd say, "down" and so on.
The tide was on the rise but there remained plenty of beach. I stuck to the soft stuff making for excited flurries from the fannies in the rear, but we sailed along with minimal bumps. There were several streams feeding into the ocean, each one bouncing those in the rear. At the largest of these, Connor went out to test the water depth. The troops also dismounted and decided to ford the stream on foot (I dunno why). I put up a spray of water as I gunned it through.
We stopped to admire the hulking wreck, rusting on the beach before pulling into Base camp, our home for the next two nights. The tour that I ended up on had its own campsite with toilets, showers, a BBQ and range set and covered picnic tables (bear that one in mind).
We set up camp and relaxed with some drinks and a smoke. Our first night was a feast: burgers, sausages, taters, corn, coleslaw, and sweet potatoes. Good, good feed.
As people were getting to know each other's name, rank, favorite sexual position a dreaded Dingo strolled into camp. The moment of confrontation! Every Aussie who'd cautioned me as to the dangers of Dingoes flashed through my mind (you know who you are). A cry of "Dingo!" went up from our table and the poor critter shat his pants, turned tail and ran for it. An hour later he slinked past my tent, within a meter or two of me, as I relaxed in it, clearly seeking solace and a place to hide from the flash photography that'd been hounding him through the woods. Poor bastard.
The next morning began early for me. Oddly, I've been rising early the past few days and was the first up from our group (I know!). We loaded up, leaving our flies open (stop giggling) on our tents in case a dingo came sniffing along (I mean it!). We set off North along the beach, myself stuffed in the very rear as to better experience what I'd put the others through the day before, "Now, you'll see what it's like, you sadistic bastard." I snoozed, waking when Jenny hit 90kph passing another car on the beach. The general censuses from the rear was, "Slow the Fuck down!" We stopped to hike up Indian Head, a jutting headland which marks the northern end of 75 Mile Beach. From there, I heard that people often saw dolphins and whales. Didn't see that. Did see 4x4 in the water, the surf washing over its roof. The story was some idiot was out at 1am drunk and bogged the sucker. Some people were having fun snorkeling around it.
We headed further up to the Champagne Pools. I'd heard that they were just alright so I opted to stay with the 4x4 and have a smoke while listening to Lionel Ritchie's, "All Night Long." Connor has a great mix on his ipod.
Eric drove us back South, me moving up to shotgun engrossed in the music selection. And the rain began. Heavy and hard, the visibility sucked and the beach was under water. Eric declined to drive inland so I retook the wheel. We were headed to some lake with turtles in it. Yay! Turtles! Val, are you excited? Turtles. I dunno.
And so we're back to the flooded roads, crashing trees, driving through a rainforest amidst a nearly tropical storm (just 200k south). It was muddy, puddly Heaven! A dream track for a 4x4: mud to slide corners in, the bumps soft with water, and big puddles, 20m in length, to kick up a spray in (yes, I used to jump in puddles as a kid too). "Cannonball!"
The rain continued when we finally reached the turtle lake. Some went swimming and we met up with the other 4x4. We drove back to the beach in tandem, having a tight moment when we had to squeeze around a passing bus. However, during the return, the rain abated and quickly the waterways sunk back into the sand.
We headed back to camp for lunch. On the plus side, no dingoes ravaged our tents. However, my tent now came complete with a small lake. I drained the lake and did my best to dry the floor. Sleeping bags were hung from the rafters of the picnic areas roof, which we were appreciating far more at this point.
That evening the group was determined to exhaust our liquor supply, mostly intact from the first night. The lights went out at 10pm, but the rain had restarted so we carried on as drinking with a roof overhead seemed preferable to the alternative, our rather wet tents. I guess the one's supplied along with the 4x4 leaked. The front windscreen leaked as well, so I'm hoping it's simply that they don't get much rain on Fraser.
I digress. There's a parrot or parakeet just overhead harmonizing with the Indigo Girls. Bit tone deaf though....Well, he's getting better. On the same branch there hung a bat last night, I love this campsite! Which I found out is $5 unpowered (which they don't seem to check whether I'm using or not).
Our numbers dwindled as the night carried on, people eventually going to bed and passing out or doing it in the other way around. Eventually we were down to the Pomey girls, Eric, and Matt and AJ from the other 4x4, a Canadian and a Dutch SOB, respectively. And their bottle of Vodka. Silly thing to leave out. Strip poker ensued. Eric was soon bare assed at the table, his cap on my head and and a pile of shoes at my side (I'd gotten a flush in a game of 5 card draw). The game ended as the storm shifted into high gear and some were getting a bit chilly in their various levels of undress. Hailey became "Dingo" after she cried "Dingo!" for the fourth time (like the Boy who cried Wolf). Nothing that came out of her mouth could be taken seriously, as she lied compulsively. I liked her, crazy bitch from Birmingham. Told me all about Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath. Told me she lived next to one of 'em back home too. "Dingo!"
Far into the night it was down to Dingo, Eric Jen and myself. And the empty vodka bottle. Silly other car. We plotted our own dingo attacks at this point, which involved creeping into the tents, and giving a hickey to some sleeping relative stranger. Some high stakes Rock, Paper, Scissor determined that Eric was our first Dingo. The plan failed due to the fact that no one was really asleep in the tents. Instead, we packed the food into the van (after waiting an hour to see if the rain would slacken, it didn't), and huddled in there for a bit. Petra eventually came looking for her, "Toy Boy" (her words) breaking up the party. I retired to my tent and the girls went to sleep in the back of the 4x4. My tent was still a bit damp but sealed so otherwise dry and I soon drifted off to sleep.
I woke groggy four hours later, and we broke camp, it being our final day. Connor drove us out as I nursed a small hangover and lack of rest. It took me a while to register that I actually got the best nights sleep as the others were getting dripped on the whole evening. We drove past two lakes and had lunch at the second: Lake Mackenzie (most popular beach on Fraser).
We spent the afternoon lounging, the clouds thinned and we were able to sunbake a bit. Finally, we sauntered back to the 4x4, finding Dingo asleep in the rear. We set off on our final drive back to the port. This road had been sand 3 days before now seemed like Green Lane, my home, but to a much more massive degree of pot holes, dip and bends in the dirt track. It was a veritable slalom course which I weaved our way through, enjoying my last chance behind the wheel.
We arrived early and the early ferry was late, so we rolled right aboard, reuniting with the other 4x4 which had left Mackenzie several hours earlier. There were a bunch of 4x4 tour groups on the boat back and arm wrestling ensued. I took on the other guy in a cowboy hat, in a North American showdown, "Bring it on, Canada." I got spanked. I was told later that he cheated, but it was with our right arms so I didn't think I had a prayer (I'm a lefty as is my whole family).
And so, we returned, muddy from the mire that I'll remember as Fraser Island.
posted by Bob Stein at 10:48 PM
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